Having nearly abandoned this blog in my final weeks in New Zealand, I thought it would be fitting to return one more time to bring it to a close. Tomorrow morning I'll be heading to Auckland airport to begin the trip home. After a full-day flight into Seoul Korea, I'll be staying at a - haha - Best Western hotel near the airport for the duration of my 16-hour layover. From there I'll leave Seoul at around 10:20 AM on May 4, arriving in Atlanta, GA at around roughly the same time (11 AM, May 4). The last, short haul will put me back in Cincinnati by 1:30 PM that day.
So - where to even begin... I've spent 3 1/2 months in a foreign country, away from family, friends and a very patient girlfriend (who I appreciate all the more for sticking by me through this -thank you, sweetheart). I made several attempts to find paying work without much success. Offering to work for no pay didn't provide me with many options either. This trip, to be honest, was nothing at all as I had expected it to be.
And yet, I'm leaving content. I haven't accomplished many resume-worthy feats. I've had to get creative with ways of staying busy during the week while my flatmate was at work. And I've become much, much more cynical at the prospect of finding a real job in print journalism. But with that all said - I'm content.
I've made some amazing friends and met some truly fascinating people. I've seen sights that no photography book could do justice. I've rekindled my love for soccer. I've gained 15 pounds as a result of my six-meals-a-day diet and frequent gym sessions. I've discovered my love for wine, hiking, biking, rock climbing and other general activities that don't require an Internet connection. I've walked through Mordor and canoed down the River Anduin from Fellowship of the Ring, allowing me to check off by far the geekiest must-do off my bucket list.
And while I would be lying if I said I wasn't ready to come home - I absolutely am - it wouldn't be fair to leave it at that. I've accomplished a great deal in some respects, and I wouldn't have traded the experience for the world.
Several nights ago, Will and I, along with a few friends that I've made during my time here, topped my trip off with a visit to New Zealand's most highly regarded restaurant, The French Cafe. We booked several months in advance and showed up looking pretty swank in our suits, ties (well, most of us) and spotless shoes. I'd love to go into detail about every course, but I lack the complex vocabulary that is necessary for describing the subtle AWESOMENESS of high-brow, extremely pricey, culinary bliss. If you're at all curious, a description of our 11-course meal can be found at their website here:
http://www.thefrenchcafe.co.nz/menus_cheftasting.html
All I can really say is that this was the first time I've ever eaten where I've walked away convinced that you truly do get what you pay for when it comes to food. It's not as simple as having a fancy name with a fancy menu and throwing together some fancy ingredients with a very fancy price tag. It's much, much more. Who would have thought that black truffle - a fungi/spore that grows in the ground - could make your taste buds dance? Chicken liver with apple caramels? Unbelievable. And, as it turns out, caviar really does live up to the hype.
I'd just like to end this final update with a personal thanks to my roommate and very good friend, Will. You have made this trip more than I could have ever hoped. Your thirst for adventure is contagious (albeit sometimes very tiring, haha). If anyone ever plans to visit New Zealand, this is truly the man you should have by your side. So to the best tour guide I've ever known, thank you.
See you all soon,
John
Friday, May 1, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Good Things Are Coming
The joy (or curse) of laptops is that you can take them practically anywhere. No longer does one need to feel limited to his or her traditional workspace via desk and/or cubicle. In a society that has an ingrained desire to be 'plugged in' every waking hour, this convenience is almost a necessity. I, sadly, must admit to being a product of said society. Several days without the World Wide Web creates a sort of void in my technologically-deprived soul that can only be satiated by a trip to digg.com to get my fill of news, or maybe quench my social-stalking thirst through facebook like 200 million other individuals in the world (I didn't make that number up). The point being, we as 21st-century citizens of mother Earth need our virtual world almost as much as we need the real one around us. Hell, I even know of a particular aquaintance of mine who insists on taking their (ambiguous pronoun for increased anonymity!) laptop to the toilet with them when nature calls. Quod erat demonstrandum.
Alas, my initial point has been lost in this sudden ramble of computer obsession. I am currently typing this blog update whilst lying in my newly-relocated abode on a warm, comfy bed. Will and I have just moved into his mother's beach-side apartment while she is away in America for several months. And although the move comes with many perks, a desk is not one of them. However, there is certainly something to be said about the particular satisfaction that comes from operating such an advanced piece of equipment in just my briefs (rereading this sentence I am literally laughing out loud at the potential innuendos), sprawled out on a glorious, firm mattress. I think these neo-business model corporations like Google should take note and do away with employee cubicles in exchange for goose down comforters. It's just crazy enough to work.
Speaking of crazy, I'll segue into the next, entirely unrelated part of my update with a recent incident. Earlier today I was walking along a busy street in a local shopping area when an older man stepped up next to me and said, "How are you enjoying your stay here?" I was, as you can imagine, a little thrown off by the question. I looked over at him thinking I'd been approached by someone I knew and was surprised to find I had absolutely no idea who he was. I assumed I had mistaken his question for meaning my stay in the local shopping area, so I just replied, "Fine, thank you." He then said to me, "Enjoying being back?" Now I was confused. Somehow this man knew I wasn't from the area (granted, I suppose my three accented words could have given that much away) and that this wasn't my first time in New Zealand. The strangest thing of all was that I didn't at any point in this conversation think to ask if I knew him from somewhere. We had some brief small talk about the economy (what else) and I even commented on the fact that I was from Ohio, curious as if he'd somehow know that too. But when I said Ohio, he simply replied "Well hello to you too." This response left me more confused, but my best guess is he was making a joke, since Ohayou (pronounced O-ha-yoh) is essentially "Good Morning" in Japanese. Needless to say, the conversation was getting more bizarre by the second, but I was strangely enjoying it. Me and this odd man with a bad limp were talking as if we really knew each other - not just a quick comment on the weather with a stranger. As our conversation was coming to a close (I was about to turn down a street) I mentioned that I was staying with a friend that I'd gone to King's College with 8 years ago. His reply: "Ah yes, I know. You would get off the train here in town occasionally." It seems insane, but at the time I just commented that he was correct (he was) and then I said goodbye. As I was walking away the last thing he yelled to me was, "Enjoy the rest of your time here. Good things are coming your way!"
There are moments we all look back on that we have to ask ourselves if they really happened. If this particular one wasn't so fresh in my mind I'd have to ask myself exactly that. My rational side just wants to write this whole incident off as a very coincidental conversation with a man who was in all likelihood a bit of a crazie, albeit a nice and sociable one. The other side is left wondering if I should go buy a lottery ticket, since if by some divine intervention a nice fellow on the street just truly prophesized that good things were around the bend (a joke, of course - the lottery ticket bit I mean). Honestly though, I guess what surprises me the most is just looking back on the conversation, awe-struck at how it all went down so nonchalant and effortless and it wasn't until I was left standing in the street with a look of vast confusion that I began to wonder.
I'm truly as confused as you, dear reader. And to be honest, I'm not really all that concerned. It makes a great story (in my opinion) and the worst case scenario is I did just have an interesting talk with a guy who didn't quite have all his marbles left. To be even more honest, I have absolutely no clue what the best case scenario is. I'd like to think I'll know around the bend.
Comfy,
John
Alas, my initial point has been lost in this sudden ramble of computer obsession. I am currently typing this blog update whilst lying in my newly-relocated abode on a warm, comfy bed. Will and I have just moved into his mother's beach-side apartment while she is away in America for several months. And although the move comes with many perks, a desk is not one of them. However, there is certainly something to be said about the particular satisfaction that comes from operating such an advanced piece of equipment in just my briefs (rereading this sentence I am literally laughing out loud at the potential innuendos), sprawled out on a glorious, firm mattress. I think these neo-business model corporations like Google should take note and do away with employee cubicles in exchange for goose down comforters. It's just crazy enough to work.
Speaking of crazy, I'll segue into the next, entirely unrelated part of my update with a recent incident. Earlier today I was walking along a busy street in a local shopping area when an older man stepped up next to me and said, "How are you enjoying your stay here?" I was, as you can imagine, a little thrown off by the question. I looked over at him thinking I'd been approached by someone I knew and was surprised to find I had absolutely no idea who he was. I assumed I had mistaken his question for meaning my stay in the local shopping area, so I just replied, "Fine, thank you." He then said to me, "Enjoying being back?" Now I was confused. Somehow this man knew I wasn't from the area (granted, I suppose my three accented words could have given that much away) and that this wasn't my first time in New Zealand. The strangest thing of all was that I didn't at any point in this conversation think to ask if I knew him from somewhere. We had some brief small talk about the economy (what else) and I even commented on the fact that I was from Ohio, curious as if he'd somehow know that too. But when I said Ohio, he simply replied "Well hello to you too." This response left me more confused, but my best guess is he was making a joke, since Ohayou (pronounced O-ha-yoh) is essentially "Good Morning" in Japanese. Needless to say, the conversation was getting more bizarre by the second, but I was strangely enjoying it. Me and this odd man with a bad limp were talking as if we really knew each other - not just a quick comment on the weather with a stranger. As our conversation was coming to a close (I was about to turn down a street) I mentioned that I was staying with a friend that I'd gone to King's College with 8 years ago. His reply: "Ah yes, I know. You would get off the train here in town occasionally." It seems insane, but at the time I just commented that he was correct (he was) and then I said goodbye. As I was walking away the last thing he yelled to me was, "Enjoy the rest of your time here. Good things are coming your way!"
There are moments we all look back on that we have to ask ourselves if they really happened. If this particular one wasn't so fresh in my mind I'd have to ask myself exactly that. My rational side just wants to write this whole incident off as a very coincidental conversation with a man who was in all likelihood a bit of a crazie, albeit a nice and sociable one. The other side is left wondering if I should go buy a lottery ticket, since if by some divine intervention a nice fellow on the street just truly prophesized that good things were around the bend (a joke, of course - the lottery ticket bit I mean). Honestly though, I guess what surprises me the most is just looking back on the conversation, awe-struck at how it all went down so nonchalant and effortless and it wasn't until I was left standing in the street with a look of vast confusion that I began to wonder.
I'm truly as confused as you, dear reader. And to be honest, I'm not really all that concerned. It makes a great story (in my opinion) and the worst case scenario is I did just have an interesting talk with a guy who didn't quite have all his marbles left. To be even more honest, I have absolutely no clue what the best case scenario is. I'd like to think I'll know around the bend.
Comfy,
John
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
One Does Not Simply Walk Into Mordor
Edit: This is an old update that I had to re-post because the formatting was screwy. Sorry for the confusion. I'm sure to have something interesting to say within the week. I hope. =)
I want to apologize for the lack of updates recently. There’s no good reason for it aside from my own inability to plop my butt down on this stool and start typing – something that, once you do it on a regular basis, begins to feel more like work than fun. And that’s the double-edged sword of writing. When it’s good, when I’m enjoying it, it’s truly one of the most fulfilling experiences I can have. And when you first get inspired to start writing something, this blog for example, you feel as though you’re doing it voluntarily (which is, of course, the truth even now) and your creative mind is on fire, and words literally leap onto the page before you know it. Then it gets harder. It always gets harder. The peculiar phenomenon of writing is that it is one of the few things in this world that the more you do it, the more you learn, the harder and harder it gets.
But enough! This blog is not my virtual notepad for unloading the woes of my own writer’s block – a slippery slope indeed, since when one can’t think of anything to write it’s easy to succumb to the urge to write about that.Yet here I am, halfway around the world from my place I call home, having new experiences ‘on the regular’ and I dare complain that there is nothing to write about. Of course there is.
The highlight, recently, was spending a weekend at National Park at a friend’s bach (which I’ve been told I’ve been incorrectly spelling as ‘batch,’ short for bachelor). Along with two friends (Will and Josef) I walked the Tongariro Crossing and saw arguably the most beautiful sights I’ve come across in my time here. Although Tongariro Crossing probably means nothing to most of the readers here, Mordor might ring a bell for fellow Lord of the Rings fans. I hadn’t expected another opportunity to arise during my time here to experience another LOTR location, and it wasn’t until I was literally standing at the summit of an enormous, ice-peaked mountain that I was informed it was the Mt. Doom. The geek inside me almost couldn’t control itself.
Unfortunately, I’ve fallen under somewhat of a technological curse on this trip when it comes to cameras. The first night I arrived I dropped mine on the sandy beach, sending it straight to “Lens Error” hell never to return. My mother was kind enough to mail me hers, which I’ve yet to destroy in a similar fashion but plagued nonetheless by constant issues, mostly of my doing. On one particular trip, I brought the camera but not the memory card – on another, the camera but not the battery. On this trip, however, I remembered to bring everything. And thus, the Gods of Canon Digital Cameras saw fit to punish me. With an entirely new error that I’d never knew existed: “Memory Card Error.” I felt like Michael Bolton from Office Space (“PC Load Letter? What the (profanity) is that?”).
Sad to say, I currently have no pictures of this wondrous trip (wondrous is a terrible adjective, by the way, but as I said – it gets harder). However, my friend Josef was sure to take dozens upon dozens of pictures that I will soon acquire so that I can share with you my experience in Lord of The Ringsdom.
Just a few details about the hike: It was long. Really long. Roughly 21k (13 miles), which doesn’t even begin to do it justice because nearly half of that was a grueling uphill battle while the other half was an equally-slash-more painful down (note: knees begin to give out long before your 30s). Also, unlike most of my weekend adventures with Will, this hike was packed with people. I mean hundreds. This hike is the second most popular in New Zealand and this was certainly evident within the first 20 minutes, when I heard accents and languages from all around the world as we continually passed people along the way. Also a side note: people don’t like to be “passed.” For whatever reason, even though one might acknowledge they’re not in the best of shape, they don’t need three young men in clearly better shape to remind them. We received quite a few unfriendly stares (probably French. Haha, just kidding. But seriously). One woman even exclaimed “there goes them boys again passing everyone!” We wore these intended insults as a badge of honor.
My final observation before I end this much-needed update. Hiking for the masses can be a hilarious experience. Toward the end of this epic trek through Mordor I began to notice a pattern. It began as a subtle grumble, an occasional “are we there yet?” (okay, that one was me) but soon escalated into what can best be described as the baa-ing of sheep, an overlapping noise of people complaining of tiredness, soreness, hunger(ness!?). The smiles of mother nature’s beauty were turned upside down at the thoughts of warm showers and hot food. Happiness had – to appropriately steal a quote from Lord of the Rings – suddenly “forsaken this land.” In the end, nobody wanted to be walking aimlessly anymore. And to that, I wonder, why people would voluntarily make themselves so miserable when there are plenty of things in this world to do it for them. No matter where you go in the world, you can’t get away from the masochists.
That concludes this update. Hope you’re still reading. Sorry if you thought I’d given up on this. Love you and miss you all.
Fit as a fiddle,
John
I want to apologize for the lack of updates recently. There’s no good reason for it aside from my own inability to plop my butt down on this stool and start typing – something that, once you do it on a regular basis, begins to feel more like work than fun. And that’s the double-edged sword of writing. When it’s good, when I’m enjoying it, it’s truly one of the most fulfilling experiences I can have. And when you first get inspired to start writing something, this blog for example, you feel as though you’re doing it voluntarily (which is, of course, the truth even now) and your creative mind is on fire, and words literally leap onto the page before you know it. Then it gets harder. It always gets harder. The peculiar phenomenon of writing is that it is one of the few things in this world that the more you do it, the more you learn, the harder and harder it gets.
But enough! This blog is not my virtual notepad for unloading the woes of my own writer’s block – a slippery slope indeed, since when one can’t think of anything to write it’s easy to succumb to the urge to write about that.Yet here I am, halfway around the world from my place I call home, having new experiences ‘on the regular’ and I dare complain that there is nothing to write about. Of course there is.
The highlight, recently, was spending a weekend at National Park at a friend’s bach (which I’ve been told I’ve been incorrectly spelling as ‘batch,’ short for bachelor). Along with two friends (Will and Josef) I walked the Tongariro Crossing and saw arguably the most beautiful sights I’ve come across in my time here. Although Tongariro Crossing probably means nothing to most of the readers here, Mordor might ring a bell for fellow Lord of the Rings fans. I hadn’t expected another opportunity to arise during my time here to experience another LOTR location, and it wasn’t until I was literally standing at the summit of an enormous, ice-peaked mountain that I was informed it was the Mt. Doom. The geek inside me almost couldn’t control itself.
Unfortunately, I’ve fallen under somewhat of a technological curse on this trip when it comes to cameras. The first night I arrived I dropped mine on the sandy beach, sending it straight to “Lens Error” hell never to return. My mother was kind enough to mail me hers, which I’ve yet to destroy in a similar fashion but plagued nonetheless by constant issues, mostly of my doing. On one particular trip, I brought the camera but not the memory card – on another, the camera but not the battery. On this trip, however, I remembered to bring everything. And thus, the Gods of Canon Digital Cameras saw fit to punish me. With an entirely new error that I’d never knew existed: “Memory Card Error.” I felt like Michael Bolton from Office Space (“PC Load Letter? What the (profanity) is that?”).
Sad to say, I currently have no pictures of this wondrous trip (wondrous is a terrible adjective, by the way, but as I said – it gets harder). However, my friend Josef was sure to take dozens upon dozens of pictures that I will soon acquire so that I can share with you my experience in Lord of The Ringsdom.
Just a few details about the hike: It was long. Really long. Roughly 21k (13 miles), which doesn’t even begin to do it justice because nearly half of that was a grueling uphill battle while the other half was an equally-slash-more painful down (note: knees begin to give out long before your 30s). Also, unlike most of my weekend adventures with Will, this hike was packed with people. I mean hundreds. This hike is the second most popular in New Zealand and this was certainly evident within the first 20 minutes, when I heard accents and languages from all around the world as we continually passed people along the way. Also a side note: people don’t like to be “passed.” For whatever reason, even though one might acknowledge they’re not in the best of shape, they don’t need three young men in clearly better shape to remind them. We received quite a few unfriendly stares (probably French. Haha, just kidding. But seriously). One woman even exclaimed “there goes them boys again passing everyone!” We wore these intended insults as a badge of honor.
My final observation before I end this much-needed update. Hiking for the masses can be a hilarious experience. Toward the end of this epic trek through Mordor I began to notice a pattern. It began as a subtle grumble, an occasional “are we there yet?” (okay, that one was me) but soon escalated into what can best be described as the baa-ing of sheep, an overlapping noise of people complaining of tiredness, soreness, hunger(ness!?). The smiles of mother nature’s beauty were turned upside down at the thoughts of warm showers and hot food. Happiness had – to appropriately steal a quote from Lord of the Rings – suddenly “forsaken this land.” In the end, nobody wanted to be walking aimlessly anymore. And to that, I wonder, why people would voluntarily make themselves so miserable when there are plenty of things in this world to do it for them. No matter where you go in the world, you can’t get away from the masochists.
That concludes this update. Hope you’re still reading. Sorry if you thought I’d given up on this. Love you and miss you all.
Fit as a fiddle,
John
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Far From Home
A few days ago I returned from my 1-week trip at Will's holiday batch on Kawau Island. The week consisted of mostly relaxing, reading and grilling out every evening. We gave ourselves a rest from technology and left the Internet and television behind, which, aside from not being able to stay in touch with those close to me (and yet, so far away), was pretty refreshing.
Throughout the week we'd come up with little activities between our long reading sessions to keep things fresh. For starters, each day we'd run out to the end of the wharf and dive headfirst into the beautiful blue. Or, rather, Will would dive while Andrew (a friend of ours) and I attempted to mimic the technique. It appears that diving - like whistling - is one of those things I missed out on in my childhood. And, just like whistling, it's not exactly the easiest thing to pick up later in life. It basically went down like this: Will attempts a pretty basic dive, provides some pretty basic information, and I pretty-much complicate the hell out of it with my then failed attempt. In doing so, I somehow managed to harm parts of my body that should never be hitting the water in such painful ways. Once even, I landed face-first. Which is mighty impressive, sicne I was pretty confident that my hands, which came in a close second, were in front of my face. Pain. Lots of pain.
Of course, no trip would be complete with Will if it didn't include a few walks, so we were able to see a lot of the island as long as weather allowed (which, for the most part, it did). And, along the way, I remembered to bring my camera and took plenty of pictures of this mini utopia.A few more friends joined us during the week and we spent our evenings as any young adults on a near-deserted island with a fridge full of alcohol would: drinking. As not to suggest to readers that this was merely a pointless and unrewarding event during my week, I'd like to point out - au contraire - it was quite educational. During our evenings I learned a little about New Zealand drinking culture and will be taking back with me a few hilarious drinking games to share with friends. I'm sure my parents are so proud.
I'm past the halfway mark of my trip now and I'm starting to have a feeling of urgency. Part of me - the part that has been ingrained in my brain since I left adolescence - feels that I've accomplished nothing. Thus far I have published no work abroad or stepped foot inside a newsroom other than to speak with an editor about my interest in finding work - paid or unpaid. But, the other part of me, the part of me that likes to say the hell with the rat race and the conformed attitude that success is gauged by career accomplishments, feels that I'll be coming home with so much more than I left with. For one, I have a better understanding about what matters most to me, what makes me a better person with and without certain parts of my life. I understand more now than I did as a young teen living in New Zealand how big this world is and how much bigger than me it always has been.
None of these things will brighten up my resume in the least. Thankfully, that latter part of me is the standout. And - for the moment - I'm okay with that.
Closer now,
John
Monday, March 2, 2009
A River Runs Through It
Despite my unsuccessful attempts at acquiring work thus far, I'm finding it extremely difficult to not enjoy myself. This weekend being a prime example.
Will and I, along with seven of Will's friends, went on a 3-day canoe trip down the Wanganui River this past weekend. To be more accurate, the nine of us went on what was planned to be a 3-day canoe trip, but was shortened to two due to extreme weather conditions on Saturday. Some of you who are reading this have probably seen the Wanganui River without even realizing it, as it appears in the first installment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy when the fellowship of the ring (also, now that I think of it, called the fellowship of the nine) travel out of the Elvin city along the river on canoes. Before coming to New Zealand I made myself a promise that I would see something during my stay affiliated with this favorite trilogy of mine, and now I can officially check that one off the list.
We were informed by the owner's of the canoe tour (cleverly named Blazing Paddles) on Saturday morning that the winds were just too strong - along with off-and-on rain - to allow us to get on the river as planned. So, instead, the nine of us decided we'd make the best of our day and see what the area had to offer. We decided we would head to a local backpackers area that housed a climbing wall. On the way there, we realized the decision to delay the trip for a day was probably a good one. Along the road to our destination were half a dozen trees that had fallen over and blocked our way. The alpha males in our group (oh yeah - myself included) figured we could, as a group, move them out of the way. My only comfort is that none of you reading this will ever see pictures of how large these trees were, because thinking now that we even attempted such a ego-inflated act is embarrassing. Needless to say, they didn't budge.
Thankfully, we had a map, as all good adventurers should (or boy scouts - Thanks Will). We took a fairly long detour/back road that got us where we needed to go. As they say, it's the journey, not the destination. And it's times like taking hour detours in a car through one of the most gorgeous countries on this planet that you really get what that means. I won't bother attempting to detail some of the incredible countryside that I saw this past weekend (it would only be an injustice), and I can only apologize that I mistakenly left my SD card in my laptop without realizing it, rendering my camera useless.
After a few hours of rock climbing we headed to the hot springs. A nice, relaxing heated pool along with a good meal and we headed back to the lodge to finish out our day. We mostly sat around and watched movies, talked and played scrabble (under a bizarre set of made-up-on-the-spot rules), excited to start the trip on Sunday.
Thankfully, Sunday's weather was much more canoe-friendly, and we were on the river by 10 am that morning. We were split up into four canoes (seated 2 each) and one kayak for the ninth person. Will and I shared a canoe, and agreed that I should take the front ('the navigator') while he, the heavier of the two of us, took the back. Essentially my job was to 'lead' the direction of the canoe while he compensated and helped steer, along with using a bailer (a milk jug cut in half) to empty the canoe of water after heavy rapids.
This, of course, created an interesting dynamic at first. Will and I are both pretty headstrong guys. Will, even more so than myself, likes things done his way and is pretty comfortable giving orders (in a very appropriate way - since I know he's reading this I'll make sure to clarify he's by no means a pushy guy) But what Will didn't seem to grasp is that I was the navigator. The big Kahuna. The captain of this particular vessel, if you will. After having orders shouted at me for the first hour, I finally decided to put good ole' Willy in his place and let him know that when I say paddle left, he'd better be paddling left. Let's just say that Wills a great sport, and - for the most part - put up with my mini-power trip like a pro. We ended up working extremely well together and were usually the first, and sometimes only, canoe heading dead into the rapids. Granted, this backfired on more than one occasion when we smacked over the top of a too-shallow rock that we should have avoided, but I can only blame Will who was too busy laughing himself to death in the back instead of paddling. Apparently he thought my navigator persona whilst going over rapids was something to laugh at. But I take manning my vessel very seriously, and if that means I've gotta be obnoxious and proclaim 'THAR BE RAPIDS AHEAD" in my best pirate voice, then so be it.
Everyone, for the most part, handled the rapids extremely well - especially considering there was quite a bit of cabrewing going on. There was, however, one incident that gave us a little scare. Will and I had just paddled through some pretty intense rapids and were laughing away when we noticed that the rest of the group wasn't with us. We turned around and it appeared that in those ten seconds all hell had broke loose. One pair had beached their canoe upon a bank, one canoe had flipped over entirely and both the guys were clinging on to it attempting to make it to shore, all the while the kayak was stuck in a fallen tree along the bank with scary-fast rapids pouring over it, with our friend still inside.
Will and I were the only canoe in position to collect one of the water-sealed barrels that housed food/clothes from the flipped canoe. We grabbed that and then started paddling back upstream (not an easy/fun feat) to help however we could. We beached our canoe on the opposite bank of the trapped kayak and swam out as far as we could into the river to help the two that had fallen out of their canoe and were trying their best to hang on to it. While this was happening, our friend Steven, the guy in the kayak, had freed himself but was now stranded on the other side of the river. His kayak, meanwhile, was clearly trapped beneath this fallen tree in the water. We carried two canoes up along the bank until we were far enough along to attempt to get Steven and the kayak out. The other pair grabbed Steven, while Will and I attempted to loosen the kayak from the tree. Let me just say this was by far the most frustrating moment of the entire trip. We made a perfect line along the rapids to bring us along side the kayak, only to find that it was indeed very stuck. After a few minutes of struggling with every means possible to kick it free, we lost our hold on the tree and were pulled back down river. Another pair gave it an attempt and, this time, the kayak was freed after one of the girls (who, to be honest, had more guts than any of us guys), decided to climb OUT of the canoe along the fallen tree and free the kayak with her hands, then let herself float along the rapids (with the aid of a life jacket, of course) to the other shore.
Apparently what happened is that one of the canoes took on too much water during that stretch of rapid, which in turn caused it to capsize from the weight. Steven saw this happening so he attempted to help but got caught in a strong rapid that slammed him against the opposite bank, along the fallen tree where he was trapped. Incidentally, Steven put himself at the most risk as he was pulled under water by the pressure of the rapids and - ironically - held there because his life preserver kept him from being able to go deep enough under the water to come out the other side. Considering the obvious panic he was in, he handled the situation really well and was able to break away from the kayak and onto shore.
The entire incident lasted over an hour, but thankfully everyone walked away unscathed. It was certainly a reminder for all of us to stay close to one another for the remainder of the two-day trip, knowing that things could have gone a different direction if we hadn't all been close to help one another out.
Having said all that, of the roughly 12 hours we spent on the Wanganui River, I'd guess around 30 minutes or less were actual rapids. It was, for the most part, a calm, sight-seeing joy ride that took us 50 kilometers across the water.
We made it to the camp site on Saturday evening 36 kilometers into the trip. Everyone immediately go to work setting up tents, organizing food and collecting whatever dry wood and branches we could find on the beach to make a bonfire. We had the makings of a pretty decent fire going just before the rain came again. We ran to our shelter and waited it out. Twenty minutes later it was nothing but blue skies. Again, the fire burned. And again, the rain came. Anyone who has lived in New Zealand or visited for an extensive time can attest to the insanity of its weather. After another 30 minutes there were literally almost no clouds to be seen in the sky. This time the rain stayed away, and we had a nice fire going just before dark.
Now, I don't know if it was the beers by the fire, the day's adventure, or just the camaraderie that comes along with partaking in a trip such as this one together, but some of the most fun we had on this 3-day trip was sitting in front of the flames and just talking, roasting marshmallows and - yes - singing. That was honestly the best. Thankfully, our group of nine was blessed with a few talented voices to carry the rest of us, but I don't think it would have mattered anyway. Someone would just start singing the chorus to some popular '80s hit and then the next would jump to a favorite Disney tune. I think we pretty much ran the musical gamut that night. But of all the memories that I will take with me from this weekend trip, sitting in front of a warm fire, under an indescribable starlit sky and singing cheesy pop hits with friends will certainly be the most lasting.
Will and I called it quits around 11:30 that night and headed to our tent. We were still filthy and wet, so we pretty much just stripped down to undies and, very heterosexually, shared an air mattress and blanket. That night Will woke up to the sound of TWO somethings breathing in the tent, only to discover that a possum had decided to curl up right outside our insect net next to us. What we didn't know until the next morning is that it clearly hadn't been the only thing attempting to join us. I'd suggest my mother stop reading here, unless she wants to know that we discovered quite a few large rats on the camp site, along with dozens of (HUGE) prints across the top of our tent where they'd attempted to find a way in.
We got up the next morning (Monday) - very sore - ready to finish off the last bit of the river (around 20 kilometers). It felt like it ended almost as quickly as it began, and we were packed up and back to our cars around 4 pm. We all said our goodbyes and I turned the page in that chapter.
Tomorrow morning I'm heading to Will's batch in Kauwa Island, and I'll be gone for a week. There won't be any Internet connection so I won't be updating for at least that amount of time. I hope everyone is still doing well and please don't hesitate to shoot me an e-mail. I love you and miss you all.
Paddling pro,
Captain John
Will and I, along with seven of Will's friends, went on a 3-day canoe trip down the Wanganui River this past weekend. To be more accurate, the nine of us went on what was planned to be a 3-day canoe trip, but was shortened to two due to extreme weather conditions on Saturday. Some of you who are reading this have probably seen the Wanganui River without even realizing it, as it appears in the first installment of the Lord of the Rings trilogy when the fellowship of the ring (also, now that I think of it, called the fellowship of the nine) travel out of the Elvin city along the river on canoes. Before coming to New Zealand I made myself a promise that I would see something during my stay affiliated with this favorite trilogy of mine, and now I can officially check that one off the list.
We were informed by the owner's of the canoe tour (cleverly named Blazing Paddles) on Saturday morning that the winds were just too strong - along with off-and-on rain - to allow us to get on the river as planned. So, instead, the nine of us decided we'd make the best of our day and see what the area had to offer. We decided we would head to a local backpackers area that housed a climbing wall. On the way there, we realized the decision to delay the trip for a day was probably a good one. Along the road to our destination were half a dozen trees that had fallen over and blocked our way. The alpha males in our group (oh yeah - myself included) figured we could, as a group, move them out of the way. My only comfort is that none of you reading this will ever see pictures of how large these trees were, because thinking now that we even attempted such a ego-inflated act is embarrassing. Needless to say, they didn't budge.
Thankfully, we had a map, as all good adventurers should (or boy scouts - Thanks Will). We took a fairly long detour/back road that got us where we needed to go. As they say, it's the journey, not the destination. And it's times like taking hour detours in a car through one of the most gorgeous countries on this planet that you really get what that means. I won't bother attempting to detail some of the incredible countryside that I saw this past weekend (it would only be an injustice), and I can only apologize that I mistakenly left my SD card in my laptop without realizing it, rendering my camera useless.
After a few hours of rock climbing we headed to the hot springs. A nice, relaxing heated pool along with a good meal and we headed back to the lodge to finish out our day. We mostly sat around and watched movies, talked and played scrabble (under a bizarre set of made-up-on-the-spot rules), excited to start the trip on Sunday.
Thankfully, Sunday's weather was much more canoe-friendly, and we were on the river by 10 am that morning. We were split up into four canoes (seated 2 each) and one kayak for the ninth person. Will and I shared a canoe, and agreed that I should take the front ('the navigator') while he, the heavier of the two of us, took the back. Essentially my job was to 'lead' the direction of the canoe while he compensated and helped steer, along with using a bailer (a milk jug cut in half) to empty the canoe of water after heavy rapids.
This, of course, created an interesting dynamic at first. Will and I are both pretty headstrong guys. Will, even more so than myself, likes things done his way and is pretty comfortable giving orders (in a very appropriate way - since I know he's reading this I'll make sure to clarify he's by no means a pushy guy) But what Will didn't seem to grasp is that I was the navigator. The big Kahuna. The captain of this particular vessel, if you will. After having orders shouted at me for the first hour, I finally decided to put good ole' Willy in his place and let him know that when I say paddle left, he'd better be paddling left. Let's just say that Wills a great sport, and - for the most part - put up with my mini-power trip like a pro. We ended up working extremely well together and were usually the first, and sometimes only, canoe heading dead into the rapids. Granted, this backfired on more than one occasion when we smacked over the top of a too-shallow rock that we should have avoided, but I can only blame Will who was too busy laughing himself to death in the back instead of paddling. Apparently he thought my navigator persona whilst going over rapids was something to laugh at. But I take manning my vessel very seriously, and if that means I've gotta be obnoxious and proclaim 'THAR BE RAPIDS AHEAD" in my best pirate voice, then so be it.
Everyone, for the most part, handled the rapids extremely well - especially considering there was quite a bit of cabrewing going on. There was, however, one incident that gave us a little scare. Will and I had just paddled through some pretty intense rapids and were laughing away when we noticed that the rest of the group wasn't with us. We turned around and it appeared that in those ten seconds all hell had broke loose. One pair had beached their canoe upon a bank, one canoe had flipped over entirely and both the guys were clinging on to it attempting to make it to shore, all the while the kayak was stuck in a fallen tree along the bank with scary-fast rapids pouring over it, with our friend still inside.
Will and I were the only canoe in position to collect one of the water-sealed barrels that housed food/clothes from the flipped canoe. We grabbed that and then started paddling back upstream (not an easy/fun feat) to help however we could. We beached our canoe on the opposite bank of the trapped kayak and swam out as far as we could into the river to help the two that had fallen out of their canoe and were trying their best to hang on to it. While this was happening, our friend Steven, the guy in the kayak, had freed himself but was now stranded on the other side of the river. His kayak, meanwhile, was clearly trapped beneath this fallen tree in the water. We carried two canoes up along the bank until we were far enough along to attempt to get Steven and the kayak out. The other pair grabbed Steven, while Will and I attempted to loosen the kayak from the tree. Let me just say this was by far the most frustrating moment of the entire trip. We made a perfect line along the rapids to bring us along side the kayak, only to find that it was indeed very stuck. After a few minutes of struggling with every means possible to kick it free, we lost our hold on the tree and were pulled back down river. Another pair gave it an attempt and, this time, the kayak was freed after one of the girls (who, to be honest, had more guts than any of us guys), decided to climb OUT of the canoe along the fallen tree and free the kayak with her hands, then let herself float along the rapids (with the aid of a life jacket, of course) to the other shore.
Apparently what happened is that one of the canoes took on too much water during that stretch of rapid, which in turn caused it to capsize from the weight. Steven saw this happening so he attempted to help but got caught in a strong rapid that slammed him against the opposite bank, along the fallen tree where he was trapped. Incidentally, Steven put himself at the most risk as he was pulled under water by the pressure of the rapids and - ironically - held there because his life preserver kept him from being able to go deep enough under the water to come out the other side. Considering the obvious panic he was in, he handled the situation really well and was able to break away from the kayak and onto shore.
The entire incident lasted over an hour, but thankfully everyone walked away unscathed. It was certainly a reminder for all of us to stay close to one another for the remainder of the two-day trip, knowing that things could have gone a different direction if we hadn't all been close to help one another out.
Having said all that, of the roughly 12 hours we spent on the Wanganui River, I'd guess around 30 minutes or less were actual rapids. It was, for the most part, a calm, sight-seeing joy ride that took us 50 kilometers across the water.
We made it to the camp site on Saturday evening 36 kilometers into the trip. Everyone immediately go to work setting up tents, organizing food and collecting whatever dry wood and branches we could find on the beach to make a bonfire. We had the makings of a pretty decent fire going just before the rain came again. We ran to our shelter and waited it out. Twenty minutes later it was nothing but blue skies. Again, the fire burned. And again, the rain came. Anyone who has lived in New Zealand or visited for an extensive time can attest to the insanity of its weather. After another 30 minutes there were literally almost no clouds to be seen in the sky. This time the rain stayed away, and we had a nice fire going just before dark.
Now, I don't know if it was the beers by the fire, the day's adventure, or just the camaraderie that comes along with partaking in a trip such as this one together, but some of the most fun we had on this 3-day trip was sitting in front of the flames and just talking, roasting marshmallows and - yes - singing. That was honestly the best. Thankfully, our group of nine was blessed with a few talented voices to carry the rest of us, but I don't think it would have mattered anyway. Someone would just start singing the chorus to some popular '80s hit and then the next would jump to a favorite Disney tune. I think we pretty much ran the musical gamut that night. But of all the memories that I will take with me from this weekend trip, sitting in front of a warm fire, under an indescribable starlit sky and singing cheesy pop hits with friends will certainly be the most lasting.
Will and I called it quits around 11:30 that night and headed to our tent. We were still filthy and wet, so we pretty much just stripped down to undies and, very heterosexually, shared an air mattress and blanket. That night Will woke up to the sound of TWO somethings breathing in the tent, only to discover that a possum had decided to curl up right outside our insect net next to us. What we didn't know until the next morning is that it clearly hadn't been the only thing attempting to join us. I'd suggest my mother stop reading here, unless she wants to know that we discovered quite a few large rats on the camp site, along with dozens of (HUGE) prints across the top of our tent where they'd attempted to find a way in.
We got up the next morning (Monday) - very sore - ready to finish off the last bit of the river (around 20 kilometers). It felt like it ended almost as quickly as it began, and we were packed up and back to our cars around 4 pm. We all said our goodbyes and I turned the page in that chapter.
Tomorrow morning I'm heading to Will's batch in Kauwa Island, and I'll be gone for a week. There won't be any Internet connection so I won't be updating for at least that amount of time. I hope everyone is still doing well and please don't hesitate to shoot me an e-mail. I love you and miss you all.
Paddling pro,
Captain John
Monday, February 23, 2009
Papa Can't Afford a Brand New Bag
I'm venturing into week six of my 15-week trip and I'm still struggling to find someone who thinks my services are worth actual payment. I knew going into journalism I was entering a career that would provide some struggles in the monetary realm, and that was a fact that I was okay with. What I'm less okay with, and what is sometimes difficult to wrap my head around, is how I managed to pick the one field that is considered by all accounts to be a dying one. Bankruptcy is likely at the doorstep of every major newspaper in the world over the next 5-10 years. Magazines, my breed of interests, are fairing a little better, but I would suspect they're not far behind either.The Internet, arguably the most powerful tool for information available, is the dirty little culprit. And the fact that this surprises me - the man who wakes up every morning and catches up on his news with a few clicks of the mouse - is quite sad. Will this technological beast be a provider of jobs to aspiring journalists like myself? I think only time will tell, but I'm not incredibly optimistic about it.
That hoopla aside, I did meet with the editor of local news-magazine The Aucklander and had a little chit-chat about potential work in the area. He's currently looking into a copy editing position for a local printing press that would, if possible, pay for my services - an exciting and rare transaction that occasionally happens in this kind of work. Admittedly, copy editing is far from my forte as I grew up in the spell check age and used it to its full potential. But they don't need to know that.
As far as recent events, this past Sunday Will and I went to Bethells Beach on the west cost for a nice morning hike. For the most part, nothing different from our usual hikes: beautiful weather and breath-taking scenery. Your typical Utopian paradise. I'm sure you understand. No really. Go turn up your heater. You're probably freezing.
The event worthy of note, however, was our abseiling adventure down another hill/cliff/mountain/all-of-the-above. On this particular day the ground was extremely muddy. And, as one might expect, mud+abseiling is likely a recipe for disaster. To clarify, to be able to successfully scale down a hill with a rope, you need to be able to plant your feet firmly to the ground, which in turns shifts your body weight to your legs and holds you in place.
What Will and I managed to do wasn't abseiling, per se. It was more like mudsliding, backwards, whilst gripping a rope for dear life - in style. Will assured me it was perfectly safe, but in our little duo I'm typically the voice of reason. And by voice of reason I mean I'm the only friend who cares enough to tell Will when he's being an idiot. This was one of those times. I got myself into a situation where I was absolutely certain if I moved another inch I was going to slide all the way down this mountainside (Note to Mom: this is all for show - I was totally safe. Really). So I began ranting to Will, who was already quite a bit below me, what an incredibly bad idea this was and there was no way we were going to be able to get back up. Because, lets be honest, sliding DOWN mud is certainly possible. But sliding up mud? I barely passed physics in college, but I think this one is a no-brainer.As it usually goes though, I was talked into continuing our nonsensical adventure and within 30 minutes we'd completed our descent. The prize, of course, was another private beach to ourselves that nobody else would dare be insane enough to try and access. We had lunch, took some pictures, and headed back up. As it turned out, it wasn't nearly as impossible as I'd talked myself into believing and we made it back to the top in half the time.
Thus ended my 5th week here in kiwiland.
Thanks for reading. Miss you all.
Mudsliding guru,
John
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Knee Slappers
I distinctly remember a thought process I had as a child that has recently become relevant. One day I was people-watching with my grandfather (a favorite pastime of mine) and I saw a much older man having a very difficult time getting around. I remember thinking how irresponsible it was that someone would let themselves get into such poor shape. In little John-John's world, everything in life could be controlled. Our success, our failures, our health, our state of mind, were all practically something we decided for ourselves. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. I was entirely oblivious to the association of age and physical ineptitude. But even as I grew into my teens I struggled with the concept of aging. I only got faster over time. My reflexes and dexterity improved and, honestly, it all seemed to come naturally (as it tends to do with all teenage boys who associate youth with invisibility).
But it wasn't until at least a decade later that I started to realize even my body has its limits. Between the weekend hikes, the weekday walks, the daily gym sessions and the Tuesday soccer games, I've known to some small degree how it felt for that old man of my past.
Last Tuesday we had our third soccer match, and after two losses I was certainly hoping our luck might change. It didn't begin well when we started with only five players on the field. But, in the end, our division-6 team of mostly guys who 'used to play' managed a 2-0 win. And victory was only sweetened by my scoring of the final goal. A breakaway in the last two minutes left me and the opposing team's goalkeeper in a one-on-one situation, to which he attempted to get into my head with some encouraging words - "well mate, give it your best" - right before I rattled the hell out of the ball into the back of the net.
But, as they also say, some things are bitter sweet. In the split second before I was able to shoot the ball, one of the defenders gave me a quick ankle-tap, causing me to nearly trip and almost stealing from me a minuscule moment of sport-induced glory.
As a young teen, ankle taps were a regular part of the games I played and never once did they cause any sort of injury. Even at 24, however, apparently the body is more prone to injuries from the slightest irregular movement. The goal has since caused me a week-long limp that appears to be improving at a surprisingly slow rate.
I guess what I gather from all this - and to make sure to clarify that I'm NOT looking for pity points (but if you want to send me sweet e-mails of concern I'm sure it'll dull the pain) - is that our bodies, I think, come with some sort of built-in pre-geriatric mechanism that not-so-subtly warns us to SLOW DOWN. That we're not as invincible as we thought we once were. I'm not suggesting by any means that regular exercise and athletics should be discouraged (especially not in our mid 20s for cryin' out loud), just that it appears our bodies don't just begin to give out once we hit nifty 50. I'm sure all you oldies out there reading this have no sympathy for me whatsoever, but you could have at least given a man a fair warning.
I wouldn't call this much of an update, so I apologize if you came looking for another installment of New Zealand adventures. But at the moment I'm too focused on the countless muscles that I didnt even know existed throbbing throughout my body.
Reality checked,
John
But it wasn't until at least a decade later that I started to realize even my body has its limits. Between the weekend hikes, the weekday walks, the daily gym sessions and the Tuesday soccer games, I've known to some small degree how it felt for that old man of my past.
Last Tuesday we had our third soccer match, and after two losses I was certainly hoping our luck might change. It didn't begin well when we started with only five players on the field. But, in the end, our division-6 team of mostly guys who 'used to play' managed a 2-0 win. And victory was only sweetened by my scoring of the final goal. A breakaway in the last two minutes left me and the opposing team's goalkeeper in a one-on-one situation, to which he attempted to get into my head with some encouraging words - "well mate, give it your best" - right before I rattled the hell out of the ball into the back of the net.
But, as they also say, some things are bitter sweet. In the split second before I was able to shoot the ball, one of the defenders gave me a quick ankle-tap, causing me to nearly trip and almost stealing from me a minuscule moment of sport-induced glory.
As a young teen, ankle taps were a regular part of the games I played and never once did they cause any sort of injury. Even at 24, however, apparently the body is more prone to injuries from the slightest irregular movement. The goal has since caused me a week-long limp that appears to be improving at a surprisingly slow rate.
I guess what I gather from all this - and to make sure to clarify that I'm NOT looking for pity points (but if you want to send me sweet e-mails of concern I'm sure it'll dull the pain) - is that our bodies, I think, come with some sort of built-in pre-geriatric mechanism that not-so-subtly warns us to SLOW DOWN. That we're not as invincible as we thought we once were. I'm not suggesting by any means that regular exercise and athletics should be discouraged (especially not in our mid 20s for cryin' out loud), just that it appears our bodies don't just begin to give out once we hit nifty 50. I'm sure all you oldies out there reading this have no sympathy for me whatsoever, but you could have at least given a man a fair warning.
I wouldn't call this much of an update, so I apologize if you came looking for another installment of New Zealand adventures. But at the moment I'm too focused on the countless muscles that I didnt even know existed throbbing throughout my body.
Reality checked,
John
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