Southern (Hemisphere) Comfort

run it back

this is long. grab a cuppa and throw your feet up people.

i said that time was in freefall, but i dont think that i really understood the gravity of the situation until recently, and ironically, while i was lying flat on my back, not moving at all. my muscles were spent, stretched and pulled one way or another until i was reduced something similar to 'flubber,' only minus all the bounce - which had decided to take residency in my mind. it was the very end of the yoga session (Jankowskis - save the gay jokes), where everyone lies down in a dark room, and just relaxes. my body was praising the mercy of the instructor, but i let my mind wander for a feed, grazing in the pastures of images from my recent escapades. it was in this state, with my mind sucking its memory thumb, that i started to become aware of the pangs of attachement that have grown within me since my time here. NZ has been an exceptionally choice time. ive grown a lot during my time here, and not just my waist line from all the mean feeds that ive received. honestly, apart from the tread on my shoes deteriorating to the point of zero recognition, everything has expanded, from the holes in my socks, to the beard (or weak attempt thereof), pushing its way outwards, to my eyes, expanding as the blinders of pre-conditioning are bent outwards. as much as i look forward to future endevours, its sad to think that i have to leave so soon, and is safe to say that i have felt at home here. the reason for the ease of my travels, and subsequent reading of a constant "10" on the fun meter, has laid within the people that ive shared my path with, if only for a few kilometers on the highway. the outlandish hospitality that ive received from complete strangers has made the last 2.5 months seem unrealistic. people have shouted me meals, a place to stay for the night, and the promise that there will always be the same outstanding offer if ever i should come around again. durr i will. ive been spoiled to the point that i expect it out of people. im the biggest self-admitting mooch ever. the only meal that i bought at a resturaunt in NZ was sushi. half a roll at 2.50$. NZ dollars. granted, my peanut butter quota has been more than filled, and my grape expectations met (2 litres of 'wine' for 10$ - cruisy eh?), but the only way i feel i can get close to thanking these characters fully for their charity and knowledge is to spread the word of their unconditional compassion. Unfortunetaly there are two many to throw out, but I would like you to meet one very large fish in the sea of hospitality...

i was hitching out the recommended location of castle point, without the faintest idea of the remoteness of my target. thats when a mamssive man picked me up, talking even faster than he was obliterating his footlong sub. warren. the big dub, as ive affectionately, and without his knowing, nicknamed him. after a few go rounds on the conversation circuit, he drops the holy grail of a phrase for a hitchiker - "oh you can just stay at my place tonight." Cha-Ching. The gang (his dog Zach made moves with us too), made its way to Castle Point, which reminded me of portugal, specifically the rugged western coast thereof. massive whips of water reared and lashed the rocks, pulverizing them at a metronome-like rate. how there was anything still standing there, i dont know, but the boulders took it like some champs. to the point that im surprised jay-z didnt shoot his entire 'dirt off your shoulder' music video at this location. Big D provided the wheels, zach provided the photo ops, and i provided the little kid awe. i felt so insignificant, so tiny in the presence of nature. we then returned to the newly built, wooden beachouse that overlooked the water from a sureveillance point of not more than 300 metres. he had spokeny keenly about diving for paua, or 'ebelony' as most american blokes dub it, and my shown intruige resulted in his finding of a wetsuit that i could just squeeze into. skin tight does no justice. my cramming accelerated as i heard the engine of the fourwheeler emerge from its cave of hibernation, roaring loudly. the hunt was on. we sped over the sand, the wind hurtling toward us from the left, and continuing past and on toward the sea, where it combed back the crest of each wave, sculpting everest-like plumes of spray from their peaks. at first appearance, the waves seemed angry, but when closely observed, one could see the pretty girl, hair streaming behind as it danced steadily forward, or maybe a wedding dress as it made its grand walk toward the shore. everything was set - the tide was low, the wetsuits were tight, the wetsuits were really tight, and the seal was utterly confused by our motives as we did donuts around its awkward flopfest of a return to the water. we meant no harm, rather we were caught in the raw excitement of the moment, of adventure, one that is so often accompanied by such a proximity to the swells, and of being on a primal mission to gather ones own sustenance. either that or the pure level of badass that comes from trumping rocks on the beach with a fourwheeler. pine trees smiled and waved their branches on the left, but no time for small talk as we flit past. as we rolled to a stop, the previous domination of the growling motor melted away to reveal many more subjects in the arena of sound, as the collision of the waves on rocks, linebacker to offensive lineman, took center stage. we made our way clumsily over the heavily encrusted rocks, each one supporting an individual eco-system on its back. but we were going for the kill, and the soft underbelly was our point of attack, as paua latch onto the very bottom of rocks. the lack of visibility through brackish water demanded we use our hands as sensors to pry the creatures off with knives. think of these badboys as scwarzenegger mussells, as they dominate the palm of your hand easily, and sport a beautiful shell, a tourquoise and silver swirl, with patcvhes of red fighting to peep through its superiors. schwarzenegger and beautiful dont swirl together too well, but i assume theres enough intelligence out there to decipher a bit on your own. the trouble isnt finding these buggers, but staying on your feet long enough to pry them loose from their mooring point. the waves didnt care where they threw us, as long as it was away from the deep, as if they were the bouncer for the dark unknown. we didnt bother with any of that though, clinging to the rocks like seaweed ourselves, oftentimes grasping the strands themselves. final count = 12.

man hungry. man hunt food. man catch food. eat food. good.

i copped the 'guest' bedroom, which would have passed for 'master' in my book any day. so, warren and i, both completely comatosed after a monster feed and a decent side portion of some red splash, pulled the classic crash at 9:30 routine. that night was the best sleep of my entire nz experience, as my cocoon decended deep into the sheets, my mind even deeper, a warm ball of good food, soft dreams, and a great appreciation for the man in the room next to me. even if he snored.

Roadtrippin with my favorite Allies

Consider this an ode to rolling the window down, turning up the volume, and not really caring where you end up, rather enjoying the people around you as the world whips by...here's to roadtrips...

the three musketeers, all fighting for some type of purpose, a deeply personal request to the world that it grant us asylum into who we really are; im pretty sure that well all say the magic word. in plenty of different indigenous tongues, if that scores brownie points. jeff, the thom yorke lookalike with a scientific eye for choice pics, smoked a cigarette at every beautiful scene that we rushed towards, slowing our collective pulse with each very french, and very picturesque inhalation on his chill sticks. there was something real emotional about this fella, but nothing that made you feel like he was trying out to be cast in mean girls 2, only that he had a sense of commitment toward others feelings that drew me toward him. i thought it was incredible how he asked me to help him construct one of his many amazing shots, drawing an x in the sand for every time that he had thought about his sisters back home. we littered the beach with those badboys, and even the waves couldn't wash out his compassion, as the faded x's still lingered after their time had come to pass. i appreciated his overflowing appreciated for the beauty in his life - every time that he said that something was 'perfect' or 'amazing' in that very distinct french quip, i had to smile, because it felt good to be around someone who gave a shit, who saw what was in front of him and didn't get bored, his eyes perpetually open, soaking in every amazing and perfect thing. then there's eggie, a real tigger. a human pinball with the curiosity that would make even george the monkey seem like an uninterested little runt, there wasn't a tree left unclimbed, a flower unpicked, a bird unnoticed and subsequently catcalled. it was like letting little kids out of the car when they get too roudy - you just had to let him get fresh air, watch him run around and do roundhouse three sixty kicks at the air, throw water on you and run off laughing, or throw a rock in a random direction and see the consequences. we were all bound together by the gorrilla glue that is the concept of travel - we were all very different, yet so similar, in that we found realness in similar pursuits, and enjoyment in them too. we were all on personal missions but our collective group essense was defined by our roles - jeff the 'seasoned veteran' (at 26, he could be considered the grandfather of our ragtap supergroup), eggie the sparkplus (and at 20 the second in command). and me, whatrever the hell i brought to the table. our individual crosshairs often found the same targets. from jeff and i's love for the photo, to egg and i's love for PB (he might even have given me a run for my money), to all three of us digging some mean sounds (bumping eddie vedders "society," and collectively wondering out loud if society would be lonely without us). i think that our short time together can be summarized in the most popular of our poses, one where the hands are thrown up to the sky, legs slightly spread, evoking some type of pride in the fact that we were all living the dream.

some not thought out excerpts: the swing next to the shit infested rock colony of seagulls, where the blanket next to the jesus cross became a new member of the group by way of young theft. the epic offroad journey over the hills of coromandel island in the 4x4. the midnight hike to cathedreal cove, where handstands attracted glowworms (apparently), and the porcupine that crashed next to my tent. the subsequent sunrise, with light patches matching up with similarly sized rocks jutting from the ocean, one erupting from below, the other from on high, meeting at a point of visual glory that doesn't make sense in words (too bad i retardedly formatted my card without thinking). the clouds layered deeply among one another, beautiful sleek bodies intertwind like a roman orgy. the dopest pic of jeffs silouette smoking, the light just exploding from behind him dancing at the prospect of thoroughly toasting us that day. the suns happy feet stomped all over us, the lobster metaphor really doesn't mean shit compared to how egg and i marinated in the sky's glory, both our eyebrows getting a blonde tan by the end of the sun sessions. we felt our way along the familiar path from last nights escapades, the beautiful bell shaped purple flowers smiling back, finally illumintated. the level of comfort was most noticeable in the photo sessions, just how receptive we were to each others ideas and request from creative documentation. if jeffs d700 hadn't had been stolen prior, there's no telling what type of crimes of awesomeness would have been committed. there were large periods of silence, but non of it was uncomfortable. past catherdral cove, over the rocks, digging the scenery.then the bay. slice of paradise, nobody. handstands. swim. smile. laugh. recognize how fucking lucky we all were to be kicking it on bleach white sand, a mirror for the beauty of Icarus above, us just specs on the giant glass. the water was too blue to be true, excuse my advanced poetics. and on to hot water beach, where two hours in the scalding liquid left us pruned, exhausted, and totally relaxed. this was after the mean feed put on by jeff, who lent sausages and curry to the cause of muzzling our young-boy tummy growls. good times bros, good times. "roadtrippin with my two favorite allies, fully loaded we got snacks and supplies, its time to leave, its time to steal away..."

(Click on pictures to enlarge)

"trick or treat!" i still don't know why i said it, some part of my deep seated intuition just stood up, made me blurt it out, and as he laughed and wandered over from his car on that hallowed halloween night, it also commanded: "thou shalt roadtrip with this man." and so it was.
the man? matt mcduff. im going to get out my crayolas to give a stick figure portrait of my man: matt is beauty and beast all rolled into one. from the ancient viking stature, punctuated by the wicked goatee and pony-tailed locks, to the compassionate fellow being, who cares deeply about, and constantly seeks to connect his essence to those around him, in an attempt to grasp at the greater meaning in life behind each small event that takes place within his realm of awareness. the constant contextualizer, from the smallest mote of dust wandering on the dash to the greater ideals that man has always struggled with, there is an attempt to understand everything in his environment for the way it is, not by some smeared report from a third party. matt burns, if not in the kerouakian sense, then close to quite literally due to his proximity to my bumbling early attempt at a celebration of guy fawkes using my cooking hardware.
now ill let him whip out his easel and rock a self-portrait oil painting for you: "I'm a wanderlusting juggler of the worlds of the mind, the page, and the heart that lubricates the swirl with a musical montage. This may be my first attempt to present a lyrical snapshot of myself in a white box and I want you to know that I love life, have an insatiable appetite for new experiences, and will never be able to collect enough beautiful conversations to reach a point of overflow. I live to move and life moves me. I can only hope that I never come to a point where I feel the world is moving around me, I always hope to be moving around the world. I'm enamored with music. It is how I relate to my world and to the universe. Its the pull that moves me forward and takes me back. I love things that are beautiful. I love people. I love people who are willing to share themselves, even if for brief moments. I love smiling. I love indirect moments that yield depths of understanding and connection with unexpected individuals. I love expression, and avidly seek to create and consume it." raphael, anyone?

introductions aside, the the next four days were filled to the brim with classic roadtrip: music coming from every angle, botched attempts at shortcuts from the atlas, stopping randomly on the side of the road only to find a world famous rock garden, hiking to mt cook, strange conversations at gas stations concerning the nature of kiwi skinheads at halloween parties, relieving ourselves wherever we damn pleased, a random pop in on parrot, and conversations that stretched wider than the plains we crossed and higher than the mountains we passed through. but the highlight had to be an unofficial couch surf for two official pros, as we jammed out (matt slays with an acoustic axe) on an abandoned couch on the shores of lake tepako, letting the wind run through us, trying to carry away the tunes before they reached our ears; the ultimate theft. but we sang louder. for those of you who've heard me sing, don't picture this, for those of you that havent, it was b-e-autiful, i can assure you. beautiful sunset, good meal of beans (85 cents - mine) and pasta with tuna (more than 85 cents - his), then choc covered pineapple and, of course, what were you thinking, a bit of PB. i sat, no, was plastered to the couch, as i felt my pulse slow down, my body attempting to do something with the newly created child held in my PB womb, but really only wanting to listen to the creative flow gushing from source right now next to me. from 'wagon wheel' to various chili pepper favs, to his personal gems...even our own blues song, which resulted in the mantra-like phrase of 'follow your beard,' we chilled hard, watching the ember-like lights of the town across from us dance and flicker about, as if they were about to fade. we would have kept any fire going that night, not just from our camping-food induced rocket fuel, but rather with an energy that can only be produced by two vagabonds with the same mission: to follow your beard. a pact among wrestless beings who just cant stand the monotomy provided by a sedentary life, and any thoughts of a razor that come with it. and when there is no wind to rustle our facial man-rugs, then we will create one through our movement; 'around the world, not it around us,' espousing a zephyr of curiosity toward all things foreign behind us. and up its warm and unregulate waves, a faint hint of baked beans and peanut butter will casually hang a ten.

i cant begin to quantify how much of an impact soaking up matts sunny rays of disposition toward life had an impact on me. therefore, i feel sincerely lucky that our beards both flowed in the same direction on the road to our individual somehweres.

It was all a Dream

They say that time flies when your having fun. Well if that math is correct, then in NZ, time is in freefall. So I decided to join the club. Oh but that was only the third day...

Once upon a time ago, I departed from the cozy confines of WWOOFing, and fully embraced life on the road, or quite literally sometimes, life in a tent right next to it. This entailed subtracting certain luxuries from my lifestyle. Goodbye: such amenities like three full, and often delicious, meals a day, a cozy place to rest my noggin at night, and the knowledge of what the day ahead of me had in store. Hello: freezing balls while camping out on the southern side of the South Island, PB & J three times a day (as a result of my splendid mechanical skills, I've reduced my stove to a smouldering heap - which isn't as bad as it sounds, considering that I walked around with peanut butter and a spoon glued to each hand in the states anyways), and the 'knowledge' that I had no idea what was going to happen from one moment to the next. Despite this, let me assure you, the latter is something that I don't ever want to stray from again. When the plan is quite simply, 'there is no plan,' then all expectations go up in flames the same way my cooking device did. Which leaves each experience completely naked from any type of pre-conceived clothing that my mind could design. I'm quite the daydreamer, so this had the affect of peeling off a contact lens-like layer of stars, and left my clear eyes scanning the ground frantically for a flat place to pitch my tent for the night. So, I've been on a whirwind tour, constantly stimulated by new sights, sounds, people, ideas, thoughts, and the ridiculous lack of temperature that my already naturally cold blood isn't waving a '#1 fan' finger around for. To sit here and go through everything that I've stumbled upon would take a long time. I'm not saying I'm lazy, I think it's more along the lines of really really lazy. If you want to argue, then I point toward the fabled (and hopefully in this case correct) phrase: "a picture is worth a thousand words." So I've thrown together a couple of clicks that I think might give you an idea of what I've been through (plus a couple more to waste your time). Theres no real rhyme of reason to their order, because as I've already pointed out, structure has become something somewhat obsolete in my life. However, I WILL attempt to bullet point some of the highlights of this voyage. Key word: "attempt." Here goes.

-yes, did skydive. 15,000 ft. 60 sec. vertical freefall. 2 miles into clouds. still can't breathe. still have that stain on my boxers. or is that from not washing them in three weeks?
-hitchiked with an aussie woman. ended up having such a good time together that she sponsored a night in a hostel for the two of us. nobody get your panties in a bunch, shes in her late thirties with two kids. i got my panties in a bunch over the fact that she also payed for meals though.
-saw two glaciers. i am small.
-camped on a lake
-ate an avacado out of a trashcan. dont worry mom, i washed it off.
-camped next to a lake
-hitched a ride for a couple of days with a Taiwanese couple, who's noodles left an embarrassed Ramen running away with its tail between its legs
-camped near a lake
-been surrounded by freaking Moredoor from lord of the rings. everywhere i go. the mountains are constantly giving the finger toward the oblivion of upwards, they just explode out of the ground in some places
-took a boat cruise of MILFord Sound (i had to, sorry), and had to have set the record for most free hot chocolates/teas/coffees consumed on the tour. anyone think they can top twelve? needless to say, i got my moneys worth.
-fact: MILFord gets 200 days of rain a year, with an average of more than 275 inches a year (god you people in America make life tough with your stupid measurement system). record for 24 hours? two feet. apparently its keen on re-defining the term "pissing down" rain.
-hiked some mountains, ending up in a forest where every single tree had a six inch beard of moss covering all surfaces. made me jealous. because this miracle grow just wont get my beard to six inches.
-listened to birds. sounds like each broker in the NYSE got replaced by one of these jokers, and right in the middle of a stock market crash. one of these sounds like C3PO, or like a mockingbird that just dropped acid.
-camped out overlooking a lake
-thoroughly enjoyed camping on not so legal-spots near lakes
-resolved to get a deaf friend, a blind friend, and a cripple friend, as the first thing i do when i get back to america. parrots orders.
-CS'ed (couchsurfed) in invercargill, the self proclaimed 'anal wart of NZ,' with a truly amazing 6 ft 6 south african, who never wore shoes and was a hare krishna monk for 5 years, and a 5 ft kiwi girl that went on photo missions with me. i guess that the constant rain felt like it was its duty to try and be some type of savior solvent for the anal wart part. epic fail buddy. adverse affect.
-hitched with the first two obese people ive seen so far in NZ. you want irony? they run a doughnut stand.
-CS'ed with daniel boone re-incarnate (whose in this months national geographic), his girlfriend, and her little brother, all from the georgia/tennessee, and all true vagabonds, having globe-trotted like its their job. my heroes. kicked soccer balls at sheep, talked in russian accents, drank tea (shocker eh?), battled with strands of seaweed from the beach, baked the best bread ever, and listened to them jam out on their gittars. beautiful people. beautiful times.
-went up the steepest street in the world. while it was raining. with the gasoline light on. in a car that has difficulty waking up in the mornings. laughing like madmen. g-nius.
-hitched with a guy who kept telling me about his drunk driving charges...uhhh
-spent halloween with a german woman and a swiss fellow, tripping through sentences in german, and eating swiss chocolate. and yes, i camped out on a lake.

It's all a blur. There are far too many shades within, some illuminated, some left out. All I know is that I'm still living the dream.

allow me to introduce...

i woke, and stumbled outside of the granny apple camper just in time to unleash a cattle-like, austin powers-esque blast of liquid that had been brewing all night somewhere within me. when the sirens of pressure evacuation were done flashing, i didnt even have time to stand, hands on hips, and proudly beam down on my own version of the nile. no, because i heard the obvious, and by now obligatory chicken emulation, followed by a screechy, yet strangely uplifting, rendition of "hello!!" shes the only person I know that puts two exclamations and a smiley face after her 'hellos' - and you can practically see them materialize from mouth, squeezing through the empty gap in her teeth, which is a direct result of her being 'really good at running into trees.' thats true talent. and oh yeah, good morning to you too.

meet my host, parrot: self-proclaimed geek (her email signature is in binary), old school punk rock junkie, banjo picker, human being version of internet movie database, avid collector of jesus christ paraphernalia, talented cigarette roller, chicken pie connoisseur, number crunching tax agent. while im at it, good luck.

much has been born from my time here in punakaiki, on the rugged west coast of the south island. ive learned a lot from parrot, especially about spirituality. my growth in this department has sprouted from what we call 'cracker ceremonies.' i wasnt religious until that little square of feta, butter, and olive first collided with my taste buds. god rays burst from the clouds. people can stereotypically joke all they want about having tea and crackers, but as a new convert, i would be first in line to surrender myself to martyrdom for the cause.

sometimes i think that she might turn down the volume, or even stop talking. but even though she looks away constantly, the taps to the stream of knowledge remain permanently stuck on open. a well placed contact of the wild eyes is only used to punctuate her more profound points, namely 'hes a complete wanker' or 'for fuck all.' there isnt even time to laugh, as shes already lapped you if you take out the time to utter a sound, let alone attempt to rescue that olive that just decided to abandon, and subsequently run away from your feta topped cracker.

the camo bandanna has to be some type of external hard drive for her brain, and you can see how the immense heat radiating from her dome piece has already toasted her hair, causing the extreme curls, as if theyre pleading mercy to her speed injected neurons. want proof? shes the only person that ive ever met that knows about my parents spiritual guru. yeah, that was covered, if im not mistaken, between an oral history of south american politics, and a story of her playing 'follow the bumper sticker' and 'find the worst diner EVER' on her trip through the bible belt, an apparently obvious location for vacation. by the way, such a diner can be found in tennessee.

although one of her first confessions to me was that 'i swear,' theres a big red 'x' through both piss or weed, as there really is no need for any stimulants other than robust, rapidly rolled cigarettes and coffee. life is enough. anyone within megaphone earshot will understand. when asked about all the money saved as a result of the 'anti-frat' tude? well, as the story goes, that has clearly gone towards a much more useful pursuit - 'heroin.' dont laugh now, or youll miss the story about her pink haired, transgender friend hannah, from seattle, or maybe of that time she held the drunk drivers brains in his head after the accident.
or many, many, more.

as i said. good. luck.

thumbs up!!

well, one really.

i have too many stories to tell, so id rather highlight a recent development of mine, what some of you might call an 'addiction.'you see, they say that denial is the first sign of addiction. my case proves otherwise. i know that i have an itch, and i know that i have to scratch it. this so called 'problem' begins at the base of my left thumb, and runs all the way to the peak of the limb. and the basic issue is that it simply needs air. it needs to breathe, to stand alone, apart from the rest of its kind, on top of the world. my addiction: hitchhiking. so, whats killing you?

(inside the hitchhikers anonymous meeting...) - "it all started so innocently, riding to orewa with a german kite boarder named neils. he was a media director who hated his job and wanted to travel, liked to listen rock music, and was living with her girlfriend in auckland. he gave me a soda and some chex mix, and we talked about his western culture and his failed attempts at being a buddhist. i had no idea what one single ride could turn into..."

(back in real life...) - i really didnt. my most recent binge included five rides to get to my destination, and ive all but thrown my bus pass out the window. all the faces, names, stories, smells, sights, they all jumble together into this smeared water color painting of the road. many a time ive never even bothered with exchanging names, because when hitchhiking, there is much more shared than the exchange of identity, experiences, and insights. theres an understanding between the host and the hitcher, an unspoken bond. right off the bat, similar interests are already in place, as anyone that picks up some sketchy guy on the side of the road must be slightly delusional, or they had to be in that same situation at some point during their lifetime. they understand the constant disappointment of watching car after car after car go by, with people giving you a thumbs down, shaking their head, or just ignoring you. but you still manage to smile, hoping that the old lady, that trucker, or the two ski bums will stop. everyone ive ridden with has been there. and theres comfort in that. whether im riding shotgun, or nestled in the backseat with my gear, wide-eyed like a kid at story time, as soon as the speedometer speeds up, time slows down. everything becomes calm, and all your worries get jammed down at your feet, next to the empty boxes of chips (fries) and cans of fizz. there is a different world born within each vehicle, coded from the style of the driver. but once you step out of that car, leave that world, and enter 'ours,' your taste pallet is wiped clean, and everything melts away, as your find yourself standing on the road again. its like a nice piece of bleu cheese after a sip of wine. but you want that next sip of wine, dont you? yup. and when it comes to that, i dont have a drinking problem...i drink, no problem.

i can tell when its time to get back on the move, as i get this nagging feeling in my stomach, like im hungry, an ache. the real ache is for movement, the thrill of getting from A to B. or should i say A to Z, because its the letters along the way that make the journey. oftentimes, ill get to my destination and feel let down, because i realize that the reason i was so excited to get there was due to the process of actually getting there. then the stomach starts rumbling, the finger gets itchy, and my thumb, like a sail to my boat, is yet again pulling me wherever the wind blows. just let it breathe.

Excuse me, while I Kiss the Sky

red rocks, outside of wellington, nz.

i hitchhiked to wellington, with no idea what was going to happen. ended up meeting this 38 year old german other being named christiane, who let me tag along on her trip out to the coast. she walks like my mom...on steroids. it didnt help that the a lot of the hike was on 35-45 degree angles. i do have an excuse though, as i cite my footwear to be the weakest link (i wish i could say 'goodbye' - but that would cost me upwards of 100 bucks). i was going to do the whole massage thing once i got to thailand, but the rocks at red rocks had other plans for me. it was like having a really angry mother of mine do reflexology on me for six straight horus. definetaly the most intense hike ive ever been on, but the coolest too, as there were views of the city and the ocean the entire time. we tramped (me dragging along) up into the cloud at the top, where the wind was out of its mind. god had to be burping at us after an 8-course meal. it felt like a bad rip current, as my legs were almost taken out from underneath me at some points. needless to say, slept like a red rock that night.

Clothes dry, Colds get better, but Memories stay wet Forever

(editors note: i have gone on a strict non-capitalization diet.)

whangarei falls and alley caves, in whangarei, NZ.
the falls = sweet as. mate. at the hostel in auckland, i met a hawiian guy (definetaly a 'hang loose' type of fellow) and a german chick. he was definetaly putting on moves - cool couple i thougth, i can dig it. but when we were at the visitors center gettinginfo about our hike to the falls, i hear a yell. i turn around, and it is...none other than those two, who had hit it off so well that they rented a van together and were booking it through the country, sleeping in the back. what are the chances?

couldnt tell you, math has never been my cup of tea. but it was definetaly cool to do the walk with them. we zigzagged up this mountain, the native bush attempting to swallow the path up the entire way. ive never seen plants like this in my entire life. its like somebody dropped bombs, and where each little piece of shrapnell landed, a city of vegetation sprouted. and this is blitzkrieg people. it was like slums of plants, all piled on one another. but minus the negative connotation, as there is a very generous attitude found here. much like the people of nz, each plant has its arms open, welcoming any stranger into its home. there isnt a tree to be found that didnt have a bush harboring on one of its branches, or a vine snaking around its trunk. we strolled through a valley before finally reaching the falls. abraham (surfer dude) and i made the no-brainer of jumping into the falls. standing behind them was like planting your feet right behind a jet engine before it takes off. it was a powerful sensation, like the fall was saying, "go on, try it, i dare you to jump' - so we did. fa-reezing. awe-some. never have i felt more alive.human goose bump? check.

the little insignifcant spec? yours truly.

the caves = cool as. mate.

before we made it to the first cave, we (matt, the german bloke, and i) stumbled upon something called the 'rock forest.' there were these massive rocks in the woods, all eroded down, like a bunch of old country men sitting on the front porch, the skin on their faces the most helpless vicitms of gravity. they were mountains, with green forests of moss siding rivers that seemed to eat through the softer stone. or you could erase all the crap i just wrote, and simply say, "majestic." quite simply the most stunning thing that ive seen in NZ so far. and yes, i didnt bring the camera.
in the caves it was pitch black, but i was doing fine, we were crusing, climbing over that and ducking under this. me being a genuine genius, i didnt have any shoes, and as a result my toes were curled up like fried shrimp. frozen shrimp, shall we? every now and then one would get pried open due to a precise jab from a rock hiding beneath the murky water. but my headlamp was doing work, and it was all groovy until we had to wade through 'that' pool, where the water reached a certain level that would make even chuck norris yell uncle. seconds later we were up to our nipples in ice water. at this point they were quite reminiscent of the stallagtites above us. see, nature does things that pretty girls can do, only way better. there was a little neon green universe of glow worms above us, where constellations were formed in the crevices of the cave ceiling. sadly, i couldnt find the big dipper. we managed to drag our numb bodies onward, as there was light ahead. you want to talk about the light at the end of the tunnel...we ended up doing this in two of the three caves, which was dope, but by the time i was done with the second cave, i could have been classified as a three year old down low.

human goose bump? check. check.

foxton beach? just consider it a check. check. check.