Extremestown

I didn't have a chance to wrap up NZ properly while we were in the Cooks.  I was super busy with snorkeling, scootering, and trying out various sarong tying methods.  But I'd be remiss if I didn't include a little ditty on Queenstown, which is one of the most picturesque cities we've visited on this trip.

Queenstown is made for tourists.  Extreme tourists.  I imagine the expression "been there, done that, bought the tee-shirt" originated there.  There are almost endless ways to get one's adrenaline fix in Q-town, including but not limited to: bungy jumping (both the world's oldest and, separately, the world's highest), paragliding, parasailing, jet boating, downhill mountain biking, glacier climbing, heli-hiking, heli-skiing, heli-rafting, heli-biking, white water rafting, black water kayaking, canyong swinging, zip lining, skydiving, hot air ballooning, ATVing or snowmobiling.  The list continues, but it would seem that if one can jump off it, be launched over it, or ride on it in a dangerous way, someone in Queenstown has created the experience.

by choice.

Ed and I aren't the extreeemmmmeeee sorts and neither of us counts adrenaline among our vices.  But Queenstown is rad, even for those who don't want to be video taped screaming at 9.8.  We spent our week wandering the small town, drinking local wine, and hiking in the surrounding mountains.  I rented a bike for an afternoon and followed the lake trails to a nearby town.  We rode the luge and ate delicious cheese and soaked up the amazeballs autumn weather.

mountains for walking

cheese for lunch

I don't have a conclusive wrap up here.  What I do have is a petit hangover and another picture of Toby.  Fin.

travelin reading list, part VII

Being on the farm with no booze, transport or entertainment and subsequently on the beach with lots of daylight and no plans, I've read a LOT of books lately.  I've sort of enjoyed scavenging books at the places we've stayed.  At home I would have been more selective since I didn't have hours a day to read.  Now I'll pick up just about anything and almost always finish it, no matter how awful.

Oh, hott travel tip #54.  Always carry a paperback so you have something to trade on the book swap shelves in hotels and coffee shops.  We were able to save a small fortune in guidebooks this way and sometimes I even ended up reading something really super great as a result.

Survival of the Fittest by Jonathan Kellerman
I found this book in the cottage at the farm and selected because it was not covered in rat dung and did not appear to have been peed upon.  I've never been much of a crime reader, but now I'm learning about authors who have one protagonist that appears in a series of books.  In this one, that's Alex Delaware and he's as predictably handsome and wise cracking as all the crime stars.  I enjoyed this fluffy number; the killers are picking off the genetically inferior and a greedy WASPy family is involved.  Senators! Nazism! Disabilities (this was written when the word retard was still used by doctors)! I also find it entertaining to read books from the '80s, when the detective and his sidekick have to create a suspect list from several "print outs" from the "databases."  There are pencils to be sharpened and libraries to be visited while researching the crimes.  Old school solvation!

The Company She Keeps by Georgia Durante
The memoirs of a former model and mob wife turned stunt car driver and is fascinating if poorly written.  The story is long and winding; its obvious that the author isn't a writer by trade and her editor should be flogged.  The intrigue comes in having a peek into the psyche of an abused woman and a glimpse into the inner workings of the mafia.  The frustration at the authors' relentlessly poor choices in men and continued neglect of her kids is just grating.  If I hadn't been sitting on a beach for a month, I never would 't have finished it.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
Awesome recommendation from Burgie.  A SUPER charming and beautifully written book, its a series of letters between witty, hip characters at the end of the second world war.  The history lesson is revelatory, but what makes it a non-stop read is the cast of sweet and quirky characters that the main narrator, writer Juliet, meets during her time in Guernsey.  Definitely in my top 5 for the year.

Sahara by Clive Cussler
This one was on the shelf of our bungalow in Raratonga.  The protagonist here is Dirk Pitt- also ruggedly handsome and handsomely rugged.  And wise cracking.  And tough and heroic.  I sort of loved this ridiculous but smart novel which incorporated the civil war, gold mining in Africa, the decades old story of a female Australian pilot, naughty big corporate conspiracy, toxic waste, cannibalism, slavery, and shipwrecks.  Getting into the crime genre, its hard not to notice how many salacious elements the authors manage to toss into the plot.  What Clive, no Khmer Rouge?  And what about theFreemasons? Perhaps in the next Dirk Pitt joint.

Bloodline by Tess Gerritsen
Also a paperback in the bungalow.  Also a crime novel.  More toxic waste, school shootings, witchcraft, big pharma, but in a small town setting.  It was sort of like that show "Everwood," but with 'roid rage.  Strange, but ultimately a fun read.

Wedding Video by Molly-san

My bff created this gorgeous vid for our nups.  I just got to stream it properly and hear the music this morning.  Watch and mist.

A Molly Simms' joint, y'all:

http://vimeo.com/23079403

Low, Lower, Highest!

Low: I might have cried on the way to the airport on Rarotonga. I'm not a prolific crier generally but leaving the paradise that had started to feel like home totally bummed me out. I'm pretty sure I lost half my tan on the plane to Auckland, where we slept for 5 hours at an airport motel until the next leg of our flight to Melbourne.

Lower: After spending several hours in the Melbourne airport we were tired and dirty and ready to check in to our shitacular airport motel for the rest of that layover. Our room was tiny but fine and I was planning to catch up on some blogging and Skyping. Then I opened my bag and realized my notebook was gone.  In my 5 am fog, I'd left it on the flight from Auckland to Melbourne. This isn't just any notebook. Its a calendar that I bought at Tokyu Hands and the cover reads “A Moderate Request.” In it, I've recorded what we've done every day of our trip since October 1^st when I bought it.  I made all of our lists, recorded our research, and jotted down all the hilarity in my head in its “notes” pages.  One of my favorite things to do at night when I filled in the day's activities was to say to Ed “Do you know what we did on this day in January?” And then fill him in on the details. Some nights I would read the entries from the same day of each month from the whole trip and we'd relive those countries and highlights. And it was in the seat back pocket of seat 60A.

I speed walked to the airport around 4:30 pm and talked to three ladies at three counters who didn't have it. They were all lovely and sympathetic but couldn't help. I returned to the motel and for the second time in as many days, got misty.

We slept poorly again and were up early for the last leg of our flight to KL. I'm sure this sounds highly convoluted (and is) but for monetary reasons these flights actually made some sense.  After checking in we were warned by the AirAsia folks to go directly to security because lines were crazy long. We didn't want to miss the flight but I wanted to check for my book one more time before we left Oz.  Ed heroically agreed and we split up to hit Quantas' baggage services, the Found property room, and the information desk. When I saw Ed & a Quantas employee walking toward Found property,  I intercepted them to say I'd already checked and not to waste their time.

Ed said “Oh, but this lady saw it in the system and its here.” And so it was. Filed happily away in a different part of the room. This goddess among women with her beehive hair and certain pack a day habit strolled out of the office with my memory filled Moderate Request held up for me to see.  I almost kissed her and very nearly cried again. I really need to get some sleep.

The book is sitting next to me on the plane as I type, and we're going to photocopy its pages when we get to KL, so we don't have to worry if its misplaced again. Tonight we'll going to play the longest game of “this day in our trip” in history. Thanks to Quantas lady, Air New Zealand, and the kind soul who turned it in rather than chucking in the garbage.  I care more about this calendar than anything else in my baggage.  Including my wedding dress.  Best.

Northern New Zealand is RAD!

I'm just going to say it. New Zealand is awesome.  Awesomer than Australia, in fact.  Its just a little more sophisticated, a little less blowhard, more tasteful all around.  And the Lord of the Rings scenery just keeps giving.

Most everyone we spoke to pooped all over the North island and encouraged us to head our heinies south and as quickly as possible. But I'm going to go ahead and stand up for the North Island. Auckland is a beautiful city with cool neighborhoods, every kind of Asian food solidly executed, a gorgeous harbor, and friendly people. Waiheke island, about a ½ hour ferry ride from Auckland is bougie paradise. Having a gorgeous day, we hiked all over it and ate at a fancy resto in our hikies.  People happily chatted to us about the local brew, the weather, their dogs, and which beaches to hit up.  From where I'm standing, the rep for snottiness was unfounded. 

And then there's the northern tip. We went up to Paihia expecting to spend a couple of nights and ended up staying for 5. The lady at the Sunseeker Cottages was endlessly obliging when, each morning, I waddled up to the main house clutching my CapitalOne card to play with her German shepherd and extend our stay for another night.

Besides our awesome day in Russell and sailing in the Bay of Islands, we did a fair amount of driving.  We drove to Manganui to eat famous fish and chips (worth the hype) and visited the largest living Kauri tree.  We hiked by the coast and wandered the adorable shops in Paihia. We visited the grounds where the treaty between the Maori and the colonists was signed and saw the ancient war canoes the Maori used to attack the whities. 

World famous, says so right on the sign. 

bigasstreeandme

 attaque.

The South island is amazing, but when we go back to NZ (and we will), I would be hesitant to skip the north.  It has ever so much to offer.  NZ is at the top of our list of places we want to visit again, and for longer next time. The smaller, hipper, thinner version of Australia, the Kiwis got it going on.

WWOOFin.

This is a little overdue, but I'd be remiss if I didn't include the tale of one of the most bizarre weeks we've had on this trip. At my insistence, Ed and I spent a week “working” on an organic farm 30 minutes from Dunedin on the south island of NZ.

The week we spent with our hosts, a couple in their 60's (we'll call them Ann and James) who moved from the city 20 years back to take up a back-to-nature lifestyle was 50% strange, 20% awkward, 10% fun, and 10% other. We spent an exhaustive amount of time on the Worldwide Organization of Organic Farming's website, trying to identify folks that didn't look crazy and accommodation with them that didn't look ranky janky. We did our best to vet them, but she was an absolute nutter and the cottage we stayed in was filthy, vermin infested and unheated. 

On the shelf in the "kitchen" area of the cottage.  I'm guessing expired. 

We worked about 4 hours a day in exchange for our narsty room and, actually, quite delicious board. The lady of the house fancies herself a gourmand. She's a good cook and seems to enjoy having an excuse to overeat which her WWOOFers happily provide. Our days consisted of weeding, feeding the animals, clearing brush, and prepping for the weekly farmers market. Oh, and listening to James talk about what he was going to do and then taking naps in a rocker. 

I actually quite enjoyed the work. Weeding for hours on end was hypnotic I just had one fundamental problem with the arrangement that took me a few days hurdle. The farm is horribly mismanaged and a sickening money loser. Ann has “diversified” potential earnings and now the farm raises pigs, sheep & chickens, breeds Jack Russell Terriers, grows lettuces, fruit, saffron, edible flowers & nut trees, has 25 planted acres for logging, makes beer, cultivates honey, etc., etc., etc....... As you may have guessed, none of these ventures is profitable and continually investing in Ann's new ideas has forced her to keep working past retirement age and James to talk about working and also to take out a reverse mortgage on their home.

James is a certified builder. He and Ann both talk about the home they've lived in for 20 years as if they moved in last month. Out of 15 generously sized rooms only 4 or 5 are inhabitable. The rest are collapsing, unfinished (no insulation), have holes in the floors or walls, or are stacked with junk. The gorgeous, 100 year old home and cottage have fallen into ruinous squalor in the hands of these two. There are rats in the walls, animal feces on the rugs, and a cluster fly infestation in the bedrooms.  She's a candidate for hoarders without a doubt.  If it were our house we'd burn it down and take the insurance money.

Perhaps I would be less critical if Ann wasn't also a giant bitch. At first, I thought they were just wacky hippy anti-establishment farmers. That was until night number two, when I got into a dinner-long argument with the lady of the house. She began to lecture us on the massive conspiracy behind Western medicine – how Dr.'s push people toward unnecessary, risky surgery because it “makes them feel clever,” that the entire medical profession is already aware of what causes cancer but doesn't want to out the truth because it would diminish profits for the industry (plastic is the cause, in case you didn't know), and that even in life-threatening situations emergency room staff should consider holistic medicine before prescribing drugs. I held my tongue for about 15 minutes before I couldn't resist the bait any longer and then the joust began. 

Lest I paint too grim a picture there were some good moments. James is a lovely, if lazy Scottsman who's company we really enjoyed. When he could get a word in or wasn't being berated by Ann for his very existence he entertained us, ran interference, and taught us dirty Scottish folk songs. He played the accordion, was handy with a chainsaw and seemed genuinely saddened when we left.

The other best part was the puppy from the most recent litter that they were looking after while the new owner was on holiday.  Toby followed us from garden to garden, played in our cottage, and could be found in my arms anytime I wasn't holding a shovel or a hoe. Only 9 weeks old, he still had that puppy head smell of melting rubber and was happy exploring the world with his puppy teeth or sleeping on my lap. 

Oh, Toby.

We also really loved our day at the farmer's market which we spent half of wandering the other stalls and sampling the merch. We bought an outstanding pinot noir from the Otago Valley that we cracked open in our cottage that afternoon and Ed became expert at lighting roaring fires from wet lumber in our freezing cottage.

Given my urge all week to put together a proper business plan for the couple, and Ed's wont to get their business online and budgeted properly I'm not sure we're cut out to be farmers. But we did learn that we can sell the crap out of anything that grows if you put us behind a farmer's market table. We also confirmed our love of puppies. Oh, and that large pigs are really quite scary. 

 So. Effing. Big.

I was never such a slacker when I had a job.

I have seriously been on island time since, like, April.  I'm counting New Zealand as an island.  Or two.  Anywho, I have oods to catch up on and now have reliable Rarotongan internet as my blogging steed. 

I'd like to blame wedding prep and subsequent marrying for my off the gridedness, but that would be unfair to the institution and to the good folks at our bungalow resort that actually did the work.  To be honest, I've just been incredibly lazy.  I've also found that the longer we're gone the fewer times each day that I'm like "hey, look at this crazy thing, I wonder what this means?" and more like "do you want to rent a DVD?"

I guess at some point (month 9?) the novelty of travel wears off.  Which isn't to say its less fun.  In some ways, I prefer this phase because now it all feels like bonus time.  We're relaxed about what we do and see each day.  Rather than buying tickets to go to "Island Night" for traditional dance and barbequed pig or whatever, we're psyched to take long walk on the islands' back roads.  An evening of home made dinner in our bungalow (spaghetti & champagne tonight) rates as highly as finding a hidden bar that serves cobra hearts.  Its not less fun than it was before, its just less intense. 

There is a quote in "We Need to Talk About Kevin" where the narrator, a former travel book author, writes "Countries all have different weather, but they all have weather of some sort, architecture of some sort, a disposition toward burping at the dinner table that regards it as flattering or rude.  Hence, I had begun to attend less to whether one was expected to leave one's sandals at the door in Morocco than to the constant that, wherever I was, its culture would have a custom about shoes."  Sing out, girl.

Hitched.

Its the weekiversary* of our teensy wedding in the Cook Islands.   It was awesome.  And reading the super lovely responses from all our peeps was almost as special as the afternoon itself.  So best.

Ed loves feather pens

 tropical flowers smell good

not going

 

 dancing with myself

* I promise to never use this word again.