How to be Amazing, and Take Over the World

How to be Pale and Own it.

Every year as summertime approaches I’m reminded of what I look like in minimal clothing…white.

Fact: I’ve grown up with people asking to take pictures with me not for my winning smile, but because next to my whiteness anyone looks like a native.

I don’t tan either, so I’m the same color in the dead of winter as I am in the dead of summer…unless I forget to put on my SPF 100 before going outside, in which case I have 2 shades - red and white.

Hell, with my blue eyes, if I let part of my body sunburn and left the rest it’s usual pale hue, I could go naked on the 4th of July and be looking VERY patriotic.

I’ll never forget on one tropical vacation when I was in the elevator of my hotel and a couple joined me and asked, “Oh, is it your first day here?” The answer was no. I’d in fact been there about a week. But my not-so-glowing skin suggested I hadn’t stepped foot on a beach my entire life.  

I blame my Irish ancestors. 

But this summer, I’ve decided that I wont let my nearly translucent ghost like qualities get me down. I will stand up to short shorts, tank tops and bikinis (Once I’ve finished my 30 Day Shred home workout with Jillian Michaels. That bitch is wicked awesome.) and say,

“HERE ME BRONZED PEOPLE OF THE WORLD - I MAY LOOK LIKE FRESHLY LAUNDERED WHITE SHEETS, BUT MY SKIN WILL AGE SLOWER THAN YOURS! AND IF I END UP HAVING CHILDREN WITH MY CURRENT LOVER WHO IS ALSO PALE, OUR COMBINED FAIR SKIN GENE POOL WILL MAKE BABIES THAT WILL LOOK YOUNG FOREVERRRRRR!”

It’s all about perspective.

Of course, that announcement will have to be via radio/sound bite since if you stare at my white bod too long without polarized sunglasses, you may go blind.  

I recently discovered I have an eating disorder called, “Chex Mix.” Please do not bring the glorious salty snack around me or I will eat all of it,

-C

Guerrillas, Marketing and Bikes

With Earth Day fast approaching (if you don’t know it’s on Sunday) everyone should be thinking about how to do their part.

If you personally don’t have the time to volunteer for a valiant green cause, or the financial fortune to donate to one, try simply living a greener lifestyle in 2012.

Get a bike.

Then leave your bike parked outside on a rainy day. If you’re truly lucky, you’ll return to find your seat surprisingly dry, swaddled in a glistening red piece of Timbuk2 guerrilla marketing. Timbuk2 calls them, “bun covers,” and they’re decorating bikes in cities around the country on their mission to “fight soggy buns.” Each bun cover (which looks hauntingly similar to a shower cap) has a promotional code painted on it that gets you 20% off your next, or first, Timbuk2 purchase.

It’s genius.

If you’re not familiar, Timbuk2 is a San Francisco based bag and accessory manufacturing company.

The connection - The company was started in 1989 by a San Fran bike messenger by the name of Rob Honeycutt, who like most cyclists carried a messenger bag. When Rob noticed how many non-messengers took notice of his fabulous bag and wanted to know where they could find one for themselves, he bought a sewing machine and started creating.

Today the company is known for building bags guaranteed to outlast you.

But should be better known as a company deeply in-tune with their brand, and a dedication to creative out of the box tactics to promote it.

Challenge yourself to focus in on the principles that drove the creation of your company. We are all products of our past, but as journeys progress people often forget why they started. It’s too bad since the start is often the wealthiest place for inspiration.

Maybe Timbuk2 bags will outlast the Earth after they outlast us,
- C

H-E-Double Hockey Sticks!

Remember the viral video of the 3 year old telling her mom that if a monster comes up in here she’ll, “kick his ask.”

YouTube comments are still rolling in 5 years after the videos posting in 2007. A swearing, but very logical, 3 year old is just too freakin hilarious.

But amongst the comments are also some definite haters, YouTube viewers upset that any parent would let their daughter say such a thing and laugh. Certainly at age 3 we don’t want our children having such a developed vocabulary. But what’s the harm?

With a quick google search parties interested in the, “is profanity really bad?” topic will find that it’s been widely discussed across the web. Personal interest pieces are particularly bountiful, as it’s definitely an easy topic to have an opinion on, but with the right search terms you’ll find that so are research pieces.

Students Cory R. Scherer and Brad J. Sagarin from Northern Illinois conducted an especially enticing study on the topic. After completion, they chose the title, Indecent influence: The positive effects of obscenity on persuasion.

Ah, so “kicking a monsters ask” isn’t so bad after all.

“This experiment examined the effects of judicious swearing on persuasion in a pro-attitudinal speech. Participants listened to one of three versions of a speech….The results showed that obscenity…significantly increased the persuasiveness of the speech and the perceived intensity of the speaker. Obscenity had no effect on speaker credibility.”

Another wee bit of mention worthy research conducted in London focused on workplace swearing among management and how it boosts morale and solidarity. Don’t we all feel more connected to our boss when he drops the f-bomb in casual water cooler conversation?

If all this hypothesizing and concluding is true, it makes you wonder about all the untapped persuasive places profanity isn’t being used. What a waste.

Maybe the next time you’re watching TV you’ll see a Charmin ad telling you to, “Shove it up your…”

Or maybe not.

But keep an ear out. Sounds like the Berlin wall of profanity is starting falling down.

Fuck it.
- C

Utterly Talentless

Today I googled, gasp, “So you want to be a writer?”

I don’t know what made me believe that a simple google search would tell me how to persue my dream goal of writing a book. But since my mom sent me an article last week about how spending 30 min a day surfing the web wards of Altzheimers, in addition to daily coffee intake (cha-ching) and red wine (Bam, just what I needed) I figured it’s worth a go.

Turns out it doesn’t get you very far. I tapped out after the first click led me to one of those obnoxious take over your screen advertisements.

The writing road has 2 paths: fiction or non-fiction

Fiction is all about telling a really riveting story. Once I told my BFF, M, a story about 2 pilots to help her fall asleep. When she realized I was just retelling the story of Top Gun (I had watched it earlier that day) the whole impressive on-the-spot creativity factor lost its luster.

So fiction is out.

Which leaves me with non-fiction, reality, like The Jersey Shore.

To write about something “real” you need a topic. I searched my inner self…

I love cooking, but so do a bazilion other writers. And since I can’t follow a recipe to save my life, and outside of my impressive french accent, I don’t have much over the pros, that one is out.

I love eating, but a book about stuffing ones face seems un-ladylike.

Clothes are super great, but I don’t know much about fabric, or fit, or neck line. I just like getting dressed. (When I have to. Most of the time I prefer to not wear pants. They’re stifling.)

Marketing is my game, but I have yet to do something noteworthy enough to earn me a spot next to the big shots.

I don’t know anything about art…

My cinema obsession stops at liking to watch movies.

I’m not athletic. So health focused literature is out.

Politics make me queasy.

Photography isn’t writing.

I don’t have enough money to write reviews on restaurants.

I’m not nerdy enough to write about technology.

I’d write about my obsession with seltzer water, but after perier, pellegrino, canada dry and my soda stream, I’ve exhausted the available topics.

Wine is great, but I’d rather drink it.

Travel…like restaurants…I find myself money stunted.

Why would anyone date me?

I’m void of ideas. And without ideas, I can’t write a book, and if I don’t write a book, I’ll never reach my goal.

Guess I’m going to have to put off my book until I achieve something incredible and can tell the story of how I did it. Such as…world domination?

Dreams are heartbreaking.
-C

The Post I Wrote While Patiently Waiting for the Massage Chair Next to the Snacks

I had a nightmare last week that I was fired.  

There I was, in a pleated green skirt with a tucked in pattern silk top and cowboy boots, being sat down along with my entire starting class and it was like “You’re done. Kapeesh.” All dressed up with nowhere to go, I didn’t much care for the situation, but my dream self went on five adventures and then moved back to Chicago where I started my own firm, so you can toss around how much of that was nightmarish and how much of it was due to falling asleep to Season 4 of Mad Men.

I can assure you, dear friends, that I have managed to hold on to my position here in Ann Arbor. After a stunning quarter that left me thinking that perhaps this whole Google thing isn’t just a phase, I took an entire eleven days off to visit my Spanish speaking double in the south of Spain where I lived off cheap wine and became desensitized to bedtimes and the sound of firecrackers.  

Now back in the office for several days and over pretending everyone here speaks a foreign language and I simply can’t communicate, I am in a pretty surreal state of mind. Having hit targets and now aggressively planning for my next takeover in the upcoming quarter-I mean, how I’ll again bring the magic of the interwebs to the world- I think my dream self is reacting to a complete lack of a stress stimulus, which is sort of weird considering it fired me.

But what does it mean? Hell if I know, but I suspect at the very least it means many more adventures this spring.

Excuse my brevity, I need to continue looking through a deck on contextual targeting and bone up on how ad extensions will change your life.

C turns 24 next month. Hah, she’s getting so old.

Happy Oberon Day!

-H

I’m Back

My new years resolution (now 2.5  months delayed) was to start writing again. I’ve really been looking forward to it. Envisioning myself at home…at my dining table…with a glass of wine or a cup of coffee…just…typing…

Instead, each night, I end up on the couch, with a bottle of wine, deciding which movie I rent on Netflix will look the least moronic to everyone else who shares the account with us.

Note - I’m not complaining about my choices. After all, it has allowed me to watch all of True Blood, and I’m several seasons deep in Mad Men.

Last week Lover-R sent me an email to checkout a website, Styletorial, that a friend of his created. It helps you shop by analyzing your personal style ,and then putting together an outfit for a variety of occasions on a variety of budgets. It overwhelmed me. First of all because I hate my wardrobe right now. And second because I know creating a website, especially one that involves an algorithm to detect style preference, is a hell of a bigger commitment than writing a little something every once in a while.

And so tonight….Mad Men, or if I’m being honest, my new addiction, reading about children killing children in the Hunger Games Trilogy…will wait…

I’m on my balcony 17 floors above the ground, with a bowl of zucchini and eggplant covered in tomato and cheese goodness, a beer, and my dog, gazing at downtown Chicago in one direction and a view of Lake Michigan (albeit between a few buildings) in another.

I moved in October. Living the high-rise apartment life now. Never thought I’d do it, or like it.

The initial reason I wanted to go-high-rise was for the safety of knowing a pervert would have to pass through a doorman and 16 other floors before getting to me when R is away. I forcefully let that thought overcome my feared suspicion that when I got here I’d suddenly feel like I’m back in college living in the dorms. But as it it turns out, I love my new place. My new building, my new doormen, my valet parking garage dudes. (What. a. yuppie.) My view! My proximity to the lake.

Plus, aren’t us people of power supposed to sit on high ground making everyone else figuratively and literally below us? I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. It’s all very logical that I’m being shot up closer to the gods each time I get in the elevator.

Also got a new roommie in the move, otherwise known as my live-in boyfriend. Which like my high-rise, has been quite the pleasant experience. (As long as you exclude the occasional moments where I wonder if the real reason you’re NOT supposed to live together BEFORE you’re married is because if you wait, you’ll have already made vows about sickness and health when you see how much water they splash around your bathroom while, “getting ready” - sickness.)

I’m short on time because I have to take my dog to his Growl 1 class - “Is your sweet pup developing an attitude?” I guess they’re going to teach me all the reasons I shouldn’t be letting him leverage his Napoleon complex to ward off enemies - human, animal, skateboard or car alike. It’s kinda too bad. He’s been doing me a favor keeping people away. Does everyone actually enjoy making pleasant conversation about the age and breed of every dog they pass on the street…while they’re pooping?

I thought this post would be a dramatic, emotional, inspirational tale on not making excuses to not do the things you love. But domination isn’t about being forthcoming with your emotions…so let’s just assume by re-igniting the fuel that drives this blog, posts, I’m as motivating as Nike. “Just do it.”

Damn those athletic bastards for claiming such a good tagline.

Also - H is in Spain. Meeting lovers she can’t converse with and eating oranges.

And I got a dog in January.

To the Irish,
C

Squirrel Pasty

Leave it to a man over 3x my age to inspire me to get back to writing. My good ol’ Grumpy Gramps. The same guy that taught me all the words to the Too Fat Polka when I was like 5 yrs old…a song sometimes heard at October Fest with that oh so memorable choras of:

“I don’t want her, you can have her, she’s to fat for me. HEY!” 

Inspiring positive self imagery aside. My Grandpa is pretty awesome. He’s a constant reminder that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be smarter than him. Nor will I ever beat him in any game, of any kind, on any day, under any circumstance.

But one of my Grandpa’s most discussed features among my friends is his adventurous palate. He has a particularly noted dish of baked squirrel. 

Like any good sportsman, the man kills em himself. You touch his bird feeder, BAM! And into the freezer.

Recently my cousin sent my family an article about a gentleman that has started using squirrel meat at his bakery to make pasties. If you don’t know what a pasty is, look it up, but it’s basically meat and veggies wrapped up in a flaky pastry like goodness. The bakers reason to replace the traditionally used beef with squirrel is a health conscious one. Squirrels primarily consume nuts and fruit. Which does indeed qualify them as a healthy little rodent meat substitute. And apparently health freaks just love it.

In addition to squirrel, my grandpa makes pasties, and good ones. So my response to the email on which my Grandpa was included admitted my fear of consuming the next batch of pasties my Grandpa prepares now that he’s been made privy to the squirrel meat option. 

This was his reply…

“Hey Christiney weeny, 

    Was extremely happy to hear from you and will keep you on my list of pasty subscribers. However, as I mentioned to Embo, the squirrels are getting a little scarce around here. Maybe you could talk daddy Jeff into bagging a few of those delicious treats for me and I can save them and cook them up for your next arrival. 
    I don’t know what all you heard from Embo, but I am definitely in the pasty making business and am SERIOUSLY contemplating doing it commercially as I don’t seem to be doing too well on the stock market. After all, your favorite grandpa wants to leave all of his grandchildren (you included) something to remember him by. So, I was thinking either a stuffed squirrel or a twenty five dollar gift certificate. Personally, which do you prefer? I don’t want you to make a quick and harsh judgment. Take you time and give it a lot of SERIOUS thought. After all, a stuffed squirrel might bring you a small fortune someday and with the inflation rate continuing to climb, that twenty five dollars in twenty years (after I pass on to heaven) just might not be worth too much.
    Well, I have a lot of things to do this A.M. and I am slowing down in my youthful age, so, I will have to conclude this wonderful piece of literature with the usual hugs, kisses ands all of our love

  Na and devine grandpa.”

I replied…

“Dearest Devine Grandpa, 

So sorry I have to be the one to share this… but I believe this year the squirrel population in Mecosta decided to move south for the winter with their comrades the birds. Something about “pasty poaching” was mentioned on their way down. 
Darn, huh! I was really hoping we’d have a chance to dine on them together. Not to mention what an enticing financial adventure going squirrel pasty commercial would have been. 
I am bummed. 
Guess you’ll have to stick to your original recipe. 
Also - I appreciate the stuffed squirrel offer so much - but what with all my allergies to animals that start with the letter “s” and end in “rrel”, I really don’t think I could keep the stuffed guy in the house. It would be so sad to have to subject my meaningful stuffed squirrel memento from you to a dark, cold, locked, sealed, dudgeon, far far far away from where anyone would ever find it or raise the question, “So, tell me again Christine? Why did your Grandpa give you a stuffed squirrel?” due to a few unwanted sniffles. But, you know how it is, allergy doctor says!
So - $25 it is! Thanks bunches Grumpy. You do too much. 
Love you,  Cuddly Christiner Wiener”

About 2 weeks later he replied…

“Hello curdly Christiner whatever,

    I first want top let you know that I am a mind reader and you have been thinking one or more of the following:
1. I wonder why that dumb jerk hasn’t responded to my email. Nothing more from me until he responds.
2. You made me feel bad about my squirrel pasty poaching.
3. I bet that old fool forgot who I was.
4. He probably doesn’t even have the $25 he talked about and won’t even leave that to me.
5. He was probably hoping that I wanted one of his wall mounted squirrels just so he could get rid of one of those ugly things.
    Well, none of the above is correct. Actually, you can select any of the following, which are all true:
1. I didn’t know how to respond to such a wonderful letter. (ha ha)
2. My mind doesn’t think as fast as it used to and it takes me a long to think of what to say. (think like a week or so)
3. I have been extremely busy with my chores which takes me a lot longer to conquer than it used to.
4. Being a two finger typist, I had to rest up my fingers as they got really worn out with the last letter that I wrote you.
5. Although you were very high on my priority list, there were other people who I owed emails to.
6. I will think of other reasons for future response delays but will write them down and store them away.
 
    All kidding aside, I was very happy to hear from you  but I must remind you to keep all the emails clean as I show them to Na and sometimes to your mommy. Now to get down to business. Regarding the squirrel population in Mecosta, you may have a point about them heading south as I haven’t been able to, uh, bag one of them since our last communication. Asked Jeff for help but he hasn’t done me any favors yet. In fact, whether true or not, he said that he hasn’t seen any squirrels lately either. However, since I have had no action with the squirrel pasty creations, I have moved on to other things that you just might find of interest.
    Since our last communication, I have many topics to write about. I just hope my fingers last long enough to complete this message. As you might know, our fruit trees were successful in bearing fruit this year and I had the honor of gathering a lot of their products. First, it was some apples, and you must know your grandpa by now, never wastes anything. So I decided that I would make some apple sauce. Now, I really don’t want to brag or anything but what can a guy do? After sampling the finished  product,  Na, your mommy  and Auntie Denise said that if I would have entered my the delicious nectar of the GODS  into any contest, I probably would have won first place. So, I want you to remember, if you are a good girl and you visit us at the proper time, I may let you sample some of it. That is if your mommy or anybody else doesn’t steal the priceless stuff.
    The next thing on my work agenda was caused by the fact that all of the peaches on our trees ripened within three days. Since we had about a half bushel of those wonderful things, what I couldn’t give away, I decided to freeze for future peach pies. But, our freezer has limited capacity, so, I decided that I could make some wonderful peach jam with the remaining peaches. Now, with my technical computer knowledge, I found a peach jam recipe on the internet that by applying my uncanny abilities, I could make a jam that most people would die for. Unfortunately, I guess I needed a little more experience than I had as we re-classified the finish product and call it peach syrup but the flavor is excellent. So, if you enjoy pancakes, you might just want to try some in the future. 
    Now, just before I created these tasty morsels, I also created real beaf pasties and after the peach syrup creation I also created mince meat for future mince meat pies, but I will save these latter two discussions for another letter, knowing that I now have you spellbound and as such, you will respond to this email quickly just so you could here the intimate details of those creations. Besides, my two working fingers are really getting tired out and I do want to keep you in suspense.   So, talk to you later……… Your ever loving Na and Grandpa… p.s. Don’t want you to feel bad, but the stuffed squirrels are now spoken for, so, no stuffed squirrel for your you or your children. boo hoo…..”

Once I was done laughing, I thought about how I better make damn well CERTAIN that when I’m his age I’m writing just as witty emails to my grand-kids. 

Which means, no more writing lapses. I fear this is an instance in which if you don’t use it, you loose it.

Although I do already have one up on the guy since I use all 10 fingers to type.

Holy Matilda, 

-C

What a powerful bunch of pedals you have!

I’m sitting at my dining table looking at a gorgeous bouquet of flowers from my lover. I also just finished a workout and topped it off with a bag of chips, so maybe it’s the endorphins combined with the high salt content, but my mind just got all philosophical on these Lillie’s ass.

Why do we enjoy getting and giving flowers?
 
1) They’re a symbol of endearment

and

2) They’re absolutely beautiful

But most of all…

3) They speak!

Despite the fact that admitting this makes me feel like a desperate hoarder, I keep all of the notes from flowers that I’ve been sent over my lifetime. In fact, one is in my wallet right now.

It’s kinda cool when you think about the fact that the gift of flowers is a way to express a message louder than saying it, even when there isn’t a note with them. From “I’m sorry I ruined your life” to “I love you” to “I’m proud of you, Kudos” to “Thanks for the sex” to “Get well, it’s annoying having you sick” to “Look at how good I am at greeting you when you get home,” they can say anything you want. But with flowers, you get to say things a lot louder than if you actually just literally said them. Flowers are more like yelling what it is you want to say.

Except yelling is obnoxious and flowers are nice, sweet and often fragrant.

Flowers are an intangible bunch of items you look at that have the ability to alter human emotion or instigate a desired reaction.

I think the gift of flowers is a super neat human phenomenon. Way to go mankind.

H is coming to Chicago this weekend. #ohbaby,

-C

Viva El Peru (I don’t even know what that means.) Queso!

AMIGOS!

I went, I conquered, I returned with bruised toes. How to do Machu Picchu, 101.

Approximately 5 months ago I spastically booked a 4 day trek in Peru. It twas February. I was at work (oops) and had about 5 minutes before I had to run for the elevators to catch a train home to MI for the weekend when I took the Pay Pal deposit plunge.

You have to book a spot on the Inca Trail IN ADVANCE. Spots are limited and fill up extremely fast. As a result, the way I remember the moment of truth, when I actually laid down the cash to hold my place, was as it being an act completed purely out of nervousness that I wouldn’t have the option to book if I waited until the next day (I was right.)

A couple hours after the credit card charge I texted the boyfriend something along, “OH MY GOD, WE ACTUALLY HAVE TO GO TO PERU.” And so it began…

We booked a flight based on our trek schedule a few days later. A couple months lapsed and I remembered we needed a hostel for the nights we wouldn’t be in a tent. El Tuco ended up being our Cuzco hostel of choice, It was definitely the right one. I recommend.

The next thing we knew, the trip was upon us.

Gear was the first order of business, and where else would someone in the Chicagoland area go to get geared up for adventure than Uncle Dan’s. We hit up 2 of my stores in one day, Southport and Evanston, and with the guidance of our off the chain staff and management, we were prepared from apparel to eating utensils.

After a broken elbow and series of energy draining colds, frankly, I had no idea if I had the stamina to make it on the trail. But after shopping, dammit, I could look and talk the part like a pro.

We then got our shots and altitude meds (necessary, don’t try the trip without them) and I started practicing upping my water intake. I made copies of my passport, got our itinerary into reliable hands, and enjoyed the anticipation.

We left on June 10th.

You arrive to the city of Cuzco 2 days prior to the trek to get acclimated to the altitude.

I love Peruvians. I can’t think of a single sole that wasn’t exceptionally kind to us during our stay. Plus, they. like. to party. they like. they like to party.

Cuzco, Peru enjoys a full month of celebrations and parades during the month of June until June 24th, Solstice. It’s a tradition passed down from the Ketchwa culture, more commonly believed to be Incan. Shocking, I know.

What we believe to be an entire race of pepole, Inca, is actually only one person, the king. The story goes, when the Spanish invaded and the Ketchwan people kept telling them to see Inca, they mistook the name for the king as the culture itself. Today, most of us still think the ancient culture was “Incan.” It’s not. Stop kidding yourselves.

We spent our first day in Cuzco eating and sleeping (altitude adjustment). And woke up on day 2 refreshed. One of the best things about hostels are the people you meet, and meet we did. We spent a day with a couple from San Francisco who were heading to a well known market in an outside town, Pisac. The market was fantastic fun. We haggled, argued about leather hats, ate enormous corn kernels, and saw more products made out of Al Paka than I ever thought possible. In the afternoon we went to the Sacred Valley, ruins from the Ketchwan days. In the evening we ate pizza. It was a great day.

At 5 am the next morning, we headed for the Mountains.

If you want to do the 4 day Inca Trail trek you have to do it guided with a tour company. If you fall madly in love with my words today and find them haunting your dreams until you book this trek yourself, use Peru Treks! They are the best. They are one of the most affordable. They are the best.

The trek was awesome (ehem, Sometimes I wanted to die. What? No seriously.)

History lesson:

The Inca trail doesn’t need to take 4 days. There is a path for trading goods that is only a 6 hour hike from the start to Machu Picchu. But, the 4 day trail was the trail of choice for the Ketchwan people. Prior to arriving in Machu Picchu they needed to purify their conscience. Which you know, whatever, that’s awesome. So for 4 days, they purified, and hiked. So did we.

I couldn’t help but wonder along the way if the fact that I was in the back of the group struggling the most meant I was the one with the guiltiest conscience. Ponder…

I have never experienced views like I did on the Inca Trail.

Every time you pause, every time you look up, you’re stunned. One moment you’re staring down at a gorgeous river and valley and the next up at mountains capped with snow that you’ll never reach. One day you walk through “the forest of clouds” where you’re moving in and out of just that, the clouds; then through jungle like terrain and unbelievable forestry. Everything was beautiful.

Nothing seems unusual on the Inca Train, (including smelling really bad and being really dirty.) One day R and I made a turn and there on the trail was a Llama. Just straight chilling.

You also pass a lot of smaller ruins along the way. Spots that were used as places to sleep or lookouts for the trail. If you have a good guide, you get the chance to really learn a lot about the Ketchwan people on your way.

Unless you hire a porter, you carry your own bag on the trail. Normally, carrying your own stuff when you’re camping means lame meals and granola bars.

But on the Inca Trail there are 2 things nobody carries - your tent, and your food. Those are carried by your trek companies porters.

Everyday porters went rushing by us moving at 4x our speed with items as large as propane tanks on their back!! It’s WILD to see how well they navigate the trail. R asked our guide about the porters and why they wouldn’t leave up camp sites to save some weight. He told us part of the reason we travelled with so many porters and that we benefit from such incredible campsites, is for the cities job rate. The more extravagant our meals and our needs, the more people they are able to employ.

And it is so worth it!

The food was off the chain. Each meal was atleast 4 courses of deliciousness. Plus, several nights we were given various Peruvian brews as a night cap, all equally delicious and the perfect way to fall asleep. The meals never failed to amaze me and I constantly wondered if It were at all possible that I was burning enough calories hiking for it to mean anything with the amount I was consuming at each sitting.

We met the man behind the meals on our first night. Our guide brought our chef out to introduce him to us, before which he lit our flaming dessert on fire for presentation. “Anything can happen in the Andes.”

Nights are cold. From what I heard from my fellow trekkers, the rent-able sleeping bags didn’t seem to cut it. But I was equipped with a Lafuma Extreme90Pro, and I never complained of cold. I slept like an angel (as long as I didn’t have to go the bathroom which in the middle of the night in a tent is never inviting.) But be warned - several of the taller gentleman in our group had a hard time fitting in their tent, and those who were left without a Lafuma bag to keep out the cold didn’t feel so well rested. Also, If I did it again, I’d pack a version of an air mattress you blow up yourself. One couple had one and It looked way better than the bed roll Peru Treks provided, which may have been flatter than the ground, but I’m pretty sure it was just as hard.

In the morning the porters wake you up with a fresh cup of Coca tea to get you going. Boyfriend never drank his (loser) so I often got 2.

Don’t go on this trip if you’re not social or you’re hoping to find some solitude. You better be ready to bond with your group. You eat, sleep and sweat with the same people for 4 days. Our guide, Carlos, hilarious little man, constantly reminded us that we were a family. He was right. We had to be.

Our group was the bomb:

• 5 Fire Fighters - intimidating I know.
• 1 of their Girlfriends - who deserves much more mentioning that that as her energy and optimism was untouchable
• 1 Mom - a constant reminder that the trek was hard, but completely completable
• 1 Teacher - a constant reminder of the wonders travel can bring to your life and the devotion you can have to your work
• 1 Canadian - had been traveling for months without allowing societal expectations or finances to hold her back
• 2 Newlyeds - we had the pleasure of an awesome couple from London share their honeymoon with us, and give us the perspective on the royal wedding we didn’t know
• And obviously myself and the boyfriend - Midwest, represent

Plus our 2 guides:

• Carlos - a constant charismatic gem in our adventures
• And his sidekick, Manuel - who Carlos often announced as, “The Metrosexual”

On the last day of the trek you wake up before 4 am and start the day trekking in the dark. You arrive to Machu Picchu as the sun comes up and all the clean perfumed tourists who took the train from the city begin to arrive. After all the spectacular views you experience along the way, I didn’t think getting to the actual ruins would be that neat. But to see an entire ancient city set high in the mountains delicately placed as if it would fall off into an abyss with one tectonic plate movement, is pretty darn incredible.

Everyone asks me about the physical requirements to make the Inca Trail trek. I never really had a problem with extreme mussel pains until the end of the trek. (And trust me I felt it at the end. Everyone did.) So it was never a lack of strength that held me back, it was my breathing. That altitude will get ya. You know that heaving, gasping for air thing that happens after rushing up steps or running too fast/far, that you try to subdue because you know everyone around you is like, “wow that person is out of breath.” I pretty much felt like that for 4 days. The hike isn’t a vacation, it’s a challenge.

But it’s the most beautiful and rewarding challenge you could dream!

When I finally showered after 4 days of nothing but baby wipes to cleanse my skin, it kinda hit me that the trip was over. I spent months anticipating and mentally prepping for that journey. Like ending a really good book, the completion was a bitter sweet feeling. I can’t wait to get into the next story, but I’m sad that such an exciting chapter had to end.

I went 7 days without Coffee in Peru.
I hated it,
- C