Now for the final pictures from my NZ experience. My disposable camera actually got some decent shots. The first three are from the stunning Tongariro Crossing, then one on the beach in Pakawau where I had a cabin for a week. Dunes and gigantic rock formations at Wharariki Beach. Cliff of Cape Farewell. Fuzzy Brian John! How I miss him... View from my little caravan in Collingwood where I worked for accommodation with Maureen and Angus. Farewell Spit. Takaka. View of mountains from Mount Isobel (Hanmer Springs) and a view of the town from beside Conical Hill. High-reaching trees in Hanmer Springs forest.

In the last post I used a bunch of pictures I'd already posted. Obviously, my blogging memory isn't so great. I'd like to take a stab at it again... Here are some different pictures of different places (I hope):

Lakes Rotoiti and Rotoroa, the latter of which provided a lovely, immensely tranquil swim and a clear view to the bottom. The picture of me standing is at a river in Mount Aspiring National Park. The color of that water is one I will always associate with New Zealand and already miss seeing everywhere. Although, I must say, the Atlantic Ocean from Vero Beach has been beautiful recently, and very similar in color to what I was so accustomed to seeing throughout New Zealand. More pictures to come, I think. Peace.

Rewind.

These are very old pictures (some from Rachel's camera after mine was stolen)...

They're jumbled, but the places featured are:

> Taylor River flowing through Blenheim (where I lived for two months)

> Cathedral Cove

> Queen Charlotte Track with Rachel, Johannes, and Daniel

> View of Mt. Rangitoto from a conical hill in Devonport (where the mushrooms are)

> Kepler Track on West Coast (amazing wonderland!)

> Abel Tasman Coastal Track in Golden Bay

> Franz Josef Glacier

> Huka Falls in Taupo

I hesitatingly moved from South to North Island (I was very much in love with the south) and began the trek up to Auckland. I had perfect weather for the Tongariro Crossing, with the exception of some light rain and hail, which ended up being excellent in its own way-- uniquely moody. It really is an incredible day walk, and probably my favorite, in terms of scenery. IT was too easy, though! But I suppose it's good that I wasn't too challenged, considering this achin' knee. The next morning I traveled with A French guy, Julian, to Taupo, where I did a skydive from 12000 feet. This is an experience I cannot explain. It's even difficult to think about it now, as it was so surreal and dream-like. It actually felt a bit like I was dead during the freefall. Suffice to say it was amazing. I was picked up from Taupo by a Kiwi and a Hawaiian and stayed at their place in Tauranga for the night. The Hawaiian guy, Brian, set the world record in 1996 for sailing solo around the world. He's written a book about it and has asked me to edit it, though I'm not exactly qualified. It'll be more of an opinion and some constructive criticism before he speaks to publishers. I got a ride from there to Auckland with a vibrant, fun Maori woman. And the past few days I've just been hanging out at the backpackers with my friends Sam and Eileen, awaiting the surreal fate that comes tomorrow: flying home. It's been nothing short of amazing for me in New Zealand. I really can't believe I'm leaving. But I shall return. I love you, En-Zed.

Golden Bay Kept Me Happy

I’ll keep this short and sweet, like a hybrid kiwi bird-fruit. Or maybe I’ll go overboard since Nelson is wet and I want to be dry. Takaka was a nice stop. I stayed at a perfectly cozy, homey hostel where several other travelers and I melded easily, playing cards and whatnot. I took some long bike rides around the pastures, to the sea, and to Pupu Springs (not as amazing as it’s described to be). I certainly began to feel the open country ambience of Golden Bay. So much land and very few people. Not even very many sheep, now that I think about it. The farther up the Bay I went, the more apparent this region’s remoteness became. Collingwood is nestled between mountain ranges, the sea, and an estuary. I was taken in by Maureen and Angus, a British couple in their 70s. Most of the work I did was gardening, collecting firewood, cooking and baking, and—my big project—painting the caravan. Maureen took me on some walks in Milnthorpe Park and to Farewell Spit, and I explored on my own on the beach—a Salvador Dali landscape at low tide. I was fed a full dose of down-home country experience by the Golden Bay orchestra performance at Pakawau Hall, complete with a few songs from the children’s orchestra and the Lord of the Rings theme. Watching the locals in the hall, I felt like I’d been transported to the past, when Saturday afternoons were habitually spent in this manner, gathering with every member of the community to share entertainment and casual interaction. Every smile was full and genuine; each applause enthusiastic and warm. Another dose of country life came with a game night at the hall. Angus, Maureen, and I joined eight others –all over age 65—for some rounds of 500. I’d never heard of the game until a few days prior, but was able to practice a bit with Maureen, Angus, and B.J. after a three-course dinner. But my strategy developed too late in the competition and I came in last. Angus came in first. My prize was a mini Mars bar. His was either a bag of Mars bars or a container full of fresh field mushrooms, the latter being the obvious choice (Maureen’s, actually). After the games, we were served tea and cookies and cake. Though not the most fun activity, it was an experience to be cherished. I wonder how many other communities in the world still have these game nights and keep them going for the mere fun of it. After events like these, combined with the teatimes and chats (perhaps more aptly-named ‘gossip sessions’) with Maureen and Angus and various friends of theirs, I felt partly like an old geezer and partly a young, wandering child in a strange new land. I suppose if you add these identities together, you get me. So it works out, eh?

The first day I was in Collingwood I was introduced to B.J., a middle-aged, fully-bearded, bare-gummed, dreadlocked, skinny Santa-faced monkey-bodied man. He was pruning a tree with a chainsaw at the property next-door when I met him and showed my interest in his yoga classes. Not so much ‘classes’ as free sessions for the sake of keeping with it and motivating himself and others to continue. He took me with him to Shambhala, a meditation retreat center in Onekaka on a hill at the end of the longest gravel driveway ever. It was the best yoga session I’ve experienced. Thoroughly satisfied, I already looked forward to the next session. The rest were held at the school, which isn’t a great environment for yoga, but I went to every class and enjoyed every minute. Each day brought a different group and, consequently, a different vibe. B.J. and I clicked pretty quickly and started to spend time together outside of yoga. He showed me his property in Collingwood—a hut on a hill, surrounded by thick forest. His hope is to eventually turn it into a yoga retreat center. We talked a lot about universe-related everythings… He gave me a tour of his other property in Pakawau—plenty of land and stream, a glasshouse where I tasted the final ripe wine grapes hanging from a ceiling of vines, small buildings housing stacks of giant slabs of gorgeous wood, and a caravan practically at the water’s edge. He lives in absolute paradise. I immediately admired his ruggedness and simple living. When I told Maureen that I’d seen where he lives, she said, “He’s got a rough life, doesn’t he?” But it’s the opposite, really; he lives out of a car, a hut, and a caravan for the sake of his own happiness. Not everyone is happy in a house. And his impact on the environment must be so miniscule, I’m sure this contributes to his sense of well-being.

As the day to drive to Nelson with Maureen and Angus drew near, I reconsidered the decision to leave the Bay. B.J. found gardening work for me, which would pay for a cabin on the beach in Pakawau. So, we both did some pruning on an American millionaire’s property (which he’d originally bought in preparation for the potential millennium disaster), and I had my own cabin on a beach where you can walk for an hour and see no one. B.J. offered his car to me to explore more of the area. I drove down part of the west coast and felt I was alone for miles in a vast landscape of swamp, pasture, beech forest, river, and sea dotted with huge boulders that seemed to have dropped from the sky. It was a lot to take in. Fortunately, I didn’t have to be too concerned with watching the winding road for other cars, and could just stare out the window and bob my head the whole time (Just kidding, mom; I was safe.). Another day I drove to Cape Farewell and Wharariki Beach. (Google these places.) Wharariki was probably my favorite spot in New Zealand. After walking over hills and passing sheep, I came to a desert look-alike; a mirage, if you will. Sand dunes, patterned by the wind and scantily decorated with tussock stretched toward the most interesting beach I’ve seen. Massive rock formations rising out of the water like self-made sculpture. I walked along the water for a while, coming to a network of rock formations that created caverns and seemingly untouched, hidden corners. The tide was encroaching, so I had to be careful of how much time I spent in the nooks, as it would be easy to get trapped by the water. Walking in the other direction, a soundtrack of Tongan song followed me for a few moments. I walked toward a pool formed by rock where people were watching seals play. Finally, I had the opportunity to see marine animals in the wild after hearing others’ stories of the like. One guy told me about swimming in the ocean and suddenly being joined by two dolphins. Here I was, already amazed by the intriguing beauty of the beach, and I’m watching seals doing their seal thing, the only sounds being softly crashing waves, gentle splashes from their movements, and occasional laughter from the peanut gallery. When I’d had my fill of cuteness, I got lost (not literally) in the dunes and headed back to the pasture. The path was on a cliff beside a small river where I saw more seals playing. Three pairs. They glided around each other in a dance and, for about six minutes, I was the only audience member. I don’t think I’ll ever forget those still, quiet moments. Where I stood seemed hidden from every possible pathway and all I heard was the splash of the water and the seals’ voices, far below but distinct. It was intimate, this distant interaction I had with the seals and their environment. I smiled at the thought of how content they must have been. It’s great to see animals in their natural habitat without the interference of humans (except, of course, the passers-by). Seals at the zoo are happy, too, but they don’t belong there and neither do you.

On Friday I left Pakawau with a couple who B.J. knows, and they took me here to Nelson. I was sad to leave B.J. and the calm of Golden Bay, but both will stay with me in spirit. The energies of the universe move us in great ways, and I’m certain that staying in the Bay an extra five days instead of ensuring I’d have plenty of time to do things elsewhere was the best decision I’ve made in New Zealand, apart from changing the date of my flight. B.J. was a wonderful and fitting companion and caretaker, which resulted in a perfect experience of the Bay. Now I have just over a week to travel north toward Auckland and do the afore(un)mentioned things: skydiving over Lake Taupo and walking the Tongariro Crossing (which I’ve tried to do three times before but didn’t because of harsh weather, a severely injured toe, and poopy weather again . I’m entirely unsure whether I’ll do either one of these activities, and I don’t really mind. My right knee is an angry, cracking, throbbing mess, making serious tramping quite a difficult feat. The weather is simply unrelenting, especially as winter creeps in. Time is just cruel when you’re aware of its limit. These factors will guide my path. Maybe I’ll end up doing nothing but bumming around, gazing at what I haven’t yet seen, and plan to tackle those necessities when I come back to New Zealand. It doesn’t matter. Que sera sera.

Wayfarer Off Radar

I've spent the last week back in Blenheim, at Leeway's Backpackers. Home again. I came here to see Elias, and ended up staying much longer than expected, after some trouble with finding a place to WWOOF (Willing Workers On Organic Farms) in Golden Bay. I called so many people and all of them had wwoofers for the next few weeks. I started rethinking what I wanted to do... maybe just visit Golden Bay at my leisure and wwoof somewhere on North Island. But then I called Angus. He and his wife were actually receptive! Finally. They're Kiwis who own a Bed & Breakfast in Collingwood, which is the perfect place for me. It's smack-dab in the middle of Golden Bay, surrounded by bush and sea. It gets a high amount of sunlight for this time of year in New Zealand, so it should feel quite a bit like summer. Just as I was getting excited about fall... It's strange how the seasons just seem to flow into each other. In Hanmer Springs it was pure autumn; leaves were changing colors, the air was crisp and smelled exactly like October in KY, and I felt a yearning for a grandma sweater. Then I came to Blenheim and I'm wearing t-shirts and sunscreen again. But no matter what the season, it looks and feels amazing, so I'm happy, even with this autumn longing.

Tomorrow I'll go to Takaka, also part of Golden Bay, to get a feel for the town (I hear it's a hippie haven) and check out Te Waikoropupu Springs and other natural attractions, maybe some walks... no plan yet. Wednesday I'll be picked up and taken to Collingwood. It's isolated, so I'll be left to nature's and my own devices for entertainment and stimulation. Luckily, I got a decent dose of friendly interaction with other backpackers at Leeway's. It's great to have the genuine connection with peers, even if it's short-lived and unexciting. It's interesting for me to talk with the people who have been living at Leeway's during the past month because they seem so focused on finding work, just as I was when I first came to Blehnheim. They're all at the beginning of their time in NZ, and a bit frustrated with seasonal work, not really knowing where to go or what to do. It almost makes me feel wise, after nine months of working and traveling here and understanding what it's like to constantly be on the move and simultaneously searching for income. And it makes me incredibly relieved that I won't need another job in NZ! The remainder of my labour will be solely for accommodation, and hopefully won't be strenuous. As my remaining days fall away, I am in a constant state of sweet melancholy. I'm already sad, even with a month left, but also excited to see my Americans! Until the fateful day arrives, I will be absorbing every succulent drop of my experience in this country... and of its wine :)

Until a later time, Peace, Love, Save the Whales.

Stuff

And here is a (relatively) brief synopsis of the last month and a half...

Leaving Queenstown felt good and right. Walking away from the town crowded with backpackers and wealthy tourists, I could breathe easily. With my thumb toward the mountains, a cool, silver sky, and no set plan ahead of me, I walked. Then my shoulders got too sore and I stopped. I stood in front of a motel, hoping nobody would come out and shoo me away, and was soon picked up. Several rides later-- one of which was the most interesting hitchhiking experience so far (you'll have to wait till I speak to you in person)-- I was at Lake Tekapo. Spent a couple nights camping there, walking to the summit of Ben Lomond, and thoroughly relaxing by the water. The night sky there is literally breathtaking. A few more interesting rides later, I was in Hanmer Springs. The Australian couple who took me from Culverden to Hanmer dropped me at the door of the Backpackers where I wanted to stay. Being the 9^th of the month, there was free dinner (because the owner opened the place on the 9^th), including free wine and beer. It was a good evening. I set up my tent in the yard and came in for the meal with three Canadians, a few Germans, one Quebecer, a girl from Wisconsin, and a guy from Oregon. The next night I played a few incredibly amusing games of Rummy with a Spaniard and an Italian named Roberto who, incidentally, reminds me a lot of Roberto Benigni. I was enjoying this place. I only came to this tiny alpine village for the recommended bush walks and hot pools, thinking I’d stay a few days and then move on to Motueka for apple-picking or WWOOFing. But people mentioned that I could maybe find work here because of all the tourism. This town thrives on it. There are people coming in everyday just for the few (overpriced) attractions, mostly old folks from NZ and Britain, and nearly all of them leave after a day or two. I walked around to the motels and hotels, asking for work. The first place I went to is the one where I’m currently employed. And it’s the best job I’ve had in New Zealand. It’s completely lax. I clean rooms with Kylie and Hamish (young Kiwis) and enjoy coffee breaks with the managing couple, Ash and Emma. Ash is a Kiwi and Emma is from England but moved to NZ at age 12. The owners of the motel also own a house in the village, which is my current home, though my room is actually separate from the house—a hut—which is basically a mini house. When I first moved in, Eileen (German) was still living here and working with me, but she recently left with a friend to travel all of the South Island. Now it’s just Greheme and me. Greheme is a strange character. He waddles around on hobbit feet and stubby legs, with a rhythm that’s somehow cartoonish; it’s always the same. He’s missing his upper front teeth, his skin’s been aged by a potent combination of sun and cigarettes, but there’s an endearing quality about his appearance. His face reminds me of a lion cub’s, sweet and innocent. He’s a true hermit, coming home everyday after work—at Thrillseekers, the local company for bungy, quadbikes, yadda-yadda—and watches television in his room, coming out only to make tea, dinner, more tea, see what I’m up to if I’m around, and yet more tea. I like it this way. He’s a friendly, welcoming man, and always has a pleasant demeanor—even with his signature moans and groans as he shuffles to and from the kitchen—but he likes his alone time and so do I. It’s a good balance. The house at first struck me as a deserted place; tiny dead bugs and giant specks of dirt on window sills, a blotchy kitchen floor, cobwebs that could trap birds, leaves blown into open entryways by the wind, half-body mannequins in the laundry room (don’t ask), hallways lined with old, worn, purposeless furniture. But a few days in, I started to appreciate the quality of the place. There’s a smell permeating the space that reminds me of grandparents’ homes; not my own grandparents, but someone’s. It’s musty, old, stale, potent. I think this is how I fell into the comfort of the house so easily; it immediately seemed like a place I’d been before, somewhere I belonged. Before I lived here I was staying at a hotel, sort of working for accommodation, but that was a complicated and uncomfortable situation, and they basically told me it wasn’t going to work out, as they needed a couple to take over the housekeeping work once Lenka and Jakob (Czech) left… Long story short, I was happy to get out of that weird situation, and to stop living in a hotel run by manipulative, depressing old women. I went to Christchurch for a weekend at the beginning of March to meet friends and when I returned I was out of there.

That weekend was interesting. Beautiful, revitalizing, fun, terrifying, and shocking. It started out perfectly. I got a ride all the way from Hanmer to Christchurch with Paul, a true Kiwi gypsy, and his Chihuahua, Bonsai. He wasn’t even planning to go to ChCh, but was headed in that direction, toward Omarama. He had pulled over to move stuff around in his van and I was walking by, I said hello, and he asked if I was trying to get anywhere. Since I was, he offered to take me the whole way. I think I got along with him more than most people I’ve met in New Zealand, and we were together only two hours. He suspected that I’m him from 15 ago. I think he could be me 15 years from now. It was a time when I wanted to blame coincidence because of how easily our ideas and personalities clicked, but I’m beginning to realize there is no such thing as coincidence (I won’t delve into that, don’t worry).Things just are. When we reached ChCh, my friend, Dylan—who’s from the town--came to pick me up and we went to his family’s house. I met his German girlfriend, Geena, and was happy to see Meike again, a friend I met in Blenheim. After dinner we lazily organized our packs and left for some wilderness. Our camping spot for the night was Castle Hill. It was dark when we arrived, which gave way to some slightly frightening encounters with the massive stones on these hills. The place is amazing and I urge you to take a gander. I felt like I was in Alice in Wonderland combined with Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. In the morning we had some play time and continued toward Arthur’s Pass National Park, stopping at a cave. We walked through this cave—45 minutes of trudging against the force of a very cold river—four of us and one tiny flashlight. Stepping carefully upon slippery, algae-covered rock, my shorts being yanked down by the water, I just laughed at the whole scene. The sight of the light at the end of the tunnel was exactly as it should be: relieving, dream-like, and pleasantly surprising, as if I’d forgotten what sunlight looked like. We continued on our way to the destination: Hunts Creek. It’s a not-quite-formed track that isn’t known to many visitors. We were guided by little orange triangles of plastic nailed to trees every 5, 10, 15 meters. The track is steep, and moves between the river and the forest. Most of the time we were walking on rocks beside (or in) the river, tree roots, and soft, loose dirt. Balancing on rocks, leaping between them, we crossed waterfalls. The forest was fit for hobbits; I was sure I’d see a few by sundown. But the only one I saw was Meike, her brightly-striped socks stretched to her knees, her brisk, short steps, backpack the size of her body, moving carelessly through this moss-blanketed wonderland. We were hoping to reach the hut for the night, but our late start and slow pace left us with no choice but to set up the tent on the trail. It was a challenge just to find a spot flat and wide enough. Where we settled was surprisingly comfortable, and in the morning we were warm and well-rested. We had breakfast and relaxed for a while, then headed back. We came to a part of the track that was virtually unpassable. I don’t even know if we’d gotten through the same way on our way in because it seemed new and impossibly blocked. The river held no suitable stone trails, and the forest was too dense. Geena went up a steep hill of rocks to see if we could get down the other side and around the water. The rocks began to move under her, and she fell in a rockslide, having her legs trapped under a huge rock about three meters down. I was on the other side of a boulder and only heard her screaming, not knowing what happened. When I walked through the river to the other side of that boulder and saw her, crushed under this rock, it was maybe the scariest and most shocking moment of my life. When I think about it now, it’s like it wasn’t real and didn’t even happen. We couldn’t actually tell what damage the rock had done, we just had to get it off of her. Dylan did most of the work, and he did it quickly and sufficiently. He dug away at the rocks and mud on one side of the rock and we were able to lift the other side and slide Geena’s legs out. Her right leg was obviously broken above the knee. It looked like a curvy mold of jello. When we situated it we had to lift it in two places, thigh and calf, as if it were two pieces that we had to keep in a line. Well, that’s exactly what it was. Dylan left to get help, while Meike and I focused on Keeping Geena conscious and comfortable. She had an incredible way of getting through it all. Most of the time we waited she was listening to music (iPods can be lifesavers) and almost meditating. At one point she knew she needed to change her position slightly, and she wanted to do it mostly on her own. She seemed to have a good attention to her body and what needed to be done. After two to three hours I saw the shadow of a helicopter on the water. Great sigh of relief. I smiled at Geena. She asked me to find the camera and take a picture of her. ‘Are you crazy?’ I thought. ‘You’re concerned about having your picture taken right now? Like this?’ But I couldn’t find it. The paramedics actually filmed some of the rescue, though, and I bet she now has a copy of the footage. It took them a few minutes to find a suitable place to land, and one of the men came over to us and began taking care of Geena. “I love you guys,” she said to him. After some first-aid, and getting her strapped to a stretcher, they were off to a hospital, Geena lying out flat across the medic’s lap, suspended from a rope beneath the helicopter. Meike and I were left to find our way back. We were unsure we’d make it before dark, turning our trek into a race. After a few slow spots of trying to find a way around water, we ended up just walking through it whenever there was hesitation about using the rocks (which we would’ve been doing the whole time if we had proper gear). Most of the track in the forest was downhill on the way out, which meant we did a lot of quick sideways-stepping and some jumping, tree-grasping for support, trying not to slip or topple because of the weight on our backs. My knees are still giving me a hard time because of it. Just as the sky began to really darken, we saw Dylan coming toward us with a flashlight, his dad not far behind. They were just about to leave us, not knowing whether we’d gone in the helicopter or already made it out. We had a quiet car ride back to Christchurch, listening to Cat Stevens, the three of us kids dozing. Geena had an operation the next morning: a metal rod inserted down the length of her femur. The bone had broken incredibly cleanly, which was fortunate for her. The whole incident could have been so much worse, and we were all immensely grateful that it turned out the way it did. It still boggles my mind, thinking about how quickly it happened and just how unavoidable it was. I recently finished reading a book in which the narrator describes the event of her baby’s death, saying that there was the moment before the chest of drawers fell, and the moment after, and nothing that could have fit between. That’s exactly how this situation was; there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent the rockslide or to save Geena from being caught beneath that rock. You can always think about the ‘if’s, but it’s useless. It’s a brutal reminder of the powerful force of nature (especially in this country), and that sometimes danger is necessary and unavoidable. During our visits at the hospital Geena was quite positive about everything, making sarcastic jokes and being really light-hearted. I suppose after a trauma like that, you’re probably just happy to be okay.

Since returning to Hanmer I’ve mostly been working, hanging out with Ash and Emma, spending a lot of time in the forests and mountains—some of my favorite in NZ and currently full of wild blackberries—and relaxing in the last bits of summer sun. A couple weeks ago I was visited by Elias, one of my favorite human beings, who drove down from Blenheim for the weekend. We went to the hot pools, which was a captivating environment at night, with the freshly fallen snow on the mountains and the light, misty rain breaking through steam that floated across the water’s surface. Beautiful. I reckon I’ll be here till mid-April, at which time I’d like to do some WWOOFing in Golden Bay.

I suppose that’s the long and short of it.