Tuesday, October 14, 2008

42 km is still, indeed, far.

This weekend I had the pleasure of heading down to Victoria to run the full Royal Victoria marathon. But Sara, you say, you’ve already run one marathon this year. Wouldn’t another be a little much? To which I would reply, of course not! For a running junkie like myself, there’s no such thing as too much running.

Naturally, the weekend started off disastrously. I just got off a night shift on Saturday morning at 7:30 am, so I went home and we managed to get on the road relatively early. I zonked and slept in the car pretty much all the way to Victoria. We got to the Marriott, our home for the next 2 nights, and as we were getting our bags out of the car we realized we had left Glen’s at home. His bag was packed, sitting by the door ready to go, but we had gotten in the car without putting the bag in it. Curses! Luckily it was only a 2 day trip, so we decided he could live without it. We bought a few things at the store so he could get by. And for future reference, you can get deodorant, toothbrushes, razors, shaving cream, toothpaste, and all that other stuff you need all at the 7-11. Then when we went to pick up my race package, they had gotten my shirt wrong. I’d asked for a men’s small so I could get sleeves that were long enough, and they had re-interpreted that as a women’s small. I did manage to swap that after the race for one that did fit, though.


Now on to the race. I ran it in 4:20:26. It was faster than my personal best thus far, but not the 4:15 I had been hoping for. It was, however, the best I have felt throughout the course of a race. Ever. Really. One might ask how it’s possible to feel pretty good when you’re forcing your body to cover such an unnaturally and insanely long a distance as 42 km. I felt good for about 28 km, then the pain started to kick in, but that was okay. Pain I can deal with. Fatigue is worse, and I wasn’t feeling that just yet. Then somewhere around 32 km it started to feel like a slog and the fatigue started. But I’ve heard that the last 10 km are a slog for everyone, even those really experienced runners. Despite the slog, I never had the complete and utter despair set in like I have in my other 2 marathons. I never felt like I couldn’t cover the distance. I did feel like my legs were simply going to fall off and that I’d have to drag my body over the finish line sporting just bleeding stumps, but I never felt the complete and utter despair that I would never get to the finish line because it was, simply, too far. It was great. So despite the fact that I didn’t get the time I’d been hoping for, I’m quite satisfied with my run for how I felt throughout. And that’s what I’m going to remember about this race.

The Victoria marathon had fewer participants than the Vancouver marathon, so we all managed to get spread out pretty quickly. It was nice because there was far less people dodging throughout the race. I also particularly liked the course itself. There were a lot of twists and turns, and very few hills. I find the twists and turns help because you can’t see how much farther down the road you have to run. This helps in the last couple kilometres when you swear that the long stretch of road you can see ahead of you is never going to end. It’ll just keep going forever and you’ll die before you get to the end. That didn’t happen with this course, because it winds enough that you can’t see more than a couple blocks in front of you. And the hills that were there were small and short. Hills bad, flat good.

So now I shall recount all the little tidbits I feel are worth mentioning.

The Weather. The day before the race I was freezing. I don’t know if it was because I was tired or if it actually was cold out, but I was dreading waking up early so I could get out in the frigid morning weather and run for nearly 4 ½ hours. It just didn’t particularly sound like a super-fun Sunday morning. Then came the decision: tank top, t-shirt, or long sleeves. Well, it’s not quite winter so the long sleeves were out right away, but I figured it was cold enough for a t-shirt. I did bring a long sleeved shirt that I wore until I warmed up, and promptly ditched when I felt it wasn’t needed anymore. This is a trick a lot of runners use, you just get an old shirt you don’t want anymore and ditch it when you get warm enough. Little did I know just how enjoyable it would be when I did dump the shirt. It was very satisfying, just taking off a piece of clothing and tossing it on the ground, never to be seen again. I highly recommend this if you’re not sure of the weather on race day. The weather turned out to be perfection, and we couldn’t have asked for better. It was slightly cloudy but the sun did come out a few times, but not for long, and not long enough to make it hot out.


My support crew. I take my own water and fuel during my runs. This gets a little complicated when it’s a full marathon and my fuel belt simply doesn’t carry enough for the whole race. So I had to figure out a way to get Glen somewhere out along the race route to swap me some bottle so I’d have enough. We managed to get his bike into the car, and he rode out to close to the middle of the route so he could be there with my bottles when I came by. It worked perfectly. He even managed to get a couple good pictures in the process. These races would be so much more complicated if I didn’t have such a supportive husband, so thank you, Glen. I’d be lost without you. (The irony is that Glen will likely never read this blog even though I always send him the link. He’s lazy, and that includes reading.)

The crowds and the other runners. Major props must be given to the people of Victoria for being such an enthusiastic bunch. Some of them must have been clapping and yelling for 4 hours. It was amazing. And they’d yell out your name if you got close enough for them to read it off your race bib. And if you didn’t get close enough, they’d yell out some article of clothing. I think I got called “blue shorts” about 4 times. Take a look at the picture and you’ll know where that comes from. It’s pretty hard to miss the blue shorts. Up to this point I had also never realized how much fun it was to be running a race where there are other people you know in it, and you actually see them along the course. I got a high-five from Linda, who I’m sure at the point I saw her didn’t have a whole lot of energy left, but it was awesome nonetheless. I yelled at Dawn, though I’m not sure if she heard me since she seemed pretty “in the zone” at the time. And I got a thumbs up from Coach Mark as he went by in the opposite direction, despite the fact that he looked pretty rough at the time. Sorry Mark, but you kinda did. And then there was the rest of the crew, parked up on a balcony at the Admirals hotel, who I could hear screaming from the street, despite the fact that they must’ve been three stories from the ground. Runners can be loud when they want to. Now if only they’d thought to toss me a beer…


Speaking of beer, the beer station was there again this year. I once again did not partake, but I definitely thought about it. Had they been about 5 km closer to the finish line there wouldn’t have been any thought involved. Oh, and the best part was there was a cop standing about 100 metres down the street directing traffic. Funny.


After the race, around 6 pm that night, just as Glen and I were about to head out for dinner, the power went out everywhere on the island south of Nanaimo. I still don’t know the cause, but when Glen and I did leave the hotel we had to take the stairs, and we were on the 5th floor. That was 5 very long floors I had to walk down, my friends. It wasn’t pretty. We thought when we got to the bar they’d just seat us and let us sit until the power came back on, but no such luck, so we were turned away and headed back to our hotel. We were almost back when the power came back on so we turned around and went back to the bar again. The beer was totally worth waiting for. Mmmm…

All in all, I had an excellent time in Victoria, despite forgetting Glen’s bag, a shirt that was the wrong size and a one hour power outage. It was a good weekend, and a good race. And also, I would like to point out, no new scars to add to my tally. So yes, a very good weekend. Stay tuned for my next great adventure!

Saturday, July 19, 2008

And Much Ground was Covered.

Greetings again, avid readers and fans! Welcome to another edition of what Sara did on vacation. In just the past few days I returned from a whirlwind week-long journey through Alberta for the purpose of running a half-marathon and spending a few days hiking with my family and a few new friends. Glen and I first drove to Calgary so I could run the half-marathon, then we headed-via Edmonton-to Mount Robson provincial park to hike the Berg Lake Trail.

This trip involved a lot of driving. And while I don’t mind the driving so much, it’s the nights and food stops in between that generally hold the story. On the way to Calgary we stopped in Golden for the evening, and ended up in a, umm, interesting motel just off the side of the highway. The room reeked of cigarettes, which the “charming” woman with the attached oxygen tank at the front desk somehow failed to mention. Then we walked down the road a ways to a place called Legendz Diner. It was, in fact, just what it advertised-a diner. Complete with greasy burgers and a healthy layer of grease covering everything else in said diner. But they were playing good tunes, so it was all good. On the way back to the Island from Mount Robson we somehow missed the Hole-In-The-Wall Restaurant, which may have been due to us cheering for the semi in front of us to pass the two RVs he and us were stuck behind. I will also mention the Old Caboose Restaurant in Clearwater. Delicious sandwiches. Should you ever be in Clearwater and feeling peckish, I would suggest a stop there. Let’s hope they’ve fixed the ice cream machine before you get there.

On to the half marathon. It was in Calgary during the stampede, and if you’ve never been to Calgary for Stampede, go. Seriously. Straw bales everywhere, and everyone, and I mean everyone, in a cowboy hat. And I love myself a cowboy. It was a delightful droolfest. Why the Calgary half, you ask? Well, my cousins Leah & Lori were running the full marathon and I thought it would be cool to be in the same race as them. I would’ve loved to have done the full marathon with them, but with the Robson hike looming the next day, the ability to walk the next day was a necessity. Had I been informed the full marathon finishers medals were, in fact, belt buckles, I would’ve said to hell with Robson and run the full. I finished in 2:01:41, which isn’t my fastest time, but I’m fairly pleased with it. I must admit that I didn’t train particularly hard for this one, so I think that’s a fairly good time given my training effort. I will now point out that Calgary, unlike Campbell River where I run right next to the ocean, is not at sea level. It’s actually 3557 feet above sea level. Altitude makes a difference to distance runners. You don’t’ have to believe me, ‘cause I know it’s true. There’s more oxygen at sea level. For the record, Leah came in at 3:29:18, and Lori was just behind at 3:41:19. One day I hope to be able to keep up with them. I may be 80 when this happens, but I’m okay with that.

The race was good, I don’t really remember much except trying to keep up with the damn 2 hour pace bunny. I couldn’t do it. He just kept passing me. But it turns out that wasn’t so bad, since Glen said he came in about 3 minutes before the 2 hour mark. He was still my nemesis on the course, though. Damn you pace bunny, damn you! The course even took us through the Calgary zoo and the Stampede grounds. It’s not every marathon you get to see monkeys watch you run, so props to the organizers for that bit of fun. When my mom and family planned on coming down to see me run, I demanded they bring signs. I was not disappointed. There were signs. It made me happy. And as it turned out, they were pretty much the only signs along the whole course. For me! Yay me!

After Calgary Glen and I headed up to Spruce Grove for the night, and the next morning out to Mount Robson for 5 nights and 6 days on the fabulous and picturesque Berg Lake Trail. There were 9 of us in total: Glen & me, My brother Beau and his Girlfriend Christy, my sister Jana and her (as of 2 days into the trip) finacee Jonathon, Jon’s cousin Kristy, Christy’s brother Rob, and his ex-girlfriend Tamara. We hiked 11 km on the first day to Whitehorn camp, then 10 km the second to Berg Lake camp. We spent 3 nights at Berg Lake, with 2 days for day hikes and chillin’, and then we hiked all the way out. We had planned an extra night on the way out at Whitehorn to make the trip out a bit easier, but there were a few people with pretty bad blisters that couldn’t face another chilly morning of putting their boots on, so we changed our plans and hiked the whole way out in one day. It was long and it hurt, but I think most people were happy to be back in civilization a day early. Most of us ended up with pretty bad hiker’s walk, too. I shall now piece the hike into my usual sections of amusement.

Jana and Jon, or as they are known in my house, “Janathon”. Jon came to me and Glen the first night at Whitehorn and showed us the ring he planned to give Jana on the edge of Berg Lake. He planned to wait for her to do her usual dip of the feet into the lake and propose to her. Apparently everyone but Jana knew, and once we got to Berg Lake we kept trying to get her to go down by the lake, but she wouldn’t take the bait. It was killing me and Christy that we knew but couldn’t say anything. Well, we finally got her down there near the end of the day, so now I have another wedding to attend sometime in the future.

The Weather. The weather was, well, miserable for most of the trip. The clouds were low, thus covering the mountain we had all come so far to see. And it kept raining on us. At one point we even had a little snow. Yes, snow. In July. It’s the Rockies, it happens. So we were cold. And we couldn’t really hang around outside. So we spent most of our time sitting in the cabin playing cards instead of basking in the beauty that is The Robson. But then, on our last day, just to tease us, the sky cleared and we got the most amazing view of the mountain. It’s like it knew we were leaving and didn’t want us to go. So we had one day of good weather, the day we left. But it was better than getting rained on the whole way out.

Food. Generally, on hiking trips, you go a bit hungry, since you don’t really want to have to carry enough food to keep you full the whole time. Mostly since food is heavy and you’ve gotta pack it all around on your back. But this was not the case on this trip. Apparently someone decided we were going to eat like kings. And eat we did. Spaghetti with actual spaghetti sauce-they poured spaghetti sauce into nalgene bottles and hiked it up the big hills-eggs, sausage, and granola bars. Lots of granola bars. 210 granola bars, to be exact. That worked out to 5 bars a day. I’m not sure who came up with that number, but I think they overestimated. Christy actually ended up giving about 20 to a family in the cabin with a couple of young kids. And we still had leftovers. Luckily, Christy’s brother Rob is nothing but stomach. Which is weird, since he looks like he’s about 130 lbs soaking wet. But if there was food left over, Rob would eat it. It was rare to see him around camp without a half-eaten piece of beef jerky or granola bar in his hand.

The singing. A grand Damgaard family tradition, dating back to the first days of the first Robson trip. Generally, you just burst into song whenever you feel like it. On the trail, in the outhouse, while cooking dinner, or playing cards. We had a couple favourites on this trip: Carrot Juice is Murder by the Arrogant Worms, and Granny’s in the Cellar. And the whole time we annoyed Christy by singing them. Carrot Juice is Murder even got sung in full-blown harmony, with all the backup parts. We even managed to get them stuck in her head overnight a couple times. We even had a 4 year old request our rendition of Granny’s in the Cellar one more time. It was awesome. Jana and I even managed couple verses of Tomorrow. One day we’ll actually learn all the words so we can sing the whole song and not just the chorus.

Snowbird Pass. A previously mentioned, we had 2 days up at Berg Lake for day hikes. The first day I wanted to go up to Snowbird Pass, which was 26 km round-trip. No one else seemed particularly keen on going with me, so I went by myself. And it was awesome! It was uphill pretty much the whole way there and downhill the whole way back, but it was totally worth it. The trail takes you up the side of a valley with a fantastic view of Robson Glacier, then past some waterfalls and up into a high alpine meadow and even farther up a scree slope to the pass. On the other side of the pass is a huge icefield which was pretty cool to see. A good chunk of the hiking was along scree slopes, so I’ve had my share of them for a while. And it was a long way up, too. According to my GPS, I covered almost 800 m vertical that day. And it was a long 26 km. It took me 6 ½ hours, and I barely stopped at all. But it was worth it, since I’m sure there aren’t many people who’ve seen Snowbird Pass. The next day Jana and Kristy went up. They said it was worth it, too.

Mumm Basin, Toboggan Falls and “the Cave”. This was about a 10 km day hike I went on with Glen and Rob. It goes uphill for what seems like forever, but then it levels out and you get the most amazing panoramic views I’ve ever seen. If you ever want to feel small, hike up to Mumm Basin. It should put your world in perspective. Also along the same trail is a sizeable cave you can crawl into and explore. You have to stoop to get inside, but you can stand in it, and if you brought a headlight it’s interesting to walk around in it. Toboggan Falls, as always, were pretty, with all the little potholes and spots carved out by years of rushing water. Another day trip that was well worth it.

After the hike we all drove to Jasper for pizza at the now infamous Jasper Pizza. Though it was a 2 hour detour, it was totally worth it for pizza and a beer. We all toasted our success and our sore body parts then headed our separate ways. And it was pretty nice to shower after 5 days in the bush.

We have another holiday planned for July so stay tuned for details!

Thursday, May 08, 2008

42 km is Still, Like, Far.

So this past weekend Glen and I journeyed once again to Vancouver, so I could run the unnaturally long distance that is a marathon. I’ve been training for about 4 months, and I felt pretty confident going into it that I would finish and be a little bit faster than I was last year. And I did finish, and I was faster than last year. And now everything hurts. I’m pretty sure I won’t have any lingering injuries from it, just sore muscles that should heal with time.

Lets start with what happened before the race. About a week and a half before I decided to go hiking with a friend up to Cape Scott. During that trip I managed to get a couple gigantic blisters on each of my heels. I also woke up the morning after getting back with a raging cold. So things weren’t looking particularly good but I was going anyways since I had already paid for the race and at least one night at the hotel. We stayed at the Westin Bayshore again, a fabulous expensive hotel, but totally worth it for only 2 nights.

So the race itself went reasonably well, or so I think now. But at the time it was terrible, and for about an hour and a half I was cursing myself for deciding to do this again. And I ended up going out and running the first half at the speed I wanted to, but somewhere between 25 and 27 km I kinda fell apart and had to really slow down. But I still managed to finish in 4:21:44, which is faster than last year, and that’s what I’m going to cling to. And I got the medal and the T-shirt, which is the reason we all run, right? And the last 12 km of the race were the most difficult 12 km I have ever run. All I wanted to do was stop running and sit down. And it would’ve been so easy to just stop and walk for a kilometre or two. But then I wouldn’t be able to say I ran it. So I kept running. I swear that stretch of road that heads up to UBC and then comes back is the longest stretch of road ever! It just keeps going and going, and then when you finally do get to the end you realize that now you’ve got to turn around and go all the way back again! And when you finally do get to stop it’s the weirdest feeling, ‘cause the blood is still rushing to your legs but you don’t need it to anymore. And that’s when the pain finally kicks in and you realize how sore you are. Really, really sore. Which brings about the marathoner’s walk. Similar to hikers walk, but involving a lot more groaning and gritting of teeth.

The other thing you experience is every possible human emotion you could ever conceive. From total and utter despair that you’ll never make it to the finish line and simply drop dead, to complete elation that when you believe you’re actually going to finish. Pain and anguish right alongside total enlightenment, and all within minutes of each other. And that’s all part of the experience.

A lot went on in the 4 hours and 21 minutes I was on that race course. So I’ll try to recount what I remember.

The sponge stations. Last year it was raining and there was no real need for the sponges, since we were all already dripping anyways. But this year there was no rain and it was around 10 degrees so it was reasonably warm and there was plenty of sweating. So the salt began accumulating. Which is where the sponge stations came in. I grabbed one and managed to get most of the salt off my face, and it felt pretty good. It’s amazing, really, how well those little sponges hold water. There’s almost enough in one sponge to get your head, back, and front wet if you wanted to. I did use a couple to cool off my back, which helped me get my second wind once. And for the record, yes, every time I passed a sponge station the Arrongant Worms song rolled through my head. There was also a candy station, and we all know how Sara loves the candy. I actually saw the Vaseline sticks, too. It’s pretty much a popsicle stick that’s been dipped in a vat of Vaseline and gets used for on-the-course chafing relief. And while I, myself, did not actually partake of any Vaseline, I imagine that after 30 km or so of irritation, Vaseline on a popsicle stick looks pretty good.

Chafing. The Vaseline leads me to my next subject, the chafing. As most of you know, last year I suffered some pretty serious chafing, most notably around my neck from an ill-fitting sports bra. That particular bra has since been retired. The scar is still there. I didn’t have many chafing problems this year, praise be to the Body Glide. I thought I was going to have problems when I could feel the shorts starting to chafe around half way, but they somehow stopped shortly after. My fuel belt and the elastic waistband from my shorts caused the biggest problems, but even then they were small areas and not really that bad at all. So I made it through relatively irritation-free. And hopefully with no new scars for the future.

The Relay Runners. I hated them last year and I hated them again this year. Because they were dry. And they weren’t tired. And they kept passing me. Last year they were dry while the rest of us were dripping from the rain. This year they were dry because they weren’t sweating like everyone else. There was no salt precipitated on their faces or their legs (yes, I did have salt lines on my legs!) and they didn’t have wet hair from either dumping water on themselves or sweating. They’d just bounce by me like I was standing still, with their un-soreness. Well, I’d have a lot of energy too if I hadn’t already run 25 kilometers. But I didn’t have 3 other people to share the distance with. I had to run the whole way myself! So there!

The spectators. There weren’t nearly as many good signs along the sides of the road as there were last year. But there were a lot more people, and thus a lot more people cheering. I would now like to thank each and every person who yelled my name out on that course. You have no idea how much it helped me, even if I have no idea who you are and will never see you again. There’s just something about having someone cheering your name that makes it a little easier to keep going. One lady in particular was standing about ½ a km from the finish line and screaming, “You’re all marathon runners!” It was pretty cool.

Bobbing ponytails. There were plenty of bobbing ponytails to be seen at the Vancouver marathon. Sometimes they bother me, sometimes they don’t. It depends on the type of ponytail, really. Shorter ponytails bobbing about weren’t particularly annoying that day. It was the longer ones thrashing around that were grating on my nerves. One woman had her really long hair up in pigtails, and by about half way through they were sweaty messes flopping about. And I had to continue watching them for another 20 km. Eww.

Anyways, that about wraps it up for my experience at the 2008 Vancouver Marathon. Until next time, and my next great adventure!

Monday, February 11, 2008

The Costa Rica "Make-a the Sex" tour 2008

Greetings, avid readers! Pull up a chair and get comfy, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long one. Well, if you hadn’t already heard (which would be hard since I’ve been bragging since my holidays were approved), I recently made a 2 week foray into the world of Central America, in the form of a trip to Costa Rica. I went with 2 friends, Becky and April, who I’ve known since the days of university. We backpacked around to various parts of the country for almost 2 weeks, spending a couple days in each place.

I’d go through the whole trip and give you an itemized list of what we did and where we went, but that would be boring and not at all my style. So I’ll try and give you the highlights, city by city.

Jaco/Playa Hermosa. It was so hot in Jaco we literally couldn’t wear clothes. We just walked around in our bathing suits. Which was OK since everyone else was doing the same thing. We went surfing while we were there, which was fantastic because the waves were strong enough I actually managed to get standing on my board. We stayed at a hotel right on Playa Hermosa (Hermosa Beach), so we could watch the waves come crashing in whenever we wanted, and our hotel had A/C, which was fantastic since it made it so much easier to sleep.


Isla Tortuga. We went on a day cruise from San Jose to Tortuga island. The ship we took had a bar, so naturally we had to have a pina colada or two. The best part of that was that they opened the cans of coconut milk with a machete. The tour took us to Puntareanas and they we sailed to Tortuga Island, where we spent 4 hours and had a fantastic lunch. At one point we were considering “forgetting” to get back on the boat and getting stuck on the island. The beach was too perfect, and the water was unbelievably warm. But we did get back on the boat.

Monteverde. We did quite a bit with our 3 days in Monteverde. We went on a guided night hike in the rainforest. We also went on a short hike through a cloud forest, which looks exactly like you think the rainforest should look like-huge trees, plants growing on plants growing on plants, and green everywhere. We also took a zip line tour. The first one was a little scary, but each line after that was more and more fun. The longest line was 750 m. The day we went it was raining and really windy, so on the last 2 lines they sent us across 2 at a time, so we’d have enough weight to make it to the other side, because the wind slows you down. What we did was the person in front would scrunch themselves up in the fetal position, and the person behind would wrap their legs around the person in front. Since there was an odd number of us, we got paired with an Australian fellow named Wade. So feel free to make as many jokes as possible about April having a strange man’s legs wrapped around her. We also went on a horseback ride on some tiny Costa Rican horses. We managed to miss the rainy season, but no one mentioned there’s a windy season in Monteverde. The wind just howled the entire time we were there. And it gets rather difficult to sleep when the wind is screaming so loud outside your window you swear it’s gonna blow the whole building right off the hill. Maybe that’s why the buildings are all made of concrete…


La Fortuna. We had the best time of the whole trip in Fortuna. We took a tour near the volcano, watched the glowing lava rocks from the volcano, and sampled the local liquor known as guaro (a little bonus our tour guide brought for us-never let a Costa Rican guy pour you a drink. It’s like 50/50 kids). We went to the hot springs where Becky got so sloshed off a drink called a 10 o’clock last call (one guess why it’s called that) we thought we might have to carry her back to the hostel. We went on another horseback ride, and deviated from the itinerary slightly by going bungee jumping-April paid and we called it my birthday present. Apologies to my mom’s friend Darlene at this point, since I had promised my mom I would never bungee jump and then sent her an email right after I did it, and Darlene had to walk with my mom that day at lunch after she had gotten the email. But the bungee was the biggest adrenaline rush I’ve ever had, which for me is really saying a lot. Our last day in Fortuna we went waterfall rappelling, which was fantastic, even though some of the rappels were right into waterfalls and we got a little damp.


San Jose. We were in San Jose off and on for several days on the trip. It’s a huge city, very confusing, but interesting nonetheless. We managed to get to Mercado Central, a big market selling everything you could possibly imagine (and lots of low-hanging objects for me to whack my head on-but more of that later), and we found this one pedestrian street with a myriad of shops on it. We didn’t really see much in San Jose, but none of us were really keen in sightseeing in the city anyways.

A lot of this is just my impressions, opinions and observations on the parts of Costa Rica I saw. It in no way should influence your views, since everyone experiences everything differently. This was a great trip, and even though at times it might sound like I’m complaining, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I came away with an overall excellent impression of Costa Rica, and I enjoyed my time there. While some things may have seemed gross, or very odd, I realized on this trip that’s just the way they do things, and it’s not weird to them at all. It’s a different country, and a different culture, and I appreciate that there are differences between how I live and what I experienced there. And that’s the whole point of traveling, isn’t it?

So without further delay, everyone’s favorite part, the little tidbits and highlights I feel the need to share:

The Language. I got off the plane and the first thing that runs through my mind is, “Holy crap! Everything’s in Spanish!”. It’s not that I didn’t expect this. I did know before leaving that Costa Rica was a Spanish speaking country. But when you get off the plane it basically smacks you in the face. Luckily, most signs, pamphlets., etc. are also written in English in most of the parts we visited, so it’s fairly easy to get around. I did make an attempt to learn some Spanish before I left, but everyone talks so bloody fast you can never catch anything even if you do know a little. But it did help a little when trying to read menus, signs, etc. That said, most of the people we came in contact with spoke excellent English. So if you’re staying mostly in the tourist areas and not going too far off the beaten track, you could probably get around pretty well if you didn’t speak a word of Spanish. I also found that they’re very modest in their appraisal of their own ability to speak English. When you ask if they speak English, they would often say a little. But then you start asking questions, and they come back at you with almost perfect English. Mad props to the people of Costa Rica for that, since I know nowhere in Canada or the US do we try to learn other languages in order to try and communicate with people visiting our own country. In the off chance that you did come across someone who really didn’t speak any English, you could usually muddle through with hand signals and any of the little Spanish you do know. And they were very, very patient with us when we did try and use a little of the language. In some cases I think they even appreciated the effort. Another quirky bit comes up when we were on guided tours and the guides were talking about the animals mating. They don’t say the animals mate, they say they “make-a the sex”. After one day I pointed this out to Becky and April, after which we felt the need to pop that particular phrase into speech whenever we could. Now you understand the title of this blog.

Other travelers and accommodations. While travelling, and particularly if you’re staying in hostels, you meet a lot of other people who are also travelling. In some cases this is quite fun, as the other people you meet are interesting, nice and friendly. In other cases, the people you meet are arrogant, disgusting and quite rude. Americans have somehow made quite the name for themselves as being arrogant and rude, and after this trip, I can understand why. Not all of the Americans we met were rude and arrogant, but sadly, the ones that aren’t are quickly forgotten when you come across one complaining about something as though they were the only person in the country that should matter. We were waiting for a tour to start and a fellow from somewhere in the southern states asked us where the tour started from. We told him that we were told somewhere around there, but not exactly where. His response was: “Well, what good are you, then?”. We don’t work here, buddy. We’re tourists just like you. This is not to say that all Americans are like this. We met a couple girls from New York who were actually quite nice. Neither is it to say that it’s only Americans who can be rude. At one point we were in the same room at a hostel with a group of Argentinean guys who were pretty disgusting. Apparently, in Argentina, if you want you can sell your sister for a cocaine farm and a couple goats. But that’s only if she’s hot. This we learned one night while the guys were talking to another guy staying in our room. The hostels themselves can be quite interesting, too. Most of the ones we stayed at were so convoluted you could almost get lost in them, and don’t even bother trying to find and empty bathroom. It was as if they just decided to plop rooms here and there, with no real planning. Kind-of makes you wonder a little about the building codes. Everyone at the hostels we were at seemed to smoke just about anywhere. Which, as a non-smoker, was a little irritating. But not quite as irritating as having to share a bathroom with 4 rather feminine guys from Argentina. I swear each of them spent more time in the bathroom than all three of us girls combined.

The people of Costa Rica. When you’re reading about Costa Rica most sources will warn you a little about Tico time. Ticos are what the locals are called, and the locals are never in a hurry. Even when they’re working. Especially when they’re working. So Tico time is basically a warning that you shouldn’t be in too much of a hurry, since nothing’s gonna get done too fast. It wouldn’t be rare to be standing at a counter trying to buy something and have the cashier simply walk away for a few minutes without a word. Sometimes it’s to answer the phone, help another customer, and sometimes it’s just to talk to their friend who just walked into the store. They do come back and finish helping you eventually, but in the meantime you’re left standing at the counter wondering where they went and if they’re ever coming back. That’s Tico time. I also noticed the the women in Costa Rica aren’t particularly shy about their bodies. You won’t see a whole lot of loose clothing, but you will see a whole lot of bellies peeking out from under shirts that are a little too tight. And a lot of skin, even on people you’d rather not see a whole lot of skin on. For the most part, the guys in Costa Rica, particularly the tour guides, it seemed, were pretty cute. Short, but cute. I’m pretty sure April had to hold herself back from popping one of them in her backpack and taking him home.

Driving. Originally, April and Becky had planned on renting a car and doing most of the driving around ourselves. But after about 5 minutes on the road, I was very, very greatful that plan was scrapped. Roads in Costa Rica are windy, bumpy and confusing. We were walking around San Jose looking for Mercado Central, when we realized there were no street signs. None of the roads in San Jose make any sense. They meet at very odd angles, some of them dead-end without warning, and some are one way streets that aren’t marked as such. And after the bus ride to the hostel on my first night there I realized that stop signs don’t mean stop, red lights only sometimes mean stop, and lane lines are basically pointless. This makes walking anywhere a rather interesting experience, since you’re never sure if you’re going to get run over if you cross the street. Pedestrians don’t have the right of way, we quickly learned. So we decided the best plan, if we did have to cross a street was just to run. Sure, the locals got a good laugh out of it, but we lived to tell the tale. And there are motorcycles everywhere, that drive everywhere. When cars are stopped at a stoplight, the motorcycles drive up between the rows of cars to the stop lines so they can get in front of the lines of cars when the light turns green. All of the vehicles in Costa Rica are standards. Tourist vehicles tend to be vans that are a little bigger than a minivan but slightly smaller than a full out bus. Though there are full size buses there. You just don’t want to take them because of the sketchy roads. The paved roads are as bumpy as gravel roads are here. They build them on really steep hills, and they wind them up, down, and around the hilly terrain. Before we left, we had heard that the road to Monteverde was really bad, but after about an hour and a half I remarked about how it wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone had been saying. Then about 10 minutes later our driver slowed right down and we didn’t know why. Then it dawned on us. The pavement had ended. The road was so bumpy we were catching air off our seats every few minutes. And it was narrow, and on the side of a steep hill. So when the driver would swerve to avoid a big bump, every so often he’d go dangerously close to the edge of a rather steep cliff. They’re very fond of their horns in Costa Rica, but for very different reasons than here. Here, if you honk your horn, it generally is accompanied by a single-finger gesture and a contemptuous look. There, a car horn is simply to let a pedestrian know you’re coming up behind them, to let other cars know you’re turning/stopping/etc, to get the guy in front of you to hurry, or simply to say hello. You get very used to the sound of car horns very quickly once you get there.

The wounds. We got hurt so many times on this trip we actually started keeping a log of all our maladies. It ranged from self-inflicted pain like sore butts from horseback riding to accidental stuff like April ripping open a couple of her toes on 2 separate occasions. Though we did come home battered and bruised, we didn’t mange to get ourselves seriously hurt, which I see as a plus. I did, at one point, get a rather disturbing rash, but after a quick trip to a doctor and 10 anti-histamine pills, it cleared up quite nicely. The one thing that sticks in my mind is how I managed to keep whacking my head on various things. It started with getting up out of a hammock and slamming my head into the bar over top of it, and was followed by me whacking my head on something nearly every day after that. Apparently Costa Rica was built for short people. It was everything from the stuff hanging from the ceiling in Mercado Central, to the bulkheads on the boat on the way to Tortuga. And the best part was April and Becky would snicker every time this happened. April wants to go to Scotland next, so I have high hopes for a place built for taller people there. We all also managed to get a lot of good bruises, from surfing, falling into stuff, and in places we don’t even remember getting hurt. Sadly, none of the good ones seemed to photograph very well.

The food. One of the most important parts of any trip, if you ask me. The typical dish in Costa Rica is known as a casado. It consists of rice mixed with beans(and some spices if you’re lucky), scrambled eggs if it’s breakfast/chicken or fish if it’s supper or lunch, some sort of bread product (buns, tortillas, toast), and fruit, and perhaps some fried plantains (which are basically sweet bananas). It’s good the first few times, and then you get really sick of rice and beans. Plus they put rice and beans in everything, so you get even more sick of them. I was hoping for lots of different kinds of spices on the foods there, but the most exciting it really got was cilantro. To be fair, though, we did have some very good casados, particularly the one from Pure Trek canyoning. There is an acute lack of carbs in Costa Rica. The closest you’ll get to bread most places is a tortilla shell. After a while we took to ordering the pasta dishes in some restaurants because we were just so tired of meat. Well, Becky wasn’t tired of the meat, but it’s Becky. They have a dessert there called the 3 milks (tres leches). It’s like a super-moist cake with icing and sweetened milk underneath it. It’s delicious, and should you ever get the chance, definitely try it. As for drinks, yes, beer is actually cheaper than water. You can get a beer for about 800 colones (about $1.50), but water will generally run you 1000 colones (about $2). I actually only had one beer the whole time we were there, and it was just so I could say I’ve had Costa Rican beer. They have 2 common brands, Pilsen and Imperial, though Imperial seems to be a little more easier to find. You can have just about anything made in a juice or milkshake in the restaurants. We had ones like coconut, strawberry, guava, mango, papaya, watermelon, and blackberry. It’s a little hit and miss as to whether they’re good or not, but it’s fun to just pick one and take your chances. And if they’re not particularly good they’re at least still drinkable. And when they say milkshake, it’s not like a milkshake you’d get from Dairy Queen. It’s fruit juice mixed with milk, not ice cream. The coffee I had there was also some of the best I’ve ever tasted. I don’t know if it was simply because it was fresh (they grow coffee beans there, so when I say fresh, I mean like the beans were picked yesterday), or if it was the type of bean, but every cup was a little sip of caffeinated paradise. And we all agreed that the best coffee we had the whole trip was at Poca a Poca in Monteverde. If you ever go, have a cup. Bloody fantastic!


Money. Everyone’s most and least favorite. The local currency is colones, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a place that wouldn’t take US dollars. Everything costs about the same there as it would here, but in some cases some stuff is a bit cheaper. A coke, for instance, would be around $1, whereas it would be $2 here. There are about 500 colones to a US dollar. It took me about 3 days to get the conversions right, but after that it’s pretty easy, and you can use dollars or colones interchangeably, pretty much everywhere. Even the bank machines there will give you the choice between withdrawing dollars or colones. It can be a little hard to get rid of coins sometimes, though. The smallest denomination we saw was 5 colones, and unless you’re really on the ball, it’s hard to get rid of anything smaller than a 500 colones coin. Luckily at the airport there are boxes for donations to help the homeless, which is a brilliant idea, since travelers need to get rid of their coins somehow, and it’ll take about ‘til they get to the airport to realize this.

Everything else that didn’t fit in the previous categories. The houses are all attached together, and you rarely see shingles. Almost all the roofs are corrugated tin. Which is great ‘cause it’s cheap, but noisy if it rains. There’s no heating in any of the buildings, since there’s really no need for it. Except when you’re in Monteverde and the temperature drops at night and the blanket that came with your bed at the hostel is a little too thin. Almost everything is made of concrete or metal. You don’t see a whole lot of processed wood. Though they do have these nifty trees they use to make “living fenceposts”. Basically all you have to do is take a living branch or log of this tree, plop it in the ground and it’ll grow. Set them up in a line, and voila! A fence. None of the windows have screens. There are bugs, so screens would have been useful, but there are none. And the way the windows open is that they’re glass slats that pivot to let air in . Sort-of like those horizontal blinds.

So that was my trip to Costa Rica. Until my next great adventure!

Monday, January 14, 2008

My trip to the salon.

Warning: This post contains references to to my "bikini area". If you don't want to hear anything about this particular part of me, stop reading now. Really.

So today I did another one of those things I never thought I would ever do. Or ever need to do. I went to a salon and had various parts of me waxed. Yes. I know. Why would I ever subject myself to this masochistic practice? Well, in about a week I'll be headed to the tropical country of Costa Rica, and there will be bikinis involved. Yes, bikinis. So I figured, given that I currently look the most bikini worthy I ever have, or likely ever will be, I might as well go all in. And not having to take a razor with me when I go, probably a good thing. Plus you only live once, right?

I've had more than one person tell me how much waxing hurts. And it should. Think about it-you have hot wax spread over and area, then smooth a piece of cloth over top and rip it off, pulling all the hairs out by the roots. It's gonna hurt. But I figured I could probably take it, given that I feel I have a reasonably high tolerance for pain. (For evidence of this pain tolerance, note that I have run a marathon, been ice climbing, had my navel pierced, hiked the Juan de Fuca trail in 2 days, and just recently had my teeth pulled and felt relatively little pain.) So bring it on, I said. Plus I have a bucket of T3's left over from having my wisdom teeth pulled a week ago so pain management isn't a problem. And to be honest, it really wasn't all that bad. Sure, it hurts when they yank the strip off, but it doesn't last long. It's basically just like yanking a really big band-aid off. Several times.

I went in to get the whole ball of wax (sorry, I couldn't resist)-legs, underarms, and bikini. I wasn't sure how the whole process worked, but basically they take you into a little room, wrap a towel around you and start waxing. You do, however, get to keep your underwear on, which is kinda nice for those of us who are a little more modest. I was surprised at how quick the whole process is. I thought, given the amount of hair I was getting removed, I would be there for at least an hour. But it took no more than a half hour. It was quick. The lady doing it, I might mention, told me no less than 2 times how she was amazed how little hair I actually had. She initially looked at my legs and said she didn't even really need to wax them, because there was so little hair to start with. Well, I knew my hair was blond, and thus harder to see, but I never really thought I had less leg hair than your average woman. And I hadn't shaved since the end of December, so I figured I had rather a lot of hair. But apparently not. She also said this as she was doing my bikini line.

I initially figured I would go for the brazilian bikini wax, since I was gonna be there anyways. I'm a bit of an all-or-nothing type of person sometimes. If you don't know what a brazilian bikini wax is, Google it. I'm not gonna explain it. But when I got there I changed my mind. Thinking back to the bikinis I was taking with me, neither of them is particularly teeny, so I just went for the traditional "a little off the sides". And the result, in my opinion, is just right. I won't have anything peeking out my bottoms, and I need not worry about that problem for a good 4-6 weeks now. Plus you get to keep your underpants on and just pull them out of the way a little. Post waxing, I did bleed a little. It's a pretty sensitive area, so that makes sense. And it does look like I've got a bit of a rash now, but that should go away in the next couple days. Overall, I'm pretty happy with my bikini wax.

I was also planning on getting my underarms done, but when she looked at them she said that the hair wasn't long enough for it. Apparently you need a good quarter inch of hair for it to work. So I couldn't get my underarms done. But since I don't leave for a week I might go again near the end of the week and see if I can get it done before I leave.

So after all of it she put some smelly moisturizer on the previously waxed areas and sent me on my way. All in all, it wasn't really a bad experience. And I would go again, were I to go on a trip or to an event I felt warranted it. I would even endure the pineapple/coconut/mango/ whatever-it-is scent of the moisturizer afterwards.