Finding My Fix: Chronicles of a Travel Junkie

EDIT: Alright, the following was said not entirely fairly. For a better description of Thailand, visit this page: Finally the Real Thailand and the Usual Me, Last Day in Bangkok, Bangkok Visuals: the Part I Liked, Bangkok Visuals: the Part I Didn’t Like.

Well I just signed on to find that I have a comment from someone very mature by the name of “spanky” who spends his spare time leaving messages like this, telling me to grow up. I love it!

Anyway, today I got out, took the train down to Mo Chit station where JJ market is. I walked around for a few hours spending more money than I would have liked, but I got to do something I love… haggle. It began to rain sheets, so I sat down on a cool stone bench to wait it out. As I was sitting, I had a chance to reassess Bangkok with a less emotional state of mind. I came to realise that I’ve spent too long in clean, green, empty New Zealand, so Bangkok is a hell of a shock. I still think it is far too polluted, and can still barely stand it! But maybe it’s not hell, just purgatory.

I would like to mention that the four English guys were staying for a year on a work holiday visa. And talking to them has got me interested in maybe, after college, traveling around either the UK or Australia on a work holiday visa for 6 months or more before I go to grad school. And to be entirely honest I’m starting to question whether I really want to put in so much time, effort and money into becoming a clinical psychologist. If I could find a way to make a decent living writing, I think I’d like to do just that. Any ideas?

Camilla left Sydney for Fiji on Wednesday, and I went off to Bondi Beach. I lay out under the sun, the one I was telling you about that is so strong it just goes right through you leaving no shadow, for about 2 or 3 hours. It wasn’t the greatest idea of my life considering I hadn’t come home till 5 that morning after hanging out at a pub with two English guys and a Swedish guy and girl from the hostel, and had to wake up around 9 to see Camilla off. I went to the park to take a nap because my room was too unbearably hot, which isn’t surprising since it’s on the top floor of a 4 story house.

I went to bed early that night and woke up early in the morning already boiling. I headed out for a walk around the city and ended up trying to find a cool place to sit in the gardens. I was entirely unsuccessful. I returned to the hostel to see if I could get one of the English guys to go running, but he had just gotten back from playing football and didn’t seem too enthused. He invited me to come out with him and his friend that night. He said he had to get a shower first and about 45 minutes later he came downstairs not at all dressed to run. I asked him, “you going for a run?”

“I just ran up the stairs and back. I’m knackered.”

So I went off myself, and later he asked me what happened with the run, saying he’d waited. Anyway, that evening when I got back downstairs after showering, I found that these English guys and two others I’d met, Ed, Danny, James and Mark (at least I hope that’s what their names are) had disappeared, and to be entirely honest, it made me depressed; I had been looking forward to going out. But it was still relatively early so I still had the hope they were just gone for dinner, and sure enough I ran into one who informed me that the others were primping. We headed out, 3 English guys and myself. They had nicknamed me Texas since I’d mentioned I was born in Texas. As one could imagine hanging out with three guys between the ages of 20 and 22, many many things were said that were far too innapropriate to share here. But even though they teased me relentlessly and often risquely about a variety of things, they were decent guys, telling me that if they ever cross the line, to let them know. In fact, they somewhat restored my hope that there are good guys out there.

We ended up staying out until 6:30 in the morning, after the sun had fully risen, and we all had to get up in a few hours to check out of the hostel. They were headed for Melbourne, and I was headed for Bangkok (the sound of which was found relentlessly entertaining to them). When I reached the top stairs of the hostel, and opened my door, Tanya a roommate, the Swede I’d met in Wellington, was standing there looking as stunned as I was. We both had to laugh at the fact that I was returning after she’d woken up. I set my alarm for shortly before 10, and went to sleep. In the morning the English guys had disappeared and I figured maybe they’d left, and again, it made me sad. And again, I was wrong, they were just sleeping in. So I spent my last day walking around the city with them.

It’s so strange just how attached I get to people after only about 2 days, and how no matter what it always gets me down when I leave, which happens with increasing frequency. I didn’t get any of their emails or anything, though I did leave my phone number with one of them. Whether they’ll ever text me, I don’t know. But it would be great if when I go to the UK I’ll already know some people, so I hope they do text me.

And now I’m in Bangkok. I arrived at my hotel at 2am after an 8 hour flight. Loneliness immediately set in. My mum wanted to make sure I didn’t end up in a roach infested, dangerous hostel in a bad part of town, so as a birthday present, she booked a hotel. But in all honesty at the moment I think I’d rather be in a roach infested hostel, because then I wouldn’t be alone. I mean the hostel I stayed in in Sydney was pretty disgusting, with roaches, and hookers on the street corner. How bad could it be really? This morning at breakfast, I couldn’t hold back the tears. Four days seems like a very long time when you’ve been on the road 5 months, just had a great time in Sydney, and are now very much alone. I’m looking forward to staying in a hostel again in Honolulu. But then I really should quit feeling sorry for myself. I’m in Bangkok, a city that reaks from pollution, but I am sure is none-the-less an awesome place to visit. Maybe I should leave the hotel and have a look around.

I think in my last post on Australia, I forgot to mention that I cried for about 2 minutes when the plane took off from Christchurch. I have to say, thank you New Zealand, I learned so much from you.

So on with life. On Sunday, Camilla and I walked down to the wharf and caught a ferry to the zoo. Admission into the zoo is expensive, especially compared to the measly $0 you have to pay to go to the National Zoo. We took the gondala up to the top of the hill to start looking around. First thing we saw was koalas, the cute furry spokesmen, you might say, of the Sydney zoo. They were being their adorable, drug stuppored selves. We spent the day walking around looking at animals, you know, the thing you usually do at the zoo. When we went to the alligator exhibit, Camilla gasped and took a step back. The head of an alligator poked up silently out of the water outside the safety rails. “Is that real?”

“Haha, I don’t think so.”

“They have a sick sense of humor.”

Oh, the Aussies! A minute later, a couple strolled up to the bars and the woman stepped back in shock. Good laughs

We wandered on, lost by the signs that stopped informing you at the most inconvenient of times which way to go to see the platypus. We found the nocturnal house where animals with funny names were hopping around like kangaroos, and doing the “hokey pokey.” Wink wink.

“If these animals sleep during the day, do you think they turn the lights on in here at night?” I asked.

“Yeah it can’t be dark all the time.”

Sure enough, Camilla found a sign that read, “Lights are gradually turned on at night…”

This was the first of many such times when we answered our own questions and had them verified by the signs. We are such experts! Between the two of us, Camilla and I can figure out the entire universe.

We found the dingos, which are pretty creatures. And the kangaroo and wallabee exhibit was interesting, we actually walked through their enclosure with no safety fence, only signs that warned people to stay on the path. I will have to share the pictures I took there as soon as possible because they are hilarious. We finally did find the platypus and wombat. I have to say I had them switched in my mind in terms of size. The wombat was the size I expected a platypus to be and vice versa. The platypus is really quite small, and the one at the zoo was playing in the bubbles like an otter. The wombat on the other hand has an enormous head and is about the size and shape of a larger bull dog.

The giraffe enclosure which we happened to pass on the way out overlooked Sydney harbour. Imagine this… giraffe heads sticking up over the opera house and harbour bridge. I have pictures of this too. We headed back on the ferry, and stopped for gelato and went up to touch the sails on the opera house. We noticed a Cony Island sort of place on the other side of the harbour next to the bridge, we decided we had to check it out.

The next day, Camilla and I headed off to the botanical gardens to find a good spot to have a picnic. We found one, overlooking the water with the opera house and bridge in the background. We sat in the grass with our baggettes, brie cheese, chicken and apples and had ourselves a meal. All was going well until a brazen bird with a long beek walked up and probably thinking I was holding my sandwich out to him, snatched it right out of my hand.

“That bugger!” Soon a number of sea gulls had come to try and steal the sandwich from him. I picked up my flip flop and threw it at him. The birds scattered, and I walked over grabbed the sandwich and threw it in our trash bag. No worries folks, bird flu is not in Australia, and I didn’t eat anything more until I washed my hands.

Camilla and I sat reading. A man lay not too far off. He had his hand in his pocket and kept moving around rhythmically in a strange way so that his pants were falling down. At first I gave him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he didn’t realise it, but I soon started to suspect that it was intentional. Having just taken Abnormal Psychology, I can tell you it seemed awfully remniscent of expositionism. So I said quietly to Camilla who had just started eating a strawberry, “Camilla, I think we should go now. The guy behind you is freaking me out.”

So she non-chalantly finished her paragraph without looking at the man and we packed up and moved on. The funny thing is I have seen an inordinate number of crazies roaming the streets. I probably shouldn’t be saying it this way since I am working toward a profession in clinical psychology (unless of course I end up changing my mind), but it’s true. I can’t count the number of people I have come across talking to themselves, and suffering from tics. I’m no doctor yet, but I would have to say I have definitely run across a lot of schizophrenics. I suppose I was somewhat warned by a woman in my same tourgroup in the Cadbury factory. She was an Aussie who when we were talking about the statistics for the quantity of chocolate consumed per person in each country, said, “Americans probably eat more, you have much better mental health than we do.” Now I have quite a lot of anecdotal evidence that she’s right.

We headed across the harbour bridge which is actually a very monotonous walk. I felt like I was walking through a windy tunnel that just kept going. When we reached the other side we looked at a sign that pointed in the direction of a number of places. Luna Park seemed the best candidate as a name of an amusement park. We headed in the direction and found it. Seeing as it was midday Monday, the place was deserted. We rode one ride, the Wild Mouse, which was a little wooden roller coaster with a number of short drops and an effect that makes you feel like you’re going to fall off the side. The cars only held two people, so we each took our own. When I came down the first drop there was a camera flash. As we walked out back into the street, the pictures were displayed on a screen. I had my tongue sticking out and my hair flying up straight behind me like I had two horns. It was a perfect picture.

We made our way back across the bridge, and stopped for more gelato before heading back to the hostel.

Tuesday watching a movie was the only substantial thing we did. The movie was called Stay with Ewan McGregor and what’s his face from The Notebook, I can’t for the life of me remember. It was strange, very difficult to understand, but pretty good. I think I burned a lot of calories sitting in that theatre just thinking about the movie.

That night we all hung around in the courtyard of the hostel talking about the usual… sex, drugs, and rock and roll, and of course politics. Being an American, the subject of Iraq and hilarious anecdotes of American stupidity always seem unavoidable. An Irish guy told me that he was once asked in all seriousness by an American, where he could find leprichauns (spelling?) in Ireland. All I could do was laugh very hard and apologize.

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!

Stories and pictures to come later…

Oct 22-Oct 23 flew into Christchurch and stayed with some friends of Grandma.
Oct 24 headed down to Fox Glacier stopping in Hokitika on the way
Oct 25 hiked Fox Glacier
Oct 26 headed down to Queenstown
Oct 27 bungy jumped!
Oct 28 headed to Milford Sound
Oct 29 kayaked in Milford
Oct 30 snorkel in Milford
Oct 31 tramp in Te Anau (maybe?)
Nov 1 Omarau to see the penguins and dolphins hopefully
Nov 2 wake up early to see the sun RISE on the Pacific! then see Dunedin
Nov 3 fly back to Wellington
Nov 4 Physics exam
Nov 5 fly to Sydney
Nov 11 fly to Bangkok
Nov 16 12 hour lay-over in Seoul
Nov 17-21 in Honolulu
Nov 22 arrive home!

Read the rest of this entry »

I have a half hour to kill, and what better way to kill it than by writing about my amazingly entertaining and liberating trip to Picton, Nelson and Able Tasman Park? But first I would just like to mention that I would feel entirely unsafe being in this building (my hostel) in the event of an earthquake, as the wind is enough to shake its foundation.

The story:

Wed 12 Oct

I woke up early to get to the ferry that would take me to the South Island. I still hadn’t finished packing because you know me, with a last name like Libelo, it’s impossible for me not to procrastinate. Forgetting my guide book, I headed downtown, and made it in time to catch the Interislander ferry. That ferry is the biggest boat I have ever been on in my life. It moved at incredible speed for a ship, and rocked only slightly. With my slow eyes, I managed to read about 100 pages of Jurassic Park before we entered Queen Charlotte Sound which I have to say is not all its cracked up to be. Too much of the hillsides had been logged. But anyway, it was still something to see as I stood on the viewing deck, shivering in the wind. We were late to birth since when we arrived, there was no space for us to dock, but luckily Intercity Coachlines works with the ferries to exchange passangers, so the bus was waiting when we finally got off.

The ride to Blenheim, where we waited an additional half hour, and then on to Nelson was through incredibly beautiful country. The bus driver explained to us which valley we were, what sounds we passed, what famous people had come from the region and what industry was big there as we went. He informed us the weather would be beautiful, 18 degrees C, and sure enough it was, the entire time. We arrived in Nelson late after all those delays, and about 4pm. I found the hostel where I’d “made a reservation” on the map and headed toward it. I don’t think I’ll mention the name of it as the information I’m about to give could incriminate them.

As I walked I started to wonder if it was in fact worth it to save $3. I had been walking for what seemed like forever, and judging by the map it seemed like I was only a third of the way there. I was walking through what seemed like a suburban neighborhood with my 20 lb backpack weighing on my shoulders, and I stopped more than once to consider turning around. But no, I pushed on. Once I arrived I would ask if they could give me a ride to the bus station in the morning, and if they could, I would stay. I finally found the street and saw nothing that gave the impression of a backpackers, but I saw the name written on a post at the entrance of a gravel road. I followed the road past a horse and a goat, to where there was a house, and dogs came running to greet me. A woman welcomed me in, saying, you must be the one who called yesterday. She showed me around. Inside the house it was dark, and raggae music was playing from a stereo. Turtles swam in a tank in an alcove with couches and a coffee table. Strange, I was thinking to myself. I bet they have a crop of weed somewhere on this property. She showed me the bathrooms and the hut where I would sleep. It was a nice little hut. It reminded me of when I used to go to camp way back when, only it was much nicer with real walls, windows and a door. I dropped my stuff and headed the miles back into town, arriving in time to ask about Able Tasman at the information centre.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t feel like being a tourist. As I was walking through the city if you can call it that, I saw the cinema, so I checked to see if Wallace and Grommit the Curse of the Were-Rabbit was playing. Sure enough it was starting in 2 minutes, so I went in with a bag of peanut M&M’s, and finally got to see what I was longing to see. Nothing special, but a good way to pass the time. After that, I felt blue. I felt alone, homesick, tired. I sat down in Anzac park, and cried a bit. It helped that the park was a memorial to fallen soldiers in WWII. It made an atmosphere conducive to sadness. Once that was out of my system, I figured I better head back to the hostel. On my way back, I saw a boy with a dog, and took a moment to pet the dog before continuing. A man started walking along side me (they seem to like to do that).

“Nice dog, eh?”

“Yeah”

“You smoke weed?” Man, he gets straight to the point.

“No.” Do I have some aura about me that says, POT HEAD! POT HEAD!?

“What are you doing?”

“Going home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Up there.”

“Are you a tourist?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

“Going home?”

“Are you Canadian?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah. What are you doing?”

“I’m going home.”

“Alright, I’ll stop interrogating you.”

“Thanks.”

He shook my hand and told me to take care. I said the same.

So I went back to the ganja farm, and cooked dinner. I talked to the owner (I think he was), who I had correctly identified as Dutch. I could see in the alcove by the turtles. Two kids who were staying, WOOFing (working in exchange for room and board) on the farm rolling joints. A woman came in and sat down. I saw her take a bite out of a chocolate muffin or brownie. Next time I looked over, she was asleep. How funny this all is! I’m staying on a hippy farm! The Dutchman told me he was trying to get citizenship. He observed that he didn’t meet many Americans, that for such a big country, we don’t travel much. He also asked if I had a boyfriend back home.

I Replied, “no, but there’s a guy who wants to be.”

“I guess you wouldn’t have one if your off traveling.”

I went to bed early, and read more Jurassic Park, and called a hostel to book a room for the next night.

Thur 13 Oct

I rose early, threw my stuff together, and split. I wanted to try and make it downtown to drop my stuff off at the next hostel before I had to catch the 8am bus to Able Tasman and walk. As I walked toward town, I heard honking. A truck pulled up along side me. The woman from the hostel was apologizing for forgetting that I needed a ride, but I assured her it was ok. When she left, I headed in the direction I thought was the hostel, but I was wrong. So I got on the bus with all my gear and rode through the gorgeous countryside to the park. A morning mist hung all around the harbor, just below the blue mountains. It was a beautiful effect!

The bus driver stopped at the entrance to the park which was unexpected since I thought I was going to have to walk two hours from Marahau just to reach the park. I discovered that there was no clean water to refill my water bottle with, but that filtered water would be available at the first hut, so I figured I could make it, and refill there. I sat down to eat my breakfast when I discovered a huge brown spider crawling on my pack. I jumped away and what I proceeded to do would probably have been quite funny for someone watching me. I began to dance, more or less. I would shake the bag, then jump back, shake it again, jump back. But that little bugger hung on! So I decided to bother a couple nearby.

The man was on the phone, so I asked the woman, “Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but are you afraid of spiders?”

“No.”

“Ok, because I am and there’s a huge spider on my bag. Do you mind helping me get it off?”

“No. Where is it?”

I finally got to eat my lunch in peace before I walked off into the park.

I was amazed at the beauty, even at the entrance of the trail. Abel Tasman is a loop track that takes about 3 to 5 days to complete. Half of it runs along the coast and half inland through the mountains. It’s well maintained, wide enough for two people, and with mechanisms to prevent eroding. There are huts and campgrounds along the trail, with toilets and two filtered water stations. And several beaches line the coast. All I can say was that, start to finish, I was glad I had come.

Abel Tasman wasn’t too busy that day, or too isolated. I never went more than about 15 or 20 minutes without seeing a person, but my guess would be I only passed a total of about 30 people in the whole six hours I was walking. The first time I really ran into people, I was coming around a bend. The track was cut through the mountain at that point, and the wall on the coastal side rose up and was concave in a way that made sounds impossible to trace. So when I heard voices, I had no idea where they were coming from. But as I turned the corner, two guys were sitting resting, looking out over the water. One was blond-haired and blue-eyed, the other had long brown hair. I acknowledged them, as you ought to do when you pass someone while hiking. A while later, they passed me, and a short time after that I passed them again.

It started to be fun. It was like we knew each other. As I would pass, I would say, “See you later, I’m sure!”

Again, as I came around a bend, to pass them for the fourth time, the blue-eyed one smiled a big grin of recognition, which absolutely made my day. He asked me a question I didn’t quite understand, it was either why did you stop or where did you stop. When I asked him which he was he said, “oh.” You’re German, I thought to myself.

I stopped on a beach to have lunch. I took off my boots to rest my feet and feel the sand between my toes. The water was freezing cold! But my feet were swollen from the walking and from having all my gear on my back for so long, so it was welcome relief. The two guys came down to the beach and snapped pictures of it and of the birds.

“You’re in my shot.” The dark haired one said with an accent to the blond one. So you aren’t from the same country and neither of you are native English speakers. Hmm, interesting.

I sat on a rock in the shade to eat some bread. As I sat, listening to the waves, I also began to hear popping sounds behind me. I began to wonder what it could be. I turned around in time to hear another pop and see flower pettles fall from a bush behind me. I realised it was the bushes! They were making the noise! Looking at the flowers more closely, I deduced that the seeds were growing and popping open their cases. It was bizarre!

After some time, I put my boots back on, but not before I acquired a number of bug bites around my ankles. Then I continued on my way. My feet were thoroughly sore by this point, but with no blisters, so my new boots have passed the test. And the lacing technique the guy at the store taught me to keep my tiny heel from slipping out of the boot did the trick. I made time, hoping I’d pass the guys again before I had to turn around. I never did, and I never made it to the first hut with the filtered water, so I rationed my little bit of water on my way back.

I was happy to discover, as I was coming upon one of the streams, that the two guys were crossing the bridge. I had passed them without knowing it sometime back. I stopped for a brief moment to chat with them, long enough to find out that the blond was, in fact, from Germany, and the dark-haired one was from Israel. An interesting combination, but one I’m glad to see. They would be in the park for three more days. Had I been walking the whole track, I probably would have had company. They seemed nice enough.

It took me only about 2.5 hours to walk back. Walking such a long way without enough water gave the illusion, whenever I looked at the sky, of the clouds and the air moving away from me. The psychology dork I am, it reminded me that perceptual psychology has pointed out that when you see the same movement or color for a long time, when it’s taken away, you’ll see the opposite. So by continuously walking forward through a tunnel of trees, when I was in open space, suddenly everything looked like it was moving away from me.

When I got back to the trail head, I could barely walk. A cafe was open so I stopped and chugged an apple, mango juice, then settled down, changed to my street shoes acquiring more ankle bites in the process. I sat waiting for my bus, wishing it would be leaving earlier. Finally, shortly before 5, with another 40 minutes to go till the scheduled bus, I walked over to three drivers standing around talking.

“Is this the intercity bus?”

“Yep.”

“The 5:40 bus?”

“Could be.”

Could be? I stood confused.

“If you want to take the 5 o’clock bus, you can. What hostel are you staying at?”

They didn’t recognize the name, so the man called them to see where they were. My wish was granted by the ever accomodating Kiwis, and I left Abel Tasman on the earlier bus. I was dropped off at my hostel.

This hostel, called Accents was wonderful. Not your ordinary backpackers. It wouldn’t be for everyone, but it was the perfect place for me with my sore feet and aching shoulders. The place seemed more like a hotel than a hostel. The linens were entirely clean, as were the bathrooms, and everything else for that matter. I took a quick walk around Nelson before the sun went down, then I hit the showers to wash off the grime. The showers were incredible and I stood under the streaming jet of hot water for a good five minutes. When I came out my shoulders, which had been replaced by rocks from carrying my backpack, were almost back to normal, and I felt refreshed. I treated myself to a glass of wine and some chocolate mud cake. The owners of the hostel were very bubbly, talking to every guest making them all feel at home. It was a nice homely atmosphere after a hard day. And just for the sake of observation, my roommates for the night were a German girl and a Kiwi who was very open about the fact that she was bipolar, had a young daughter and had recently fallen in love with a man over the internet.

14 Oct 2005

I woke up at 6:30, unable to go back to sleep. I left to catch the 9am bus to Picton to catch the ferry. I was wishing I’d given myself an extra day in Nelson, but that’s alright; I’ll just have to go back. I think I had the same bus driver as the first day. He was as tourguidish as the first one. When I arrived in Picton, I checked my luggage at the ferry terminal, then went to get my ticket.

“But you don’t sail until tomorrow.” The woman at the counter said.

“What?”

“It says here, Oct 15th.” She handed me the paper.

“Oh my god!” I’d managed to book the wrong day somehow. Crap, if I’d known, I would have hung out in Nelson an extra day, stayed for the beginning of the art festival, but could I afford it? I’m out of cash. I don’t want to stay a night in Picton.

“I guess you don’t want to sail tomorrow.”

“No.”

She took the paper back and despite having bought a ticket that, according to the terms and conditions, COULD NOT BE CHANGED, she changed it for me. My luck had been incredible all during the trip!

I took a stroll through Picton which doesn’t take long considering the size of the town. I stopped and had some nachos, which were horrible. It wasn’t necessarily that they tasted bad, but they’d been Kiwified. The only kind of tortilla chips you can find in this country come with cheese already on them. When a restaurant serves nachos, it comes with the normal sour cream and cheese, but the salsa isn’t quite right, and they use kidney beans which just mess up the flavor with there sweetness. I suppose it’s no surprise considering the amount of ocean that lies between Mexico and New Zealand.

The ride back was, aside from an emergency drill, highly uneventful. How I got a story this long out of a three day trip, I don’t know, but I did. Now I’m back in Wellington until Oct 22 (6 days).

Pictures from the fieldtrip. Unfortunately my battery died so I didn’t get any pictures of the seals. While Jency and I were talking to Peter, he told us a story. Apparently Prince Charles, who happens to have a degree in archaeology from one of the prestigious universities in England came to New Zealand and visited one of the universities here.

He asked one student, “so what do you study?”

“Archaeology.”

Then Charles asked, “What are you studying that for? There’s no archaeology in New Zealand.”

To which the student replied, “What do you think the Maori are, you idiot?”

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