1.6.13 - Twin ambitions

Dearest reader, I am sorry to have neglected you. Work has done what I predicted it would a) Made me busier and b) Left me with material that reads: ‘Got up. Went to work. Work is fine. Came home. Did some sport. Probably had a beer. Bed.’

Never fear! A double entry coming your way!

The plan – The Twins

So. It’s due to be the hottest day of the year. The sky clear. The sun fierce. Humidity 94%. The best thing we could do? Clearly, accept our friends Rachel and Charlie’s invitation to hike over the island via two enormous hills with 1000s of steps carved into them. Photo one shows both hills off to the right; photo two shows the last hill, with part of Stanley - our final destination - just visible beyond.

We’d been keen to take this on for some time.

First casualty

Sadly, Claire did not get to test herself against the hills. An hour in Claire went over on her ankle…having traversed some trails and steep slopes, she did so on a flat road. Near some bins. Glamorous.

It was weak from a fall two weeks ago, but she was still deeply frustrated to hurt it all over again. We packed her off with regret into a taxi, with a first aid kit for her cut knee.

Fellow travellers on trail

An imposing group of four chiselled men wearing nothing but tiny shorts and sunglasses thundering down the hill at breakneck pace.

Scandalously unprepared expats, e.g. a young bloke slumped, poleaxed and topless, on one of the steps in the shade, totally out of water. I reckon there were some serious heat stroke cases out there.

Blasé locals from teenagers to grandmothers, strolling casually in normal clothes, armed only with fans and umbrellas, blinking confusedly at the fanatical gweilos pounding up and down the hill.

Pride before a fall?

I was warned the twins, once you reach them, are ’45 minutes of pain’ – 900 concrete steps on the first; then 20 mins of up and down and 300 more concrete steps. I did both without breaks…but only due to foolish pride. At 600 steps I felt weak. I had set off too fast and was paying for it. But as I was about to stop, I came across a slower walker, who turned and stepped aside to let me past. I wanted shout “No, no, don’t make me go on!”, but instead, British sang froid kicked in. I composed my pain-wracked face, nodded graciously and yomped off faster. Ouch.

The verdict?

9.5km, 2950 feet of elevation, 2 hours 40 and 3 litres of water later, we collapsed onto a wonderfully air conditioned bus to the beach.

I’d definitely do this again, and think it’s a great one for hiking/fitness freak friends to do when they’re here. But I will wait until it’s cooler, or do it at night…pleased to chalk this up to experience, but not something to do again.

As my sunburn and flooding blogs showed, the weather here is not to be trifled with.