March 20, 2008

March 19, 2009

Remuera, Auckland

Piha

With 2 days til I fly home, I was just about to sell Rose.......until the water pump blew going over the Piha Pass this morning(!) -- an NZ$450 repair on a car that I would sell for NZ$2000.  She's a tosser, now.  At first, I got bummed out about this stroke of apparent bad luck.  And then I realized that  Rose did everything she was supposed to do:  she got me safely around all of New Zealand in one piece.  In fact, she pretty much took me everywhere, and in great comfort.  What more could you ask?     Hats off to The Rose Coach!  I'll miss you, kiddo.

Anyway, while trying to sell Rose, I commuted to Piha, Auckland's primary surf spot, 1 hour west of town.  I was skeptical about any surf spot so close to a major metro area.  As it turns out, NZ pulled one last slapper on me:  Piha is really amazing:  great surf, super-beautiful, and some of the friendliest folks anywhere.   It's a lot like a Bolinas, without all the freaky assholes.  There's one little deli-restaurant that serves as the nexus of the community;  it's a good place to grab an espresso and panini and shoot the breeze with the locals.  Like West Marin, the road brings in droves of day trippers, but by 8 or 9, it's super-quiet and peaceful.  

Particularly charming was the "RSA", which is the NZ Officer's Club, and the only place in town to get dinner.  It was a stone's throw from the campground and just happened to have a deck overlooking the Piha Valley with a million-dollar view -- and great food.  At one point, they stopped dinner and said a "grace" and had a moment for all of the fallen soldiers. 

Next time I fly into Auckland Int'l, I'm bee-lining for Piha.   Auckland is not a bad City...but no tourist really wants to be here.  When you arrive, you're itching to see the country.  And when you are at the end of the trip -- like I am -- you're ready to go home.   Poor Auckland:  it'll never get a fair shake from the tourists...

Mar. 8, 2009 (out of order) -- Billabong Pro, Whangamata

Mar. 8, 2009
Billabong Pro, Whangamata


"Homeless" is a concept that doesn't exist in NZ; if you live out of your car, you (and 43,000 Germans) are "freedom camping." Or so I thought.

This morning I was excitedly packing in my tent and stuff and gearing up to surf Otu which was, as of one hour ago, 6 feet clean and fast. (=soopa!), and I was jawing it up with a local bloke, who all of a sudden asks, "so, are you living *rough*, then?"

I looked in the reflection of my car window: right side of my car is caked in goose shit and estuary muck that some kids threw on my car last night, ive got a toothbrush in my mouth and one jandal (flip-flop) on, the inside of my car looks like an REI exploded in the middle of the Sahara Desert (sand and camping gear everywhere), I'm wearing a pair of slacks that I cut into shorts after I lost my job and they are covered on one side in dried Sriracha chile sauce and candle wax(!)

"Yis, I reckon I am."

I am at the Billabong Pro in Whangamata, which is basically the Stinson Bch of Auckland, but as long a drive as Monterrey (Aucklanders will drive 3 hrs each way in one day just to surf; kiwis and Aussies are the biggest drives on the planet per capita). Most of the competitors are teens, and I am stoked to see these young athletes going for it. (It's pretty awesome to have kids around, in general. SF is sorely adult).

Yesterday was hilarious. There was wind swell, but it was kind of stacked and onshore. Then, around 5, the wind shifted offshore. All of a sudden all of the soccer dads at the surf comp told their wives, "eh, love, I'm gonna run up to the dairy and pick up some water and chips for the kids."

Picture like 25 Hovey Clarks parking the family wagon just far enough down the beach that the family can't see, and guilltily padddling out to snag a couple of barrels while their son or daughter is competing down the beach! Surfers will do anything for a moment in the green room. It was working!

Mar. 10 -- Avondale, Auckland

Hi, all:

Sorry I have been off-line. The power-cord on the Acer laptop that I use to process photos and write these blog entries died. I was down at the Billabong Pro surf competition in Whanghamata over the weekend, which was brilliant. I've got a zillion photos, which I will upload in a sec.

I am staying in Avondale at the only Motor Camp in urban Auckland. I got close to selling Rose today, but no dice. I got an offer of NZ$2200. I'd rather fill up a full tank of gas and push her off the cliffs out at Coromandel. Ha ha! If I can't get a fair price -- the market is really saturated -- then I will keep her here 'til next winter. My parents came to NZ last winter and had a horrible time (90% rain days); and I think the will need to give NZ a second chance. They'll be down in Aussie next winter at the same time I will be; The Rose Coach may once again be "the Coach with the Most."

I'm in SW Auckland, which is very much not white, and very interesting to check out. I'm meeting people from South Pacific Atolls, Tanzanians, Pakistanis...pretty interesting.

Tom

Mar.5 -- Happy Birthday, Eve!

The Other Auckland

Did you know that Auckland has the largest population of Pacific Islanders of any city in the world? When I arrived in Nov., I asked several white kiwis if I could find a kava bar. "maybe in South Auckland?" was always the response. South Auckland is also where the occasional violent crime is committed in this town (as reported on NZ National Radio and the newspaper).

I went and checked it out last night by going to (what else?) a shopping mall. Wow, hat an interesting mix of people! It was totally pan-Asian Pacific, with Fijians, Samoans, Tongans, New Caledonians, Indonesians, Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, Korean, Thai, Indian, Burmese, and a few farther-flung ethnicities, such as African and Turkish. And, of course, many Maori heads. It wasn't gangster'd out; seemed to me it was mostly lots of families, and lots of little kids.

I was joking around with some cute kid who's ethnicity was totally baffling to me. He had handsome, almost 'mestizo"/anglo features, with red-brown coloring and spoke a language I had never heard. I asked his dad where they were from: Tahiti. So cool. [Don't they speak French in Tahiti? The kid was speaking a tongue that sounded nothing I had ever heard.]

Most of NZ is still pretty darn white. But you see "pioneer" immigrants in all the little towns. I believe NZ has a pretty tough immigration policy. But it's only a matter of time before NZ diversifies, I think. It's gotta be one of the most attractive places to start a new life. Plus, kiwis are so inherently open-minded, I imagine that foreigners are treated with respect and embraced in these communities.

I tell ya, Australiasia is up-and-coming. (Don't forget that they got oil and gas up the kazoo down here.)

I should also add that Auck has the best Chinese food I've ever tasted.

Mar. 4 -- Uckland

Mar. 4, 2009
Auckland
Back in the sizzle, trying to sell my rizzle...like every one else. When I bought the car, the exchange was .68; today it is .48 -- i.e., I got hosed.

Oddly, I've been able to keep track of the US economy simply by looking at the exchange rate. When the US markets go down, the NZ dollar exchange rate improves. Thus, without looking at the news, I could tell that Monday was a bad day for the US markets b/c the exchange improved from .52 on Friday to .48 today. It has gottten ridiculously cheap here -- good meals for $5 or less, OTD (no tax or gratuity).

I take back any comments I may have made previously about girls in NZ. Now that its the end of the summer and it's hot out, Auckland seems to me -- having been in the stix for so long -- like a teeming beehive of pretty girls. My hormones, after months remission, went berserk today. Why don't the girls hang out at Cape Turnagain {sigh}?

As I walk the streets, I instinctively feel the loose smile of the past few months turn to a furrowed brow, my "mug on mean". I stand taller, move with determination, send out the vibe that I know exactly what I am doing and you probably don't want to fuck with me. Commerce, traffic, diversity, noise, sirens, girls, fashion, pageantry, eye hockey, suits, low-lifes, drunks, tourons. This is my native environment. It's like I'm already home.

Mar. 3 -- Hotwater Bch, Coromandel

Mar. 3, 2009
Hot Water Bch


Super-pretty Hot Water Bch has a thermal spot where, at low tide, you can dig holes in the sand and create your own little hot tub. I watched the sunset with people from all over the world. It was all-time.

Hot Water is also a serious surf spot. There were 2 pros out there, and dear God, they were RIPPING. I knew something was going on while I was walking down the beach to the spot and saw this one dude pull the most impossibly long, stalled-out floater I have ever seen. There was a photographer, too.

I paddled out and was like, "dude, you're KILLING it!" and he heard my accent and he asked where I was from. Turns out dude grew up on the North Shore. I told him I had just read about a pro from Hot Water Bch who competed in the Rip Curl Pro over the weekend at Raglan, and said when I saw him surfing, I thought that I was seeing that guy. Mr. North Shore could have said then, "No, but I'm also a pro." But he didn't even say that! He was super-friendly, grew up with Jack Johnson. We talked out there and he never once said that he was a pro.

I found out this morning from a photographer from San Clemente that he is a "non-competing pro." (I'm still not sure what this means.)

Anyway, Mr. North Shore pulled something I still can't get over. In skating, I think you call it a 50/50 when you go up to the coping, stall for a sec, and then come back around backside. (Or, on a snow pipe, when you hit the top frontside, and quickly flip 270 to your right and drop back in.)

I've seen surfers pull 360s where they hit the lip, then slide backward for a sec, and then pull the board around. But this dude stuck the lip and flipped around 360 in one rapid motion. It was so RAW I still can't get over it.

March 2 -- Opoutere

March 2, 2009
Otoupere - "Thanks, legend."


I was awakened by the sound of someone waxing up their board. Seeing as Taranaki had been blown out and unrideable for days, and I just had done a major cross-island drive the night before in hopes of getting waves, that was a good sound to wake up to.

I am back in Otoupere on the Coromandel Peninsula -- the first place I visited back in Nov. when I finally escaped from Auckland. After all the mind-blowingly beautiful places I've seen, one might think that Otoupere would not be as impressive. Not so: Otupere is like an old lover you see after several years, and they look hot. The place is spectacular.

What really makes it is that the parking lot is 1/4 mile from the beach. You walk through the most amazing, thick forest and think, "there's no way this leads to a beach." And then you get to the little opening onto the dunes, and this spectacular 2 mile-wide white sand beach opens up before you. Not a single sign of development, totally pristine. As the expression goes, "good roads bring bad people; bad roads bring good people." The trail acts as a filter -- you get a much cooler crowd when there's a walk involved: nudists, naturalists, backpackers, etc. No RVs and lager louts, thank you.

I met a cool shaper and his gf from Auckland, and was super-stoked when he saw me get slotted this morning. The water is still warm, and on a sunny morning with no wind, it's about as pleasant as you can imagine.

Some kiwi teens asked me for some "wix", and I was happy to provide. When one kid gave the bar back, he said, "thanks, legend."

Do I really look that old?!

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.