Oh boy! I just enjoyed a long black (aka Americano) in the sunshine of Hokitika and couldn’t think of a better way to spend the rest of the morning than thinking about the last few weeks of our journey in the Fiordlands. It has possibly contained some of the most wonderful and beautiful moments of my life, I can’t wait to share them.
We left the little town of Te Anau, still flooded from the stormy rains, up the Milford Road, which ends in scenery, sounds and mountains. The only town this direction has a population of 50, so the reason for the road’s existence must be to experience a bit of heaven on earth.
Our first hike is up the Hollyford Valley where we meet three hunters who will share our hut for the night. Seventy-year old Pete could be described as a man off-his-rocker, but he is probably more alive and with it than most of us could dream to be at any point in our lives. He is a passionate hunter, dancing around the hut and enthusiastically sharing stories of deer and cognac and meadows, claiming to be “Crazy Horse,” an Apache. He couldn’t be more thrilled to be in the backcountry, pursuing his calling. The next morning we pass him on the trail after our day hike to Little Homer Saddle and he shares with us his “catch of the day.” He pulls out of his antique model exterior frame pack a bloody (but clean) eel as thick as an alder trunk. Mmmm! Dinner he will fry up in butter with a bit of salt and pepper, feels like sticky rubber, but his smile says it all – it’s the best. We bask in more sunshine, and enjoy views of mountains that materialize out of mist as the day unfolds. The moon is full again and I feel more energized and alive than I have in years. After a day of backpacking, I reach the hut and drop my pack, ready to keep exploring this amazing country.
The next day we actually have an appointment. We feel an exuberant crunch that we haven’t felt in months, an excited anxiety for the day ahead. Waking up early to meet the day, we cook up some kumara pancakes in the van and head off for a day of kayaking in the Milford. As we are inexperienced in the art of water sports, we join a group that tours the sound for the day. Our guide is Will, a jolly Maori who picks us up from the tramp and drives us out to the sound, stopping to pour us a cuppa and entice us with Anzac biquits while enjoying the sunshine on the mountains. A beautiful day ahead….
We don the suits, grinning like goons and stoked to hit the water. A blue duck invites us to join him in the big pond, what an omen of the day ahead! Only 1% of New Zealanders have even seen the blue duck, a magestic rarity in the world of water birds. Out on the water we enjoy the sublime view of mountains that seem to dissolve into the water. In our blue kayak, we form team AR (sometimes known as team RA, depending on the mood of our party) and paddle gracefully, making a stellar effort at coordination. The Milford Sound is in an unnatural state of peace today. The wind is quiet, the water is a mirror, the cruise ships are but a ghostly presence in the absence of summer’s tourists and we float in sunshine, soaking up the silence and the depth of the sound. Team RA moral is soaring, and then it bolts to extreme magnitude when our group is joined by another playful group – a pod of dolphins! We glide along at the same speed, delighting in each others company as they pop up in twos and threes, and jump and dance and inspire our racing hearts. One jumps fully out of the water right in front of our boat (unfortunately I missed that photo as I was too stunned and had to collect my jaw from the bottom of the boat.) Magic is the only way to describe the feeling, that and magestic.
Well the dolphins swim on but the fun is not over. While hanging out with our friends we missed “lunch time” so I have to find the acrobat in myself to clamber out on some rocks for a desperate squat. This pee is more than epic, I raised the sound a whole inch with all the liquid flowing through my body. Meanwhile Adam holds the kayak , losing his hand to the icy waters while trying to cling to the rocky outcropping. Sorry! I promise I’m almost done…. I think!? Then a miracle happens: we don’t capsize upon my return!
Back in the boat, we paddle with sore arms, watching a front looming in the mountains. It pushes us back to bay, and we peel of our costumes but not our high spirits. We mow through trail mix, muesli bars, apples and carrots on our way back to the divide, where Rupertina awaits. A perfect day, but back at the van we quickly decide it is not over…
We are at the foot of a great walk, The Routeburn, which calls us to walk in to the first hut at sunset, an hour and a half up the trail. We quickly pack for three days, say ta-ta to Rupertina, and hike in to Hidden Falls. This hut sleeps 50, but amazingly we are the only residents for the night. Most everything I think and find these days has the potential to spread a smile on my face: rain, sun, thunder, stars, wet boots, stinky feet, holes in my socks, a smudge of soot on the firebuilders face, peas in my tea, purple rocks, epic scenery, aching muscles and the color of water.
The next day we hike to McKenzie Hut, which feels more like a walk in the park. Compared to any tramp, the Great Walk status means a cruisy and manicured trail, and the most impressive arrangement of nature’s elements I have ever encountered. A rainstorm blew in and out, filling up the streams and increasing the likelihood of mud puddles, but when we arrive at the emerald lake we find another huge mansion with a big pot-bellied stove and ample wood to spend the night in, all by our lonesomes (a phenomena unheard of on the great walks).
We leave most of our packs in the hut and take a full day trip up to the Harris Saddle, probably one of the most perfect days I have ever had. The night before I slept soundly, tucked into down sleeping gear next to a hearty fire blazing in the stove. Adam woke before me and was already outside running through misty grass to take photos of the brilliant morning. I stroll around the lake to soak up the morning light and the crisp sunrise on fresh, snowy mountains. Stoked to embrace the day, we pack lunch, warm clothes, tea and eat our oats (of course) and get our blood flowing, hiking up through the trees to the alpine. Ice descended on the ground while we slept and clung to the shade, making the trail into an ice rink. After a short hour of hiking we pop out on to the most stunning viewpoint that begs you to sing, I’m alive!!!! Despite our full daypack, Adam floats along in paradise, and though the icy footing is delicate, we glide along at ease.
We finally share this experience with another tramper we pass on the trail, and then 12 more! Our house will be cozy tonight as they are all headed for the same hut. A short while later we are on the saddle and I will let the photos speak for me… We are hungry for lunch so we sit down to admire the storybook views while we savor crackers, the most divine avocado, and a sweet thai chili tuna in awed silence. Then we break out into our goofy selves and bubble giddily around the sparkling alpine. On one side of the pass conical hill beacons us to summit it’s small (but icy as snot) peak, so we clamber up for another view, and are able to see all the way out to the ocean.
We cruise on with youthful exuberance and bountiful energy, managing to hike a 3 hour path in just 2. We reach the hut hungry and decide to cook up two dinners and enjoy a feast! I fall asleep full and satisfied.
Well as the world seems to work in karmic cycles, we are tested once we step out of the backcountry and head for civilization. We are the luckiest souls until Rupertina decides to putz out and leave us stranded, miserable sods, in a carpark with no communication tools. A works vehicle finally chances upon us and radios a tow. We found mouse droppings in our Anzac biquits, so assumed our electrics has been chewed. Well we’re an hour and a half outside of the nearest town so we get comfy and nap and read and wait and whimper about the impending bill. And also gripe about our “home sweet home” turned sour. Adam jiggles some wires while we twiddle our thumbs and Rupertina decides to hum to a rumble and start. YAHOOO. We celebrate and quickly hit the road, but end up passing the tow truck on our way out, who sees us and tails us back to town. We hope to make his day since we’ve had such luck, and he seems happy enough after $300. Welp Karma continued. We’re a bit gutted, and decide a holiday park is in order to care for a basic needs. Amenitites at the holiday park include: hot showers! A kitchen! Laundry facilities! A hair dryer! A refridge! And, most importantly, communal space that is not the van! All for $15 per individual. We must capitalize on our time at the holiday park… I bake us some energy dense muesli bars, make a huge cabbage salad (fresh veg!), while Adam empties our compost, trash and recycle, showers and runs a few loads of laundry.
Well the van the van. The bumbling stumbling van. It was a heavy rain that followed us from Te Anau and crashed down on Rupertina. She gets cranky when moist and left us by the side of the road again, another $300 away from Haast, the next town. I sit in a lodge filled with antlers next to a fire with a cappuccino to read while we glumly anticipate the worst. Adam and the mechanic fiddle with her innards and clean out her pipes and we’re on our way again, but disenchanted, suffering from the impending doom of selling this hunk of bolts further down the road. To make matters worse, it is still damp and grey, we are literally inside of a cloud and we ran out of cooking fuel and the next place to fill our tanks is a few days away so we jet boil water with our little camp flame for couscous and tuna and subsist mainly on muesli bars. We fall asleep next to a lake that sends an army of mosquitoes that barrage us during the night. An assasain killed my Mom in my nightmares, and then I killed him. It was bloody awful.
We awake to more fog and decide to spend the day sitting in a coffee shop, trying to plan our daunting financial future and collecting any good news we can find from the home front. We stay the night in another holiday park to collect our spirits and watch the worst movie in the most uncomfortable fluorescent lit kitchen, the culmination of our misery.
But the next day brings promise of sunshine, so we pack up happily, fill our bellies with hearty pancakes topped with poached eggs and nutella and enjoy climbing up Mt. Fox through a jungle, using the tree roots as stairs and ladders, pulling ourselves to the top. The sunshine fills the canopy and sinks down into the bush, making a steamy environment. We emerge into the alpine and keep heading up, sweaty and happy, and enjoy a 360 degree view that includes the ocean, a huge glacier, the tallest mountain in NZ and a cloud inversion. We literally climbed out of our grey funk into sunny skies and fortunately it seems to continue following us up the West coast.
Last night we were welcomed into the house of Dan and Kath, a pair of friendly recyclers who were recommended to us by our hitchhiking friend, Tom. They distill their own vodka, brew up fruity wines and honey mead, maintain an apiary, build houses from recycled materials, use rainwater for most things, grow and preserve food and make a living by pursuing hobbies and running a small back packers. They shared spirits with us and we played some killer pool.
Now we are on our way to a small community up north (yay warmth and sunshine!) that runs a fantastic restaurant to hop back on the WWOOFing train for a few weeks, make some more connections with kiwis and travelers, and dig in some soil and find some mud puddles to play in! We are looking forward to being back in the homelands and immersing ourselves, head to toe, in Oregon soil! Adventure awaits everywhere these days ☺
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Coffee with Friends
Today is a rainy April day, a good day to tuck into a cup of coffee and catch up with old friends. The strange part of this April showers is the golden leaves that hint frost, not flowers, will follow. At home you are stepping out but here in kiwi land everyone seems to be tucking in for the winter to come. I can feel myself embracing the days of hibernation ahead, but for the moment we are still rolling around the South Island in Rupertina.
We left the West Coast about a month back, and it is becoming apparent that we have been here awhile now as many of the roads seem familiar and we meet friends along the way. We stopped over for a night in Hanmer Springs and enjoyed a couple glasses of wine on the vineyard and a fantastic feast. Sheryl and Richard were busy hosting a convergence of all sorts of folks but we had a few moments to catch up while I enjoyed returning to the vines and tasting how the grapes had matured during our absence. Adam and I were looking forward to yet another festival, this one featuring folk music, in exchange for a few hours on “toilet duty.”
The festival was outside of Christchurch (a big city for NZ) and over Easter weekend (a big holiday), so we were expecting a couple thousand folks to show up. Of course, like many things NewZealand, it turned out to be much more intimate with only 300 people in attendance, mostly families. We were far from disappointed (except for the lack of dancing) as the festival grounds, the people and the music were all amazing. The 3 times fiddle champion and the 7 times pipes champion of Ireland were both performing and holding workshops, accompanied by a standout character named Mickey who belted out tunes with cartoon like exaggeration and enthusiasm. The sound was fantastic, I have never seen fingers move faster and the mind-boggling part was that it still made acoustic sense! During the day we got to enjoy music workshops with the performers, who are all quite human and inspiring, but musically a bit over my head. Sixth grade orchestra didn’t quite prepare me for the irish boys or the bluegrass theories, but I certainly enjoyed when they started to play and I think I started to understand a bit how the structure works…very fluidly! The evening concert was studded with all sorts of folk artists and a couple hours of “blind dates” where the festival-goers join in groups and put together a tune to play for the evening show. I think everyone at this folk fest had spent years with their instrument. Other highlights include: remembering how to do a front flip on the trampoline, baking muesli bars in a bona fide oven, using the janitorial supplies to mop the kitchen floor in exchange for a hot cooked breakfast, and dancing in circles at a square dance (yes that is how good we are!).
Are you wondering how toilet duty went? I was pretty apprehensive about loo duty at first. Especially at a festival… I kept having recurring nightmares the few nights before we arrived remembering the state of eew-ness that happens at places like the Country Fair, where people seem to over indulge and forget how to properly use the toilet. Fortunately, this turned out to be a pretty simple job, with so few people, and quite respectful ones at that. Upon departure, we received quite a few thank yous and were even recognized at the concert. The worst part was a mild stink wafting from one of the pots on Monday morning. Not bad at all! My thanks goes out to all those tidy folks who whistle while they do their duty. A little further down the road, this experience made me appreciate a hilarious sign we found in a backcountry potty posted by the DOC (the folks who clean out and fly the poo out of the long drops). “Servicing the backcountry toilets is one of the worst jobs at the DOC… No matter how much you hate the world PLEASE don’t throw rubbish in the loo. If it seems a bit stinky in here, there is probably a raft of toilet paper on which the poo is floating. If you want to sink it, there is a stick in the wood shed you can use to give it a stir.” Well at least they’re honest, and if you know anyone who shines your porcelin throne, don’t underestimate their appreciation for a simple thank you and a quick wipe of any splash you leave behind.
ChCh. We wait in the city of Christchurch with some lovely friends from Luminate for a part of Oregon to arrive. Mr. Scott Anderson chugs in on the train with some love from home and familiar valley humor. The three of us continue to crash with Jimi and Gemma, two kindred souls who share their home with us. Gemma is a self-declared food nerd, a textile artist, and a lover of farmer’s markets while Jimi is a funky junk bike refurbisher, an eclectic tea mixer and into musical jam. We share some good meals, tuck in and watch some movies, take a “Sunday” drive in their huge old 1965 Jag (equip with aviator and safari hats) and have a picnic in the park after collecting goodies at the market. We try and devour a bucket of TipTop ice cream in the afternoon and they introduce me to ginger wine, my new favorite beverage. Can you imagine a sweet, spicy wine? A sip takes you to ginger heaven. I suggest you find yourself a bottle!
After a lovely stay with these outstanding kiwis (once on the news as “Samaritans” for taking in twins who had lost all of their belongings while travelling to a hitch hiking scam artist) Scott, Adam and I decided to go on another tramp and take advantage of some beautiful weather. Rupertina works a bit harder lugging the three of us up Arthurs Pass to Scott’s Track (truly!) along McGrath Stream (of course!) and up Avalanche Peak (?). We stop for fuel for the beast and pies and custard for ourselves before making the climb. Butter chicken, venison masala and camembert mince inside a flaky crust, are you salvating yet? Mmmm, yet the English influence is a little tragic when it comes to desserts. The custard sat on the dash of Rupertina and jiggled menacingly as we continued driving to the start of our track. Somehow it ended up inside the boys stomach but they still made it up the pass and back down the scree field all the way to our cozy little hut. Highlights include: meeting an Alpine parrot showing off for the camera, double skunking Scott and our new tramper friend at cribbage, the depth of stars unrivaled by any sky I have seen before, four wandering Europeans stumbling into camp two hours past dark and drinking a bottle of rum, and a frosty morning that heats up so quick when the sun hits the hut roof, a small downpour ensues.
We hang out in Christchurch a few more days, enjoying a kitchen and a bikeable city with coffee houses and funk shops, unique groceries and lovely weather. Jimi’s folks live out on the peninsula, next to a hazelnut orchard that needs some helpers for harvest. Adam and I are keen to do a bit more wwoofing so we find ourselves in the house of Bill, the German bike tour guide, Nikki, the horse riding, adolescent therapist Kiwi mom and Luca, their five-year old son who observes accusingly that we really like bananas. They live with five chooks and a couple paddocks of hazelnut trees, where we get to spend our mornings. We eat like birds here, but the work is not too strenuous. Four hours a day of scooting along the rows picking up the nuts, popping them out of their husks, and tossing them into a bucket. We get to chat and dream while we work, and of course once we delve into the deep topics we laugh at our long conversations about crude sounds, Brüno and farts. Luca asks his Poppa the question of the day “Was I the one you wanted?” and kids become an even greater mystery to me. Can you answer that one?
Bill took Adam and I on my first mountain bike ride. I sort of hated it but tried to stay positive, it was a hard one for someone one who is generally awkward on two wheels. Not too many casualties, a broken shoelace and a small tip over was the worst of it. By the time we had huffed and puffed to the top I was quite tired and looking for a couch, not an adrenaline rush or potential crash and burn. I rolled slowly back down after enjoying the view of the bay at sunset, looking forward to yoga.
We met Jimi’s folks next door. When asked what kind of stew alpaca makes, they respond “you wouldn’t eat family, would you?” They are an old English couple and we have a nice chat over gumboot tea and ginger slices. They have the best eggs with uber yellow yolks, according to Gemma.
We decide it is time to move on South before winter sets in and cold covers the fiordlands and Mt Cook. It is still quite brisk, but we’ve seen a fair bit of sunshine as well, this being our first really rainy day.
(Please note the coffee shop closed, the blog only got this far and another week of adventure ensued. This time we have been inundated by constant rain and the fiordlands are flooding. It is morning and we just cooked up some toasties with cheese, egg and apple chutney and are enjoying some Lady Grey while sitting in the front seat of Rupertina in a Rugby Car Park.)
Let’s see. We spent a night at Lake Tekapo and marvel at the stars. It is one of the darkest spots to view the night sky and we were lucky to catch a break in the clouds. Living in the van when it gets dark at 6:30pm means we usually crash pretty early. It’s amazing what a world of difference electric light makes! Watching the stars makes me sleepy. The next day we head off to fulfill one of Adam’s lifelong goals (he has an affinity for mountains) towards Aoraki, aka Mt Cook, a lovely, huge, impressive and mildly aggressive mountain. In the visitor center are three fat books filled with memorials to the many lives claimed by crevasses, falling rocks and falling from big rock. I wonder what draws people to challenge this formidable and seemingly indifferent element of nature. A risky challenge that glistens with promise, especially on a day like the one we found it when it glimmers with sunshine, whispy clouds under a blue blue sky. The promise of what though? A mystery of alpine altitude uncovered or your true strength revealed? While we hiked around the valleys below a huge slice of glacier tumbled away. I looked to the sky for an answer to the thunder and saw instead a huge puff unfold like icing sugar powdering the mountain in one go.
Night time finds us pulling into Twizel, a very small town populated with trees and only a few humans and one main square. Freedom camping is always a little strange, going to bed wondering if someone will knock on the van door in the middle of the night or very early morning. And unless you are out of town a ways, finding access to a bathroom is pretty important. This time we park next to a hotel and use the potties near reception.
We continue on to Wanaka, a touristy town situated on the edge of a big lake. I find a little organic shop with a window seat, an excellent cup of coffee and tasty treats and hole up here while Adam rides his bike up and down a big hill. We find an excellent place to freedom camp for the night, a development on the outskirts of town in a small field where we are out of everyone’s way. In the morning folks walk their dogs up here and we meet one named Sophie who is headed to Oregon in about a week, to work with her husband up on Mt Hood to put in a terrain park. If you see her say hi. While in Wanaka I hiked up to Roy’s Peak to get a view of the lake. It was a super sunny clear day and I was very sweaty after a couple hours of up up up through sheep fields and tussock grasses. The view was worth it! And I met some nice sheep too.
Our time in New Zealand seems to be getting short, we still have a few months left but a lot we hope to do as well. We spend an afternoon planning what we’d like to do this week and then a general sketch for the rest of the time we are here. As always, there is more to do than time to do it and making priorities and plans can be tense and frustrating. We still want to do some tramping, visit some of our new kiwi friends, live in a couple communities up north and explore the north island. Realistically, we like to stay for a while in each place to soak up some of the authentic flavor, preferably WWOOFing so we can stay with locals and help out. So covering that much in a few months is near impossible. We plan out some tramps to take in the fiordlands, but of course it is weather dependant and a storm front moves in as we plan. So once we decided on a course of action, the flow of nature changed our course again. Long story short, we made our goals and now we are just following intuitions and the whims of this lovely island.
Instead of our planned 5 day tramp through the Wilkens Young valleys, we found ourselves on an overnight hike up Blue River Valley. Another tramp through a damp forest of beech trees, the roots forming steps and mushrooms popping up all over the spongy floor. Did you know purple mushrooms existed? One of my favorite environments, a forest full of surprises. A few hours tramping and we reach a nice flats to camp in and set up the tent while rain threatens. We spend an afternoon wandering up the river and spend a leisurely evening in the tent. We wake up to rain pattering and enjoy a wet hike back to the Blue Pools, a new perspective for me as the rain makes glasses impossible to see through. I hike with new vision, the leaves blending to a solid green and the path turning into an undulating river of brown and imperceptible depth. I used “the force” and was very tired by the time we got back to a cozy Rupertina.
On the next road, we find our first hitchhiker. His name is Tom and he is from Alabama. Tom wore beads in his hair and traveled most of the year, making money by renting out a few houses in the states. He liked to talk about all of his friends he’d made in NZ and likes to drop down into caves and is starting a schools for schools project between the US and India. He was meeting up with an Estonian he met on couchsurfing website, who we also picked up along the way. She was much more normal than the last Estonians we had met, although she was meeting up with a strange man to go kayak in the Milford.
We end up in Te Anau. There is supposed to be rain, rain and more rain for the next few days. We arrive around 9pm and find a car park at the foot of the Kepler track to sleep in for the night. A forcast of rain is a little forboding when your only free respite is a van you share with two bikes. For me living in a van and being a traveler is a huge challenge, and Adam is very patient and understanding. I’m a homebody and Rupertina just doesn’t cut it. At the edge of my comfort zone for the past three months, in a van in the middle of a storm on a small island across the planet from home I find myself exhausted, utterly homesick and I crack in the most tender and protected spot I had bottled for 13 years. When my dad passed away I saved my mourning for a time when I could deal with it in the way a ten year old can’t. I never really cried all that much, I just leaked every now and again when I was too filled with sadness to keep it all inside. Well, it finally erupted, rivaling the storm that nature was brewing. And I was lucky Adam was there to hold me and help me remember to breath between the sobbing. I have never experienced grief like that before. And although the rains of the past few days have flooded the fiordlands, I think I may have added half the volume in tears. For the next few days, memories came flooding back and I felt whole and alive in a way I had forgotten. I got to share my memories with Adam and we spent a couple days eating BBQ potato chips and cottage cheese and tuna broccoli casserole, running around in bare feet, jumping in puddles, drinking coffee while it rained, painting pictures and writing memorials, and living! In the memory of my Dad. (ps. Pull my finger!) While it rained we decided to hike out to a hut on Lake Manapouri and let the storm rage, with us tucked in next to a warm fire. We shared more tears and laughs while we wrote letters to my dad and celebrated life and the happiness that comes when the people you love live on through you. This past week has been intense for both of us, but I couldn’t be happier. I am filled with gratitude for all of the people who have been a part of my life and filled me with love and compassion. Thank you all!
That’s enough writing for now, the next adventure awaits and so does more rain. We’re not bothered though, you get wet in the shower right? Off to play again and maybe even get in the ocean so close to Antarctica, who’d of thunk it. Love and miss you all Rebecca and Adam
We left the West Coast about a month back, and it is becoming apparent that we have been here awhile now as many of the roads seem familiar and we meet friends along the way. We stopped over for a night in Hanmer Springs and enjoyed a couple glasses of wine on the vineyard and a fantastic feast. Sheryl and Richard were busy hosting a convergence of all sorts of folks but we had a few moments to catch up while I enjoyed returning to the vines and tasting how the grapes had matured during our absence. Adam and I were looking forward to yet another festival, this one featuring folk music, in exchange for a few hours on “toilet duty.”
The festival was outside of Christchurch (a big city for NZ) and over Easter weekend (a big holiday), so we were expecting a couple thousand folks to show up. Of course, like many things NewZealand, it turned out to be much more intimate with only 300 people in attendance, mostly families. We were far from disappointed (except for the lack of dancing) as the festival grounds, the people and the music were all amazing. The 3 times fiddle champion and the 7 times pipes champion of Ireland were both performing and holding workshops, accompanied by a standout character named Mickey who belted out tunes with cartoon like exaggeration and enthusiasm. The sound was fantastic, I have never seen fingers move faster and the mind-boggling part was that it still made acoustic sense! During the day we got to enjoy music workshops with the performers, who are all quite human and inspiring, but musically a bit over my head. Sixth grade orchestra didn’t quite prepare me for the irish boys or the bluegrass theories, but I certainly enjoyed when they started to play and I think I started to understand a bit how the structure works…very fluidly! The evening concert was studded with all sorts of folk artists and a couple hours of “blind dates” where the festival-goers join in groups and put together a tune to play for the evening show. I think everyone at this folk fest had spent years with their instrument. Other highlights include: remembering how to do a front flip on the trampoline, baking muesli bars in a bona fide oven, using the janitorial supplies to mop the kitchen floor in exchange for a hot cooked breakfast, and dancing in circles at a square dance (yes that is how good we are!).
Are you wondering how toilet duty went? I was pretty apprehensive about loo duty at first. Especially at a festival… I kept having recurring nightmares the few nights before we arrived remembering the state of eew-ness that happens at places like the Country Fair, where people seem to over indulge and forget how to properly use the toilet. Fortunately, this turned out to be a pretty simple job, with so few people, and quite respectful ones at that. Upon departure, we received quite a few thank yous and were even recognized at the concert. The worst part was a mild stink wafting from one of the pots on Monday morning. Not bad at all! My thanks goes out to all those tidy folks who whistle while they do their duty. A little further down the road, this experience made me appreciate a hilarious sign we found in a backcountry potty posted by the DOC (the folks who clean out and fly the poo out of the long drops). “Servicing the backcountry toilets is one of the worst jobs at the DOC… No matter how much you hate the world PLEASE don’t throw rubbish in the loo. If it seems a bit stinky in here, there is probably a raft of toilet paper on which the poo is floating. If you want to sink it, there is a stick in the wood shed you can use to give it a stir.” Well at least they’re honest, and if you know anyone who shines your porcelin throne, don’t underestimate their appreciation for a simple thank you and a quick wipe of any splash you leave behind.
ChCh. We wait in the city of Christchurch with some lovely friends from Luminate for a part of Oregon to arrive. Mr. Scott Anderson chugs in on the train with some love from home and familiar valley humor. The three of us continue to crash with Jimi and Gemma, two kindred souls who share their home with us. Gemma is a self-declared food nerd, a textile artist, and a lover of farmer’s markets while Jimi is a funky junk bike refurbisher, an eclectic tea mixer and into musical jam. We share some good meals, tuck in and watch some movies, take a “Sunday” drive in their huge old 1965 Jag (equip with aviator and safari hats) and have a picnic in the park after collecting goodies at the market. We try and devour a bucket of TipTop ice cream in the afternoon and they introduce me to ginger wine, my new favorite beverage. Can you imagine a sweet, spicy wine? A sip takes you to ginger heaven. I suggest you find yourself a bottle!
After a lovely stay with these outstanding kiwis (once on the news as “Samaritans” for taking in twins who had lost all of their belongings while travelling to a hitch hiking scam artist) Scott, Adam and I decided to go on another tramp and take advantage of some beautiful weather. Rupertina works a bit harder lugging the three of us up Arthurs Pass to Scott’s Track (truly!) along McGrath Stream (of course!) and up Avalanche Peak (?). We stop for fuel for the beast and pies and custard for ourselves before making the climb. Butter chicken, venison masala and camembert mince inside a flaky crust, are you salvating yet? Mmmm, yet the English influence is a little tragic when it comes to desserts. The custard sat on the dash of Rupertina and jiggled menacingly as we continued driving to the start of our track. Somehow it ended up inside the boys stomach but they still made it up the pass and back down the scree field all the way to our cozy little hut. Highlights include: meeting an Alpine parrot showing off for the camera, double skunking Scott and our new tramper friend at cribbage, the depth of stars unrivaled by any sky I have seen before, four wandering Europeans stumbling into camp two hours past dark and drinking a bottle of rum, and a frosty morning that heats up so quick when the sun hits the hut roof, a small downpour ensues.
We hang out in Christchurch a few more days, enjoying a kitchen and a bikeable city with coffee houses and funk shops, unique groceries and lovely weather. Jimi’s folks live out on the peninsula, next to a hazelnut orchard that needs some helpers for harvest. Adam and I are keen to do a bit more wwoofing so we find ourselves in the house of Bill, the German bike tour guide, Nikki, the horse riding, adolescent therapist Kiwi mom and Luca, their five-year old son who observes accusingly that we really like bananas. They live with five chooks and a couple paddocks of hazelnut trees, where we get to spend our mornings. We eat like birds here, but the work is not too strenuous. Four hours a day of scooting along the rows picking up the nuts, popping them out of their husks, and tossing them into a bucket. We get to chat and dream while we work, and of course once we delve into the deep topics we laugh at our long conversations about crude sounds, Brüno and farts. Luca asks his Poppa the question of the day “Was I the one you wanted?” and kids become an even greater mystery to me. Can you answer that one?
Bill took Adam and I on my first mountain bike ride. I sort of hated it but tried to stay positive, it was a hard one for someone one who is generally awkward on two wheels. Not too many casualties, a broken shoelace and a small tip over was the worst of it. By the time we had huffed and puffed to the top I was quite tired and looking for a couch, not an adrenaline rush or potential crash and burn. I rolled slowly back down after enjoying the view of the bay at sunset, looking forward to yoga.
We met Jimi’s folks next door. When asked what kind of stew alpaca makes, they respond “you wouldn’t eat family, would you?” They are an old English couple and we have a nice chat over gumboot tea and ginger slices. They have the best eggs with uber yellow yolks, according to Gemma.
We decide it is time to move on South before winter sets in and cold covers the fiordlands and Mt Cook. It is still quite brisk, but we’ve seen a fair bit of sunshine as well, this being our first really rainy day.
(Please note the coffee shop closed, the blog only got this far and another week of adventure ensued. This time we have been inundated by constant rain and the fiordlands are flooding. It is morning and we just cooked up some toasties with cheese, egg and apple chutney and are enjoying some Lady Grey while sitting in the front seat of Rupertina in a Rugby Car Park.)
Let’s see. We spent a night at Lake Tekapo and marvel at the stars. It is one of the darkest spots to view the night sky and we were lucky to catch a break in the clouds. Living in the van when it gets dark at 6:30pm means we usually crash pretty early. It’s amazing what a world of difference electric light makes! Watching the stars makes me sleepy. The next day we head off to fulfill one of Adam’s lifelong goals (he has an affinity for mountains) towards Aoraki, aka Mt Cook, a lovely, huge, impressive and mildly aggressive mountain. In the visitor center are three fat books filled with memorials to the many lives claimed by crevasses, falling rocks and falling from big rock. I wonder what draws people to challenge this formidable and seemingly indifferent element of nature. A risky challenge that glistens with promise, especially on a day like the one we found it when it glimmers with sunshine, whispy clouds under a blue blue sky. The promise of what though? A mystery of alpine altitude uncovered or your true strength revealed? While we hiked around the valleys below a huge slice of glacier tumbled away. I looked to the sky for an answer to the thunder and saw instead a huge puff unfold like icing sugar powdering the mountain in one go.
Night time finds us pulling into Twizel, a very small town populated with trees and only a few humans and one main square. Freedom camping is always a little strange, going to bed wondering if someone will knock on the van door in the middle of the night or very early morning. And unless you are out of town a ways, finding access to a bathroom is pretty important. This time we park next to a hotel and use the potties near reception.
We continue on to Wanaka, a touristy town situated on the edge of a big lake. I find a little organic shop with a window seat, an excellent cup of coffee and tasty treats and hole up here while Adam rides his bike up and down a big hill. We find an excellent place to freedom camp for the night, a development on the outskirts of town in a small field where we are out of everyone’s way. In the morning folks walk their dogs up here and we meet one named Sophie who is headed to Oregon in about a week, to work with her husband up on Mt Hood to put in a terrain park. If you see her say hi. While in Wanaka I hiked up to Roy’s Peak to get a view of the lake. It was a super sunny clear day and I was very sweaty after a couple hours of up up up through sheep fields and tussock grasses. The view was worth it! And I met some nice sheep too.
Our time in New Zealand seems to be getting short, we still have a few months left but a lot we hope to do as well. We spend an afternoon planning what we’d like to do this week and then a general sketch for the rest of the time we are here. As always, there is more to do than time to do it and making priorities and plans can be tense and frustrating. We still want to do some tramping, visit some of our new kiwi friends, live in a couple communities up north and explore the north island. Realistically, we like to stay for a while in each place to soak up some of the authentic flavor, preferably WWOOFing so we can stay with locals and help out. So covering that much in a few months is near impossible. We plan out some tramps to take in the fiordlands, but of course it is weather dependant and a storm front moves in as we plan. So once we decided on a course of action, the flow of nature changed our course again. Long story short, we made our goals and now we are just following intuitions and the whims of this lovely island.
Instead of our planned 5 day tramp through the Wilkens Young valleys, we found ourselves on an overnight hike up Blue River Valley. Another tramp through a damp forest of beech trees, the roots forming steps and mushrooms popping up all over the spongy floor. Did you know purple mushrooms existed? One of my favorite environments, a forest full of surprises. A few hours tramping and we reach a nice flats to camp in and set up the tent while rain threatens. We spend an afternoon wandering up the river and spend a leisurely evening in the tent. We wake up to rain pattering and enjoy a wet hike back to the Blue Pools, a new perspective for me as the rain makes glasses impossible to see through. I hike with new vision, the leaves blending to a solid green and the path turning into an undulating river of brown and imperceptible depth. I used “the force” and was very tired by the time we got back to a cozy Rupertina.
On the next road, we find our first hitchhiker. His name is Tom and he is from Alabama. Tom wore beads in his hair and traveled most of the year, making money by renting out a few houses in the states. He liked to talk about all of his friends he’d made in NZ and likes to drop down into caves and is starting a schools for schools project between the US and India. He was meeting up with an Estonian he met on couchsurfing website, who we also picked up along the way. She was much more normal than the last Estonians we had met, although she was meeting up with a strange man to go kayak in the Milford.
We end up in Te Anau. There is supposed to be rain, rain and more rain for the next few days. We arrive around 9pm and find a car park at the foot of the Kepler track to sleep in for the night. A forcast of rain is a little forboding when your only free respite is a van you share with two bikes. For me living in a van and being a traveler is a huge challenge, and Adam is very patient and understanding. I’m a homebody and Rupertina just doesn’t cut it. At the edge of my comfort zone for the past three months, in a van in the middle of a storm on a small island across the planet from home I find myself exhausted, utterly homesick and I crack in the most tender and protected spot I had bottled for 13 years. When my dad passed away I saved my mourning for a time when I could deal with it in the way a ten year old can’t. I never really cried all that much, I just leaked every now and again when I was too filled with sadness to keep it all inside. Well, it finally erupted, rivaling the storm that nature was brewing. And I was lucky Adam was there to hold me and help me remember to breath between the sobbing. I have never experienced grief like that before. And although the rains of the past few days have flooded the fiordlands, I think I may have added half the volume in tears. For the next few days, memories came flooding back and I felt whole and alive in a way I had forgotten. I got to share my memories with Adam and we spent a couple days eating BBQ potato chips and cottage cheese and tuna broccoli casserole, running around in bare feet, jumping in puddles, drinking coffee while it rained, painting pictures and writing memorials, and living! In the memory of my Dad. (ps. Pull my finger!) While it rained we decided to hike out to a hut on Lake Manapouri and let the storm rage, with us tucked in next to a warm fire. We shared more tears and laughs while we wrote letters to my dad and celebrated life and the happiness that comes when the people you love live on through you. This past week has been intense for both of us, but I couldn’t be happier. I am filled with gratitude for all of the people who have been a part of my life and filled me with love and compassion. Thank you all!
That’s enough writing for now, the next adventure awaits and so does more rain. We’re not bothered though, you get wet in the shower right? Off to play again and maybe even get in the ocean so close to Antarctica, who’d of thunk it. Love and miss you all Rebecca and Adam
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Yup, we're still bumbling...
April is a month of cruisy travelling. All is well. The road has some ups and downs, but we are welcome here. Friends abound from folks to mountains. We are having a great time. Get back to you shortly, when the sun stops shining and our feet are sore and tired. Lots of love!
Sunday, April 4, 2010
The End of the Road
Leaving Larry and Di at the Hexagon was hard, but after stumbling on that place we were sure we were headed on the right track. That track had us headed up the map, north to the end of the road. I know that sounds weird, but we were off to the top of the South Island, via the west coast, which just happens to dead end into the little town of Karamea. I for one was really excited about this part of the trip; from my experience good things lie at the end of long dead end roads. Generally a haven for artists, rednecks and hippies alike, there is just something a little off, a touch different that just gets me excited for a dead end.
But before got there we managed to make a stop at our first full on Tourist destination and one of those things you find on postcards all over NZ. Its called Punakaiki, or more commonly the Pancake Rocks. Although it was built as a tourist funnel, where you follow the party in front of you along a paved path between guardrails and all the nature is sucked out of it, the rocks themselves didn’t disappoint. They are certainly an attraction for good reason.
After a good tourist outing and a good nights rest on the beach, we were finally on the road that went nowhere. We had made plans when we were in Greymouth to wwoof at a hotel in a little town called Little Wanganui, about 18k south of Karamea. We had a loose idea of wwoofing at the hotel and then maybe going for a tramp, but man it’s a good thing we are flexible because everything and I mean everything was off at the Little Wanganui Hotel. This place, in a word, was purgatory. For all you non-religious folks purgatory is this place that’s between Heaven and Hell and were you go to atone your sins. Its not happy, but its also not fire and demons. And that is exactly what the Little Wanganui Hotel was. As soon as we stepped in the door, the time warp of soul sucking confusion began. This place was strange, first and foremost, not a quaint hotel, or an organic restaurant, nor a real vegetable patch. It was a pub, and a dirty grungy end of the road pub at that. Not that there is anything wrong with that, or the people that visit these places, but it was far from the impression painted on the wwoofing website. To top it off the place was under transition, being bought and transferred, and the owners, both previous and to be, were changing hands and living in-house as we sat and watched. It was pretty bizarre, the family from Christchurch had moved into the hotel living quarters, while the old owner and her daughter moved into a house bus in the back yard. That’s kinda weird but while living in the house bus, with her daughter, she was still the owner and running the hotel for about a week till the new owners took over. For us it meant we had 2 sets of bosses, all of whom were massively dysfunctional.
Here is crazy purgatory story number 1, and part of the reason dysfunction was rampant… The owner in the house bus, Kristy, had a husband that had died 9 months ago, which spurred her into action to follow her dream of traveling the world with her daughter. Her husband’s name was Dave; Dave was punched in the head and died on the spot in the bar. The lady who lived across the street punched him in the head. The lady across the street had been really good friends with Kirsty, they had grown up together, she also had a kid who was best friends with Kristy’s daughter. Somewhere along the way they had a falling out.
Now crazy story number 2: The new owners, well soon to be owners I should say, from Christchurch are a family of 4, Mom, Pop, son, daughter. So about 4 weeks ago Pop gets a really good bellyache, and it gets so bad he goes off to the hospital. Well good thing he did, because his liver was clogged and sending bad blood up his intestine, which killed a section of it. So he had to have emergency surgery and only had about a 30% chance of making it. Any way he pulled thru and 2 weeks later they moved into the Little Wanganui.
Crazy story number 3: Upon arrival we found 2 other wwoofers. Right and Kirsty from Estonia. Nothing against Estonians but they are weird and they speak English a bit funny too. So Right and Kirsty are only in New Zealand to go woooofing (to get an idea of how she talks imagine a crazy Russian mixed with a cartoon heifer that moo’s, then multiply the volume by ten). They are in New Zealand because “One day we decide go on vacation. We choose New Zealand because it has no big animals or poisonous things like Australias”
Now that stuff is just way to good for me to have made up, but it really explains the absolute bizarreness of this place. So between these three sets of crazies, we had 3 bosses: Kirsty who is completely over it and just partying in her own bar giving us little mindless tasks. The Chch family who makes us clean up but tries to not boss us around because they don’t own it yet. And the woofers who have been there for a long time and tell us to work slower and tell us how to weed because, “the last wooooofers (remember Russian cartoon cow) from America dids it all wrong and I have to do again.” Now take this and compound it with the fact that are tasks involve cleaning a lard deep-fryer, all the food coming out of the freezer, cleaning a kitchen that’s not been tended too in about 15 years, no fresh food, every person imaginable strolling thru the kitchen and you’ll understand why we were going crazy. But (and a big but here) no one cared what we did and we had lots of time to ourselves. With 3 bosses, and no one to report to, tasks just came and went and no one worried. Also everyone was very nice, not like good friends nice, but kind and not all up in your business. This allowed us time to start working on Pine needle baskets, which served as our primary time killer and some form of sanity. Every thing was very chilled out, but not fulfilling, just like purgatory. As such we didn’t last, we were there for less than 48 hours. I know that’s unbelievable considering how much I’ve written, but this place was something else, a black hole from the rest of the world.
So as far out as it was on arrival, it was a celebration on the way out. We still had a few k’s to the end of the road, which is clearly why we didn’t find the goods at little Wanganui, and nothing but joy and sing-a-longs were enjoyed along the remaining cruisey drive to the end. And man it was good to get to Karamea, we popped into the grocery grabbed some sweet corn and headed to the beach for a big celebration. Rebecca and I shared a big glass of Gin and Juice, had a huge beach bonfire, grilled up our corn and shared an amazing sunset all by our lonesome on yet another beautiful beach.
With our woofing plans thrown out the door we mosied back into Karamea and tried to sort out the next move. We searched the local spots to see if anyone needed more wwoofers, since we are constantly trying to find good people to connect with, but everyone was full. But as I’m finding if you have the right attitude, the good people find you, and so was the case as we met our newest friend Glen. He was the man behind the counter of the Global Gypsy Gallery, a part thrift store, part internet café, international goods shop, local organic food, ride share board, and art/photo gallery all in one. To say the least exactly my type of shop and as such Rebecca and I killed more or less half a day trying on costumes, eating snacks, chatting with Glen and boobing on the internet. Some awesome costumes were found, I got a new hat and Rebecca found a medieval Indian fairy dress, and most importantly we had a new friend and a new plan.
With no woofing to be found, we decided to go for a 7 day tramp. We need some supplies so I was off to the grocery, just across the street, and low and behold I found our Canadian friends from our time at the hostel in Greymouth. They told me they were off caving and I asked to join them. With great enthusiasm Rebecca and I teamed up with the 3 Canadians and our wandering French-American couple also from the greymouth hostel. Loaded 7 deep into a tiny Mitsubishi hatchback, with me in the trunk, obviously, we headed up and into the hills to find some caves. It was amazing. Huge cricket like bugs called Wetas, Massive spiders, and endless nooks and crannies to explore. It was a blast.
Then to top it off we went on another wee wonder, and found this amazing limestone arch called the Opara Arch. It was amazing. New Zealand never fails to provide wonder and inspiration.
After a car-sickening ride down the mountain, we parted ways to another beach campout, simply one of my favorite re-occurring themes of the west coast. We woke in the morning excited to start our tramp but we had another couple things to get done before heading out, but then with the theme of Karamea we threw the plans out the window. Our new friend Glen had got together with some folks the night before and found us a place to wwoof at, the folks who sell their produce in the Global Gypsy. As soon as we heard this we knew it was the best thing to do. Only hang up was, they couldn’t take us till the next afternoon. So what to do? The solution, we decided, was to go tramping to another hut and spend the night and come out the next day. Brilliant!
It sounded brilliant and in retrospect our plan was brilliant, but it was one of those hikes that’s a character builder. With little knowledge and a simple thing in the local public pamphlet that said 6 hours route to a hut up the Karmea Gorge, we thought sounds like the one. Well like all things NZ this was something else. Not a trail but a true route finding adventure that was more like Jungle bushwhacking, rockclimbing, rope repelling, stream crossing, boulder traversing, slip sliding, all-body punishment. It was all of 6 hard hours to the hut, oh and did I mention it was monsooning out. It was raining harder than I’ve ever seen it rain in Oregon. Fitting I guess seeing as we were in a Jungle. This was not the woods, or the forest. This was the real rainforest, dense bush, vines twisting from every which way, huge trees, fern filled, dampness everywhere JUNGLE. So the hut was the most glorious place ever. A big fire and lots of calories consumed we drifted off to sleep to the sound of the river. The next day it was out the way we came, although admittedly easier with it not pouring rain and sunshine breaking thru the dense canopy.
Smelly, slimy, and with crazy wrinkled feet we found civilization and the best pies in NZ (Adams travel guide book tip, Saracens Pies in Karamea, buy lots of them!!!!) we headed for a new farm with eager anticipation and open minds for learning more, still inspired by our permaculturelist extraordinaire Larry. As soon as we pulled into the driveway and were greeted by two Nubian goats, we once again new we were on the right track, proving that not having a plan is sometimes the best one.
Gary and Rose’s Heritage Fruit and Veg, as is their business name was something extraordinary. A part permaculture, fully organic, business selling delicious edibles locally was exactly what we were looking for, but even more importantly it was backed by one of the most open inviting inspiring families of Gary, Rose, their 2 year old Curnin and 5 month old Deacon (D-Man!). They are a family running a business, living off the land, and constantly working on new projects to improve the land they live off of. At the moment it’s a mostly a work in progress, filled with a huge garden of exclusively raised beds that grow Salad mix, Pumpkins, Zucchinis, squash, carrots, radishes, corn, potatoes, and what ever else was next to come into season (mainly winter crops of brassicas we helped plant). The rest of the land is being developed to become a full-scale heritage fruit orchard. Plus they discovered and cleared away a few acres of blackberry bush to save around 80 fijoa trees. They are working hard to fix up the place and turn it into a solid business that is stable and has value adding potential (this means making jams, relishes, chutneys, etc etc).
Our roll as wwoofers there was to help this dream of theirs come true, and their way of doing this was not by giving you jobs, but by making you part of the dream itself. In everyway possible we were adopted family. When your out in the bush about 20k from town or any shops or anything, you just get in on their schedule. Oh and lets not forget the kids. There is down time where your not “working”, but your just part of the family and at any moment you could be asked to change a nappy, hold a 5 month old, or put pants on a screaming 2 year old. Full on, that’s all I can say really. It was also a real blessing for another wwoofer to be there at the same time as us. Katy was an incredible personality from Florida, but was a University of Vermont student so to say the least she was rad. She had stayed previously and decided to come back and we just happened to be there at the same time. I love how these things just seem to keep happening for us!
As far as work was concerned, we got up to all sorts of things. Most of my personal efforts were dedicated to building a chicken coop, some landscaping of dirt piles, and putting the plastic up on a tunnel house. I love projects that have finality to them, so sometimes the garden drives me nuts because its constant and what you do one day doesn’t have a real solid finish feel to it, so these projects were great. Rebecca mostly worked in the garden beds, turning over and making nutrient rich soil, weeding, transplanting, pulling out old crops to be replaced, and helping around the house making dinner on their wood-fired stove, tending said fire, and jarring rhubarb jam.
But by far the best part of this experience was the learning element. Gary and Rose are certainly different than me, and so is their dream. Much is similar, but also much is very very different. The main thing though was their openness and willingness to teach. They were open to let us be ourselves and discuss our dreams, and provide good feedback and helpful advices. As well they taught us everything they knew about soil health, business, and selective planting. And everything was an open forum, no question was tossed aside, and nothing was off limits. This is so hard to find in people, but it forces you to grow. Also to top it all off they took us on great adventures and shared with us their other side projects that bring them fulfillment, and they were nothing short of fantastic. Gary is definitely a music nerd and a sound nerd specifically, so they threw a party that was an open experimental jam, with little kids involved to highly talented musician all with a sound board, huge speakers microphones the works. It was such a great atmosphere for creativity and openness mostly thanks to Gary’s enthusiasm and non-profit organization the “Karamea Sound Machine.” They also found time to take us out the reef at low tide and go mussel collecting and Paua (abalone) hunting. It was a blast and we got to learn about more food native to NZ and see what the locals do. To say the least it was nothing short of amazing staying with them.
In the end Karamea delivered, crazy folks, hippies, artist and rednecks abound, but we found just what we were looking for. We may have found the end of the road, but for us the road continues to rise up to meet us.
But before got there we managed to make a stop at our first full on Tourist destination and one of those things you find on postcards all over NZ. Its called Punakaiki, or more commonly the Pancake Rocks. Although it was built as a tourist funnel, where you follow the party in front of you along a paved path between guardrails and all the nature is sucked out of it, the rocks themselves didn’t disappoint. They are certainly an attraction for good reason.
After a good tourist outing and a good nights rest on the beach, we were finally on the road that went nowhere. We had made plans when we were in Greymouth to wwoof at a hotel in a little town called Little Wanganui, about 18k south of Karamea. We had a loose idea of wwoofing at the hotel and then maybe going for a tramp, but man it’s a good thing we are flexible because everything and I mean everything was off at the Little Wanganui Hotel. This place, in a word, was purgatory. For all you non-religious folks purgatory is this place that’s between Heaven and Hell and were you go to atone your sins. Its not happy, but its also not fire and demons. And that is exactly what the Little Wanganui Hotel was. As soon as we stepped in the door, the time warp of soul sucking confusion began. This place was strange, first and foremost, not a quaint hotel, or an organic restaurant, nor a real vegetable patch. It was a pub, and a dirty grungy end of the road pub at that. Not that there is anything wrong with that, or the people that visit these places, but it was far from the impression painted on the wwoofing website. To top it off the place was under transition, being bought and transferred, and the owners, both previous and to be, were changing hands and living in-house as we sat and watched. It was pretty bizarre, the family from Christchurch had moved into the hotel living quarters, while the old owner and her daughter moved into a house bus in the back yard. That’s kinda weird but while living in the house bus, with her daughter, she was still the owner and running the hotel for about a week till the new owners took over. For us it meant we had 2 sets of bosses, all of whom were massively dysfunctional.
Here is crazy purgatory story number 1, and part of the reason dysfunction was rampant… The owner in the house bus, Kristy, had a husband that had died 9 months ago, which spurred her into action to follow her dream of traveling the world with her daughter. Her husband’s name was Dave; Dave was punched in the head and died on the spot in the bar. The lady who lived across the street punched him in the head. The lady across the street had been really good friends with Kirsty, they had grown up together, she also had a kid who was best friends with Kristy’s daughter. Somewhere along the way they had a falling out.
Now crazy story number 2: The new owners, well soon to be owners I should say, from Christchurch are a family of 4, Mom, Pop, son, daughter. So about 4 weeks ago Pop gets a really good bellyache, and it gets so bad he goes off to the hospital. Well good thing he did, because his liver was clogged and sending bad blood up his intestine, which killed a section of it. So he had to have emergency surgery and only had about a 30% chance of making it. Any way he pulled thru and 2 weeks later they moved into the Little Wanganui.
Crazy story number 3: Upon arrival we found 2 other wwoofers. Right and Kirsty from Estonia. Nothing against Estonians but they are weird and they speak English a bit funny too. So Right and Kirsty are only in New Zealand to go woooofing (to get an idea of how she talks imagine a crazy Russian mixed with a cartoon heifer that moo’s, then multiply the volume by ten). They are in New Zealand because “One day we decide go on vacation. We choose New Zealand because it has no big animals or poisonous things like Australias”
Now that stuff is just way to good for me to have made up, but it really explains the absolute bizarreness of this place. So between these three sets of crazies, we had 3 bosses: Kirsty who is completely over it and just partying in her own bar giving us little mindless tasks. The Chch family who makes us clean up but tries to not boss us around because they don’t own it yet. And the woofers who have been there for a long time and tell us to work slower and tell us how to weed because, “the last wooooofers (remember Russian cartoon cow) from America dids it all wrong and I have to do again.” Now take this and compound it with the fact that are tasks involve cleaning a lard deep-fryer, all the food coming out of the freezer, cleaning a kitchen that’s not been tended too in about 15 years, no fresh food, every person imaginable strolling thru the kitchen and you’ll understand why we were going crazy. But (and a big but here) no one cared what we did and we had lots of time to ourselves. With 3 bosses, and no one to report to, tasks just came and went and no one worried. Also everyone was very nice, not like good friends nice, but kind and not all up in your business. This allowed us time to start working on Pine needle baskets, which served as our primary time killer and some form of sanity. Every thing was very chilled out, but not fulfilling, just like purgatory. As such we didn’t last, we were there for less than 48 hours. I know that’s unbelievable considering how much I’ve written, but this place was something else, a black hole from the rest of the world.
So as far out as it was on arrival, it was a celebration on the way out. We still had a few k’s to the end of the road, which is clearly why we didn’t find the goods at little Wanganui, and nothing but joy and sing-a-longs were enjoyed along the remaining cruisey drive to the end. And man it was good to get to Karamea, we popped into the grocery grabbed some sweet corn and headed to the beach for a big celebration. Rebecca and I shared a big glass of Gin and Juice, had a huge beach bonfire, grilled up our corn and shared an amazing sunset all by our lonesome on yet another beautiful beach.
With our woofing plans thrown out the door we mosied back into Karamea and tried to sort out the next move. We searched the local spots to see if anyone needed more wwoofers, since we are constantly trying to find good people to connect with, but everyone was full. But as I’m finding if you have the right attitude, the good people find you, and so was the case as we met our newest friend Glen. He was the man behind the counter of the Global Gypsy Gallery, a part thrift store, part internet café, international goods shop, local organic food, ride share board, and art/photo gallery all in one. To say the least exactly my type of shop and as such Rebecca and I killed more or less half a day trying on costumes, eating snacks, chatting with Glen and boobing on the internet. Some awesome costumes were found, I got a new hat and Rebecca found a medieval Indian fairy dress, and most importantly we had a new friend and a new plan.
With no woofing to be found, we decided to go for a 7 day tramp. We need some supplies so I was off to the grocery, just across the street, and low and behold I found our Canadian friends from our time at the hostel in Greymouth. They told me they were off caving and I asked to join them. With great enthusiasm Rebecca and I teamed up with the 3 Canadians and our wandering French-American couple also from the greymouth hostel. Loaded 7 deep into a tiny Mitsubishi hatchback, with me in the trunk, obviously, we headed up and into the hills to find some caves. It was amazing. Huge cricket like bugs called Wetas, Massive spiders, and endless nooks and crannies to explore. It was a blast.
Then to top it off we went on another wee wonder, and found this amazing limestone arch called the Opara Arch. It was amazing. New Zealand never fails to provide wonder and inspiration.
After a car-sickening ride down the mountain, we parted ways to another beach campout, simply one of my favorite re-occurring themes of the west coast. We woke in the morning excited to start our tramp but we had another couple things to get done before heading out, but then with the theme of Karamea we threw the plans out the window. Our new friend Glen had got together with some folks the night before and found us a place to wwoof at, the folks who sell their produce in the Global Gypsy. As soon as we heard this we knew it was the best thing to do. Only hang up was, they couldn’t take us till the next afternoon. So what to do? The solution, we decided, was to go tramping to another hut and spend the night and come out the next day. Brilliant!
It sounded brilliant and in retrospect our plan was brilliant, but it was one of those hikes that’s a character builder. With little knowledge and a simple thing in the local public pamphlet that said 6 hours route to a hut up the Karmea Gorge, we thought sounds like the one. Well like all things NZ this was something else. Not a trail but a true route finding adventure that was more like Jungle bushwhacking, rockclimbing, rope repelling, stream crossing, boulder traversing, slip sliding, all-body punishment. It was all of 6 hard hours to the hut, oh and did I mention it was monsooning out. It was raining harder than I’ve ever seen it rain in Oregon. Fitting I guess seeing as we were in a Jungle. This was not the woods, or the forest. This was the real rainforest, dense bush, vines twisting from every which way, huge trees, fern filled, dampness everywhere JUNGLE. So the hut was the most glorious place ever. A big fire and lots of calories consumed we drifted off to sleep to the sound of the river. The next day it was out the way we came, although admittedly easier with it not pouring rain and sunshine breaking thru the dense canopy.
Smelly, slimy, and with crazy wrinkled feet we found civilization and the best pies in NZ (Adams travel guide book tip, Saracens Pies in Karamea, buy lots of them!!!!) we headed for a new farm with eager anticipation and open minds for learning more, still inspired by our permaculturelist extraordinaire Larry. As soon as we pulled into the driveway and were greeted by two Nubian goats, we once again new we were on the right track, proving that not having a plan is sometimes the best one.
Gary and Rose’s Heritage Fruit and Veg, as is their business name was something extraordinary. A part permaculture, fully organic, business selling delicious edibles locally was exactly what we were looking for, but even more importantly it was backed by one of the most open inviting inspiring families of Gary, Rose, their 2 year old Curnin and 5 month old Deacon (D-Man!). They are a family running a business, living off the land, and constantly working on new projects to improve the land they live off of. At the moment it’s a mostly a work in progress, filled with a huge garden of exclusively raised beds that grow Salad mix, Pumpkins, Zucchinis, squash, carrots, radishes, corn, potatoes, and what ever else was next to come into season (mainly winter crops of brassicas we helped plant). The rest of the land is being developed to become a full-scale heritage fruit orchard. Plus they discovered and cleared away a few acres of blackberry bush to save around 80 fijoa trees. They are working hard to fix up the place and turn it into a solid business that is stable and has value adding potential (this means making jams, relishes, chutneys, etc etc).
Our roll as wwoofers there was to help this dream of theirs come true, and their way of doing this was not by giving you jobs, but by making you part of the dream itself. In everyway possible we were adopted family. When your out in the bush about 20k from town or any shops or anything, you just get in on their schedule. Oh and lets not forget the kids. There is down time where your not “working”, but your just part of the family and at any moment you could be asked to change a nappy, hold a 5 month old, or put pants on a screaming 2 year old. Full on, that’s all I can say really. It was also a real blessing for another wwoofer to be there at the same time as us. Katy was an incredible personality from Florida, but was a University of Vermont student so to say the least she was rad. She had stayed previously and decided to come back and we just happened to be there at the same time. I love how these things just seem to keep happening for us!
As far as work was concerned, we got up to all sorts of things. Most of my personal efforts were dedicated to building a chicken coop, some landscaping of dirt piles, and putting the plastic up on a tunnel house. I love projects that have finality to them, so sometimes the garden drives me nuts because its constant and what you do one day doesn’t have a real solid finish feel to it, so these projects were great. Rebecca mostly worked in the garden beds, turning over and making nutrient rich soil, weeding, transplanting, pulling out old crops to be replaced, and helping around the house making dinner on their wood-fired stove, tending said fire, and jarring rhubarb jam.
But by far the best part of this experience was the learning element. Gary and Rose are certainly different than me, and so is their dream. Much is similar, but also much is very very different. The main thing though was their openness and willingness to teach. They were open to let us be ourselves and discuss our dreams, and provide good feedback and helpful advices. As well they taught us everything they knew about soil health, business, and selective planting. And everything was an open forum, no question was tossed aside, and nothing was off limits. This is so hard to find in people, but it forces you to grow. Also to top it all off they took us on great adventures and shared with us their other side projects that bring them fulfillment, and they were nothing short of fantastic. Gary is definitely a music nerd and a sound nerd specifically, so they threw a party that was an open experimental jam, with little kids involved to highly talented musician all with a sound board, huge speakers microphones the works. It was such a great atmosphere for creativity and openness mostly thanks to Gary’s enthusiasm and non-profit organization the “Karamea Sound Machine.” They also found time to take us out the reef at low tide and go mussel collecting and Paua (abalone) hunting. It was a blast and we got to learn about more food native to NZ and see what the locals do. To say the least it was nothing short of amazing staying with them.
In the end Karamea delivered, crazy folks, hippies, artist and rednecks abound, but we found just what we were looking for. We may have found the end of the road, but for us the road continues to rise up to meet us.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The Hexagon: A permaculture paradise....
Adam and I must be living our dream because we keep stumbling upon the most amazing surprises on our journey. Two nights ago, after spending a small fortune to fix up Rupertina, we were very happy to be leaving Greymouth, a town we seem to get stuck in and the dollars disappear. We were headed to Barrytown where a legendary man named Simon lives in a bus called Optibus Prime. The town is so small that we accidently blinked and found ourselves on the other side, so we turned around and inquired in the local pub. Unfortunately, the legend remained but the man and his bus had moved on to a bigger city on the other side of the island.
Well the rain was threatening and we had the name of another pair of folks that lived close by and ran a small backpackers, friends of our vineyard hosts. Once again we inquired in the pub and they pointed us back the way we came, we must have missed this one too! And no wonder, we could hardly find it with directions. We pass by fields of sheep and small houses and up a gravel drive we find a big hexagonal sign with an arrow. I think we are close! We turn up the road and are engulfed by jungle, a strange phenomena in such a temperate zone on the coast… This is where we found ourselves:
We drive up and park in front of a small house full of windows and interesting angles. It is dusk, the rain is drizzling, and a small, brawny woman with a deep-set crow’s foot etched into each side of her smiling face comes out to greet us. She welcomes us inside a cozy kitchen and sets us down in the living room, offering tea.
We meet Larry, a lanky kiwi with bright eyes and a grey beard that softens around the edges of the happy creases on his face, and Nip, a small dog with a diamond spot on his head and a case of the fleas. A small fire in their wood-fired stove is heating up a pot of rice and keeping the living room toasty, but the warmth that radiates from Di and Larry makes me feel right at home.
We dive into conversation… the pair of them bought this land thirty years ago and have built an edible jungle out of what was a field of grass and lupine, situated on top of a bed of rocks with minimal soil. The property sits right on the coast, with little protection from the elements of nature. For ten years they lived in a tiny shed while they built their home from recycled materials, during which time they had three kids. Sweat, blood and tears, of course, but the most fulfilled and happy folk I have ever met with a wealth of wisdom they collected along the way.
While living in the small shed, the wind would be so stormy that they would have to pack up and leave, the river nearby would hurl boulders and huge barrels were picked up and thrown across the acres. One of the first ventures was planting a windscreen of weedy trees to grow quickly into wind blocks. Thirty years later the trees are still doing a wonderful job, and native species are crawling up the trunks and filling the under stories that the pioneer trees provide.
They started out knowing very little about building or gardening, experimenting along the way. The key, says Larry, is observation. And Di pipes in, “and enthusiasm.” Larry is filled with such enthusiasm to keep learning, to observe what works and where his plants flourish and where they fail, what food the pigs eat and when. He spent 4 hours each day with his cows, following them around to see what plants they were eating so he could plant more and be sustained by his property. Some people may think of this as foolishness, but he has a whole library of knowledge on what native bush he can feed his animals and how their diet changes during different seasons. Plus he got to spend many happy hours getting to know his animals and just be.
We enjoy the next morning with Di and Larry, exploring a bit of paradise, and falling one of the big trees for winter’s supply of wood.
The trees have gotten too tall now, they block out too much sunshine and now that the under bush has grown so tall and dense, big trees that can get caught in the wind are unnecessary. The cycles and the systems that operate on the grounds, about 15 acres of all sorts of perennials and annuals, make so much sense and are self-contained on the property. Nothing really has to be added in as it is all incorporated in the place itself. If you have chooks, you grow their food and use their waste as part of the system! For food crops, you grow mulch so you don’t have to bring in fertilizer or soil. The list is infinite!
Larry takes us on a multiple hour tour of the grounds in the afternoon, pointing out the mistakes and interesting observations and surprising discoveries he has made in his years as “gardener.”
He started studying permaculture and found a lot of wisdom there that he has applied to his practice. A book called Farmers of Forty Centuries (a study of the farming practices in Asia) also inspired him to take a trip to China to learn more. Later on, Larry, Di and their three children travel to Thailand and China for 12 months to understand more and to teach their kids that other perspectives exist, other ways of life… one of the amazing lessons a traveler can learn.
They have certainly opened up my eyes to a new way of life, an exciting way to live out my dream of self-sustaining lifestyle and earthly consciousness.
In one of my moments reading Michael Pollan, I was made aware of the ignorance of my existence when he pointed out that most meat-eaters have never actually killed their own meal. It comes plastic wrapped in a Styrofoam tray, with little resemblance to its former “body.” I am one of those folks, feeling guilty for the obvious gap in my awareness of the food chain, and morally obliged to fill it. I have, of course, been procrastinating, as I am not sure if I will be able to do it. And if I fail, do I deserve to eat meat? Why must some one else carry the burden of my existence and will they raise it and kill it in awareness of the gratitude they owe to nature? Larry introduced me to his rooster, dinner for the next week, and took me through the process of turning bird into meat. The cycles of energy are ever apparent on his farm, a mimicry of nature, an extension of the ecosystem even, that we seem to shun in our society.
As the sun sets, we watch the ocean turn spectacular colors from the living room windows and he pulls out a pile of literature from his bedroom.
We share stories and theories, ideas and laughs. He cooks up an amazing Thai Curry, pointing out that all cooks should be gardeners and all gardeners should be cooks. Quite logical, and makes for the tastiest meal. I drift off to sleep dreaming of Oregon and all of the knowledge I can apply to starting my own farm and building my own kitchen and how I can share what I’ve learned in an expression of bliss.
As I write this I am aware that I am not being completely honest with myself. I feel as though I should be ecstatic finding myself in the presence of two people who follow their dream passionately and experiencing the paradise that they share. Instead I feel a deep sadness, and it is hard to pinpoint why.
Upon entering their home, I knew I was in a different place, one where certain visitors were welcome but one that stayed hidden from most folks. We were welcomed whole-heartedly, even though we were an unexpected arrival, but in the first moments I sensed their reluctance to open up and embrace us. Larry was especially reserved, observing us from a distance while we chatted with Di, as though testing the waters before joining in. As the conversation continued and we shared with them our own dream that has taken us on an interesting path, a deviation from the norm, and a slightly ludicrous possibility that we know will unfold if we keep going, we found that we were kindred spirits, almost a foreshadowing of our future.
They have created for themselves a life worth living in a world that values the contrary, people who follow the norm and live in fear. Larry and Di are certainly courageous, we were told many stories about the challenges they endured along the way, but the fulfillment of overcoming them is encouraging. It is like the pioneer species Larry pointed out, the pine trees were planted to protect their home from the wind and, surprisingly, a few years later edible mushrooms popped up. As you follow your dream you strike out in ways that allow others to blossom as well, and feed you with the enthusiasm to continue. Adam and I found a few other mushrooms later on, ones that were able to grow in the environment created by the pines: white speckled red-capped ones that will kill you upon ingestion.
A bittersweet but ultimate beauty lies in pursuing your passion and forging your own path. It can be dangerous to leave the trail but you might stumble upon a life of immeasurable beauty.
Larry couldn’t be happier experimenting in his Eden, tending and observing the intricacies of nature. He really opened up when we expressed interest in the house he built and a desire to learn from the wisdom he had gained creating the 15 acre garden from a patch of rocky grass, a blissful smile I will never forget crept across his face. But for him, it is a bit of a lonely life. His dream is one that points out a lot of the ridiculous situations our western world creates, the ones that appear to indicate our destruction, which is what inspired them to action in the first place. A bit of a hermit, Larry confides that he is lonely and tends to “say the wrong thing and fuck it all up.” A guestbook full of gratitude seems to argue the opposite, but it can be a burden to live a small rebellion and carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.
I suppose the sadness I feel springs from the loneliness and isolation that such a spectacular lifestyle seems to entail. I wish to see this shared with everyone and embraced, not hidden away up a gravel path. I believe Larry and Di would benefit from a larger community as well. It is also hard to see such enthusiastic folk slowed down by age, and their dreams having to rest. The success of their property relies on their energy at the moment, hoping for a future but unsure how it will continue when they move on (although it did continue to function in their 12 month absence with little setbacks). A community would ensure that it would continue to flourish and nourish generations to come.I suppose I wanted to be part of that, but my journey takes me onward, and I am not sure the invitation was there anyways, when you put so much energy into your form of expression and subsistence, Larry admits it is hard for him to give up control.
I have learned more than I can possibly express in the last couple of days. I find myself in a small state of melancholy upon departure, but honestly a bit relieved. It was an intense and completely whelming experience, a little space to digest all of the passion, sadness, wisdom and inspiration of a bittersweet world is essential. So now I end my insomnia, tucked cozily inside of Rupertina. We are parked at the end of a gravel road overlooking the ocean. Our bodies are sore from splitting wood this morning and our hearts are heavy but strong, eager to carry on our journey, confident we are on the right track.
Well the rain was threatening and we had the name of another pair of folks that lived close by and ran a small backpackers, friends of our vineyard hosts. Once again we inquired in the pub and they pointed us back the way we came, we must have missed this one too! And no wonder, we could hardly find it with directions. We pass by fields of sheep and small houses and up a gravel drive we find a big hexagonal sign with an arrow. I think we are close! We turn up the road and are engulfed by jungle, a strange phenomena in such a temperate zone on the coast… This is where we found ourselves:
We drive up and park in front of a small house full of windows and interesting angles. It is dusk, the rain is drizzling, and a small, brawny woman with a deep-set crow’s foot etched into each side of her smiling face comes out to greet us. She welcomes us inside a cozy kitchen and sets us down in the living room, offering tea.
We meet Larry, a lanky kiwi with bright eyes and a grey beard that softens around the edges of the happy creases on his face, and Nip, a small dog with a diamond spot on his head and a case of the fleas. A small fire in their wood-fired stove is heating up a pot of rice and keeping the living room toasty, but the warmth that radiates from Di and Larry makes me feel right at home.
We dive into conversation… the pair of them bought this land thirty years ago and have built an edible jungle out of what was a field of grass and lupine, situated on top of a bed of rocks with minimal soil. The property sits right on the coast, with little protection from the elements of nature. For ten years they lived in a tiny shed while they built their home from recycled materials, during which time they had three kids. Sweat, blood and tears, of course, but the most fulfilled and happy folk I have ever met with a wealth of wisdom they collected along the way.
While living in the small shed, the wind would be so stormy that they would have to pack up and leave, the river nearby would hurl boulders and huge barrels were picked up and thrown across the acres. One of the first ventures was planting a windscreen of weedy trees to grow quickly into wind blocks. Thirty years later the trees are still doing a wonderful job, and native species are crawling up the trunks and filling the under stories that the pioneer trees provide.
They started out knowing very little about building or gardening, experimenting along the way. The key, says Larry, is observation. And Di pipes in, “and enthusiasm.” Larry is filled with such enthusiasm to keep learning, to observe what works and where his plants flourish and where they fail, what food the pigs eat and when. He spent 4 hours each day with his cows, following them around to see what plants they were eating so he could plant more and be sustained by his property. Some people may think of this as foolishness, but he has a whole library of knowledge on what native bush he can feed his animals and how their diet changes during different seasons. Plus he got to spend many happy hours getting to know his animals and just be.
We enjoy the next morning with Di and Larry, exploring a bit of paradise, and falling one of the big trees for winter’s supply of wood.
The trees have gotten too tall now, they block out too much sunshine and now that the under bush has grown so tall and dense, big trees that can get caught in the wind are unnecessary. The cycles and the systems that operate on the grounds, about 15 acres of all sorts of perennials and annuals, make so much sense and are self-contained on the property. Nothing really has to be added in as it is all incorporated in the place itself. If you have chooks, you grow their food and use their waste as part of the system! For food crops, you grow mulch so you don’t have to bring in fertilizer or soil. The list is infinite!
Larry takes us on a multiple hour tour of the grounds in the afternoon, pointing out the mistakes and interesting observations and surprising discoveries he has made in his years as “gardener.”
He started studying permaculture and found a lot of wisdom there that he has applied to his practice. A book called Farmers of Forty Centuries (a study of the farming practices in Asia) also inspired him to take a trip to China to learn more. Later on, Larry, Di and their three children travel to Thailand and China for 12 months to understand more and to teach their kids that other perspectives exist, other ways of life… one of the amazing lessons a traveler can learn.
They have certainly opened up my eyes to a new way of life, an exciting way to live out my dream of self-sustaining lifestyle and earthly consciousness.
In one of my moments reading Michael Pollan, I was made aware of the ignorance of my existence when he pointed out that most meat-eaters have never actually killed their own meal. It comes plastic wrapped in a Styrofoam tray, with little resemblance to its former “body.” I am one of those folks, feeling guilty for the obvious gap in my awareness of the food chain, and morally obliged to fill it. I have, of course, been procrastinating, as I am not sure if I will be able to do it. And if I fail, do I deserve to eat meat? Why must some one else carry the burden of my existence and will they raise it and kill it in awareness of the gratitude they owe to nature? Larry introduced me to his rooster, dinner for the next week, and took me through the process of turning bird into meat. The cycles of energy are ever apparent on his farm, a mimicry of nature, an extension of the ecosystem even, that we seem to shun in our society.
As the sun sets, we watch the ocean turn spectacular colors from the living room windows and he pulls out a pile of literature from his bedroom.
We share stories and theories, ideas and laughs. He cooks up an amazing Thai Curry, pointing out that all cooks should be gardeners and all gardeners should be cooks. Quite logical, and makes for the tastiest meal. I drift off to sleep dreaming of Oregon and all of the knowledge I can apply to starting my own farm and building my own kitchen and how I can share what I’ve learned in an expression of bliss.
As I write this I am aware that I am not being completely honest with myself. I feel as though I should be ecstatic finding myself in the presence of two people who follow their dream passionately and experiencing the paradise that they share. Instead I feel a deep sadness, and it is hard to pinpoint why.
Upon entering their home, I knew I was in a different place, one where certain visitors were welcome but one that stayed hidden from most folks. We were welcomed whole-heartedly, even though we were an unexpected arrival, but in the first moments I sensed their reluctance to open up and embrace us. Larry was especially reserved, observing us from a distance while we chatted with Di, as though testing the waters before joining in. As the conversation continued and we shared with them our own dream that has taken us on an interesting path, a deviation from the norm, and a slightly ludicrous possibility that we know will unfold if we keep going, we found that we were kindred spirits, almost a foreshadowing of our future.
They have created for themselves a life worth living in a world that values the contrary, people who follow the norm and live in fear. Larry and Di are certainly courageous, we were told many stories about the challenges they endured along the way, but the fulfillment of overcoming them is encouraging. It is like the pioneer species Larry pointed out, the pine trees were planted to protect their home from the wind and, surprisingly, a few years later edible mushrooms popped up. As you follow your dream you strike out in ways that allow others to blossom as well, and feed you with the enthusiasm to continue. Adam and I found a few other mushrooms later on, ones that were able to grow in the environment created by the pines: white speckled red-capped ones that will kill you upon ingestion.
A bittersweet but ultimate beauty lies in pursuing your passion and forging your own path. It can be dangerous to leave the trail but you might stumble upon a life of immeasurable beauty.
Larry couldn’t be happier experimenting in his Eden, tending and observing the intricacies of nature. He really opened up when we expressed interest in the house he built and a desire to learn from the wisdom he had gained creating the 15 acre garden from a patch of rocky grass, a blissful smile I will never forget crept across his face. But for him, it is a bit of a lonely life. His dream is one that points out a lot of the ridiculous situations our western world creates, the ones that appear to indicate our destruction, which is what inspired them to action in the first place. A bit of a hermit, Larry confides that he is lonely and tends to “say the wrong thing and fuck it all up.” A guestbook full of gratitude seems to argue the opposite, but it can be a burden to live a small rebellion and carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.
I suppose the sadness I feel springs from the loneliness and isolation that such a spectacular lifestyle seems to entail. I wish to see this shared with everyone and embraced, not hidden away up a gravel path. I believe Larry and Di would benefit from a larger community as well. It is also hard to see such enthusiastic folk slowed down by age, and their dreams having to rest. The success of their property relies on their energy at the moment, hoping for a future but unsure how it will continue when they move on (although it did continue to function in their 12 month absence with little setbacks). A community would ensure that it would continue to flourish and nourish generations to come.I suppose I wanted to be part of that, but my journey takes me onward, and I am not sure the invitation was there anyways, when you put so much energy into your form of expression and subsistence, Larry admits it is hard for him to give up control.
I have learned more than I can possibly express in the last couple of days. I find myself in a small state of melancholy upon departure, but honestly a bit relieved. It was an intense and completely whelming experience, a little space to digest all of the passion, sadness, wisdom and inspiration of a bittersweet world is essential. So now I end my insomnia, tucked cozily inside of Rupertina. We are parked at the end of a gravel road overlooking the ocean. Our bodies are sore from splitting wood this morning and our hearts are heavy but strong, eager to carry on our journey, confident we are on the right track.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Booberry Confusion
Well its been pointed out to me that the boobery is not understood. Aptly put "What the hell is a booberry"
This is the booberry:
You see its a rather large, stuffed blueberry Rebecca's mom gave us. In this photo I'm scolding it for getting into the cooler!
The booberry is very important. It encompasses all things oregon. Its family, friends, big trees, flowing rivers, volcanoes, dance parties everything. A little bubble that has all the good bits of home guiding us along the way and reminding us how much you all mean to us.
This is the booberry:
You see its a rather large, stuffed blueberry Rebecca's mom gave us. In this photo I'm scolding it for getting into the cooler!
The booberry is very important. It encompasses all things oregon. Its family, friends, big trees, flowing rivers, volcanoes, dance parties everything. A little bubble that has all the good bits of home guiding us along the way and reminding us how much you all mean to us.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Another Left Coast
Life is full of strange parallels, you know what I'm talking about, those little things you just find yourself gravitating towards for no real reason, only to arrive there and realize its another version of something you already know. This time around its the bloody west coast! I've made it half way around the world and I'm still drawn to left on the map, its weird but oh so lovely all the same.
After a sad gray day departing the Vineyard, it was hard we'd come to rather love that place, we were off on the road again. With nothing better to do for the better part of week, where would we go, where should we. Out comes the map and of course, we should head left, to the West! We set off, with rumors of Huge trees, gray skies, rain, a sea called Tasman, and a festival of food unimaginable! Oh and let us not forget the stories of the people, so chilled out they make Ice seem afire. Stoke running high, Rupertina running (well cruising, she's a bit to old to run you see), and the booberry poised and ready we were off.
Pit stop one, Reefton. Reefton is tiny, very tiny, but very very pretty. About an hour off the coast in a beautiful lush green valley lies the town of very little, but famous for the first town to have electricity in NZ and the biggest Skate park, its not without charm. My mission for the day was to mount the big tired beast and pedal and push bikes to the top of a mountain. What a mission it was, 7 hours in the saddle to tire my skinny bum into a sorry lump. But what an adventure it was. To the kabin Kirwin I did go and back down did I blast, and blast and blast. Over an hour of some of the best riding I've ever done bar none. Twisted trees, roots, rocks, perfect dirt. its was like I died and went to single track heaven. Upon my return I found the fair lady posted up out side the van and a huge dinner we did grub. Then a race, us versus the van versus the itchy bite bugs. We packed her full only got about 1 million bites instead of two and into the night we raced!
There something about driving somewhere at night and just waiting to see what you get when you wake. Well we awoke in Greymouth, to a breakfast prepared in a park, the smell of ocean air and vivid green as far as the eye could see. The largest town we'd been to since leaving Christchurch, business was in order. After some exploration of town we found another wwoofing opportunity. This time at a backpackers where you can park you van out front and use all the facilities, all in exchange for 2 hours work handing out fliers at the local supermarket. This not only proved excellent for showers and laundry are grand, but it opened my eyes to a new profession of mine here in NZ. Busking, or street performing for money if you will. One fine lad, Daniel was also staying at the place handing out fliers and he often took his guitar down to make some extra beer money. We jammed, he said I had what it takes and off I went inspired. You see the super market is brilliant, its not really street performing, because that would imply performing. I'm no great musician, but people are there to go grocery shopping not check you out. So I pretty much sit there and practice and people give out their change from buying their groceries. Bloody brilliant, paid mando practice who could want more! So after sorting our lives, a bit of adventuring, and a few hundred coins richer we had to say by to greymouth.
Rumor of a festival where you eat worms, and foodies gather had us flying with the boobery south on the coast. A stunning 45 min drive later and bam Hokitika awaited. We also gave our first ride to a hitchhiker from the hostel. Grand to pay the karmic ride god back. A bit of confused map reading behind us we managed to find our man Mike, the guy behind the Wild Foods Festival! He was a legend, and the nicest guy ever to organize a huge event I've ever met. We spent the day hours digging trenches, moving tables, and marking out vendor stands to earn our way into the festival. Felt good to check off "volunteer" at a festival from the list. So we scored tickets to the Friday concert, the festival, the saturday concert, free lunch, and free beer! Mike was a legend, did I mention that.
Knowing we would be kicking it for a few days, we posted up on the beach and set up camp. This is what we saw the first night:
After that it was a steady stream of people for the next 2 days, as the town quadrupled in population from 3k to 12k. Interesting camps popped up, costumes came out, and beer lots and lots of beer. This festival was about food and drink not just food to say the least. Any way we danced the nights away and scarfed grub, only interesting not disgusting. Things like ostrich, punkao bird, and venison. We saw people eat live grubs from dead trees, and pickled grasshoppers, but we had to pass. The festival wrapped up and it was truely a few days of chaos, but things really returned to normal very quickly.
Sunday miday rolled around and it was just back to normal, so we decided to go for bike ride. Rebeccas first really big ride, we saddles up and road 30k inland to see this:
Something are just more rewarding when you travel by bike. This was one of those days. so so so beautiful and so much better to get there by your own will power.
To celebrate Rebeccas first big day on the push bike a dinner was powered thru and then a movie. Alice and wonderland was a great way to chill out in the evening. What a spectacle that movie is. Then NZ helped us do a little more celebrating with this:
Over and out for now!
After a sad gray day departing the Vineyard, it was hard we'd come to rather love that place, we were off on the road again. With nothing better to do for the better part of week, where would we go, where should we. Out comes the map and of course, we should head left, to the West! We set off, with rumors of Huge trees, gray skies, rain, a sea called Tasman, and a festival of food unimaginable! Oh and let us not forget the stories of the people, so chilled out they make Ice seem afire. Stoke running high, Rupertina running (well cruising, she's a bit to old to run you see), and the booberry poised and ready we were off.
Pit stop one, Reefton. Reefton is tiny, very tiny, but very very pretty. About an hour off the coast in a beautiful lush green valley lies the town of very little, but famous for the first town to have electricity in NZ and the biggest Skate park, its not without charm. My mission for the day was to mount the big tired beast and pedal and push bikes to the top of a mountain. What a mission it was, 7 hours in the saddle to tire my skinny bum into a sorry lump. But what an adventure it was. To the kabin Kirwin I did go and back down did I blast, and blast and blast. Over an hour of some of the best riding I've ever done bar none. Twisted trees, roots, rocks, perfect dirt. its was like I died and went to single track heaven. Upon my return I found the fair lady posted up out side the van and a huge dinner we did grub. Then a race, us versus the van versus the itchy bite bugs. We packed her full only got about 1 million bites instead of two and into the night we raced!
There something about driving somewhere at night and just waiting to see what you get when you wake. Well we awoke in Greymouth, to a breakfast prepared in a park, the smell of ocean air and vivid green as far as the eye could see. The largest town we'd been to since leaving Christchurch, business was in order. After some exploration of town we found another wwoofing opportunity. This time at a backpackers where you can park you van out front and use all the facilities, all in exchange for 2 hours work handing out fliers at the local supermarket. This not only proved excellent for showers and laundry are grand, but it opened my eyes to a new profession of mine here in NZ. Busking, or street performing for money if you will. One fine lad, Daniel was also staying at the place handing out fliers and he often took his guitar down to make some extra beer money. We jammed, he said I had what it takes and off I went inspired. You see the super market is brilliant, its not really street performing, because that would imply performing. I'm no great musician, but people are there to go grocery shopping not check you out. So I pretty much sit there and practice and people give out their change from buying their groceries. Bloody brilliant, paid mando practice who could want more! So after sorting our lives, a bit of adventuring, and a few hundred coins richer we had to say by to greymouth.
Rumor of a festival where you eat worms, and foodies gather had us flying with the boobery south on the coast. A stunning 45 min drive later and bam Hokitika awaited. We also gave our first ride to a hitchhiker from the hostel. Grand to pay the karmic ride god back. A bit of confused map reading behind us we managed to find our man Mike, the guy behind the Wild Foods Festival! He was a legend, and the nicest guy ever to organize a huge event I've ever met. We spent the day hours digging trenches, moving tables, and marking out vendor stands to earn our way into the festival. Felt good to check off "volunteer" at a festival from the list. So we scored tickets to the Friday concert, the festival, the saturday concert, free lunch, and free beer! Mike was a legend, did I mention that.
Knowing we would be kicking it for a few days, we posted up on the beach and set up camp. This is what we saw the first night:
After that it was a steady stream of people for the next 2 days, as the town quadrupled in population from 3k to 12k. Interesting camps popped up, costumes came out, and beer lots and lots of beer. This festival was about food and drink not just food to say the least. Any way we danced the nights away and scarfed grub, only interesting not disgusting. Things like ostrich, punkao bird, and venison. We saw people eat live grubs from dead trees, and pickled grasshoppers, but we had to pass. The festival wrapped up and it was truely a few days of chaos, but things really returned to normal very quickly.
Sunday miday rolled around and it was just back to normal, so we decided to go for bike ride. Rebeccas first really big ride, we saddles up and road 30k inland to see this:
Something are just more rewarding when you travel by bike. This was one of those days. so so so beautiful and so much better to get there by your own will power.
To celebrate Rebeccas first big day on the push bike a dinner was powered thru and then a movie. Alice and wonderland was a great way to chill out in the evening. What a spectacle that movie is. Then NZ helped us do a little more celebrating with this:
Over and out for now!
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