Tag Archives: travelling

Latacunga

My first running destination in Latacunga was a statue of Mama Negra. That’s right, black Mama. Yep I know what you’re thinking, and I’m thinking it too. But I’m not sure if being PC is really a thing in Ecuador (or South America). I mean, I’m volunteering at a school at the moment and its quite acceptable, if not positively endearing, to refer to a pupil as ‘morenito’, which roughly translates to ‘little brown boy’. Don’t worry I won’t be adding (the translations, at least), to my regular vocabluary.

So to Mama Negra: the story behind the statue… At Latacunga’s fiesta of the same name, which happens twice a year, a white or moreno (brown) man dresses up as a woman and blacks up his face, riding through the town on a horse, as the centre of all the festivities. I’ve had a bit of a look online and there isn’t a lot about the background of Mama Negra in English. Some texts say that she represents the Virgin of Mercy. Which I don’t really get. Another site says she represents the liberation of black people in Ecuador. Which makes slightly more sense but I’m not sure why this tradition happens in Latacunga, where very few Afro-Ecuadorians live, or have ever lived. It certainly isn’t something I am entirely (or remotely) comfortable with, and the fact that the only texts I have found on the matter are academic type papers on racism says a lot. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? Hmmm.

Onwards from Mama Negra I ran to a nearby park, known locally at ‘la laguna’. Although maybe not quite up to the standards of some lagoons I’ve seen on my travels, it was still a pleasant little park. A large group of women were undertaking an aerobics class to hardstyle music. I got a snap from afar, including the lagoon and looking onwards to the mountains in the background.

So Latacunga is a smallish town, the kind of place where running gringos might draw attention. A guy stopped me on my way and told me he was a personal trainer and runner and we had a little chat where he asked me about my distances and PBs and invited me to his fitness class. All in Spanish! I felt quite proud about saying the right things at the right time, and for once my perpetual nodding and smiling being sincere (since I understood pretty much everything). I also caught the attention of a few other locals, including two impersonators; one young boy who followed me for a lap of the park, and one middle aged man on the good old urban gym gave a great impression of me running and stopping to take photos. But hey, they do say that imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?

Baños

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I’m writing this whilst trying to block out the squelches, screams and crunches of another horrifically violent, badly dubbed film being played to a bus load of families. Today, it’s a bus from Baños and I’m heading back to Quito.

As I had mentioned, I decided to opt out of running in Baños due to my gammy foot. I did however do a post-worthy hike up from Baños into the mountains above, to ‘the swing off the edge of the world’, locally known as ‘El Casa del Arbol’; ‘The Tree House’.

Baños is pleasantly cool compared to out last few stops, Guyaquil and Canoa. So a 3/4 hour hike into the mountains seemed pretty manageable. After fuelling up at breakfast I bought some treats for the journey and me and my mum and set off together.

The first stretch of the walk took us to Bellavista, the old South American favourite, a religious symbol overlooking a great view of the town. Baños has a large cross from which we enjoyed impressive views of the little town in the mountains, just below the clouds.

We met a Canadian family around here and walked with them for the rest of the way. The route took us up many muddy paths, through farm land and forest. There were lots of strange and interesting plants to take in, including these polka-dot trees.

After around 3 and a half hours walking we had made it up to El Casa del Arbol and paid our one dollar entrance fee. The area consisted of a field housing the treehouse and swings, a small zip wire and a restaurant. It in the middle of the clouds and we were unable to see the mountains and vast volcano which we knew surrounded us. We sat down for a choclo con queso for lunch and watched the other tourists going for the money shot on one of the two swings which fly out over the side of the mountain.

After our leisurely lunch, the clouds were beginning to lift and the surrounding mountains were peeking through. Mum had strict instructions as photographer and I took my turn at swinging ‘off the edge of the world’. I was happy we had hung around for a little while as the views from our vantage point at 2660m altitude were beautiful. We opted for a taxi ride back down to town, but only after I bought one of these giant seed pods for 50 cents. It’s called guaba and after breaking it open you eat the slightly furry white flesh which surrounds the big black seeds inside.

On descending into town, the festivities for New Years Eve were well under way. Many of the shops and homes outide had their effigies ready for burning at midnight. This tradition is called año viejo; old year, where celebrities and characters from the previous year are burned at midnight. Other traditions include men dressing up as women and stopping traffic for money, wearing yellow underwear for good luck, and lots of masks. The town was buzzing that night and complete with fox mask and yellow knickers, I partied like an Ecuadorian until the early hours.

Guayaquil

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Guayaquil is the only place (I’ve heard of) with its own community of urban iguanas. These creatures roam free in Parque Simon Bolivar, the first destination on my run this morning. It is unclear who or what feeds the iguanas, or stops them wandering out of the park fences and into the surrounding streets and roads. But they seem to be thriving, albeit with a few tails missing. The Ecuadorians in the park were fairly interested in the iguanas but were probably just as enthused about feeding the pigeons. Unfortunately I had forgotten to charge my camera today, but have some snaps from my trip to the park yesterday.

Onwards from Simon Bolivar, I ran to the Malecón, another urban park which makes up a long promenade area along the seafront. It was early morning, before the rush and before the sun, and I was one of many runners making the most of the Malecón. The other runners included dozens of naval sailors undertaking their morning fitness training. I had seen many sailors in crisp white uniforms throughout the city the previous day (think Sex and The City navy boat party episode-or not), but this morning they were wearing cute little navy blue shorts and tee twinsets, complete with white hems and stripes, and ‘naval’ in white across the chest. Tres chic!

The Malecón has a lovely variety of environments; lush Gardens, fish ponds, performance spaces, restaurants, a cinema and a museum, as well as a life-size nativity scene and giant Christmas tree for the festive season. This morning I ran past a series of monuments to famous historical Guayaquilianos. One name stood out in particular and I repeated it to myself for the rest of the run, so as not to forget it. The name was Rosa Borja de Icaza.

On googling my Ecuadorian namesake, I found out that she was a writer, sociologist, feminist and activist. Yes Rosa Borja de Icaza! Recently when I told someone I was called Rosa, they said that I was “destined to make a change with a name like that”. A tall order I’d say, when I have such fantastic females as my predecessors: ! Rosa Parks, Rosa Luxemburg, and now Rosa Borja de Icaza. (If you know any more incredible Rosas, please get in touch). So back to running. Another reason I was named Rosa was that I was very red when I was born. I was now getting pretty hot and red on my run (haven’t shaken that off with age), so headed back for a cool shower at the hostel.

I still have 2 tiny pieces of shell stuck in the sole of my left foot from Canoa. They’re pretty sore and now also have pus coming out of them (sorry). I must have been running unevenly to compensate for this, and to avoid pushing them in even further, so had a sore ankle after the run. It may be best to take it easy on the running in Baños, my next destination, until my foot gamminess is resolved. All medical advice welcome!

Canoa

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Christmas: if not family, then what is it all about? Celebrating the birth of Christ maybe. But for me, mostly family. And despite largely being a solo traveller, at one with the open road and nothing else, I was lucky enough to have a (partial) family Christmas. That part of my family would be my mum, who has travelled to Ecuador to spend a few weeks of the festive season with me. Not only am I lucky enough to have a mum happy to travel with me, she is also up for running with me. Our Christmas Day was far from traditional and began with an early morning run on the beach together.

Awoken bright and early by la madre, clearly the tables have turned since the days I was up before the crack of dawn on Christmas Day, desperate to get stuck in to my stocking. After a not so early night on the tiles (sand), it took a few nudges and some persuasion before I was up and ready to go. Aside from the rum-head, I was slightly battered and bruised from a surf lesson the day before. I had also trodden on a ridiculously spiky shell and still had (have) some pieces of the little bastard in my left heel. Undeterred(ish), we hit the beach.

It was early morning and thus cool enough to enjoy a run out of the searing equatorial sunshine. The sky was cloudy but bright and it was shaping up to be a glorious day; a world away from the chilly Christmas the rest of my family were enjoying back in the UK. The beach was already gently buzzing with people enjoying walks, runs and even some swims to kick off their Christmas Day. Barefoot running on the beach, the sea lapping at my toes, is probably one of my favourite ways to start any day. I wonder how I could incorporate it into the usual festive traditions back home. After a brisk and refreshing run we returned to the hotel to exchange our gifts. No stocking for Rosa this year!

Later in the day we headed into Canoa for our Christmas dinner (ceviche, beer and ice cream). The beach was alive and singing with hoardes of families enjoying their Christmas in the sun. It was lovely to see an alternative to the traditions back home and to have my mum there. Nevertheless I couldn’t help but look forward to Christmas next year, with all of my family. And lots of cheese and wine.

Mindo

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Maybe I should have got my rabies jabs. My most recent runs have consisted of me running down nice quiet tracks, only to find that they are someone’s driveway with an aggressive dog at the end. I have avoided any rabid bites. So far.

My first run in Mindo pretty much panned out like that. I ran down a few surprise driveways until I gave up and headed up the main road, no pavement. Despite not choosing a great route, I still saw some nice things along the way. Including lots of bananas. Bananas grow everywhere in Mindo. Varieties I had never seen before, my favourites being these little stout pink ones. Mindo also has lots of birds, which attract many ‘birders’ desperate to tick off another exotic species on their bird bucket list. I saw some nice birds. I couldn’t tell you what they were but I did find out that there is a species of hummingbird called a ‘hoary puffleg’. Fantastic.

On my first tour of Mindo’s driveways whilst heading down a promising looking track (drive), there were a group of kids playing out. Seeing me running towards them they all screamed and darted for cover in their yards and houses. A red puffing gringo running towards you is clearly something of a rarity in Mindo. When I inevitably had to make the awkward u-turn back, on finding the house at the end of the drive, the kids did the same again; running screaming for cover from the scary monster. Only one brave little girl poked her head around the gate once I was at a safe distance and shouted ‘Hola gringa’ after me. Seeing a white person running seemed not just to shock the children. Making my way back into town, everyone I passed was struggling to contain their sniggers and gasps on seeing my red face. It’s essential to have a sense of humour at these times, or risk developing some sort of complex. I mean I guess they’re laughing at my red face, right?

My second run in Mindo was little more successful. It was however a bright and temperate early evening; lovely running conditions. After running down two very pleasant and long driveways I found the town playing field, with views down to the pretty little town in the mountainous jungle. The environment is sometimes described as ‘cloud forest’; the clouds kiss the tops of the mountains, sometimes enveloping Mindo and its neighbours. Literally having your head (and the rest of you), in the clouds.

It had been a beautiful Sunday in Mindo, and the hub of the village was the pretty river which runs right through. Locals were swimming, socialising and washing there; there was even a little barbecue set up selling grilled plantain and corn. The river festivities were winding down as I passed by on my run, but there were still a few people going for a dip before the sun went down. It was a canny community vibe and I wish now that I had joined them.

Quito

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Quito: the world’s second highest Capitol City (after La Paz, where I opted not to run), at 2800m above sea level. A few places I had been to in Colombia were at pretty high altitudes, Bogota is over 2600m. However by pretending they weren’t and not listening when people talked about how high they are, I had managed fine with my running. Now in Quito, I decided to take the same ‘ignorance is bliss’ approach. And in this ignorant bliss I enjoyed 2 days in Quito and the surrounding areas; climbing the many stairs and rickety ladders of the Basílica del Voto Nacional, to stunning views of the city; visiting a fantastic artisan market in Otavalo; having a general wander and getting my first taste of Ecuador. Going for a run: ne bother.

This morning I set my alarm for seven (after a criminally early night for a traveller), and was pounding the pavements by half past. Luckily I was even earlier than most of the city’s commuters, and the streets were fairly quiet. I headed for a nearby park which I had checked out the previous two evenings. Both times I had been there before, there had been dramatic games of volleyball going on, amongst men who looked like they had just finished work. These games were obviously a big deal to the guys involved and had drawn crowds of a couple of hundred or so men to spectate. There was not a single woman in the crowd, and I felt like I was breaking some unwritten rule by being there. Clearly I love breaking rules which exclude women from societal activities so I stayed and watched for a while.

This morning there was no volleyball happening, however the people of Quito were still loving their active pursuits a la mañana. A group were doing a martial art, complete with big sticks and vocal sound effects. There were a few runners, and many cyclists opting for the 2 wheel commute. And of course my old fave: the urban gym. I was impressed and surprised by the popularity and diversity of this gym. Men and women of all ages crowded the bright gym equipment, enthusiastically repping up a sweat before the 9 to 5. I tried to get some sly pictures from afar without looking like an urban gym pervert again, I only wish I’d bitten it and gone and got stuck in there myself. I did however rack up 2 laps of the park (mostly for those extra urb-gym glimpses), before heading back to the hostel as the roads and pavements began to clog.

And so my ignorant bliss, I was bound to fall from it at some point. After a hearty breakfast which I felt like I deserved, I headed out to check out some local museum and gallery culture. Heading down the street, I felt light headed and dizzy, and was struggling to utter a few words at more than a whisper. Struck down by altitude yet again, I clearly haven’t acclimatised to (a runner’s) life in the mountains. I traded in the culture for a morning in bed listening to British radio, which was actually a satisfying culture fix in itself.

Cali

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The only thing I had heard about Cali before I arrived is that it is the Colombian Capitol of Salsa. Even my travel guide has little to say about Colombia’s third largest city beyond its dancing and party culture. And yes, the salsa was impressive. Over my month in Colombia I had a few opportunities to witness salsa and give it a whirl myself. Although not necessarily successful I loved nearly every awkward, exhilarating and fun minute of it. Cali was the perfect place to round off everything I had learned, and inevitably shame myself on the dance floor. Unfortunately my final night in Cali left me asking whether salsa is somewhat tied up in misogyny… I don’t think it is; I’m sure there are arseholes represented in every dance style. No longer in Colombia, I have sworn I will return and brush up on my footwork; so people might want to dance with me for a reason other than my gringa novelty.

So aside from salsa, what does Cali have to offer? Gentle rain started one afternoon during my stay and thunder rumbled softly in the distance, I decided to whack on my trainers and have an explore. My run took me to a hilly park close to my hostel. Despite the less than perfect weather, groups of families and friends gathered in the park eating, drinking and laughing. Past the park I made my way alongside a highway, hoping for a good view over the city. Having not found my view and with the thunder sounding closer I headed back to the park. En-route I stopped to check out a charmingly proportioned nativity scene at the side of the road, complete with palm trees, crocodiles, giant lambs and a few dogs.

Entering the park again I headed upwards towards the little church which sits on top of the hill. On my way I managed to take a tumble and graze my knee so that it was bleeding a little profusely. I totally kept my cool though, I don’t think anyone even noticed; like a little dance move in itself I was on my feet again in no time and striding up the hill. In front of the church was the busiest part of the park. A couple sheltered under an umbrella, admiring the city view and the dramatic sky; a group were practicing ariel acrobatics from huge ribbons hanging from a tree; and street food stalls were selling a selection of classic deep fried Colombian favourites. There was a really nice community vibe in the park and I took a few moments to rest and breath it in. Until people started staring at the white girl with the bloody knee (I think Cali is the stary-est place I visited in Colombia).

Something I haven’t reported on much in my blog is the beautiful and striking street art in Colombia. I decided to try and find some good examples for a pic before returning to the hostel. After a couple of minutes I found a wall with a variety of pieces. Unfortunately not up to the impressive and often political standards I have seen in other cities, particularly Bogota, I snapped a pic of this snake, eating ‘somos’; ‘we are’. The trickles of blood were sneaking down my leg towards my trainers now so I turned back and was under cover in the hostel before the heavens opened with full force.

Medellin2

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Last night was the final of the South American Cup and Medellin’s Athletico Nacional were up against Argentina’s River Plate. I rushed back from my bus from Guatape, hoping to be back on time to see the big game. The streets were buzzing with people rushing for the same reason, dressed in their green Athletico Nacional jerseys. I bought my first ever football top for a bargain 15,000 Colombian pesos (less than a fiver) off some guy in the street. Back at the hostel, I asked how we were getting to the stadium and how much tickets would be from a tout. It turned out that the match was actually in Argentina (the final was in Medellin last week and they drew, this was a rematch for the title). Disappointed, all little embarrassed at my mistake, but immediately more chilled out, we headed to a bar to catch the game on a big screen. Unfortunately AN lost 2-0 to RP and the victory party I had been hoping for took place across the the other end of South America.

Partially due use of this, I was up and feeling fresh enough for a run this morning. Showing that I am no fickle fan, I donned my Athletico top (nothing to do with the fact that I haven’t done any laundry for about 3 weeks). I headed out of the hostel to explore further the area of Poblado, where I am staying. It is one of the more affluent areas of the city, popular with tourists and rich with stylish boutiques, bars and eateries. A little river runs between the steep streets around the hostel; a narrow strip of jungle luschiousness flowing through the urbanity.

I decided to head up the hill towards the mountains, hoping to get a good picture of the huge city below. Following Calle 10, which is one of the main roads in the area and curls and winds up the steep slope with traffic rushing past in both directions. Unfortunately due to the windings of the road, the pavement keeps swapping sides and my run wasn’t flowing as I would have liked. Also due to the many tower blocks and development in the area it was difficult to get a clear view of the city, this is the best I could do.

I set off back down the hill, passing a few avocado sellers on the way and making sure I detoured a few blocks further down the hill before returning to my hostel, to check out the urban gym nearby. I have seen a fair few of them across South America but this has by far been the busiest. Too shy and a bit intimidated to get stuck in on the weights, I just asked the guys there working out for a photo for this post. They seemed a bit surprised by the whole thing and unfortunately my Spanish didn’t allow for an explanation, I just looked like a bit of a pervert.

Guatape

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The small town of Guatape had been recommended as a must-visit trip from Medellin. I had also pinned it on my pintrest ‘travel’ board, most of which I have missed or forgotten about; I had to make the effort for this one! I had hoped to stay there for a night but given my last minute style of organisation, the hostels were fully booked and I headed out for a day trip instead. This meant that I unfortunately couldn’t fit a run in, but I did climb up a really big rock so I’ll tell you about that.

The big rock, or ‘La Piedra’ is undoubtedly the main draw of the little town of Guatape. The monstrous formation seems to be bursting from the Earth and is a pretty unusual vision to behold! Stairs have been constructed in recent years which allow anyone, at a small fee, to climb the beast and access the incredible views from the top. It was a lovely bright morning and off the bus from Medellin, I set about conquering La Piedre. After scaling a challenging 659 steps and about 20 minutes I was at the top, soaking up the views to a coconut ice lolly. The rock and town of Guatape lie on little islands in a huge lake, blue waters and lush green islands filled the landscape as far as I could see.

After a while chilling up on the rock I descended to ground level and caught a little open top car into Guatape town. The town was a pretty and colourful place, making the most of the tourism brought by the rock and it’s beautiful lakeside location. After wandering around for a little while and treating myself to a buñelo (Colombian deep fried cheesy dough ball-yes, mmmm), I caught the bus back to Medellin. It was the final of the South American cup that night and Medellin’s Athletico Nacional were in the final; I was hoping for a victory and for the city to live up to its party reputation!

Palomino

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Another day, another beach, another hammock. This time in Palomino, a sleepy village further up the coast from Tayrona. With no ATM, and having been paying for paradise, I was on a budget. Luckily my hammock was cheap, I grabbed a bargain ‘menu del dias’ and found a man selling big bags of mangoes for about 60p. I bagged a free ride back from the village on the back of a motorbike, driven by a man with a huge machete strapped to his leg (still not really sure how that came about). My finca (hostel)’s health and safety advice was to beware of falling coconuts, and my biggest concern in the world was how I would get the mango string out of my teeth. Sleepy with the sea air, I got an earlyish night in my new fave sleeping device.

Waking early to the sounds of the sea, seems to be a catalyst for an unusual hunger for running. Barefoot again I bounded away, into blue skies, gold sands, with the sun on my back. The beach was already dotted with other early birds, some fishing (for that worm maybe), some strolling and some swimming. I ran for a little while to where the mouth of a river meets the sea. It seemed to be a little hub of activity for the locals, and a very pretty one at that.

After a short paddle I turned and retraced my steps to the finca. The sun was hotting up despite the young day and I had a splash and dip in the sea to cool down. That primal feeling was back and I’m wondering what could beat it. I might have to find a coastal tribe to join. Happy but tired from the taxing sand running, I was ready for my mango breakfast and another lie down in my fave place.

All this hanging in hammocks and hitting the beaches has me sleepy and siesta-ready at most hours. The Caribbean Colombians sometimes have a reputation for laziness and just not really getting much done. But really when there are beautiful beaches to behold and so many hammocks to be lain in, teamed with the tropical heat, I can kind of see how that could happen…

rosarunningaway

My experiences running, around the world.

Tag Archives: travelling

Latacunga

Baños

Guayaquil

Canoa

Quito

Cali

Medellin2

Guatape

Palomino

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