New Zealand Travelblogue

50: South Island Tour: Part IV: Queenstown to Dunedin (15 Feb 2009)

2009-04-06T00:27:00.003+12:00

We thought we'd leave Queenstown early to get a head start on the drive back to Dunedin, but we somehow ended up dragging our heels and did the gondola ride (see part III). We got out of town a bit late, but still managed to make pretty good time getting back to Dunedin. We stopped off at the Shingle Creek Pub for lunch which, if you blink, you'll miss it. It's an amazing little place in the middle of nowhere with a quirky lot working in the bar and kitchen. They live on site so have no real expenses in terms of commuting. Back in Dunedin, we had about 90 minutes before I had to get them to the airport for their flight back to Wellington. We did a whirlwind tour around town, snapping some photos of the old style buildings. Dunedin apparently has a lot of history and is one of the older settlements in New Zealand.

49: South Island Tour: Part III: Milford Sound to Queenstown (14 Feb 2009)

2009-04-05T23:56:00.003+12:00

Saturday the 14th seemed like an eternity. The days this time of year are extremely long, with the sun going down around 10 to 1030pm due to being so far south. We left early for Milford Sound, did the tour (see part II below) and then had to get straight back on the road to get to Queenstown before it got too late. NZ is so full of scenery that it's hard to keep to any semblance of a time table. It makes you want to stop at every beautiful panorama. We eventually pulled up to Queenstown and found that the entire place was booked out. All of the grungy backpackers hostels were full so we scouted around on foot and found a nice hotel which was reasonably priced when divided by three. Had a nice evening out relaxing and got to bed at a reasonable hour, only to get up early on Sunday to make the mad trek back to Dunedin to get my friends off to the airport.

48: South Island Tour: Part II: Te Anau to Milford Sound (14 Feb 09)

2009-04-05T22:29:00.007+12:00

Day two: We arrived the night before into Te Anau only to find that accommodation was nil to limited. We fortunately scored a little cabana in the camp ground near the lake. No clouds in the sky so it was absolutely freezing. This, of course, made for perfect weather during the day, so no complaints there. The drive from Te Anau to Milford Sound was stunningly breathtaking! Milford Sound itself is usually overcast and rainy but on this particular day we scored perfect weather which was great for getting some quality images.

47: South Island Tour: Part I: Dunedin to Te Anau (13 Feb 09)

2009-04-05T02:03:00.007+13:00

I was living down in Dunedin for 6 weeks doing a collaboration with a physiologist at the University of Otago. But all work and no play makes me a dull boy, so decided to duck out for an impromptu South Island tour with a couple friends visiting from Wellington.

46: Rain Rain Go Away....No, Even Better, PISS OFF For a Good Long While

2008-08-12T13:46:00.003+12:00

Incessant rain can take its psychological toll on a mere mortal after just three weeks of monsoonal punishment. I mean, yeah, it's rather refreshing at first. It washes away the grime, keeps things nice and tidy. But enough's enough already!! Add in the wind and cold winter temps and this is a carbon copy of Seattle.

SOS!!Please, send sunshine! Need suuunshine!!

45: Til We Meet Again....On The Dance Floor!

2008-07-12T14:06:00.005+12:00

Happy times but sad times. My beloved friend and esteemed salsa partner Jessica has finished her work contract here in Wellington and is on her way back to Canada. Yes, who'd have ever thought that the Canadians and Yanks would ever get along in such perfect harmony?! The salsa gang met up at a Restaurant 88, a little Vietnamese place on the corner of Tory and Ebor. As you can see, plenty of smiles all of which belie the fact that we will be losing one from the Wellington salsa family before long. But the good thing is, most of us are from all over the world and have traveled quite extensively, so are confident we'll cross paths yet again in the not so distant future!

<----See salsa video off to the left on the side bar. Click on photos for larger view.

44: Wednesday Bloody Wednesday....

2008-07-10T02:26:00.005+12:00

This photo prompted a memory of the lyrics from the U2 song Sunday Bloody Sunday, "under a blood red sky...." However in this case it was more like Wednesday Bloody Wednesday. Last week the rain cleared out just in time to create something on par with a laser light show at a Pink Floyd concert. I dove for my camera and captured this image. Quite impressive actually. Click on image for full size.

43: Surfing Titahi Bay: Always Unimpressive, But Marginally Good on Rare Occasions Such As This

2008-07-05T15:29:00.008+12:00

As you've seen from previous posts, we've been getting clobbered to death with some rough wintertime weather. Well finally a change of tune. Today was one of those rare days where the fury of mother nature subsided just long enough for the surf and wind direction to come together. Titahi Bay is not known for its awe-inspiring surf by any stretch of the imagination, but today was quite fun. I'm still on the upswing in recovering from my knee injury back in December, so this was just right for getting out and testing out the ol' left paw. It eventually got crowded (by New Zealand standards) and there was even a bit of vibe in the water. All in all, no major complaints...except for some goatboaters.

I also ran into Luke, an Aussie friend that Bobby and I had met on previous occasions out in the Wairarapa. He'd also been off the surfing radar for some time due to a repeat blow out of his knee. He had done in his ACL some time back but then reinjured it and had to get yet another ACL reconstruction. We surfed together for a bit and then decided to do a joint surf mission to Paekakariki in hopes of getting some good surf with no one around. Strong winds with too much south in it spoiled it, so we decided to give it a miss.

The following photos were snapped just before I paddled out. Nothing epic, but fun nevertheless. Click on each photo for a larger image.

42: Frosty the Snowman? No, Frosty the Windscreen!

2008-07-01T22:44:00.004+12:00

In all the time I've been in New Zealand, I've seen some pretty chilly days. I mean, yeah, I've had a few of those cold-enough-to-see-my-breath kinds of days, but this morning threw me for a loop. I had to be up early to go train some subjects in my study. Now bear in mind the sun doesn't come up til after 7am or so, so imagine my surprise when I got in my car this morning and went to wipe away what I thought was morning dew on the windscreen. All I heard was a crusty scraping sound as the wiper blades grinded across what turned out to be frost! Ironically, all other windows were covered in liquid dew, but the windscreen bore the brunt of it. I was running a few minutes behind so I had to look for something to scrape off the ice. Nothing. I haven't touched an ice scraper since I lived on the east coast in the early 90s. I was able to get the car heated up quickly which then melted the ice, but it was still a little rough seeing out of only part of the windscreen whilst the remainder defrosted.

41: Noah, Is That An Ark In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

2008-06-25T18:56:00.006+12:00

I think Noah must have conjured up the idea to build an ark whilst on holiday in New Zealand. Sure, we're all about clean and green in this part of the world. It rains hard and frequently enough that dust and dirt don't have a chance to settle on anything. And well, I think the green part you can figure out for yourself. These photos were taken on two separate days from my bedroom window. Scarcer a place you'd rather be when the sun is shining in a cloudless NZ sky(photo on left). But come the gale forced onshore southerlies off of Antarctica and rain blasting in sideways (photo on right), well, that Air New Zealand package to the islands doesn't sound so expensive after all! Click on each photo for a larger image. See video on left.

40: Random Kiwiana

2008-06-25T17:26:00.014+12:00

Now that I've been here for over a year and a half, I find it interesting just how many things there are in my daily living to which I'm now just completely oblivious. I guess you could say the living just gets to be living no matter where you are on Earth. The things that I used to marvel over upon my arrival, now they're just a part of the every day scenery. I remember being in awe over the lush green mountainside that just plunged straight to the ocean's edge between Pukerua Bay and Paekakariki. Now I still find it just as beautiful, but after seeing it more times than I can count, well, it just doesn't seem to have the same effect.

Anyway, I just thought I'd take a retrospective step back and add some kiwiana photos. Things you won't likely see in other countries that you will see here.

Click on each photo for a larger version.

39: Colonial Knob Hike (Elsdon, Porirua)

2008-06-21T17:11:00.008+12:00

I woke up this morning to a beautiful New Zealand winter day. Pristine conditions with clear blue skies and and crisp winds blowing from the northwest. This past week was particularly heavy in the work department, so after finishing up some projects at home, I decided to venture out and take a hike (tramp in kiwi terminology) to the summit of Colonial Knob. I'd heard about it and read a few things on it, and amazingly for the past 9 months that I've been living here in Titahi Bay, I somehow managed to evade this mountain literally in my back yard (not on purpose, though). As with nearly everything I do, I always have a digital camera on hand to capture the action. Most of my friends live in Wellington and with the price of fuel these days at $2.12 per litre (or $6.70 USD per gallon), it's hard to attract any exercise buddies up this way. Click on each photo for larger view.

38: Birthday Dinner at Istanbul Turkish Restaurant, Wellington

2008-06-17T09:16:00.004+12:00

Bob once told me one time that doing a PhD is the most isolating experience I'll ever do. Now that I'm neck deep in the thick of it, he was right. Very right. And although there is a social component to the work I'm doing with the participants, the isolation really hits hard during those long hours when I'm either glued to the computer or stuck in the office on a late Friday or Saturday night doing some sort of menial (albeit necessary) grunt work. However, I was deeply humbled by Bob's orchestration of putting together a birthday dinner for me. It offered a welcome respite from everything and gave me a chance to just "be" for a little while. Thank you all for making my birthday special and memorable!!

37: Lifting the Weight of the World....Or Maybe Just Mana Island

2008-06-15T23:10:00.005+12:00

While I confess Titahi Bay seldom turns on the goods in the surf department, I can't complain about the natural beauty it has on offer on a regular basis. There were microscopic knee to waist high remnant of a windswell and not enough to entice me into the water. Instead I took a run up to the top of the hill this evening and, like usual, I brought my camera to capture some of those special moments.

36: A Glorious Winter Day

2008-06-08T22:40:00.007+12:00

Greetings all,What can I say? After a few cold, windy, wet days, the clouds parted and we were left with this beautiful day. It was the clearest I've ever seen the South Island. Just impeccable. I ran up to the top of Colonial Knob and here were the photos I took. Simply incredible. The sunset photo was taken several days ago, but spectacular nevertheless. Click on each photo to see the large image. Enjoy.

35: Outlaw Surfers Take Advantage of Queen's Birthday....Disappear to Taranaki for Two Days

2008-06-02T23:02:00.005+12:00

Greetings all,
Yes, it's true. I've not posted a single anything in 6 months. Three reasons: first, I've been busy. Second, I've had a knee injury since December and hadn't surfed in 5 months. Third, nobody reads these things anyway unless they're under three paragraphs long. I know you all just like the photos anyway....and so it shall be. Here's the story in short form. Queen's birthday gave everyone a three day weekend. See, the old bag still has some practical value in modern times, even in a parliamentary nation like New Zealand. We ducked out of town for a couple days to take advantage of a bit of swell pumping up the Tasman Sea. Not great surf, but good to just get wet again after so long out of the water. On a positive note, have been tremendously productive, so if anything positive can come out of injury, that's it.

I actually had the privilege of being "profiled" the other day. We stopped off in Oakura for petrol. The attendant came out seemingly attempting to be helpful. He was all but up our asses like an enema. I told him I didn't need any help and could pump my own fuel. But he wouldn't leave. He washed our windows. Then the minute I finished pumping, he abruptly cut in front of me to put the cap back on my tank. We went in and paid and that was the end of it. But as we drove down the road, we thought back to the sign on the pumps that said something like, "it is an offence to steal fuel." I recall seeing it and thinking, "yeah, well that's got nothing to do with me." Well, considering how grungy we both looked, I think that was probably the reason for the condescending VIP treatment. Had I figured it out while still there, I might have paid out on him and given him an earful for his poor judgment. I figure he'll be flipping burgers somewhere else by the time we get back up that way.

34: Wairarapa Surfing Goes World Class: On Any Given Sunday

2007-11-12T23:04:00.000+13:00

11 November 2007
This past winter has been absolutely appalling for quality surf. Seems like every time we had any legitimate hint of swell, there was always something wrong with it. Usually strong winds would create such a strong surface chop that there was no hope for getting in anything that would remotely be considered a satisfying surf. Well, after countless days, weeks, and months of hit and miss sporadic garbage, the old girl finally turned on the goods with some world class waves and conditions. The following photo show that on any given Sunday, nature can turn on its magic show.

Place your cursor over each photo for the caption.

33: Titahi Bay Walk: A Three-hour Tour

2007-10-28T15:43:00.001+13:00

I seem to have a habit of going out for what I think will be a leisurely walk around Titahi Bay, just to get some fresh air and clear my mind. But then the competitive/curious part of my brain takes over and commandeers my leisurely walk, often making me keep hiking "just to see what's around the bend." Today turned out to be another nice day, so I figured I'd take a walk around the bay and hike to the top of the north end of Titahi Bay. I decided to keep walking around the perimeter of Whitireia Park since the usually brisk wind was rather light. Next thing I know, I found myself half-way to Mana on the other side of Aotea Lagoon. By that stage, I was past the point of no return, so decided to just keep on going. In all, my hour-long walk spontaneously converted into a three-hour hike. Great exercise and great photos to show for it.

Place your cursor over each photo for a description. Click on the photo for a larger image.

32: Titahi Bay (part III): Yet Another Glorious Day

2007-10-21T19:58:00.000+13:00

I awoke to yet another glorious day of perfect sunshine and perfect temperatures and just couldn't bear the thought of being indoors. I've been working far too hard lately so decided to cool my jets a bit and explore the southern end of Titahi Bay. Turns out there's a little trail down to the beach and from there you can walk along pretty much all the way to Wellington if you felt so inclined. Due to the impeccably clear weather, you can see the South Island situated in the background off in the distance.

31: Titahi Bay (Part II): Uniting the Maple Leaves and Yanks in Perfect Harmony

2007-10-21T18:48:00.000+13:00

New Zealand: Uniting Canadians and Americans for Who Knows How Long
My Friday walk just didn't seem to do this place justice. I needed to get out and share it with friends, so a few well-placed phone calls soon found me in the company of my beloved Canadian friend Jessica (go Maple Leaves!) and her two friends Vicky and Chrysa visiting from Montreal, and Scott my fellow American. Given the friendly brother/sister-like rivalry between the Yanks and Maple Leaves, it was a great opportunity to break down the barriers and bring our nations a little closer together (even if the Canadian dollar IS actually stronger than the greenback). Then again, when you're living on a tiny little green rock off the coast of Antarctica, the differences tend to dissolve into nothing.

Rama for Prime Minister
After our sunset walk, we agreed to take a drive and find some eats. Titahi Bay on a Saturday night is pretty quiet, so we took a drive down the road to Johnsonville and stumbled upon Rama's Malaysian/Indian restaurant. Turns out they just opened a week ago and the owner was keen on making a favourable impression on his new guests. He came out and personally greeted us, and even sent a complimentary bowl of chicken curry to our table.

Thanks for the Great Memories
We were so moved by our experience that we felt it simply wouldn't be enough to just pay and leave. We decided to round up the chefs and servers from the kitchen and have them pose for a photo with our now unified team of Maple Leaves and Yanks. In all a great walk and great dinner.

Other photos from the afternoon (click on each photo for a larger image).

30: Titahi Bay Panorama

2007-10-19T19:38:00.000+13:00

Greetings all,
Well, I have since moved on to another level of progression here in New Zealand. I was living in town for most of 2007 due to my work and school obligations being on campus. However, with the recent ethics committee approval of my PhD project, the study will now be focused up the road in Porirua. I will be running subjects through the City Fitness health club in Porirua so I decided to move about 5 minutes away to the panoramic beach community of Titahi Bay. Take one look at the photos and it's not hard to see why I made the jump. I am also working out of City Fitness, so it's a two for one. My life is now effectively centralised in one location, which will cut down tremendously on petrol costs. By the way, by comparison, it's still cheap in the US, even at $3.50 a gallon

For information on each photo, simply place your cursor on top of the photo. Click on each photo for a larger size

29: Recent Videos from the Wairarapa Region

2007-08-25T02:21:00.000+12:00

The following two videos are from recent trips to the Wairarapa region in the south east region of New Zealand's north island. Positively stunning scenery and pristine beaches with no one in sight!

28: How to get free frequent flyer points

2007-07-04T18:46:00.003+12:00

Don't get mad, get even more free frequent flyer miles
I get a ton of spam. If you've had the same email address for a while, chances are a spammer has trolled the internet and scooped it up. I recently got a spam email from Northworst Airlines which landed in my inbox while I was having my male period. I decided to write them one of my patented, consumer complaint letters but not with any real expectation they'd read it, let alone respond (and offer 5500 frequent flyer points). Their response is first, followed by my initial scathing letter. Amusing reading if nothing else.

Northwest Airlines' response to my initial email regarding their poor service
De: Northwest Airlines
Para: El Desconocido
Enviado: martes, 12 de junio, 2007 11:31:03
Asunto: Re: ET-nwa.com Comments/Suggestions (KMM11975437V4187L0KM)

Dear Mr. Desconocido,

RE: Case Number 3907620

In your recent email, you alerted us to several problems with our service. Your feedback is important to us and we thank you for taking the time to write. On behalf of Northwest Airlines, we sincerely apologize for letting you down in so many ways. I can understand why you wanted to share your disappointment.

First and foremost, we expect our employees to treat all our customers in a polite, courteous, and professional manner. We will do our utmost to demonstrate by our actions that we are committed to service excellence.

In addition, we want to make travel on Northwest and our SkyTeam partners convenient for our passengers, and we feel our complimentary luggage allowance for both domestic and international travel is adequate. Understandably and due to aircraft weight limitations, we can
only permit a limited amount of luggage to be checked or brought onboard an aircraft. As a result, we have established a maximum luggage allowance per passenger.

We appreciate your feedback, Mr. Desconocido. Many customers, like you, share their observations and suggestions with us. These unsolicited remarks form the basis for many improvements in our service.

Be assured that your comments will be forwarded to the responsible individuals within Northwest.

Please know we value you as a customer, and for that reason we have added 5500 WorldPerks bonus miles to your account 490827864. You may visit our website at www.nwa.com/freqfly/ to verify these miles have been posted. Please allow 3 business days for miles to appear.

We appreciate the opportunity to review your concerns, Mr. Desconocido and look forward to serving your air travel needs in the months and years ahead.

Sincerely,

Ann xxxxxxxxxx
Customer Care
Northwest/KLM Airlines

========
My original response to their spam email

I don't expect you'll actually read this, but I thought I would take this opportunity to offer some suggestions for customer service. NWA and the rest of the collective U.S. airline system is nothing more than a fleet of flying Greyhound buses with wings. The customer pays a fee to merely get to the other side. Most requests for anything that even remotely resembles customer service is met by a snide, snotty attitude by airline personnel. They act as if they're doing you a favor by simply doing their job, which is partly true since they're paid a paltry sum and are continually asked to make concessions for the benefit of the company--and the lack of upper management willing to take a cut of their own pay (considering they're making the unpopular decisions).

If given a choice, I, along with many other people I've spoken to, would prefer to take international carriers for domestic US flights if such a thing existed. You would be wise to study the business models of companies like Air New Zealand, Virgin Air, or even so-called banana
republic airlines like Air Namibia and Air Mauritius which are heads and tails above anything the US airline industry has ever seen.

In short, pay your staff enough to actually care and they might provide better service. Their resentment towards upper management translates into negative attitudes that are so obvious, they're nearly palpable. Stop charging passengers for peanuts and a drink. If I paid you $500
for a ticket, I think that no matter what your company's financial siuation, you can afford to cough up at least this much without breaking the bank. It's frivolous and only leaves a bad impression on passengers.

Regarding your so-called oversized baggage charges, this is a complete joke. Whether I pay you the money or not, my surfboards still fit on the plane just the same. The baggage handlers never see a dime of that money, so why charge it? It's just straight profit to the company for
essentially nothing. You've damaged my boards before and claimed that you "weren't responsible." Well, if I pay you your extortionate fee for transporting my boards, then you'd better believe you ARE responsible for them every step of the way. In essence, you will collect an oversize item charge, stiff the handlers for that amount, keep it in your coffers, damage the goods (usually by the disgruntled baggage handlers you stiffed), and then claim you're not responsible. I think the correct term is that you are IRRESPONSIBLE.

Kind regards,
El Desconocido

27: Wairarapa Surf Trip: The Meek Shall Inherit Stupidity

2007-06-30T01:25:00.000+12:00

28 June 2007

For Video of this trip, click here

Early Bird Gets the Worm....Only When There's Surf Involved
Bobby and I planned a stealth sunrise surf trip to the Wairarapa in order to target the remnants of a recent six meter swell. For some reason, I find it particularly difficult to pry my bones out of bed early in the morning when I have to work, yet getting out of bed for a surf trip is effortless. I set my alarm for 5am, but found myself awake at 4am like a restless child on Christmas morning. I wrestled to sleep for the remaining hour, yet only managed to toss and turn.

Thin-blooded Wuss
I made the trek up to Bob’s place in Titahi Bay, had a quick cup of morning tea, after which we hit the road en route to the Wairarapa. Through the Rimutaka pass, I saw something I haven’t seen in ages. Glancing out at the cars parked along the side of the road, I noticed what I thought was ash. Upon closer inspection, I realized the cars were actually glazed in frost! Bear in mind, my blood’s quite thin after living in southern California for so many years!

Rimutaka Sunrise
The morning sky turned to a blood red sunrise as we rolled down the other side of the Rimutaka. Our “convoy” of slow-moving cars putted carefully down the serpentine road, artfully handling the curves lest we slide off the frosted pavement and down into a 100-meter ravine or, if we’re lucky, into an oncoming truck.

Western Lakes
We turned off at the edge of Featherston and towards the Western Lakes region. We passed through approximately 40 kilometers of verdant sheep-speckled farmland set against a backdrop of snow-covered peaks in the distance. The winding corkscrew road around Wharekauhau offered up the first view of the ocean. Swell lines and pounding shore break gave us a sneak preview of waves to come, and reassured us that the right-hand point break we were about to surf would have waves.

Looks Can Be Deceptive
We pulled up to the break a short time later and, initially, were completely devastated at the overt lack of surf! What kind of cruel joke was the universe playing on us? But within a few minutes, a two-wave set came roaring through, confirming that our hunch paid off. The worst part was having to get out of a heated car, strip off our clothes in 6 degree (42 F) weather, and into a cold wetsuit!

Good Vibes
We surfed for about two hours before the next two signs of life showed up. Two guys paddled out, but were easy-going and willing to share a few waves. By the time they arrived, the cold had since turned my feet to numb stumps in spite of the fact I was wearing booties. The formerly nil wind picked up and started blowing at approximately 15 to 20 kmh. The final call came for me as the wind-chill through my suit like a knife.

Good Samaritans Needed
I was looking forward to nothing more than getting out of my suit and into some warm, dry clothes. Two girls on a dirt bike pulled up and explained that their truck was stuck in the sand farther down the road and asked if we could pull them out. Bobby was still in the water so I told them to sit tight and we’d be down in a bit to help them.

Before I go on, I should explain that the road west beyond the turn off for the surf spot is nothing more than a narrow, sandy track carved into the side of a mountain. One wrong slip to the left and you’re looking at a one-way trip to off a steep cliff.

Boy Racer Goes Off-Road
A few minutes down the road we spotted the truck embedded in the sand with the back left wheel teetering on the edge of the cliff. As we got closer, we realized the sand was growing steadily softer and deeper. Bobby rightfully stopped, opting to park the truck on firm road.

The KKK Called. They Want Their Sheets Back
The vehicle was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill lowered pick-up truck with street tires—bogged out in thick sand! It turns out that the girls’ father was responsible for this fiasco. He was a short, wormy, neurotic, high-energy jackass who really seemed to think nothing of his predicament. The more we spoke to him the more we realized that his problem wasn’t so much that his truck was hanging off the edge of the road, but that his innate idiocy left him completely at the mercy of self-imposed misfortune. We estimated him to be approximately 45 years-old with the intellect of a 13 year-old boy. He had a shaved head with lines carved into his scalp, a few missing teeth amongst the snaggled mess that filled his mouth, and a bone earring on the left side. He looked to be about one bed-sheet short of a red-neck Alabama Ku Klux Klan rally.

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Tread Beyond This Point
We soon learned the purpose of their visit. He was in the process of driving to a drop-off point farther down the road, from which he, his elderly father, and an American tourist were going to hike 8 hours back to Wellington. The girls were going to drive the truck back through this mess and back to the main highway.

We decided the best course of action was to not risk getting any closer, lest we find ourselves equally screwed. We told the guy we’d head back to town and call in a tow truck to pull them out. There was too great a risk of us getting stuck as well. He ranted and raved like a lunatic and swore that, “hey, we don’t need a tow truck! It’s easy, no problem. You won’t get stuck! Just hook up the rope and pull us out. It’s easy.” I mumbled to Bobby, “Yeah, right. THIS guy giving US advice?” It didn’t sit well with us coming from a half-baked simpleton with all the common sense of a postage stamp.

Nice Guys Finish Last
In a fleeting moment of altruism, Bobby decided to pull the truck forward several meters but still couldn’t quite get close enough within range of the length of the tow rope. We finally told the guy, “Hey look, enough’s enough. We’re all going to end up stuck here if we try to pull you out. And if your truck goes off the cliff, which is more likely than not, you’re going to pull us off the cliff with you.” Some remote semblance of understanding appeared to penetrate his thick skull.

Bobby backed up and, true to form, as predicted—STUCK! The truck completely bogged out, sunk down to the hubcaps. The sand was a bit moist and quickly plugged any bit of tread left on his tires. No traction whatsoever! So now we were seven people stuck about 40 kilometers from civilization.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
The more I thought about the entire situation, the more pissed off I grew. The mere sight of the guy nearly made me want to throw him off the cliff. First, his complete disregard for the safety and well-being of those in his party nearly landed them all at the bottom of a cliff. Second, his unwillingness to accept the seriousness of the circumstances only eroded the morale and frustrated everyone there, including his daughters who affectionately referred to him as “psycho.” And third, his complete lack of concern for our situation is what left us bogged down to the hubcaps and stuck in the same pointless predicament. Angry? Yeah, just a little.

Misery Loves Company
We attempted to purge our truck from its sandy treadmill for the next hour. We crammed rocks under the tires to gain traction, but to no avail. To inflame our tempers even more, their pit-bull dog jumped into the truck with its filthy paws and attempted to steal our food supply for the day! Idiot boy rode the dirt bike back to the surf spot and was able to rally two other surfers in a truck to help tow us out. We got back to firm sand but were still facing the wrong direction. Bobby had to do a delicate 10-point turn in order to turn around on the narrow track. That was enough fun for one day. We decided to get out of there while we were still ahead! We thanked the two surfers for helping us out and then decided to get out of there before we got roped into another rescue attempt and became a couple of accidental death statistics. We warned them to be careful—and that this guy was about 5 beers short of a six-pack.

What Ifs
The entire trip back, we just shook our heads in disbelief and marveled that someone like this actually survived past the age of 40 with all the intellect of a brick. We played the what-ifs over and over. What if we’d have gotten pulled over the cliff? What if we’d have had to call for an extortionately priced tow truck all the way from Featherston? What if he’d have cracked the rear diff mount? What if it had started raining while stuck in soft sand? Fortunately, none of the what-ifs came to fruition.

It's Not the Experience, It's the Story Telling After the Fact
We don’t regret helping someone in need. That’s the kind of thing people do for each other in New Zealand. But this guy was obviously a hazard to himself and all around him. Bobby and I joked that had we known in advance the type of idiot and situation we were dealing with, we wouldn’t even have attempted a rescue. We would have spared ourselves the hassle, gone straight back to Featherston, and called them a tow truck. But hey, at least it makes for interesting story telling

26: The Island: Island Bay, Wellington, New Zealand

2007-06-24T17:14:00.000+12:00

Sunday, 24 June 2007: Woke up this morning to a beautiful, warm, sunny day (after a week of cold wind and rain) and a rising south swell off of the roaring 40th parallel. Took a drive along the coast, running the usual circuit. Came upon "The Island" just off of Island Bay with only a few guys out and the odd right-hander screaming down the line. Somewhat inconsistent, strong offshores, and exposed rocks on the inside, but still worth the long paddle across the channel. It was rather frigid with the wind whipping across our backs (and my head without a cap). The following photos capture the essence of the day. Fun surf, few people in the water, idyllic scenery. NZ: when it's on, it's really on!

Island Bay peeler screaming down the line. Taken just before I paddled out.

Scenery off my right shoulder. View of the South Island with snow-covered peaks.

Island Bay community. Houses nestled up in the hills overlooking the break.

Island Bay community backdrop. Idyllic setting with boats moored in a calm bay, people walking their dogs, cyclists riding by, runners coming by just having run a marathon in town this morning.

25:Annihilation Point, Mahia Peninsula, NZ (May 07)

2007-06-09T22:52:00.000+12:00

The following photos were taken while I was at Annihilation point on the Mahia Peninsula near Gisborne in late April/early May. The day started off a bit cold, gray, and rainy with strong cross/offshore winds which created a series of steps on the wave face. But after an hour in the water, the winds magically dropped off, the rain cleared out, and so did the crowd. Next thing I knew, I was surfing perfect right handers with just a few guys in the water. A purely magical New Zealand surf experience!!

Me on a perfectly groomed right hander. Waves and spectacular scenery!

Me setting up for a backside tube. I came in after this wave and a guy on the beach said I completely disappeared from sight only to reemerge further down the line. He said it brought hoots from the crew watching, although I couldn't hear a thing. Nevertheless, nice to have a moment of acknowledgement.

Lee Monroe, Hawaiian living in Sydney. Saw the weather maps predicting solid swell for New Zealand so jumped on a cross-Tasman flight and wound up scoring all-time Annihilation Point!

Another perfect wave peeling down the point--unridden. Not enough guys out to catch everything!

Annihilation Point backdrop from further down the road. Note the few heads in the line-up and a guy riding a perfectly peeling righthander!

24: Wellington Photos

2007-06-02T18:00:00.000+12:00

Some shots from around Wellington city.
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23: Gisborne and Mahia Peninsula April/May 2007

2007-06-02T17:23:00.000+12:00

I know, I know, I've been lax on posting photos and comments. I've been busy and haven't really spent much time on this sort of thing. But I figured I'd take a few precious minutes out to at least post a few shots for your viewing pleasure. The following photos were taken some time between 23 April and 4 May around the Gisborne and Mahia Peninsula area of NZ.

22: Ōku kura takiwā (my beautiful neighborhood)

2007-04-04T21:41:00.000+12:00

Here are some additional photos from a recent walk near my house. This is just on the other side of the hill. The top photo is the local surf spot near my house which is world class on the proper swell and wind direcion. Beautiful surroundings and beautiful late summer/early autumn weather so far....... Click on each photo for the full-size image. (Widen your browser to make the photos fit properly. There should be two in each column).

21: PhD = Pulling hair in Desperation

2007-03-25T19:22:00.000+12:00

Ah the joys of writing research articles! Sitting here in the finishing stages of one, yet my brain seems to be running around like a rat on a wheel! Aaaargh!!

20: Miramar: Eastern Walking Track

2007-03-20T23:50:00.000+12:00

Here are some photos from the Eastern Walking Track taken near my house last week. This is about 10 minutes up the road, offering stunning coastal views out to the south island and Baring Head. Very nice. Enjoy.

19: My First Visitors from the United States

2007-03-20T23:28:00.000+12:00

Visitors from home
It's always great to get visitors from back home. Of course, I can say "home" when I refer to either New Jersey or California. Much to my pleasure, I was greeted with visitors from both homes in February. Legendary local NJ surfer Kevin Morris made a cameo appearance in Wellington in mid-Feb while on honeymoon with his lovely wife Dana. They arrived into Christchurch on the south island, rented a camper van, and drove around the south island and finished off on the north island, passing through Wellington on the way. There's always a sense of belonging when someone from passes through. It was such an odd feeling being all the way in New Zealand and talking about people and places from my childhood. We both surfed for our respective high schools back in the day, so we used to see each other out in the water quite a bit. I think the last time we saw each other was in 1999 when I passed through NJ at the end of my big 1998/99 around the world trip. We were able to get out to the Wairarapa for some surf, but the swell was too big, mixed up, and from the wrong direction. We did manage to squeeze in a surf, but it really didn't turn on the goods like we'd hoped!

Then about a week later, Frank and Marilou Radford from San Diego graced me with their
presence while doing a cruise around New Zealand. There was a stop off in Wellington, so I gave them my number and had them ring me when they were available. Fortunately, my schedule on that day permitted and we were able to meet up for a while. I know them both from San Diego when I worked at Sharp Hospital. Marilou is one of my personal heroes, having undergone a heart transplant around mid-2006 if memory serves me correct. She had a difficult time during her recovery at first, but soon found her groove and proceeded to perform like the champ she is. I've seen a LOT of people with heart transplants come through the program and I will confess, they must've put the heart of a lion in her! We took a scenic drive around the perimeter of Wellington before dropping them off at the cruise ship terminal. A sad goodbye, but then again, in my world, a goodbye is merely what precedes our next meeting!!

18. Sex in the City? Nah, sex in the SHOWER!!

2007-03-20T22:48:00.000+12:00

Ok ok, I've been busy. Gimme a break already!
To all my demanding travelblogue "fans" around the world, I apologize for being so profusely scarce. I've been flat out with a combination of both PhD work and work to keep a roof over my head and food in my mouth. Since my last writing, I have moved out of my previous arrangement in Pukerua Bay due to it being approximately to 30 minutes from town, so in terms of driving time and petrol, it was getting to be a bit of a bear and was wearing me down both physically and mentally. On top of that, my living situation was turning into a major drag on my energy. Let me explain....

The maid called, she said she won't be in today......or ever. Clean up after yourself

You see, my former flatmate, as darling and sweet as she was, never really clued in that her mother and the maid didn't work there, or that maybe it's not not the most considerate gesture to clop around the house at 7am in wooden heels on a hardwood floor, slamming doors when it would have been just as easy to shut it gently. I lost count of how many times I was woken up by unnecessary noise, as if there was nobody else even living there. I was also subjected to the audio version of the bathroom sex show when her and her boyfriend would "have fun" in the shower, either in the morning or at night. This didn't bother me so much except for the fact that it was right up against my bedroom. I entertained the idea of reciprocating with my own brand of noise while she was sleeping, but I figured two wrongs don't make a right.....but two lefts do. I just bided my time and dealt with it knowing I was on my way out. To do anything else was simply too much negative energy to expend.

You mean dried veggie juice on the countertop for 4 days isn't acceptable?

Regarding responsibility, I guess when your parents buy you a house for a few hundred grand, you tend to take things for granted. As I mentioned, she didn't quite clue in that mommy and the maid weren't stopping in for clean up duty. The common area was almost constantly in a state of disarray, looking like a hurricane swept through the place. Dishes sat on the counter and in the sink for days on end. Dried spills on the counter sat there unattended.

If common sense were common, it would be a better world for all of us

The living area where the "office" was looked like a perpetual distaster zone. Now I'll be the first to confess, I get busy and things get a bit disorganized from time to time, but I do get around to giving it a good tidying from time to time. I am also concerned about those around me because I don't think it's fair to leave the common area a mess, simply out of common respect. Unfortunately, this was not reciprocated....at all. As for the privacy of the bedroom, I could care less she wanted to leave chicken carcasses under her pillow. I'm completely indifferent. But when it encroaches upon my ability to have a nice respectable place to call home, then I have to draw the line. And you might ask, "well did you say anything?" The answer is NO. By the time it really got under my skin, I had already signed a lease for my new place in Miramar. I figured that if I had to tell somebody to exercise common courtesy then they simply wouldn't understand. To me, it's common sense, but then if common sense was common, everyone would have it. We should all be so lucky

Miramar

I now live in nice clean two story flat (apartment) in the Miramar part of Wellington just next ot the airport. We get a little airport noise, but it's not so bad. My new flatmate, Stuart, is absolutely PERFECT. He's the epitome of the kind, considerate, clean flatmate we all so desperately desire. He has his PhD already so he understands what I'm going through. He's gainfully employed on contract here in New Zealand from the UK. I couldn't be more pleased. In fact, everything my former flatmate was, he's the diametric polar opposite. And he's much more savvy with computers than I am, so I'm learning heaps of new tricks on the computer, HTML programming tricks, etc. As you can see in the photo, observe the profound beauty of something so simple as a clean kitchen. Observe the conspicuous absence of stains on the countertops. Life is good!

17. Taranaki Peninsula: Coast to Coast Green Felt Pool Table

2007-01-27T21:15:00.000+13:00

This episode documents a quick surf trip up to the Taranaki Peninsula. When it's good...it's really good!

More photos at: http://nzphotoblogue.blogspot.com.
Video at: http://nzvideoblogue.blogspot.com.

SURF TIL IT HURTS
My entire body feels like one big exposed throbbing nerve right now. After scoring a couple days of epic surf along the Taranaki coast, this is anything but a complaint! I like to consider it something of a temporary trophy representing our success in pulling together a last-minute surf trip and then perfectly nailing the conditions just as they all came together in perfect harmony.

SPONTANEOUS MISSION
Bob and I carpooled into the city early Thursday morning, opting to get work out of the way early with hopes that there might be a wave later in the day. He sent me a few emails with internet links to the various satellite images. These show the storm systems as dark orange spots funneling up the Tasman Sea wind tunnel. If you’re savvy enough to interpret the data right, you can score some pretty good waves with relative precision. On the way home, we pulled off at the New World supermarket in Mana for a few things and agreed to pack up our boards and make a spontaneous surf mission of it.

HURRY UP AND WAIT
We hit the road around 5:45 p.m., just amping and bouncing off the walls with all the fervor of fully grown ADD children. Surf stoke has a way of bringing out the animal in all of us. We dealt with the tail end of the day’s rush hour traffic heading up to Paraparaumu. After that, we expected smooth sailing all the way to Taranaki. Yeah right.

As the road wrapped around to Waikanae, the traffic came to an abrupt stall. Bob and I were looking at each other as if to say, “What the *&%#? There can’t be rush hour traffic this far north on a Thursday evening!” We proceeded to inch along for the next several kilometers with no visible end to the traffic in sight. A few ambulances and police cars zipped past us, so we figured it was an accident. We just relaxed a bit and went with the flow, hoping that all parties involved in the wreck were still alive—we’ve had a sharp increase in traffic fatalities lately. By the time we got to the wreck, we could see that a station wagon collided head on with a bus. Fortunately, it looked like everyone was fine. No body bags or blood strewn across the highway.

We stopped off at Himitangi to have a surf before dark, but were greeted with small sloppy surf and a bright yellow warning sign alerting us to blue bottle—Portuguese man-o-war—infestation. We gave it a miss.

SO HOW BAD’S THE FOOD?
Hunger pangs got the better of me after a couple hours on the road. In my surf-induced haste to get out of the house, I didn’t eat enough to fill my hollow leg. I was about to chew Bob’s right arm off just as we pulled into the tiny little town of Patea. We pulled over and asked the shop keeper at the local milk bar if there was anywhere to grab a feed. She told us the pub next door had food up until 10pm. I got a laugh when Bob asked her, “so how bad’s the food?” We glanced over only to realize that the pub was actually a Masonic tavern! One look at this place and we were feeling like we were somewhere in the deep redneck south. Not quite what we were expecting for New Zealand!

YOU BOYS LOST?
We decided to be a little adventurous and poke our heads in anyway. The kitchen had a separate entrance so we walked up to the window to place our order. Eventually, no one showed up so we walked through the crowd to the bar for assistance. I was in a pair of ratty board shorts, a t-shirt, and barefoot. All the locals were sitting around with a beer in one hand and a pool stick in the other. It was like something out of a cliché Hollywood B-movie where the strangers come to town and all the town folk drop what they’re doing, staring and glaring as if to say, “hey, who let THESE outsiders into our town?!” But no one said anything to us. They looked more curious than threatening, this motley crew of white kiwis, Maoris, pacific islanders, and Asian immigrants.

WORLD NEEDS DITCH DIGGERS, TOO
The bartender walked back to the kitchen with us and, sure enough, there was the green-haired church lady waiting to take our order. Bob ordered the Hawaiian burger and I went for the chicken sandwich. I was pretty hungry so I decided to order a half a scoop of chips. On second thought, make that a full scoop. I tried to get the lady to change it over to a “full scoop of chips.” She just looked at us, back down at the paper, back at us again, as if trying to wrap her head around this obviously cumbersome request. So I mouthed it out the way you try to teach a pre-schooler to pronounce words. Not a h-a-l-f a s-c-o-o-p. One w-h-o-l-e scoop. Eventually we convinced her to cross off the ½ and make it one scoop. I thought we were going to have to tear off the sheet of paper for her and make her start over again. But the story doesn’t end there.

10 MINUTES AWAY?
After we ordered, I asked her where the toilets were. She replies, “oh, about 10 minutes.” I’m thinking to myself, “she probably didn’t hear me right.” So I asked her where the toilets were again, to which she replied, “oh, about 10 minutes.” Not quite sure what was going on inside that head of her, but she was a real kiwi treasure.

DON’T UPSET THE NATIVES
Bob ordered us a couple beers while I ventured off to the toilet. Some of the locals immediately called me out on my bare feet. “Hey mate, don’t let the owner see you walking around here without shoes. He’s a real bastard! He’ll kick you out!” So I said, “yeah mate, thanks for the tip, I’ll look out for him.” A daunting challenge considering the bar was full of people and I had no idea what the guy looked like. After relieving myself of a kilo of body weight, I walked back towards the bar and was again reminded by the same local that I “should be wearing shoes.” I obliged and went back to the car to put on a pair of jeans and shoes. I didn’t want to end up on the business end of an angry mob of Patean locals.

When I came back in, Bob had already ordered us up a couple Lion Reds. We stood around for a bit just observing the locals in their natural element. I think there was a bit of reciprocity in that observation, though, as we could tell people were wondering who the obviously lost outsiders were, stumbling into such an obscure hole in the ground.

THE MAGNIFICENT PETER READ
A minute later, a guy comes up to us and says, “how ya goin’ boys? Ya findin’ everything alright?” So I gave him my best disguised Kiwi accent, “yeah mate, how ya goin’?” I fooled him for a few seconds, but he eventually caught on that we weren’t from New Zealand. He introduced himself as Peter Read, owner of the tavern. I told him we decided to stop at his fine establishment for a little grog and grub en route to the fabled surf spots of the Taranaki peninsula. I was asking him if there was anywhere to camp in that area and he said, “aw mate, why don’t you just camp here on our property. The grass is nice and soft.” He took me out to the side of the bar and showed me where we could set up. Then a second later, he says, “no, you know what? Even better! I’ll take you around back to my private back yard! No one will bother you there.” So he showed me his little hidden utopia behind the tavern. Bob and I considered it but decided to pass anyway since the music was still pumping. We were looking for something a little quieter.

DEEP FRIED PARTICLE BOARD
Our food eventually arrived in a most anti-climactic manner. My chicken patty was obviously previously frozen, part organic proteinaceous matter, part sawdust/particle board, dipped in egg batter and bread crumbs and deep fried to a golden brown perfection. It tasted like shit, but I was so hungry, I ate it. Much to our amazement, we did, in fact, receive one whole order of chips.

DECEPTIVE FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Bob and I marveled at how profusely friendly everyone was at the pub. We struck up a conversation with a Maori guy who was obviously not a surfer, but told us that the waves in his town were the best in New Zealand. He looked like he’d had a bit too much grog so we just nodded and agreed with his every word.

SAD GOODBYES
Peter was even nice enough to walk us out to the car! But before disappearing into the night, I refused to leave without a photo of this place! He was good natured about it and agreed to get in the photo. His last words to us were, “you boys stop back some time. I’ll shout (buy) you a couple beers!” I think we were both a little bit misty-eyed and moved by the whole event. Bob and I just shook our heads as we drove off, reflecting on how markedly different the vibe is in country New Zealand compared to the cities.

PUMP YOU UP! OR NOT!
We zipped through a few more microscopic towns before finally hooking a left on some random road we hoped would be remote enough to pitch an inconspicuous tent. The earthy farm scent wafted through the midnight air as we approached the end of the road. There were a couple of cars with their tents already pitched, so we did our best to tread lightly and not make too much noise.

When we pulled out the tent, we realized we’d forgotten the pump to blow up the air mattress! I figured Bob and I had slept on enough airport floors in our day that we’d be able to handle it. We found a sandy patch to set up on, so I thought that would provide just enough “cushion” to get through til morning. I must be getting soft because I will confess it was a rough night of tossing and turning. Plus the ground was just cold enough to suck out any remnants of body heat that remained. I can’t feel too sorry for Bob, though, who enjoyed comparatively peaceful slumbers in his high-tech state of the art Mamut sleeping bag!

The sound of the ocean lulled us to sleep. The amalgamated smell of both farm and ocean really punctuates the New Zealand surfing experience. For that matter, this entire country is one big farm surrounded by water! Bob told me he’d heard some tidbit that no matter where you go in New Zealand, the farthest you can get from the ocean is about 140km! What better place for a surfer to live!

Woke up to the majestic sight of Mount Taranaki off in the distance. It’s a live volcano that must have a history of blowing its top as evidenced by the presence of black volcanic sand all over the place.

MICROSCOPIC WORLD STORY!
In yet another small world story, Bob and I struck up a conversation with the guys camped out next to us. They had obvious English accents so we asked them what part of Mother England they were from. The guy said, “I’m from Bude.”

I said, “Oh, I’ll be damned! I was in Bude back in 1999. I stayed at a guy’s house named Lee Robertson in neighboring Crackington Haven. He was an editor at Surfer’s Path Magazine at the time and we brokered an arrangement for me to write an article while at the little coffee shop on the beach.”

The guy was stunned! He came over and quite literally shook my hand. He said, “My mother OWNS that coffee shop!” And he said he knew Lee, to boot. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch his name. Sorry to disappoint you, Lee. If you know the son of the owner of that coffee shop then that’s who I met. Whew, my world’s getting smaller and smaller!!

REFUGEE FROM GEORGE DUBYA’S PRISON CAMP
The surf was rather marginal at our chosen camp site, so we packed up and hit the road for some of the better known spots. On the way, we stopped off at a coffee shop in the quaint little beachside town of Oakura. The owner of the place is an American ex-pat who looked to be in his 50s. He was originally from Seattle but had been living in Hawaii before making the move to New Zealand three years ago. In short, he also had disagreements with the direction of the country under George Dubya Inc. and decided to do something about it. He pulled roots and put his dollars into the Kiwi economy instead. And his hot chocolate and muffins are pretty good, too!

THE FABLED STENT ROAD
We pulled up a short while later to the famous Stent Road. This place gets a lot of credit internationally for being a world-class wave, so we decided to have a closer look. Much to our amazement, there were only a handful of guys out and another crew of guys in the carpark contemplating it.

Bob and I quickly suited up to beat the rest of the guys out into the water. Less the merrier when it comes to crowds. On our way down across the rocks, five guys exited the water, leaving just one lone girl out in the lineup. The three of us surfed overhead waves by ourselves, but not for long. We all caught a few good waves, enough to entice the guys from the carpark to go for a paddle.

SILVERBACK ALPHA-MALE
By about 20 minutes into the session, there were about five or six of us trading off waves. One Maori surfer, in particular, paddled around the line up like a strutting peacock with his chest sticking out, as if claiming himself alpha-male. He felt like he was entitled to catch a wave and then paddle right back out and past everyone to the peak—a sign of poor manners and disrespect to others politely waiting their turn. Bob and I had a chuckle over this and quickly dubbed him Every Wave Dave (EWD). But that wasn’t enough, we took it one step further and started referring to him as the Silverback Ape Alpha-male.

HEY TOUGH GUY, NICE VOICE!
I will confess, he was a good surfer. Then again, the rest of us were out there holding our own just the same but you didn’t see any of us carrying on like greedy first-graders cutting in front of the line. Finally, I’d had enough, so in my rosiest voice, as he was paddling back to the peak, I stopped him for a chat. I said something to the effect, “Yeah, you’re getting some nice waves out here. You always seem to be in the right position. Are you the Enforcer here? You’re the alpha-male!” I said it in such a friendly voice that I don’t think he caught onto the sarcasm. In fact, Bob and I laughed out loud at the whole thing afterwards because the whole alpha-male comment blew right over his head. We don’t think he understood what we even meant! To make the story even funnier, the guy had a voice like Mike Tyson, that real weak, effeminate voice that is a complete mismatch for the rest of his burly body!

MUPPET SHOW COMES TO STENT ROAD
The rest of the guys were pretty cool. One of them confided to me that when they saw us pull up in the carpark, knowing nothing about us, they just grumbled to each other, “Who are those guys? Aw, just a couple of muppets!” But after they saw us catch a couple waves and realized we had enough skill to be contenders in the line up, then they cooled their jets and welcomed us.

MELLOW LOCALS
We all had a chat at one point or another, asking us where we were from, what we were doing in New Zealand, etc. They were all great guys with easy dispositions, letting us work into the peak without any hassles. A couple of guys looked like a couple of bruisers with their shaved heads, but once we got talking to them, realized they were quite harmless. In fact, they even hooted us into a couple waves.

SHALLOW
Early in the session, Bob asked me if I thought it was shallow. Up to that point, I hadn’t seen anything too critical, so I commented that I thought it was pretty safe. The tide continued to drop during our session creating numerous boils (shallow spots) throughout the line up. After a while, the previously perfect peeling right-hand walls started sectioning up and closing out, so if you took off too far back, the wave would leave you in the dust and buried in the whitewater.

ROCK YOU LIKE A BOULDER
Bearing in mind my previous comments on safety, I took off on one wave in particular just a little bit too far back and was forced to straighten out into the flats. Just as I did, the water literally sucked dry off a big rock completely exposing it. I kicked my board away and quite literally landed ON the rock on my side/right ass cheek, skidding across it and back into deep water! I was shocked! I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I quickly scurried back onto my board and into the paddling position, soon realizing I was surrounded by rocks and boils everywhere. I fortunately skirted through the next couple of waves and back into deeper water. I paddled back out to Bob and was like, “Bobbay, you ain’t nevah gonna believe what just happened to me!”

NO COMPLAINTS
We proceeded to surf Stent Road for three hours, quite literally til it hurt. The tide eventually got too low and the perfect waves we’d had upon first paddling out soon deteriorated to garbled, sectioned out leftovers. Considering the crowd was so small, Bob and I both got out of the water with big grins on our faces! Frankly, days later, I’m still shocked that we got it as good as we did with so few people!

THE CAMPAIGNER
Bobby continued to razz me about my gregarious way of just approaching complete strangers and befriending them. He nicknamed me the “campaigner” because from a distance, I appear to conduct myself like a politician on the campaign trail. I felt compelled to turn it into something of a magic trick. This, of course, begged me to get into character with pre-approach quips such as, “Hi, nice to meet you! Can I count on your vote come election day?” Or, “hello ma’am, that’s a lovely baby. Do you mind if I get a picture of me kissing her forehead?”

STEP ASIDE. LEAVE IT TO THE POLITICIAN
All jokes aside, playing the role of campaigner has been quite helpful in breaking down barriers and allowing us to surf some fun waves in peace. In fact, some of the local guys in the water felt comfortable enough to share the location of some secret surf spots. Short of drawing us a map, they were quite open with the information! In today’s surfing world, surfers are not the type of people who go around spilling the beans about their favorite spots to total strangers!

BAD REP: HIGHER BAR TO JUMP OVER
The other advantage of being a campaigner is regarding the sad state of America’s tattered reputation overseas. No matter what your political views from within the United States, here in New Zealand and around the world, George Bush, President Cheney and their cronies are viewed as imperialist terrorists who have single-handedly upset world peace with their contrived oil war in Iraq. This, however, leaves Americans abroad with a much higher bar to jump over when it comes to making friends. I always have to justify myself before anyone will let their guard down against this potentially evil American. Usually after a few minutes of conversation, they lighten up a bit. The recent bicoastal anti-war demonstrations in the U.S. were quite well-received by the Kiwis and Australians.

CIA AGENT
Bob and I were feeling pretty good after that first session at Stent Road, but it was barely noon and we were ready to keep charging hard while we could. While doing campaign duties after our first session, I was able to get some sensitive information out of a local surfer. He gave us the local scoop for how to get to the fabled waves of Kumera Patch, where to park, etc. Perhaps I should become a CIA agent and move down to Guantanamo to torture a few inmates. If anyone can get sensitive information out of a surfer, then prying it out of a terrorist is a piece of cake!

KUMERA PATCH
We pulled off the main highway down yet another remote farm access road. From there, it’s about a 20 minute walk to Kumera Patch along molten hot volcanic sand down to the point. Good thing Bob and I packed our booties. This coastline is harsh on bare feet!

MOVING WALKWAY
We arrived to the surf spot a while later and noticed only four guys in the water. There was a strong stream running out into the ocean, causing a strong sideways rip current. Perfect. Rather than walk down the point and paddle out where the other guys were, we jumped into the rip and let the current sweep us down into the take off spot—kind of like having a moving walkway do all the work for us!

We proceeded to surf for the next two hours until we were completely spent. After my first wave, a rather long one, I cut out of the wave and started paddling back to the peak. Bob and the last remaining guy seemed to be a mile away! The current was still strong and paddling against it was an exercise in futility. After 10 minutes of digging in and scratching for the peak, I felt like I wasn’t getting any closer! It was like I was paddling in a swimming flume! I did eventually make it back out but I was still exhausted from the first session at Stent Road. This was just further abuse to my body—and I loved it!!

TIME STOOD STILL
Bob and I walked back to the car completely spent. The sun was still strong and high in the sky, beaming down with maximum summer strength. It seemed like an eternity since we woke up that morning. It was like two full days had passed! I commented out loud that it was like time had literally stopped dead in its tracks for us! The living in New Zealand is like that. There’s such a high quality of life here that it’s easy to get lost in it. In fact, just two days ago, International Living Magazine released it’s top countries to live in, with New Zealand pulling a respectable 4th place behind France, Australia, and the Netherlands. And I’m here to tell you, it must have been a close race!

SHOCKING SESSION
Unfortunately, the lulling timeless beauty of New Zealand was short lived and was promptly shocked out of me—literally. I took my wetsuit off and flicked it over the nearby wire fence. I realized I still had zinc oxide sun block smeared all over my face, so I reached over to wipe my face on my wetsuit and was nearly knocked flat on my ass! I felt the most profound shock in my neck, so much that it felt like someone had unleashed a baseball bat on my C7 vertebrae! I stumbled around for a second completely dazed, still unaware of what had just happened. I thought I had tweaked my neck or something. I figured I was getting to that age where things like that happen once in a while. I touched the suit once more but was delivered yet another shock! I soon realized there were two fences and one was electrified!

240 VOLTS OF PURE FUN
A local fisherman, Alan Swain, happened to be nearby and offered me his fiberglass fishing rod to lift my suit off the offending electrified wire. Damn good thing he was there because I had no idea how I was going to get it off the live wire! Alan commented a moment later, “yeah mate, that’s 240 volts you just had shoot through your body. If the current would have hit you just right, it could have stopped your heart.” At least I would have died happy, albeit a cruel irony to a most poignant last surf session.

Alan was nice enough to tell us where Rebel Sports was—he worked there—so we could buy a mattress pump. I wasn’t in the mood to sleep with a rock or log wedged in my back again, so we high-tailed it up to New Plymouth, got some food, cooked and ate in Oakura, and then raced back to the surf before dark.

GRAVEYARDS
We arrived to a surf spot named Graveyards just before dark. By then, most guys were getting out of the water, but the waves were still overhead and reeling down the point. I did my campaigner act on another surfer walking by who promptly gave us the inside scoop on the nearby spots. Bob and I were both sore from the days previous two sessions, so we decided to set up camp and just wait til the morning session—plus my neck was still a bit tweaked from the unexpected shock a few hours earlier.

DEATH WARMED OVER: HOW APPROPRIATE
We found a great little spot next to a stream running out into the ocean. The combined sound of the trickling stream and waves crashing from afar offered up nature’s perfect lullaby. I can honestly say I slept like death warmed over. Bob even commented the following morning that I didn’t move all night. I swear I woke up in the EXACT same position I was when I went to sleep.
PACKED HOUSE
We surfed the following morning, but it was a Saturday and, by then, the swell was no secret. The car park looked like a car dealership with cars and trucks parked everywhere. We paddled out into a bit of a crowd and proceeded to watch a steady procession of guys make our acquaintance. The tide was dropping and the wind was getting stronger, so we eventually decided to stick a fork in it and call it a trip. We checked a handful of spots along the way back to Wellington, but nothing was hitting the reefs quite right.

TIL NEXT TIME
We got home several hours later, both feeling extremely blessed at the shining success of our mission. Wellington isn’t particularly well-known for its surf, so leaving town and driving four hours for the simple joy of riding a wave is always a risk. We both surfed ‘til it hurt, something of a figurative and literal reference to “getting it out of our system” so we could focus on work this week. And God knows, we’ve got plenty of it to hold us over until the next spontaneous surf mission!

16: Tora Tora....Gimme Mora Mora

2007-01-20T22:49:00.000+13:00

Spare rib? I wish.
As some of you may know, I've been dealing with a sore rib for about six months (since July of 06). The onset was idiopathic and I couldn't think of anything overt that I did to cause such pain. As far as I knew, it just came on out of the blue. Around the time it started, the only thing I could think of is that I jarred my ribs while surfing bare-back in late June or early July. I also moved an extremely heavy table by myself right around the same time, but instead of sprouting a few hemmorhoids, perhaps my rib took the brunt of the strain. I really took note of the discomfort one day at the gym. I was pressing a pair of 75-lb dumbbells which, for me, was a good chunk of weight. As I lowered the weights and expanded my ribcage, I could feel a clicking sensation in my ribs. I immediately stopped and called it a day. Something was definitely very wrong and I didn't want to make it worse.

Modern medicine? No thanks. I'll take the medieval blood letting instead.
At first, I thought it was a run of the mill case of costochondritis, so I went to the doc in San Diego, he agreed and gave me a script for some anti-inflammatory meds. I was just happy it was nothing systemic or, God-forbid, a tumor. The most agonizing thing about this pain is that it was located along the costal margin (rib line) smack dab at the very point where my ribs touch my board in the prone paddling position. I sat out many surf sessions when the waves were perfect simply to give it a fair chance to heal. But even after three months the pain was absolutely the same as , I started to wonder if I really had costochondritis at all. Any surf sessions I had were far and few between and always uncomfortable. Simple things like rolling over in bed or twisting in my car to reach for the seatbelt led to a razor sharp stabbing pain.

Pain, no gain.
My rib was still throbbing when I got to New Zealand. Bob and I did a surf trip over to Tora around a week or so after my arrival. I surfed several times but basically just tolerated the pain in order to get out and feed my surfing addiction, not to mention the surf was world class on those days. I don't think this session helped, but all considered, the pain didn't really get much worse after those sessions.

New Zealand, New Doctor
I decided to consult yet another doctor here in New Zealand to reassess my rib and see if they knew anything else my GP in the states didn't. Broken record. Same conclusion. Costochondritis. Gave me a prescription--ok, thanks for nothing.

Slipping Rib Syndrome
But I wasn't satisfied with that. I knew there was something else going on. If it were truly costochondritis, then it would have improved by the six month mark, even a little bit. I got on the Medline database and started searching in detail for every ortho issue related to the ribs. I eventually came across a condition known as "Slipping Rib Syndrome." What is it? Reader's Digest version: Any jolt to the ribs via contact sports or accident can knock the cartilage loose which encases the 8th, 9th, and 10th ribs. Because these ribs are not anchored to the sternum, their support is provided by the costal cartilage. The feeling of SRS is a "clicking sensation", sharp and/or diffuse residual pain along the costal margin, and can be felt by hooking the fingers under the rib line. Well, that described me to the letter.

SRS is similar to costochondritis, but an incorrect diagnosis nonetheless. The more I investigated this topic, I learned that it is VERY commonly misdiagnosed or missed altogether by most doctors. The pain is very real but is somethng that, if unresolved, surgery is the only option. Since the stumping of the previous two doctors, I have since made arrangements with one of the New Zealand Olympic Team sports med doctors. I meet with her on February 9th for a proper evaluation.

Let nature take care of itself
On a positive note, since making the appointment with the sports med doctor, my rib has very mildly improved. Considering I hadn't surfed in two months, a record second only to my knee blow out in 2004, I was ready to get back in the water. Bob and I evaluated the swell prediction based on a few satellite images of a south swell passing under New Zealand. Sure enough, mother nature was doing her dance and kicking up a ridable wave at Tora Tora.

Wairarapa Bound!
Bob, Mom Cheema, and I loaded up my stationwagon (affectionately dubbed Forrest Gump) with our boards, gear, food, etc and ventured out to the Wairarapas for an afternoon surf session. We putted out of Paekakariki at around 9:30 or so and through the wide open countryside, eventually arriving at Tora Reserve just around noon or so. We'd stopped along the way a couple times to snap a picture or two, but mostly enjoyed smooth sailing.

Much to our surprise, there were quite a few guys out surfing already. It didn't really look all that good at first, so we went around the north side of the reserve hoping to catch a few isolated waves. No luck. Nothing. We went back to the Tora main break and suited up to join the crowd.

Fun waves at Tora Reserve. (more at nzphotoblogue)
As I walked out over the rocks and up to waist-deep water, I prayed the rib would not give me any grief. The moment my ribs touched the board, I can honestly say it felt pretty good. The pain was still there, but nothing near as intense as what I'd been previously tolerated. Bob and I proceeded to have a great time catching some fun waves with a rather mellow crew of guys.

Reunion
It was a bit of a reunion of sorts. We ran into an Aussie guy that we met at Tora our last time there. He recognized us right away so we had a bit of a chat and caught up on what'd transpired since our last meeting.

Small world....again
Shortly thereafter, I met another Aussie guy from my other adopted home of Margaret River, Western Australia. We got to chatting so I mentioned the names of some friends of mine in that area. And what do you know, we had some mutual friends in common! I was asking him how Glenn was doing, if he was still ripping up Boat Ramps (surf spot name) when it was big. And Frank, and Alfy, Nathan, etc. It was a reunion of sorts, but more so a nice reminder of how small my world has become from my world travels. It's like everywhere I go I meet people I either know or they're a mutual friend of those I know.

Out there
After a couple surf sessions, we decided to call it a day and head back to "civilization." The Wairarapa region is apparently one of the most remote and isolated spots in all of New Zealand. Let's just say there's no cell phone reception, so if you had an accident or got hit by a shark, good luck calling for an ambulance. Perhaps a satellite phone might work, but who knows how expensive they are?

Alive again
I'm back at home now (obviously) and feeling so satisfied. My rib held up rather well and it gives me hope for getting back out and on the board. I was starting to grow surf-deprived/depressed. I get a little weird when I'm out of the ocean for too long. The salt water has a special way of breathing life back into me! Ah yes, alive again!

15. Update: PhD, Physiology Lab, Australian Brother's Visit

2007-01-14T16:05:00.000+13:00

I can’t really say that anything earth-shattering has happened since my last installment. In a nutshell, I’ve been working at a feverish pace this past week combing the Medline database for some PhD-related review articles and working at setting up the exercise testing lab at Wellness Consultants. Then my fine friend Damon and his always lovely girlfriend Susie were over visiting from Phillip Island, Victoria (Australia) for a couple days.

WORKING HARD OR HARDLY WORKING
Most of New Zealand shut down over the holiday break. Kiwis aren’t like the Yanks where they work their fingers to the bone. Rather, they work hard when they work, and play hard when they play. It seemed like every business office I called up until 8 January was either closed with a recorded voice message saying “call back later” or if a live human being did answer, they were working at half-staff until at least 15 January.

SMOKE AND MIRRORS OF ACADEMIA
I took advantage of this down time and scoured the Medline database for journal publications which will contribute to my PhD review articles. As of this writing, I am quite literally sitting on a 3-inch stack of articles with their usual microscopic print. On a positive note, I am making significant headway in scaling it down and whittling away the extraneous ones I won’t be using. The more I look at academia, the more I see it’s all smoke and mirrors. You can pretty much take any point of view and make it “true” by finding articles with a slanted bias towards your hypothesis. Simple. If only the real world fit into such a neat little box!

BACK IN THE WORK SADDLE
I also started my consulting contract at the Wellness Consultants physiology lab. I’m responsible for getting all the equipment up and running and establishing which testing protocols we’re going to use. And that’s the easy part. Fortunately, from having worked at San Diego State University’s exercise physiology lab, it was all old hat. Calibrating a VO2 analyzer? Easy. But the real kick in the balls is getting the accompanying software programs to cooperate. I’ve spent more time wrestling with the computer than the actual equipment itself! I’ve written more emails to manufacturers and software techs than I can count. This coming week we’re going to start bringing in guinea pig test clients at no charge just to work out some of the glitches and smooth out procedures a bit. In spite of these bumps in the road, I am having a lot of fun with it. It’s good to be back in the saddle and working in a clinical setting again. I expect the coming week to be a productive one with further refinement of our equipment, software, and overall service delivery.

BROTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
For those of you familiar with my previous Australia travelogues, you may remember my good friend and Australian “brother from another mother” Damon. We’ve known each other for close to 10 years now, meeting in San Diego somewhere around 1997. I was always impressed with his previous world travels. He spent time surfing in Indonesian holes in the ground like Java and Nias back in the mid 1980s before the advent of trendy all-inclusive surf camps. The day before leaving for my big around the world trip in 1998, he stopped by with a laundry list of worldwide contacts, places to stay, addresses, phone numbers etc. We bade our farewells at the time, only to meet up three months later on his home turf of Phillip Island, Victoria. Since that visit, I’ve been back to “the rock” several times and was always greeted with a warm welcome of open arms.

GOODBYE TO GOODBYES
My world has grown quite small since I started globetrotting around the world. The word “goodbye” doesn’t really exist in my vocabulary anymore. Usually when the time for goodbyes rolls around, I usually say “well, I won’t say goodbye, I’ll just say “see ya around.” More appropriately phrased, a “goodbye” is merely what precedes our next meeting since I always manage to cross paths with friends again. I feel so incredibly blessed to have had the honor and privilege of both hosting friends from around the world and visiting them in their respective elements on their turf. It’s part of the karmic traveler’s code. Break it and be banished to an eternity in traveler’s hell—i.e., Club Med.

PAY IT BACK, PAY IT FORWARD
I was able to pay back Damon’s hospitality by hosting him in both San Diego and New Zealand. He passed through SD for a couple weeks in the summer of 2000 while en route to the south of France. On this occasion, he was on his way to Tahiti for something like his 50th time. His longtime girlfriend, Susie, decided to come along for the New Zealand leg of the trip, so they rented a car in Auckland and made a big loop of the North Island, eventually passing through my new hometown of Pukerua Bay.

CAN'T TAKE THE HEAT? DON'T GO TO AUSTRALIA
Damon’s kind of like the older brother I never had. He’s an all-around good Aussie with a refined sense of humor and an uncanny quick-witted ability to “take the piss” (tease) like no other. It’s all good natured razzing, though. I'm sure if we'd grown up together in the same house he'd have nearly drowned or choked me a few times in fun. In the Aussie culture, if they like you, they’ll tease you to tears. If you’ve got a soft shell and you can’t take a joke, then eliminate Australia from your travel itinerary ‘cause they’ll eat you alive. The irony is, if the Aussies don’t like you, then they’ll probably just ignore you. So if you’re copping heat, just count your blessings, take it in stride, and be glad they like you!

TAKE THE WEATHER WITH YOU
Fortunately, the temperamental Wellington weather cooperated for their brief visit, granting us hot and humid days with just an occasional drizzle keep things in check. Since Australia’s been suffering from incessant heat and wild fires, we joked that they’d brought the hot weather with them. It's clearly obvious so far that I didn't bring the San Diego weather with me!

Crews of Kiwi firefighters went over to Australia to help fight the wild fires in New South Wales. They were lucky to make it back with their lives. I'm sure they don't get much experience other than the occasional house or barbecue fire. In New Zealand, you’d have a hard time lighting a campfire given the thick verdant surroundings.

A FREEWAY RUNS THROUGH IT
We got out for a walk from Paraparaumu Beach up to Waikanae and were amused by the presence of cars zipping down the beach! Apparently, in New Zealand, it’s legal to drive on the beach, and I don’t think you need any special permit to do so. Up at Waipapakari’s Ninety Mile Beach, the sand is considered a freeway and is a viable option for north or south bound travel. Might not be a good place to bury yourself in the sand and fall asleep.

GOOD TIMING
Damon and Susie left yesterday for the return trip to Auckland, and just in time, too. The blustery weather decided to make another cameo appearance. Today we’re graced with beautiful overcast skies and intermittent drizzle squalls. Fortunately, the air temperatures are cooperating and I’m no longer sitting here bundled up in my winter coat with a blanket wrapped around me.

CRUEL IRONY
Last night, I drove into the city for a live salsa event at the Wellington Botanical Gardens. It was slated to start at 7pm, but within 30 minutes of showtime, the rain started coming down in buckets, forcing the organizers to cancel the show. About 30 minutes later, the weather cleared for the rest of the night, but by then it was too late. I later met up with Andria, my little compañera Mexicana from Mexico City and we made a showing at Latinos for a bit of salsa dancing. It was a bit anti-climactic for what I was expecting, but we managed to salvage the night the best we could.

14. Pukerua to Plimmerton Hike--Ignorance is Bliss; Prior Knowledge is Idiocy

2007-01-01T23:47:00.000+13:00

Click on http://nzphotoblogue.blogspot.com for all Pukerua to Plimmerton pictures and http://nzvideoblogue.blogspot.com for video.

The Antarctic blasts recently flogging the Kapiti Coast backed off just enough to entice me to take an afternoon walk down to the Wairaka Reserve. I was only planning on heading down for an hour or so, blow off some steam, get some fresh air, and take in the always spectacular scenery. I’ve done the hike numerous times but had never gone around the headland towards Plimmerton. I’ve been curious, but figured it was too far for what one might consider an afternoon stroll…..until today.

PERSPECTIVE: AERIAL VIEW FROM 30,113 FEET
I decided I’d passed the point of no return after two hours of scrambling and rock-dancing my way across the rugged, stony beach. There’s something about the Wairaka Reserve where distances that seem deceptively close are actually a full kilometer away. With every headland I turned, I expected to see the Plimmerton infrastructure come into view. Instead I was met with yet another bare headland.

ANOTHER KICK IN THE BALLS
I should have known better, but the elements still managed to slip one under the radar and give me a spinning back kick square in the balls—a meteorological “rope-a-dope" if you please. When I started at 3pm it was somewhat warm, so I just wore a pair of shorts, sweatshirt, and running shoes. The Pukerua Bay side of the reserve was pleasant, but soon turned into a frigid gale-force lashing as I approached the south-facing Plimmerton Quarry. I had no idea there was even a quarry out on the point. Fortunately, it’s a holiday so I didn’t have to dodge any heavy earth-moving equipment.

RABID SEAGULLS
My motor acuity began to falter. I could feel both hunger and thirst setting in after the three hour mark. I figured I’d buy something to eat when I arrived in Plimmerton, but soon realized I’d left my wallet at home, not to mention it was after 6pm on a public holiday. Instead of vultures hovering overhead excitedly licking their chops and praying for my early demise, I was met with a few seagulls rabidly cooing overhead. They swooped down a couple times narrowly missing my head. I’m not sure if they were trying to protect a nest or maybe they thought I was a thief trying to jump their claim on a stash of clams.

JUST WARMIN' UP, MATE!
I eventually made it to Plimmerton—beaten and tired, but not broken. I passed a number of families on the beach, bundled in their best winter gear, enjoying the last hours of sunlight on this first day of 2007. I stopped off to say hello to some people sitting in their front yard. I asked if there was a direct foot trail back to Pukerua Bay. “Ya best bet is to take Airlie Road, but that’s another 7km from here.” I smugly joked that I’d already done that much for a warm-up, to which they quipped, “aw yeah? well good onya mate.”

It felt good to be back on level terra firma compared to balancing and hobbling across soccer ball sized rocks. I could feel a noticeable increase in my speed and efficiency, even breaking into a mild jog just to generate a little body heat. I hoofed it on Moana Road for a short while, hooking left at the Plimmerton Boating Club and onto a steeply ascending Airlie Road. Considering the exhausted state of my legs at that moment, I groaned when I saw the sign indicating 3km of winding road—uphill. My fingers were so cold that I started to lose my small muscle coordination and my ability to work the small buttons on my digital camera. I’m just impressed the photos turned out at all due to how bad I was shivering.

ENDLESS WINTER - COLD CLIMATE TROPICAL PARADISE
The region bisected by Airlie Road is like its own little biosphere. It’s well-protected from the wind, but the temperatures remain cool due to thick foliage that envelopes it. As I continued my climb, the olfactory amalgam of rock and salt air gave way to a very earthy, almost “mulchy” fragrance, much like the inside of a greenhouse. Even though I’ve been in New Zealand for a month and a half already, I still felt the need to take photos of the native flora—and time to smell the ferns! The longer I’m in New Zealand, the more I consider it something of a cold climate tropical paradise, equally as verdant but without the heat and humidity. Endless summer? Bah! More like endless winter!

I soon figured out for myself that Airlie Road is no place for walkers. The absence of any significant shoulder along with tight hairpin turns makes for a use-at-your-own-risk proposition. I walked against traffic so I could see oncoming cars. On one occasion in particular, it saved me from getting mowed down by two boy-racers on their motorbikes. As I approached a blind turn, I could hear a distant buzz approaching. I physically climbed up onto the embankment anticipating their arrival. Good thing I did, too, because they came ripping around the turn hugging the edge with, no joke, not more than a foot of room to spare. Had I remained on the bitumen, I think I would have either been run over or caused them to swerve and crash.

SKID MARK ON THE UNDERPANTS OF SOCIETY
I noticed numerous skid marks around all the sharp turns. I tried to determine which car was coming from which direction and where the stopping point was. Memorial crosses are placed at various sites all over New Zealand, but amazingly, I didn’t see a single cross on Airlie Road. This comes as a particular shock to me after seeing numerous cars doing their best Michael Schumacher impression around the turns.

WHENUA TAPU CREMATORIUM: YOU KILL 'EM, WE GRILL 'EM
With respect to the above, I found it morbidly ironic that the Whenua Tapu Cemetery and Crematorium is located—yes, you guessed it—on Airlie Road. I noticed that my cell phone had very little signal in this area, so any chance of getting an ambulance there in an expeditious manner would be slim to none. You might not survive the crash, but at least they won’t have to cart you too far to burn or bury you.

ARE WE THERE YET?
The solitude of my earthy Eden-like sanctuary soon gave way to the penetrating cacophonic drone of the motorway. I felt a sense of relief because it was getting progressively darker and colder, and I was still dressed in shorts and a sweatshirt. But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I came across a sign for the Ara Harakeke trail. Still another 2.2 km to go. Damn! At that point, though, I just put my head down and charged. It was about 7:45pm, a full 4¾ hours since I started. While I enjoyed the journey, I was admittedly tired and hungry. I’d only eaten a bowl of yogurt with a banana before I left, and I’m pretty sure my body combusted that after the first half-hour.

If ignorance is bliss, then I'm pretty sure prior knowledge constitutes pure idiocy. I knew how far it was to drive from Pukerua Bay to Plimmerton via the main motorway, but in a car it all goes so quick. I figured it couldn’t be that bad to do the whole thing as a loop. On my previous hikes in the Wairaka Reserve, I’d often wondered what was around the corner and over the hill. Well, today my adventurous spirit and curiosity overcame my ignorance and added to my vast knowledge base of the Kapiti Coast. After searching online a bit, I estimate the total circular distance to be approximately 16 kilometers—just about 10 miles. I think the next time I go for an hour-long hike, maybe I’ll pack a couple liters of water and some snack bars just in case.

13. Waikanae Beach: Blue-Bottles and Blo-Karts (more photos on nzphotoblogue)

2006-12-30T18:01:00.000+13:00

Aaaaah yes, the blustery weather finally broke and mother nature granted us a half-day reprieve from the monsoonal punishment of late. The high barometric pressure associated with sunny blue skies has a very positive effect on my mood. I actually woke up early this morning and felt amped and excited, ready to take on the world, just itching to get outside and make the most of the day.

I decided to take a drive up north to Waikanae Beach. I'd heard rumors that it was a nice place to get outside and take a walk.....I just had to figure out how to get there first. I set out on my journey armed with a primitive map from the local rag called the Kapiti phone directory. That helped out a bit but it was more my sense of direction and position of the ocean that got me where I was going. A few typical man-style wrong turns along the way and an innate reluctance to ask for directions probably cost me a liter or two of petrol, but it's not the destination, it's the journey (so "they" say...whoever "they" are).

BLO-KARTS
I parked at the eastern end of the Kapiti Reserve and walked north. There were quite a few kite surfers having a go of it, along with several people on what are called "blo-karts" which is basically a little dune-buggy with a sail attached to it. Waikanae is DEFINITELY the place for it considering how wide the beach is on a low tide. I spoke to a guy who was supervising his two kids on blo-karts and he told me they've been known to clock speeds of over 90km/h (55mph)! With speeds like that I asked if they came with brakes and he just smiled and said, "nah mate, ya just turn into the wind and loosen the sail." They're quite advanced really. They even come with little detachable side cars for putting your dog, cat, or significant other. They sell them at a local store in Porirua called Big Boys Toys. Even though it's categorized as a "toy," if you want one, it will set you back about $3000 NZD (~$2100 USD).

BLUE-BOTTLES (MINI PORTUGUESE MAN-O-WAR)
As I kept walking, I also noticed the presence of blue-bottle jellyfish washed up and scattered all over the beach. If you're not familiar with the blue-bottles, keep it that way. The big fat and frumpy jellyfish you see in the states are generally benign compared these things. The best short description is that it's a miniature Portuguese Man-of-War. Although they're blue in color, when they're floating out in the water, for some reason you just don't see them. They're not invisible, but just translucent enough to slip below the radar and give you a good sting before you even know what's hit you.

I was the unfortunate recipient of a blue-bottle sting while surfing Cave Rock just outside of Durban, South Africa back in 1999. I never even saw the thing. I was paddling back out after a catching a wave and was suddenly struck by the most painful burning sensation on my arm. My armpit glands started to swell so that worried me a bit. I knew about blue-bottles from my time in Australia, had heard all kinds of stories, but had somehow always successfully avoided them. I figured that's what it was, so I immediately got out of the water and ran to the house of a friend of the family where I was staying. She allowed me to soak my wounded paw in water as hot as I could handle which, eventually, did provide a dulling of the pain. The surf was actually very good on that day so I paddled back out for a few more waves, but cautiously neurotic thereafter.

The scary thing about blue-bottles is that the toxin secreted by their tentacles is about 75% as powerful as cobra venom. In severe cases, particularly those who experience an allergic reaction, it can send a victim into shock and interfere with the normal function of the heart and lungs. I wasn't particularly concerned that I was going to die, but it did leave a nasty red trail-like welt where the tentacle had wrapped around my arm.

Speaking of tentacles, they don't have to be attached to the blue-bottle to do their dirty work. In the case of a surfing beach, breaking waves rip the tentacles off the body and leave them haplessly floating, lying in wait for the next unfortunate soul to come along. I've heard cases of people accidentally ingesting them. Just as their mouths opened up, a wave washed in an errant tentacle causing a major reaction in the soft lining of the throat. In short, don't swallow blue-bottle tentacles...that would be bad.

LITTLE BIT OF SOMETHING IS BETTER THAN A WHOLE LOT OF NOTHING
Unfortunately, the spectacular weather we had packed its bags and made different arrangements. On the short drive home, our short-lived blue skies turned to dark gray clouds which quickly devolved to rain--warm rain, at least. But I'm not complaining: a little bit of something's better than a whole lot of nothing. Considering we've just come out of a week straight of winter-style weather, I feel good knowing I made the most of our noteworthy half-day of sun!

12. Six Degrees of Unification

2006-12-28T13:36:00.000+13:00

IT’S ALL IN HOW YOU LOOK AT IT
Life is all a matter of perspective. How you look at things, well, that’s your only reality. In my case, I ‘could’ look at the previous five days of blustery cold, wind, and rain and let it ruin my mood. Or I can just carry my own brand of sunshine on the inside and focus on how wonderfully clean the air is and how the rain has thoroughly washed away all the dust and grime five times over. New Zealand is, after all, clean and green for a reason.

I thought I would take advantage of the lovely ‘summer’ weather and reflect upon the convoluted turn of events leading up to this point. Before leaving San Diego for New Zealand, I hustled a bit and made some contacts on the ground here in Wellington. I put myself in touch with a manager at the City Fitness health chain, not so much to beg for a job, but more so just to feel things out and get a pulse on the fitness industry in this region. I did have a productive hour-long meeting with him and did manage to arrange for me to come in and do some lectures for his trainers.

ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL
For those of you that know me well, you know that wherever I go, I have a way of just diving right into the thick of things and saying hello to everyone—much like a politician on the campaign trail, except without the kissing babies part. Hello translates to introductions, introductions translate to conversation, and conversation translates to limitless possibilities. In my previous solo world travels, no matter where I went or which country I found myself, I always went out of my way to offer a simple hello and a handshake. In fact, many of the friendships I developed back in those days still endure up to the point of this writing.

SIX DEGREES OF UNIFICATION
My second week in New Zealand was no different. I decided to make a cameo appearance at Latinos, the local Wellington salsa club, just to check out the scene and see who I might meet. A minute or two after I arrived, I struck up a conversation with Miguel and his wife. He turned out to be Brazilian so we rapped a bit in Portuguese and a little in Spanish. He then introduced me to a couple of Chileans and a guy from Argentina. That led to a few more introductions, until I eventually wound up dancing with the alpha female salsa instructor. We had a great dance together and then moved to the side of the dance floor to talk for a bit. She asked me what I did for a living to which I responded, ‘oh, I’m an exercise physiologist.’ She looked at me and said, ‘oh, you’re joking. I’ve gotta introduce you to Brendan, the DJ. He’s an exercise physiologist, too.’

Brendan was busy manning the music, but we were able to speak for a few minutes. He told me he had a physiology lab he was interested in getting off the ground and that he was very interested in meeting with me. We arranged a meeting at his facility where he later informed me he’d been searching for over six months for someone of my qualifications! We hashed out the details of the arrangement and he offered me a contract soon after. I begin on January 8th—not bad for the first night out salsa dancing!

LOOKING FORWARD
This is an ideal situation because the studio is very close to the university where I’ll be running my doctoral research investigation. Once things are under way and moving ahead full-steam, I will likely move either closer to the city or into the city. I love living in this monster house up in Pukerua Bay, but I also know that it’s not practical to be so far away. Just the cost of petrol alone will kill me, while living in the city will be a short bus ride home. I’m all about public transit wherever possible.

For the here and now, in spite of the punishing weather, I am completely happy and focusing on all the wonderful things I have in front of me. I’m hoping to make a quick trip over to Sydney in January to visit some dear friends. I know once I’m busy with the lab and my investigation that it could be snowing and it wouldn’t matter much. Unless, of course, I have to walk through a meter of snow on the beach to go for a surf!

11. United Nations Christmas Party--Kiwi Style

2006-12-25T20:08:00.000+13:00

THE UNITED NATIONS CHRISTMAS PARTY
I can’t say that I’m particularly inspired to write at this moment considering I only "slept" three and ½ hours this morning. Any remote semblance of linguistic eloquence comes under much duress after last night’s United Nations Christmas party—it’s confusing and convoluted, so try your best to follow.

The lovely and talented Andria from Mexico City invited me to a Chilean fiesta de Nochebuena (Xmas eve to gringos). I arrived at her house at 8:30pm and was greeted at the door by Andria and Yoshi (from Japan). I walked in and then sat down for a chat with Honey and Faad, both refugees from war-torn Somalia, but who’d lived in Kenya and Tanzania before settling in New Zealand. Andria’s two Chilean flatmates showed up soon thereafter.

By 10 pm we left for the party in Mt. Cook with a pit stop at Pak n’ Save supermarket for a few things. The store was closed when we arrived, but the Chileans knew a Bolivian guy that worked there, so they were still able to get the requisite party supplies. We traveled in caravan to the party, carefully traversing a serpent torsadé of narrow roads until we arrived high atop the city.
SALSA: LA MÚSICA MAS ALEGRE DEL MUNDO
The minute I walked in, I felt right at home, what with some Dominican bachata playing on the stereo. I think we had nearly every continent besides Antarctica represented. Our little United Nations convention was comprised of one Mexican, one Japanese girl, one Bolivian, five Chileans, two Bulgarians, three Somalis, two Americans, and even a lone New Zealander—ironic as that was being in New Zealand.

I brought my iPod and Andria brought along her computer speakers, just in case. I soon unleashed a fury of salsa music on the crowd which succeeded in getting everyone up on their feet and dancing within a few minutes. The carpeting made spins a little difficult as did the food table nearby, but we managed to work out the glitches and turn it into a full-blown dance floor.

MAKE WINE, NOT WAR!
At one point, I actually paused for a moment to observe the joy in everyone’s facial expressions. I marveled at how eight different nations from every corner of the world can get along in such perfect harmony, yet the “real” United Nations (more like the Untied Nations) never seems to be able to agree on anything. The incongruence between the two can be explained by one thing: alcohol. While I think alcohol is probably one of the most destructive substances known to man for a plethora of reasons, I now trumpet its noteworthy benefit in addressing international discord. I posit the notion that alcohol should be served at the United Nations in both New York and Geneva. Make every day Christmas. Ten cups of holiday cheer for everyone—mandatory. Get ‘em all liquored up and watch Iran, Israel, North Korea, and the United States hug it out. I can hear them now, “aw shucks Ahmad, you’re not so bad after all! Yeah, Xiang Ching, I like you a lot better after a few drinks! So what was it we were bickering about anyway?” And in a final gesture of camaraderie and team-building, the Mexican representative wearing a traditional charro (tall hat), whistle in mouth, gets up with a bottle of Jose Cuervo tequila and goes around serving up poppers* to unsuspecting members. I have a new slogan for the UN: Make wine, not war!

GONNA PARTY LIKE IT'S 2999
Four a.m. arrived without notice. Time had zipped by and I soon found the weight of my eyelids increasing by the minute. But that was just me. Everyone else was still going full-steam. Am I really getting that old that I can’t keep up with the best of them anymore? I had to wait for a ride home since my car was still at Andria’s house in Newtown.

We eventually made it back to her house at 5:00 just as the sun was pushing through the clouds to the east. They kindly set me up on the fold-out futon in the living room. This was perfect until about 5:30 when one of her jolly Chilean flatmates arrived home by taxi, cigarette in hand, partying like it was 2999. I wasn’t particularly fussed by this except for the fact I was now trying to get some sleep. My thoughtful and considerate coworker Jacques Rousseau had previously invited me to come to his house at 11 a.m. for Christmas brunch with his family. Doing the math, that didn’t leave much time to get any meaningful REM sleep. A minute or two later, the stereo roared to life. I liked the song, actually, but that wasn’t quite the opportune moment for it. I couldn’t get mad though since he was nice enough to offer me a Tui beer, which I gracefully declined, thanks anyway.

For some reason, in spite of my exhausted state, I was no longer sleepy. Sleepy happened a long time ago, somewhere around 10pm, right about when we arrived at the party. My circadian rhythm had done a complete cycle on my blood biochemistry and was now telling me, “well, sorry mate, ya had your chance to sleep and you missed it.” The music was still blasting from upstairs so I decided it would be better to just pack up my things and hit the road back home to Pukerua Bay.

DON’T BE ALARMED
I arrived home shortly after 6:00, went to bed at 6:30, and woke up at 10—well, sort of. There’s something odd with the human body. It has a built-in self-preservation defense mechanism to counteract irritating alarm clocks. Maybe it’s just me, I don’t know. But when my body’s not ready to wake up, it has some magical way of incorporating the most neurotoxic alarm sound into the most harmonious, melodic soundtrack for whatever dream happens to be occupying my head at that moment. Only on this occasion, my defense mechanism failed miserably and I woke up on time.

SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO THE ROUSSEAU FAMILY
I made it to Jacques’ beautiful Tawa home just south of Porirua at around 11. I immediately felt compelled to tell him the aforementioned story and that I was running on nothing more than a few petrol vapors. I thought it was only fitting because I didn’t want him to think that my incessant yawning was a sign of boredom. The family was positively delightful and the food absolutely wonderful. Being so far away from my own family, I am grateful to everyone that extended an open invitation for inclusion in holiday gatherings. A special thank you goes out to the Rousseau family for welcoming me to both their home and New Zealand during this special time of year. My hat’s off to you all! It meant the world to me!!

*a popper is when they tilt your head back and pour the tequila directly down your throat

10. Whale Tale (Meanwhile, back in San Diego...)

2006-12-22T18:16:00.001+13:00

I received a rather interesting email this morning from San Diego. Dan, a surf buddy of mine and former next door neighbor in Mission Beach, shared this account of his brush with greatness. Thought it might be a nice tale to share.....

_______________________________________________________
Hey man, I was out surfing today in front of Kingston catching a few lefties. There were two other guys out about 60ft away from me to the south, one of these guys who I learned later was named Carlos, he happened to have his girlfriend on the beach taking pictures. Anyway, as I had just paddled back out to the lineup and sat up on my board for a few waiting for the next set, I heard a splash behind me and felt a small wave bounce off my back and at the same time Carlos was trying to get my attention and pointing at me or just behind me. Immediately, and before I could look over my shoulder and see what it was, I noticed beneath me and my board was what I thought was a dolphin directly below, moving away from my line of sight, well, the dolphin kept getting longer and larger and longer and larger from nose to tail there just was no tail!!! It kept going on and on!!! (sort of like a scene from Star Wars when they're filming the belly of the mother ship up close and the whole of it's enormity goes by forever and ever, actually no, I think Mel Brooks did this in Space Balls to a much funnier degree, anyway....) So, a "dolphin" it was not! Furthermore, I was being buffeted by the water boils that is was creating as it swam right beneath me! "What the?" Then I saw one of it's flippers as it rolled and flapped it's wings through the water only a few feet below my own. Then what seemed like a full minute (think Space Balls scene) and after a few "HOLY *#&@s" and all the while trying to lift my feet up as close to the surface as possible in order to try and prevent accidental ride on it's back and/or possibly losing a leg to Mr. Whitey!!! And finally, finally!!! A horizontal tail fin!!! Ahhh, Yes!!!!!!! "It's a Baby Whale!!!" I can breathe now. Really no joking!!!, Carlos later told me that it spy hopped (placed it's head out of the water for a look) right behind me! I am hoping that Carlos' girlfriend on the beach has a few photos of the whale. At birth, gray whales are about 15ft long, so maybe this one was 18ft. maybe 20ft? It was one huge mother ship!!!
Anyway, a Whale of a story! And I caught a few nice waves too. I'll try and get some photos.
Dan

9. First Full Day of Summer: Not Like You Could Tell

2006-12-22T09:25:00.000+13:00

21 December 2006

Yesterday marked the first full day of summer in the southern hemisphere, although it came and went without much more than a passing glance by most kiwi observers. I woke to a symphonic percussion of rain on our tin roof, this eventually clearing and giving way to partially sunny skies, wind, wind, and more wind.

I did a bit of work from home and then went out for a walk to run some errands and squeeze a little exercise into the schedule. I lasted about one minute and immediately had to return to put one some warm clothes. Air temps were a balmy 13 or 14 degrees (56-58F) and felt even colder with the wind chill factor. I did eventually warm up a bit after stoking the metabolic furnace with a trip down to Pukerua Beach.

I confess, though, the kiwis are a hardy lot. Rain, wind, cold, nothing seems to phase them. There were still plenty of people on the beach, enjoying as if it were a steamy summer afternoon. You could scarcely tell the difference if not for the conspicuous showing of winter garb.

In spite of the cool temperatures, I can say there's still something very appealing about summertime NZ. You don't have the ugly, smoggy summertime pollution inversion layer often seen in some major cities. The rain washes away all the dust and grime while the wind keeps the air fresh and fragrant. I admit, I'm still a bit thin blooded having come from a warm climate, but if I can just get myself mentally back to how I used to be while living in New Jersey, I think I'll be fine. I remember walking across the beach through knee-deep snow just to go for a surf, paddling by floating ice chunks, with air temperatures in the negative God-only-knows with the wind chill. By comparison, I'm living in a tropical island paradise!

Last night, I happened to flick on the tele to have a look at one of our four channels we receive without cable. Lo and behold, we get Fox News here, the official media outlet of the Republican National Party. Aside from the usless partisan conservative tirades, I did find the weather segment quite entertaining, and about the only part I could tell that was impermeable to a right-wing spin by the White House. Besides the blizzard gripping Colorado, I could see that the rest of the country, on the first day of winter, was actually as warm or warmer than our summer weather here in the Wellington region! Looks like El Niño's at it again. Gonna spank that little bastard as soon as I get my hands on him!!

8: Musical Houses: Paekakariki to Pukerua Bay

2006-12-18T13:52:00.000+13:00

25 November to 1 December 2006

Paekakariki to Pukerua Bay

Note: if photos fail to load properly, resize your browser to make it either wider or narrower until they fit flush within the text.

MUSICAL HOUSES
For all intents and purposes, I’ve been homeless since August 15th. The new Nazi property owners that took over our palatial ocean front estate on the boardwalk in San Diego booted us out under the guise of “renovating” and reselling each of the four units as condos. But karma has a way of avenging even the savviest of real estate moguls. The Southern California housing market took a dip and essentially left the company with an overstock of overpriced property nobody wanted, not even on ocean front. So they did a little work on the wiring, slapped some paint on the walls, and sold them off as is. Jerks.

SPECIAL THANKS TO MY HOSTS
My trusted friend Pablo Romo graciously opened his home and took me in for a few months. I stayed with him until I left for New Zealand on November 14th, at which time I joined the ranks of the homeless once again.

When I arrived in New Zealand, my esteemed friend and colleague Bob Cheema and his fiancée Verena took pity on me and let me camp out in their spare bedroom. This was only a temporary situation, though, because Mom and Sister Cheema—as I like to call them—were on their way to New Zealand for a holiday visit. Space was going to be an issue and I needed to hustle and get a more permanent, stable living arrangement.

DUNGEONMATES
I scoured the newspaper and online flatmate ads, borrowing Bob’s truck to view the properties. Bob and Verena warned me that Wellington is notorious for grungy, dilapidated accommodations, but I had to see it with my own eyes. One after another, I found places were either cold, dark, and dirty or the existing tenants were too young and immature (as evidenced by the stacked “Dish-henge” in the kitchen). Somehow the thought of living in a place with mix and match furniture and a bong standing up in the corner didn’t sit well with me. I quickly grew more impatient and frustrated with each successive viewing. More often than not, the ads were deceptive and not accurately reflective of the image I’d envisioned.

A day or two before Mom Cheema arrived, I returned from the house hunt exhausted and exasperated, wondering how this was all going to pan out if I didn’t find something soon. Bob and Verena’s flatmate, Barbara, had an idea. She phoned Shar and Ric, some friendly neighbors down the street, knowing they often host international visitors from a variety of environmental charities. Barbara explained our impending packed perch predicament on the Paekakariki Parade and, for a fair and equitable price, they agreed to take me in for up to a month. Done. I left a few suitcases at the house, took what I needed, then walked 200 meters down to the next stop on my magical musical house tour.

SHAR AND RIC
I like to think I’ve developed a rather advanced bullshit detector from my extensive world travels. Within a minute, I could tell Shar and Ric were two of the kindest, friendliest Kiwis I could ever meet. They make a beautiful home on the ocean front in Paekakariki, shared with two gregarious labrador retrievers. It’s an idyllic life in this artsy little community. It’s safe enough that they don’t even feel compelled to lock their doors—on the house or car! In fact, Ric drives up, turns off the car, and leaves the keys in the ignition with the windows rolled down. Good luck trying that anywhere else on Earth in this day and age!

I told them up front that I had no intention of squatting on them for several months. We agreed to take it one week at a time until I found somewhere else to my liking. I expressed my gratitude but confessed that this bee’s been homeless and hovering for over three months and was ready to have a hive of his own.

WINE AND POLITICS: A NOT SO EXPLOSIVE MIX
I received a warm welcome the first night with a kind offer of food and drink. I’d arrived on a full stomach, so I opted for the fermented red grape juice instead. Shar and Ric were entertaining Vanessa, a former next door neighbor originally from Birmingham, England who’d since moved on to Brisbane, Australia with her family and was back in Wellington for a work conference. It didn’t take long for the Merlot to kick in and grease the wheels of political discussion. Vanessa took great pleasure in having a few digs at “resident” George Dubya, expecting that I, as an American, might make some feeble attempt at defending the half-baked, election-stealing mongrel. That part of her diatribe ended when I categorically agreed with every point she made. Ric finally decided to wind down the night by serving up a bottle of port. By the time it was all over, Vanessa and I were exchanging email addresses and phone numbers. “You’re not such a bad Yank after all,” she later quipped.

I soon realized leaving this little utopia would be more difficult than I thought. Maggie and Molly started tugging on my heart strings the minute I walked in the door. Their two retrievers reminded me so much of our family dog, Rusty, not so much in terms of looks, but in their behavior. I had to laugh when Shar and Ric told me not to leave anything fragile on the coffee table, lest wagging tails send it plummeting to a quick death. They were so excited to have an extra set of hands to pet them to their hearts’ content. But like all good retrievers, they have a reverse Pavlovian technique for conditioning humans to attend to their every whim.

KIWI DANCE PARTNER
Retrievers have a way of assuming human-like attributes. Put dried Purina in front of them and watch it sit there. They’ll look up at you as if to say in a posh British accent, “Hey, what’s this? You expect me to eat this dried crap? Where’s my filet mignon, steamed carrot medallions, and glass of chardonnay?” They expect to be let out at will, run on the beach whenever the mood strikes, and sleep in the same bed with their owners.

Molly was the more dominant of the two and was always jumping up on me trying to prove her mettle by walking on two legs. I decided to indulge her human-like propensities by teaching her a few salsa moves. As you can see in the picture, she’s actually quite a skilled dancer. Note the impeccable frame she maintains as I lead her around the kitchen. Her left paw is properly placed with meticulous care on my right shoulder and her right paw extended to just the right angle. I think I see a long and illustrious career for her on the dance circuit.

Though I was enjoying my time at Shar and Ric’s house, I continued to view more properties. I’d recently bought Forrest, my beloved Toyota Corolla (see post #7), so I had free reign to roam about in search of a new roost without having to borrow Bob’s truck. In short, finding a place continued to be a royal bitch and I was starting to wonder if a single respectable rental property existed in Wellington.

PUKERUA BAY
I answered an ad in the local Kapiti Observer newspaper for a proper house in Pukerua Bay. A lovely lass named Rachel had just purchased the house and was slated to move in the coming weekend. I took one look at it and pretty much agreed on the spot to move in. It’s a monster house with spectacular panoramic views of Pukerua Bay and Paekakariki. It’s got plenty of off-street parking up front and a massive backyard with a storage shed. It’s east facing so it gets plenty of morning sun, but unfortunately after 5pm the sun falls over the mountain and then it turns into an icebox. But all things considered, that’s a non-issue in comparison to everything else I’d previously viewed. (See the Google Earth images at http://nzphotoblogue.blogspot.com/)

I moved in on December 1st. I soon realized it was going to be a bit of a commute to the city, but on a positive note, at least the “traffic” keeps moving. Looking ahead, I’m likely going to be running the investigation at the university and working in a physiology lab down the road doing athlete testing. I told Rachel up front that I loved the house but I might grudgingly have to look for something either in the city or closer to it. The good news is that I’m mostly doing menial leg work and preparations at this time, so I can work from home for the moment.

CAVE FOR RENT
I now have a better sense of orientation in the city so I scoped out some sunny areas of Wellington that are also close to work. I decided to kick the proverbial tires just to see what was out there and get a better feel of the prices. I figure when the time comes, I’ll rent a place on my own and then seek out a renter for the other room. I phoned up a few real estate agents and had a look at some rental units in the Miramar district. It turns out they’re no better than the deceptive ads you find in the newspaper. I found one place that was advertised as “spacious, sunny, large deck, city views.” When I arrived, it was the polar opposite of the description. It had two microscopic bedrooms that, in my opinion, resembled nothing more than glorified walk-in closets, one shoddy bathroom in dire need of a cleaning, no back windows or doors for cross-ventilation, and about 5 to 10 millimeters of mold growing from the window sills. The “deck” was tiny and the so-called “city view” was obscured by overgrown trees. On top of all this, it smelled grungy and musty. I couldn’t contain myself. I came right out and told her, “I can’t even believe you’re trying to rent this place. It’s not even clean and, as far as I’m concerned, poses a likely health hazard for any potential occupants.” She told me it would be “cleaned before the lease was signed.” Yeah, sure it will. I lasted about three minutes before walking out in disgust, insulted that I’d even wasted my time on such a place. The real kicker was the price. They wanted $280 NZD per week (about $190 USD, $530 Euros, $247 AUD)!

In the meantime, I am going to stay put here in Pukerua Bay. I figure a little peace of mind is worth blowing a little time and petrol driving into the city. There’s a little goat trail down the street that leads right to the Pukerua beach and, from there, the Wairaka Reserve offers a nice nature trail to get out and get some sun and exercise. I’ve decided it’s best to work from home as much as possible and go into the city only when absolutely necessary. When push comes to shove and it becomes absolutely imperative to move closer, then I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes.

7. Forrest Gump: 1996 Toyota Corolla G-Touring Wagon

2006-12-14T19:31:00.000+13:00

FORREST GUMP: 1996 TOYOTA COROLLA G-TOURING

In a previous posting, I briefly mentioned the story of how I found my car. I had been walking around the used car lots in the Wellington CBD, haggling with salesmen, test driving cars, all to no avail. I returned to Paekakariki quite frustrated, still feeling unsettled from living in a perpetual state of limbo. At that opportune moment, Bobby and Verena came home from a walk and said, “hey, we found your car!” A girl down the street was selling a 1996 Toyota Corolla G-Touring station wagon with 107,000 km (66,000 miles) on it for $5000 NZD ($3300 USD or 2500 Euros). I think the Man upstairs must have taken pity on me and decided to work a little magic. I immediately walked down to the house, test drove it, and gave her a deposit on the spot. It was just what I was looking for. It’s a 4WD, manual, 4 cylinder, and obviously economical on petrol. With the price of fuel here quite expensive by Yank standards and ridiculously cheap by European standards, I wanted something that would only sip fuel rather than guzzle it.

When I first saw the car, it had so much dirt and grime on it that the color was barely discernible. Black, green, blue? I was stumped. But it ran well, so that’s really the only thing that concerned me.

I took it to the Chris, the local Paekakariki mechanic, several days later and paid $60 for a pre-purchase inspection which, fortunately, came out well spare a few minor things you’d expect in a used car. The only thing I didn’t have tabs on was the timing belt. As a guy only buys second-hand cars, I’m very wise to the importance of knowing the status of the timing belt. Before I’d even bought the car, I made an appointment to change it out. Smart move on my part because he told me the old one was shot. Knock on wood, I pray there won’t be any other major mechanical issues to address.

RUN FORREST, RUN!!!

For those of you familiar with writings from my previous adventures, you’ll recall I always name my cars based on some noteworthy trait or characteristic. I affectionately named the beater ‘84 Toyota Corolla I owned in Australia back in 1998/99 Bessie May due to her undying loyalty and resilience to death no matter what the odds. My second Toyota in Australia, an ’86 Corolla, was named the Blue Bubble due to car’s body shape.

I’ve decided to dub this car Forrest Gump due to its forest green color, unassuming, unimpressive, soccer mom-esque station wagon frame (complete with bull bars), and its unwavering reliability. It is, after all, a Toyota! It’s also a 4WD, so I’m expecting to dig it neck deep in beach sand with the tide rising quickly, only to escape a saltwater drowning just in the nick of time.

SHOWER IT WITH LOVE….AND MAYBE A LITTLE WATER FROM TIME TO TIME

Every time you buy a pre-loved (or pre-neglected) vehicle, it takes a while to settle into it and learn all the new features, the quirks, rattles, etc. It kind of becomes your child, where you know what’s “normal,” and any little hiccup or sputter catches your attention. I knew when I test drove the car that it would become “my baby.” It just felt right and I went with it.
Once the deal was sealed, I took it away to shower it with love…..and a little water to get rid of the thick layer of neglect that was coating the barely discernible green paint. As I washed the car, I noticed the conspicuous presence of tiny little white flecks of paint ALL over the entire car. They weren’t noticeable when the car still donned its mud coat, so I really got blind-sided on this one. I spent probably 10 to 15 minutes on each panel scrubbing and rubbing off the paint. I actually said to myself out loud, “well, thank God I rescued you just in time.” Poor Forrest craved attention!!

CLUB SODA, NOT SEALS

The surprises didn’t stop there. There was something peculiar about the car that I didn’t really notice so much during the test drive. After I bought the car and drove it around for a day or two, I noticed a persistent “aroma” to put it lightly, and one that refused to part ways with the vehicle. Actually, it was the “essence” of the previous owner that refused to part ways with Forrest.

A musty stench of death body odor emanated from the driver’s seat and carpet. The girl I bought Forrest from was what you might euphemistically call the “artsy, granola, crunchy, UC Berkeley, Birkenstock-wearing, save the whales, hug a tree, club soda, not seals” type. I was tipped off to the hygiene habits by the presence of body hair where it should never grow on a woman, namely the 1.5 to 2 inch-long hairs growing off the mole on her “chneck” (the crease of the chin/neck). Then there was the rather impressive plumage from her greasy mullet (see http://www.mulletsgalore.com/ for tutorial) which also appeared to have weathered a fair bit of neglect. The oily, clumped together look may have indicated a regular combing with a dried fish bone, but I could be wrong.

In all fairness, she was a lovely girl, friendly and well-mannered by all means. She was a painter which would explain the paint flecks. And having done a little painting myself from time to time, I know it’s possible to work up a bit of a sweat. I reasoned that perhaps it was a conscientious effort to save water in New Zealand, even though with all the rain here, a water shortage is the last thing concerning Kiwis.

THE ENTITY

My current saga reminds me of that episode of Seinfeld where some guy with body odor gets into his car and then Jerry can’t get rid of the foul smell. He goes to great lengths to try and rid the car of “the entity,” all to no avail. Well, I’m living a real life version of that. I’ve been to the auto parts shop for some bionic antibacterial odor eater and have been spraying it on the upholstery every day for the last two weeks I’ve owned the car. It has mildly “worked” but I can still detect a hint of the original smell which refuses to be expunged. I fear that perhaps the smell is actually a living, breathing, carbon-based, higher order life form alive, well, and thriving deep within the spongy cushion of my seat. I fear I may have to call on the services of an exorcist to purge the demon, but pray that I won’t have to resort to such drastic levels.

iTard

I confess I’ve recently become something of an “iTard.” Before I bought Forrest, I noticed he came with a radio/cassette player, perfect for me to plug in my cassette adapter for my iPod. I imagined myself cruising along New Zealand’s wide open roads with over 1000 songs at my fingertips, choosing the perfect song to match the idyllic afternoons. Yeah. Right.
I went from iTard to bonafide retard. Every time I popped the cassette into the player, it spat out the tape. I’d push it back in and after a few seconds it would spit it back out again. On top of the cassette fiasco, I learned that my FM radio frequencies went from 76 to 90, then flipped back to 76 again. No matter what adjustments I made, I could NOT get the stupid radio to go higher than 90.

I drove around to some local car audio shops to see if they’d ever heard of this. I soon learned the cassette player can’t use my adapter because there is no physical tape inside. The mechanisms don’t sense any tension on the heads, so it assumes there’s a malfunction and spits out the tape.

As for the radio, it turns out that Japanese cars imported FROM Japan have a narrower frequency range. Basically the stereo and cassette player are useless to me. I only have two cassettes to my name, with some poor quality radio clips from a few years ago. With the radio, I have managed to find a single AM news radio program and one crappy, static-plagued FM station that plays romantic oldies.

A LITTLE SUFFERING'S GOOD FOR THE SOUL, AND THE AMUSEMENT OF OTHERS

In spite of all these little surprises with Forrest, I am happy that it makes for great story telling. Yep, kinda makes me a bit nostalgic and misty as I think back to various moments of personal trauma. Nothing like sleeping in Mexico City airport, freezing my ass off during an 18-hour layover, three times on three different trips. Getting charged by pissed off elephants in Africa and thinking you’re going to die. Or the boat engine conking out on us in the Beqa Channel in Fiji and expecting to drift out to sea (Larry and Geoff, remember? You were there). Yeah, I hated every minute of it at the time, but now I’m glad we can all have a laugh at my expense. Life’s as good as you want to make it for yourself. Just be sure to add a little suffering in there from time to time; it’ll make you a lot more interesting!!

6. All I wanted was a damn printer!

2006-12-14T19:26:00.002+13:00

Preface

This is the second installment fast and furious consumer complaint letter, dealing with a printer I ordered online. I waited all day for the thing to be delivered, but it never arrived. The courier company couldn't find the house, so they returned it to the warehouse. They were never provided a phone number from the company I ordered it through, so it went back to Auckland. The vendor decided I should pay for shipping. I begged to differ. All names and sensitive information have been changed since they have since complied with my demands.

From:
El Desconocido
62A The Parade
Paekakariki, Kapiti Coast

Re: Order 17548--Breach of Contract

11 December 2006

To:
ripyouoff.co.nz
Attn: Jim
123 Main Street
Waterloo, Lower Hutt, Wellington

CC:
Catherine McDonald
Consumer Advisor
Consumer Institute
Wellington Office

Attachments:
Photo: 62A The Parade, Paekakariki Letterbox in Public View
Photo: 62A The Parade, close ups
Photo: Text message from Jim dated 5 Dec finally naming courier and tracking number, 5 days after transaction initiation
Form: Desconocido Invoice with printer details and cost breakdown
Form: Itemised and dated chronology of events

Dear Jim,
I recently attempted to order a Canon MP150 printer through your internet company ripyouoff.co.nz. Unfortunately and regretfully, the transaction turned into an exercise in futility for all parties involved when the courier company failed to deliver it to the designated shipping address.

Nearly a week after the order, I requested a full refund since the transaction was never completed; the goods never physically touched my hands. However, the refund amount was short in the amount of $7.88, even though in your invoice (see attached) shipping was actually charged out at $7.00. This constitutes a legal breach of contract and I am requesting that you reconsider your decision and promptly refund the remainder. Had the goods been delivered to an incorrect address or were received then rejected, then yes, I would agree that I should be responsible for the shipping charges. But the fact remains, it was not a completed transaction.

In a phone call to your office, you claimed that I should pay the return shipping since, according to you, I supposedly provided an “invalid or undeliverable” address. This is entirely untrue and is evidenced by photographic proof to the contrary. The 62A letterbox is in clear and public view and there is no reason why the courier company could not have delivered this package. They clearly made a mistake, so that issue is between your company and the courier. I should not be made to bear the burden of their error.

It is my belief that you illegally breached your responsibilities as a vendor. First, you did not provide me with the courier name and tracking number until 5 days after I initiated the transaction. This is supported by photographic evidence (see attached). If you had supplied this information, I would have called the courier company myself and had them redeliver it the next day.

Second, the courier company claims that they didn’t have my phone number, even though I entered it into your website interface at the time of order. If you’d have given it to them, they could have easily called me while they were still in Paekakariki trying to deliver it. I spoke with both Margaret and Tatiana at Courier Post, both of which confirmed that you did not provide them with my mobile number.

Third, I am left to wonder why, from the initiation of the transaction, you as the vendor didn't tell me which courier company was delivering the printer, nor provide me with a tracking number. Had this been furnished to me early on, we could have circumvented this entire issue. As evidence of this, please see the following email from you to me dated 30 November.

Fourth, I am dismayed at the way you handled the situation when we spoke on the phone last Friday (8 Dec). You continued to insist that I provided an invalid address and should be liable for shipping at which time you stated to me, "I've wasted enough time on this already." Your unwillingness to help your customer nor attempt to better understand the situation before making a decision is unfortunate and, in my opinion, represents poor business ethics and customer service standards.

I call your attention to the fact that Miss Catherine McDonald (cc'd on this email) with the Consumer Institute in Wellington was quite disturbed by the turns of events and is interested in the outcome of this matter. I have agreed to keep her informed as the issue transpires.

Please review the attachments contained herein and let me know if you'd like to reconsider your decision. Please be so kind as to respond within three (3) business days or I will consider further action into resolving this matter. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Regards,
El Desconocido

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Rip You Off Sales support@ripyouoff.co.nz escribió:
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 2006 22:26:39 +1300
From: Rip You Off Sales support@ripyouoff.co.nz
Subject: Rip You Off SalesOrder 17548 - Despatch Advice (Invoice Attached)
To: eldesconocido@yahoo.com

Kia ora Desconocido,

Your order, number 17548, has been despatched from the warehouse. Unfortunately we were not able to obtain a tracking number for this order. Please let us know if you have not received delivery in a day or so.

Before accepting delivery from the courier, please ensure the packaging is in good condition with no signs of damage. If damaged, it is best to reject the goods back to the courier and advise us asap.

A tax invoice is attached. Please print this out and keep it for your records. A hard copy will not be sent out unless you specifically request one.Thanks again for shopping at Rip You Off Sales, and we hope to see you again soon.

Kind Regards,
Rip You Off Saleshttp://www.ripyouoff.co.nz
If you have any questions about this message simply reply with your query, and we will respond to you asap.

5. Don't get mad, write a letter!

2006-12-14T19:20:00.002+13:00

Preface
I fancy myself a wizard at the art of writing convincing threat letters to companies. Never underestimate the power of letter writing and the threat of bad publicity. If you need a powerful letter written on your behalf, I charge a modest fee for my services. Haha!

This episode deals with my handling of a popular car sales rag I used in San Diego before leaving for New Zealand. As far as I knew, the ad didn't even run, or if it did, it ran late. I've changed the names of all parties involved and renamed the offending company screwyousales.com. Read from the bottom up to follow the chonology of events.

Rhonda XYZ escribió:
De: "Rhonda XYZ" rhonda.xyz@screwyousales.com
Para: "El Desconocido" eldesconocido@yahoo.com
Asunto: RE: Screw You Sales Refund Issue
Fecha: Thu, 30 Nov 2006 15:30:02 -0800

Hey Desconocido it's Rhonda,
I'm going to go ahead and refund your money right away....it will take 7-10 business days to credit back to your account. I'm sorry that our service did not work for you. The selling of vehicles is really slow around this time in Nov and Dec. I hope you do consider to use us in the near future. Thank you.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
-----Original Message-----
From: El Desconocido [mailto:eldesconocdo@yahoo.com]
Sent: Tuesday, November 28, 2006 12:19 PM
To: Rhonda XYZ
Cc: mailto:Rhonda
Subject: RE: Screw You Sales Refund Issue

Hello Rhonda,
Thank you so much for the courtesy of a reply. Yes, I had a very difficult time receiving any resolve. I recently moved to New Zealand for my doctoral research, where from which I am currently writing you this email (and the reason my phone is disconnected). If you review the records, you'll see that my advertisement was submitted on Monday 6 November (if memory serves me correct). I was under the impression that the ad would run online immediately, yet the print publication would come out Friday. Being that I was in the process of packing my things for my move to New Zealand, I really needed the ad to run immediately. I was extremely disappointed that AFTER I'd paid my fees, it then told me it would run on November 10th. This really didn't help matters much at all.

Even after the ad purportedly came out both in print and online, I received NO calls. Actually, I posted it on Craigslist.org and received more calls than I knew what to do with, and they're free. I left San Diego for New Zealand on 14 November and, as of that date, received not a single call from the screwyousales ad. This led me to believe that the ad did NOT run on the 10th of November as I'd initially thought. I thought that perhaps it'd slipped through the cracks and came out on the 17th or 18th of November instead, AFTER I'd landed in New Zealand.

If I've erred in my judgment, that is fine. That I can live with. However, with all due respect, I found the Screw You Sales customer service woefully lagging and inadequate. I'm not expecting a ticker-tape parade by any means, but I would have liked this matter handled in a more expeditious manner rather than the typical "pass-the-buck" mentality that plagues our society in America.

As a freelance writer, this episode has inspired me to write an article on customer service in America, with screwyousales receiving honorable, yet factual, mention. Craigslist.org receives the A+ for service and value. Please find my article in a major publication on a news stand near you.

Thank you for your time and consideration,
El Desconocido

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Rhonda XYZ escribió:

Hola Se~or Desconocido,
My name is Rhonda, I'm the Lead in the Customer Service Dept. I received your email today forwarded by the webmasters regarding your refund. We tried to contact you by phone but the number listed is not in service. Your ad originally came out on issue #45 which started on Nov. 10th. Your email was sent to use on the 18th..by that time it was on it's 2nd week running in issue #46. Our policy here is once we take or receive your photo which it was done online by you, there are NO REFUNDS. I'm really sorry we did not reply to you earlier our webmasters were on vacation of the week of Thanksgiving. If you have any other concerns or complaints, you can contact my supervisor _______ at 858-123-4567. Thank you.

4. Settling Into The Kiwi Lifestyle

2006-12-14T19:18:00.000+13:00

SETTLING INTO DAILY KIWI LIFE
It's starting to settle in now. I LIVE in New Zealand. And I'm completely settled with that decision. The quality of life here in "Aotearoa" is actually pretty good. There's something in the air here. People just aren't fussed too much about things. The vibe I get is one of complete relaxation. There's plenty of room to breath without feeling like someone's always looking over your shoulder. What a stark contrast coming from Southern California to what could quite literally equate to a 1950s Leave It To Beaver episode.

In some ways things are less expensive and other ways more so. The rent for the house I'll be living in will come out to approximately $330 to $360 per month, give or take. But then if you do the conversion on fuel prices, you're looking at about $3.70 for a gallon of regular unleaded. I think I'd rather take the cheap rent instead!

Speaking of cars and apartments, lining up both was a frustrating exercise in futility. Bob's been a COMPLETE legend by allowing me to use his truck to seek out cars and places to live. Another humble THANKS MATE!! I drove into the Wellington CBD last week with the intention of visiting the car dealerships. Well, I walked around and soon realized that most used cars worth buying start out at around $8000 NZD and go up from there. I came to learn that New Zealand imports boatloads of very low km cars and trucks from Japan. This, for some reason, has pushed the less expensive used car market out the window. I wasn't looking for anything extravagant; perhaps something like a John Deere riding mower would have been sufficient for my purposes.

The next problem was getting cash from my American bank account over to New Zealand without getting reamed. I set up a Bank of America account before leaving since they have a reciprocity agreement with Westpac Bank of New Zealand. In short, I can take cash out of the ATM without any international withdrawal fees. Sounds great but then I soon learned I can only take out about $340 USD per day!! At that rate, there was no way I was going to have enough for a car any time soon. It probably did me a favor though since I had to balk and walk away from the more expensive cars.

I was beginning to feel the frustration of having to borrow a car. I don't like to bother anyone if I can do it on my own, but being in the quaint but distant community of Paekakariki I really had no choice. One day Bob and Verena came home from an afternoon walk and said, "hey, we found your car!!" One of the neighbors down the road had a 1996 Toyota Corolla G-Touring wagon for sale with 107,000km (66000 miles) on it. I immediately walked over, knocked on the door, and took it for a test drive. Ran like a charm and felt like a good fit. It's got EVERYTHING I was looking for. It's a 4WD, manual, 1500cc, 4 cylinder. Perfect. Good for fuel economy, yet with space for the surfboards and camping gear. I gave her $100 on the spot as a deposit and gesture of intent to buy.

Only problem with the situation is that I couldn't get enough cash out of my US accounts over to NZ in a timely manner. The fun was only just beginning. I thought of doing a cash advance on my credit card but those are almost always a bad idea because they automatically charge 3% on the amount for an "international transaction fee" plus the extortionate interest rate.

WANK OF AMERICA
I tried to arrange a wire transfer from the US to NZ but that completely flopped when the collective ignorami that form the corporate entity known as Bank of America expectedly blew the whole thing. I think a more appropriate moniker would be WANK of America since that is about all they're capable of doing in lieu of anything that would closely resemble a professional job. Furthermore, the bunch of WANKers will offer a crappy exchange rate and then charge a bunch of other extraneous "disservice" charges for sending and receiving. In short, there's no way to beat the organized criminals that govern the banking institutions. They're quick to take your money but are having none of it when it comes time to give it back to you, for a small fee, of course.

In the era of out-of-control banks that have lost sight of quality customer service, I posit the idea of charging banks a "handling fee" to take my money. For example, I walk into a bank with the intention of depositing $1000 into my account. As the teller motions to take my money, I coldly and impersonally pull the cash back and inform this person that I will hand over the money after I charge my usual "handling fee" of 5%. After all, I had to physically drive to the bank, park my car, walk into the bank, fill out the deposit slip, wait in line, AND deal with a LIVE teller. This all costs me money, so because I'm doing the bank the favor of giving them my money, I must charge this fee for my efforts. So I take $50 back and put that in my pocket. My actual deposited amount is $950, but the dollar amount credited to my account is actually $1000. THAT'S how it should work. Short of that, I'm going to start stuffing my cash in the mattress.

CITIWANK
After the wire failed, I decided to bend over, grab ankles, and take it on the credit card. I called three different NZ banks to make sure there would be no problems with doing a cash advance the following day. Then I called my friends at Citibank who've always been there for me in the past when I most needed them—to hold my head under water while gasping for air. I told the "customer disservice" rep that I was physically IN New Zealand and that I was going to be doing a cash advance for approximately $3500 USD. I asked him to remove any block that may occur when I went to the bank AND to place a note in the computer to this effect. This call took place ONE hour before leaving for the bank. All was in order. Or so I thought.

I arrived to the Bank of New Zealand, walked in with three forms of ID in hand, ready to do what, by all accounts, should have been a simple transaction. She swiped the card. DECLINED!!!!! I told her I'd just called the bank and that this must have been a mistake. She said, "well, that's what it said." She told me I could speak to the lady that works at the information desk and perhaps I could use her phone to call the credit card company. I went over to the desk and soon realized that perhaps the crabbiest Kiwi actually works at the info desk at Bank of New Zealand. She did NOT want to let me use the phone, rudely stating that if any other customers came in behind me that I'd have to hang up. "Oh, please ma'am, can I beg you to kick me a little harder in the nuts? No, that wasn't hard enough. Why don't you put on your steel-toed boots and I'll drop my pants. I'll even give you a running start for good measure!! In order to call Citibank, I had to call a NZ operator to assist with the transfer. It rang, and rang, and rang, and rang some more. No one answered.

Meanwhile the girl selling me the car sat idly to the side, wondering, like me, if the deal was even going to happen. I went to another teller who tried the card again. Declined. I fortunately brought my other Citibank credit card which, like the first one, was promptly denied. After wrangling and wrestling with the soft-cock wankers that call themselves Citibank, I was able to get the transaction to go through. I physically had to get on the phone on two occasions to verify my identity. Needless to say, there was no record whatsoever that I'd called, nor were there any notes on my account stating that I was in NZ and would be doing a cash advance.

The car deal went through and we transferred everything over to my name within 10 minutes. But as far as I was concerned, the CitiWANK episode was VERY far from over. Why even bother having a cash advance limit if they're only going to deny it by default? This was a clear case of abject breach of customer service and I was not going to walk around all day until I gave CitiWANK a piece of my mind.

I called them when I got home and proceeded to tell the tale to one customer "service" rep after another. No one would break ranks and admit that they'd screwed me. In typical politician/big business fashion, NEVER admit wrongdoing. Deny it to the end. The customer is always wrong. A new customer is born every second. They're expendable. This treatment only served to infuriate me even more. Finally, I had them transfer me over to the CitiBusiness side of things. I had to use that card when the first one was declined. I told the story…..AGAIN, only this time, I had an agent that wasn't quite so bright. He actually exhibited a minor shred of empathy and admitted that I was wronged—"well yeah, if you called before going to the bank, it should have gone through" he confessed. He transferred me to a "supervisor" who, in turn, proceeded to be more of an impediment than a help. I finally got her to wave the interest rate after that was all said and done. I am currently following up with a letter to CitiWANK including the CEO's office, not only for the embarrassing display at the bank but for the subsequent lack of sensitivity and unwillingness to remedy the situation.

HOME SWEET GRUNGY HOME
Bob and Verena forewarned me that many homes in Wellington are rather old, grungy, and you get what you pay for (or less). I looked at a variety of places up here on the Kapiti Coast and in the Wellington CBD, to no avail. Most roommate situations here are young 20-somethings who could really do with a few remedial cleaning lessons with mom—nor was I particularly endeared by the mix and match furniture complete with snarf stains all over it.

None of the places felt like "home" until I came across an advertisement for a place in Pukerua Bay. A girl named Rachel just bought the house and was looking for a professional to share the living arrangements and cut down on her mortgage rate. I checked it out and it's a go. I move in tomorrow (Friday 1 December). It's a spacious house with a view of the Tasman Sea. It's not ocean front but it does get a fair bit of sunlight. It's got a view of the valley out the east-facing window, which means nice bright light in the morning. The back side of the house is west-facing with a rather steep grade back yard, which means it gets sun and is blocked by the strong onshore winds in the afternoon. This translates to a warmer house come winter season.

LOOKING FORWARD
I am still positively thrilled about being in New Zealand. I will admit I'm a little out of sorts being that I've only recently arrived and am getting up and on even keel. I need to get back in the gym and get on my regular routine. I need to change my student visa to a student/work visa so I can legally get paid. I'll be doing the literature review for my PhD beginning next week and the paperwork for submission to the university human subjects committee.

It's all about looking forward from here. I am focusing on what's in front of me and not looking back. I'm living in the moment and not losing sight of why I came to New Zealand. I have my goal set out and know that San Diego was a great chapter in my life but frankly, its run its course (I do miss Mexico though). I grew stale in so many ways and had effectively stagnated for all intents and purposes. I'm also maintaining a positive attitude when I'm not sarcastically wrestling with morons at banks and credit card companies. But hey, if that's the worst that happens to me, then I guess in the big picture I'm doing pretty good!!

3. The Wairarapa Region: North Island, New Zealand

2006-12-14T18:43:00.000+13:00

THE WAIRARAPA REGION
Bob's work ethic is second to none. He's just finishing up his first year of teaching at Massey University. He spent the entire weekend glued to his computer editing manuscripts for journal publications. But even so, there comes a time where a guy's just gotta say, "SCREW IT, LET'S GO SURFING!!"

Monday afternoon, November 20th, we packed up the surfboards and camping gear and headed for the Wairarapas, the mountain range that borders the southeast coast of the North Island. One stop at the New World supermarket in Mana and we were stocked for a few days. We quietly slid out of town via Paremata Road which winds through the Upper Hutt region and on over to the 2 Motorway into the Wairarapas. Let me just say, the scenery anywhere in New Zealand is positively captivating, but this area was particularly mind-blowing. As you look off in the distance, you can't help but be overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of it all. Every shade of green from light chartreuse to deep forest green. In fact, this is the area where they filmed Lord of the Rings. While I confess I might be the last person on Earth who still hasn't seen the movie, I'd rather get on the plane and see it all first hand. This area is also particularly favorable for growing grapes which has spawned something of a mini Napa Valley in the Martinsborough region.

After a couple hours snaking through the winding coast road, we pulled up to Ning Nong reef. All reports called for optimal northwest offshore winds, but we arrived to sizable surf with blustery side shore winds which creating a strong cross chop. There were only two other cars when we arrived, hardly a crowd, but given the wind-blown conditions, it was empty. But much to our delight and amusement, one lone guy paddled out into the boiling cauldron. I guess you could say he was the sacrificial lamb or the proverbial canary in a coal mine. Why bother paddling out ourselves when we can just watch him get tossed around. He gave us a clear indicator on the paddle out, the current, the take-off, a scaled size estimate, and a few hoots as we watched the ocean toss him around like a ragdoll.

We gave Ning Nong a miss and instead set off to check out Lake Ferry. We heard rumors of a peaky A frame wave with better winds. We arrived a short while later to perfect offshore winds but it was a dredging meat grinder with no real exit breaking in about a foot of water with a frothy death pit end section onto dry sand—kind of like a modified Coronado. We watched one remaining lone surfer take off and get a couple rides, all of which ended with an express trip through the spin cycle and a one way ticket to the bottom.

We had a bite to eat and then headed back to Ning Nong reef with high hopes for light winds the following morning. Bob is completely outfitted with the four-wheel drive truck and all the requisite camping gear. We pitched the tent, inflated the mattress, cooked up a meal, made a campfire, and enjoyed a couple of Monteith's Originals. Life was good.

We woke up to every surfer's dream—overhead surf, light offshore winds, and nobody out. This is New Zealand. Places don't get crowded. We took our time, ate breakfast, kicked back for a bit until the tide filled in just right. One Maori guy pulled up and paddled out just before us. He opted to paddle out wide which quickly swept him south. Bob and I took note and decided to time the set waves and just paddle out straight through the guts. It worked. We got swept a little wide, but not nearly as far as the other guy. We just about made it to the peak at the same time.

This was my first surf in REAL waves in some time. I'd been so busy with everything leading up to my departure for New Zealand, plus being sick twice in two weeks, that I'd lost some of the training effect in my paddling muscles. Bob let me borrow his 4/3 mm wetsuit since it was quite cold that morning. I felt like I was towing an anchor with the combined effect of my weakened paddling muscles coupled with a thicker wetsuit.

The three of us surfed all by ourselves for at least a good hour and a half to two hours. Perfect lefthanders peeled across the point with no one else hassling us. We joked around about how crowded it was having to tolerate this "crowd" of three!! The vibe in the water here is second to none. I don't think I've met one angry soul in the water since I've been here. We saw several cars pull up and check it, but for some reason, they left and went somewhere else. A few guys did eventually paddle out, but like our new found friend, they too were very relaxed and friendly.

Eventually the wind picked up and blew out the conditions. We packed up and ventured up the coast to the Tora Reserve. Bob had been there before and told me about the great waves in the region. It's like a surfing playground. One perfect point after another. You pull up, if one spot's crowded, no big deal. You just drive around the corner and there's another point waiting for you.

SMALL SMALL WORLD!!
We arrived to Tora and pulled into one of the few parking spots in front of the main point. While we were checking it out, a guy had just gotten out of the water and walked back to his truck parked next to us. Me being the social butterfly that I am and unofficial mayor of the world, I just say hello to everyone. We had a chat, I asked him where he was from, and he said Mount Maunganui.

I said, "How about that! I was there back in 1998 while passing through New Zealand."

I asked him if he knew of a buddy of mine named Darren Sisson who's from that very area but lived in the apartment beneath me in San Diego back in 2002. I said he was a mechanic and panel beater (car repair/painting).

He said, "yeah, Warrick Sisson, that must be his father." Score 1.

I then proceeded to tell him all about how I'd stopped into a surf shop named Ministry of Surf and how I'd met a really nice guy that owned the place. I said, "yeah, his name was Glenn Sheaf."

The guy was just shocked, "That's ME!! I'm GLENN SHEAF!!" 2 or 2 for the yank!!

We had quite a laugh about the whole thing actually. Then when we put it all together, we realized just how bizarre our meeting really was. In order to appreciate the strangeness of the entire situation, you have to know that:

1.—Mt. Maunganui is approximately 10 hours away from Tora by car.

2.—Out of hundreds, maybe thousands, of surf spots in New Zealand, we both ended up in Tora at that exact moment.

3.—Tora is rather removed and tucked away in the Wairarapas. It's not a major place that attracts much of a crowd.

4.— After 8 years since my last visit to New Zealand, I could have arrived anywhere on the North Island on any day of the year, yet it all came together that I arrived in the southern part of the North Island and just so happened to be quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

5.—He was there with 7 other guys and a magazine photographer doing a photo shoot with some of the young New Zealand rippers. Any of those guys could have made it back to the car before him, yet he was the first guy I talked to and it was Glenn Sheaf, a guy I'd only met for not more than 15 minutes 8 years earlier!! He was impressed with my memory to say the least. I've got a memory like an iron trap, that is true, but damned if I can find my car keys in the morning when I'm in a hurry!!

LIGHTNING DOES STRIKE TWICE
You're probably scratching your head and marveling at the above "needle in a haystack" meeting. Just when you thought the story couldn't get any wackier, it gets MUCH wackier! There was a Maori guy out in the water the first day. I said hello to him a couple times out in the water, but no real conversation. The following morning I was paddling out when I noticed the same guy on my left paddling next to me. We said our good mornings and he promptly introduced himself, "hi, I'm Mark." I asked him where he was from and he said the Waikato region.

"Raglan?" I asked.

—yeah, how do you know that?

"And they call you Stocky, right? You're also a badass soccer player, right?" I added.

—How do you know so much about me? Who are you?"

I told him, "I met you in Raglan when I was there 8 years ago. You worked at the Byrning Spears surf shop right on the main road into town!!"

Stocky just about shat himself! He was about as shocked as Glenn was. What a memory this Yank has!! We reminisced a little bit and talked about some mutual friends of ours from Raglan. From there we proceeded to share perfect right hand point waves with only a few people out. Life was good and only getting better!

The wave at Tora is a fun, workable right hander that peels down the point into a little cove. It's usually uncrowded and lonely where you're actually LOOKING for people to keep you company in the water. I'm not sure if that's more for self preservation though. If a shark comes looking for the buffet line, you hope the entrance point is where the other guys are sitting! If not that, then it's always good to have an extra set of eyes in case you get hurt. You don't want to be that far removed from civilization and have a life-threatening injury.

A case in point: Bob and I were surfing the second morning after enjoying the spoils from the previous afternoon. Bob was the king the day before, completely owning the place on his 6'10". The morning winds were HOWLING, blowing extremely strong sideshore/offshore onto the wave face which made takeoffs extremely tricky and setting a firm rail nearly impossible. We all did a few trips over the handlebars and proceeded to get a bit frustrated. I watched Bob take off on one wave and slip up. I saw him come up and get back onto his board, and assumed he was paddling back out. Another guy out in the water that we'd befriended later paddled up to me saying that he thought Bob might have hurt himself. He said he asked Bob if he was ok, and that he had given the thumbs up gesture. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought he might have gone in til the winds mellowed out a bit, not thinking much more of it at that moment.

I went in later and was shocked to find that his board had smacked him in the ribs. It knocked the wind out of him, leaving him in excruciating pain. He later commented that he thought he'd suffered a pneumothorax (collapsed lung). He did have a red mark on his side, but fortunately, no major gash or spleen hanging out!! It took a few days but he was fortunately ok. I give sign language THE FINGER!

As a short aside, when I injured myself in Fiji, the rest of the crew was back on the boat anchored in the channel, eating lunch, resting up after the morning's session. When I motioned for them to bring the meat wagon over to pick me up, they all thought I was waving them back out into the surf . They later told me they were talking amongst themselves saying, "nah, that's ok, you go ahead. We'll paddle out later." I couldn't scream because the pain was too extreme. The end result: a broken rib. Fast forward to the Tora incident, sorry about that one Bob!!!

2. Wellington, New Zealand: The Windy City

2006-12-14T18:34:00.000+13:00

WELLINGTON: THE WINDY CITY………AND THE WINDING CITY
Wellington is affectionately dubbed Windy Wellington due to its close proximity to the Cook Strait and unpredictable weather patterns. Much like Melbourne, Australia, you can easily experience all four seasons in a day. I've seen first hand how it can go from an idyllic, warm, sunny morning to a blustery, windy, winter afternoon, all in the course of several hours. When I refer to wind, I'm not talking about a light breath of breeze. No, it howls gale force here. In fact, as I sit here writing this, it's a beautiful sunny day with a few scattered clouds breaking the sound barrier across the sky!

Wellington is a hilly city with plenty of snaking roads. From my experience so far, the suburbs of Hataitai and Brooklyn have turns so sharp that it's like making a 180 degree U-turn! As you climb to any altitude around town, you can't help notice the spectacular views of the harbor and ocean. It is positively breathtaking. But hey, what do you expect from the city where they filmed Lord of the Rings?

TRANSITIONS
The minute you leave Wellington, everything quickly converts to sheep-speckled rolling green countryside—a stark contrast in comparison to the Southern California concrete jungle. The motorway passes through quaint little communities on the way to the Kapiti Coast. The communities of Porirua and Paraparamu have their fair share of strip malls and auto dealerships, but it's not obnoxious and sprawling by any means. It's just about adequate to support the surrounding population without going over the top.

FAHRVERGNUGEN
Driving is an absolute pleasure here. I immediately noticed the slower pace of traffic and the conspicuous absence of cars tailgating up the ass end of our truck. In New Zealand, we drive on the left and pass on the right. For some reason, drivers here "get it." They actually pass and move back over to the left. The passing lane is almost ALWAYS clear. For some reason, all New Zealand citizens can grasp that concept yet in California, even with six lanes of highway going each way, people still feel compelled to make the numbers one and two lanes their own private cruising lanes.

This commentary would not be complete without a comment on the efficiency of merging. When two lanes merge into one, drivers somehow seem to back off and take turns. There's no overt "me first" mentality here. It's more like, "yeah mate, no worries. Go ahead and merge in front of me. I've got nowhere to be in a hurry." In short, New Zealanders seem to understand that if we all demonstrate a little common courtesy we all get where we're going a lot quicker.

HOME
We pulled up to Bob and Verena's home in Paekakariki a short while later. They live in a quaint little remodeled home on The Parade, the oceanfront drive that runs along the Tasman Sea coastline. There's such a sense of community here. Neighbors know one another. They peacefully push their strollers with a dog in tow. In my experience so far, everyone walking by looks up, smiles, and actually says hello. In many ways, there's still an unspoiled element of human connectedness that was probably last seen in America in the 1950s.

COLLAPSE
My body finally gave out on me after arriving home to Paekakariki. That night I fell ill with profuse body aches and a sore throat. I'd been running on fumes the final few weeks leading up to my departure for New Zealand. I somehow juggled the arduous task of packing up my entire life, selling off anything that would yield a buck or two, a family/business trip back to the east coast, and working at cardiac rehab right up to the bitter end. I think the plane ride was the straw that broke the camel's back. No matter what airline you fly, the economy class seats are meticulously engineered so that no matter what contorted position you attempt, you'll never quite get so comfortable as to get any meaningful REM sleep. It was a very full flight so I couldn't even score "ghetto first class", a row of seats with the armrests pulled up. I didn't stand a Democrat's chance running for the White House after sucking refried cabin air for 12 hours and shielding myself from those grungy filth-spewing virus fans. I went down for the count for a few days, finally coming back to good by Sunday/Monday (19th /20th November).

(continued.....)

1. New Zealand Arrival (16 November 2006)

2006-12-14T18:25:00.000+13:00

Wellington, New Zealand
16 November 2006
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BUILD YOUR OWN DOORS OF OPPORTUNITY….THEN KICK 'EM DOWN!
A strong sense of relief consumed me the second I felt the tires lose contact with the runway. I breathed a massive sigh of relief. I glanced down at my watch. Airborne at 8:07:35 Los Angeles time. That very moment marked the final culmination of approximately eight months of preparations from scratch to finish. Doctoral research proposals, applications, more applications, medical exams, chest x-rays, blood tests, FBI criminal background check, passport renewal, mailing papers back and forth to Massey University, selling off my personal effects, a trip back east—hoop jumping at its best! There's something so powerful, so intrinsically motivating about creating opportunity where it didn't previously exist, planting seeds, nurturing them, and then reaping the fruits of the harvest. The journey into a new phase of my life begins.

SPECIAL THANKS TO DEAR FRIENDS
A special thank you is in order to my esteemed friend and colleague Dr. Bob Cheema, without whom none of this would have been possible. Our serendipitous meeting in Sydney in 2004 was followed by hours and hours of conversations on the dwindling state of health in industrialized nations and the commensurate rise in obesity, diabetes, and heart disease. In February of 2006, Bob accepted a lecturer position with Massey University. Nearly two years of discussions materialized into what would eventually become my doctoral research project.

I also wish to extend a sincere and heartfelt thank you to my dear friend Pablo Romo in San Diego. After receiving word from Ocean Pacific, the San Diego condo conversion Nazis, that we had to vacate our palatial ocean front apartment, Pablo graciously offered me a room in his home until I left for New Zealand. This made a world of difference since I didn't have to lock into an expensive short term lease.

HOW MANY ARE TRAVELING IN YOUR PARTY, SIR?
It's no small task packing up an entire life and cramming it into several suitcases. But I can say I've actually moved up in the world. Years ago, I moved from New Jersey to California with the entirety of my belongings packed into a microscopic Honda CRX. Now it required a triple surfboard bag, four suitcases, a guitar case, one monster duffle bag, one backpack, and a computer case…..and this doesn't include the three boxes I shipped via my friends at the US Postal Service.

Even worse than the packing ordeal was the joy of carting all this luggage first from San Diego to Los Angeles, then through the airports all the way through to Wellington. I rented a one-way SUV from SD to LA figuring I'd just put the boards on the roof and the suitcases in the back. Brilliant, except for one thing. It RAINED the day I was to drive to LAX. The weight of every bag was carefully measured down to the last kilo in order to avoid excess weight charges. If I'd have put the surfboards on the roof, it would have soaked the bag and added a significant amount of extra weight, while lightening the load on my wallet to the tune of an additional $80. Somehow I always seem to pull off a near miracle when it really matters. I was able to cram all my luggage inside the truck and still have a few centimeters of space to see out my rear-view mirror!

The next concern was my arrival to LAX and carting all this through the airport for check in. I phoned ahead to Avis and told them I'd be arriving with enough luggage for an entire family of six. I asked if they could spare a bit of human compassion and accommodate me by reserving me a private shuttle bus. I told them it would be a customer service disaster if they put anyone else on my shuttle, being that they'd have to wait an eternity for me to load and unload my bags. When I arrived, I explained my situation to the outside attendants. There just happened to be a guy standing around with nothing better to do so he said,

"Well, I'll tell you what. Leave your bags in the truck and I'll just drive you to LAX in the same vehicle."

Deal! He was a Mexican guy so we got to having a chat en Español. Turns out he was from my other adopted "hometown" of Tijuana. When we arrived to the airport, the guy was a complete legend. He helped me get my gear out of the truck and loaded onto two carts (see photo). Bearing in mind, I'm the guy who always gets stuck with the rickety shopping cart with a broken wheel, I miraculously managed to get two carts that worked magnificently (better buy a lottery ticket!). Suffice it to say, he earned a fat tip!

Next battle: airline staff. As I approached the counter, the young agent looked at my makeshift tractor trailer of suitcases asked me,

"How many are traveling in your party, sir?"
—"Uh, just me," I responded.
"All that is YOURS?!"
—Yep. You betcha!"

IS THAT A SURFBOARD IN YOUR BAG OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?
While Air New Zealand is definitely one of the best airlines in the world for customer service, I had the good fortune of being hassled by a couple of stone-faced Gestapo "officers" put on this planet hell-bent on extorting an extra $80 from me, or so I assumed. That I could probably have dealt with had they not mispronounced my last name.

"Mr. Saluka, how many boards are in your bag? And you need to be honest."

After giving them a brief tutorial on sounding out the letters in my last name, I proceeded to inform them that this was already arranged with Air New Zealand headquarters and should have been "in the computer" that my surfboards counted as one bag, not three separate chargers PER board! But that's exactly what they did. We argued for a while. Then we argued some more. I wasn't budging. I told them they'd best pack a lunch because I had all the time in the world. I'd arrived nearly four hours before departure.

"Get the damn CEO of the company on the phone if you must. You're being unethical and unscrupulous. This has already been prearranged with ANZ by phone" I continued.

Eventually, we compromised on them allowing me to bring my guitar on the flight to be stuffed in an overhead bin. Before I left, I made it publicly known to all nearby employees (and other passengers within earshot) that I'd taken names and that they'd be hearing from the upper brass. I just finished writing my letter to Air New Zealand's upper brass.

I normally wouldn't make such a stink over surfboard charges but as a surfer, I've been screwed SO many times over the yearson useless board charges, more than I can count, that it's just gotten old. You'd think after dropping nearly $800 beans on a one way international ticket that perhaps they'd let a couple of boards through at no charge. But I guess if you're there at the airport and you're ready to leave, they think they hold the upper hand…….and they do. Damn it! Sore subject! I recommend the global boycott of Iberia Air out of Spain and pretty much every United States carrier, all of which charge exorbitant fees surfboards.

NICE GUITAR. HOW MANY KILOS OF COKE ARE YOU SMUGGLING?
I arrived in Auckland about 12 hours later. Because I was going through to Wellington, I had to reclaim ALL my bags again and get them from the international terminal over to the domestic check-in. Bearing in mind how much of a bitch it was in Los Angeles, I was not looking forward to an encore performance of carting it through Auckland airport.

Before reclaiming my bags, I went through immigration with no problem. In fact, I was impressed with the profuse courtesy of the agent that handled my arrival. I love New Zealand! I walked through with my backpack, computer, and guitar. I asked an airport police officer for directions to the baggage carousel to which he offered a polite answer. A minute later he walked up to me again and said something like,

"Soooo, how are you today? Can I see your passport? What brings you to New Zealand?"

I asked him what his job was at the airport and why he was asking me such questions. I'd already been through immigration. He told me that he was "just checking to see all was in order." I told him I was a physiologist here to do my Ph.D. I threw a bit of multi-syllabic medical vernacular at him causing his eyes to glaze over in bewilderment, much in the same way a dog tilts its head to the side when it's confused. Convinced I was neither a murderer or drug-runner, he then confessed that he'd seen the guitar and assumed I was a "muso" (kiwi slang for musician).

"Musos usually carry drugs, so we just like to follow up," he quipped.

I told him that although I was the owner of a guitar, I could barely play more than several chords with any convincing proficiency. Stupid jerk actually PROFILED me! "I would expect this kind of treatment in a U.S. airport, but New Zealand? Come ON already!! I wondered if my flight looped back and landed in Los Angeles. Then again, I hadn't shaven in some time, so perhaps I had that Pablo Escobar-esque Colombian drug lord look to me. Yes sir, the kilo of coke is INSIDE the guitar!

HUMAN SEAGULLS
The rest of my fellow passengers jockeyed around one another at the baggage carousel, elbowing and clawing for their luggage. I took a step back and observed how the "me first" mentality just consumes people in a crowded setting. They looked like rabid seagulls wrestling for a few sparse crumbs. It's amazing how we call ourselves so-called civilized and domesticated, yet after seeing these types of public displays, I have to wonder just how far removed we are from the animal kingdom.

KIWI PAPARAZZI
I was able to scrounge two carts together to load up all my things. I did the same "road train" technique I used in Los Angeles. That seemed to work mildly well up until I arrived to customs' x-ray scanner. Oh shit, I had to unload all that baggage yet again and put it piece by piece on the conveyer belt. I loaded it all back up AGAIN yet this time, for some reason, the wheels weren't cooperating. I exited into the arrivals lounge to what appeared to be a Hollywood style paparazzi feeding frenzy. Throngs of people stood waiting for exiting passengers. I soon became a major amusement attraction for the rest of the travelers. I could feel their stares and glares as I grunted, groaned, and wrestled with "the beast" as I quickly came to call it. Eventually a guy came up and offered to help get me to the domestic transit check-in counter.

I figured I was in the clear once I rechecked my bags. Unfortunately, they could only take the suitcases. The surfboards I actually had to walk over to the physical domestic terminal which was about 1km (0.62 mile) away! This after sitting on an airplane all night, contorted, twisted, and tweaked from an economy class chair.

LIKE AN OLD FRIEND COMING FOR A VISIT
I spent the entire month of October 1998 in New Zealand. One of my lasting memories was the deep green landscape fueled by a wet climate. In 31 days, I saw 23 days of rain.

My recent arrival into Wellington was rather pleasant, a bit windy, but not raining at least. Bob greeted me at the airport, at which point I promptly made a Himalayan Sherpa of him. We loaded the boards on the roof, the bags inside, and off we went. Like an old friend coming for a visit, the rain decided to pay a visit as a reminiscent gesture of old times!

(Continued....)