This was the “high country” as my late godfather Mert would call it.
Day 1... 15 mile hike on the shoreline of Lake Rotoiti and up the Travers River.
Day 2... Shorter hike but with decent elevation gain to Upper Travers Hut nestled below the Travers Saddle. As the rain came pouring down all day, we kept the wood stove going, played hearts, and chatted with our hutmates – Jock the 76 year old kiwi and an American couple, Jake and Allison. Jock jokingly says he gets one month leave every year when he leaves his wife in Auckland and tramps around by himself, hearing aids included. And when one these devices had a problem 20 miles in the backcountry, one of the five other people in the hut happened to be a trained audiologist to diagnose the problem. Strange how these things work out sometimes.
After a few rounds of hearts in which I finally defeated that evil queen of spades and managed to not get stomped by Dan, we went to bed with the rain still coming. Jonathan mentioned something about hoping it would snow. The next morning the valley was coated in the white stuff as we set out to cross a high mountain pass with wind and snow in our faces. We said goodbye to the diminutive Jock who was chopping wood and busily stoking the wood stove to wait for a better day to climb the arduous pass. Hopefully the Ball and Camisa family genes, along with other amounts of luck, will allow me to be doing the same at that age.
Day 3... Over the Travers Saddle in a snow squall and down the other side over slippery rocks. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was a blast.
After relative quiet in the other huts, we were in for a shock at the next hut, West Sabine. It turns out we stumbled upon a tramping crew of 10 Australian mothers who decided that they loved us. Their male guide seemed glad that someone else could entertain these wild women for a while. Dan caught two rainbows in the Sabine river, and in exchange for a little red wine, we shared the fresh fish with everyone in the hut. Before long we were playing the card game Spoons with 10 semi-drunk moms. The game of spoons involves a mad dash and grabbing the spoons at the center of the table. If you don't get a spoon you are out. 10 shrieking wine and rum drinking australian women competing for a limited supply of spoons certainly got the adrenaline pumping. By some stroke of luck, Jonathan and I made it to the final showdown before I won it all. Our new moms then decided that we would take a family picture so, if you are curious, you can see this amusing piece of evidence. There was a bedtime story read by one of the mothers and then before I knew it, I awoke to giggling and cackling women at 7 in the morning. These gregarious women never quit. They were constantly laughing and cracking themselves up. Now I know what ten middle-aged women are like when they get in a group.
Day 4... Caught my first New Zealand fish in the morning – 4+ pounds, 22+ inch rainbow out of the Sabin river. Jonathan hiked ahead while Dan and I stopped and fished the beautiful river. Stayed at the Sabine hut on the shores of Lake Rotoroa. The hut seemed oddly quiet after the events of the night before.
Day 5... There was no warm up on this one. Walk outside of the hut and go up, and up, and up. They don't really believe in switchbacks here, taking their early math training seriously. (that one about a straight line being the shortest distance) A mountain goat trail really. But the views rewarded us as we looked out over the peaks and valleys we climbed the previous days and with sore legs, made it to the beautiful Lake Angelus Hut. Unfortunately though, this hut is one of the most popular huts on the South Island and only takes a day to reach from town. We were on our fifth day of hiking and had just climbed 4,000 feet to get there. Lets just say I was could smell my self at this point whereas the people that crowded into the hut later in the afternoon had just left civilization. Makes you slightly self-conscious.
With 20 some people sleeping the same room, you are bound to run into some problems. The girl next to me seemed to change what noises she was making every five minutes, often throwing in a few whimpers just for good measure. An orchestra of various snorers and general noisemakers carried throughout the night ruining any hope of good sleep.
Day 6... Along the high Robert Ridge above the clouds. Team America (us three) as usual outstripped any other competitors in the speed hiking event (an event only we knew about) despite ailments such as Jonathan's bum knee and me happening to sweat sunscreen in first the left eye, then the right, and then just stumbling bleary eyed over rocks for the rest of the hike. Dan hitchiked to BJ and rolled around the corner beeping 20 minutes later.
It is a strange thing when you start thinking about a stinky overloaded van as home, sighing with relief when you are back in her comfy, bobbing seats. And except for the extreme presence of powdered milk, peanut butter, and noodles in my life, on the road and in the mountains is becoming addictive.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Abel Tasman Coastal Track
So for those wondering, (Judy you asked) the South Island of NZ is a whole different animal from the North. The North is more about the coastlines, beaches, and cities. The South is much more sparsely populated, rural, mountainous, and well, the place everybody wants to spend their time. We spent about 20 days on the North Island so that we can spend as much time as possible on the larger South Island.
After the ferry ride we drove to Nelson to prepare for the four day Abel Tasman track. We spent the night at a free campsite and did a day hike to the top of a steep river gorge. We got a bit excited by the views at one point and decided it would be a great idea to scramble over knife point rocks up to a higher summit. “If we get up there we have views of valleys on either side and be able to see all around!” This glorious and fairly arduous quest resulted in views of some trees and more sharp wavy rocks. Back down we went along another trail and peered down the deepest vertical hole in New Zealand where no signs or ropes are available to stop the trusting American tourists from walking a little too far down the trail. Apparently they believe in good ol' fashioned natural selection here.
The next day we set out for our first real backpacking adventure though it is really a warm up for what is to come. The Abel Tasman track is a moderate hike along the coastline of the Tasman sea. The area is named after the first European guy to discover New Zealand by anchoring off these shores before being attacked by angry Maori tribes and saying “I'm getting the F*!$ out of here!” He never set foot on land.
But anyway, the track is a Great Walk, meaning that it is one of 10 or so such tracks around the country that are the best of the best. We looked over green, “are we in the carribean?” water and white, sandy beaches. At the end of each day, you could find us lounging on these beaches in the bright sun. I'm pretty sure this hike cannot be classified as roughing it. To add to our comfort, we camped in 20-30 person huts that are common in this country. They supply drinking water, mattress pads, a kitchen area, and plentiful views. Because pretty much everyone in the huts have the same agenda, we stayed with mostly the same people for the trip. As you can guess, this can be both good and bad. Unfortunately for us, we are already stuck with Dan, who snores like a freight train, for every hut trip in the next 2 months. I apparently have the ability to sleep through it but Jonathan hits Dan with any object in reach about 4 times a night. This usually results in some snuffling, snorting, rearranging, and more snoring. The first time I woke up to it, I was stifling laughter because it was so unimaginably loud.
Because the Abel Tasman is relatively tame compared to some hikes, we usually took it easy with our morning time. We were some of the last to leave the huts, often asleep when gun-ho families and trekkers made their departure. But we made up for our laziness by being the first group to the next hut every time.
On the last day, the good weather finally turned and we were pounded by rain. The water taxi ride we were supposed to catch out was cancelled and we were thrown on a bus. Two hours later, after the bus in front of us went off the road, and our bus driver guided us, slip sliding up muddy roads, to safety. Two rest days and we embarked on our next hike.
After the ferry ride we drove to Nelson to prepare for the four day Abel Tasman track. We spent the night at a free campsite and did a day hike to the top of a steep river gorge. We got a bit excited by the views at one point and decided it would be a great idea to scramble over knife point rocks up to a higher summit. “If we get up there we have views of valleys on either side and be able to see all around!” This glorious and fairly arduous quest resulted in views of some trees and more sharp wavy rocks. Back down we went along another trail and peered down the deepest vertical hole in New Zealand where no signs or ropes are available to stop the trusting American tourists from walking a little too far down the trail. Apparently they believe in good ol' fashioned natural selection here.
The next day we set out for our first real backpacking adventure though it is really a warm up for what is to come. The Abel Tasman track is a moderate hike along the coastline of the Tasman sea. The area is named after the first European guy to discover New Zealand by anchoring off these shores before being attacked by angry Maori tribes and saying “I'm getting the F*!$ out of here!” He never set foot on land.
But anyway, the track is a Great Walk, meaning that it is one of 10 or so such tracks around the country that are the best of the best. We looked over green, “are we in the carribean?” water and white, sandy beaches. At the end of each day, you could find us lounging on these beaches in the bright sun. I'm pretty sure this hike cannot be classified as roughing it. To add to our comfort, we camped in 20-30 person huts that are common in this country. They supply drinking water, mattress pads, a kitchen area, and plentiful views. Because pretty much everyone in the huts have the same agenda, we stayed with mostly the same people for the trip. As you can guess, this can be both good and bad. Unfortunately for us, we are already stuck with Dan, who snores like a freight train, for every hut trip in the next 2 months. I apparently have the ability to sleep through it but Jonathan hits Dan with any object in reach about 4 times a night. This usually results in some snuffling, snorting, rearranging, and more snoring. The first time I woke up to it, I was stifling laughter because it was so unimaginably loud.
Because the Abel Tasman is relatively tame compared to some hikes, we usually took it easy with our morning time. We were some of the last to leave the huts, often asleep when gun-ho families and trekkers made their departure. But we made up for our laziness by being the first group to the next hut every time.
On the last day, the good weather finally turned and we were pounded by rain. The water taxi ride we were supposed to catch out was cancelled and we were thrown on a bus. Two hours later, after the bus in front of us went off the road, and our bus driver guided us, slip sliding up muddy roads, to safety. Two rest days and we embarked on our next hike.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Wellington and Beyond
Note: I am a little bit behind as I will be for much of the trip so when I say yesterday, tomorrow, speak in present or past tense, and tell you we are somewhere, I am probably lying to you.
And for the second order of business, Happy Birthday Jason... hope you are enjoying it old buddy ol pal.
We arrived in Wellington to a party already going on. The Cuba St. Carnival, unbeknownst to us, was in full swing as the biggest weekend of the year with concerts, fair rides, parades, and people, lots of people. Tobey had no idea we were coming because neither of us owns a phone over here and we had made the decision to come three and half hours before. Armed with his address, we showed up to his place only to realize we didn't have his apartment number. After loitering in the lobby and trying to figure out how to dupe the security guard into divulging Tobey and Riley's information, we decided to walk around New Zealand's capital city in the midst of a festival, and find our two short and blond friends. After a few hours of futility with plenty of entertainment and people watching, we headed back to the van. We changed on the sidewalk, looking raggedy and trying to straighten suitcase clothing to venture into the night looking half respectable. Once suitably changed, I was peering at Tobey's apartment building down the street, racking my brain for options. Yelling TOOBEYYY! at the windows had already failed. At this moment, resigned to failure, I saw two people in the distance walk out of the front door. I went to preschool with the kid so I knew immediately who it was and began running down the street yelling. I swear Tobey has a knack for showing up at random times.
They were just as surprised and happy as us and we proceeded to downtown wellington, next to a beautiful harbor, and saw what the festival was all about.
In our haste to get the heck out of palmerston north and excitement to get to wellington, we travelled a bit further south than we needed to with a week left on the North Island before our ferry. In short, we ended up doing a backassward route and headed back north along the east coast to Napier and fiddled around in this country. We stayed in two hostels, usually booking a two man room, and having the third stay in the van. No reason to get a bed when you have a perfecttly adequate mattress outside. We beached it one day in Napier, took a 12 mile day hike along Cape Kidnappers the next. The hike ended where a massive nesting Gannet colony sits atop a plateau overlooking the ocean. Jonathan the biologist geeked out over this while Dan and I just enjoyed the beautiful coastline with sheer cliffs and green ocean water. The last two days were spent in the Tararua Forest park which is filled with thick vegetation and the Otaki river with deep pools and cold mountain fed water. We spent our time alone at our campsite tossing the rugby ball, fishing the up and down the river, and taking in some starry nights. Our ankles and legs were the casualties of this campsite due to some harmless looking gnats that pack a mean bite. I now spend my time alternating between itching madly and applying bug bite cream.
We arrived in Wellington again and showed up unannounced at Tobey's door to his amusement. Wellington, we were told by our guidebook, is the undisputed party capital of New Zealand. We carried out a test (the second in a week) of our guidebook's accuracy and I would say we all agree 100%.
Now I am sitting in the back of Big Jolly (itching my ankles) awaiting the Interislander ferry to the South Island, listening to her new sound system. Jolly, by the way, does not have a working stereo so we just purchased some portable ipod speakers and slapped them on the dashboard. Its starting to look like I will be a certified country music expert by the end of the trip. The other two are currently belting something cheesy and Dan just beeped and waved at some more random girls with a big ol' goofy grin. He is certainly dependable in that regard.
Over the car ramp and on our way. Jonathan and Dan catch up on some sleep that Wellington stole and I find myself wandering around the empty and rainy decks of the ferry looking back at Wellington and staring over the choppy seas of the Cook Straight. The rain splashes and drops off the railings as the ferry churns along past misty coastlines. Goodbye to one island, a happy hello to another.
And for the second order of business, Happy Birthday Jason... hope you are enjoying it old buddy ol pal.
We arrived in Wellington to a party already going on. The Cuba St. Carnival, unbeknownst to us, was in full swing as the biggest weekend of the year with concerts, fair rides, parades, and people, lots of people. Tobey had no idea we were coming because neither of us owns a phone over here and we had made the decision to come three and half hours before. Armed with his address, we showed up to his place only to realize we didn't have his apartment number. After loitering in the lobby and trying to figure out how to dupe the security guard into divulging Tobey and Riley's information, we decided to walk around New Zealand's capital city in the midst of a festival, and find our two short and blond friends. After a few hours of futility with plenty of entertainment and people watching, we headed back to the van. We changed on the sidewalk, looking raggedy and trying to straighten suitcase clothing to venture into the night looking half respectable. Once suitably changed, I was peering at Tobey's apartment building down the street, racking my brain for options. Yelling TOOBEYYY! at the windows had already failed. At this moment, resigned to failure, I saw two people in the distance walk out of the front door. I went to preschool with the kid so I knew immediately who it was and began running down the street yelling. I swear Tobey has a knack for showing up at random times.
They were just as surprised and happy as us and we proceeded to downtown wellington, next to a beautiful harbor, and saw what the festival was all about.
In our haste to get the heck out of palmerston north and excitement to get to wellington, we travelled a bit further south than we needed to with a week left on the North Island before our ferry. In short, we ended up doing a backassward route and headed back north along the east coast to Napier and fiddled around in this country. We stayed in two hostels, usually booking a two man room, and having the third stay in the van. No reason to get a bed when you have a perfecttly adequate mattress outside. We beached it one day in Napier, took a 12 mile day hike along Cape Kidnappers the next. The hike ended where a massive nesting Gannet colony sits atop a plateau overlooking the ocean. Jonathan the biologist geeked out over this while Dan and I just enjoyed the beautiful coastline with sheer cliffs and green ocean water. The last two days were spent in the Tararua Forest park which is filled with thick vegetation and the Otaki river with deep pools and cold mountain fed water. We spent our time alone at our campsite tossing the rugby ball, fishing the up and down the river, and taking in some starry nights. Our ankles and legs were the casualties of this campsite due to some harmless looking gnats that pack a mean bite. I now spend my time alternating between itching madly and applying bug bite cream.
We arrived in Wellington again and showed up unannounced at Tobey's door to his amusement. Wellington, we were told by our guidebook, is the undisputed party capital of New Zealand. We carried out a test (the second in a week) of our guidebook's accuracy and I would say we all agree 100%.
Now I am sitting in the back of Big Jolly (itching my ankles) awaiting the Interislander ferry to the South Island, listening to her new sound system. Jolly, by the way, does not have a working stereo so we just purchased some portable ipod speakers and slapped them on the dashboard. Its starting to look like I will be a certified country music expert by the end of the trip. The other two are currently belting something cheesy and Dan just beeped and waved at some more random girls with a big ol' goofy grin. He is certainly dependable in that regard.
Over the car ramp and on our way. Jonathan and Dan catch up on some sleep that Wellington stole and I find myself wandering around the empty and rainy decks of the ferry looking back at Wellington and staring over the choppy seas of the Cook Straight. The rain splashes and drops off the railings as the ferry churns along past misty coastlines. Goodbye to one island, a happy hello to another.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Heading South
As I begin writing this, I am sitting miserably with Dmac in the back of our van as our campsite turns into a flash flood area. We had planned on doing the Tongairiro Crossing, a 11 mile day hike around volcanos and over alpine crossings but with bad weather, the hike isn't worth it. We decided instead to stay in the valley and let Dan fish the world class Tongariro River. Now instead, we are sitting in our fogged van as rain pelts the sides. We switch off sleeping in the van and I was the lucky one who got the bed tonight. I woke up fairly early and watched as the water began rising and spreading across the ground, inching towards my two unlucky brethren in their respective tents. It wasn't long before Dan piled into the van with me. The last few nights I slept under the stars, last night I would've been in a world of wet.
Since leaving the farm in Te Puke, we have traveled through three towns, Rotorua, Taupo, and Palmerston North. Rotorua is a tourist town with thermal activity all around and the air smells like sulphur. We were just traveling through town I thought but before I knew it, Jonathan was driving us to some “adventure” park nearby. And before I knew it again, us three were strapped into body suits, strapped to each other, laying flat in midair and looking down 150 feet to our doom. Dan pulled the chord. We dropped and within ten feet of the ground and swung out and up again like flying squirrels. Just a little warm up before bungy jumping from triple that height. A little imitation skydiving (floating over a really powerful fan), miniature jetboating at 100 kph around 1 kilometer track, and shweeb racing (dont ask) before we were on the road again.
Taupo is a beautiful lake town with sail boats in the distance, and the looming Tongariro Mountains on the other side of the lake. This is where the aforesaid rain dumped buckets on us. We had no choice but to travel on in our now wet and musty van before really getting to enjoy the Taupo area so we will certainly come visit on our way back up.
Palmerston North is a town of 40 percent students and stayed with a girl from Montana who goes to school there. Three other guys from Montana live downtown and we watched some rugby matches in the bar. 7 montanans in a bar and we happened to be the only ones cheering for the rugby teams. Later we explored the New Zealand club scene for the first time. Recently deciding that I need to work on my swing dancing skills, what better place to practice than in a strange country with techno music blasting in the background.
This town, for being such a huge college town, is nothing special though. Eating lunch in Palmerston, one minute we had no plans, and the next we were going to Wellington to visit Tobey and Riley for Saturday night. Like the wind Jolly, like the wind.
This is indicative of how we have been planning our trip. We usually have no clue what are plans our, but it seems that whatever we choose, they will work out fine. Anything new is always an adventure and it is more fun this way. So far we have split our time between staying with people, hostels, and mostly, free camping. This freedom of choice, diversity, and frugality is the way to travel.
We have been eating like champions as of late between living at people's houses and car camping, I might actually be gaining weight and I am certainly eating better than if I were at college. With Jonathan around, I am certain that skimping on the eating process will never be an option. The other night Dan caught a twenty inch rainbow which we cooked over the fire. In this world class fishing area, his good size fish is even on the smaller side of what swims the Tongariro river. Before we head to the South Island and begin our backpacking adventures, fattening is well-needed. Care packages are welcome, address: Big Jolly Van, Anywhere we feel like going, New Zealand.
Speaking of ol' BJ, she is getting a bit worrisome. The front shocks are nil and any bump results in a “WHAM!” One such wham may have totaled her sway bar and we now bob and weave down the road, strange squeaking noises included. I usually sit in the comfortable back seat of the van, surrounded by various falling luggage, and have a great view of this as Jonathan's and Dan's heads bounce from side to side. As master mechanics, we three “inspected” the problem. “So uh, yeah turn the wheel. Ok I'm gonna have a feel here. Well that looks solid. Umm yeah ok any ideas people. Nope. Me neither. Yea no clue...” Fantastic.
In other news, we have added a Rugby ball to our eclectic van. Sometimes you will find us running down sidewalks or sprinting around our deserted campsites doing the hook and latter, honing our rugby skills. To get citizenship we have narrowed our choices to finding wives or getting good enough to play on the All Blacks national rugby team. I think I am going to pin my hopes on the first one.
Since leaving the farm in Te Puke, we have traveled through three towns, Rotorua, Taupo, and Palmerston North. Rotorua is a tourist town with thermal activity all around and the air smells like sulphur. We were just traveling through town I thought but before I knew it, Jonathan was driving us to some “adventure” park nearby. And before I knew it again, us three were strapped into body suits, strapped to each other, laying flat in midair and looking down 150 feet to our doom. Dan pulled the chord. We dropped and within ten feet of the ground and swung out and up again like flying squirrels. Just a little warm up before bungy jumping from triple that height. A little imitation skydiving (floating over a really powerful fan), miniature jetboating at 100 kph around 1 kilometer track, and shweeb racing (dont ask) before we were on the road again.
Taupo is a beautiful lake town with sail boats in the distance, and the looming Tongariro Mountains on the other side of the lake. This is where the aforesaid rain dumped buckets on us. We had no choice but to travel on in our now wet and musty van before really getting to enjoy the Taupo area so we will certainly come visit on our way back up.
Palmerston North is a town of 40 percent students and stayed with a girl from Montana who goes to school there. Three other guys from Montana live downtown and we watched some rugby matches in the bar. 7 montanans in a bar and we happened to be the only ones cheering for the rugby teams. Later we explored the New Zealand club scene for the first time. Recently deciding that I need to work on my swing dancing skills, what better place to practice than in a strange country with techno music blasting in the background.
This town, for being such a huge college town, is nothing special though. Eating lunch in Palmerston, one minute we had no plans, and the next we were going to Wellington to visit Tobey and Riley for Saturday night. Like the wind Jolly, like the wind.
This is indicative of how we have been planning our trip. We usually have no clue what are plans our, but it seems that whatever we choose, they will work out fine. Anything new is always an adventure and it is more fun this way. So far we have split our time between staying with people, hostels, and mostly, free camping. This freedom of choice, diversity, and frugality is the way to travel.
We have been eating like champions as of late between living at people's houses and car camping, I might actually be gaining weight and I am certainly eating better than if I were at college. With Jonathan around, I am certain that skimping on the eating process will never be an option. The other night Dan caught a twenty inch rainbow which we cooked over the fire. In this world class fishing area, his good size fish is even on the smaller side of what swims the Tongariro river. Before we head to the South Island and begin our backpacking adventures, fattening is well-needed. Care packages are welcome, address: Big Jolly Van, Anywhere we feel like going, New Zealand.
Speaking of ol' BJ, she is getting a bit worrisome. The front shocks are nil and any bump results in a “WHAM!” One such wham may have totaled her sway bar and we now bob and weave down the road, strange squeaking noises included. I usually sit in the comfortable back seat of the van, surrounded by various falling luggage, and have a great view of this as Jonathan's and Dan's heads bounce from side to side. As master mechanics, we three “inspected” the problem. “So uh, yeah turn the wheel. Ok I'm gonna have a feel here. Well that looks solid. Umm yeah ok any ideas people. Nope. Me neither. Yea no clue...” Fantastic.
In other news, we have added a Rugby ball to our eclectic van. Sometimes you will find us running down sidewalks or sprinting around our deserted campsites doing the hook and latter, honing our rugby skills. To get citizenship we have narrowed our choices to finding wives or getting good enough to play on the All Blacks national rugby team. I think I am going to pin my hopes on the first one.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Wooohooo Rugby
The other day, after becoming a newly-minted rugby fan in the span of a few beers and an hour of RugbyTV, I stated that I would like to play rugby. Soon after this, I remembered that I am in the weight class of many 13 year old girls and just witnessed three grown Welsh men get knocked out in the time it took me to sit on a couch and casually drink three beers. But either way, the rugby season has just started here in NZ and we have now amended our trip plans to include at least one match in person as well as pub stops for matches on TV. In a country that loves rugby, this is a surefire way to make easy friends.
Upon leaving Auckland, we headed east, traveled around the Coromandel peninsula and south along the eastern coastline. So far, we have come to the realization that it is summer, we are on an island, and the waves are awesome. Boogy boards and a skim board have been added to our already cluttered van.
In the beach town of Whangamata, we spent the evening sitting around watching rugby in our hostel with a middle-aged and eccentric crowd of Europeans. This was our first hostel of the trip and we discovered that they can be amusing places. Later, we proceeded to the Whangamata pubs where we formed a karaoke team and by the end of the night we discovered that talking to Kiwis in bars can result in accidentally talking like one.
Our Auckland friends who so graciously fed 3 starving boys and let us stay in their home while we got organized, also pointed us in the direction of their friends, Will and Anne. We arrived yesterday afternoon to their beautiful rural farm outside the town of Te Puke. The farm contains a few horses, 1,000 milk cows, and a four wheeler for us to amuse ourselves with. The rolling hills stretch back to a small spring-fed stream and thick jungle-like forest with palms, ferns, and one too many spiky plants. The big rock walls shrouded by forest contain ancient Maori paintings. In our first attempt at fishing, stumbling through brush, getting caught on thorns, and untangling fly lines was about all we accomplished. Unless you count that whopping three inch trout.
Last night our new friends and hosts taught us the useful trick of popping off the top of a beer bottle with another beer bottle. As we struggled to do it, Will made it look easy with his years of experience. We sat outside on their deck overlooking the spacious New Zealand farmland as our hosts polished off their fair share of wine and kept up a supply of Heineken for us. Tonight looks to be promising as well
After that, we will be clunking along to the next town, Big Jolly’s front shocks bottoming out every so often, sunroof open, weighed down by luggage, and winding over some mountains.
Upon leaving Auckland, we headed east, traveled around the Coromandel peninsula and south along the eastern coastline. So far, we have come to the realization that it is summer, we are on an island, and the waves are awesome. Boogy boards and a skim board have been added to our already cluttered van.
In the beach town of Whangamata, we spent the evening sitting around watching rugby in our hostel with a middle-aged and eccentric crowd of Europeans. This was our first hostel of the trip and we discovered that they can be amusing places. Later, we proceeded to the Whangamata pubs where we formed a karaoke team and by the end of the night we discovered that talking to Kiwis in bars can result in accidentally talking like one.
Our Auckland friends who so graciously fed 3 starving boys and let us stay in their home while we got organized, also pointed us in the direction of their friends, Will and Anne. We arrived yesterday afternoon to their beautiful rural farm outside the town of Te Puke. The farm contains a few horses, 1,000 milk cows, and a four wheeler for us to amuse ourselves with. The rolling hills stretch back to a small spring-fed stream and thick jungle-like forest with palms, ferns, and one too many spiky plants. The big rock walls shrouded by forest contain ancient Maori paintings. In our first attempt at fishing, stumbling through brush, getting caught on thorns, and untangling fly lines was about all we accomplished. Unless you count that whopping three inch trout.
Last night our new friends and hosts taught us the useful trick of popping off the top of a beer bottle with another beer bottle. As we struggled to do it, Will made it look easy with his years of experience. We sat outside on their deck overlooking the spacious New Zealand farmland as our hosts polished off their fair share of wine and kept up a supply of Heineken for us. Tonight looks to be promising as well
After that, we will be clunking along to the next town, Big Jolly’s front shocks bottoming out every so often, sunroof open, weighed down by luggage, and winding over some mountains.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
City of Sails
We arrived in Auckland, made it through customs alive, and stepped outside into the hot, humid weather of the country we had been dreaming of for months. Alex, a New Zealander who had been a customer on one of Dan’s Alaskan zipline tours last summer, picked us up from the airport. Apparently they have had six straight weeks of blue skies and no humidity. We arrived to the first clouds and rain... Not that we cared coming from the heart of winter.
As we took a “buzz” around town, the generally narrow roads and frequent roundabouts were twice as harrowing and confusing because we were driving on the wrong side of the road. Especially amusing is when we all walk around town and consistently look the wrong way before crossing. (the way that no cars would be coming)
Auckland is nicknamed The City of Sails and for good reason. Walking around the harbour, sailboats careen around in organized chaos, littering the horizon. The docks contain billions of dollars in boats including the BMW and Louis Vutton sponsored racing sailboats that compete on weekends and Wednesdays. It is safe to say these people have more money than they know what to do with... except to continue spending it.
Yesterday, we travelled up north to the beaches of Mangawhui where our hosts own a beautiful beach house propped up on a hill looking out to the ocean. Having arrived the afternoon before, this was our first full day in New Zealand. We happily boogy boarded for over three hours in green ocean water grinning and whooping with joy because, hey, we were doing nothing other than floating around in the pacific ocean and catching waves. No worries mate.
The next day found us walking around Auckland looking for a van, cringing in the bright sun as the day before had turned us from Montana pale to sunburned idiots. At one point while looking for a backpacker’s car market we stumbled into a dead end alley way with graffiti and apartments. Asking a lady who had an interesting taste in clothing for directions, she kindly showed us the way out and began talking to her similarly dressed friend. Our host Alex informed us, “Well guys this area is know for its hookers and you just met two of them.” Good to know I guess.
We found our faithful chariot today in the form of a ’93 Toyota Previa (know as an Estima over here). When Jonathan had to drive our family Previa, which looks kind of like a giant spaceship, to High School back in the day, he was embarrassed with good reason. Now it is the greatest purchase we have ever made. She is a beaut. We have named her Big Jolly Previa as her license plate intitials say BJP. Big Jolly for short or just BJ. Curtains all around, 3 comfy seats, good storage, and a bed. Whats the term, oh yeah, shaggin wagon. And she is a manual 4wd which is quite a rare item in such a van. We cruised around today giggling at our good fortune and yelling at Jonathan to stay on the left side of the road. The stick is on the left too which changes things up even further. And most every time we tried to use the turn signal, the windshield wiper lever was activated instead. She has the usual bumps, bruises, and is a bit shaky with the shifting at times but these are all signs of a well-loved van. The kiwi we got it from is a friendly guy, though that doesn't mean much for a car salesman (and a kiwi at that-they are all friendly). He is interested in buying it back from us when we get done with our travels. If this is the case might only cost us about 200 each to own a van for near 3 months.
We stocked up at a bulk store today and now have boxes full of food and supplies for the road. The exchange rate is amazing as we each only spent around 50 bucks (US dollar) for a huge stock of food.
The main logistics are out of the way and we will head out of the big city tomorrow. Big Jolly is ready to go and so are we.
As we took a “buzz” around town, the generally narrow roads and frequent roundabouts were twice as harrowing and confusing because we were driving on the wrong side of the road. Especially amusing is when we all walk around town and consistently look the wrong way before crossing. (the way that no cars would be coming)
Auckland is nicknamed The City of Sails and for good reason. Walking around the harbour, sailboats careen around in organized chaos, littering the horizon. The docks contain billions of dollars in boats including the BMW and Louis Vutton sponsored racing sailboats that compete on weekends and Wednesdays. It is safe to say these people have more money than they know what to do with... except to continue spending it.
Yesterday, we travelled up north to the beaches of Mangawhui where our hosts own a beautiful beach house propped up on a hill looking out to the ocean. Having arrived the afternoon before, this was our first full day in New Zealand. We happily boogy boarded for over three hours in green ocean water grinning and whooping with joy because, hey, we were doing nothing other than floating around in the pacific ocean and catching waves. No worries mate.
The next day found us walking around Auckland looking for a van, cringing in the bright sun as the day before had turned us from Montana pale to sunburned idiots. At one point while looking for a backpacker’s car market we stumbled into a dead end alley way with graffiti and apartments. Asking a lady who had an interesting taste in clothing for directions, she kindly showed us the way out and began talking to her similarly dressed friend. Our host Alex informed us, “Well guys this area is know for its hookers and you just met two of them.” Good to know I guess.
We found our faithful chariot today in the form of a ’93 Toyota Previa (know as an Estima over here). When Jonathan had to drive our family Previa, which looks kind of like a giant spaceship, to High School back in the day, he was embarrassed with good reason. Now it is the greatest purchase we have ever made. She is a beaut. We have named her Big Jolly Previa as her license plate intitials say BJP. Big Jolly for short or just BJ. Curtains all around, 3 comfy seats, good storage, and a bed. Whats the term, oh yeah, shaggin wagon. And she is a manual 4wd which is quite a rare item in such a van. We cruised around today giggling at our good fortune and yelling at Jonathan to stay on the left side of the road. The stick is on the left too which changes things up even further. And most every time we tried to use the turn signal, the windshield wiper lever was activated instead. She has the usual bumps, bruises, and is a bit shaky with the shifting at times but these are all signs of a well-loved van. The kiwi we got it from is a friendly guy, though that doesn't mean much for a car salesman (and a kiwi at that-they are all friendly). He is interested in buying it back from us when we get done with our travels. If this is the case might only cost us about 200 each to own a van for near 3 months.
We stocked up at a bulk store today and now have boxes full of food and supplies for the road. The exchange rate is amazing as we each only spent around 50 bucks (US dollar) for a huge stock of food.
The main logistics are out of the way and we will head out of the big city tomorrow. Big Jolly is ready to go and so are we.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Travel Time
Today we travelled for over 24 hours from Salt Lake to LAX to Nadi, Fiji, until, finally, we arrived in Auckland, New Zealand a few hours ago. And by today, I mean we left the eighth, , apparently missed out on the ninth, and ended up in New Zealand the tenth. In case you were wondering, we are now 20 hours ahead of the mountain time we started in which really just means we are only four hours different... but its a Tuesday, not Monday. Who knows even what happened in between then besides one too many airline meals, some of the worst movies i have ever watched out of pure boredom, a nasty case of crying baby, scattered sleep, Fijians trying to take our whiskey, LAX being the absolute worst place ever, and befriending one really cool Australian. I think I was starting to go crazy from dehydration, travel, and lack of sleep for a short period this afternoon before I took a shower and snapped back into it.
The flight to Los Angeles consisted of Dan being stuck next a mother and her crying-tray-table-slamming son in the very back of the plane. We sat across the aisle from this debacle, where I discovered that seats in the very back of a plane are straight up and down and cannot recline, forcing one to lean forward in an uncomfortable slouch. The cute stewardess sitting in the back with us tried to get us free alcohol but apparently was unable due to the lack of a first class.
I think I would step in front of a bus and make a quick end of it, either purposefully or accidentally, if I ever have to live in the madhouse that is LA. Upon arrival, we quickly realized we were no longer in Utah or Montana where diversity is lacking. It was quite a cultural experience. Between the overpriced rats, cats, and bats buffet (Chinese food), finding out that there was no food on the other side of security – after we had gone through it, (before an 11 hour flight), and the crowds and lines, we were ready to get out of America. We also tried to jaywalk in front of an unhappy cop. In Missoula, cars slam on their brakes to let you cross the street, apparently its not quite the same here. There was the particularly amusing experience of an escalator pileup. An unfortunate young man got his luggage and himself tangled at the bottom of an escalator as people with nowhere to go began colliding at the bottom with more coming. Unfortunately, complete crisis was averted before too many victims came down the escalator, as my brother and I stood five feet away and yelled, “Dmac, Dmac! Come watch this!”
Hearing that alcohol is quite expensive in New Zealand, we used our college education to deduce that whiskey was quite cheap in the duty free shop and embarked to Fiji with some extra bottles of liquid courage.
In Fiji it was 5:30 in the morning, but after the redeye flight, time was relative. In the humid sweat house they called the terminal, snowy Utah was a faraway memory. As an international airport, the Fijians had one fan and unsafe drinking water, unless of course you wanted to buy bottled Fiji water. Ahhh irony. LAX gave us one more headache when Fijian security told us that the plastic bag containing our whiskey was not properly sealed. It was stapled whereas it was supposed to be heat sealed and therefore was not allowed through. With nothing but time on our hands, we were not going to let this happen. Dedication is a wonderful thing and after a solid 45 minutes of arguing, then standing around waiting for them to tell us a a straight yes or no, we figured out a loophole and checked another bag under my name. On to New Zealand with our precious liquid stowed beneath.
Our final flight was marked only by the showing of the worst movie of all time. And this was after watching a movie by the name of "LA Chihuahua" on the last flight. I should have been suspicious as soon as the name of the movie appeared on screen, “The Women.” There was not one male actor. Not one. Marriage, babies, fashion, husbands, and gossip. It was like Sex and the City except 30 times worse. And I am embarrassed to say that all three of us made it through 2/3 of the movie because there was nothing else to do. Truly embarrassing. Finally, after one particularly bad part, we all looked at each other without saying anything and simultaneously tore off our headphones. All of the women around us burst into laughter.
And finally, we landed in Aotearoa... The Land of the Long White Cloud. Let it begin.
The flight to Los Angeles consisted of Dan being stuck next a mother and her crying-tray-table-slamming son in the very back of the plane. We sat across the aisle from this debacle, where I discovered that seats in the very back of a plane are straight up and down and cannot recline, forcing one to lean forward in an uncomfortable slouch. The cute stewardess sitting in the back with us tried to get us free alcohol but apparently was unable due to the lack of a first class.
I think I would step in front of a bus and make a quick end of it, either purposefully or accidentally, if I ever have to live in the madhouse that is LA. Upon arrival, we quickly realized we were no longer in Utah or Montana where diversity is lacking. It was quite a cultural experience. Between the overpriced rats, cats, and bats buffet (Chinese food), finding out that there was no food on the other side of security – after we had gone through it, (before an 11 hour flight), and the crowds and lines, we were ready to get out of America. We also tried to jaywalk in front of an unhappy cop. In Missoula, cars slam on their brakes to let you cross the street, apparently its not quite the same here. There was the particularly amusing experience of an escalator pileup. An unfortunate young man got his luggage and himself tangled at the bottom of an escalator as people with nowhere to go began colliding at the bottom with more coming. Unfortunately, complete crisis was averted before too many victims came down the escalator, as my brother and I stood five feet away and yelled, “Dmac, Dmac! Come watch this!”
Hearing that alcohol is quite expensive in New Zealand, we used our college education to deduce that whiskey was quite cheap in the duty free shop and embarked to Fiji with some extra bottles of liquid courage.
In Fiji it was 5:30 in the morning, but after the redeye flight, time was relative. In the humid sweat house they called the terminal, snowy Utah was a faraway memory. As an international airport, the Fijians had one fan and unsafe drinking water, unless of course you wanted to buy bottled Fiji water. Ahhh irony. LAX gave us one more headache when Fijian security told us that the plastic bag containing our whiskey was not properly sealed. It was stapled whereas it was supposed to be heat sealed and therefore was not allowed through. With nothing but time on our hands, we were not going to let this happen. Dedication is a wonderful thing and after a solid 45 minutes of arguing, then standing around waiting for them to tell us a a straight yes or no, we figured out a loophole and checked another bag under my name. On to New Zealand with our precious liquid stowed beneath.
Our final flight was marked only by the showing of the worst movie of all time. And this was after watching a movie by the name of "LA Chihuahua" on the last flight. I should have been suspicious as soon as the name of the movie appeared on screen, “The Women.” There was not one male actor. Not one. Marriage, babies, fashion, husbands, and gossip. It was like Sex and the City except 30 times worse. And I am embarrassed to say that all three of us made it through 2/3 of the movie because there was nothing else to do. Truly embarrassing. Finally, after one particularly bad part, we all looked at each other without saying anything and simultaneously tore off our headphones. All of the women around us burst into laughter.
And finally, we landed in Aotearoa... The Land of the Long White Cloud. Let it begin.
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