I thought I'd fire up this old engine again and feed some new wood to
the flames. Not sure what is more strange so far about this trip, I
keep wondering what it should be while in sit in backpacker place
numero deux on the shore of Lake Te Anau, drink a whole very well
deserved bottle of White Cliff Sauvignon Blanc, which is no Tohu, but
heck its as good as it needs to be. After all Invercargill screwed me
over royally last night after closing all options to acquire alcohol,
seemingly insensitive to my 40 hours plus plight to reach her. Miles
Better Pies has provided well anticipated lining to my stomach, the
first real food I had since single serving airplane ensembles came out
of fad after the last Singapore Airlines leg from Sing-a-poor to
Oak-land. So in short life is good and gradually growing even better,
each sip of white cliff increases my apetite for writing. Having
spoken more German and French in the last two days then I usually do
on one of my so-called business trips to Europe, I am bewildered by
New Zealands subtle combination of say the American Southwest or
Northwest with England. Every one is so goddamned nice, it's amazing,
but the towns and derelict vintage 50 year old churches add a ely
redneckville like feeling to whatever humans have actually manged to
leave untouched and intact until about 500 years ago. One land where
the real genocide was NOT done by the European settlers, the Maori
having done a good job before hand in clubbing every big bird to pulp
beforehand.
So the German girl has left my side and wandered up to her room
leaving me alone with typical-hostel-guest number 2 reading happily
away on his laptop at the table. Mmmmm, the wine is making me
light-headed, even though I have just finished a third or even less of
the bottle. Anyway, enough about the drinking, I'll get back to that
later. New Zealand is not yet a revelation but there is any eerie
sense of abandon knowing that I cannot and will not have any contact
with the office / work / home for almost a month, which already seems
to goddamned short. I feel old, I will wear the bottom of my trousers
rolled down to as low as possible to avoid soaking myself in to
complete dissolution in the days to come on the Kepler track. Ah
Kepler, yes, I will be orbiting huts, wonder if I could plan / predict
my orbit now? Alas, I can't.
There is a sense of unexpectedness and a foreboding of tasks. Having
not planned a single bit, playing it by the ear alone is easy as ever:
I just have to constantly remind myself that this is about ME. Noone
gives a hoot what I do and noone should. So, after all this rambling,
let's get back to my story.
Having flown across half the world in various forms of airline luxury
to puritan airborne environments, I found myself next to Hungarians in
Invercargill and being the calculating sod I am, asked them the best
way to town, which led to the expected will-give-you-a-ride answer.
Apparently doing door-to-door sales in the UK has paid off. So after
them telling short uninteresting tales about their lives and the
upcoming marriage their friend had flown in for and had had her
luggage lost be evil fucking BA (her words, not mine), they dropped me
off in front of Sparky's where I half expected a cartoon dog, oh yeah
Stan's canine friend from Southpark to welcome me in. Instead I got a
proper weirdo. I learned more about how incredibly stupid he is in one
night than I expected: besides having signs on everything and
everywhere about how our rights as guests are limited, he even had a
pair of Bob Marley boxer shorts for sale and earplugs to boot and was
in general quirky. Declan and Christa saved my day, the nice
Wellington inhabiting Irish couple they are, by offering some of their
rum after all other options had been discounted as unavailable. The
rest was the usual lot, Germans, Americans, French and the odd Kiwi or
two. Takes some time to get used to their accent, with this many ees I
wonder why their smiles dont't crack from the tension.
Left Invercargill at ten the next day with Jon and Mary (danish) at
10:00 after a short wander around what goes as downtown in this
godforsaken shithole of the south hemisphere. The only highlights are
the resemblances to Bodie in California, well and truly dead for the
past 90 years and to my favourite, often photographed boat and house
on the way to Point Reyes in the same state. So J&M dropped me off in
Te Anau, where I rapidly made the decision to do a 4 day hike in 3
days before joining up with Gin in Queenstown, somewhere you booze
BTW. After shopping and finding the aforementioned pie for insulation
I am finishin up this post by first writing it in gmail and sending it
to myself because this rubbish of a computer cannot handle a newer
browser capable of editing blogger.com. Go figure and now I go to
post.
the flames. Not sure what is more strange so far about this trip, I
keep wondering what it should be while in sit in backpacker place
numero deux on the shore of Lake Te Anau, drink a whole very well
deserved bottle of White Cliff Sauvignon Blanc, which is no Tohu, but
heck its as good as it needs to be. After all Invercargill screwed me
over royally last night after closing all options to acquire alcohol,
seemingly insensitive to my 40 hours plus plight to reach her. Miles
Better Pies has provided well anticipated lining to my stomach, the
first real food I had since single serving airplane ensembles came out
of fad after the last Singapore Airlines leg from Sing-a-poor to
Oak-land. So in short life is good and gradually growing even better,
each sip of white cliff increases my apetite for writing. Having
spoken more German and French in the last two days then I usually do
on one of my so-called business trips to Europe, I am bewildered by
New Zealands subtle combination of say the American Southwest or
Northwest with England. Every one is so goddamned nice, it's amazing,
but the towns and derelict vintage 50 year old churches add a ely
redneckville like feeling to whatever humans have actually manged to
leave untouched and intact until about 500 years ago. One land where
the real genocide was NOT done by the European settlers, the Maori
having done a good job before hand in clubbing every big bird to pulp
beforehand.
So the German girl has left my side and wandered up to her room
leaving me alone with typical-hostel-guest number 2 reading happily
away on his laptop at the table. Mmmmm, the wine is making me
light-headed, even though I have just finished a third or even less of
the bottle. Anyway, enough about the drinking, I'll get back to that
later. New Zealand is not yet a revelation but there is any eerie
sense of abandon knowing that I cannot and will not have any contact
with the office / work / home for almost a month, which already seems
to goddamned short. I feel old, I will wear the bottom of my trousers
rolled down to as low as possible to avoid soaking myself in to
complete dissolution in the days to come on the Kepler track. Ah
Kepler, yes, I will be orbiting huts, wonder if I could plan / predict
my orbit now? Alas, I can't.
There is a sense of unexpectedness and a foreboding of tasks. Having
not planned a single bit, playing it by the ear alone is easy as ever:
I just have to constantly remind myself that this is about ME. Noone
gives a hoot what I do and noone should. So, after all this rambling,
let's get back to my story.
Having flown across half the world in various forms of airline luxury
to puritan airborne environments, I found myself next to Hungarians in
Invercargill and being the calculating sod I am, asked them the best
way to town, which led to the expected will-give-you-a-ride answer.
Apparently doing door-to-door sales in the UK has paid off. So after
them telling short uninteresting tales about their lives and the
upcoming marriage their friend had flown in for and had had her
luggage lost be evil fucking BA (her words, not mine), they dropped me
off in front of Sparky's where I half expected a cartoon dog, oh yeah
Stan's canine friend from Southpark to welcome me in. Instead I got a
proper weirdo. I learned more about how incredibly stupid he is in one
night than I expected: besides having signs on everything and
everywhere about how our rights as guests are limited, he even had a
pair of Bob Marley boxer shorts for sale and earplugs to boot and was
in general quirky. Declan and Christa saved my day, the nice
Wellington inhabiting Irish couple they are, by offering some of their
rum after all other options had been discounted as unavailable. The
rest was the usual lot, Germans, Americans, French and the odd Kiwi or
two. Takes some time to get used to their accent, with this many ees I
wonder why their smiles dont't crack from the tension.
Left Invercargill at ten the next day with Jon and Mary (danish) at
10:00 after a short wander around what goes as downtown in this
godforsaken shithole of the south hemisphere. The only highlights are
the resemblances to Bodie in California, well and truly dead for the
past 90 years and to my favourite, often photographed boat and house
on the way to Point Reyes in the same state. So J&M dropped me off in
Te Anau, where I rapidly made the decision to do a 4 day hike in 3
days before joining up with Gin in Queenstown, somewhere you booze
BTW. After shopping and finding the aforementioned pie for insulation
I am finishin up this post by first writing it in gmail and sending it
to myself because this rubbish of a computer cannot handle a newer
browser capable of editing blogger.com. Go figure and now I go to
post.
