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
Monday, February 9, 2009
Heat Wave!
Chicago Tribune reporter Mary Schmich wrote an essay in the late '90s titled "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young." It was a hypothetical commencement speech that she wrote to the graduating classes of that year. This beautifully written address began and ended with the same priceless advice: wear sunscreen.
Sitting here now, I can certainly attest to the value of such wisdom, and the unfortunate reminder that results when said advice is not heeded. Let me just say that if it wasn't for the miraculous healing power of aloe vera, I would spending the next few days lying in a cold bath of water, cursing the world.
Will and I decided to take a little road-trip up to the Coromandel this past Saturday and enjoy some of the excellent (see: extremely hot) weather. It was about a 3+ hour drive, which put us there around 10 am on Saturday morning. The sky was a bit overcast and it wasn't too warm yet, so we decided we'd be safe to take a little morning walk before lathering on the spf 50.
The sun apparently doesn't appreciate having its might put into question. About 30 minutes down the beach it decided to sneak up on us like a thief in the night (for lack of a better and less-ironic simile). We reached the car under the false hope that maybe it hadn't 'noticed us' yet. Maybe, we thought, if we rushed to put on sunscreen now, it might magically counterattack the effects of UV rays seeping into our flesh for the last hour unprotected. Unfortunately, like most forms of mysticism, that simply wasn't the case.
The result would be comical if it didn't hurt so much to laugh. The sun apparently had a little more bone to pick with Will, as he took the majority of the burn and ended up with a perfect outline of the area where his skin wasn't protected by his shirt. I, on the other hand, ended up with a very burned neck, which apparently is much funnier to Will who instantly recognized the connection to my southern heritage. Rednecks - as they say - are proud of it.
That aside, our adventure to the Coromandel somehow managed to top all previous trips. These are basically the beaches that even New Zealanders consider vacation spots, which says a lot considering I'm in a country where you can be at a beach within hours regardless of where you live. Walking along the sand, looking out into infinity, was truly surreal. I couldn't stop thinking that there weren't enough hours in the day for me to take it all in and truly appreciate the experience to its full potential.
Will wanted to take a hike to some rock formations nearby where we could jump into the ocean. We decided to go a little off-road, like we do, and see if we could scale along the rocks that outline the beach at low tide. The trick here, of course, is to make sure we reach our destination BEFORE high tide. After 30 minutes of taking this improvised path, we were within site of the rock formations. The only problem was that the outlining rocks had suddenly become steep cliffs that only a very advanced climber would dare attempt, lest ye be thrown into the jagged rocks below.
Our only option was to turn back and return to the beach. Hastily. About 20 minutes into our walk back, the tide began to come in. Although we were still at a safe distance above the water, one surprise wave swept up and slapped Will in the face, taking with it a nice trophy - Will's $300 prescription glasses. Sad to say, this suddenly became a slightly more expensive trip for my good buddy.
After a few hours of swimming in the crystalline waters, we made our way back home. This time a little more slowly, as Will can't exactly see much at a distance without his glasses and I cant exactly drive by New Zealand laws. I swear, if you stuck the two of us in a china shop we'd give the bull a run for his money.
Lastly, and as a somewhat-unrelated side note, I highly recommend listening to the commencement address that I mentioned above, and you can hear it (put to music) at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfq_A8nXMsQ
If you can't view videos or listen to audio, you can read the speech here (although I have to say the video is much, much more powerful):
http://256.com/gray/quotes/schmich.html
It's one of those speeches that can put your life back into perspective for those of us who constantly need a nudge in the right direction. Please take 7 minutes of your day for that. I promise you won't regret it.
Warm to the touch,
John
Sitting here now, I can certainly attest to the value of such wisdom, and the unfortunate reminder that results when said advice is not heeded. Let me just say that if it wasn't for the miraculous healing power of aloe vera, I would spending the next few days lying in a cold bath of water, cursing the world.
Will and I decided to take a little road-trip up to the Coromandel this past Saturday and enjoy some of the excellent (see: extremely hot) weather. It was about a 3+ hour drive, which put us there around 10 am on Saturday morning. The sky was a bit overcast and it wasn't too warm yet, so we decided we'd be safe to take a little morning walk before lathering on the spf 50.
The sun apparently doesn't appreciate having its might put into question. About 30 minutes down the beach it decided to sneak up on us like a thief in the night (for lack of a better and less-ironic simile). We reached the car under the false hope that maybe it hadn't 'noticed us' yet. Maybe, we thought, if we rushed to put on sunscreen now, it might magically counterattack the effects of UV rays seeping into our flesh for the last hour unprotected. Unfortunately, like most forms of mysticism, that simply wasn't the case.The result would be comical if it didn't hurt so much to laugh. The sun apparently had a little more bone to pick with Will, as he took the majority of the burn and ended up with a perfect outline of the area where his skin wasn't protected by his shirt. I, on the other hand, ended up with a very burned neck, which apparently is much funnier to Will who instantly recognized the connection to my southern heritage. Rednecks - as they say - are proud of it.
That aside, our adventure to the Coromandel somehow managed to top all previous trips. These are basically the beaches that even New Zealanders consider vacation spots, which says a lot considering I'm in a country where you can be at a beach within hours regardless of where you live. Walking along the sand, looking out into infinity, was truly surreal. I couldn't stop thinking that there weren't enough hours in the day for me to take it all in and truly appreciate the experience to its full potential.
Will wanted to take a hike to some rock formations nearby where we could jump into the ocean. We decided to go a little off-road, like we do, and see if we could scale along the rocks that outline the beach at low tide. The trick here, of course, is to make sure we reach our destination BEFORE high tide. After 30 minutes of taking this improvised path, we were within site of the rock formations. The only problem was that the outlining rocks had suddenly become steep cliffs that only a very advanced climber would dare attempt, lest ye be thrown into the jagged rocks below.
Our only option was to turn back and return to the beach. Hastily. About 20 minutes into our walk back, the tide began to come in. Although we were still at a safe distance above the water, one surprise wave swept up and slapped Will in the face, taking with it a nice trophy - Will's $300 prescription glasses. Sad to say, this suddenly became a slightly more expensive trip for my good buddy.After a few hours of swimming in the crystalline waters, we made our way back home. This time a little more slowly, as Will can't exactly see much at a distance without his glasses and I cant exactly drive by New Zealand laws. I swear, if you stuck the two of us in a china shop we'd give the bull a run for his money.
Lastly, and as a somewhat-unrelated side note, I highly recommend listening to the commencement address that I mentioned above, and you can hear it (put to music) at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xfq_A8nXMsQ
If you can't view videos or listen to audio, you can read the speech here (although I have to say the video is much, much more powerful):
http://256.com/gray/quotes/schmich.html
It's one of those speeches that can put your life back into perspective for those of us who constantly need a nudge in the right direction. Please take 7 minutes of your day for that. I promise you won't regret it.
Warm to the touch,
John
Monday, February 2, 2009
Risky Business
I remember reading somewhere along the way that the key to tackling apathy and "learning something about yourself" is to just say "yes." For some people, trying new things and being proactive about how to spend their day may come naturally. I'm sure these are the same people that grew up knowing, from the age of 8, what they wanted to do with the rest of their life, and were incredibly successful at doing it. These are the people that forced humanity to create the word "envy" and the phrase, "love to hate." I'm not yet convinced they're even human, to be honest, but ironically my utter lack of passion - the very thing they possess so much of - hinders me from caring enough to look deeper into the matter.
But alas, I have always been the guy who finds some excuse, justified in my mind, to avoid trying something new and exciting because I struggled to be excited by its novelty. And I'm slowly, but surely, working on correcting that.
This past weekend I experienced a lot of "firsts" in my life. For example, on Friday we had a "guy’s night" at a local fine-dining establishment called Tusca (which was, among other things, known for its fantastic Sangria by the liter.) I'm going to give away how uncultured I am by admitting that I had calamari for the first time - and I loved it. It was not the rubbery, tasteless dish I had been warned about. It was incredibly delicate with a texture similar to pasta (drenched in butter and oil, which never hurts). Going along with the culinary theme, I also tried pork belly on Saturday night, which I will attempt to recreate when I get back home for my family and girlfriend. And they will enjoy every. last. bite.
On Sunday, Will and I took another tramp (hike), which we've been doing a lot recently. On this particular tramp, we reached a high point where we could take a more experienced trail down the mountain. On the climb down, I was only able to see the trail three feet in front of me before it dropped suddenly, at which point I had to very carefully ascend to the next part. There was about two feet of width to the edge of the cliff, which, by instinct, you tell yourself doesn’t exist. And you definitely don't look down. It's quite a mind job and would be very easy to psyche yourself out. This, really, could be the most dangerous aspect next to falling since the climb is about 45 minutes down and once you’ve started you’re kind of committed to finish.
At several points in this climb there were near-90 degree drops of rock with a rope attached at the top. To give you an idea of my experience level, I'm not sure I even comprehended what abseiling WAS until I was in a situation where I was forced to do it. But with some helpful guidance from Will I found myself hanging perpendicular to a cliff, walking backwards down jagged rocks. And I'm not being melodramatic.
It was truly thrilling. I only worried a little about the potential danger, knowing that as long as I was careful and watched my movements I wasn't putting myself at (too much) risk. The payoff, at the end, was well worth it. We ended up in an enormous, secluded beach that could only be accessed by the 40-minute climb down, meaning we had the entire area to ourselves. We did some exploring, and ended up in a dark, damp cave that would normally have been completely underwater at high tide. We walked through it for about two minutes, at points feeling our way through pitch-black, making it to the other side where we had to climb out. Needless to say, I was feeling very Robinson Crusoe by the end of it all. It’s times like this, however, that one learns to truly appreciate being born in a period when hot showers exist.
It's currently a little late, which always affects my writing in some way as I tend to be compelled to reach some all-encompassing conclusion about what I've experienced - in this case, maybe a hint of perspective. Although I am, and likely always will be, somewhat of a loner at heart, there is certainly something to be said about opening yourself up to every experience available. I think those alien-people who find their passions at age 8 are the personalities that welcome new experiences, while many of us are content, for the most part, with what's comfortable. With what's familiar. And I'm starting to think that's treading on dangerous ground. Without meaning to sound too sage, I'm discovering more and more while I'm here that it's necessary to always try and surprise yourself. Otherwise you risk forgetting, if only to some degree, how it feels to live.
I hope everyone is enjoying this little blog. It’s good for me to keep writing in a time where I have plenty of time to do it (see: unemployed). I miss you all.
Sleep tight,
John
But alas, I have always been the guy who finds some excuse, justified in my mind, to avoid trying something new and exciting because I struggled to be excited by its novelty. And I'm slowly, but surely, working on correcting that.
This past weekend I experienced a lot of "firsts" in my life. For example, on Friday we had a "guy’s night" at a local fine-dining establishment called Tusca (which was, among other things, known for its fantastic Sangria by the liter.) I'm going to give away how uncultured I am by admitting that I had calamari for the first time - and I loved it. It was not the rubbery, tasteless dish I had been warned about. It was incredibly delicate with a texture similar to pasta (drenched in butter and oil, which never hurts). Going along with the culinary theme, I also tried pork belly on Saturday night, which I will attempt to recreate when I get back home for my family and girlfriend. And they will enjoy every. last. bite.
On Sunday, Will and I took another tramp (hike), which we've been doing a lot recently. On this particular tramp, we reached a high point where we could take a more experienced trail down the mountain. On the climb down, I was only able to see the trail three feet in front of me before it dropped suddenly, at which point I had to very carefully ascend to the next part. There was about two feet of width to the edge of the cliff, which, by instinct, you tell yourself doesn’t exist. And you definitely don't look down. It's quite a mind job and would be very easy to psyche yourself out. This, really, could be the most dangerous aspect next to falling since the climb is about 45 minutes down and once you’ve started you’re kind of committed to finish.
At several points in this climb there were near-90 degree drops of rock with a rope attached at the top. To give you an idea of my experience level, I'm not sure I even comprehended what abseiling WAS until I was in a situation where I was forced to do it. But with some helpful guidance from Will I found myself hanging perpendicular to a cliff, walking backwards down jagged rocks. And I'm not being melodramatic.
It was truly thrilling. I only worried a little about the potential danger, knowing that as long as I was careful and watched my movements I wasn't putting myself at (too much) risk. The payoff, at the end, was well worth it. We ended up in an enormous, secluded beach that could only be accessed by the 40-minute climb down, meaning we had the entire area to ourselves. We did some exploring, and ended up in a dark, damp cave that would normally have been completely underwater at high tide. We walked through it for about two minutes, at points feeling our way through pitch-black, making it to the other side where we had to climb out. Needless to say, I was feeling very Robinson Crusoe by the end of it all. It’s times like this, however, that one learns to truly appreciate being born in a period when hot showers exist.
It's currently a little late, which always affects my writing in some way as I tend to be compelled to reach some all-encompassing conclusion about what I've experienced - in this case, maybe a hint of perspective. Although I am, and likely always will be, somewhat of a loner at heart, there is certainly something to be said about opening yourself up to every experience available. I think those alien-people who find their passions at age 8 are the personalities that welcome new experiences, while many of us are content, for the most part, with what's comfortable. With what's familiar. And I'm starting to think that's treading on dangerous ground. Without meaning to sound too sage, I'm discovering more and more while I'm here that it's necessary to always try and surprise yourself. Otherwise you risk forgetting, if only to some degree, how it feels to live.
I hope everyone is enjoying this little blog. It’s good for me to keep writing in a time where I have plenty of time to do it (see: unemployed). I miss you all.
Sleep tight,
John
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
You Can Only Go Up From Here, Mate
So it has recently come to my attention that I'm not nearly as fit as one might expect (myself included). From my appearance, being a bit slender in excess, one might assume that I'm in pretty decent shape. Granted, I've never really had much concern for watching my diet, and I've always been a little turned off by cardio workouts since they tend to be counter productive toward my goal of being bigger, but I never pegged myself as being much of a slouch.
This past week I joined a local gym and was given a physical assessment. This would provide my "trainer" with a better idea of where I'm at physically, regardless of my primary goal to put on weight (muscle mass). It all seemed very technical to the clueless observer (me), as I was put onto a very space-age looking bike, given a little clip to attach to my earlobe that would measure my heart rate, and watched as a little printout rapidly spewed jumbled numbers. I was told that after 10 minutes of peddling at a consistant, semi-slow pace, the machine would gauge my physical ability from 1 to 5, with 5 being the best. The trainer assured me, with said misguided assumption based on my appearance, that I should have no problem scoring fairly well. I watched as my heart rate slowly went up and the machine made the bike harder and harder to peddle. To be perfectly honest, I felt good. After the 10 minutes were over, I expected to "pass" with flying colors.
The trainer's eyes honed in on one spot of the printout as he seemed unsure what to say at first. All he could manage, God bless him, was "you can only go up from here, mate." The fact that I had scored an embarrassing "1" did not need to be clarified - an unspoken pity on his part.
A little disappointed with myself, he then wanted to see what I could do with some weights. We began with dumbbell presses, and I couldn't help but be a little put off (but understanding) when he handed me two 9kg dumbbells (roughly 20 pounds) and asked me to do 10 presses. Now, I'm not a big man by any stretch of the imagination, but on my worst day I still put up about 50lbs on each arm. I said nothing, having come face to face with humility after my poor showing on the delirium bike. Thankfully, he was fully aware after a few presses that he had assumed too little this time. After about 15 more minutes of lifting, doing several different kinds of lifts, I'm proud to say he was at least impressed with my ability to lift more than he had anticipated and said he was going to "make me his little project for the next four months." God bless him, indeed.
Since that day last week I've, somewhat ironically, had my cardio abilities put to the test on several occasions. My flat mate Will has taken me on a few incredible hikes that required many uphill battles and semi-scary downhill climbs. I've also recently become addicted to rock climbing, after Will took me to an indoor arena with dozens of walls to ascend. Finally a physical activity where my long limbs and slender build work to my advantage, rather the opposite. I've also joined Will's summer soccer team, and faired decently based on my expectations the first game. The initial 10 minutes of sprinting up and down the field was laughable, however, and I was left gasping for oxygen like a fish in a sandbox. I fell into a groove shortly, though, and managed to pull off the one assist of the game, only after having the opposing team's goalkeeper - lets call him Brutus - crush me to deathly proportions. Fingers-crossed I keep scars on my left leg to prove it.
All in all, I think it's safe to say I'll be returning to Cincinnati in much better shape than I left. Keep the that's-not-saying-much comments to yourselves, thank you very much.
Bloodied and brusied,
John
Saturday, January 24, 2009
A Week's Reflection
Now that I've officially been out of Uncle Sam's reach for a week, I thought now would be a good time to lay down my initial impressions of New Zealand culture. These are likely all trivial and silly, but, in my opinion, food (mostly) for thought.
The good:
Meat pies- These may be one of the greatest culinary inventions existing today that are almost entirely absent from American eating. The moment I entered the grocery store in Auckland, I made a beeline to the cold food section and stocked up on Big Ben's Minced Meat and Cheese pies. Hardly a day has gone by since I've arrived that I haven't worked one into my daily eating regime. As the kiwis would say, "they're brilliant." And, what I can't quite figure out is why they haven't caught on to an American consumer. It's thick, chunky, unhealthy steak stuffed into a PIE filling that's easy to eat anywhere. Convenient. Tasty. Unhealthy. I just broke down three of the most important must-haves to your average American eater.
Heated Towel Racks- Little did you know, the guy who invented these won a noble peace prize. Also, there's a good chance that's entirely untrue - but he should have. Also, I have no idea if it was a guy - but it probably was. Regardless, heated towel racks strike me as being one of the most impressive inventions since those little lights you can attach anywhere for "hard to light places!" I envision that one day Billy Mays will be marketing this to an awe-struck American audience (But wait! Order in the next 12-and-a-half seconds and we'll throw in a free bottle of oxyclean! That's a $30 value, for free!). I'd take two. Really. I cannot explain the absolute bliss that comes along with stepping out of your shower and wrapping yourself up in a pre-warmed towel. Although I've been told some classy, 5-star hotels around the US do actually include these, it's a staple "appliance" in all New Zealand homes.
The bad:
Driving laws– It wasn’t even 24 hours of arriving that I decided against purchasing a vehicle for my 4-month stay. Unfortunately, my brain functions in this really annoying way that requires logic to be present before it can function properly. And, also unfortunately, there seems to be quite a bit of that missing in the New Zealand rules of the road. At several points in my adventure last weekend, my three friends debated on which car, in fact, had the right-of-way. If New Zealand natives of at least 20 years struggle to grasp the insanity, it's probably a safe assumption I certainly would as well. An example: If I was to come to a green light and wanted to turn left (in which case I'd be on the curb-side, since kiwis drive on the other side of the road), I would have to GIVE WAY to any cars coming head on that were turning right. That is, the cars CROSSING AN INTERSECTION have right-of-way before cars hugging the very curb they are attempting to turn on. Attempting to justify such nonsense will only result in the killing of valuable brain cells. So just stop.
Internet caps – Apparently in New Zealand there’s this epic marketing ploy that you can spend more of your hard earned kiwi notes (dollars) to “buy more Internet” for the month. Our household’s current plan allows for us to use 20 gigs a month. For your average Internet user, that could actually suffice. Needless to say, within four days of my arrival I’d (with the help of my flat mate Will) managed to bring our connection to a painful crawl, capping out at 20gigs barely halfway through the month. The frustration of spending 20 minutes attaching a 3MB .jpeg photo to an e-mail is up there with Friday-afternoon traffic jams. What I can’t quite seem to figure out is why an Internet cap exists in the first place. As I recently remarked to my flat mate, we’re not talking about a rare commodity or finite resource. It’s as if the online providers here want you to believe there’s going to be some sort of Internet crisis, maybe even the Americans will be invading soon to steal this poor country’s 1s and 0s (okay, that’s geek humor. So if you don’t get it, you’re not alone.)
The silly:
Terminology and pronunciations- I’ll gladly admit this is a very subjective topic, but as I’ve already pointed out before, I do find some of the kiwi terms and pronunciations to be comical at times. There seems to be this really interesting contrast of having names for things that make them sound very important, such as their pronunciation for aluminum (pronounced “Al-You-Min-E-Um” which, to me, sounds like a rare, kryptonite-esque mineral) and then also using these very childlike terms like “nibbles” (for snacks) or “lollies” (for candy). To be fair, it’s all actually very interesting to see what other things are called (and I’ll be sure to include a list in a later update) in comparison to our terms.
That concludes this update. I’ll continue to post messages a few times a week regarding what’s going on here or whatever odd little insights that I feel might be important enough to share. Of course, feel free to tell me when they’re not.
Take care,
John
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A Walk To Remember
Day two began early, and I was surprised to find myself actually excited about the prospect of getting up before double-digit AM. Will planned for us to drive about an hour north to an area called Matakana and "see what we can see." We were joined by two of his opera buddies, Sam and Warren (good folk, even for kiwi standards).It turned out to be an incredibly beautiful day (again, even for kiwi standards) so we decided we'd first check out a local farmer's market at the center of town. It was reminiscent of a county fair - little children running around with handfuls of lollies (kiwi-speak for "candy"), vendors displaying their fresh fruit & produce, and old men jamming out to polka-esque tunes (I was surprised to see a banjo in their ensemble). There was even a man painted in a shade of tarnished copper, meant to look like a statue. It was only after I was two feet away that I realized it wasn't, in fact, a statue. Drop a coin in the basket next to him and he'd perform a little jig for you (once, even, he managed a pretty impressive robot).
After we were content with having seen what the market had to offer, we hopped back in the car and headed a little further north to Tawharanui Park - pronounced "Ta-Fa-Ra-New-E." The native Maori decided "wh" should signify a "fah" sound. Admittedly, this irked me more than it should have.
We arrive at Ta-fa-ra-new-e and immediately decide on a hiking route we'd like to take. Will, our trusty guide, decides to set us up with a 7k (approx 4.3 miles) walk around the park that should give us a view of everything the area's geography has to offer. With stops (both to bask in the natural beauty, as well as swig some much needed H2O because my skinny ass gravely needs to make friends with a treadmill), it would take around three hours.
We began our hike in good spirits, full of energy from the near-perfect weather. In short, during those three hours I saw more of what New Zealand had to offer in its stunning beauty than I'd seen in the two years I'd lived here as a young teen. The geography runs the gamut of terrain, from luscious, lime-green fields to thick, hunter-green forest meshed with crystal-blue beaches and jagged, charcoal-black slopes scattered about. It's as if God couldn't make up his mind what to color New Zealand, so he used the whole Crayola box.
What surprised me the most, and I truly found fascinating, was how my three other amigos reacted to the sights of the day. Each of them seemed just as taken aback by the sights as I did. Each of them openly exclaimed exactly how I felt - how simply gorgeous everything surrounding us was. That, I believe, is what sets kiwis apart from the rest of the world that I know. They understand and appreciate all the beauty around them. They don't take it for granted or become numb to its breathtaking power. I felt like I was sharing something entirely new with these other natives, and a part of me was extremely proud to have the opportunity to be around such good people. But, also, I think I was able to fully grasp how blessed and lucky I was to be in that moment, in a place where the magic doesn’t fade.We made it back to the car in just over three hours. We all congratulated each other; all feeling a bit accomplished having completed this mini adventure. Everyone agreed it was time to eat, so we drove about a minute down the road to a mutual friend of the three (and member of their opera group) who, conveniently, was staying at their summer batch (a term that I best understood as a beach home, or getaway that seems to be shared by several members of a family). The woman, Emma, owned a home in this fascinating gated community that lined a little beach cove. Before filling our stomachs, we all put on our togs (kiwi speak for swim trunks) and dove in. Well, to be honest, I sort of tip-toed a few feet out, trying not to look like a total wimp for being put-off by what I'd considered cold water. Sam shouted out, "All you Yanks really are a bunch of pansies, huh?" I was, apparently, the stand-in representative for all U-S-of-A for the time being. Having to save face, and make sure ole' Liberty didn't look bad, I dove in with the rest.
We ended the evening with a saliva-inducing barbecue, consisting of the spare ribs and sausages Will had bought a day earlier, and some of the tastiest bell peppers you can imagine that Warren purchased at the farmer's market. Throw in some good conversation and good wine, and you've got yourself about as complete a day as one could ever hope to have (oh, don't let me forget to mention the banana and melted chocolate over vanilla ice cream for dessert).I originally came to New Zealand wanting to find out more about myself. I wouldn't dare imply that one must travel across the world to discover things about themselves they wouldn't discover otherwise, but I'd personally be hard spent developing such perspectives in the town that I call home. Seeing the excitement in my friend's eyes at their own green wonder, listening to the laughter and feeling the joy of these people I'd just met, and doing it all in what still feels like a foreign utopia ... it’s difficult not to feel at peace. Compete, uninterrupted, peace. I think it's almost necessary, for me at least, to step aside from the norm, the expected, and the assumed, and give myself time to discover what truly matters, what truly makes me happy.
I’d better end the over-nostalgic here, as it's getting a little late and the night tends to leave me a bit moonstruck. In summary, I'm having a blast. I hope I haven't appeared to boast or brag, but I really want to try and articulate what a genuinely good experience I've had in this short amount of time.
With Peace,
John
Monday, January 19, 2009
Life As A Postcard
My flatmate, and good friend from way back, Will, was waiting for me the second I stepped out of baggage claim. I suppose he had little trouble recognizing who I was after eight years - same fair skin, same lean (that's right, LEAN) physique, same dashing home-grown American looks.
Modesty aside, the two of us hit it off like we'd been apart for just a short while. Will, with his occasional quips about American laziness, obesity and our war-mongering nature. Me, with my relentless bashing of their silly pronunciations (most recent decisive victory in my favor: their utterance of the letter "z," which they say as "zed." After pointing out that no word with a "z" uses that sound, including their own country - New ZedLand - Will was forced to admit defeat. Chalk one up for the red, white and blue.)
We set off on a few initial errands, including a mouth-watering Swiss butcher where meat-eaters of the world could quickly empty their wallets if they weren't careful - Will practically did. We left with sausages, spare ribs and a packet of "air dried beef," a sort of beef jerky without the toughness and way more flavor. Pictures of said feast to come...
That evening we took a short walk nearby to Mt. Hobson, where I was able to get a better look at the town I'd be calling home for four months. Mt. Hobson is one of the many volcanic cones in New Zealand, part of the roughly 65 dormant and extinct volcanoes spread about the country. Little is left that points to its volcanic existence, except for some interesting terrain, including a particularly large dome near the top where the volcano once blew out the side of the mountain, forming a large crater. Side-note: there's 28 volcanoes in Auckland alone, one which occasionally releases fumes and smoke causing the locals to get a little restless. To make matters worse, a local museum put together an exhibit to demonstrate what would happen if said volcano went ka-booey. The shockwave alone would take out much of the city, and then some.
We ended the night by taking a quick trip down to one of the local beaches to watch the sun set over the horizon - something I'd never had a chance to see, at least not like this. It was absolutely gorgeous, although we had made it just in time to see what was left of big yellow's departure. Completely aware that the moment was terribly romantic, and as much as I love my kiwi friend, I couldn't help but wish my girl was there with me to share it.
When we arrived home I cracked open my first Kiwi beer, a Monteith's Radler. It's a fruity lager that's perfect for the summer heat, tasting more like a lemonade than beer. Although I still felt great, even with the copious amounts of jetlag, I crashed early for tomorrow's hike up north.
Updates coming every day or so. Thanks for reading.
Stay classy,
John
In The Beginning...
Three months of working construction, endless planning and a 38-hour flight later, I've finally reached my destination. So begins my journey in the land of kiwis, sheep and meat pies.
But ... first things first.
My flight into Auckland, New Zealand was an odd cross between the movies Final Destination and a National Lampoon's vacation. In short, it was something of a horror-comedy. My 14-hour trek from Chicago to Seoul, Korea was accompanied with a restless, young Korean child who had a "thing" for drop kicking the back of my seat. Repeatedly. A few cut-that-(excuse my French)-out glares later, the violent acts upon my backside receded. For roughly five minutes. Rinse and repeat for the majority of the trip.
Thankfully, the flight from Seoul into Auckland was slightly more pleasant. Albeit, I was situated next to two highly intoxicated Germans who were equipped with an orchestra of bodily functions. The smell of alcohol was a bit off-putting, but unlike my Korean friend, they didn't kick. Only one event worthy of note: The plane began to experience a little turbulence about halfway through the flight, then suddenly seemed to have hit what I can only describe as an air pocket, momentarily dropping into a split-second free-fall, then continuing on its merry way. The sensation, along with the knowledge that you're currently 35,000 feet in the air above the ocean, sends your heart into a frenzy. It also didn't help that a few passengers screamed, the stewardess went ghostly white (quite a feat, considering she was Korean), and the captain came swiftly over the intercom, mumbling something in a language I couldn't understand.
What I came to realize about myself in this moment of surprise was how quickly I succumb to "the end." As if my mind used the worst case scenario as a defense mechanism, I, for just a short moment, accepted that I was only seconds away from falling to my watery death. Afterward, I felt ridiculous, said a little prayer of appreciation (and had a little confession session with the Big Man, ya know, just in case), and tried my best to get some sleep, making certain my "Do Not Wake For Dinner" sign was in clear view (my father's sage advice: pack snacks if you're taking Korean Air).
The landing in Auckland was followed by cheers - honest-to-goodness applause - from an equally exhausted group of passengers. An hour through customs, met with a kiwi-accented "welcome back" from my custom's agent, and I'd finally arrived.
Thus, the first end of my beginning.
Next update will include some pictures and a little info. about what I've done so far. I just wanted to ease everyone in without letting the envy start flowing too early. Generous of me, I know ;)
I love and miss you all. Thank you, everyone, for your support and encouragement through all of this.
XOXO,
John
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