TGNY 100 Miler Training Run #1: Bushwhacking, Snow, Getting Lost, Donuts, People Dancing on Railings...

Running is only as much fun as you make it.

The trick about TGNY 100 is that the course isn't really marked; this year, American-record-holder and RD decided to host training runs along the course so we could figure out the course a little bit better.

We started from the starting point in Times Square, and I only planned on running 12-15 miles because I have a 24 hour race next week. No problem, right? Easy peasy? Well....

We started out and I hung towards the back. My hamstring has been feeling funny, so why not take it easy?

We started out on the streets, chatting, laughing. Overheard dialog included, "The cock was exposed..." Beth and I tried to get further details, but did not. Oh, well!

I felt pretty good and was cheerful. The hamstring was behaving and I walked anything that somewhat looked like a hill. It was cold, but not too bad. Everyone traded running partners and got to know each other.

Then we got to a big mess of snow and ice and it took me forever to brave with, with Byron letting me cling onto his arm. Then we got to the bridge to cross into the Bronx, only to realize we could not cross. Alas, the photo below.

We ended up walking on some other icy, snowy paths. And Melissa and I were chatting with Mat, and somehow got caught behind, alone, and took the wrong path. We got lost, and bushwhacked a bunch until we got to this lovely photo.

We met up with everyone at Twin Donut, and I was so hungry I ended up eating half of Beth's donuts, even though I really hate donuts. But ultrarunners have to eat Twin Donut in NYC; it's kind of a rule. So I did.

Beth and I ran for a bit longer, than hopped on the subway. I got probably 14 + miles in for the day (when you counted getting lost) though some of that was falling into the snow (Does that count?) and then we took the super long journey of the 1 train back downtown.

Pancakes, eggs, tea, and relaxing...that's the rest of the day for me!

Get the Runner's High!

In college, we wanted to get t-shirts that said "L.S.D.: Get the Runner's High."

L.S.D. of course stands for Long Slow Distance!

Our coach wouldn't let us. But I still say to this day, running is a real high.

I definitely get an endorphin high, and whenever injured, feel down, depressed. Last time I couldn't run, I picked a fight with Wayne, cried for no reason, and ate too much food. From ages 17-22, I was a hardcore raver, but straight-edge - I never did any drugs or drank. My friends didn't understand. Why would I need to - I had fun and if I wanted to feel great, I just ran.

But sometimes, we get high when we run. It's a natural, uncontrollable high....and then of course, we hallucinate sometimes, so it's kind of like drugs. Just much better for you.

I first started noticing how running altered my mind and my body in weird ways. I remember running back to my parents' house in high school; I never carried keys because I'd just ring the bell - they were usually home. And standing at the door, ringing the bell repeatedly (because that's the way we do things in my family!), I remember feeling my legs move up and down and suddenly confused that they were no longer running.

At Iron Horse 100k, I stopped and stretched a bunch. I'd lean over, and the ground would almost COME UP at me - it would be moving and swaying. Do you know what I mean? Wow, how interesting the dirt is!

I also have a tendency to hallucinate a lot more than others. At Croatan 24 hour two years ago, Wayne said, "Will you please stop telling me what you see - it's freaking me out." Thanks, darling.

I wonder what causes more hallucinations. More wobbly leg feelings. More visions. I know it's the more running, but why do I hallucinate more than some of my other friends?

Caumsett 50k: Why Not?

I signed up for the Caumsett 50k, with the intention of running a fast 50k. That did not happen, but I did have fun!

The day before the race, I was doing the best run my running club offers (You run over the Williamsburg Bridge and then everyone gets coffee and tea and hangs out. Yay!) and Mary and I were chatting, running an okay pace - not too fast, not too slow. Suddenly my hamstring began hurting me. Stupid ego got in the way - I was with my running club, I couldn't walk! - and it was WAY too cold to not be running with what I've worn, and I ran with pain the rest of the way. Then we sat with our tea talking for a long while and Wayne picked me up in his car. Hmmm, bad sign.

The rest of the day, I headed to the Russian Banya for Menachem's birthday where we sat in steam rooms, drank tea and fresh juices, and relaxed. I tried to stretch.

I woke up the morning, and did a test run a few blocks away. No pain. After talking with my coach the illustrious Ray K., I decided to take it easy. Run when I could, walk when I couldn't.

Very serious at the start of our 50k!

Mary and I ran the first 12 miles together. We had a lot of fun, talking, sharing stories, walking the hills due to pain in both our hamstrings (my right, Mary's left). Some snotty woman was like, "What, are you walk-running?" Mary responded, "No, we're injured."

Mary was in a lot of pain and wanted to drop out. She decided to walk a lap and then ended up running again and finishing not that long after me. Yay, Mary!

It wasn't until the halfway point when I thought, "Yes, yes, I can finish this." My hamstring was hurting me, but I walked many of the small hills which gave me a good rest.

The course is flat with a few small hills, and a 5k loop that you do 10k. It's nice to not need to carry a water bottle or much food. They have two water stops, and the main aid station has lots of food, including CAKE!

I notice 8-something miles as I was toward the end - not bad for a semi-injured runner! I finished in 5:18 and was very pleased. I stretched, ate a bit, and then headed home for a session in the bathtub with lots of Epsom salts and some stretching. What a fun day with great crowd support, a John Budge to help with scoring, and good friends en route!

Papa, My Dear

My Papa died three and a half years ago. I still miss him.

I went down to visit my Gram and it's funny how pain recedes, but often flashes so fresh in certain instances. 

Gram still keeps his sweater hanging off the back of the chair. Greg, their neighbor, who died last year after a long, painful struggle with bone cancer, used to call him "pinky" because of it. Gram also has his ashes in the house, and his leopard-print Snuggie that my sister and I bought him because he was always cold.

Three and a half years ago, I talked to my Papa the day before I left for Burning Man. He was in the hospital, but moving to a rehab center. He sounded in good spirits. I told him to feel better, and that I loved him.

And then I went to my favourite week of the year, to Home. I thought of him, but I wasn't worried. He was getting better.

Thursday morning, while I biked with my good friend Rachelle to the Black Rock City Farmers Market, to much on carrots and pickled cauliflower and laugh and flirt and smile and be free, my dear Papa died. 

Gram was woken in the middle of the night, "Come quick; he's doing poorly." She sat by his side, watching her husband of so many years, of so much love and adoration, pass. He was unconscious, but she held his hand, whispering, "I love you." In reply, he squeezed her hand.

That night, while my Papa rest in a funeral home somewhere, and my family members suffered, I biked deep into the playa, shimmering in sparkles. I went to the temple and wrote on the wall. "Papa, I don't want you to be in pain anymore. Please get stronger and happy. I love you." It was impossible for me to know that he had died. He was already gone. Without cell phone service, reality was lost.

I left the playa, full of love and light. While Rachelle was driving, I called my mother.

"Is everyone okay?"

"How was it?"

"Is everyone alive?"

"Did you have fun?"

"Mom - did anyone die?"

"Papa."

With that, my world collapsed. My beloved Papa...The pain ripped through my whole body as I began bawling with a force that left me feeling ill.

I texted my boss, who was so understanding and told me to take all the time I needed. I went home, and cried, and washed my clothes, and cried. My sister flew to NY and we drank and I cried and I cried.

I flew to Florida to visit my Gram; she was holding up well. I slept in my Papa's side of their bed but couldn't really sleep. I'd wake up at 4 or 5am every day and head out for long runs,  five, six hours. I'd stop and fill my water bottle in parks along A1A, and cry. I'd hold it up in front of her, and play Rummicube, helped her go through his stuff. It was just so sad how much love she had for all his items, when I knew it would go to a thrift store where no one would care about it or know what a sweet man he had been. I hugged my Gram and tried to keep in most of my tears as we threw away medication, old shoes, and rearranged things. She was keeping busy.

When I got to the airport, they told me my flight was cancelled. I had to get back to NY the next day; I had a presentation at work. More than that, all the pain began leaking. I bawled at the ticket counter. Somehow I got on a plane and got home.

"My papa died," I told the guy on the plane next to me.

"I'm sorry about your father."

"No, he was my grandfather. And he was wonderful."

And he was. I miss him still, every day. I wish I could get a sloppy kiss on the cheek from him, give him a hug, hear his thick British accent. Even in death, love still doesn't die.

I love you, Papa.

Can I bottle up moments like these and savor them at a later date?

The subway was made for dancing.

And meeting strangers.

And being completely overwhelmed by the music.

Enjoying the moment.

Trains flying under your feet.

And my feet never skip a beat.


Michael has been putting on the amazing Silent Disco Parties for a while. The idea is brilliant - everyone wears wireless headphones with two channels, and dances. No one else is subjected to noise, so no one is disturbed, conversations are easy - thus leading to the mobile silent disco parties. Brilliance.

After dinner and wine with Menachem and Beth, Beth and I hopped in Colin's car and headed over to the loft to pick up our headphones. It was a smaller group, full of amazing people.

The music was amazing. My feet ache from dancing. On the subway, passengers would watch, amused. We'd share our headphones, and they'd bop along, loving the music. I felt so free, dancing, letting the music invade my soul. I was nearly sober (Just had a small bit of alcohol, not enough to make my tipsy.) but the music was infatuating and overwhelming me. It was taking over. I was music.

I danced, arms lifted, embracing the strangers, the love, the energy, the view from the bridge. It was beautiful, only in a way that the unexpected can be.

If life isn't about dancing late at night on subways, then I don't want to hear about it. This is my life.

A Slice

Covered in sparkles, re-reading William S. Burrough's The Yage Letters. Waiting for the G.

"Excuse me, I didn't think angels walked on earth," mumble mumble mumble.

He was so young - maybe 17. With shyness, and an awful pickup line. He told me I was beautiful, asked me my name, my age. And suddenly, for the first time ever, the G arrived on time. I ran to the front, with my book, and thought, "These moments won't happen forever. I'm not sure what they are, but they are temporary."

And, feet aching from dancing, I sat and I read.

Iron Horse 100k: A Good, Painful Kick in the Butt

Tears. Pain. Suffering. Agony. Swollen feet. Sugar sand. Palm trees. Friendship. Getting lost.

And that sums up Iron Horse 100k!

I went into the race, thinking it would be my kick-my-butt-back-into-shape race. When I was in Colombia, I ran daily but minimally; I ran generally around an hour a day. I ran 90 minutes once or twice. Then I flew back into NYC winter of snow and ice and cold cold cold - so training was greatly reduced and miserable. Very sad.

I headed down to FL to visit my Gram, see some friends (Jessica & Chris) and help with a Chaos Cooking. 

As Jessica and I drove to the race, it began to downpour. I could barely see the road; I didn't want to run in it. Ugh. Luckily, the rain had stopped by the time we began running.

Jessica was to crew me and pace me at the end and chill out with the runners; she hadn't been running for a while so was looking for a bit of inspiration. Chris let me store my gear in his car during the race (so it wouldn't get soaked on should it downpour again) and was also the Medical Director of the IH100.

The course was different this year. You head out and run 1.75 miles on a paved bike path, then turn around. You arrive back at the start and run about 2 miles on the same paved bike path (but in the opposite direction) and then turn and head onto a sandy trail. Then you do two different lollypop loops in the woods, and then head back out on the sand trail to the paved path - and that is a total of 25 miles. If you do the 100k, you have a weird turnaround but everyone runs the same race.

The aid stations are pretty basic, the volunteers uber-polite high school kids ("Can I get you water, ma'am?" Ma'am? What?! I'm such a New Yorker.), the trail pretty and a little static scenery. It was a nice race; I did it last year and I wouldn't mind doing it again.

I started out feeling good. It was a little chilly, but not bad. I had arm warmers on, and a long sleeved tee that I took off after a few miles.

I felt good and then after around 20  miles, I was running with a girl named Megan in the 100 miler. We saw a pink ribbon on a tree on either side of a gap, so we assumed we entered and ran on in. After a while, we saw some other pink ribbons so figured we were on course. Not so. According to my watch, we ran over 2.22 miles extra. Ugh. It took us a while to figure it out, and the ribbons I saw were faded pink - so probably up from last year or another event. UGH.

After getting lost, despite having led the 100k that entire way, I felt mentally defeated. Being a lollypop course, I saw how many people had passed me in the time I got lost. My head was lost.

I really was miserable but Chris made me smile.

I got back to the start/finish in tears. Jessica and Chris cheered me up and I was pretty low. I headed out for another loop.

I started to perk up. This wasn't so bad. I'd pick it up. Maybe even get my 100k lead back if I really felt good? Unfortunately, I crashed into the second loop. I had my ipod in my pocket for "emergencies" such as this. I slipped my headphones into my ears as tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

I ran. I stopped and stretched. I walked a baby hill. I stretched. I ate a gel. I ran, walked, stretched, cried.

And then Major Lazer came on with "Watch for This" and I began dancing. Why the hell not? My race was shot. Why not have fun? 

I came into the aid station again with just 12.5 miles. I asked Jessica to please pace me the entire rest of the way. "I'm run-walking. Please. You can keep up."

And she did. We talked, told stories, chatted about Burning Man, about running, love, families, work, life. The moon rose in the sky as we plodded on and I felt sick. Thank you, Port-a-Potty-Gods (or the RD, Chris) for placing a port-a-potty right by the aid station.

And then I stumbled into the finish. I was so relieved to be done. I think I was second woman? Another buckle (yep, this 100k gives you a buckle), some food, and of course, a mandatory stop at Dairy Queen.

What did I learn? I'm out of shape. I'm going to use the next few weeks to gear up, to train myself as hard as I can. Also, when it sucks, blast Major Lazer. And dance when you can't run.

Winter Misery Land

Some people love winter. They love snow, they love skiing, they love the cold.

I am not one of those people.

I hate the cold. I hate snow and ice. I hate winter. I don't like skiing - I've never tried it but I know I won't like it because it's in the cold. Ever since I got frostbite nearly three years ago, I especially hate running in the cold. My feet turn numb and everything becomes painfully cold rather fast - within an hour - so racing in the north during cold temperatures are pretty impossible.

I missed the "Polar Vortex" of cold in NYC when I was in Colombia, but we've still had some cold temperatures. And snow. And ice. And yes, NYC normally gets some of it, but not all of it at once, and in such a miserable way.

My training has gone to hell. I hate the treadmill and don't understand how some of my friends can do things like set records and run for 12 hours on a treadmill. I'd rather run 24 hours outdoors. As much as I hate the cold, I curse the treadmill.

On the super cold days, I layered up. Dress tights, running tights, thick wool socks, a sports bra, t-shirt, three long-sleeved shirts, a running jacket, buff, hate, super warm mittens. I feel puffy and find running difficult. But I do it anyway. Slowly. Ugh.

Icy days are the ones I must head to the treadmill. I do a max of an hour on the treadmill (I tried 90 minutes and only made it 85), and then will hit up the rowing machine and the elliptical too. Time on your feet, I tell myself.

When I run outside, even when the sidewalks are clear and I'm running, I'll get to an intersection and there will be piles of snow that I'll have to slow down and navigate. Sometimes I'll run to McCarren Park where I can run mostly uninterrupted, as they plow that pretty well.

What can I do? I do the best I can. But right now, it's not enough. It's too miserable. I know there are many worse place to live (Alaska? Yukon? All those northern places where the snow keep falling in depths of FOUR FEET and schools are closed because "it's too cold.") for me - I'm sure they are lovely in summertime, but I really don't like winter. If I did adore NYC as much as I did, I would be out of here in a second. But still, I'm pondering escape routes from the cold.

What We All Need in Life

Thanks to Pomsey for sending this quote:


"There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones who don't. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living."

--Jose N. Harris

A Burning Man Video: Because Sometimes You Need a Break

What Sexual Harassment Really Is Like

The men in my life don't really get what sexual harassment is like. They never can. Sometimes they get a taste of it - like when my dad and I were chatting on the phone as I walked to the library and he heard me curse out someone. Or when they see me upset and hear the stories after.

This video really upset me. I have been in places like this - not had a knife to my neck, but I have been taunted, followed, teased. And when I reject advances, I've been called ugly, stupid, bitch, whore, slut, cunt. 

So men, if you don't really get it, watch this video. You may start to understand the everyday hell that many women experience.

Believe

I'm under the light, believing

How to Buy Burning Man Tickets

People have been asking me about how to buy Burning Man tickets, and as the RD of the Burning Man Ultramarathon, I've answered this question many times. Here's what I hope is a slightly-easier-to-understand explanation.

Directed Group Sales
Are you a core part of a critical theme camp or some other important project on playa? If so, you received an email to invite you to be a part of these from your group leader (camp or project). You'll know if you are a part of this. After you created your Burner Profile, you will be able to buy tickets at noon PST on the 12th of February.

General Ticket Sales
First, create a Burner Profile.

Next, between February 20 and February 23, you have to REGISTER to buy tickets. Not buy, but register to enter the sale.

Then, on February 26, starting at noon PST, you can then buy tickets - if you did everything.

Read the full ticket information very, very slowly. And then hold your breath. Let it go because you may have to wait. You may wait in virtual line for over three hours. It is a little overwhelming, but once you get the ticket, it's only seven or so more months of waiting. Woohooo!

Note, everyone needs tickets - even if you are just running the ultra. Even I buy tickets as the Race Director.

"I'd Like You to Meet Amanda."

My bursitis grew. I could feel the lump in my knee, and knew it was bigger, despite Wayne saying it wasn't. But Wayne would probably not notice if I shaved my head, so I didn't trust Wayne. I made an appointment with the awesome Dr. Marci Goolsby, and because I was afraid perhaps I couldn't run after, I ran to my appointment. I drank three glasses of water after I entered her office, and she confirmed my thoughts that it had grown bigger.

She told me they could drain the bursitis, but they didn't need to. "You have a 70% chance of it not coming back. So even if I drain it, it might re-inflate. Oh, and you have to take some time off of running?"

"How much?"

"Not long. Maybe a couple of days."

"Um, so I wouldn't be able to run home?"

"I really wouldn't recommend that. It might re-inflate sooner."

"And it hurts?"

"Not that much."

"Hmmm...I want to run home. Maybe I won't get it drained."

"You don't need to - it's annoying and the appearance are the main reasons people get it drained. But if you're fine, keep it. Name it."

I say the first thing that pops into my head. "This is Amanda."

"Nice to meet you, Amanda."

"It's Probably Not Gout."

"Hold on a minute; I want to do some research on tropical diseases, and then I'll be right back."

I waited in my shorts at the sports doctor's office for about 15 minutes, reading The Lost City of Z as the paper on the table stuck to my lower thighs. I'd be back a week, getting back into life, work, running, when I noticed a weird lump on my knee. "Marshmallow knee," Wayne baptised it, but I called it "Water balloon knee" in my head. I stopped running, worried, and was forced to stay in shape by cross-training at the gym (which was honestly not such a terrible thing in the bitter, horrendous cold we have been having here in NYC).

"You don't have a history of gout in your family, do you?" said the doctor when she returned.

"Um, no. Not that I know of."

After my knee was proclaimed okay, and that draining it was only optional, I headed back to the subway. My head was in a fog, perhaps damaged by the cold, and maybe the lack of oxygen my body was getting as a result of my asthma. (Actually, I don't think my asthma was that bad. But it was brutally cold.)

Bundled up for winter running. I hate the cold.

I got on the subway. I had a lot of unanswered questions in my head. I wasn't really sure if my knee would hurt while running, but there's only one way to find out: try. I had a lot of other unanswered questions, mainly, the cliched, "What am I doing with my life?" You know - why I am not writing; career questions; location questions. A big issue I have is the cold - I love New York City, love my lifestyle, my friends, my family, my community, my neighborhood. But since I got frostbite a few years back, my feet get cold very fast and it can be quite unbearable. It's also very painful. And sometimes, I want a different life - more relaxing, more quiet, more peace, warmer. I like being outdoors in gardens, sitting in the sun, enjoying nature. Maybe New York's not the best place for me? Or do I want to give everything up and travel for a while - but then what? I can't do that forever.

I ended up taking the 7 train in the wrong direction. I was confused as why we were at 5th Avenue instead of Vernon Jackson. Then I stood in the bus in the cold, waiting, tears in my eyes as my toes grew more and more painful. Ray cheered my thoughts as his voice rattled in my phone about a 24 hour race he was planning on putting on so I could hopefully qualify for World Championships.

Nothing is solved, but it's another day, not a terrible one, and I'll keep moving ahead, hoping to figure things out soon.

Reflections on Colombia

Do I like Colombia? Everyone kept asking me. Yes, but it wasn’t my favourite country.

I found the people overall to be very rude and aggressive. They’d shove you. They would accidentally kick you and not apologize, even if you made a yelp in pain. They’d cut you in line.

But some of them, individually, were friendly, asking questions about you and where you came from.

There were offers to buy coke. I didn’t accept any of them, but yes, it’s there.

I didn’t have any security issues, but on my last night in the hostel, I heard of two people getting their daypacks (with all this credit cards, passport, etc) stolen from the seat next to them at the airport while they were there.

I felt unsafe at times, but that’s mostly because I was so paranoid. I mainly felt safe. My unsafe feeling was my nervousness because of all the warnings.

The country is pretty, the climate and environment diverse.

Arepas really are best when you get them on the street. In restaurants, they tend to be dry and flavorless.

Juices are amazing and I tried to drink as many as I could. The cheapest I paid was 50 cents for a maracuya juice.

The fruits are unlike anything I’ve ever tried. They were lovely.

The mosquitoes were lethal.

It gets cold in the tropics, sometimes.

You find yourself as you get lost in the city streets.

Bogota, the Final Time

I arrived in Bogota off a mini-bus, and met a girl at the bus station who was going to my hostel. We shared a cab.

I didn’t do too much on my final day; I walked around the streets, taking in the square, Calle 7, eating salted freshly-made plantain chips. I went back to my hostel, where we swapped travel stories, ate a barbeque, and then, it was time for a few hours of sleep before my flight.

The airport was a chaotic mess. I waited in line, found out I had to go pay a tax, went to pay it and then learned I wasn’t in the country long enough so I didn’t have to pay. I went back in the original line and then answered a lot of questions about my bag and security. Then I went to another line and this guy tried to make me print out my boarding pass but the machine sucked and he singled me out because I was American. I just wanted to have someone help me in person because I had a question about my ticket. Then you give your bag to someone and then they bring it to you when you check in. Then you have immigration and then you are in Duty-Free, where I bought some cheap liquor and had a breakfast.

It’s sad – it took me longer than normal to get into this trip, and I think the main thing this trip has left me with is a lot of questions. What do I want to do with my life? How much more do I want to travel? Is this all worth it? What should I do next? I am left with even more questions, and no answers, but it will figure itself out eventually. I hope. And if not, I’ll sling my backpack over my shoulder and head out to another country to find more questions and more answers.

The Charming Villa de Leyva

I had wanted to go to Barichara, but didn’t have enough time, so I ended up in Villa de Leyva – and I’m so glad. What a great place.

It was a gorgeous, charming little colonial town. There were some museums in town, but just wandering the gorgeous cobblestoned streets, stopping in cafes, or shops is likely to be enough.

I barely caught the express bus (Liberatadores) and sat next to a friendly Colombian woman who kept trying to give me food. When I arrived, I couldn’t find a cab right away, and then I found a chatty driver. The road to the hostel seems desolate and dark and scary and I was worried about express kidnappings and such – but no, he was a good man and I got to my hostel, Renacer Guesthouse. It was a great hostel/hotel/guesthouse, and the on-site café was great because it meant you didn’t need to walk the 1.2km into town.

My first night, I chatted with other backpackers, ate a rather salty but good falafel from the café, and passed out pretty early.

In the morning, I got up and ran an hour and a half, ate again in the café, and went to do a lovely hike just beyond the hostel. You get to see three miradors, and a small waterfall. On my way up, I met some rather friendly English backpackers. We hiked it together, laughing and talking the whole way. After, I went back to my hostel, swapped my stuff, and headed out to walk around the town. It was gorgeous. I tried to sort out my bus ticket for the following day, but you can’t buy it until the next day. I went to sit on the bus to Santa Sofia. After waiting an hour, I realized the bus would take forever and I wanted to do a lot. So I hopped in an 18,000 peso cab ride and headed out to the ruins. It’s a small site, but almost all of the ruins are phallic sculptures. When the guy at my hostel told me about it, he said “las ruinas son penises.” Yep, Spanglish. I wandered around, but it’s pretty small, so after taking some phallic photos, I confirmed my directions with the guards, and headed to the next site, Pozos Azules (a set of five small gorgeous lakes of a lovely turquoise colour – unfortunately that did not come across in photographs). After walking for a bit, I asked a guy working at the antique car park for directions and he verified. Okay, so this desolate way is the right way. I came to a fork and took the one the cabbie told me about but it seemed wrong. I went into someone’s house where there were geese quacking all over the lawn. Yep, keep going. I kept going. I was supposed to take another fork after a bridge; I saw a fork but no bridge. I took it, nervously. Then I walked for a long time without seeing anyone. Finally, I saw a bunch of people working in an onion field. Yuck. I asked them to verify I was going the right way, and they told me to keep going and ask at the Fossil Museum. This was new. When I got to the Fossil Museum, I should have continued straight but went to the museum, which was small and not fantastic. Then I got new directions from the staff of the fossil museum, which I verified with a jewelry seller. Still, I wasn’t convinced. It was desolate. I yelled at a house where I saw someone on the terrace; the woman yelled to keep going. Turns out, I was sent on a back road that was an okay way to go, faster than the way I was told about earlier. Finally, I found a parking lot and asked where Pozos Azules were. “Aqui.” I had arrived.

I walked down into the lakes and they were gorgeous. There were just a few people there, so I sat for a bit and wrote in my journal and meditated on the beauty of the lake. After a while, I headed out on the road to walk another 1k or 2k (I probably ended up walking 15k that day; I spent most of my day walking.) to Casa Barro, a house made entirely from mud. Mud furniture, mud steps, mud shelves. Well, not really mud, but clay. It was gorgeous, and inspired from Gaudi. The bathrooms were gorgeous with lovely tiles and small squares of mirrors.

After I left, a man in his seventies began chatting me up in Spanish. He was really friendly, and we conversed for a while. He told me about the history of Villa de Leyva and we discussed the atrocities committed by missionaries to the indigenous people who wouldn’t convert. Horrifying. Then he gave me a fist bump and a kiss on the cheek and I walked back to town.

I had a lovely dinner, stopped in some shops, and then chilled at the hostel, chatting w other backpackers until the morning.

In the morning, I went for another lovely run on cobblestone, and then had a long wander around town. I stopped at the market, eating avocados, buying  bocadillos, enjoying the sites. I had a final maracuya juice, and then I went to the bus station. The direct bus was sold out, but I got a seat on a minibus that arrived rather fast. 

Amazon - It Likes to Draw You Back

I’ve been to the Amazon in Brazil out of Manaus, and when I went to Peru, I did two different trips out of Puerto Maldonaldo. But still, I wanted to go again.

After this trip, I found the guides lackluster and a lot of it to be repeats, same old, same old. I don’t think I’ll go back to the Amazon in the same way, but I still find it so thrilling, gorgeous, and charming.

I went out with Amazon Jungle Tours – mainly because they were the only ones who emailed me back. I would recommend them, as I found the guides to be lazy, wanting to rest for any hours instead of doing lots of stuff. But still, there were some great moments….

·         Awesome trek where we hiked at day and night and saw baby tarantulas and lots of other bugs

·         Pink dolphins. Do I need to say more?

·         Grey dolphins.

·         Lots of monkeys, swinging and eating. They are so cute.

·         Too many mosquitoes. UGH. Bites everywhere. Impossible. Ouch. Ugh.

·         Caimans.

·         Sunset boat rides.

·         Swimming in “Lucky Lake.”

·         Caipirnhas.

·         Chilling in the hammocks.

·         Scary spiders

You can’t help but be charmed by the water, the houses, the mud, everything. People live very differently out there – with little electricity, boating as a way of getting around, bugs everywhere. I’m not sure I could live there.

Leticia....A Taste of the Jungle Indeed

Leticia is not a town you plan to hang out in long, but circumstances might force you to.

I had two nights in Leticia, and that was plenty – one before my trip into the jungle, one after. I booked a room at Mahatu Hostel, which is really a great place to stay. The owner is pretty friendly and helpful and the grounds are great – you can swim in the pool, row in the lake, walk around by the plants. I had a private room my first night and stayed in a “treehouse” the second time. Both were fine.

When I got into Leticia, I paid for my tour (though I wish I didn’t – that’s a later story!), and then got to my hostel. I chatted a bunch with Gustavo, and then a Kiwi guy, Jeff, mentioned he was hungry. So was I – so we went out to pizza together. We split a pizza at a place close to the border, and chatted and laughed. Then we decided to walk across the border to Brazil.

Normally, United States citizens need a visa to Brazil. Mine expired a year ago, but luckily, the borders are fluid in these border towns and you don’t need passports or visas to enter.

Jeff and I walked and talked. I immediately noticed differences – Portuguese instead of Spanish, acai for sale (and randomly also, showing how close we were to Peru, Inca Cola!), different music, slightly different styles. It was really neat to see.

We walked for a long time, losing ourselves in conversation. Finally, Jeff pointed out that we should probably turn around. After walking for a few minutes, a downpour began. A torrential downpour.  Jeff and I hid underneath an overhang with some others doing the same, in front of some sort of Brazilian security building. They watched the rain with us.

It didn’t let up. No cabs passed. The Brazilian security dudes tried to call me a cab, but they didn’t answer. Finally, I ran across the street in the rain, where I persuaded some random kid studying to be a flight attendant to give us a ride back across the border for 10,000 pesos.

I went to my room in the hostel, and organized everything for my trek. Then, the next morning, when I woke up, it was STILL pouring. I really wanted to go running – I knew I wouldn’t be able to on my trek, so I pulled on flipflops – because the streets were like rivers, and set out for a pouring rain run. It was actually not too bad.

Then I went on my trek for a few days with Amazon Jungle Tours (I’ll write a separate post about them, but I don’t recommend taking them), and came back. I came into the port at Tabatinga, where I was supposed to be picked up by my tour group. When they never showed, I climbed on the back of some guy’s motorcycle, strapped on a helmet, and went to the Tour Center. I got my bag, got another motorcycle ride to my hostel , and checked in. I talked with Gustavo about my tour, changed into running clothes, gave them my laundry, and went out for a run. On my run, I ended up buying a machete as a present for Wayne, and ran my run feeling a little safer. Unfortunately, the motorcycles were insane and it was too scary and dangerous to run long.

When I got back to my hostel , a big group of people were going out to dinner, so I jumped in the shower, and tagged along. We got the “comida corriente” for 7,000 pesos, which wasn’t too bad. The other people were traveling for a year or so around South America, and I was very jealous. I wish I could do that. Then I went back to the hostel, organized my stuff, used the crappy internet, and went to sleep. In the morning, I ran for 10 miles, visited Museo Etnografica Amazonico, stressed about my delayed laundry, and ran to the airport.

Leticia, you’re just okay, but it was nice knowing you.

Bogota, Segunda Vez

Wonderful – Bogota!

Sad – goodbyes.

We landed in Bogota in the early evening, and after a long wait for our baggage, we took a cab with a rather chatty cab driver who told us that he worked in a carwash outside of NYC in the early eighties. Then we checked into Abadia Colonial Hotel, which was very pretty and comfortable, though cold. (Our verdict – the hotels need heat in Bogota. They are always freezing, which is why we spent some time snuggling and reading under blankets in Bogota during our first visit.) We hopped back out in another cab – to Zona Rosa and more specifically, Zona T – clubs and restaurants.

We walked around, again, amazed with the clubbing scene. “We’re not dressed cool enough to get into these clubs,” I fretted to Wayne. After popping in a few shops, we decided to go to eat. “Let’s go to Wok; Andres [our Colombian friend we met on the trek] says it’s great.” Indeed, they had an entire vegetarian section, but somehow, we ended up not eating off that menu, as due to a language snafu (Um, my Spanish isn’t that great.), we ended up on the 3^rd floor: Japanese, which normally I hate.

However, they had a ton of yummy vegetarian things on the menu, and with four small bottles of warm sake, everything is good. We spent hours laughing, talking, sharing our dreams, eating, drinking. It was so nice to really spend so much time, with so much free time, outside of the streets of work and other BS, to bond and get closer.

All those sakes later, we were tipsy. We walked around a while more. We felt boring for not wanting to visit clubs, but really, we were tipsy enough and fairly tired. We hopped in a cab and headed for our hotel.

In the morning, we headed out for a run, during which I took a bunch of photos of the anti-violent and revolutionary street art. Then we headed up to Chapinero to look around, but we clearly were not in the cool part of the neighborhood, and we hopped in another cab to Zona Rosa. All the shops were closed , and we found an overpriced restaurant to have eggs Florentine and eggs Benedict in, and drink mimosas. Wayne bought a hoodie (And warning to those going to Colombia: if you want to use your credit card in a store, you need to bring ID. Argh.). Then, we hopped in another cab to Candelaria and wandered the streets, looking for ice cream. Eventually, we found a place and got a banana split.

After I got my bag at the hotel (Wayne’s flight home to NYC was later in the evening; I was flying to Leticia for an Amazon trip that afternoon.), I began bawling. I know I’ll see him a week, but this trip has been an amazing reconfirmation of what a wonderful relationship we have, and how much I love him. It was SO hard to say goodbye.

Oh Medellin, What a Dream....

As soon as Wayne and I landed, we were in love. The valleys. The mountains. The green. So pretty. So clean. A great city.

We landed on New Year’s Day, which is a terrible day to be a traveler. It’s a day to recover from your hangover, or travel, or just read books. Most things were completely closed, which was a little sad, but it was okay. We figured things out.

We were starving, and after checking into the super stylish and wonderful In House Hotel, Wayne and I wandered around until we found food. Most restaurants were closed, but we found an amazing Italian one, and filled ourselves with food. We walked around the streets, peering in closed store windows and plotting where we would go shopping and visiting once they were open.

The altitude smacked me in the face, making me sleepy. I napped while Wayne figured out how to get to the Festival of Lights and what we should do in town. We headed out on the long walk down to the Metro and then, WOW. Basically, they cover the river on both sides with crazy Christmas lights and decorations, and over the river, they hang lights to look like stars, or glowing candle lights. Truly amazing. But what really was overwhelming was the vastness of everything – people selling everything you could possibly want (or not), from popcorn to giant hot dogs to aguardiente to arepas to mangos to annoying noise makers to balloons to handmade taffy to cotton candy to helado to chocolate covered apples. It was really intense – with the lights and the people, it reminded us of Burning Man.

The next day, after sleeping lots, we took the Metro downtown and took some photos in Botero Plaza – really beautiful. Then we walked around the streets, and Wayne bought a pair of pants. Then, we headed over to the Botanic Gardens and had lunch at the café, but didn’t stay at the gardens – we finally got an email to head up for paragliding.

Paragliding is wonderful – you are flying, you see the world in a new different perspective. I thought, “Those look like toy horses. Did the creator of toy horses go paragliding?” Really beautiful waterfall. Very amazing.

The negative is that from Medellin, you have to take the Metro to Caribe, wander around Terminal Norte until you find ticket counter #11. Then you take a bus abt 45 minutes up. Then you wait around. We spent about 20 minutes paragliding, but we left the Gardens at 1pm and got back to our room at 7:30pm, so it was a long day for not a lot of activity.

Also fail – our bus driver was out of it, so I didn’t get to tell him exactly where we were going. Then I saw a paragliding school, yelled, and Wayne and I jumped out. Turns out, this school was the wrong one – and closed. Ours was 10-15min drive up the road – and it was too curvy and dangerous to walk. A local guy took pity on us and took turns giving us motorcycle roads up the mountain to the other school. It was scary and amazingly fun and gorgeous. As I waved goodbye to Wayne and headed up the mountains, clutching the back of a complete stranger, all I could think was, “I hope he doesn’t murder me.” He didn’t, and made the day a lot more fun.

We ate fantastic veggie burgers at Lentejas Express, and were so tired, we went to sleep after taking a nice walk around the neighborhood.

The next day was incredible. After running, Wayne and I took the train, then transferred to the in-Metro gondola. WOW. Then we hopped on another gondola and ended up in this amazing park on the top of these mountains outside of Medellin. The views were glorious. We weren’t outfitted properly (I was wearing a sleeveless dress (in the chill) and ballet flats, and Wayne had on his nice dress boots.), but we still did a bit of hiking and talking and enjoying the day. I bought a knit hat from a vendor to keep myself warmer, and they had lots of great vendors, so ended up buying some pressies for friends back home. There was an incredible vegetarian restaurant (set menu – 8,500 pesos) with grass and flowers growing on the roof. Then we took the gondolas back, which was less of a mess of lines and crowds.

We went to the Botanic Gardens, which were free. We took photos, admired the plants, and really enjoyed the gardens. Then, we hopped back on the Metro and went out shopping in El Poblado.

El Poblado is one of the hippest neighborhoods in Medellin – great shops, restaurants, cafes. Wayne bought some clothes, so I was happy. I ended up finding this amazing shop where the woman handmakes all of the original lace dresses. I bought three. She was so friendly, we were chatting and she bought Wayne and I a beer (though I declined mine, as a non-beer drinker). I bought a purse for work, Wayne bought a print and some cards, I bought a shirt. We are never big shoppers on trip, so this was rather fun.

Then we dumped off our purchases at our hotel, and headed back up to El Poblado for dinner. We went to a wonderful pizza place (City Pizza?) on Calle 34. It was phenomenal. We ordered a Grande pizza, which I’m pretty sure if meant for a family, but we ate it all.

Then we explored the streets of Medellin – or rather, the party scene of El Poblado. We were amazed – the styles, the fashion, the clubs, the bars, the party scene, the crowds. We couldn’t decide where to go, but on the way, we found a stand-up bar on the sidewalk with 3 shots for 5,000 pesos. Yes, please. Finally, we find a restaurant/bar with a sidewalk spot, and we drank maracuya capiroskas and pina coladas while people watching. We got up and walked around some more, and then ended up at a cute bars, sitting on the street, drinking mojitos and margaritas way past when we should have been drinking them. The bar itself only existed on the sidewalk, so that shows you how nice Medellin’s weather is – if it was cold or rainy, people wouldn’t drink outside. And really, it’s never either in Medellin – they call it the city of the eternal spring, because it’s like lovely spring weather there all year long.

In the morning, we went downtown, looked at some art and sculptures, visited the library, walked around some really neat parks with places to “ground yourself.” Wayne and I took a cab over to the museum of modern art, which had some really neat displays, including a room with video displays so creepy I almost refused to enter. Then we walked around El Poblado some more, ate lunch at a delicious vegetarian café, and drank delicious tea at the Tea Market. I felt so sad leaving Medellin – but at least the airport (only nine years old) was fantastic, with great shops. I was able to buy a fabulous (and cheap!) pair of pants, which eased the sadness of the goodbye of the city.