Bashing Bible Bashers
18/1/2007 - 28/1/2007
Cigarettes smoked on 18th: 6. Cigarettes smoked 19th onwards: 0 (how good am I?). Number of people who have blown smoke in my general vicinity and who will now die screaming for the offense (I hexed them for tempting me - was that wrong?): 11. New sandfly bites: 7 . Sandflies killed: 4 (hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha). Places where skin is broken on hands and feet from surfboard: 9.
After a day of phoning round for jobs and discovering that the grape harvesting season wouldn't start for nearly a month, that all of the vineyards seemed to contract out the landwork, and none of the gangmasters give contracts (meaning I wouldn't be insured in case of industrial accident), I decided to give up on the land work and started phoning round teaching agencies - I then realised that I would have to set up bank account (so I'd have to be in one place long enough to get a bil, without land work to keep me occupied), and I still had to register as a teacher in NZ (a process which takes a month, and I hadn't been able to start until recently as I'd only just got my CRB check back). I started getting a bit stressed, then decided bollocks to it. Being stressed was not part of my travelling plan. Clearly this working holiday visa thing is overrated, and perhaps I'd be better of not banking on work being available, leaving the expensive countries (NZ and Oz) earlier than planned, and bumming around SE Asia where life is cheaper.
Having made that decision, I went for a 6km walk to a spot overlooking Picton and the sounds to de-stress. It worked - I stopped thinking about my bank balance and started thinking about my blisters again instead.
The next day, feeling far lighter of shoulder (despite the enormous backpacks), I set off for the N island (I haven't nearly seen everything that I wanted to see on the S island, but I'll be back for the last couple of weeks in NZ to do the Milford Track) to see the sights while I can.
I got off the ferry in Wellington and found a nice supermarket that had this wonderful range of exciting vegetarian food (rare in NZ). Imagine me jumping up and down, squealing. I actually did.
I found myself a youth hostel as close to the bus station as possible, then had a look through my guide to Wellington to find something to do that evening. Wellington, as it turns out, is not really a 24 hour city. I did discover that Wellington has an observatory with planetarium talks and telescope viewing sessions. I gave them a ring, but they said they were fully booked that evening, due to the comet. My ears pricked up. I managed to wangle myself a seat at the comet talk and a place on the telescope viewing sessions, despite both being fully booked (largely through beging, wheedling and the verbal equivalent of eyelid batting), then went to the observatory only to be told that the telescope viewing had been canceled due to cloud cover. I went to the comet talk anyway and discovered that this was to be the brightest comet in 40 years, has quite an impressive gas tail, that it is no longer visible in the N hemisphere night sky (soooooooooooooorrrryyyy) but should be visible here for the next couple of weeks. Given that Wellington was covered in cloud, I managed to blag a lift to a good viewing spot with a SW aspect out of town with a nice English couple (Jenny and Steve) - we had to leave the car and hike the last 2km to reach the top of the hill, only to discover that the cloud was appearing just 10 degrees beyond where the comet was. Bugger. We waited around for a while to see if the cloud would lift at all, got some good photos of Wellington at night, then gave up and drove back. I have to say, it was an excellent way to avoid thinking about how much I wanted a fag though (for those that didn't bother reading the first bit - I've given up (again)).
I caught the bus to New Plymouth early the next morning. I thought I'd better not inflict my smelly feet and travelling sandals on anyone else, so I sat on my own. Unfortunately the bus started to fill up and the frumpiest twenty something woman you've ever seen sat next to me. I chatted to her politely at first, up until the point when she asked me if I'd found Jesus yet. I had a horrible sinking feeling and tried to politely tell her that she wasn't going to convert me, so she'd probably be better off not trying. She carried on regardless, asking me if I'd ever lied. When I said yes, she asked what that would make me. She didn't seem to find my reply of "Human" a valid response and gave me a clue - "It starts with l and rhymes with tyre". I had already spent the last few minutes battling the urge to respond to her with extreme sarcasm, and her patronising me was not making it any easier to hold back the tirade of my thoughts on the matter. As I clearly didn't know the answer she kindly enlightened me by telling me that I was in fact a liar. She then asked me if I'd ever stolen anything. I told her that I really wasn't interested in having this conversation with her, but she carried on talking as if I'd said nothing. As she was no longer listening to a word that I was saying, let alone responding, I decided that I would treat her with the same courtesy and respect that she was treating me with. I got out my mp3 player, put the headphones in, but it on full volume then mouthed "I can't hear you" at her and proceeded to hum along and air guitar until she got off the bus half an hour later. Thank christ (was that blasphemy - oops). As an agnostic, I normally find it interesting, hearing other people's views on their chosen religion, but I can't stand it when some fanatical nutjob tries to ram their views down my throat (particularly when I'm a captive audience) and expects me to just politely listen, not respond in any way with my own views. After she got off, I moved and sat next to a local girl that I'd already chatted to while waiting for the bus (I was more concerned about avoiding lunatics than the smell of my feet by this time) - a student who'd just been dumped by her boyfriend and needed to moan and curse men generally. I joined in wholeheartedly, and when we ran out of new expletives to use, I got my MP3 player out and broadened her musical horizons (she needed some music that wasn't depressing and wasn't lovey dovey).
I checked into a lovely hostel in New Plymouth, booked a surfing lesson for the next day, then went to check out some live music and a festival of lights at the local park with a Finnish guy - the lights were quite sweet, if a little tacky, the local jazz band could have used a conductor (they were all over the place when they played Take 5), but there was a decent dj who did a set. After a few minutes a couple appeared with fire poi and a fire staff, so when they'd performed I begged a few minutes on the poi and had a bit of a dance. We kept an eye on the sky for any signs of the cloud lifting (I still hadn't seen the comet), but gave up after an hour or so, went back to the hostel and sweated in the rather wonderful sauna instead.
The following day I went to Oakura for my first surfing lesson. A slightly annoying bland guy who seemed so chilled out and calm that he didn't appear to have any sort of emotional reaction to anything (probably too much yoga, meditation and pot in his formative years) took me out on a tandem board for a couple of hours. Basically we'd both be on the same board, and when we caught a wave, he'd stand up, then help me up, just to get me used to the feeling of standing up and riding the wave without overbalancing. After an hour of this, he took the tandem board in, and brought me a beginner board to practice on. It was just ever so slightly more difficult catching a wave (without someone else to help me paddle), standing up (without someone else to haul me up) and staying balanced (without someone else to compensate for my wobbliness) on my own, but I managed a couple of short rides on my knees before I fell off the board.
I went back to the hostel thoroughly exhausted and spent an evening slobbing in the sauna and in front of the tv (and occasionally nipping outside to check the cloud cover - still no luck). I now have a new shittest film of all time - cheaper by the dozen 2. Don't even watch it if you have kids.
As the visitor information centre had told me the day before that the weather would be heavy, low cloud with a high probability of rain, I decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to climb Mt Taranaki (2500m) - the staff certainly didn't seem to think so (plus I still have all too vivid memories of the Scottish mountain rescue incident), so I took the bus to Hamilton in the morning and watched the beautiful cloud-free sky roll past, and tried not to get irritated with meteorologists (do they just guess?).
I found a lovely little youth hostel for the night (before continuing on to Raglan) with a cheap chinese takeaway nearby, beautiful Hamilton gardens a stone's throw away and a great DVD collection. The first thing I did, after dumping my bags, was to head for Hamilton Gardens to find a good viewing spot on top of the hill with a south-westerly aspect, in case the clouds didn't reappear, then I got myself an egg foo-yung, sat in front of the TV to watch Identity, and waited.
At about 10pm I wandered over to the gardens, walked away from the street lights, and there it was - and amazingly unobstructed view of comet McNaught, in all its glory and with no clouds anywhere nearby. For the benefit of people who aren't into photography (whether they know what they're doing or, like me, they fumble along, pressing buttons to see what happens), taking photos of stars in the sky without a tripod isn't bloody easy. After several blurry attempts I discovered a bollard, wrapped my legs around it, balanced my camera on it, balanced the lens on left hand, put my elbows on my knees, pressed the timer button, then took the photo and held my breath when the beeping stopped for 3 seconds. Tripods are overrated.
After I'd had my fill of comet-gazing in peace and solitude, I realised what a crime it was that I was the only person in this perfect comet-viewing spot, so I went back to the youth hostel and fetched everyone.
The next morning I caught the bus to Raglan and got picked up by the lovely staff at Solscape. I dumped my bags in the railway caboose that my 3 bed dorm was in, put my food in the fridge and went for a surf lesson. This time it was loads better - my instructor (Kyle) actually had a personality (and quite an aesthetically pleasing tanned, toned torso to boot), his teaching methods worked much better, he was much more encouraging, and towards the end of the lesson he seemed impressed when I managed to stand and ride a wave all the way without any assistance at all. Also, he didn't appear to judge me when I did a little victory dance in the shallows, yelling "Yeah baby".
When I got back to Solscape, I made myself some guacamole, stayed up drinking and playing cards for a few hours, and then collapsed when I was almost comatose.
Wednesday was another horrible day - I woke up thinking about Steve and burst into tears immediately. I spent most of the morning on the phone to my parents and Ruth, blowing my nose and trying to avoid eye contact with people when I inevitably had to venture into the communal areas for the phone and more toilet paper. The best that can be said about it is it's over now and I don't have to live it again. In the afternoon I decided to try to surf off my horrible mood and took a board out on my own. The waves were extremely "messy", the rip current was pretty strong and I just ended up taking out my bad mood on the sea by battling it. It fought back. And won. I didn't manage to stand up once - I barely managed to get out to where the waves were breaking. I did manage to wipe out quite spectacularly though. I went back to the youth hostel in a stinking mood still. Thankfully the thing that saved my sanity was my rapidly depleting food supplies (surfing is bloody hard work, alright?). I begged a lift into town from Pete and Matt (two surfer dudes from Bournmouth, which they claim is trendy now), bought some food, and then got dragged around trendy surf shops. I couldn't really complain, since they'd kindly given me a lift, so I thought I might as well try some clothes on. I tried on a short skirt (just for a laugh - I haven't work one since school, but my legs are less scabby and awful these days, and more shapely with all the walking), but then realised that a size 12 was far too big. I tried on a size 10, and that was on the large side too, but wasn't a bad fit. I left the changing room to give the boys a twirl, and bugger me if they weren't checking out my legs and evidently enjoying it (I'm allowed to gloat, this may be the first time in my life that anyone's ever done that). I now understand the term retail therapy, I just need somewhere with a dancefloor to wear my new skirt now.
Once again I spent the evening drinking wine, playing cards (I taught Pete and Matt's friends Tanya and Ollie how to play San Juan) and chatting shit until the early hours.
I decided the next morning to leave surfing for a few days due to the shredded skin on my hands and feet (the soft top grip surface on beginner boards rubs every time you grip it hard - for example when a wave crashes over you, or when you try to stand up). I persuaded Tanya to come to the Bridal Veil falls and a beach nearby with a hot spring. Unfortunately, her friend Baz is very into fishing, and the entire van stank of the 3 day old squid he was using as bait. The falls were 55m high and were pretty stunning. Sadly we didn't make it to the beach as the road was closed and a detour would have taken hours. We went back to Raglan, went to fetch Baz (who was fishing by the side of the river), and came across a bunch of local kids all jumping off a bridge into the river and throwing mud at each other. I thought it looked like fun, so I got changed into my bikini, jumped into the river a couple of times and thankfully managed to avoid the projectile mud.
That evening it was Ollie's turn to cook for the Bournemouth crew, and he was a bit stuck for what to make, so I joined in and we cooked mushroom, asparagus and blue cheese risotto. After the meal everyone was talking about heading into town to hear a local band playing. I got all dressed up in my new skirt (I even wore make-up), only to find that everyone had already left and the remaining people had decided that they couldn't be bothered to go anymore. Arse. We sat around and played cards while I tried to get rid of my bad mood by eating chocolate. That didn't work - one of the American girls sitting with us was expounding on her philosophy of love, saying she falls in love 20 times a day when she "shares a moment" with someone, and that this love is as real as the love between people who've been together for years. I didn't want to be rude and take out my desperation for a fag on her by screaming "Get a clue" into her face, so I kept my thoughts to myself, got drunk instead, then promptly started crying uncontrollably about Steve again when I went to bed. Alcohol is bad, chocolate is good.
The next day I woke up in an altogether better mood, despite the slight hangover. I said goodbye to Bournemouth crew who were off to Taranaki (where I'd just come from, so I didn't want to join them). I idled away the morning by starting another drawing of Steve and doing a bit of Sudoku. After lunch, a couple of the girls persuaded me to go surfing again despite the cheese grater effect it had had on my hands and feet. It was an altogether different experience - the waves were much more clean, paddling out was easier, I had more experienced surfers to give me bits of advice and as a result I managed to stand up 5 times, including 2 decent length rides where I didn't fall off. It was nothing short of exhilarating - I can see how people get completely addicted to surfing (and they do - most people I've met in Raglan are just here to surf their way round NZ - they have no interest in tramping, kayaking, glacier walking, swimming with dolphins, bungy jumping etc).
The next morning (yesterday) I discovered that the hostel was completely booked for the weekend, so I took the opportunity to explore some more and arranged a lift to Auckland with Kyle in order to go beyond to Northland today. While I waited for Kyle to sort a few things out, I hung my washing out to dry for a bit longer (it's always horrible when you wash clothes, have to pack them before they're dry, and then when you get them out again, they're smellier than they were before you washed them). Kyle eventually arrived and we set off for Auckland, chatting all the way - about travel plans, surfing vernacular, life, the universe and everything. Kyle was very pleasant company and a good laugh, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself, when suddenly the niggling thing bothering me at the back of my mind came into focus: my washing was still drying on the clothes line in Raglan.
Shit.
Kyle seemed to find this funny (I don't know why), but quickly redeemed himself by offering to look after my clothes for a few days until I came to collect them. I suppose I'll just have to go back to Raglan then. And it would be foolish to go back all that way and not use the opportunity to surf a couple of times. Cést la vie. I'm choosing to take this as a sign that clearly I'm meant to continue learning to surf.
Kyle dropped me off at the airport and I caught the bus into Auckland, went back to Base backpackers (where I'd spent my first night in NZ), dumped my bags in the lovely all girls dorm, filled with the scents of flowers (and not men's feet), went up to the roof to use the sauna, then washed my hair with the free shampoo and conditioner, dried myself with the free towel and went downstairs for my free glass of champagne. Bargainous bliss.
I'm now staying on Shipwreck bay, near Kaiteae in Northland. It's at the southern end of 90 mile beach (actually it's about half that, but who's counting). I've already sorted out my food for the next couple of days, and tomorrow I plan to either surf or go to Cape Reinga. I'll see which way the wind blows.
As usual, photos to follow...
Cigarettes smoked on 18th: 6. Cigarettes smoked 19th onwards: 0 (how good am I?). Number of people who have blown smoke in my general vicinity and who will now die screaming for the offense (I hexed them for tempting me - was that wrong?): 11. New sandfly bites: 7 . Sandflies killed: 4 (hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha). Places where skin is broken on hands and feet from surfboard: 9.
After a day of phoning round for jobs and discovering that the grape harvesting season wouldn't start for nearly a month, that all of the vineyards seemed to contract out the landwork, and none of the gangmasters give contracts (meaning I wouldn't be insured in case of industrial accident), I decided to give up on the land work and started phoning round teaching agencies - I then realised that I would have to set up bank account (so I'd have to be in one place long enough to get a bil, without land work to keep me occupied), and I still had to register as a teacher in NZ (a process which takes a month, and I hadn't been able to start until recently as I'd only just got my CRB check back). I started getting a bit stressed, then decided bollocks to it. Being stressed was not part of my travelling plan. Clearly this working holiday visa thing is overrated, and perhaps I'd be better of not banking on work being available, leaving the expensive countries (NZ and Oz) earlier than planned, and bumming around SE Asia where life is cheaper.
Having made that decision, I went for a 6km walk to a spot overlooking Picton and the sounds to de-stress. It worked - I stopped thinking about my bank balance and started thinking about my blisters again instead.
The next day, feeling far lighter of shoulder (despite the enormous backpacks), I set off for the N island (I haven't nearly seen everything that I wanted to see on the S island, but I'll be back for the last couple of weeks in NZ to do the Milford Track) to see the sights while I can.
I got off the ferry in Wellington and found a nice supermarket that had this wonderful range of exciting vegetarian food (rare in NZ). Imagine me jumping up and down, squealing. I actually did.
I found myself a youth hostel as close to the bus station as possible, then had a look through my guide to Wellington to find something to do that evening. Wellington, as it turns out, is not really a 24 hour city. I did discover that Wellington has an observatory with planetarium talks and telescope viewing sessions. I gave them a ring, but they said they were fully booked that evening, due to the comet. My ears pricked up. I managed to wangle myself a seat at the comet talk and a place on the telescope viewing sessions, despite both being fully booked (largely through beging, wheedling and the verbal equivalent of eyelid batting), then went to the observatory only to be told that the telescope viewing had been canceled due to cloud cover. I went to the comet talk anyway and discovered that this was to be the brightest comet in 40 years, has quite an impressive gas tail, that it is no longer visible in the N hemisphere night sky (soooooooooooooorrrryyyy) but should be visible here for the next couple of weeks. Given that Wellington was covered in cloud, I managed to blag a lift to a good viewing spot with a SW aspect out of town with a nice English couple (Jenny and Steve) - we had to leave the car and hike the last 2km to reach the top of the hill, only to discover that the cloud was appearing just 10 degrees beyond where the comet was. Bugger. We waited around for a while to see if the cloud would lift at all, got some good photos of Wellington at night, then gave up and drove back. I have to say, it was an excellent way to avoid thinking about how much I wanted a fag though (for those that didn't bother reading the first bit - I've given up (again)).
I caught the bus to New Plymouth early the next morning. I thought I'd better not inflict my smelly feet and travelling sandals on anyone else, so I sat on my own. Unfortunately the bus started to fill up and the frumpiest twenty something woman you've ever seen sat next to me. I chatted to her politely at first, up until the point when she asked me if I'd found Jesus yet. I had a horrible sinking feeling and tried to politely tell her that she wasn't going to convert me, so she'd probably be better off not trying. She carried on regardless, asking me if I'd ever lied. When I said yes, she asked what that would make me. She didn't seem to find my reply of "Human" a valid response and gave me a clue - "It starts with l and rhymes with tyre". I had already spent the last few minutes battling the urge to respond to her with extreme sarcasm, and her patronising me was not making it any easier to hold back the tirade of my thoughts on the matter. As I clearly didn't know the answer she kindly enlightened me by telling me that I was in fact a liar. She then asked me if I'd ever stolen anything. I told her that I really wasn't interested in having this conversation with her, but she carried on talking as if I'd said nothing. As she was no longer listening to a word that I was saying, let alone responding, I decided that I would treat her with the same courtesy and respect that she was treating me with. I got out my mp3 player, put the headphones in, but it on full volume then mouthed "I can't hear you" at her and proceeded to hum along and air guitar until she got off the bus half an hour later. Thank christ (was that blasphemy - oops). As an agnostic, I normally find it interesting, hearing other people's views on their chosen religion, but I can't stand it when some fanatical nutjob tries to ram their views down my throat (particularly when I'm a captive audience) and expects me to just politely listen, not respond in any way with my own views. After she got off, I moved and sat next to a local girl that I'd already chatted to while waiting for the bus (I was more concerned about avoiding lunatics than the smell of my feet by this time) - a student who'd just been dumped by her boyfriend and needed to moan and curse men generally. I joined in wholeheartedly, and when we ran out of new expletives to use, I got my MP3 player out and broadened her musical horizons (she needed some music that wasn't depressing and wasn't lovey dovey).
I checked into a lovely hostel in New Plymouth, booked a surfing lesson for the next day, then went to check out some live music and a festival of lights at the local park with a Finnish guy - the lights were quite sweet, if a little tacky, the local jazz band could have used a conductor (they were all over the place when they played Take 5), but there was a decent dj who did a set. After a few minutes a couple appeared with fire poi and a fire staff, so when they'd performed I begged a few minutes on the poi and had a bit of a dance. We kept an eye on the sky for any signs of the cloud lifting (I still hadn't seen the comet), but gave up after an hour or so, went back to the hostel and sweated in the rather wonderful sauna instead.
The following day I went to Oakura for my first surfing lesson. A slightly annoying bland guy who seemed so chilled out and calm that he didn't appear to have any sort of emotional reaction to anything (probably too much yoga, meditation and pot in his formative years) took me out on a tandem board for a couple of hours. Basically we'd both be on the same board, and when we caught a wave, he'd stand up, then help me up, just to get me used to the feeling of standing up and riding the wave without overbalancing. After an hour of this, he took the tandem board in, and brought me a beginner board to practice on. It was just ever so slightly more difficult catching a wave (without someone else to help me paddle), standing up (without someone else to haul me up) and staying balanced (without someone else to compensate for my wobbliness) on my own, but I managed a couple of short rides on my knees before I fell off the board.
I went back to the hostel thoroughly exhausted and spent an evening slobbing in the sauna and in front of the tv (and occasionally nipping outside to check the cloud cover - still no luck). I now have a new shittest film of all time - cheaper by the dozen 2. Don't even watch it if you have kids.
As the visitor information centre had told me the day before that the weather would be heavy, low cloud with a high probability of rain, I decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to climb Mt Taranaki (2500m) - the staff certainly didn't seem to think so (plus I still have all too vivid memories of the Scottish mountain rescue incident), so I took the bus to Hamilton in the morning and watched the beautiful cloud-free sky roll past, and tried not to get irritated with meteorologists (do they just guess?).
I found a lovely little youth hostel for the night (before continuing on to Raglan) with a cheap chinese takeaway nearby, beautiful Hamilton gardens a stone's throw away and a great DVD collection. The first thing I did, after dumping my bags, was to head for Hamilton Gardens to find a good viewing spot on top of the hill with a south-westerly aspect, in case the clouds didn't reappear, then I got myself an egg foo-yung, sat in front of the TV to watch Identity, and waited.
At about 10pm I wandered over to the gardens, walked away from the street lights, and there it was - and amazingly unobstructed view of comet McNaught, in all its glory and with no clouds anywhere nearby. For the benefit of people who aren't into photography (whether they know what they're doing or, like me, they fumble along, pressing buttons to see what happens), taking photos of stars in the sky without a tripod isn't bloody easy. After several blurry attempts I discovered a bollard, wrapped my legs around it, balanced my camera on it, balanced the lens on left hand, put my elbows on my knees, pressed the timer button, then took the photo and held my breath when the beeping stopped for 3 seconds. Tripods are overrated.
After I'd had my fill of comet-gazing in peace and solitude, I realised what a crime it was that I was the only person in this perfect comet-viewing spot, so I went back to the youth hostel and fetched everyone.
The next morning I caught the bus to Raglan and got picked up by the lovely staff at Solscape. I dumped my bags in the railway caboose that my 3 bed dorm was in, put my food in the fridge and went for a surf lesson. This time it was loads better - my instructor (Kyle) actually had a personality (and quite an aesthetically pleasing tanned, toned torso to boot), his teaching methods worked much better, he was much more encouraging, and towards the end of the lesson he seemed impressed when I managed to stand and ride a wave all the way without any assistance at all. Also, he didn't appear to judge me when I did a little victory dance in the shallows, yelling "Yeah baby".
When I got back to Solscape, I made myself some guacamole, stayed up drinking and playing cards for a few hours, and then collapsed when I was almost comatose.
Wednesday was another horrible day - I woke up thinking about Steve and burst into tears immediately. I spent most of the morning on the phone to my parents and Ruth, blowing my nose and trying to avoid eye contact with people when I inevitably had to venture into the communal areas for the phone and more toilet paper. The best that can be said about it is it's over now and I don't have to live it again. In the afternoon I decided to try to surf off my horrible mood and took a board out on my own. The waves were extremely "messy", the rip current was pretty strong and I just ended up taking out my bad mood on the sea by battling it. It fought back. And won. I didn't manage to stand up once - I barely managed to get out to where the waves were breaking. I did manage to wipe out quite spectacularly though. I went back to the youth hostel in a stinking mood still. Thankfully the thing that saved my sanity was my rapidly depleting food supplies (surfing is bloody hard work, alright?). I begged a lift into town from Pete and Matt (two surfer dudes from Bournmouth, which they claim is trendy now), bought some food, and then got dragged around trendy surf shops. I couldn't really complain, since they'd kindly given me a lift, so I thought I might as well try some clothes on. I tried on a short skirt (just for a laugh - I haven't work one since school, but my legs are less scabby and awful these days, and more shapely with all the walking), but then realised that a size 12 was far too big. I tried on a size 10, and that was on the large side too, but wasn't a bad fit. I left the changing room to give the boys a twirl, and bugger me if they weren't checking out my legs and evidently enjoying it (I'm allowed to gloat, this may be the first time in my life that anyone's ever done that). I now understand the term retail therapy, I just need somewhere with a dancefloor to wear my new skirt now.
Once again I spent the evening drinking wine, playing cards (I taught Pete and Matt's friends Tanya and Ollie how to play San Juan) and chatting shit until the early hours.
I decided the next morning to leave surfing for a few days due to the shredded skin on my hands and feet (the soft top grip surface on beginner boards rubs every time you grip it hard - for example when a wave crashes over you, or when you try to stand up). I persuaded Tanya to come to the Bridal Veil falls and a beach nearby with a hot spring. Unfortunately, her friend Baz is very into fishing, and the entire van stank of the 3 day old squid he was using as bait. The falls were 55m high and were pretty stunning. Sadly we didn't make it to the beach as the road was closed and a detour would have taken hours. We went back to Raglan, went to fetch Baz (who was fishing by the side of the river), and came across a bunch of local kids all jumping off a bridge into the river and throwing mud at each other. I thought it looked like fun, so I got changed into my bikini, jumped into the river a couple of times and thankfully managed to avoid the projectile mud.
That evening it was Ollie's turn to cook for the Bournemouth crew, and he was a bit stuck for what to make, so I joined in and we cooked mushroom, asparagus and blue cheese risotto. After the meal everyone was talking about heading into town to hear a local band playing. I got all dressed up in my new skirt (I even wore make-up), only to find that everyone had already left and the remaining people had decided that they couldn't be bothered to go anymore. Arse. We sat around and played cards while I tried to get rid of my bad mood by eating chocolate. That didn't work - one of the American girls sitting with us was expounding on her philosophy of love, saying she falls in love 20 times a day when she "shares a moment" with someone, and that this love is as real as the love between people who've been together for years. I didn't want to be rude and take out my desperation for a fag on her by screaming "Get a clue" into her face, so I kept my thoughts to myself, got drunk instead, then promptly started crying uncontrollably about Steve again when I went to bed. Alcohol is bad, chocolate is good.
The next day I woke up in an altogether better mood, despite the slight hangover. I said goodbye to Bournemouth crew who were off to Taranaki (where I'd just come from, so I didn't want to join them). I idled away the morning by starting another drawing of Steve and doing a bit of Sudoku. After lunch, a couple of the girls persuaded me to go surfing again despite the cheese grater effect it had had on my hands and feet. It was an altogether different experience - the waves were much more clean, paddling out was easier, I had more experienced surfers to give me bits of advice and as a result I managed to stand up 5 times, including 2 decent length rides where I didn't fall off. It was nothing short of exhilarating - I can see how people get completely addicted to surfing (and they do - most people I've met in Raglan are just here to surf their way round NZ - they have no interest in tramping, kayaking, glacier walking, swimming with dolphins, bungy jumping etc).
The next morning (yesterday) I discovered that the hostel was completely booked for the weekend, so I took the opportunity to explore some more and arranged a lift to Auckland with Kyle in order to go beyond to Northland today. While I waited for Kyle to sort a few things out, I hung my washing out to dry for a bit longer (it's always horrible when you wash clothes, have to pack them before they're dry, and then when you get them out again, they're smellier than they were before you washed them). Kyle eventually arrived and we set off for Auckland, chatting all the way - about travel plans, surfing vernacular, life, the universe and everything. Kyle was very pleasant company and a good laugh, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself, when suddenly the niggling thing bothering me at the back of my mind came into focus: my washing was still drying on the clothes line in Raglan.
Shit.
Kyle seemed to find this funny (I don't know why), but quickly redeemed himself by offering to look after my clothes for a few days until I came to collect them. I suppose I'll just have to go back to Raglan then. And it would be foolish to go back all that way and not use the opportunity to surf a couple of times. Cést la vie. I'm choosing to take this as a sign that clearly I'm meant to continue learning to surf.
Kyle dropped me off at the airport and I caught the bus into Auckland, went back to Base backpackers (where I'd spent my first night in NZ), dumped my bags in the lovely all girls dorm, filled with the scents of flowers (and not men's feet), went up to the roof to use the sauna, then washed my hair with the free shampoo and conditioner, dried myself with the free towel and went downstairs for my free glass of champagne. Bargainous bliss.
I'm now staying on Shipwreck bay, near Kaiteae in Northland. It's at the southern end of 90 mile beach (actually it's about half that, but who's counting). I've already sorted out my food for the next couple of days, and tomorrow I plan to either surf or go to Cape Reinga. I'll see which way the wind blows.
As usual, photos to follow...
posted by Cat D @ 9:05 PM
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