Chachapoyas!

Cha-Cha! 

Of course I'm down with a town that nicknames itself Chacha.

Lonely Planet says something along the lines of, even if you have a few weeks to see Chachapoyas, that’s still not enough time.

They’re so right (despite being wrong about some of the bus times).

After an amazing waterfall hike on Monday (2.5 hours there, 2.5 hours back, amazing views, challenging inclines and declines), I was exhausted, and glad for a bed (especially as I had taken an uncomfortable overnight bus on the last ticket available (i.e., not comfy!)).The hike took us to one of the tallest waterfalls in the world, and provided constant glances of the various waterfalls from the lake. It was quite lovely.

Tuesday, again with Elizabeth and Florian (my new German friends I met in the Chacha bus station that I spent every day with in Chacha), we headed on a tour of the sarcophagi. Imagine – you hike 25 minutes down a steep path and then you finally look up – and you see, deep high up in the cliff crevices, sarcophagi. They are massive, made of clay and stone, weighing many, many kilos. They are filled with mummies and valued possessions – but they have been placed in these very precarious high-up, hard-to-get-to spots. Amazing, when you think about it.

And then we headed to a cave in the middle of nowhere. A cave where we wore rainboots b/c it was too mucky and wet to not, completely dark. We saw bones, amazing cave stuff like stalagmites and such, interesting and beautiful.

And then, tired again, sleep. Rewarding travels.

In the morning, I headed to Keulap. This is why I came to Chacha, partially. Keulap is similar to Macchu Pichu. Yes, you should go there. But beautiful – it’s not crowded. It’s an amazing civilization, built in layers, surrounded by a fortress. It was history. Better than a history class.

And with so many amazing things, like the incredible views we constantly experienced, being in spiritual vortexes – it was a lucky amazing time.

I Miss Peanut Butter!

I Miss Peanut Butter

To be honest, peanut butter isn’t my favourite. (To admit that would be sacrilegious in my current relationship.) It’s almond butter. But right now, I would pay about $20 for a peanut butter sandwich. Jelly not necessary, but it would be a nice touch.

Traveling as a vegetarian can be difficult. I remember crying and eating cookies for dinner in Valencia, Spain; realizing I must stay in hostels with kitchens in Eastern Europe (or I’d starve); wandering around aimlessly Christmas Eve night, being chased by a rabid dog, looking for something to eat.

So yes, I’ll admit culture is a big part of food and when I don’t eat the food of the culture, it is missing out on some of the culture. But I also don’t want to give up my morals or ideals.

I’m a vegetarian for a few reasons: I think it’s wrong to eat animals. I think it’s environmentally wrong to eat animals (in the U.S. – factory farms, cutting down trees in rainforests to provide grazing space for cattle.) I also don’t like the taste. It started as a taste thing, but morphed into other reasons.

But when traveling – it can be difficult.

Peru has been difficult. Beans and eggs. More eggs. Eggs. Eggs in the form of tortilla veduras, which I am sick of (especially after it’s been cooked in 3 cups of oil and I’ve eaten it three days in a row). I’m sick of it.

I was fantasizing about peanut butter. My boyfriend already promised to bring me a jar (which knowing him, he’ll eat most of on the plane ride down).

It’s so hard.

Sometimes, I just don’t even want to eat. And when my stomach isn’t cooperating, bananas and yogurt it is. And you know what? That often tastes better than the vegetarian option.

I’ve already planned my victory meal upon return – I want a salad, full of leafy veggies. And for sure, as Pomsey would like, I’ll be baking some of my infamous pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.

In the meantime, I’ll stomach as much of the food as I can in between all the other amazing things I’m experiencing while traveling.

Because this is how it is sometimes...

Wednesday I got up at 6, ran, showered and got ready, checked out, went on a tour all day of Keulap, got back, repacked, headed to overnight bus, slept on a bus (which isn't the best slept), woke up at 5am, and ended up in shady Chiclayo bus station. I put my bag in the bus station storage, which worried me b/c the bag attendant seemed so confused by what I wanted to do that I fretted all day about the contents of my pack. Then, after being advised by the security guard that I shouldn't wander until much later in the day because a North American woman had been assaulted (coupled with the fact that my friends who I had just left on the bus told me they had gotten mugged here), I nervously sat in the bus station.

And sat.

And sat.

Finally, unable to take it any longer, I asked the security guard if he thought it was okay. He nodded. I walked to Plaza del Armes, tried to find something to eat, finally found a cafe. They lacked vegetarian items, as usual, but suggested spaghetti con veduras. For breakfast? Okay. I didn't want any more eggs. Of course it was nothing like what I wanted/planned. But it was okay. 

And then I explored the square, and mailed a letter to V, and then I hopped on the minibus to Lambayeque (1soles30). Then I went to Museo Tumbes Reales de Sipan. 10 soles gets you in, and another 20 soles gets you a guide. I had my own personal guide, which was pretty neat, and he explained pretty much everything as we walked through the museum. And then I grabbed some fruit and yogurt (YES!) and hopped on another minibus back to Chiclayo.

At the bus station, I grabbed my bag. I was too tired to do much else. I thought about exploring the market, but that's where my friends got mugged, and I had too many valuables on me to risk that. So I headed to the airport early.

And I sit here, bleary eyed, exhausted, yearning for my bed tonight, for a nice run in Lima (if it's safe, if there's time...), and I know, that traveling's not always what you want it to be, but it has to be something else to get you there. 

Huanchaco

I went to Huanchaco because it had beaches, it had surf, it had ruins. Sounded fun to me.

I arrived oh, five or six hours later than planned, due to airplane delays (oh fun!). I was so exhausted from when I arrived, but that didn’t seem to make sense. All I did was sit on a plane, in an airport, and go running. True, I didn’t sleep IN a bed, but…I got to the hostel, it was quiet save a group of drunk Australians, so I completely crashed out and slept hard for almost ten hours.

I got up, went running, and when I came back, I asked the woman at the front desk of the hostel  about heading to the ruins. She offered a tour, but I needed another person. Hmmm. Then she told me about surfboard lessons. When I came out of the shower, she was knocking at my door, telling me I could go on the tour in twenty-five minutes. I quickly dressed, threw a bunch of stuff in a bag, and ate my first real meal since I left – avocado and egg sandwich with fruit salad and passionfruit juice. Ah, I love Latin America.

The other person from my hostel turned out to be a pretty nice guy named Jon. We ended up quickly developing a rapport, teasing each other, telling stories. We met a much older couple in their sixties who were dating and traveling (How bold! I love it!) and we laughed with them as well.  We visited Huacas del Sol y de la Luna, had lunch in Trujillo, went to Chan Chan and all of the associated sites and museums, which featured some pretty ridiculous “dioramas.”

After, we rehydrated with pisco sours, which I must say, are amazing. We went to the Jungle Bar Bily, which is on the main strip of Huanchaco. Pisco sours contain pisco (a grape brandy), lime, sugar, sour mix and egg whites. The egg white thing grossed me out, but just don’t think about it, and you’ll easily suck them down. Then we got dinner at Otra Cosa, the vegetarian place, and went back for a maracuya sour, which was made with maracuya (passionfruit). And then I tried to figure out if I should go to Chachapoyas or Chiclayo – nah, nah – or Huarez.

I woke up early, went for a run, then ended up at a surf lesson. I used to love surfing but I’m giving it up – I had a really bad time last time in Costa Rica and I’ve just been scared since then. And I don’t feel comfortable. He did “theory” and we spent some time in the water but I just didn’t feel it. I think I’m over surfing. I know it’s “cool” but honestly, I used to love it but I can’t get there anymore. I don’t feel in control anymore. And I don’t feel like I want to do it anymore. But that’s fine – I have writing and sewing clothes and running and Burning Man and my family and the beaches are good for running on or chilling with a book or playing board games with Gwendolyn. I don’t need to surf. I don’t need to do everything. And I guess admitting that, figuring it out, not challenging myself when I’m supposed to have fun, well, I think that’s a big first step.

I got back to the hostel and found out the direct bus to Chachapoyas was sold out, along with the buses to Huarez. Crap. I didn’t know what to do. I guess I could take a bus to Chiclayo and then grab a bus to Chachapoyas – but what if those were sold out? I pulled off my bikini, grabbed my pack, and Jon accompanied me to the bus station where I bought exactly those tickets. Then we went back on the bus which was of course, insane, and ate, I showered, and then we chilled and made more travel plans.

So much of what I do while traveling is planning – talking to other travelers about where to go next, figuring out the logistics, booking buses and planes, hostels, figuring out where to store my pack. Like I have that logistical problem when I get to Chiclayo – 8 hours in Chiclayo with my pack is a long time. I’ll figure it out, I suppose. I usually do. Even if it sucks for a little bit, I figure it out in the end.

Is Life a Marathon or an Ultramarathon?

Is life an ultramarathon or a marathon?

Sometimes, the journey isn’t about where you go but what you find within yourself.

I feel like much of what traveling is about is about finding myself. I discover more and more each day about the world, about people, about other cultures, about myself.

I think that people are marathoners or ultramarathoners.

I used to be a marathoner. Now I’m an ultrarunner.

Sure there’s the non-runners too, but what I’m talking about doesn’t even apply to necessarily running, but it’s a metaphor for life.

Marathoners are obsessed with specific goals, times. They measure themselves against things much grander than they can achieve (i.e., they’re 5 hour runners dreaming of running Boston), they become obsessed with pace, they are particular about goals and times and water bottles and outfits.

Ultrarunners have a goal – “I want to go sub 21, but I’ll take sub 24. And if it’s a bad race, as long as I finish. But if that ITB that’s been flaring up becomes unbearable, I know I’ll have to stop.” And then the race is about that nice girl you run with from mile 19 to 39, whose name you never got but you know that she is a biologist who works in a big lab for a pharmaceutical company, but wants to move to a university except she would have to move towns and her son is in a great school and very fragile and she doesn’t like to move him around. And it’s about those homemade cinnamon chip cookies you get at mile 68. And about those ghosts you saw dancing in the woods at mile 84. And it’s about getting too cold and total strangers giving you the clothes off their backs and everyone helping you – everything helping you – to finish and discover more about your inner self.

As I travel the slow route – 15 hour bus rides, sleeping on uncomfortable hostel beds, waking up too early, napping sporadically on planes, long days, drinking, meeting amazing people, meeting mean people. Seeing ancient ruins or rainforests or beaches or mountains or deserts, all on the same trip – and experiencing the best and the worst and the most mediocre of all.

It’s about experiencing everything. I don’t want to go to a cruise – only the highlights – because you miss the realness of things. Sure, I don’t like the long bus rides and the beds collapsing on me in the middle of the night and the bad food (Can we say gross cheese with some mushy veggies and occasional noodles called vegetable lasagna?). I would much prefer an easier life, but honestly, sometimes that’s not an option. To get to where I’m going now – Chachapoyas – I took a 20 minute cab to a 4 hour bus to an 11 hour bus – overnight. There’s no other way.

If I want to go to the jungle and see these ruins and see what Peru is all about – then I need to take it all – cheesey sauce and all. I just sometimes wish I could fast-forward to the good parts, through the pain and unpleasant experiences

A Run Through Lima

So far, just ran in Lima. I have never been sexually harassed so many times. I'm pretty sure there must be a law, "See woman running, honk/leer/slow down car/say something/whistle." 

I had a long time in between flights, but not enough time to head out and explore Peru, so I checked my stuff in the airport, and headed out for a run.

It was great to stretch my legs - I ran in places I'm sure no one has ever run before - it seemed that way, based on reactions. I ended up running along this dry creek/river - I was high up on the banks, and below saw lots of dry spots, rocks, trash - so much trash, burnt trash, all kinds of trash. And people walking in the water, washing clothes, picking up the trash (to see if something would be useful).

And I ran on by. I don't wish to take photos, like some people I know, for these are the things that are not just images in your head, but experiences stamped on your soul.

And so I run, everywhere I go, through dusty, polluted air, past stray dogs and curious cars, I run.

I's Funny the Things You Miss

Sleeping in the airport, waiting for my flight to Trujillo, I was awkwardly draped across the chairs (Can they ever make airport chairs comfy?), I was comforted by the thought that you were holding me. I woke up a while later, surprised I wasn't wrapped in your arms, our white comforter over us, and I felt a thick lump of sadness in my throat.

And although the possibilities are endless, I'm stuck in that transit hell that always drags me down, and I can't think of anything but how much I miss you, how you really make everything better, how we don't necessarily need to explore the world when we have the world in each others' arms

But we do and we will.

Watchung 50k+ Race Report

Sometimes, I feel like certain ultras shouldn't even be called whatever distances. As Rick the RD said himself, "You are NOT running a 50k. It's more like 33 or 34 miles." So let's just accept the fact that yesterday I ran for a while at Watchung Reservation.

The day was only slightly chilly at the start - I think 38 degrees or so. We gathered in by the start/finish/aid station/drop bag area. I had never seen so many people at one of NJ Trail Series races - good! I also saw a lot of familiar faces, which was great fun.

I started off enjoying the day, though to be honest, I had a cold, though over the course of the day, I felt heaps better. (I guess I spit/blew all that phlegm out?) The first loop, I ran with a few different people, by myself.

The course was mostly single track. I ran this race twice - in 2009, there was a blizzard which made following the white blazes that marked the trail difficult. In 2010, it was horribly cold and there was snow everywhere. This year, no snow, mild temperatures, and I could see the trail.

And the trail, well, you might not want to see it. TONS of rocks, rocks, rocks everywhere, with some roots thrown in here and there, just for fun. Hills, but nothing too perilous. Well, for an ultra anyway.

You run maybe four miles that take forever, including a steep climb. Then you hit an unmanned aid station and fill up on water, just water. And then you run another 3, 4 miles, including through an abandoned village, and next to a pretty lake. And then you get to an awesome aid station with pop tarts and Oreo cookies and pretzels. And yeah, water. And then you get to the main aid station with more pop tarts and blueberries and pretzels. And the course is up and down but full of quiet NJ winter woods and it's a nice day for running, of course.

Except I had a wicked asthma attack the day before. The kind of asthma attack I don't get often, that left me flailing and Wayne freaking, trying to put my inhaler in my mouth. The kind of inhaler that left me shaky for hours. And I obviously wasn't recovered, because every hill I hit left me breathless. I had to walk most hills, even hills I could normally run, because if I didn't, my breathing would go crazy. And my goal was to finish without an asthma attack. I know from experience - the more attacks I get, the more I get, and it's a cycle. And if I can prevent it, I should. Four puffs of my inhaler and moderation where necessary kept me good.

My cold left me feeling crappy and at one point, the thought hit me. My boyfriend had the same cold (though he was further along in the journey) and, rightfully so, he was doing what one should do when they had a cold - drinking lots of hot tea, sleeping lots, resting. What was I doing? Running an ultramarathon.

ANIMAL!

Or psycho, anyway.

My second loops was quiet, I mostly ran by myself. I stupidly forgot gaiters and probably stopped 8-10 times to empty out my shoes. I also threw up a little in my mouth so I drank some water, walked up a hill, and began running slowly.

Ah, the fun of ultramarathoning.

The third loop was much easier. I got through the first and the second. I could do this. I thought of the finish, I ignored the pain in my hip the best I could, I ignored the pain in my shin the best I could, I pushed on.

The water - delicious! And I pushed. "Are you running a race?" "Yeah." "How far?" "50k." "Huh?!" But I was gone.

At the second to last aid station, I enjoyed a cinnamon pop tart. Delicious. Do they serve these in gourmet restaurants?

Two guys and I started together. One faded. The one guy, a French transplant living in NJ and I talked about life, about vacation, about quality of life, about work-life balance, about change, about love. Those things that you suddenly discover four miles from a finish of an ultra. It all comes out in a beautiful conversation.

And we pushed forward. There was cheering of "DADDY" (not for me) as we surged forward.

And we finished, with mud on our feet, aches in our muscles, and smiles on our faces.

Just a little run in the woods...

Next Up....PERU!

I'm really excited - I head to Peru on Thursday and I will joined by mi novio 11 days later.

It's weird - in traveling, I find something I don't find in ordinary life. It's challenge. It's learning about new cultures. It's learning about myself. It's learning about the world. It's learning about history, not just the fake BS one we learn about in U.S. History textbooks. It's pushing beyond my limits. It's living outside my comfort zone.

I'm very comfortable right now - beyond it. I like my work, love my running, am completely in love with my boyfriend and our life in our happy apartment with a happy (yet persistently hungry and absolutely adorable) cat. We drink wine and hot cider and throw parties and cook dinner and go out to dinner and get tipsy and walk down the street, arm in arm, kissing. And we're so lucky.

But we want more. We want to know more outside our apartment, where to be honest, I think we both would be find hibernating for a while. In each others' arms, watching Spanish-language movies or eating Thai food or making eggs - this is really happiness and absolute contentment and BEYOND - but we want more. We want to explore it all together. I'm going to miss my kitty and our bed and my kitchen and my cooking and reading under a pile of blankets, snuggled up....

But there's a whole world out there and it's waiting for us to explore it.

First, solo, I'll head up to Trujillo. Then to Haunchaco. And then, to Chiclayo or, if I can figure it out, Chachoyas. And then back to Lima. And then Puerto Maldonado. And then to the Amazon for a few days. Then back to Lima, where I'll get to reunite with mi novio. And then to Arequipa, Lake Titicaca, Cuzco, Macchu Picchu.

Of course, most of this is subject to change. And probably will.

Travel Healthy

When I head down to my beloved Latin American countries, the only bad thing is the need for immunizations. Typhoid, malaria, yellow fever, all that good stuff. I have to get typhoid pills (Apparently, they only last five years and mine expire tomorrow. Oops. Let's stay away from typhoid tomorrow!) and malarone. 

When Crista and I went to Argentina, I had malarone, which is a pain just because you have to take a pill every day. But since I'm on asthma meds (three different meds each day), it's no big deal to remember to take yet another pill. Crista went on a different pill (I don't want to say which because I can't remember and it's hard to determine from the CDC's website) but she ended up with a wicked sunburn after 30 minutes in the sun (poor girl ended up on the beach with a hat, jeans, and long sleeved shirt while I was in a bikini) and had psychotic dreams....horrible scary dreams, murder-crazy-freaky dreams. Someone at my hostel in Manaus was on the same thing and went psycho, screaming, freaking out during a nightmare. Completely scary.


For Peru, I only need typhoid and malarone. Glad that yellow fever lasts another 10 years...


I found a great place in NY to get travel immunizations - New Yorkers, pay heed. Wall Street Medical Associates (actually located on 156 William Street) is an affordable place to get shots. A lot of other places charge you a consultation fee (not covered by insurance) but drop by this walk-in clinic 9-3 or call 212-233-3040. *No financial interest for me, by the way. Just letting you know what I know!*  

Old Me

Today I ran the 5 minutes to the gym, then went on the rowing machine (my favourite!), followed by 35 minutes on the elliptical, and then strength training. ROAR. Then I ran back home, roused my sleepy boyfriend, and we headed out for a run.

Then I did errands, shopped, ran around all day, came home, and went on another run. I pushed it, running like Michael Wardian does to train for trails in the city (never running in a straight line, approaching obstacles like they are opportunities - that's my line, not his, but I think that's his idea).

This has nothing to do with that it's 2012. I'm an athlete and this is my regular training.

I really don't like the "New You" crap that everyone buys into for the very end of the year/beginning of the year. I went to the gym this morning to see crowds of people using machines incorrectly, creating crowds and waits where there needn't be any ordinarily. Sigh. It's part of this media machine that teaches us to hate our bodies - we must reshape and reform and lose weight. But the way most people in the U.S. eat (tons of processed crap, on-the-go fast food), it's nearly impossible. Eating well is a high priority for me. I have been cooking up a storm of soups lately and am stockpiling my freezer with various soups to grab and heat up another day - that's my kinda fast food, a good red lentil squash apple soup, homemade by me!

I guess if a new year inspires people to healthier living, awesome. But do people really change, I wonder?

My new years' resolution is to write more. Spend more time with my grandmas. Improve my Spanish. Keep traveling. Keep being me.

These are all things I do now, but I just wanted to let you know, I plan on keep doing it.

So yes, do something healthy. Go to the gym, and rather than go a few times now, and then realize in April it's been three months since you went, but you swear you'll go - only to forget and then finally cancel in June - KEEP GOING. Find something that gives you exercise that you love, whatever it is. And keep doing it b/c it's good for you.

And soon, next year, your resolution will to keep being that OLD YOU. Keep the good things, you know, that exercising you are actually doing, and keep on doing it.

Happy Old Me,
Happy New Years!