Daniel, Sandra, Katie, Me, Cat and Felix at the sand dunes.
Me and Joe Rainey.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A few pics....long overdue
Daniel, Sandra, Katie, Me, Cat and Felix at the sand dunes. Me and Joe Rainey.
Sharks, glaciers, and lagoons
In 24 hours I’ve four-wheeled along a deserted beach, fished from the coast and caught two shark (each about one meter long ), cooked the shark over a campfire at sunset with two locals who have become instant friends, kayaked part of the Okarito lagoon, hiked to see glaciers and travelled about 8 eight hours down the coast to Wankaka, mostly with Germans.
All of this came about because Okarito was circled on my map, by whom and why I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t have a plan except to see and do as much as possible and the Okarito lagoon sounded exotic.
My generous Californian driver, Kevin, dropped me in Okarito, a village 12 km off the main road, where the only “store” is a kayaking and adventure-touring shop run by two Kiwi friends in their early 20s, Sarah and Shaun. The store is opened by one of the 20 families that lives in the village.
Three days earlier Ken, a man who lived in Okarito, and who picked me up on highway 1 when he was returning from his annual trip to town, offered to give me a cup of tea if I made it down his way. (He wasn’t the one who circled the location on my map- still can’t remember that detail.)
I entered the shop, lingered until all the other customers has been sent out to the lagoon, kayaks in tow, and struck up conversation with Sarah and Shaun. The three of us instantly hit-it-off and they gave me a phone to contact a very surprised Ken, a kayak to meet him (Ken, a well-known villager, lived at the end of the lagoon. One had to kayak across the water and ride a 4-wheeler 20 minutes up isolated beach to reach his house.) and a place to stay for the night when I returned three hours later with the shark that Ken and I had caught while fishing in the ocean (I caught the fish, Ken handled the flaying.)
The three of us cooked dinner over a fire on the beach, watched the sun set into the ocean and the stars emerge, unhindered by competing lights, and Sarah and Shaun took it upon themselves to create an itinerary for my coastal and southern travels. Since both were from the South Island and had travelled extensively, I valued their insider advice.
The sent me on my way with a plan, great memories, and a steaming cup of coffee to go.
Two hours later I was checking off the first item on the Sarah’s “To-Do List” hike in Fox Glacier.
All of this came about because Okarito was circled on my map, by whom and why I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t have a plan except to see and do as much as possible and the Okarito lagoon sounded exotic.
My generous Californian driver, Kevin, dropped me in Okarito, a village 12 km off the main road, where the only “store” is a kayaking and adventure-touring shop run by two Kiwi friends in their early 20s, Sarah and Shaun. The store is opened by one of the 20 families that lives in the village.
Three days earlier Ken, a man who lived in Okarito, and who picked me up on highway 1 when he was returning from his annual trip to town, offered to give me a cup of tea if I made it down his way. (He wasn’t the one who circled the location on my map- still can’t remember that detail.)
I entered the shop, lingered until all the other customers has been sent out to the lagoon, kayaks in tow, and struck up conversation with Sarah and Shaun. The three of us instantly hit-it-off and they gave me a phone to contact a very surprised Ken, a kayak to meet him (Ken, a well-known villager, lived at the end of the lagoon. One had to kayak across the water and ride a 4-wheeler 20 minutes up isolated beach to reach his house.) and a place to stay for the night when I returned three hours later with the shark that Ken and I had caught while fishing in the ocean (I caught the fish, Ken handled the flaying.)
The three of us cooked dinner over a fire on the beach, watched the sun set into the ocean and the stars emerge, unhindered by competing lights, and Sarah and Shaun took it upon themselves to create an itinerary for my coastal and southern travels. Since both were from the South Island and had travelled extensively, I valued their insider advice.
The sent me on my way with a plan, great memories, and a steaming cup of coffee to go.
Two hours later I was checking off the first item on the Sarah’s “To-Do List” hike in Fox Glacier.
Hari Hari, Wildside Backpackers
After staying with the Hargreaves in Ross I continued hitching down the West Coast and landed 2km before Hari Hari to wwoof at the Wildside Backpackers. And like most West Coasters the whole family talked with a backwoods drawl (usually incoherently) ate meat and potatoes at every meal and wouldn’t be caught travelling to the U.S. – too many conspiracy theories about 9/11 – or even outside of the coast if they could help it.
In addition to a slightly rough, although incredibly kind and generous, demeanour, the mullet is the official haircut of the West Coast, a rugged and often isolated section of New Zealand where coal mining, lumber milling and hunting are primary past times, and Dan, Kath and their two kids didn’t disappoint
“There the men are real men and the women are men too,” warned Joe Rianey, the father of my adoptive New Zealand family in Nelson with whom Katie and I have stayed repeatedly and eventually spent the Christmas holiday, before I initially left Nelson to head to the West Coast for my solo travelling.
Dan was a work hard and play often sort. The first day I arrived at the Wildside he weed wacked for 6 hours straight, and then he enjoyed the company of friends for the next two days. Kath was preoccupied with their 3 month old baby and 3-year-old daughter. She always looked dazed and disoriented from either lack of sleep or maybe in was long-term cabin fever – less than 20,000 people live along the entire stretch of the West Coast where towns of less than 50 occupants are common and neighbours aren’t.
Although it was challenging to understand Dan and Kath at times, they were very hospitable, appreciative and entertaining during the two days I resided in their backpackers’ cabin. When I wasn’t looking, Dan had managed to built an extensive garden, to run beehives, to monitor wine making facilities, to hunt enough meat to feed the coast, and to guide Japanese tourists who were shooting a film on a nearby mountain. Amid his ramblings I gleaned knowledge about brewing, bee-keeping and hot springs.
A short distance by car and foot from the Wildside are natural hot springs. Both nights, Dan, a fellow wwoofer (Kevin from Canada the first night and Josh from New Jersey the second) and I, hiked 15 minutes through the dark and across fields to reach the river where pockets of hot water, warmed from the earth’s core, seeped into the cold rush. With three shovels we would dig out a sitting whole in the sand and create our own, natural, hot tubs. Above us the stars shone brightly and around us, attached to the mountain sides were glow-worms.
I left after two days, so I could continue on the road and see all I’d hoped to see before returning north for Christmas, but I thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Wildside.
In addition to a slightly rough, although incredibly kind and generous, demeanour, the mullet is the official haircut of the West Coast, a rugged and often isolated section of New Zealand where coal mining, lumber milling and hunting are primary past times, and Dan, Kath and their two kids didn’t disappoint
“There the men are real men and the women are men too,” warned Joe Rianey, the father of my adoptive New Zealand family in Nelson with whom Katie and I have stayed repeatedly and eventually spent the Christmas holiday, before I initially left Nelson to head to the West Coast for my solo travelling.
Dan was a work hard and play often sort. The first day I arrived at the Wildside he weed wacked for 6 hours straight, and then he enjoyed the company of friends for the next two days. Kath was preoccupied with their 3 month old baby and 3-year-old daughter. She always looked dazed and disoriented from either lack of sleep or maybe in was long-term cabin fever – less than 20,000 people live along the entire stretch of the West Coast where towns of less than 50 occupants are common and neighbours aren’t.
Although it was challenging to understand Dan and Kath at times, they were very hospitable, appreciative and entertaining during the two days I resided in their backpackers’ cabin. When I wasn’t looking, Dan had managed to built an extensive garden, to run beehives, to monitor wine making facilities, to hunt enough meat to feed the coast, and to guide Japanese tourists who were shooting a film on a nearby mountain. Amid his ramblings I gleaned knowledge about brewing, bee-keeping and hot springs.
A short distance by car and foot from the Wildside are natural hot springs. Both nights, Dan, a fellow wwoofer (Kevin from Canada the first night and Josh from New Jersey the second) and I, hiked 15 minutes through the dark and across fields to reach the river where pockets of hot water, warmed from the earth’s core, seeped into the cold rush. With three shovels we would dig out a sitting whole in the sand and create our own, natural, hot tubs. Above us the stars shone brightly and around us, attached to the mountain sides were glow-worms.
I left after two days, so I could continue on the road and see all I’d hoped to see before returning north for Christmas, but I thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Wildside.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Settling into the Unknown
When I retell the tales of my travels the events seem more exciting, more entertaining and a lot less scary. When my memory has had time to smooth the edges and extract the periods of time where I experienced delays, anxiety and discomfort the stories are sifted down to the highlights, the good fortune and fun.
Almost every night while I was on my own I had no idea where I would end up, let alone where I would sleep, which was fine earlier in my travels with the car and five other people, but alone it’s a bit worrisome. But, every night I was provided shelter by a number of generous Kiwis. It’s easy to have faith after things work out. The anticipation of the unknown was also a bit addicting and thrilling. Until day 13, when I arrived in Te Anau, and the thrill exhausted my emotions and my resourcefulness felt depleted. I was tired from travelling with strangers all day, evening was setting in, I had no where to stay, I was tired from caring my 20kg pack so I’d hid it in the city bushes. Desperate for a bit of comfort and familiarity (and wanted to let my family know I was alive), I phoned my sister. After a measly five minutes of talking my phone card died.
I hung up the phone, checked that my bag was still hidden in the park where I’d left it, sat by the lake and stared out at the mountains. Behind me was a small Presbyterian church with Reverend Lamb’s phone number. I called him on my cell phone – I’d caved to using the cell phone, which probably will cost me more than if I’d payed for accommodation every night – and asked if I could set up my tent in the church yard. I would have camped in a proper campground, but in a resort town like Te Anau all camp sites are 10 km outside the city and cost about $20 per person. I didn’t have transportation or the will to pay to sleep on the ground.
“You’re welcome to set up your tent, or you can stay with my family, my wife and two boys (ages 14 and 16). We have a guest room you can stay in. How many nights do you think you’d want?” “Where are you?” “I’ll pick you up on five minutes.”
Two sunny days later I left the security of Lambs’ lake view home, which had a private spare bedroom with a queen-sized bed. They’d loaned me a bike and directions to trails and hiking (the Kepler Track) and treated me like an invited guest.
Revived, I hit the road early on the 23rd, ready to make my way from Te Anau, which is in the south part of the South Island, to Nelson, which is in the north part of the South Island and where I would be spending Christmas, but not sure I would make it intime for the Christmas day feast.
One car carried me from Te Anua to Christchurch, a seven hour journey, and a second car drove me four hours from Christchurch to the doorstep of the lake house in Nelson Lake, which was two hours out of his way, but he was feeling charitable and avoiding his family’s Christmas. I was the first to arrive for the Christmas holiday even though I had travelled half a country and the later arrivals lived one hour away and had their own vehicles.
Things worked out, which is easy to see in hindsight.
Almost every night while I was on my own I had no idea where I would end up, let alone where I would sleep, which was fine earlier in my travels with the car and five other people, but alone it’s a bit worrisome. But, every night I was provided shelter by a number of generous Kiwis. It’s easy to have faith after things work out. The anticipation of the unknown was also a bit addicting and thrilling. Until day 13, when I arrived in Te Anau, and the thrill exhausted my emotions and my resourcefulness felt depleted. I was tired from travelling with strangers all day, evening was setting in, I had no where to stay, I was tired from caring my 20kg pack so I’d hid it in the city bushes. Desperate for a bit of comfort and familiarity (and wanted to let my family know I was alive), I phoned my sister. After a measly five minutes of talking my phone card died.
I hung up the phone, checked that my bag was still hidden in the park where I’d left it, sat by the lake and stared out at the mountains. Behind me was a small Presbyterian church with Reverend Lamb’s phone number. I called him on my cell phone – I’d caved to using the cell phone, which probably will cost me more than if I’d payed for accommodation every night – and asked if I could set up my tent in the church yard. I would have camped in a proper campground, but in a resort town like Te Anau all camp sites are 10 km outside the city and cost about $20 per person. I didn’t have transportation or the will to pay to sleep on the ground.
“You’re welcome to set up your tent, or you can stay with my family, my wife and two boys (ages 14 and 16). We have a guest room you can stay in. How many nights do you think you’d want?” “Where are you?” “I’ll pick you up on five minutes.”
Two sunny days later I left the security of Lambs’ lake view home, which had a private spare bedroom with a queen-sized bed. They’d loaned me a bike and directions to trails and hiking (the Kepler Track) and treated me like an invited guest.
Revived, I hit the road early on the 23rd, ready to make my way from Te Anau, which is in the south part of the South Island, to Nelson, which is in the north part of the South Island and where I would be spending Christmas, but not sure I would make it intime for the Christmas day feast.
One car carried me from Te Anua to Christchurch, a seven hour journey, and a second car drove me four hours from Christchurch to the doorstep of the lake house in Nelson Lake, which was two hours out of his way, but he was feeling charitable and avoiding his family’s Christmas. I was the first to arrive for the Christmas holiday even though I had travelled half a country and the later arrivals lived one hour away and had their own vehicles.
Things worked out, which is easy to see in hindsight.
Wwoofing with the Heavres
We enjoyed many meals and conversations around the table.
Lynley and Brian build their home in the 90s. They are constantly "fine-tuning" the interior and exterior to their liking. 
View from the house.
A few out of many NZ sheep.
Nearby beach. Since it rained everyday during my visit to the West Coast I became accustomed to visiting the beach on cloudy days.
View from the house.
View from the house.
Neiko's second birthday bash. Isabel made a traditional French cake to celebrate the occasion.
Brian and Neiko spreading dirt in front of the earth oven. We enjoyed many pizzas and pies cooked in the oven's belly.
Isabel and I in the kitchen.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Cool weather makes me think about the countdown to Christmas
It’s been raining consistently for four days straight, and the forecast for sun is shaky. The New Zealand weather should be getting progressively warmer and sunnier, but the country is experiencing a delay in summer conditions, leaving those of us who expected to spend Christmas on the beach a bit disappointed.
Fortunately my Christmas plans, though not on a beach, are anything but disappointing now that Katie, Brian and I have been invited to celebrate the holiday with the Rainey family in their lake house on Nelson Lake.
For about 2 weeks I will continue traveling alone, while Katie is with Brian, and then the three of us will reunite and join the Raineys on December 23.
Until I head toward the Christmas festivities I will continue traveling down the West Coast of the South Island, wwoofing along the way, and end in the Southern region where Fiordland, New Zealand’s glacial area, lays.
I expect cold in the South, but here it’s feeling a lot like Christmas with the rain and wind along the cold coast. Inside, the fire is burning, and I’m consuming mass amounts of hot tea and coffee, but the dreary weather makes me miss the comforts of home during the holidays.
The sun should be shining Sunday, so I may be back on the road…heading south. I’m still happy with my decision to travel alone, but it’s difficult to find available wwoofing places. (I’m too scared to camp out alone in the rain and too cheap to pay for a hostel.). Wwoofing in popular in NZ, everyone seems to be occupied until February, and travelers from around the world are pouring in and filling the positions.
Today at 11 a.m. a French couple arrived at Lynn’s house to wwoof, they are wonderful people, easy to talk with – in English – but there is always tension among wwoofers as the number of people increases and the amount of work decreases. Hosts can’t keep wwoofers without a fair labor exchange. Lynn and Brian should have enough work for us all, but I would hate for us to strain their resources.
Fortunately my Christmas plans, though not on a beach, are anything but disappointing now that Katie, Brian and I have been invited to celebrate the holiday with the Rainey family in their lake house on Nelson Lake.
For about 2 weeks I will continue traveling alone, while Katie is with Brian, and then the three of us will reunite and join the Raineys on December 23.
Until I head toward the Christmas festivities I will continue traveling down the West Coast of the South Island, wwoofing along the way, and end in the Southern region where Fiordland, New Zealand’s glacial area, lays.
I expect cold in the South, but here it’s feeling a lot like Christmas with the rain and wind along the cold coast. Inside, the fire is burning, and I’m consuming mass amounts of hot tea and coffee, but the dreary weather makes me miss the comforts of home during the holidays.
The sun should be shining Sunday, so I may be back on the road…heading south. I’m still happy with my decision to travel alone, but it’s difficult to find available wwoofing places. (I’m too scared to camp out alone in the rain and too cheap to pay for a hostel.). Wwoofing in popular in NZ, everyone seems to be occupied until February, and travelers from around the world are pouring in and filling the positions.
Today at 11 a.m. a French couple arrived at Lynn’s house to wwoof, they are wonderful people, easy to talk with – in English – but there is always tension among wwoofers as the number of people increases and the amount of work decreases. Hosts can’t keep wwoofers without a fair labor exchange. Lynn and Brian should have enough work for us all, but I would hate for us to strain their resources.
West Coast gets 2 meters of rain each year...not surprising my day on the road is a wet one
When I was cooking in Sande’s kitchen and listening to Louis Armstrong blaring on the stereo, I discovered I wasn’t the only non - paying guests at the inn.
A mouse had made his home behind the oven, and a family rodents was harbored below my cabin. I pretended to not see the critters, but kept all food bags tightly sealed and my backpack locked shut. Two ducks also meandered around the yard, unperturbed by Bear the friendly giant dog. The rocky shore was also home to seals, but they weren’t around during my short stay.
The second day I was in Granity, and after I had returned from a four-hour hike, three female German wwoofers arrived and the happy Sands began to sink.
The kind, albeit intoxicated, Sande became irritable and unpredictable. After dinner she barked at the girls for not being energetic about dishes then returned 10 minutes later and told us how much she appreciated our work and hoped we enjoyed our stay.
She never addressed me when she was upset, instead she created a "me" and "them" dynamic that left me feeling like a one of the giant rocks out in the ocean being hit from all sides by the waves. Between Sande and the new arrivals I was pushed and pulled. I was Sande's go-to girl, and I safely maneuvered the Germans around the crazy moods of the Kiwi. They looked to me for translations and chores, and I felt responsible for their well being. Sande starting calling me the “Head wwoofer” when we were all together and I made apologies for the Pedi stool she’d placed me on.
During the third day, it was raining outside, so I’d decided to bake bread. Sande discovered I was toiling away, no matter how voluntary, and decided the girls needed to help. She shuffled them out of the cabin and into the kitchen where I was forced to delegate jobs that didn’t exist (the bread was rising).
Finally the eggs shells began to crack under our feet and an escape was planned. The girls would be leaving before breakfast and I was free to join them or stay behind. I chose to leave the negative environment, tired of the tumultuous moods and behaviors (I never knew which version of Sande would be walking into the room), but I made my peace before departing.
Over a two page note, a long hug, and a loaf of fresh baked bread I said goodbye, and wished Sande well.
Once again I was on the road heading about 200 km south to Ross, where a young couple in their thirties, with a toddler, agreed to host me on very short notice.
I traveled two hours with a family of five from Denmark, and stopped twice to check out tourists spots with them. The kids didn’t know English but they enjoyed staring at me and showing me their pokeman book.
Later, as I was passing through the city of Greymouth, an older couple was exiting their parked car to do some Christmas shopping.
“Wet day for traveling,” the man said (it had been raining all day).
“Yep. You wouldn’t be heading to Hokitaka would you?”
They proceeded to drive me thirty minutes out of their way, without getting their errands run, so I could get to Ross. Apparently they were spending their retirement helping strangers, and posting presents to their grand kids.
My new hosts, Lynn and her son Nicko arrived in a white car and drove me 3 km to their home where Brian was waiting to greet us all.
After a hot shower and cup of tea, we became acquainted with one another while building boxes. They only new me for one hour before they trusted me to work with a hammer and nails.
A mouse had made his home behind the oven, and a family rodents was harbored below my cabin. I pretended to not see the critters, but kept all food bags tightly sealed and my backpack locked shut. Two ducks also meandered around the yard, unperturbed by Bear the friendly giant dog. The rocky shore was also home to seals, but they weren’t around during my short stay.
The second day I was in Granity, and after I had returned from a four-hour hike, three female German wwoofers arrived and the happy Sands began to sink.
The kind, albeit intoxicated, Sande became irritable and unpredictable. After dinner she barked at the girls for not being energetic about dishes then returned 10 minutes later and told us how much she appreciated our work and hoped we enjoyed our stay.
She never addressed me when she was upset, instead she created a "me" and "them" dynamic that left me feeling like a one of the giant rocks out in the ocean being hit from all sides by the waves. Between Sande and the new arrivals I was pushed and pulled. I was Sande's go-to girl, and I safely maneuvered the Germans around the crazy moods of the Kiwi. They looked to me for translations and chores, and I felt responsible for their well being. Sande starting calling me the “Head wwoofer” when we were all together and I made apologies for the Pedi stool she’d placed me on.
During the third day, it was raining outside, so I’d decided to bake bread. Sande discovered I was toiling away, no matter how voluntary, and decided the girls needed to help. She shuffled them out of the cabin and into the kitchen where I was forced to delegate jobs that didn’t exist (the bread was rising).
Finally the eggs shells began to crack under our feet and an escape was planned. The girls would be leaving before breakfast and I was free to join them or stay behind. I chose to leave the negative environment, tired of the tumultuous moods and behaviors (I never knew which version of Sande would be walking into the room), but I made my peace before departing.
Over a two page note, a long hug, and a loaf of fresh baked bread I said goodbye, and wished Sande well.
Once again I was on the road heading about 200 km south to Ross, where a young couple in their thirties, with a toddler, agreed to host me on very short notice.
I traveled two hours with a family of five from Denmark, and stopped twice to check out tourists spots with them. The kids didn’t know English but they enjoyed staring at me and showing me their pokeman book.
Later, as I was passing through the city of Greymouth, an older couple was exiting their parked car to do some Christmas shopping.
“Wet day for traveling,” the man said (it had been raining all day).
“Yep. You wouldn’t be heading to Hokitaka would you?”
They proceeded to drive me thirty minutes out of their way, without getting their errands run, so I could get to Ross. Apparently they were spending their retirement helping strangers, and posting presents to their grand kids.
My new hosts, Lynn and her son Nicko arrived in a white car and drove me 3 km to their home where Brian was waiting to greet us all.
After a hot shower and cup of tea, we became acquainted with one another while building boxes. They only new me for one hour before they trusted me to work with a hammer and nails.
Staying in Granity, wwoofing on the West Coast
Before I opened my eyes and pushed myself out of bed, I prayed for Katie’s safety, and thought very hard about manifesting two weeks of beautiful sunny weather, hospitable strangers, interesting travel acquaintances and my own competence. I would be navigating my way across the South Island with only a vague idea of where I was heading.
A wwoof host in Granity, near the top of the West Coast, had agreed to host me for a few days, and my tentative plan was to stay until I was ready (or had another host lined up) and travel south. Eventually I would be making my way to the Fiordlands (glacial area of NZ) in the south.
At 10:30 a.m. Tom Rainey, the youngest of the Rainey kids, drove me out of town to the highway, my gateway to the west. My stomach had butterflies like the first day of school when I was excited about a fresh start, but nervous the other kids might reject me.
After fifteen minutes with my thumb in the air and a smile on my face, I was picked up by a man in van and away we went. He left me on the side of the road 35 minutes later with an encouraging smile and a mint tea bag – very random but I guess he wanted to leave me with a parting gift. Another five minutes on the side of the road, no one in sight except a field of cows and two horses who stared anxiously, apparently they’d never seen an American before, and I was picked up by a coal miner heading back to Granity from Nelson.
When I rolled my luggage out of the car, over 200 km later, I was greeted by a curvy middle aged woman with short dirty blond hair and her giant black dog.
“Jeanna? Welcome to Granity Sands,” said Sande as she turned and started walking, expecting me to follow.
She walked with a swagger, as if she were a cat sashaying her tail from side to side. It would have been obnoxious if she had been taller than 5’1”.
There weren’t any guests staying at the backpacker’s, and she didn’t mention any recent departures or arrivals. Not many people intentionally travel through Granity. It was founded as a coal miner’s town, but now harbors less than 200 people, one café, and one general store. The village is sandwiched between the rocky coastline of the Tasman sea and the mountains. River gorges, waterfalls, bush walks and coal museums are sprinkled throughout the region.
Sande showed me the grounds, explained the rules, gave me reign over the kitchen and set me free to unpack in the cabin that would be my dwelling place. The cabin was across the yard from the main house with views of the sea and the sounds of the crashing waves. I unloaded my things on a bottom bed that was one of six bunk beds and had the only non floral print comforter. The walls were covered in magazine cut-outs of men and women from vogue. I felt like I was at camp, except I had attended a conservative Christian camp during my younger years and instead of provocatively posed people there were Bible verses and chore lists decorating the walls.
Sande stayed in her room most of the time, emerging occasionally and reeking of red wine.
I spent the evening walked along the rugged beach line that stretched for miles and Sande eventually joined me to watch the sun set. We sat together on her homemade tree seat and watched the fireball sun sink into the sea. The rosy sky lit our way back to the house and Sande shared her wine and a movie with me, before sending me out to the hot tub where I could soak and watch shooting stars.
My first day alone was a success.
A wwoof host in Granity, near the top of the West Coast, had agreed to host me for a few days, and my tentative plan was to stay until I was ready (or had another host lined up) and travel south. Eventually I would be making my way to the Fiordlands (glacial area of NZ) in the south.
At 10:30 a.m. Tom Rainey, the youngest of the Rainey kids, drove me out of town to the highway, my gateway to the west. My stomach had butterflies like the first day of school when I was excited about a fresh start, but nervous the other kids might reject me.
After fifteen minutes with my thumb in the air and a smile on my face, I was picked up by a man in van and away we went. He left me on the side of the road 35 minutes later with an encouraging smile and a mint tea bag – very random but I guess he wanted to leave me with a parting gift. Another five minutes on the side of the road, no one in sight except a field of cows and two horses who stared anxiously, apparently they’d never seen an American before, and I was picked up by a coal miner heading back to Granity from Nelson.
When I rolled my luggage out of the car, over 200 km later, I was greeted by a curvy middle aged woman with short dirty blond hair and her giant black dog.
“Jeanna? Welcome to Granity Sands,” said Sande as she turned and started walking, expecting me to follow.
She walked with a swagger, as if she were a cat sashaying her tail from side to side. It would have been obnoxious if she had been taller than 5’1”.
There weren’t any guests staying at the backpacker’s, and she didn’t mention any recent departures or arrivals. Not many people intentionally travel through Granity. It was founded as a coal miner’s town, but now harbors less than 200 people, one café, and one general store. The village is sandwiched between the rocky coastline of the Tasman sea and the mountains. River gorges, waterfalls, bush walks and coal museums are sprinkled throughout the region.
Sande showed me the grounds, explained the rules, gave me reign over the kitchen and set me free to unpack in the cabin that would be my dwelling place. The cabin was across the yard from the main house with views of the sea and the sounds of the crashing waves. I unloaded my things on a bottom bed that was one of six bunk beds and had the only non floral print comforter. The walls were covered in magazine cut-outs of men and women from vogue. I felt like I was at camp, except I had attended a conservative Christian camp during my younger years and instead of provocatively posed people there were Bible verses and chore lists decorating the walls.
Sande stayed in her room most of the time, emerging occasionally and reeking of red wine.
I spent the evening walked along the rugged beach line that stretched for miles and Sande eventually joined me to watch the sun set. We sat together on her homemade tree seat and watched the fireball sun sink into the sea. The rosy sky lit our way back to the house and Sande shared her wine and a movie with me, before sending me out to the hot tub where I could soak and watch shooting stars.
My first day alone was a success.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Striking out Solo
When Katie and I were relaxing one overcast afternoon, during our stay at Ngaio Bay, ideas of separation – between Katie and me -- were percolating because after four months without seeing oneanother Katie’s boyfriend Brian would be arriving and the two would reunite.
We were each sitting on our respective beds, in our cozy timber-wood beach cabin, with an atlas, note-filled papers, books, and a few pens strewn about. Both of us were stressed about our financial situation – neither of our jobs, asparagus picking and fashion sales, had been as lucrative as we’d hoped -- and it looked like our South Island road trip wouldn’t be possible. Plus our friends weren’t going to be able to travel with us, which we’d been counting on to prevent an awkward trio of Katie, Brian and me.
Katie and Brian hadn’t seen each other since August and it would be better for all of us if I wasn’t around while they became reacquainted.
So there we were, annoyed by the reality of our money limitations, disappointed we wouldn't be seeing all the sites we'd picked out, and I was feeling put-out by a boy I knew very well, but had only seen once -- I'd attended a pub-concert with Katie and Brian almost three years ago.
Now, with my head against the wall, where a head rest could have been, I chewed my options. Out of spite I considered making Katie feel guilty for pushing me out (I was in a very bad mood), but I bit my tongue and decided venturing out on my own would provide me needed space and opportunity to have a solitary adventure.
I’ve never traveled alone, and the idea of pushing beyond my comfort zone sounded appealing, and intimidating.
Being alone had become foreign to me because Katie and I had not spent a day apart since June. Most of the time we were forced to share a tent or a bed, we worked together, ate together, and shared chores, fears and dreams. We had fallen into roles and developed dances around duties. Katie built the fires, I made tea. She never new the time or what day it was, I wore the watch and managed the calendar. She held the map, I chatted with whoever picked us up hitching.
Occasionally we stepped on each other's toes, aggravated one another, and intentionally hurt each other’s feelings when we were in bad moods, but our relationship was like an old marriage—comfortable, familiar, and at times merely tolerable.
As I was considering what I would do, I realized how free it felt to not have any one else to consider in my plans. The overwhelming liberty I felt, was beginning to taste sour with fear. Who would get the map, the wwoof book, the tent? The idea of parting left a tear. My emotions felt frayed. And my mind was racing around with what-ifs.
The idea of separation was mine. Katie never insisted we part, but I preferred the idea of striking it out on my own opposed to being a third wheel. Plus I’m sad to say, a part of me enjoyed playing the martyr for my friend’s happiness. In the emotional soup that was boiling within me there was also resentment toward the idea she could be happier without me, and toward Brian for breaking up our team. Above all I was excited about my upcoming quest and I saw this as a chance to stretch my independence. I believed I could survive on my own, but I needed to prove it to myself.
So with shaky plans we parted.
We spent one more week together in Golden Bay (We were wwoofing with Grant and Claire), and I continued to marinate in the emotions our new, separate, plans had drawn up. We hitchhiked back to our “home” in Nelson with the Rainey family and Katie left me to head toward Christchurch where she was meeting Brian.
I spent that night alone for the first time in six months.
Tomorrow I strike it out on the road solo.
We were each sitting on our respective beds, in our cozy timber-wood beach cabin, with an atlas, note-filled papers, books, and a few pens strewn about. Both of us were stressed about our financial situation – neither of our jobs, asparagus picking and fashion sales, had been as lucrative as we’d hoped -- and it looked like our South Island road trip wouldn’t be possible. Plus our friends weren’t going to be able to travel with us, which we’d been counting on to prevent an awkward trio of Katie, Brian and me.
Katie and Brian hadn’t seen each other since August and it would be better for all of us if I wasn’t around while they became reacquainted.
So there we were, annoyed by the reality of our money limitations, disappointed we wouldn't be seeing all the sites we'd picked out, and I was feeling put-out by a boy I knew very well, but had only seen once -- I'd attended a pub-concert with Katie and Brian almost three years ago.
Now, with my head against the wall, where a head rest could have been, I chewed my options. Out of spite I considered making Katie feel guilty for pushing me out (I was in a very bad mood), but I bit my tongue and decided venturing out on my own would provide me needed space and opportunity to have a solitary adventure.
I’ve never traveled alone, and the idea of pushing beyond my comfort zone sounded appealing, and intimidating.
Being alone had become foreign to me because Katie and I had not spent a day apart since June. Most of the time we were forced to share a tent or a bed, we worked together, ate together, and shared chores, fears and dreams. We had fallen into roles and developed dances around duties. Katie built the fires, I made tea. She never new the time or what day it was, I wore the watch and managed the calendar. She held the map, I chatted with whoever picked us up hitching.
Occasionally we stepped on each other's toes, aggravated one another, and intentionally hurt each other’s feelings when we were in bad moods, but our relationship was like an old marriage—comfortable, familiar, and at times merely tolerable.
As I was considering what I would do, I realized how free it felt to not have any one else to consider in my plans. The overwhelming liberty I felt, was beginning to taste sour with fear. Who would get the map, the wwoof book, the tent? The idea of parting left a tear. My emotions felt frayed. And my mind was racing around with what-ifs.
The idea of separation was mine. Katie never insisted we part, but I preferred the idea of striking it out on my own opposed to being a third wheel. Plus I’m sad to say, a part of me enjoyed playing the martyr for my friend’s happiness. In the emotional soup that was boiling within me there was also resentment toward the idea she could be happier without me, and toward Brian for breaking up our team. Above all I was excited about my upcoming quest and I saw this as a chance to stretch my independence. I believed I could survive on my own, but I needed to prove it to myself.
So with shaky plans we parted.
We spent one more week together in Golden Bay (We were wwoofing with Grant and Claire), and I continued to marinate in the emotions our new, separate, plans had drawn up. We hitchhiked back to our “home” in Nelson with the Rainey family and Katie left me to head toward Christchurch where she was meeting Brian.
I spent that night alone for the first time in six months.
Tomorrow I strike it out on the road solo.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Cat and Mouse- Reuniting with Felix
I laid in bed this morning long after the sun woke me, and went to the main house in search of coffee. Grant introduced me to his stove top espresso machine and coffee grinder and I believe we will be fast friends. I drank my coffee that was in a mug almost the size of my face (or close to it) and wondered if it is wrong to feel so much affection toward a beverage? But coffee gives a sense of familiarity to my mornings that I can enjoy wherever I am living – given that a cup of java is available.
Katie and I spent the morning weeding the garden beds that are built in a rock labyrinth. For a man who claims to practice practicality when it comes to his produce, the set-up doesn’t make much sense to me.
“I want you to have to take your time in the garden,” Grant explained. A mission easily accomplished when the weeds are growing between rock crevices. I don’t think I successfully eradicated a single weed root, which were all cleverly buried beneath the rocks. So the weeds – the only perennial plant in the bed – will return before we leave, keeping us and future wwoofers in business.
I’d like to take a lawn mower and weed whacker to the grounds, but the top priority is building a rock alter for a Minotaur sculptor that Grant will craft when he has some spare time. Right now he is swamped making drums, so the mythical creature will have to wait.
The day’s highlight wasn’t weeding, however, it was a surprise visit from Felix. Apparently he’s been pursuing Katie and I, trying to catch up with us for over two weeks. Two days ago he ferried over from the North Island and hitchhiked all the way to Golden Bay to find us. The only problem is there is no more room in our inn, so to speak, and his “plan” ended when he found us. Bless his heart. I hope his tent is waterproof.
Katie and I spent the morning weeding the garden beds that are built in a rock labyrinth. For a man who claims to practice practicality when it comes to his produce, the set-up doesn’t make much sense to me.
“I want you to have to take your time in the garden,” Grant explained. A mission easily accomplished when the weeds are growing between rock crevices. I don’t think I successfully eradicated a single weed root, which were all cleverly buried beneath the rocks. So the weeds – the only perennial plant in the bed – will return before we leave, keeping us and future wwoofers in business.
I’d like to take a lawn mower and weed whacker to the grounds, but the top priority is building a rock alter for a Minotaur sculptor that Grant will craft when he has some spare time. Right now he is swamped making drums, so the mythical creature will have to wait.
The day’s highlight wasn’t weeding, however, it was a surprise visit from Felix. Apparently he’s been pursuing Katie and I, trying to catch up with us for over two weeks. Two days ago he ferried over from the North Island and hitchhiked all the way to Golden Bay to find us. The only problem is there is no more room in our inn, so to speak, and his “plan” ended when he found us. Bless his heart. I hope his tent is waterproof.
Back to Golden Bay- Happy Acre Wwoofing
My sleeping bag, clothes and every surface of the campervan I’m living in feels moist. It’s not an obvious wet that could be mopped up with a towel (if I had one…), but damp to the touch and cold. It’s been raining off and on all day and the air is soupy. I’ve kept the windows and door sealed shut and the only precipitation leaking in is the window sweat.
I don’t mind the rain. It turns New Zealand’s vegetation a luscious green and all the ripe roses drip and sparkle after a shower, but I don’t like the cold that’s accompanied this week’s rain. It’s made sleeping an uncomfortable ordeal, so that when I slide into my sleeping bag I quickly find a comfortable spot and wait for my body heat to warm the section of damp flannel interior. It’s best not to move or else I have to wait for the new patch of fabric to acclimate to my body temperature. Every morning at least one trapped limb is numb from lack of circulation- usually my right arm, which acts as a pillow and leaves an unsightly red indent across the side of my face for the first hour I’m awake.
The campervan is our accommodation for the week while Katie and I are wwoofing with Grant and Claire in Golden Bay. It’s better than sleeping on the ground, but after two weeks of living in a secluded beach house 20 ft from the ocean in a queen-sized bed equipped with a down comforter at Roger and Jude’s in Ngaio Bay, everything feels a bid lackluster.
Our new “home” is “Happy Acres” home of Grant, his two sons, 12-year-old Ananda and 7-year-old Macunda, and his partner Claire. The whole family has dreads and practices emotional freedom of expression, music (Grant is a drum maker and he and Claire play in a west African-style band), art (painting, woodwork and stone carving), and Earth-Centered Celebrations (aka Paganism).
The lifestyle here severely contrasts the life I was living a few days ago.
Here is doesn’t really matter where kitchen equipment goes, or if it is put away at all. Dishes can be left to dry in the rack over night, and cups can rest on the table or countertop for over 24 hours. We eat with as few utensils as possible, bless the meal with an om- like “Yum” while holding hands, and consume mass amounts of sprouts and soy. Eating until your satisfied is the primary etiquette is this vegetarian household.
The property has mountain and ocean views and is about 3 km up the road from the beach (if the sun comes out I will confirm this statement…). It has a healthy number of mosquitoes and sandflies and I have red welts around my exposed feet and ankles. According to Grant if I welcome the bloodsuckers they will become disinterested in me. I prefer immediate gratification and doused myself in deet instead.
Minus my slight disgust at the ants that have overrun the kitchen and my itchy, cold feet, I’m happy and comfortable. Katie and I are free to make our own work schedule so long as we complete the garden chores, so we can wake, sleep, eat and come and go as we please. It’s really nice to feel mostly unmonitored and relaxed around the place.
I don’t mind the rain. It turns New Zealand’s vegetation a luscious green and all the ripe roses drip and sparkle after a shower, but I don’t like the cold that’s accompanied this week’s rain. It’s made sleeping an uncomfortable ordeal, so that when I slide into my sleeping bag I quickly find a comfortable spot and wait for my body heat to warm the section of damp flannel interior. It’s best not to move or else I have to wait for the new patch of fabric to acclimate to my body temperature. Every morning at least one trapped limb is numb from lack of circulation- usually my right arm, which acts as a pillow and leaves an unsightly red indent across the side of my face for the first hour I’m awake.
The campervan is our accommodation for the week while Katie and I are wwoofing with Grant and Claire in Golden Bay. It’s better than sleeping on the ground, but after two weeks of living in a secluded beach house 20 ft from the ocean in a queen-sized bed equipped with a down comforter at Roger and Jude’s in Ngaio Bay, everything feels a bid lackluster.
Our new “home” is “Happy Acres” home of Grant, his two sons, 12-year-old Ananda and 7-year-old Macunda, and his partner Claire. The whole family has dreads and practices emotional freedom of expression, music (Grant is a drum maker and he and Claire play in a west African-style band), art (painting, woodwork and stone carving), and Earth-Centered Celebrations (aka Paganism).
The lifestyle here severely contrasts the life I was living a few days ago.
Here is doesn’t really matter where kitchen equipment goes, or if it is put away at all. Dishes can be left to dry in the rack over night, and cups can rest on the table or countertop for over 24 hours. We eat with as few utensils as possible, bless the meal with an om- like “Yum” while holding hands, and consume mass amounts of sprouts and soy. Eating until your satisfied is the primary etiquette is this vegetarian household.
The property has mountain and ocean views and is about 3 km up the road from the beach (if the sun comes out I will confirm this statement…). It has a healthy number of mosquitoes and sandflies and I have red welts around my exposed feet and ankles. According to Grant if I welcome the bloodsuckers they will become disinterested in me. I prefer immediate gratification and doused myself in deet instead.
Minus my slight disgust at the ants that have overrun the kitchen and my itchy, cold feet, I’m happy and comfortable. Katie and I are free to make our own work schedule so long as we complete the garden chores, so we can wake, sleep, eat and come and go as we please. It’s really nice to feel mostly unmonitored and relaxed around the place.
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