The beach was beautiful. An absolutely perfect, long white sand strip. Clear blue warm 26 degree water on one side and shady palm trees on the other. The blazing sun beat down and the beach break rolled in consistently.
My surfing swings from unco to decent depending on my mindset. I had been reading Dennis Waitleys, "how to be a winner" and was subsequently primed with full optimism. I stood on the beach, my head full of positive thoughts and a nice 6’4 thruster under my arm. It was ON!
My rented board had “Surf Betty” printed along it, so it got the unfortunate name of “Sweaty Betty.” But despite that she surfed beautifully!
I easily paddled out the rip and almost immediately caught a monster wave, very late. I landed the huge drop with a big backhand carve back up the face of the wave, wooo hooo!
The adrenaline and purity of surfing is something unlike anything else. Riding along a wave comes close to the ‘in the moment’ feel of an orgasm. I rode along side the smooth face of the wave until I was almost at the rocks. I kicked off the top of the wave and scrambled back out to the line up.
Adam was paddling back out and saw the whole thing. “Awesome! That’s the best I’ve ever seen you surf!” He was impressed and I was completely stoked. From that wave alone, the smile would be stuck on my face for the next few days.
But the sun hadn’t set yet, and there were more waves to surf. Me and Sweaty Betty were on! Another wave rolled through, this time it was a right away from the rocks. I turned and the wave lifted me up to my feet, it was a big, smooth face, emptying up ... dam it was good fun!
Our days in Santa Teresa were all the same: Breakfast, surf, lunch, nap, cuddle, surf, dinner and sleep. It was pure Bliss.
Showing posts with label travel relationships philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel relationships philosophy. Show all posts
Monday, July 11, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Enjoying the journey
Each morning I take the train to work. It takes about an hour, including a 20min walk to the station. I don't mind the journey. The route is actually the historic "may flower" line, which joins the oldest recorded town in Britain to the construction site of the largest offshore wind farm (my office.)
Every morning and afternoon I see the green rolling hills of the English countryside. Rabbits, pheasants, cows, sheep and the odd fox graze and hunt next to the line. The harbour, scattered with yachts is always tranquil. And did I mention the free Metro paper?
But more than the daily gossip or picturesque views is the time I reclaim as my own. I am on a journey to a destination and for that reason my internal task master is quenched. Finally she gives me time to think, to listen to music, gaze at the views or simply ponder the existence of the world.
I enjoy the journey irrelevant of the destination.
How often do we enjoy the journey itself?
Do we relish the journey with study, relationships or a career? Or are we so focused on the destination that the mandatory "travel time" is seen as a nuisance or a waste of time?
It is interesting to think how much of our lives is in a state of flux. If we do not see the journey as an essential part of the process, as essential as the destination itself, and try to block it out, it will surely dim the sweet reward of reaching our destination.
Every tear between Adam and I makes our smiles that bit sweeter.
Every morning and afternoon I see the green rolling hills of the English countryside. Rabbits, pheasants, cows, sheep and the odd fox graze and hunt next to the line. The harbour, scattered with yachts is always tranquil. And did I mention the free Metro paper?
But more than the daily gossip or picturesque views is the time I reclaim as my own. I am on a journey to a destination and for that reason my internal task master is quenched. Finally she gives me time to think, to listen to music, gaze at the views or simply ponder the existence of the world.
I enjoy the journey irrelevant of the destination.
How often do we enjoy the journey itself?
Do we relish the journey with study, relationships or a career? Or are we so focused on the destination that the mandatory "travel time" is seen as a nuisance or a waste of time?
It is interesting to think how much of our lives is in a state of flux. If we do not see the journey as an essential part of the process, as essential as the destination itself, and try to block it out, it will surely dim the sweet reward of reaching our destination.
Every exam makes the graduation more of an accomplishment.
Every step of the Inca trail made the views that little bit more incredible.Every tear between Adam and I makes our smiles that bit sweeter.
Friday, July 1, 2011
The scariest part of Asia - Food poisioning and safety regulations
Our last few days on Phi Phi didn’t go smoothly. We had lengthened our stay as Adam wanted to do a SCUBA course. I was a seasoned diver and after encouraging him to take a discover scuba dive, he was ready to do the full course. We booked the course and on recommendation from one of the SCUBA instructors, we ate at a nearby ‘hole in the wall’ restaurant. It only took a few hours and Adam was as sick as a dog. Anyone who travels to Asia knows that you’re bound to get sick sooner or later. Yes, you can take precautions, but realistically it’s going to happen anyway. And if you think it’s the same as food poisoning at home, nuh-uh, it’s got another level to it. The lie on the floor of the bathroom hugging the toilet while hoping to die level. The over the counter medication may as well be M&M’s. I spent the next day fetching bland food and water, knowing full well that tomorrow that would be me on the floor.
Three days later and some drugs from the pharmacist, we were able to walk. Unfortunately the drugs had the same side effects as the sickness, so although I would wake up ok, after one of those giant antibiotics, I’d be crippled over in pain and vomiting. The awesome wonders of modern medicine. Adam was feeling better by this stage, although the SCUBA course had gone out the window. We decided to head off to Phuket, mainly because I couldn’t stand being in that room any longer. The move involved a 1 km walk to the wharf and a two hour ferry ride. Adam packed my backpack as I conjured up the mental strength needed for the journey. We were running late for the ferry so I started walking as he fixed up the bill and called a porter. That would have to be one of the longest kilometres of my life. I was hunched over clutching my stomach and my water bottle, while trying to keep my day pack dry from the monsoonal rains. I was taking half steps and Adam soon overtook me. I gave encouragement and told me to meet him at the end of the wharf, he’d get the tickets. I kept going step by step.
At the wharf the porter ditched our bags in the rain and disappeared. Adam was still getting the tickets so I grabbed both 70litre backpacks and my day pack and waddled towards the ferry. When he caught up he took both packs off me and practically threw me onto the boat. Thank god, we’d made it. I promptly went straight to the toilet to throw up. When I made it back to my seat the ferry personnel came around giving everyone plastic bags. “It’s going to be a rough ride.” And true to his word, it was the roughest ferry ride I have ever been in. If I wasn’t embracing death already, I would have been scared shitless. Open ocean yacht racing ain’t got nothing on this! The flat bottomed ferry was banking up to the windows. The thin plastic, Thai made windows... I made a mental note of where the lifejackets were, (opposite end to the exit) and threw up twice more. It was about then that I think I passed out.
Three days later and some drugs from the pharmacist, we were able to walk. Unfortunately the drugs had the same side effects as the sickness, so although I would wake up ok, after one of those giant antibiotics, I’d be crippled over in pain and vomiting. The awesome wonders of modern medicine. Adam was feeling better by this stage, although the SCUBA course had gone out the window. We decided to head off to Phuket, mainly because I couldn’t stand being in that room any longer. The move involved a 1 km walk to the wharf and a two hour ferry ride. Adam packed my backpack as I conjured up the mental strength needed for the journey. We were running late for the ferry so I started walking as he fixed up the bill and called a porter. That would have to be one of the longest kilometres of my life. I was hunched over clutching my stomach and my water bottle, while trying to keep my day pack dry from the monsoonal rains. I was taking half steps and Adam soon overtook me. I gave encouragement and told me to meet him at the end of the wharf, he’d get the tickets. I kept going step by step.
At the wharf the porter ditched our bags in the rain and disappeared. Adam was still getting the tickets so I grabbed both 70litre backpacks and my day pack and waddled towards the ferry. When he caught up he took both packs off me and practically threw me onto the boat. Thank god, we’d made it. I promptly went straight to the toilet to throw up. When I made it back to my seat the ferry personnel came around giving everyone plastic bags. “It’s going to be a rough ride.” And true to his word, it was the roughest ferry ride I have ever been in. If I wasn’t embracing death already, I would have been scared shitless. Open ocean yacht racing ain’t got nothing on this! The flat bottomed ferry was banking up to the windows. The thin plastic, Thai made windows... I made a mental note of where the lifejackets were, (opposite end to the exit) and threw up twice more. It was about then that I think I passed out.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Pacaya Volcano - Guatemala
We had planned a sunset Volcano tour on our last night in Antigua and I wasn't sure if it sounded more romantic or adventure. On true Guatemalan time scale, it only took two and a half hours to get picked up and drive the short distance to the bottom of Pacaya Volcano.
After we booked, we heard several things about this tour.
1. The volcano had erupted a few months ago and killed someone. "But don't worry, there hasn’t been as much lava since."
2. There was a significant risk of being “Robbed, Raped, Kidnapped or Murdered,” while climbing the volcano. This was from the guide book, which advised to take security.
3. The guide will try to hurry you up the first steep bit, to try to convince you that you need to hire a horse.
Sure enough, all three came true. There wasn't much lava, we did need security and we were flogged up the hill. Our guide eventually greeted us in very slow Spanish. My basic understanding of Spanish gave me every 3 words or so. Just enough. He carried a pump action shotgun, which I happily saw wasn’t cocked, just loaded. (Guns scare me. I’m sure you’re much more likely to be shot accidentally then on purpose, especially when it's slung over your shoulder and you're on a horse!)
We started up the side of the volcano at a cracking pace. The ground was sand and ash which made plodding the only pace possible. Eventually most people got onto horses, but being the stubborn people we are, Ads and I plodded on. It was reminiscent of our Inca Trail pace on the first day. Before too long we were all alone. Our guide with the shotgun was nowhere to be seen and it was eerily quiet. I couldn't help but think of the many warnings of violent muggings. After all, this was central America and it was almost dark.
Thankfully the group waited for us and we continued along the dusty path. We reached the top of the first hill where the sandy ground gave way to a hard river of solid volcanic rock. The 15m wide river wound its way up the volcano to the peak.
A few months ago this volcano erupted killing a photographer and creating this massive river of now solid rock. It was surreal imagining this river as glowing red lava. It was blatant that the volcano was still active. The ground was ridiculously hot, we could actually toast marshmallows over the deep crevasses. I did so with glee!
When we reached the top we sat on the side of the volcano, under the smoking top and watched the sun set. This was the romantic bit. It was beautiful and surreal. The heat and the massive scale that was not only the volcano, but the remains of the lava river.
The stars came out as we descended. They’ve always made me feel the infinite nature of the universe but the volcano was something else. Millions of years ago this volcano would have been here, erupting as she pleases. The power, the heat and the huge scale of the frozen river, it was like sitting in the jaws of a lion. You hoped it was tame and having a good day.
At the base of the volcano kids begged for our food, torches, money and anything else we had. “Can I have Pringley?” a boy who was barely 7 begged Adam. “No.” “Only one?” “No.” ”How about 2 or 3?” We both laughed and I rolled my eyes. I wondered how many times the boy had said those lines. Whether they had lost meaning and were simply a script that he rolled out every night to the next lot of plump western tourists. I disliked being lumped in with the hoards of westerners that visited a country for a few days, went on the mandatory tours and stayed at western resorts, not bothering to look beneath the surface or learn the language. I wanted to wander through the slums, talk to the locals and find out what was important in their life. I suppose we did that to some extent in Nicaragua. But it was but a brief glimpse into an obviously well off family and the conversations had limited depth with the language barrier.
But what else could we do with our financial and time constrictions? Enrol in a charity work program, like the English schools in Costa Rica? Why should they learn English? So they can use comical lines to get an extra pringle out of tourists? I hated the overwhelming fact that tourism and travel is destroying local cultures. I wanted this boy’s Mother to tell him to ‘stop annoying the tourists, come home and eat your vegetables.’ I just hoped he had a Mother and vegetables at home.
After we booked, we heard several things about this tour.
1. The volcano had erupted a few months ago and killed someone. "But don't worry, there hasn’t been as much lava since."
2. There was a significant risk of being “Robbed, Raped, Kidnapped or Murdered,” while climbing the volcano. This was from the guide book, which advised to take security.
3. The guide will try to hurry you up the first steep bit, to try to convince you that you need to hire a horse.
Sure enough, all three came true. There wasn't much lava, we did need security and we were flogged up the hill. Our guide eventually greeted us in very slow Spanish. My basic understanding of Spanish gave me every 3 words or so. Just enough. He carried a pump action shotgun, which I happily saw wasn’t cocked, just loaded. (Guns scare me. I’m sure you’re much more likely to be shot accidentally then on purpose, especially when it's slung over your shoulder and you're on a horse!)
We started up the side of the volcano at a cracking pace. The ground was sand and ash which made plodding the only pace possible. Eventually most people got onto horses, but being the stubborn people we are, Ads and I plodded on. It was reminiscent of our Inca Trail pace on the first day. Before too long we were all alone. Our guide with the shotgun was nowhere to be seen and it was eerily quiet. I couldn't help but think of the many warnings of violent muggings. After all, this was central America and it was almost dark.
Thankfully the group waited for us and we continued along the dusty path. We reached the top of the first hill where the sandy ground gave way to a hard river of solid volcanic rock. The 15m wide river wound its way up the volcano to the peak.
A few months ago this volcano erupted killing a photographer and creating this massive river of now solid rock. It was surreal imagining this river as glowing red lava. It was blatant that the volcano was still active. The ground was ridiculously hot, we could actually toast marshmallows over the deep crevasses. I did so with glee!
When we reached the top we sat on the side of the volcano, under the smoking top and watched the sun set. This was the romantic bit. It was beautiful and surreal. The heat and the massive scale that was not only the volcano, but the remains of the lava river.
The stars came out as we descended. They’ve always made me feel the infinite nature of the universe but the volcano was something else. Millions of years ago this volcano would have been here, erupting as she pleases. The power, the heat and the huge scale of the frozen river, it was like sitting in the jaws of a lion. You hoped it was tame and having a good day.
At the base of the volcano kids begged for our food, torches, money and anything else we had. “Can I have Pringley?” a boy who was barely 7 begged Adam. “No.” “Only one?” “No.” ”How about 2 or 3?” We both laughed and I rolled my eyes. I wondered how many times the boy had said those lines. Whether they had lost meaning and were simply a script that he rolled out every night to the next lot of plump western tourists. I disliked being lumped in with the hoards of westerners that visited a country for a few days, went on the mandatory tours and stayed at western resorts, not bothering to look beneath the surface or learn the language. I wanted to wander through the slums, talk to the locals and find out what was important in their life. I suppose we did that to some extent in Nicaragua. But it was but a brief glimpse into an obviously well off family and the conversations had limited depth with the language barrier.
But what else could we do with our financial and time constrictions? Enrol in a charity work program, like the English schools in Costa Rica? Why should they learn English? So they can use comical lines to get an extra pringle out of tourists? I hated the overwhelming fact that tourism and travel is destroying local cultures. I wanted this boy’s Mother to tell him to ‘stop annoying the tourists, come home and eat your vegetables.’ I just hoped he had a Mother and vegetables at home.
Random Thoughts from Cos
Hi! Cos here!
I thought I'd finally contribute to writing a blog, however my writing is quite different to our travel blog ( www.adamandcorinne.blogspot.com ) so I thought I'd start my own!
It will be random extracts from my book (in progress) which is mainly about
- Travel
- Philosophy
- Relationships
I hope you enjoy, subscribe to get updates to your inbox.
Cheers,
Cos
I thought I'd finally contribute to writing a blog, however my writing is quite different to our travel blog ( www.adamandcorinne.blogspot.com ) so I thought I'd start my own!
It will be random extracts from my book (in progress) which is mainly about
- Travel
- Philosophy
- Relationships
I hope you enjoy, subscribe to get updates to your inbox.
Cheers,
Cos
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