3.27.09
There's no way I can write now. I have many things to say (as per usual) & I want them to come flowing out of my pen all in one smooth stroke. I am so tired.
/////
3.28.09
Ahhhhh...good, sweet, holy slumber! I'm enjoying a leisurely morning before work. I'm loaded with positive spirits today...why??...because, in the eloquent words of my dear Katie Santora:
"IT'S FRIDAY, BIATCHES!!!"
I've the day off tomorrow & it will be
a.) welcomed with open arms, as it is much needed, &
b.) the most glorious day. Ever.
For now I'm nursing an espresso at my favorite Hot Gossip Cafe. Gram Parsons is gently caressing my eardrums & there's a soothing Easterly breeze humming through the trees & dangling white flower pots.
My feet are throbbing with pain. I have two impressive blood blisters, one for each big toe. I'd like to say they're the result of backbreaking hard work, but the truth be told, they are simply battle wounds from an intense pickup rugby session held on the crushpad last night. With all the steel-toed boots flying around I thought I might be quicker with bare feet. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but the rough concrete against my tender bare skin took its toll. Worth it, though. We won...I think. I was quick, if I do say so myself. The Chilean would shout out every time I had the ball, "Go, Christ, Go!!" This is a nickname I hope, for the Lord's sake, doesn't stick. There's something about the longish mop of hair, gnarly beard & inpenetrable grin that has conjured up the most blasphemous of aliases. "Go, Christ, Go!!" & boy, I/he went. Perhaps these blisters are my punishment for answering to such a name.
Work has been picking up, getting all the more busy with fruit processing & ferment management. Still no Pinot...I'm impatiently waiting. The crew is jovial & kind, which makes even the most treacherous tasks seem enjoyable. & every night we sit down for supper, pull some corks (or unscrew some caps in New Zealand's case), chat & laugh, discuss current events & weather patterns & how to properly prepare lamb. It's a pleasure, truly.
Today should be a big day of pushing through truckloads of machine-harvested Merlot. It's an unusual experience for me as everything I know from Oregon vintages is about gentle, careful handling, painfully meticulous ferment management, & a blanket of earwigs to contend with. But here it is all about efficiency...keeping it together. What I find most impressive about my workplace in particular is their ability to stay efficient whilst producing top-notch wines. I marvel at it, actually.
I'll keep Katie Santora's mantra in mind throughout the day & pray for numbness in my damaged feet. And tomorrow, ohhhhh tomorrow...
/////
3.29.09
Well, it has arrived, at long last: The Greatest Day Off Ever.
I worked late last night. Sorta weaseled my way into some extra work when the rest of the crew was begrudgingly sent home. I really dig working with just a couple of people rather than the all-out-balls-to-the-wall screwaround the intern-laden day shift seems to bring. Nev (a supervisor) & Rob (officially the nicest person alive) & I attacked the presses with unrelenting force, squeezing the holy spirit out of a full load of Merlot. I'm not gonna lie, it didn't taste good. Bitter & chalky & green. Rob described it as "chewing on a banana skin." Very well. I've never been up to the task, but next time I eat a Chiquita I'll give it a try & be thankful I learned how to properly peel at an early age (the doctors all said I'd be a genius). The pomace looked like flaky purple flour when we dumped it out. It made me think of an odd farmer named Vincent. He used to come by during harvest at Shea Wine Cellars & sort of stand around and gaze at the rafters. Vincent would collect all of our press remains & load them up in his rusty flatbed.
"What're you gonna do with all this pomace, Vince?" we'd ask.
"Cattle."
"Huh??"
"Feed to cattle."
"Oh, they eat this crap?"
"Yup."
I went to sleep last night with darling dreams of drunk cows grazing the dramatic hillsides of Yamhill County.
/////
I was an early-riser this morning. Made myself a hot cuppa joe & drove my housemates to work. I spent the remainder of the daybreak hours in the bath carving the perfect slackjawed mustache into my face. It's a good one, blonde & creepy. Jim Frank might call it a variation on the old-timey classic Van Dyke. I dunno, though. I'm quite pleased with it, although slightly afeared of going out in public this way. I'm bound for the Sunday Farmers' Market in a few minutes, so I'll have to just brave it & see what happens. I guess I just don't want to be "Christ" anymore...perhaps now a name like Jed or Hank suits me better.
/////
The much anticipated day away has been remarkable. & a short-lived day at that. I would've liked to see it go on forever, but I know days like this are best appreciated in brisk laps rather than exhausting (expensive) marathons.
I'm resting in the Art-Decco-decked city of Napier at a hip cafe with a chilly Stella & some crazy sandwich involving a nuclear meltdown of avocado, prosciutto & bleu cheese.
I started the day off at the farmers' market in Hastings--a gorgeous display of local fruits & veggies & cured meats & mountains of creamy cheeses. I treated myself to some fresh-squeezed juice: beet, carrot & apple with a bit of lemon & ginger. Unusual & absolutely life-altering. I sat for a bit and munched on chipotle's while a middle-aged man played "Up On Cripple Creek" in the sun. Aude, my French housemate, handed me some cash & a four-mile-long list of items she was dying to have, but could not acquire as she was destined to be stuck in the trenches all day . I took the liberty of using her change to buy myself some mushrooms & tomatoes...merci, Froggy! Her list was amazing, though. The brokenest freaking English I've ever read. On the back she drew a basic map of the market & and X-ed every so often to indicate where I might find the perfect carrot. She even drew a little sketch of the type of lettuce she wanted, which was vague at best. I asked her what it was called, but her only response was "Salade! Salade!".
I then made my way to the nearby village of Havelock North where I was told I would discover the greatest pie ever to cross the lips of a human smacker. I did. Not sure what was in it...butter, I guess. As I strolled through Havelock's crooked streets I passed the shabby van that had picked me up for a nowhere-bound joyride last week. The kid peeked out of the window & cheered "Efternoon, freend!!" I waved back & kept on my way.
Next I headed South to the Craggy Range tasting room, which is off-site from the winery I've been working in. It's an impressive, modern structure--also a fully operating winemaking facility, but it's more of a show-off piece than anything--set at the foot of an enormous butte, sprinkled with quiet sheep & twinkling, zigzagging streams. At the peak of this monstrosity it looks as if there's a great sleeping giant catching some zz's, sprawled out in the sunlight. In fact, locals call this region "Giant's" because of this marvelous formation. The wines were lovely & the views, spectacular.
From there I traveled North & visited The Mission, one of NZ's oldest wine producers. It's set back in the hills along the coast, surrounded by crumbling churches & tiny farm communities. The wines were far from interesting, but again, the views were breathtaking. Then I continued in a Northernly direction to Esk Valley where I drove around like a moron on the gravel pathways looking for the tasting room. I eventually found it & dove into some more beautiful wines & had a chat with the saleswoman.
Now I'm here, as I said before, in Napier, sandwich now devoured, getting ready to head out & scoop up my housemates at the winery. Then it's flophouse-bound where I will find myself near the end of one amazing day of freedom. Tomorrow my work-week begins, yet again, & I will surely be lost in the throes of this insanity we call Harvest.
As the sun is tipping its brim I think of Home & I long for every bit of it.
/////
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
getting it
3.22
The morning was off to a strange start, but I feel I've pulled it together. I woke up in my roach nest & splashed some cold water on my face. I grabbed my things & set out in search of the beach. Only problem : there wasn't one. I'm indeed turned around. What I thought (last night) was the roar of giant yawning waves turned out to be merely a big fountain in the town square. So I shifted gears & found a humble cafe (the only one open on a Sunday) & sat with a cup of coffee & a toasted bagel with fresh fruit & cheese. After a bit I was decidedly frigid & needed to move my jangly body around a little. I placed a couple of phone calls and arranged to (at long last) be picked up by someone from the winery. Ecstatic over the elements (as Sherlock Holmes once put it) "coming together" I treated myself to a Picnic bar & some agua fria & layed out in the sun.
/////
I'm seated now at the bus depot (once again) awaiting my stagecoach. I met a polite homeless man named Chris. Moved out here in '68 from Brighton, England. We shared a smoke & he recounted his one trip to Disneyland, which he said was in 1974, & this fact made me wonder about him...Chris didn't look a day under 70 (granted, he is a homeless dude, & when you're missing teeth & have long, withered talons for fingernails it adds a year or two...he looked a bit less like Walter Mathau, a bit more like Gandalf). Which means, if my math is correct (and probably isn't), he was quite possibly in his mid-thirties when he visited the Magic Kingdom. Who the hell was he then? Did he have a wife? A 9-to-5? A picket fence? Kiddos? Or was he just a homeless 34-year-old dude looking for the ultimate thrill on the Matterhorn? Curious...Nevertheless, he was very warm & chatty & I was glad for our rap session. OH! My coach has arrived!!
//////
After meeting a slew of other workers (mostly Americans, to my surprise, with the exception of one South African girl, one Frenchie, & the Chilean guy who allegedly spent the last eight years in Fresno). I'm finally settling into my place. The apartment is unbelievably hip, sleek, modern. Big living space, clean kitchen, all kindsa stainless steel, a bathroom the size of my studio back home. It feels alright to be here. It's welcoming. I don't feel lost here--or anyway, I'm lost in the company of others. I'm doing a load of laundry, fantasizing about a long hot shower with my brand new bar of soap. THAT'S RIGHT, Mom & Pop...SOAP.
Tomorrow I've got to wake early & hitch a ride to the winery to meet with HR and go over paperwork (exciting!!). I hope to try some wine as well...mmmmmmm.
I'll be an awkward transition, going from doing nothing but killing time to working 12 hour shifts every day, barely having leftover time worth killing. But I welcome the change.
/////
3.24
The late afternoon sun is out and I'm absolutely worshipping it. The shops are all slamming their glass doors shut, lights flashing out so quickly it's as if they were never open for business in the first place. We finished up early today & I had some ice cold local lagers with a bitchin' young couple.
Today has been a good day--a day I devoted to showing my colleagues why I deserve to be here. I also had my first driving experience on the left side of the road. Pieter, one of my supervisors, handed me the keys to his 5-speed HiLux flatbed & asked me to run into town with my co-worker Ham ot grab some supplies. Ham says "You drivin', mate?"
"Yeah, sure!" I responded with embarrassing self-certainty.
As we approached the truck I got a little nerve-y & said "Hey, why don't you drive in, I'll drive it back?" Somehow this seemed easier.
He took the keys & we climbed in.
"Yeah" I reassured us, "I think it'll go more smoothly if you drive in."
"I hope so," he replies.
"You hope so?"
"Yeah, well I don't exactly have a license."
Right.
A rocky ride & several stalls later we arrived at the hardware store unscathed. We got what we needed & then it was my turn. I settled into the wrong-sided driver seat. What the hell am I doing?!
I looked at Ham, "We're a three-ring circus, you & me, man."
He just smiled.
Off we went. I immediately began driving on the wrong side of the damn road.
"OTHER SIDE, MATE!"
Right. No, left.
"Okay, make a left turn here, mate."
I turned the windshield wipers on.
Make the turn, a-hole!
"OTHER SIDE, MATE!!"
SHIT!!!
I got the hang of it eventually. I felt like I was in driver's ed again. Every time we went through a goofy little roundabout Ham would say, calmly, "Give way to the right. Now signal out, as a courtesy."
Keep driving. Clutch, downshift. Windshield wipers--SHIT--Stop. Take a breath. Give way to the right, signal out AS A COURTESY.
We made it back in one piece. I felt like a golden god. A good thing, too, because I was sent into town twice more.
"No problem, man! I'm on it!"
VRRROOOOM! Give way to the right! Signal out, as a courtesy!
/////
Yesterday I opted out of writing for a shameful episode of lounge-lizarding. Beer, candy & television. I woke up in a puddle of my own slovenly drool & as I stumbled off to bed I muttered to myself "this can't happen again, Adam." I know it will, though.
I was rightfully exhausted. I showed up at work to fill out paperwork & instead was shipped out to the vineyard to sample some Merlot. It was a mild overcast morning & I jogged up & down the rows stuffing my mouth with underripe berries, shooting seeds out from my lips every few minutes. Somewhere in Block 28 I got turned around & couldn't seem to find the truck, or my partners. I roamed the vineyards aimlessly for 45 minutes or so & gave up , hiked it back to the winery--must've been two miles at least. I dropped off my samples in the lab & a blanket of guilt soon set in... I hiked back out to where I was to find my friends. I turned one random corner & there they were. Aparently I was only half-lost. They had moved the truck while I was out, which disoriented me. The slightly humiliating part was that they'd only moved the truck about fifty yards from where it was before. I just blonde-ly missed it, somehow. Why is it on first days--the days when we most want to impress--we always look our stupidest?
All in all, things are going swimmingly. I've just found out the Albert Hotel I crashed in a few nights back is one of the roughest places in town--well done, Adam--and my experience there has now circulated about Hawke's Bay & somehow morphed me into a sort of legendary figure. I'm just an idiot really, which is probably why I didn't get stabbed in the balls that night. Even criminals feel pity. Also, I've discovered a plethora of trailmix options in the bulk section of the local supermarket & this has greatly afftected my daily outlook.
The morning was off to a strange start, but I feel I've pulled it together. I woke up in my roach nest & splashed some cold water on my face. I grabbed my things & set out in search of the beach. Only problem : there wasn't one. I'm indeed turned around. What I thought (last night) was the roar of giant yawning waves turned out to be merely a big fountain in the town square. So I shifted gears & found a humble cafe (the only one open on a Sunday) & sat with a cup of coffee & a toasted bagel with fresh fruit & cheese. After a bit I was decidedly frigid & needed to move my jangly body around a little. I placed a couple of phone calls and arranged to (at long last) be picked up by someone from the winery. Ecstatic over the elements (as Sherlock Holmes once put it) "coming together" I treated myself to a Picnic bar & some agua fria & layed out in the sun.
/////
I'm seated now at the bus depot (once again) awaiting my stagecoach. I met a polite homeless man named Chris. Moved out here in '68 from Brighton, England. We shared a smoke & he recounted his one trip to Disneyland, which he said was in 1974, & this fact made me wonder about him...Chris didn't look a day under 70 (granted, he is a homeless dude, & when you're missing teeth & have long, withered talons for fingernails it adds a year or two...he looked a bit less like Walter Mathau, a bit more like Gandalf). Which means, if my math is correct (and probably isn't), he was quite possibly in his mid-thirties when he visited the Magic Kingdom. Who the hell was he then? Did he have a wife? A 9-to-5? A picket fence? Kiddos? Or was he just a homeless 34-year-old dude looking for the ultimate thrill on the Matterhorn? Curious...Nevertheless, he was very warm & chatty & I was glad for our rap session. OH! My coach has arrived!!
//////
After meeting a slew of other workers (mostly Americans, to my surprise, with the exception of one South African girl, one Frenchie, & the Chilean guy who allegedly spent the last eight years in Fresno). I'm finally settling into my place. The apartment is unbelievably hip, sleek, modern. Big living space, clean kitchen, all kindsa stainless steel, a bathroom the size of my studio back home. It feels alright to be here. It's welcoming. I don't feel lost here--or anyway, I'm lost in the company of others. I'm doing a load of laundry, fantasizing about a long hot shower with my brand new bar of soap. THAT'S RIGHT, Mom & Pop...SOAP.
Tomorrow I've got to wake early & hitch a ride to the winery to meet with HR and go over paperwork (exciting!!). I hope to try some wine as well...mmmmmmm.
I'll be an awkward transition, going from doing nothing but killing time to working 12 hour shifts every day, barely having leftover time worth killing. But I welcome the change.
/////
3.24
The late afternoon sun is out and I'm absolutely worshipping it. The shops are all slamming their glass doors shut, lights flashing out so quickly it's as if they were never open for business in the first place. We finished up early today & I had some ice cold local lagers with a bitchin' young couple.
Today has been a good day--a day I devoted to showing my colleagues why I deserve to be here. I also had my first driving experience on the left side of the road. Pieter, one of my supervisors, handed me the keys to his 5-speed HiLux flatbed & asked me to run into town with my co-worker Ham ot grab some supplies. Ham says "You drivin', mate?"
"Yeah, sure!" I responded with embarrassing self-certainty.
As we approached the truck I got a little nerve-y & said "Hey, why don't you drive in, I'll drive it back?" Somehow this seemed easier.
He took the keys & we climbed in.
"Yeah" I reassured us, "I think it'll go more smoothly if you drive in."
"I hope so," he replies.
"You hope so?"
"Yeah, well I don't exactly have a license."
Right.
A rocky ride & several stalls later we arrived at the hardware store unscathed. We got what we needed & then it was my turn. I settled into the wrong-sided driver seat. What the hell am I doing?!
I looked at Ham, "We're a three-ring circus, you & me, man."
He just smiled.
Off we went. I immediately began driving on the wrong side of the damn road.
"OTHER SIDE, MATE!"
Right. No, left.
"Okay, make a left turn here, mate."
I turned the windshield wipers on.
Make the turn, a-hole!
"OTHER SIDE, MATE!!"
SHIT!!!
I got the hang of it eventually. I felt like I was in driver's ed again. Every time we went through a goofy little roundabout Ham would say, calmly, "Give way to the right. Now signal out, as a courtesy."
Keep driving. Clutch, downshift. Windshield wipers--SHIT--Stop. Take a breath. Give way to the right, signal out AS A COURTESY.
We made it back in one piece. I felt like a golden god. A good thing, too, because I was sent into town twice more.
"No problem, man! I'm on it!"
VRRROOOOM! Give way to the right! Signal out, as a courtesy!
/////
Yesterday I opted out of writing for a shameful episode of lounge-lizarding. Beer, candy & television. I woke up in a puddle of my own slovenly drool & as I stumbled off to bed I muttered to myself "this can't happen again, Adam." I know it will, though.
I was rightfully exhausted. I showed up at work to fill out paperwork & instead was shipped out to the vineyard to sample some Merlot. It was a mild overcast morning & I jogged up & down the rows stuffing my mouth with underripe berries, shooting seeds out from my lips every few minutes. Somewhere in Block 28 I got turned around & couldn't seem to find the truck, or my partners. I roamed the vineyards aimlessly for 45 minutes or so & gave up , hiked it back to the winery--must've been two miles at least. I dropped off my samples in the lab & a blanket of guilt soon set in... I hiked back out to where I was to find my friends. I turned one random corner & there they were. Aparently I was only half-lost. They had moved the truck while I was out, which disoriented me. The slightly humiliating part was that they'd only moved the truck about fifty yards from where it was before. I just blonde-ly missed it, somehow. Why is it on first days--the days when we most want to impress--we always look our stupidest?
All in all, things are going swimmingly. I've just found out the Albert Hotel I crashed in a few nights back is one of the roughest places in town--well done, Adam--and my experience there has now circulated about Hawke's Bay & somehow morphed me into a sort of legendary figure. I'm just an idiot really, which is probably why I didn't get stabbed in the balls that night. Even criminals feel pity. Also, I've discovered a plethora of trailmix options in the bulk section of the local supermarket & this has greatly afftected my daily outlook.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Is that nutmeg in the catsup?
**Let's get caught up, shall we?**
3.20
AUCKLAND
the swollen metropolis I did not expect to meet. There are bodies everywhere--a sea of faces going places. It's a place of business of management of consumerism. I'm not sure what of New Zealand I'm finding here, if anything at all. Somehow it has its own personality. It seems easy, mellow, pleasant as a big city could be. But it's raining people here. Skateboarders & skinny girls drenched in Ugg boot vitality & busy businessmen--OH, the businessmen! I walked behind two gentlemen dressed in cheap matching pinstripe suits. It was odd, they were so straight up and down & uniform. I wanted to lay horizontally in front of them to counteract all of their glorious but overwhelming verticalness. In fact, there's a lot of pinstripe going on around here. hmmm....
The crosswalks blow my mind.
I'm not sure I'm properly grasping the concept. One would think it's not so difficult, but given the fact that I've almost been run over five (count 'em 5!!) times today proves the contrary. When the green light goes the street floods with people, flocking from all directions. I get so excited I just start charging out at every opportunity. Perhaps I should do as the locals & stop attmepting to reinvent the wheel with my Oregonian exuberence...hell, I'm still trying to figure out how the wheel works, anyway.
I bought a bus ticket today. I leave for Hawke's Bay tomorrow. After purchasing my ticket I wandered the sunsoaked waterfront& took some shit-ass photographs of lamp posts. I had the good sense to wander into a quaint backalley winebar on Queen St. Now I'm resting with a tall glass of local Chardonnay (lovely) on the brick patio weirding out local Pinstripes with my uncontrollably goofy grin & mangey beard. I would very much like to find a park to read in, maybe take a nap in the breezy afternoon light.
A wee furry spider just lept from my table to my journal. It startled me a bit, not because it's a spider, but because I nearly wrote the word 'nap' on its head.
Also, while I'm being somewhat off tangent, one of the fattest women I've ever seen just walked by with a back of vegetables in her arms. Perhaps things are on the up n' up for her? One can hope.
Lastly, I've only just arrived & already caught myself saying "Cheers" instead of "Thank You" several times. So I apologize in advance if I return home with a bullshit Kiwi accent. I never meant for it to happen, and I'll do everything in my power to prevent it from following me home.
/////
Now it's late afternoon. I've spent the sunlight sprawled in Albert Park by the University. The sun was soothing & calm, bursts of warmth spilling out of pillowy clouds. I listened to music & found myself fast asleep in the middle of a pickup football game. They didn't seem to mind me there, nor did I. My brain began screaming for coffee so I took a stroll down the hill, out of the park & into yet another alley, this one far more posh than previously explored and afforementioned alleys. I was sorta overtaken by this strange marriage of shameless consumption & cultured peace. It was people both shopping for $400 sunglasses & simply enjoying a post-daily-grind brew in the good company of friends, laughing & smiling...even the upper-crust don't seem to take themselves too seriously--still, I judge them unfairly throught my near-destitute eyes.
I sat on a bench for awhile watching & listening. A boy caught a pigeon in a record store & set it free outside (in my face). Two Asian girls pulled gray hairs from each others' heads. Another Pinstripe lollygagged by with a vibrant bouquet of magenta flowers & a mile-wide grin on his face. I finally stopped spacing and grabbed an espresso so I could sip something while I write. I also needed something to fill a small void in my tummy...gotta make them NZD's stretch a bit.
/////
I took an incredibly long walk around the city this evening. Initially I was looking for something to eat & maybe a cold beer somewhere. Instead I gazed endlessly at the urban scenery around me...old churches & huge apartment high rises & banks & superettes & falaffel stands. Soon enough I found myself just plain-old wandering. The whole time I tried to convince myself I needed a night of good fun. Drink a little too much, play some darts, make friends with a bum. But somehow it wasn't in me. I opted for a kabob cart & a Sprite--which was perfect--& read for a bit. & then what? The city just began livening up. Debauchery? Nope. Chamomile on the corner with my truty Moleskine? That's where I am now.
There's a loud man preaching/assaulting people next door. However ineffective at lovingly sharing the gospel he is, I do find him entertaining...much in the way I enjoy a Maury Povich paternity-test/gothic-makeover episode.
A feeling of loneliness has set in, & while in the daylight I took solace in it & embraced it, now it feels like isolation. At this point I think I need a good sleep in a bunk bed with five Germans. Which works out well because that is exactly what I have.
/////
3.21
Ahhhhh...a fresh start, a new beginning. Last night found me in a melancholy state--but with some sweet emails & a good long slumber & a desperately needed shower ( I didn't realize how completely homeless I smelled until I built up a lather--it makes sense that I was lonely last night) I find myself in a cozy place.
I packed up my things & hiked down to the waterfront. I stopped in a superette for some water & tobacco & had a pleasant chat with the Korean boy (strangest accent ever) about how expensive long-distance calls are. I said my goodbye & continued down to a coffeehouse. Now I'm resting my weary old bones in the delicate overcast morning haze with an espresso & my first pie--steak & potato. And it's freaking yummy. I catch a bus around noon today to head out to Hastings where I will be scooped up by ??? from the winery. For the weekend I'll be boarding with a Chilean guy, and then who knows from there.
/////
On a very long bus ride but one I don't mind in the least (aside from the couple of hours where I was certain I was going to shit myself--espresso + steak pie = shitselfing).
The movies don't lie, this place is stunning. And it's a strange sight to see the array of trees, pines & palms holding hands forming lush canopies over soft green hills. We've passed several graveyards that climb up cliffs of emerald mountains, their ancient fingers outstretched into fields ripe with sheep & wood fences & provencial farmhouses.
We've just stopped in Rotorua, a small (very midwest American-feeling) village peppered with steaming mineral springs & hugged by vast forested hills. The driver gave me half an hour to grab some food & grab food did I. Ordered the "Special"--whatever that meant--from the kindly saltoftheearth barkeep...out came a burger the size of New Zealand herself: two cuts of bbq'd chicken, a slice of fresh pineapple, pickled beet root, goat cheese, greens & housemade aioli with a generous heap of fries & a cold Stella Artois. Needless to say, I left Rotorua satisfied.
/////
I arrived in Hastings a little later than I had hoped/planned. My ride was nowhere to be found. Phone calls, no answers. I waited around a bit to see if they would come but to my dismay no one showed. I spent the better part of the night looking for a place to lay my head. Everything was packed. Apparently it's apple-picking season & this seems to fill rooms for weeks on end. I began wandering outside of town--thought maybe I'd find something on the outskirts. I must have gone an hour with no results & beneath a torrential downpour of warm Pacific rain to boot. Suddenly a ratty old Toyota van pulls up next to me & an excitable young Kiwi pops his head out & says "Hey freend, you need a roide?!"
I replied shyly, "Yes, but I've no idea where I'm going. I need a bed. Know of any?"
"Yeeah yeaah, wee'll take you theere! Hop een!"
Door slip open. I hopped. & there I discovered a chorus of giddy kids rambunctiously screaming some pub tune as they pulled me into the back. We sped off in what I was certain was the wrong direction. One of the kids asked me "Wheere ave you beeen walking from?"
I said, "the bus depot."
"Sheet mate! Your leegs must be tired!"
They were.
The car screeched to a hault. "Heere we ah, mate!"
"Yeeah yeeah, St. George's Street, St. George's Street!!!" they cheered. Apparently it's a good street.
I got out, waved thank-you-good-byes & they were off again & there was I, several kilometers further from where I wanted to be & not a bed in sight. I sorta half-laughed & laid some Neil Young on my ears while I hiked, exhausted, back towards the city center.
Finally I stumbled into a classy joint called the Albert Hotel where I met a gruff but kind woman named Nike. She gave me a room (that I'm pretty certain belonged to someone else) for $25 & assured me "it's not the Reetz, but it's a place to reest." I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't the Ritz anyway. "We don't want ya roamin the steeets , notta nice Ameeerican boy."
"Thank you, I really appreciate it." I smiled, wearily. She wouldn't smile back. But she was sweet. She smiled with her frown.
I went to my room & it was exactly the shithole I had hoped it would be. I set my things down & headed downstairs toward the bar where I was introduced, by Nike, as Eddim, to everyone in the room, which consisted of gigantic towers of Maori people. I ordered the coldest, cheapest beer on draught & smiled wholeheartedly with each soothing gulp while I rugby gamed blared overhead. Why, of all times, do I feel like the wealthiest man in New Zealand right now?
/////
3.20
AUCKLAND
the swollen metropolis I did not expect to meet. There are bodies everywhere--a sea of faces going places. It's a place of business of management of consumerism. I'm not sure what of New Zealand I'm finding here, if anything at all. Somehow it has its own personality. It seems easy, mellow, pleasant as a big city could be. But it's raining people here. Skateboarders & skinny girls drenched in Ugg boot vitality & busy businessmen--OH, the businessmen! I walked behind two gentlemen dressed in cheap matching pinstripe suits. It was odd, they were so straight up and down & uniform. I wanted to lay horizontally in front of them to counteract all of their glorious but overwhelming verticalness. In fact, there's a lot of pinstripe going on around here. hmmm....
The crosswalks blow my mind.
I'm not sure I'm properly grasping the concept. One would think it's not so difficult, but given the fact that I've almost been run over five (count 'em 5!!) times today proves the contrary. When the green light goes the street floods with people, flocking from all directions. I get so excited I just start charging out at every opportunity. Perhaps I should do as the locals & stop attmepting to reinvent the wheel with my Oregonian exuberence...hell, I'm still trying to figure out how the wheel works, anyway.
I bought a bus ticket today. I leave for Hawke's Bay tomorrow. After purchasing my ticket I wandered the sunsoaked waterfront& took some shit-ass photographs of lamp posts. I had the good sense to wander into a quaint backalley winebar on Queen St. Now I'm resting with a tall glass of local Chardonnay (lovely) on the brick patio weirding out local Pinstripes with my uncontrollably goofy grin & mangey beard. I would very much like to find a park to read in, maybe take a nap in the breezy afternoon light.
A wee furry spider just lept from my table to my journal. It startled me a bit, not because it's a spider, but because I nearly wrote the word 'nap' on its head.
Also, while I'm being somewhat off tangent, one of the fattest women I've ever seen just walked by with a back of vegetables in her arms. Perhaps things are on the up n' up for her? One can hope.
Lastly, I've only just arrived & already caught myself saying "Cheers" instead of "Thank You" several times. So I apologize in advance if I return home with a bullshit Kiwi accent. I never meant for it to happen, and I'll do everything in my power to prevent it from following me home.
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Now it's late afternoon. I've spent the sunlight sprawled in Albert Park by the University. The sun was soothing & calm, bursts of warmth spilling out of pillowy clouds. I listened to music & found myself fast asleep in the middle of a pickup football game. They didn't seem to mind me there, nor did I. My brain began screaming for coffee so I took a stroll down the hill, out of the park & into yet another alley, this one far more posh than previously explored and afforementioned alleys. I was sorta overtaken by this strange marriage of shameless consumption & cultured peace. It was people both shopping for $400 sunglasses & simply enjoying a post-daily-grind brew in the good company of friends, laughing & smiling...even the upper-crust don't seem to take themselves too seriously--still, I judge them unfairly throught my near-destitute eyes.
I sat on a bench for awhile watching & listening. A boy caught a pigeon in a record store & set it free outside (in my face). Two Asian girls pulled gray hairs from each others' heads. Another Pinstripe lollygagged by with a vibrant bouquet of magenta flowers & a mile-wide grin on his face. I finally stopped spacing and grabbed an espresso so I could sip something while I write. I also needed something to fill a small void in my tummy...gotta make them NZD's stretch a bit.
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I took an incredibly long walk around the city this evening. Initially I was looking for something to eat & maybe a cold beer somewhere. Instead I gazed endlessly at the urban scenery around me...old churches & huge apartment high rises & banks & superettes & falaffel stands. Soon enough I found myself just plain-old wandering. The whole time I tried to convince myself I needed a night of good fun. Drink a little too much, play some darts, make friends with a bum. But somehow it wasn't in me. I opted for a kabob cart & a Sprite--which was perfect--& read for a bit. & then what? The city just began livening up. Debauchery? Nope. Chamomile on the corner with my truty Moleskine? That's where I am now.
There's a loud man preaching/assaulting people next door. However ineffective at lovingly sharing the gospel he is, I do find him entertaining...much in the way I enjoy a Maury Povich paternity-test/gothic-makeover episode.
A feeling of loneliness has set in, & while in the daylight I took solace in it & embraced it, now it feels like isolation. At this point I think I need a good sleep in a bunk bed with five Germans. Which works out well because that is exactly what I have.
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3.21
Ahhhhh...a fresh start, a new beginning. Last night found me in a melancholy state--but with some sweet emails & a good long slumber & a desperately needed shower ( I didn't realize how completely homeless I smelled until I built up a lather--it makes sense that I was lonely last night) I find myself in a cozy place.
I packed up my things & hiked down to the waterfront. I stopped in a superette for some water & tobacco & had a pleasant chat with the Korean boy (strangest accent ever) about how expensive long-distance calls are. I said my goodbye & continued down to a coffeehouse. Now I'm resting my weary old bones in the delicate overcast morning haze with an espresso & my first pie--steak & potato. And it's freaking yummy. I catch a bus around noon today to head out to Hastings where I will be scooped up by ??? from the winery. For the weekend I'll be boarding with a Chilean guy, and then who knows from there.
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On a very long bus ride but one I don't mind in the least (aside from the couple of hours where I was certain I was going to shit myself--espresso + steak pie = shitselfing).
The movies don't lie, this place is stunning. And it's a strange sight to see the array of trees, pines & palms holding hands forming lush canopies over soft green hills. We've passed several graveyards that climb up cliffs of emerald mountains, their ancient fingers outstretched into fields ripe with sheep & wood fences & provencial farmhouses.
We've just stopped in Rotorua, a small (very midwest American-feeling) village peppered with steaming mineral springs & hugged by vast forested hills. The driver gave me half an hour to grab some food & grab food did I. Ordered the "Special"--whatever that meant--from the kindly saltoftheearth barkeep...out came a burger the size of New Zealand herself: two cuts of bbq'd chicken, a slice of fresh pineapple, pickled beet root, goat cheese, greens & housemade aioli with a generous heap of fries & a cold Stella Artois. Needless to say, I left Rotorua satisfied.
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I arrived in Hastings a little later than I had hoped/planned. My ride was nowhere to be found. Phone calls, no answers. I waited around a bit to see if they would come but to my dismay no one showed. I spent the better part of the night looking for a place to lay my head. Everything was packed. Apparently it's apple-picking season & this seems to fill rooms for weeks on end. I began wandering outside of town--thought maybe I'd find something on the outskirts. I must have gone an hour with no results & beneath a torrential downpour of warm Pacific rain to boot. Suddenly a ratty old Toyota van pulls up next to me & an excitable young Kiwi pops his head out & says "Hey freend, you need a roide?!"
I replied shyly, "Yes, but I've no idea where I'm going. I need a bed. Know of any?"
"Yeeah yeaah, wee'll take you theere! Hop een!"
Door slip open. I hopped. & there I discovered a chorus of giddy kids rambunctiously screaming some pub tune as they pulled me into the back. We sped off in what I was certain was the wrong direction. One of the kids asked me "Wheere ave you beeen walking from?"
I said, "the bus depot."
"Sheet mate! Your leegs must be tired!"
They were.
The car screeched to a hault. "Heere we ah, mate!"
"Yeeah yeeah, St. George's Street, St. George's Street!!!" they cheered. Apparently it's a good street.
I got out, waved thank-you-good-byes & they were off again & there was I, several kilometers further from where I wanted to be & not a bed in sight. I sorta half-laughed & laid some Neil Young on my ears while I hiked, exhausted, back towards the city center.
Finally I stumbled into a classy joint called the Albert Hotel where I met a gruff but kind woman named Nike. She gave me a room (that I'm pretty certain belonged to someone else) for $25 & assured me "it's not the Reetz, but it's a place to reest." I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't the Ritz anyway. "We don't want ya roamin the steeets , notta nice Ameeerican boy."
"Thank you, I really appreciate it." I smiled, wearily. She wouldn't smile back. But she was sweet. She smiled with her frown.
I went to my room & it was exactly the shithole I had hoped it would be. I set my things down & headed downstairs toward the bar where I was introduced, by Nike, as Eddim, to everyone in the room, which consisted of gigantic towers of Maori people. I ordered the coldest, cheapest beer on draught & smiled wholeheartedly with each soothing gulp while I rugby gamed blared overhead. Why, of all times, do I feel like the wealthiest man in New Zealand right now?
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