Travel and Verse

stories of travel, medical missions, and more

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A Tale of Two Boats

August 18, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 132

Back to Peru, part 4

I’m officially back in the States.

I hadn’t told a ton of people my plans to leave for Peru again at the beginning of August. If you’ve been following along for the past six months, then you know that we’ve had a doggone of a time trying to get approval to run our mobile clinics in the Peruvian jungle near Puerto Maldonado. The last thing I wanted was to tell the whole world that we were ready to roll with another medical campaign, only to have it fall through once more.

But as I stood in the airport in Brainerd, MN, I received a text and confirmation that the local government in Peru granted our medical permissions. This was just the first of many obstacles to overcome during this trip.

I participate in this medical campaign each year. And it is never easy. Our team this year included a physician, dentist, nurse, paramedic (yours truly), a physical therapist, the local missionaries, and a handful of non-medical personnel. Typically, we begin by prepping gear and medication. We load up into a long, canoe-like boat and host six clinics along the Las Piedras river. Our medical campaign takes around six days to complete. Cleanup takes around two days. All in all, it’s a push.

And this year, the obstacles to this mission were many. Probably the most tangible was the time of year.

We usually don’t do this trip during August. If you know anything about South America, you will know that it’s winter in August for the residents of Peru. This means less rain. And less rain means a low river. That’s why we generally go during February, when the river is high. The river can be perilous, with heaps of submerged trees and branches, and shallow sandbars. Our boat ride is long in February when the river is high. But when it’s low? It’s almost a dealbreaker. One of the Peruvians I know made the journey to Monte Salvado a few weeks ago and it took him six days—one way. Their boat motor was torn to shreds along the way and they had to camp along the river bank, waiting for help to come along.

To matters worse, it’s not like there’s just a couple of us with a small bag each. Our team of 20 had roughly a thousand pounds of medical gear and other supplies. Our normal boat simply would not do. And to top it off, securing one boat this time of year is hard enough, not to mention getting two that would be willing to give it a go.

But that was exactly the plan. It seems as though I had the easy part of helping with organizing meds and prepping. The missionaries and local contacts went back and forth with boat drivers and owners until finally we were able to get passage secured.

Even with our team spread out into two boats, they both sat low in the water. I’m happy to say that we never had any big problems. Sure we had a couple of close ones. But we never lost a boat during the week.

Why go through all the trouble?

The Yine people live along the river near a kind of nature and tribal reservation. The further you go up the river, and away from Puerto Maldonado, the more remote. It all seems to culminate in a small village called Monte Salvado (best map on the internet). It lies 250ish miles away (by river) at the edge of nowhere. Or at least, nowhere most maps can take you. If you go to Google, the snake-like river peters out and simply disappears into a green blob of the Amazon basin.

We go there to bring medical care, medications, and to build relationships. But mostly, we’re there because Christ compels us, commands us, to make disciples of all nations. The local missionaries have spent years cultivating relationships and telling these people of the Good News of Christ. We bring the true medicine—the Great Physician Himself.

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series:

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Part 2, Delayed

Part 3, Leaving soon

Back to Peru, part 3: leaving soon

August 2, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 131

To say that I was disappointed at rescheduling our medical campaign to Peru would be a wild understatement. Back in February, civil unrest prompted local officials to decide not to grant our request to operate clinics in the jungle near Puerto Maldonado. But God is good. As you read this sentence, I’m actively packing for Peru once again. I’m leaving Thursday, August 3rd.

We’ve had to be flexible and ready. This business is a business of waiting.

We waited for political dust to settle.

Waited for gear to show up in the mail.

Waited on licenses to be renewed.

Waited on schedules to mesh.

Waited on the line at airport security.

We waited on the Lord.

I’m drawn to the verses in the Bible that say, “they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

That’s the old King James version. Newer renditions translate wait into trust. Those who wait on God end up renewing strength, flying with eagle’s wings, running hard, not getting tired, and all out thriving. It’s not an impatient wait. We wait in trust, knowing that God will do God things. And God will, indeed, do them. You can bank on that.

I have been involved in this medical campaign for the past few years. Many medical ministries exist throughout the world. Some are capable and able to set up huge clinic sites to reach people in difficult situations. Take an organization such as Samaritan’s Purse for an example. They mobilized thousands of medical professionals as well as garnered millions of dollars of humanitarian aid for the extreme need along the borders of Ukraine. The Salvation Army does the same for hurting people all over the world. Larger organizations have their place.

But what about the village of 80 on some unknown river in a (seemingly) godless jungle? Who reaches them? There’s no Boing 737 loaded to the gills with supplies and Bibles headed their way. Something like that is just not feasible. Even a team of 100 couldn’t make the trek. That’s where we come in. For seven days we go from village to village with a kind of tactical medical team. We keep the team tight. A doctor, a handful of nurses, a team of missionaries and locals, and myself, a paramedic—maybe 15ish people. We load up heaps of gear onto a long boat and travel a couple of hundred miles into the reaches of the Amazon, typically during the rainy season. I say typically because we usually do this campaign in February. But it’s winter there. (Don’t picture snowmen and ice fishing) Rain falls infrequently and the river is low. We face harder challenges this year, but that will just make it taste all the sweeter.

We will treat and minister to hundreds of patients and lost souls next week. These people know nothing of proper medical care. And they know even less, if anything, about our Great Physician, Jesus Christ. We will bring them the Good News of Christ—dead, buried, and risen—treating their souls as well as their bodies.

We’ve waited on the Lord to make this trip happen. And we wait to see what he’ll do in the jungle during the medical campaign next week.

Would you please pray for the medical campaign in Peru, August 7th through the 12th?

Pray for:

Local agency authorization to come through

The health of the team

Safety during the trip

Easy availability of needed supplies

The fragile political climate in Peru

And that many would hear the Gospel and that Christ would save them

 

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series: 

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Part 2, Delayed

Scotland: Ancient Ways

June 3, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 130

Cobble stones older than America line the narrow streets, all of which seem to lead up to the ancient castle perched on the tippy-topmost ridge. Darkish clouds hang down, drawn onto the stone structure. It makes no sound and wants nothing of passersby. For all intents and purposes, Edinburgh Castle keeps to itself. And so does the rest of buildings and churches and houses. Each building connects with another—all a grey stone or tan stone. Some parts, like the aptly named Old Town, are indeed quite old: Middle Ages. These places haven’t changed in nearly a thousand years. Others, like the ridiculously named New Town, are still 18th century structures. This boggles the American mind. The 18th century is the beginning of time for us. And if all of the bustle and people were to evaporate and disappear forever, one has the impression that Edinburgh would go on, just the same. And the castle would simply keep looking down, as if waiting for something. Cathedrals, chapels, and churches dot the city, breaking up any monotony. No matter where one walks, a steeple stands tall.

Rows and rows of dark and kind of damp stone buildings go on sprawling until they suddenly cease in fields where deer run. A city dropped onto a map of countryside, hills and mountains all around. Certainly, it is not supposed to be there. Someone should speak to the manager. There must be a mistake. It’s an unchanging town, trapped in its own history. And maybe that’s why people go there. Travelers and tourists look for that feeling of unchangeability, an ancient place. They go seeking the old ways. Or they go seeking answers to who they are. Especially in a place like Scotland. If you want to find out if your last name is Scottish and which clan you’re from, you’ve certainly come to the right place.

Most of the time, Edinburgh teems with people, tourists and residents alike. But all of the action happens later, and not at 10:30 a.m. on a Sunday. The streets of Edinburgh were as empty as they ever are as we walked down the lane, on our own search for the unchangeable and ancient. And I’m not talking about the castle (though he looks upon us). We walked toward The Church of St John the Evangelist. Very rarely do tourists darken the door of churches. In fact, the day before, I walked past another older cathedral and saw a tourist peek into an exceedingly ancient church structure. She half-smirked and said that she didn’t need to spend the 2£ on the tour. Nobody wants to go to church. And yet they’re all looking for something more, darker, deeper, ancient, and satisfying. But that’s why we walked the chilly Scottish lane toward the mystery of God. We seek the same beauty and ancient unchangeability.

We came to a sung eucharist service: a celebration of the Lord’s Supper accompanied by the choir of St John’s. The service commenced with the singing of Psalms and recitations by us churchgoers. We stood and sat and prayed and sang. An older gentleman in front of us told us about the history of the church (he’s been there 50 years). At length, we all stood and filed past the priest and rectors to receive the body and blood represented in a cracker and wine. Back to our seats. More choral music. More praying. A blessing was given as the service closed.

This all seems innocuous or even dull to so many people. “Church is boring. Christianity is dead. I’m not religious. Religion is just a crutch.” These statements usually come from a point of superiority. It usually feels like the person you’re talking to is trying to tell you that they have it all figured out. They don’t need my tired old God. And yet they line the streets to see the Crown Jewels of Mary Queen of Scots. Or they take selfies in front of the most beautiful structure in the city. News flash—that’s a church.

I don’t have it all figured out. On the contrary, my hurts and problems and questions sting just as much as the next guy’s. Prolific author and apologist G.K Chesterton had it right when he said that, “the riddles of God are more satisfying than the solutions of man.”

The ancient and unchangeable ways of God satiate that taste and desire for more. There’s a reason the most beautiful structures in this world point to heaven.

 

anthony forrest

Back to Peru, part 2: delayed

February 20, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 129

I was hoping that this wouldn’t happen. The news coming out of Peru had been dodgy at best. But the medical campaign to the jungle of Peru has been rescheduled.

For the past three months, the Peruvian government has been in a bit of an upheaval. It’s convoluted and wild. But to make a long story short, the now ex-president Pedro Castillo faced an impeachment vote that would undoubtably remove him from office. He has not been a very popular guy.  It always seems to boil down to corruption. He has been repeatedly accused of corruption and lies since even before he came into office. The result was that, as the looming impeachment came to a head, he decided that he would dissolve the Peruvian congress.

Bold move.

The wrong move, but it was still pretty bold.

He was arrested and his vice president became Peru’s first female president. But this is a South American story about politics. So needless to say, there is no “good guy.”

Protests and roadblocks have made travel difficult. Supply chains are struggling, if not completely broken. One of the most important assets to our endeavor is gasoline for the boat. No gas, no travel, no clinics. This was one of contributing factors to rescheduling the trip.

But the last straw, as it were, was that the local department of health did not approve our medical papers to operate our mobile clinics. This is all due to the civil unrest that is making life very difficult in Peru.

Having to reschedule is disappointing. But we are praying that the political situation there improves soon so we can do the work we’re called to do. People need to hear of the Great Physician. His ways and thoughts are far higher and greater than ours. And He will get us into the jungle in His time.

Please continue to pray for the medical campaign in Peru. I will keep you posted with further info as the time draws near.

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series: 

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Back to Peru, part 1: prepping and praying

January 28, 2023 / / 1 Comment

Travel Journal, 128

Warning: this article contains a brief discussion on suicide.

“I cannot believe this sporting goods store in central Minnesota doesn’t have any jungle gear during the month of January.”

Thinking it felt pretty silly. Saying it out loud was shear madness. I stumbled around Scheels looking for things like dry sacks, inflatable camping seats, rain ponchos, and anything else waterproof that I could get my hands on.

For the past few years, I have been involved in a medical mission in the jungle of Peru. There are many medical ministries in this world. Some are capable and able to set up huge clinic sites to reach people in difficult situations. Take an organization such as Samaritan’s Purse for an example. They mobilized thousands of medical professionals as well as garnered millions of dollars of humanitarian aid for the extreme need along the borders of Ukraine. The Salvation Army does the same for hurting people all over the world. Larger organizations have their place.

But what about the village of 80 on some unknown river in a (seemingly) godless jungle? Who reaches them? There’s no Boing 737 loaded to the gills with supplies and Bibles headed their way. Something like that is just not feasible. Even a team of 100 couldn’t make the trek. That’s where we come in. For seven days we go from village to village with a kind of tactical medical team. We keep the team tight. A doctor, a handful of nurses, a team of missionaries and locals, and myself, a paramedic—maybe 15-18 people. During the rainy season we load up heaps of gear onto a long boat and travel a couple of hundred miles into the reaches of the Amazon. We will treat and minister to hundreds of patients and lost souls. These people know nothing of proper medical care. And they know even less, if anything, about our Great Physician, Jesus Christ. We will bring them the Good News of Christ—dead, buried, and risen—treating their souls as well as their bodies.

The medical campaign has become a very important part of my life. Be not deceived. It sounds adventurous, and I suppose it is. But this is no vacation. We are here to work. At every stop along the river, we carry hundreds of pounds of gear up the river banks to set up clinic. Sleep evades. And muscles cry out. It’s a grueling week with all the romance of sleeping on the dirt and chancing Dengue Fever.

But I cannot miss it.

In truth, I need to be there as much as the patients we’ll see.

As a paramedic, I see patients every night. Some sick, some not so much.

I get calls for junkies OD-ing on Fentanyl.

Elderly women with respiratory failure.

Heart attacks.

Strokes.

Suicides especially hurt my heart. My mind’s eye cannot rid itself of the images of men and women hanging from the floor joists in their basement.

But not all “emergencies” are emergencies. We see it all—drunk wackos, running from the cops. The 25-year-old who thinks he’s dying when it turns out he shouldn’t drink 10 Monster Energy Drinks in a night. Or how about getting called in the middle of the night for a kid with a fever? For some reason, a ton of parents don’t even have Tylenol in their home. I get called for (literally) stubbed toes.

Needless to say, I get burned out.

Where is my empathy? Why don’t I always care deeply for each person equally, no matter why they call 911? God Himself cares for me even at my worst—especially (!) at my worst. Christianity is the opposite of this world. The more horrible I am, the more grace God has given me. It seems backward. And I wish I was like that—showing love and grace to people whom I’ve written off.

I need a reset. And my annual trek to Peru does just that. I need to sleep on the dirt and suffer a little. I need to go to the jungle; I need to see patients who need medical care; I need to see lives transformed by Christ. Yes, I know, it all kind of sounds selfish now. But God works in every heart. While we bring the News of Christ to these sick souls, it turns out, the Great Physicians is actually healing me.

So, I am prepping once again for the campaign in Peru. We have an excellent team this year, including a couple of nurses who’ve never been there. I will be checking my tent for holes and filling totes with medical supplies for the next two weeks. The search for jungle gear in this Minnesota January continues.

Would you consider praying for the upcoming medical campaign in Peru from 11 February to 19 February?

 

Pray for:

The health of the team

Safety during the trip

Easy availability of needed supplies (gasoline for the boat, ect)

The deteriorating political climate in Peru

And that many would hear the Gospel and that Christ would save them

 

anthony forrest

Captivated by Rome

November 4, 2022 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 127

Acclaimed travel show host, Laura McKenzie has been taking people around the world in 30-minute segments for the better part of 30 years. Just last month, I came across an episode of her show on Rome. She hit the highlights from the fountains to the Colosseum. In a half-an-hour I had seen Rome with sparky music in the background all from the comfort of my couch. And this is a lovely way to see Rome. But it is not the honest way.

Honesty may be the best policy. But honesty can be chaos.

We hit the ground running when we landed at Leonardo DaVinci Airport. I immediately stopped for a coffee and poured an espresso into my soul; this was going to be a wild trip. Our train took us right to the Roma Termini station, within walking distance of much of the sites.

The TV shows don’t tell you of the oceans of people, crowding the train stations and all public places. We poured forth into the streets, thinking we were going to be gingerly introduced to the Eternal City. But we were accosted by all it had to offer. Rome is a maze of streets lined with tan and salmon-colored Mediterranean buildings. A Catholic church sits on every corner, and each of them is older than the United States. Aged and ancient structure is everywhere and everything.

There’s no better place to experience this than Vatican City. The museum in the tiny city-state houses more ancient things than you can imagine. Hallways full of the ancient treasures of this world lead to even more hallways and rooms of art beyond measure. It culminates in the Sistine Chapel, where Michelangelo painted what could be the most famous work of art ever.

God peers down from the ceiling above; Adam reaches for Him. Frescos of Biblical tales swirl in a kaleidoscope of Christianity. And it all happens while you are shoulder to shoulder with heaps of tourists, trying to sneak a picture without the guards yelling at you in broken English. It’s madness and beauty. Most of the people underneath God and Adam aren’t even Christians. But there’s enough longing in their hearts to know that this mass of Christian art is special. It beckons. They, like Adam, are reaching for God—they just don’t know it yet.

The Sistine Chapel is Rome in miniature.

Rome is just too much, an assault on the senses.

Heavy spiritual Catholicism everywhere.

Tourists pouring from every chink in every wall.

Trash in the street.

The smell of coffee, wine, pizza, and cheap European cigarettes permeates everything.

Sounds of mercilessly old motorcycles and tiny cars molests your eardrums.

Pickpockets wait in not-so-dark alleys.

If you don’t get run over by a Vespa, you might make it to a vespers at one of a million churches.

Suddenly it’s 5 p.m. and every bell rings your mind into a trance.

Ding!

Bell!

Ring!

Dong!

Ding!

Clang!

Bang!

Ring!

Clung!

Ding!

So many church bells, and none of them synchronized, this ringing of the bells rings on for minutes on end—until every thought must be put on layaway.

It’s a sober high, a fever dream of mystic spirituality. But it’s all mixed with pungent secularism.

And it never ends.

English writer and Christian apologist, GK Chesterton, is quoted as saying that the Roman Catholic Church is, “like a thick steak, a glass of red wine, and a good cigar.”

I don’t know if this is true. I am no Catholic. But it certainly seems true of Rome itself. It’s hearty like a thick steak you can’t finish, mildly intoxicating like wine, and a hidden mystery—somewhat like a smoke-filled room.

I stood on a terrace, looking out, and it seemed Rome went on forever, for all eternity. With all the harassing senses that Rome imparts, I find I love it. The beauty of the old Christianity cannot be ignored. The crucifix depicting our Lord hangs on nearly every wall. Ancient art infuses a sense of God-given grace. Cobble-stoned streets always win me over. Smiling people serve lovely pasta and pizza in corner cafes. And you’d be hard-pressed to find a bad espresso. I would freely admit to being a hostage of Rome and fully loving my captor—like Stockholm Syndrome. I want to be in Rome and I don’t want to be in Rome.

It’s a paradox. Or rather, Rome is like that old Chapel, filled with sinners and saints, some reaching for God and some not.

But the beauty prevails, despite the chaos.

 

anthony forrest

Every Place

October 31, 2022 / / 0 Comments

Forward motion

on foreign trains,

strange notions

and ever more to see,

point to point movement,

you and me

always looking for the next step—

and always finding it.

Every station’s a success

despite no rest.

We step off (and mind the gap).

We’re trapped;

and wrapped up

in the embrace

of every place.

Then it’s, all aboard!

—forward again—

 

anthony forrest

Unexpected Stockholm

October 17, 2022 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 126

Cobbled stone streets flow through all of the various European cities around this great European continent. But none so clean as Stockholm. I think this was probably the most surprising aspect of Stockholm. It may sound silly, but enjoying this capital of Sweden was a mistake. We simply did not intend to love it there. It was, by far, one of the best traveling accidents we’ve ever made.

We hadn’t left the US in months and we wanted a getaway. So we looked at the list of locations on our “to-be-traveled” list and picked one. We knew nothing of Sweden. But off we went. The 8-hour flight passed with surprising ease when our plane cut through the clouds above Stockholm. The airport lies 30 km (16 miles) from the city center. The surrounding trees near the rural airport made us feel like we were at home in an Autumn-blasted Minnesota.

(A point of gratitude: travel restrictions are completely lifted in most of the world. Sweden is no exception. We crossed into the country needing no extra paperwork or testing. Back to normal!)

A 30-minute bus ride landed us in the center of the city. Like most cities, some parts are new and others old. The train and bus depot is located in the newer section of town. But Sweden is an old place. And even the new parts feel old-world—especially since it saw no harms of WWII.

The whole city is walkable, and soon we found our hotel in the old town of Gamla Stan. And here the surprises continued. Who knew that a place like Stockholm would smell like cinnamon? On nearly every corner, sellers of cinnamon buns and coffee tempt the traveler and local alike. Stopping for a quick bite and coffee is an important part of their culture, called Fika—or, coffee break. They take time to relax and have a break two, or three times a day. And these cinnamon buns are at the center of the Fika tradition. In fact, we landed on National Cinnamon Bun Day. A coincidence? I call it fate.

Stockholm is a harbor town on the Baltic Sea. Its lands are islands and peninsulas and mainlands, connected by over 50 bridges. It’s a paradise for all who love museums, cafes, restaurants, shopping, entertainment, parks, water, outdoor space, and old architecture. What’s more, during a chilly October, the Fall colors paint the place with oranges, and reds, and yellows, and all the other Fall-like tones.

Sound perfect?

It is.

Above all, though, Stockholm is clean. It has all the old-world charms of Amsterdam with its history and cobble stones, and the romantic flair of Paris with its iconic sites and cafes. But it does not have the trash or smells of either of those places. Stockholm is clean, safe, and almost completely free of homeless. It’s the best of Europe.

One of our favorite pastimes in any European city is to simply walk the cobblestone streets. And there is no better place to do so than Stockholm.

You could eat off the cobble stones here. They lead to royal palaces, restaurants, and churches. They bring life to this old place, like so many arteries carrying blood.

It mesmerizes the traveler.

I’m pumped deeper into these stones and buildings and waterways and statues until I’m lost, lost, lost, or, at least, don’t want to go home.

But I must.

And though it has only been a few days, I feel that in leaving now, when I don’t want to, I’m gettin’ while we’re gettin’ is good.

If we had stayed longer, would we have regretted it? (I doubt it).

Maybe we would grow to hate it here. (I doubly doubt it).

But maybe it’s best to leave early, when I don’t want to leave. There was no time to wonder, “what next?” We left Stockholm wanting more. And that’s a great way to live. It’s certainly better than leaving, wanting less.

If you ever have the chance to go to Stockholm, go to Stockholm.

That is, of course, unless you despise happy places that smell like cinnamon.

 

anthony forrest

Run-cation, part 4: a homeless feast and the finish

August 18, 2022 / / 0 Comments
Basilica Sacré-Cœur, a perfect place for a view of the City of Lights (Love)

Travel Journal, 125

In August of 2021, me and a friend traveled to Paris to go for a run. Follow along with this map of our run. We ran 75 km over a day-and-a-half. Here’s how we did it:

Here is as good a time as any to remind you that our run took place in August of 2021 and Covid restrictions in France were outrageous. Masks were still in use and vaccine and tests were also required. Since I am a US resident, I simply kept my vaccine card with me during the day. Seth on the other hand is an EU resident. At the time, EU residents were required to print off and carry a specific sheet of paper with a QR scannable code. Everywhere we went for coffee, food, grocery, or any store, proprietors checked my card and scanned Seth’s code. And it was getting old. I kept my card handy, but made sure to protect it. Seth had no card, just a flimsy piece of paper which had begun to break down. But we finally got past the grocery store guard (yes, guard), and started hunting for food.

We exited the store with two bags of delights and looked for a place to eat. The river always gives travelers a location to sit and have a meal. We found a bench across from a large boat and tucked into our feast of Red Bull, chocolate wafer cookies, dates, and ginger ale. As we sat near the boat, a man walked up to us and began to ask us if we needed help. Taken aback, we told him we were doing just fine, thank you. He pointed to the boat and I saw the sign which declared that we were sitting at the entrance of the Parisian Salvation Army. We must have been quite the site sitting there in our ragged running clothes eating junk food, waiting for the Salvation Army to open. I don’t often get mistaken for a homeless man. But when I look at some of my running pictures, I’m actually surprised it doesn’t happen more often.

Seth felt like we were getting a little...behind

Homeless meal finished, we began running and turned right at boulevard Jean Jaures, leading us away from the river. The next goal was to get to the second most visited monument in Paris, Sacré-Cœur. This Basilica tends to be visited not for religious purposes, but mostly for the great view. The tiny streets leading up to the monument offer shops filled with knick-knacks of keychain Eiffel Towers and t-shirts brandishing the face of Mona Lisa. We snagged a slushy from a touristy vendor and looked up at Sacré-Cœur. It stands at the top of a hill. This may not seem problematic to most traveler. But Seth and I were already 28 miles into our day. Begrudgingly, we trudged up the 300 marble steps and gazed over Paris. The climb is definitely worth it. Even the naked eye reveals the major landmarks, even the Eiffel Tower which now hangs from your car keys.

Cliché Eiffel Tower pic? Check.

Our day was coming to a close. We had looped around from our hostel at Rue de Dunkerque, down to Notre Dame, followed the Seine for many miles, turned to Sacré-Cœur, and ended up back at the hostel.  We put 31 miles or 50 km on our shoes throughout the day, and had an additional 15+ miles or 25 km the day before that. We showered and cleaned up and treated ourself to some more Indian curry…and then shawarma on the way back to the hostel.

Running the city of Paris may not be the best way to enjoy each monument and restaurant. But running a city gives the traveler a unique perspective, an overview. We landed in Paris and began running on a Tuesday, ran all day Wednesday, then left the country on Thursday. It was like taking a survey course on an intense subject. We saw highlights and locales which most tourist almost never see. Did I learn everything I need to know about Paris to, say, win an argument about the French Revolution with Seth the next time I see him? Probably not. But I promise you that we saw more of Paris in a day-and-a-half than most travelers can do in a week.

It’s not quality folks, it’s quantity.

Or is it the other way around?

 

anthony forrest

Part 1: getting there and getting started

Part 2: connecting and running

Part 3: architecture, coffee, and gravel paths

Follow along each week for the rest of our run along the Seine River in Paris.

Run-cation, part 3: architecture, coffee, and gravel paths

August 11, 2022 / / 0 Comments
Gravel path along the Bois de Boulogne public park. Seine river to our left, park to the right.

Travel Journal, 124

In August of 2021, me and a friend traveled to Paris to go for a run. Follow along with this map of our run. We ran 75 km over a day-and-a-half. Here’s how we did it:

Running south, we immediately hit the Seine and saw Sainte-Chapelle and the Louvre. The Louvre houses some of the world’s tressures. But we had no time to peruse the buildings and floors of art and history. The stunning enlightenment-era architecture takes your breath away. In the US, our oldest structures were built during the Revolutionary War, or sometime after the Civil War. But Europe’s far older. And even knowing this, Paris somehow feels older than the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. Perhaps it’s the medieval skeletal structures that bleed through that gives it a haunting feeling. Most of the buildings here were born in the Middle Ages and grew to what we know now, stone and glass cathedrals and palaces.

We ran (literally) into the Louvre from its famous entrance at the Tuileries Garden, through its courtyards and fountains and statues, then back the way we came. When exiting the Louvre at the Place de la Concord (an 18th century Egyptian Obelisk) visitors gaze down the expansive and very photographed avenue Champs-Élysées. Great leaders (Napoleon Bonaparte) and not so great leaders (Adolf Hitler) have walked and ridden down this 1.2-mile-long street, lined with fantastic shopping and even more fantastic history. And it all leads to the Arc de Triomphe. We ran the roundabout seeing every side of this 162’ tall structure, arguing about the French Revolution. Emperor Bonaparte commissioned the towering arch while he stilled ruled. It was ironically finished long after the government he created exiled him and he died of a mysterious illness.

Our run tour of Paris led back down to the Seine and connected us with the most famous structure of Paris, the Eiffel Tower. We took cliched pictures and posed hilariously, as is probably required by all that governs tourists. The tower is actually pretty cool. Not as old as the rest of Paris, but very interesting nonetheless. But honestly, I had other things on my mind. Namely food and coffee.

A few blocks away, I talked Seth into stopping for second breakfast. I speak such horrible French. I know a handful of words and all of them have to do with ordering coffee and food. We found a little café and I ordered us two omelets and two café cremes (This is just what the French call a cappuccino. They drink it in the morning. It also usually comes with chocolate dusted on top.)

After fueling up on omelets and fries and coffee, we trudged along the Seine leaving the iconic sites behind us. We tend to think of Paris as a caricature of itself—a connect the dots of Eiffel Towers and museums. Throw in a couple of macaroons and you’ve got yourself a foreign film. But Paris, like all places, is home to people living out their lives in business and play. So we left the icons behind us and ran toward the Paris of the people. Apartment buildings and grocery stores line the river here. Parts of the river are simply not as clean. Boats dot the river throughout the city. But it seems the further away from downtown you go, the more houseboats you see. Then crossing the Pont de Saint-Cloud, Seth and I found a mostly gravel pathway on the eastern side of the river (city side).

This pathway led us through over 5 miles of houseboats and far more seclusion than the city running we’d been doing. To our left, the Seine—to our right, wooded land; this is part of the massive Bois de Boulogne public park area. For me, this was probably the most enjoyable running, since we could avoid cars and pedestrians. It also gave us a better view of the river and wooded land.

The gravel path finally popped us out onto a sidewalk much like the walkway on which we began this run. But by now, we were hungry and thirsty. We checked our phones until Seth recognized a grocery store chain he’d seen in Spain. After over 20 miles of running, we were very ready for some (more) fuel.

anthony forrest

Part 1: getting there and getting started

Part 2: connecting and running

Follow along each week for the rest of our run along the Seine River in Paris.

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