Epilogue?

My apologies to anyone still reading at this point. I have been working on this draft since December 16. What can I say? The holidays really are hectic.

I hesitate to call this an epilogue, as that implies some sort of finality, the end of my adventures, which are certainly far from over, as far as I'm concerned.

The flight back home did not go nearly as smoothly as the one to New Zealand had. The plane out of Auckland was delayed an hour and a half; they were apparently trying to fix one of the bathrooms, which they did not succeed in doing anyway. This meant there was only one toilet in my section of the plane. That was fun, waiting in line (really, it was good to stand up for a while). The flight was quite full, so there was someone in the seat right nest to me, although I did get the window, which was grand. Bizarrely enough, the couple right next to me, in their 60s, were actually about to move to Santa Fe from Dallas. Small world. I had no luck sleeping on the flight this time. I watched a movie and then tried to sleep, but that really didn't work out, so I watched another movie... Due to the delay, we didn't get to LAX until noon, which meant that I had exactly an hour to get my bags, go through customs, get to a different terminal, recheck my bags, and go through security. Wasn't going to happen. At an airport like LAX, I doubt it would be possible to transfer from one domestic flight to another in an hour. The next flight to Albuquerque wasn't until 4:40, three and a half hours later than my original one. Everything ended up working out fine, but by the time I got to the waiting area for my flight home, I was so tired, hungry, and frustrated I felt like weeping.

How to properly end this account of my exploits? I suppose I could impart some good advice, or, if not advice, at least a list of What I Have Learned:
1. Travelling alone kind of sucks. I will be frank. Wwoofing on my own was fine, because there were always other people around with whom I could converse, there was always a set task (or a number of them) for the day, and I didn't have to worry about moving around and houling all my stuff with me (my backback weight 45 lbs my the end of trip). Once I got to the actual traelling part of my trip, however, it became considerably more difficult being on my own. For one thing, you have to contstantly be thinking, making sure you're not forgetting anything, that you're belongings are safe. When you're travelling with someone else, you can have them watch your bags when you go to the bathroom. Not so if you're alone; you've got to get them all in the stall with you. Also, travelling alone, you've no one to talk to most of the time, or at least, I didn't. The truth of the matter is that I am not really the most greagrious person. It isn't that I'm not friendly, but I often won't feel comfortable starting a conversation with someone I don't know at all. So, in travelling alone, I tented to gave a lot of solitude, which, in overly lare quantities, can turn into loneliness. I know not everyone is like this. Many people have a far easier time being enirley at ease and uninhibited around strangers, and more power to them. Really, though, it'sjust a comfort having a travelling companion, knowing that no matter what misfortune befalls you, at least you won't be in it alone.
2. As far as slogging things around like a mule goes, backpacks are far more comfortable and ergonomically friendly than any other type of bag. I did not bring a daypack, and I found my messenger bag to be extremely uncomfortable. I took it on one hike and was utterly miserable. Carrying things on one shoulder is not fun and should be avoided, After that unpleasant hike, I ended up buying a small daypack, which actually made things much easier for me. Also, as I would repack my bag everytime I would go somewhere different, I got better and better at making everything fit. Large part of it was not carrying my shoes inside my bag, but strapping them to the outside of it--little things like that. My bag was far more efficiently packed on my return then it was when I departed.
3. I found that a large part of my enjoyment was directly related to the food I was consuming. This goes without saying, I think, conisdering the number of entiries concerning food. The quality of my food is something that I am really not willing to compromise; luckily, this does not necessarily mean spending exorbitant amounts of money. While I was a woofing, I didn't spend any money on food, and, as I was staying with people with organic sensibilities, ate quite well. As I was travelling around, I would buy enough groceries to make breakfast and dinner at the hostel, and then I would eat an inexpensive lunch somewhere.

What I found was most important during my travels was that I find things that made me comfortable enough to have fun, even if it meant going going slightly out of my way sometimes. And I did have fun, and lots of it. I greatly enjoyed getting to do so many cool things and meeting so many nice people. And I'll definitely be back to NZ--soon, I hope!

...and the feast goes on...

I can't help--I love writing about food.

(From yesterday, 12/11) I had some very good Pad Thai this evening at a place called Wooloo (Lonely Planet recommended), a sleek, simple noodle house down the road from where I'm staying. Twas a reward, I suppose, after all that time on a bus (Really, I should stop my griping. Five hours isn't so bad--I'll be on a plane for twelve tomorrow.) The restaurant had only two large white tables, and you were served in Chinese take-out boxes--no dishes. I managed to read while I was eating and use my chopsticks competently. I was quite proud of myself.

It's my last night in NZ, something which is quite strange. As much as I have enjoyed being here, I feel no regrets taking my leave, largely because I fully intend to return. I am spending tonight in Auckland again, but this time in Ponsonby, an area far more suited to my tastes than downtown Auckland, I think. Ponsonby isn't far from the city center at all--there's a very good view of it from here, in fact (above)--but there are no skyscrapers in this part of town, and it's quieter. For some reason, the whole area seems to smell of flowers, lilies, although I haven't seen any around. Many of the buildings are older, psuedo-victorian style ones. Ponsonby Road is lined with boutiques and restaurants. It's quite stylish, really, and only a little pretentious. Most of the shops were closed by the time I got out to walk around this evening, but hopefully I'll get to have a look-around in some of them tomorrow. My shuttle to the airport doesn't leave until 3:00. One thing open as went by today was a bookstore called the "Woman's Bookstore." I decided to take a look inside--I'm pretty much helpless when it comes to bookstores. (Just a tidbit: NZ apparently has more bookstore per capita than any other country.) As I walked in, I was greeted by a platter of cheese, crackers, and grapes. I cut myself a piece of brie and went in. Scattered around the fairly small store were a few other platters, some with cheese, some with strawberries and chocolate. There was wine and juice as well. As I browsed, more and more people filtered in, women mostly, but one man as well. I wondered whether this was a weekly thing, or a special occasion. Regardless, it looked open to the public, and it was a good people watching opportunity.

----


Today I had lunch at another Lonely Planet recommended place (my LP book has been wonderfully helpful), a cafe called Dizengoff, housed in an old building with a looming brick facade. The stencil at left was on the side of the building. It's strange: Ponsonby is the first place in NZ that I've seen stencils like this spraypainted places. You see more and more of them in Santa Fe, and I saw quite a few of them while I was in Spain... I like them, really. Back to my lunch, though: I had scrambled eggs (eggs are a far more inexpensive way to get protein that meat), which were, as LP had said, mouthwatering. Scrambled eggs are a food that one generally doesn't think of as being "mouthwatering," as it is so easy to either over- or undercook them, but these ones were, and they were seasoned well; I didn't have to add salt or pepper. Kiwis serve scrambled eggs heaped on toast, which of course I didn't eat, wheat allergy and everything. These eggs also came with a pesto-like sauce, though it wasn't as heavy as pesto; I would never have thought to serve eggs with something like this, but it was quite compimentary. I also had a flat white, which wasn't bad, although it was my second cup of coffee today (all for the sake of experience--I'm always looking for a good cup, and how can you tell unless you try? It's my last day here, after all; you never know when you might luck out). I usually have two cups of coffee a week--I'll probably explode or something later on... Regardless, I'll be very glad indeed to be able to get an americano from Meridian when I return. NZ coffee, as I have said, has a strange... heaviness, I think.

I awoke at seven this morning and got all my stuff together. The entire time I've been here, I have had a terribly fear or losing things, of something rolling beneath the bed or slipping out of my pocket. It's not as though I have anything really irreplaceable, but some part of really doesn't want to lose something from home in a foreign land... Strange, really. I met Laura La Cerva for coffee at nine (at a place called the Atomic--okay coffee) and then we walked around for a bit. We went into a fair trade store (another one) and a second-hand shop; I got a few neat things. There are lots of cute little shops on this road, as I mentioned. Expensive, though, most of them.

I catch a shuttle to the airport in 45 minutes. How strange, again. It's lovely and warm today, almost hot, and I'm sure it will be quite cold at home... I asked my mother to bring me a coat when she came for me at the airport. I don't mind the cold, though; I'm ready for it.

Strange Things and Spectacular Ones

The Craters of the Moon, as they are called, is an area outside of Taupo that is very geothermally active. The landscape is pockmarked with craters ranging from the size of a basketball to the size of a house, or of several houses. Steam rises from these holes with a soft hiss, or sometimes, with a great rushing noise. In certain place it looks like a battleground in a movie, smoldering away. There is no noise save for the sound of your footsteps on the path, the whisperings of the steam, and distant bird calls. And beyond it, verdant green hills and stands of pines. It's surreal.


Not too far from there, just across the highway, there are Huka Falls, NZ's most-visited tourist attraction, apparently. The falls themselves are hard to see from a good angle from the lookout points there, but the power or the water is obvious and frightening. Here, much like at the Aratiatia Rapids, the broad Waikato os channeled into a staight, narrow chute of rock, then falls 30 feet with a great roar. It looks like it's being churned in a blender. It's quite spectacular to behold, although the best way to see it, no doubt, is by "Huka jet," a jet boat that takes you up the river right to the base of the waterfall. In the car park at the falls I saw another tiny car like the one I came across yesterday. There must be a car show or something in town, because I've seen a number of lovingly fixed-up old cars.


Once again, I had lunch at Replete--I'm quite a creature of habit, I think it goes without saying. I then took the shuttle out to the Lake Taupo Hot Springs Spa and soaked in hot thermal waters for an hour and a half. It felt very good. The spa was actually a big complex complete with a waterslide for kids, but it was relaxing nonetheless, as there weren't too many people in the hot pools. Tomorrow I head for Auckland (five hours on a bus--bleh), and then home--crazy! I shall return, though, let there be no doubt about that!

Sights to Behold (from 12/9)

After yesterday's rain, today dawned still overcast and quite cool. Around 9:30 I walked to the visitor information center to catch the "Hotbus," a shuttle service that provides transportation to various attractions in the area. My first stop was the Honey Hive, a large shop and cafe devoted to the various kinds on NZ honey. Good place for Christmas gifts, I thought. I was not disappointed. They had every product made of honey imaginable, from plain old jars of the stuff to shaving cream to meads and liquors. I browsed around, tasted a few different kinds of honey, bought a few lightweight things. From there I got the shuttle to the Aratiatia Rapids. This is a particularly narrow, rocky part of the Waikato that was diverted some time ago for hydroelectric purposes. Fours times a day, however, the river is redirected through the rapids, which is quite a sight to behold. With a few shrill whistles as warning, two large floodgates are opened and water gushes down into a deep pool with a rushing noise. As the pool fills, the water makes its frantic way over rocks and into gullies, frothing white, deep blue underneath. It's quite spectacular. You can watch from a bridge over the river, or from a lookout point some way down. The only problem was that it wasn't very warm. Despite it being summer here, the air is still quite cool, especially when it's cloudy.


I had lunch at Replete again today. If the shoe fit, wear it, I thought. After that I went to the Taupo Museum and Art Gallery, a small but cute place. It's filled with bits of memorabilia from the area, as well as some older Maori artifacts. There was also a nice painting show in the gallery. Outside the museum is a large rose garden (Kiwis are fond of their roses, it seems. There was a giant rose garden outside the Rotorua museum as well), with far too many varieties to smell all at once. The sun emerged, but the air remained cool. On the way back to the hostel, I came across this tiny car, by far one of the cuter things I've seen. There's nothing in the photo to provide scale, but looking at it made me feel quite large, as though I could have picked it up and tossed it...

Welcome To Taupo (from 12/8)

The view coming into Taupo is something spectacular. You top a hill, and rearing up across the steely blue waters of Lake Taupo (the largest lake in NZ) is the great, snow-covered cone of Mt. Ruapehu. It is, literally, breathtaking. I sat there, looking out the window of the bus as I came in yesterday, mouth literally hanging open; I'm sure I looked absurd. Now, Mt. Ruapehu, at about 10,000 feet, is no taller than the Sangres; it is the fact that it is so much higher than all the surrounding land that makes is seem so stunning, that and the fact that it is very clearly a volcano. (At the hostel in Paihia, I was talking to two older Englishwomen who had seen it from above on a helicopter tour. "You'll have to forgive our bad pronunciation," they said, calling it "Mt. Ruapoohoo." I can't imagine why, if you knew you were mispronouncing something, you would continue to do so.) The best part is, I can behold this excellent view right form the deck of my hostel.

This morning, I did a short kayaking trip down the Waikato River, which is the longest river in NZ. It was quite an easy paddle, as the river, at this point, was very broad and placid. It was fun, regardless; the best part was that about five minutes from the end of out trip (only about two hours in total) we stopped and were able to soak in these natural hot springs beside the river. I nestled myself in a rother mossy nook beneath a small, hot waterfall and let the water pur down on my shoulders, which have been aching terribly from hauling my backpack around, as I think I've mentioned. It felt so good. Also quite nice was the fact that it was only me and a girl from Norway on that particular trip. I've been very lucky my entire time here in terms of missing huge crowds of people.


I think I have definitely qualified myself as a foodie with this blog. At least half of my entries, I think, have has something to do with food. On that note, I had a very good, inexpensive lunch today at this cute cafe/kitchen shop called Replete. I had a very generous bowl of chicken curry, a small green salad, and a flat white (and not a bad one) all for NZ $11--about $7. Left me feeling replete indeed. At left is a photo of a hedgehog napkin holder they had on the counter, something I found to be very cute.

My morning as a Hobbit

Today I splurged and did a really touristy thing: I visited the site of Hobbiton, which is about an hour from Rotorua, in a place called Matamata. Seeing as how I'm in NZ, and I'm a Lord of the Rings fan (yes, I am--it's dorky, but what can you do?), I figured there was no way I couldn't. The Rings Scenic Tours picked me up from my hostel at 8:40. With me on the van were a Korean couple and a girl from Taiwan. The driver, named Danny, I think, had a large handlebar mustache and a love for American hotrods. I told him about the lowrider capitan of the US--Espanola. He reffered to us, and everyone else he had ever driven to Hobbiton, and Hobbits. "I had a Hobbit in here the other day from Finland..." All the way there, he talked about various things, mostly LOTR related, but he also filled us in on various points of interest, geological features, etc. We were in Matamata within an hour, where we transfered to a different van, this one driven by a spry older fellow named Eric. The van itself was called Bilbo. The Hobbiton site is in the middle of a very large working sheep farm--there are apparently 25,000 sheep there at the moment. We drove through through paddock after paddock filled with the fluffy white creatures, all nibbling frantically at the grass. Eric pointed out to us where the various car parks, makeup vans, food tent, etc., had been. On any given day, there were apparently 400 people to feed on set, and that's three meals a day. The caterers must have been very efficient, and frantic. The van wound around a hill and parked beside a large rack full of umbrellas and a sign bearing various safety precautions (don't walk on top of the hobbit holes, don't step in the lake...) From there we walked up a short track to a sign that said "HOBBITON MOVIE SET." There were seventeen remaining hobbit holes, or rather, hobbit hole facades, all whitewashed. New Line had been in the process of tearing them all down, as they had promised the owners of the farm, when bad weather set in and the destruction of the sets had to be postponed for six months. During that time, however, so many people came to the farm hoping to see what remained of Hobbiton that the Alexander family, the owners of the farm, contacted New Line to ask if they could leave the site as it was and conduct tours. After two years of heckling, New Line finally agreed, just as long as the site was left as it was, no improvements were made, and no reenactments were done by the tour guides.


Eric showed us around the various sites; there were photo boards with pictures of how the place had looked during filming. It was pretty neat, really. We got to see the Party Tree and the lake ,where Bilbo celebrated his 111th birthday (apparently, it was the perfect shape of the tree and the pond right next to it that caught the film-makers' eyes as they were flying around the area in a helicopter looking for good locations. That and the fact that it's really quite isolated there; there's not a sound to be heard except fot the sheep.), as well as the various hobbit holes, including Bag End itself. You can actually enter Bag End, although there's nothing much to see in there except for the wood that's holding the place up. All the scenes indoors were shot inside a studio in Wellington. Just the same, it was nice to be able to take pictures of the lake and the Party Field out of the little round hobbit door (That's the tree and the lake behind me in the photo). In the film, a large oak tree hung above The entrance to Bag End. This tree, Eric explained, had been bought from another farm for $11,000 (Jesus!), chopped into numbered pieced, and then brought to Bag End, where it had been reassembled like a giant puzzle. 25,000 artificial oak leaves had been brought in from Taiwan ("Me too!" said the Taiwanese girl at this point) and taped to the branches. The tree itself was probably onscreen for a total of 30 seconds in all three films combined. You can't say these guys cut corners. The truth of the matter is that most people probably woukd not find these tours terribly interesting. The farm itself is very pretty, and ina lovely spot, but they really are for people who are more on the die-hard end of the LOTR fan spectrum; in that respect, it was really a lot of fun. It was grand for me to be able to actually walk around where they had filmed Hobbiton. So forgive me my fan-spiel; There's nothing for it, I'm afraid!

Adventures of a Zorbonaut (from 12/4)

Whoever invented the Zorb was either a complete psychopath or brilliant. Or bored. Or all three, more likely. A Zorb, for those of you unacquainted with the term (as I certainly was until recently) is a giant plastic sphere, probably 12 ft in diameter, inside of which is affixed another, smaller sphere. The act of Zorbing entails hurling yourself head-first into the inner sphere, which has about five gallons of water pumped into it, and then rolling down a hill. Madness. That's what I did this morning. I must have been the second person to do it today; it was only about 9:30. Me and two English fellows were driven to the top of the hill in a white van. "Bit of a bumpy ride," said the driver, Kelley. The roa was incredibly rutted, and he was hardly going slowly; I was bouncing around so much I was afraid I would hit my head on the ceiling of the van. "Bit is something of an understatement," I managed to gasp. At the top there awaited a loading dock. "Do you you guys want to do the zigzag course or the straight one?" asked Kelley. "Which do you recommend?" asked one of the Englishmen. "Definitely the zigzag." Oh heavens, I thought. I look on in horror and bewilderment as the first English guy took his turn. What compelled me to do this? I tried to recall. (Actually, it was the fact that I did not become violently ill on my extremely bumpy boat ride in Paihia that made think I would be okay Zorbing.) My turn was up. I leapt into the Zorb, which was a bit stuffy. Plastic bubble, after all. "Alright," said Kelley. "I'm going to tap three times on the Zorb; when I do, walk that way," he pointed," and have fun." I nodded, and wondered how often people vomited in the Zorb. Whap whap whap. I started walking, got the ball rolling, as it were, and immediately lost my ballance. i slid the entire way down on my ass, saying," Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," actually not knowing which way was up, which is a very strange sensation. Of course, as soon as i got to the bottom, I immediately wanted to do it again; would have had to pay for it, though. (Pictured at left: Zorbs waiting at the top of the run)


From there I walked to the Agrodome, home of all things woolen and smelly. I watched a farm show, in which they displayed all 19 typed of sheep found in NZ, including the Merino. He was enormous, and sat there like some great buddha, seeming to sink into the innumerable layers of his own wool. Apparently they can get 50 kilograms of wool off of one those. We were able to witness the shearing of another, much smaller sheep, the milking of a cow, the feeding of baby lambs, and the antics of various sheepherding dogs. The host called volunteers onstage, generally, it seemed, for the sole purpose of poking a bit if fun at them (most of them didn't even speak English--there were huge tour groups from Japan, China, and Malaysia, I think). All in all, though, it was fairly entertaining, even if the room did smell very strongly of farm animals. Hardly surprising, seeing as how four time daily it's filled with no less than twenty of them at a time... (Pictured: The merino with man for scale)