Feb. 28 -- New Plymouth

Feb. 28, 2009
New Plymouth, Lurk-Central

Deja-vu: another big-ass storm and I'm grounded in New Plymouth.


Back in 2001, I worked with Michael Zanger of Shasta Mountain Guides on a new map for Mt. Shasta. I remember him telling me that the town of Mt. Shasta was chock-full of all sorts of wierd drifters and freaks; something about Mt. Shasta draws them like a magnet. Similarly, I think the Taranaki Volcano draws all the NZ screwballs to this town. A guy with blue-white skin the color of a corpse. hitchhikers that yell at you if you don't pick them up. Odd, criminal-looking crinkled ancient hippies lurking in moving vans doing something illicit. New Plymouth makes Berkeley in the 70s look like Dayton in the 50s.

I was bummed to see that the town also seems to have a solid meth scene, which is too bad. I was so happy not see that disgusting shit down here, but it looks like the disease has arrived here to.


What's so funny, tho, is that the rest of NZ society is here, too. High school kids and frosted hair and cheerful clerks that say, "all the best!" to you after you buy a Diet Coke at the service station.


The per capita count of white dudes with dreadlocks is off the spectrum -- tho that's true for all of NZ. Dreadlocks are still cool here. (I mean shit, the station ID tune on NZ National Radio is a wicked Augustus Pablo dub song!)

This country is so small: I was reading the NZ Surfer Magazine, and they had a spread on this Maori dude from Mahia/Gizzy. I was like, "holy shit! That dude and his friend JP helped me jump Rose on Waitingi Day!" As I read through, I actually recognized several dudes, primarily from the surf shops.

Occasionally, a kiwi will try and look tough. Sometimes a surfer, or some high school hip-hopper. But they're not very good at it. All it takes is a friendly comment, and the kiwi comes out. Even recent immigrants from China are friendly (unlike in SF). I go into their stores to buy Sriracha chili sauce and tea-lights, and they are really sweet. I guess its contagious.

Feb. 26 -- WHAT?!

Feb. 26, 2009
Now I *really* must be dreaming -- Opunake


After my seditionary comments in this morning's post, the biggest event of the year rolled into Opunake: "Americarna." 800 old school cars and more flags than the 4th of July. Kind of like Western Weekend in Point Reyes Station. ON ACID.

I was just hanging at the surf shop, and this..."event" arrived. I was transfixed by the sheer enormity of it all, alternately impressed and horrified. .... It was one of the more surreal and confusing hours of my life.

I'm heading for the volcano now, lest all these fucking freaks discover that I am, in fact, [shhh}....an American.

!Adios, amigos!

Feb. 26, -- Opunake'n

Feb. 26, 2009
Opunake'n

Oh shit -- it's Fall! It was cheekin' this a.m. My bio-rhythyms are completely thrown off by coming to the So. Hemisphere for winter...it's like the feeling of staying up all night, sleeping all day, and waking at sunset.

I woke last night to the most insane starry sky, and remember thinking to myself: there isn't a hotel in the world with a view this good. I also had a strange dream involving a dog poo'ing on my personal airplane; when I woke, I found myself suddenly downwind of some kind of methane-smelling agricultural operation.


By all reports, things aren't so good on the home front. While I've indulged in escapism here -- a great place to be, if you can get there -- I have been aware of what is going on. It is pretty clear that things aren't going to go back to "normal" for some time. When the world economy shrinks by half in less than 6 months, you can bet that investors are going to be more cautious for the foreseeable future.

When the Beach Boys song "California Girls" came on my Shuffle this morning, the beginning with the merry-go-round organ and the trumpets almost brought a tear to my eye. We were all raised on the California Dream. Being here is like going back in time; I can imagine that California was alot like NZ before WWII. A surplus of beauty, good vibes and elbow room. Utopic.

I need to find me a nice Kiwi girl and get hitched. I've been trying to work the local ladies, but not very well. My pickup line has been, "I would like to send you a tixt."

"A tixt?"

"Yis. A tixt missige."

then they just start laughing. {sigh}

Feb. 24, Cape Turnagain

Feb. 23, 2009
Cape Turnagain

Those lads who wrote the NZ Surf Guide are not fools. Surfers are eminently protective of their breaks; this is why throughout the Guide they'll list "Spot X: Ask a Friendly Local". I've been using the Surf Guide and the Lonely Planet guidebook exclusively on this trip (I have the Rough Guide, but haven't opened it.)

There are 2 ways to use Lonely Planet: follow its directions to the backpacker "highway" (it's a lot more than a "trail" in super-touristy NZ), OR...use it in the inverse, ie, go anywhere BUT where the LP Guide recommends. This way you miss 90% of the crowds.

So, when I saw Cape Turnagain in the atlas -- a beautiful SE-facing bay that juts out enough to catch alot of swell -- I noticed that it (and 2 points south) were oddly left out of the guidebook....but in such a way that if you didn't look at a map, you'd assume the coverage of this area was continuous.

SNEAKY. this place has Real Waves. Serious waves. As hollow as Wainui, but faster. These are expert-level waves (not in terms of danger, but in terms of being able to tube-ride). I really wish I had a proper thruster.

Did I mention the exceptional, world-class beauty of this beach? Cape Turnagain has a dominating c.3,000 ft. mesa that recalls the mesa at Pta. San Carlos in Baja. tends to funnel winds sideshore. To the south there are huge sand hills and cliffs. The sand on this beach is this

soft, golden stuff. And there's a nice grassy flat with camping right above the break.
If you love wilderness beaches, NZ is the place for you.

Feb. 22 -- Wanganui

As you can see, I wasn't the only one cringing during Cyclone Innis!

The sun is back out! Return of the salad days!

Feb. 20 -- Cyclone Innis!

Feb. 20, 2009
Cyclone Innis wrecks shop

[fyi: "cyclone" technically means any pressure cell, but in the East Pacific its what they call the equivalent of a hurricane.]

Well, what started as a drizzle last night around 11 turned into a pneumatic-jet car wash for the Rose Coach overnight! The rain is coming down in sheets; kind of the same way a truck throws a big fan of spray going past on a highway at high speed.

Rose was filthy behind the ears and needed the wash. Two days ago, I discovered a massing of mud and sticks inside of the rear-right rear wheel that l initially thought was a bird's nest! (Not possible, of course, but it was a grapefruit size mound of earthy stuff.)


As for the cyclone/hurricane: I'm like a deer in the headlights here. You literally cannot go outside for 5 seconds without getting soaked to the bone. Uh, how long is this going to last, anyway?

You don't have to be a meteorologist to figure out that all the roads out of here are going to be flooded. Looks like I'm here for a bit...hunkered down at the internet station at the McCafe at McDonalds.


I can't believe I was trunking it in glassy waves 16 hours ago. What happened to the salad days? and where have all the flowers gone?

Traveling teaches you patience. time to repair some gear, send some emails, maybe even start thinking about what I'm going to do When The Trip Ends. {shudder}

Feb. 19 -- Cyclone!

Cyclone Irene.............shit!

you know what's crazy? I've been so offline that I didn't know about it until today. I have been listening to What is What by Dave Eggers in the car, so I haven't heard the radio news....(btw, THANKS for the CD-on-tape, Mom!).


I may be holed up in a motel for a day or two here. Camping in flooding and high winds doesn't sound like too much fun!

Feb. 18 -- Taranaki/Mokau

February 19, 2009
Taranaki, baby!

I just entered Taranaki, and after having another spectacular set of experiences, it occurred to me that every day for weeks has been filled with wonder, amazement and joy. I'm still dropping my jaw and yelling out with excitement and snapping photos at every turn, but at least at this point I'm not amazed at how amazed I am, if that makes any sense. What can I say? These are the salad days.

I drove all day yesterday to get from the Northland down to Taranaki. I arrived at this little village of "bachs" (summer houses) called Mokau at the side of a river mouth. I stepped out of the car and was instantly befriended by the friendliest black lab on the planet, who showed me around town, which was empty but for like 5 people.

I stepped onto this beautiful black sand beach littered with shells and driftwood, and discovered that the water was the warmest yet -- maybe 72. I bodysurfed some little waves, and collected some cool shells, talked to some old folks, and repaired to shore only to witness perhaps the most insanely thermonuclear sunset yet -- over a snow-capped volcano in the distance. Almost too much.

All 5 people in town came out to watch. This one kiwi woman said, "you never get tired of looking at it, do you?" I responded that the "global financial crisis" sure seems a long way, away. Some old man with a solid beergut asked me what I was talking about.

anyway, Mr. Beergut gave me the 411 on the freshest little secret campspot on the beach with surf. I got there at dusk, and was approached suspiciously by a ruddy fisherman with a flatbed truck. As it turns out, he was worried that I was also going to try to night-fish for flounder. Once he found out I was just there to surf and camp, it was all good. I got the plumb campsite, and watched the volcano's silhouette in the distance finally disappear into the starry night. I couldn't believe how pretty this was.

I woke and, lo and behold, the swell had picked up. surf time.

_________

Three things that amaze me every day:

1. the natural beauty of NZ -- off the hitherto-known spectrum for me

2. the friendliness of kiwis -- ditto above

3. the surf. why, why, why aren't there dozens of surfers like me at all these spots? As best I can tell, the reason is that NZ is just too far from the critical masses of surfers in North America and Europe.

The surf here reminds me of a story my Mom told me about a Russian emigre woman that in 1992 my Mom took to Diamond Heights Safeway -- her first Western supermarket. The poor woman wept, and said, "they lied to us! they told us this wasn't possible!" (referring to the CCCP).

In some ways, I feel like that woman every day down here. And that's real talk.

Feb. 17 -- 90 Mile Beach

Feb. 17, 2009
Ninety Mile Beach

On the NZ official highway maps, Ninety Mile Beach is listed as a highway -- "at low tide only". It's really more like 80 km. but it's so damn smooth and consistent from end to end, that you can gun it. As it turns out, it was a helluva lot faster getting back to Shipwrecks on the beach. I probably drove 30 miles south, all beach.

there is something completely surreal about flying down an endless beach at 80km, flushing seagulls, skirting the edge of the water, waving at the occasional passerby.

Well, there was only one thing to do: Ghost ride the whip.

Feb. 16 -- The Island

Feb. 16, 2009
Northland -- after the Wreck

Well, after the scare of the van wreck/accident, I pretty much lucked into one of the most kick-ass days of the trip.

First, I discovered a secret surf spot not listed in the NZ Surf handbook (the Bible, baby!). You drive out through tree (paper) plantations, and at the end, there were perfect chest-high A-frames on a consistent sandbar. No other surfers, but a few Maori and (of course) the ubiquitous dumb-looking Germans in the campervan. This was my "secret spot." the water was about 70 -- comfy in a 1 mil vest.

Triumphant over the secret spot score, I rolled into Te PAki, the last/northernmost town in NZ. This place makes Point Reyes Station look like Manhattan. This is the outback, and its a Maori thing , y'all.

Interestingly, I read in the guidebook that many Croats and Serbs moved to the Northland a century ago, b/c the white kiwis to the South shunned them, but the Maori to the north embraced them. There are, in fact, all sorts of "-itch" names up there, including the local buses. There are several half-Croat/ half-Maori descended kiwis that are famous authors, athlets, etc. Most interestingly, there was the fucking wierdest hybrid Croat - Maori church/temple thing. Just total alien shit.




Anyway, I am, in fact, Croatian royalty (at least, in my own head...lol.) My great-great grandfather Starcevitch is on the 100-dollar bill or something. Ask my Mom about this.

So I started mixing it up with the Maori at the local store, and asked where the "tarara" (mixed Croat-Maoris) were. They were impressed by my use of a Maori term. (Shit, it says this in a big box in the lonely planet guidebook, but your average white tourist is terrified -- completely needlessly - of the Maori, and so this was the first time any tourist had said anything.)

(Incidentally, Maori paranoia is rampant among all the young backpacker set.)

So, this old school Maori woman who could speak surprisingly little English dropped me the 411 on how to get to the surf spot called "The Bluff". Basically, you gotta drive out to the hinter to the house #314, where there is a gate that appears locked (and no signage). then, you introduce yourself to the Maori dude there and ask if you can pass, b/c it's Maori land under some kind of legally-complex stewardship scheme.

....anyway, you get out there, and lo and behold, there is a tombolo peninsula (sand connected a headland to the mainland -- gets covered at high tides) that I simply call "the Island."

There was surf on the south side of the Island, and I tapped it while a couple of Maori fished off the point a stone's throw from me. After the surf, I explored the Island, and that's when things started to get really dope.


I spent several hours exploring the Island, and at the risk of you thinking im losing it down here, the Island was so exactly like Punta Cabras in Northern Baja that I am possibly entertaining the possibility of some kind of master/intelligent design. no shit.

Hovey and I shared some of our biggest life experiences at Pta. Cabras when we were younger, and he wrote his geology college thesis about the rocky shoreline there. I've since re-visited with many of my closest peops, including my father, Eric, Ayo, and Aran. I've also gone there myself many times. Pta. Cabras is a very special place and I have said more than once that I would have my ashes dumped there.

The Island was a near perfect replica of Pta. Cabras. It had the same keyhole beaches/rock joints, where waves push in and create shell graveyards at the end. The same turret-like mini-mound/hills, with perfect vantage points of the Island. The same hot tub size tidebools. The same succulents and rust colored soil. The same tire tracks in the succulents. Hov, I got a million photos for you.


As the day wore on and the tide started to creep, and I knew the sand bridge back to the mainland was going to get covered up, I didn't give a fuck that camping was prohibited, the land was Maori, or anything. I had found My Spot and I was staying on the Island.


Now this is where you are going to think im REALLY losing it, but Hov can vouch on this one. When you are sitting around at night at Pta Cabras, you hear The Voices (whether you are smoking dope or not). This is an established thing that is not in dispute. You hear all sorts of shit, actually. a group of people laughing. glass breaking. a low scream. etc etc.

The practical, SCIENTIFIC explanation is that you are sitting on this big piece of rock with a thousand porous holes opening onto the ocean; the play of wave action and tides means there is a constant source of strange, gurgling noises. (Just like the wave organ in SF).

For example, sometimes at Pta. Cabras you will experience a seismic THUMP! feeling. This is when the water slams through a keyhole or a blowhole in the rock. It was exactly the same on the Island.


Well, I think you know where this story is going. As night fell on the Island, sure as shit, the noises began. I think many people -- trapped on the island by tide -- would have shat themselves. the first sound that i heard sounded like a horse whinnying. For one second, I was freaked, b/c I had scoured the Island, and there were no fricking horses!!!

Then, I just thought, "Oh yeah, The Voices. Just like Pta. Cabras." {yawn} and it was all good. I slept the best that night of the whole trip. I woke up at one point and the moon had light up all the zillions of brilliant white shell fragments around me, so bright that you could have read a newspaper -- which I once did at Pta. Cabras on a very, very similar night. But that, my friends, is another story.

Feb. 16 -- Danger!

Feb. 16, 2009
Far North Country -- the Van Wreck

I am sincerely grateful for the outstanding Wilderness First Aid/CPR class I took 2 years ago, and am sending this story to my instructors (one's a paramedic in Eureka, the other does search and rescue in Yosemite) to thank them. Every thing they taught me kicked in instantly, like a total reflex.

I was driving up NZ Hwy 1, almost at the very northern extreme of NZ, when there was a torrential downpour. I came over a rise, and saw that a van had careened off the side of the road and people were still in it.

Now, I really didn't do anything major, but it's helpful to reflect on how things went down.

1. The first thing that happened was I pulled over and was about to flip open my door (into traffic) and heard my instructors: "Stop. Look. Assess the situation." Now, that all sounds kinda obvious, but when you've got possibly injured people in an overturned car, its raining sideways, and huge lumber trucks are barelling down the highway, you really do have to stop for a sec. I spent all of 10 seconds in my seat, assessing the scene, and saw that people were standing in the road. That was the most pressing thing. Then, I got out of my car, grabbed my first aid kit, and ran over to the car.

2. I yelled to 2 girls and an Asian woman with a cell phone to "GET OUT OF THE ROAD!". they did.

3. I yelled at the Asian woman: "you, brown hair, call an ambulance". she said she had already..

4. I approached the van, where the man was standing inside the "cab" area (on its side), and a blonde woman was on all fours in the broken glass at the bottom of the van. I said, "I know CPR, and I can help". (if you've taken the course, you know this is the SOP).

5. The man was trying to talk the woman into climbing out of the bottom of the wreck. I said to the woman, "don't move; we need to make sure that you don't have a spinal injury."

6. I tried to check out the woman, but it was pretty difficult through the broken glass window. She was too shaken to talk. I communicated with the man and deduced (as best as possible) that she had been moving around in the wreck and most likely did not have a spinal injury. In retrospect, I should have made her stay, but she was totally freaked out and was going to try and crawl out no matter what I said. So, as she was crawling out, I dropped to a knee, cross-braced one of her arms (shaking like you wouldn't believe), and guided her out with my other hand on her head so that she didn't smash into the broken glass. (In retrospect, I can't remember *what* she climbed out through -- was it the fucking skylight? I look at the photo and I think it must have been, though I wasn't really aware of that at the time.)

7. The woman came out, and couldn't talk, but she seemed OK. The guy walked out and he was fine. There were also 2 girls who had already climbed out and they, too, were fine. They said they weren't wearing seatbelts and I have no idea how they all made it out unscathed.

8. At this point, my concern was the barreling traffic on the highway just feet away from the wreck. I asked if any one had a flare, and they didn't. So, I made a Mexican flare -- I grabbed a soup can from my car, put stove oil in the bottom, and ripped a an 1/8 of a towel to use as a wick. I ran up the road, lit it, and put it in the middle of the road. Even in the pouring rain, it worked really well, and all the incoming traffic slowed.

so, that's about it. The fire truck/paramedics arrived 5 min. later, but by that point it was clear that there were no injuries.

Anyways, all's well that end's well. I am, again, super-grateful for that course.

Feb. 15 -- 50 Ways to Leave Your Mazda

I'm worried about my girlfriend, Rose the Subaru,. (You know, she's from Japan -- all the language in the interior and under the hood is in kanji!)

We've been going out and sleeping together for over 3 months. Some nights when it's just me, Rose and the guitar, well....sometimes we just lay back and look out the skylight and the stars, and in the morning, we wake up snuggled together -- 2 happy souls on the road.
She loves to travel, and she has a taste for Mozart, books-on-CD, and gangster hip-hop. After a good cleaning, she doesn't look half her years [1995 -- but don't tell her I said that!] She drinks a bit more oil than I think is healthy, but I look the other way. Whatever Rose wants, she gets.
For Waitingi Day, I bought her a new alternator and battery. I bought her a new stereo last November. And I try to keep her happy with air and fluids. Sometimes I tickle her under the hood. She likes that.

The only time we had a falling out was when I was sleeping on Gaspar's boat. In the morning, she'd play dead (total jealous behavior), and I'd have to jump her.
And then there was the day I beat her. My last girl was a 4X4, and I could throw her around a bit. But, well, one day I drank too many Diet Cokes and really smacked her front left bumper pretty good. I'm sorry, honey. I'll buy you a new one -- I promise.

The reality is, that we both know that this is a summer fling. If we really got serious about the whole relationship, how could Rose come to California? I'm certainly not prepared to stay here in NZ just for her.
Alas, this relationship won't last. I just hope Rose doesn't do something really spiteful before I leave..

Reminds me of that Paul Simon song: "50 Ways to Leave your Mazda".

Feb. 13 -- N. of Auckland

From Gizzy, I stayed in Mt. Manganui, which is kinda like the Long Beach of NZ -- a seedy Riviera. .A shopkeeper said, "Yank, eh? I wouldn't have served you before December!" (ie, before Obama). This guy was a 2-tour kiwi Vietnam vet with the tats and rings to show.

I then went to Raglan, NZ's most famous surf spot. There are 3 left-hand points; there was junk swell my first day, then it went flat.

Raglan, the town, reminds me of Montezuma in Costa Rica. This is where beautiful beach people come to show skin, party and hook up. (What we jokingly referred to as "sex tourists" in Costa Rica.)

With the temp and humidity pushing 95, there there was a bug bloom -- literally tens of thousands of winged beetles crawling over everything. Locals say this happens a couple of times per year.

In the morning, the surf was flat, and the dude who borrowed my guitar the day before was nowhere to be found at any of the breaks.

I also tried to catch a chicken using an improvised deadfall trap, but those chicks were hip to the game. time to leave Rag.

I passed through Auckland yesterday, and I was like a celbrity at the hostel I stayed at for how long I'd been in NZ. I was barraged with questions from other visitors from places ranging from New Caledonia, to Sri Lanka, to Holland. The maps came out and many stories were told.

Feb. 9 -- Burrito Fever in Whakatane

Last night, I just couldn't eat fish and chips *again*, so I went to bed kind of hungry...and damn it, I thought about a Taqueria Cancun carne asade quesadilla, and I laid in bed salivating with a deep longing that was almost painful. When I get to SFO, I need to go poste haste to Cancun. (I know it's a month away, but I am already thinking about it!)

Feb. 8 -- Whakatane, Bay of Plenty

Sunday, Feb. 8
Whakatane, Bay of Plenty

Last week was amazing. I met two incredible dudes: Gaspar (34) from Malaga, Spain, and Guillermo (45), a pediatrician from Buenos Aires.

Gaspar left Spain in 2002 on a 36-foot sailboat, sailing across the Atlantic, around Tierra Del Fuego, and throughout the Southern Pacific. He spent the last two years in French Polynesia. He is incredibly charismatic, and also small and elfish, which makes it easy to forget that he is a world-class sailor. Gaspar is actually a reluctant celebrity in sailing circles; he eschews the media, but every sailor we ran into in the Gisborne Harbor worshipped him.

(Incidentally, if you read Surfer Mag, the columnist named Liz/Beth is his former girlfriend...]

And then there's Guillermo, who met Gaspar on Easter Island 2 years ago, and sailed to Tahiti with him. He's this big, affable, Snoopy-like character. Gaspar has the fire of a diminutive Don Quijote; Guillermo is like a big, slow-moving lizard. You couldn't find two more opposite characters, and that is the genius of this duo.

I met my amigos at the internet cafe, and offered to drive them to the surf breaks (~10-15 km). I ended up crashing on the boat several nights, in part b/c it was fun, but also b/c there was a refrigerator on the boat for salad fixings (a *major* luxury when you've been camping for several months).

Guillermo flew back to Argentina on Wed., and Gaspar left port for Wellington on Friday. It was time for me to go, too. Driving out of Gisborne region yesterday, I was filled with the most bittersweet feelings. I had some of the best days of my life in Gizzy. I really wish that you all could have been there.

Feb. 2 -- Back in the Gizzy Again

Jan. 31
Back in Gisborne
Well, I explored a couple of hours north toward the Cape, but had to come back to Gizzy.
Last night I was camping solo at Anaura Beach, a beautiful bay which recalls So. Baja. I was cooking up dinner and 3 campervans pulled up with four surfer chicks (Austrian, Swiss, British and ?) and 2 dudes (French). Three of the chicks were super-fit and also really, really cool. They are all learners and it was so fun to see how stoked they were. I am going to hang with them here in Gizzy, but at some point need to keep moving.