Sara's Inane Ramblings

One more thing...

2011-09-20T17:28:00.000-07:00

Well, I realize it’s been nearly two months since I updated, but I never did get around to my final thoughts about Australia, so I’ll start there. I’ll begin with my regular disclaimer that these are only my personal impressions of this country, and they should in no way sway your own opinions of it. I spent only a very short time there, and saw, geographically, very little of what is a very large country. I did enjoy my time there, and I do recommend it if you feel inclined to actually spend 14+ hours on a plane to get there. These are mostly the little tidbits that I’d been storing up over the trip and didn’t have time to elaborate on while I was actually over there. That or I didn’t feel like typing them all out on the tiny keyboard of my netbook.

Kangaroos. Oh yes, we saw them. Many of them. But mostly dead on the side of the highway between Cairns and Brisbane. I’m not kidding when I say there was a dead kangaroo every 100 metres or so for pretty much the entire stretch of the highway. Some of them were bloated, some of them looked pretty fresh. But there were so many of them you really got tired of seeing them. Fortunately for us, it was relatively cool while we were there (owing to it being winter and all). Apparently in the summer they stink something fierce. Pleasant thought, huh? They’re sortof like deer are in Canada. They like to jump across the highway at night. Or so we were told, since we-thankfully-didn’t see any, likely due to the fact that we didn’t really drive at night a whole lot. Well, the Aussies have come up with a solution: Kangaroo bumpers. That is, of course, only the name Glen and I have given them, because we never actually asked any natives what they were really called (or if that was actually the purpose of them). But nearest we can figure, that’s what they were for. It’s a metal bar across the grille of the car to prevent the kangaroos you hit from doing any damage to your vehicle. Basically, so you can just drive away and hose the blood off the hood later. At one point we heard a rumor that it’s a bit of a sport down there to see how many of the little buggers you can hit with your car. Right now all the bleeding hearts out there are abhorring my callousness, and can’t believe anyone would want to hurt such beautiful and cuddly animals. Okay, sure. But if you saw the sheer number of Kangaroo carcasses out on that highway that we saw, you’d know that kangaroos are not in short supply in Australia. In fact, they’re more of a menace than anything else. So really, it makes sense to have a kangaroo bumper. It saves you the cost or repeatedly repairing your headlights.

Food. Yes, we ate kangaroo meat. No, I did not like it. We had it as sausages one night, then Glen had it again in a meat pie. Both times it was ground, like hamburger, so that may have had some influence on whether or not I liked it. But I found it was a bit gamey, and there was a weird tang that I didn’t really like. Glen didn’t seem to mind it, but he’ll pretty much eat anything that has some type of animal in it. Because we were basically on our own as far as cooking went, we mostly just ate what we’d normally eat at home, so whatever was easiest. But we did try a little of the local foods, mostly in the form of candy and desserts. Lamingtons! I have discovered a love for Lamingtons. It’s basically just a hunk of cake dipped in chocolate, then rolled in coconut. Simple, but delicious. We also tried a whole host of chocolate bars that aren’t sold here in Canada. And I would just like to ask the Cadbury corporation why they don’t sell Cherry Ripe here in Canada? They’re delicious. I would buy them if they were sold here. We also discovered Starburst Snakes. They’re like gummy worms, but the flavors are way, way better. They taste like starburst candy, but in gummy worm form. I think between Glen, Slacker and myself we polished off 3 large bags in the course of a week. They should definitely sell those in Canada. And Smith’s Sweet Thai Chili potato chips. My God, were they good. Glen and I have searched the grocery stores here, but have yet to find anything remotely comparable. It’s probably a good thing those ones aren’t sold in Canada. Meat pies are very popular as a lunchtime meal in Australia. They love a good meat pie. We never did figure out why, but we did try quite a few, and they were pretty good. Kebabs! Oh my, the kebabs! But they’re not what you’d think. It’s really just a donair(or doner if you’re in Oz), that has some vegetables and sauces added, and is then grilled for a few minutes to heat it up. But they’re amazing. We discovered them in Cairns, and I think probably had at least 5 more after that. I justified this by forcing myself to believe they were healthier than they probably were. But they did have vegetables, so it wasn’t a total lie.

Tim Tams. I feel that by the sheer volume of Tim Tams that were consumed by me and Glen that these deserve their own category. They’re fantastic. And what’s strange is, if you look at the ingredients, what’s in them and how they’re put together, they don’t sound particularly appetizing. But for whatever reason, they’re awesome. So awesome, in fact, that there are many, many varieties of them. There’s original, double coat(twice the chocolately coating), Black Forest(filled with cherry and vanilla frosting), Dark(with a dark chocolate coating), Mint, Caramel and Crunch(a crunchy honeycomb is added to the cookie). My personal favorite was the crunch, though that was followed closely by the double coat. Mmmm…so good. The best part? You can get them here! I’ve found them at London Drugs and Save-on-Foods so far. I can’t even fathom a guess at how many packages of Tim Tams we actually ate in the month we were in Australia, but I do know it was a lot.

Cars. Like any country, the cars have different names. And different companies, though they’re the same companies, just with different names. But they also have cars there that aren’t sold here. Utes, for example. The closest thing we have to a ute here is the El Camino. And those didn’t sell particularly well, nor were they in production for very long. Well, there’s a lot of them in Australia. They’re really popular, though neither Glen nor I could figure out why. The other thing Glen noticed was that a lot of the trucks have snorkels. You see, when it rains in Australia, the water doesn’t really get absorbed into the soil. It just sortof runs off. So they get a lot of flooded roads down there. Quite often you’ll see a metre stick on the side of the road, with height marked on it. Why? So you know how deep the water is when the road floods. That way you know if you can drive through it or not. The snorkels on trucks move the air intake for the engine above the actual engine itself, so that you can drive through higher water and your engine won’t get flooded.

Campervans. Glen and I rented a 2-person campervan for our trip. We figured that way we killed 2 birds with one stone-we had wheels and a place to sleep. So rather than staying in hostels, we stayed in caravan parks. Well, in Australia the term “caravan park” means something entirely different. The caravan parks have barbeques that anyone can use-barbeques is code for a grill that’s gas powered, by the way. They have showers with unlimited hot water that, for the most part, you don’t have to pay for. They have a camp kitchen that’s basically just an outdoor kitchen without pots, pans or utensils(but they do have fridges, kettles, and microwaves). And they often have a pool. Yeah, life on the road was rough. Because of this fabulous infrastructure, apparently a new culture has emerged. The Caravan culture. We met a LOT of these people in the caravan parks. They’re usually seniors who are retired and actually have home elsewhere, but just go caravanning for a good chunk of the year. For the most part, they go north to Queensland where it’s warmer in the winter. Sorta like the snowbirds in Canada. They seem to stay at the same park every year, and some places even have a spot saved for them. They have neighbors that come back every year as well. So they all know each other. This subsequently leads to social activities being planned. Lawn bowling, in particular, seemed to be quite popular. It’s really quite fascinating, and in the month we were there we met tons of people just by being in the caravan parks. And they were generally always willing to chat your ear off if you had the time.

It’s a lot like home. Australia is a lot like Canada, with different flora and fauna. They measure everything in metric, they speak English, they use dollars and the queen is on their money as well. Their cities are quite far apart, and to get around and really see the country you need a car. It’s also a young country, relatively speaking, so much like Canada, they really don’t have a lot of old buildings with a lot of history. It’s all relatively new. They build their roads and sidewalks and overpasses the same. The food is pretty much the same. Honestly, if you took away the accent, and the change in trees and dropped the price of gas a few cents, a lot of Canadians probably wouldn’t know the difference.

Since it’s been a while, those are the little tidbits I can remember from our month-long excursion to Australia. Stay tuned, because I spent last week in San Francisco pedaling like a maniac. And I know you all want to hear about that.

Must...Get...Home...

2011-08-14T17:31:00.000-07:00

There's more, you ask? But of course there's more! Who would I be if I simply left it at that last post and didn't add in a little more? I would be ordinary, something a categorically refuse to do. So here's more fun (or lack thereof) for you to enjoy.

Getting home was, shall we say, interesting. Normally, you have your flights booked, you get on them, and you get home. Sometimes with, sometimes without your luggage. But at least you physically get home. Well, we didn't. But let's start at the beginning so I don't confuse the living crap out of you.

We arrived at the Sydney airport via train bright and early, about 3 1/2 hours before our flight. Yes, I am one of those anal-retentive people who religiously shows up far too early for their flights. We made it through customs and security all right-for those that haven't been, in Australia you get to go through customs on the way out of the country as well. I'm not sure why this is, but I have 2 stamps in my passport to prove it. We found some decent breakfast and our gate and parked ourselves in some seats so we could await boarding for our flight. At some point in there, I decided to get up and ended up buying some booze at the duty-free to take back with us. This is when karma finally decided to barf all over us. The airport lost power. And I mean the entire airport. Including customs and security. So guess what? Half the people on our flight couldn't get through customs or security, which meant our flight wasn't going anywhere until the power came back on and they started processing people again. It took them an hour and a half to get the power back on, which meant our flight was delayed by 4 hours.

Given that we had basically already missed our connecting flight in Los Angeles (we'd be landing 2 hours after it had left), I went to the desk before we boarded to ask what we should do about getting a connecting flight. I was told that crews at LAX knew about what was happening, and that our flight, which was in fact booked with a partner airline, was being re-booked and we'd be fine once we reached Los Angeles. So we got on the plane and happily went along with what we were told.

It's a long flight, made even longer by the fact that we spent 4 extra hours in the Sydney airport. So by the time we reached LA we were exhausted and more than a little pungent, and we really, really wanted to get home. Just before we landed, we were informed by the captain that because of the power outage, a large number of the luggage people had checked hadn't made it on the aircraft. Why? Apparently because the power was off, the computers were down, and the luggage couldn't be processed in a timely fashion. According to the announcement, if the crew had waited even 10 more minutes on the ground, the flight crew would have been on duty too long, and that would have caused them to cancel the flight completely. Thus they decided to leave before all the luggage was on board. I completely understand this decision. As far as the airline was concerned, canceling the flight would've meant they'd have to re-book almost 400 people onto new flights. And given that it was summer, most flights were probably full, meaning that would've been a serious pain in the arse for them. As a passenger, I'd really rather have made it to my destination and not have my luggage, than be stuck were I was leaving from for what could've been a week or more, just because my luggage couldn't make it on the plane. Well, apparently when they said "some" luggage, what they really meant was "most". I think there was maybe 30 bags that came off that plane. But we figured that was fine, given that we'd be home in a few hours anyways, and we didn't really need our bags. We were told to file our missing luggage claim in Vancouver, as that was our final destination, and they had been tagged all the way there.

When we finally got off the plane we were again told by another V Australia employee that our flights had been re-booked, and that Alaska Airlines would have our new flight all ready to go, we just needed to get to their counter. So we went there, and they had no idea what we were talking about. We were told all the flights were full, and the best they could do was let us fly standby. So, thinking there was a good chance we could still get on a plane that day, we took the standby.

There were still 3 flights leaving LAX that day for Vancouver, we thought our chances were good. That is, until we sat through 2 flights and didn't get on either. When we asked at the desk, we were told that all the flights to Vancouver had been overbooked by 7-10 people, and there was little chance we'd actually get the remaining flight out. We asked when the next flight was that actually had available seats, and were told it was 9pm the next day. We took it, because it at least meant we were going to get home eventually.

I should mention that, in the meantime, we had actually had to check Glen's carryon backpack, because of the duty free liquor we had bought. We had no checked baggage to put it into, thus we had no choice but to check something in order to get it home. Well, evidently his backpack did make it on the first flight out, without us, because when we asked at the end of the night if we could get it back, they couldn't find it.

I should say that at this point, it was early in the evening and we had been awake for nearly 36 hours straight. So, now armed with our boarding passes for a flight the next evening, we went back to the V Australia desk to demand satisfaction. Or probably sympathy. That's more what we were going for. At any rate, Glen literally walked up to the counter and started the conversation like this:
V Australia agent: Hi. How can I help you?
Glen:We've got a problem. We've been up for almost 36 hours and we missed our connecting flight...
Well, however we explained it, it got us a hotel room for the night. A hotel room with a sweet, sweet shower and a soft comfy bed for the night. Sure, we had no bags or clean underwear, but when faced with potentially spending all night in the airport, we'll take what we can get. The hotel she did manage to find, however, was literally an hour cab ride from the airport. But hey, what else have we got to do? So she got us a taxi voucher and away we went. I should also mention that we were also allowed to charge $100 to the room for food at the hotel, which was nice, given that we had zero American dollars with us. She even managed to secure us a couple toothbrushes so we could brush our teeth, given that ours were, at best guess, still sitting on the tarmac in Australia. It was a Hilton hotel, and the bed was lovely. Almost as lovely as the shower.

To get back to the airport we were to arrange our own transport, and then claim the amount from the airline afterwards, which seemed fine for us. We got a shuttle number from the hotel and booked our shuttle for the next day, quite early so we could check and see where our various bags had ended up and perhaps get our refund for the shuttle before the flight. We called in the morning to confirm the shuttle was coming, and all seemed well when they checked their bookings. Then came time to get back to the airport. We waited. And waited. 15 minutes after the shuttle should have been there, we called to check. Apparently they had made the booking for the next day and there was no one coming that day. Furious, Glen asked when we would be able to get a shuttle that day. The next time they could get one there was in another 45 minutes, which would mean we'd be cutting it pretty close. Unacceptable. So we canceled that shuttle and had the hotel call a cab. An hour and 10 minutes later we were finally at the airport, and feeling a little better because we knew we were finally going to get home.

Because we had a little time, we decided to check and see if they could find our bags. When they called the Vancouver airport, Glen's backpack had made it there (even though we hadn't flown yet), but our big bags were still MIA. The agent at the Alaska Airlines desk even called around at LAX and YVR (Vancouver) and no one seemed to know where they were. This, while a little perturbing, wasn't too worrying, given that were were going home, so even if they stayed lost for a few more days, we were going to be fine.

Finally we were on our flight home! At last, airborne for Vancouver! Shockingly, when we reached YVR, we found not only Glen's backpack, but our big bags waiting for us near the luggage carousel. It was a miracle! Our bags had made it home before we did! So we grabbed them and off we went. It was just after midnight at this point.

All was well again until we made it downtown, to waterfront station, only to discover that we had arrived so late the skytrain had stopped running out to our place. What to do? The nearest place we could catch a bus was a 20 minute walk. So we called a cab. We got home around 2 in the morning. Thankfully, I had called work from the hotel in California and managed to tell them I couldn't make it in for my Monday afternoon shift, which was a good thing given that we didn't get up until around 2 in the afternoon that day.

It took us a full day and a half longer than we anticipated, but we did finally make it home in one piece. I can't say it was the best experience I've ever had, and it's made me leery of every flying with Alaska Airlines again-seriously, you overbooked all your flights?!?-but it could have been much, much worse.

I still have a few little tidbits to add later, so keep your browser tuned to this URL. Hopefully it'll be up soon.

And they drove on...

2011-08-14T17:21:00.000-07:00

My apologies for the lateness of this post. It's only now, over 2 weeks since we got back, that I've had time to actually sit down and finish it. And it's not even really done. There's still more! I know, you're at the edge of your seats! So here goes...

Now, let’s see…where did this intrepid traveler last leave you…Ahh, yes, Coolangatta. Well, it’s been an eventful couple of days, kids, so pull up a chair and a pack of your favorite Tim Tams-I’m currently munching on the Tim Tam Crush, which might just be my favorite so far.

From Coolangatta we mercifully left the main highway and headed inland to explore Springbrook National Park. For my Canadian friends, the national parks here aren’t like they are in Canada. They’re tiny and numerous. Very tiny. Like, you can drive from one end of Springbrook to the other in about 15 minutes, and that’s going between 40-50 km/h. We went because the Lonely Planet guidebook promised us waterfalls and pretty views. And we weren’t disappointed. In fact, it’s probably been one of the best detours so far. I was determined to do at least a little hiking, and no amount of complaining from Glen could change my mind. On the way to the trail we decided to hike, we saw some pretty amazing views from the lookouts-we were quite far inland, and from some you could see clear to the coast. Finally something to look at other than endless fields of sugar cane. The hike we picked was a mere 4 km, but ended up taking us about 2 ½ hours to do. Why? Well, we had to stop and take pictures of the pretty waterfalls. There were three of them, if I remember right, and 2 of them you got to walk behind, which was awesome. There were also several caves/crevasses/cracks in the rock that we got to walk through and fiddle around in. So naturally some fun was had puttering around in them, seeing how far we could wedge ourselves up the walls. The rest of the hike was through rainforest, which was cool and looks pretty much like you’d expect rainforest to be. At one point we stumbled across some green birds with bright-and I mean vibrantly bright-red bodies that were hanging out in a couple of trees eating the leaves. They were the kind of birds that you’d see selling for a couple hundred bucks in a pet store in Canada. Overall it was an excellent day, and a welcome deviation from the major highways.

We spent the night just south of the hippie/surfing Mecca of Byron Bay, on a beach called Broken Head. This morning we were picked up by Krazy Kat’s surfing and plunged into the Pacific for a lesson. And it was excellent. They showed us how to get up on the board in a way that’s much, much easier than the way I was taught in the last lesson I took-which was eons ago in Tofino. We puttered around in the water for probably 2 hours, and I actually managed to get standing-and I mean fully standing, feet on the board, actually riding the wave-several times. Oh, if only we had more time, and we could stick around for a few days… But the nomadic life is calling.

We spent the afternoon wandering the patchouli-smelling streets of Byron Bay, checking out various shops and munching on some delicious doner kebabs-they’re actually just donairs, I don’t know why they call them kebabs if they’re not on a stick. Doner kebabs, by they way, are my new favorite food. They’re delicious, and have just enough vegetables that I can delude myself into believing they’re healthy.

Tonight we make camp-or park the hippie campervan-in a fantabulous caravan park just north of Ballina. Seriously, it’s the nicest caravan park yet. The showers have shower curtains, and they’re spotless! Cue angelic cherubs here…

Anyways, I should probably get to sleep now, as I believe we have some craziness with macadamia nuts and perhaps cliff diving planned for tomorrow.

Well, clearly this never got posted whilst we were in Ballina. If I remember right, it’s because blogger was giving me some issues and I didn’t feel like wrestling with the wifi connection any longer. So I’ll do my best to bring you up to speed on what’s gone on since then. From Ballina we again headed south, our first stop being the Macadamia Castle nearby. It’s set on a macadamia plantation and we weren’t sure exactly what it was, but we did know we both like eating macadamia nuts, so we figured we’d give it a go. We ended up going no further than the gift shop, because it was really just an amusement park for the kiddies, with mini golf, a petting zoo and a couple other things we weren’t really interested in doing. So instead we bought some nuts and hit the road again, headed for a tiny town called Angourie, where there was supposed to be a pool we could swim in, with cliffs we could jump off of. Well, we got there, and found the pool, but the water was a little sketchy and had a fair amount of scum in it. And we didn’t really feel like jumping into water from cliffs when we couldn’t tell how deep it was. The cliffs, by the way, were fairly little, and rather uninspiring-so not worth the hype the guidebook afforded them. But we did get some nice views of the ocean from there, so it wasn’t a total loss.

From the scungy pool we headed a ways up the road known as the “Waterfall Way”, and you can probably guess why it’s called that. We ended up spending the night at a “rustic” caravan park in Dorrigo, which is a town so small I literally ran all the way around it in half an hour. In the morning we headed out for a view of Dangar Falls, which are quite impressive, then went down to the rainforest center in Dorrigo National Park and walked out on the skywalk, which hovers above the rainforest with a good view of the valley. We also did a little walk through the rainforest nearby and saw a couple pretty waterfalls and some birds. After that we headed back to the highway and went south, where we ended up driving straight into the pouring rain and freezing cold. We spent the night near Halliday’s Point, and ended up cooking dinner under and awning near the BBQ area, with our fingers wrapped around warm mugs of hot chocolate to keep them from freezing. That night we slept with the accompaniment of torrential downpour on the roof of the Hippie Camper off and on all night.

In the morning we headed south again and made a stop in Newcastle at Nobby’s Point, which is a spit that comes off the mainland fairly far. Because the wind was still screaming and it was still raining on and off, the surf was huge and completely whitewashed, and at points farther out on the spit it was actually coming up and over the walkway. Along one side of the spit the waves were breaking in perfect curls, so there were probably a dozen guys out there with fins and boogie boards actually catching the waves. I reckon they had to be a few bricks short of a load to even attempt that, because at that point on the spit it had changed from sand to large, pointy boulders that could probably have turned them into hamburger if they didn’t kick hard enough to get away from them. I admit I’m a little nuts sometimes, but I’m pretty sure it’s not something I would have tried. As we were standing there, watching the waves crash up over the spit farther down, Glen turned to me and said, “You know what? I’ve got dry clothes in the van.” At which point he grabbed the waterproof camera from me and proceeded to walk down the spit directly into where the waves were coming up. He came back looking like a drowned rat, but a drowned rat with a big silly grin on his face. The one thing he did forget, though, was that even though he had dry clothes in the van, he didn’t have dry shoes in the van. And thus the socks and sandals combination was born yet again.

Next on our itinerary was Sydney, and the hostel we had booked. Just as we were checking in, our friend Charlene-Slacker-happened to show up in the lobby, so after we dropped off our stuff and finally figured out where to park our van-with zero help from the hostel staff-we ended up next door at the Winking Lizard for a few beers and dinner. The next day was the International Tree Climbing Competition out in Paramatta. For those who haven’t seen a real arborist work, it’s pretty impressive. It’s almost like Cirque de Soleil, except with ropes and climbing equipment. There are several different categories that climbers compete in, and they’re awarded points based on time, speed, and technique. If you’d like to know more I’d suggest checking out the International Society of Arborists website, mostly because I don’t really understand everything completely. We went because Slacker is an arborist, and she competes in the competitions. She literally missed competing in Australia by one spot and a bit of bad luck, but she wanted to come and see the event anyways, so we decided to go with her. It was a chilly day, but we still had a fair amount of fun watching.

That night we got back to the hostel early enough to head downtown to Circular Quay and see the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, the two big landmarks in Sydney. And yes, they are that impressive in person. The Harbor Bridge is, quite simply, a massive steel structure that, by looking at it, you swear looks far too heavy to be suspended above anything. But there it is, in all it’s glory. And the Sydneysiders-the residents of Sydney-are definitely proud of it. The Opera House is also an impressive building. It’s quite beautiful, especially right around sunset when the orange hits it. It’s not a white as in the pictures when you see it up close, though. It’s more of a beige color, and actually, I think rather than paint, the outside is actually tiled. At least it looks like it when you get up closer.

The next day was reserved completely for touristing. First we wandered out to Paddy’s Markets downtown, which feels a lot like Chinatown in any city, crowded and packed with too much stuff to even contemplate looking at all of it. It’s packed with everything from NBA jerseys to UGGs to supercheap souvenirs, all shoved into stalls inside a warehouse. I went to Oz fully expecting to come home with a cheap pair of UGGs, simply because that’s what you buy when you go there. Well, trying to find a pair that actually comes in my size was next to impossible. They did have a pair in my size, but they were the original plain ones, and they made my feet look huge. Normally I’m not very vain, but in this case, I didn’t feel like spending $100 on boots I can’t wear outside in the winter and I don’t really like that much. So I didn’t get any. But at least I know now that I don’t want them anymore. I did buy a couple things, and Slacker got a couple things as well. From the market we ended up at the Maritime Museum, which was wonderfully free to get into. Then we walked across the harbor and went into wildlife world, where Slacker got her first glimpse of Australian wildlife. Glen and I even got to see a few animals we hadn’t seen at the other zoos yet. It was a pretty good day, overall, though when we got back to the hostel we were exhausted and our feet were sore from walking all day. But a good kind f sore.

Monday morning Glen and I signed up for the Bridgeclimb, which was a very expensive way of getting up and actually onto the Sydney Harbor Bridge. They take you up the top arch of the bridge to the peak, so you get an excellent view of the city from there, and it’s not nearly as scary or exhilarating as it sounds. The exciting part is actually walking out to get to the arch, where you get to walk down a very narrow, rickety wooden walkway with nothing underneath it but space and water or ground-you are harnessed in, though, just in case. The top of the arch itself, though, is wide enough to drive a car over, solid steel, and you walk down the center of it with railing on either side, so it’s not nearly as extreme as it sounds. Good view though. It’s a pretty big buildup, because you literally spend an hour getting geared up, putting on a jumpsuit, getting pouches with a rain jacket and fleece jacket attached to your harness, and making sure there’s nothing loose dangling that could fall onto the bridge deck. Seriously, everything’s attached. If you wear glasses, you get a lanyard to attach to them, which is then clipped onto your jumpsuit. You get a handkerchief with an elastic that attaches to your wrist so you can’t drop it-no Kleenex allowed up there. And you get a radio so you can hear your guide as you’re going up. It was quite the experience. Though we did pay for it-just over $200 for a climb. Each. But we figured, when are we gonna be in Australia next? So we went for it.

After the bridge climb, we headed for the Blue Mountains, which are a very popular place to camp and hike in Oz. I’d guess it’s probably because of their proximity to Sydney. You can drive there in less than an hour from downtown. They’re beautiful, but in a way completely different from the mountains in Canada, especially the Rockies. I guess they get called mountains, but they’re really a series of plateaus and valleys, with the plateaus being separated from the valleys by large, almost completely vertical cliffs. Why are they called the Blue Mountains, you ask? Because of the Eucalyptus trees that grow there. The trees release a certain amount of oil into the atmosphere, and because of the density of the trees, and the amount of oil they release, the air in the valleys-at least on a clear day, we discovered-has a blue haze. Hence, Blue Mountains. The area is really fascinating, and we read all the signs we could but never did discover exactly what caused the seemingly uniform cliffs that occur everywhere in that one area. What we do know is that it was really, really fun to explore and hike there.

We spent three nights in the Blue Mountains. The first night was at a caravan park, with us in the van and Slacker in her next right next to the van. Well, kids, it’s winter in Oz. And even in Australia it still gets cold. Especially if you’re at a higher elevation. It froze that night. Being good Canadians, we all had toques (or beanies if you’re an Aussie), but Glen and I lacked mittens. We bought some at the first place we came to. The next two nights we ended up at a different caravan park, but this time in a little cabin we rented. Turned out the cabin was a mere $20/night more than simply parking our van and trying to sleep and cook in below zero temperatures, so for comfort’s sake-mostly my own-we got the cabin. And it had heaters in it, so it was-please excuse the expression-the cat’s ass.

Glen still somehow had a bum knee from the half marathon at the beginning of the month, so for the most part he either sat in the van and read his book, or wandered around whilst Slacker and I hiked. The first day we were there we hiked out to the Three Sisters, which is a rock formation in Katoomba. From there we descended the Great Staircase, which had something like 900 very steep steps, so we were glad we decided to go down instead of up. Then we hiked along the cliff base to the boardwalks at Scenic World. Roughly translated, Scenic World translates as “Japanese tourist trap”, and it has something like a mile of boardwalks through the rainforest that, despite our best efforts, Slacker and I couldn’t figure out the reason for building. But getting up from the cliff base at scenic world was fun. They have the steepest railway in the world there. It literally goes straight down the cliff. We rode it up, because the one-way ride was way cheaper than the two way ride, and it allowed us to hike down but not have to go back up. It’s a pretty weird experience, going straight up a cliff with no safety belt on. Glen met us at the bottom and said the rail is only set at 52 degrees, but when you’re riding it feels damn near a 90 degree vertical.

Slacker and I also hiked down to Victoria Falls, which was a lot farther off the beaten path than the previous day’s hike. It started like any other hike in the Blue Mountains, by going straight down into the valley. Down in a big way. Only this one we knew we’d have to come back up. At the bottom we found the cascades, which at first we thought were the actual falls. But after checking them out, we decided to keep going a bit farther and found the actual falls themselves. The Australians really know how to build a waterfall, I’ll admit. Most of them come off cliff overhangs, so it’s free-falling and a lot prettier than if it flows down a slightly sloping cliff. But I suppose it’s easier to get a cliff overhang if you’ve got a cliff to start with, and they’ve got those in abundance. The nice thing about Victoria Falls was the complete lack of other tourists. We were the only ones there, so we got that wonderful feeling of isolation and discovery you get when you hike into remoter areas. From there we visited the info center and Govett’s Leap, which has another amazing and this time incredibly tall waterfall.

Our last hike was the day we left, and this one Glen actually came along for. We hiked over Wentworth Falls and down some steps that had been carved into the cliff opposite over 100 years ago. Yes, they were steep. Very steep. And given that they were cut into a cliff gave you that feeling of being right out on the edge. Well, because you were right out on the edge. The edge of the cliff. It was hard to get a really good view of the falls from anywhere, but the little glimpses we got of it were pretty much good enough. On the way back to the van we hiked along the undercliff trail, which is basically just what it’s called, a trail under the cliff. It followed along underneath a lot of rock overhangs and near the bottom of the sheer cliff of the valley, then back up and into the parking lot. It was a fairly quick and easy hike but worth it, I think.

From there we weren’t really sure where we wanted to go. Slacker, however, was very insistent that she needed to see the ocean, so we decided to head for the sea. We pretty much decided where to go once we were actually in the van, and heading east towards the coast again. We wanted something right on the beach if we could get it, and it ended up being a caravan park in a city called The Entrance (honestly, I’m not making this stuff up), just north of Sydney. It really was right on the beach. Sortof. It was right on the edge of a lake that was literally attached to the ocean. So technically it was a beach, just not an ocean beach. But the ocean was within walking distance. So we all went over there, and in regular Sara style, the shoes came off as quickly as possible. The water was surprisingly warm given how far south we were, actually. Slacker and I also managed to get the bottoms of our pants wet, ‘cause the waves came in a little more powerfully than expected every now and again.

That night Glen and Slacker set about to polish off as much of our food as they could, because this was to be the last night in our beloved Hippie Camper. ‘Twas a sad night, indeed. They did a pretty good job of it, too. There was still some stuff left, but we took that into the hostel and left it on the free food shelf. The next day we dropped all our stuff off at the hostel and managed to get the campervan back on time. You’ll all be pleased to note that we miraculously managed to not accrue any additional charges, despite picking up a few new widow chips along our one month journey. It was hard to leave our lovely van in that sad, empty lot, but all good things must come to an end, I believe.

Back at the hostel, Slacker did her best to find us a seafood restaurant to eat at, but when we went looking for it we couldn’t find it. So instead we ended up with pizza and kebabs. Ahh, one last kebab. I shall likely spend the rest of my days searching for a kebab place in Vancouver with a taste comparable.

The next morning it was on the train and off to the airport for the flight home. And there’s a saga that goes with that, but I’ll save that little morsel for now, since I’m guessing your eyes are getting tired of reading by now.

I hope you don't mind sand in everything...

2011-07-19T03:42:00.000-07:00

Now, let’s see…where did this intrepis traveler last leave you…Ahh, yes, Coolangatta. Well, it’s been an eventful couple of days, kids, so pull up a chair and a pack of your favorite Tim Tams-I’m currently munching on the Tim Tam Crush, which might just be my favorite so far.
From Coolangatta we mercifully left the main highway and headed inland to explore Springbrook National Park. For my Canadian friends, the national parks here aren’t like they are in Canada. They’re tiny and numerous. Very tiny. Like, you can drive from one end of Springbrook to the other in about 15 minutes, and that’s going between 40-50 km/h. We went because the Lonely Planet guidebook promised us waterfalls and pretty views. And we weren’t disappointed. In fact, it’s probably been one of the best detours so far. I was determined to do at least a little hiking, and no amount of complaining from Glen could change my mind. On the way to the trail we decided to hike, we saw some pretty amazing views from the lookouts-we were quite far inland, and from some you could see clear to the coast. Finally something to look at other than endless fields of sugar cane. The hike we picked was a mere 4 km, but ended up taking us about 2 ½ hours to do. Why? Well, we had to stop and take pictures of the pretty waterfalls. There were three of them, if I remember right, and 2 of them you got to walk behind, which was awesome. There were also several caves/crevasses/cracks in the rock that we got to walk through and fiddle around in. So naturally some fun was had puttering around in them, seeing how far we could wedge ourselves up the walls. The rest of the hike was through rainforest, which was cool and looks pretty much like you’d expect rainforest to be. At one point we stumbled across some green birds with bright-and I mean vibrantly bright-red bodies that were hanging out in a couple of trees eating the leaves. They were the kind of birds that you’d see selling for a couple hundred bucks in a pet store in Canada. Overall it was an excellent day, and a welcome deviation from the major highways.
We spent the night just south of the hippie/surfing Mecca of Byron Bay, on a beach called Broken Head. This morning we were picked up by Krazy Kat’s surfing and plunged into the Pacific for a lesson. And it was excellent. They showed us how to get up on the board in a way that’s much, much easier than the way I was taught in the last lesson I took-which was eons ago in Tofino. We puttered around in the water for probably 2 hours, and I actually managed to get standing-and I mean fully standing, feet on the board, actually riding the wave-several times. Oh, if only we had more time, and we could stick around for a few days… But the nomadic life is calling.
We spent the afternoon wandering the patchouli-smelling streets of Byron Bay, checking out various shops and munching on some delicious doner kebabs-they’re actually just donairs, I don’t know why they call them kebabs if they’re not on a stick. Doner kebabs, by they way, are my new favorite food. They’re delicious, and have just enough vegetables that I can delude myself into believing they’re healthy.
Tonight we make camp-or park the hippie campervan-in a fantabulous caravan park just north of Ballina. Seriously, it’s the nicest caravan park yet. The showers have shower curtains, and they’re spotless! Cue angelic cherubs here…
Anyways, I should probably get to sleep now, as I believe we have some craziness with macadamia nuts and perhaps cliff diving planned for tomorrow.
Please forgive any weird formatting that might occur on this trip. For some reason Blogger doesn't seem to like Oz too much.

Crikey!

2011-07-18T01:41:00.001-07:00

Well, we’re on our own now, driving down the east coast of Oz, hanging out in Caravan parks and pretty much just takin’ it easy. I last left you all while I was in Cairns, I believe, just after having acquired my “sea legs”. Well, it’s now been 4 days and if I close my eyes and stand still, sometimes it still feels like we’re still on the boat. Ahh, equilibrium.

Anyways, from Cairns we motored south, and our first stop happened to be at Murdering Point Winery. No, that’s the actual name, I’m not making that up. They make “exotic fruit” wines, like mango and lychee-the lychee one is actually pretty good, and that’s coming from someone who doesn’t generally like wine. So we bought a few bottles. Combine that with the rum we got in Bundaberg and I’m pretty sure we’re already over our duty-free liquor limit for bringing back to Canada. Oh, well. It’ll be worth it if we have to pay a little extra. Then we kept going down that road and stopped at a lovely little beach for lunch. We called it a night fairly early in Townsville, so we could actually cook dinner without having to use a flashlight-or a torch, as the locals call them.

The next morning we hiked up Castle Hill, which seemed a little like the Grouse Grind of Townsville. It was about 1 km up uphill with stairs built into the hill, and yes, there were people headed up and down in their workout clothes. At the top there’s a pretty good view 360 degree view of Townsville and the surrounding area. You can actually drive to the top of it, but we decided (well actually, Glen decided) that hiking up it would be better. Especially since we just spent the better part of a week sitting around. It was kinda nice to get out of the van and get some exercise. After that we stopped just south of Townsville at the Billabong Wildlife Sanctuary. I have no idea if they’re affiliated with the clothing company or not. They have all manner of Aussie wildlife there, including reptiles, koalas, and Cassowarys. But they pretty much started as a place to bring wayward crocodiles. And they have a lot of them, both salt and freshwater. We sat in on a couple of the talks, and especially like the one about the wombats and koalas. Have you ever heard that koalas are endangered? Yes? Well it’s a lie. There’s tons of them in Oz, and they have no known natural predators, save for cars and trucks. Wombats, on the other hand, are disappearing like crazy. There’s one species here that has only 128 actual animals left. That means that if I ever decided to have kids, and they wanted to take a trip like this, there’s a good chance there wouldn’t be any of that particular species of wombat left. That, my friends, is really sad. While we opted not to actually cuddle a koala, since we’d already done that in Kuranda, we got to pet one instead. They have one big, old dude named Ray Charles that you can pet and have your picture taken with, you just can’t pick him up. He’s got a pretty sad story, actually. He was found as a baby when his mother was hit by a car, then released back into the wild. Then he was attacked by a dog and blinded, so now he can’t be released back into the wild, which is why he’s at the sanctuary. Oh, one other interesting tidbit we learned. Every wildlife place pretty much has koalas you can cuddle, but apparently the government regulates how much cuddling the little guys can do. They’re literally only allowed to “work” for 20 minutes a day, 3 days a week. That’s a work week I could get behind. It has a lot to do with their diet, which consists solely of eucalyptus leaves, which have virtually no nutritional value. So they spend most of their days sleeping or eating. We also got a good look at some crocodiles, and I got a good snicker out of watching Glen as we listened to the reptile talk. Apparently they have something like 22 of the top 24 most venomous snakes in the world in Australia. Sure makes you want to head out for a bushwalk, doesn’t it?

From there we headed south-stopping at a couple fruit stands, of course-and ended up in Arlie Beach. Yesterday morning we rented some camping gear and hopped a boat out to South Molle Island in the Whitsunday group of islands, to hike the island and camp for a night on an almost private beach. The hiking was pretty tame-it was basically just a path mown through the grass at a very gradual incline up a hill-but we managed to get in about 14km of actual hiking. We pretty much covered the entire area of the island itself, and even checked out the resort on the other side. At one point, Glen asked what these weird trees were, ‘cause they looked like a tree trunk with grass growing out the top. The next info sign we saw said they were called grasstrees, so he guessed pretty close. The beach we were staying on wasn’t particularly sandy, because it was made up mostly of broken little pieces of coral that had washed up on shore. I think the Whitsundays pretty much mark the southern tip of the Great Barrier Reef, so that makes sense. We had a pretty good sleep that night, with the exception of listening to the wild cockatoos screeching and squawking overhead as they chased each other around. Noisy little buggers they are. Coincidentally, they island would be a wicked good place to birdwatch if you brought your binoculars, ‘cause we saw tons of different types of birds-most that we couldn’t identify.

This morning the boat picked us up and we came back to the mainland, and pretty much just wandered around Arlie Beach for the rest of the day. Actually, we did fit some laundry and grocery shopping in there (one simply cannot run out of Tim Tams, after all).

Well, I’ve no idea when this is going to get posted, so in all likelihood another chunk of writing will end up being attached to this one before I manage to get it online.

Well, shockingly, we didn’t get to an internet connection before this is going to get posted, so there’s more to add. From Arlie Beach we ended up in Yeppoon for the night, which was literally right on the beach. A really wide beach. Glen and I actually got the running shoes out and went for a little jog when we got there, because it was fairly early still, and we managed to jog back to the caravan park along the beach. It was pretty cool, I’ve gotta say.

The next morning we motored into nearby Rockhampton to check out the Dreamtime Heritage Center, which is sortof the aboriginal museum in the area. They have some excellent displays, and the tour was quite good, if a little spotty and short on actual information. You kinda got the sense that the “tour guides” were really grad students who were forced to volunteer there as part of their grad work, so they seemed a little disorganized at times. The facility itself, however, is fantastic, and the tour is not boring in any way. Near the end one of the guides played the digeridoo for us, which is a talent I will never acquire. My sister can play a little, but this guy definitely put her to shame. Sorry, Jana, but when you can do a Kookaburra call, then I’ll be impressed. Then came the highlight of the day, they showed us how to throw a boomerang, and then let us try. Glen and I actually did rather well, as compared to everyone else in our group. It’s a bit of wrist action, and you have to basically hold the boomerang vertical, which is completely counterintuitive. But it worked pretty well. Interesting fact, the returning boomerang actually has no practical significance. There’s no purpose for it, other that just as something to play with. There are countless types of boomerangs, for hunting and various other things, but the returning boomerang really doesn’t do anything other than come back if you throw it right. Now I’m starting to think all the things I thought about Australia were wrong…

From there we ended up in Agnes Water for the night, but we got there too late to try surfing-they’re pretty much the most northerly beach for surfing on the east coast. For some reason, all the caravan parks in the area were full, so we ended up at a backpacker’s hostel called “Cool Bananas”. That’s right, Slacker and Jana, it’s real. Cool Bananas is a real place! It’s a pretty nice hostel, but it ended up being a bit crowded because all the other campervanners who couldn’t find a site spent the night there as well. There’s something to be said for not having to wait an hour to cook dinner because there’s no burners left in the kitchen for you to do your cooking on. We ended up getting up fairly early and heading south anyways.

Our final destination was Brisbane, but we stopped in Maryborough for a bit on the way. Originally we were just going for the Bond Store, which was some history about sugar cane (more ranting about the sugar cane when I get a proper-sized keyboard) and the liquor industry. But then I was thumbing through Liz the GPS unit-she’s got a British accent so we named her after the Queen-and discovered that there’s a statue of Mary Poppins there! Apparently the guy that created her came from Maryborough. So naturally we had to find the statue. From Maryborough we headed to the Australia Zoo, home of the late Steve Irwin and family. It’s actually an amazing zoo for someone who doesn’t live in Oz, because it has all the native animals in it, and you can interact with a lot of them-you can pet koalas, feed kangaroos, hold snakes, and lots more. They had some animals we hadn’t seen yet, like some little hedgehog dudes and Tasmanian devils. Yes! Tasmanian devils! Which are actually quite small. Think slightly larger than a Chihuahua. They ain’t real big. But you wouldn’t want to mess with them if you saw their teeth…

In a nutshell, the zoo was awesome. And the merchandizing was pretty amazing, too. You could get Steve Irwin wrestling a crocodile keychains. Seriously, they were huge. Though something a lot of North Americans probably don’t know is that the guy was a very active conservationist, and he did a lot of amazing things in that area. Which makes a lot more sense that they basically named a zoo after him. It’s sorta nice to know that he wasn’t just the guy that wrestled crocodiles and said “crikey” a lot.

From the zoo we took a circuitous route to Bonnie and Sabz place-Liz didn’t know about the new bridge in Brisbane, so we got lost for a bit. But we did eventually find our way, and got to consume one too many beer sitting on their verandah, with our beer nestled in some lovely beer cozies they provided. This morning we took the train into the downtown area of Brisbane and wandered around on foot for a couple hours, checking out the parks and a little market we stumbled on. The ladies weren’t home when we got back so we left them a note and headed south again, and were nearly an hour away before we realized we had absconded with their tourbooks. Hopefully they’ll be okay without them until we get a chance to post them back. We didn’t make it too far-just to Coolangatta, and we don’t have many plans for the next couple days, though Glen’s currently combing through the Lonely Planet guidebook looking for surfing beaches, so you can guess what that means.

I don’t know when I’ll be posting next, but I know you’ll all be at the edge of your seats, dying of anticipation.

Now, about those "sea legs"...

2011-07-09T15:36:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s definitely time for an update, I think. I last left you in Bargara, a lovely little seaside town near Bundaberg. Well, we chose that location because of the rum distillery. That’s right, we got to tour the Bundaberg Rum Distillery. And it was awesome. And yes, they do give you samples at the end of the tour. Apparently, many moons ago, there was a huge excess of molasses due to the processing of all the sugarcane they grow and refine in the area. What did they decide to do with this excess molasses? Well, make rum, of course! And all it takes, other than molasses, is yeast (Sacchromyces cervisiae, to be exact), water, and time. One part of the tour was the aging vats, where the rum sits and ages for at least 2 years. We weren’t allowed cameras on the tour because they could potentially cause a spark, and the alcohol content of the air in that building could cause a massive explosion. And, quite frankly, that would be a huge waste of rum. And, ooh, did that room smell delicious. We were allowed to sample almost all the products they make there at the end of the tour (including the rum liquer they make where they mix rum, chocolate and coffee-oh, yes, we bought a bottle of that), and we did. Though Glen did most of the drinking and I restricted myself to sips so one of us could drive. Possibly the best tour ever.

After that we made a quick stop at the “mystery craters”, which are craters made from rock that no one has any idea as to how they formed. Glen and I agreed they’re probably volcanic, given what they looked like. Then we basically just drove the rest of that day and the entire next day to get to Cairns. Yesterday we drove up through the rainforest to the “mountain” town of Kuranda. It’s a little Banff/Jasper-esque town with plenty of souvenier shops and a couple attractions. Like the Koala ???, where I did, in fact, get to hold a koala. Princess-the one I got to hold-was pretty sleepy at the time, but she didn’t try to rip my eyes out, so that was pretty cool. And yes, they are even cuter in person. Then we got to feed some kangaroos and wallabies-which are like miniature kangaroos. You’d be surprised how soft kangaroo fur is.

Then we stopped at the bird sanctuary, where the residents are far too friendly in some cases. One particular parrot tried very hard to steal Glen’s glasses, so much so that he actually had to almost fight the bird to get them back. There was another one that wouldn’t get off my shoulder, and yet another that tried to take a chunk out of my finger. Little buggers. We also stopped by the butterfly house, which had butterflies. For lunch we found a place selling authentic Aussie meat pies, so Glen got a Kangaroo one. So yes, we have now tried kangaroo. It’s a bit chewy and gamey, and I can’t say I really like the taste of it too much. But when in Rome, one must at least try the kangaroo meat.

This particular post is being typed while on a boat hovering over the Great Barrier Reef, somewhere east of Cairns. It wasn’t particularly fun getting here, because despite a copious dose of gravol and wristbands and all manner of staring at the horizon, I couldn’t keep my breakfast down. Seasickness rears it’s ugly head. It takes 2 hours of rolling waves to get to the reef, so you can imagine there’s plenty of opportunity in there for things to go horribly wrong. Sadly, I think I may have been the only one who actually ralphed. Well, that shall be my claim to fame, then. I’m the girl that barfed.

Well, it’s now been 3 days since I started this post, because my loving husband forgot to bring the plug converter along on the boat, so I was running on battery, which was low to start with. Now I’m not sure when this’ll get posted, but I’m hoping for soon. The dive trip went well. We survived, which is something considering it consisted of 11 dives (4 the first and second days, and three on the third). Neither of us got the bends, and after about half a day my stomach finally calmed down enough that I felt like eating. Which was good considering the sheer amount of food that was available. You actually burn a ton of calories while SCUBA diving, due to the fact that you’re in the water fighting current and swimming around, but it also takes quite a bit of extra energy to breathe bottled air at depth. So we’d dive, then eat, then dive, then eat, and so on. And we never had to cook or do dishes at all. It was awesome. Well, until we had to dive again, and then there was the whole trying-to-put-on-a-freezing-cold-wetsuit thing. Miserable, that was. But once you got the thing on it wasn’t so bad. The water was around 23 degrees Celsius, which apparently is really cold for the Great Barrier Reef, but awesome if you’re from Canada and the water temp of your last dive was 9 degrees. My wetsuit didn’t fit at all. Again. I’ve accepted now that I’ll never find a standard wetsuit that will fit me, but this one was particularly bad. First, they tried to give me one that was about 3 sizes too small. Then one that I couldn’t get my thighs into. Finally I got one that I could get up my legs, but when I put the top on there was a good 2 inches of loose material around my arms. Super. Thankfully I brought a rashie that I wore under it to keep me at least a little bit warmer. Oh, and the material on the outside of the suits was so abrasive that I ripped open the knuckles on 3 fingers trying to get into one on the first day. Then I had to dive for 3 days with seriously abraded knuckles. This is in addition to my aviary attacked finger. I feel really bad for my hands right now.

We did see tons of fish, big and small, and even more different kinds of coral and anemones. It really is a very diverse reef. We did 2 night dives and managed to see a few sharks, which we were told many times were harmless-and really, they were fairly small, so I think we could’ve taken them if we’d really needed to. On the way out we saw a pod of dolphins, and on the way back we stopped for a good 10 minutes for a bunch of whales-I think they were Minke whales, but don’t quote me on that. The diving itself was excellent, once you managed to get your gear on and actually get in the water.

Living on a boat was a whole new thing, though. It pitches and rolls literally all the time-and we were out on what the crew said was relatively calm seas. We’re talking, like, a good 4-6 feet of up and down all the time. Ugh, I’m getting ill just thinking about it. It made sleeping pretty interesting. And going to the bathroom. And showering. Yes, they had showers on the boat, with a seemingly endless supply of hot water-I still can’t figure out how they stored that much fresh water on the boat. But showering when the floor keeps rising and dropping the entire time is pretty weird. Somehow we managed, and acquired what one of the crew called our “sea legs”. Which explains why, now that we’re on dry land, the ground still feels like it’s moving. I wonder how long that’s going to last…

Now I think it’s time to leave you, as we should be getting on the road and heading south for more adventure.

So it Begins...

2011-07-06T04:26:00.000-07:00

Greeting from Down Under! I admit it has been rather a long time since my last update, so I figured it was time for another adventure. And what better than a wicked road trip through one of the most scenic and interesting countries in the world? So here we are, in Australia. I’ll do my best to start at the beginning and see if I can get you all updated on the past few days. This may end up being a few days old by the time I post it, because internet coverage is likely to get spotty in the caravan parks, but I’ll do my best to update when the rates for WiFi aren’t too bad.

We flew in on July 1,^,or June 30 for those of you who were still in Canada at the time. Australia, you see, is a day ahead of Canada as it is on the other side of the international date line. It’s fun when you get to explain that very fact to your cell phone provider when you call to arrange for a plan while you’re travelling. We flew from Vancouver to Los Angeles on Alaska Airlines, then from there to Sydney on V Australia (part of Virgin Airlines). Then we transferred to Quantas and flew to Brisbane, where we picked up our sweet, sweet campervan and drove to Surfer’s Paradise (yes, that is actually the name of the town). V Australia was actually a very nice airline, and they have silly little stories on all their branded stuff, like the sugar packets and the boarding passes. It was quite amusing, and I amused Glen even more with how amused I was with it. All told, we spent about 40 consecutive hours getting from Vancouver to our final destination. Yes, you read that right, 40 hours. That’s a mere 8 hours shy of 2 straight days. That is a long time to go without an actual bed, shower, or any of the other comforts most of us are used to. Needless to say, when we finally got to Surfer’s Paradise, we were exhausted and disgusting. Waiting for our Quantas flight in Sydney, Glen was so tired he literally couldn’t keep his eyes open. I had to keep waking him up every few minutes because we were boarding soon.

Australians drive on the opposite side of the road to North America. This might not seem like a big deal, except that the driver sits on the opposite side as well. Both Glen and I can tell you that this screws with your head in a big way. For instance, turning left is turning left from the left side of the road to the left side of the road, while sitting on the right side of the car. It takes some concentration. Now try doing that when your rental vehicle is a campervan with manual transmission and the seats sitting on top of the engine, so far forward that the pivot point of the wheels is actually behind the driver. Now you get the picture. So far, though, neither of us had gotten into or caused any accidents. Though Glen has only driven for about an hour and a half so far.

We started our trip in Surfer’s Paradise because that’s where the Gold Coast Marathon is. Glen suggested we try to catch a race while we were here, and who was I to disagree? Somehow I even managed to finagle him into signing up for the half marathon too, though I think that’s a decision he might be regretting at the moment. When we got in on Friday, after 40 hours of planes, trains, and automobiles (or campervans, in our case), I suggested we go for a quick run. In my experience, running makes you feel better regardless of what you just came from, and it worked. It also felt really, really good after doing nothing but sitting for 40 straight hours. Saturday we picked up our race kits and wandered around town and walked down the beach quite a ways. It wasn’t too warm out because of the wind, but it was sunny.

This morning we were literally up at 4:30am for a 6:00am half marathon start. It’s not a good idea to start too late ‘cause it can get pretty hot when the sun comes up here. The first thing we noticed was the lack of restrooms at the race precinct. There were over 24,000 people registered for the various events this weekend, but in total I think there may have been around 20 women’s restrooms. The lines were so long that I didn’t have time to go before the race, and I was too impatient to wait in line after. I think if I had waited I might still be there, standing in line. The course itself was the flattest I’ve ever run. Not a hill in sight, and as such, it was fast. Really fast. Like, nearly personal best fast. I’d have to check my time again, but it was something like 1:56:58, which is less than a minute off the PB I set in May in Vancouver. Sweet. Glen ran a 2:28, which is pretty impressive considering he did very little training. Though to hear him whine the rest of the day, I’m not sure it was worth it. I would also like to point out that I ran this race “naked”, or without any electronic accoutrement. That’s right, I was iPod, watch, Garmin-free this morning. And you know what, it didn’t totally suck. This was especially surprising given that there was zero in the way of on course entertainment. Seriously, I’m not sure there was even one booth along the route playing music. Oranges and water. That was the post-race food. Oranges and water. Seriously? I just ran 21.1km! Couldn’t you at least throw out a bagel or two? Maybe a little tub of pudding? Honestly, if I’d done the full marathon I’d be seriously pissed about finding only water and oranges. As an international participant I paid $100 AUD to run this race, and they give me oranges and water. They also apparently thought it was adequate enough space to try and squeeze almost 20,000 people through one lane of a road and call it a race route. Uhh, no. Three lanes, perhaps, but not one. Not by a long shot. I do realize I’m complaining a lot, but there really were a lot of places where they could have improved this race. Overall, we didn’t have a totally bad experience, but it definitely could’ve been better with just a few simple tweaks.

After the race it was into the van, headed north. The van, by the way, is a 2-person campervan, set up with a sink and electric cooler in the back, a portable stove and stocked with cookware and sleeping linens. There are benches and a table behind the front seats that fold down to a double bed. To our dismay, it doesn’t have cruise control, but the CD player does work, and we’re slowly getting the hang of shifting with our left hands. If you’re dying to know more (or see a picture of the sweet, sweet paint job-which is fabulous) go to hippiecamper.com-and yes, that is really the name of the company that rents them, and those are real pictures on the website.

Tonight we find ourselves in Bargera, a little seaside town not far from Bundaberg. We can see the ocean from our campsite, and right now we’re currently listening to a huge flock of parrotlets screaming in a nearby palm tree. It’s our first night in the Hippie Camper, and I predict some serious fighting occurring over the covers tonight.

Aaah! The Sun! It burns my eyes!

2011-04-24T20:09:00.001-07:00

My oh, my it's been a long time, hasn't it? Well, I'd like to make excuses for my laziness, or say that I haven't really done much since my last post, but that would be a lie and really, just a waste of time. So I shall forge on without providing an explanation.

On April 17th, the city of Vancouver played host to an annual run known as the Sun Run (because it's sponsored by the Vancouver Sun newspaper). This run differs from your average 10K mostly because of it's size. This year, 49 365 participated in the Sun Run. That's a lot of people. In case you haven't seen that many people lined up anywhere before, they cover about 6 city blocks, more or less. Again, that's a lot of people.

I registered for the Sun Run on a bit of a whim, really. I've been living here a few years and I figured it was time for me to experience the spectacle. Plus, who can pass up a race t-shirt (even if it is a cheap cotton one)? I was scheduled to work a graveyard shift that morning, so I figured I'd be able to make it to the race in time if I took the train. I knew I'd be tired when I finished, but I was off the next day so I decided to suck it up and do it. I've never raced a 10K before, so I figured it'd be fun, and didn't really have many expectations as far as finishing time went.

The sun, miraculously, actually came out for this race. And in a city like Vancouver, that really does seem like a miracle. That also, however, means clear skies, and since it's still April, a relatively chilly wait in the shade. I took the train and didn't check a bag (they were charging $5 for bag check, and I'm cheap), so I was only wearing what I thought I would need while running. A thin long-sleeved shirt and shorts. It was cold, and I was standing there, waiting to start, for nearly 45 minutes. By the time we actually got going, my toes were numb. Thankfully they only took about 1.5 km to regain feeling. Brrr.

They started the race in what is known as a "wave" start. What happens is they divide the whole group up into several sections, with fences in between. They let the first group go, then line up the next group, wait a few minutes, then let the next go, and so on. I registered in the 49:00-1 hour time group, because I can normally finish 10K in about an hour, and that's without trying particularly hard. So That sounded like the category I should've been in. Apparently not so. I was informed by a friend at work, after I had already registered, that everyone bumps themselves up a category because there's so many people. I ended up with a green race bib. In front of the green were the yellow bibs, and in front of them, the elite runners-you know, the guys that are ridiculously fast and are literally nothing but legs and arms.

Admittedly, with nearly 50 000 participants, there's bound to be a few people who guess they're far faster than they really are. You expect a few of those. But when I started passing yellow bibs less than halfway through the race, I knew my friend was right. Not only did I end up passing almost half of the green bibs, but I'm guessing I passed nearly half of the yellow as well. Next time I'm registering as a yellow. But despite having to people-dodge for literally the entire 10 km, I still managed to finish in 53:54. After a graveyard shift. This is where I toot my own horn. I'm awesome. Toot toot.

Well, I'm about to start complaining, so if you don't want to hear it, skip down three paragraphs so you don't have to read it. This is just a little friendly advice from a runner with a bit of experience to any other potential runners who might be considering entering a race with me.

Don't run 5 people abreast. I know there might be 5 or 6 people in your group, and you all want to chat while you're running. But please have some consideration for the 50 000 people who are trying to pass you and actually set a decent pace, that happens to be faster than yours. And when you're spread out like that, elbow to elbow, there's nowhere for us to get by. And it's very, very irritating. Normally runners aren't very rude, and they'll do their best to slip by you in a race when they can, but if your group is taking up the entire course, expect to get elbowed. We're polite, but we don't like to be pissed off by stupidity.

If you're gonna walk, pull off to the side. If I'm screaming along at race pace and you stop right in front of me, I may crash into you. Which is good for neither of us. And don't walk straight down the middle of the street where all the faster runners are trying to funnel through. It's not gonna end well, and not just for you.

If you get bumped or jostled, walk it off. Or better yet, run it off. If you didn't fall or get injured, suck it up, princess. It's not gonna kill you. And you have to remember, there are 50 000 other people of that course trying to run too. You're gonna get bumped. Accept it and move on.

Okay, I know I said 3 paragraphs, but this is less of a complaint and more of a suggestion to the Vancouver Sun to tighten their shoes a little bit more. The website for the race sucked. It wasn't very easily navigated-it literally took me 10 minutes just to figure out how to register-and a LOT of the information that should be front and center isn't. Like how early the Skytrain started that day, and how often it would be running. In fact, I'm not sure that wasn't even on the website at all, because I think I got that off the translink website. Really? There's 50 000 people trying to converge on downtown Vancouver at the same time. You should really toss some transit information up there. I was also disappointed by the lack of exhibitors at the expo. Considering the sheer number of people that would be passing through that place, you'd think every athletic club/group/store in the city would want a booth. But there were, like, 5 that were actually there. There was also no race info given with the race bibs and t-shirts. Maybe running marathons has ruined me, but usually there's a booklet included at package pick-up with answers to the most pertinent questions people might have-start times, transit info, gear check (there was nothing anywhere about gear check, other than a tag on the bottom of the race bib that stated it cost $5). Information puts people at ease, so I would've liked to see a little more of that from a race that's been going for that many years with that many people.

The volunteers for this race were awesome! There were tons of them, and they were all exceptionally enthusiastic. It wasn't very warm out that morning, so I have to give them credit for sticking around for hours given the weather. I've said it once and I'll say it again-yay for volunteers! Races wouldn't happen at all without them.

There were a lot of water stations on this course. This 10 km course. A lot of water stations. They were pretty much every 2 km. Which, if you're not sure when you're gonna need water, is good. But if you're like me, and you can pretty much run a half marathon without even a sip of water, it gets pretty annoying tripping over people who stop at the water stations every 2 km. It seems like I'm complaining, and I kindof am, but I also understand the need for that many. There were a lot of people to hydrate on this course. And if there were only one or two hydration stations, the ensuing clogs on the course would be insane. So I guess the multiple, multiple water stations were a necessary evil. An annoying, but necessary evil.

I do have to compliment the organizers of the Sun Run on their exceptional taste in refueling, though. This is the only race I've done where they've had chocolate milk at the finish line. And as I'm sure many runners have discovered before me, chocolate milk is actually one of the best recovery drinks I've found. Yes, that includes gatorade. And though I finished in the first few thousand participants, it looked like there was actually going to be enough food for everyone. Which is awesome, because I've run races where they literally run out of food before I finish. And it goes beyond sucking when you just dragged your sorry butt over 42.2 km of pavement only to discover that they've run out of everything but the one thing you can't eat, bananas. Though I don't really understand why they simply must have bananas at every race. Isn't there something else that would work just as well. Oranges are lovely. Or perhaps that's just my aversion to bananas talking again. Read my past blogs if you've no idea what I'm talking about.

Overall, I had quite a lot of fun doing the Sun Run, and I'd do it again if it happened to fit into my schedule. But I wouldn't run it for time (for all you non-runners, running a race "for time" means you're trying to set a personal best-if you don't even know what that means, then you might be beyond help), simply because there's far too many people to make that feasible. Though I guess if you're at the front with the elite runners that's not really a problem. I have to say, it is nice to run a race that doesn't leave one completely exhausted for the rest of the day, though. Well, provided you haven't been up all night working a graveyard shift.

The Snow to Scuba Tour 2010

2010-12-20T13:42:00.000-08:00

Well hello again, fair readers! This particular tale should find you in the middle of your holiday festivities, so I apologize for not being the cause of a little slacking at work. Today I find myself recounting a trip from a couple weeks ago, as this is the first opportunity I've had to sit down and actually write it all out. Well, there's been time, really, but this is the first chance where I wasn't simply too lazy. What has your intrepid adventurer been up to this time, you ask? Well, it was a whirlwind tour that involved snowboarding, drinking, flying, drinking, snorkeling, drinking, scuba diving, drinking, shopping, drinking, and sightseeing. Oh, and did I mention drinking? Don't get me wrong, I didn't spend my week and a half completely sloshed the whole time. It's just that I likely consumed more alcohol in that week and a half than I had the entire year and a half before. But we'll get back to that.

So here's how it went down. Glen and I were flown to Edmonton, and then bussed out the the Jasper Park Lodge for the weekend of December 10-12, courtesy of Glen's employer, Autopro Automation. They paid for transport, the hotel room, and several meals over the weekend. You see, it was the company's 20th anniversary and they'd done the same thing for the 10 year anniversary. And who are we to say no to a free weekend at the nicest hotel in Jasper? We flew out early Friday morning and made it to the hotel around 5 pm that night. The next day we were to amuse ourselves, and that night was the big Christmas dinner. Then the next morning there was brunch before our bus left for the airport.

The flight was just that, a flight. We bussed to the Edmonton office, where we were treated to pizza, which is where the overeating began, really. Then the Edmonton office joined us for the bus ride to Jasper. Someone, in their infinite wisdom, had thought to acquire a permit for us to drink on the bus. So the liquor began to flow. While neither Glen nor I really drank too much, Glen's co-worker Roham made a sizeable dent in a bottle of vodka, and seemed to be having a rather excellent time. Though we were a little concerned when he wanted to crack open the bottle before we'd even passed Stony Plain. It's a long ride, man. You gotta pace yourself. When we reached the hotel we found that it was the "Grand Re-opening" of their basement shops. So we went to check it out. Well, it wasn't just the shops, it was the restaraunts, too. And there were samples. And drinks. Up to this point, Glen and I were thinking that we might have to order pizza or something that night for dinner. After roaming the basement for about an hour we no longer needed to. Ahh, free samples. Those mini-macaroons still haunt my sugar-drenched fantasies.

The next morning we were up bright and early to catch a ride to Marmot Basin for some snowboarding (or skiing if you're Glen). It was early December so while the hill was open, the snow base was slightly less than a meter, so there were rocks and twigs and whatnot that we both ended up running over. But my snowboard made it out reasonably unscathed. I'm not gonna say this was due to my complete lack of skill, but hey, draw your own conclusions. Also, apparently, living and skiing on the West Coast has made wimps of both of us, because after about 2 runs we were starting to get really cold. Halfway through the day we had to go into the shop and buy scarves because we'd neglected to bring any with us. What?! You didn't bring any scarves? You don't need them here, it doesn't get that cold in Whistler. At any rate, it was an excellent day on the ski hill, and I managed to come away with yet another beautiful set of knee bruises that I could be proud of. Or ashamed of, considering that if I had any skill or talent I wouldn't actually be causing the bruises. Next time, knee pads under the ski pants.

That night we got all dressed up for dinner. The picture below is us, trying to look like grown-ups. You'll note that Glen is looking rather dapper. I made him buy a suit for this. He cleans up not too bad, actually. Me? Well, we won't go into my self-esteem issues. But we looked all right, I think.Dinner was a buffet, and you all know how I love me a buffet. A slightly fancier buffet than I'm used to, but a buffet nonetheless. And thus the gluttony continued. The after dinner entertainment was provided by Atomic Improv, and I gotta say I'm impressed by Autopro's choice. I was kinda expecting some boring speechifying, and there was a little, but thankfully not much. Atomic Improv was really quite good, especially considering they probably had no idea what most of the people in the audience really did for a living. After that there was a DJ and, once the Burnaby boss' wife had enough to drink, some dancing. I'm not sure how Glen managed to get out of dancing with her, 'cause she kept threatening to drag him out on the dance floor, but he did. Perhaps it was the look of terror in his eyes. Glen's not the best dancer, so I guess it's really all for the better, anyway.

Brunch the next morning was lovely. Another buffet. You know how they say most people gain weight on vacation? Well it's true. Especially if you start said vacation off with a couple buffets. And then began the marathon of travelling. I'm going to try and make this short, 'cause really all it ended up being was a string of airports, buses and cars that eventually landed us at our resort on the Yucatan in Mexico. So here goes: Bus to the airport in Edmonton, ride back to my sister's place, dinner with the family, ride back to the airport, flight to Toronto, flight to Cancun, bus ride to the resort in the Mayan Riviera. We left Jasper just before noon on Sunday, and arrived at our resort in Mexico somewhere around 5 pm Monday. We didn't shower in that time, nor did we get to sleep anywhere other than on an airplane. By the time we reached the hotel, all we wanted to do was shower and go to bed. Which, if you throw in dinner, was exactly what we did.

But now, my friends, we were in Mexico! We stayed at the Aventura Cove Palace Resort, which, if you've been to that area, is one of the gigantic and onoxious city-sized resorts along the same stretch at the Barcelo and the Grand Bahia and all those. Though the sign for ours wasn't quite as obnoxious as some of the others. It's right next to Puerto Aventuras, if that helps. We stayed at this particular place because for some weird reason my Dad is a member, and we got a discount. It's apparently a 5-star resort. I'd go with that, given the mini-bar. Which wasn't really a mini-bar, but several full bottles of liquor in a handy dispenser for your convenience. Oh, we could get used to this.

The next day we awoke to beautiful sunshine without a cloud in the sky. And after having left "sunny" Vancouver only a couple days before, a cloudless sky in December feels like a miracle. We promptly went over to the concierge desk and booked ourselves in for some activities, and a little time at the spa. Okay, I have to explain this now. So our resort had 2 sides, the "Cove" side, and the "Spa" side. The spa side was adults only, whereas kids were allowed in the cove side. We didn't see many kids, as when we were there I think the resort was relatively empty. It worked out well because the spa side was way busier, and we were happy to be able to sit wherever we wanted around the pool without tripping over other people. We ended up visiting the concierge desk many times, as that was the easiest place to book any activities, and we did a lot of those. There was a special deal with the resort at the time that because we were staying for a week, we got $1500 in "resort credits" that we could use to book certain tours and spa treatments. Not everything we booked was included, but a lot of it was. So if I say something was "free", I mean we used our resort credits for it. We didn't nearly spend all our credits, despite the prices of some of the tours and spa treatments. I think when Glen and I checked out we had nearly $700 left that we didn't use.

So first up, a therapeutic massage. I'd not had an actual massage before, so I was quite happy that I got to have one bascially for free. It was 90 minutes with a tiny little Mexican man named Whilmer. I was really expecting more from it, and ended up leaving a little disappointed. It was plenty relaxing while I was in there, but once I left the little room the relaxation was basically gone and I felt the same as when I had gone in. Except for the greasy coating of massage oil, which I really didn't enjoy. Sorta made me feel like a basted turkey or something. The whole spa experience was odd, too. There were so many people around, helping you, asking if you wanted anything to drink or to sit in a particular mineral bath or something that it got a little irritating. I'm more of a "help myself" girl than a "wait on me hand and foot" girl, so I felt a little intimidated by all the people milling about bothering me. I really just wanted to be left alone to mellow. And speaking of mellow, what was with the music? I know those elevator instrumentals are supposed to be soothing, but to be honest I get more relaxation out of a good jazz song with catchy lyrics than some cheesy relaxation music. So the spa ended up being a bit of a bust, but now I know enough that I don't have to go back. And it didn't cost me a dime (unless you count the money to get there, but I don't, since I didn't go there expressly for the spa). Tanya, my Dad's wife, was in her glory, though. I think she must've spent almost all her credits. If I remember right, she had a massage, a couple facials, and a chocolate wrap. And yes, she actually smelled like chocolate afterwards. I even recall her dragging Aunty Penny over there to sit in some of the mineral baths with her.

The next day the real fun began. The first tour. It was a combo tour including rapelling, ziplining, and snorkelling in both underground caves and the ocean. The rapelling was a little lackluster. Especially when I tried to bounce off the tower a little to have some fun with it and got yelled at not to do that. I've been rapelling before, so not really that exciting. Though it was interesting that they offered it at all, considering how incredibly flat the Yucatan penninsula really is. What they had to do was build a wooden tower above the trees that you rapelled down. The same went for the ziplines, as they had to build towers for those as well. The ziplines were about the same as the rapelling. Not really exciting for me. Everyone else that came with us had a blast, as it was their first time on ziplines, but I've been to Costa Rica, where the ziplines reach lengths of 700 m. So a 300 m one isn't really going to thrill me. I'm not saying I didn't really have fun, because I did, it just wasn't as exciting for me as it would be for other people.

Snorkeling came next on the tour. Now's my chance to tell you about the cenotes. They're caves all over the Yucatan-there are tons of them-that are for the most part filled with freshwater. Apparently they're part of an underground river system that dumps into the ocean. Inside the caves stalactites and stalagmites-my apologies if the terminology is wrong, I can mever seem to get those ones right-have formed. And because the water's crystal clear you can see everything. They had laid lights in this one so we could see and didn't all need our own lights. It's actually kindof a treat to swim in fresh water when you're so used to the salty ocean or chloriney swimming pool. You get out and you don't stink or feel gross from what you were just swimming in. In fact, you feel cleaner. It's awesome. Anyways, we swam around in this funky and very cool cave for a bit. At this point Glen and I were very happy we'd invested in a waterproof camera, as we got to bring it along with us and get pictures of all the funky stuff in there.

From the cenote we went to Akumal beach and into the salty ocean for some more snorkeling. This time, unlike the relatively lifeless cenote, there were fish, corals, sea turtles and stingrays. It was all very cool and colorful. My sister was flabbergasted by it all. She had managed to borrow a set of prescription goggles from her mother-in-law and could actually see the fish and what was going on under the water, and she didn't really shut up about it for the rest of the week. Normall this would annoy me, but because I also really enjoy snorkeling, it was quite enjoyable to be with someone experiencing it for the first time. Now we have to get her scuba diving and really blow her mind.

Thursday we went to the Tulum ruins, which are touted as the last real Mayan city. They were pretty cool, though we didn't really get to spend much time there because we were only on a half-day tour. Thursday was also my Dad's 60th birthday, so we all went for dinner together and sang him happy birthday and took a lot of pictures. That night I had planned to take everyone to the Coco Bongo, which is a club in Playa del Carmen that I've been told is a really fun place to go. Well, when the grown-ups found out that it didn't even open until 10 pm they opted out. So it was left to the youngsters to party it up. It really was quite the spectacle, and we all had a good time. Though it might've been better had our waiter been a bit quicker with the drinks. 2 drinks delivered to us in 3 hours does not make for a drunken Sara. But it was really fun to watch the insanity.

The next day we slept late because we didn't get back until almost 4 am, and Glen and I promptly rolled out of bed to catch our shuttle to Puerto Aventuras for our first caribbean scuba adventure. It was incredible! The water was warm, the fish were amazing and so colorful, and our divemaster was great! And the diving was easy once we rolled off the boat. In Vancouver I'd had such trouble trying to sink, and there was the bulky drysuit to contend with, and the water was freezing, and we didn't really know what we were doing. But in the Caribbean? It was like our thin wetsuits were a second skin, our BCD's and air tanks weren't even there, and it felt like we knew exactly what we were doing. It was relaxing, mellow and very fun just floating along with the current looking at all the fish swimming by. By far one of the best experinces I've had in the ocean to date.

Our divemaster, while we were on our way to the boat, explained to us that the divers in the area were being encouraged to kill any lionfish they came across, because they were an invasive species. So he spent most of the dive looking for the little buggers with a thin spear that he brought with him. For any that don't know what they are and remember the movie Deuce Bigelow, it was the big fish that was sick in that movie. I've no idea how they ended up there, but there's lots of them, and apparently they're poisonous. Pretty, but deadly. I think he killed about 8 while we were diving with him. That's a job I could do. Take tourists diving and kill lionfish. Perhaps a career change is in order? This brings us to Saturday. Saturday morning we went swimming with the dolphins. Yes, I know. Sara you are truly a hypocrite. And I agree with you, I am. For the information of the uninformed, I am not a fan of the dolphin. I think they're overrated and overexposed. But I went because everyone else was going and I got to do it for free. That's pretty much the only reason. My sister thought the whole experience was amazing and was very nonplussed that I did not agree with her. To qualify, I did kinda enjoy it. It is a bit trippy to have actual physical contact with another intelligent species that is so different from oneself. That said, I had the same problem I do at most aquariums, museums, and the like. I kept thinking that this would be so much better if the dolphins were actually in the ocean where they're supposed to be, instead of performing inane tricks for tourists so they can have a treat. Thus continues humanity's need to dominate and supplicate any species it comes into contact with. Now, if they'd told me the dolphins were rescued from some terrible fate and were unable to be released back into the wild, then I wouldn't have had much problem enjoying myself. But they never told us that, making me believe that the dolphins were trapped and transported to these tiny tanks simply so some enterprising Mexican can make money off stupid tourists. Now you know why I had trouble enjoying myself. I'll stop ranting now.

Saturday afternoon Glen and I went scuba diving in a cenote. Chac-Mool, to be exact. There is one very important thing to consider when diving in the cenotes. They are caves. So unlike in the ocean, you've got a bottom, but you've also got an overhead. So you've gotta have pretty good control of your buoyancy or you could crack your head-or worse, your regualtor-on a rock and possibly cause some serious damage. That said, Glen and I are beginner divers and had absolutely no business going into a cenote with scuba gear on. But we figured we woudn't be back anytime soon, and this might be our only chance. So we decided to take it slow and be very, very careful. We made it out alive without any major mishaps. It was an interesting dive, but the major problem I had was that I can sometimes get a little claustrophobic. I was all right, but something about having rock on top and bottom with no air source anywhere in between was a little uncomfortable. Worth trying, though.
Sunday we had reserved for shopping, and possibly some general laziness, as it was our last full day. We caught the shuttle into Playa del Carmen and went a little souvenir crazy. Jana and I miraculously managed to reign ourselves in relatively well, and we didn't break the bank too badly. Every store pretty much has the same stuff, the only difference is how much the owner will bargain the price down with you. Glen and Jonathan had a little fun with that in a jewelery store. It's even more fun to watch when there's a language barrier. The one thing I did notice is that they didn't really offer a lot of higher quality souvenirs. Most of it was quite cheap and generic looking, and nothing really stood out as particularly unique or special. But when the whole town is pretty much based on tourism, I guess they can do that. This was the day Glen and I got to try genuine Mexican street meat. And it was excellent! $2 bought us 2 decent sized pork tacos that were wicked spicy but incredibly delicious, and right off a little cart in the street where the vendor spoke no English at all. It's not saying much for the resort food, but that was literally the best meal we had the whole time we were there.
The next day we had to leave. It was quite a relief to get the resort's wristband off, though Glen was developing Stockholm syndrome and wanted to stay. On the way to the bus I dropped the camera, effectively killing the screen. So much for shockproof. Luckily it's still under warranty, and it happened on the last day of the trip. None of our pictures were lost, by the way, it was just that the screen stopped working. At the airport we bought some tequila that we had tried the day before at the duty free. However, on the first flight, Glen managed to chip the bottle and the entire 750 mL container leaked it's contents all over Glen's backpack. It was a sad, sad day for us, as it was really, really good tequila. Plus we stank up the entire plane with the smell. My nostrils burned for 3 hours. Though I'm sure the flight attendants had a good laugh at our expense after the flight. Such a waste. But one must not cry over spilled tequila. Or not too much, anyways.

We made it back to Vancouver in one piece, and we really did have an excellent time. Though next time I think we need to go for 2 weeks. That's be just about right, I think, because I've started to discover with the travelling I've done, that you don't really start to relax and properly enjoy yourself until about 5 days into the vacation. So 2 weeks is about perfect, really. I'm really glad we got to go, because it meant that I got to spend some time with my Dad, who I don't see mearly enough of. And I got to hang with my Aunt and Uncle who I haven't had a conversation with in nearly 5 years. And my sister, who is always a good time. Well, when you get 2 Damgaards together, let's be honest, it's definitely gonna be a good time.

So, what have I neglected to say thus far that still needs saying? Ah, yes.

The food and the booze. Oh, the all-inclusive resort. What have we been missing? It feels really strange to walk into a restaraunt and walk out without paying. It feels even weirder to go to the coffee bar in the lobby and get whatever you want because you don't have to pay for it. Normally you'd have to weigh your hunger with your cheapness and decide if you were actually hungry enough to pay for something to eat. But at an all-inclusive resort? Dig in, my friend! It's all free! It's awesome. And the drinks! I've never had so many pina coladas and daquiris in my life! And it's not like they watered them down, either. Full strength, my friends. Jana and I got on a bit of a mojito kick and had one almost every day. Though I'm not sure Jana finished any of the ones he ordered. Not nearly as good as Aunty Cyn's, but defintely still drinkable.

Hello. You say goodbye, and I say hello...or ohla, as it were. While in the resort, every single person that worked there, no matter who they were, would say ohla to you as they passed. It took me telling Jana and Jonathan what it was they were saying and what it meant for them to figure out what was going on. At first we all thought that they were just being really friendly, and enjoying their jobs, and being cheerful as you passed. But by the end of the week we were convinced that it's a requirement of the resort that they say ohla to every guest they see as they pass them. While I'm not necessarily opposed to this rule, when you realize that it is, in fact, a requirement of their job, it takes the joy out of it. It's not quite as special when you know they have to do it. I'd really just rather have them say ohla when they're actually in a good mood and want to say it rather than being forced to. Oh, and in the restaraunts when you say thank you, they responded "it's a pleasure". Well, thanks for trying, but it's your job and I know it's not really a pleasure that you have to wait on me hand and foot and cater to the whim of every snobby tourist that walks in. I'd really rather you just said "you're welcome", or de nada (sorta the spanish equivalent of you're welcome), than faking it.

Tipping. At our resort, we were told that we didn't have to tip. That was supposedly all taken care of when we paid for our rooms. That said, we found that tipping really went a long, long way when it came to service. At one point, Aunty Penny tipped a guy $1 US to take us to a restaraunt on the other side of the resort on his golf cart. He looked so happy to do it that she even found him afterwards and he gave us a ride back. We were lost as to what a good tip really was, given that $1 US was equivalent to 11-12 pesos. We heard things like the masseuses in the resort made $5/day, and that was actually a good wage there. Jonathan found something online that said the average Mexican can feed their family for 400 pesos/month. That's like, $36. So I guess giving a guy a $1 tip really is pretty generous if that's the case. So did that mean that when we were tipping our tour guides $5 US that we were basically doubling their daily pay? It was really quite confusing. Especially since a lot of the tour guides said that they didn't get paid, and that they lived solely off tips. It's hard to know what to do in that situation. But the guy at the front desk of our hotel said that a fair tip for a tour guide was about 40 pesos, so that's what we went with. Though they could've been swearing at us in Spansh for being cheap bastards and there's no way we would've known it.

I really did enjoy Mexico, and the experience of being at an all-inclusive resort was pretty cool. Though I will say that the resort was really quite isolated. It's not like you could just leave and go shopping in town. You'd have to take a shuttle for that. And even then, they take down your wristband number at the gate of the resort, so they know you've left. Big Brother was watching. I'm more used to having the freedom to go wherever I want fairly easily, even when travelling. So while I did enjoy the resort and not having to pay for every single thing I ate or drank, next time I think I'd prefer the relative freedom of a hostel or hotel where I can leave and wander fairly easily without having to take a cab or a shuttle to get there. Which also affected the nightlife, really. At the hotel, once dinner was finished, there wasn't really much to do. Sure, they had entertainment, like magic shows and fire demonstrations and stuff, but none of it was particularly exciting. And the day we spent in Playa del Carmen reminded me of how I like just wandering around on the street at night, people watching or looking for something to do.

So that was what I am now referring to as the "Snow to Scuba Tour" of 2010. It was a pretty good time, I gotta say. Now, what shenanigans can I get into in the next few months?

Bloop...bloop...

2010-11-18T21:23:00.000-08:00

Do I look cold in the above picture? Because I am. I definitely am. That picture, fair readers, was taken less than 2 weeks ago while I was standing waist-deep in the Pacific. Yes, the ocean. It was November and I voluntarily submerged myself in the frigid water that is the ocean. What lead to this insanity? Well, read on and I shall tell you.

Glen and I will be headed to the tropical, booze-infested paradise that is the Mayan Riviera in Mexico in...let me check the calendar...15 days. So in just over 2 weeks my husband and I will be oceanside, basking in some gorgeous sunny weather. But one cannot simply lie on the beach all day drinking umbrella drinks for an entire week, can they? Well, okay, they can, but why would you when there's a gorgeous ocean right there with tons of underwater beauty to enjoy if you could only, let's say, scuba dive? Oh yes, it was time. Time to finally get that plan in gear that I've had running around my skull for a few years. Time to literally take the plunge. So in October I signed Glen and I up for a PADI open water scuba certification course.

The course is designed so that once you're certified you can rent or buy gear and safely dive on your own if you choose to. I've been wanting to at least try diving for a few years-pretty much since I moved to the coast-and now seemed like a good time to finally do it. I pretty much forced Glen into the course by telling him if he didn't come with me I'd go by myself, which he knew was true. As it turns out, he's gotten very excited about diving and has already started planning dive vacations for us over the next several years. I may have created a monster.

The classroom and written work was quite easy for us, and we managed to get through it without too much trouble. In addition to the classroom sessions we spent about an hour in a swimming pool on 5 separate days, learning the skills we would need once we actually started diving. The pool sessions were a bit frustrating at times, as the pool was nowhere near deep enough to really accommodate Glen and I. It's hard to have a regulator in your mouth and breathe through it when the top of your head is literally out of the water. But we did get through all the necessary material and became a little more comfortable breathing bottled air.

The open water ocean dives were where all the excitement happened. We had to complete 4 separate dives, during which we would practice the skills we learned in the pool. We did them over a weekend-2 on Saturday at Whytecliffe Park in East Vancouver, 2 on Sunday at Porteau Cove near Squamish.

The main difference for us between the pool and the ocean was visibility and temperature. Visibility in a pool is essentially limitless. You can see everything, everywhere. Visibility in the ocean is affected by the sand that gets kicked up from the bottom, the color of the water, and the sediments floating around in the water. It was a little disconcerting at times when you couldn't see for more than a few feet because someone had stirred up the sand (Glen!). Temperature was on a whole other level. The ocean is bloody cold to start with. But we did this in November. And holy crap was it cold! I had originally planned to just use the wetsuit rentals that came with the course, but after getting a bit chilly in the pool, I decided we needed the drysuit upgrades.

Wearing a drysuit is a bit like wearing a giant ziploc bag. It's airtight and waterproof. It's lovely 'cause you don't get wet. Or at least you're not supposed to, though my drysuit had a bit of a leak in the arse so my behind got a bit damp and chilly. The theory was that the more layers you wear, the warmer you'll be. It sorta worked, though at times we were still cold. Glen was wearing around 3 layers on top and bottom and he seemed to do all right. I had 4 layers on the bottom and 6 on top and I was still cold. But this is Sara the Human Popsicle we're talking about, so that's not really surprising. Normally when diving you wear a weight belt to keep you from floating to the surface. With a drysuit, because of the larger amount of excess air in your suit, you need heavier weights. And apparently if you're Sara, the standard amount won't work and you'll need even more weights. Like, 50 lbs of weight.

The thing with a drysuit is that it's not very easy to move in. It's suctioned to your skin because the pressure of the water has forced all the air out of it, and unless you've had it custom made, it's a little baggy in places. Thus they're not easy to move in. Well, add 50 lbs of weights, an air tank that probably weighs 30 lbs, and a BCD(buoyancy control device) jacket with various accoutrement (like a regulator), that maybe weighs another 15 lbs. Now strap that all to your body, somehow drag yourself to the water, and try to swim around in it. It looks a little funny. Now picture me trying to get out of the water with all that strapped to me. I swear that was the most difficult flight of stairs I've ever had to climb.

The other thing about diving in the cold ocean is that it seems once I hit the freezing water, the cold goes straight to my bladder and I suddenly have to pee. But I've got 95 lbs of gear strapped to me and I just got in the water. So I hold it. Unwise decision. After the first dive of the day, both Saturday and Sunday, I got out of the water and went straight for the outhouse. Now, I've had some satisfying pees in my life, but up to that point the most satisfying had been after holding it for 3 hours while paddling on Maligne Lake in July, as the snow came down thick and fast around us. Well we have a new number one! That's right, the Maligne Lake pee has been replaced! The new number one? The post first dive Sunday morning pee. I was literally in physical pain I had to go so bad. I was chanting to myself as I hurriedly went for the bathroom, "I will not pee in my drysuit, I will not pee in my drysuit". And I didn't. But it wasn't pretty. Remember the post-cryogenic pee in Austin Powers? It went something like that. But man, was it satisfying.

So what's it like to scuba dive, Sara? Well, my friends, it's interesting. I'm told that in time I will become more relaxed underwater, but in the meantime I found that I had to clamp down on the regulator so hard to keep it from slipping out of my mouth that my jaw was sore after diving. It's a little scary, admittedly, when you first slip below the surface of the water and realize that suddenly the air source that you've been using for 28 years is several meters above your head, and that if anything were to happen you'd have to cover that distance before you could breathe again. I often found myself repeating, "Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic", so that I didn't freak out and bolt for the surface. But once you actually get submerged and start paying attention to what's on the bottom rather than how far you are from the surface, it's not so bad.

Leaving the surface is sorta like that few seconds standing on the edge of the bungee platform before you go off. Or standing at the edge of a cliff while your climbing buddy belays you over the lip. Or those few seconds when you're standing on the landing gear of the plane before your tandem instructor shoves you into free fall. It's the hardest part, but once that's done, the rest is fairly easy.

The one thing that they require you to do in the course that I really hated was removing your mask underwater. Scuba masks cover your nose, so that you can equalize your ears with the water pressure and your eardrums don't burst. But it is possible that your mask will come off while diving, so you have to be able to put it back on underwater. Well, it's not fun, let me tell you. The water rushes up your nose when you take your mask off, which makes it rather difficult to breathe. We're taught our whole lives to breathe through our noses, so what do you do when your nose is filled with water and you have to breathe through your mouth? Concentrate. Again I had to remind myself not to panic. Confounding this problem was that I can't open my eyes underwater with my mask off for fear of losing my contact lenses. So I'm blind and I feel like I'm drowning. It was awesome. But now that I'm finished the course I need not do that again unless it's involuntary.

So now Glen and I are patiently awaiting the arrival of our fancy cards with our pictures on them, which will state that we at least theoretically know what we're doing when it comes to scuba diving. It's a completely unique experience to me thus far, and if you ever get the chance to try it I would highly recommend doing so. If you don't like it then at the very least you can say that you've tried. Which, in my humble opinion is the whole point of life.

I have experienced pain...

2010-10-14T00:59:00.000-07:00

...and it's name is marathon. Oh yes, dudes and dudettes, this past weekend I ran yet another marathon. Well, ran really isn't the proper word. Attempted to run would categorize it better. But we'll get to that later. Last weekend's choice of torture was the Victoria Marathon. Formerly known as the Royal Victoria Marathon. I've no idea why they changed the name, 'cause I kinda liked the "Royal" bit, but whatever floats your boat, I guess (or in this case, whoever pays the sponsorship dues, as it were). It was yet another full marathon, which meant 42.2 km of sheer, unadulterated masochism. Or 26.2 miles for those of you yet to give up the antiquated imperial system. That's really far, kids. Really, really far. Don't believe me? Get on your pedal bike and simply see if you can actually pedal 42.2 km (this doesn't apply if your name is Rob Belanger). Yeah, that's what I thought.

This year was a bit different, because my loving and normally running-resistant husband actually agreed to participate in the 8 km road race held the same day as the marathon. There are usually shorter races held along with the marathon so more people can participate and feel the excitement that is a running event. I've been nagging Glen for years to run something, anything with me, and I finally wore him down. I was pushing for the half marathon, but he would only agree to the 8 km race. But it's a start. After the race he was talking about potentially running a 15 km race to see how that went, and you know what that means. A full marathon is mere years away. Soon, young grasshopper will run the marathon. Soon.

So we headed over on the ferry bright and early Saturday morning, because we anticipated a long wait a the ferry terminal due to it being Thanksgiving weekend. We didn't end up having to wait, either going or coming back, which if you ask me is nothing short of miraculous considering how long those lines have gotten in the past. We stayed at the Fairmont Empress, which if you've ever seen pictures of Victoria or gotten a postcard from someone who's been there, is the ivy-covered old looking building. Yes, that one. Fancy-doodle, my friends. Why did we stay there? It was cheaper than the Marriott. Seriously. I didn't want to stay at one of the cheaper hotels because the beds aren't usually that great, and I really liked the Marriott last time we stayed there, but this time it was actually cheaper to stay at the Empress. So we did. As expected it wasn't the largest hotel room we've ever been in-well, actually it was the smallest hotel room we've ever been in-but it was clean and had all the necessities. We forgave them for the small room owing to the fact that the hotel was built over a hundred years ago before gigantic hotel rooms were the norm. Plus it had windows that actually opened more than 2 inches. You could've crawled out the window if you wanted to. It's a hotel with a lot of history, so it was really just a novelty to stay there once to say we've done it.

Onto the race, then. Glen's race started at 7:15 am, which meant that he would be finished before the marathon started at 9 am. 9 am is a really late start for a marathon, for those of you uninitiated in the art of running races. Normally they start before 8 am, so that you don't end up spending your entire day running. Not sure why they made the start so late this year, but maybe the early time was lost amid the dropping of "Royal" in the title of the race. But I digress. Glen got up and was out the door with a mere 15 minutes to spare before his race actually started. I managed to get to the finish line for when I thought he would be finish, but I missed him by a few minutes because he was faster than he thought he was going to be. He ran it in under 55 minutes, which I think is fairly impressive for someone I would consider a couch potato. I can write that here because he never reads my blog. Honestly, he doesn't. He said he had a good race, and he was happy with his results. That's really all I managed to get out of him.

Now for my race. It was disastrous. Sortof. But I did get to see the inside of the medical tent at the finish line. How do I best explain this? Well, I finished. I crossed the finish line and received my medal, completely under the power of my own body. So I completed another marathon. Yay for me. That's the good news. The bad news? I am so disappointed and embarrassed by the horrifying time that I posted that refuse to repeat it here. If you want to know what it was, you're going to have to look it up yourselves. That's how bad it was. But let me start at the beginning, when there was still hope and happiness in this young girl's eyes.

The race started all right. I was maintaining my pace well, and feeling pretty good all around. It had looked like it was going to pour rain that morning, but things were looking up as the day progressed, because the sun eventually came out and it turned out to be a beautiful day. That's fortunate because I wasn't relishing the thought of running in the rain and dealing with the giant amount of chafing that always results from that. I made it through the half way point all right. I saw my cousin Leah, but didn't manage to say Hi as she whipped by me headed the other direction. I did see Lori, and managed a thumbs-up which she may or may not have thought was going to be a high five, 'cause somehow the thumbs up came out a little garbled. How does one garble a thumbs up, you ask? Well, run about 23 km, then recognize someone as they're passing you in the other direction, and try to figure out through that haze if you're going to high-five or simply stick your thumb in the air. That's how.

As I was coming up to the turnaround point one of the water station volunteers got in my way and I nearly took him out. It wouldn't have been a pretty sight. Take this as a lesson, readers. If you're gonna volunteer at a marathon or any other running event, keep your head up. 'Cause we'll run you over. We're crazy like that. All was well for a few more km's, and then the head games started. I wasn't going to finish. It was too far and I couldn't make it. Oh, if only I could walk, just for a few minutes. No, dammit, I will not walk! Stop it! You can do this, Sara. You've done it before. You're over half way done, the rest is easy. Oh, crap, this is a hill. So tired...want to stop...No! There will be no walking! That's what it's like to be inside a marathon runner's head somewhere between 29 and 35 km. It ain't pretty. It's going from complete awe and happiness with the fact that you're actually doing it, to total despair and hopelessness that you can't finish all within seconds of each other. I've done that 6 times so far. Bring on the insanity comments.

This brings us up to the 35 km mark. At this point I was on pace. I was on pace and I was poised to set a personal best. A personal best I've been chasing since I last ran the Victoria marathon in 2008. And I was gonna do it! After 2 years of fighting myself I was gonna do it! Then disaster struck. My stomach turned. Over the course of maybe half a kilometer, I went from just being tired and sore to wanting to throw up. It was so bad I had to walk. For shame! For shame!

I walked for a few minutes, glancing at my GPS. If I started running again I could still salvage the race. I wouldn't set a personal best, but it would still be a time I was satisfied with. I tried running again. I made it maybe 500 m and had to stop. Curses! So I walked. I walked with the hope that perhaps in a few more minutes I would feel better and perhaps be able to run again to finish the race. And with each passing minute the nausea got worse. Then, at around 40 km, 2 km from the finish line, I finally tossed my cookies. Right there on the side of the race course, I wretched up the contents of my stomach. To this day I still can't figure out why they came out green, because nothing I had eaten that day was green. But there you go.

A very, very kind man walking on the sidewalk stopped to see if I was all right. I was done puking my guts out at this point and declined his very generous offer to get me help. He did have a kleenex on him, which was a lifesaver if you've ever had to walk 2 km to a finish line after just having barfed. That taste won't leave your nostrils on it's own, kids. If I had to compare that feeling, it was like when you've had too much to drink and throw up. That feeling of nausea and your stomach churning, and then you upchuck and you feel better. Really, it felt just like drinking too much. Minus the subsequent hangover, of course.

I walked the final 2 km to the finish line. Right near the line a woman asked if I'd like to run over the finish line with her, but I declined owing to the fact that I didn't want to be the woman who barfed just on the other side of the finish line. So I walked across, with my head hung in shame, hunched over like a 90 year-old woman. Not a pretty sight, apparently, as one of the lovely medical team asked if I was all right. In a strangely intelligent move, I said no, I was not all right. She quickly grasped my arm and asked me if I'd like to lie down. I'd just forced my body to cover 42.2 km of asphalt. Of course I'd like to lie down! That's when I got to see the inside of the medical tent. She took my blood pressure, my pulse and I explained what happened. She offered water and gatorade, and I took the water. She figured that I had dehydrated myself to the point that my body would no longer absorb plain water without some kind of salt in it. And then she brought me the most wonderful elixir. Chicken noodle soup. But not just any chicken noodle soup. Super, ultra-concentrated, ultra-salty chicken noodle soup. It was like feel good in a cup. Half a cup later the nausea was gone and I was out the door of the medical tent to collect my medal. Not a medal that I'll display very proudly, but one I earned nonetheless.

So I can only attribute my failure to a catastrophic loss of electrolytes, salt in particular. Which if you'd seen my face at the finish line you'd understand. It looked like I'd been attacked by Jimmy Buffet's mysterious missing salt shaker. So I'll know better for next time. I wonder if putting some OXO powder in a fuel belt bottle would work...

Now, onto the little tidbits that I didn't put anywhere else.

The volunteers and spectators. As always, I have to give huge props to the volunteers and spectators who were out along the entire marathon course. Victoria is a wonderful place to run which is simply made better by the incredible enthusiasm of these people. And yes, even that kid that got in my way near the turn-around. He was only trying to clear used cups off the street, after all. The spectators in Victoria are amazing. Some of them don't even have anyone running in the race, and yet they sit there for hours cheering and helping us along. It's fantastic! And again, I have to say a huge thank-you to that random man on the street who sacrificed his kleenex so I could blow my nose. You shall always have a special place in my heart, sir. You and your crazy beard.

The chafing. What would a marathon be without some chafing. I really don't have much to report this time, as the body glide was out in full force the morning of the race. Though I do have some wounds just to the inside of my shoulder blades where my backpack was rubbing. I didn't actually notice those spots until I took the backpack off in the hotel room, and then again when I went to have a shower. Sometimes it's hard to tell exactly where all the chafing is until you get in the shower. And then you hear the "aaaargh!", and the sting of salt in your wounds lets you know exactly where every little spot is. I think the ones on my back are gonna scar a little. More war wounds, I guess.

I did manage to have a good chat with Coach Mark at the pub after the race, and he gave me some advice concerning my disastrous showing, so sometime in the future I plan to take that into account in my training. I'm not sure when that will be, but be assured that I will not rest until I have achieved my goal time. I'm crazy, remember?

Well, that's about all the fun and games I have for you right now, kiddies. Stay tuned for more insanity, as Glen and I are currently engaged in taking a SCUBA diving course which I'm certain will lead to more shenanigans. Until then!

Hello fellow nut jobs...

2010-09-13T16:54:00.000-07:00

That's how the email began. The email to inform me and the rest of our ragtag bunch that we had booked a date. A date to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. That's right, this past Saturday, yours truly went skydiving. And as evidenced by this blog, lived to tell about it.

This insanity was first brought about by my friend April, who had apparently been goaded into it by another friend. First she emailed me, and much to her chagrin, I said I was in. Then it snowballed until there were 9 people that wanted to come. So she picked a weekend out of her busy schedule and I booked a flight to Calgary. That's where she lives, so consequently that's where we all decided to meet.

Let's start by saying I'm no stranger to self-inflicted peril. My name is Sara, and I am an adrenaline junkie. I've accumulated almost 4 hours airtime in a paraglider, I've dangled 100 feet over a raging river suspended only by a 6 mm climbing rope, I've bungee jumped not once, but twice, I've climbed 50 foot frozen waterfalls while blindfolded, and I can now proudly say that I've also jumped out of an airplane. Given all that I've done, you'd think that jumping out of a plane at 9500 feet would barely cause a blip on the radar. Not so, my friends. We're talking free fall, here. That's plummeting towards Earth, completely untethered, relying on only some thin cords and nylon material to stop you. I was terrified. But you can't let a little thing like fear stop you. Plus it was on the bucket list, so I had to.

We arrived in Calgary on Friday night, and spent the night at April's. The next day we headed out to Beiseker, where there was a tiny airport with some very nice, very insane skydiving instructors. We watched a short video, then got a quick tutorial from a soft-spoken gentleman who explained what would happen once we actually got in the airplane. That's right, the proper exiting procedure. From the plane. While in flight. I was nervous up to this point, but this really hammered it home. I was going to jump out of an airplane.

After this we actually had to wait a while for the group that had been booked in the morning to go, as some weather had rolled in and prevented them from going up at the right time. And, as fate would have it, some weather rolled in just as the first few of our group were about to go. They could only take 2-3 people up at a time because of the size of the plane, so we had to go in shifts. They sent us off to town to get something to eat and promised to call as soon as they were able to jump again. About an hour later, we were back in the hangar and my sister and I were suiting up. We would be going up first, just the 2 of us, our tandem instructors, and the pilot.

They gave us flight suits, which, though not very fashionable, turned out to be incredibly practical. They blocked the wind, kept you reasonably warm, and kept any of your clothes from flapping or getting in the way. We were also given soft helmets (which one of the instructors told us were sometimes called "dick heads" for obvious reasons), goggles and a harness. The harnesses were very well padded, which actually went a long way in making me feel a little more secure.

Then it was into the plane. My instructor, a lovely man named Dave, hopped in, followed by me (where I got to sit in a, well, interesting position between his legs), then Jana and her instructor. Picture 4 people on the floor and one pilot in a seat crammed into a tiny tin can like sardines, with the smell of fear thick in the air. The plane ride to altitude, in this case 9 500 feet, took about 20 minutes. The longest 20 minutes of my life. I was terrified. I was so scared I was actually shaking. Dave said at one point he could actually feel me shaking. But once you're in the plane there's no chicken tickets. The only way you're getting back to the ground is by jumping out. He pointed out a few things to me as we were riding up, like that you could see downtown Calgary at one point, and he did keep showing me our altitude on the altimeter on his wrist. Strange as it may seem, the higher we went the safer and calmer I started to feel. More buffer until I hit the ground? Perhaps. Either way it just made me feel a little better the farther up we went.

A little bit before they opened the door they tightened up all the straps and gave us a quick refresher as to what to do once the door opened and it was our time to go. In the case of me and Dave, we had to scoot over and back so that we were positioned right once Jana and her guy were out of the plane (how many people get to see their sister disappear out the door of a moving airplane?). Then I had to get my left foot out the door and onto a step just over the landing gear. Landing gear that was 9500 ft above the ground. Then I would get my other foot out. At this point I might add that this was not as simple as it sounds. It was a small airplane, and the door wasn't very big. So I actually had to grab my ankle and force my foot closer to me to get it outside. Then, once my body was basically outside the airplane, I had to cross my arms in front of me and lean my head back onto his shoulder. Then he'd count to three and we'd be off. Let's just say it was a good thing he was the one pushing us out, 'cause I'm not sure I would've been able to do it myself. Then we were supposed to assume the position, which was to arch our backs, put our knees together and bend them as far as possible to try and reach the instructor's butt. Then, when we were clear of the plane, they would give us a tap and we could extend our arms to feel the full force of the wind.

So this is how it went. We reached altitude and they opened the door. They opened the door! While the plane was still moving! A gush of rushing air came into the plane and Jana was already wiggling her feet outside. Then, in a flash, they were gone. My sister was rushing to Earth with nothing holding her back. Just like that. Then it was our turn. And Dave didn't take his time getting us to the door either. No time to think once the door's open. We reached the door and I had no time to back out once we got there, as I popped my feet out as fast as I could. Then I crossed my arms, leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Why? Because I didn't want to scream, and I would have if my eyes were open. Then there was a countdown that I didn't really process and we were falling. Falling through the air. There was that momentary feeling of falling that you get when your car goes over a big bump. That feeling of your stomach up in your throat as you completely lose control of your surroundings. But then that passed and I opened my eyes and we were still falling. Plummeting towards Earth. It was amazing. In all of the insane things I've done I've never felt anything like that. The wind was rushing past us so fast we couldn't hear a thing, and I remember the feeling of it rushing up my nostrils, making it a little harder to breathe than normal. But it was incredible. Exhilarating.

Then Dave pulled the chute and we came to a quick stop. Well, not a stop, really, but we definitely slowed down a lot. They warned us before we went up that it takes the parachute 1000 feet to open once it's pulled, so not to worry if it took a bit. Well, I didn't even know that Dave had pulled the chute until I heard it rustle behind us and felt the tug as we were slowed down.

As we were waiting for our turn to go up in the plane, Jana's husband looked up how long it takes a human body to reach terminal velocity in a free fall (that is, the highest speed at which an object can fall based on gravity and the amount of drag that object has). 20 seconds. At 9500 feet we were in free fall for about 40 seconds. So we reached terminal velocity. Oh yes we did.

Once the chute was open, as the tandem person who doesn't control the wing, you kinda just hang there like a piece of meat until you land. But they did take us for some fast and slow spins, which was cool. This part for me wasn't overly exciting, because as I mentioned before, I have nearly 4 hours of airtime as a paraglider pilot, which is very similar to an open parachute. A little more comfortable, though. Though with those parachutes they can do some fast spins that, while you're in the air, take you nearly upside down, which is a little freaky. And the centrifugal force doesn't really hit you for a second in the spins, but when it does it's pretty strong. Sorta like riding a rollercoaster, without the safety railing. And while you're 4000 feet above the ground.

Landing was an interesting experience, too. They try and get you to lift your legs as high as possible as you're coming in so your feet don't get in the way of the instructors. It's all good in theory, but when you've got those straps tightened around your thighs it gets really, really hard to lift your legs at all. In which case they go for the "butt landing", whereby they use their legs to lift up yours and you slide onto your butts to land. Sure, it's not particularly graceful, but it works. All of us made a safe landing with no serious injuries (other than maybe a little wounded pride).
So April did scream. Not once the chute was open, but apparently as they were falling. We're taking her word on that because we couldn't hear her from the ground. Her sister Adele screamed as well. Neither Jana nor I screamed, which I think says something about the toughness of the Damgaard ladies in general. Glen wouldn't admit to screaming even if he did, so we'll exclude him from the get-go. Everybody jumped. Nobody peed their pants or threw up. All in all it was a good day.

Jumping out of that plane on Saturday was the most terrifying, exhilarating, amazing, crazy thing I've done in my entire life. And I've done some weird stuff. And it was all over in a matter of minutes. But I'd do it again in a hearbeat. In fact, should I ever get the opportunity, I will definitely do it again. It was the biggest rush I have ever felt.

And for the record, Dave has been puked on 7 times doing tandem skydives.

The West Coast Trail: Grunt it Out Tour, 2010

2010-07-06T22:50:00.001-07:00

Well, hello, kiddies! I'm pleased to say I have returned from the wilds of Vancouver Island and am back online to regale you with tales of early mornings and mud bogs. That's right, I just came back from hiking the West Coast Trail. That epic, famous hike that covers 75 km worth of "backcountry" on the west coast of Vancouver Island, from Bamfield to Port Renfrew (or the other way around, if you prefer). I use the "backcountry", 'cause I'm not really sure you can call it backcountry when it's right on the coast and the ocean is steps from your tent each night. It's more like "remote frontcountry". And even then, the remote part is relative. But more about that later.

Let's start with the bare bones, shall we? The hike itself is 75 km, and you can either hike it north to south or vice versa. We chose north to south, and I'm quite happy about that, given that the most difficult and taxing parts are at the southernmost part of the trail (the last 5 km took us nearly 4 hours and there were multiple ladders). We started in Bamfield and hiked all the way Port Renfrew. When I say we, I mean myself, Krista (a woman I worked with in the lab in Campbell River), Tim (an Aussie nurse from CR), Jerome (a French nurse, formerly from CR), and 2 young Aussie girls who were staying with Tim for a few months, Bonnie and Sarah (henceforth she shall be known as Sabz, since that's her nickname and it's less confusing for you, dear readers, if there is only one Sara in this story).

Krista picked me up from the ferry terminal in Nanaimo and we set off for Victoria to pick up Jerome. Then we headed for Bamfield where we were to meet Tim, where he would leave his truck in Port Renfrew so we would have transportation when we came off the trail. We'd leave Krista's car in Bamfield. Tim ended up being 2 hours late to meet us, probably owing to the fact that the road between the 2 towns is just an old logging road, and thus, totally sucks. On the way back to Bamfield, we missed a turn and ended up taking about a 1 hour detour on crappy logging roads, but did finally find out way back t Bamfield.

The next morning I waited anxiously outside the trailhead office, as I had only been able to make a reservation for the next day, and everyone else was leaving that day. I was hoping they would let me switch my reservation so I wouldn't have to book it the next day and try and catch up. Thankfully they weren't busy so I managed to get on the trail that morning with everyone else. It's a pretty good thing, too, since I would've had to cover nearly 30 km if I'd needed to catch up. After sitting through the orientation session in which they stressed over and over again the dangers on the trail, away we went. I should mention now that Tim was extremely disappointed that there was no picture of the Queen in either the office or in the presentation. He complained about it the whole trip. Seriously, he did.

The first night we stayed at Orange Juice Creek, and covered 15 km. It was pretty easy trail that first day, but still hard as we were adjusting to the added 50 or more pounds each of us as carrying in our packs. Krista, the smallest in the group, probably had the heaviest pack. I don't know what was in there, but I'm surprised at how well she did, considering her bag probably weighed half of what she did.

The second night we stayed at Tsousiat Falls, and covered 10 km. This site was fantastic, as the falls were actually warm enough to go into, and there was a good-sized pool at the bottom of them. Which meant we could all basically have a shower. It was lovely, especially when you're used to hiking in the Rockies where the water is so arctic fresh that you'd never even consider immersing yourself in it. But I managed to wash my hair and all the other bits, so it felt pretty good to be clean. And that's a rare novelty when hiking. Usually you just have to marinate in your own juices until the smell gets beyond tolerance and you're forced to at least rinse out your armpits. At this point I happened to be caught without a bathing suit, as this was a situation I had not anticipated, but I decided that given the circumstances, a sports bra and a pair or underpants would do quite nicely.

I should mention at this point that all the designated campsites on the trail are on the beach. Some of them are sandy beaches, some are a little more rocky or have course sand, but they're all right on the ocean where a river or stream meets it so you have access to fresh water. I haven't done a lot of beach camping before, and let me tell you, the sand gets in everything! I was trying to get the group to help me write a hiking song, 'cause I'd come up with a fantastic name for one, "Sand in My Sleeping Bag". It never got written, unfortunately, but I did end up with a fair amount of sand in my sleeping bag.

The third day ended up being the longest, and most of us were getting to the end of our ropes by the time we pulled into camp. Though we left that morning headed for Dare Beach, when we got there the driftwood was too thick to even consider camping there. Fortunately, there were 2 trail maintenance guys that happened to be taking a break on the beach who pointed us to Cribs Creek, which was just 2 km farther down the trail. They even told us that, despite the fact that the tide was coming in, if we walked along the beach it would still be accessible and we didn't have to use the inland trail. Which was fantastic since as soon as the trail left Dare Beach it went straight to a long set of ladders. They also said it was a much nicer place to camp and a lot larger. By the end of the day we covered 17 km, and my dogs weren't just barking, they were wailing like they've never wailed before.

Day 4 took us to Walbran Creek. It was an interesting day, as almost all of it was spent walking along the beach. Thankfully there wasn't huge amounts of shifting sand, and it was pretty easy going. Especially since there are no hills along the beaches. This was the day we came across Chez Monique's. It's this ramshackle operation along one of the beaches inside an Indian reservation where you can buy burgers, beer, candy and various other things. I'd heard about it before but expected something a little different than what we found. It was made mostly of posts and tarps, and they did all their cooking on coleman propane camping stoves. It really was a pretty ramshackle operation. But it's not like you can just wander down the beach to the next place, so we stopped in. The burgers were $20, fully loaded with mushrooms, bacon and cheese and with a little couscous salad on the side. At first this seemed ludicrously high, but take a look at the picture above and you'll see that they didn't really spare much with the burger itself. Plus, you're in the middle of a week-long hike, and a big greasy burger just sounds right somehow. It was delicious, and despite what anyone says, worth every penny. Even if the people working there were crabby and a little mean. I also bought some candy, of course.

On our 5th day on the trail we covered 9 km which took us to Camper Bay. It was a lovely little spot along a river with a spot deep enough to take a dip and wash off the day's mud and grime. Which we needed given that the day's hiking had taken up through some pretty good mud bogs. We'd been hearing from the people at the previous camp that the mud along the that stretch of trail was just horrendous, so we were bracing ourselves for the worst. I put the gaiters on first thing. But it really wasn't a bad as everyone had said it was going to be. If you were careful you could avoid the mud, and there really wasn't as much of it as we expected. There were also a lot of big tree roots to climb round and over, but in the end it was relatively doable and it took us a while, but we made it to camp all right, and not too dirty, either.

This is the point where we started seeing fishing boats just off the shore, and hearing boat motors as we were getting out of our sleeping bags in the morning. It was really irritating. Here we are, on this lovely hiking trip, trying to get away from it all, and suddenly there are these noisy boats getting in our way and reminding us that the rest of the world still exists. Bastards! I just wanted to yell at them "You're ruining my wilderness experience!" I don't think it would've made them leave, though.

Our 6th day took us down the inland trail about 3 km, and because the tides were out (and this in our favor), the rest of the day was beach walking. But this was also the day of the boulders. We only needed to cover about 5 km, which would take us to Thrasher's Cove. Tim had hiked the trail before and insisted we get up early and head out so we could get there early, because the beach at Thrasher's was quite small. We made it there by just after noon, and got the best spots on the beach, so it was worth getting up early, I guess. This was the day of the boulder-hopping. I've done a bit of boulder hopping before, but never to this extent. This was something else entirely. The boulder-hopping consisted of making your way around huge boulders, some quite small but others the size of large SUV's, along the beach for nearly 2 km. And the boulders aren't flat. They're curved, angled, and quite sharp in some places. Now try and get up, around, over and down them with a 50 lb pack on. It ain't easy. I'm actually quite surprised that no one got anything more than very minor scrapes that day. I did managed to tweak something in my hip and overbend my knee, but that's not too bad considering how badly it could've gone. And Krista and I managed to have a few full-on rock climbing moments too. Moments where we had to pull ourselves up with our hands while trying to pull off rock climbing moves in hiking boots. It wasn't exactly elegant, but it got us through.

The last day we hiked to the trailhead and got the ferry across to our ride and Port Renfrew. It was only a 5 km jaunt, but it took nearly 4 hours to get through it. There were multiple ladders (the very first thing we came across was a set of ladders right next to camp that no one was looking forward to the next morning), tons of tree roots and a good amount of uphill. Once again I was pretty happy we decided to start from the north end rather than the south. I might've lost it if our first day had been that part of the trail.

And now the little tidbits that need mentioning but don't really go anywhere else.

The Bugs. Oi! The bugs! Having lived on the Island for 4 years, I wasn't really expecting too much in the way of bugs. There are mosquitoes in the treed areas, but for the most part they don't bother you unless you're standing still. And since we were hiking I figured that wouldn't really be an issue. There aren't usually bugs on the beaches because there's generally enough of a breeze coming off the ocean that they don't bother you there. Well, I underestimated the little buggers. There were mosquitoes, of course, but those weren't the main problem. It was these teeny little bugs that you didn't really notice until they started biting you. And bite they did. They seemed to especially like getting at you when you were in the outhouse, defenseless and busy taking care business. My legs and various other parts are currently covered in a lovely pattern of raised red bite marks that make me appear as though I have some delightful tropical disease. No, it's just bug bites. Itchy, irritating bug bites. Really. really itchy bug bites. But they're not contagious, I promise. I did have bug spray with me, the problem was that I didn't think I needed it until it was too late. Little bastards (scratch scratch).

The Boardwalk. The were huge, and I mean HUGE sections of trail that were covered by boardwalk. It really does make sense to use it, I guess, given that the sections of trail not covered by boardwalk seemed to turn into giant mud bogs, but after a while one does tire of the boardwalk. And since it is the wet west coast, the boardwalk gets a little sketchy at times. If it gets wet, the boards get ridiculously slippery because of all the moss and mud caked on them, so you have to slow right down to avoid faceplanting right into the bog. They've also rotted out quite badly in sections, so there are broken boards, boards that are missing, and whole strips where one side of the supporting boards underneath have rotted, so one side of the boardwalk sags, leaving the planks on a treacherous angle, especially if they happen to be wet. All in all it's not a particularly pleasant experience, but I think I'll take the boardwalk over tromping through the same amount of mud. There are also sections where, in place of boardwalk, they've simply used an already fallen tree and just chainsawed cross-hatching into it. I've never been a circus performer but I felt like one a few times on this trail. The one bonus of the boardwalks is that it makes the trail delightfully flat. There's no need to clamber over tree roots or step around boulders, because the boardwalk's been built overtop of them. It's a love/hate relationship with the boardwalk, really.

The Bogs. Sometimes, it's like Tim says, you just gotta embrace the Bog. The Bog, for those of you initiated in hiking on the wet coast, is a huge pool of mud created in a depression on the trail. The water and dirt collect, thus creating a lovely bog of mud. A good chunk of the time you can just skirt around the edges of said bog without getting too dirty. Other times, you have to pick your way across using the logs, roots and other things people or Mother Nature have thrown into the bog to make it passable. And yet, sometimes there's no choice but to go straight on through, mud be damned. There were quite a few Bogs along the trail, but I'd have to say that pretty much all of them were avoidable. Gaiters were a common sight on the trail, but if you were careful you really didn't need them. If we had been a few weeks earlier, or it had rained a bit more than it did, then it would've been a different story. But it was relatively dry when we were hiking, so it kept the mud to a relative minimum. I was still pretty glad I had invested in some gaiters, though. After a while, the mud just really gets irritating and you get tired of pussyfooting around the bogs. Or, if you're like me, you have bad balance and fall into one of the Bogs anyways. So the gaiters make it possible to just charge right on through without getting the tops of your boots and beyond covered in mud and wet. They're lovely inventions, those gaiters. Sexy, too. That's right, I make gaiters sexy.

Food. Food is always a big part of any trip. Whether you've got too little, too much or not enough. I underpacked on the snacks for this trip, and I'll say that outright. I coulda used more snacks. Luckily Krista overpacked on her snacks, so I was able to mooch off her, under the guise of helping her to lighten her pack. Worked pretty good, too. Before I started packing for this trip I was searching the internet for meal ideas, and recipes I could use on the trail to break up the monotony of oatmeal for breakfast and Lipton Sidekicks for dinner. And I think I succeeded relatively well. I even inspired some breakfast envy in the rest of the group. I had breakfast burritos the first morning, complete with freeze-dried eggs. They were pretty good, and the eggs even turned out like real eggs. I also found a delightful way to make pancakes a lot more trail-friendly. You put the mix in a Ziploc, then add the water and margerine, and mix it in the bag. Then you cut a corner off the bag and use that to squeeze the mix out of. It worked like gangbusters! I also discovered that jam on pancakes is almost as good as syrup, but that you don't need nearly as much to cover the pancakes. So for all my efforts I was not only rewarded with some delicous breakfasts, but also the envy of my fellow hikers as they sat slowly eating their oatmeal. I myself had some serious lunch envy on this trip, though. Tim, Jerome and the girls actually packed lunches for each day. This is a new concept to me, as when I hike, normally there is no lunch stop, and it's just gorp or granola bars along the way. And they had delicious things such as PB & J on thin buns, and sausage and cheese on wraps for lunch. It looked rather good as compared to my dehydrated apples. For this trip, Krista got good and cozy with her food dehydrator and made most of her meals that way. And it worked pretty darn well. At dinner it was always an adventure to see what she'd come up with. A couple times she had spaghetti and it looked just like she'd cooked it up fresh. I have since vowed to purchase myself a food dehydrator. Not that there's room in my kitchen for one, but I'll find a place to put it, don't you worry.

The walking sticks. At the beginning of the trail myself and the Aussie girls all managed to pick up walking sticks. Tim, Jerome and Krista all had trekking poles. Well, it took me less than 5 km to completely ditch my stick, but the girls managed to hang on to theirs for the rest of the hike. In fact, they became so attatched to them that they actually named them at the end. Bonnie's became George Negus and Sabz' was previously christened "the Slayer", to which she added Excalibur as well. The sticks come in handy, I'm not gonna lie, with balance and testing the depth of mud in the bogs. But I've never hiked with poles or a stick so it felt weird to have to carry one. Tim seemed rather impressed with my no-stick technology for some reason. I figured my balance was bad enough without hampering it with a walking stick. And technically I didn't need it to test mud depth because I had the gaiters. Though I did borrow the Slayer one in one particularly bad bog.

The ladders. The ladders on the trail were an entirely new experience for me. I've never tried to climb a ladder with a 50 lb pack on. It wasn't particularly pleasant. My pack swayed a little as I was climbing, and your waist strap likes to climb up during your ascent or descent, so it's really quite an irritating experience. Not to mention it's a crapload of work hauling yourself and your gear up a ladder. The longest one we climbed (well, of the ones we counted anyways), had 60 rungs, so you can imagine you get a little sweaty by the time you get to the top. Thankfully the ladders on the trail aren't at 90 degree angles, but are sloped a little so it's not as bad. Though there are some that get pretty close to vertical, and they're the hardest ones to climb. Some of them are also set quite a ways from the actual ground, so you feel a little danger at times. I used to wonder how people would get hurt and need to be evacuated from the trail, but after experiencing the ladders, I can completely understand it. They're dangerous, and all it would really take would be one missed rung and you're waiting for the helicopter pilot. It's another love/hate relationship with the ladders, really. It sucks to climb them, but at the same time, you're covering a lot of vertical distance in very little time. So instead of spending an hour hiking uphill with switchbacks, you get 10 minutes of vertical ladders. I don't know about you, dear readers, but I'll take the ladders anyday.My poor, poor feet. Blister seem to be a given on any hiking excursion. Whether it's because you're breaking in a new pair of boots or you wore the wrong socks, they always seem to happen. And this trail was no exception. Though I did get off pretty easy and managed to get only one medium-sized blister. Which, given what happened at Cape Scott a few years ago, seems like a miracle to me. The blister didn't hurt too much, and once I let the fluid out of it, it dried up and didn't give me any trouble after that. But that's not all my sad little feet had to endure. Being crammed into my hiking boots for at least 6 hours a day for 7 straight days didn't really seem to agree with them too much. Especially since they never really completely dried out at night. So I was hiking in damp boots every day. That, combined with the pressure of an extra 50+ pounds on my back didn't do much for my little toes. Or my big toes. Or any of my toes, really. My little toes ended up bruised and red, and probably about 1/3 bigger than they normally are. The bottoms of my big toes ended up the same. And because of the moisture, I managed to get a mysterious rash on the tops of my feet. Tim, being a nurse, had a look at them one night and figured they'd be fine and there was nothing I needed to worry about. And since they weren't itchy or sore, I figured he was right. The rash is slowly going away now and my little toes have gone back to their normal size, but I think it's gonna be at least another week before they look even remotely normal again.

So that, in a nutshell, was my experince hiking the West Coast Trail. If you're considering it yourself, I would definitely recommend it. It's strenuous (even for someone who's in pretty decent shape), but it's well worth the effort. And if you take your time, don't rush and enjoy yourself along the way, it's a rewarding and amazing experience. Even with the blisters.

Why do I still subject myself to this insanity?

2010-06-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

Well, that sucked. That's how I would describe my finishing time at the North Olympic Discovery Marathon. Official chip time was 4:44:56, which is my slowest time to date in a marathon. But I still finished. And I will always maintain that crossing the finish line, no matter what your finishing time is, is truly an accomplishment. I just ran a marathon! I should be proud of myself. And I am. But I can't help feeling a little disappointed with my slow finishing time. In my defense, however, there were quite a few contributing factors that caused that particular slow time.
I'll also take a second to point out just how far a marathon is, to put things in perspective for those of you that haven't been privy to my previous blogs. A marathon is 26.2 miles, or 42.2 kilometres. That's really, really far. If you were to get into your car and drive 100 km/h, it would take you a little under 1/2 hour to go that far. It's far. And it feels even farther when you're standing at the starting line realizing that you're gonna be running for a minimum of 4 hours.

My training and the whole lead-up to the race didn't go as well as normal. I had several bad long runs in the last couple months where I just couldn't maintain a decent pace to save my life, and when I got home after them I was so wiped I couldn't do much but lay on the couch and watch TV for the rest of the day. I have no idea what could have caused them, and I'm still at a loss to explain exactly why they turned out so badly. But my confidence definitely took a hit with those bad runs, and I don't think it really helped my endurance tolerance either. I also normally run the full marathon in May, but the NOD Marathon was the first week in June, so I was running a month later than I'm used to. The training thus lasted a month longer than normal, and it felt a bit long to me. I think the same race done a month earlier might have gone a little better for me 'cause the training would've been shorter and quicker.

A couple days before the race I managed to tweak my right foot playing ultimate frisbee. I was really nervous that it was going to start hurting so bad that I would have to stop, but fortunately it didn't. I did my best not to aggravate it, and it held out and didn't really bother me much at all. That was one of the few things that went right for the race.

Normally, during the race I drink water and eLoad (basically a powdered energy/electrolyte drink), and that's enough for me, and works quite well. Today not so much. eLoad has always been my old standby. It's always worked. It tastes like crap when you're not actually running, but when you are running, it hydrates and provides energy and electrolytes enough to get me through a race. It's sweet but no so sweet that it leaves that sticky gatorade feeling in your mouth. Today my stomach decided that it didn't like eLoad, and started churning with the first sip. And it didn't get any better as the race went on. I just kept feeling more and more nauseous. So there I was, running a marathon, trying to stop myself from throwing up, but at the same time trying to choke down the eLoad enough that I have the energy to finish the race. Yuck. I ended up switching solely to water at one point, just to make the nausea stop.

The course itself was another of the reasons I had such a terrible finishing time. For the most part it was beautifully, mercifully flat and very enjoyable. It followed the North Olympic Discovery Trail, which is an amazingly long, paved trail that goes through fields, over streams, and is for the most part isolated from actual roads. It's lovely, really, because there's no traffic noise, and it's surrounded by trees so it's very peaceful. Well, peaceful when you're not trying to cover 42.2 km on foot in as little time as possible. There were, however, several ravines it went through where it dipped down a steep hill into the ravine and then climbed a steep hill on the other side. Even the race officials recommended walking the steep sections (the picture below is of me walking up one of the steep parts). So that's a spot where your time takes a hit. There was also a section where the trail went over some rolling, short hills. Unfortunately they were nearer to the end of the race, where any hill really spells sudden doom for your finishing time. Hills. Hills will always be my undoing. Someday I must accept this. But not just yet, my friends.

The one problem with carrying my own hydration is that I have to have someone along the course to switch bottles with, as my fuel belt can't hold enough for the entire race. This race was a little tricky 'cause it was linear, and we had to figure out where were good places for Glen to be (and how he was gonna get there) in order to swap bottles with me. Luckily the race course was conducive to that, and he managed to get around pretty well in the car, after we did some quick reconnaissance the day before.

So now some of the little tidbits I can remember.

The hotel. We stayed at the host hotel, mostly just for convenience sake, as it wasn't exactly the cheapest place in town to stay. It ended up being a good choice, as it was literally almost on top of the finish line. We could see it from our balcony. And it was right downtown, so no need to walk too far to get to any restaurants. Port Angeles is actually a pretty nice little town.

Race expo. The race expo is always a bit of a treat for me, in that it usually has some type of free samples, and I get to be surrounded by "my people" (read:runners) for a little while. This race expo was teeny, it only really had 4 or 5 tables. But one of them was a company called "One More Mile", which makes running gear with funny sayings on it. I had to buy some stuff, obviously, and I gotta say it was pretty hard to hold myself back. Should I get a t-shirt? Or maybe 2 hats? Would it be wrong to put more than 2 running-related bumper stickers on my car? Luckily sanity won out in the end and I didn't buy much.

The volunteers. I love the volunteers at any race. The race really can't exist without them, and myself and all the other runners out there are more than grateful for their time and effort. This was a small race, but extremely well organized. There may not have been as many volunteers at the NODM, but they made up for it in enthusiasm. It was awesome and I give major props to the organizers this race.

The water stations. There was a contest for the best water station, as voted on by the runners. I don't know what the prize was, but some of them were quite impressive. I didn't actually manage to vote, as I was too preoccupied with trying to remain vertical once I crossed the finish line. My favorite was the Roman station, they had inspirational music, we got to run through columns, and the kids had togas on. Who doesn't love a toga? There was another one that was straight out of the 70's (tight polyester pants and all), one with pink flamingos, and one based on Finding Nemo. The Finding Nemo one even had people standing out front blowing bubbles. And yes, I did turn into a 5-year-old for about 5 seconds when I ran through the bubbles.

The old guy. There was this old guy that caught up to me near the end. And when I say the end, I mean, like, kilometre 33. He was wearing a grey sweater, and was running up the hills still. I have no idea how, given that the hills were wickedly steep, but he was. I shook my fist angrily at him, but he kept right on going. I had almost caught up with him in the last 2 km, but somehow he got away from me. I always find it a little embarrassing when old guys pass me.

The Relayers. I have, and will always, hate the relay runners. They come out of their exchange stations all fresh and ready to go, and there I am, an inch from death after having already covered 30 km on my own. And I feel as though they pass me with their smiling faces, wondering why I look so exhausted. Evil, evil relay runners. Is it wrong to hope someone trips on their own shoelaces?

Size of the race. This was a small race. It was capped at 1500 people for both the half and the full. I think the full may have only had about 700 or so people in it. So it was tiny compared to what I'm used to. And I liked it. There were less people to dodge.

The Chafing. This section's for Kari, 'cause I know she loves reading about my chafing issues. I knew from the start line I was gonna have chafing issues. Why? The timing chip for the race came on a velcro ankle strap. Yes, fellow runners, you know where I'm going with this. Velcro isn't exactly cashmere. Now strap that around your ankle and run for 42 km. I'm pretty sure it's gonna scar. I also had some issues with my fuel belt. Not in the same spot as I had for the half marathon, but a good strip along my back. I'm pretty sure that's gonna scar, too. So I guess my modeling career is over. Oh well, I'll just add it to the long list of running wounds I already have.

So how salty does one get whilst running a marathon? Pretty salty. I think the picture below illustrates this quite well.

So that's it for today's adventure, I hope you enjoyed the ride. Next up, the West Coast Trail. Stay tuned!

Sure, you look good now, but I'm just gonna pass you later.

2010-05-02T13:59:00.000-07:00

Well, hello again, kiddies! It's spring now, and suddenly we find ourselves at the beginning of another fabulous running season. Or rather, I find myself there. Today's adventure will bring you along on my little jaunt for the morning, the Vancouver Half Marathon. If you all remember, I have officially called an end to my running the full course of this particular race, as I've decided after three goes at it, I really hate the course. So the half marathon it was!

I should start by prefacing my stories with the fact that I ran this race in support of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, who raises funds for research to find a cure for blood cancers. The Society actually has what's known as the Team in Training, whereby they train people to run races in exchange for their help raising money. I did actually sign up for the Team, and I did raise a fair amount. However, in order to participate in this particular race, the minimum fund-raising amount was $2000(they set it up so a minimum of 75% of the funds raised go straight to research instead of paying for race entries and the like). Halfway to race day, they have what they call a recommitment date, where if you decide you want to continue, you give them your credit card number. Then, if you fail to raise the required amount, they charge what's remaining to your card. While I support what they do, I personally believe that amount for a local race was too much. The whole deal included 2 dinners at a price high enough I had to wonder what the food was going to be, private transfers to and from the race, and a hotel room for a night. After thinking about it, I figured I'd really rather the full amount that I raised go straight to research rather than renting me a hotel room I don't need (I'd actually rather spend a night in my own bed, thank you). So at the recommitment date I opted out of the program, but continued to ask for donations. I paid the race entry fee myself, slept at home the night before the race, and took the train to the race start. Thus, if you were one of the amazing generous people that chose to support me, I can tell you that 100% of your money will go towards funding research.

I might also mention that I have a little cousin that was recently diagnosed with leukemia, which is one of the reasons I chose to support the Leukemia and Lymphoma society. She'll be five years old soon and the little that I went through physically for this half marathon is nothing compared to what she's been going through with chemo and all the rest. Her name's Trinity.

All right, now that the housekeeping's done, on with all the goodies, 'cause I know you're all dying to hear how it went.
It went well. The day before this race, I was still unsure of whether I wanted to simply run this race for the fun of it, or I wanted to race it to see if I could post a good time. In the end I decided to go with a little of both. I didn't completely race the whole thing, but I didn't take my time or dilly dally either. Finishing chip time was 2:02:35, which isn't too bad, if you ask me. I think if I wanted to, I may have been able to post a personal best in this race, but given that I did that last year and then the marathon didn't go so well, I figured I should hold back a bit.

It's a nice course, too. There was a bit of a hill just after halfway when the road comes up to Prospect Point, but right after that there's a good 2 km's of downhill that are just, to put it simply, freakin' sweet. On Friday night I printed out a map of the course with the elevations on it so I could at least be a little familiar with where the more difficult sections might be, and I remember thinking, "it's so short!" And it was. As mentioned several times in previous blogs, the full marathon is my favorite distance, so today was a bit easy. I could've gone farther. Not that I'm trying to brag...okay, I totally am. I can run really, really far. A half marathon isn't hard for me. Considering that less than 10 years ago I was a couch potato and overweight, I'd say it's okay for me to brag a little bit. I ran 21.1 km and I easily could've gone farther. There, I'm done tooting my own horn.

So now, on with the tidbits!

The weather. It's always a factor in any race. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. Today, it was bad. 5 minutes into the race I was more than happy that I wasn't running the full marathon. Why? Because it was pouring. And it when it wasn't pouring, it was sprinkling. The entire race. It sucked. Thankfully I didn't get too cold, but it's still unpleasant running in the rain. Though at some point you do just say to hell with it and start going straight through the puddles rather than dodging them. There's really no point in wasting the extra energy, 'cause your shoes are soaked already anyways.

The chafing. It's always going to be an issue, I've just accepted that and moved on. Scars and all. It doesn't help when it's raining, either. There was a little bit of chafing today, but not much. Just a little around where the new fuel belt sits. Hopefully I'll have that dealt with before the marathon in June.

The other people. Sometimes I have a nemesis on the course, sometimes not. You may remember the last marathon when it was the 2 lululemon girls. Well, near the end there was one tall skinny guy I had to make it my mission to pass. I couldn't let him beat me. It just wasn't going to happen. I wouldn't necessarily call him my nemesis, but he was close. I did pass a lot of lululemon girls, though. And one girl whose friends was holding her up and she looked like she was about to hurl. I kinda wanted to yell at her to just get it over with and feel better, but advice from random strangers is often ignored anyways.

Glen. Some of you are aware that Glen has been working up in Fort McMurray for the last month and a half. He comes home every couple weeks for a weekend, and he managed to be home this weekend, so I managed to drag him out of bed early this morning to be my support crew. He's not the best with the camera, but he'll do as far as a free photographer goes. This time we even managed to remember his cow bell, though he wasn't very enthusiastic when I went by. He claims it's hard to take a picture and ring a cow bell at the same time.
I'm gonna pass you later. At the beginning of a race everyone goes out fast. It's inevitable. I've done my best in the few races I've been in to take it easy in the beginning and not go out too fast. But it's pretty easy to tell who is going too fast. So I just let them go, knowing that at some point in the race I'll be passing them. I never say anything, but I always think, "sure, you're passing me now, but I'm just gonna pass you later. So enjoy it while you can, but pretty soon you'll be enjoying a lovely view of my backside."
So that was the Half Marathon. Stay tuned, for in but a mere month you shall be reading about the full marathon down in Port Angeles. And if you've finished reading this and are interested in making a donation to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, you can go to
http://my.e2rm.com/personalPage.aspx?SID=2442831. The page will be available until the end of May.

Is this What They Call "Road Rash"?

2010-03-09T01:51:00.000-08:00

Somewhere in Burnaby, BC, right now, there is a small stretch of asphalt which bears my skins cells. And possibly some blood. Why, you ask, does this particular section of trail contain my particular DNA? Well, frankly, as I was out running, I fell down. And not just any fall, but a spectacular dismount straight into the pavement.

Why did you fall down, Sara? Yes, I have logged countless hours running. And yes, I have run this small section of trail many times before without incident. What was different today? I have no idea. I tripped on a tree root. Or as my family and friends like to say it, "a dog looked at me funny". You see, this has happened before, and after that incident my lovely, caring family decided that I had fibbed when I said I tripped on a tree root. They rather decided that a dog looking at me funny and distracting me enough to make me plow my body fill-tilt into the ground was a more plausible explanation. Thus, to trip over a tree root is really to have a dog look at you funny, and cause you to fall. It really was a tree root, honestly. One of those ones that pushes itself up through the asphalt and causes a big bump. And in my defense, it was a pretty big bump.

I did manage to finish that day's speed intervals before this incident, though, so it wasn't a completely lost session (the 11th commandment-thou shalt not miss a workout during marathon training without a plausible excuse). In fact, it happened just as I was slowing down from the very last sprint. I must have been tired and not paying that close attention. Likely also because I was cold. It didn't look that cold outside, but I made a poor wardrobe decision before leaving the house. Damn you, Sun, for decieving me into believing it would be warm outside. I shan't trust you again.

And a spectacular fall it was. I could've gone viral on YouTube if someone had managed to catch it on camera. But there was no one around to see, so my pride remains intact, if not a little beaten and bruised (much like my body at the moment). I caught my right foot, which somehow sent my body caterwhaling forward, with a slight spin akin to a curling rock. I landed mainly on my knee, which due to aforementioned poor clothing choices was bare, and ended up with a pretty good scrape. I have a feeling my right knee may revolt at some point, as it seems every time I fall, it takes the brunt of the force. It wasn't just my knee that was damaged, though. My thigh, right elbow and the back of my shoulder decided to get in on the action too. I have no idea how I ended up scraping the posterior of my right shoulder, but I have a nice red patch and some oozing wounds to show for it. Essentially the entire right side of my body decided to break my fall.

Have you ever seen a 6 foot, 160 pound woman go headfirst into the ground with no control at all? It's not pretty. And it hurts like hell. The worst part isn't the falling, really. Or the pain. It's the fact that afterwards, bloody and sore, you still have to get home. And what's the fastest way to do that? You guessed it, buy running. So there I was, running back home, knee, thigh, shoulder, and elbow bloody and sore. And quickly swelling up into bright red masses that no longer resembled the body parts they actually are. Then I started to sweat. Oh yes, friends, salt in my wounds. Literally. It burns! It burns! Though not as much as the alcohol when I finally got home to clean it. I almost peed my pants it stung so much.

Well there you have it, the most exciting thing that's happened to me in a week. Sad? Perhaps. But hopefully at least slightly entertaining to you, my loyal fans. Hopefully I don't come across any more funny looking dogs in the near future.

The Siren Song of the Buffet.

2010-01-12T14:10:00.001-08:00

Well, as many of you know, Glen and I made a little foray down to Las Vegas for a few days last week. I had been there twice before, but Glen hadn't been (well, at least at a time when he could remember). So away we went, for 5 days and 4 nights, staying at Excalibur.

We got in around noon, and were checked into the hotel by around 2, so our first order of business was to get a couple of yard-tall daquiris at one of the hotel bars. Mmmm...daquiris. Jana and Slacker can testify to the delight that is a Las Vegas daquiri. Then we took off down the strip in search of more adventure. We didn't really do much other than ogle all grandeur that is Las Vegas, and there is quite a lot of grandeur to ogle. They really don't do anything small down there. It's changed a bit since I was there last, but really it's only the addition of a few more buildings and casinos.

The next day we got up a bit early so we had breakfast at the Luxor's buffet. More about that later. Then we met went on the tour of the timeshare condos we had agreed to the day before. We really only went because they gave us free tickets to see the Tournament of Kings at Excalibur that night, but we also wanted to find out how timeshares worked. We were actually thinking about it for a while, until we realized that anywhere we wanted to go there probably wasn't a timeshare property in a very good location, and even if the initial purchase price eventually got paid off, it was still going to cost us a decent chunk of change in maintence fees every year anyways. Plus near the end they just started to get really pushy. Though my favorite part of the whole experience was right near the end we finally said no for the last time, and the woman asked us why. I basically said when we go on vacation we go backpacking and it pretty much costs us nothing. We don't take grand $5000 vacations every year. That shut her down pretty quick, though not without her somehow insinuating that because we liked backpacking that we didn't travel much. Yeah. Because seeing the Rocky Mountains or Vancouver Island from remote, unpopulated areas where only a handful of people have ever been means that we hate to travel. For the record, when I said backpacking, what I actually meant was backpacking-travelling, not backpacking-hiking, though we like to do both. And I can't imagine there are a lot of RCI-approved timeshares available in Kathmadu.

That night we went to the Tournament of Kings at Excalibur (with our free show tickets). After the show we took the Deuce (the bus that goes up and down the strip) to Fremont street to see the lights and check things out. We caught a tribute to Queen on the ceiling, which was appropriate given how much Glen seems to enjoy that particular band. We also picked up another large daquiri, though this one mostly to keep ourselves warm. It gets feckin cold in the desert at night! The next day we took a bus tour out to Hoover Dam, more on that later. The next morning we ate an absurdly large breakfast at the brunch buffet at the MGM Grand, then did a bit more wandering. Then it was Blue Man Group at the Venetian. The next morning we had another breakfast buffet at our hotel, then caught a shuttle back to the airport for the flight home.

So now that the summary's all over and done with, I'll elaborate on the points I think need elaborating on.
Hoover Dam. We took a 5 hour bus trip out to Hoover Dam from Las Vegas. I was a little surprised to find how close it actually is to the city-it's really only about a 45 minute drive. The dam itself wasn't really as impressive as I thought it would be. Yes, it's an impressively large structure. And yes, it's a huge amount of concrete. But for some reason it wasn't as awe-inspiring as I thought it would be. We saw a short video on the making of the dam, then took a very quick tour of a couple of other places in the dam, one of the places being the turbine room. The one thing that struck me, as well as Glen, was the sheer amount of propaganda that was being fed to us throughout our experience at the dam. Yes, it's an amazing feat of engineering that's brought power and water to many people. And they were apt to point out that the dam has made it possible for people to live in a harsh and normally inhospitable climate. They also pointed out that the dam would solve flooding problems downriver, essentially "taming" the mighty Colorado River. So basically, the Hoover Dam was built so people could live somewhere where they really shouldn't be living, and to prevent nature from messing up human habitations farther down the river. Thus the take-home message is that nature needs to be controlled so people can live wherever the hell they want. That's an awesome thing to be teaching our children. There's no need to respect nature when it can be conquered.

Cigarette smoke. I've complained before about the cigarette smoke in London, apparently the British didn't get the memo about the link between cigarettes and lung cancer. Well it appears that neither have most of the people in the United States. And to make matters worse, they have yet to pass a law that disallows smoking in casinos, bars and restaraunts. It's disgusting. Every night we came back to our room and had to shower before we went to bed so we didn't have to smell it all night long. I literally had to wash everything in my bag when we got back. Gross. After 5 days we were both dying for a few breaths of smoke-free air.
The Shows. The Tournament of Kings was excellent. It was a bit cheesy, but more like Havarti than cheap cheddar. It was a dinner show, and given that it's set in medieval era, they don't provide cutlery. The food was actually quite good, made better by the fact that you got to get your hands dirty to eat it. We sat in the cheering section for the king of Ireland, though he didn't actually win the tournament that night. It was a fun, they teach you how to toast and slap the table to cheer. The other show we saw was the Blue Man Group at the Venetian. It was fantastic. It's hard to describe what it's actually about, because the show itself didn't really have a theme or any kind of storyline. I can say that it was hilarious, clever, and very interesting. And pretty much everybody will get it. Before we went we thought the tickets were a bit pricey, but after that show I think both Glen and I agreed that it was well worth what we paid for it. Should you ever be in Vegas and have the chance, definitely go see the Blue Man Group. We actually met an excessively chatty old man on the bus one day that had seen them 15 times. He says they were excellent each and every time he went.

Daquiris. Booze are one of the main attractions in Las Vegas. I've been told if you sit at the slot machines for long enough, or one of the gambling tables, that they'll even bring you free drinks. One thing I discovered last time I was there was that you can buy a drink and carry it pretty much anywhere you want to. Into other casinos, stores, even right out in the open on the street. And there are plenty of places to buy your booze. Most of the casinos now have their own souvenier glasses that you can get with a variety of drinks in them. Glen and I came home with three different kinds of plastic cups, one of them shaped like the Eiffel Tower. The best drink we had though, hands down, was the Bama Breeze at Margaritaville. You couldn't even taste the liquor in it. It was just a delicious, fruity, coconuty delight. Mmm, my mouth waters just remembering it. Oh, and Flippy, the rumrunner-poring bartender from my last trip is still there! And he still sticks his tips to his bald head. Swing by the round bar between Harrah's and Imperial Palace next time you're there and see for yourself. Order a rumrunner. I dare ya.

Skin. Well, sex, really. It's so in-your-face there. I remember the guys on the corners flicking the pictures of prostitutes and dancing girls at you from the times I'd been previous, but I swear the thongs-in-your-face experience wasn't as bad before. Now you can't take more than 2 steps without being assaulted by the image of a half-naked woman with bulging behemoth boobs leering back at you from a billboard, signpost, or piece of trash lying on the sidewalk. I'm no puritan, but does it really have to be so in your face? I mean, people take their kids to Las Vegas. The Sirens of TI outside Treasure Island each night used to be about pirates and treasure. Now it's about scantily clad women enticing guys to come join them on their ship by signing and dancing suggestively. It used to be a family show, but there's no way I'd let my kids watch it now. And you can't get away from it, because it's everywhere. Even on Fremont street there was a stage with women dancing in their underwear. And there was reason or purpose for this show, it was just there. Along with a squadron of creepy, drooling old men.
The buffets. Oh yes, the all-important, ever present buffets. If you've never heard me profess my love for a good buffet, here it is: I unequivocally, unconditionally LOVE buffets. Ever have trouble deciding what you want off a menu? No problem if you're at a buffet! You can have a little of everything, if you like. And there's no need to finish it if you decide you don't like it, just leave it on your plate and go back for something better. How can you argue with that? That, dear readers, is why I love buffets. And holy crap, are there a lot of buffets in Las Vegas. Glen and I ate at no less than 4 different buffets, and they were all good. Though our favorite had to be the Sunday brunch at MGM Grand. Sure, we paid through the teeth for it, but we didn't exactly walk away hungry. That's the only problem with a buffet, really. You eat too much. Well, I do, anyways. I always want to try everything, which in Vegas is nearly impossible given the size of the buffets. And nearly every hotel has one. It might not be huge, but it's there. Then you have to live with the post-buffet guilt, though. You swear to yourself you won't eat as much at the next meal, but what happens? You eat just as much, maybe even a little more. I guess that's why people always gain weight when they're on vacation. Mmm...buffets.

So now I'm done with Las Vegas, literally and figuratively. It was my third time there, and now all the awe and wonder has basically worn off, and there's really not much left to make me want to go back again. I don't really gamble (aside from dropping maybe $20 in the slot machines for kicks), and I really don't drink much except on very rare occasions. So that, I think, was my last trip to Las Vegas. Plus there's far too much more world to see to keep going back to the same place over and over again.

So stay tuned, kiddies, for the next delightful adventure. That was just for you, April. ;)

Rubber Ducky, You're the One...

2009-10-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

Well hello again, avid readers! I honestly thought that it would be longer before I regaled you all with another tale of running joy and woe, but apparently, I am insane. Or something very close. And there's significantly less woe in this particular tale than there are in some of the others.

Just this very morning I had the pleasure of running the Rubber Ducky Half Marathon, which is 2 laps around the picturesque Burnaby Lake in the heart of the greater Vancouver area. Why, you ask, did I decide to run this seemingly unknown race? Well, the Royal Victoria Marathon was at the beginning of October, and due to a lengthy vacation in the UK in which I did absolutely no running, I was in no shape to be there for the fun. I wanted to be, but alas, I was not. I might mention at this point that I will never again take a vacation in which I do very little physical activity. Not at all owing to the vacation itself, but to the fact that getting myself back to my regular pace and endurance level afterwards is nothing short of hell. Next time I shall be packing my running gear. That said, after missing the RVM, I was feeling a little lazy and a bit left out. I felt as though I needed an event. A race I could run with a whole bunch of other crazy people. So I went online last week and found the Rubber Ducky Half, and took about 5 minutes to decide I wanted to sign myself up.

I went into this race with full knowledge that I would not be gaining another personal best. It just wasn't gonna happen today, and it didn't. But having known that going in, I am totally satisfied with the way the race turned out. I took almost a full month of holidays without running even once, and have been working my butt off since. The first few weeks after I got home, actually ended up being some of the slowest runs I have ever done (for those that know pacing, I was doing about 7:20 km's, I coulda cried). So crossing the finish line today to find that I had run solid 6 minute km's the entire race made me feel pretty damn good. I'm back, baby!

It still didn't feel like enough. As I have said in this blog before, and as most of you know, my favorite distance is a full marathon. It has been since I ran my first in 2007, and I think it always will be. Halfs are good, they just aren't really long enough. So today's race just reminded me of that. Not that the 21.1 km's were easy, but it was that feeling of crossing the finish line and thinking, "is that it?" So when's the next marathon, then?

It was a good race, and I was in a reasonably good mood for most of it, so I don't really have much to report. But I do have a few things, so here goes.

The Lulu girl. Oh, yes, there was one in today's race. You may remember my nemeses from this year's Vancouver Marathon, but if you don't, scroll back to that particualr blog and you shall understand. It wasn't the same girl, but she was wearing the Lululemon running shorts and bouncing around for the first few km's like she was all that and the expensive shoes she was wearing. Well, I passed her, in all her tiny shorts and new shoes glory. Me, in my Brooks shorts and shoes that needed replacing several months ago. So take that, Lulu girl. Eat my dust, as it were.
The terrain. Normally, a race would be run on asphalt and pavement. On the street somewhere. But this race was run on the trails around Burnaby Lake, thus essentially making it a trail run. Which, if you're a runner, makes a gigantic difference. Unlike pavement, trails wind through the trees, have tree roots and other debris on the actual trail, and they aren't flat. Burnaby Lake, in particualr, is in no way flat. It can't even see flat from where it's sitting. This isn't to say that it's a hilly course. It's not, far from it. There are no siginificant hills, it's just that the trail undulates up and down with very small hills. And there are ruts on the trail that make it difficult to pick where on the trail to run, especially since the ruts keep moving. And there are spots along this trail, some of them cover several hundred metres, that are squishy. It's a boggy area, so that makes sense. But when you're running, and you need the ground to be reasonably hard so you have something solid to push off from with your next step, when the ground is spongy it doubles the amount of work you have to do with each step. Energy sapping squishy ground. It's a nice course, but you just have to go into it knowing it's a trail run, which fortunately I did know thanks to my previous forays to the lake.
Glen and the camera. As many people know, Glen is my pit crew. And he's normally an excellent pit crew. He's ready with extra water bottles, chapstick, or anything else I might need when I see him along the way. Well he lost it today. It was 2 laps of the lake, so he saw me start, then go by once, then at the end. Well, that was the theory anyways. He did see me start, and he did see me on the first lap, though he was a little slow on the uptake, since when I was going past he was half-way across a field 'cause he thought I'd take a little longer than I did. Then at the finish line he totally missed me. He said it was because with his calculations I was going to finish at 2:15. Oh Glen, how wrong you were. He missed me by a good 10 minutes. In fact, I was just finishing off my second delightful orange slice when he came waltzing along to the finish line. I have no idea how he figured this 2:15 out, since every time I passed a km marker I saw that I was running solid 6 min km's. Like, seriously solid. I think I was off by a few seconds near the end, but only in the last couple km's. So there's no victorious picture of me crossing the finish line from this morning. But I think I may take this as a sign that he needs to start running his own half-marathons. He just doesn't know it yet.

So that's one more adventure for me. I hope you enjoyed it. Stay tuned for the next one!

Final Thoughts.

2009-09-27T18:13:00.001-07:00

Well, I've finally gotten around to this, sortof. After some re-reading I don't really have a huge amount to add to my previous posts in terms of opinions and the like. Well, I have a few, so I'll share what I do have. And, as always, the disclaimer that these are, in fact, my opinions on my own personal experiences. You may feel totally different about the exact same place, so take what I have to say with a grain of salt. Everybody's different.

I hate London. Okay, hate might be too strong a word. I greatly dislike London. Here's why. I grew up in Canada, where things are green. I like green, probably for that reason. There is a serious lack of green in London. Yes, there is the occasional tree, and the occasional patch of grass, but those are rare, and for the most part it's a concrete jungle. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot, basically is how it went. You could walk for several city blocks and not see a single tree or patch of grass. Seriously. And when you're from Canada, where even apartment buildings have lawns, it's hard to get past the grey of the concrete. It's very monochromatic, and almost irritating.

But it's not just that. It seems that most of the UK didn't get the "smoking causes lung cancer" memo, so nearly everyone smokes. Or it seems that way when you walk down the street. I will give them credit for banning smoking in restaraunts, pubs, and other public spaces, though. But they don't have the 6 metre around the door rule, so the get out of the restaraunt or pub you have to walk through a plume of cigarette smoke. Yuck. And everyone walks along the street smoking, so it's a constant barrage of lung-clogging stench. I swear just walking around in London for an hour is like having a pack-a-day habit. And because they all walk around polluting the air, there are cigarette butts everywhere. Which makes the place seem dirty. Now if you threw a few trees in there for some greenery it might not seem so bad, but there aren't any trees, thus you feel as though the cigarette butts are as endless as the concrete. So London came off as dirty and smelly to me.

The Underground is fantastic, but needs some ventilation. The Underground, or the tube, if you like, is fantastic. We took it from the airport and then back at the end of our trip, and it was cheap and really quick. There are tons of stations everywhere, so wherever you might want to go, you don't need to go far to get to a tube stop. They've also made it very easy to use by coming up with the Oyster card. It's a card with a chip in it, and you tap it on the turnstyles when you enter the station, and then tap it on the out turnstyles when you leave. You can load it up with as much as you like, and it makes it really easy to get from place to place without having to figure out how much change you need for a ticket or how many zones you need to pay for. They need to ventilate the stations and the trains, though. There was absolutely none when we were there. The second you step into the tube station, you break out in a sweat because the air is hot and stagnant. So they also smell a little funny. And on top of that, if it's busy at the time, you're shoulder to shoulder with other sweaty passengers. It ends up as a big, sticky, uncomfortable mess. And you feel that way when you get off. But really, a little A/C or some fans and the problem would be solved.

London is expensive. Don't let anyone tell you different. Sure, you can save with "budget" accomodation, but even the hostels charge upwards of 30 pounds a night. Do the conversion. That's $60 Canadian. For a shared bunk bed and shared bathroom. The food isn't any cheaper, either. You could eat for maybe 3 pounds if you needed to, but you're not exactly getting a fantastic, filling meal for that much. And do the conversion, and that 3 pounds becomes $6. You can get a footlong sandwich at Subway for that much in Canada. And good luck finding a cup of coffee, tea or hot chocolate for less than 2 pounds. Yeah. It ain't cheap. But if you know that, and you go mentally prepared for it, then it's really not so hard to suck up the exorbitant prices. That said, you can sometimes get a pint of beer for 2.50 pounds, which is still $5, but if you consider that some places in Canada are now charging $6 for a 355 mL bottle of beer, a 500 mL pint for $5 really isn't that bad. And it's actually borderline cheaper than water in some places. And given the choice, who would drink water?

I really sound like I'm running London down, but after the second time I decided I didn't really like the city. Mostly it was the lack of green. I figured that out when I spent a couple hours wandering around Hyde Park and my mood improved greatly. I'm Canadian, and I like the wide open, green, natural spaces. Give me trees or give me death, apparently. It's who I am, and I'm okay with that.

You know what else I noticed? When they want to memorialize someone over there, they build a statue. Or a fountain. Or a big fancy building that has little purpose other than just looking pretty (the Scott Monument comes to mind). Or some other structure that requires concrete, stone or metal. You know what Canadians do when they want to memorialize someone? We plant a tree. Or name a mountain after them. Or a river. But it generally involves the natural landscape in some way. I think I like that. Instead of changing the environment to remember someone, we just make them a part of what's already there. I'm not saying building a statue isn't a good way of keeping someone's memory alive, it's just that if someone were going to remember me, I think I'd prefer a mountain or a tree. I think I might be a tree-hugger.

Oh, that brings me to another point. Okay, I get that you built a statue, but why did you put it on top of a huge pillar so no one but a giant could see it? They've done that everywhere. There's a life-sized statue of so-and-so, but it's on top of a 30 foot column, so you can't really tell how beautiful or detailed it is. I don't get it. If I were an artist, I think I'd be a bit offended, 'cause no one would be able to see my work. You stand on the ground, stare up at it, and wonder if you should bother trying the zoom on your camera or just not bother taking a picture because it's so high and the angle is so weird that it's not really worth it. It just doesn't make sense. If anyone knows why they do this, please tell me, because it's very perplexing to me.

Overall, I had a fantastic time in the 24 days I spent in the UK. I did a lot of stuff that I never thought I would, and saw so many places I've nearly forgotten about some of them already. I saw famous places that I've always wanted to see, and a few hidden gems. It was definitely a good trip, and I'm glad I went. Now, on to the next adventure.

The Last Few Pictures.

2009-09-27T17:59:00.001-07:00

Here are the last few pictures from the big UK trip that I thought were probably worth posting. Enjoy!Haggis! At the Drover's Inn, a very cool place that actually makes fantastic haggis.

Me with our driver/tour guide/music junkie Russell.

At Albert Dock in Liverpool.

The first Lambanana sighting!

Stonehenge, in the event you didn't know what it was.

Me listening to the audio tour at the Roman Baths in Bath.

Must...keep...house...from falling over...

Inside Shakespeare's Globe.

In the Natural History Museum in London.

The gate to the Egyptian Avenue at Highgate Cemetery.

The end is Nigh!

2009-09-09T13:31:00.000-07:00

Hello again, avid readers! Well, it appears that yet another of the YHA hostels we've ended up in demands a far too great sum of money for me to bother paying for internet. Though, there is a pub within walking distance that has free WiFi for customers. So, I can either pay the YHA for internet, or go down to the pub and have a pint with my internet for the same price. Which would you pick? Exactly. That's why this particular post isn't proper with pictures and all. Now, on with the show.

We've spent yet another day in London, and this time we started with the Museum of London. Thankfully, because it's a museum, admission was free. I'm learning to appreciate the free where I can get it, 'cause this city is damn expensive. It was another museum. It went through the history of London since basically before time, and then right up to the present day. There were artifacts in glass cases and whatnot. And a lot of info boards. I think after this trip I'm gonna be info boarded out for at least a year, if not more. That's really all I have to say about the museum of London. Some of it was interesting, some of it wasn't. It was a museum. We then proceeded to have lunch on the steps of St. Paul's Cathedral, since we were nearby anyways. Despite that being the 3rd time we've done that, it has yet to get old.

Next was Shakespeare's Globe Theatre. No, it's not the original one, but it's a replica made in excatly the same fashion. If you've seen Shakespeare in Love you know what it looks like. Round building, open to the air, 3 stories, thatched roof. Very cool. I took the tour and saw the exhibition. I didn't really learn a lot, though I did learn that they signal they're showing a play at 2 pm by running up the flag. Apparently they used this because the majority of the population lived across the river and this was before newspapers where you could check to see if there was a play that afternoon. So they'd put the flag up the flagpole and people across the river would see it and know they could go to the theatre that afternoon. There was also some information about the roof over the stage but that was really only relevant if you got to see it.

Then at 2 pm we went in to actually see a play. Yes, it really is a working theatre. And a good one, at that. We saw As You Like It, which is apparently the play all the good Shakepeare quotes come from. Remember “all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players”? That's from As You Like It. It really was an excellent play, and very enjoyable to watch. The acoustics in the theatre are amazing, too. You could hear nearly everything the actors were saying despite the fact that there's no roof and there were planes going overhead. Really, the sound was just fantastic! The atmosphere was amazing, too. Sitting in an open-air venue seeing a classic play where the actors actually come out into the audience was probably one of the highlights of this trip for me. It was just something about being there, getting absorbed into the surroundings and the words and the costumes. If you are ever in London, go see a play at the Globe. You will not be disappointed. Though I would recommend biting the bullet and actually paying for a seat. When they say standing room around the stage, they really do mean standing room. April and I were watching them from our seats and were very grateful we didn't have to stand for 3 hours. Oh, and get the back rests. Worth every penny, man.

This evening we also managed to get our first drink-in-the-street pint. Oh yes. You go into the pub, order your pint, then take it back out into the street and just stand there as you're drinking it. It's the weirdest thing to see to someone who grew up where you could literally be arrested for having open alcohol in the street. Well tonight we finally got to do it. It was a little strange, especially since they let you take the actual glass glasses out there. You think more would get broken, but apparently not. And you can just leave them there, too. You don't have to take the glass back inside, you can just set it on a window ledge or on the sidewalk next to the building, and they'll send people outside every now and again to pick up the empties. It's weird, but fun to someone who's never experienced it before.

That was our day, today, and I know this won't get posted until tomorrow, so I'll get back to you then.

Well, we've come to our final day in the UK. Tomorrow we fly out of Heathrow around noonish, so it's up and to the airport first thing. So here's what I did on my last day in London.

First up, April and I went to the Natural History Museum. Again, museum=free admission. And I have to say, it was highly enjoyable. Should you be headed to London at some point in the future, it is not to be missed. And I'm not just saying that because they had Charles Darwin finger puppets in the gift shop (I wanted the bigger doll but couldn't justify the expense or the luggage space). It was all about the earth, plate tectonics, minerals and gems, dinosaurs, the human body and how it works. Basically all the things I love and then some. Plus they have a statue of Darwin right in the main hall, you can't miss him. Did I mention I'm a fan of evolution and natural selection? Anyways, it was a really good museum. I suggest you go and see it.

After that April and I parted ways for the afternoon and I took the tube up to Highgate Cemetery. Yes, it is, in fact, a cemetery. But I've wanted to see it ever since I read Necropolis by Catharine Arnold. A little morbid, but this is me we're talking about. I'm a little off to start with. They run tourist tours through every weekday at 2 pm, so I got there at one and wandered around the east side, where you don't need to be with a tour guide to see it. Karl Marx and Douglas Adams (Hitchiker's guide to the Galaxy) are buried there. Marx has a big, monolithic tomb, whereas Douglas Adams has a tiny little tombstone with little more than his name and dates he was alive. Though someone did leave a little dolphin toy on top of it. The east side was cool, all crumbling gravestones and creeping ivy. They've really crammed them in there, too. The graves are pretty much shoulder to shoulder with no room in between. At 2 pm I went on the tour of the west cemetery, which you can only get into as a visitor with a tour guide. It's a creepy, overgrown place that's all shadows and vines. Very atmopsheric. And very cool. It was THE place to be buried back in the 1800's, and a good chunk if high society is buried or entombed there. Right now they're working on conserving it, since it's been in total disrepair for a good 100 years. It's a very cool place, made all the better by how exclusive it seems it is to get in. The guides are very respectful of the fact that it is still a working cemetery, and you aren't allowed to have bare shoulders if you're going inside. I was fascinated, but it wouldn't be that exciting for most people. Oh, and apparently in the new movie Dorian Gray there's a scene in a graveyard, which was filmed at Highgate. I have a picture of the exact spot.

After that I headed down to wander through Hyde Park, which is just one huge green space. But it's a very welcome green space given how much of a concrete jungle London is. I managed to find the Diana Princess of Whales memorial fountain, which I dipped my feet in because the sign said you were allowed to do that. And if the sign says you can do it, that's pretty much an open invitation to me. I also got myself a flake ice cream before going into the park, which was delicious. The guy that sold it to me was a little bummed 'cause it was his birthday and he was working, but he was very much excited about seeing his team play Croatia in a soccer match at Wembley tonight. He looked the football hooligan type, I think. I really enjoyed walking through Hyde Park. After 2 more days of the crush of people that is London it was nice to hear and see trees for a little while.

On the way back to the hostel I stopped in for the spectacle that is Harrod's. And a spectacle it was! You could definitely spend a lot of money in there if you were looking to spend money. I found a mini cupcake in the food court they were charging $5 for. A mini-cupcake! That's one bite! Ridiculous. But it was working because there was actually a line for them. It's the first place I've been in that's sold authentic Gucci stuff. So a little too high-brow for me. But it was worth going in just to see what the other half spend their dough on.

Tomorrow we're back on a plane and back to reality. I plan on posting again with a few more pictures and some final thoughts, but I've no idea how long that's gonna take me, because as soon as I get back there's my brother's wedding. And then I'm headed to Vancouver with Glen. So I can't promise any decent timeline. But just stay tuned and I do promise I'll be back at some point.

An update from the UK! Finally!

2009-09-07T12:41:00.000-07:00

Well, we've somehow come to another free WiFi void, so you'll be reading this the day or more after the actual writing, since I've decided I'm too cheap to pay for internet tonight.

This morning we set out to explore the Isle of Sky. There's really not a lot of touristy places on it, just a lot of amazing scenery. The whole day basically made me wish I'd brought my hiking books and waterproof gear and had several days to just wander aimlessly. We went to quite a few picturesque places, but they all had Gaelic names so I really can't remember any of them anymore. Well, I really couldn't have repeated any of them 2 seconds after he said them, 'cause the Gaelic language is, well, not at all phonetic. Anyways, we saw a lot of really cool places, one of which was apparently where the movies Highlander and Stardust were filmed. Very cool. And very pretty. I felt the wanderlust there, just needed more time and my hiking boots. Next time. For I will definitely be back.

Oh, our first stop was this random river, where we all got out of the bus and Russell told us this story about it. I'll try to re-tell it, but I can't guarantee accuracy. If you want the more accurate story, take a tour to the Isle of Skye with Haggis Adventures. Okay, so there were 2 clans on the island that were constantly fighting each other. The chiefs of these clans finally decided that this was ridiculous, and figured if they started intermarrying with each other the fighting would stop. So one chief offers up his daughter and the other offers up his son. The daughter, who was apparently wicked beautiful, heads for the church on her wedding day on a donkey, followed by her servant boy and a little dog. On the way to the church she falls off the donkey and smacks her head on a rock (sounds like a Sara thing to do), slicing her face open and breaking her jaw. But the boy convinces her to keep going, get to the church and go on with the wedding. So she drops the veil over her bloody face and gets to the church. The groom then decides that, since he's never seen this woman before, he'd like a gander before he goes through with it. He lifts her veil and sees her, gets enraged and races out of the church, stabbing a bunch of people (including the boy, the donkey and the dog) in the process. The girl then heads away from the church and ends up at this river where she meets the Fairy King (whose name I can't remember). He tells her the river has magical properties and if she dips her head in the water for 7 seconds she'll have eternal beauty, or something to that effect. She figures she's got nothing to lose, so she goes for it. When her head comes back out, voila, all is returned to it's former beauty! So the donkey, boy and dog all follow her, and all their wounds are healed as well. So now, before you cross over the bridge, you have to stop and dip your face in the water for 7 seconds so you too can have eternal beauty. I was convinced right there, but then Russell said that if you cross over the bridge without dipping your face in the river you'll be cursed with 7 years bad sex. And no one's gonna risk that, so we all looked like whack jobs leaning over and dipping our faces into the river for 7 seconds. It might feel silly, but would you risk 7 years bad sex for 7 seconds of dignity? I think not.

Next we stopped at a little town where they brew Isle of Skye beer. And we had some, because though you aren't allowed to drink on the street there, you are allowed to drink on the bus. So we drank on the bus as we headed off the island. We made quite a few picture stops after that, but not really anything of too much note. This evening we're settled down in Oban, where we all headed to a chelidah (that may be spelled completely wrong, but it's pronounced kay-lee). It's basically a party with music and lots of dancing. This one was more of a show with audience participation, but it was still fun. There was plenty of hand-clapping and foot-stomping. And I even managed to get up and dance with one of the other girls from the tour for the last audience-participation song. I believe it was called stripping the willow, but I could be wrong about that. It was wicked fun! It starts with spinning your partner at a ridiculous speed, then spinning the next person in line, then back to your partner, then one more down the line and so on. So much fun! I just wished they would've kept the song going a little longer.

Tomorrow's the last day of the tour, so I know we end up in Edinburgh, but I've no idea how we're getting there or what we're doing along the way. As Russell, our current guide would say, how exciting! So until next time!

Well, as it turns out, yesterday brought us to yet another free WiFi void, so here I am updating yet again without being able to post. And this time I've no idea how long it's gonna take 'cause we're on our own again, with no more tours to go on. Well, there's one, but it's just a day tour, so we'll be in the same hostel the day before and after. We've only got two hostels left, actually, and then it's back home for another wedding for me. But we'll get there, don't worry.

Let's start with the obvious. I don't want to leave Scotland. It's fantastic here. The accents are, shall we say, very pleasing, I love the weather (though I could understand how most wouldn't with all the rain and cold), there's lots to see, and we had a wonderful tour over the past 5 days. We really did have a fantastic group of people on our Haggis Tour, and I have to hand it to Russell the driver for picking what was (in my humble opinion) some pretty fantastic music. Couldn't quite figure out some of the band names, though. There was a good one I plan on downloading when I get home called Frightened Rabbit. Where did they come up with that? I've no idea, but as long as the music's good, I guess the actual name of the band is rather inconsequential.

So yesterday...we did a lot of picture stops. The only real thing we did of note was see the William Wallace monument in Stirling. It was big and grand. We didn't go inside, though, since it was rather expensive and probably not much more than a museum with info boards inside. So we saved ourselves the 6 pounds or so and just walked up to take pictures of the outside and enjoy the view. The picture stops were good, but like I said before, all the names are in Gaelic, so I forgot most of them three seconds after he said them. That's if I actually understood them in the first place. But names aren't really that important as long as you're enjoying yourself, I've decided. So, many a picture stop and the William Wallace were done yesterday.

Oh, and we stopped at a really, really cool place for lunch. I believe it was called Drover's Inn. It's in a national park so it's a little quieter, which was nice, but you almost have to see this place to believe it. It's old. Like, several hundred years old. And they haven't done any renovations or redecorated since. Apparently it's where Rob Roy MacGregor used to go as his local pub. Animal lovers beware, though, 'cause for you it might just be a house of death. There are stuffed animals (whole or in parts) everywhere. Right inside the door there's a reasonably-sized fully stuffed black bear. Naturally there was a delightfully dorky picture taken of me with said stuffed bear. And this, my friends, is where I finally tried haggis for the first time. Oh, yes, that delightful concoction that apparently has meats such as liver, spleen, gall bladder, and any other disgusting or disturbing meat you can think of, all ground up with spices and oatmeal. And you know what? It was good! I was a little leery, knowing what liver and gall bladder actually do biologically, but you only live once, so I had to try it. It was really spicy and very filling, and they'd plopped it on top of mashed potatoes and smothered it in gravy. Yum yum! So as long as you can get past what it's made of, haggis is actually really good.

We got back to Edinburgh around 5:30 pm, so we managed to do our laundry in the hostel before we met everyone from the tour for a pint or two on the Royal Mile just to say goodbye. Hopefully that's the last laundry we'll have to do before the end of the trip, but the best laid plans often go awry, right? Normally I wouldn't have been so keen on going out with people I'd just been stuck with for a week, but like I said, we had a really good group and I genuinely liked the people on our bus, so I actually wanted to go. And I'm very glad we did. I found a delicious beer called MacEwan's Lager, which I know they probably don't sell in Canada but wish they did. The company was fantastic and when the live music started it was actually stuff we all knew so we could sing along in obnoxiously loud voices. There was also this really crazy guy who's name I think was Ewan, who was pretty much in a kilt whenever we saw him. He's got this crazy long hair, and April decided she needed to have a picture with him, so she asked. Then, completely out of nowhere, he literally picks her up off the floor damsel-in-distress style and holds her while I take a picture. It was totally random and completely awesome. It really was the perfect sendoff from Scotland, which has basically become our favorite place on this crazy whirlwind trip so far.

So while I've got the time, being on a train for 2 ½ hours at the moment, I'll try and come up with everyone's favorite little Sara-style tidbits of my impressions of Scotland. And again, the disclaimer, these are really just my own personal impressions and should no way influence how you feel. Everyone sees the world differently, and you might have a completely different experience should you ever decide to visit this fantastic country.

Kilts. Oh. My. God. I love a man in a kilt. I don't quite know why. There's just something rather drool-worthy about it. April was quick to point out that my love for the kilt basically means I like men in skirts, but you know, I think I'm okay with that. It doesn't even matter what the guy looks like. Old guys, young guys, throw and kilt on them and picture me with a bit of drool coming out the side of my mouth. I am personally of the opinion that my husband would look fantastic in a kilt, but I refrained from buying him one because I'm pretty sure he'd never wear it in public. And if he did he'd get stared at in Canada. Tragic, but true. Our tour guide wore a kilt the last day, and one rather amusing thing April and I noticed was how he had to sit down when getting into the driver's seat. You see, the stick shift was in the way. We've all seen women gather their skirts to sit down or get around something, but it was a little funny seeing a guy do it. I still love the kilts, though.

The Scenery. The scenery in the highlands reminded me a lot of home. But that's a good thing, because I really, really liked it. I've said before that I wish I'd had my hiking boots and several days just to wander and that's still true. I'll be back to Scotland someday for that. It might take another 40 years (that road in Bolivia's still calling my name, so that's first on the list) but I'll be back. And I'll have my boots and plenty of time.

The Weather. I thought the weather was fantastic, but in case you missed it earlier, I love the rain. I love the rain and the misery and the low cloud cover and the damp and all of it. I just love it. So Scotland was good for me, weather-wise. I imagine (and was told many times) that it gets really cold in winter, and I believe it, but the summer weather was just right. We were very fortunate, though, since we had a few days of no rain and almost sunny skies. Though the sun just really didn't seem right at the time. But I was happy when it was raining.

The Sheep and the Hairy Coos. Sheep are everywhere here, like they were in Ireland. They're just so cute you want to go out in a field and squish a few 'cause they look so fluffy. But this is coming from a former Albertan who's used to seeing nothing but cattle out in the pastures, so I guess sheep should look cute and fluffy to me. They also have Highland cattle in Scotland. But they're more commonly knows as Hairy Coos. They're pretty much just regular cows with longer hair and horns. But they're cool-lookin', so I figured they were worth a mention.

The accent. Oh yes, the accent. April and I have decided that the Scottish accent is by far our favorite, and also the most sexy we've heard thus far. I can't put my finger on why, it just is. Maybe it's something to do with the way the word sexy actually comes out. I don't know. Though the Scottish do have very dark senses of humor and they can get pretty raunchy, so that definitely helps their case. I'm sure not everyone feels this way about it, but it's just my personal opinion that the Scottish accent is the sexiest I've heard to date. You can quote me on that, if you like.

So now we're on a train Liverpool bound. We're staying there for a night and then it's back to London for a few more days.

Well, as it turned out, Liverpool was yet another free WiFi void, and I 'm starting to wonder if this is actually going to get posted before I 'm back in Canada. Though maybe we'll search out a pub with free WiFi when we get to London. Anyways, we got to Liverpool and actually managed to find the hostel relatively quickly and without getting lost at all, which may be a first for this trip. We just might be getting the hang of this navigating thing. We ditched our bags in luggage storage and then promptly went exploring. Liverpool, I read, was supposedly a cultural Mecca, but I don't really understand why. They have the usual museums, which are all free, but other than those and the Beatles Story, there's really not a lot there.

We went to the Beatles Story first, which is basically the whole reason I really wanted to go to Liverpool. It was interesting to find out where they started and how they ended up so famous. It was quite interesting and had a lot of information I didn't know before. I also managed to get a little Beatles swag whilst we were there, so I'm happy. Next we checked out the Maritime museum and the customs and immigration displays they had there. Interesting stuff, though we may have been a little too tired for just reading info boards that day. The customs displays were the best part, actually. It showed all the strange and innovative ways people have tried to smuggle drugs and the things that have been confiscated by customs over the years. Someone even tried to use a shipment of innocent garden gnomes to smuggle weed. A travesty, I tell you! Poor innocent gnomes.

There is also a monstrously huge pedestrian shopping area in Liverpool. It covers several square blocks and has every store imaginable. And this, my friends, is where we saw our very first Lambanana. Yes, you read that right, Lambanana. My brother was in Liverpool last year for work and he told us all about them. They're just statues all over the place that different people have been given to paint different colors. It's the body of a lamb, but with a banana basically coming out it's butt instead of a tail. They're almost cute, once you get past the weirdness of it. The one we saw was in a Liverpool FC store, and was decorated all in white and red. I may have been a little too excited about my first Lambanana sighting. We were going to try and find the original Super Lambanana (yes, that's actually what it's called), but then we found out they move it around the city every now and again, and we didn't really feel like wandering around for hours trying to find it. But I went to Liverpool and saw a lambanana. My life may now be complete.

The hostel that night was, in a word, fantastic. Originally we were supposed to be in a room with a bunch of other girls, but when we got into the room they had their stuff all over and on the beds April and I were supposed to be in. So we asked to be moved to another room (which was nice because the girls in that room appeared to have converted it to a pigsty rather quickly). We ended up on the ground floor in the handicapped room. And it was lovely. We had real individual beds! No bunk beds, and you don't realize how much you miss individual beds until you have to sleep on bunk beds for 3 weeks. It's a treat not to have either someone sleeping directly over you or having to climb a ladder to get to your bed. And the room was good and spacious. Not only that, breakfast was included in the price, and it was a fabulous breakfast indeed. Sausages, toast, orange juice, eggs, hash browns, cereal and yogurt. Mmm mmm good.

We're now on the train back to London, where we'll be spending another 4 days before heading home. There are still a few things to see there, and we have much shopping to do, so I'll leave it at that.

We're back in London now and it's all coming back to me. The concrete jungle. The crowded streets. The cigarette smoke. The exhaust fumes. And the lovely men on motorcycles. I do love a man on a motorcycle. Especially when he's all decked out in full motorcycle kit...oh, back to the topic at hand, then. We're staying just off Oxford Street this time, which is cool for the shopping but bad for the pocketbook. Yesterday we wandered around and bought a few things, and I promptly decided I don't, nor will I ever, understand fashion. It's quite bizarre and completely not functional anymore. So I give up. T-shirts and jeans it shall be for Sara from now on. Well, sweaters too, since I get cold really easy. We also wandered down to Picadilly Circus, which is apparently just another shopping area that happens to have a few neon signs. Way overrated. But we went and we saw.

This morning we embarked on a single day bus tour of Stonehenge, Bath and Windsor Castle. Stonehenge was fantastic! We got there just as they were opening it up, so there were so few people we felt like we had it to ourselves. You can't go right up to the stones anymore, but they've put the ropes close enough that it's not really a big deal that you can't touch them. I liked it because it still really has that air of mystery. We can do all the research we want on it, analyze it to death, bring it back to life and analyze it again, and we'll still have no idea what it was really used for. It's an amazing place because of that, and you can almost feel the mystery in the air. It's palpable, and it's awesome.

Next we went to Bath, where the attractions are the Roman Baths. They're the only natural hot springs in England, and when the Romans showed up they built a bath house around them, and the waters have been thought to have magical properties ever since. People ever since have been coming from all over to test the healing properties. They aren't used anymore, since the water is, well, completely disgusting, but they're still flowing out all piping hot. There's also an info center and excavations all about how they were used in Roman times. Pretty cool. And for 50 pence you can drink a glass of the water (purified for safety, of course). A lot of people were saying it was disgusting, but how often am I gonna be in Bath? So I plopped down my 50p and my leprosy is miraculously cured! Well, maybe not. It was pretty much the same as drinking a glass of warm water from my Dad's tap, which is well water and tastes a little off. How about that, Dad? You could sell your tap water as a miracle cure! We also did a little wandering around Bath before the bus picked us up again.

Last but not least was Windsor Castle. The queen was not in residence that day, so we got to tour the royal apartments. Very swank, if you don't mind your wall decorations being centuries old and looking rather musty. Lots of guilt gold, too. The chandeliers were the beast part, really. Beautiful and sparkly...very sparkly. It was also fun playing spot the hidden doorways. We found at least 5. The castle itself is huge, and there was a lot we weren't allowed to go into. Actually, while April and I were looking into the rose garden that surrounds the castle and getting closer and closer to one of the barricades, there was one guard who looked like he was about to tackle us to the ground if we took another step. We stopped to save ourselves the embarrassment. While we were there we also saw St. George's Chapel, which is huge and very ornate. But it's royalty, so did you expect any less than the best? Again, it's a church in England, so we weren't allowed to take pictures inside. Just trust me when I say it was very fancy. I could've spent several hours lying on the floor just staring at the ceilings. Though that might've gotten me tackled as well.

Well, I'll end it there. We have plans to head for the pub with free WiFi for a pint, so hopefully this gets posted tonight.

2009-09-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

Where to start...where to start? Well, I'll start with yesterday since that's where I left off. I woke up and off we headed down Loch Ness for more seeing of sights. We did make a quick photo stop at one point along the lake, so the above picture is me with me feet in Loch Ness. Squint and you might see the famous Nessie. But probably not. From there it gets a little fuzzy. I think it means you've been travelling too long if you start forgetting what happened the same day it actually happened. Well, anyways, the next thing my camera shows we did was head to the battlefield of the battle of Culloden. That might mean something or nothing to you, it depends how much history you know. I can't quite remember why this place was so important, I just know that it was. Really important. Like, changed the face of history important. But I can't remember exactly why. Next we stopped at a prehistoric grave site, which really looked more like a pile of rocks now, but the rocks look like they actually have a purpose. They're in a circle with a path to the center and a small circle in the center you can stand in. Smelled a little funny in the center, though. After that we went to Fort William, which is still a working English military base. It wasn't particularly interesting. We capped off the evening ending up at a castle that's been converted to a hostel. It was actually given to the hostelling association by the family that owned it, and the get to keep it as long as they continue to use it as a hostel.
That's it in the picture above. It was an actual castle! Complete with awful pictures and nudy marble statues. It's also supposed to have been haunted. Pretty cool. A big group of us all went out that night to the "local" pub, which we learned this morning was opened specifically for us. We had a pretty good night, made even better when a couple lovely boys in kilts showed up and played the bagpipes for us. Ahh, kilts. Insert smile here. It was awesome!

This morning we started out on the road again and made many stops to take pictures. Other than the picture stops we didn't do much except stop at Eilan Donnen Castle for a quick tour. It's apparently been in many movies, most recently "Made of Honor" with Patrick Dempsey. I might have to actually see that one now.
Now we're on the Isle of Skye for the evening, and the local pub with live music is beckoning, so I'm signing off for now. Until later!

Cheers to Scottich Whiskey!

2009-08-31T12:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday brought us to another day in Edinburgh, and one more day to explore the city. April and I started out by going to Holyrood Palace, which is the official residence of the Queen while she's in Scotland. Ooh-la-la. April didn't want to go in, whereas I did, so we decided to split up for the day and meet back at the hostel that night. I went first into the Queen's gallery, where they display art from the royal collection in a somewhat rotating format. It's currently "Conversation Pieces", which are paintings designed to be discussed when you hang them. Some of the details in some of them were just amazing. After that I went on a tour of the palace, which was exactly as described, a palace. Complete with ridiculously elaborate bed. Actually, they still have the bed and all the hangings from the bed Mary Queen of Scots slept on. It's preserved and sits in a hermetically sealed room. It's a bit creepy if you ask me. There are gardens that are open in the summer, too. Which are, as expected, totally perfect. Apparently the queen spends at least one week a year there. No one's quite sure why.

From there I went to the Our Dynamic Earth science show which is basically right next door. It's similar to the Space and Science Center with more focus on biology, ecology and geology. It was awesome, but I have a strange obsession for science, so I might be a bit biased. Then I wandered up the Royal Mile, which is the mile that leads up the hill to Edinburgh Castle. It's the oldest part of the city, and at the moment the bottom floors are mostly kitsch and kilt shops. But a good place to find a cheap kilt (which I jut happened to do).
There are all kinds of little alleyways coming off the Ryal Mile called closes that you could wander into for hours. Some of them lead nowhere, some of them have little gardens or courtyards. It's fun to just wander. I happened to be wandering by just as a haunted/ghost tour was starting, and it was free, so I tagged along. It was fun, and he told all kinds of stories of famous murders and the like. Well worth the price tag of nothing. Then I went into St. Gile's cathedral, which isn't really a cathedral because the Church of Scotland doesn't have cathedrals, but apparently it's called that because the town council decided they wanted to call it that. Weird.
Then I wandered around the base of the castle lazily trying to find my way back to the hostel and just enjoying the scenery, and stumbled upon a huge funly gold fountain. Not sure why it was there, but I took some pictures anyways. I also stumbled upon the National Gallery of Scotland, which has free admission, so I went in. Lots of cool paintings, some even by artist I'd actually heard of. There was this one really cool one I liked of a wave on the ocean, but I can't remember who painted it now. I think his last name started with a "C". After that I went back to the hostel and we spent the rest of the night chilling.

Early this morning we were up and met our group for the start of the Haggis Tour of Scotland. We have a lovely bus with "Haggis Tours Wild and Sexy" in bright red along the side. Classy. We drove directly into the highlands and stopped at a couple pretty little lakes and a statue to commemorate the commandos that trained here in the highlands. Along the way we stopped for lunch, where I managed to actually find a beer called "Sheepshagger". No, really, I'm not making that up. We made a couple more stops along the way, two of which we ended up with tastes of real Scottish whiskey. It's wicked stuff. The second time a couple people didn't want theirs, so a few of us had to take one for the team and have two. April and I did our part for team Canada and each had two. Which lead to me being a little tipsy at 4 in the afternoon. Oooh, Scotch whiskey. Evil stuff.
Before dinner we went to a short show on what life was like in the highlands before the modernization. I've gotta say, it sucked. "Sexy Ken" also showed us the different weapons they used and how they used them. Not pretty, they were. Apparently the Scots were the most fearsome and strongest hand-to-hand fighters in the world. Owing in no small part to the fact that they had very little regard to their own lives. It was an excellent show.
Tonight we are spending the evening along the southern shores of Loch Ness, which is pretty cool. Hopefully none of us end up being dragged away by any prehistoric creatures that reside in the lake. I've no idea what's in store for tomorrow, so you'll just have to tune in later and find out with me!

The Tail end of Ireland and the Beginning of Scotland!

2009-08-29T13:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I won't be posting this until at least tomorrow, but I should probably get it out whilst I still remember what the feck went on today. This morning we hopped on the bus and headed straight for Dunluce Castle. It's this really wicked castle basically built on top of an amazing rock island that you have to cross around a 20 foot wooden bridge to get to. It's a ruin of a castle but it's still amazingly beautiful and you can see why they put it where they did. It's supposed to be the most romantic castle in Ireland, but the guide reckons that's because they have a lot of marriage proposals happen there. An interesting story about it, is a couple hundred or more years ago, while the inhabitants were having a party, they heard a large crashing sound come from the kitchen. They all rushed there only to find that the kitchen was literally gone. The cliff underneath it had collapsed and it had literally fallen into the ocean, cooks, cutlery and all. A little freaky. Though the guide assured us that the ground underneath the castle has been stabilized many times over now. It's a pretty cool castle and the nice thing about it is that they let you crawl all over it, and go where you please (within reason). He even told us a story about the Irish banshee. It was this 16-year-old girl who had an affair with a soldier. Her parents weren't happy about this and had the soldier killed. She ran screaming to her room in one of the towers and tried to escape the castle via the bedsheet-out-the-window trick. Only she hadn't tied the sheets tight enough and fell to her death. Now she apparently haunts the castle, and every now and then you can hear her screaming as she runs into the tower. She also apparently shows up as a ghostly figure in some photos taken from a certain spot. Spooky.

Next stop was the Giant's Causeway, which I have to say is the coolest thing we've seen so far. Some geological event has caused a whole bunch of hexagonal basalt columns to form right on the coastline, making a weird sort of pavement and it's really cool to walk and crawl all over them. I got a book on how they were formed so if you really want to know ask me in a couple months, I should be an expert by then. Unless, of course, you believe the legends that it was the remains of a bridge built by a giant who wanted to go to Scotland to find a wife. I think that explanation suits me better. There's also a little hike you can do up and around the corner, which takes you to the amphitheater, which looks exactly like it sounds. It's a steep, bowl-shaped spot that I couldn't really capture on camera. But it was amazing to see. It also had some incredible views of the coastline and cliffs around the area.

The last stop before we ended up in Belfast was the rope bridge. It started out when the fishermen realized that the salmon always hung out on the far side of this one tall island. So instead of always having to get in their boats to fish, they built a rope bridge so they could fish right off the island. It's been improved and fixed a lot, but the idea's still there. Plus it's over a chasm that drops about 60 m, and the bridge sways pretty good when you're walking over it. You get some amazing views once you get to the island, so it's well worth the 3 pounds you pay to cross the bridge. I might add that the bridge is still actually made of rope, and only rope, with a few boards to walk on, so the whole rope bridge idea hasn't been torn completely to bits.

This evening we're calling Belfast home, and tomorrow it's back to Dublin, and then off to Scotland for another tour!

Well, I didn't get this posted for reasons that I can't quite remember, so I'll continue on from where I left off. The night in Belfast went all right. We were in a very large dorm room, though, and it ended up being co-ed, which is fine. Right up until you find out the showers and bathrooms are shared, and there are no locks on the shower stall doors. No, really, I'm not joking. You have to hang your towel over the door to show it's occupied. Classy.

The next morning we took a black cab tour of Belfast. It was really a political tour, but I'll get to that in a minute. A black cab, for those who haven't seen one, is about the size of a Honda Fit, only a little taller for more head room. They seat 7 passengers and a driver. Seriously. There are 3 across the back, 3 flip-up seats facing the rear behind the front seats, and one more passenger seat up front. You might be squished in like sardines but you all fit. The tour itself was an explanation of the violence and political unrest in northern Ireland in the past, what happened in the past, and what's going on now. So I'll give you my personal cliff notes. This is what I've pieced together from what we were told by our guide, several other guides and the taxi drivers that morning. It may or may not be correct, but this is how I understand it.

Way back a few hundred years ago, there was a dispute in Ireland as to who actually had rule over the island. So the 2 sides went to England and asked them to settle the dispute. This caused England to claim that Ireland was really part of their territory, and they promptly decided to take over. Somehow, at some point, they reached an agreement that England would get rule over 6 counties in the north, and the Republic of Ireland would be formed in the south. This is where it gets confusing, because it started as a political thing and then ended up as a religious problem. At the time, most of Ireland, it seems, was catholic. Then England started shipping protestants over to the 6 counties they had control over and gave the protestants all the power and land and jobs, leaving the Catholics with very little. Thus, chaos ensued. The Catholics (the Republicans and the political party Sinn Fein if that rings a bell) want all of Ireland to be united, but the protestants (the Loyalists, who are loyal to the crown) still want England to have rule over northern Ireland, because the protestant population was led to believe that the Catholics would run the country if they let the Republic of Ireland take over. That, by the way, is the reason northern Ireland uses the monetary pound. This isn't really the case anymore, as religious equality is getting much better and the positions of power are equalizing.

That said, there is currently, what the locals call “peace” in Belfast. This is not what you'd expect peace to be if you're from Canada or any country where you're free to roam wherever you like and free to have whatever religious and political affiliations you want. Belfast is, almost literally, a divided city. There is a wall separating the catholic population from the protestant population. A literal wall. I have a picture of it. The cab drivers call it the peace wall. But it's a necessary evil. They've even had to build the fence up taller because of the bombs and debris that were being thrown over the wall. The houses right up against the wall on the catholic side literally have cages around their backyards because of the amount of times their homes were damaged from stuff being thrown over the wall. The wall also has gates. They're closed at 6:30 at night and opened at 6 the next morning. The gates are closed on weekends. And after thinking about it, I still don't understand how they can call it peace when there's a physical wall dividing them, but I do believe it's better this way. No one's dying, no one's terrified they'll be bombed in their home at night for what they believe. It's a peace of sorts. The protestant side of the wall has been graffitied with messages from people around the world wishing peace and love for Belfast and north Ireland. It's still gonna be along time.

The driver told us that over 60% of the people from one side of the wall have never had a conversation with someone from the other side of the wall. He had a 14 year old son, and someone asked him what he thought of his son never speaking to someone from the other side. He said it saddened him, but at the same time, he didn't want to tell his son to go out and make friends with people from the other side, because it's still not totally safe. He'd rather his son come home safe at night than have him mingling with the other side. So it's perpetuating itself. It's a really heartbreaking situation and standing on a street that could be a street anywhere in the world and hearing that in this day and age the people on either side of that tiny slab of concrete just couldn't cooperate with each other. And standing there hearing someone talk about it with a little twinge in their voice when you ask them a question almost brings you to tears. And I don't cry easily.

But enough of the serious stuff. After we left Belfast we stopped for lunch and were supposed to continue on to a photo op spot with some Celtic crosses. This didn't happen because our bus ended up with a flat tire, and we had to wait for the tire repair guy. But once that was done we just headed straight for Dublin, since we were running low on time and one girl had a plane to catch.

We stayed in the same hostel we had before in Dublin, but were very disappointed when we found out we couldn't get our clothes washed there. We were both out of clean clothes and getting dangerously low on clean underpants. But we managed to wait one more day. We had a plane to catch at just before 7 this morning, so we were out of bed at 4 and catching a bus to the airport. Then it was off to Scotland!

It was too early to get our room at the hostel, but they were kind enough to let us use their laundry facilities. Ahhh, clean jeans. There is no sweeter a feeling. Once our stuff was clean and dry we headed off to catch a hop on-hop off bus tour of the city. We hopped off when we got to the stop for Edinburgh Castle and headed up to see the castle. I hate to say it, but it was a castle. After about 5 or 6 of them, they really all start to look and feel the same. But we did get to see the crown jewels of Scotland, so that was cool. When we left the castle we walked down what's known as the Royal Mile. It's a hoarde of old, historic houses along the same street leading away from the castle. And it's the mecca of kitsch shops. Glen is definitely getting a kilt. It's just a question of color now.

After we hopped back on the bus and finished the bus tour, I went up the 287 steps to get to the top of the Scott Monument. It's this wonderfully huge, gothic looking structure in the middle of town devoted to Sir Walter Scott, one of Scotland's famous writers. The thing is just massive, and it's all curls and stonework. It's really cool lookin'. It's even cooler inside, as long as you don't get claustrophobic. The stairs in this thing put the stairs in all the other spots I've been in so far to shame. The stairs at some points are so narrow I literally had to go sideways, and duck my head so I didn't smash it on the ceiling. Now throw in some people trying to come down as you're going up, and you'll get how squishy it was. At one point near the top I thought we were all going to get physically stuck inside the thing. Or that someone was going to lose it inside the stairwell. But I made it out alive, and it was totally worth it for the views of the city. Oh, and it gets wicked windy up there. Windy enough I was afraid of losing my hat, or the bag of souvenirs I was carrying. Windy enough to be glad there were railings to keep me from getting blown off. It was awesome.

Tomorrow it's more sightseeing and then first thing Monday morning we're off on a wild and sexy Haggis tour of Scotland. I'm not sure when you'll hear from me next, as free WiFi seems to be getting a little scarce (hence the lack of pictures in today's post), but I'll do my best.

Waxing Poetic with Yeats.

2009-08-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

Ahh, let's see, where did our intrepid traveler last leave you all? Ennis, right. We were in the town of Ennis. From Ennis we headed towards the cliffs of Mohar, with a few stops along the way. The first stop was a stone portal that used to sit in front of a tomb, but the tomb is long since gone. So now it's really just a couple of upright stones with a cap stone on top. I don't tell the story very well, it sounded much better coming from our guide.

The next stop was a fairy ring. Originally they were temples built by people, but after they were abandoned, the fairies took them over and started using them. Under no circumstances are you to enter a fairy ring, or very bad, catastrophic luck will befall you. You are, however, allowed to walk around the outside and look in, which is what we did. And once you leave the fairy ring, if you make a point of saying thank you to the fairies in gaelic, they may grant you a wish. Our tour guide taught us how to say thank you in gaelic, but I've forgotten already.

From the fairy ring we went to the cliffs of Mohar, which are amazing. They're these 700 or so foot cliffs that just drop right into the ocean, straight down. Apparently the newest Harry Potter movie was filmed there, and I actually think I kinda recognize it. From there we went to Galway, where we spent the night. April and I even decided it was time to go out for another couple pints, so we headed to the Quays pub, where I discovered my new favorite beer, Smithwicks. Good stuff.

The next morning we hopped on a shuttle bus that took us to a passenger ferry that took us to Innismor, one of the Aran islands. They're these barren, rocky islands just off the coast that are really quite beautiful. Once we got there the tour guide fixed us up with bike rentals, because that's the best way to explore the island. We went to a few different graveyards, and finally made our way to Dun Aengus, a centuries old fort that sits right on the edge of a 300 foot cliff. And the best part is that you can actually go right up the edge of the cliff and look off. And there's no hand railing. People literally crawl right up to the edge of the cliff and hang their heads over the 300 foot void. I did. It's like hanging your head off the edge of the world. It's terrifying and exhilarating and amazing all at the same time. It was awesome.

I might also add that the bikes we had weren't exactly in top condition. We literally couldn't change gears because the chains would fall off. After fixing them several times we pretty much just picked a gear and then walked them up the steeper hills.

Once we go back to town we went to the Aran Sweater Market. I'd been coveting the Irish wool sweaters for days, and there I finally managed to find one I liked. It's green with a hood and a zipper front. And it's so comfy. Thought it's currently living in April's pack, as mine has mysteriously run out of room. I think my stuff is multiplying without my knowledge. That night we had a free BBQ courtesy of the kind Italian man that runs the hostel there, and drank a few pints with the rest of the people on our tour.

This morning after a quick ferry ride back to the mainland of Ireland, we did a lot of driving. We stopped for lunch, then stopped again at the final resting place of the Irish poet, WB Yeats. After that we were headed for this evening's accomodations in Derry, with a side trip up a windy, steep country lane to another ring fort that gave us an amazing 360 degree view of the county and beyond.

Once we got to Derry, we took a walking tour of the wall and got a lot of political and other history of the city. Derry is the city where a lot of the "Troubles" (as the locals call them) took place over the last 40 or so years. It was also the place where Bloody Sunday occured. Yes, the one from the U2 song. It's hard to explain without taking up too much space, but you can Google it if you'd like to know more. Sufficed to say that the "troubles" are now over and all the people here are very, very glad for it. And it is a wonderful city with quite a bit of history, so if you're ever in Ireland, make a point of coming to Derry. You won't be disappointed. Derry is also the only intact walled city left in Europe, which is pretty amazing considering what the city's been through.

That's about ir for today, and I should probably stop since all my bunkmates are trying to sleep and my clacking of keys is probably keeping them awake. But there's a good full day booked for tomorrow, so keep checking for updates!

A Few Days in Ireland.

2009-08-23T10:20:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are on our Shamrocker tour of Ireland, at last! After a fitful night of sleep in Dublin (and some Irish guy's continuous renditions of Metallica songs at the bar next door 'til one in the morning), we were off first thing Saturday. We piled on the bus and headed out into the Irish countryside. It's pretty, and shockingly looks exactly like it does in the movies. The fields are separated by these rock walls that are all grown over by various types of foliage giving it this wonderful old-worldy feeling. The roads are narrow, windy and bumpy, but you get used to it after a while.

Our first stop was the Rock of Cashel. Kevin, our lovely Irish guide (you have to picture me saying that in a very convincing Irish accent), told us a whole bunch about it's historic significance, all which I no longer remember, and that was only yesterday. All I know is it looked damn cool, and was, what I considered, the first real castle we've seen so far. It was wicked cool, with turrets and towers and all. You could even see an old celtic stone cross just on the other side of the wall. We didn't have time to actually go inside, so we just stood outside and took picutres. But it was still exciting.Our next stop was the Michelstown caves, which I unfortunately don't have pictures of, owing to the fact that you aren't allowed to take pictures inside them. They were caves, really. Caves are pretty cool in themselves, but these ones had these funky staligmites formations called curtains that hung down from the ceiling. They literally look like a solid set of curtains hanging from the ceiling. They're apparently formed from the water dripping down just like staligmites, only the water runs down a little before evaporating, and forms a little curtain-type thing. There were also your regular stalactities and staligmites (apologies if I got the terms wrong, I'm not exactly a cave expert), and a bunch of smooth formations where the water was flowing down over the walls. Not an exceptional stop, but still something to see.

Next up it was Blarney Castle, which was the definition of awesome. First thing we did there was go and give the Blarney Stone a big smooch. It's notexactly as you'd expect it to be. It's attached to a part of the top of the castle that hangs over the open air for a couple hundred feet. There are bars to keep you from falling down, though. First, you get in a queue. Then when you get there, you lay down on your back while this old fellow hold onto you to make sure you don't fall. Then you grab 2 railings over your head, hang your upper body over this couple hundred foot chasm, ans stretch out to smooch a random stone on the lower part of a turret of the castle. It's very odd, but there it is. I might add that height is an advantage in this case, since the taller you are, the less hangs over the edge. April had almost all her butt hanging over the edge. If it weren't for that guy holding her, she would've been a little smear on the rocks below. So now both of us should have the gift of the gab. We'll see. Oh, and you'll be happy to know that he does, in fact, disinfect the Blarney Stone after every few people. So hopefully I won't die of any weird mouth diseases anytime soon. The picture below is of me just after smooching the Blarney Stone.
After that it was off to Killarney for the night. We were set free on the town, and April and I managed to find a place to get soup and a sandwich for relatively cheap. That night we went out and had our first and last pint of Guiness. One of the girls in our tour group described the feeling after "as though you've had a bowl of soup and a thick buiscuit". I'd have to agree. A pint would be a meal in itself. It's really bitter, too. April said the aftertaste was like cold coffee, which is exactly what I thought, though I'd also add stale in there as well. So after that we're sticking to Bulmer's. It's Irish cider, which really tastes more like the champagne form of beer than beer. It's really sweet, though, so I kept it to one pint and headed back to the hostel for the night.

The next morning it was wonderfully dreary and rainy. Everyone else complained, I was pleased as punch. I love the rain. We set off to see the coast and the islands beyond. Well, we saw the coast, but no islands. Too foggy. We made a couple of picture stops, though few of us actually got out into the rain to actually take a picture. The one below is of me at the most westerly point in Europe. Then we were back in Dingle for a quick lunch. In Dingle, April and I actually managed to find a place that served Tim Horton's coffee, tea and hot chocolate. So naturally we had to buy some. A little piece of home in a foreign land.
In Dingle there's apparently this dolphin named Funghi that likes to hang around the bay and pander to the tourists. He does tricks and all the like, and they theorize that he escaped from a zoo in Whales somewhere. Apparently he likes people more than he likes other dolphins. And he's become a tourist attraction, so they put a statue of him down by the water. Below is me riding him, Timmy's cup in hand.
From Dingle it was off up the coast to our final destination for the night, the town of Ennis. The hostel here was just renovated so it's really nice, and there's free WiFi, hence the actual decent layout of this blog. April and I went in search of a supermarket for food, and managed to find the Ennis Franciscan Friary, which was free of charge to get into today. So we went it. It's very cool inside. It's really just an old ruin, but I still find it fascinating that they let people crawl around all over the ruins here. Especially since it's so much more fun that way.

It's off for a shower and bed soon, but I'll share a little bit about my experiences in Ireland so far.
It's a really colorful country. Everything that's alive is green, and all the buildings are painted bright colors. There are tons of ruins of old buildings, and they're all fascinating to look at. The roads are, for the most part, windy and very narrow. We've had to stop the bus more than once to wait for vehicles going the other way to pass. The buildings in the towns we've been in so far are really close together, which makes it very convenient if you're on foot, since everything becomes really easy to get to. And if someone asks you how you're doing, no matter how you actually are doing, you must respond, "grand, thanks. And yerself?". I'm honestly having a little trouble not mimicking the accent when we're out. I predict it's going to get me into trouble at some point. I'm getting a little sleepy, so that's all I've got at the moment. But stay tuned for more. I'm told there is internet at all the hostels on the tour, so it shouldn't be long before you hear from me again. Cheers!

More little tidbits from London.

2009-08-21T13:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I've finally got a good few minutes to sit down and regale you with more than just the stories of the places I've been over the last few days. We're on the train to Holyhead right now, and if the battery indicator on my laptop is to be believed, I should have around 2 ½ hours typing time before I have to go dark again. It was quite the thing to actually get where we are right now, so I think I'll start there. First we packed upp our stuff absurdly early and left the hostel, only to discover that we couldn't actually get on the tube at St. Paul's station between 7:30 and 10 am. Okay, fine. We then walked to Bank station. Well, the walk took us 10 minutes or so, then once we actually went down the stairs and through the turnstyles it took us another 15 to actually get to the train platform. At this point we're thinking it would have almost been quicker just to walk to Euston station. So we finally get to Euston station and manage to get our BritRail passes validated. Then we stand in front of the boards and wait for the train we need to take to be assigned a platform number. Once that happens, we, and a whole lot of other people, make a mad dash for the train. Neither of us had any idea how it worked and we both ended up sitting down in what were probably the wrong seats, so when April asked we ended up having to move. It's all very confusing but we did manage to get seats and now we're on our way to the ferry terminal in Holyhead. So now on to my own personal impressions of London. Keeping in mind that I was only there for about 3 days, these are my own personal views and should no way influence how you might feel about the exact same places. Everything changes day to day and your own experiences might be totally different from mine. So this is my own, totally biased view. Enjoy!

Garbage cans. Do the English have something against garbage cans? Do they really want us to just give up and throw our litter in the street? There are a serious lack of garbage cans everywhere we've been so far. It seems like every time one of us has something to throw out, we end up spending 10 minutes or so just looking for a stupid garbage can. You never realize what a convenience these are until there are none. Just this morning we each spent a good chunk of time wandering around the Euston rail station looking for a single garbage can. And you know what? There were none. Not a single damn one. We ended up just leaving our garbage on a counter in the cafeteria because we couldn't find one. Who builds a cafeteria with no garbage cans?

Ventilation. It seems as though no one who ever built a building in London ever thought about creating some sort of ventilation system. This goes for the entire Underground system as well. As soon as you set foot in a tube station you break out in an instant sweat. It's swelteringly hot and humid, and gets very uncomfortable very quickly. I've no idea how you could do that on a regular basis. The rooms, bathrooms and shower stalls are no exception to the no ventilation rule. It's fine if there are windows in the room (that's if you can get the other people in your hostel room to leave them open), but in the bathrooms and shower stalls the air just sits there, heating up and stagnant. And if the person in the bathroom before you left a parting stench, there's nowhere for it to go, is there? So you're left to either wait for another stall (not an option if you're in a line waiting, which there always is), or hold your breath and pee quickly. It's even worse in the showers, where the steam has nowhere to go. So you get out of the shower and start sweating now that you're clean, because the simple act of you being in the shower and using even lukewarm water has heated the shower stall up. I'm hoping that it's not this bad everywhere in London, that it's just the hostel and all the tourist traps, but who knows?

Noise. It's noisy in London. Very noisy. I'm sure April is already irritated with me for all the times I've said “what?” while we're standing somewhere, walking somewhere, or sitting somewhere. I theorize it's because of all the taller, stone and brick buildings. Sound echoes and has nowhere to go, so it just bounces around and amplifies a lot, thus making it noisier than it really is. It might help if there were a little greenery to absorb some of the sound, but trees and other plants are pretty scarce, nearly nonexistent, thus the sound just keeps on bouncing around. I thought my hearing was pretty good before we got here, but now I'm starting to wonder. Or maybe it's just the ambient noise is so much that I can't hear myself think. Either way it's irritating.

Other Hostellers. I'm sure this will change as we go between hostels, but there are always personalities that grate against each other. There was one girl in our hostel room I dubbed “Hair Spray Girl”, because each of the mornings she was up before us she'd use copious amounts of hair spray from an aerosol can. You'd be interested to learn that sound can actually wake you up at times. She was a bit loud in the mornings, too. None of the other women in the room woke me up when they were getting up and leaving, but Hair Spray Girl managed to get me out of a deep sleep each and every time she left the room or got out of bed. And she thought we all shared her views on the windows being closed at night. She would actually come into the room and close all the windows before she went to bed. So she may have been comfortable while the rest of us sweltered. Finally one of the older women actually asked her to leave them open because it was so hot. She was from Alaska, so she was even worse off than us in the heat and humidity. Hair Spray Girl also thought it appropriate to dry her cleaned underwear on the window hook. While I might not have done this for fear of my underpants flying out the screen-less window and ending up in the street, she seemed to have no problem with it. She also felt it necessary to yell at the older woman from Alaska at one point because she was snoring and keeping Hair Spray Girl awake. As though yelling at her could get her to stop, because she could magically control the snoring somehow. The other hostellers in our room were actually pretty cool. One woman was apparently on her way to New York to meet a guy (April suspects she met him on the internet), and was very apologetic about the smell her hair dye was making in the room, even though neither of us could smell it. And despite the snoring, Alaska-Lady was also very nice.

That's been my impression of London so far. As for travel updates, we've made it to Dublin after a relatively uneventful train ride and ferry ride. I will say that the Irish Ferries are pretty impressive. A lot fancier and bigger than the BC Ferries I'm used to. This evening we went to a pub nearby and had meat pies and beer. I can't remember the name of the beer I had, but it was pretty good and was going down way too easy. I'm sure there will be plenty more of that later.

I'll do my best to keep the updates coming, but I can't guarantee anything because we're off on our bus tour tomorrow and I'm not sure what the internet access would be like. So keep an eye on this URL...

Pictures of London!

2009-08-21T13:14:00.000-07:00

Riding the underground for the first time from Heathrow to the hostel near St. Paul's.
April at the top of St. Paul's Cathedral.
April on a sketchy narrow London street.
Enjoying a little street meat near the Parliament and Big Ben.
Resting in the cloisters in Westminster Abbey.
Waiting for a Beefeater tour inside the Tower of London.
The Tower Bridge just outside the Tower of London.
Me looking exhausted outside the British Museum. Do you know how big that place is?

Being a Tourist in London.

2009-08-20T10:36:00.001-07:00

Well hello again from London! I'm afraid there's still no free internet so you'll have to settle for just my witty remarks for the time being. It's been hot and ridiculously muggy here in London for the past couple days. I was expecting it to be cooler, but of course we decide to come during a heat wave. Yesterday it hit 28 degrees. And I didn't pack shorts, since I was pretty sure I wasn't going to need them. I was wrong. Though I did make myself some makeshift capris yesterday by rolling up the legs of my jeans. Classy. It finally clouded over today, so it was much more tolerable, and I hope it stays like that for the rest of the trip. I want to experience rainy London. We've done so much in the last couple days that I think I need to split this into sections based on place. So here we go...

Buckingham Palace. Oooh, a castle! And a big one at that. We got there just in time to see the changing of the guards, which we didn't really see, since it all happens behind iron gates, and unless you get there at least an hour ahead of time and get a spot on the steps, it ain't happening. And being as it was 28 degrees, sitting in the sun for an hour in jeans didn't really appeal to either of us. We saw a little when the guards came in, but promptly gave up and left after they went behind the gates. It's an impressive sight, the palace, so we took a bunch of pictures, even managing to find the “Canada” gates. I was wearing my Canadiana garb at the time so that should be a gooder. After that we walked through Hyde Park, which is a welcome green space compared to the stone and iron of the rest of London.

Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery. We stumbled upon these as we were looking for Westminster Abbey, and had apparently turned the wrong way. We didn't even know it was Trafalgar Square until we looked at the guidebook. There aren't any signs, and it's just a square with statues and fountains. We thought it would be bigger, really. We only really went into the National Gallery because it was free. It's just paintings, which are cool, but can be a little boring room after room.

Westminster Abbey. This was my favorite place so far. It's a huge chapel with tons and tons of memorials and tombs. And you aren't allowed pictures, which is a little irritating. But I bought postcards so at least I have something. There's this really amazing part of it called the Lady's chapel which was built by Henry VII, and it's so detailed and intricate you could just stare at the wood and stonework for hours. We got audio guides so we learned (and promptly forgot) all the history as we walked around. Narrated by Jeremy Irons, too, so it was pretty pleasant to listen to. Issac Newton's in there. I also pointed out to April how ironic it is that Charles Darwin is entombed there given the church's view on evolution. And the Abbey is a church, after all. It's a little irritating, really.

The London Eye. After we stopped at a pub for a pint and some fish and chips, we got on the London Eye for a good view of the city. It's this giant ferris wheel that hangs right over the Thames. I think they destroy it in the new Harry Potter movie. The view is really amazing, but I was almost more interested in how the thing worked and was was built. I looked for a book on it 'cause I thought Glen might like it, but couldn't find one.

The Tower of London. We went first thing in the morning and were glad we did. The guidebook says get there at 9 am and go straight to the crown jewels, and for good reason. The line gets HUGE. After that we took a free Beefeater tour, which was hilarious and far too informative. We've forgotten most of that already, too. There's an inner and outer wall in the whole structure and 10 towers in total, though they're not as “tower-esque” as you'd expect. They're, at most, 5 stories. But all built so long ago that the place just looks really old and cool. There are all kinds of chambers you can explore and learn more about the kings and people who stayed, died and were executed there. There's just too much information to put here, so you'll just have to go for yourself someday. We did learn something I thought was really cool, though. The Beefeaters (Yeomans, officially), actually live in the tower. They have their families, pets, everything right inside the walls. And there's a curfew. They lock the gates after 10 pm. It's really strange to think about. How would you tell people where you live? Where do you address the post? White Tower, Tower of London, England?

British Museum. April wanted to go here and I wasn't going to argue since admission is free. It's a really big museum, and she was keen to see the Egyptian section. They have a lot, and it's all very impressive, but I couldn't stop thinking how much better it would all be if it had been left where it was found. The tablets, statues, and everything else would be so much more interesting in situ than sitting in a museum in Britain. We also saw the Rosetta Stone, which was basically the stone piece that has allowed us to figure out what Egyptian Hieroglyphics mean. It's a pretty impressive rock, and the detailing on the letters is amazing. We pretty much wizzed through the rest of the museum because after about an hour, it gets a little tiring reading all the plaques and looking at old pieces of clothing and artifacts. But we went and we saw, so there it is.

That's been the past 2 days. Tomorrow morning it's off to Ireland for more fun and excitement. So until I manage another internet connection!

I'm in London!

2009-08-18T14:10:00.000-07:00

Greetings readers! Well, here I sit in my hostel in London. Finally! We arrived here at 7:30 this morning after a long and restless flight, first from Calgary, then from Houston. We took the Underground (or the tube), from Heathrow to our hostel after first purchasing out Oyster cards at the station at Heathrow. We're not sure if they really get us a better discount or not, but it's a lot easier having a prepaid card than having to worry about exact change for fares all the time.

I first must apologize for the briefness of this post, as the internet at the hostel is not complimentary and parting with 4 pounds for an hour of internet wasn't very pleasing. So I promise to include pictures in later posts when we get to a place that has free WiFi.

Our first stop after the hostel and a shower (14 hours worth of planes leaves one feeling dirty and cranky), was St. Paul's Cathedral, which is all of 2 blocks from the hostel. It's an amazing building with tons of ornate carvings, statues, and paintings. I have no pictures of the inside of the cathedral because you aren't allowed to take pictures inside. Though many people were blatantly ignoring this, April and I followed the rules like good Canadians. We also climbed around 300 stairs in some very sketchy stairwells to get to the very top. Totally worth it! The view of London from the top was amazing.

After the cathedral we pretty much just wandered around for a while. So far we've seen the outside of Big Ben, the Parliament \buildings, the London Eye, the Tower Bridge, the Court House, and a ton of other ornate buildings of varying importance. London is an amazing city with a lot of history so far. We also walked for quite a ways along the Thames, which was pretty cool. We're still adjusting to the cars driving on the opposite side of the road, because it effects which direction you look to see if it's safe to cross the street. I never thought of that before, but it does.

It's been a long day so I'm going to call it a night. I promise more detailed blogs later in the trip when the internet is cheaper and I've got a little more time to write.

Oh, and Todd is having a lovely time.

Mechnical Bull, Anyone?

2009-08-12T23:40:00.000-07:00

As promised, here is the video of me on the mechanical bull. And yes, I already know that I suck. There's no need to tell me.

Jana's Bachelorette/A Weekend at the Spa

2009-08-09T11:24:00.001-07:00

Since I am the official Maid of Honor at my sister's wedding it was thus up to me to plan her bachelorette. And since you only get married once (or you should only get married once), I figured it really needed to be more than just a couple hours at a bar one night. And Jana loves camping, so I thought maybe we could go camping somewhere for a weekend. Then Christy suggested that we go down to the "Spa Farvolden" for the weekend, since that's always a fun alcohol-filled extravaganza. So I emailed the management (Aunty Cyn and Uncle Andy) and we set it up for the weekend before the wedding itself. For anyone that doesn't know about the "Spa", it's really just my aunt and uncle's house in Calgary. But it's not just any house, they have an outdoor pool, hot tub, ginormous kitchen, delightfully well-stocked bar, bathrooms that are bigger than most people's bedrooms, and all the food and snacks you could ever want. So we call it the "Spa Farvolden", 'cause it's like going to the spa for the weekend.

Mom and I hopped in the van on Friday and picked up the first bridemaid, Diana, from work. Then we proceeded through the hoardes of construction that is Edmonton right now to get the bride herself. From there it was back to Mom's house to get the final bridesmaid, Christy. We made a quick stop at the Mac's for slurpees before leaving town and heading out down the Queen Elizabeth highway for Calgary.

When we arrived at the "Spa" we were greeted with some delightful pizza and the first round of cosmopolitans, which are known in our family as "cosmic"-politans. At which point we were told by Uncle Andy that the limit in one day for cosmic-politans is 9. After the first one went straight to our heads, Christy and I were pretty sure that there was no way we'd make it to 9. In fact, even between us we couldn't make it to 9 that night. But we did try. Really hard. We capped off the evening with a hop into the pool and hot tub.

I might also mention that there were treat bags for those that came. They included a lovely penis straw, a star light and noise-making stick, fuzzy handcuffs, feather boas, and a couple other little things I thought were amusing at the time. Jana also got a couple extras, like a lovely illustrated edition of the Kama Sutra. Yes, the real one.

Saturday morning began with a lovely breakfast of whatever we were willing to scrounge out of Aunty Cyn's kitchen, which was really less scrounging and more there's too much to choose from. Then, without delay, it was into the pool!
Once we all had our fill of floating aimlessly around, it was definitely time for a game of pool volleyball. The interesting part of the Spa's pool is there's a shallow end and a deep end. The deep end, however, has a ledge all the way around the outside, so if you were on the deep end team you didn't have to tread water the entire time. Not that the ledge helped that much, since the deep end seemed to lose most of the games.

There was one point during the day when Jana mentioned to Aunty Cyn that she really wanted to try a mojito. At this, Aunty Cyn got very excited, because evidently she'd been dying to try and make one and hadn't had a reason yet. So she snipped some mint out of her herb garden, and whipped together some other ingredients, and we had our mojitos. But not just any ingredients. All fresh. Nothing but the best at the spa, I tell you. Fresh limes with freshly grated zest, mint straight out of the garden, and all blended to perfect deliciousness with ice. And I think after that first one, we've all switched to mojitos as our favorite drink.
After the first one, we decided we needed more, so Aunty Cyn called Uncle Andy to pick upa couple ingredients from the store. Then when he came home che put him straight to work making lime zest and we had a second batch just before heading out to dinner. I think the second batch was even better than the first.
Oh, after the first or second pool volleyball match (I forget which one now for obvious reasons), Christy and I were discussing the Spa's tequila selection. And I do mean selection. I think I saw at least 4 different kinds behind the bar. Well, not more than a few minutes later, a tray appeared poolside, and we were all doing shots. And we didn't even have to leave the pool! There was salt, limes, and after all that, chips and salsa to top it all off. How can you argue with service like that?
After we were all done baking in the sun, we were chauffered to Joey Tomatoes for dinner, where we had lovely meals and many a confused look from the other patrons when we kept turning on or flashing star devices.
To cap off A fantastic Saturday, I finally managed to convince everyone to head out to a bar, spearheaded by my friend April who lives in Calgary and knows where to go. We ended up at Ranchman's in Calgary. Though I suspect that was solely because of the fact that they have a mechanical bull there. As part of Jana's fun, I gave her a white t-shirt and told her I'd give her $1 for every phone number she got. I ended up only owing her around $3, but you can bet those 3 guys were pretty happy to get in on that action. I think the picture below demonstrates quite nicely. I might add that we specifically looked for a group of guys in cowboy hats. Save a horse, ride a cowboy, you know.
Jana, April and I did, in fact, ride the mechanical bull. We have the bruises to prove it. My thighs look like I was whacked repeatedly by some very angry gnomes with sticks. And it's harder than it looks. I have a lot more respect for bull riders now. But we did it. I may get ambitious in the future and upload the video to YouTube. Though it is a little embarassing. We'll see. April was more than kind enough to drive our drunk butts home, which was amazing considering Christy and I had been drinking since noon and were getting to the end of the evening feeling a little queasy. Though we both managed to keep down our dinners.

Sunday we all got up a little late, but were treated to a fabulous bacon and egg breakfast a la Aunty Cyn. My mom even chipped in and made some of her patented toxic toast (she likes to put a LOT of butter on toast). Then it was pretty much back in the van and back to Edmonton, with a quick slurpee stop at 7-11.

Overall, I've got to say it was a fabulous weekend that could not possibly have gone any better. The weather cooperated, no one got sick, and we all had a good time. I'll be booking my next trip to "the Spa" soon, I expect.

The Alberta Sports Weekend Extravaganza!

2009-08-09T10:50:00.000-07:00

Greetings again, avid readers! I'm sure you are all extremely curious as to my crazy misadventures over the past couple of months because I've been rather neglectful in updating you all. But in my defense, I've been extremely busy trying to sell a house, pack up said house, move all my stuff to Alberta, find a potential job in Alberta, quit my job at the Campbell River Hospital, plan my sister's wedding shower and bachelorette, and do it all while my husband is working at a temporary job in Burnaby 3 hours away. So life's been a little crazy.

So my last day at the CR hospital was July 18th at 7:30 am. I drove myself, my clothes, and the two little furry creatures that live with me to Alberta starting on Monday the 20th, with a one night stopover in Burnaby to spend the night with the aforementioned husband. The second day I drove all the way from Burnaby to Spruce Grove in one shot. It was awful, and I will never do that again. I literally had edema in my feet for two days from keeping them in the same position for 12.5 hours. The following weekend promised to be busy, as I had signed up to run the 5 Peaks Trail Run at Chickakoo on Saturday morning, and then my future sister-in-law's bridal shower was that same afternoon. The next day I would be off to Morinville for the Tour de l'Alberta, a 100 km bike ride. Then it was back to Burnaby with my Dad's 15-passenger van and trailer to pick up Glen, then to Campbell River to get the rest of our stuff out of the house and then back to Alberta again to drop it all off. So away we go then...

The ride back to Alberta. It was relatively uneventful with the exception of the length of the drive. My feet were literally swollen for two days. And that's never happened before. Though after the past couple weeks I now know that 5 hours is about my driving limit before that happens. It's pretty uncomfortable. The cats were actually pretty good for the drive. They only made noise for about the first half-hour before they stopped and the rest of the time they just sat there and stared at me. Pickles did give me the stink-eye when I left her in the car on the ferry to go to the bathroom, but she got over that pretty quick when I came back. I've also learned that I have a horrible lead foot. Going over the Coquihalla I glanced down at the speedometer a couple times and had to take my foot completely off the gas I was going so fast. Miraculously, I somehow managed to not see a single police car for the entire trip. That's probably a good thing considering I would've gotten a fairly hefty ticket.

The 5 Peaks Trail Run. This was a 7.4 km trail run on the trails out a Chickakoo lake, which is a recreation area about 20 minutes west of my Mom's house. My Mom used to take us there as kids, and from what I remembered, I thought it would be a pretty easy run. Thought is the key word there. There were hills. Lots of hills. And really steep ones, at that. The hills were steep enough and long enough that I actually had to walk up some of them. And I've never walked in a single race to date. But after the first hill I gave up and walked. I decided it was better to finish the race than die in the process. In my defense, though, it was probably 32 degrees out by the time the race actually started. My sister's finacee, Jonathan, was also running. We stayed together for about 2 km, but I lost him on one of the uphills at that point and didn't see him after until the finish. At which point he came up to where we were waiting and said (and this is a direct quote): "I'm never running again!". The funny part is that he's signed himself up for the half-marathon in Iceland in a couple weeks while he and my sister are on their honeymoon. Oh, my time was 50:17, which was 10th of 25 in my age category (toot toot!). Jonathan finished in 1:01:13.

The Tour de l'Alberta. A bike ride starting in Morinville and touring around and through a bunch of the French communities in that area. There were a few different distances we could've ridden, but my friend Kristi had chosen the 100km, and I was good with that. It's farther than I've ever ridden on a bike, which was challenge enough for me at the time. I did, in fact, train for this ride in advance for about 2 months, and I'm glad I did. It would not have been pretty otherwise. Kristi and I were both on mountain bikes, which are not ideal for road riding, but at least we still went. That and we got to ride right by all the road bikers who had to stop to change their tires because of flats. Ya gotta love mountain bike tires. It wasn't a race, just a ride, so there were no times and no prizes, but it was still fun. There were a few rest stops along the way, so we could refill our water and gatorade bottles, and they also had snacks at all of them. There was also a lunch stop with sandwiches and other tasty treats. Kudos to the people of Legal for that one. I stopped at all the rest stops, but didn't really want to stay long. I'm pretty hard core in that respect, I'd rather keep going than stop and then have to regain my rhythm. You've probably read my marathon blogs by now and know all about that. So after the lunch stop I left Kristi and the others in my proverbial dust and went out on my own. I was riding quite a bit faster than they were and waiting for them at every rest stop would probably just irritate me. Not their fault, but a bad habit I find difficult to break. It was a fantastic day weather-wise, thus I managed to get quite a lovely sunburn on my back. I should've reapplied the sunscreen, but hindsight is 20/20, right? At the end there was a pretty good meal, but the highlight was the cake. I freakin' love cake. Especially after 100km on a bicycle. Overall, it was an excellent ride, very well organized, and if I have the chance I may do it again. Though next time it'll have to be the 180km ride with a road bike. If you're gonna go, go far, right?

A couple days after the ride it was back to the island for packing and all our stuff. Glen and I somehow managed to pick the hottest couple of days of the entire year to do our packing. It was somewhere around 35-39 degrees in Vancouver and CR. So I picked Glen up at his apartment in Burnaby and we set out for the ferry terminal. Except that we made it to Horseshoe Bay only to learn that all the ferries were full, but there's a "chance" we could get on the 9:45 sailing, the last one of the night. So we turned around and headed to Tsawassen. Only we somehow got lost in Horsehoe Bay itself for about 20 minutes. In my Dad's 15 passenger van with attached trailer. Not fun. Picture teeny little roads and big giant van.

When we finally got out of Horseshoe Bay, we headed for downtown, since that was the easiest way to get to the Tsawassen terminal. Ha! We got stuck in downtown Vancouver traffic for about 2 hours. We moved, literally, 15 blocks in 2 hours. It sucked. And it was 35 degrees and we'd run out of water. On one corner there was a woman selling hot dogs off a cart, so when we got there, I leaned out the window and bought 2 bottles of water off her. Through the window of the van. You know you're desperate when...

We finally got to Tsawassen and managed to get on the 8:15 sailing, which was much better than "maybe" getting on the 9:45 out of Horseshoe Bay. We made it back to CR at around midnite and crashed. We were up early the next morning and spent all day packing. Somewhere around 5 pm I decided there was no way all our stuff was going to fit in just the van and trailer. There was just way too much stuff. We needed a Uhaul. But it was 5 pm, and everything was closed. So the next morning we were at the rental place just as it opened. All the trucks had been reserved for in-town moves, but apparently Uhaul has this policy where if you're dropping the truck somewhere other than where you picked it up, they can rent you one and whoever had the reservation is out of luck. If I were the one with the reservation I'd be pissed, but that day that was the best news I'd heard in a long time. So we had our Uhaul.

We loaded up the Uhaul and got out of CR around noon. We caught a 4:15 ferry from Nanaimo, which we thought was rather miraculous, given that it was the Friday before a long weekend, but we weren't complaining. The rest of the trip was pretty unevetful. We spent the night at a campground in Hope and made it the rest of the way to Edmonton the next day.

So now Glen has taken a permanent position with Autopro in Burnaby, and we have to move everything back. But at least it's already in boxes. And at least Glen has a job. Oh, and on August 5, I went to an interview with Dynalife labs here in Edmonton. It apparently went well, because they called about 3 hours later and bascially offered me a job. Which I had to turn down because Glen had literally just signed his papers. And our house has sold, which we also found out on August 5. So all is reasonably well with us now.

And the cats seem to not mind living in my Mom's house for the time being. Though Pickles seems to have developed a strange fascination with my Mom's hair...

One more round (of pain)!

2009-05-06T02:54:00.000-07:00

So here I sit, in a lovely hotel room at the Westin Bayshore with a fantastic view of the Vancouver harbour, recovering from another marathon. Crazy, you say? At this point I definitely won’t argue with you. Actually, I shall rather quote a sign I saw along the course: “We are all insane. Some are just more insane than others.” I set out this time to achieve my goal of running a marathon in 4 hours and 15 minutes. I did not achieve that goal. Not even close. So yes, I will likely at some point run another. But right now I’m not sure when that will happen, because I vow to retire the fuel belt for at least the rest of this year. I’ve got a lot on my plate over the summer and another full marathon is just not in the cards. A 100 km bike race, yes, but a marathon, no. Remember I’m retiring the fuel belt, not the eLoad.

So on with the stories. My official finishing chip time was 4:31:22. So not the 4:15 I was hoping for. And I wanted that time. Bad. Really, really bad. I trained, and I thought I could do it. Then somewhere between 21 and 30 km, it all fell apart. That’s actually exactly where it fell apart last year at the Vancouver marathon. I’ve decided now that I just really don’t like this course. There’s something about it that just rubs me the wrong way. I’m not a huge fan of long, semi-straight stretches, and this course is full of them. There’s also a really long stretch of road right at the end that takes you out of downtown and all the way out to UBC and back. And I swear it’s the longest stretch of road in the world. It just keeps going and going like the Energizer Bunny on steroids. And the problem for me is, I see that it keeps going, and all I can think is that I have to turn around and come right back. It’s awful, especially for it being the last 12 km of the course. Pure torture. So I think I need to expand my horizons in the way of the marathons I run. I think maybe Calgary next year if I can work it. I could use a new belt buckle…

There’s also been a lot going on in my life lately. Glen and I have put the house up for sale and are planning to move back to Alberta by the end of July. Glen’s been out of work, and my own experience at work lately hasn’t exactly been stellar. And on Friday I could feel a sore throat starting, so I started popping Cold FX like they were candy. It’s held the sore throat at bay, but I can feel it spreading now. So I’m getting sick. All of this probably contributed in some way to the demise of my 4:15 dreams. I guess it just wasn’t my day. But enough of the excuses. Someday A I’ll get there. Someday.

Moving right along, I was doing very well until about half way. I was actually ahead of my nemesis, the pace bunny. Only this time it was the 4:15 pace bunny. I was ahead of him! I can’t tell you how happy that made me. But somewhere in there he passed me, and I just couldn’t catch him. Damn you, pace bunny! Damn you! The hills this time were killer. Every hill after half-way felt like a mountain, and I just couldn’t maintain my pace. I had to slow down almost to a walk. But I didn’t walk. I may not have done stellar, and I may have disappointed myself, but I didn’t walk. And it would have been all too easy after the 30 km marker. Oh, to have just walked for a minute or two! No! I would not walk! I knew at that point my goal time was shot, but I had to salvage my dignity somehow. So I kept running. Many know my creedo is that you can’t say you’ve run a marathon if you stop to walk during it, and I stand by that. I may have bombed when it came to time, but I still ran the marathon. So while I might be disappointed with my time, I still have a time. I still finished. Which is more than I can say for a large chunk of the population that will never even try. So despite all that, I’m satisfied, thank you very much.
Not a lot of runners from Campbell River made the trip across the straight for this event, but I still managed to see a couple of them. The coach caught up with me somewhere around 34 km, and I’m pretty sure he lied when he said he thought the 4:15 pace bunny was behind me. Nice try, Mark. I appreciate the thought. I give much love to Marian, though. I was on my way back from the turnaround at UBC when I hollered at her. Despite being at the end of my rope I still yelled. And she waved back and hooted in her typical Marian fashion. It wasn’t much, but it kept me going for nearly 4 more kilometres. So thanks, Marian. I hope your race went better than mine.

So now on to the tidbits we all love so much.

The Lulu girls. There were a lot of people out on the course wearing gear from Lululemon. In my own personal experience, the people that shop at Lulu for running gear aren’t generally very hard-core runners. Not that you have to be to enter a marathon. Actually, I’m probably just projecting my jealously on them, since I don’t look nearly as good in the clothes as they do. I tried my hardest to keep ahead of these two girls wearing identical shorts from that store in different colors. I can’t remember now if I came in ahead of them or not. But I hope I did. I can’t really explain why, maybe it’s the jealousy thing, but I just felt the need to keep ahead of them. Though it could have been the perkiness of their stride. After 30 km, perky gets really, really annoying. If you have a perky stride, don’t run next to me in a marathon. I’m likely to shove you into a thorny bush along the course.

Sponges. Seriously, who did a girl have to sleep with to get a sponge out on the course? There was a serious lack of sponges at this race. The last 2 years in Vancouver there’s been an abundance of sponges at some of the water stations. This year, I came across only a single sponge station that still had any left. And you bet your arse I took it. And it felt good. This year I was really needing the sponges, too. It was dry this year, and the sun kept peeking out, so I was actually getting pretty sweaty. So I needed sponges. But seeing as there were none, I had to resort to using the water station cups and just splashing them into my face. It didn’t jive so well with the sweat and the contact lenses. But it was better than nothing, I guess.

Hat guy! If you’ve read one of my recent entries about the Comox Valley half, you’ll know about hat guy. Well, he was back again this year! He was actually behind me quite a ways, but he was still there in all his hat-wearing glory. Someday I’m going to get the nerve to introduce myself and find out what his name is.

The wounds. Many of you are familiar with my experiences with wounds sustained in the quest of a marathon medal, and Vancouver was no exception. Sometimes the wound is as simple as some thigh chafing from my shorts, or as big as the now permanent scar I have on my chest from making a poor sports bra decision (see my 2007 blog entitled “42 km is really far”). Well, there was still chafing this time, but there was no broken skin. I also somehow managed to get some chafing from a sports bra that I wore in the last marathon I ran, and that time it didn’t chafe at all. This year, the most impressive injury I sustained was a blister on my right big toe that’s roughly the size of Philadelphia. It’s huge! And not only that, it even bled a little. So it looks even more impressive. I also have the marathoner’s walk going on, but I expect that to get better over the next couple days.

New management. I think there was a change in the organizing committee for this year’s marathon, and they made some changes I wasn’t particularly happy with. Previously, they had hosted the expo and race package pick-up at the host hotel, where we usually stay. This year they set up big tents near the start/finish line, which made the expo very crowded and somewhat difficult to get to. It was very convenient when it was at the hotel, but this year we ended up driving around trying to find a parking space for about 20 minutes. There was also far less food at the finish line this year than previously, and there were no bags to carry it in. They also handed out the shirts at the package pick-up instead of at the finish line, so they don’t say “finisher” on them. Which is okay, I still get the shirt, but there’s something to be said for the pride of wearing a shirt that says “marathon finisher” on it. But my biggest complaint is with this year’s medals. It’s not that they changed the logo on the medal, though I did like the native art they used to put on them. It’s the fact that this year’s medal has no date or year on it! That was the unique, exciting part of the medals, you could only get them that year. Even if the design didn’t change, at least the date would be different. But these ones could be from any year, really. And it sucks! I’m running 42.2 km! The least you could do is make the medal unique enough that if I come back to run again next year I don’t end up with exactly the same medal! I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty cheesed about that.

Newspaper coverage. Normally I like staying the night after the marathon to recuperate, but also so that I can get a copy of the newspaper the next day to see my name in print. But alas, the year, my name was not in print. In fact, there was very little coverage of the marathon in the papers this year. The Province had a couple pages, which was nice, but the Vancouver Sun had a single picture with a caption. That’s it. No accompanying article, no list of the winners, just a single picture. Yet there were nearly 2 pages devoted to the Vancouver Canucks, who I might mention, actually lost that weekend. Vancouver is a running city. They host one of the largest marathons in Canada, and yet all we rate is a single picture? Thousands of people trained for thousands of hours, shedding their sweat, tears, and even some blood, and yet they barely rate any newspaper coverage? Shame on you, Vancouver newspapers, shame on you.

So that’s all my stories about this year’s Vancouver Marathon. My next adventure has yet to be planned, but I can’t lie that I kinda hear the waves on the Chesterman’s in Tofino calling my name…

Two days in Ontario.

2009-04-17T18:57:00.000-07:00

As many of you are already aware, my loving husband is currently out of work. Thus he's been looking, and this past week we were flown to Ontario for two days in the Niagra region so he could go to an in-person interview for a job as a maintenance engineer at a recycled paper mill. The company was nice enough to fly us both out there, rent us a car and hotel room, so they could interview Glen and we could both see the area to see if we liked it enough to move there.

Strangely enough, Niagra Falls was never really on my list of stuff I wanted to see. I'm not sure why, I guess I just figured one waterfall is as good as the next and I didn't feel the need to go out of my way to see that one. But more about that later. We left on Monday morning at noon, right after I had gotten off a night shift. Which was mistake number one. I didn't get any semblance of sleep so I felt awful pretty much the entire day. We landed in Hamilton at midnight local time and made it to the hotel about an hour later. So we finally got to bed around 3 am local time.

Glen had to be up for the interview the next day at 1 pm, so I got up a bit early to use the treadmill in the hotel. I had finished my book the day before (Race to Dakar-which is fantastic, by the way, and I definitely recommend it for anyone that's into endurance sports or motorcycles) and neglected to bring a new one, so I was hoping there was a bookstore within walking distance. Fortunately, I found out that the Brock University campus was about a block away from the hotel. And where there's a university, there's a university bookstore. It only took me about half an hour to find the bookstore on campus. After that, I walked up to a the Glenridge Quarry, which was right across from the hotel. It used to be a quarry, then they used it as a landfill, and now they've converted it to a cute little park with some trails. So I went wandering around the park for a while. That's where the picture at the top of this post came from.
Once Glen came back from his interview, we headed over to Niagra Falls. And I gotta say, it's pretty impressive. Most people will say the falls are amazing, but not a lot of people mention how huge the river is that feeds it. It's gigantic! For me, the sheer size of the river that leads up to the falls is almost as impressive as the falls themselves. And there's not just Niagra falls to see, there's also a huge waterfall off the American side the the canyon that's also impressive. And there's tons to do in the little area around the falls, too. My Mom told me before I left that it's a lot like Vegas, and she was right. Only a little bit smaller. There are arcades, haunted houses, adventure parks, even a giant ferris wheel. You could spend a good couple days (and an ever better amount of money) just wandering around. We didn't do much there, since it was getting a little late and we only had a couple hours, but we still enjoyed ourselves.

The next morning the jet lag caught up with us big time. The company Glen was interviewing with had set us up with a realtor who was going to take us around and show us the different areas of the different towns, and we were meeting with her at 10 am the second day. So we had to get up a little earlier to get breakfast, plus I got up even earlier to go for a jog that morning. I actually ended up getting up around 7, which I might add would be 4 am Pacific time. I barely managed 45 minutes jogging, which is really abnormal for me, and which is also how I knew I was unbelievably tired. At one point I even fell asleep in the realtor's car. Glen was really tired too. And just when we were getting used to the time change, we had to be up at 5 am the next morning to be in Hamilton for our flight home. I might add that's 5 am local time, which would be 2 am Pacific time. You wouldn't think that 3 hours would make that big a difference, but when you're working on almost no sleep the day you leave, then throw in a 3 hour time change, well, it doesn't end well. The day we came back, I slept pretty much the entire day. I honestly thought I'd be okay given that I work really weird hours that include night shifts, but I guess even I'm not immune to crazy time changes. Next time I go on a trip with a time change of more than an hour, I'm definitely factoring in a day for jet lag.

The realtor was very nice, and took us around the areas she thought would be good for us to live in if we were to move there. He driving was a bit scary, though. Especially when she answered her cell phone while explaining something to us and driving at the same time. We thought she might kill us all, but we somehow made it out alive. The houses in that area are all brick. Seriously, if you have a house with only vinyl siding, you're the odd one on the block. It's crazy. And because of the brick, all the houses seem to look incredibly grand. They aren't necessarily that big or fancy, they just look it because of the brick. And the columns. Lots of the houses have columns. It's really quite pretty, it just seems really super fancy because that's not what we're used to.

The second day, after the realtor dropped us off at the hotel, we went out to explore a little bit more. Glen wanted to see the locks on the Welland Canal. We managed to see one of the bridges lift up to let a ship through, which was pretty cool. The whole bridge deck lifts straight into the air to let the ship go underneath. The lock was even better. The ship can just barely fit into the lock, and when they start letting the water in, it raises pretty fast. I wasn't expecting to be impressed by the lock, but the whole operation was actually quite impressive. And fast, too. It only took about 20 minutes for the whole thing.

One thing I noticed while we were down there was was that there's a serious lack of hills. I thought Saskatchewan was flat, but at least they have to occasional rolling hill. Out near Niagra Falls it's pretty much totally flat. Lots of vineyards, too. We were expecting that, since everyone was telling us it was wine country before we left. But there really are a lot of vineyards. We didn't manage to visit any, though. And you can get anywhere in about 15 minutes once you figure out the roads, because there are tons of highways and freeways. But figuring out the roads is the hard part. They don't build any of the roads straight. And none of them face north/south. Glen and I took about 10 minutes in the car the first day discussing which way north was. We found out the second day we were both wrong. It's funny how turned around you get when you don't know what direction you're facing.

Overall it's actually a pretty nice area. Though I think if we decided to move there, I would miss the hills and mountains. It sounds odd, but I think the flat landscape might make me crazy. We haven't heard anything from the company about the job yet, but the day we got back we found out that the place that owns the mill had filed for bankruptcy protection. I guess we'll see. We haven't really made any decisions yet, but don't worry, I'll let all my avid readers know when we finally get something figured out. So stay tuned for more news and my next big adventure!

I am the Queen of Awesome!

2009-03-24T16:58:00.000-07:00

Or at least that's how I felt after finishing the Comox Valley Half Marathon yesterday.

I went into this race not entirely sure how I was going to do, or even what I wanted to do. Generally, when I enter a racem I have some goal in mind, however vague. Like getting a specific time, or even just finishing in one piece. I didn't really have a goal for this one. It wasn't until the day before when Mark asked me about it that I even gave it any thought. Did I want to run hard, to see how fast I could do it? Or did I want to take it easy and enjoy the experience?
I decided I wanted to see how fast I could go. I haven't really been training to run a half marathon, and it's not really my top choice of distance. I prefer the marathon, however twisted and masochistic that might sound to you all. I like a good long distance, and 21.1 km just really doesn't feel like enough. I've been of the opinion lately that the race really starts at 19 km. I still believe that, Sunday was no exception. But it was a good race.

There aren't really a lot of spectators on the course in Comox. It's kind of out in the country and it's not exactly a huge event (somewhere around 500 people each year), so there aren't people lined up along the ditches the entire way to watch. The people that do go to watch, however, are fantastic. Especially the volunteers. It wasn't exactly warm out there on Sunday, and they stood outside for hours, directing traffic and screaming their heads off for people they didn't even know. It's awesome.

The course itself is an out and back, so you run out, turn around and run back along the same roads. This is the second time I've done this race, and I like the course much better this time. It's slightly uphill most of the way out, and then slightly downhill most of the way back. It took me an hour to get to the halfway point, and just under 59 minutes to get back. And I know I was going faster on the way back. I like it for that-as long as you don't kill yourself in the first half, the second half isn't too bad. Well, that's how I felt about it on Sunday anyways.My official time was 1:58:41, which is a personal best for me. What's even better is that I felt good during the race, which makes the outcome just that much sweeter. I think I just might be getting the hang of this "running" thing. There were only a few moments where I felt like stopping or slowing down, and somehow by reminding myself there wasn't much distance left and that I knew I could keep going this speed I managed to keep my pace up. I'm rather proud of myself, can you tell? Toot, toot. That's me tooting my own horn.

I don't really have a lot of the usual tidbits I normally rant about after a race. For whatever reason I was having a good day and not a lot was bothering me. I do have one or two, though.

Hat Guy. There's this guy, he's Asian and I've seen him in more than one race, and he was there on Sunday. He wears these goofy hats-the kind you'd get at the dollar store that look like something out of Dr. Seuss. The only reason I recognized him was because I remember following him in Vancouver last year. And I remember because I was fixated on passing him for about 5 km. The hats were different, but I know it was the same guy by his stride and the spandex shorts. (Some people have a very particular stride you can recognize from a long ways away. I'm told I have one of these recognizeable strides.) He was out there on Sunday, with one of his goofy hats. And he wears them for the entire race. It's insane. And it can't be particularly comfortable since most of those hats are pretty cheap and have absolutely no air flow. This time it only took me about a kilometre to pass him, though. I have to give this guy props for his props, as it were. Everyone who passes him smiles, and he brings just a little bit of joy to the race. I hope I get to see this guy again in future races.

The Gel Station. I do not use gels. I had an unfortunateincident a couple years ago when I tried one, and ended up spending the afternoon curled up around the porcelain bowl wondering why I started running in the first place. I later determined it may have been due to the gel being of the banana flavor, which I have since decided I might be slightly allergic to. Nevertheless, every time I see or think about energy gels, my stomach lurches and I have to concentrate relatively hard not to immediately toss my cookies. There was a gel station on the course and as I passed it my stomach did it's enevitable flip-flop. But I managed to keep it together and keep going. I'm hoping at some point to get over this, but who knows how long that's going to take.

The food. I love to eat, and I'm not embarrased to say that eating is probably the entire reason I continue to run. Running means I can eat like a pig just before auction and get away with it. The food post-race in Comox is fantastic! This year there was chili (meaty or veggie, depending on your tastes), buns (mmm, carbs), juice boxes (the 5 year-old in me is squealing), and the obligatory oranges and bananas. There were also some delightful cookies and yogurt. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. And I was all good, the chili in particular. I'm starting to think the whole reason I run in races is for the food afterwards...

Draw prizes. Many thanks to the good folks at Timex for donating the shiny new Iroman Triathalon watch I am currently sporting as a draw prize. It fits my wrist perfectly and is actually very aesthetically pleasing. Like any former universty student, I love free stuff. Especially when it's a really sweet watch. Glen's been eyeing it up since I won it, but I think I'm safe since I'm pretty sure it won't fit his huge man wrists (it's a women's watch).

That's about it for this particular race. The Merville 15 km is only a couple weeks away, so stay tuned.