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!!
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Thursday, December 14, 2006
3. The Wairarapa Region: North Island, New Zealand
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!!!
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 TWICEYou'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!!!
1. New Zealand Arrival (16 November 2006)
Wellington, New Zealand
16 November 2006
___________________________________________________________
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....)
16 November 2006
___________________________________________________________
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....)
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