Finding My Fix: Chronicles of a Travel Junkie

I am so road weary, and by reading you will soon find out why. Pictures will come much later. I’ll do my best to write about my trip here though it was very long with many many stories. Maybe I should just go write a book…

I flew into Christchurch on Oct 22 and was picked up by Sue, a Kiwi my grandmother met over ebay. She drove me around in her diesel powered 4WD, took me into the city and showed me a museum, art center, gardens. She told me some about her own life, her crazy family. She has a disease that has caused her to need a tracheotomy, so she has to breath and talk through a tube. And yes, despite that, she still has a Kiwi accent. She lives with her partner Ron who suffered a rough divorce before he met her. And Sam, their deaf dog is still holding on, living with. They’ve lived together many years, but Ron doesn’t want to re-marry. They seem to work well together. They are a normal couple with small tiffs, but I can tell they care a lot about each other. As they were arguing over something small, which was the better way to get to Hokitika or something similar, I had to note that some things just never change no matter where you are.

If you were to take the personalities of all four of my grandparents and mix and match them just right, Ron and Sue would be the result. It felt good staying with them in their home, eating good home-cooked meals for two days. It was like I was visiting yet another set of grandparents. I seem to collect them around the world. I can count at last 3 pairs of extra grandparents. Ron had been to the US and had a great interest in talking with me about the differences between New Zealand and the US. And Sue was very hospitable, showing me around every where, even taking me for a drive to the ATM at 10pm in hopes that I could withdraw cash before I had to catch the bus at 7am on the 24th.

Oct 23, Ron drove us around the Peninsula. We stopped at an art gallery on the way so Sue could have a look around. Ron came up to me and asked me in a way that reminded me of my grandfather, “do you want an ice cream?” When I refused, he talked me into it. I felt very much at home. We went on to Sandy Beach where a Maori Pa (fortification) used to be. There was a museum there with Maori artefacts, and old settler homes and goods. I was all museumed out after that.

Our last stop was Akaroa (I think it’s called). It’s an old French settlement, now a town. We had some lunch before we wound back through the mountains and down onto the plain for venison dinner. They gave me their advice for the rest of my trip and I determined I was going to Hokitika via Arthur’s Pass next.

The next morning, I said goodbye to Sam and Ron. Ron fussed over me a bit, making sure I had all my things. It was funny to discover that some of the veges I had left in their fridge had been eaten. At least they hadn’t gone to waste. But poor Ron actually did seem to be sad that I was leaving, and I have to say I was sad as well. It was like I was leaving home again, and who knows if I’ll ever make it back there. Sue drove me to the busstop, and I was on my way again.

I woke up at 7:30am, not because I’d set my alarm, but because that is my natural wake-up time now. I got up, finished packing and cleaning, and checked out of my flat for good. I slung one backpack on my back and the other in front, and dragged my suitcase down the sidewalk the five blocks to the busstop. My shoulders were stones when I finally sat down. The busdriver carried my luggage onto and off of the bus. Oh how I love Kiwi hospitality! I went to the Air New Zealand check in 3 hours early. I placed my luggage as gently as I could on the scale and the woman said, looking shocked, “You’re 10 kilos over! That will be $100 dollars”

“Shit!”

And my carry-on was another 3 over! No wonder my shoulders had died!

“Why don’t you take your bags over to one of those scales no one is using and see if you can get rid of a few kilos.”

I did; I did my best to empty the bag. Six kilos gone. And I’m still 5 over the absolute maximum.

“Don’t worry, this is a normal occurrence in the airport.”

“I would expect it.”

“So how are you doing?”

“I still have 5 kilos to go.”

“Do you have anything else you could get rid of? Food?”

“A box of Tim-Tams. Would you like a box of Tim-Tams?” I held them up to her with a big smile.

She looked tempted, but said, “why don’t you put your bags up on the scale, we’ll see how you’re doing.”

They measured in at 24.5. “Well, I’m allowed to let you get away with 23, but you’ve done a good job,” she looked at the pile of clothes and shoes and my $70 textbook. “I’ll let you go.”

“Thank you!”

I headed to the bookstore to see if I could send the textbook home ahead of me. I managed to knock over a display of chocolates on my way in, but after I cleaned them up, the employees were very helpful as they usually are. All of them became involved in trying to find out how I could send the book. One was on the phone with another trying to find out the price, while a third held the book up to the security camera so they could see it. But it wasn’t worth mailing it home, so I donated the book to the employees of the store, and headed off for a triumph ice cream.

Green tea was the flavor. A spot of it managed to find its way onto my white T-shirt before I finally sat to wait the 2 hours till I left for Christchurch and then on to Sydney.

When I arrived in Sydney and made it through customs, I went to wait in the warm air for the shuttle as I swatted away the flies, only to find they didn’t take credit. So back inside I went, and found an ATM, withdrawaing 4 urine yellow 50’s.

I took the shuttle through the city, noting how similar to the US it is, and how exact it is to the expectations I had of New Zealand. I had been expecting Australia in New Zealand. I immediately liked Sydney because it reminded me of cities back home, and fulfilled my expectations of Australia.

I finally arrived at my hostel at 7:30pm to wait another half hour before the manager came back so I could check in. But what a nice guy he is! Clive I think is his name, or Clyde. He set up a table and chairs and candle on the veranda for us. Camilla (who I haven’t seen in 2 weeks) cooked tacos. We sat eating tacos, drinking beer, and watching transvestite hookers working the corner up the street, while their pimp sat in a car across the sidewalk from us. We watched as a number of their very drunk clients came by. A number of strange people walked by who weren’t even intersted in the hookers. One said, as he passed, “smells like a nice joint,” in reference to our non-existent marijuana. Not long after that, the pimp drove off. Four guys about 20 maybe walked down the other side of the street and stopped to turn a chain-link fence into a toilet. They were not the last to do so. Clive brought us Milo ice creams; what a nice guy! Finally some other people staying at the hostel discovered that we had a wonderful “romantic dinner for two on the veranda, complete with entertainment,” and came outside to talk to us.

Two English bloaks stood on the other side of the banister entertaining us with their craziness. Ben, is a caricature of himself. He uses a number of sayings and has a very didactic comical way of talking. Imagine an English bloak saying, “Keep it clean, I always say,” in place of a period at the end of every sentence. It can be quite hilarious, and when, as you’re talking Clive lowers chocolate attached to a rope from an unseen second story window.

As we were talking, a helicopter with a search light flew slowly overhead looking for some criminal, only adding to the excitement. I have to say, my first day in Australia was wonderful, and lucky as!

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