Our First Fishing Trip...Kinda

My husband Beau is a great lover of fishing. That’s cool with me, I love it myself, though my own background is limited to my years fishing with my 12-foot pull-in (no reel) bamboo pole with its dainty bobber. Don’t chuckle, I could catch about one blue gill per minute with that thing. And I also got my first job ever – a babysitting one – at 12 years old with that stylish pole. A couple walking by with their two small children saw me pulling (literally) in fish and within minutes, I had quickly taught and helped their five year-old son to yank in his very first fish. That boy was screaming for joy. The parents must have been impressed, or thankful, for I went on to babysit those two children for the next several years.

Anyway, back to the here and now. Beau being from Montana, you would think he stepped right out of A River Runs Through It, and he basically has, since he loves Montana and loves fly fishing. I think he’s still a little bit heartbroken about all his fish stuff he had to leave behind in the U.S. (he did manage to lug his fly fishing reel with him, but no pole). Since we live right on the ocean and there are also several rivers around, Beau has had a couple opportunities to accompany some locals on boats where they’ve happily caught such fish as red snapper (yummy!) and returned to fry them up for ‘fush n chups.”

Finally, finally, finally Beau went and bought his own fishing pole set, one for fishing from the shore, since of course, we don’t have our own boat as many other do around here. Actually, we’re supposed to buy two poles, but since Beau’s paycheck is still Still STILL -OH MY GOD- fucked up with the Ministry of Education, our money is very tight. I’m still an unemployed slob (though rapidly becoming one goddamnhelluva cook!), and he’s STILL being paid at level 1 despite the fact he’s been here since late July. Nonetheless, I twisted his arm to go ahead and finally buy it, despite his constant state of financial nervosa. There aren’t a lot of things to do around here besides walk on the beach and get in your car and drive somewhere else. But fishing is one of them, and since I am in my own constant state of Is-Beau-too-unhappy?-nervosa, I thought we absolutely had to get at least one pole, and I twisted his arm to just suck up and spend the money.

So, of course, we had to travel to ‘town,’ to get a pole where there is a decent sports shop that has these package deals. Beau bought a modest pole of a modest price along with a modest supply of extra hooks, weights, etc. The salesman taught us how to put the thing together (the three parts of the pole when assembled must be about 15 feet in length), and I tried to force myself to pay hawk-like attention as he threaded the thing and attached all the thingie-ma-jimmies to it. I know though that if a gun was held to my head, I’d probably be a dead woman before I could figure out how to put that thing together from pole to hook. Beau gave that manly “yeah yeah yeah” gruff nod here and there to show his testerone-given innate understanding. I was suspicious, but we’ll see.

Later on that day, as the sun was sinking on the sea’s horizon, Beau decided now was a good time to get out there and give the pole a try. So, we dressed warmly (once the sun goes down here, the temperature drops about 15 degrees), and I packed several things in a backpack that I thought would be necessary, like…um, a flashlight and a book *cough*. I left all the fishing stuff to Beau and just packed the squid bait, and then we were off.

We asked each other where the best place to fish from our beach was. The tide was extremely low and the multitude of lava rocks were visible and bare far out into the water. Finally, we thought, the best way to get the line out to the deeper part of the ocean, was to walk out across the rocks as far as we possibly could to get out to the deeper parts of water. The tide was lower than I’d ever seen it, and it was obvious we could walk very far out into the ocean across them. So, as it started to get slightly darker, we continued the hike across the rocks, which is always somewhat aerobic through the changing shapes, height, and surfaces of the rocks, as well as the occasionally mini-chasm to leap across. Keeping our eyes glued to the rocky…rocks, we picked our way quite aways out and Beau brought forward the pole. I was taking the opportunity to do what I always do, take photos. Sunset, rocks, Beau with pole, more rocks, more sunset, more Beau with pole.

Now the moment had come! Beau had the pole ready, and a small amount of bait on the hook. He leaned back slightly and cast. Whoooooosh. Beau exclaimed with delight at just how far the line sailed through the air. What a proud moment.

The hook and line finally fell and landed….into a nest of lava rocks. One quick tug by Beau and his face immediately clouded over. Uh oh. Now with a look of slight embarrassment, Beau began reeling in and tugging harder on the pole. The top of the pole curved dramatically into its own rendition of a giant fish hook. This tugging, letting out line, reeling it, 'tugging to tha left, tugging to tha right, stand up, sit down, fight fight fight' continued for some time. Beau’s face was grim, “I’m going to have to cut the line.”

“Oh,” I said, “What a bummer. Where’s the other hooks?”

“Um.”

“Um?”

“I forgot them,” Beau mumbled.

I bit my lip to keep from exploding in laughter. “Oh well, here, let me try.” I made a few attempts at dislodging the hook from the rocks, but it was pretty clear that that that puppy wasn't moving. I turned around and looked toward home, which really wasn’t that far away, but now it was getting dark, and we realized our next mistake, in what was becoming a real series of them. Crawling across uneven lava rock in the light of day is challenging enough. Now we were supposed to pick our way back in the dim light, retrieve the new hooks, and then come back when it was surely to be well into darkness?

Okay, so here we are, our brand new fishing pole hooked upon a giant rock, standing far out into the ocean, ourselves perched on a rock, it’s getting dark and cold, and we have no more hooks. Our entire fishing experience had lasted about 30 seconds. Yipee. Well, unless you want to count the 15 minutes it took us to walk from our house out onto the distant rocks.

Well, I guess we’ll just have to try another day. This story is to be continued. Better luck next time. Cliché cliché ad nauseum.

Dell Computers SUCK!!!!

When I sat at my computer at work and slowly and carefully “built” my Dell computer just a few weeks before I left for New Zealand, I was excited as a pig in shit. Being the internet junkie I am, having one’s own laptop, a NEW laptop, is akin to getting a new car or winning a modest lottery sum. It feels soooooo good. I took my time, and started out with a base laptop that was about $600. By the time I had finished “upgrading” and adding all the bells and whistles I thought were essential or cheap enough to be justifiable, the computer came out to about $1100. Since that’s about what I had expected to pay when I first began my computer hunt, I was pretty satisfied. One little splurge was to give the laptop a dreamy blue cover that glistens in the light. When the computer finally arrived at my desk at work, I laughed and clapped and sang. The mail lady stood stupified and said that was the first time she had ever been cheered when delivering mail. I hugged the box and put it down, claiming I would not open it ‘til I got home. My co-worker Tina eyed me knowingly and said, “You’ll never make it to the end of the day.”

She was right.

At home as I set the computer up, I immediately noticed problems. After several frustrating calls, (the sales people were assholes, the tech people fairly cool), I ended up totally re-installing the OS. That’s not especially comforting in a brand new computer. I called them to replace it, but they couldn’t guarantee me a new one before I left for NZ, so I was stuck with what I have. Since then, problems have continued, though all minor. The new one, which though small, was INCREDIBLY FUCKING FRUSTRATING was the ceasing effectiveness of the spacebar. Now, I’ve had keyboards where a single letter, like “W” stops working, and that’s rather annoying, but easily fixed since keyboards nowadays cost like 10 bucks. What do you do on a laptop though? And what do you do when the SPACEBAR stops working? My god, could there be any key that’s sudden uselessness could be more debilitating?

Needless to say, I eventually KINDA fixed it after prying off the damn thing a few times and having a crack at it. I hate doing that, since often once you starting fecking around with the keyboard, it never works quite the same again, but I was pretty desperate. At one point I had it working, but then the “c” wouldn’t work. I hate Dell. I hate Dell. I hate Dell.

Thanks for Giving Me...

When I was thinking of stuff to list that I was truly thankful for, I realized that it kind of sounded pretentious -- a state I try to avoid if I can. I've always had sort of opposing views about talking about travel. Obviously, most of my blog is based on my travels and what happens to me (which is often a bit like Inspector Gadget), so I can't hate it that much. But on the other hand, I can't STAND travel books and I hate when people go on and on and on about their wonderous glorious travels. It always seems like bragging to me, furthermore, a bit of a "ha ha ha, I've been somewhere you haven't, I have a lot of money, and now my life is more full and interesting than yours!" Well, since I'm always broke, and my life is a constant work in progress, maybe I can go ahead with what I truly feel anyway.

Things I am thankful for:

1) My husband
For years and years, marriage, for the second time, wasn't something I really ever planned, let alone wanted. Our elopement kind of surprised everyone, including ourselves somewhat, but now I know just what a smart...lucky....great thing we did. Marriage certainly isn't easy, and I'm slowly weeding out my more selfish tendencies after years of singlehood, but choosing Beau to be my best friend and lover for the rest of my life *knock knock* has been a true blessing, even for this non-believer. He's not just like me (though we are amazingly similar), and he's no opposites-attract type, he just fits every part of me.

I love you, Beau. Thank you.

2) Travels of a poor white trash chick
The only reason I ever got to travel at all was due to my major in undergrad -- French (and Political Science). I had grown up very poor in a very affluent Phoenix suburb, and dreamed of going to France one day, hell, dreamed of leaving the country at all, which was a complete fucking fantasy for someone who could barely afford her public school fees. As an undergrad I used my student loan money (and am paying like an indentured servant now!!!) to study abroad in Strasbourg for six months. This gave me the chance to do some traveling around Europe (bless Eurorail passes).

My master's degree, studying Southeast Asia, allowed me to travel to the Philippines and later gain a connection which led me to my job in Bangkok, Thailand. The salary I got from my Bangkok teaching job (mostly my end-of-year contract completion bonuses) allowed me to travel some around Asia and eventually to Australia and New Zealand.

And finally, due to Beau and I spending lots and lots of money (including him bravely cashing in some retirement money), we were able to move to New Zealand.

So you see, it's possible. Every time I meet someone new who finds out where I've been, I often get, "Oh my god, that's great! I've never been anywhere! I wish I could go somewhere!" You can! You just have to be like Beau and I, and be willing to go broke to do it. Naturally, not everyone finds that an appetizing trade-off.

But I tell you, as much as I hate being poor, I wouldn't take that money back for a second if it meant I had to also give up some of the crazy, awesome stuff I've been able to do. This is a fascinating place, this world of ours. I have seen so much beauty in every shape and form. We all make our own decisions and live with them...which leads me to...

3) I did it my way
I've purposefully carved out my life in such a way that I was an island for many years. On the con side, there's those lack of funds again, as well as a lack of familial support. But all the pro's I gained has been worth all those dark times of teeth-clenching, suck-it-up aloneness. Most of my decisions and the direction I steered my life in have been frowned upon by my family (and a good many more has completely befuddled them), and I haven't regretted it at all. In high school, my parents considered my French classes stupid since Spanish was the logical choice for one living in Arizona. True, but I didn't want to take Spanish. As an undergrad, I eventually dumped my pre-med major, and all the dismal grades it carried, and picked up French and Political Science. There was an immediate and continual outcry from my family. That moment changed my life. Not only did my grades and my happiness begin to shoot skyward, but I learned that life decisions have to be made by the person who is actually living that life, not others who have their own agendas. After that point, I took the reins of my life, and as Frank said, "Regrets, I've but a few." It's true. I've made dumb decisions, I'm not presently where I want to be in my life, but I have so few regrets. My life, for all its craziness, is a good, good life. I'm thankful.

4) My friends
I don't have that many, and I don't stay as close to them as I like. And the older I get, the less eagerly do I seek out or try to sustain any new friendships. And yet, my few scattered friends across the globe are real diamonds. If you're my friend, and you're reading this, I love you. Let's keep writing, no matter what. And if you don't hear from me, please, have faith and patience in me and try again.

5) My education, despite it's eternal poverty-inducing effects
As a poor, pathetic kid, I always saw education as that hidden trap door. That escape hatch that would get me out of a life I loathed. In many ways, it has -- it has given me travel, incredible jobs, and most of all...opportunity. To me, education always has been, and always will be, the vehicle of opportunity. As an adult, I can truly see now what having kind/intelligent/attentive parents can do for a child. I can see how money gives options. I can see how the right location can yield possibilities. I had none of those, but I had education, and it has taken me far. I have a lot of bitterness on how in this country today, if you are poor, and not a valedictorian of your school, you will bankrupt yourself to go to college, and UBER bankrupt yourself to go to grad school. I have student loans now that equal the price of a house, and I think that's not fair. You could say I chose to go to school, and I absolutely have, and I don't regret it. But it's real tough to be in grad school, surrounded by professors' and medical doctors' kids who didn't have to worry about Stafford loans, and not have that soft landing after graduation. NONETHELESS, I am thankful for my education, which has given me such interesting opportunities, and allowed me to live this life I love. I am thankful.

On Holiday – Yay! – Part II – Whales in the Ocean & Seals on the Side of the Road

After a nice night’s of sleep, we started off southward. Our plan was to drive helter skelter to Dunedin, which is far down the southern island and spend a few days there to see how much we like it (it’s my #1 choice of where to live in NZ), and then drive to the southern tip, Invercargill, and then slowly make our way up, stopping for a couple days in Christchurch, another "big" city which has the potential as a place to settle. We had been told by the locals here that there was "a great place about 45 minutes from Picton" to watch whales. Heheh, it’s typical for people to tell you about a "great place" but never know its name or quite how to get there. Just today, when I was asking a woman at the local pit stop where a good place to fish was, her face screwed up, she said something like, "Umm, yeah, well, I’m not sure how to get there. Do you know where the dump is? There’s like a driveway there…"

Back to the whales. I was pretty excited about this, and as we made a stop in Kaikoura, it was pretty clear from the garden of giant signs around that THIS was the place. We followed one particular series of signs to the ocean where a giant building was set up just for whale watching. I went in and inquired at the desk. For $125, they take you out on a boat for a few hours and guarantee you at least somewhat of a whale sighting, since they use particular equipment that hears the whales underwater, positions the boat just above them, and then patiently waits for the whales to come up for air. A little costly, but to me this is one of those once in a lifetime things that you just never forget. But, this pricey pitstop was not on our list, and I knew I had to compromise…for now. I’ve never been great with money, and get even worse during a vacation. It’s basically because I believe that you should go all-out (*cough* within reason), since vacations are really what form some of your best, most exciting memories.

After emerging from the glossy whale center, I found Beau down by the shore, gazing out to sea with several others. "Look out there," he said, pointing way out into the distance. There, I could just make out some black forms rolling around on the horizon. It wasn’t exactly a part of our travel plans though, and quite expensive, so I told myself that I would quietly wait until our return drive and see how our money situation is, and if I could somehow convince Beau that this is something we must do.

We got back in the car and continued to drive along the coast, which is always beautiful, and always very subtly changing. At one point, with a mountain to our right and the coast to our left, I saw the sign you see in the photo to the right.

"OH MY GOD! There are seals? There are SEALS! Oh my GOD!"

I frantically pressed my nose to the glass to try to spot the dark shapes of the seals. All I saw, on and on and on, were brown rocks.

Wait a minute.

What if the seals weren't black like you see in Sea World, what if they were more brown? The second my brain considered that was the second I spotted one, and I began screaming, "PULL OVER PULL OVER NOW!" A startled Beau pulled over in a spot on the side where a couple of other cars had the same idea. I almost leapt out of the car, camera in hand, in a complete frenzy of excitement. I stood at the edge, and looked down at the rocks and sea below.

At first you see nothing but rocks in various hues of brown. And then, like in one of those stupid optical illusion paintings, your eyes just SEE them. They were there, perhaps HUNDREDS of them, just all basking on the rocks. These fur seals almost perfectly matched the rocks, so Beau and I kept continuously exclaiming, "Look, there's another one!" as they materialized before our increasingly-trained eyes. I began to cautiously pick my way down the rocks to get closer. My digital camera is great, but its zoom sucks, so I wanted to get close. I didn't need to ignore Beau's warnings, for I was scared enough not to get too close. There were a couple bulls around and they looked pretty scary.

So I commenced to take like 100 photos of the fur seals, and we each posed precariously on rocks as close as we dared get to get shots of ourselves with the seals in the background. As I had climbed down a bit for my own shot, I heard what sounded like a senior citizen's cough. I looked around and just saw some female seals motionless on the rocks, except for the occasional cracked eye which would peer at me for a moment and then clamp back shut again.

*cough cough*

Hoarse and strong, I knew it was some sort of warning, but it seemed too comical. Then I spotted it.

It was a little baby seal, the first real small one we'd seen, tucked underneath in a mini-cave-like hole under a rock close by. It obviously saw me as some sort of threat.

"Ohhhhhh how cuuuuuuute!" I was pretty much overcome with cuteness at that moment. I might have actually melted a little bit.

*cough cough* (a bit louder this time)

I didn't get any closer, but knew I needed a photo of it. The little tyke began to bump and lurch his way up and out of the rock space, coughing away, until he got to the top of the rock next to a female whom I assumed was its mother. She cracked an eye again, but seemed bored by the both of us, so continued on with her nap. The tyke continued to make huffing and puffing noises, and I continued to snap away. Here you can see what I believe to be one of the cutest photos of all time.

Finally, Beau dragged me back to the car and we continued on our trip, me babbling away excitedly while reviewing the shots on my camera. It was totally unexpected, and yet it would end up being one of the most special moments on the trip for me.

On Holiday – Yay! – Part I

Although I’ve only been in NZ a brief time, the arrival of "holiday" (two week break in between school quarters) is about as welcome as the warm sun after a long, crazy rain here. We had our car and some money, though not much, and we knew we wanted to see the country. I had a deeper plan myself. As nice as the people here are, and as beautiful as living across from the beautiful ocean is, the remoteness of this location makes it utterly impossible for us to seriously consider settling in this "village." That is the grim reality of it, and though I am enjoying honing my cooking skills, reading, writing, and painting more, and boning up on my French, I am not one of those people who can remain this way forever. I need to work, it’s part of who I am and part of the reason I spent such a colossal chunk of my life in school. Sadly, this extended education also makes me someone who is not so easily marketable except in larger cities where the type of work I can do (higher level administration or teaching in, preferably, the education or non-profit fields) is available. Where we are living now, there is nothing, just nothing for me to do. Besides agriculture, the only single "industries" in town are local versions of a Gas N Sip.

So, my plan, my hope, is to travel to the south island which not only do I prefer, but I strongly believe, Beau will also. Being from Montana, he is a lover of what I call "BIG nature." He likes his mountains to touch the sky and his rivers to wind endlessly on through forests of pine with a deep rich scent (nevermind that he lived in a shitty area of Kansas for many years). I want him to see the beauty and majesty of the south island, AND for him to see the two big cities of it (Christchurch and Dunedin), and hopefully we could find a fit. His love of big nature in the south, and my need to be in a bigger city with more opportunities. And besides, a "big" city in NZ is about 100,000 people, so it’s really just a nice size for us.

I yearn so much for Beau to love it here, and he is struggling so much with culture shock and adjustment. People think that moving to a new country is just one wild, fun-filled adventure, but usually, it’s very difficult, and you spend a lot of time feeling uncomfortable and out of place, which can be very very challenging for anyone. When you are in this constant state of uneasiness, it’s very difficult to feel happy. Constant uneasiness makes you nervous, irritable, stressed, and indecisive. And yet, I believe, as many who have lived as ex-pats do, it’s all worth it. Of course, it’s not all bad; by being in a new place, you also have the natural feelings of curiosity, wonder, surprise, glee, and appreciation. Beau’s problem really isn’t NZ, though it is almost always his target of frustration. Beau’s real problem is his constant state of unsteadiness at the school. He likes the people he works with and he strives honestly to learn, understand, and apply the NZ system to his classes, but the particularly relaxed approach his school has to education, and hyper-focus on preserving/promoting Maori culture (something he can't really participate in anyway) is tough on a rule-based, assessment standards-disciple that is most Americans, and in particular, my beloved Beau.

So, we climbed into the car with our two small bags. Beau will do most of the driving, and I’ll do most of the reading, although I’ll insist I’ll be driving at some point and he’ll insist he will read when he has a chance or inclination to take out his contacts and wear his glasses. But really, he’ll drive, and I will sit next to him and alternate between cooing at the scenery outside the window and reading aloud long stretches from the current Diana Gabaldon book we are reading together.

We planned to leave in the morning and our goal was to go from our home on the northeast coast of the north island of NZ and make the long drive to Wellington at the southern tip of the same island where we’d board a ferry, car and all, and sail across to the south island, all in one day. Beau had just previously convinced me out of wifely duty to accompany him to a semester-end drink at the local bar with other teachers, which ended up being a delightful time with a group of drunk and happy females, and after questioning them about how long it took to drive to Wellington, we got answers between six and twelve hours. Since I’m the reckless one who tends to lean toward the six hour drive and Beau, being more cautious likes to leave at the twelve hour mark, we compromised.

In the end, me with a constant grip on our flip-page road atlas, and Beau driving fast, but never too fast, it ended up being a very tight trip to the ferry, the drama enhanced when I decided to read over our ferry confirmation and suddenly noticed that it required we be there in line a full hour before the boat was scheduled to leave (we were unhappily planning on coasting in about 10-15 minutes before departure – naïve fucks, I know).

But once we made it to blustery Wellington and frantically followed the ferry signs to the check-in point ("THERE IT IS! TURN LEFT TURN LEFT!") and got in line, suddenly we both deflated with relief, got out of the car, and walked to the water’s edge, where we watched our ferry slowly making its way in to shore. It was a pretty exciting moment, and as we drove our car slowly onto the ferry, clanking and banging along the way, I felt pretty thrilled. As soon as people parked their cars inside the massive ship, there was a mad dash up the stairs to the civilized part of the ship, and there was a slight mob dash to the crappy food court where I unintentionally snatched up the last order of fish and chips from a woman with her four wildly indecisive and whiny children who stood in the line ahead of me for a full two or three minutes frozen in her own doubtfulness. I did one of those polite gestures where you kind of point to the food and point to her and mumble "Do you want those? Are you still in line? Can I FUCKING move ahead of you PLEASE?" She seemed to indicate that I could move on ahead, so I grabbed the last order of fish and chips and walked on. I saw her look at me with shocked indigence and realized that somehow I had misread her, but by that time, I kind of didn’t care.

The rest of the trip was uneventful as Beau and I had a so-so meal and then, due to the crazy wind and rain outside, spent the three hour trip playing Civ IV on our laptop ‘til we arrived, late that night, in Picton, New Zealand – the south island.

Solitary Photo Shoot

Today I did a couple things I never did before. I took my tiny tripod with me to take shots of the water (and of myself in front of the water), where I became my own little fashion show, both photographer and pouty model. Also, I took my beloved (sometimes troubled) laptop with me, which I’m sure will dismay Beau greatly as he’ll be coming home from work any second and will find his source of Civ IV vanished (I did leave a note on the TV, I’m not totally heartless).

I set off on my now-favorite jaunt – go to the “scary” undertow beach and walk along it until it starts to curve around toward our beach. This is a mild hike over lava rocks and depending on the tide its level of difficulty varies from not bad to somewhat heart-pumping. The tide is amazing. You can see it actually moving in (it always seems to be moving in to me) as you’re walking along the rocks which always gives me a sort of paranoia that I’m going to end up stranded out there on some tall lava rock and no one will know where the hell I am since I’m completely out of sight. That’s the other thing, my favorite tramping area is almost completely out of sight of land, which I like, because in any small community (and this is teensy tiny) you have that feeling of living in a fish bowl, and being the “foreigners” of the place, that is magnified. I like to be out of the way to do things that may make me look somewhat foolish to the locals, like hiking on their lava rocks and scrambling up the sides of cliffs that tend to shift from an unnerving 45 degree angle to a heart-in-the-throat fearful 65 degrees.

And I am not such a complete idiot that I don’t recognize that a fall from these cliffs is fairly dangerous, not so much from the height which is not great, but from the loving solid arms of only lava rock below, and also not only due to the fact that being out of sight to save one’s dignity also makes one out of sight to be saved from one’s such foolishness. But most of all, due to the fact that there is only one single person in the universe who would think to look for me, Beau, and he would a) not do so immediately, we are not the Corsican Brothers, despite our closeness, and b) would take quite some time to find me. My problem is that I like seclusion, “special places,” nooks and crannies, which is rather chancy at times for a woman, who always has that “rape/murder” thing somewhere in the back of her mind.

The other day I was climbing up the side of the cliff, and it just felt really good. I haven’t been active hardly at all in the past couple years, particularly since I left NYC where I walked miles every day just by circumstance, and I have been packing on the pounds. I am not yet fat, but I’m certainly in the far end of Bridget Jonesville. I find that I get tired easily when Beau and I go walking around cities, and I’m not very good at exerting myself anymore.

So anyway, I had almost totally encircled this beach, where I was out only facing the ocean and nothing else around, and I saw these gorgeous pink wildflowers growing right off the side of the cliff in this thick, straw-like grass. And I got this crazy notion that I’d take a picture of them from the ground, then climb right up to them and take a picture. I don’t know why I got that into my head. It seemed kind of fun at the time. So, I started scrambling up to the flowers, with my book between my teeth, and both arms and legs in use as I monkeyed it upwards. I reached the flowers and had this overwhelming sense of happiness and accomplishment, though it had been pretty easy. I took my photo and kind of sat there, living the moment. Then I looked up and saw the top of the cliff wasn’t that far and I wondered what was up there. The top of the cliff is not large, and I knew it was no big mystery, but there’s something weird about it in that it’s never the same thing twice when you get up there. The first time Beau and I climbed up one part, we came upon a Maori cemetery, right there at the top of this cliff (with the dog Bear following us the whole way). It kinda creeped Beau out, but I thought it was pretty fantastic, and coming out on the opposite side of the cemetery found us on an easy slope off the cliff to the ground (and the other side of it, on our house side). Of course, as we made our descent, we saw a large sign which absolutely forbid dogs in the place, and there we were in full view of the entire village, Bear happily trotting along beside us. Great. Way to make it good with the locals.

So again, ANYWAY, I continued my ascent up the cliff, feeling really good about it, finding the thick grass easy to grasp as I went higher. Just near the top, I saw that the cliff kind of jutted out, which would have meant I would have kind of been climbing upside down in a sense to reach the top. I paused.

Hmmm..


Now, I’m really close to the top, but I am also just using hands and feet (and starting to slobber on my book), and somehow the thought of having my head and back parallel to the ground as I climbed those last few feet seemed just…fucking stupid. Then I did something else just as stupid…

I looked down.

I know I know, they always say, “Don’t look down!” Well, duh, I had to since I had to figure out how to get down. It wasn’t like I was climbing down the rungs of a ladder. Suddenly, the grass I’d grasped on my way up, did not seem to be such handy foot supports for the descent. So there I was, 90% up a cliff, clinging on to the side of it like a marsupial on its mother’s back, and wondering what the fuck was I going to do. I had to go down, and I started to, only to find my foot somewhat slipping and not finding any kind of foothold. Great. I’m going to die right here. I’m going to be an entry in the Darwin Awards. Dumbass.

So, very slowly I did climb down. And all was fine. And no one would know of my silly adventure. Well, except for anyone who is reading this, and we all know I have like four readers worldwide.

*cough*

And yet, the other day I was startled when Beau said I was a rather reckless person.

“My mother calls it fearless!”
“I don’t call walking the full length of Harlem at 1am in the morning fearless.”

Now, Harlem is a very awesome place, well, some parts of it. Harlem is like anywhere else in NYC, you can be on one street and it will be charming, cute, and secure. The very next block can look like Lebanon. It’s true, I did walk for a very long time, very late at night along the streets of Harlem one night (to feed a friend’s cat), and I will admit to being somewhat nervous at certain corners and blocks, but I lived.

I don’t see myself as reckless though, nor do I even consider myself fearless. As mentioned previously in my blog, that comment from my mother surprised me as much as Beau’s. I think when you’re a person who lives alone for a long time, who supports oneself and makes all these decisions and plans toute seule, well, you just do things. They’re not given over to intense analysis. Besides, also being a single woman for an extended period of time, you develop a sense about you, a sense of your surroundings (particularly creepy-looking men). You develop a way of walking (full-on confidence, speed, and the pepper spray cocked and ready). I think I am much more aware of what’s going on around me then I’m given credit for. Which is probably why every couple minutes when I hear a blade of grass stir near me I crane my neck around trying to see if anyone’s near.

For, I have found my little spot. After circling the scary beach and climbing over much rock, with the wind whipping up a mess of white water around me (both beautiful and somewhat annoying), I scaled the little cliff again – in a much safer, easier spot, and it was a tiny little patch of nothing at the top. I walked toward the other end of the cliff, the one that faces my home, and I saw that below there was a tiny little ledge area. Well, the ledge area itself was actually a pretty good size, but it was completely covered with nice grass, not that harsh straw stuff, and a wall of trees shielded it from view of the shore. Awesome. So, I climbed down to where I am now and have been sitting here happily in my hidden sport where I feel I can see all and not be seen. I’ve even typed out a bunch of stuff (mostly this blog), and have taken even more pictures of both surroundings and myself (every single one of me has a Jay Leno chin, goddammit).

I’ve been here awhile now and my fingers are starting to get cold. I gotta figure out now how to get back.

And hope the tide hasn’t come in too much.

Bed Bed Bed! Hurrah Hurrah Hurrah!

So, it’s just past 10am and I have been waiting to the point of Violet Beauregarde-bursting for the delivery men to come with our bed. I have already mentioned how just buying a bed here has been a MAJOR financial investment, and I don’t mean like when I was broke in NYC and had to buy my bed there one piece at a time every paycheck (after spending over two months slumbering on my sleeping bag on the wooden floor). But after traveling to the “big” town, which is beyond the first “somewhat big” town, we finally found a compromise of sorts. It’s one of those wooden plank frames/headboards + mattress. No box spring, but I couldn’t give a shit at this point. Since I arrived, Beau and I have been sleeping on what amounts to a pull-out bed, but that’s being rather generous. Not that pull-out beds in America are known for their luxurious comfort, but the bed we’ve been sleeping on here has a mattress about the width of a Triscuit and just about as comfortable. After a couple days, we started noticing not only did we have some pretty nasty back pain and poor nights of sleep, but we were literally developing bruises on our shoulders and hips. This kind of made the need to buck up and get a bed a priority. We found one in Whakatane (which is pronounced, I kid-you-not, “FUCK-a-tah-nee,” emphasis on ‘fuck’), for a steal of a price -- $799 NZD. *gulp* We figured if one day we ever get a guest room or bang out a child, we’ll buy a new bed – one of those $1500 ones that look so soft and comfy that you can’t imagine emerging from the again.

Anyway, being out in the sticks as we are, we had to wait several days until the one day a week they grudgingly come out our way. That’d be today. I had all the curtains dramatically flung open and have been running around doing quick chores while always having one eye fixed on the road. When I looked out the window and saw the Meikles truck parked in front of my house, I flew to the door and flung it open so fast, that the guy standing their, hand in mid-knock, jumped back and exclaimed, “Shit!” I was pretty happy to see them.

For 20 minutes I tried in vain to keep calm and patient, playing Civ IV on the computer and trying not to look at them or bother them in any way possible. When they were first bringing it in, I was kinda leading them to the bedroom, really just in the fucking way, and because of the strange way they had to maneuver the bed into the bedroom, found myself backed up into the toilet room (toilets get their very own tiny room here apart from the sink and bathroom – something I really like a lot), and was kind of pushed back up against the toilet as the guy was inches in front of me trying to get the frame into the bedroom. Feeling like the idiot I was, I waited ‘til the way was clear and then slunk back to the couch in the living room and demurely played my computer from then on.

After they were done and leaving (barely a word spoken by them at all), I was lighting sparklers and waving them off with a white handkerchief. Okay, I didn’t really do that, but I did in my mind. After closing and locking the front door (I’m still paranoid as a woman home alone), I ran into the bedroom and did a running leap, landing spread-eagled onto the bed in pure joy. Laying there and giggling, I suddenly realized that the men in their large loading truck, still parked just outside the bedroom window in front, may have just witnessed my act of glee. I kind of laid still for a minute, feeling stupid, again. Then I slowly turned my head over and raised it. Phew, couldn’t see them. Some dignity remained.

Then I bopped up and went to get the mattress pad still secure in its packaging. We had forgone the “required” soft woolen underlay, so the mattress pad alone would have to do. Mattress pads suck. They always look so lush and impressive in their package, and then you pull them out and they’re like a maxi pad with elastic ends. The one I pulled out of its plastic carrying case could have easily set the record for out-of-the-package disappointment. Nevertheless, the bed is new, yahoooo, so, so what. I’ve got the bed, I’ve got the really nice, comfortable down comforter *cough* duvet, I’ve even got a pretty good set of white sheets we brought with us from the U.S. Someday we’ll get that gotta-have underlay, but for now, I’m laying in paradise.

The Sea...The Sea

Today the sea is a deep, brilliant blue, probably the most beautiful blue I’ve seen yet, but then I say that every day. Beau made a comment that I’d think a bunch of cow dung would be beautiful simply because it was New Zealand cow dung. *cough* Not true. Anyway…

Modest white waves are crashing on the lava rocks which makes it even more picturesque. Not a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t stood at the top step (of three) of my house, and took a picture of the water. I probably have about 12 pictures of the same exact spot now. I guess I can make a collection by shades of blue.

It’s also Friday, and Beau couldn’t be more pleased. He’s having a tough time at the school. I completely understand everything he’s going through. I remember how hard my first year in Thailand was, and how completely confusing, strange, counter-logical, and in general, completely fucked up things seemed both at the school I taught and out on the streets. It would take another year and a half before I finally reached a relative zen point where I resigned myself to not fight the system, but work quietly within in, trying to make continuous positive changes, though none of them could ever be too big or dramatic. Anything large was immediately stomped out. Smaller changes were let through with a great deal of diplomatic finesse.

Being an “area school,” it is somewhat like a Maori cultural school. For those of you who are not familiar with the Maori, they are the native people of New Zealand. Unlike the Native Americans, the Maori appear to be completely integrated into society and to my unofficial eye, appear to be about 25% of the population as you walk down the street in many cities (I believe Native Americans are somewhere around less than 1%). But this area of the Bay of Plenty is special though – it is actually Maori-owned land from a treaty over 150 years ago. No businesses can come in and buy land/put down shop. So, you can drive around one of the curviest roads you've been on in your life, going through mountains, with an endless sea stretching out to the north, and see nothing but lush vegetation, and the occasional farm with a sorry-looking horse. The road is so curvy that I had to buy this anti-puke-your-guts-out spray which seems to do the trick. Once Beau starts wheeling around the REALLY curvy parts, I begin my every-15-minutes *squirt squirt* into the back of my throat followed by a small groan. I haven't puked yet, though I've rolled down the window a few times in anticipation. Man, automatic windows go slow.

Anyway, as I may have previously mentioned, being a "tribal land" we are in a remote remote remote remote (i could type all day) area which makes for some interesting, and frustrating living. My days continue to consist of mad, passionate periods of cooking (I have become QUITE the baker after years of just using the stove top), lots of reading, lots of writing, lots of gardening, lots of TV, as much housecleaning as I can stomach, a bit of oil painting, and every day at 1pm, Dr. Phil. I've even found myself starting to get sucked into Starting Over, which was a show that I used to see as both ridiculous and pathetic, but I find myself watching it more and more and with less and less of an attitude. Great.

All of the above activities are so fantastic to do, since they're the kinds of things I always lament not having the time for when I'm a busy working girl, but it's beginning to get a bit...old now. Oh well, it's only going to get worse.

Oh, and I got a package from my mother today which had presents for all, a big box of Bisquick for Beau (for our deeply-loved biscuits and gravy), a giant box of SweetTarts for me as well as a groovy shirt from the Milwaukee Art Museum, and kitty crack for Sabina the cat, who would scratch my eyes out for the opportunity to eat that stuff on a regular basis (any of those wet cat foods that come in those metallic-looking pouches).