Licking up thu Laund
A couple hours ago I stumbled into a small Maori town in search of food on a holiday–EnZed (Memorial) Day—when nothing is open. In addition to a decent burger, I met a group of locals whose holiday had already passed into the state of making toasts and singing Kenny Rodgers loudly by 11am. In the course of less than an hour, I was presented with a shot of Wild Turkey, a phone number for spending the night, and an old lady’s swollen foot (my claims of “therapist” were misunderstood). Now in dramatic contrast, I sit in a barn at “The Treehouse” with Polly the sheep looking on as I thumb through my head to file most recent pictures and thoughts.
Spent the last several days “tramping” (which, in New Zealand is an outdoorsy, rather than promiscuous, event). It began with an hour on 90-Mile Beach, something that, whether biking or hiking, feels a bit like panting on a treadmill while the scenery defies dramatic change. I relished the silly thrill though of carrying a pack, barefoot, kicking waves, while keeping company only with gulls. As I headed into my first camp at Twilight Beach, I passed a Maori, friendly as all seem to be. He immediately presents me with selections of his fresh catches: a fish and an abalone. When I looked a little skeptical at what I would do with them, he insists, “ya gotta eat off thu laund, bro!” and gives me full directions for slicing, gutting, and cooking. So, Gurl of the Laund I was that night–bathing in the ocean, making my little driftwood fire, and cooking up one tasty fish. I gave the slimy abalone (to be eaten raw) a long guilty staredown, then decided that it would be my offering back to the laund (or to the gulls at least).
The next day was a beautiful hike—‘cross beaches, sand dunes, pastures, cliff-supported ridges—into Tapotupotu Bay. Another gorgeous place to set up camp, this time with the luxuries of pit toilets and running water. There I met another nice tramper who joined me during the hiking and star-gazing of the next couple days. Just when I think that I’ll truly be alone (that state when the gods magically turn you into a poet or artist just for communing with nature), then I find myself in good company once again. Guess I’ll just give up on being an artist. 😉
“Mathematics are well and good but nature keeps dragging us around by the nose.”
Albert Einstein
Tags: Cape Reinga, New Zealand, Tramping
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