Kiwis and Kangaroos - exumenius
Follow along as I tour Australia and New Zealand under the guise of saving the world through conservation volunteering. True to my word, a portion of my trip will involve volunteering; in...

The Longest Day (or Three) - Night 0
Suva, Fiji
Technically October 9th began at Justin’s house in Tucson and ended somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, however, for me it stretched all the way to my landing in Fiji early on the morning of October 11th.
The Big Board
First off, a big thanks to Ed for letting me drive his truck down to the airport. The flight to LA from Tucson was rather non-descript, with the mild exception of flying over that accidental oasis, the Salton Sea. After gathering my baggage and bussing it to the Bradley Terminal, I was immediately accosted by a group of Mormon missionaries upon entering the food court. They were quickly shoed away, only to attack a nearby elderly couple. If I had it my way Evangelism would be illegal at the airport.
I lucked out on the flight to Fiji and had an empty seat between me and my rowmate, Rahim. Rahim works as a shelf stocker for Costco in Oakland six months out of the year, the other half he spends back in Fiji. He was a friendly, older man, who turned into a whiny bitch after he didn’t get the special Muslim meal that he ordered. He verbally berated the flight attendant, who had no control over the situation, for about 15 minutes. Finally, one of the flight attendant sacrificed her fish meal just so he would shut up. When his breakfast came with a sausage in it, the same process was repeated.
I slept on and off for about half of the flight.
Landing in Fiji
It was my first time on a double decker 747 and the leg room was plenty adequate. The media options were rather poor, but the service was excellent. We crossed the equator southwest of Hawaii at 2:46 local time (whatever time zone we were in). A few hours later we crossed the International Date Line, and my nearly non-existent Wednesday, October 10th passed into the dark ocean night.
We landed in Nadi, Fiji at 5:10 local time. Stepping out of the plane I was greeted by the rising sun and perfectly still, warm, heavy tropical air. Inside the terminal a band of Fijian men in skirts struck up a tune for us. I lay down on the floor of the airport for a quick nap thus ending one of the longest days of my life.
What I Learned Today: Bula is Fijian for Hello, Danaka for Thank You.
written by  exumenius on October 10, 2007 from Suva, Fiji
from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos

Touchdown in Australia - Night 1
Brisbane, Australia
I landed in Brisbane around 11:30 local time,
My First Glimpse of Australia
and was free from the rigors of customs by noon. Stepping outside was similar to stepping into a sauna. It felt like New Orleans in March, minus the pervasive smell of stale urine and sour milk. A man on the train told me that they’ve been getting some torrential rains the last few weeks, which has led to the uncustomarily high level of humidity. I hope he’s right. The Brisbane City Backpacker’s Hostel was about a ¼ mile walk from the train station. Half way there I was soaked.
Brisbane from the Air
The evaporative cooling powers of sweat are greatly minimized when the relative humidity hits 90%. It is sort of like trying to fit a third corn-fed Minnesota girl into the back of a Volkswagen; there just isn’t any more room for her (or the water) to go.
Checked into my room to find the two inhabitants already there were busy speaking German. I waited for a while, to make sure they weren’t talking about how they hate dirty Americans, and then calmly asked them in German where the shower was. Looks of pleasant surprise fell over their faces, especially when they learned that I was from the US. I think they were amazed that anyone from the States knew German. After swapping stories, it turns out one of them was from Poland, the other from Germany. Our final roommate showed, a Czech named Vladimir, who also spoke German. Though in the end, English one out, likely due to mine and Vlad’s poor Deutsch. Everyone went their separate ways, with me heading back to the train station to get an AC adapter. The voltage in Australia is the same; it is just that the top two prongs are turned at 45 degree angles.
Brisbane Square
Upon returning to the hostel, I promptly crashed and slept until 6. Quite a surprise to me, the sun was setting at the 6 o’clock hour as I awoke. I took a walk downtown to find some cheap food. While Brisbane is most certainly a 20th century, automobile-centric city, the traffic is beautifully quiet. In over an hour of walking, I heard one or two horns at the most and not a single siren. I eventually ran into the Queens Street pedestrian mall. Imagine a packed mall, three blocks long, full of bars in the middle and stores on the outside, all exposed to the great outdoors. Needless to say, a great place for a stroll and some people watching. I eventually found a grocery store in the underground level of the mall. Prices were somewhat similar to back home, though it seems meat is bit pricier and the selection of fruit isn’t quite as expansive. I settled on bananas and the old standby, granola bars (or muesli bars as is the nomenclature here down under.)
Returned to the hostel and headed to the lounge
Some Church Downtown
to return some emails and work on the blog. The room was packed with most of the inhabitants were mesmerized by the Simpsons on the TV. The bar downstairs was full, but not overly packed. As much as I desired to find my roommates and have a beer or six, it was already 9pm, I could hardly keep my eyes open, I was over my $50 per diem, and I really needed a good sleep (Monday night was my most recent horizontal sleep.), so I headed to bed around 10pm…there will be plenty of opportunities in the next six months to belly up to a bar, that and I am due at the volunteer office at 10 tomorrow morning. A pretty calm first day, which I needed. The jet lag isn't as bad as flying to Europe, but I still feel a bit off.
What I Learned Today: It is tough to jaywalk in a place where the cars are coming from the wrong direction. I probably crossed 35 crosswalks in my travels today and I still look the wrong way for traffic every time. Thus, in the name of safety, I’ve taken to waiting for the little green man.
written by  exumenius on October 11, 2007 from Brisbane, Australia
from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos

Meeting the Team - Night 2
Brisbane, Australia
I awoke early today, as usual, and spent
Brisbane Skyline
the first few hours of the morning using what I would later learn to have been some of my last free wireless internet access for some time. Checked out of the Brisbane City Backpackers around 9 am and headed east over the William Jolly Bridge to the South Bank, and eventually on to the Conservation Volunteers’ Home Office. We were to arrive at 11am, I showed up at 9:30 and they weren’t quite ready for me, so I dropped my pack and took a wander through the
Mangrove Swamp
South Bank Parklands, a verdant, beach-ish park along the south bank of the Brisbane River. I came upon a pedestrian bridge over the river to the City Botanical Gardens on the north bank near downtown. A beautiful city park, no doubt. By far the most interesting part was the elevated boardwalk through a partially-submerged mangrove forest.
Made my way back to the office by 10:45 to find two of my fellow volunteers had already arrived; Mandy, a mid to late 30s, British woman from a little town near Manchester. I came to find out that she sold all of her belongings in April and has been traveling the world volunteering ever since. The other prompt team member Peter (Hu Wuan), a mathematics student from South Korea. Minutes later, our fourth and final member of our group, Daniel, a mid-20s fellow also from England, arrived. We were painfully subjected to the obligatory safety video and orientation session and then broke for lunch to get to know each other a little bit. My first actual meal in Australia was a delicious salmon/chickpea sandwich with cream cheese. At first, $10 AUS might seem a bit pricey for a sandwich, but once you figure that tax is already included and tips are not expected, it seems fairly reasonable…now if only the dollar weren’t so weak – the Europeans definitely have an advantage over here. We returned and were whisked away to the volunteer house, our place of lodging while we weren’t out in the field. FYI: The first time you ride in a right side driver’s car, especially in the front seat, is a bit of a scare.
The Volunteer House
Our digs are located in Albion, a northern suburb, about 5 train stops from downtown. The place is an old Queenstown house (which meant nothing to me until I saw it) consisting of an amalgamation of rooms and covered porches that appear to have been added in the most haphazard of manners over the past 100 years. The 12 foot ceilings, decorative woodworking, and maze-like floor plan do offer a certain bit of charm, however. It lacks air-conditioning and insulation of any kind, so the days are hot and the nights cool as wind seems to blow straight through the place. The house consists of two women’s rooms, two men’s rooms, a caretaker’s room, kitchen, two baths, a laundry, and various lounges and dens. The back yard has a small courtyard. I am rooming with Daniel and Peter this week, though as volunteers come and go we’ve been warned that room assignments are likely to change.
Around 3pm the other crew of volunteers returned from their weekly assignment in Noosa. In this group were Matt, a 31-year old from Wales, Aaron a 19-year old student from New Hampshire, Jana (pronounced Yana), a cute little, 20-year old from Berlin, Germany, Anna a youngster from Tasmania, and Lena, a mid-40s women from somewhere, though judging by her misappropriation of pronouns and poor verb conjugation, somewhere English is not the primary language. Apparently a few more souls will be filtering in over the weekend.
Our volunteer program is set up so that we spend the weekends here in Brisbane and each Monday, or sometimes Sunday, we are put into groups and taken to our place of work. We stay at the volunteer work site until Friday afternoons and then return to Brisbane for the weekend. The best part is that we can leave things at the house during the week, so we do not need to haul all of our possessions out into the wild. While at the house, they provide all the food, all we have to do is cook it and clean up after ourselves. We’ve received our first assignment already; this Sunday, Daniel, Aaron, Jana, Mandy and Glen(?) and I leave at 8 am on Sunday morning for a 6 hour drive to Expedition National Park on the other side of the mountains in what is considered the Queensland outback. We’ll be camping out in the wild until Friday morning, so for anyone reading this, you’ll likely not get another update from me until next Friday at the earliest.
After some time chatting with the new volunteers, or volleys as we are known, Matt, Aaron, Jana, and I took off for Cambridge Street to do a bit of shopping and grab a pint or two. Cambridge Street is a bit of a poor man’s Queen’s Street Pedestrian Mall. The shops are dirty and cheaper, the pubs more abundant and every block a few peep shows tuck themselves into small nooks and upstairs spaces. My kinda place. After the young kids grabbed some smokes, we settled on The Elephant and Wheelbarrow, advertised as a traditional English Pub. Having never been into a traditional English Pub, who was I to argue with this proclamation? Had two pints of Toohey’s, which tasted a bit like Leinenkugel’s Original.
On the return trip I had my first run in with the Aussie law. Earlier I had errantly purchased an off-peak train ticket, which means it was not good from 3pm to 7pm. We boarded the train back to the house at 6:58 and wouldn’t you know it, immediately two transit officers stepped on board to check our tickets. When he saw mine and said “This is an off-peak ticket”, I responded in my best confused tourist, American accent “you mean it isn’t 7pm?”. He looked at his watch and said, “you are two minutes early, don’t worry about and don’t do it again.” I am such a badass.
What I Learned Today: The first five minutes you meet someone tells you all you ever need to know about them...well almost everything, usually. Six hours in and I appear to be spot on with everyone. Makes me wonder what they all think about me. The interesting part about this volunteering arrangement is that each Friday people come and go, so I’ll get to try out this little psycho/socio-logical experiment every week.
written by  exumenius on October 12, 2007 from Brisbane, Australia
from the travel blog: Kiwis and Kangaroos

Cat's Claw Fever - Night 5
Taroom, Australia
As usual I was up at dawn. Along my morning walk, I kicked up numerous wallabies and two large grey kangaroos who had come near the homestead in order to drink from the retaining pond located near the creek. Attempts to accurate photograph these creatures were futile.
The Reedy Creek Ranch is an interesting place. First settled in the late 1800s by an Irish family, the place has seen numerous owners in the past forty years. Back in the 1970s it was a thriving Jackaroo ranch (basically a training ranch for wannabe cowboys). After that it spent some time as a bed and breakfast. Shortly thereafter most of the land was sold to the state. Currently it is being run as a viable cattle ranch, with most of the pasture land leased back from the state. This abbreviated history of the ranch was told to us by Adrian, the current owner. A portly, balding man in his early 60s, Adrian looks more like a retired insurance agent that the operator of a massive ranch in the middle of the Queensland bush. Later in the day we met Stan, the man who runs the day to day operations. Stan looks, acts, and speaks the part of a rancher, ten gallon hat and all. The ranch buildings are aging and in desperate need of paint job. The actual homestead is a conglomeration of buildings added to each other as the principle use of the ranch changed over the years. The crowning achievement of this piecemeal construction project is the wide veranda that surrounds the entire place. This glorified porch would be our home for five days.
The date was April 14, 1871 and Eliza Presho,
The Cause of All Our Problems
fresh returned from a week in the newly thriving port of Brisbane, decided to plant a small creeping vine (the seeds of which were shipped in from London) at the base of her wooden entrance arch at the Reedy Creek Ranch. Fast forward 136 years. This seemingly harmless plant, named Cat’s Claw, jumped to the creek bottom and has spread 4 kilometers downstream. Cat’s Claw, when properly maintained, remains small and produces lovely yellow flowers, however, when released unchecked into a fragile environment it turns into a monster. The vine engulfs entire trees choking off their roots and leaves and ultimately killing them. As the trees falls into the creek, the vine spreads downstream to the next victim. Our job would be to cut the vines and spray the ends of them with Roundup. These bastards grow up to an inch thick and a single tree can have fifty or so vines surrounding it’s trunk. Added to this, once you cut the Cat’s Claw, you have 15 seconds to spray the live end until the plant secrets a clotting serum that protects it until it can regenerate. Oh the joys of invasive species.
The Brits Hard at Work
Armed with pruners and spray bottles, this proved to be very tough work. The creek bed is very steep, though vacant at the time of water, and temperatures hovered near 90 with nary a breath a wind. Around noon, two rangers from the Taroom Station, Tasha and Nathanial, showed up. This was quite the pair. Tasha was a wildly friendly woman who was never at a loss for words. Nathanial, on the other hand, was a behemoth of a man who barely uttered a sound. Having experience with Cat’s Claw, they showed up with serrated, folding saws, which were an absolute godsend, especially on the thicker, more entrenched vines.
We returned to the veranda around 3pm after a long day in the creek bed. Any sort of progress was difficult to notice, as we had started our Sisyphusian task at the absolute epicenter of the outbreak. Morale was waning, but a delicious chili dinner helped to bring spirits up. Post dinner, we played some cards; Jana teaching us a German version of President/Asshole and Daniel introducing a British game him and his mates called Shithead (a cross between Uno and Texas Hold ‘Em) The sun sets at 6:30. By the time the generator went out, we were all properly knickered out and sleep was very welcome.
What I Learned Today: Exporting culture can be like exporting invasive species, it may serve the exporter in the short term (and in some aesthetic sense) but in the end, it usually kills the entirety of the native culture (species) and needs to be removed. I feel we are grossly in danger of infecting the entire world with our vacuous materialistic culture. Through advertising and socio-political indoctrination man’s desire for possession is overtaking all other concerns; spiritual, environmental, and cultural alike. Gazing over a Cat’s Claw infected forest is like peering deep into the soul of our society...on the surface a pretty, green monoculture, but in reality, a sick, destructive way of life.
written by  exumenius on October 15, 2007 from Taroom, Australia

In Search of Reedy Creek Ranch - Night 4
Taroom, Australia
Our team leader John arrived around 7 o’clock this morning to begin packing up the troupee(basically a modified Jeep with seating for eight in the rear) and the trailer for our long haul to Expedition National Park. Involved with myself in this week long adventure were Daniel, Jana, Aaron, Mandy,Glen, our leader John and an illegal sidekick Brian. Glen turned out to be a local guy whose conservation studies mandated 80 hours of volunteer work. Twenty something, with a Mohawk and army fatigue pants, Glen cast himself as a bit of a harrowing character at first glance, however, after meeting him, his smile gave away his true nature; that of a quiet, hard-working fellow. Team Leader John, was an ex-oil geologist turned outdoorsman, who could have been old man Jackl’s twin, in both looks and demeanor. Brian, our stowaway, on the other hand, was quite the opposite, a Jeckl to John’s Hyde. Numerous tattoos, including BEER – one letter on each of the four fingers of his left hand – and a few scars spoke of a misspent youth that carried over a bit too far into adulthood. He was rather small and gaunt, about 5’5”, 150 pounds soaking wet, and had a manner of speech and movement incredibly similar to John Diemel. After hearing the first dozen stories out of his mouth, I decided that was exactly what he was: an Australian version of my hometown neighbor, Mr. Diemel. Oh yeah, the reason I say Brian was an illegal sidekick is that though he is a usual team leader about six months ago he was weed-eating when he took off his glasses to wipe some sweat and the end of the weed-eater hit the ground and kick a piece of metal directly into his eye. It went through the front and lodged itself in the retina. Four surgeries later, he is still wearing a patch, is on limited duty and isn’t supposed to be working, but boredom has got the best of him so he decided to ride along for free.
The Troupee in Taroom
Introductions and packing finished, we hid the road for what was to be an estimated six hour drive. The first hour and half was spent climbing the range up to the city of Toowoomba. On our climb up the steep grade we passed an old, bright pink car carrying two young girls struggling up the hill. Glancing over we spotted a large plastic dildo glued to the dashboard. The girls looked up, smiled and waved. We nearly drove in the ditch from laughter. Home of Queenstown University (or something like that), Toowoomba is a nice little college town perched on the edge of a plateau. We stopped for a quick stretch. The seats in the back of the troupee will numb even the fattest of asses in the first thirty minutes. After Toowoomba, the terrain levels out quickly. This is cattle country. Were we not driving on the left side of the road, one could fall asleep, awake and think you were smack dab in the center of Nebraska. A small town dots the map every 50 to 70 miles, all of them identical to the one before it. Around noon, we pulled off in the town of Chinchilla for lunch and our first taste of the coming annoyance known as harvest flies. A notch smaller than the common American housefly, what they lack in size they more than make up for in tenacity. A strange casual observation: each of these small farm towns has a skate park, and not one of them was in use.
At Miles, we turned north towards Taroom. The table-flat farmland began to give way to rolling hills, some pasture, most in their native scrub grass and savanna-like foliage. A few kilometers past Taroom we hung a left onto Robinson Creek Road, a red dirt road. This would be the last time we would see pavement (or bitumen as the Aussies call it) for days. For about a 100 KMs we bounced along in the back of the troupee dodging potholes, branches and the occasional kangaroo or wallaby. We came upon a fork in the road, and as Yogi Berra suggested, we took it. Actually, we hung a left, following (rather errantly as we would soon discover) the sign pointing toward Expedition National Park. Fifty kilometers later the end of the road appeared, with the Starkvite Campground to the right. Not where we were scheduled to say. Upon thieving a map from the campground, it was discovered that the directions we had been given were wrong and we had taken a left when we should have went
Reedy Creek Ranch
right. A bout two hours, three more turnarounds, one blue refrigerator and one bleached out road sign later, we arrived at the Reedy Creek Ranch, our intended destination. The trip took nine hours, eight of them on the road...much too long in the back of the troupee. As it was already dusk, John cooked a quick meal of jammers and mashies (hot dogs and mashed potatoes). The place is off the grid and the generator goes off at nine, so we unpacked our sleeping bags and headed to sleep on the veranda. Due to the Adrian’s (the owner) pervish tendencies the girls were allowed to sleep inside, us men were stuck under the stars.
What I Learned Today: Those of us who live in cities are missing out on one of the world’s great wonders: the night sky. Here at Reedy Creek Ranch, miles from any light pollution, the full breadth of the stars are on display. Though it is not the northern sky that I am so familiar with, its magnificence is not in the least bit diminished. I fear that there are many among us who have never truly seen the night sky in all its splendor, and what a shame that is.
written by  exumenius on October 14, 2007 from Taroom, Australia

Prepping for Our First Adventure - Night 3
Brisbane, Australia
Still not quite on Aussie time, as I awoke with sun at 5:30 am. No sense wasting a beautiful morning lying in bed and listening to the trains roll by the Albion Station, so I got up and went for a walk. I headed east and found the little shopping center technically called Woolowin. It has a grocery store, a Bi-Lo (whatever the hell that is), a Blockbuster, numerous real estate offices, but most importantly, a St. Vincent de Paul’s. I’ll be headed there later today to buy some work shirts and large sun hat, plus whatever cheap garb I can get my hands on.
Later on, my trip to St. Vinnie’s was a total bust. Some very nice $6 dress shirts were plentiful. There were also four racks of women’s belts, a whole bin of cassette tapes for $1, and special section of stuffed animals, but anything remotely resembling a men’s work quality shirt was nowhere to be found. I returned to the house empty handed. After lunch, Peter and I jumped the train to downtown to try to find some free internet at one of the libraries and for me to finish my shopping. (Note: The ticket men at the Albion station could be the most unhappy people on the planet, I guess calling out “The Shorncliffe Line will be arriving on Platform 4 in three minutes” all day can really take its toll.)
Brisbane from the Pedestrian Bridge
The city library on the north bank, though a beautiful building, was useless to a tourist. One needed a library card to do anything, including going to the bathroom. Across the river the State Library proved quite a bit more fruitful. The information center on the first floor was packed with people on laptops and others waiting in the queues for a free 20 minute online session on the provided desktop computers. While the wireless was free, it was terribly slow, and though I was able to answer some email and post a blog entry, I could not upload photos nor view any such content. What should have taken me 30 minutes, took 3 hours. I need to find a better place to get a free connection, or just break down and pay for it somewhere.
We then headed to Target in the Queen’s Street Mall underground. Within 2 minutes of being in the store I had lost Peter, not an easy thing to do considering the tall, skinny Korean was wearing a black and white Where’s Waldo-ish hat. After a few laps I gave up on him, figuring he had either went his own way or been decapitated by the samurai clad man who was hanging out in Housewares section. Either way, I could have been no further help, so I carried on with my afternoon. I felt a bit bad, because his English is marginal and he got lost yesterday and had to take a cab home, but I got over it. I eventually found some suitable work shirts at the Big W on sale for $10. A pretty good deal considering, my little tube of Carmex cost me $4.75. My advice to anyone coming to Australia: stock up on cosmetics, they are double or triple the price over here.
Returned home to do some reading and took a nap. In the evening we had a large communal spaghetti dinner. Afterwards everyone took their turn emptying their camera memory cards onto my computer. We are going to get some DVDs this week so I can burn everyone a disk at the end of the volunteer session. Most people, like myself, are staying over here for at least a few months, some more, and photos seem to accumulate pretty quickly in a beautiful place like this. Turns out my laptop will be a savior to more people than just myself.
What I Learned Today: Spending a day with someone whose English isn’t the greatest teaches you to clean up your vernacular slang and poor enunciation habits. I don’t know how many times with Peter I had to rephrase something because I was speaking in Midwest slang or uttering nonsense out of the corner of my mouth. Also, it is really funny listening to him pronounce his Ls as Rs. New Zealand becomes New Zearand, library is ribrary, etc. If you think the girl from Lost in Translation was exaggerating, she wasn’t.
PS: Speaking of language issues, yesterday Matt, the funny guy from Wales, was telling a story about him and his brother’s trip around New South Wales and Victoria in a camper van, when he managed to use the words Wanker, Tosser, and Bloody Fucking Bollocks all in the same sentence. Classic fucking British (or Welsh, rather).
written by  exumenius on October 13, 2007 from Brisbane, Australia

Thoreau, Rousseau, Laundry? - Night 9
The crew was packed and ready to go and we were on the road home by 8am. At our gasoline stop in Toowoomba, a few of the group grabbed brekky (breakfast) at Hungry Jack’s, the Australian Burger King. I spent a good deal of the ride rereading the beginning of Thoreau’s Walden. I truly doubt a better piece of literature was ever penned by man. It is a good thing my Varorium edition includes notes, as some of his rather esoteric references would be lost on a common man such as myself. Timeless wisdom all presented in a delicious, verbose, yet readable prose.
Back at the house by noon. I spent the afternoon doing laundry and catching up on my journal entries. A major breakthrough was had,
Brisbane Skyline
when I realized that if I sit in the farthest part of the back yard I can steal wireless from the neighbors. No more paying or waiting inline for internet use.
The house grew by two, as we gained a pair of volunteers; Lorelei, a young British girl on a two week holiday from school and Wu Huwmiyg-sometime, a deathly quiet older Korean woman. Daniel and I had a 007 and Mario-Kart tournament in the oft-unused game room. I was soundly defeated at both games.
What I Learned Today: Rousseau was right when he complained about favors becoming burdens. I am more than happy to let all use my computer for downloading photos and internet use - that is why I brought it. However, the old, weird Swedish woman has rightfully abused my good grace and has become the burden Jean-Jacques spoke of. I suppose the moral of the story is that in future I hope that I can retain the humility to receive gifts and acts of grace, but also remain thankful enough so that the giver finds me not a burden.

Still Miles to Go - Night 8
Miles, Australia
During the night a warm wind howled and by morning it was noticeably cooler and there were even clouds in the sky. I hadn’t seen a cloud since the day I landed. The flies had blown in as well. Though they had been bothersome during the first part of the week, they were poised to reach epic levels of annoyance today. Luckily by 9 am we had progressed our cat’s claw cutting up to the junction of the two creeks, our decided upon goal. Back to the ranch for our morning tea break (in which I never partake) and then packing for the trip back.
Due to the incredibly long drive ahead of us,
Miles Caravan Park
John booked us into a caravan park in Miles, a small town about half way home. We bid adieu to Reedy Creek Ranch around 10am and hit the highway, or rather the dirt track and headed south. A quick lunch of leftovers in Taroom, and we coasted into Miles around the 2 o’clock hour. Our caravan park had very nice, nearly new trailers that slept 4-5 people each. Complete with a toilet, shower, fridge and microwave, this was luxury, especially to a group of tired, thirsty volunteers who had spent the last week sleeping on a rotting wooden veranda.
It was only 2:30, but since it was 5 o’clock somewhere (in Fiji, we decided) it was time to head to the pub. I tried to explain to them that it was past noon and the time travel alcohol accounting measures were not needed, but Aussies are nothing if not stubborn. Our choice of pubs was limited to the Hotel Aussie or the Australian VFW Club. As we filed into the Hotel Aussie, the population of the joint tripled. A few solitary patrons came and went during the course of the day, but we had the run of the place. Much like small town America, small town Australia is breathing its death knell. The Hotel Aussie appeared to have once been the crown jewel of a thriving cattle town on Queensland tablelands. Now it is merely a refuge for stop-offs on the road from Darwin to Brisbane. A place for road train drivers needing a beer to hold them over until they reach the coast. A large dining room in the rear of the joint had probably seen its last use sometime during the Reagan administration (not knowing any Australian political history, I need to reference our own for such temporal comparisons).
An interesting fellow named Jimmy Rawlins decided to join us. To put it lightly, Jimmy was drunker than shit, and by the looks of it had been for some years. Fifty-two to be exact. Or so he told us. He introduced himself to each of us and tried to spark up conversation. I wouldn’t say it was English he was speaking, no, it was more of a pidgin dialect, a cross between Creole, Eurasian sign language and Morse Code. Our attempts to ignore him proved surprisingly successful and he soon stumbled to the other end of the horseshoe shaped bar to blabber at and spit on a foreign looking couple who had just order a round of drinks.
I was drinking Carlton Mid, a step up from the piss Victoria Bitter we had swindled from the owner of the Ranch. The others were swilling XXXX Gold, the Bud Light of Queensland. Out of kindness to our wallets, we grabbed a few sixers of Gold to go and headed back to the caravan park. Although Australia has a certain stigma as a land of drinkers, it is awful difficult to procure alcohol in this place. Only certain stores and bars are allowed to sell carryout beer and you would never find it at a super market or convenience store. What a bloody shame.
After playing a few rounds of cards back in our trailer, we loaded up the troupee and drove the three blocks to the Australian VFW for dinner. This place was an exact replica of the Fox Ballroom in Cecil, WI. A small bar as you enter leading you to the dining room in the rear. You ordered your meat and then had full access to a small salad bar. The customers all seemed to know each other, and likely had been coming here and sitting in the same spot for years. In order to get a beer in this joint, visitors like ourselves had to sign in and give our place of residence. I had the grilled barramundi, which tasted a bit like underseasoned cod, the salad bar, however, was ample. On our way out the door, who was standing there but Jimmy Rawlins….I guess the man gets around (to all two pubs).
As the pubs closed up at 9, we returned again to the trailers for some cards. By 11 all were in bed.
What I Relearned Today: Alcohol is an amazing social lubricant. Though we had all gotten along very well up until this point, after our first night out together everyone became quite a bit better friends. Group dynamics just seems to flow better after a night of drinking.
written by  exumenius on October 18, 2007 from Miles, Australia

Climbing Pomerica Peak - Night 7
Taroom, Australia
Today was the hottest day yet and with team morale appearing to reach a new low last night, I was a bit worried about the crew. However, a little after our morning start we started to come into an area in which the cat’s claw was much thinner and going much easier. Spirits lifted and by lunch time everyone was in a rather jovial mood.
Pomerica Peak
Following a short nap after work, the Expedition Team (Daniel, Aaron and I) prepared to make the first ever ascent of the unnamed collection of rocks that I had scouted out the other morning. While it is certain we wouldn’t be the first people to summit this small hill, there were no trails leading up to it, nor had the rangers ever been there, so for us these two circumstances were plenty enough to consider it a daring first ascent. A bit of bouldering and a few changes of direction later we were standing upon the top of the hill (which Daniel so eloquently
Affixing the Flag
named Pomerica Peak. For some reason the Brits are called Pomies, added to America gave him Pomerica…good enough for Aaron and I). The ascent took only 45 minutes and according to my Garmin was only .83 miles from the homestead, nonetheless, the views from the top were moving. This east face of the rock wall is some 50 to 70 feet straight up, with some deep inner slots. The rocks, which appear to be very old, are cleaving off the main hill, leaving what are some decent climbing faces. Back at camp we had decided to take one of the bright green Conservation Volunteer Association vests to plant at the top as a flag. Much to our luck, at the very easternmost point of the peak stood a large prickly pear tree (an invasive species from the American Southwest). We signed and date the make-shift flag and with a little help from some pilfered electrical tape affixed the flag to the prickly pear. Upon returning to the ranch, we were pleased to discover that in the
The Conquering Heros
right light one can see the flag from the veranda. Now we just need to hope that some passing ranger plane doesn’t see the vest and think it an SOS flag from some poor fool stranded on the hill. Oh well, by the time that happens, we’ll all be safely back in our home countries.
What I Learned Today: America’s refusal to switch to the metric system is negatively affecting my travel experience. I find myself having to convert everything to metric before I can speak about anything. My mind is full of .62s, 2.2s, divide by 5/9 and add 32s, etc. The metric system is so easy, all you do is move the decimal point. Seriously, who knows how many cups are in a gallon?
written by  exumenius on October 17, 2007 from Taroom, Australia

Shining for Gliders - Night 6
Napping in the Hammock
Northwest of the ranch lies a small hill with an impressive rock outcropping sprouting from its zenith. Daniel, Aaron and I decided that we would attempt to climb this less than alpine peak Wednesday after work. Thus, my morning walk today served as a scouting mission to determine the most appropriate course from which to approach the climb. Having the most climbing experience of the group, they trust my ‘expert’ judgment. After hiking to the eastern edge of the forest, I determined that a southerly approach would be quickest and easiest…and our route is set. On the return to camp I am surprised at how loud, yet peaceful this place is. The cacophony of the birds makes an absolute ruckus in the morning, however, it is a good noise, a natural noise, a calming noise. So unlike the noise of traffic rushing to and fro. It truly places one’s soul at ease…out here in the bush, concerns of the modern world sort of melt away, my concentration is on my walk and deep contemplation ensues. Now back to work.
In order to better monitor what areas have been finished, the rangers added blue or pink dye to our spray bottles of roundup. By the end of the day I am covered in blue and pink like a cross between a fierce Maori warrior and one of those androgynous Teletubbies.
After dusk (and after we had engulfed heaping plates of spaghetti) the rangers took us out “shining for gliders.” Basically this is like shining for deer, but instead you shine up into the trees hoping to spot the glowing eyes of flying squirrels. Following much ado and a long drive Nathanial finally located a yellow-bellied glider up high in a dead Gum tree. A few more kilometers and a few more gliders
Giving the Brits What They Deserve
and we were all about done with this little adventure. It was certainly interesting, but the little beasts, once mesmerized by the spotlight tend to curl up and stay put so it is difficult to actually catch them in the act of gliding from tree to tree. Our final total for the night: 5 yellow-bellied gliders, 0 great silver gliders, 6 rabbits and one television sitting out in the middle of the forest.
What I Learned Today: We are incredibly adaptable beings. At first I viciously swatted at every harvest fly that came near me. Now two days later I barely flinch unless on venture near my eyes or mouth. Given the necessity, we can teach ourselves to endure just about anything. (as if a few flies is anything compared to the daily tribulations of so many of the world’s less fortunate souls).

Failure in the City - Night 10
I had a checklist of tasks to do and sights to see in the city today. However, in the end, my visions of accomplishment were left unrealized as the great wheel of fate aligned with the stars to conspire against me.
Me and the 5 British folk jumped the 10:45 into the city. Following a brief venture down Queen Street Mall, we dispersed, each going our own separate way. My first stop was the old Treasury Building, which had recently been turned into a casino and 5-star hotel. My intent was not to gamble, but to merely check out the place and see of what casino life down under was all about. I made it no farther than the door when I was told in no uncertain terms that anyone wearing sandals was not allowed. Strike one.
I wandered from there down to the Botanical Gardens, a massive spread that occupies the entire west end of the triangular shape plot of land that downtown Brisbane is built upon. The Gardens are a very nice place, though the interpretive signs could use some improvement for us visitors who are not at all familiar with the local flora. Nonetheless, the royal palms and various varieties of root-dropping fig trees are most impressive. From here I walked clear across downtown to the Roma Street parkland, another large botanical setting located just north of the main train station. The Roma Street greenspace functions more as a picnic park than anything and being Saturday it was filled to the brim with barbecuers and people watchers. I am finding that Brisbane, as a city, has one of the nicer set of parks of anywhere I have been, Paris aside.
Post Roma Street Parkland I ventured down Milton Street past Suncorp Stadium, the large rugby and cricket venue on the east side of town. This monstrosity rivals the large sporting stadiums found throughout the United States. Past Suncorp was the equally large XXXX Brewery. After some trouble locating the entrance, I found that it was only open for tours Monday through Friday. Strike Two. Rather than walk the few miles back to the city I waited for the train at the Milton Street station. Arriving back in town, I had originally planned to visit the Queensland State Museum, but with my luck today it probably required jacket and tie dress or had burned down in the middle of the night. Defeated, I decided to do my shopping and head home. The soap and toothpaste were easy finds, but I’ll be damned if any store in Brisbane carries a flyswatter. My plan was to be the savior on our next trip to the outback, but instead I wound up the fool, running to and fro in search of this non-existent piece of plastic. When I asked the clerk at Crazy Clark’s Discount Store (basically a Dollar General) if they had any, her look told me that either I don’t know the Australian word for flyswatter or they have yet to be invented over here. Strike Three
Back at the house, we had originally planned to go out at midnight to watch the finals of the rugby world cup, but a last minute time zone calculation discovered that the game was on at 4am not midnight. We all went to bed a bid defeated, though none as deeply as I. Strike Four.
What I Learned Today: Throughout most of my adolescent and adult life, hanging out with friends meant drinking, gambling, or otherwise leaving the house to spend money somewhere. I don’t say this as an admission of my degeneracy, but rather to indicate my usual expectations of time with friends. Being with a bunch of travelers, who like me are on a strict daily allowance, has opened my eyes a bit to the art of hanging out and not spending money, or drinking for that matter. There is a certain art to simply and cheaply existing in the presence of others and I fear I am sadly underdeveloped in this area. I hope this trip will cure me of this ailment.

A Day at Redcliffe Beach - Night 11
Daniel and I awoke at 4am to watch the pre-game for the Rugby World Cup Final in Paris between England and South Africa. The Springboeks (as the Africans are known) were favorites over the Pomies. Being that half of the house is English, I had no choice but vehemently root for the South African squad. Having never watched a rugby game before and thus having no concept of the rules or strategies, the pre-game commentators could have been talking about quantum physics in Greek for all I understood. The game began with a quick score by the Springboeks and at half time it was 9-3, South Africa in the lead. The British blokes were constantly trying to convince me that the hits were bigger and the players better than American Football athletes. I remain unconvinced. However, I will admit that playing without hardly any pads means that the hits probably hurt more, but as far as being harder, not a chance. The rules of rugby allow for some specialization (i.e. some guys do most of the kicking, others the tackling) but not to the level of American Football. Also, players are in on both offense and defense, so there is a much greater endurance factor. In sum, the players are great athletes no doubt, but the speed isn’t quite the same as an American Football game. The most disappointing thing about the sport is the number of subjective calls by the referee and the large impact they have on the game. Twelve of South Africa’s fifteen points came off of free kicks after penalties, the same for six of England’s nine points. To me it seemed like the referee had too much influence on the flow of the game.
Today was Lorelei’s birthday, so her, Daniel and I hopped a train up to Redcliffe for the day. An hour later and $8.60 poorer we arrived in Redcliffe, a small beach community, that, quite surprisingly, was the first permanent European settlement in Queensland (originally a penal colony for the worst of the worst from New South Wales) and one of the places the honorable Captain James Cook landed back in the day. The name is derived from the strange, spongish red rock formations that dot the beach. To properly celebrate Lorelei’s birthday, we had a pair of breakfast beers and then crossed the street to the beach. As is the case every Sunday, a small market was taking place and in the rear was a bit of live music. The solo musician, Juzzie Smith – who is truly a one-man band as his advertisement suggests – was hard at work on the harmonica, banjo, tambourine, snare, and didgeridoo (an Australian horn instrument made from hollowed out tree trunk.) His music is a tribal-folk hybrid and actually very good. Lorelei bought a CD for us to rip to my computer upon arriving home.
After our beers, we prompted strolled down to the beach, which was empty, ate lunch and fell asleep in the warm sand. An hour later, we went for a walk down the beach for a mile or so and eventually caught the bus back into Sandgate where we met the train bound for Albion.
At the house we had a small birthday party for Lorelei and afterwards wandered around suburban Brisbane until we finally found a pub that was open on a Sunday night. We were all pretty knackered and after a solo beer the group walked back home.
I had my first major casualty of the trip today. Before heading to the beach I packed my sandals into the side compartment of my day bag. Upon arriving at the beach, only one sandal had made the entire trip. Somewhere between Albion and Redcliffe my left sandal flew the coop.
What I Learned Today: Simple pleasures like digging in the sand or watching the surf eat your footprints never cease to please me. Something about turning off our neocortex (our wonderful mammal minds) and letter our older, simpler reptilian brains take over is one of the most efficient and enjoyable ways to relax.

Driving to Dragonweyr - Night 12
Stanthorpe, Australia
8am scheduled departures for all three volunteer groups caused madness about the house this morning. Just minutes after all our bags were packed into the trailer a rogue cloud arrived and dumped about 15 minutes worth of rain, forcing us to scramble about in search of a tarp. Shortly after 8 we were on the road for our 3.5 hour drive down to the Stanthorpe area. The drive took us up over the Main Range unto the drier plateau of inland Queensland .
Our intended destination was the Dragonweyr Reserve, and this time we made it without taking any unintentional detours. The reserve is a private land holding that has voluntarily placed itself under the Queensland Conservation Act of 1992. Adrian Hobba, the owner, is a retiree who runs blacksmithing schools out of the backyard of the place. The Hobbas have a nice little homestead which is entirely solar powered.
We pitched our tents on the lawn and had a nice lunch consisting of sausages and salad, provided by the Hobbas. A small crew of Green Corps members was also onsite today assessing trail needs. Their team leader, Rob, was quite an interesting bloke and gave me some good ideas on places to go down in Tasmania.
By the time we were set up and finished eating it was almost 2pm so the remainder of the day was free for exploration. The group took a small bush walk down to the local swimming hole, which wasn’t much more that a large mud puddle. Most of Australia has been in a 5-year drought, and the Dragonweyr Reserve is no exception.
In the evening we had a good meal of chili and rice. After dinner the crew played a few rousing games of spoons. Night comes on quick and cool up here on the plateau and I was glad to have my 15 degree rated sleeping bag.
What I Learned Today: While my relative internal compass remains fully operational, my absolute one is entirely messed up. I went for a small solo bush walk today and easily found my way back, however I thought I was heading east the entire time when in fact I was going west. I continually looked down at my compass in disbelief. The sun seems to rise in the west and set in the east. It must be the fact that the sun’s arc is backwards and that I am much closer to the equator than I am used to (27 degrees latitude)
written by  exumenius on October 22, 2007 from Stanthorpe, Australia

Day Trip to Stanthorpe - Night 13
Stanthorpe, Australia
I awoke to a brisk morning at Dragonweyr. Team Leader John was already up and watching a group of parrots frolic in the bushes. These large, noisy beasts are quite beautiful. Bright red in color with long blue tail feathers, they are also rather good at eluding an amateur photographer such as myself.
Our task for this first week here would be to take a small 500-foot path through the woods and turn it into a meter-wide hiking highway full of stairs and topped with crushed red granite. Work on this job began very well and ended the same. The team easily split into groups of two, some charging ahead to clear a meter wide path, other pulling up all the rocks and some of us staying back to build the stairs and lay the gravel. Most of my morning was spent behind a wheelbarrow bringing load upon load of gravel down unto the path. It reminded me of wheeling concrete back during my Miron days. In the afternoon, a new line of wheelers took over and I switched to building stairs out of rocks. The bedrock here is exposed in many places and consists primarily of weathered rhyolite that is horizontally stratified. This is very good for trail building, as large flat stones are very commonly strewn about and are easily laid into place as steps for the trail. Lifting and moving rocks all day we came across a number of centipedes, scorpions and geckos, not to mention plenty of non-venomous spiders.
We finished up around 2:30 and packed up and headed into town for some supplies. Stanthorpe is about a 30 minute drive from Dragonweyr, just long enough to air out our stinky bodies. My main goal in town was to find some sandals after my mishap on the train last weekend. Though Stanthorpe is a small farming town it has a very nice downtown shopping district, including a Target Country, the store’s small town, main street type store. Inside I found some sandals and assorted toiletries for half the price of what we had been paying in Brisbane. Shopping here almost makes Australian prices seem reasonable. While we were in town we also stocked up on beer for the week. The rules of our volunteer program strictly prohibit alcohol on the job, but our team leader allows it in moderation, so long as everyone behaves and no one tells the superiors. A 30-pack of Carlton Mid (my second favorite Aussie brew to date, behind Toohey’s New) was had for $40.
After our pasta dinner we all sat around the table and played two truths and one lie, a camping game where each person has to tell two true things and one lie about themselves and the others have to guess which one is the lie. It is a great way to learn strange nuances about other people you have just met.
What I Learned Today: Our group, and likely all humans in general, enjoys working to a much greater extent when there is a clear goal in sight and progress is easily visible. Last week while cutting cat’s claw at Reedy Creek Ranch, morale was fairly low as there was no end in sight and progress was tough to monitor. Here at Dragonweyr, our goals are easily marked and the visualization of progress is quite obvious. As a result, everyone worked much harder today and the time passed much more quickly. I think we are all looking forward to the next two weeks of work, rather than dreading them.
written by  exumenius on October 23, 2007 from Stanthorpe, Australia

Manning the Forge - Night 14
Stanthorpe, Australia
By noon we had finished grading and laying red granite along the short, 150 meter trail. My primary chore today was assessing the natural drainage of the area and digging in the woo-boys (Australian slang for drainage channel). While most of trail work is rough and physical, drainage installation is more of a fine art, a nice change of pace from Tuesday’s time spent behind the wheelbarrow. All told, our first trail building exercise as a team was a major success. The owner was pleased with our work, which he had though would take us all week to complete. Having finished so soon, we enjoyed an early and lengthy lunch and did little in the afternoon except scout out the next trail to be completed.
Upon returning to the homestead following a short bush walk, Adrian was busy preparing a small forging demonstration for us. All of his smiting (or blacksmithing) is done on small charcoal forges in which the air is fed by hand crank. Starting with one burning ember, he added some old charcoal from his hot water heater and within minutes had a roaring bed of coals hot enough to melt a ½ inch steel rod. In fact, these small forges get so hot that you have to be careful not to burn the steel. His demonstration was comprised of him making a few large nails out of the steel rods. Nails are something we take for granted these days, but just 150 years ago they were very valuable things, so much so that many people would burn their house down when moving just to collect the nails (or so we were told). After he quickly formed a few large nails, it was now our turn at the forges. I’ll say this much, it is harder than it looks, especially forming a properly centered head on the nail. We all struggled for a bit, some of us making what could possibly be usable nails, given a skilled enough carpenter. In addition, he has allowed us use of the forges for the remainder of the week to entertain any creative fancy we may come across. After a bit of time, Adrian returned and quickly showed us how to make some ornamental leafs and arrow heads, not than any of us are skilled enough to copy this in the future. His wife then brought out a scrapbook containing photos of various items he has constructed over the years, as well as the numerous awards he has one. Swords, helmets, swings, garden tools, pots, pans, the list goes on; certainly a talented man.
In the late afternoon dark clouds gathered in the horizon, as much needed rain was approaching. Out here every drop matters and not an inch of the rooftops at Dragonweyr allow the precious water to escape. Their water tanks are nearly half empty, so the more the better tonight. This storm is especially well timed in that it allows us to the check the quality of our drainage systems along the newly constructed trail. I hope they all hold and we are not forced to do a major reconstruction project tomorrow morning. As we began to put on our extra rain flys and tarps over our tents we discovered we were a few tent stakes short. Not ten minutes later, Adrian had six new tent stakes for us fresh off the forge.
The rain held off until we were eating dinner, it poured down on us for about ten minutes and then stopped. A bit later a slower gentler rain took over. A good slow rain when sleeping in a tent is very soothing thing.
What I Learned Today: Technology has distanced us from many of the things that are so vital to our survival. This is not a new revelation for me, rather one so recently reinforced by our little blacksmithing demonstration today. We all use forged components each day of our life, but until now I hadn’t the slightest clue how much work forming a garden hoe or a nail, for that matter, once was. It makes the masterpieces of old that much more impressive. Blacksmithing is a dying art (though reviving in some circles) and some would say that is all for the best, however, I, for one, am glad that there are those who are keeping the old arts and trades alive, not only because they are enjoyable to learn and partake in, but also because they just might come in handy in the post-oil world.
written by  exumenius on October 24, 2007 from Stanthorpe, Australia

Ambitions of Lumberjackery - Night 15
Checking the rain gauge in the morning, showed only 5 millimeters of precipitation last night, hardly the storm event the weathermen were calling for. A quick check of our track showed no damage, the rain, however, had help to pack down the crushed red granite.
Today we began work on the much larger trail connecting the Dragonweyr Reserve to its sister reserve to the south, owned by Adrian’s daughter and son-in-law, Jane and John. Trail work on this track would be much easier as stepping, woo-boys and granite are not required; a simple raking along with tree and stone removal would suffice. Daniel and I were tasked with large tree removal. Manning an ax and a saw we forged ahead of the group, sawing and hacking our way down the track. The rain last night had not helped our cutting efforts, as the wet wood tended to swell around the saw, constantly pinching us off. Nevertheless, by break we had progressed about 80% of the way down the track and returned to help the others with raking.
We knocked off work around 2pm, having nearly completed one half of the track (though some minor rock removal remains). Somehow, this job needs to last us through next week, so I imagine our days will only be getting shorter in order to properly pace ourselves. To pass some time, we made another journey into Stanthorpe in the afternoon. I was in search of a new book to read and a slingshot, neither of which were found. After returning to Dragonweyr, Matt and I went on a small bush walk, following the granite ridge in hopes of finding a high point for some nice view of the Main Range to the east. Loosely following some marked trails and partially forging our own, we located a few decent vistas, but nothing to take your breath away. On the bright side, I did come across a few great thinking rocks, large circular stones that appear entirely out of place in this landscape, as if they were dropped from the sky. It reminded me a bit of the Texas Canyon area in the Chiricahuas east of Tucson.
A delicious dinner of deviled sausages, steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes with garlic in our bellies, we retired to the porch for a game of eight-man British Shithead. This game has become quite popular in camp and doesn’t require a whole lot of skill. About nine o’clock the wind picked up and the storm that the forecaster had predicted for yesterday finally arrived tonight. Though being in a metal shed likely overestimated the true fury of the rain, it flat out came down, like it can only come down in a desert environment. Massive lighting strikes and flash flooding, a storm straight out of the Sonoran Desert. After about an hour of listening to it pound the roof and the ground, during a small respite, we made the mad dash to the tent and luckily found it nearly bone dry in our sleeping quarters. The roof had held, but the floor leaked in a bit of water from the rushing flash flooding on the ground. We were sleeping on two inch thick pads, so the bit of floor moisture wasn’t be a problem.
What I Learned Today: Food and manufactured goods are more expensive here in Australia than they are comparatively in the United States. This, however, is not a bad thing. A big portion of the reason is that the people employed in fruit picking, farming, and general labor and manufacturing jobs are paid better than they are in the US. Migrant farm workers –many of whom are foreign backpackers like me -- are paid between $15 and $20 an hour to pick peaches. To be a Marxist for a moment, capital exploits labor to much lesser extent in Australia. It appears as if the people here (simple farmers and small business owners) understand community level, demand side economics (now if only we could get our high and mighty Republican politicians to understand the same elementary concepts). I imagine this is an insight perhaps gained in part by their isolation both internationally and intranationally or maybe by the fact that the government does much less here to subsidize the cost of transportation (fuel) than we do in the States.

Pizza Night - Night 16
Last night’s downpour produced just a few minor washouts along the trail, though much standing water remained on the path, suggesting we need to increase the convexity of the gravel cross sections. A task for next week. By the lunch hour, the second track was nearly finished, so we knocked off for the day. A pizza night is scheduled for this evening so we spent the immediate afternoon cleaning up our quarters and setting up tables and chairs. About 2pm another set of dark clouds rolled in and once again the skies opened up. It outright poured until about 5pm. I spent the afternoon reading Thoreau in the newly named study, a small closet type room that contains an old, but not quite antique, recliner. Half of the team ventured into town again to get more beer and pizza toppings and to pick up an ex-CVAer, Claudia, who happened to be staying at the Stanthorpe Backpackers while picking fruit at a nearby orchard.
Pizza Night
Pizza night here at the Hobbas means personal sized pies cooked in the massive wood-fired oven. Everyone had to make their own crusts (the dough was supplied), apply flour, oil, and pizza sauce and then add whatever toppings they desired. My first masterpiece was green olives, salami, cheese, and anchovies, the second, chorizo, onions and black olives. The first I went with a thin crust, the second a thicker, Chicago style. In all honesty, some of the best pizza I have ever had. Toppings ranged far and wide, from pineapples and bananas to baked beans and Romanian feta cheese. The Hobba’s grandchildren (offspring of Jane, their daughter and John and ex-CVA leader who live on the adjoining property to the east) were experts in this field and took to making calzones and stuffed crust pizzas.
By 8 pm the clouds had begun to break
Full Moon at Dragonweyr
and an amazing full moon shown itself. We finished the evening around the home-made lanterns/fire pits roasting marshmallows, and talking politics and life.
What I Learned Today: The vast majority of us, myself included, are much more concerned about what fuel goes into our cars or what shampoo into our hair than what food we put into our bodies. I’ve always had the excuse of being too busy to concern myself with amateur dietenics, however, this is now fortunately no longer the case. The Omnivore’s Dilemma, which I read a few months back, got me to thinking more seriously about what I eat. Being out here amongst a cadre of vegetarians, hypoglycemics and otherwise food conscious people had again forced me to reevaluate my diet. As I’ve aged I’ve found that my mood swings have increased and I now think that my diet is likely to blame. It is funny that as you age things you used to think foolish endeavors you now realize have true substance, while other customs and concerns you grew up you now know to be entirely superfluous.

Down the Range and to the Sea - Night 17
Byron Bay, Australia
Byron Point
By some miracle we nearly had everyone up and ready at 7 am today for the drive to Byron Bay. Carrying ten people with all our weekend gear in the back, the troupee was packed tight and ready for the journey. Our trip would take us over much of the Great Dividing Range, an old, eroded string of mountains more similar to the Appalachians than the Rockies. The road, improperly named the Bruxner Highway, was hands down the curviest, thinnest paved road I have ever been on. Though beautiful, our sinuous trek was tough to take in the back of the troupee.
We arrived in Byron Bay around the noon hour
Peering East
amidst sharp sunshine and a light sea breeze. A small town in terms of permanent population, Byron Bay is world famous for its backpacker scene and I reckon nine out of ten people on the street are anything but local. In addition to its nightlife reputation, Byron Bay is also the eastern most point of mainland Australia. It is somewhat strange to be driving the Pacific Highway (also numbered 1) on the east coast, not the west.
We spent the better part of the day just hanging out on the beach and jumping in and out of the surf. The waves break nicely here and the surfers were busy cutting up the rollers. There is a bit of rip tide here, though more horizontal than vertical. It is no wonder the size of Fraser Island considering the ample long shore drift that is prevalent here. In the afternoon we went for a walk down Jonson Street, the main drag. Good looking girls handing out flyers for everything under the sun man nearly every corner. We managed to pick up vouchers for free internet and for a $3 dinner. At the internet kiosk, which doubled as a travel agency, I found a few good deals on trips to Fraser Island, Noosa and the Whitsunday and will likely book one tomorrow.
The crew came back to the caravan park for a quick shower before dinner. Hanging around outside we fell into an impromptu game of football (soccer) against the girls rugby team that was staying next door. Though outnumbered and undersized we managed to squeak out a 2-1 victory on the strong goaltending of our team leader John.
It took awhile to find the $3 dinner place, however, upon arrival we found out that the only catch to the $3 deal was that we had to wait outside in line at 8 o’clock when the deal began. The joint, The Cheeky Monkey,
Drinks at the Cheeky Monkey
was a decent place with cheap drinks and good scenery, clearly a backpacker’s haven. Pitchers of beer, or jugs as they are known here, were only $7 from 7 to 10. The food was decent, certainly nothing to complain about for the price. By 10 o’clock the place had turned into a full scale night club and much drinking and dancing on the table was had. To anyone who will be in Bryon Bay in the future I highly recommend this place if you are looking for somewhere to let your hair down.
Daniel Winning some Beer
A question of etiquette for you all: If you buy two girls beers and they end up being completely boring and a bit teetotalerish, is it OK to steal the beer back? I guess I really don’t care what your answer is, because Matt and I did just that. The two broads in question were from the UK (Cornwall to be exact) and though certainly good looking, were about as interesting as a freshly painted wall. Thus after a bit of unsuccessful conversation we rightly nickered our boughten beers back.
After leaving the bar we stopped for a dirty doner kebab and then jumped into a cab for the ride back to the caravan park. I ended the night with an empty wallet and a bed consisting of a floor mat and my sleeping bag.
What I Learned Today: The surfer lifestyle has been glamorized in Hollywood for over thirty years now as the perfect pursuit for those wild and young at heart. Though I will admit that surfing does have the luxury of beautiful scenery and good-looking men and women (at least in the movies), I don’t think it is more fulfilling than any other hobby or lifestyle one can choose to practice. What surfing does have going for it, however, is the passion of its members and the community they have formed. These, the passion and the community, are what truly draw people to the ideal of the surfer’s lifestyle. Most of us long for such passion but cannot seem to find it in our daily pursuits. Going to work, paying taxes, grocery shopping, a weekly basketball game, our favorite sitcom; these do not stir the hearts of men. The community aspect is just as, if not more, important than the passion. When people are entirely committed to something they need someone to share it with. In this respect, surfing benefits through the geographic concentration of it members, i.e. there are only a few spots in the world to properly surf year round. Other hobbies such as hiking, stamp collecting, gardening, and writing erotica, for example, can be done nearly anywhere and thus the members are spread out all over the face of the earth. The internet is bridging these gaps, but there is no substitute for sitting around a beach campfire with other surfers sipping beer and telling stories of ridiculous breakers and shark sightings.
written by  exumenius on October 27, 2007 from Byron Bay, Australia

Repair and Relocation - Night 19
Last night’s storms flooded our tent and
The Boys Working Hard
washed away the first 30 meters of our gravel track. To remedy the first concern, we moved all of our belongings up into the loft above the kitchen. Though a bit draftier, our new home will certainly keep us drier in the event of any more violent storms.
Fixing the damaged track proved a bit more difficult. We had to dig several significant drainage channels and completely reroute the first 10 meters of track. The woo-boys were deepened and a few cubic yards of gravel were brought in to replace what had washed away and to bolster what remained. By the lunch our all the repair work was completed.
Hard at Work
In the afternoon more rain threatened, so we spent it relaxing and drying out our moistened possessions from the night before. Around 4pm the sun poked through the clouds so Matt, Aaron and I went on a bushwalk. Near John and Jane’s place, the far western reaches of the property, are some great vistas of the surrounding hills, and though we were too early, it is likely a wonderful place to catch an amazing Australian sunset.
The night was a typical night here a Dragonweyr. Eating as the sun goes down, followed by some cards at night and early to bed.
What I Learned Today: It has been a month now that I have been living out of bag and sleeping on strange couches, floors, and the occasional bed. Decisions become much simpler when you are on the road. Often, wardrobe is determined by what is clean or what is on top of your pack. What to eat is generally what is available, or what is cheapest. And what to do with your time is limited to what is immediately surrounding you…no tv, no internet (usually), just you and the world.

A Hike Down the Escarpment - Night 20
The Granite Belt Vista
We spent the morning building a fire break near John and Jane’s home. Wide enough for a truck to come down, in the case of a fire it will serve two purposes; 1) allowing vehicular access to the forest, and 2) eliminating the fuel, thus hopefully stopping the fire. Jane had us inside for morning tea. Their home is a combination stone structure, with a rammed earth add-on. Doors and many windows stay open all day this time of year. The passive heating and cooling in the place keeps the temperature very mild while using no fuel at all. They do have a stove for heating in the chilly winter nights. As we finished up at noon, a large, calm iguana greeted us back at the troupee. Harmless to humans, he seemed as if he actually enjoyed having his photo taken.
Having completed the fire break, once
Climbing Aussie Style
again the afternoon was ours to use as we pleased. Jana, Matt and I hiked back to the house and down over the steep granite escarpment into the valley in search of some rocks to climb. The valley below is full of large boulders that can be safely climbed without any gear other than some good shoes and flexible pants. We spent the better part of two hours exploring and climbing before marching back to camp. I think I could really get into the sport of climbing, as it affords constant feeling of accomplishment and conquest regardless of the size or difficulty of the climb, not to mention the great exercise it is.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon and much of the evening reading a book –Party’s Over by Richard Heinberg -- that I borrowed from Jane. Although the peak oil and its inevitability was nothing new to me, the book does a great job of explaining the history of energy and the human species, as well as how the oil companies evolved to the point of controlling the country’s geo-political policies. Written prior to the Iraq War, the author predicts almost perfectly what Bush was going to do and explains why. Though my cynicism no longer allows me to be surprised by anything done in the name of politics, it was still, nonetheless, a bit disturbing. Heinberg concludes the book by explaining why we are in such trouble and what, if anything, can be done to help ease the pain of the end of cheap oil. An easy read in the sense of understanding and comprehension, but a difficult read because chances are he is right and we will all experience these momentous changes during our lifetimes and we(most of civilized society) simply are not ready for it; hence the party is nearly over.
What I Learned Today: A quote from Heinberg (about society’s reaction to the Peak Oil): “ Human beings thrive on hope. Without some sense that our individual deliberate effort brings us closer to a fulfillment of our personal goals, we simply cannot function from one day to the next. And yet, hope often betrays us, as it blinds us to clear and evident danger and leads us to courses of action and inaction that will eventually result in the loss of our property, our livelihood, our liberty, and even our very lives.
If optimists see the glass as half full and believe that things are good and getting better, they may conclude that there is little need to be concerned about the future and hence fail to take action. On the other hand, when pessimists see the glass as half empty and believe the world is going downhill and getting worse every day, they may conclude that there is nothing that can be done and also fail to take action. It is the realists who, seeing that society faces dire and increasing threat, recognize that there is much that can be done to mitigate the worst of the likely impacts and take informed action to make the best of the situation.”
I have been raised a stout realist in most respects of life. In matters of society and macro-level decisions making ability my education, job and experiences have led me down the path of a cynic firmly in the direction of absolute pessimism. Conversely, in the personal realm, I am adamantly committed to maintaining a positive outlook based primarily on reason and realistic personal observations of the world around me.
In this day when the mass media and religious and political demagogues spin a strange one-two punch of fear-based pessimism quickly countered with Panglossian optimism it is no surprise that reason and facts find no place in the decision making matrix. What we need is healthy dose of realism, a great big glass of objective thinking. It is true that realism doesn’t have the constant, gleeful child-like euphoria of optimism, nor the communal, misery-loves-company angst of the pessimist way of life, however, it just might offer the truth and the ability to think for yourself, to exercise your mind, to be the cerebral individual that we all want to believe we are.

Halloween in the Granite Belt - Night 21
Digging out Rocks with Jana
The work load here at Dragonweyr is beginning to thin considerably. We put the finishing touches on the long bike trail this morning by pulling the last few remaining rocks and chipping off those that were too big to remove. After morning tea, I grabbed the axe to Split some wood for Adrian. Memories of Splitting wood with Grandpa during maple syrup gathering on the back 40 fill my head. I thoroughly enjoy making wood, it must be something about the challenge of the perfect ax swing, hitting the log exactly where it will best Split.
Next up, we headed east to the small collection pond along the driveway to remove small cypress trees which were clogging the shore. Root structures in the sandy soil are generally very weak, and trees up to about four inches in diameter were easily pulled out with a little effort and some mattock work.
Swimming in the Dam
As the sun came out, it began to heat up and eventually nearly all of us ended up in the pond with some help from Daniel and Aaron.
Jane and John had a Halloween campfire planned for us, but another round of showers moved in around the dinner hour and washed out our plans.
What I Learned Today: I rather don’t mind living without a mirror.

Going Away Dinner - Night 22
Chilling at the Forge
All that remained of work for the day was chopping the remaining wood and moving a large stone in the backyard. As such we were finished with our conservation duties before morning tea. The Hobbas were planning a large going away dinner for this evening, so the rest of the day was spent preparing for the meal. Additionally, Adrian fired up the forges once again to give us all another chance at smithing. I failed miserably at making an arrowhead.
The Hobbas handled most of the dinner prep so the afternoon was spent lazily playing cards and cleaning for our departure tomorrow. Borrowing a bike, we all got a chance to take a run down the mountain bike trail we had built…and a good ride it is.
The evening dinner was fantastic. An appetizer of Swedish Split pea soup and fresh rye bread, followed by a first course of a sweet Korean beef dish and rice. The main entrée was a lamb roast with potatoes, pumpkins and vegetables all cooked by their son Garth in the outdoor hearth. Ice cream with fresh fruit from the garden served as a desert for anyone who had room left in their stomachs. A great way to end two good weeks at the Hobbas.
What I Learned Today: The brakes on bikes over here are reversed: the front is on the right, the rear on the left. I nearly learned this the hard way while coming down a hill.
written by  exumenius on November 1, 2007 from Stanthorpe, Australia

A Crazy Day in Stanthorpe - Night 23
Group Photo
The day began as any other at Dragonweyr; a morning walk, some breakfast, a bit of cleaning. Strange events, however, would soon conspire. Today was our last day at this project, so rather than work we spent the morning taking down tents and packing up our tools and belongings. With our self-imposed 9 am deadline approach everything seemed to be coming together nicely. On the last trip down the ladder from the loft, Matt slipped and fell off the ladder, his elbow breaking his fall to the concrete floor. At first the injury appeared to be minor – a bit of lost skin and some serious bruising. The packing concluded and we were off by 9. In the twenty minutes it took to get to Stanthorpe, his arm had begun to swell and movement in the joint was no longer possible.
Though my Republican friends swear up and down that medicine in a country with universal health care is slow and substandard, we were able to get him in to see a doctor at the Granite Belt Clinic immediately. The doctor’s opinion was that it was fractured, but she needed an x-ray to confirm, so John drove Matt to the local hospital, a few kilometers away for an x-ray. This is where things get weird.
The rest of us decided to hang out on a bench about 10 meters from the clinic’s front door while they were away getting an x-rays. Not ten minutes later, while trying to park in angle parking, an elderly woman drove up over the sidewalk and straight into the reception area of the clinic, nearly killing a man walking on the sidewalk. Apparently she hit the accelerator instead of the brake, as the wheels were still spinning on the sidewalk as she tried to burrow further into the building. Luckily the reception area was empty at the moment and no one was injured. Matt and John, with x-rays in hand, returned 30 minutes later (again proof of the perils of socialized medicine) to a clinic with a much larger front door. Rather than close down for the day, the doctor’s office kept right on accepting patients and the police and fire removed the woman from the vehicle and eventually the vehicle from the building. In retrospect, had she parked just six stalls down, she would have likely injured a large contingent of conservation volunteer workers.
The diagnosis on the arm wasn’t good; three breaks, one which has a one centimeter gap. Pins and a plate will be required and are scheduled to be put into place on Monday at a hospital in Brisbane. Luckily for Matt, he is a British citizen and the two countries have a reciprocal medical insurance agreement, so all his bills will be paid.
Our caravan of despair finally returned home around 4 pm to find that the other volunteers had ordered pizza, a welcomed indulgence after two weeks of camp food, which though very good, just isn’t the same as steaming hot delivery pizza. After unpacking and settling back into civilized life, Daniel and I headed down to the pub around 9 for a pint or two. Finnigan’s Chin is a decent looking Irish Pub, the closest one to our house. Being a Friday night we expected a good, young crowd, but were treated to anything but. The clientele was a mix of late teens misfits gathered around the pool table, some biker-trash older women and middle aged men, who judging by their dress, had been hear ever since the whistle blew at 5 pm. To make things even stranger, it was karaoke night, an invitation for people to show their absolute worst sides. A thin, androgynous being whose voice was slightly feminine murdered Billy Ray Cyrus’s Achy Breaky Heart. This was followed up by Dennis’s thrilling Beach Boys cover and topped off by a group of three mid 40s women ear-screaming rendition of that annoying song from Grease. It was right then and there that I had my first “What the fuck am I doing here moment” since being in Australia. Seriously, what was I doing here among these strange creatures 7000 miles from home listening to the most god awful singing of the worst songs ever written and paying $5 a pint for an Australian version of Guinness? Living, I guess. Just following some odd path I have unknowing laid for myself.
What I Learned Today: If one is banking on a long life, don’t sit or stand for very long on sidewalks in front of angle parking in cities where much of the population is over 80 and still driving.
written by  exumenius on November 2, 2007 from Brisbane, Australia

Sanctuary of the Veils - Night 24
Petting a Roo'
As a thank you to us volunteers, the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary here in Brisbane gave us free passes to their exhibit. We decided today would be as good of a day as any to use them, since Aaron, Jana, and Matt would be leaving the house after this weekend.
While we were waiting for the bus downtown,
A Koala and I
one of Dan’s old roommates from the hostel, Callum (22, Scotland) happened to be headed in the same direction with two girls from the hostel, Anna (21, from N. Ireland) and Sabine (19, Denmark). Our group of five became eight and we boarded the bus for the nearly hour ride to the Sanctuary. The place turned out to be more of a zoo, than an actually sanctuary, although many of the animals they kept were previously injured. The koalas were broken up by age and gender into separate living arrangement. The furry little beasts sleep 18 to 20 hours a day, so Koala watching isn’t exactly an adventure sport. Feeding only on eucalyptus leaves, they cling to trees for pretty much their entire lives. A strange little piece of evolution.
Drinking on the Boat
On a more exciting note, the Sanctuary also had various birds, reptiles, a few wombats and a pair of dingoes. Sadly, the Tasmanian Devil was out on loan to another zoo. There was also a Kangaroo petting area, where one could get up close and personal with some pet kangaroos and some angry emus, who seemed to like pecking at shiny objects such as cameras and jewelry. At 1:00 there was a demonstration of sheep dog herding techniques. The sheep dogs run these strange circles all the time, just like Tipper does at home, confirming our suspicion that she had herded in a previous life.
Rather than take the bus home, we jumped
New Friends on the Boat
on the cruise ship that comes by daily for a ride back to the city. Sitting in the sun and drinking beer, the hour and half ride was much better than taking the bus. Toohey’s Dry might be my new favorite Australian Beer. I happened to be sitting by a guy from Sydney who was a major jet boat fan and he had been going to Seattle for years to watch the annoying speed boats during SeaFair each August.
Drunk on the Train
Later in the evening we met Callum and Daniel’s other old roommate, Chris at Birdee, the bar at The Bunk hostel. Part open air, it was immediately next to the swimming pool and offered $8 pitchers of beer. A grand place in my opinion. The girls had other plans for the evening but made vague promises to try to meet us out later on. They never showed. After countless pitchers at Birdee, we headed down the street to see a concert at a bar called the Zoo. Quite a bit classier than the Seattle establishment of the same name, cover was a bit expensive because a band, The Veils, were playing that night. We paid it anyways and went in to enjoy the show. Beer was reasonable, by Australian standards and we quickly grabbed a pool table. Once the music started everyone migrated to the stage to listen to The Veils, whose music is your basic new rock sort of stuff. Not bad, but not overly good either. After a late night meal on Brunswick Street we returned to the house around 1am, I think.
What I Learned Today: I am sucker for an Irish accent
written by  exumenius on November 3, 2007 from Brisbane, Australia

Life Maintenance - Night 25
Nothing of any significance occurred today.
I awoke shirtless lying on top of the sheets,
Brisbane at Night
throat parched, bladder full, stomach queasy; my first Australian hangover, pretty much the same as those back home. I spent the remainder of the morning drinking water and preparing myself to do little to nothing with the day.
In retrospect, it wasn’t a total loss. I updated some journal entries, bought some bus tickets, made a few reservations for future travels, emailed, and took a good, long walk through Everton Park. After being busy for a couple weeks at a time, you need a day to just get your life back in order.
What I Learned Today: In the end, time is the only currency that really matters. Spend yours wisely.
written by  exumenius on November 4, 2007 from Brisbane, Australia

To Bribie - Night 26
Woorim, Australia
My assignment this week was to do bush regeneration on Bribie Island, a large sandbar northeast of Brisbane. It would also be my first week with Team Leader Chris. We loaded the troupee for an 8am departure. Joining me this week would be Daniel, Hong, Han, Rex, Mark and Lena. The drive isn’t far and after fighting Brisbane traffic for a bit, we crossed the bridge onto Bribie at around 9:30 am. The island itself is populated mostly by retirees and we weren’t the least bit shocked to see nothing but old folks upon our arrival.
The Mexican Chef
Our lodging consists of three man cabins at the Bongaree Caravan Park, directly across the road from the Moreton Bay side beach. To the immediate south is a lawn bowling club that at 10 am on Monday was full of octogenarians acting out their last athletic endeavors. We were working at Buckley’s Hole Conservation Park, just a mile or so south of the caravan park. Arriving at the park, we were greeted by two rangers from the Caboolture Shire Commission, Ed and Shane. Shane would be our day-to-day assistant, while Ed was on hand to give us an informative, detailed introduction to the uses of the park, its wildlife and how man has changed the area over the years.
Weeding, weeding, weeding would be our main task. Many invasive species have taken over the shores and prohibit the native plants from growing. Names such as Mother of Millions and Mother-in-Laws Tongue speak to the aggressive reproductive powers and painful nature of these plants.
As opposed to working John, Chris requires each person or groups of people to cook one night of the week. Lacking any real interest in cooking American food, I offered to do a Mexican food night. This stunning meal consistent solely of a do-it-yourself taco bar, which worked really well considering ¼ of the
Taco Night in Bribie
volunteers are vegetarians and the refried beans and veggie mince served as a sufficient surrogate. It all turned out surprisingly well, there was enough food to go around and the meat tasted very well, much better than anything I’ve ever had at Taco Bell.
What I Learned Today: Lawn bowling clubs in Australia seem to serve the same purpose as country clubs in America: to retain the division of classes long after retirement.
written by  exumenius on November 5, 2007 from Woorim, Australia

More Weeding - Night 27
Woorim, Australia
Today was the running of the Melbourne Cup, Australia’s version of the Kentucky Derby. To celebrate we did more weeding at Buckley’s Hole.
At lunch I took a walk on the beach and
The Dreaded Weeds
came upon a huge group of small blue crabs, though I didn’t have my camera with me. They move in a sort of pack movement, like ants or bees and when approached will quickly burrow themselves into the soft sand.
After work I went down to the library and was relatively unsuccessful in uploading more photos. For dinner with had both Korean and Chinese food.
What I Learned Today: The Korean word for ‘Fuck You’…..but I quickly forgot it.
written by  exumenius on November 6, 2007 from Woorim, Australia

Rain, Rain Go Away - Night 28
Woorim, Australia
Bribie Beach
Ominous clouds hung low in the sky again this morning, but the rain held off as we had breakfast and eventually drove to Buckley’s Hole to do more weeding. Just after break, when we were preparing to switch gears into some tree planting, the skies opened up once more. Shane led us on a brief tour of the island and we then returned to the cabins to wait out the storm. If it quit in time, we planned to return and plant in the afternoon. It didn’t and we didn’t.
I spent the afternoon reading John Krakauer’s Into Thin Air, a tale of his hike to the summit of Mount Everest, in which eleven people ultimately lost their lives. Though I have no desire to climb anywhere the use of supplemental oxygen is practically a must, it did remind me of how much I miss hiking in the Cascades, or anywhere above the tree line for that matter.
I finished the book and took a long walk down the beach promenade in the blowing wind and light rain to think about what I am going to do with my life when I return. Before I left I promised myself I wouldn’t let this concern get
Weeding on Bribie
in the way of my vacation down under, but I cannot but to ponder what it is I should do. The larger answer is obvious: find something you love to do, regardless of the pay…but what is it I love to do, or rather, my problem is narrowing it down and finding a compromise so I don’t have to sacrifice one enjoyment at the expense of another.
What I Learned Today: In 1996 Goran Knapp packed his gear, rode his bike from Sweden to Kathmandu, hiked to base camp and then climbed to within 300 feet of the summit of Mount Everest only to turn back because the snow wasn’t quite right for safe passage to the peak. That’s determination with the knowledge of when to quit.
written by  exumenius on November 7, 2007 from Woorim, Australia

A Change of Pace - Night 29
Bribie Beach
We began the morning with tree planting. Though there wasn’t a whole lot of them to do, we managed to stretch the job out until noon. Around 1 pm the sun finally showed its welcomed face, the first time since we had been out to Bribie Island. To enjoy the great weather, Daniel and I decided to walk the few kilometers home after our work was done. On the way, we came across legions of the small soldier crabs that I had seen the day before; and this time my camera was handy.
For dinner this evening we had a ‘clean out
Bribie Island
the fridge’ barbeque. All over Australia (well Queensland, at least) are these public electric barbeques. Just push the button and you get ten minutes of grill time, freely renewable whenever the time runs out. Lena and Chris were in charge of the vegetables, so took to cooking the meat. Despite the low lighting and unfamiliarity of the grill, my chicken turned out delicious.
Bribie Sunset
What I Learned Today: I am actually a pretty good cook and enjoy doing it.

Last Day of Volunteering - Night 30
After packing up our gear and giving the cabins a thorough clean we made our way down to Buckley’s Hole for one last go at the weeds. Again the morning sky was cloudy, but soon gave way to a beautiful spring day. Shane was off for the day, so the CVA crew worked in anonymity until about 11 am and then called it good. While geographically it didn’t seem like we made much ground, in fact we had removed many hundreds of pounds of weeds (and planted a fair amount of trees and shrubs) thus greatly improving the growing environment for the local flora. A quick lunch by the sea and we were back at the volunteer house by 2pm.
My volunteer session in Australia being over, I’d like to say that I had a great time doing it. Would I do it again? Absolutely. With this company? Never. First off, I think the jobs were poorly estimated, thus we spent too much time doing nothing. Secondly, there were too many Koreans. Don’t take me for a racist, I have nothing against the Korean people, it is just that most of us choose these opportunities to experience a variety of cultures and when 60 to 70 percent of the volunteers are all one nationality, that doesn’t quite fit the expectations. That and most of the Koreans volunteers are doing it for the certificate which they tell me goes a long way on the resume. I’d much rather work with people who are in it because they care, not because it will help them down the road.
I finished my laundry and finally had some
Beers at Birdee's
success uploading photos to my journal. Around 7 I left for the Valley to meet Daniel, Callum, and Anna at Birdee’s. Once again the bar was hoping, leading me to vote it best hostel bar in Brisbane (though I have only been to two of them). Chris and Sabine showed up as well, along with some Irish girls. We played a supersized version of Jenga, which I am proud to report I did not once spill. I even met some local Brissy girls – a first for me. After setting a mandatory going home time of 11 pm for myself, due to my early bus the next morning, I finally managed to pull myself from the bar at 12:15. Getting off the train in Albion I heard someone yell my name and who is it but Koala (actually Rex) the sleepy Korean guy. He reaches in his jacket and pulls out two beers for the walk home. A fitting end to my volunteering days at CVA.
Barroom Jenga
Not having an alarm and not trusting myself to wake up in time, I took my mattress and sleeping bag out to the covered porch, trusting the sun and the birds to wake me in time for my bus the next morning.
What I Learned Today: Giving myself a curfew is a colossal waste of time.

Trip to Hervey Bay - Night 31
Maryborough, Australia
I awoke around 4 am with a sewing needle stabbing me in the ass. Apparently someone had left one on/in the mattress I had stolen and set outside to sleep on. Son of bitch that hurt. I managed to squeeze out another hour of marginally sound sleep before waking for good. Showered, packed my bags and said good bye to the CVA volunteer house. I caught the 7:45 Greyhound from the Roma Street Station bound for Hervey Bay. Hands down the most comfortable bus I have ever been on, that and I had an open seat next to me. In front and to the right of me sat a Methuselah of a man who would fall asleep every ten minutes and then awaken suddenly and make some sort of jibberish, grunting noise and promptly pass back out. Just amazing. Seriously, who are these people? These strange, aged characters who seem to flock to public transport, libraries, and flea markets. Is this what will happen to me in fifty years if I don’t adequately pad my 401k upon returning from this odyssey?
We arrived in Hervey Bay around the one
Next Backpacker, Hervey Bay
o’clock hour, whereupon I hitched a ride with the Next Backpackers Bus back to the hostel. After signing some paper work we were treated to a rousing overview of our Fraser Island trip by Troy, a guide for the tour company. Our group consists of eight women and three men.
The Roster:
Rob, England – 30
Laura, England – 29
Rebecca, England – 22
Amy, England – 22
Elaine, Ireland – 25
Marie, Ireland – 25
Hannah, Germany – 19
Jana, Germany – 19
Aaron, Canada – 22
Morgan, Canada – 22
Hervey Bay
Everyone threw in $20 for food and after some deliberating decided on a menu for the next few days. Rob and I agreed to do the shopping. Buying food for eleven people sounds much easier than it really is. Not only did we forget the sausages but we blew the budget by $60. We are all on our own for buying alcohol and sunscreen, the only two true necessaries on Fraser.
What I Learned Today: Americans just don’t seem to travel well. Of the 40 or so travelers I have met so far on this trip, only one of them has been an American, whereas the British seem to be everywhere.
written by  exumenius on November 10, 2007 from Maryborough, Australia

First Day on Fraser
Fraser Island, Australia
After our short introductory meeting we left the Next Backpackers hostel around 9pm for the drive to the ferry terminal. We were early enough to be the first ones on, which meant we would be the first ones off once the boat was docked on the Island. The sea was rough and 45 minute crossing was a bit cold. After landing, we headed straight to Lake MacKenzie for lunch.
The lake is only about 10 acres in size,
Lake MacKenzie
but has the finest, white beach sand I have ever seen. It is much like walking on flour. The water is so clear and blue we were told that you can drink it (I tried it and it tastes better than any water you’ll ever buy in a store.) In order to keep the water clean they suggest not swimming after using sun block or lotion. The Lake MacKenzie beach is consistently rated one of the top in the world and I would have to agree that it is pretty damn amazing.
Post lunch, we took the rough, winding road through the rain forest down to the little town of Eurong. As you descend the hill, the forest changes dramatically based on the amount of rain it receives. Fraser Island is composed solely of sand (with a few volcanic rock outcroppings) so I is quite amazing that 120 foot tall trees can grow here. At Eurong you leave the winding forest road and head out to drive along the beach. Nearly perfectly straight for 50 miles or so, at low tide the beach makes for a great highway. Speed limits are posted at 70 kmh, but a fully loaded troupee can do about 90 safely on the hard pack sand.
An hour into the beach drive we came upon
Maheno Shipwreck
the Maheno ship wreck. Back in the 1920s the Maheno was a cruise ship making the run from Sydney to New Zealand. Eventually considered obsolete, a Japanese company purchased it for scrap metal and was towing it back to Japan when it came loose in a violent storm in 1935 and washed up on Fraser Island. Built in the same Irish shipyard as the Titanic, it was once a large ship nearly ten stories high. But the seventy years of wind, surf and its occasional use as target practice for the Australian Air Force have not been kind to the Maheno. Not much remains of this once proud ship.
We arrived at our campsite, which was just 2 kilometers north of the ship wreck, around 4pm. Blessed with decent weather we decided to go for a small side trip up to Knifeblade Sandblow. The camp hosts, four native Aborigines, pointed us in the right direction. On the way to the lookout we hit a large bump and suddenly my entire left side (I was riding shotgun) was covered in red. A bottle of wine – my bottle of wine – stored on the top rack had burst and spilled down the side of the troupee. I was a bit bummed at first, but everyone offered to share their booze (and the stains washed out) so I might have actually come out ahead on the deal. The Sandblow was amazing, but we were too far away to actually get onto the dunes.
Steak and Potatoes on Fraser
Dinner for the night was steak, potatoes and salad. The Dan Krause special potatoes went over very well. Quite surprisingly the food was very good, almost too good for camp food. Accommodations were a large rotunda that held 22 cots and one large huntsman spider on the roof. Some of the people though it a bit too wild, but for a true backpacker it was rather luxurious.
We all sat around with the other groups at the
Tribal Dances
campground and swilled wine and beer and stared into the fire. Around 9 the aboriginal hosts came out to do some traditional dances for us. Much ground stomping, yelling and playing of the digeridoo, the dances are intense and exciting. We were seated on the ground so each of the foot stomps reverberated through the crowd. The men were dressed in traditional clothes complete with body paint. One of the men had three stripes on his chest which he explained stood for the three principles of his tribe: 1)If you have more than enough you must share with your fellow tribesman, 2)Respect Mother Earth for she provides you with everything, 3)Respect your elders for they teach you everything you need to know to live. I don’t think we’ve improved upon these principles over the last 60,000 years; in fact we (western civilization) seem to have forgotten all three.
What I Learned Today: The thirds and the quadrant rules of photography. That and a few other pointers from Rob (a professional photographer – www.robheathcote.co.uk), which I hope will vastly improve my photographs for the rest of my trip.
written by  exumenius on November 11, 2007 from Fraser Island, Australia

Sand and Sea - Night 33
Fraser Island, Australia
The Beach on Fraser Island
As usual, I was the first to awake despite my bout of wine drinking the night before. My customary morning walk took me down to the sea and then north to the Pinnacles, strange sand blown formations much like the Badlands of South Dakota. Upon my return the group was up and at em’, so we left for the Eli Creek floating adventure before 8. Getting to Eli Creek we soon discovered that the boardwalk was closed and only 100 meters or so of the creek could actually be floated. Our guide from Next, Troy, had failed to mention this, leading us to question the remainder of his recommendations for the day.
The tide was coming in so we had to book it back to the campground. Unable to leave for a few hours, Rob convinced the four aborigines to take us on a bush walk up to Knifeblade Sandblow. They happily agreed, saying they had not been on a walk like that for years. Only four of us, Rob, Laura, Rebecca and I,
Rob and I on the Dunes
volunteered for what they assured us would be a tough hike. When we went to meet them at their house they were smoking and drinking whiskey straight out of the bottle…at 11 am. They quickly got ready and off we went; us in sandals, them barefoot. We walked up the road a bit and then just cut straight into the bush, no trail, no nothing. This was a true bush walk, aboriginal style. We climbed up over three large ridges and when I say climbed it was nearly hands and knees-type ascending. We arrived on top of the third ridge to find that we missed the mark by about a kilometer. We then walked the ridge over to the
Leaving the Aborigines in the Dust
beginning of the sandblow. Along the way they explained what plants were used for medicine or food and other interesting tidbits about the land. We even tried a few berries and a hallucinogenic grape.
Arriving at the beginning of Sandblow it was stunning, almost unworldly. The coffee rock and dead trees were reminiscent of nothing I had ever seen. Getting a bit lost had cost us some time and we needed to get back to the rest of the group, so we climbed right up and over the knifeblade ridge; absolutely killer. A bit like climbing to base camp on Mt. Rainier, but just slightly steeper and much, much warmer. The view from the top was amazing, you could see out over the pinnacles and the shipwreck.
We got back and ate lunch. Afterwards
At Indian Head
we made the long drive up to Indian Head, a large coastal head jutting out into the sea. Again, the views and climb were phenomenal. On a place like Fraser you run out of adjectives rather quickly. Everything has just been amazing. After Indian Head we drove over to the Champagne pools for some swimming. The pools are a small part of the ocean cut off from the rest of the sea, thus safe from sharks and box-jellyfish. The name comes from the bubbles that arise as the surf crashes over the rocks into the pools. We headed home after the
Champagne Pools
pools. Not quite content with the day, Rob and I grabbed a beer and drove down to Eli Creek for a freshwater bath and float.
View from Indian Head
Sandblow
The Knifeblade Sandblow
On tonight’s menu was chicken and pasta…another stellar bush camp meal. Again we got good and pissed on wine. Around 10, Rob and I along with three Canadian guys in camp took a midnight stroll down to the beach. Light pollution on Fraser is very minimal and the night sky was stunning. Though it could have helped that we were fairly drunk by this time. I don’t remember what time we went to bed...I guess it really doesn’t matter, like the aborigines, for us on this trip (ferry landing aside) time was irrelevant.
What I Learned Today: Although the four aborigines at the camp drank, smoked and generally wore western clothes, our bush hike showed that they still have a serious appreciation for Mother Earth. Every time they stepped on a plant or broke off a limb they apologized to their nature spirit for the offense.
written by  exumenius on November 12, 2007 from Fraser Island, Australia

Back to Land - Night 34
Fraser Island, Australia
We all awoke a bit groggy after last night’s partying.
Our Rotunda
Rob and I had made loose plans to catch the Sunrise at the Maheno wreck; Rob was late, I didn’t show. Everyone quickly finished off the remaining breakfast food and packed up the troupee. Lake Wabby, a small lake slowly being engulfed by an approaching sand dune, was our first stop on the long drive back down the beach to Eurong. In order to get to the lake
Lake Wabby
one must trek two kilometers over perfectly shaped sand dunes. Quite simply, an amazing walk. Once you get to the lake the sand drops down into the water at 30 to 40 degree angle. It is a great place to run down the dune and dive into the incredibly deep water. Just another world-class attraction on Fraser Island.
After Lake Wabby we had to start heading back
The Wabby Dunes
in order to catch the ferry home at 2pm. A stop off for lunch and swim at Lake Mackenzie, this time with a bit more sun and less wind. Lunch today was our last group meal and nearly all the food was gone and no one went hungry. All things considered, we ate like kings this week while aboard the island.
Girls Sunbathing at Lake Wabby
We made the ferry in plenty of time and were back at the hostel by 3:30. The girls rushed to showers in desperate need of hair washing. The sand on Fraser is so fine that it gets into everything, sleeping bags, shoes, hair, cameras, sunscreen…everything. I didn’t mind the camping so much, but I am used to going a few days without a proper shower. It seems as if most of our group (Rob and Laura and the Canadians aside) had never experienced that before.
I spent the evening having a few beers with Rob and Laura, looking through photos, catching up on my journal and packing for Noosa.
What I Learned Today: The less you worry about things the better they will come out in the end. The trick is to let go and concern yourself not with those things outside of your control.
written by  exumenius on November 13, 2007 from Fraser Island, Australia

To Noosa - Night 35
Noosa Heads, Australia
I awoke at 4 am and snuck out of my hostel without waking any of my roommates, all who had been on the Fraser trip. My bus to Noosa left at 6:50 and was a nice calm ride until Gympie when an old fat guy got on and sat next to me, which is bad enough, but then he proceeded to ask a never ending series of stupid and/or rhetorical questions. Such as every time we went through a roundabout – “Which direction are we going?” How the fuck should I know, he clearly lived here and I clearly did not. Then somehow he got it into his mind that I was going fishing in Noosa so he pestered me at no end about what sort of fishing I was going to do, often asking the same question three or four times. Let’s just say I was overjoyed to get off the bus at the Noosa Heads station.
Me, Daniel and Charlie
Paolo and company where due in around 11. I waited at the bus stop until 12:30 and then gave up and headed to the apartment we had rented for the next five days. They showed up shortly thereafter. After checking out our digs, which are great, we marched down to the beach for a little bit of leisure. Daniel and Anna showed up around 4pm and we all went back to the apartment and began swilling wine. The last member of our group, Charlie, got in from the airport around 8pm.
Boxed wine was the drink of choice due
Drinks at Koala's
to economic concerns. Around 9 we grabbed a cab bound for Koala’s, a backpacker bar in Noosa Junction. A bit cheesy and dirty, the drinks were cheap and the clientele poor travelers like myself; a classy joint, no doubt. By the time the lights came on at midnight, not a soul in our group was threatened by sobriety.
Back at the apartment, Charlie, Daniel, Anna, Sheri, and I skirted the rules and pool wall and hopped in the hot tub for a midnight swim. By some miracle no one complained about the loud noise.
What I Learned Today – Whinge. v. A British term meaning to whine incessantly about nothing at all. Or what a woman does after she has run out of other things to say.
written by  exumenius on November 14, 2007 from Noosa Heads, Australia

To The Beach Again - Night 36
Noosa Heads, Australia
The Beach
Anna made a wonderful Irish omelet this morning. Then we went back to sleep until 11 or so. We spent the remainder of the day at the beach trying fairly unsuccessfully to body surf. Sabine, the Danish girl from Brisbane, met us out on the beach as well.
Dinner was Mexican at Montezuma’s on Hastings Street. Though everyone was rightfully knackered after a day of doing nothing we still managed to hit up Irish Murphy’s and Koala’s and made it til bar close. I dropped a glass on the floor at Irish Murphy’s wasting a perfectly good beer and causing a bit of a scene. On the walk home a maroon Eclipse drove by and asked us “how much for your women?” Twice. Added to the time he did this on our way to the bar made thrice. How bored do you have to be to drive around Noosa for three hours yelling this at everyone you pass?
PS. The agreed upon price was four pints, one for each of them.
What I Learned Today: American parents coddle and protect their children to a harrowing degree, much to detriment of both. Nineteen year olds from most countries are allowed, even encouraged, to travel the world freely, to strike off and grab life by the throat, to grow up, whereas, American teens are sent to college like sheep and told to call home every other night to make sure they are ok. Thus our sense of adventure (and maturity level) is stunted before it gets a chance to blossom. Your average teenage Dane or Aussie is more worldly and interesting than your average thirty year old American. (Average being the key word -- for it is undoubtedly true that we live in a Gaussian world)
written by  exumenius on November 15, 2007 from Noosa Heads, Australia

Beach, Take Three - Night 37
Noosa Heads, Australia
We awoke slowly and again spent the day at
Catching some Rays
the beach. Daniel and Anna left us this afternoon, reducing our party to six. Sabine joined us in the afternoon for a swim at the apartment. Charlie and Sheri made a great Italian meal for dinner. The boys fell asleep at 10, the girls went out for a glass of wine and were home by 12.
What I Learned Today: Do not let Paolo apply sunscreen (as evidenced by Charlie’s back)
written by  exumenius on November 16, 2007 from Noosa Heads, Australia

Noosa National Park - Night 38
Hell's Gate, Noosa NP
After staying in last night we awoke refreshed and ready to do some hiking in Noosa National Park. Located on a large head that sticks into the sea, the park promised great views and, from what we had heard on the street, a chance at seeing koalas in the wild. Only the boys were up for this adventure (with the exception of Sabine who met us at the park); the girls took to the street for a shopping spree.
The park delivered the promised views;
Noosa National Park
however, the koalas proved elusive. It was a satisfying 5 to 6 mile hike through the jungle, not too difficult, but not exactly wheelchair accessible either. With the questionable weather looming, it was a good change of pace from lying on the beach and frolicking in the surf.
The evening consisted of leftovers, some wine and a card game. Around 10 we hit up the main bars in town (Irish Murphy’s, Koala’s, and the Reef), which at this point have all worn a bit thin on us and we were home by 1:30.
What I Learned Today: My diminishing rate of return from partying is beginning to reach a critical level. Translation: I think I am finally growing up – a process which is not, as some think, the end of fun, but rather a transition to elevated enjoyment in whatever form an individual chooses to pursue.

Rainy Day at the Beach - Night 39
Rolling out of bed I was greeted by the sound of rain pouring down on the terrace. I took my sequestered time to update my journal and go through my photos from the previous days. The rain broke slightly at 8:30 and I went into town to try to steal some wireless. Utterly unsuccessfully, I returned around 10 to find the rest of the house awake and preparing breakfast.
Around 1 pm the clouds finally broke and
Volleyball on the Beach
Paolo and I made a trip to the beach one last time. The morning rains had scared away most of the crowds but had also brought in quite a surf. The waves were much larger and closer to shore than they had been the previous days. Paolo had rented a body board (though never actually paid for it) from the apartment complex so we tooled around with that awhile until it became painfully obviously that we were clueless, even the little kids were kicking our ass at catching waves.
The Last Supper
A proper Australian barbecue was on the menu for the evening but the rain returned so we were forced to grill the sausages inside. Nobody was much for partying tonight so a few games of cards and then the sheets for all of us.
What I Learned Today: Australians make the most awful potato salad.

Arrival in Sydney - Night 40
Sydney, Australia
The Apartment
We were all packed up, checked out and in the cab on the way to the airport by 10 am. Our five days in Noosa were enjoyable and relaxing (and fairly cheap), though I wouldn’t want to spend any more than that there.
View from the Apartment
It is slow-paced, family oriented place that doesn’t offer much in the way of adventure or excitement. A good place to catch a tan or catch up on sleep.
In comparison to the Sunshine Coast Airport, Austin Straubel (Green Bay) Airport is massive. The place has two boarding gates and one small restaurant. Our flight was a bit late but once underway was a smooth hour and a half ride into Sydney. After collecting our luggage and taking the train into town we arrived at the girl’s hotel at around 4pm. Sheri is using her accumulated travel points to stay at the Marriot on Hyde Park; Paolo and I will be crashing on Charlie’s floor at his house in North Sydney.
The girls unpacked and we all took a stroll through the idyllic Hyde Park located next door. Charlie and Bea, his girlfriend, showed up at 8 and we took off for dinner in Kirrabilli, a neighborhood on the north side of Sydney. Reputedly the home of the prime minister John Howard, Kirrabilli is a trendy enclave perched on a hill that offers amazing views of the Harbor and the city. We dined at a small Italian restaurant that was fabulous. Many such places in Australia are BYO, which means bring your own alcohol…so we did.
THE Italian Place to eat in Kirrabilli
My first impression of Sydney is that it is a massive city, much more frantic than anywhere else in Australia, but yet a place that still maintains an underlying feeling of the Aussie free spirited culture. Not to mention a genuine natural beauty that is ever-present.
What I Learned Today: I am sure I learned something today but as I write this I can’t help but think: Why don’t you ever see any baby pigeons? For some strange reasons they are always all the exact same size. Are they born that big?
written by  exumenius on November 19, 2007 from Sydney, Australia

Sydney Walkabout - Night 41
Sydney, Australia
I awoke from my air mattress in the dining room rather late and it was nearly 10:30 by the time Paolo and I had made our way into the city to meet the girls. The others were dead set on seeing the zoo; I was not, so we went our separate ways for the day. For me traveling in groups is difficult at best, so a day alone was much welcome.
The City from the Gardens
My walkabout began by heading north through the massive botanical gardens, which are larger than the town I grew up in. A great place for a walk, the gardens actually encourage tramping on the grass, not the concrete. At the very north end of the green is located the iconic Sydney Opera House. The usual frenzied atmosphere of the place was heightened as work crews were on hand to set up an outdoor stage for an upcoming performance of Australian Idol (just another example of the Aussies borrowing some of America’s worst culture phenomena). The opera house is every bit as beautiful as imagined, but it is strange to finally be standing at a place you have seen in pictures for years. I continued around Little Cove, up to Lady Macquerie’s Chair and back down the east side of the botanical gardens back to Hyde Park.
All my hiking had worked up quite an appetite so I headed to Pitt Street Mall for lunch. Pitt Street is a single block pedestrian mall in the heart of the city, that on a week day lunch hour was absolutely jammed with people. It reminded me slightly of walking through Times Square in New York, though not quite to that level of density, of course. In the food court there was nary a single open seat. Surprisingly, I find the din created by thousands of anonymous conversations (many in another language) very peaceful…almost like a waterfall or the tide crashing on the beach.
After lunch my circuitous path through the city took me down George Street and back up through Chinatown. Sydney wears its multi-cultural hat with pride and the Asian influences in the city are hard to miss, both in the demographics of the population and the face of its commercial districts. I continued up Sussex and then west to Darling Harbor and the Wharf. After a short break on the waterfront I walked back to George Street and turned left toward the area known as the Rocks, the oldest part of Sydney. From here are great views of the underside of the Harbour Bridge and, again, the Opera House. From the Rocks I climbed the Argyle Steps and began the long walk over the bridge. Though cold (as a stiff wind blew in on the harbor) the walk along the bridge is a must for a visitor to Sydney. The views are simply amazing.
Returning to Charlie’s around 6, I met his roommates, Matt, Alex, and Lucy for the first time. We went for a swim in their newly cleaned pool (the sofa and chairs had been removed from the last wild party they threw a few weeks back). After the girls showed up, we went out for Thai food in Crow’s Nest, a small neighborhood nearby. The food was decent, though not nearly as good as Bell Thai in Seattle.
What I Learned Today: I rarely feel overwhelmed when visiting man-made sights (such as the Opera House)…on the other hand, natural places, such as the Grand Canyon, Fraser Island, Mt. Rainier, etc., tend to deliver much more than expected.
written by  exumenius on November 20, 2007 from Sydney, Australia

Bondi Beach - Night 42
Sydney, Australia
Paolo and I on the rocks near Bondi
Paolo and I met the girls at the Town Hall station to catch our train out to the world famous Bondi Beach. About an hour away, Bondi is located on the far eastern reaches of Sydney in a small cove along the Pacific Ocean. The sky was cloudy all morning, but the sun broke through just as we arrived. By 2pm the beach was packed with beautiful people, many of the girls topless. Bondi being the site of the 2000 Olympic Volleyball matches we were expecting nets and pros playing on the beach. We were mightily disappointed as not a net or ball was in sight. The only beach sports going on were some schoolkids playing cricket. Prior to leaving Paolo and I jumped in the ice cold water for a quick swim. Surprising how much colder it was than the water just a few hundred miles north in Noosa.
World Famous Bondi Beach
We managed to return to the city ahead
Jagermeister in Sydney
of the approaching storm, which we watched from the rooftop pool and hot tub of the Marriot. Tonight was Charlie’s big night, his first attempt at standup comedy at the Surf Rock Hotel and Bar. The bus ride out to Collaroy was nearly 45 minutes long and when we arrived found the place to be much bigger and classier than first imagined. Charlie had a late time and everyone before him was a musician, two facts which eventually worked against him. By the time his set came up, most of the decent patrons had gone and all that was left was a younger crowd who by this time was fairly drunk and simply content with nodding their heads to poorly covered 90s American Rock songs. His first few jokes, funny to an American, where simply lost in translation and then the heckling began. He never really had a chance and stepped off stage a few minutes later. A rough first experience.
Charlie on Stage
The bus ride back to town felt much longer than the ride in. To kill the pain we stopped at Jackson’s on George for drinks and a few games of pool. A late night search for food in Crow’s Nest proved unfruitful and we returned to the house with some frozen fish and chips from 7-11.
What I Learned Today: Australians have chicken flavored chips and chicken salt.
written by  exumenius on November 21, 2007 from Sydney, Australia

Manly Museum - Night 43
The weather was as poor as predicted and it rained intermittently throughout the day, so inside activities it was. After lunch at Wrapido, we met the girls at the Marriot and walked a few blocks to the Museum on College Street. Basically a natural history museum, it also had a current exhibit on African impressions which was primarily a collection of aerial photographs from National Geographic; an excellent example of the diversity, both physical and economic, on the continent of Africa. The skeletons room had very interesting exhibits showing just how similar some very common animals are to each other. Once stripped of their skin, Koalas look surprisingly like large possums, likewise, the difference between a wild boar and a dog on a skeletal level is quite minute. Albert Chapman, one of the world’s greatest mineral collectors is a local, so an entire room on the second floor was dedicated to some of his amazing finds, many of which are so colorful and strange that you couldn’t dream a design like that up. It is simply astounding that they came from the same earth that most of us imagine as just brown dirt and grey rock.
Sydney from the Ferry
Post-museum we took a ferry out to
Charlie and I at Manly Beach
Manly Island to watch the surfers and the volleyballers. Manly, though the beach is supposedly polluted, is much larger and more active than Bondi. After nearly blowing the bank at a nice steak house, we settled on fish and chips for dinner. I was not overly impressed with either. Didn’t even compare to a good ole fashioned Wisconsin Friday Night Fish Fry.
The ferry ride back took us past the Opera House and the city skyline at dusk, which was quite beautiful. Upon the return to the mainland we hopped a bus to Charlie’s for an early night of relaxation.
What I Learned Today: “Terra Nullius” is the doctrine that the English used to steal land from the Aborigines. It referred to the fact that the land was not being used in a manner consistent with their religious and political beliefs (farming and private property ownership) thus the British owed it to the Aborigines to fix their ‘poor’ land use practices. While we now realize this was a foolish practice, “Terra Nullius” (or a refined concept thereof) might still have some use as a way to reappropriate land from absentee land owners and destructive corporations back to the public for the public good.

Entering New Zealand - Night 45
Auckland, New Zealand
Hyde Park
For the last time (at least in the foreseeable future) I crawled off my partially deflated air mattress to face another day. I quickly showered, packed my belonging, said goodbye to Paolo and Charlie (the last familiar faces I’ll see until sometime next year) and headed for the airport, destination: Auckland, New Zealand.
After a quick three hour flight I was officially in the land of the Kiwis. Touching down around 4:30 it was nearly six before I arrived at the Auckland International YHA. Located on the outskirts of downtown in the Asian section of the city, the YHA was only a three block walk, down a 20 degree sloping road, from the stop where the airport bus let me off. The weather was autumnal; a brisk wind and low, fast moving clouds, together with the hills and abundant Asian population had me feeling right at home…if this isn’t Seattle reincarnate, I don’t know what is. They even have their very own Space Needle.
I was sharing a room with two Swiss guys who had bought a car today for $2,300 and were planning on driving the South Island in search of work, an Italian who was headed to the clubs and a British/American couple who were attached at the hip, literally. People who incessantly cuddle and whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears (while spooning) amongst complete strangers are really fucking annoying. Get a double room…ah yes, the joys of hostel living.
At dusk a quick reconnaissance mission of
Auckland Town Hall at Dusk
the city aligned my inter compass and landed me a delicious kebab. Auckland has its share of glass towers and modern buildings, but a certain feeling of adolescence remains here, like a teenager just months from his eighteenth birthday. Diversity and natural scenery are evident, as is a will to grow. Nearly 1 in 3 New Zealanders call this area home, so the pressure is on to become a booming, world class city, and preparations to do such are under way.
What I Learned Today: Do not pack your boots in the bottom of your bag when entering New Zealand…the customs officials will make you dig them out to check them for illegal mud. Serious.
written by  exumenius on November 24, 2007 from Auckland, New Zealand

The Auckland Sun - Night 46
Auckland, New Zealand
For my first full day in New Zealand I was
The City from the museum hill
greeted with a cloudless sky and a light westerly wind. To honor such an occasion I took a brief jog through Albert Park in the morning. After repacking my bag (post customs boot-removal incident) and doing some laundry I climbed the hill up the Auckland Museum. The museum, which is advertised on the outside as a War Memorial Museum, has three floors of exhibits, all seemingly unrelated. The first floor was composed of Maori history and artifacts, the second of the natural history of New Zealand and the third being the War Memorial. They also had a special Charles Darwin exhibit on the first floor that I truly desired to see, though I couldn’t justify spending coughing up the $15 entrance fee to this one small room (the rest of the Museum was free, though I had to pay $1 to check my backpack.)
After a short stop back the YHA, I walked toward the harbor taking a minor detour to the Magic Bus headquarters in order to confirm tomorrow’s booking. Much to my utter dismay I was delayed enroute by the Santa Parade. Downtown Auckland had become 18 linear blocks of bands, crying children, police cars, clowns, grown men dressed as elves and parents with reindeer horns on their heads. At every corner volunteers where handing out brochures and these strange pizza flavored vegetable treats. I had no desire to try them (having just eaten and trying to cull as many processed foods from my diet as possible) until I heard a small girl of about seven protest violently at her mother when she was trying to give her a bag. “but mom, these taste terrible.” I was sold. Fuck it, I thought, can they really be that bad that a seven year old wouldn’t take a free bag of them? The answer is:…..Yes, they are. The taste is something between a stale potato chip and piss warm Earl Grey tea. I threw the rest of the bag away. I walked along the port for a bit and stopped at a grocery store to stock up for breakfast on the way home.
The World's Greatest Burgers
On yesterday’s bus ride into the city I saw what I thought to be a sign for a restaurant called Burger Wisconsin. This evening I set out on mission to find it. Luckily I recall it being near Mt. Eden so not only would I have a high point to aim for but I could also climb the mountain (actually just a large hill, a volcanic remnant of some millions of years ago) while in this part of town. About an hour and three miles later I found the place. Why not take the bus you ask? Because that would not have been a proper pilgrimage. I wanted to suffer a little bit for my piece of Midwest culture. The large red sign says “Burger Wisconsin: Home of the world’s best burgers.” Inside was a sign explaining the origin of the hamburger in good old Seymour, Wisconsin. To read the complete story see their website at www.burgerwisconsin.co.nz. It turns out the place is a chain over here, so being that I didn’t eat at this one, I will most certainly be stopping at their Wellington location sometime next month.
The short hike up Mt. Eden, or Maungawhau
White Mountain from Mt. Eden
as the native know it as, was much easier than it looks from the bottom. The views are spectacular, offering a 360 degree panorama of the Auckland region. Surprisingly the entire mountain is fenced and cattle roam freely on it. I was a bit shocked at first, but then again, why not. This way they never have to mow it and the grass is continually fertilized.
What I Learned Today: Much like the symbiotic cattle/park relationship mentioned above, the people of New Zealand just seem to “get it” when it comes to environmental stewardship. Lights turn off automatically, small little reminders are everywhere reminding you to recycle, turn off the faucet, etc. While the “Green” craze is reaching a sort of fad, or pop culture, level in the U.S., it just seems to be a way of life over here. Perhaps when you live on an island you better understand the fact that supply of natural resource, though vast, are not unlimited.
The City from Mt. Eden
written by  exumenius on November 25, 2007 from Auckland, New Zealand

Waitamo and Rotorua - Night 47
Rotorua, New Zealand
I awoke and went for a jog at what I thought was 6am. Upon returning I found that it was already 7:20 and my bus was due out front of the hostel at 7:55. Apparently sometime during the night my watch lost 50 minutes. Piece of shit. That or I can’t tell time.
I made my bus, shower and all. Our first stop was a quick drive up Mt. Eden, which having seen this last night, was not much of an attraction for me. The large Magic tour bus was about 1/3 full, a few older couples, a number of pairs of friends and probably a dozen solo travelers like me. I heard some German, Italian, and an unknown Slavic sort of tongue, definitely a multi-cultural group. Greg was our driver for the day. A friendly guy, he did not quite have his tour guide routine down yet as he stumbled over a few explanations and forgot the names of the some of the sights along the way. His actual maneuvering of the vehicle, however, was superb.
Deep in the Cave
The first stop was the small town of Waitomo. Located above some amazing limestone karst geology, the name Waitomo is Maori for “the place the water disappears,” referring to the numerous creeks that appear and disappear into caves in the area. Greg pitched the black water rafting adventure hard, but most of the group, myself included, was scared off by the $89 price tag. Another pay option was to do a guided walkthrough of a cave that housed some glow worms clinging to the walls. Not being much for guided tours, especially since a bus of Japanese tourists arrived at the same time as we did, I opted for door number three, a six mile roundtrip hike through the countryside to a large natural bridge/cave on the upper Waitomo Creek. The weather was warm but windy and the hike proved harder than expected. Much of it was exposed, the terrain undulating, and as a result I was sweating like a pig by the end of the second mile. It proved to be better training
The Waitomo Creek
for Tongariro (on Thursday) that I had expected. The payoff at the end was worth it; a massive cave where the water came tumbling out of. I could feel the cold air rushing from the cave long before I could see it. A natural air conditioner if I’ve ever seen one.
We left Waitomo around 3 and were in Rotorua, our final destination for the day around 5. Rotorua is an adventurer’s paradise with rafting, skydiving, zorbing, hiking, and many other activities all located in the immediate vicinity. Upon arriving, the sulphurous stench from the nearby volcanic vents was evident, but not as overwhelming as I had read online. Perhaps the wind was blowing in the proper direction. After checking into the Crash Palace, I made a grocery run and then a pork pasta dinner. I also booked a whitewater rafting trip for tomorrow morning. Exhausted, I was, once again, early to bed. My self-imposed drying out period is working well here in New Zealand; more on account of my fatigue than my self-control.
What I Learned Today: I thought the Aussies were geniuses for cutting out the penny and rounding everything to the nickel. Well, in typical South Pacific rivalry fashion, the Kiwis have one-upper their larger neighbors by eliminating both the penny and the nickel. That’s right, everything is rounded (by the “Swedish” system – 0-4 = 0, 5-9 = 10) to the nearest 10 cents. As the British would say….”Fucking Brilliant.”
written by  exumenius on November 26, 2007 from Rotorua, New Zealand

Rafting the Kaituna - Night 48
Rotorua, New Zealand
I was wrong about the severity of the sulphurous smell. Upon opening the door to the hallway this morning I was instantly hit with a whiff of that unmistakably aroma of rotten eggs. I guess the wind had changed and the odor was blowing straight into town. Being a glutton for the obscene and weird, my morning jog took me straight to the lake, though the Government Gardens and eventually near a few of the geothermal pools. The nearer the lake, the stronger the stench. After a while you just get used to it and carry on with life. I imagine it is sort of like living in Kaukauna or Tacoma…except that I haven’t yet seen any two headed children around here.
Rafting the Kairuna
My bus to the rafting base arrived promptly sometime after nine-ish. There were nine of us for rafting, another four brave souls would be ‘sledging’ -- sort of like tobogganing down the river on small, hand held sleds. Stevie was our driver, a late twenties/early thirties guy with long hair and an infectious personality…the perfect combination for an adventure guide. Arriving at the base the other guides were all the same, tanned, long hair, carefree guys having the time of their life and getting paid to do it. I am Jack’s sense of envy. The rafters split into two groups, I was put with a mid-30s couple from California on their honeymoon, and two guys from France. Our raft would have two guides, Jimbo and Jeffy, and thus we would be the first to go over the larger falls along the way. The other boat, with only one guide, would follow behind.
The trip started with a prayer to the Maori gods of the river -- delivered in eloquent fashion by Jimbo (if an unkempt man with dreadlocks and a strange stamp on his head can be described as eloquent) The beginning 100 meters of the river was very calm and we simply went over the basics of rafting and what to do when we hit the large falls. Easy stuff. The first challenge was a two meter drop followed immediately by a one meter drop – the remnants of an old power plant. We made it through, wet but unscathed. After some smaller rapids, a bit of drifting and a history lesson by the guides we began preparation for the large 7 meter drop. Purportedly the largest in commercial rafting, we would be dropping over 20 feet down a falls into the churning water. Often the rafts tip, so we went over rescue plans and other eventualities. A brief Maori chant got our blood coursing through our veins and we approached, with Jeffy steering in the back and Jimbo screaming up front. We caught some good air, ducked down into the water and came up a bit cock-eyed but managed to stay upright. Another successful fall. According to the guides, yesterday 4 of the 5 boats capsized. It was then our turn to spin around and play rescue boat for the trailing raft. Luckily, they also made it without tipping. The trip ended soon afterwards, all told just over an hour on the river.
Returning to base, a group of photographers had raced along with us taking photos as we descended the falls. I knew they would be selling them at the end, but was shocked by the price -- $40 for 30 photos. The rafting trip itself only cost $70. The photos looked nice, but I couldn’t justify blowing $40 on it. Hopefully I can catch up with the French guys down the road and give then $10 to download pictures off their CD.
Back at the hostel I ate lunch and took a well
Rotorua Museum
deserved nap. In the afternoon I went for a hike along the Lake Rotorua trail. Following the lake shore, the trail takes you right through the middle of numerous geothermal holes continuously spouting steam and mud. It is an eerie feeling watching mother nature hiccup such stench from her bowels just meters away. A testament to the awesome power and seemingly unending wonders of the earth.
What I Learned Today: The Maori, in an effort to protect their women and children during times of tribal warfare, would lower them down via ropes into caves built into the sides of the cliffs formed by the Kaituna River. From this vantage point the women….fuck it, this is boring. You don’t want to hear about Maori defensive tactics. You are thinking, “he has got all this time on his hand, couldn’t he at least come up with something a bit more reflective, entertain us with deep thoughts on the fabric of the cosmos, or at least something learned about himself or life in general.” Ok, here goes. Like most everyone else, I often meet someone and think, “Damn they look like so and so.” This has been happening to me with nearly everyone I’ve met over here. Right now I am sharing a hostel room with a young Rachel Wussow, Ed Bove, a girl with Annie Laux’s nose, Eric Krull and a cross between Lindsey Delecki and Morgan Kimbrough. My rafting guides today were Jason Delleman and a hippy version of James Kessenich. I can go on….Perhaps it is because my mind is so unattuned to not seeing familiar faces that it is trying to create them or maybe I’ve finally slowed the pace of my life to the point where I can spend the time and psychic energy to look deeply at people, to stare into their soul, to contemplate their very existence and then, poof, simply judge them based on who they look like from my previous lives. On the other hand, it is entirely likely that I’ve just lost my mind.
written by  exumenius on November 27, 2007 from Rotorua, New Zealand

Meandering to Taupo - Night 49
Taupo, New Zealand
The Magic bus departed promptly at 9 am this morning. Our final destination for the day was Taupo, only 100 kilometers to the south. We would, however, not arrive until the middle of the afternoon, as many ancillary activities were on the schedule for the day. The first stop was the Lady Knox Geyser. A natural geyser that erupts once every 24 to 30 hours (depending on barometric pressure, humidity and nine other things known only to geologists), the Lady Knox is force-fed a large chunk of soap every day at 10:15 to coax an eruption out of her for the numerous tour busses that make the stop on their way up or down the spine of New Zealand’s North Island. Why soap you ask? The soap breaks the surface tension of the upper chamber of water, thus allowing the lower, hotter chamber to force its way to the surface. The eruption, lasting about five minutes, was as expected – entirely anti-climatic.
Wai Te Pu Hot Pools
Our next port of call was the Wai Te Pu geothermal visitor’s center. For $25 one can visit a small museum and walk amongst some active hot springs. Lefty, our driver, also suggested that those of us a little more adventurous (and sick of geothermal museums) can hike a few minutes for a free dip in a swimming hole. Six of us quickly changed into our swimmers and marched off. The posse consisted of James (a Brit), Karen from Montreal (who has been traveling for almost two years), an Israeli guy (name unknown) and two Dutch girls (names withheld for diplomatic reasons). The swimming hole was located at the convergence of two streams, one heated by a volcanic vent, one not. Returning the bus we discovered the museum was a rip-off, all the while grinning because our swim was more than worth the price of admission.
An hour later Lefty pulled the bus in the
Rock n Ropes Park
Rock and Ropes adventure grounds. Basically a playground on steroids, the Rock and Ropes allowed visitors to jump off things while tethered up, for a nominal price. Just another tourist trap that I avoided; though I did offer my services as cameraman for a few of the folks who engaged the giant swing ride. Next stop was Huka Falls, an elongated falls that James and I decided would be dangerous, but ‘incredibly wicked’ (his words, not mine) to kayak down. An attempt at such foolish bravado was not made.
Huka Falls
We pulled into Taupo around 2pm and headed
Taupo Bungy
to the Taupo Bungy and Café. A strange combination, but one that works as most people just come to watch courageous friends throw themselves off a 43 meter high platform above the Taupo River. James the aforementioned Brit, and Jaycee, a Canadian lass from Saskatoon, willfully coughed up the $100 to jump off the cliff. I was very tempted to do it, but having promised myself that I would wait until Queenstown (the birthplace of bungy) I remained steadfast. Strangely, I met a guy from Madison at the Café. Small world.
My accommodation for the next two nights was the Taupo Downunder YHA. Most of my bus was staying there as well. We spent the evening going over photos and preparing for our big hike tomorrow: the Tongariro Crossing. I met a guy from Vancouver BC in the kitchen who had done the hike today and said that being from the Pacific Northwest I would have no problem with the crossing. In fact, he thought I would find it a bit easy and that it could probably be done in 5 hours, sans side hikes, if necessary, not the 8 hours they recommend. It was early to bed as the bus left for the mountain at 5:40am the next morning.
What I Learned Today: Traveling can be a bit like life in a microcosm. You meet wonderful people, you get on well, and then you part ways. In life this takes years, generally about three to four (think high school, college, your average time at one job), but in traveling it is all compressed into a few short days. A more sentimental person might consider this to be tragic, but I’ve come to accept it as fact. Enjoy your time together, try to learn something, gather some contact information, and part ways….each of you on your own adventure.
written by  exumenius on November 28, 2007 from Taupo, New Zealand

Crossing the Tongariro - Night 50
Taupo, New Zealand
Mt. Ruapeho
To release my inner Sherpa. At least that was the plan. I awoke at prior to 5am, unaided by the alarm Ken (a St. Louis native) had set in our room. Today, we trek the Tongariro Crossing and, if the weather cooperates, climb Mount Ngauruhoe, otherwise known as Mt. Doom from Lord of the Rings. The bus left exactly at 5:40 and after a few more pickups and a long drive along the lake we landed at the trailhead around 7:15. The weather was clear and cool, but a nasty lenticular cloud kept the summit of Ngauruhoe cloaked in mystery. The bus driver prophesized that the sun would burn the cloud off by 9 or so, giving us a chance at summiting the active volcano (the last eruption was in the 1970s, but at least once a year steam comes pouring out of the crater on top). In order to complete the summit and get back to the trail end in time for the
Mt. Ngauruhoe (Mt. Doom)
bus at 4:30 you must make very good time on the mountain. Accordingly, I charged ahead, climbing the Devil’s Staircase with reckless abandon. I reached the turnoff for the summit hike 45 minutes ahead of schedule, took a short water break and proceed upward. The cloud remained in place, hanging just above a small snowfield over 1/3 of the way up. My plan was to ascend to the snowfield with the hope the cloud would blow off in time to attempt the summit. Upon reaching the snowfield, through what was the nastiest hike I had ever done, the cloud
Ngauruhoe's Slope
hadn’t budged. The going so far had been atrocious, the black scree was very unstable and every two steps up was followed by slipping down a step or more. I took a small break at the snowfield and assessed the situation. Weather moving in from the west was beginning to cloud up and I didn’t want to attempt an unfamiliar mountain with limited visibility, not to mention the fact that I still had another 1,500 feet to ascend at a 45 degree pitch. I made the snap decision to turn around, knowing that I still had enough time to bag the much easier
Blue Lake
Tongariro Summit later in the hike. About a half an hour after returning the main track the cloud began the lift and the Ngauruhoe Summit briefly showed some of its face. I was kicking myself at my lack of resilience. Another half an hour later, my regrets where soon forgotten as more clouds moved in and the wind began to pick up. All things considered, my error on the side of caution likely proved fortuitous
Mt. Ngauruhoe
Back on the main track, I headed up the Red Crater
Tongariro Crater
rim. A high exposed saddle between the two mountain peaks, the wind here is amazing. It blew at a nearly constant 30 to 40 miles per hour. The scenery, however, was second to none. Beautiful shades of brown, black and gray, not to mention the clouds whipping by just hundreds of feet above your head. These same fierce winds fill the sails that are my sense of adventure. The scenery and the elements leave you with such an atavistic, feral feeling of being; one that city-dwellers and flatlanders alike can’t possible begin to understand, let alone appreciate. Life above the tree line, while harsh, is immensely alluring. So exposed and susceptible to snow pack and brutal weather is the saddle between Tongariro and Ngauruhoe that not even the black and grey lichens cling to the rocks here. It is, at least visibly, vacant of all life.
I quickly took the side track up to the Tongariro peak where I met Ken and Lars, two guys from the hostel. The hike to the Tongariro peak was a walk in the park and even allowed me some free boot-skiing on a remaining snowpack. Next up was the descent down the red crater into the valley of the emerald lakes. My two side trips had cost me my time advantage that I had so painfully snatched from the Devil’s Staircase. As a result I had to pass all the weak-legged non-hikers on the way down the loose scree. The emerald lakes at the bottom were just that, emerald.
The Emerald Lakes
A quick lunch and up the next rise to the Blue Lake, a massive tarn lake which held the deepest, clearest shade of blue imaginable. Crayola couldn’t possibly contrive a more perfect hue. After the Blue Lake, the hike begins its long descent down the northeast side of the mountain. An hour and a half of mindless switchbacks through subalpine terrain, eventually giving way (though rather suddenly) to another 90 minutes of switchbacks through a dreamy beech forest. So pristine and green, it seemed fitting for a Hobbit. I arrived at the trail end at 2:30, the bus wasn’t set to leave until 4:30. Quite advantageously, all members where accounted for by 3:30 and we departed, heading back to Taupo.
Steam Vents
After a quick shower, Ken and I hit the town in search of food and beer. We stopped at Mulligan’s for some fish and chips and a bit of local Kiwi brew. Lars and two German girls, Annette and Brigitte, joined us later in the evening. Home by ten, I was completely beat and sleep came on fast and hard.
What I Learned Today: Many foreigners (and young ones at that) seem much more aware of America’s coming economic and cultural difficulties than our own citizens. Perhaps it is the benefit of hindsight, allowing them to examine in detail the historic facts of their own country’s failed attempts at empire building and at holding onto dying cultural inertia. I’ve also confirmed my suspicion that there just aren’t many Americans abroad. None of the other travelers can recall meeting very many Americans in their travels. They were shocked to learn that only 25% of Americans had passports. One of the girls went on to suggest that perhaps that is why our foreign relations are often a disaster….hmmmm, what an interesting thought. True understanding, though it can be wrestled from the pages of a book or the scenes of a movie, it much more easily obtained on the ground and in person.
written by  exumenius on November 29, 2007 from Taupo, New Zealand

Long Ride to Wellington - Night 51
Wellington, New Zealand
Mt. Ruapeho
Our bus left the YHA at 8 am. We had a long day of driving, heading all the way down the west side of the Tararua Mountains to Wellington, at the very southern end of the north island. The driver made a few pit stops for photo ops of Mt. Ruapeho and Mt. Ngauruhoe, as well as a stop at a pie shop/gas station somewhere near Palmerston North. The rest of the way was just driving, albeit very scenic driving. The day reminded me of touring the Olympic Peninsula, minus the clear cutting and the obligatory stop in Humptulips.
Wellington from Mt. Victoria
We arrived in Wellington around 4 pm, my scheduled pickup was 4:25 at the central train station. Shortly thereafter, Lauren (the house caretaker) and Adam (a volunteer from Michigan) rolled up in a red van and I hopped in. We were to pick up another volunteer at the ferry landing at 5pm, but she never showed. Turns out that she was on the 6pm ferry and she ended up taking a cab to the house.
The volunteer house, known as the Kowhai House (pronounce Ko-Fi), is situated on the flank of a large hill overlooking the Hutt River valley, about 10 minutes north of Wellington. Endowed with great views, the place is a palace compared to my accommodation at the volunteer house in Brisbane. Currently staying at the house are the aforementioned Lauren, (Adam leaves for the US tomorrow), Kathi (Germany), Shirley (UK), Katharine (US), Nikos (US), Erika (China/Canada), and Melissa (US). A few more volunteers are set to trickle in over the weekend. On the way back to the house we made a stop for gas and beer. Unlike Brisbane, the house here allows alcohol, and in fact appears to encourage it.
After some settling in, we jumped a train bound for the city around 9pm. Our group of “Nature” volunteers met up with the “Leadership” interns from the head office for a night of drinking on Cuba Street, Wellington’s pedestrian mall/bar district. Sadly, the “Leadership” interns, most of who were from the US, finished their program today and will be going their separate ways this weekend. I met more Americans today than in the last 6 weeks of my travels. I suppose this a good thing. Nothing of any real significance happened at the bar, other than general getting to know everyone conversations.
What I Learned Today: Everyone I talked to today from the US absolutely loves New Zealand and is considering moving back here sometime soon. It is not hard to see why.
written by  exumenius on November 30, 2007 from Wellington, New Zealand

Down Normandale Road - Night 52
Wellington, New Zealand
Another gorgeous New Zealand day brought
Kowhai House
sunshine through my bedroom window much too early. After a second long day in a row, I desperately desired to sleep in, but as I am completely incapable of staying in bed past 7 am, the morning sun likely only cost me 45 minutes of actual sleep. The morning was spent arranging my personal accoutrements and doing some general reconnaissance of the house.
Around eleven I decided to hike down into the valley to check out all that is the City of Lower Hutt. Three blocks from the house a trail begins that switchbacks down the hill past waterfalls and mammoth trees of a variety unknown to this Northerner. A great little piece of nature just off of NZ Highway 2. Situated near the mouth of the Hutt River, the city itself, while reeking slightly of suburban décor and an abject automobile culture, had a surprisingly energetic downtown as well as a large three story mall complete with multiplex. A lap and a half around town found me a less than delicious Kebab and some bath supplies for back at the house. Hiking back up the trail I was nearly killed by a mountain biker screaming down the sinuous track. Ah, the perils of urban hiking.
The better part of the afternoon was spent aiding Lauren in attempting to weed the house garden, which had become tragically overgrown in weeds and rouge vegetables that had apparently taken seed from the compost spread about a few months prior. The first and most difficult task was determining what exactly was planted and what not. In the end, anything interesting looking or otherwise rare was allowed to continue living, all else was ravenous ripped out by the roots.
Our evening meal was barbecued chicken, burgers, coleslaw, garlic bread, and salad. Exhausted, I retired to reading after the feast.
What I Learned Today: I am beginning to belief the assertion made by some of my dearest friends: Mainly, that my neurosis is spiraling ever upward…and I couldn’t be happier about it.
written by  exumenius on December 1, 2007 from Wellington, New Zealand

Up Normandale Road - Night 53
Wellington, New Zealand
I awoke to a cloud filled sky, the first since my arrival in NZ. Entrenched in finishing Luke Rinehart masterpiece, The Dice Man, I spent the morning voraciously inhaling chapter after chapter of his daring prose. Around 11 am, exactly the time I finished the book, the clouds broke and the sun again showed itself. In a direct reversal of yesterday’s wandering, this time I hiked up
View from Belmont Park
Normandale road, having been told that the large Belmont Regional Park lies at the end of it. One wrong turn and an hour later I found a trailhead leading into the park. After a short hike, I located a small grassy knoll upon which to sprawl out and commence reading Tim Flannery’s best seller on climate change, The Weathermakers. As I’ve failed to mention before, the house has a vast library of quality contemporary literature and I desperately look forward to devouring as much of it as possible in my short month here.
The Belmont park is an amazing slice of nature located so near to downtown Wellington. Were it not for the set of powerlines traversing the main spine, one couldn’t identify a single sign of civilization. I returned home around 4 pm and set to work on some more weeding.
A day of hiking and reading. If there is such a thing as a perfectly relaxing day, this could have been it.
What I Learned Today: Worrying is nothing more than misplaced concern and anxiety over things which you cannot control. As such, it is a most useless and debilitating activity.
written by  exumenius on December 2, 2007 from Wellington, New Zealand

Cleaning the Pauatahanui - Night 54
Thicker clouds filled the morning sky, for this, our first day of volunteer work. After a short introduction session by Toby and Rachel (Ray), our team leaders, we packed our lunches and loaded up the van for a drive to Pauatahanui Wildlife Reserve. A salt-marsh wetland, the Pauatahanui was rescued from industrial and commercial purposes back in the early 1980s, so it is a still a work in progress. Slowly, but surely, native plants are being reintroduced and channels are being dug; a massive effort to remedy the cutting and leveling that was once done. Running the show at Pauatahanui are the local elders. Seriously, the volunteer core consists entirely of retirees, many of whom are shockingly adept at ecological and horticultural matters.
We (Jake, Melissa, Kathleen and I) spent the
Pauatahanui Park Headquarters
morning hours rearranging the nursery, while the other group dug up a noxious weed similar to North American celery. After lunch we began tree releasing, which is just a fancy word for weeding around the tree so that it can grow during the approaching dry season. Later in the day, Jake and I repaired some riparian erosion by planting some reeds along the bank.
The retirees don’t like to work too late, so by 2:30 clean-up was called for and we all headed home. The sun had broken through by this point, so I decided on hiking down to Korakora Dam once we arrived home. A small, insignificant dam, whose purpose I could not determine, the disappointment was moderated somewhat by the fake rapids built into the spillway (likely a poor substitute for the natural falls it destroyed) that created a pleasant sound and view.
The Korakora Dam
In evening Lauren drove the van into the city to attend a talk on an exhibition to Antarctica. Put on by the Wellington Alpine Club, it featured a presentation by a member from Christchurch who had chartered a boat with 8 others and spent seven weeks hiking and skiing the Antarctic Peninsula. For just a $2 donation, we each received a beer and some snacks during the presentation. By far the cheapest beer I’ve purchased in New Zealand. The actual presentation was great, amazing pictures and stories all told with proper Kiwi sarcasm and wit. When someone asked him how much it cost, he replied “You couldn’t get pissed (drunk) on the change from 20 K.”
What I Learned Today: Although I do very much enjoy going to such presentations as this, the worst part is that they add another option to the choices of what to do next with my life. It makes me realize (in case I had forgotten) that there is so much out there and I have so little time to do it all. I guess life is all about prioritizing, but after watching this ( or reading about that, or experiencing a little bit of this other thing) how can I ever be expected to prioritize sitting in an office again? Answer: I don’t know that I can.
written by  exumenius on December 3, 2007 from Wellington, New Zealand

Maintaining Makara Peak - Night 55
View from Makara Peak
Toby arrived at the house around 9 and we all piled into the red van for a drive up to Makara Peak. Today’s work would include track work and weeding at the Makara Peak, the City of Wellington’s world famous (at least in biking circles) mountain bike park located just minutes from downtown. Along the way, we picked up our city liaison, Jonathan. A trained ecologist, Jonathan
Makara Peak
now works part-time for the city maintaining the Makara Peak park, publishes biking books with his brother, and has begun to dabble in carbon farming. New Zealand, being environmentally innovative, has implemented carbon trading as a method to dissuade polluters and persuade land owners to retain native (or planted) forests. Basically, Jonathan’s land, which is forested, is worth a certain number of carbon credits which he can sell to local industries at an agreed upon price – currently around $25 a hectare per year. He and his associates are chancing on an increased demand for credits and, thus, they are in the process of looking for more forested land to buy on the south island. He and I spent much of the afternoon picking each other’s brains on the state of the others country’s feelings on climate change, farm subsidies, and politics in general.
Group Photo at Makara
Since the weather was abnormally calm we spent the entire morning removing rocks and fixing ruts along one of the many bike tracks leading down from the peak. The afternoon saw us weeding the southern slope of the summit which had become overrun with invasive gorse and Dutch holly. Both plants are incredibly persistent and need to be dabbed with gelatin poison within one minute of cutting their stems. Interestingly, a bit of controversy surrounds the gorse plant. While certainly a prolific spreader and an exotic plant from South America (not to mention the sharp spikes covering the entire plant), the gorse is a nitrogen fixer and provides great growing conditions for smaller native trees. As such, many ecologists suggest leaving the gorse plant stay unless it is direct conflict with rare native species.
It was a good, hard day on the mountain. Our reward was a build your own pizza night. After dinner, we sat down for a nice family viewing of the movie ‘300’. A tale of the small group of Spartans’ stand against the mighty Persian armies of Xerxes, the film was every bit as gory as the DVD cover indicated. A masterpiece of computer graphics and cinematography, the plot in and of itself was rather weak. But then again, this movie wasn’t about plot, it was about the glorification of sacrifice and stubbornness (and xenophobia)…and in that it succeeded. All critical comments aside, the historical significance of the event should not be forgotten, for many scholars attribute the continuance of the Greek society and thus the rise of all of Western Civilization to the bravery of these 300 men. For without their having stood against Xerxes, all of Europe would likely have been eventually developed as Middle Eastern societies.
What I Learned Today: With Kevin Rudd’s victory over John Howard in the Australian election last week, Australia is certain to sign the Kyoto Protocol, leaving only the United States as the lone non-signatory. Granted, I will be the first one to admit that a treaty that doesn’t require any emissions regulation for China or India cannot be the final answer to climate change, it is, nonetheless, a start. Our signing of the treaty would show that we as a nation have accepted anthropogenic climate change as a fact and are beginning to work towards correcting the problem. Whether or not this is possible in our country filled with 300 million people -- most of who want to live like kings -- has yet to be seen, but as an old Chinese man once said: the longest of journeys starts with the single step.
The reason I bring this up is that, though likely all of you back home may not think about the Kyoto Protocol on a daily basis, many may not even know what it is; the rest of the world is more than concerned about it. Because of this very fact, being an American overseas we must answer to our nation’s failure to act on the issue. The most prevalent comment is a question “why are the citizens of your country not calling for action on climate change?” A great question indeed. Yes, some are, but others stand firmly in the camp of “let’s wait for more data.” Thirty years of studies, thousands of reports, 99% of which support anthropogenic climate change, and now, actual action/non-action scenario studies…scary scenario studies showing that much can be saved in way of lives and money if we act sooner rather than later. Yet this is not enough for some…for many, in fact, many of whom believe in great miracles and mysteries ‘recorded’ by goat herders two thousand years ago, but yet adamantly doubt thousands of scientific studies performed in the last few years -- the same science that powers their cars, heats their homes, and transmits live signals to their televisions. I now see why citizens of other nations look upon us and wonder what exactly is going on in America.

Eastbourne Dunes - Night 56
Today’s project took us to the east coast
Weeding at Eastbourne
of Wellington Bay to the town of Eastbourne. Much like West Seattle, Eastbourne offers stunning views of the city skyline from across the water. The work itself, however, was less than stunning. Hours of weeding the sand dunes was quite boring – though it did hold a certain therapeutic quality to it. Our lunch was taken at a spectacular ultra-modern house over looking the bay. Designed by some famous architect, whose name escapes me, the place fit perfectly into the rock wall and was composed primarily of a glass and steel exterior, with all wood interiors. A nice place to say the least.
Ray's House
On the way home we stopped at our Team Leader Ray’s house so she could change for the beach. Not to be outdone, the place she rents is every bit as spectacular as the home we dined at for lunch, only in a much more peculiar way. It looks like something a witch might live in. Once at the beach, Jake and I fulfilled our GVN rite of passage by diving off of the Eastbourne Pier into the freezing cold bay. Althouth not quite as cold as the Puget Sound, the bay still gave you quite a shock once you hit the water.
Tonight was mine and Nikos’s turn to cook. He delivered some pork and tofu schnitzels, while I offered up some of dad’s potatoes along with a large toss salad.
Diving off the Eastbourne Pier
What I Learned Today: Do not try to cook Dan Krause’s famous Parmesan Potatoes in a Chinese Wok.
Sunset in New Zealand

Otari Wilson's Bush - Night 57
We awoke to a dark sky and howling winds. It looked, smelled, and sounded like rain, but as fate would have it, New Zealand is in a drought and no rain would fall today. We drove to Otari Wilson’s Bush, one of the last remaining stands of native timber in the Wellington. Our morning chores involved a lengthy hike on which we checked the status of numerous rat traps throughout the reserve.
Resetting the Trap
All seventeen stations remained free of victims. According to the team leaders, the rat trapping program at Otari Wilson hasn’t exactly been all that successful. The time wasn’t a complete waste though as the hike was great exercise and took us through some amazing forests, including underneath a massive 800-year old Remu tree, one of few such remaining behemoths in the area.
The wind continued to blow violently all day, but we didn’t notice it until we came out of the bush for lunch. Beneath our sweat-laden clothes, the brisk wind chilled our bones and
An 800-year old Monster
we quickly ate and rushed off to our afternoon activity. We split into two groups, one group weeding, while the other measured a section of planted trees in order to monitor growth. An hour later we swapped positions. On the way home, we took a detour through Jubilee Park in hopes of finding a Christmas tree, but none such luck would be had. We may have to break down and purchase one this weekend, for a home is not a home in December without the smell of a Christmas tree.
What I Learned Today: At times in my life I have been imbued with an atavistic, almost animal, sense of energy, a seemingly unstoppably need to run through the woods, climb trees, splash in the water…you know the feeling. Today was another one of those times. It could be the cool wind, the amazing natural setting, and the overall relaxation and joy that I have been experiencing over the past few months that have released this internal fire in me, but, regardless of the reason, lately I’ve been having this feeling much more often. I truly feel more in touch with some innate, often hidden side of human nature….and this is a good thing.

Trash Palace - Night 58
Rather than our usual natural conservation
The Trash Palace
activities, today’s job occurred on the other end of the human material consumption spectrum: recycling wastes. The Trash Palace is an electronic waste refurbishment and recycling center owned and operated by a non-profit entity. Working in conjunction with the Wellington Council Mental Health Division, the Trash Palace also employs a number of mentally-handicapped individuals. The site manager, Rob, was everything you would expect from a man in his position; cheerful, energetic, and genuinely just a nice guy.
Destroying a Computer
The Trash Palace’s goal of reducing, and eventually eliminating, most forms of e-waste from Wellington’s landfills is progressing much better than expected, as evidenced by their backlog of wastes and ever growing facility. Here is where the GVN volunteers come in. Computer towers, monitors, and printers are some of Trash Palace’s most common items. These outdated ubiquitous technological centerpieces have been piling up at the Palace; it is our job to take a chunk out of said pile. Stuart, the electronic materials recovery boss, gave us a quick rundown of what jobs were available and we split up according to preference. Nikos and Toby grabbed old monitors off of a heap and smashed them to the ground, opened them up and removed graphite and copper pieces. Patricia and I, farther down the line, took old CPU motherboards and monitor innards, stripped them of all the copper motor coils, wire, and aluminum. In another room Jake was busy removing magnets from microwaves. Stuart noted that 90% of school science teachers in the southern part of the North Island buy magnets from the Trash Palace. The girls gathered in the main garage to gossip and strip copper wire.
In the evening, the television sat dormant (for once) and we all sat around and played cards. I emerged victorious from a nearly violent game of spoons. As I’ve mentioned before, the GVN volunteer house here in Wellington is many times nicer than the accommodations in Brisbane, however, the functioning TV and DVD player seem to be a curse in disguise. I guess having weaned myself from the idiot box many years ago I am a bit shocked at how much TV people can watch in a day. From the moment we get home until 11 or 12 at night, the evening revolves around the television. The weekends are even worse. This should come as no surprise to me, but it does. While I suppose it doesn’t help that we are a bit stranded in suburbia, I truly thought that the type of people who signed up for conservation volunteering would be of a bit different persuasion.
What I Learned Today: Ever since my graduate school research into Industrial Ecology I’ve been interested in closing material loops. A tenet of sustainability, recreating nature’s cyclical processes must be the end goal of civilization’s production and consumption cycle. For most of us, the minute it leaves our house, garbage is no longer an issue. Spending a day at a material’s recovery site can greatly change your outlook, so much so, that I think rather than taking school children to amusement parks and theatres, we should be bringing them to garbage dumps and wastewater treatment plants. Give them a quick peek into the belly of modern civilization. All ideological musings aside, I learned from Stuart that for every kilogram of copper we salvaged from the computers saved numerous tons of excavation. Not to put a damper on the weeding and planting that we do, but in all actuality we probably saved more habitat and reduced more carbon output today by salvaging copper than in the previous four days of performing more conventional conservation work.

Exploring Wellington - Night 59
I decided to do the proper tourist thing today and explore downtown Wellington. The morning air was calm and pleasant, so rather than bus it, I happily hoofed it the 40 minutes to the Central Hutt train station where I caught the 8:33 into the city. As any guide book will tell you, you should start a
Te Papa
tour of Wellington with a walk along the harbor on your way to Te Papa, the New Zealand national museum. So I did. Wellington reminds me of a mini-Seattle; a curved waterfront, hilly streets, cruise ships, industrial harbor operations, mountains in the distance, and a subtle aura of cultural refinement. Te Papa is a massive museum and since entry is free, I wandered only the first three floors on this trip, leaving the remaining exhibits for future visits. One can only read and contemplate museum type illustrations for so long – my experience has shown this to be about 2.5 hours.
The Wellington Waterfront
After a delicious Malaysian lunch, I just sort of meandered the streets for a while, exploring used book and clothing stores, taking some photos, and generally trying to get lost. Around 2pm I stumbled across a Climate Change Fair occurring in the Civic Centre. Perusing the exhibits, I found that there would be a special showing of the 11th Hour today at 3pm. I missed this film in the US and have been trying to locate a showing venue ever since I’ve been overseas so it was my lucky day. I purchased a ticket and made my way to the theatre, located on the corner of Taranaki and Ghunzee Streets. Narrated by Leonardo DiCaprio, the 11th Hour picked up where The Inconvenient Truth left off. Rather than showing a young Al Gore and meaningless family photos, the 11th Hour concentrated on the wealth of data, actual expert interviews, and, most importantly, some solutions to anthropogenic climate change. It is hard not to feel empowered, though with a slight sense of urgency, after seeing this film. A shame that the DVD will not be out by Christmas.
I returned home and spent much of the evening weeding the garden (my assigned chore for the week). Exhausted from a long day of walking, my Saturday night turned out quite uneventful, as I lay in bed reading until about 10pm. Sometimes my actions are entirely unbecoming for my age.
What I Learned Today: Man’s capacity for innovation and genius appears only to be matched by our stubbornness and greed.

A Long Walkabout - Night 60
Belmont Trig
Although our location here in Lower Hutt, a suburb of Wellington, does not offer easy access to the central city, it more than makes up for it with proximity to some truly great natural areas. Not to allow these opportunities to go to waste, I spent the morning and early afternoon hiking through the southern portion of the massive Belmont Regional Park. My trek began along the sinuous Korakora Dam trail leading up to Belmont Trig, the second highest peak in the park. After a brief rest at the top, I avoided the main trail on the way down and took the looping Horokiwi path on my descent back into the valley. Obviously very rarely traveled, the grass was hardly matted down and keeping to the path was at times difficult. The solitude and silence of it all easily offset the navigational difficulties.
At Baked Beans Bend (the etymology of this particular nomenclature remains unclear to me) I met back up with the main trail and with what was to be the first of a large race taking place on the trail. Having no other way to get back to civilization, I had to fight my way back along the narrow track against this running, jogging, and walking mass of humanity. Though I eventually lost count, the
View from Belmont Trig Peak
number was easily over 200 hundred participants. Viewing a race from this perspective turned out to be quite interesting and in the end I was glad I happened upon the event. At first you pass the serious racers, moving at good speed, faces full of grit and determination. Mostly under 40 males, with a few females mixed in. Nary a smile in the group. Next came the older ex-athletes, younger relatively fit couples in which one member convinced the other to do this, and the fathers with teenage sons trying to teach them the joys of physical competition. This group proved a bit more relaxed and friendly, though it was very easy to tell which member of the couple was the driving force behind their entry. Finally at the end came the old, the young and the fat. Their pace was a slow stroll, their faces all smiles. Just a group of out of shape individuals enjoying a beautiful New Zealand day in the woods. It was much like progressing from shopping at REI to Eddie Bauer to Walmart. Or like driving from Seattle to Kansas City to New Orleans.
I exited the trail in Petone, which some
A Meal at BurgerWisconsin
early morning research told me was the home of a BurgerWisconsin franchise. I arrived a bit early (they opened at 12) and killed some time watching a cricket game in the park. The rules of cricket have been explained to me more than a few times since I’ve been here and I think I am beginning to understand, however, I cannot get over the crushing boredom of actually watching the game. I would honestly rather sit down in front of the TV for the Senior Women’s Golf Tour or Professional Bowling than a live Cricket match. Perhaps it is the fact that grown men are dressed in white pants and ridiculous sweater vests while engaged in what appears to be stiff athletic competition. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the Tweedledee, Tweedledum and large human playing cards came tramping out from under the grandstand.
Back at the BurgerWisconsin restaurant I order a Bacon and Avocado burger. When my food arrived the bun was massive dwarfing the burger inside. In all honesty it was a damned good burger, but not the world’s best, as advertised on the sign. The waitress/cook was who was wearing a BurgerWisconsin shirt informed me that I could not buy one on the premises. She suggested perhaps emailing someone off of the website. English was not her first language nor was pleased to be working all by herself on a Sunday afternoon.
What I Learned Today: While being 7,000 miles away from home for the holidays will likely be a bit trying, it sure has made Christmas shopping easy. Having already purchased the box to send home selecting gifts was easy: the smallest and lightest things possible. Everything has to fit in this box and the more it weighs the more expensive it is. With this in mind my Christmas shopping commenced at 2:30 and was promptly finished at 3:15. 45 minutes, my new personal best. This is not to say the gifts possesses any less meaning than in years past, rather, they are simply less materially substantial.

Restoration in Paraparaumu - Night 61
An hour long drive landed us just north of
Lunch on the Porch
Paraparaumu at a privately-owned marshland restoration project. Held under the Queen Elizabeth II Land Trust, the land has been placed under covenants that will retain it in its undeveloped nature for perpetuity. The two owners of the land have been removing non-native pine trees and replanting paddocks with native marsh plants for nearly five years now. Progress is coming along as one would expect with nature; slowly but surely. Located only 500 meters from the coast, the property offers spectacular views of Kapiti Island, the largest island off of this section of the North Island’s west coast – also held as a nature reserve.
Kapiti Island in the Distance
Again we found ourselves ‘releasing’ plants for the duration of the morning. As it happens, this time of year in New Zealand is often too dry to plant so conservation volunteers end up doing a fair share of weeding, with the hope that the ‘released’ plants will be better able to survive the warm, dry summer without the competition from nearby weeds. As I’ve mentioned before, the entire North Island is in a serious drought so we spent the afternoon watering and applying organic B&B (blood and bone) fertilizer to the plants. With eleven volunteers and only two water hoses, a bottleneck occurred at the watering stations. To cope with such inefficiency I snuck off and took a rather undeserved nap in the weeds.
What I Learned Today: I consider myself fairly open-minded with respects to people involved in non-conventional relationships. However, upon arriving at the volunteer location today the minute I found out that the two elderly women (late 60s/early 70s) cohabitated in the house my mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that they were lesbians. This assumption was made almost subconsciously and certainly without malice. Why, though? Are we really that conditioned to judge as such anyone not living in a normal (or rather, typical, for what exactly is normal?) situation? In all actuality, they are probably widows living together to share the high cost of home ownership and to retain companionship in their old age. Try and try as we might, we seem to be incapable of escaping our prejudicial natures.

On the Trail of Possums - Night 62
Today’s activities took us to East Harbor
Lunch in the Glen
Park just across the bay from Lower Hutt. Our stated objective was to check and re-bait a line of possum and rat traps throughout the park. The catch was that our designated line was located in the valley between the two mountain ranges so we would have to hike over the first ridge in order to get to our traps. After two hours of steep climbing up and down we arrived at a small picnic area to lunch. Post-meal we split into three teams, Red Hedgehog, Green Gorilla, and Pink Panther and took off armed with notebooks, poison and walkie-talkies. The line of traps was connected by a marked trail, though not one that was well maintained. Thus our hike was more of a bush walk than a proper tramping experience.
The Fern Forest
Winding along the creek bottom the flora in this area is amazing; monstrous fern trees, huge Kiara pines and an assortment of smaller palm-like plants. All of which give the area a pre-historic feel to it. Since food is quite plentiful this time of year, barely any of the rat poison had been touched and up until the last two traps, there were no signs of possum activity. The second to last trap, however, yielded a catch; a large possum killed in the strangling trap mounted to the tree. It was the first catch in over three months of monitoring. (Note: other groups monitor during the weeks we don’t so it is possible that someone had recently recorded a catch.) After the long hike along our possum line, we had to once again climb up and down the ridge to get back to the van. A few of the non-hikers in the group
The Prize Catch
were noticeably suffering at this point. All told, nearly 7 hours of hiking.
On the way home, Toby dropped me off at the Queensgate mall to mail my Christmas presents home and to pick up a gift for the secret Santa swap at Thursday’s GVN Christmas Party. Climbing the hill back to the volunteer house has never felt so difficult.
What I Learned Today: Do not under any circumstances try to mail anything home from overseas. It is not so much the cost, which is certainly high enough, but the sheer amount of paperwork that is required to mail a package through U.S. customs which makes the endeavor truly excruciating. Not only are you required to name and value each item in the box, but also give its country of manufacture and its intended use. Seriously, how the fuck should I know where they made a plastic snow globe with a Kiwibird in the middle. My guess would be China, but if I’m wrong, will they confiscate it? Also, how could one possible speculate at the intended use of Christmas gifts? As the purchaser I would hope the receiver cherishes the gift and carries it around as a talisman for all of eternity, but the realist in me supposes that it will just end up in some miscellaneous drawer with the incomplete decks of cards, random paper clips and rubber bands, and photos from middle school. On top of it all, I didn’t know my own local New Zealand phone number or address so I had to make it up, though with an educated guess. Oh, that and I failed to mention the coins that I am sending home, all 80 cents worth. I give my package a 40% chance of actually making it home for Christmas.

Sailing the Harbour - Night 63
Getting Instructions from Terry
Life as a volunteer is rough. We took the day off today and commandeered the GVN sailboat for a day on Wellington Harbour. Since none of us are ordained sailors, the company hired Terry, a certified master yachtsman, to guide us for the day. An older gentleman, Terry was the quintessential New Zealander, patient, sarcastic, and very proud of his country. If you really wanted to see him worked up just mention the shenanigans from the America’s cup race in Seville this summer – the Kiwis narrowly lost in the finals. Almost as much bitterness as a Cubs fan.
We were Split into three teams and took turns manning the boat, while Terry oversaw and told stories about past regattas he’d been in or pointed out which of the Lord of the Rings cast lived in which mansion along the water; a superb tour guide and yachtsman. When traveling with the wind, taking the
The Sentinel
helm meant little more than steering around the multitude of rocks and reef that pervade Wellington Harbour, rocks and reefs that have sent more than a few much larger and famous ships to their demise in years past. However, on the way back in we actually had to practice some tried and true sailing techniques. Cruising into the wind, sail slack and direction all matter to an immense degree. Generally, you must either sacrifice bearing or speed, i.e. the less you head directly into the wind the faster you can go, but the more zig-zags you must make. We returned to dock around 5pm, a solid 7 hours on the water.
What I Learned Today: There is something ancestral to the art of sailing. Tacking against the wind at 8 knots using only the power of a stiff head wind to propel your 13-ton boat on a zigzag pattern through the Harbor speaks to man’s atavistic mastery of the basics of physics. Picture Vasco de Gama rounding Cape Horn, Zheng He discovering America, or Tommie Boy praying for wind.

GVN Christmas Party - Night 64
Another day off for the overworked GVN volunteers. Today’s excuse for not working was the official company Christmas party. Toby drove us down to a park on Eastbourne for the big event. When we arrived, Colin, the founder of GVN, was busy handing out glasses of champagne and overseeing the grilling activities. The entire GVN office was in attendance, pushing our party to about 30 people.
After the big feed and the secret santa handout (I got a box of candy, ick) the locals went over to the big play Field and started a game of cricket. Us Americans held steadfast and started our own game of football. In order to bolster our numbers we had to recruit the two German and one English girl to play.
Two Americans Playing Cricket
Teaching European girls how to play American Football is a hopeless activity. Eventually our game fell apart and I joined the Cricket game. Although baseball skills come in handy while batting, nothing prepares you for the awkward motion required of the bowler (pitcher). It is a sort of full windmill delivery in which you cannot bend your elbow and feels incredibly stupid when you first try to do it.
Tonight was my night to cook and chili was on the menu. Having never made chili before I diligently followed a recipe I found on the internet. The result was a very hot chili, one almost too hot to eat. Either I can’t read a recipe or the chili powder here in NZ is extra strength. Luckily we had leftovers from the party to quell everyone’s hunger. This event both began and ended my illustrious chili-making career.
What I Learned Today: Not only is Cricket a mind-numbingly boring game to watch, it is also wickedly boring to play. Sort of like drunken batting practice in the middle of a soccer Field.

Census of the Seals - Night 65
Group Photo at Cape Palliser
And then there were 6. We lost two volunteers this morning, Melissa and Kathleen. Melissa, had just spent a semester at Western Australia University in Perth and was headed home to Chicago for Christmas. Kathleen has been at GVN for the past two and a half months and now too was headed home to New Hampshire.
Cape Palliser
The clouds hung freakishly low this morning,
Seal on the Rocks
the perfect weather for a seal count. For our duties, we drove out to Cape Palliser, the far southeast corner of the North Island of New Zealand. Out along the coast, the weather was even more dour. Cloud after cloud rolled in off the sea, battering the mountains that rose from the water. In order to get to the seal colony, we had to park at the end of the pavement and walk a few miles over an easement through private land. The property, a sheep farm, commanded a beautiful, braided river valley between two sets of mountains. The grass and vegetation was strangely brown and though only a 40 minute drive from Wellington, it looked like a completely different world. I’ve never been to Scotland, but it reminded me of what I think Scotland should be like….sheep running all over, low gray sky, wind, wind, and more wind.
The count itself wasn’t all that successful. We only found three ancient males beached on the rocks and one solo crab left in a small tidal pool. The hike, however, was well worth it. Rock hopping amongst the giant boulders, letting the ocean spray fall just feet away, unperturbed by modern civilization. A grand day on the coast.
What I Learned Today: Some places are just meant to be gray and in fact look better that way. Cape Palliser is one of those places. The gunmetal sky and rocks perfectly compliment the violent surf pounding away on the rocks, lending a sense of absolute rawness to the place. Bleak, desolate, nothing between us and Antarctica but miles and miles of ocean. A bright, sunny day would have taken away from the experience somehow.

Back to Welly - Night 66
Playing tourist again, I finished off the top
Botanical Gardens
three floors of the gargantuan Te Papa museum today and then wandered to Cuba Street for lunch and shopping. For those of you keeping score (Paolo, this is you), Cuba Street Kebabs has the largest, though not the best tasting, kebab I’ve experienced yet on my trip. If you can’t tell, I’m a bit of a Kebab connoisseur if ever a thing did such exist. On a traveler’s budget, I found a few nice second hand clothing stores that they’ve tried to glamorize by referring to themselves as ‘Retro’ clothing boutiques. Serious, just admit that you are nothing more than a glorified rummage sale, you are not fooling anyone.
On the way back to the bus stop, I made the steep climb up to the botanical gardens. This being the fourth or fifth (maybe sixth) botanical gardens that I’ve been too in the last two months I was utterly unimpressed. I think I’ve now visited my fair share of such gardens and should be exempt from ever seeing another one in the future. I feel the same way about parades, costume parties and college graduations.
Parliament Building
Walking home from the Lower Hutt station, I ran into Lauren and Nikos cruising town in the van looking for a Christmas tree. Our original plan was to cut one down during our volunteer outings, but with eight people we never came across a tree that was good enough for everyone. The hour getting late, we finally broke down and agreed to pay for one. As luck would have it, we saw numerous road side vendors during the week, but now that we were actively looking for them none were to be found. After quite a bit of driving around we settled on a slightly crooked, long needle from a small lot at a gas station in Moera.
What I Learned Today: While searching the Hutt Valley for a Christmas tree today we made a few wrong turns and ended up in what would pass for the wrong side of the tracks. Run down houses, litter, and a biker-gang’s picnic all comfortably sitting the shadow of an Exxon-Mobil oil refinery/distribution center. Make no mistake, this was not Compton or Cabrini Green, but nor was it a place you’d really want to be at 2 am on a Saturday morning. I feel that in most of our travels we are constantly exposed to the best and most beautiful areas that a place has to offer and generally come away from the experience feeling that in some way where ever we visited (with the exclusion of third world countries) is vastly superior to our own country. Thus, peering into the underbelly of the Kiwi society has somehow made the feeling of being here all the more real. Of all the good things to come from my two volunteer sessions, it has been this, the chance to see things – good or bad – off of the regular tourist path.

Catching up on Life - Night 67
The Hills of Belmont
In accordance with my Sunday Wellington tradition, I took a hike through Belmont Park in the morning. Up old Coach Road and straight through to the airstrip and the old weaponry magazines, my path wound through numerous farm fields and I spent most of the time dodging cow pies and curious sheep. Interestingly, during the second World War, the area was used as an ammunition storage area, the magazines are spread rather haphazardly over the hill, designed to look like randomly placed sheep sheds from the air. At the top of the saddle, one could see all the way to Kapiti Island and the west coast. Wellington is known for its fierce winds and today was the worst I’ve experienced yet. At the top of the park it was blowing
Tasman Sea in the Background
off the Tasman Sea so hard that you literally couldn’t look to the west without your eyes immediately tearing up. Exactly like sticking your head out of a vehicle cruising down the highway.
I returned to the house around 1pm and spent the rest of my day mired in domestic chores; washing clothes, cleaning my room, weeding the garden, returning emails and helping Lauren do the grocery shopping. This is another benefit of being on such a lengthy trip, as I don’t feel the least bit bad for ‘wasting’ a day doing mundane, real life things.
What I Learned Today: The Pak n Save supermarket has a self scan shopping system like none other I’ve ever seen. If you like, when entering the store you can grab a hand held barcode scanner gun to take with your while you shop. You simply scan the items you place in your cart and when you get to the end the clerk just reads off your amount from the gun and that is what you owe. In essence, they trust that you’ve scanned everything in your cart. As an anti-shop lifting method you might be subject to a random rescan of all your items. To use this service you must first sign up for a special account and they track your record of honesty. If you fail (and by fail I mean forget to scan an item) a few times you are more likely to be rescanned than if you have a perfect record. This is a great service for those of us purchasing huge amounts of food on a set budget as you can monitor your total along the way.

Pauahatanui Again - Night 68
We returned to Pauahatanui today to help the elderly volunteers revegetate their wetland. Rather than weeding, our chores this time leaned toward man’s more brutish nature - digging ditches and shoveling stones. Another windy, cloudy day without rain, the weather, the company and the surrounds have given our Pauahatanui trips less than desirable appeal and I will be glad not to return here again during my work with GVN.
On a different note, we gained a volunteer today,
Our Tree
Ben. From the Outer Hebrides, islands west of Scotland, Ben is in New Zealand through the BUNAC company and is staying in a different house with some fellow BUNACers from the UK. Thus he and his thick Scottish accent will only be working with us during the day, not enjoying the festive merriment of 111 Normandale Road during the evening hours.
What I Learned Today: Some rather normal looking people have amazing stories to tell. One of the old men at Pauahatanui got married straight of high school and then he and his wife went on a seven-year westward tour of the world, working their way from place to place, eventually landing in India, buying a motorcycle (with sidecar) and driving all the way back to England. Once they returned home (in 1961) they decided they didn’t like it much in England anymore and agreed to move to their favorite place from their travels, New Zealand. They’ve been here ever since.

Rain in Ngaio - Night 69
We began a completely new project today, one which has yet to see the helping hand of GVN. Our task: weed out a revegatation plot at Ngaio Gorge Park, divide it into 10 plots and do a full native plant survey. The morning weeding session was going along wonderfully as our progress was swift and visual, the sort of positive feedback that is lacking in many volunteer situations. But then the rain came. It hasn’t really rained since I arrived on the Island November 24th, so today’s downpour was more than welcomed. Just too bad it happened on the one day in which everyone seemed to be having the most fun.
Nonetheless, we salvaged the afternoon by making a drive out to Seatoun to visit the soon closing Chocolate Fish Café. Just blocks from the home of Peter Jackson (the LOTR director), the Chocolate Fish was the primary hangout for the cast and crew during the years of filming. However, the much famed café is set to close December 31 of this year, so it was a last hurrah for all of us. Upon arrival we noticed an inordinate number of police vehicles on the dead end, beachfront street, too many to suggest even a donut eating convention. We also noticed a few cars pulling up and taking photographs with expensive looking cameras and few men in what appeared to be Hazmat suits. While we were leaving, Ray flagged down one of the Paparazzi and found out that this morning they had found a dead body in one of the apartment upstairs from the café. Foul play or a hapless death we never did find out, but in a ritzy area such as Seatoun it is hard to believe that anything devious was amiss.
What I Learned Today: Celebrity gossip is sports talk for women. While listening to it still makes me sick, I’ve begun to let it pass as a mere annoyance. Just as men are supposed to know how Tom Brady performed last weekend or what college Rasheed Wallace played for, women simply must be informed as to what Paris is wearing or who Sarah Jessica Parker is sleeping with. Don’t get me wrong, I vehemently maintain the primacy of sports over gossip ( fandom creates community and social interaction) and will continue to follow my teams (The Pack IS Back!)…but the real question remains: What is missing from our lives that we need to supplement it with the exploits of other, unknown people?

Rain Out - Night 70
Yesterday’s slow, consistent rain continued on
through the night and was eager awaiting us this morning. Our plans were to head up north for some weeding and plant watering (which was no longer necessary) but around 9am our contact called and cancelled the project for the day, much to our relief. The only thing worse than weeding is weeding in the rain.
An entire day on our hands, we first stopped in at the head office for morning tea and a look around. The GVN staff occupy the second floor of a very modern building on the south end of High Street in Lower Hutt. The over spacious kitchen has an average view of the river and an almost new ping-pong table. After some discussion and a bite to eat (as I don’t ‘take’ tea) we settled on a bowling excursion. Just down the road in Petone is Strike, a nearly new bowling/laser tag facility complete with bar and kitchen.
Bowling Action
Bowling, being the dying sport that it is in the States, I can’t recall ever having been to a new bowling alley. This place was nice. Imagine a brand new sports bar, complete with flat screens showing sports highlights (except here it was cricket, which I don’t consider a sport…anything you can play in white dress pants and a sweater vest is not a sport). The place was crawling with elderly couples; apparently we happened to show up during a retiree’s league of some sorts. Makes sense though, who else bowls on a Wednesday morning at 11 am?
After bowling we played a few fierce games of laser tag. Our team of three was soundly defeated by the opposing team of four both times. Either I am the world’s worst laser tag play or the scoring mechanism on my gun was faulty, as I registered paltry scores of 130 each time.
We spent the afternoon lounging around the house and watching the Lord of the Rings movies…Jamie had never seen them before. The rain continued throughout the day, so no one felt all too guilty about being lazy homebodies.
What I Learned Today: Kiwis (New Zealanders) have small thumbs. Both Ben and I looked through nearly half of the bowling balls at Strike and still could not find one that we could comfortably stick our thumbs into.

Nga Manu, Take One - Night 71
Today’s destination was the Nga Manu, a bird
Kapiti Island
sanctuary/nature reserve just outside of Waikanae. The hour long drive took us over the Tararua Range, through Paraparaumu and up the scenic west coast. As I was riding shotgun, the DJ duties fell on my shoulders. Believe it or not, this was the first time in my life I had to operate an Ipod. They are surprisingly intuitive, though I still don’t think I’ll buy one.
Nga Manu
We arrived around 10 and didn’t get going until well after 10:30. The employees at Nga Manu are a relaxed bit, to say the least. Once we got moving, Rees gave us a twenty minute demonstration/talk on the Tuatara, one of the last (maybe the last) remaining dinosaur still alive today. Once we finally got to work, we spent the remainder of the day cleaning and clearing the main walking track through the reserve. Trimming encroaching plants, picking up dead ferns, cutting down massive vines; the work was easy and enjoyable, though could have been accomplished with a group of four, not seven.
Jake, Lauren and I had been convinced by some of the office interns to participate in one of their fundraising events tonight. Called Socializing with a Soul, it was a simple random dinner get together with a bunch of unknown people from Wellington who were also will to donate $15 to a fund currently going towards a Vietnamese orphanage. The location was Monsoon Poon, a classy Indo-Thai fusion restaurant in trendy Courtney Place. We were expecting 10 or 11, only 6 showed up, three of them being us volunteers. Despite the low turnout, the food was excellent and evening enjoyable. One of the girls who came, Sarah, is originally from Couer d’Alene, Idaho and went to school in Moscow, ID. She was quite surprised to find that I had actually lived in Moscow. Just another example of how small the world is.
What I Learned Today: Endemic to New Zealand, Tuataras are only found on 60 or so off-shore islands around the country. The likely once covered the mainland as well, but introduced predators such as weasels and dogs have killed them off. Small creatures with amazing slow metabolisms, the oldest living tuatara is near 100 years old and since they were only discovered in the early 1900s, no one knows how old they can actually live. They lay eggs that take years to hatch, are known to be cannabilistic, and have little to no endurance. Being cold blooded, as Rees held one its temperature slowly warmed up and you could see it starting to become more active, finally to the point where he had to put it back or it would have escaped. Nga Manu is lucky enough to have a dozen or so Tuataras, which have all been implanted with radio microchips. Given their rarity, the black market value is very high and in recent years many people have unsuccessfully (and likely some successfully) tried to flee the country with some of the creatures.

Nga Manu, Take Two - Night 72
Trimming the Flax
Once again the old red van made its way up to Nga Manu. The sun was finally shining today, the first time in over a week, making the already scenic drive all that much more enjoyable. This morning we caught the feeding of the Kiwi birds. The emblematic, flightless bird feeds only at night so we were herded into a dark building to watch them eat behind the glass enclosure. Not exactly exciting. Kiwis, which once covered the islands, are also very rare now due to introduced predators.
We continued on were we left of yesterday
Nga Manu Jungle
and were finished around 2:30. After work we raced to the Keep New Zealand Beautiful (KNZB) head office in Waikanae to purchase some T-shirts. Last weekend both Kathi and I scoured downtown Wellington looking for the famous retro KNZB t-shirts that you see from time to time. Having no luck, we were resigned to buy them online until we found that the head office was located in Waikanae, just minutes from Nga Manu. We arrived at 2:50 and though they claim to be open until 3, the door was locked. After a bit of pounding, an old man emerged from the back and let us in, provided we would buy something. The old man was Barry, one of the executives of KNZB. Here was a man who could talk the ear off of a horse. We had to literally pry ourselves away from him once we wanted to leave. However, we made it worth his while to open up, purchasing nine shirts and signing GVN up as a sponsor organization.
Returning to town, we embarked on our Christmas grocery shopping tour. The girls have made elaborate plans for Christmas dinner, so the trip to Pak n’ Save took nearly two hours. Having no opinion over what flavor pudding or type of ham to make, I quickly hid myself in the alcoholic beverage section of the store. It is not that I don’t like holidays or special meals; it is just that I generally like any and all food and when given the preference will opt for the path of least resistance when cooking. I suppose one could say I’ve mastered the Tao of food.
What I Learned Today: Try as I might to be calm, there are times when gross inefficiency drives me completely insane.

Night on the Town - Night 73
Like nearly all weekends here at Kowhai House, I began the day with a hike to Belmont Park. The sheer size of the park has allowed me the luxury of taking a different trail each and every time I have been there. I finished weeding the garden and took a well deserved nap in the afternoon.
At 8:30 the entire house left for a night out in
Full Moon over the Harbour
Wellington. We met Ben and a number of his friends at Mac’s Brewery on the waterfront. Mac’s Sassy Red is my favorite Kiwi beer to date so heading to its very home was a pleasure for me. Upon arriving I see some guy wearing a Seahawks Jersey. It turns out Ken is from Federal Way and was at the bar because his friend, also from Seattle (Covington), was bartending. Unfortunately this wasn’t enough to get us any drink specials. Mac’s died around 10:30, with only a smattering of old people remaining. Near the 11 o’clock hour we headed to a karaoke place across the street. The music selections of these people was nearly as bad
In the Cab with the British Girls
as the singing itself and on top of it all, there wasn’t a decent looking girl in the entire joint. Ben and I coped with this disaster by hiding away in the billiards room. Another one of those “What the fuck am I doing here?” moments. Surprising they all seem to happen in shitty karaoke bars.
At the Karaoke Bar
What I Learned Today: In English rules pool, a scratch allows the opponents two free shots.

South Island Planning - Night 74
Not much of any significance occurred today. After a quick run to town to pick up some vitals, I spent most of the afternoon trying to plan my month on the south island. Most of the multi-day hikes on the south island require booking campsites or huts along the way. Since January is the busiest month, this is often nothing short of a monumental task getting all the huts on the right nights, etc. My plans for the Queen Charlotte hike have been squashed as both places to stay on night 2 are booked solid. Either I must buy a tent and related equipment or change plans to another hike. This is the one thing I was worried about…the sheer number of people on the island in January.
What I Learned Today: Putting salsa and mushrooms in a grilled cheese sandwich is delicious.
The Lower Hutt Jungle

Will the Real Cape Palliser Please Stand Up - Night 75
The windy, rainy weather doomed our sailing
A Wary Seal
plans for the day. To compensate for our cancelled plans, we drove the two hours out to Cape Palliser to perform another seal count. At this point, I must confess to you, dear reader, that I have lied. Last week I errantly stated that we had done a seal count at Cape Palliser when in fact it was a much lesser known cape that we were on. The real Cape Palliser is a much longer drive through windy mountain roads and is also quite a bit more spectacular as far as scenery is concerned. I doubt this is not the first factual error I have made and likely will not be the last.
Cape Palliser
Quite surprisingly, upon arrival the rain stopped and the sun came out. The wind, however, refused to abate. Cape Palliser is recognized as the main home for the seal colony in this part of New Zealand. Our count of 257 seals verified this. Huge males sunning themselves on rocks, smaller females watching the pups play in the water, seals were in abundance. The whole kilometer long stretch of rocks stank foully of seal urine.
Cape Palliser looking South
Most of the pups and females would hurry to water once we approached, but the larger males barely raised their heads to acknowledge our presence. Their fear of man has been minimalized.
Being Christmas Eve, we prepared a large traditional New Zealand meal of lamb chops, mashed potatoes with a shrimp cocktail appetizer and tiramisu dessert. A feast in all senses of the word. Drinking of red wine began at the meal and continued well into the night. Around 9pm we opened the gifts that Lauren, the house advisor, had given to us. Later in the evening we engaged in a few games of drunken Clue
What I Learned Today: The New Zealanders call their Clue game Cluedo.

Christmas in Kiwiland - Night 76
Christmas morning brought an absolute downpour. After everyone awoke and shook off their hangovers, we continued to open the remaining presents. Our Christmas morning movie was The Shawshank Redemption, an interesting choice for the day. The rain continued unabated and threatened to cancel our Christmas Day barbecue. In a bit of swamp engineering, I threw a few piece of loose plywood over the open porch and created for us the perfect locale to grill. For such action I was anointed the grillmaster and gladly took the job. Our feast included burgers, brats, hot dogs, shrimp kabobs, veggie sausages and burgers, and potatoes in tin foil.
The sun finally cleared in the afternoon and
Christmas Eve Dinner
gave us a nice Christmas afternoon. Without the cold weather and snow it just doesn’t seem like Christmas.
What I Learned Today: When it comes to holidays there are two kinds of people; 1) those who are very steeped in tradition and must recreate the experiences they had as children and 2) those of us who are happy with just a meal and tree.

Boxing Day - Night 77
Today was Boxing, a National Holiday, so once again we had the day off from volunteering. I spent the sunny morning hiking the Hutt River Trail, a flat walk along the levees. Around noon the weather turned sour again, to the point of even bringing a bit of hail in the afternoon. The remainder of the day was spent updating my journal and trying to upload photos to Flickr and Facebook. The internet here on the island is incredibly slow, especially when trying to move large photo files.
PS. As you can probably tell by the decreasing length of my journal entries that I have become a bit bored in the last week or so. My time here at the volunteer house has been great, however, we are stuck out in the suburbs with no easy transportation into the city, thus it isn’t hard to run out of things to do on free days. In the end, I think a month on any one volunteer project is probably about the proper amount of time to spend. It’ll be a change to go back to living out of a bag next Tuesday, but it should be a nice change from my current sedentary existence.
What I Learned Today: Boxing Day originated in Victorian England when the rich would box up their unwanted presents and give them to the poor on the day after Christmas.

Back to Work at Eastbourne - Night 78
If, in a fit of literary flair, I were to assign some decidedly anthropomorphic qualities to the weather in Wellington, I would have to say she was a woman…and a difficult one at that. She changes moods so frequently here that between taking off and putting back on of coats, applying and reapplying sunscreen, and ducking out of the wind and scurrying to find sunshine, often little of the day is left for the task at hand. True, that last statement contained a certain degree of hyperbole, but the fact remains that Wellington in December is tricky place to plan a picnic.
Eastbourne Beach
We left the house amidst thick clouds around 9:30 -- sailing having been postponed again for another day -- and arrived at Eastbourne beach covered in sunlight and cooled with a light breeze. Almost immediately the clouds poured down from the range coating us with a brief downpour. The rain was whisked away by a fierce northwestern wind that blew across the harbor pelting us with cold, salty air. Through this ebb and flow of pleasureful sun and painful rain, we conducted a beach clean up operation. Armed with garbage bags, gloves, and steadfast miens, the GVN volunteers managed to comb over a mile of beachfront. The take of the day belonged to Ben, who found a nearly intact, two-foot tall Hindu statue of Lord Krishna and his sacred bovine. Among the other finds were an eclectic pair of pink sunglasses, 17 socks, a multitude of bottles and caps, a buried brick wall, Amatamilophin tablets and a dead sheep. Yes, I said a dead sheep. The best I could do was a half burned economics notebook and a Puff the Magic Dragon toy.
For lunch, Ray treated us to fish, chips, and
Kiwi Black Jack
a few games of cards at her witchlike castle on Eastbourne Bay (see Dec 10th for photo). In the afternoon we resumed our dune-weeding project from a few weeks ago. The drought conditions of November and early December had nearly pushed the spineflex to a breaking point, but with the last two weeks’ rain, much of it was coming back as strong as ever. Unfortunately, so were the weeds. Our local liaison, Marvin (or something like that) invited us back to his place for drinks after the work was done. His aged wife was shocked when I told her that I don’t ‘take’ tea or coffee. I’ve been in these ex-British colonies for nearly three months now and I am still amazed at the high regard with which the Queen’s loyal subjects hold their blessed tea times. It is as if they think the earth itself should stop rotating so they can sip a bit of scalding hot, poor tasting brown water every two to three hours.
What I Learned Today: All jokes and carrion aside, the sheer volume of plastic, in forms of straws, bottle caps and other unidentified pieces found lying on the beach is absolutely appalling. The worst part of it all is that, as Weisman points out in his book, The World Without Us, plastics don’t really decay as much as they break down into smaller and smaller pieces (as opposed to traditional chemical decay in which the molecules actually change composition), that are then consumed further on down the tropic cycle and thus contaminating all forms of life. It seems as if we are destined to poison ourselves to extinction, but instead of an instantaneous, massive nuclear holocaust, it’ll likely be through a small, elongated plasticized one.

All Hands on Deck - Night 79
The inter holiday period is a tough time to arrange volunteer projects as most of the coordinators of the local projects are unavailable. As such, our calendar was again blank for this cold and windy Friday. Once the rain cleared, Terry took us out on the Sentinel for an afternoon sail around the Harbor. With only four of us along this time (five, counting Ray) we weren’t allowed the luxury of shift changes and it was literally ‘all hands on deck.’ Maneuvering south out of the Harbor wasn’t easy as we met with a stiff 18-22 knot headwind. Even with the engine on half throttle we were only hitting 4 knots an hour. As we approached the mouth of the Harbor the swells grew to 2-3 meters in size, tossing our small boat about. It was my first time on seas anything even remotely resembling rough. Terry explained that the ‘short swells’ as they are know (short for the wavelength, not the amplitude—the two of which maintain an inverse relationship) are caused by the sudden decrease in water depth in this part of the Harbor resulting in a set of ‘bunched up’ swells which are more dramatic than they should be. When we crashed down into the troughs or hit a swell wrong, water splashed up over the bow. Although a bit of a struggle to retain your balance it was very enjoyable as we were never really in any danger of capsizing. After making little progress on our SE bearing to the cape, we decided to turn back and cruise with the wind all the way back into Harbor.
Our days here at the Kowhai House are number, so meals have been consisting of cleaning out the freezer. Today this meant another barbecue of marinated Cajun chicken strips, Honey Soy lamb chops and steaks. I wish I could get paid to grill out.
What I Learned Today: Amidst all the thrashing and the swells my stomach remained strong, thus, I am happy to report that this is one landlubber who, apparently, does not suffer from sea sickness.

Winding Down - Night 80
Tying up loose ends. That is how I would describe my day. Fighting to understand the receptionist at the Rutherford YHA ( I think I have two nights and transportation to and from the Nydia track booked), paying one last shopping visit to the Queensgate mall, cleaning my room, washing my clothes, reducing my domestic situation (setting aside unneeded items –work shirts -- for donation) and relaxing in the sun. It appears as if summer has finally started as the blue sky lasted all day and night.
Time is a strange thing. It seems like a long time ago and yet it also seems like just yesterday that I arrived in Wellington. Travel can upset your rhythms regarding the passage of time, for better or worse.
What I Learned Today: The damned British put sugar instead of salt on their popcorn….yes, it does taste as disgusting as it sounds.

Farewell to Belmont - Night 81
The second nice day in a row. To celebrate I took my final hike to Belmont Park. I’ve been there so often it has begun to feel like my backyard, yet the place is so big I’ve never done the same hike twice. I will definitely miss the prickly gorse forests and dogging sheep shit with every step.
In the afternoon I lounged on our underused
All Packed and Ready to Go
deck and reread Tim Flannery’s opus on climate change, The Weathermakers. We all sat down to a good family dinner of Lasagna and played some cards in the evening. Just another day of hiking and reading.
What I Learned Today: The strange thing about all our supposed technological advances in the energy sector is that 90% or more of all our energy generated is done using 19th century technology, namely, boiling water to create steam to turn turbines. Coal, natural gas, and even nuclear plants still use this archaic and inefficient method of power generation….the second law of thermodynamics is a bitch.

Across Cook Strait - Night 83
Havelock, New Zealand
I awoke sharply at 6:30 full of piss and vinegar,
Back of the Ferry
ready to meet the new year head on - regardless of the fact that I finally crawled into bed around 3am without a modicum of sobriety. My body’s internal clock functions precisely in spite of imbibation and/or exhaustion…or maybe because of it. I finished packing, cleaned my room and headed up the stairs of Kowhai House one last time. Jake, Shirley and I were all booked on the 1pm ferry to Picton, so I had some time to kill, wisely enjoying the last few hours of free internet I’ll likely see on this trip. Around 10 with stuffed rucksacks in tow, our triad slowly descended the Normadale grade for the last time. Surely life in general has its first and last times for everything, however, sometimes it seems as if travels is nothing but.
The Marlborough Sound
We arrived at the Bluebridge Ferry terminal plenty early, even in spite of the strange “who’s on first” encounter between an elderly asian female and the bus driver at one of the stops. Frustrated, he finally just charged her two dollars and agreed to drop her off wherever she wanted, provided it was along his route. Boarding for foot passengers began at 12:30, however vehicles were let on earlier, so by the time we got up to the deck all the outside seating had been taken, which was a real shame considering it was a perfectly sunny day with temperatures around 80 and little to no wind. As such the crossing was very smooth and quite scenic once we entered the Marlborough Sound.
The City of Picton is located at the terminus
The City of Picton
of one of the long arms of the Marlborough Sound. Surrounded on all sides by towering green mountains that plunge directly into the sea, Picton is blessed with natural beauty that rivals its strategic economic position as the main entry point to the South Island. A nice little downtown area surrounded by hostels, hotels, and a large marina make it a pleasant place to spend a lovely summer day.
Being a public holiday, the bay was filled with sailboats, kayakers, and the occasional jet ski. Think a slightly toned down Lake Union or Shawano Lake on any given summer weekend. I checked into The Villa, a quirky little hostel around 5 pm. The place had been highly recommended on Hostelworld and didn’t disappoint. A large backyard complete with tree house-like lounge, a hot tub, and a clean kitchen. One of the best places I’ve stayed here in the South Pacific.
I had enough daylight for a hike, so I took off down the Snout Trail which runs along the bay for a few miles then heads down into the neighboring town of Waikiau and loops back to Picton. I returned around 7:30 and on my way to the grocery store ran into Jake and Shirley. They were staying at the YHA just down the street, however, unfortunately they will be doing the South Island in a clockwise direction in two weeks, while I’m taking a month in the opposite direction. That is the great part about the South Island, with the Alps running down the spine, there are essentially on two ways to see the place, clockwise or counterclockwise. We bid adieu and will hopefully cross paths again in Greymouth on the 9th. After some dinner and reading in the tree house, it was an early night as I was running on just over 3 hours of sleep from the night before.
What I Learned Today: Along with being New Year’s Day today is also the first day of the second, more exciting portion of my travels, as well as the half way point of my whole trip. Though I’ve learned through time that resolutions and other large life changes generally do not work for me, (slow, gradual alterations are superior in both short and long term results) today has offered me a completely clean slate with which to pursue life. A bright blue sky, a new island to explore, nothing at all that I ‘must’ do, a perfect empty space of life that I can fill with whatever I please.
written by  exumenius on January 1, 2008 from Havelock, New Zealand

On to Havelock - Night 84
Havelock, New Zealand
I awoke refreshed and took a short morning jog around the Picton Harbor. Though only 6:30, the docks were busy as guide boats, diving rigs, and fishing trawlers prepared for the day. It has always seemed to me that people in the marine industry are early risers…perhaps I have a future in such work. I spent the remainder of the morning reading and relaxing in the hammock back at the hostel. At 11:30 I packed my bags and wandered down to the ferry terminal to catch my bus arriving at 12:15.
The Villa in Picton
The ride to Havelock was a short one, less than an hour. I was the only person stopping in the small town, the rest carried on to Nelson for the night. Havelock, the gateway to my Nydia Track hike, is located on one of the farthest south inlets of the Marlborough Sounds. A resorty place, it reminded me of Cecil, WI, but with towering mountains and a faint whiff of sea salt. The YHA where I was staying is an old school building that has been converted into a hostel. Family owned, it has a very calm feel to it, aided by the fact that there were probably only a dozen of us staying the night. I took a tour of town (20 min), stopped at a museum fundraising yard sale, and gathered some supplies and groceries for the hike. If you are looking for excitement and other people between 18 and 30, Havelock is not the place for you. It has the same sort of youth vacuum that is seen in so many small towns throughout the world.
What I Learned Today: Ferry terminals, airports, train stations all seem to radiate a certain sense of kinetic energy that never fails to bring a smile to my face.
written by  exumenius on January 2, 2008 from Havelock, New Zealand

Nydia Track, Day 1 - Night 85
Havelock, New Zealand
Kaiuma Creek
The water taxi for Shag Point, our drop off location, left at 10am. There was only one other hiker with me today, a 40 year old woman from Wellington named Teresa. On board the boat was an elderly couple with their grandkids headed for a holiday home somewhere in the Sounds, as well as a young couple doing some camping in one of the inlets. We were the first ones off. Our stop was little more than a gravel bar along a cliff. The captain pulled up as close as he could and we jumped off the bow (that’s the front) onto land. I cleared the nearly 4 foot gap, Teresa didn’t, but luckily her waterproof boots held and she didn’t have to start the hike with wet feet.
Nydia Bay from the Saddle
The Nydia Track doesn’t actually start until deep in Kaiuma Bay, so we had to hike it 5 kilometers along a gravel road just to get to the start of the track. After that it was up and over a small 700 foot hill, down into the valley and then back up to the Kaiuma Saddle at just over 1,000 feet of elevation.
Te Mahoerangi Resort
It wasn’t an overly difficult climb, but the sun beat down on us – aided by the low growth of the gorse forest – and temperatures hovered about 30 (low 80s) without a hint of wind. We stopped at the saddle for lunch and were met by an elderly couple who had come up from the Te Mahoerangi Backpackers, our intended destination, for a day hike. A few stream crossings, some cattle sightings and two hours later we arrived at Te Mahoerangi.
As we walked into the yard it reminded me of the scene from the movie The Beach where Richard and Co. waltz into the island village. Random people were scattered about the grounds doing odd chores, fixing grounded boats, or inspecting fishing reels. And surprisingly, young people too…though the only one who had the looks for Hollywood was the new manager’s wife, a blond darling of about 30. The buildings were all constructed of pine and by the looks of it fairly well built. Te Mahoerangi is off the grid so all power at the moment comes from a diesel generator; a solar unit is scheduled for installation later this year. The place is fairly new, the grand idea of a hippy couple who started the project, let it fester and now have moved onto to a new scheme on d’Urville Island. In the mean time they’ve hired a young, more business minded couple from Wellington to run it. They’ve upped prices and taken away a few of the perks, we were told by some guests who had been here before, but, overall, they’ve greatly improved the place and have turned it into a profitable business venture (Note: it is still a non-profit which donates all proceeds to environmental causes). I guess progress comes with a price.
A needed nap in the books, I spent the evening touring the bay and reading through their huge collection of old National Geographics. For dinner, the lodge kitchen offered a pumpkin something soup and salad for $35. I enjoyed my own tuna alfredo. At 10pm the generator was shut down, so it was light’s out and bed time for all.
What I Learned Today: Lying down to take my afternoon nap I was completely exhausted. I fell asleep immediately, although it was a strange sleep in that I knew I was sleeping but yet I was partly conscious. I felt as though I could control my dream in a way. It only lasted twenty minutes or so, but I awoke completely reinvigorated and of amazingly clear mind. Perhaps this was a strange sort of fatigue-induced meditation session…I don’t know, but I know this isn’t the first time it has happened to me and it is always caused by a good day of hard work, immediately followed by a nap.
written by  exumenius on January 3, 2008 from Havelock, New Zealand

Nydia Track, Day 2 - Night 86
The Nydia Bay Pier
I arose around 7am, had a short breakfast and packed my bags. The sign said 5 ½ hours hike to Duncan Bay (where our shuttle is meeting us), so we had plenty of time. After a bit of reading, I left Te Mahoerangi around 8:15, Teresa decided to stay for awhile so I pushed on alone. The weather had pulled a complete 180. Low clouds clung to the hills and breeze off of the water necessitated long sleeves. Much better hiking weather than yesterday.
The trail crossed a few bridged creeks and
Duncan Bay
the front yards of some vacation homes for about a mile before it began to rise gently. Continuing on this soft gradient, I arrived at the Nydia Saddle two hours later. On one side beautiful Nydia Bay, on the other the equally scenic Tennyson Inlet. Though the views were similar, the north side of the saddle was not reached by Browlee’s logging 80 years ago and thus held old growth forest; the Nydia Bay side, unfortunately, had been cut and was in various states of regeneration. Another two hours downhill and the Duncan Bay pier and parking lot
Our Hike
signaled the end of the track. The 5 ½ hour estimation was a bit off. By this time, however, the clouds had lifted and sun again shone bright. Since I was three hours early for our shuttle, I ditched my pack in the woods, took off my boots and headed for the beach to read and nap.
Tennyson Inlet
Bruce showed up at 3 to give us a lift back to town. The hour long drive took us up and over another steep saddle and then down into the Rai River valley curving around and over the Pelorus River and finally back into Havelock. As it turns out Bruce is the new proprietor of the Havelock (Rutherford) YHA and is also making improvements to the place. In the backyard he has been busy constructing new wooden bunks and has moved the official town information centre to his office. Next up: refitting the now unused second story of the old school building into loft apartments. His work seems to have a purpose and an ease to it. Secretly, I want to stay and help, but the road calls.
What I Learned Today: The tiny village of Havelock is the boyhood hometown of two the world’s greatest physicists, Ernest Rutherford and William Pickering. Rutherford, who attended school in the very building in which I am sleeping, went on from these humble beginnings to co-invent, with Geiger, the first radiation measuring device. He was also responsible for developing the original particle collider. Pickering was once head of the U.S. Jet Propulsion Lab and co-designed the first successful American satellite. All this from a town of less than 500 people…imagine even one genius coming from Nichols, WI or Thorpe, WA.

Havelock to Nelson - Night 87
Nelson, New Zealand
I wandered the side streets of Havelock for my morning walk and stumbled upon the Havelock Cemetery. A brief investigation showed that no one had been buried here since 1996. Many of the old tombstones had tipped over, likely the end result of some juvenile prank, yet the lawn was freshly mowed around said toppled stones. An odd mix of overall apathy and diligent landscaping maintenance all mixed in.
In case you are wondering why I’m writing
The Pelorus Bridge
about a graveyard, its because that’s about as exciting as it gets in Havelock on a Saturday morning if you aren’t somehow involved in the marine industry. Unfortunately my bus wasn’t due until 1pm, so I had plenty of time to reflect on the serenity of small town life until then. Shortly after boarding we stopped at the Pelorus River wayside for a toilet stop; the majority of the bus having been riding since Picton. The Pelorus River travels through a bit of a gorge at this spot allowing for a picturesque bridge high above the deep water and plenty of swimming pools below. As is common with such bridges, every year or two a drunken youth misjudges the wind and ends up diving into the rocks, instead of the water, below.
The Geographic Centre of New Zealand
We arrived in Nelson, the so-called Sunshine Capitol of New Zealand at 3pm. I’ll be calling the Paradiso Hostel home for the next two nights. The place is located on the outskirts of Nelson, a city of 60,000. The Paradiso has a sprawling front yard with pool, hot tub and volleyball court – Erin, you’ll be pleased to know that the games were serious picnic ball…I could not bring myself to partake. In the back parking lot is a Thai food trailer offering huge portions for $7. They weren’t kidding about the portion size. Easily the cheapest meal I’ve purchased in New Zealand yet. Just outside of town is the geographic center of New Zealand. Being a bit of a geophile, I made the 45-minute hike to see the moment marking the center of the country. I spent the evening grocery shopping and drinking wine and talking travel in the hot tub with a British girl, a Swedish woman and a Dutch couple.
What I Learned Today: Due to the dominance of soccer on the European continent, it is often easy to pick out European youths on the volleyball court strictly by their abysmal hand eye coordination.
written by  exumenius on January 5, 2008 from Nelson, New Zealand

Kayaking Pepin Island - Night 88
Nelson, New Zealand
Glen, a guide from the Cable Bay Kayak company, picked me up at 8:30 and gave me a lift to their home base, just a short, 20-minute drive north of Nelson. The sky was overcast and a bit windy, hardly the picture perfect kayaking weather of yesterday. Our half day trip would take us up and around Pepin Island, lunch at a beach, and back the way we came in the afternoon. Often half-day groups are able to circumnavigate the island, however, today’s tides would prevent us from doing so.
Lunch in the Cove
There were 12 other kayakers beside myself. We would be taking double kayaks, with the exception of the group leader, Nick, who was outfitted in a sleek single yellow Necky. Since I was one of the only ones with any
Pepin Island
experience, I was matched up with a novice, Elise, a young girl from Israel, who was deathly frightened of the rough seas and didn’t talk (or paddle) a whole lot. I think most of her energy went toward trying to balance herself and hang onto her paddle.
Pepin Island Kayaking
They way out to the beach was against the wind and swell and was a difficult paddle, especially when pushing yourself and a chubby teenager through the chop. Early on, we paddled through some low, elongated caves, narrowly escaping the crashing surf. This was easily the most fun I’ve had kayaking; Elise, on the other hand, was white in the face. About two hours after we started we pulled into a hidden cove for a lunch break. On the way back to the landing we spotted a number of fur seals and some great gliding albatross(es)…how do you pluralize albatross? Upon returning to the landing, I jumped in the cool Tasman Sea for a quick swim, I had, after all, worked up quite a sweat pushing all that dead weight around.
The afternoon was employed by my favorite pastime; getting lost in a new town. I wandered the streets of Nelson, strolling down the river walk, up through Church Hill (a cathedral befit for a city ten times the size graces the top of the hill), and finally to the Infocentre where I was able to hook up to
Downtown Nelson
some wireless for long enough to update my journal. Nelson has a good bit of history and the town pulls out all the stops to pitch it as a tourist destination. Also, rather strangely, alongside the historical markers are markers explaining the history of the largest trees in the immediate vicinity. It seems as if the local council, shamed by the denuded hills and logging history of the area, imported rare trees from all over the world and planted them in the town center. The fruits of their forsightfulness now bear, among other arboreal delights, a 100-year old California Sequoia, an 80-year old Turkish Oak, and some variety of palm trees from Brazil.
What I Learned Today: Nearly every Kiwi I’ve talked to since arriving here on the south island holds a number of interesting jobs in order to make ends meet. Perhaps it is the fact that I’ve existed primarily in the tourism realm, however, I think that the adequate social safety net is also a serious factor in the overriding sense of entrepreneurialship I find ingrained in these people. Just imagine how many Americans would start new business ventures if they didn’t have to worry about health insurance. Were I a skeptic, I would attribute big industry’s (and laissez-faire Republicans in general) opposition to state health care is that the fact that it would create thousands of new, smaller and more flexible competitors eager to take market share in every niche possible.
written by  exumenius on January 6, 2008 from Nelson, New Zealand

Wet Ride to Greymouth - Night 89
Greymouth, New Zealand
Pancake Rocks at Punakiaki
As soon as we left Nelson the rain came down in buckets and hardly let up for the entirety of the day. Lefty, the bus driver, made the obligatory stops at the view points, but the sweeping vistas were obstructed by clouds and the only ones to leave the comfort of the bus were those with weak bladders. Around 1pm, we rolled into Panakaiki, home of the world famous pancake rocks. The rain had slowed to a slight mist, so we all made a mad dash around the walkway to view the sea stacks, blowholes and the oddly formed pancake rocks. Some form of sedentary rocks, local geologists have a number of theories on their origin, but no solid proof.
In order to pass the time on the drive we played “The Roadkill Game.” Basically, everyone throws in a dollar and guesses the number of dead animals we will pass along the way and the closest without going over gets the pot. Sitting near the front, I was the first one to proffer a guess. Knowing that New Zealand has no native mammals, I figured that roadkill would not be all that prevalent and ventured a guess of 19. Everyone after me guessed higher. The final count was 42.
We finally arrived in Greymouth at 5 pm
Enjoying our Free Beer at Monteith's
amidst a torrential rain. About the only touristy thing to do in town in the Monteith’s Brewery Tour. The eight of us from the YHA piled into the shuttle bus around 6 for our trip to the sacred origin of Monteith’s Original Ale. Our tour group was quite large, about 35 people, but with the promise of free beer at the end everyone moved along in an efficient manner and didn’t ask too many questions. The brewery in fact is very small and pales in comparison to places to like Red Hook in Woodinville. Also, surprisingly, much of their processes are still done by hand, such as packing the 6-packs and cleaning the brew vats and those things that are mechanized have been built by hand by the local Edison, an engineer/inventor of some fame (whose name eludes me). Finally, after listening to the enthusiastic tour guide ramble on about the sterility processes and the overall superiority of their product we arrived at the bar. Everyone was allowed a taste (about 4 oz.) of each of the seven varieties of beer that they produce. At the end we were each given to opportunity to fill our glasses with our favorite flavor. It was at this point that the tour guide committed a grave mistake; she left the taps unmanned and wandered into the gift shop. The wrong thing to do with me, a pair of Irish guys and a gaggle of German girls standing nearby. We attacked the open taps like polar bears on a seal colony. Downing beer as fast as we could, I certainly got my money’s worth.
Pouring a Pint at Monteith's
Also included in the tour package were a BBQ dinner and a pint of beer at the les s than luxurious Crown Hotel in downtown Greymouth. The meal was quite weak, but the pint was enormous, thus satisfying all but the vegetarians who had to pay extra for their meal. Lefty joined us down at the hotel bar for some storytelling and revelry. Around 11pm we realized that we were the last ones in the bar and were kindly asked to leave so that they could close up. I closed down a bar in Greymouth, New Zealand; check that off life’s list of things to do.
What I Learned Today: There are some places that seem so dour, so beat down by the passage of time that they are best seen in an absolute downpour. Greymouth is such a place.
written by  exumenius on January 7, 2008 from Greymouth, New Zealand

Franz Josef...the Glacier - Night 90
Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand
Buckets of rain greeted us in the morning as the foul weather in Greymouth continued. The Magic Bus was nearly full, having picked up a number of add-ons who had just journeyed over Arthur’s Pass by train. Our first stop was in Hokitiaki, the center of the Greenstone (Jade) mining business in New Zealand. Additional pit stops were made in the small gold mining town of Ross, where one could pan for gold in the town hall, $6.50, and at some roadside Redneck museum where you could see a live possum for $4. I neither panned the gold nor pet the possum. Each segment of the Magic Bus trip is filled with these small diversions, mom and pop businesses hoping to get a few dollars from enough bored bus riders to stay in business. It appears the Redneck Museum wasn’t doing too well, as it was being offered for sale for $300,000. More importantly, these small stops allow everyone to stretch their legs and use the bathroom.
The Glacier
Lefty also like to play little games on the bus to pass the time as well. Since we had a few beers together at the bar last night, he knew me fairly well, and this gave him the opportunity to nominate me as the contestant for today’s game, Blind Date. Basically I got to sit in the front of the bus and read a number of questions to which contestants answered on pieces of paper and then I read through the answers and picked my “date.” The questions are a bit ridiculous and only five people turned in responses. The winner ended up being an Irish girl named Sandra. More on her later. Though admitted a foolish game, it was advantageous to be the contestant since instantly everyone on the bus knew who I was and made the night out at the bar much more fun. Even small bits of fame can be quite enjoyable.
We arrived in Franz Josef, a quaint little
Southern Alps
alpine town, around 1pm. Much of the bus had paid a ridiculous fee to go on a half day hike up on glacier. Having been on plenty of glaciers in my day, I wasn’t about to cough up $100 to trudge alongside Japanese tourists and obese Australian women to see a little bit of moving ice. Instead I took a long, five hour hike to the foot of the glacier myself for free. The glacier itself is quite ugly at the terminus, given the rocks and dirt that litter the area. The entire scene, however, the ice coming down from the frozen peak all the way into the green valley with the gray, water rushing out from the bottom is almost too beautiful for words.
Danger Calls
That evening we had all agreed to meet at the Blue Ice Café for drinks. A good portion of the people that had been on the bus the last few days showed up. Lefty managed to get us a few free shots. The Blue Ice has a happy hour from 9-10pm in which beer are $3 a pop. Something about paying for drinks with coins really makes me happy. Amidst drinking games and general conversation the night wore on and we all got drunk. I had made a point of it to wander on the down the table and meet my “date”, Sandra. Nearly the whole end of the table was Irish and had been traveling together for some time. Sandra was a nice enough girl, but to be honest a bit on the boring side and I wasn’t really into her. Being the drunken wanderer that I am, I gradually left the Irish scene and went to go talk to the cute Canadian girl
The Blue Ice Bar
from Toronto whose computer I had fixed in Greymouth. A bit later two of the Irish blokes chastised me for “blatantly hitting on another girl while my date was watching.” One of them asked me if I even found Sandra physically attractive, which in my drunken state I answered honestly “No.” They became a bit pissy and headed back to the table. I guess they didn’t understand that it was just a game. Oh well, fuck them. Somewhere in the background a local band was murdering Sublime.
On the walk home I realized that I think some pretty strange shit when I’m drunk. I vividly remember looking up at the Southern Cross and thinking to myself (likely out loud) “Bury me in Franz Josef when I die.” What a weird time to be thinking about death.
What I Learned Today: Today I had one of those moments where time seems to stand still and you are at complete peace with the world. Sitting at the Chateau Franz on a wooden swing, drinking wine and reading Puzo with the sun setting over the ocean to my left and the towering spires of Mt. Cook and the Southern Alps to my right I paused and thought to myself, “Wow.”
written by  exumenius on January 8, 2008 from Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand

Who is Alex Knob? - Night 91
Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand
The low, thick clouds nor the hangover were
Franz Josef from Above
enough to deter me from attempting the Alex Knob hike this morning. I set off on foot down the long road to the trailhead sometime around the 8am hour. About halfway down the 5km road an elderly Australian couple pulled over and offered me a ride to the trailhead; I graciously accepted. A trip to New Zealand just wouldn’t be complete without a little bit of hitchhiking. The trail was rather primitive and steadily rose up the hillside, offering little in the way of views. About two hours into the hike I had probably gained about 2000 feet of elevation when finally a sweeping vista of the Franz Josef Glacier appeared around a corner. Twenty minutes later I was up into the clouds and visibility began to decrease with each step upwards. I sat down for a quick snack and decided to cut my losses and
Along the Alex Knob Trail
head back down for the clouds hadn’t given the slightest hint of breaking. I was hoping to get to the advertised sub-alpine meadow high above, but the hike seemed to drag on and my alcohol-induced dehydration was beginning to set in. Oh well, as they say, “The journey is the reward.” On the way down I took a small detour to lunch by the lake. (Sidenote: I believe that using the word ‘lunch’ as a verb is annoyingly pretentious.)
I arrived back in town around 3pm by which time the clouds had cleared. Determined not to waste the rest of the improving day, I returned to my room and promptly took a glorious nap. The evening was spent on domestic chores such as laundry, packing and dinner preparation. Half of the guys in my room headed down to the bar, however, my quota of two nights straight had been reached so I gladly stayed behind and read for a bit.
High Above the Glacier
What I Learned Today: Sometimes the early bird does not get the worm. For the umpteenth time in my life I’ve gotten to the peak of a hike during immense cloud cover in the morning only to find the day much improved by the time I’ve gotten back to the parking lot as I never have the patience to wait it out. I guess being an early riser is my cross to bear.
written by  exumenius on January 9, 2008 from Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand

Welcome to the Otago - Night 92
Te Anau, New Zealand
Lake Matheson
Our journey today took us down the narrow coastal highway down to the town of Haast, the southernmost town on the west coast of New Zealand. After this, the land gives way to the Fjordland national park, an area no self-respecting engineer would even dream of building a road. The way to Haast is amazingly scenic, with views of snow covered peaks to the left and the cerulean blue Tasman
Southern Alps
Sea off to the right. We must have crossed at least a dozen short, fast moving glacial streams along the way. Because of the terrible rains that befall this area, the bridges here are incredibly prone to washing out. As a result the local councils don’t put a lot of money into building what they see as a temporary structure. This means that all the bridges are one lane only and limited to one vehicle at a time. A few of them even share the crossing with a railroad going right down the middle of the road.
The bus made brief pit stops at Matheson Lake and Roberts Point along the way for some photo opportunities. Two hours after leaving we made the hard left at Haast and headed up the Haast River valley to the pass. Very quickly the road becomes wicked steep. Our pace slowed to about 40kmh for a number of miles. The full bus ground on faithfully, all the while Cameron, our driver, unflinchingly pitched the upcoming adventure activities in Wanaka and Queenstown. After 45 minutes of painful climbing we inched over the Haast Pass and out onto the Otago Plateau. The vegetation quickly changed to an arid scrub brush, the hills passing from the verdant green of the western rain forest to the daub brown of the highlands. It was somewhat akin to driving from the Oregon Coast to the high plains of Wyoming in just under an hour.
After a dangerous drive along Lake Wanaka, our tired coach finally pulled into town around 3pm. With most of the bus going straight through to the glimmering lights of Queenstown, only a handful of us brave souls disembarked in the small, lakeside community of Wanaka. The minute I stepped off the bus, I was glad I made this detour. The weather had been picture perfect, mid 80’s, not a cloud in the sky. The lake shimmered blue and reflected the snow covered peaks in the background. The Purple Cow hostel, my accommodation for the next two nights, looked out over the lake. As usual, the first thing I did after checking in was to go on a reconnaissance mission to scope out the place. The natural beauty of Wanaka is unquestionable; it is simply top shelf. My walk revealed, however, a slight stench of affluence rising. For the first time on the South Island I saw new subdivisions full of ultra-modern second homes. What was likely once a quaint downtown is rapidly being transformed into a kitschy, pseudo strip mall of Billabong stores and upscale jewelers. Make no mistake, it is nothing as gross and blatantly bourgeois as say, Whitefish, MT, but it is definitely a place undergoing some radical changes. From what I gathered from the locals, nearby Queenstown has simply become too pricy for most New Zealanders, so they’ve begun to move down the road to Wanaka. It appears that the great pendulum of haute living has commenced its swing and likely within five years it will take nothing less than a 6-figure income to call this place home.
What I Learned Today: The benefit of being on a lax timescale such as I am is that I can afford to stop at the little out of the way places and I can also afford to once in awhile just take a day off, lay on the grass, read a book, basically, relax, without feeling that I’m wasting a day. Even slightly reducing a small portion of travel to everyday life can sometimes go a long way to keep the spirits up and the body lively.
written by  exumenius on January 10, 2008 from Te Anau, New Zealand

A Piece of New Zealand Dies - Night 93
Te Anau, New Zealand
Arguably the most famous Kiwi in all
Lake Wanaka
of the world passed away this morning. Sir Edmund Hillary, the first man to climb Everest (along with the Sherpa Tenzing) and the first to drive a motor vehicle to the South Pole, dead at the age of 88. According to many, he exemplified all that New Zealanders stand for; determination, strength, and the ability to laugh at oneself. A hero for this small island nation if ever there was one.
Wanaka from Mt. Iron
While the nation mourned, I relaxed at the beach. I also shopped. Over the last three days my pair of shorts has suffered a rip pocket, a torn crotch and a large stain of tuna juice…it was time for some new cloth. I stumbled upon one of the most interesting pieces of public art I’ve ever seen on my walk to the store. Along its waterfront walkway the City of Wanaka has placed 2000 one-foot square ceramic tiles, one for each year starting at the birth of
The Sidewalk of History
Christ up to the year 2000. Major events have been added on the corresponding years by the city, while businesses and private donors have added minor events in the intervening years. Basically every tile from 1800 on is full; however, many large stretches prior to 1000 remain empty. Something must have happened in 513, 934 and 1429. A stroll down the sidewalk has been turned into an Intro to History Lesson.
In the afternoon I decided to honor the fallen adventurer with a hike of my own. Granted Mt. Iron is in no way as glorious or difficult as Everest, but damn it was hot today, so thus I felt like my act was every bit as heroic, especially since I did it without the help of a Sherpa. After the perilous hour long hike, I stopped at Wanaka’s favorite tourist trap, PuzzlingWorld. Created by local Stuart Landsborough in 1973, the original attraction was focused on a large human maze. Since that time
PuzzlingWorld
a hologram hall, tilted rooms, and the eerie Hall of Following Faces have been added. They’ve also cashed in on the Lord of the Rings craze by adding a room that shows how the movie directors created the apparent height differences between the hobbits and the men. The souvenir shop was full of M.C. Escher etchings and Mensa books. In all honesty, it was a well spent $8 and I have to admit that the maze was difficult.
Sunset over Lake Wanaka
What I Learned Today: Life is all about perspective. While PuzzlingWorld is basically an amusement park for adults it secretly harbors a deeper life lesson; that is “Everything depends on how you look at it.” In the Hall of Following Faces, Einstein’s unmistakable mug follows you around the room (or so it seems); however it is his genius regarding the theory of relativity, both in the world of physics and in everyday life, that is in fact the most important realization of the moment. Our attitudes are more important than our situations.
written by  exumenius on January 11, 2008 from Te Anau, New Zealand

Arriving in Queenstown - Night 94
Te Anau, New Zealand
The magic bus was not set to roll through Wanaka
The Purple Cow
until 2pm, so I spent the morning relaxing at the Purple Cow. Reading in the sun with a cooling breeze coming down from the snowfields of Mt. Aspriring and across Lake Wanaka time seems to float on by. I’d be lying if I told you that there weren’t times during a trip of this length when things may seem a bit boring, but what are the alternatives, what else would I be doing? I’d much rather feel bored by an alpine lake in the middle of a New Zealand summer than in my cubicle amidst the dreary gray of a Seattle winter.
The Original Bungy
Despite all this, my mind wasn’t perfectly at ease. There was a nagging feeling of anxiety over the bungy jump that I was planning on doing on the way to Queenstown. Upon boarding the bus our driver told us that do to extreme volume at the jump center we may not get to go. We arrived at the Kawarua Bridge/A.J. Hackett Bungy Jump Center around 4:30. By this time I was calm and had accepted that I was just going to do it. Swaggering up to the counter with my pride on display, I was shot down like an opening day duck – all the spots for the afternoon were booked. Not surprising, considering it was a Saturday during absolute peak season. I may or may not have time to make it back out during my stay in Queenstown. No big loss I guess it is a quite expensive 2 seconds of freefall ($200 once you include the DVD).
As we pulled into Queenstown, it looked eerily like a scene from Panama City, FL in the middle of March. Drunken teens staggered this way and that, gaggles of girls in short shorts and huge sunglasses warily jaywalked enroute to another bar. Welcome to Queenstown, New Zealand’s number one tourist destination. Compounding the fact that it was a Saturday during peak season, there was also a large 7-man rugby tournament going on as well. The city was a madhouse and it was only 6pm.
The last ones off the bus, it was nearly 7pm by the time I checked into the Pinewood resort. In front of me in line were two girls and a guy wearing a UW-Lacrosse shirt. I struck up a conversation with them and eventually they asked me what town I was from. When I replied, “Bonduel” they just laughed and pointed at the payphone in the corner where Lucas Rank was busy trying to call home. As it turns out he and 19 other UW-Lacrosse kids are here on a one-month adventure vacation. After a bit of story sharing, he gave me the bad news: the Packer game would not be televised in this town. Apparently he and another guy went to every bar in town and asked if they would be showing NFL playoffs, all replied negatively.
That evening I met a few people from the bus at the Red Rock Bar. As I briefly alluded to earlier, there is some serious talent in this town. Down the west coast of New Zealand we were consistently playing with minor league (AA at best) quality, but this was an immediate step straight through to the All-Star game. To be completely honest, for every hot girl there were three drunken guys in trucker hats and wife-beaters fresh in from the Nevis jump. We enjoyed a few beers and everyone headed home early, tired from a long drive and needing some sleep for the big plans tomorrow. Queenstown is one of those places that is hard to pull yourself from the bar, but equally hard to justify spending the whole next day hungover.
written by  exumenius on January 12, 2008 from Te Anau, New Zealand

Up the Ben Lomond Trail - Night 95
The Remarkables
After a bit of running around town I finally managed to come up with a map of local day hikes to be done. My preference was to get high up into The Remarkables, the eponymous, craggy range across the lake from town; however, I was informed by the guides at both track transport places that they don’t do summer runs to those locations and I would have to hitch a ride with some climbers. I rated the possibility of this happening fairly low so I settled for an assault on Ben Lomond peak directly above Queenstown. The trail switchbacked through the thick pine forest to a point just above the Luge Park and Gondola lookout. From here on out it emerged from the tree into a
Climbing on the Ben Lomond Trail
sort of scrub-brush, typical fauna for an area above the treeline. Offering great views of the Ben Lomond peak, the trail followed the ridge straight to the main saddle. Thankfully it was a cloudy day, or the sun would have been vicious. I reached the Saddle in good time and was fully prepared for an attempt at the 5,400 foot peak (Queenstown sits at just over 1,200 feet elevation) but the weather had other ideas. Just as I set foot onto the peak trail it began to rain. Fearing an absolute downpour on the ridge to the summit, I turned back down the mountain. I met an elderly trio decked out in rain gear who looked exhausted but were determined to make it to the saddle regardless of weather.
On the way down I took a detour on an auxiliary trail that followed the precipe hanging out over the city, giving way to some fantastic views. By this time the rain had relented so I stop for a quick lunch. I continued down through the hang-gliding launch, the Luge Track and the amazingly modern, glass and steel visitor’s center located at the terminus of the gondola. Complete with café and gift shop, I finally found a decent Aotearoa stocking hat for less than $40.
Later in the afternoon on of the guys in my
High Above Queenstown
room, David, and I went down to the Rugby field to catch some of the 7 on 7 action. Regular rugby is played with 15 players, so this was a ‘sprint’ version. Ten minutes halves and the spread out field meant a much faster-paced game and a surprising amount of scoring. Luckily David was British so I had someone to explain the rules and strategies to me. A few more games and I think I’ll have mastered the art of watching rugby (as I am already a prolific beer drinker and sports critic, two of the most important qualities of any rugby fan). I caught a movie, I Am Legend, in the evening. On the way home there was a crazy street performer juggling flaming batons, balancing on an elevated board of nails and begging for money all at the same time. While other rich tourist types filled his collection bag with $5 and $10 notes, he got nothing from me but a round of applause and a smile.
What I Learned Today: Don’t forget your damned rain coat on a hike, for if you do, no matter what the forecast it will certainly rain.
7 on 7 Rugby Action

Rained Out - Night 96
The weather this morning was dour, perfectly
Kawarua Bridge
matching my mood. Despite the early night and plenty of sleep I felt incredibly sluggish and ornery. Travel seems to amplify my moods, both up and down. I took a long walk along the lake to set my mind at ease. The destination was the old (though still used) Kawarau Bridge. Steel frame with wooden planks covering it, the one lane bridge is the main crossing of the river and lies on one of the main highways on the South Island. Standing on the pedestrian strip as large trucks cross you feel as if it could fall apart at any moment.
Queenstown from Across the Water
After I returned to town, I spent some time picking up supplies for my upcoming Kepler trip. A cooking pan, some freeze dried meals, and a waterproof bag liner for starters. Post-lunch an absolute downpour began and washed out my plans to go back to the Kawarua Bungy site. Twice now I’ve been denied my jump. It looks like the forces of fate are trying to tell me something. The rain did not abate until nearly 7pm. I holed up in an internet café for the better part of the afternoon laboriously updating my journal and booking hostels for the remainder of my New Zealand trip. In the evening our small common room was very busy amidst a flurry of multiculturalism. At one point the room held 4 Jewish girls (speaking Hebrew), two poles, two Aussies, a Japanese, Swede, Brit and me, the lone American.
What I Learned Today: Hebrew sounds like nothing else. I can usually guess what language is being spoken, or at least the family of language, by the look of the speaker and the tone of the speech, but when the four American looking girls where jabbering away in Hebrew I was completely lost.

Milford Sound - Night 97
My bus for the Milford Sound left the Pinewood Resort at 8:00. We wove around town to various hostels and hotels, eventually filling the bus with daytrippers (not the Beatles’ kind). The Milford Sound is not all that far from Queenstown, as the crow flies, however jagged peaks, retreating glaciers and Lake Wakatipu all stand in the way. Thus the actual drive to the Sound takes almost five hours. The journey took us through the small town of Te Anau, where I’ll be disembarking on the way back through for my three day Kepler Track hike. Along the way we crossed through miles and miles of farm land, all harboring the famous New Zealand sheep. It was here that I saw my first live black sheep. I don’t know if he was just particularly dirty or what, but his wool was nearly as dark as night.
Mitre Peak
In Te Anau we stopped for a brunch/bathroom
On e of Many Waterfalls
break and were back underway by 10:45. Shortly after leaving Te Anau we entered the Fjordlands World Heritage Area, 3 million acres of relatively untouched 6,000 mountains and temperate rain forest. The drive took us up the Elington Valley, a wide flat river plain. The valley itself is relatively new, geologically speaking, and still bears remnant glacial scars such as striations and drumlins from the last ice age. Soon we came upon the Homer Saddle, a
The Homer Tunnel
sheer 3,000 rock wall topped with snowfields. Back in the 1920s an engineer by the name of Homer (his surname) had the bright idea of tunneling through this massive slab of granite and gneiss. The 1930s brought the depression and suddenly, with FDR/New Deal fervor, the New Zealand government pumped money into infrastructure projects to put the unemployed men back to work and as a result work on the Homer Tunnel commenced. A few cave-ins and a World War later it was finally completed in 1953, paving the way for vehicular traffic to the Milford Sound. The rock is so hard here that the tunnel is not capped with concrete, it is simply a 1.5 kilometer, 3.8 meter high hole in the mountain.
Exiting the tunnel you can literally feel the air get warmer and moister; we were now in the rain forest. Twenty minutes later the sound came into view. Simply breathtaking. It wasn’t the perfect sunny day that we had hoped for as a scattering of clouds hung in the sky. As they roll in off the ocean the clouds are brutally ripped to shreds by the sharp mountain peaks giving the whole scene a certain air
On the Boat
of danger and mystique. We boarded the boat and set off on the two-hour trip. Since it had rained hard the last two days, dozens upon dozens of small waterfalls were dumping streams of run-off into the sound from hundreds of feet up. In other areas the rock rises 2,000 feet directly out of the water as vertically straight up as a New York skyscraper (only twice as high). It gives you the strange feeling that the Sound itself is bottomless, that the chasm continues on into the very bowels of the earth. The whole scene, quite frankly, needs to be seen to be believed.
The Milford Sound
The Milford Sound is so long and narrow and receives so much fresh water runoff that the top 10 feet or so is composed of fresh water, which floats on the salt water due to its lower density. The floating freshwater is stained by all the tannins in the soil and leaves a dark sheen to the Sound, known as the Tea effect. After the Cruise everyone hustled back to the bus for the long ride home. I checked into my hostel in Te Anau, made some dinner and packed my bags for my three day hike that begins tomorrow.
What I Learned Today: Sometimes the act of trying to take the perfect photo ruins the actual experience. After snapping off a plethora of photos during the Milford Sound cruise I finally had to just put the camera in my pocket. In trying to capture for everyone else exactly what it looked like, I was wasting the experience…so I apologize, but if you want to know you’ll just have to come see it (not that any photo could do the Sound justice anyway).

Kepler Track, Day One - Night 98
I began the three day Kepler Track hike today.
The Beginning
Arriving too late last night, I had to wait until the Department of Conservation office opened at 8:30am in order to pick up my hut permits. The office was stuffed with a large, older crowd of hikers milling around awaiting transport to the trailhead; my hiking companions I assumed. I, on the other hand, had decided to walk to the start, a quick 45 minute warm-up march from Te Anau.
The Limestone Cliffs
At the control gates (basically a dam) that hold back the waters of Lake Te Anau the trail began amidst a complete lack of fanfare. The first two hours (according to the DOC) was a flat run along the lake. A pleasant walk, it meandered through old growth forest along a soft, almost bouncy, well-worn trail. About half way through I began to pass the first of many of the large group. Quite luckily I caught the main contingent during their morning tea at Brod Bay and thus avoided an additional 40 “excuse mes” on the way up.” At Brod Bay the trail turned inland and began to switchback its way up the hill. After passing some limestone cliffs, suddenly the trees end and the sub-alpine terrain begins. Being nearly noon, I took advantage of the last bit of shade – it was a perfectly sunny day – and had a brief lunch just below the treeline. Forty minutes later I stood on the deck of the Luxmore Hut, the first arrival for the day.
Being the first one to a hut has one obvious
The Luxmore Hut
advantage: you get to choose the best bed in the place. I settled in and then took a brief side adventure to the Luxmore Caves, just a kilometer away. Lacking a flashlight I only explored as far in as the light shown. On my way out a pair of guys from Washington D.C. showed up; the only other Americans in the Hut. In fact, checking the visitor registry I was the ninth hiker from the U.S. to stay there this year. Strange considering we were outnumbered by people from such small countries as Poland and Israel. In the afternoon I lay down in the tall tussock grass for a much deserved nap.
The View
Cooking the evening meal was a challenge. The large contingent of old hikers from Auckland had literally taken over the kitchen. Sitting down to eat, I discovered that there were 41 of them (out of 50 total people in the hut). The other eight hikers were a couple from Switzerland, a couple from Denmark, two English women and the two American guys. It was a group organized by the Lions Club, or something, in Auckland, so naturally they were an aged group, but quite friendly. During the meal, one of the oldest members of their group passed out and fell off his bench. No one seemed too worried; apparently he had done this before. Around 10pm everyone sort of sauntered off to bed, tired from day.
Total Distance Covered: 16.8 km (10.58 miles)
What I Learned Today: The New Zealand Department of Conservation’s hike time estimates are as flawed, if not more so, that those of the Wellington Council. I think even the 70-year old ladies beat the estimates given in the brochure and on the signs.

Kepler Track, Day Two - Night 99
I awoke to a scattering of snores and groans.
Walking through a Cloud
Combined with the howl of the wind and the pounding rain on the tin roof the whole auditory scene was a symphony of agony. The forecast had been for rain early, and rain it did. Except for a few brave (or foolish) souls, most of us waited it out until 8:30 when the warden came down to address the group. Her report said that it should clear by noon and she suggested we get underway, cautiously though.
In the Emergency Shelter
Rain today was especially bad for two reasons: 1) nearly the entirety of today’s hike is exposed ridgeline (at 5,000 feet, no less) offering no protection from foul weather; 2) nearly the entirety of today’s hike is exposed ridgeline offering amazing views in all directions. The first hour and a half was pure pain. The wind blew at a constant 40kpm, gusting up to probably 70kmh, some of the worst weather I have ever been out in. The rain came down from all directions, at times it even seemed to blow uphill. To test this, I spit and it did indeed disappear uphill over the ridge. The reason being that the clouds come through the lake valley and then have to go up and over the ridge, taking rain, spit and everything with it. For a bit the visibility was down to 10 meters or so, just like driving in a Wisconsin
The Iris Burn Falls
snowstorm. Eventually the clouds cleared, but the wind howled on. I stopped briefly at the two emergency shelter huts to grab some food and water and enjoy the relative peace and quiet of the indoors.
By the time the trail began to descend the ridge into the valley the sun had come out, making it a rather nice, albeit blustery, day. The way down is always the worst for me, especially with a pack on. Every step tests the patellar tendon and the thigh muscles. Eventually I was back into the beech forest and arrived at the Iris Burn Hut around 1pm, again the first one home. Dumping my pack, I made lunch and then headed to the Iris Burn waterfall some 1.5 kilometers down a side track. A good diversion, I also tried to take a short bath but the freezing water relegated my hygienic heroics to a simple splash here and there of ice water. It would have been nice to lie by the falls on the rocks for a bit but the sandflies made this an impossibility.
Down the Ridge
Nothing much happened in the evening as everyone was sequestered inside due to the flies. Bedtime again coincided with the sunset.
Total Distance Covered: 14.6 km (9.19 miles)
What I Learned Today: Sandfly bites are at least thrice as painful as those from mosquitos. And itch like you wouldn’t believe.

Kepler Track, Day Three - Night 100
I left the Iris Burn hut around 7:30, with the sun
Sunrise in the Valley
shining beautifully on the mountain high above the valley. Today’s walk was primarily flat, following the Iris Burn River the entire way down to its mouth in at Lake Manapouri. Along the way I passed the Big Slip, an area where a massive landslide reshaped the valley back in 1984. On and on I walked until I came to the Motorua Hut along the shores of Lake Manapouri. For those who were doing the 4-day walk option this would be accommodation for the night; for
The Deep Forest
those of us passing through to the Rainbow Reach endpoint it made for a great lunch stop. I arrived around 11, ate a quick lunch and took an hour long nap on the perfectly deserted beach. Refreshed, I knocked out the final 90 minutes to the huge suspension bridge with renewed vigor. The shuttle bus wasn’t due until 3 so I laid in the shade, took my boots off and enjoyed another gorgeous blue sky day in the Southland.
The Motarua Beach
Getting back to town I was exhausted and decided to dine out for a change. Nearly all of my meals this month have been either home cooked or, when on the trail, freeze dried, backcountry kits (the remainder have been take out kebabs or sandwiches). I was trying to think of the last time I had eaten at a sit-down restaurant, I believe it was December 14th, nearly five weeks ago. Desperately craving Chinese I was relieved to find three such restaurants in town. Two of then didn’t open for 30 minutes, so the choice was dictated solely by my overwhelming hunger. I spent a bit of time reorganizing and catching up on life and fell to sleep well before sunset (10pm).
Total Distance Covered: 22.2 km (13.98 miles)
The End
What I Learned Today: There is no such thing as good Chinese food in New Zealand, even at a place where the menus were in Chinese first and English second and was filled with Chinese patrons. Disappointing…how I crave P.F. Chang’s, Panda Express, or even some Safeway General Tso’s Chicken.

Relaxing in Te Anau - Night 101
There was nothing on today’s agenda, save
Te Anau YHA
laundry and journal catchup, and that was fine with me. So long as I didn’t have to put on boots and 25lb pack it would be a good day. I explored the town of Te Anau, hung out at the beach, and grilled some delicious venison sausages for dinner. Deer are an introduced species here and for years were simply culled as they are a pest. More recently, deer farming has sprung up in many places and as a result venison is readily available in all grocery stores right alongside beef, chicken, pork and mutton. Prices are similar to beef and lamb. The taste is excellent, the meat lean.
One of my roommates turned out to be a friendly 28-year old guy from Maine, Aaron, who is currently in the Air Force stationed on the small island of Diego Garcia. He had just returned from the Heaphy Track and was set to do the Kepler Track tomorrow, so naturally we had a lot in common. We hit the town, or rather had a few beers at the pizza place, and returned to hang out at the hostel. Later in the evening we were joined by a contingent of girls from the University of Delaware who are studying in Christchurch. Quiet hours begin at 10pm on the back deck and at 10:00 and 2 seconds an elderly German woman came downstairs and chastised us in 6,000 words on how we were too loud. She then proceeded to give us a detailed explanation of the physics of sound waves and the location of her room and how our noise was affecting a Japanese woman in her room’s ability to sleep, followed by some pointing actions and a lot of head nodding. We agreed to be quiet but she just kept on going about noise and quiet hours and her roommate. Finally she ran out of wind and then calmly asked us which way to the laundry room because “dis place has zoo many doorz und I get lost easy.” Try as we might, we could not contain our laughter, which only made the noise worse. Eventually we all headed to bed and I made a promise to go out with the Delaware girls once in Christchurch. Their class is 28 girls and 1 guy…..it didn’t take much to convince me to sign onto that trip.
What I Learned Today: Diego Garcia is a small island 1,000 south of India, on which the United States and Britain currently have a joint military base. The local inhabitants were brutally removed by the British shortly after WWII and are currently living a life of abject poverty in Mauritius.

The Bottom of the World - Night 102
Invercargill, New Zealand
The Ancient Watertower
Bright and early - 7 am to be exact - my short bus from Te Anau left. Our driver Simon was a proper tourism industry Kiwi, that is, he had the crazy hair and disheveled look of a man on a permanent holiday. At the beginning there were just two of us, so I rode shotgun as Simon zig-zagged around the many corners, waving and honking at random people along the way. We picked up a few more passengers and rolled into Invercargill around 10am. From Te Anau to Invercargill is a two and a half hour drive (we took a ½ hour tea break, of course) originating in the hilly Fjordlands and ending in the table flat plains of the far south end.
Invercargill is located in the alluvial delta of
The World's Steepest Steps
the Oreti River, so when I say it is flat, I mean it is flat, like Iowa flat. The highest point in town is a mere 9 meters above sea level, the rest of the town probably sits at 6. Everyone I’ve talked to has said that I won’t like Invercargill because there are no tourist things to do. What they didn’t understand it that that is the sole reason I stopped here. After awhile you get tired of the endless advertisements for jet boats and skydives, similar looking German tourists in campervans, and, of course, the ridiculous prices in the tourist towns. The entirety of my west coast journey had been spent in places that are “on” the map, so to say, in New Zealand. Places that everyone, or nearly everyone, stops at while they are here. As a result, I have yet to have a New Zealander as a roommate in a hostel and apart from bus drivers, have met very few of them (the aged hikers from Auckland aside).
Invercargill, population around 50,000, has a decent history of industry and shipping and further functions as the regional hub of the Southland. Population, however, is declining as much of the shipping industry, originally spurred on by gold mining and lumber exports, has begun to dry up. As I walked through town in the afternoon I could tell this was a real place. Mothers much younger than I pushed their strollers down the street as the goth-looking fathers hung a few steps behind seemingly embarrassed at their lot in life, teenagers cruised the strip in decked-out 2002 Hondas practically begging for something to do, a gathering of old women listened to their husbands’ band play in a park rotunda, struggling to hold on to one last vestige of the good ole days. Yes, Invercargill was a real, live town complete with litter, police, abandoned buildings, and most shockingly, actual New Zealanders; the absolute opposite of most of the plastercast tourist towns you see along the way. I thought to myself, I could be in any old industrial town in the Ohio right now, save for the funny looking Holden trucks.
My day out in Invercargill consisted of visiting the Otago Museum and Art Gallery and then on to the Water Tower for a panoramic view of the area. On my return I cruised up through the Queens garden, a large park in the middle of town. Even at 47 degrees south latitude the original founders just couldn’t seem to resist naming the primary feature of the city after a dying monarch 12,000 miles away.
A Game of Cricket
Perhaps it is something bred into us Americans, but I can’t help but look down upon the consistent reverence given to the royals down here (though I guess we Americans have simply replaced the royal family with corporate names, Miller Park, Quest Field…). It was a gorgeous day out once again, so I lay down in the park to watch a cricket game. I left a half an hour later, no closer to understanding this enigma of an event, although I did see someone actually hit a ball past the fence line, resulting in what I imagine was a home run of sorts.
I am staying at the Tautara Lodge, on three story apartment building that has been converted into a backpacker’s hostel. Unfortunately, no wireless internet was available at the hostel and according to the desk worker (who was a real live New Zealander from Invercargill) the only place in town with it was Starbucks. My subsequent research confirmed this fact, and since they charge $10 an hour, I was happy to spend a few days without it. I guess affordable wireless is too much to ask in a town that boasts the southernmost McDonald’s in the world, or so I was told. (I would later find out that it is, in fact, only the southernmost English speaking
The World's Southermost McDonalds (sort of)
McDonalds in the world, as there is one in Punta Arenas, Argentina at 53 degrees south latitude). Also, much to my surprise, my only roommate in the eight share room, the Tautara was nearly vacant on a Sunday night, was a young Kiwi guy from Taupo who was headed to Stewart Island to work for the Department of Conservation. Like nearly all young Kiwis, it seems, he is anxious to move to Australia for work and for something to do.
What I Learned Today: Invercargill has taken an interesting strategy to combat the loss of population in the area; they’ve waived all tuition fees at the university in town. In the hopes of drawing in a much larger student demographic (who will hopefully stay) the Southern University of Technology, in conjunction with the city, has implemented a ‘No Fees’ program for New Zealanders who move here and complete a bachelor’s degree. According to a student I met, books, materials, housing and other costs still need to be paid, so it is not a free education, but, nevertheless, a damned good deal.
written by  exumenius on January 20, 2008 from Invercargill, New Zealand

Thwarted by ESPN NZ - Night 103
Invercargill, New Zealand
The major goal today was to find a place to watch the Packers game, which would be played at 12:30. I spent the morning wandering around town looking for a used bookstore to trade in a few finished books for some new ones. Along the way I made a mental note of everyplace that looked like it might be the kind of sports bar that would be open at noon on a Monday. I eventually stumbled into a small place operating out of a room joined to a butchery/bakery. The sign said
Stewart Island in the Distance
“Butchery, Bakery, and Book Exchange,” an odd combination, but whatever. I found an old man hunched over a magazine behind the counter and, as luck would have it, he was listening to the Patriots-Chargers game. I immediately inquired as to the station and if he was a fan. “Oh this,” he said, “I am just waiting for the horse racing to come on at noon.” It all became clear. He was a gambling degenerate/bookie busily reading the racing forum and placing and taking bets out of the store, his front, as it were. He gladly accepted my three books and told me to choose any two books from the shelves in trade, not even so much as noting what I took or how many. Not surprisingly, his adult books section comprised of erotic novels and old pornographic magazines took up a good third of the small hut out of which he operated. A friendly guy, he gave me the names of some pubs that might show the game and I was on my way.
Downtown Invercargill
The Speight’s Ale House just down the street from my hostel opened at 11 and looked promising. The girl behind the bar flipped through the five Sky sports channels and found the Pats-Chargers game on the last one, ESPN New Zealand. After the New England game and a brief Sportscenter I was primed for the Packers. However, abruptly at 12:30 fucking ESPN New Zealand cut to tape delayed, B-league Spanish soccer, denying me my Packers. Once again the waitress flipped through all the channels, but this time to no avail. Defeated, and unwilling to pay $30 in internet fees to watch the play-by-play online, I decided to take a long walk down to the estuary park during the game, as my watching would have little effect on the outcome. On the way I stopped by the World’s
The Estuary Walkway
Southermost Micro-Brewery, the Invercargill Brewery, for a few free tastes of beer. A huge fan of microbrews, I was genuinely unimpressed with their product, though I signed the guest registry anyways. As you can see, the one thing Invercargill does pitch is its southernmost location. At the very edge of New Zealand, it is the farthest south English speaking city of over 50,000 in the world. The only larger cities farther south are those in Chile and Argentina and as a result many things and places here are the “southernmost this or that.”….like the Subway Restaurant next door to my hostel.
The tragic Green Bay loss left me in a foul mood for the evening. I made Rissolas, breaded, conglomerated meatballs consisting of beef, pork, and/or lamb (as the package alluded to) for dinner. I guess this counts for a traditional New Zealand meal. At night, I walked to the theatre across the street to see American Gangster, a 1970’s gangland epic.
What I Learned Today: (WARNING: Partial Movie Spoiler Below) During my travels here I’ve had more than a few New Zealanders or Aussies refer to what they believe is the relative dangerousness of American cities. While it is true that America does lead the world in prison population (though mostly on drug charges), it is certainly less dangerous than many places throughout the world, so I wondered where this belief came from. It finally clicked; the movies. Our exported entertainment culture glorifies violence to such a point that were I a small town New Zealander I would have no choice but to believe that all American cities are full of gangsters with automatic weapons who kill each other in broad daylight over drug money. To them America must seem like a big, dirty, interesting and lethal place. At the end of the movie, when the subtitles explained that Frank Lucas was sentenced to 70 years, though only served 15, no less than half of the audience snickered; a not-so silent acknowledgement of the perceived hypocrisy practiced in our land of supposed freedom and justice.
written by  exumenius on January 21, 2008 from Invercargill, New Zealand

Catlin's Coast - Night 104
Dunedin, New Zealand
The consistent rain bode poorly for my Catlin’s
The Group plus the Sea Lion
Coast trip today. I braved the wet and walked down to the I-site center to catch my bus at 10. Our shuttle was 30 minutes late and once it arrived Jaime, the driver, had forgotten to fuel up so that set up back another half an hour. Normally one of the office workers, Jaime was filling in for a sick driver and it showed as he wasn’t very well organized or prompt, for that matter. Surprisingly, however, he turned out to be a great guide for the day and kept our ears full of interesting tidbits and trivial facts on the region.
900 lb Sea Lion
Our first stop was Point Waipapa, the site of the worst maritime accident in New Zealand history. Back in the 1880s the Tarurua ran aground on the rocks not far from shore but only 20 of the 150 sailors survived. In response the lighthouse was constructed shortly thereafter. Waipapa Point also happens to be the summer home of a large 900-lb sea lion. The elderly male lies on the beach not far from the carpark all day graciously posing for tourists and fishing off of the reef. The rain had let up by this point, but the wind was fiercely blowing up from Antarctica giving the air a chill reminiscent of late fall day in the Midwest. Next we pulled into Curio Bay for a warm lunch at the small stand and a chance to see the elusive Hector’s dolphins. Endemic to New Zealand, the Hector’s, the smallest of all the dolphins, live only here on the southeast coast and nowhere else in the world. Luckily we did get to see a small pod of them playing in the surf a distance down the coast. Around the corner is the strange outcropping of petrified podocarp forest, apparently the greatest occurrence of petrification from the Jurassic period anywhere on the planet.
Waikapu Point
In the afternoon we made a stop at Nugget Point to see the famous lighthouse perched upon the coastal head. Below Nugget Point is one of the only yellow-eyed penguin breeding grounds in the world. Hidden in a duck blind of sorts we watched the four adults climb from the sea, oil down their feathers and then begin the long climb up the hill to their nests and the eagerly awaiting children.
A long day of driving, quite frequently on
Nugget Lighthouse
twisty gravel roads, we finally made Dunedin around 7pm. I was much too tired to find a grocery store and then cook a meal, so I dined out at the Olive Branch and had the best kebab of my trip. Gastrointestinally satisfied, I returned to Penny’s Backpackers to utilize the free internet on site. Penny’s was one of the dirtier places I’ve stayed, but it was cheap and well located just a few blocks from the Octagon, the center of town. It was a weak nights
By the Falls
sleep as the old man below me in the bottom bunk was a prodigious sleep talker who seems to blurt out random things everytime the bed squeaked. Fucker had some sort of night time Turret’s syndrome that scared the shit out of me a few times.
What I Learned Today: In Germany all it takes to become a judge is a law degree…no experience necessary. (One of the ladies in my group is a judge in Germany at age 35 with only a few years as a barrister under her belt)
written by  exumenius on January 22, 2008 from Dunedin, New Zealand

Out in the Octagon - Night 105
Dunedin, New Zealand
In the morning I went for a walk around town, eventually stumbling through the University of Otago Campus. The second largest university in the country, Otago has upwards of 25,000 students during the school season. This, however, was summer break so the campus was only partial filled by eager summer school participants and full time faculty members not lucky enough to be on sabbatical. I was also fortunate enough to be able to download some journal articles from the library’s database that aren’t available online. Ah, the joys of digital thievery and copyright violation. After another marginal tasting Chinese lunch (I just don’t seem to learn) I set off north in search of the world’s steepest street. Armed with a horrible map and my excellent sense of direction I became hopelessly lost, eventually ending up in some Japanese garden not far from the University.
Dunedin Railway Station
On the way back to the hostel I came across the $12 haircut bar. I entered through the green door, partly for the novelty of it and partly due to my need for a trim up. Immediately upon entering, one of life’s greatest questions was answered for me: Yes, people do actually go to a professional hairdresser to get a mullet cut. A guy about my age was sitting in the chair having his top and sides trimmed while letting it all grow in the back. Unfortunately I missed his arrival,
$12 Haircut Bar
but I imagine it went something like “hey honey, can you make me look like a Kentucky Redneck? I’ve got a job interview tomorrow and need to look my best.” He even went so far as to get the ridiculous little lines shaved into his sides, a la Billy Ray Cyrus. I should have heeded this warning and left, but I was transfixed by the surrounds and went like a lamb to slaughter when the stylist called “Next.” To be fair, it wasn’t the worst haircut I’ve ever received, but it was certainly top three. With the mullet cut fresh in her mind, she took too much of the top and sides and not enough of the back of my head. In no way am I currently rocking a full-fledged mullet, but rather just a subtle training one. You know what they say….when in Rome….As if the $12 Haircut Bar wasn’t memorable enough, as I was about to leave a crazy old Maori man with a huge unkempt head of hair came flying in the door. Turns out he wanted someone to shave his head, to which the hairdresser replied that it would be $25. Cleary drunk and likely on E, he whipped out a pocketful of change which he counted out to $18.40. After a big of haggling the red-hedded girl agreed to shave his head for $18.40 in change, more so just to get him out of there as fast as possible. Looking back, I should have stayed to watch this, but my hunger was getting the best of me and besides I’m not sure that spectators are welcome in the $12 Haircut Bar.
One Huge Tower of Chocolate
In the evening I hit up the happy hour in the cellar bar with Paul, a guy from the hostel. A nice, cozy, windowless pub, the owner’s daughter was bartending and we had the run of the place. She kept the $2.50 beers coming long after happy hour had officially ended. Eventually a Frenchman from New Caledonia joined us in the cellar. Later on we went down to The Craic, an Irish bar in the Octagon. Not fully satisfied from our numerous pints of Kilkenny, we ended up at a real towny bar, the name and location of which I do not remember. I believe there was some live music. Judging by the fact that I woke up in my bed, I imagine I didn’t do anything overly illegal or unsafe, though, again, I really can’t be sure.
What I Learned Today: Like so many of the other strange beings that happily inhabit these two islands, homo mulletus is alive and well down here and apparently damned proud of perpetuating one of the worst fashion ideas ever.
written by  exumenius on January 23, 2008 from Dunedin, New Zealand

Oh Oamaru - Night 106
Timaru, New Zealand
By some miracle I managed to wake up on
World's Steepest Street
time. Having failed to arrange the return of my key deposit last night, I quite begrudgingly forfeited the $10 as my bus pickup was prior to the opening of the front office. Also to be recorded in the “I’m a dipshit” file, for the second time in three days I left an expensive, microfiber towel at the hostel.
On our way out of town, the Magic Bus stopped at the elusive world’s steepest street. Turns out I was only a few blocks away yesterday. Talk about anticlimactic. My wanderings were a waste of time, as the street was not nearly as steep as one would think. Nursing my hangover, I declined trying to walk up it. An hour into the drive, we stopped at a small café located along the sea in an area littered with strange, spherical rocks formed by some sort of limestone accretion or something…I wasn’t really listening to the driver. By 11 we had made it as far as Oamaru, my stop for the night. I was dropped off at the far southern part of town, and it turned out my hostel was located on the far north, nearly two miles away so I had to hike it through the elongated beach town with all my possessions in tow.
Whisky Distillery and Pub
Finally arriving at the Chillawhile Backpackers, I tossed my bags in the hallway of the old Victorian mansion and made a predatory search for some lunch, my post drinking hunger having overtaken me. The Chillawhile is a large home that Kelly and her unnamed husband have turned into a small backpackers. Very friendly and relaxed, they offer free internet and laundering services. It turns out that Kelly had messed up my reservation and the only bed left was a large queen bed that they normally don’t use, so as a result of her error I got a free upgrade to much nicer sleeping quarters.
In the afternoon I walked to town to see
Penguin Colony
the Blue Penguin colony, at which all the birds were currently out fishing so it wasn’t all that exciting. Oamaru also has a quaint, two-block square of very old buildings complete with stone streets and sidewalks. Strange visions of Prague and Bratislava filled my head. I stopped at the Whisky distillery for drink and a look around. Such concluded my day in Oamaru.
What I Learned Today: It is entirely possible to walk off a hangover…a stiff sea breeze helps as well.
written by  exumenius on January 24, 2008 from Timaru, New Zealand

Up the Waitaki Valley - Night 107
Lake Tekapo, New Zealand
Being in a large, comfortable queen bed with no one tossing and turning in the bunk above or below me I actually managed to sleep in until 8am. After breakfast and a short trip down to the beach I packed my bags for the long two mile walk into town. My bus was scheduled for 11:15 and by noon I began to worry that the driver had forgotten me, as Oamaru is an optional stop for the Magic service. An hour late, the bus rolled into town. It turns out the driver was a substitute who didn’t necessarily believe in sticking to the rigid schedule set forth in the manual.
Lake Pukaki
The drive Tekapo was beautiful and long. The country in this part is very dry, a result of being on the leeward side of the north-south running Southern Alps. The west coast, only 60-80 kms away as the crow flies, get nearly five times as much rainfall. Water, however, is abundant here as the snowmelt from the Alps drains eastward to the Canterbury plains and eventually to the Pacific Ocean. All through this area are dams and canals, providing 25% of New Zealand’s electric power.
We finally arrived in Tekapo at 4pm. The small
Evening BBQ
town is perched at the southern shore of Lake Tekapo peering directly over the water at the snow covered peaks of the Alps. The driver, Steve, had arranged for a group barbecue tonight. Being one of the only guys who signed on for the event, I received the task of steak preparation, which was fine with me. The feed turned out to be a huge success. In all honesty it was probably the best $10 meal I’ve had in New Zealand.
Sunset over Lake Tekapo
What I Learned Today: The river, canal, and dam system of the Waitaki Valley is one of the most elaborate in world. Water from Lake Tekapo (originally from the flanks of the Southern Alps) passes through eight different hydropower plants on its relatively short trip to the Pacific Ocean. Also, strangely, because of the amount of glacial flour in the water, most of the large glacial lakes in the Mackenzie Region are completely devoid of fish.
written by  exumenius on January 25, 2008 from Lake Tekapo, New Zealand

Chilling in Tekapo - Night 108
Lake Tekapo, New Zealand
There are a number of good day hikes in the
The Observatory
Tekapo region; however, disappointingly the traffic is so slight that no commercial services provide transport to them. Consequently, I was reduced to tramping on the short, nearby observatory hill hike. Rising straight out of town, the trail climbs upward for about 35 minutes before emerging from the trees to the balding top of the hill. Up here, the University of Canterbury has constructed a large observatory complex to take advantage of the dry clear air and the lack of light pollution in this relatively unpopulated area. Most of the buildings are off-limits to visitors; however, a small café sits amidst the domed structures offering food and drinks at exorbitantly high prices. The views of the town and the lake, which are free, are spectacular and well worth the climb. The way back down takes a swooping curve along the lake, lengthening the whole walk to about three hours.
The Little Town of Tekapo
After lunch, I did laundry and spared my skin some UVs by hanging out in the lounge and catching up on some academic reading and email contacts. In the late afternoon I took an off-the-trail hike down what used to be the main channel draining Lake Tekapo (which has now been reduced to a trickle due to most of the excess water being pumped down the canal to Lake Pukaki in order to power the hydroplants downstream). I caught a glimpse of a few 8-inch trout that appeared to be rainbows along the way. It was a calm night, as the hostel was filled primarily with old couples and Chinese girls.
What I Learned Today: If I had to do the South Island again I would rent a car.
written by  exumenius on January 26, 2008 from Lake Tekapo, New Zealand

Up the Tasman Valley - Night 110
Twizel, New Zealand
A Silhouette of Determination
I set off early this morning headed for the Tasman Glacier and the Ball Hut trail. Since it was 10 kilometers (6.3 miles) from the hostel to the trail head I was counting on the good graces of fellow drivers down the dead end road. In less words, I needed to hitch a ride there and back if I wanted to keep my walking down to a manageable level. After a few Ks, I crossed the bridge over the small, gray creek and was offered a ride by a Norwegian man and his South African partner. One thing I’ve noticed is that all of the Kiwis and Aussies as well as most of the European couples I’ve met, whether married or not, refer to their significant other simply as their ‘partner.’ After dropping me off at the trailhead they mentioned that they would be leaving at 2:30 and that I was more than welcomed to a ride back to town.
The Ball Hut trail is composed primarily of
The Dirty Glacier and the Dirty Lake
an old four wheel drive track that hugs the outside, bottom edge of the five mile long lateral moraine of the Tasman Glacier. Hundreds of feet high in places (with the glacier actually an additional hundred or so feet below on the other side), the moraine itself would pass for a mountain range in the Midwest. The unfortunate side of this was that the first 60% of the trail offered no views of the glacier…but a certain amount of shade and protection from the winds that whip down the valley. Every so often the track had been rebuilt as an avalanche of snow and rock had screamed down the mountain erasing everything in its track. About halfway down the trail I met two hikers, one of whom recognized the UW-Stevens Point shirt I was wearing and stopped to talk to me. As it turns out, she is a senior at Lawrence in Appleton down here on a semester abroad. Yeah, yeah…small world, but I’ve learned that a long time ago, in fact the book I just finished, Six Degrees, by Duncan Watts, explains t
The Ball Hut
his very phenomenon in explicit mathematical and sociological detail (my wearing of the Point t-shirt is a vague example of broadcasting or, rather, a refined network search).
Anyways, two and half hours after leaving the
Gazing into the Tasman Valley
carpark I reached the Ball Hut, a small, unglorified shed perched on the edge of the moraine. The views from here are breathtaking, but it is the sounds that actually blow your mind. For starters, little to no human sounds at all, save the occasional scenic airplane flight high above Mt. Cook (and the Irish couple who was also having lunch at the hut, but they were fairly quiet). All the noise hears comes in the forms of loud cranks, booms, and rock falls as the glacier slowly advances down the valley. You can actually hear it moving…simply amazing. One sits in physical geography class and learns about terminal and lateral moraines, glacier till, striations, hanging valleys and the like, but none of it really sinks in until you sit on the edge of two hundred foot high lateral moraine and listen to miles and miles of moving ice actually sculpt a valley.
Wicked Clouds
A note about the Tasman Glacier: the lower five miles or so of it are coated with 3-5 feet of rocks that fall from the moraines, giving it a dirty appearance instead of the white and blue one comes to expect with a glacier. On the way back I stopped off at waterfall and let the cold water pour down over me. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and when the wind ceased to blow it was damned hot in the valley, despite being just feet from so much ice. Upon returning to the carpark I managed to catch the Irish couple from the trail just leaving in their van. They too graciously gave me a ride back to the town, in fact, they went so far as to drop me off right at my hostel. There is certain code of ethics among travelers and I’ve greatly benefitted from it today. My turn to repay will likely come sooner than later…keep that great karmic wheel turning in my favor.
What I Learned Today: There is a strange friendliness dynamic that occurs on hiking trails that, after some rationalization, I’ve come to find is a bit like life in a microcosm. When hiking along a deserted trail, if you happen to meet someone you almost always stop to talk to them. At some point as the trail becomes busier you are reduced to a simple hello or headnod. Again, at another subjective increase in volume it becomes acceptable to completely ignore the numerous passer-bys. Life is like this, depending on the size of the city, town or village you are in.
written by  exumenius on January 28, 2008 from Twizel, New Zealand

Last Day at Mt. Cook - Night 111
Lake Tekapo, New Zealand
On my third and final day in Mt. Cook I
One of the Swingbridges
begrudgingly opted for the popular Hooker Glacier Trail. Only a three hour round trip, the hike was certainly worth it with two large swing bridges and an iceberg filled lake lying at the feet of New Zealand’s highest peak. The downfall of this trail is the volume of people on it. Most small groups, couples and solo hikers follow accepted trail etiquette; however, the large groups of guided Japanese tourists are truly a menace. Stopping every five feet take a photo of another rock or another stream, they constantly clog the trail with their seemingly total lack of wherewithal. I suppose in some sick karmic sense this is but the beginning of our payback for dropping the bomb all those years ago…damn you Harry.
The Hooker Valley
The weather was absolutely fabulous for the fifth or sixth day in a row (I’ve lost count), though one could tell that the west coast wasn’t faring as well. All day long clouds literally rolled over the dividing range and then instantaneously dissipated into the dry air on this, the leeward, side of the mountains. The sky on this side remained cloudless all day. My shuttle bus arrived promptly at 4pm and with only two us on the return trip, I rode shotgun opposite the ever-informative Allen, owner of the company. Jacques, a chain smoking Frenchman in his 40s, sat quietly in the back vigorously shaking and humming to himself to combat his lack of nicotine on the 90 minute drive.
The Tekapo YHA was full so I was forced
Mt. Cook across Lake Pukaki
into staying at the Tailor Made Backpackers just up the hill. The desk worker/mechanic/maid was an old man who didn’t quite have both oars in the water, if you know what I mean, but was friendly enough. Not the greatest looking place I’ve stayed, the comfortable, non-bunk beds made up for the shabby exterior. After the sun finally went down (around 10pm) I trespassed onto the newly developing subdivision next door to avoid the street lights in order to get a good view of the stars. As evidenced by the observatory on Mt. David nearby, the Tekapo region is known for its clear, dry, and dark sky. It didn’t disappoint. The Milky Way, Orion, the Southern Cross and a host of other constellations I cannot identify were lit up like Amy Winehouse at happy hour. I manage to get lost in revelry for about an hour before the wind brought a chill that sent me back to the hostel.
What I Learned Today: The sheer number of satellites crossing the night sky is mind blowing.
written by  exumenius on January 29, 2008 from Lake Tekapo, New Zealand

Onwards to Christchurch - Night 112
Christchurch, New Zealand
Overnight the clouds had rolled in, making today ideal for riding a bus. Leaving Tekapo around 9am, we made Christchurch by 1pm and after a brief city tour I was all checked into the Stonehurst Accommodation by 2. Two of my roommates at Stonehurst are from the Yukon, that small, triangular shaped Canadian province bordering Alaska. Now’s that the middle of nowhere.
I spent the afternoon wandering around
Some Church
this city of 300,000. Much of the downtown consists of wonderfully restored 2 and 3-story Victorian buildings, every so often interrupted by a much taller modern, steel and glass structure. Parks and public squares abound, including Hagley Park, the fourth largest urban park in the world.
In the evening I met Kathi, one of my fellow volunteers from Wellington for a few drinks at the Iconic, an empty, over-priced bar near my hostel. She is heading on to Dunedin tomorrow and eventually down to the Kepler Track, so luckily I was able to trade her some of my backcountry cooking gear for a drink at the bar. A pretty slow day as I was exhausted from the three days of hiking at Mt. Cook.
Chess in Cathedral Square
What I Learned Today: New Zealand must have some flexible zoning laws. All throughout this land I’ve seen some strange business combinations; a souvenir shop and bakery (Invercargill) and a tobaccoist/knife retailer/barber (Dunedin), but Smoko’s Lunches and Used Cars here in Christchurch takes the cake. Has anyone ever said, “Honey, let’s go get some pastrami sandwiches and maybe pick up a 04’ Subaru while we are at it”? Do you really want the guy from behind the deli counter selling you a car, or vice versa?
written by  exumenius on January 30, 2008 from Christchurch, New Zealand

Terra Antarcticus - Night 113
Christchurch, New Zealand
The Cathedral
I slept deep and late despite the apparent seizure the kid in the bunk above me had at numerous occasions throughout the night (I awoke briefly as the bunk shook like a washing machine a few times, but fell immediately back to sleep). After this trip is over, I am certainly I’ll likely slumber straight through the apocalypse…given that white rider of death arrives at night. Such is my ability to ignore strange noises and commotion from crazy roommates. All bragging aside, I didn’t do much in the morning with the exception of gathering supplies for the rest of my journey. Never before in my life have I actually realized how long things like toothpaste and deodorant last, until now.
International Antarctic Center
In the afternoon I jumped a bus out to the International Antarctic Center. As Christchurch is the closest large city to Antarctica so New Zealand, Italy, and the United States all base their Antarctic research operations out of this large campus located adjacent to the airport. Quite obviously, the actual American operations are off-limits to civilians; however, the New Zealanders have built a large tourist trap/museum on site. Part historical, part interactive it houses nearly everything you could ever wish to know about the white continent. Presented through a variety of mediums, the three hours I spent there went by in a flash. One of
Inside the Antarctic Center
the main attractions is a ‘blizzard room’ in which they bundle you up in a large coat and boots and drop the temperature to -10 Fahrenheit, with a wind chill of -20 F. When I told the operator that I would pass, he asked why. Naturally, I told him that I had grown up in the Midwestern United States and a -20 wind chill was nothing new to me. He just laughed. On the bus trip back, I found out from the driver that just two days ago, a man from Colorado had been on who was departing to Antarctica to run a research project at the South Pole for 13 months. I imagine it would be hell going through a six-month night, but secretly adventures like this call to me. We must all possess some preternatural desire to push the limits, to strike off into the unknown…I guess some people have learned how to quell theirs, for mine pulls at me with increasing fury.
What I Learned Today: Too much about Antarctica to even remember, so you’ll have to settle for an interesting tidbit of hometown pride. The head of the 2007 U.S. team based at the new South Pole Research Center is Jerry Marty, hailing from Wisconsin.
written by  exumenius on January 31, 2008 from Christchurch, New Zealand

New Brighton Beach - Night 114
Christchurch, New Zealand
Finally February. January was one of the longest and shortest months of my life. At times I forgot what day of the week it was and days passed by in seconds, other afternoons seemed to drag on for weeks. Unencumbered by duties and appointments, by meetings and deadlines, by any semblance of structure time begins to take on a novel dimension. Sometimes you wonder what you are doing, what you are accomplishing, but then you have to remember that you are living, learning and experiencing and, honestly, why shouldn’t that just be enough for awhile?
New Brighton Pier
The morning hinted at a beautiful day ahead so I put on my walking shoes and hiked it for 90 minutes out to the New Brighton Beach. Crossing through numerous small neighborhoods and subdivisions along the way I couldn’t help but be reminded of how young New Zealand is. Nearly all of the development here is post WWII, low density, ranch homes. Makes for a monotonous stroll, to say the least. The crowning achievement of New Brighton is the large pier that juts out in to the sea for many tens of meters. Attached to this (on land) is the public library and a bar…in the same building. Whoever the ingenious architect/planner of this multi-use structure was ought to be given a medal. Seriously, what a great combination. All in one place you can go fishing, check out a book, read the paper and order a stiff one at 9am on a Friday morning. It came as no surprise that this was one of the busiest public libraries I have ever seen.
The New Brighton neighborhood is a bit of a
New Brighton Beach
retirement area, holding homes of the wealthy ex-lawyers, doctors, and filthy real estate developers. You might think this would lend to an overall lack of excitement, but to the contrary, I find these septuagenarian zones quite humorous. Old men in electric chairs and funny hats beeping at old women trying futilely to parallel park along the boulevard. Dementia runs rampart, resulting in a rash of one sided conversations. Today’s winner was an old man in full Lederhosen outfit (plus a helmet) riding a bike down the pier (No Biking Allowed) balancing a fishing pole across the handlebars and smoking a cigarette. I can only hope I’ll have this much soul when I hit 70.
The Canterbury Art Gallery
Because I am an incredibly cultured individual (or maybe because entrance was free) I took to the halls of the Canterbury Art Gallery in the afternoon. Quite surprisingly, I wasn’t disappointed. A number of the themed rooms were actually interesting and the total volume of ridiculous modern art trash – like the pile of cardboard boxes that was supposed to represent someone’s repressed childhood – were kept to a minimum. Now if art weren’t so damned expensive as I actually found some pieces I wouldn’t mind hanging in my place…had a I place.
What I Learned Today: Having butter in a hostel kitchen is much like having a lighter at a party. Translation: it is good way to get girls to talk to you.
written by  exumenius on February 1, 2008 from Christchurch, New Zealand

Al's Bar - Night 115
Honestly, I didn’t do a whole lot today. The morning was spent updating journal entries and trying to get photos to upload to the internet. I’ll be very happy once I’m back in Australia where the web operates at above
The Center of the City
phone modem speeds. In the afternoon I wandered down to the Canterbury museum, which turned out to be just like the other major museums in Auckland and Wellington; a few rooms of Maori art, some Greenstone artifacts, a section on seafaring and a mock street scene from the 1890s. I suppose there really isn’t much history in a country that only been settle for 700 years, and Anglicized just 150 years ago. If you sense a pervading tilt of negativity in my prose today, I would acquiesce to that supposition. I’ve sort of come to the end of the road in New Zealand and am ready to move on….but first Al’s Bar.
Nikos, one of the volunteers from my Wellington days arrived in town today, so I made plans to meet him and a few of his new volunteer friends out for a drink. While having a few drinks at the hostel beforehand I befriended my roommate, Karla, from Newfoundland. As later this week Karla is headed to Antarctica for 13 months of cultural artifact preservation, she was keen to spend one last night amongst civilization and agreed to come along. We also met Richie, from England, who had developed a thirst on his flight in today and thus we were rolling down to Al’s Bar three deep.
dDub at Al's Bar
On tap at Al’s was dDub, a local band. I thought that cover charge was a bit steep ($20) for someone I had never heard of, but then again, I don’t know any Kiwi bands so the price likely indicated their popularity. The place was full, but not overly-packed and we had no problem eventually working our way up to the front. The best way to classify dDub’s sound is that it is like Sublime, but without any drug or prostitution references. The leader singer looked like a healthy Keith Richards, the bass player a dead ringer for Cousin Boerst, and a good looking blonde girl in a fedora played the flute. Karla thought the sound could be considered Calypso…not knowing the definition of Calypso music (nor the spelling) I was in no position to refute her theory.
What I Learned Today: I may have some sort of illness. At the bar, listening to live music and steadily drinking I found myself thinking about spatially weighted hedonic modeling.
written by  exumenius on February 2, 2008 from Christchurch, New Zealand

Last Night in New Zealand - Night 116
My last day in New Zealand and a gorgeous
The World Croquet Championships
one at that; mid 80s and not a cloud in the sky. I walked down to Hagley Park, a massive collection of soccer fields, botanical gardens, tennis courts, a golf course and numerous other playfields. Quite luckily I stumbled upon the World Croquet Championships. I’ve always wondered if these strange sports like this actually have competitive events, and the answer appears to be yes, yes they do. I cringe a bit at labeling this a sport…old men in white shorts, high socks and stupid blazers whacking around colored balls hardly qualifies as athletics in my book. But there were spectators, all eight of them and the average age was 75. Today was the second of nine days of competition. Nine days of watching croquet, simply unbelievable. I tried to make it nine minutes…I lasted about ninety seconds. Nonetheless, while all of you schmucks in America were getting ready for the Super Bowl, I was at the World Croquet Championships. Eat your hearts out.
The Avon River
After the excitement of croquet, I decided to take it easy in the afternoon. Laundry and minimizing my domestic situation (throwing stuff away) occupied most of the rest of the day. As I had to wake up at 4am for my airport shuttle, my night lasted until about 8:30, when I gladly lay down in my quiet, single room and slept like a log.
What I Learned Today: After 114 days of shared accommodation, a small 80 square foot room to myself felt as large and comfortable as the Palace of Versailles.
written by  exumenius on February 3, 2008 from Christchurch, New Zealand

Across the Tasman Sea - Night 117
Melbourne, Australia
Leaving Stonehurst at 4am
I was up before my 3:30am wakeup call. Not surprising, as my inner clock has never failed me on flight days. The airport shuttle arrived a bit late at 4:15 and after a few more pickups we were at the International Terminal by 5am exactly as check-in for my 7am to Melbourne opened. My domestic reduction exercise of yesterday had paid off as I can now fit all my belongings, including my sleeping bag, into my large rucksack thus greatly reducing the awkwardness of having the sleeping bag dangling off the back. Very proud of my minimalism, I have nary seen another traveler with less luggage than I.
The four hour flight was pleasant and prompt; just like all of my low-cost carrier flights overseas. If only the U.S. commercial carriers could figure it out. We landed at Melbourne around 9am and by 9:25 I was on board the bus to the city. That’s 25 minutes to deplane, go through customs, baggage claim, and quarantine, including two questioning by customs agents and a random drug dog sniff. It takes nearly twice as long just to get your baggage from a domestic flight landing in Seattle. The efficiency of Australia’s second busiest airport was absolutely astounding.
Stepping out of the airport I was immediately struck by the warm, moist air. Having spent the last two and a half months in the windy, low humidity air of New Zealand the thick, still air in Melbourne was quite a change – like getting off the plane in Baton Rouge after having started the morning in the Pacific Northwest. The bus into the main station and the free transfer to my accommodation where just as efficient as the airport security…a good sign as I was in a race against time to catch as much of the Super Bowl as possible. After checking in, I tossed my bags on my bed and headed out in search of the nearest sports bar (The girls at the front desk proved completely useless and couldn’t mention one single sports bar in the city, other than “maybe the Casino?”). A block down the road I passed the Duke Hotel, which was showing the game on a large flat screen. The place was pretty much empty (it was 11 am on a Monday) so I had the best seat in the house. I was shortly joined by a talkative Aussie guy who worked next door, but spent the majority of the four hour game jawing my ear off about the supreme kicking abilities of the Australian Rules Football players. The cook was a NFL fan and was pulling for the Giants along with me. The manager and the talkative guy were rooting for the Patriots. As the bar began to fill up for the lunch hour I had to pass updates to the waitress who passed them on to the cook, as he was sequestered in the kitchen fulfilling his duties. On the Giants winning drive and the subsequent Patriots possession he temporarily shut down the kitchen and joined us in watching the end of, what I consider to be, one of the most exciting Super Bowls in memory.
The City at Dusk
I took a well deserved afternoon nap (I had been up since 1:30 am Australian time) and then ventured out into the city. A brief thunderstorm sprung up in the early evening, bringing some relief from the stifling humidity. The humidity, haziness, and soaring cumulonimbus clouds reminded me of the summers of my youth, of little league games rained out, of vicious lightening strikes and of tornado watches and flash floods. Living in Seattle, you just don’t get these things. Melbourne’s downtown is set on a perfect grid system and is filled with little alleyways and nooks that are jammed with restaurants while on the main streets retail stores dominate. The only place I’ve ever been with more shopping and restaurants is New York City. Men in suites downing pints of beer at small hidden pubs and the trams lining the street give the city a distinctly European feel. I stopped in the funky Federation Square for a bit of outdoor TV viewing on the huge screen before wandering back to the hotel by 9. In order to get my internal clock on the right setting, I managed to stay awake until 11 and then passed out dead.
What I Learned Today: Little pieces of home can go a long way on the road. Just watching the Super Bowl brought with it a sense of revelry and a reminder that in less than six weeks I’ll be back on American soil. As a sidenote, unfortunately, the overseas broadcast of the Super Bowl did not include the vaunted U.S. commercials. Instead we were stuck with cricket and rugby snippets as well as that annoying Snickers ad with Mr. T in the tank (do you have it in the US?). They did, however, advertise that the Super Bowl commercials could be viewed on MySpace immediately following the game.
written by  exumenius on February 4, 2008 from Melbourne, Australia

Queen Victoria Market - Night 118
Melbourne, Australia
The stormy, wet weather continued today. Low, thick clouds kept temperature down, but the humidity was hovering near saturation again. I set out north in search of the Victoria Market. Not knowing what to expect, I sort of figured a glorified flea market. Was I wrong. The Victoria Market is three square blocks of enclosed and semi-enclosed buildings absolutely full of vendors hawking everything under the sun. The buildings are divided up between manufactured goods, fruit
The Queen Victoria Market
and veggies, and meat. A small prepared food structure lies nearby as well, not to mention the numerous adjacent retail shops taking advantage of the agglomeration of shoppers. I started in the manufactured goods area. Belts, shirts, shoes, jewelry, sunglasses, paintings, and of course souvenirs. All cheap, all likely made in China. If you can put the words “Australia” or “Melbourne” on it, they have it. The vendors in this area were primarily middle age Chinese men or old white couples. Next door in the fruit and veggie barn the Greeks seemed to dominate. Melbourne has the largest Greek population in the world outside of Athens, so quite naturally these immigrants are drawn the chaos of running a market stand. Rows and rows of every kind of fruit and vegetable imaginable. Old women with large carts perused the alleys, hoping to catch a deal on potatoes or onions. Here the vendors were much more vocal and aggressive, actively yelling out prices and limited time offers. Luckily I was standing near a vendor who momentarily dropped the price of bananas from $2.00 a kilo to $1.60 a kilo. Immediately the vultures attacked and half of the vendor’s bananas were gone in five minutes. Walking around, I noticed that almost everyone else had priced bananas at exactly $2.00 a kilo. The absolute veterans of the market seem to have extensive knowledge of prices and jump on a deal when they see one. I filed across the street to the enclosed, refrigerated meat market. Again, I was flabbergasted at the choices; lamb liver, diced goat, ox
The Meat Market
tongue, 30 kinds of sausages (including Texas Chili and Spicy Mexican), every fish known to the Southern Hemisphere, as well as an inconceivable combination of cuts and pre-marinated offerings of beef, chicken, pork and lamb. Next door in the dry foods annex, all manners of dead animals hung dried and salted. In short, if you’ve ever eaten it or dreamed of eating it, you can probably buy it here. As a manner of comparison, the Victoria Market is at least ten times as large as the Pike Market in Seattle, although it does lack the brass pig and the guys in orange suits actively tossing fish through the air.
Overwhelmed, I did finally manage to settle on some mandarins, a bag of fresh salad greens, and a pair of lamb and mint sausages. In my time down under I’ve developed a real taste for lamb and mint…it’s a good combination, especially in sausages. After lunch I strode down to the Visitor’s Centre in search of decent city and transit map. One could not be had for less than $10. I eventually ended up near the University of Melbourne and took an opportunity to browse the massive campus, which was surprisingly active considering it is summer break. A glutton for punishment (or maybe just a seeker of knowledge), I hit up the library to do a bit of research on some projects that I am tangentially working on while overseas.
In the evening, Matt, one of the volunteer from Brisbane who is now in Melbourne, stopped by my hostel for a few beers. Later on we met Jana, another volunteer from Brisbane, in Chinatown for dinner. Hidden deep in an alleyway was an unassuming little blue door with “Shanghai Noodle Company” written on it. Inside was a bustling, unpretentious two-story restaurant absolutely filled to the brim with patrons. We were quickly seated, prodded for an order, and delivered food within 7 minutes of arrival. The table turnover here is quick as demand is high. The food did not disappoint, either. The first decent Chinese dish I’ve had since crossing the equator in October. When it came time to pay, the old man running the till (likely the proprietor) knew exactly what we had by memory, quite a feat considering the volume of customers. After dinner we met up with one of Matt’s old roommates, Scott from Tasmania, and retired to The Lounge for some drinks on the outdoor porch overlooking Swanston Street, one of the main nightlife streets in Melbourne. Nearly 75% of the patrons on the porch smoked, the polar opposite to the situation in New Zealand, where hardly a smoker could be found. There is some interesting sociological research just waiting to be done on regional/national nicotine habits.
What I Learned Today: The industrialized supermarket has greatly reduced our abilities to handle the medieval market setting. I am used to going into a store with a list of grocery items and then choosing between the generic, the mid-level, and the high-end brand and that’s it. Here in this market setting, you’ve got 35 vendors selling tomatoes of all qualities and all different prices. Trying to keep track of the best deals on just one item is tough, doing it on a whole list of groceries must be damned near impossible, at least for a novice like myself. The old Greek women, however, seemed to be right at home, demanding samples, haggling over prices and slowly filling their carts with fresh produce and meat. This, in all actuality, is a “Super Market” in all facets of the word, far, far superior to the imposters bearings such names as Safeway, QFC, and Albertson’s.
written by  exumenius on February 5, 2008 from Melbourne, Australia

The Bizarre Horse Bazaar - Night 119
Melbourne, Australia
It proved to be a fortuitous morning to update my journal as my hermit-ness saved me from the rain and wind. Luckily just before I was set to meet Jana at 11am, the clouds broke and the sun poked through. Jana has been here over three weeks, but really hasn’t seen the city, so we played tourists for the afternoon. Our ride on the free city tram was short-lived, as they proved to be too slow, crowded, and hot to actually enjoy riding on them. After a stop at the Visitor’s Centre, we crossed the Yarra River over to the South Bank and the Royal Botanical Gardens. It took a few hours to wander through the massive, well-manicured grounds.
Famished, we eventually ended up in the Greek Precinct ready for a true Hellenic lunch. We were not disappointed. My Souvlaki Kebab was nearly the size of my head and took both hands to lift. Not only was it a healthy portion, but the lamb can only be described as succulent. I can say with some certainty that in my past 118 journal entries I have not once referred to any of meals as succulent, so you know this isn’t a term I throw around lightly. Rather than the compressed, some-what tasteless meat off of a rotating spit that is common in kebabs, my kebab was overflowing with actual, juicy chunks of lamb complete with small shards of dripping fat. Combined with the outstanding Tzatziki sauce and the homemade Pita bread it was otherworldly. I have a feeling I’ll be back to Spotitos Café at least once again before I leave Melbourne.
In the evening I met up with Anna and Sabine,
At Sister Something's Bar
friends of mine from my time in Brisbane, and their friend Max. After questioning a number of locals we finally managed to get some vague directions to a bar, Sister Something’s (I can’t think of the name of it now), that their roommates had told them about. As it turns out the directions were spot on as the quaint little upstairs bar was located at end of an alleyway off of an alleyway filled with various garbage cans and dumpsters. Completely unfinished on the inside, it had the look of a 19th century brothel. Strange pieces of random art graced the walls, as if the interior decorator raided the local Salvation Army. The clientele was quirky as well, sort of a mix between artists, backpackers and homeless bums. All things considered, it was a great little bar, tucked away from the madness of the main avenues of Melbourne. Around 10, we wandered over to the Horse Bazaar Bar to see a band that Sabine knew a member of (but had never listened to). The Horse Bazaar itself can only be described as bizarre, as was the music. The ceiling had undulating metal looking plaques on it and a fluid green swirl was projected onto the back of the urinal, giving you the feeling of watering the moving ocean. The first act was a computer synthesized audio-visual production showing desolate photos of the Outback on the wall behind the solo bass player. It wasn’t half bad, mostly due to the fact that it was soft enough to allow for conversation. The main act, if you could call it that, was a serious let down. I felt as though we were all being subjected to a teenage band practice. Even their name, Retail Intentions, sucked. I applaud the pursuit of the arts (for which I am tragically disinclined), but sometimes you’ve got to call a spade a spade and they were bad.
What I Learned Today: It is a generally accepted fact that girls are attracted to guys who are in bands; however, not being in a band can have its benefits. Namely, when he is up on stage you – the un-band member – have unfettered access to hit on his girl (especially when are both ripping on how bad his band actually is).
The City from the Botanical Gardens
written by  exumenius on February 6, 2008 from Melbourne, Australia

Crusing the Cultural Capital - Night 120
The Melbourne Cathedral
Melbourne is known as the cultural capital of
State Library of Victoria Reading Chamber
Australia so I figured I should spend a day or two taking in its essence of grandeur and high society. My first stop was the Victoria State Library. Part functioning library, part museum, the VSL is located in a grand old, domed building on the north side of downtown. The great, octagonal reading room opens up all the way to the top of the dome giving you a rat-in –a –cage feeling as other patrons can look down on you from three stories up. The top three floors of the dome house the museum. The first exhibit is a presentation on the history of books from about 1300 to the modern age. Showcasing some of Australia’s rarest and most valuable literary artifacts, it proved interesting. Also on show, was a floor dedicated to the State of Victoria. Most of it was inconsequential state-building memoirs and photos of Melbourne from the turn of the 19th century; however, one small nook was a tribute to the Australian Robin Hood, Ned Kelly. Edward Kelly was rogue bushman who stole from the rich and gave (on occasion) to the poor, along the way killing police, burning buildings
Ned Kelly's Iron Vest
and generating a cult following. The prize piece was the iron armor suit he was wearing when police finally caught up with him in 1880. The precursor to the modern bulletproof vest, the unit must have weight 80 pounds or more, but it did protect his vital organs from the police revolvers when he jumped out of the bushes and opened fire on a legion of cops one fateful spring day. Kelly was eventually apprehended and hanged after serving some time in the Melbourne Gaol. He is most famous for his final words, which he delivered to his mother (who was let out of jail for a few hours to witness her son’s demise) on his way to the gallows. Kelly, when confronted with his eminent death, said, and quite parsimoniously at that, “such is life.”
I swung by the Queen Victoria Market to pick up some groceries for lunch. Gazing at the interesting selection from the Wild Game vendor I couldn’t help but purchase some kangaroo sausages. They taste a bit gamey, but with the right spices in the sausage they proved to be delicious. I have a feeling I’ll be trying the wild boar and crocodile before I leave town.
The National Gallery was my destination for
National Gallery
the afternoon. It’s a huge place and I only managed to complete the first two floors before my concentration and interest gave out. I have a growing appreciation for paintings and sculpture, but pottery and furniture just don’t do it for me. Today was Anna’s last day in Melbourne, so we went out for a beer and some Indian food to bid her a farewell. After two nights on the town I needed a good night sleep so it was back to the hostel by 10. My desired sleep was not to be had. Around 1am one of the Irish guys came back, made a half phone call on his cell and then passed out mid-sentence. Shortly thereafter his friends, one male and one female (who was sleeping above me) came back in drunk as fuck. They both climbed into their respective beds and then the girl (whose shape could best be described as oval) began to beg the guy to come over to her bed. He continually denied her out of good sense and hopefully respect for me, the unfortunate soul sleeping beneath her. Her continual nagging continued for about twenty minutes until my patience ran out and finally I said “If I come up there, will you please shut up.” He laughed, she didn’t, but she did quit her sad whining…and no, I didn’t go up and service the behemoth.
What I Learned Today: B: Shortly after the mainstream adoption of the codex (the modern equivalent of the vertically-bound book) the demand for laboriously hand copied Bibles rose sharply, especially for those in the English and German Languages. The Church, however, deemed this to be an abomination and desperately tried in vain to destroy all the copies it could; copies of their own Bible, the very ones the priests purportedly used to deliver mass….Just another small reminder that the quest for absolute control of thought (through manipulation and monopoly of the medium) transcends all governments and religions.

Olympic Park - Night 121
Needing a change in scenery, I changed hostels today. Thus much of my morning was spent packing and relocating. After another lunch courtesy of the market vendors I began a grand walkabout through Melbourne’s inner neighborhoods. My trek began heading north on Lygon Street, the Italian district. Three blocks of nearly continuous Italian restaurants and gelato stands hug the street with outdoor seating spilling out onto the sidewalk. It was a good thing I had just eaten for the aroma wafting from the restaurants would be enough to transform a wafer thin anorexic into a pasta-eating glutton. I turned east for a few blocks and then headed back south along Brunswick Street. This area, known as Fitzroy, is the haunt for the hipsters, the artists and, not surprisingly, the gay community. Funky little stores and cafés plastered with Che posters are tightly packed on both sides of the street. The local population is befitting of the aura. Sadly, I only saw one man in a Utili-Kilt,
Outside the Royal Cricket Grounds
so it seems Fitzroy has some work to do before it catches up with Capitol Hill in Seattle.
Crossing into East Melbourne, I came up on the Captain James Cook cabin. Shipped from England in boxes and rebuilt on the spot, the small structure sits inconspicuously in the middle of the Fitzroy Gardens. America’s fascination with Columbus and the other early European explorers pales in comparison to Australia and New Zealand’s god-like worship of Captain Cook. Next to Queen Victoria, he is easily the most revered of all the 18th century figures in the South Pacific. It seems every little town on the coast has a “Captain James Cook landed here and surveyed the land/resupplied his ship/cut new timber/took a nap/killed some locals/pissed/shit/sneezed, etc
The Fitzroy Gardens give way to the Royal Cricket Grounds. The Lambeau Field of Australia, the RCG is the most famous cricket stadium in all the land. Located next door is the Vodafone Arena, the Melbourne Tennis Ground (home of the Melbourne Cup), and Olympic Stadium, site of the 1956 Olympic Games. Combined with the Botanical Gardens just across the Yarra River, this compendium of sporting venues and adjacent parks creates a massive greenspace occupying the southeast quadrant of the inner city. It was deathly calm on this Friday afternoon; however I can imagine it turns into a madhouse during a test cricket match or the tennis tournament. Before heading back to the hostel I stopped at the National Gallery again to finish where I left off yesterday. Back home, the Metro YHA has a great rooftop complete with deck chairs, a BBQ, and a million dollar view of the Melbourne skyline. I grilled up some mint flavored lamb with sautéed onions, peppers and mushrooms, all purchased at the market for less than $5.
The Skyline
What I Learned Today: Sometimes a piece of art really takes hold of your mind. The gallery had an offering from a Brisbane artist who carefully took spider webs from her backyard, sprayed them with fluorescent colors and then laid them on a black background. Their striking resemblance to city maps drew me in as I attempted to assimilate each one to a city whose road pattern I knew.

St. Kilda - Night 122
Mid-morningish, after another breakfast
Melbourne from St. Kilda Pier
from the market, I caught a tram down to Melbourne’s beach playground, the suburb of St. Kilda. The St. Kilda Festival has been running all week so I had hoped to indulge in some carnival food and breathe in the general merriment of a summer festival. Upon arrival, I was disappointed that most of the booths and such were just being set up. As it turns out, Sunday is the big day for the festival, Saturday is just a primer. This sort of nonsense would never pass in the States, since Saturday would be the big drinking and partying night with Sunday reserved for families. But then again, St. Kilda Festival is alcohol-free so that might have something to do with it. I had to settle for a meal from a café on the strip. The weather was partly cloudy, but warm, so I walked down the famous St. Kilda pier and hung out on beach for a
Beach Wakeboarding
bit. One of the attractions was up and running, the wakeboarding pools. Here three large inflatable pools are laid end to end, with jumps and rails in the middle. On the far side is a machine that is no more than a large winch that pulls the rope from one end to the other. Participants grab the rope and are pulled along the water, doing tricks and jumps along the way. It was exciting for about 20 minutes.
That evening I met Matt and Jana at their place on Farraday Street. The location is superb, just two blocks from the University of Melbourne and twenty steps from Lygon Street, the Italian District. The condition of the home, however, is not. It currently houses about ten people, mostly backpackers with working visas and one aboriginal couple. You can imagine the sort of maintenance the landlord gives to such a place….none. Matt’s old roommate, Scott from Tasmania, was hosting a birthday party up in North Melbourne so on the tram we got with intentions to crash. It was advertised as a cocktail party, but being backpackers our wardrobe of fine clothing is limited to say the least. No problem, as only about 50% of the revelers present had followed the invitation’s dress code guidelines. It was a good party and we returned home sometime after the 3 am hour.
Consiting of a large percentage of men,
Scott's Birthday Party
the party didn’t have the hot Aussie women I was hoping to see. There was a prodigious amount of food and alcohol, however, and the girl behind the bar kept feeding us Sambuca shots. Around 3am the party was winding down and, as I tend to do, I got a bit restless, so I decided to walk back home. This should have been a simple procedure…just follows the tram line back to Lygon Street. It wasn’t. Somewhere along the line I got lost. I remember thinking just find the bright lights of downtown and head towards them. I also them remember looking for the bright lights and not seeing them. Eventually I found some late party-goers who pointed me in the right direction, but laughed when I told them I was going to walk it. Two hours later I finally made it back to my hostel, at the nice early hour of 5:15am. I hadn’t exactly taken the shortest route possible. On flat ground I can generally cover about 3.5 miles an hour, figuring in my drunken pace I probably walked about 6 miles to get back home. I still wasn’t the least bit sober upon heading to bed.
What I Learned Today: Enough alcohol can even mess with my usually amazing sense of direction

The Year of the Rat - Night 123
On top of the YHA
I woke up in time to check out at 10am, probably smelling like a goddamn bar rag. Still drunk, I showered, stored my belongings in a locker and then retired to the upstairs lounge to nap for a bit on an outdoor swing. As luck would have, this, my last in Melbourne, was finally a pleasant day. The extra few hours of sleep and the fresh air didn’t really seem to help so I changed tactics and decided to walk it off.
Downtown was an absolute melee as today
Chinese New Year Celebration
was the celebration of the Chinese New Year. A true glutton for punishment, I headed right for the mass of parading dragons and firecrackers in search of decent Asian food. Along a back alley I found a bustling little place called the Kum Den. Strictly for the name novelty I had to eat here. The manager who was seating people was an absolute prick, another sign that the food would be good. As they were very busy and only had large tables I ended up being seated with an elderly Chinese couple and two guys who looked like they had just broken out of the asylum. Good company can always make a meal better, or at least more
The Kum Den
memorable. My honey pepper chicken on fried noodles was nothing short of amazing. If you are even in Melbourne I highly recommend the Kum Den. The rest of the afternoon was spent enjoying the various street acts and market all about the city. Some were related to the Chinese New Year, most
Amazing Street Art
were not. Sundays in Melbourne are quite eventful. On the way back to the hostel to claim my backpack, I was drawn into Stalactites by the memories of the world’s greatest kabob I had had just days earlier. I switched up my order to the filet kebab and was highly disappointed as it didn’t approach the succulent lamb variety of days before.
My overnight 10 hour bus bound for
Leaving Melbourne
Adelaide left the Southern Cross Station at 8:30pm. As we cruised out of town over the harbor bridge the sun was setting on the beautiful day while a sliver of the moon hung low in the sky. By the time we had made our first stop at 1 am I was beginning to question my decision to take the bus.
What I Re-Learned Today: The best way to beat a hangover is too attack it straight on. Lying around, feeling sorry for yourself and trying to remember what it is you did the night before only makes it worse. The only way to cure it is to get up and walk it off. Oh yeah, Chinese food helps too.

A Zombie in Adelaide - Night 124
Adelaide, Australia
I slept poorly at best on the ride. We stopped again at 3am to change drivers. Going for a short walk outside to stretch my legs, the air was noticeably drier and crisper. The bus finally rolled into Adelaide at 6:15am, which was actually 6:45am Melbourne time as the state of Southern Australia is in one of the those annoying half time zones that is on the :30 when the rest of the world is on the hour. I remember having this weird dream that we had to drive through flood waters on our way into town, which is strange considering Adelaide’s climate is borderline desert and the area been in a drought for the last seven years.
The sun was just coming up as I grabbed my
The Adelaide Conservatory
bags and headed off in search of my hostel. A faint smell of desert air drifted about in the cool morning breeze. Walking by a large, fancy condominium building on the way to Wayland Street, I came upon a completely naked man arguing with a woman (presumably his wife) over the streetside intercom. The old man, about 60 years of age, had absolutely nothing on nor anything in his hands, as if he had either A) went outside with nothing or B) was robbed of all his possessions on his morning jog. I picked up my pace and quickly found the YHA which was just around corner. It is never advisable to be the third party in a domestic dispute, especially when one of them is standing outside naked at 6am.
Check in wasn’t until noon, so I crashed in the lounge for a much needed nap. After checking in, I wandered around town eventually scoring a dirt cheap buffet meal at the main market in town. In the afternoon, I toured the University and the botanical gardens. The lack of sleep had sort of caught up with me and I felt like a zombie sort of stumbling though the day. Adelaide is an interesting place from a city planner’s perspective. The downtown area is a compact 8 block by 6 block area of orthogonal streets all surrounded by a huge greenbelt, giving it the feel of a small, dense city. However, beyond this circle of parks lies an immensely sprawling city of 1.5 million.
I didn’t do much in the evening other than prepare for a decent night sleep.
What I Learned Today: It is entirely impossible to get into a comfortable sleeping position on a Greyhound bus unless you are under 4’11 in height.
Sunset in Adelaide
written by  exumenius on February 11, 2008 from Adelaide, Australia

Glitzy Glenelg - Night 125
Adelaide, Australia
Late morningish I took the tram out to Glenelg, the Oceanside suburb where the rich Adelaidites go to play (or so a brochure said). I was expecting a quaint beachside community much like Byron Bay, instead I got high rise resort hotels and condominiums. It looked like what Puerto Penasco would be if the Americans and not the Mexicans controlled the Bay of Cortez. All glitz and glamour aside, it was a very nice, calm beach, though granted it was a Tuesday afternoon. The southerly breeze cooled any ambitions I may have had to take a swim.
The Glenelg Beach
Prior to leaving for Glenelg, I perused the Lonely Planet guide at the hostel. The author recommended stopping by the Glenelg Book Exchange because of their “large selection and friendly staff.” I don’t know who wrote this, but I think Lonely Planet ought to send out some fact checkers. The Glenelg Book Exchange had neither a large selection (and the books they had were garbage) nor a friendly staff (the single old man was an ass). While I’m ranting about bookstores, I would just like to say that I have yet to come upon a decent used bookstore in all of Australasia. Every secondhand shop I’ve been to is nothing more than a collection of trashy fiction books along with huge selections of Australiana or New Zealandic literature.
A Wee Creature
Quality non-fiction books in a second store seem to have gone the way of the Tasmanian Tiger or the Moa in this corner of the globe.
After returning from Glenelg, I traipsed through the Rundle Street Mall collecting goods for my upcoming sojourn to the Outback. As if finding a hoodie to buy on a 90 degree day in the middle of summer wasn’t hard enough, it seems that neon, especially pink and yellow, are in fashion down here at the moment so nearly every hooded sweatshirt I found looked like something out of Cyndi Lauper’s closet (who by the way is playing in St. Kilda this Sunday). Finally, I found something to suit my needs, as I expect it will get cold in the desert at night, at Ed Harry (the name of the store) and returned home triumphant. .
What I Learned Today: Do you ever have those days where you are incredibly excited about life?....yeah, me too.
written by  exumenius on February 12, 2008 from Adelaide, Australia

Wilpena Pound - Night 127
Hawker, Australia
At 8:30 our show hit the gravel road for a
Our Fearless Bus
leisurely drive through the Flinders Range National Park. The Flinders are very old, weather mountains that would merely pass for hills in the Western U.S. The desert landscape and red rocks give them an Arizona-esque feel, though on a smaller scale. We arrived at the Wilpena Pound site around the noon hour. Wilpena Pound is a large valley enclosed on all four sides by mountains. Its unique shape allows it to retain much of the precious little rainfall that happens here in Central Australia. Historically the site was a large sheep ranch, but has been returned to the state for use as a park.
On Top of Wilpena Pound
Our itinerary called for a hike to the rim of the Pound. Scooter advertised the walk as strenuous, which was enough to scare away four of the girls from attempting it. Forty-five minutes later Kristin (the other American and an active marathoner) and I were standing on top seriously questioning the Australian definition of strenuous. Over the next 30 minutes the rest of the group tricked in to the summit viewing grounds. About half of the bus are habitual smokers (mostly the Europeans), so upon reaching the peak there was a massive lighting of cigarettes. This is the one thing I don’t get about Europe; why the normally healthy continent (in terms of exercise and food intake) continues to smoke amidst all the certified health consequences.
The Nothingness of the Outback
We ate a small late lunch after the hike and took off for Rawley Park for the night. A caravan park/hostel, Rawley also offered a pool and a shop with ice cream and wine, the two staples foods of Outback travel. While the young European girls frolicked in the pool, I talked politics and life with the old Irish pensioner, Peter. We both enjoyed the view.
What I Learned Today: Playing the role of translator, no matter how slight, is a truly rewarding activity.
written by  exumenius on February 14, 2008 from Hawker, Australia

Welcome to Coober Pedy - Night 128
Coober Pedy, Australia
The Beginning of the Stuart Highway
With an eleven hour drive to Coober Pedy in front of us, we departed promptly at 5am. Awaking at such an hour is second nature to me, though many of the other literally had to be dragged from their beds. Scooter was is need of a Kangaroo spotter, someone who wouldn’t fall asleep for the first two hours driving through the dark. Volunteering for this got me the front seat, which with its extra leg room was a bargain at half the price.
After backtracking to Port Augusta, we finally hit paved road at sunrise. About the same time, we returned to an area with cell phone covered and the mass of riders began busily returned texts and calls from the past two days. After four months without a cell phone, I don’t really even miss it (well sort of). Just outside of Port Augusta we turned right onto the beginning of the Stuart Highway, that straight, desolate 1,200 km road to Alice Springs. We wouldn’t leave it for two days.
Lake Hart
Five hours and two toilet stops later we pulled into the Lake Hart visitor’s center. Lake Hart is a massive salt lake that only fills with water once in a decade or so. Strangely, when Scooter was in the military a few years ago, he tested missiles out on this same dry lake bed. The entire area that we were driving through is off limits to civilians (other than those driving through) because it is an international missile testing range for Aussies as well as the Americans and the Brits. The U.S. even tested its Mars Rover vehicles out on these desolate plains. We built a multi-million center and adjacent town for our activities and then when finished sold it all to the Australian Government for one dollar.
Welcome to Nowhere
We arrived in Coober Pedy, the world’s most famous opal mining town, at 4pm. Drunken aborigines laid in the road and strange looking miner-types roamed the streets. Coober Pedy isn’t exactly a center of culture and refinement. Of the 3,000 permanent residents, 80% of them live in old mines under the ground. Our museum tour took us through one such home, and it was actually quite nice, though I don’t think I could deal with the lack of sunlight. We too, would be staying beneath the earth tonight. The natural air conditioning of the ground kept our rooms nice and cool, even when it was over 100 outside.
The Mining Museum
Scooter had arranged for our meal at the local pizza joint, a nice change from barbecued meat and sandwiches for every meal. Post dinner, a few of us headed out to experience the night life in Coober, it was a Friday night, after all. Not much doing. The pubs reminded me of those in any small
Our Underground Accomodation
American town, with the exception of all the ridiculous neon clothing all the men wear and the fact that you could do live horse betting at the bar. We returned early, as we had another 5am start staring us in the face.
What I Learned Today: There is an unwritten man rule that you do not go for what is behind door #3. In otherwords, don’t try to upgrade when you have a good thing going. I violated this rule today and am now regretting it. Only time will show if this was a sound decision.
written by  exumenius on February 15, 2008 from Coober Pedy, Australia

Uluru and Kata Tjuta - Night 129
Uluru (Ayers Rock), Australia
Up at 4:30 to find that the group next
Halfway There
to us was still up drinking in the warm desert night. I’m guessing it was a long drive south for them the next day. We drove straight through to our campground in Uluru/Kata Tjuta National Park; 8 hours through the undulating semi-desert terrain of the Outback. Along the way we crossed into the Northern Territory, a massive state in Northern Australia that only has five towns with more than 1,000 inhabitants. After a quick lunch at the camp kitchen, we loaded up and drove into the park, past Uluru and down the road to Kata Tjuta (The Olgas).
Kata Tjuta (The Olgas)
The Rock
Identical in color to Uluru, Kata Tjuta was formed by a completely different geological process, though only 45 kilometers away. A collection of 30-some odd shaped red domes of conglomerate rock, Kata Tjuta is both higher and larger than Uluru, though it gets much less press. We did a short group hike into a canyon between two of the largest domes. The much better Valley of the Winds walk was closed due to the high winds in the area. The track was busy and we had to consistently pass and fight with the multitude of other tourist groups in the area. The rocks here are sacred and climbing is not allowed (a $5,000 fine if you do), which is a shame because it would make for some amazing climbing. Think about 36 different shear cliff walls complete with premade hand and foot holds (the agglomerate)…a climber’s dream.
After the short hike we drove to the
Scooter and the Booze
ridiculously packed Uluru sunset parking lot. Most of the Japanese tourists in their modern tour busses had fancy tables with white linen cloth and wine and cheese. Being the cheap backpackers that we are, we had to settle for some crackers and cheap champagne served out of plastic cups. Not a one of us complained. The sunset was great, however, the magic of the moment is sort of ruined by the thousand other people who are there. It would be a great place to have your own vehicle and find a nice, uncrowded lot to watch the sun disappear behind the
Drinking at Uluru
rock. The alcohol had everyone’s spirits up so Scooter drove through the lot with the music at full blast scaring the hell out of the old Asian tourists…all in good fun. Sitting in the front, I had the benefit of the megaphone.
Our evening meal was steak, potatoes and salad.
Our Kitchen
Most people knocked off early as we had a date with sunrise, however, the Swiss guys and the Irish girl stayed up with me and drank our box of wine and played (quite unsuccessfully) the didgeridoo until around midnight. That evening most of us chose to sleep outside on the swags with nothing but the night sky for a roof over our heads.
What I Learned Today: I have no patience for high maintenance
written by  exumenius on February 16, 2008 from Uluru (Ayers Rock), Australia

Onwards to Kings Canyon - Night 130
Uluru (Ayers Rock), Australia
Sunrise at Uluru
Four am comes early when you fall asleep after midnight, though I felt very good as I slept like a log out under the stars. Similar to last night, the crowds were amassed at the sunrise viewing lot and sort of ruined the atmosphere. With a bit of leg work, one could get away for some solitude.
Look....a rock
Small, wavy clouds hung in the eastern sky, making for a great sunrise. Next up was the 9 kilometer base walk around Uluru. As is common, the climb to the top was closed due to wind, though I doubt I would have climbed it anyways (I’m willing to grant the Aborigines their wish that no one climbs it).
The Whale
We said goodbye to Uluru/Kata Tjuta park around noon, had a quick lunch at camp and then set off for Kings Canyon. Along the way is Mt. Connor, a large mesa that looks as though it belongs in Northeast Arizona. Stranger still is that it is privately owned by one of the large cattle ranches in the areas, so the only way to see it up close is to book a tour through the private landowner. About 50 km before Kings Canyon we came across a pack of wild camels grazing near the road. Camels used to be a major form of transportation until the automobile took over. The camels were then released into the wild and have flourished. Australia now has around 250,000 wild camels and even exports them back to Arabia.
Our Kings Canyon Campground
The Fire I Started
We arrived at the Kings Canyon campground in time for a quick swim at the pool and a chance to stock up on beer for the evening. Adventure Tours, our company, has its own secluded campsite at Kings Canyon which is tucked away in a small gorge about 10 km from the main resort. Better still is that they allow us to have a campfire so long as it is for cooking purposes. Naturally I volunteered to start the fire. My helpers, the old Irish guy and the three Koreans proved utterly useless in setting up a fire. I had to can the whole lot and do it myself. With wood this dry, it didn’t take long to have an eye-brow singeing inferno ablaze. The chicken curries and potatoes turned out wonderful. Another night of drinking and making marshmallows over the fire let to a late bedtime. The dingoes howling in the night were no match for my weariness and I quickly fell asleep under the stars again.
What I Learned Today: Americans build the best fires.
written by  exumenius on February 17, 2008 from Uluru (Ayers Rock), Australia

Finally Alice Springs - Night 131
Alice Springs, Australia
At Kings Canyon
Another early morning as we had to get to Kings Canyon and do the three hour hike before the temperature hit triple digits. We left the trailhead at 7:30 and it was already 84. Kings Canyon is an otherworldly collection of valleys and strange red rock formations all surrounding the one massive central canyon. Perfectly shear rock walls all surrounding a small valley filled with water
Scooter took a Fall
referred to as the Garden of Eden as it provided everything the local aboriginals every needed. A number of the trees here exist nowhere else in the world. Honestly it is almost more spectacular the Uluru, at least for a hiker such as myself. The hike could be done in less than two hours if you are fit, however, moving along with a group (most of whom smoke) takes a lot longer. When we returned to the parking lot at 10:30 the thermometer, which was in the shade, read
97 degrees.
Kings Canyon
Post Trip Pisser at Annie's
Finally
We set off for Alice Springs at noon and arrived in the small desert town around 5pm. By the time we had dropped everyone off at their hostels (we were last) it was past 6pm. A quick shower later and we all walked down to Annie’s Pub for the ritual post-trip meal and drinking bout. By midnight, our numbers had dwindled to seven, so Scooter suggested that we head to his place to help him drink up all his leftover alcohol as he was moving apartments this week.
Uncle Sam Wants You
Not a one of us had any problem with this. Eventually drinking games ensued and the whole lot of us got wickedly drunk. Rumor has it we got home at 4am, though I don’t really remember looking at a clock. We got a bit lost on the way and my superior navigation skills saved us from unintentionally catching the sunrise in some strange corner of Alice Springs. Also, I pulled a calf muscle jumping a fence…my first true Australian drunken wound. The total damage count, one
Crazy Swiss
bottle of Jack, one bottle of Port, four bottles of Champagne (courtesy of Adventure Tours), a few broken glasses, two motor scooter rides, one plastic helmet and seven nasty hangovers.
What I Learned Today: Always choose door #3. (See night 128)
No Idea What is Happening Here
(2)
written by  exumenius on February 18, 2008 from Alice Springs, Australia

Recovering in Alice - Night 132
Alice Springs, Australia
Sunset over Alice
I did little to nothing today. Six days of waking up before Sunrise and riding in the bus had caught up to me. Catching up on my journal and doing laundry took all the energy I could muster. We did make up it to ANZAC hill for a beautiful sunset over the MacDonnell Range. The walk to the hill and back worked up quite a sweat so we all took a quick dip in the pool prior to heading to bed early for a change.
What I Learned Today: Don’t fall six days behind on your journal.
Chilling in the Pool
written by  exumenius on February 19, 2008 from Alice Springs, Australia

Scorching in Alice - Night 133
Alice Springs, Australia
Thorny Devils
It was well over 100 again today in Alice. Nikki, Rebecca and I braved the heat for a quick walk to the Reptile Museum. Home to some of Australia’s deadliest snakes, some very tame lizards and the crazy looking Thorny Devils, the museum was well worth the price of admission. After lunch in the small downtown, we returned to the air conditioning and pool at our hostel. The rest
Pl;aying with Reptiles
of the day was spent working on the journal, uploading photos and relaxing. Tomorrow we leave at 5:30 am for Darwin, so another day of nothing was rather welcomed.
I apologize that my journal has been a bit light the last week, however, it is just too much to keep up when you are out in the bush. Taking photos is starting to become a chore as well.
What I Learned Today: I’ve hit the point where I’ve lost track of the days and dates. I have only three weeks left, but no end seems in sight. I think travelling has finally become a habit, it is just what I expect to happen tomorrow. Time has begun to slow down…in a good way. After crossing this Rubicon, I feel that real life will be much tougher to adjust to come March, or April, or August, or whenever I return to normal.
written by  exumenius on February 20, 2008 from Alice Springs, Australia

To the Tropics - Night 134
Tennant Creek, Australia
My adventure tour from Alice Springs to
The Tropic of Capricorn
Darwin left at 5:30 this morning. Our new driver, Trav, was overly enthusiastic at the early hour and once again no one wanted to ride shotgun so I gladly accepted the honor. Shortly after leaving on Alice on the Stuart Highway we crossed the Tropic of Capricorn; we were now officially rocking in the tropics. Not that you could tell. The area was still a bleak and desolate desert. The true tropical climes don’t begin until another 800 to 900 kilometers north of here. The next stop was the historic Barrow Creek telegraph station where a battle between white pioneers and aborigines occurred back in the 1880s. Trav is a bit of an Aboriginal history buff so I am sure we’ll get plenty of history lessons this tour. One of the things I have
Typical Outback Scenery
been most impressed with on these tours is how much explaining the tour guides do regarding nearly everything. They drive, cook, organize and teach and do a damned good job at all. Later we pulled into Wycliffe Well, the UFO capital of Australia. A strange little roadhouse with an even stranger proprietor. Apparently UFOs have visited this place for weeks in a row. It even has the certification of the official UFO society. I wonder if they are hiring…
The Devil's Marbles
Some bit up the road we came to Devil’s
Me and a Marble
Marbles, a forty-acre site of strange round stones that appear to have been randomly tossed about. Amazing scenery, the short walk around the park was absolutely exhausting. The temperature was well above 100, not a cloud in sight nor a breath of wind. At 21 degrees latitude near the noon hour the sun is absolutely relentless. We lunched at the Walchope Hotel, just a fancy name for a roadhouse a few kms north of Devil’s Marbles. The owner’s daughter works for the Adventure Tours company so we got free access to the pool, which was a huge relief from the heat.
Just north of Tennant Creek we pulled into the Mary Ann Dam for a quick dip in the rust stained water. Already you can start to feel the humidity increase, the flora is more lush, the clouds build…we are entering the beginnings of the Top End, the Tropic portion of Australia. A few hours later the tired bus arrived at Banka Banka, our stop for the night. As we ate our dinner a huge, orange full moon rose above the horizon. It was well after sunset until the breeze picked up and cooled it down enough to sleep. Until then, we drank a few beers around the campfire and listened to stories about Stuart Highway’s notorious rash of disappearances and strange crimes.
What I Learned Today: Regret is a bitch…perhaps the worst feeling one can have. “Live as to eliminate all regret.”…or so says the great sage.
written by  exumenius on February 21, 2008 from Tennant Creek, Australia

Sweating it out to Katherine - Night 135
Katherine, Australia
Today was primarily a driving day. For
The Daly Waters Pub
every 100 kms we made to the north the shades of green increased a slight bit. Finally around Daly Waters there was standing water on the ground and cumulus clouds in the air. Just 24 hours ago we were in the bleak desert, now we rolled through the lush tropics. Daly Waters Pub, the famous roadhouse, was our stop for lunch. Again we had full use of the pool. Unfortunately we were too early for the Easter Weekend rodeo, one of the biggest events in this part of the world.
Almost There
After lunch we attempted to head to the Mataranka thermal pools, however the flooded river thwarted our passage. Not be deterred, Trav phoned the operators of the Matarnka Roadhouse and they brought over a few Land Rovers to ferry us across the swelled river. The hot pools were officially closed, but we jumped the fence anyways. This area is home to freshwater crocodiles which Trav assured us do not attack humans. The saltwater version are much bigger and do, in fact, dine on man, however, they are found much farther north so we needn’t worry about them until late tomorrow up near Darwin. The pools were flooded by the river and were about a meter deeper than usual, which was advantageous in that we could dive in. There is something exotic about swimming in crystal clear Spring water amongst creeping palm trees and flocks of parrots.
Mataranka Thermal Pools
We camped for the night at Adventure Tours private grounds just outside the Katherine Gorge National Park. After dinner, Jun played guitar by the fire and we drank beer in the sweltering tropical night. I slept intermittently throughout the night…too hot to get comfortable.
What I Learned Today: In 95 degree heat with 90% humidity, a cold six pack of Cooper’s Pale Ale is like a little slice of heaven.
written by  exumenius on February 22, 2008 from Katherine, Australia

Katherine Gorge to Darwin - Night 136
Darwin, Australia
We awoke early again, though this time to a cool breeze. A small storm had dropped some rain overnight and brought the temperature down to near a comfortable level. After the short drive to the Katherine Gorge
Swimming with the Crocs
National Park we began our three hour hike. About half of the group opted for the $40 boat ride, choosing not to sweat it out on the trail. The walk was very easy, though in the heat most of the unfit in our group were falling behind and complaining quite a bit. Much of the trail offered nothing in the way of views and overall was somewhat of a disappointment. The side track down into the Southern Pool, complete with waterfall and swimming hole, made the trek worthwhile. The cool, cascading water and the slight threat of crocodiles added to the excitement of the swim. On the walk back it began to rain, the perfect way to cool down after the hike.
The Katherine Gorge
Back to the camp for our final group meal, basically a smorgasbord of whatever food was leftover in the coolers. Now we had just three hours left on the road to Darwin. We made our final pit stop in Adelaide River, home to the Adelaide River Pub. The most famous resident of this small town is a stuffed
Charlie the Water Buffalo (of Crocodile Dundee fame)
water buffalo. Not just any stuffed buffalo, this is Charlie, the water buffalo from the Crocodile Dundee movies. Though touching him is strictly prohibited, I managed a quick graze while the bar staff wasn’t paying attention.
Finally we hit Darwin a bit after 5pm. Since leaving Adelaide 12 days ago I’ve put on over 4,600 kms (2,760 miles) in the back of an Adventure Tours bus. It was a relief to step off the bus for one last time. The tours in general were very good, though the group in this last trip wasn’t half as much fun as the group from Adelaide to Alice Springs.
What I Learned Today: Tour groups, like life, are a bit of a crapshoot…you just never know what you are going to get, which is a shame, because the people make all the difference. I could have fun in a strip mall in Indiana with the right people.
written by  exumenius on February 23, 2008 from Darwin, Australia

Dilly-Dally in Darwin - Night 137
Darwin, Australia
Living in the northern hemisphere most of the maps we see are not centered on the equator. They usually cut out Antarctica and the much of the vast, empty southern oceans in order to avoid all the unnecessary blue on the map. Thus, we seem to have this internal feeling that Australia is actually much farther south than it truly is. In all reality it is very close to the equator. Darwin sits at 12 degrees latitude, the same as Costa Rica and is much more tropic than places such as Jamaica or Cancun. Miami, for instance, lies at about the same latitude as Brisbane. If you look at a map you suddenly realize that Darwin isn’t all that far from Indonesia.
I say all this because it is monsoon season here, ‘The Wet’ as it is known locally. Consequently it is also the low season for tourists since the rest of Australia is enjoying its best weather, while Darwin it at its worst. This is the first place I’ve been that is not in high tourist season. As a result, most of the people staying in my hostel are Australians or Indian migrants who are working in the area. A nice change from the hoards of British and Germans teenage backpackers that have invaded the rest of Australia.
The weather today was befitting that of a wet season. Extreme humidity coupled with intermittent downpours and episodes of sunshine (that’s for your EJ). All in all, not a very motivating climate to do much more than read and sleep (in my air-conditioned room, which cost an extra $2 a night…the best $2 I’ve spent all trip). I am not the only one who moved at a snail’s pace. Everyone hears just sort of goes through the motions, trying desperately not to move, lest they begin to sweat profusely. After standing in line at Woolworths for nearly 25 minutes, I found the cashier working in what can only be described as extreme slow motion. I don’t think I would have to patience to live here full time. On the other hand, the people are very nice and friendly. Again that worldly dichotomy between efficiency and friendliness rears its ugly head.
The day just sort of floated by and by evening I found myself watch a tightly contest cricket match between Australia and India. The locals had crowded the TV lounge along with the half a dozen Indian day laborers staying at the hostel. After some time, a Kiwi guy and I had a nice long conversation on American politics. The whole world, while somewhat disgusted at the length of our presidential election process (and who isn’t), is extremely interested in it regardless of whatever loathings for America they may hold in the heart.
What I Learned Today: My official (though terribly unscientific) straw poll of non-Americans has Obama winning by a landslide. Nearly everyone I’ve talked to about the election favors Obama and desperately wants to know if I think Americans are finally color-blind enough to elect a minority president. “Perhaps” is my response. I think it all depends on how many young people can be bothered to vote, along with, of course, how the Super-Delegates decide to act in the primary. Interestingly, and a bit of a digress, driving through the City of Katherine I saw a sign saying, “Election next week,
remember: VOTING IS COMPULSORY!”. Mandatory voting….what an idea.
written by  exumenius on February 24, 2008 from Darwin, Australia

Experiencing the Wet - Night 138
Darwin, Australia
Again the wet maintained its classic rhythm of brief, violent showers interspersed with periods of relative calm. It was during one of these respites that I managed to sneak away from the hostel and take a stroll along the water. Advertised as a beautiful harbor walk, the area and the trail is tragically underdeveloped and lacks anything at all to suggest that it should be a tourist destination. In all fairness to the City of Darwin, I shouldn’t be so tough on it as I doubt any other city in the western world has had as difficult of a last 60-some years than Darwin. The city was merciless bombed and destroyed by the Japanese during WWII and heroically rebuilt itself afterwards only to be leveled again by the Cyclone Tracy in 1974. Thus, for the most part, the oldest building, tree, etc in town is just over thirty years of age. This youthfulness, I think, is what gives Darwin the feel of a Mexican or Mediterranean beach resort town complete with stumbling drunk, sunburned tourists, of which there is no shortage in town.
Disappointed from my walking tour, I wandered into the Parliament and State Library building, mostly out of desire for some air-conditioning. Having no interest, nor probably not the clearance to saunter into a session of the Northern Territory parliament, I headed for the library. Of minimalist, spacious design, the library was primarily being used by backpackers for its free internet. I offered no exception to the trend. Few and far between are the times one finds free and fast internet in this part of the world, so you best take advantage.
My airport shuttle bus was due to arrive until 10:10pm, so in order to kill some time I stopped at the cinema to catch a movie. I had missed No Country for Old Men, so I settled for Jumper. I would have been more entertained had I given my $14 to a bum and watched him get drunk. It was likely the worst movie I have ever actually paid to see in a theatre. Seriously, it was that bad. How can any director or studio representative watch this at the end and think, “This is a good movie”? All the airport activities went as planned and I boarded my cheap, but less than direct flight (I fly through Melbourne to get to Perth – not exactly a straight line) just before midnight.
Note: I gave my camera a rest these past two days and took exactly no pictures. Not that Darwin is all that photogenic in the first place.
What I Learned Today: The hidden benefit of red-eye flights when backpacking is that it saves you the cost of a night of accommodation. On the flip side, you often don’t sleep very well on the plane and end up wasting the next day trying to find a decent place to take a nap.
written by  exumenius on February 25, 2008 from Darwin, Australia

Arrival in Perth - Night 139
Perth, Australia
I landed in Melbourne at 5am local time and had exactly 40 minutes before my next flight to Perth left. As one would expect, I had to change Terminals which meant going through a security checkpoint again and walking about a mile but I made it just in time to board. I began to wonder how my luggage was going to make this similar journey. Part of me was hoping that they would lose my sleeping bag, that dirty, rarely used ‘necessity’ that I brought along for the volunteer portion of my trip. I would send it home but it is not worth the postage it would cost, yet I can’t bring myself to just conveniently leave it somewhere. I figured that best plan was to not label it and hope the airline would lose it. Collecting my bags in Perth at 8am only my large backpack came through so, for a minute, I imagined my devious plan had worked. I was called to the Virgin Blue office where a nice lady explained to me that it would be on the next flight from Melbourne and that they would deliver it to my address. Damn.
After this brief disappointment, I called up Sue, the ex-foreign exchange student of my mother’s family 30 years ago who I was
My Foster Home
staying with, for a ride. She graciously picked me up and invited me into her home as if I was a long lost son. I was even given my own room, with a dresser and fan. Quite an upgrade from the smelly, rotting eight bed dorm I stayed at in Darwin. I took a much needed nap and then enjoyed lunch with Sue. We went over her scrapbooks from her time at my grandparent’s place as well as some of the old Bonduel High School yearbooks. Just crazy seeing many of my friend’s parents back in their formative years.
I spent the better part of the afternoon reading on the pack porch, in the shade of course as the temperatures approached the upper nineties. In the evening the rest of the family came home, Simon from his second day at Curtin University, Jemma from high school, and Den from a day at the golf course. Along with the neighbor boy, Max, we had a nice family dinner on the porch discussing the differences between American Football (gridiron as they call it) and Australian Rules Football (Footy). Simon, Max and I went to shoot some pool and have a few drinks at the neighborhood bar.
What I Learned Today: You know you are from a small town when you are looking at a high school yearbook from twenty years before you graduated and all the last names are the same as those of the kids in your class.
written by  exumenius on February 26, 2008 from Perth, Australia

Perthin' It - Night 140
Perth, Australia
By virtue of having my own room, I managed to sleep past 6 am. What a delight. I had a slow morning just hanging around the house doing some reading. At 9am I walked down to the Meltham train station and hopped a train into town. TransPerth, the local transit authority, claims to have the cleanest trains in the world and from my first few rides on them I can’t help but agree. The modern train cars are spotless and the network appears to service the entire region very well. It would be so convenient to have such a set up in Seattle, a region much larger than that of Perth.
Perth Skyline
After landing at Wellington Station, the central hub, I just sort of wandered around downtown for awhile, getting lost in the numerous underground shopping arcades and pedestrian malls. Post lunch I struck out
The City from the South Bank
on an ambitious walking tour down to the south bank of the Swan River. About halfway through it I wore out and collapsed under a shade tree for a nice hour long nap. The temperature was held down in the morning by a bit of clouds, but the sky cleared in the afternoon and again the thermometer toyed with triple digits. Through the course of my six mile walk, I also managed to wear a hole right through the bottom of my sandals. This pair didn’t even make it five months, but I guess that’s what I get for buying the cheap brand from Target.
My Foster Family and I
In the evening Sue and family had a little barbecue in my honor. A typical Australian feast, it was headlined by lamb, with sausages and salads as opening acts.
What I Learned Today: Never live within walking distance of your mother-in-law. ..and preferably not even in the same city.
written by  exumenius on February 27, 2008 from Perth, Australia

Cottesloe Beach - Night 141
Perth, Australia
My morning was wasted trying to find hostels and set up a trip to Rottnest Island this coming weekend. Due to the three day weekend almost every place I checked was booked solid, including the solo hostel on Rottnest. In the end, I’ll be staying in Fremantle Saturday and Sunday nights and just doing a day trip to Rottnest on Sunday. This is the first time in my trip that I wished I had done a bit more planning ahead.
At Cottesloe
It was another scorcher today, so Sue and I drove out to Cottesloe Beach for a quick dip in the Indian Ocean. Enroute, she was pulled over for speeding. Not that this is all that noteworthy, but the manner in which the police apprehend speeders is quite strange. Policeman on foot stand in the shadows of road signs, large trees, etc with their radar guns. Once they catch a speeder coming upon them, they run out in to the middle of the road and direct the offender to the side using nothing more than hand signals, even on roads where drivers are doing 45 to 55 mph. It seems to me a dangerous way to enforce speed limits…but I suppose it keeps them from getting fat like American cops. Which, now that I think of it, most of the cops I’ve seen here in Australia are actually fit and appear as if they could honestly run down a man in wheelchair or an old woman with a walker without stopping for a break.
Cottesloe Beach
Cottesloe Beach was absolutely packed, on account of the teacher’s strike all the schoolies decided to hit the sand. Sue only stayed for a bit and then headed back home for some music appointments. I stuck it out all day (the Annas bailed on account of hangovers and high temperatures), hiding in the shade for most of the afternoon. Though the Indian Ocean is the warmest of the big three, the water was refreshingly cold and made for joyous swimming.
At night I ventured up to the Anna’s house in North Perth to chill out and have some dinner. I suddenly realized that I am going to be in Fiji in less than a week and need to get something planned.
What I Learned Today: I couldn’t possibly fathom working with teenagers on a day to day basis.
written by  exumenius on February 28, 2008 from Perth, Australia

City Tour - Night 142
(I managed to delete my photos from today so you’ll have to settle for some images stolen from the internet)
Five straight days of at or above 100 degrees I come down with a cold (dehydration is likely the culprit)….Anyways, being that today is the strangest of all days and that it is the end of another month I will take the liberty of waxing poetically a bit about the overall state of my existence. I am tired. Not physically or mentally, but socially. If this sounds strange, I understand as I didn’t know such a condition existed a mere five months ago. What do I mean when I say I am socially tired? Social exhaustion can best be described as talking to different people about the same thing for weeks on end. Where have you been? How long do you have left? What was your favorite place? Where are you going next?...It is widely accepted that maintaining relationships takes energy, I’ve learned that starting new ones usually takes even more (in those instances where it doesn’t lies true bliss). I say all this because I’m coming to realize that I’ve all but stopped trying to openly engage people. This is partly due to the fact that my trip is quickly coming to an end but also because of the aforementioned social exhaustion. At the moment I desire to talk to the same people about different things and not the other way around. How about a rousing argument with friends over the merits of ERA vs WHIP, or Badgers Football, or I-5 traffic, or American Politics or who from high school is getting married, or how drunk we were that one night in Fremont/Tucson/Stevens Point/Vegas/Duncan’s Barn. This is no knock on the trip as whole, it has been amazing, but rather just an indication that it is ending exactly when it should. I’ll stop with the self-reflection right here and save the rest for the Epilogue.
So what did I do today? Real life called and I
The City from Kings Park
spent the morning taking care of finishing off my application and funding request emails for graduate school. Prospects look bleak, but I’m giving it an honest effort. In the afternoon Sue took me on a little tour of Perth. We first stopped at the Buddhist Monastery down the road from their house. The beautiful symmetry, golden statues, and deep atavistic chanting immediately sets one’s mind at ease. After a quick perusal of the adjacent art gallery, we headed across town to King’s Park. A sprawling conglomeration of native bush, mowed lawns and various memorials and obelisks, King’s Park sits atop an escarpment just SW of downtown and offers amazing views of the skyline and the Swan River valley.
Kings Park
Being a bit isolated out in Bayswater, I chose to stay in a hostel downtown for the evening. A decent enough place, the 12:01 Backpackers has very friendly staff and great air-conditioning. I spent the evening having a few beers on the back porch with some other backpackers and then retired early.
What I Learned Today: I have very calm eyes…at least according to the woman at the monastery.

On to Fremantle - Night 143
Fremantle, Australia
(I managed to delete my photos from today so you’ll have to settle for some images stolen from the internet)
On my morning walk I came across a youth softball tournament, a friendly reminder that baseball season is right around the corner. It was so very nice to people swinging proper baseball/softball bats and not those flattened logs that pass for cricket sticks. After reveling in the supremacy of American sports for a bit, I returned to the 12:01 Backpackers and gathered up my things for the train ride to the beach.
I caught the 10:30 to Fremantle, a half an hour ride. Fremantle is Perth’s port, like a Long Beach to Los Angeles or a Galveston to Houston. Some would say that Fremantle is just another suburb, but I disagree. It is
The Freo YHA
a stand alone city in its own right, complete with a charming downtown, a thriving market, a college, and an interesting history. I checked into the Freo (as Fremantle is kindly referred to) YHA, which is easily one of the best hostels I’ve been to on my entire trip. Two kitchens, a massive common area and outdoor courtyard, a gym, and even a movie screen and projector. The only thing missing was wireless internet. If you are ever in Freo I highly recommend this place.
Indian Ocean Sunset
I killed much of the afternoon wandering the markets and numerous good used book stores. It just dawned on me that, as my trip is nearly over, I might need to start picking up a few souvenirs for the family. Later on I hit South Beach up for a quick dip in the ocean. Returning to town at 5:05, I soon found out that all the grocery stores in town close at 5 on Saturdays so I was forced to have a below-average kebab at one of the stands in town. It was Bather’s Beach for a superb sunset (the pictures of which I’ve lost). The clouds through up a panorama of red and orange, the wind blew, the waves crashed....the only things missing were a beautiful girl and a bottle of wine.
My cold appears to be getting worse before it gets better.
What I Learned Today: Don’t leave your calling card in a payphone booth, it won’t be there when you get back.
written by  exumenius on March 1, 2008 from Fremantle, Australia

Rottnest Island - Night 144
Fremantle, Australia
(I managed to delete my photos from today so you’ll have to settle for some images stolen from the internet)
Rottnest Island
Today I tackle Rottnest Island. The first ferry leaves Fremantle at 7:30am, and due to the overpromptness bred into me by my early bird family I arrived at the C Shed terminal well before check-in opened. The ride out to Rottnest, just under 30 minutes in length, was a rough one as the winds whipped up a serious chop. After arriving, I claimed my rental bike, grabbed a map and set off to explore. A bit of history first. Back in the late 1800s and early 1900s Rottnest was used as prison colony, mostly holding aboriginals and the worst of the worst white criminals. Its strategic location caused it to be transformed into a military base during WWII. Since that time, the island has blossomed into a tourist destination for both daytrippers and weekenders alike, as the old barracks and officers houses have been turned into accommodations. A number of townhomes have been built in Geordes Bay, as well. The main allure of the island, next to its nearly infinite number of small coves and beaches, is the almost entire lack of cars, a few maintenance vehicle and the police aside. As such, it is a haven for bikers who can take advantage of the many miles of roads built during the military days.
I was one such biker today. After landing
Rottnest Beach
at 8am I struck out and circumnavigated the island in a counterclockwise manner, stopping for numerous photo opportunities and at the various historical sites along the way. The roads are in very good condition and the terrain can only be described as undulating, so it isn’t too hard to make good progress. By lunch I was back at the main village where I enjoyed a foot long Subway sandwich. Strange that they still call it a foot-long here in the land of metric. I would think you should be able to choose between a 14cm and a 28cm sub. Strangely, as I finished eating lunch two very attractive young girls approached me with a proposition; that they give me money and I buy them alcohol. I always told myself that I would do such a thing for younger people as many kindred souls did the same for me years back; however, something about it just didn’t seem right. It wasn’t even noon, the drinking age is 18 so surely they could find some young guys to do, and they were just a little bit too good looking. I am sure it wasn’t a police type sting, but I declined anyways. What an old codger I’ve become.
After lunch I biked up the lone hill on the island to the lighthouse. From there it was all downhill to one of the secluded coves for a nap and a swim in the ocean. My ferry departed at 4:30 and the ride back was much choppier than the ride there. The swells were approaching two meters and the workers were scurring about handing out vomit bags to needy passengers. I calmly watched a cricket game on the television, enjoying the rough seas like a veteran sailor. I am convinced that in a previous life I was a first mate on a ship with the likes of Vasco de Gama or Leif Erikson.
Again I went down to the beach for sunset. This time it was a cloudless sky and I added one of the essentials that I had forgotten from last night; the bottle of wine. Apparently beautiful girls are a bit harder and most expensive to come by.
What I Learned Today: Why haven’t I read more Timothy Leary?
written by  exumenius on March 2, 2008 from Fremantle, Australia

Back to Perth - Night 145
Fremantle Streetscape
It pained me a bit to leave Fremantle today. It is my favorite city so far in all of Australia, and probably New Zealand as well. Freo simply has the right feel to it, for me at least. I did a bit of shopping in the morning, walked out to the lighthouse and back to Bather’s beach once again. The train ride back to Sue’s house was more interesting than one would expect. The Midland train was packed with hard core rock fans headed out to a concert, this being Australia’s Labor Day. Honestly, I think I was the only person on the train without a visible tattoo and a band t-shirt on. That is about the extent of my day.
The afternoon was all life maintenance; booking my Fiji adventures, doing laundry, catching up on this journal and repacking for my late night flight to Brisbane.
I want to take this opportunity to extend my dearest thanks to Sue, Den and family for their overwhelming hospitality over the past week. I felt welcomed into their home and I am very grateful for it. If/when they ever come to the States I hope that my family can show them the same sort of hospitality.
What I Learned Today: That the George Carlin theory of personal health (more germs = better immune system = better health) has actually been vindicated by medical research.
Though it doesn’t appear to have helped me at the moment.
written by  exumenius on March 3, 2008 from Perth, Australia

Back to Brissy - Night 146
Another overnight, red-eye flight, this time from Perth to Sydney and on to Brisbane. I wised up and dressed properly for the ride. Virgin Blue night flights are horribly cold, almost too cold to sleep. Arriving in Brisbane at 9am local time, I experienced a strange sense of nostalgia. Hard to imagine that just 145 days ago I was flying into this same airport with all the hopes, expectations and unknowns of the trip in front of me. This time, I rolled in a veteran traveler, privy to the process, tired from lack of sleep, and excited to be finishing up the journey.
City at Night II
The weather in Brissy was mild, mid 80s with an acceptable level of humidity. The City Backpackers was packed as usual. After checking in, I took a short, fulfilling nap and then journeyed into the city to do some much needed shopping for Fiji. I find my tropical wardrobe a bit wanting, or at least it was but is no more (thanks to some deals at Target). My roommates were three guys from the UK, all solo travelers, and all just beginning their trips. I thoroughly enjoyed giving them my tips on New Zealand and the rest of Australia. Again I am convinced that half (or probably more) the fun of traveling is talking about it later.
City at Night I
I struggled to stay awake tonight, the last few nights of poor sleep obviously taking its toll. I’m starting to rethink the benefits of red-eye flights. That and I hope that I heal up before my Fiji adventure.
What I Learned Today: There was a certain feeling of familiarity as I came back in Brisbane. A level of comfort associated with knowing the city, the trains, and the hostel. Prior to this trip I would have said that this comfort is the root of our problems, the reason that we all fall into boredom and bad habits. But now I know better. Feelings of familiarity and comfort should be enjoyed and welcome; however, they should not be depended on. Nor should they be our singular goal in life. Every now and then (more for some of us and less for others) we need to mix in a bit of discomfort, some unknown, perhaps a trace of novelty and uncertainty in order to grow and change.
written by  exumenius on March 4, 2008 from Brisbane, Australia

Closing Down Australia
My last full day in Australia. Hard to believe that it is all nearly over. Again, I didn’t do that much with the day. After breakfast and fighting with the free and consistently broken wireless internet at the City Backpackers I marched down to Fortitude Valley to find some decent souvenirs. I had no such luck. I did, however, find a nice, non-English speaking barber shop and got myself a $9 haircut, which despite our language barriers, actually turned out as I desired. I think the words “trim up” are surprisingly universal. On the walk back to downtown I did find a place to blow my remaining Australian currency on some trinkets and reminders of my time in OZ.
The rest of the day was completely uneventful, with the exception of India beating Australia in cricket. I’m really excited for baseball season to start.
What I Learned Today: I always seem to meet a good group of people on my last day in a place.
written by  exumenius on March 5, 2008 from Brisbane, Australia

Bula, Bula - Night 148
Suva, Fiji
12:15 local time an Air Pacific Boeing 737-300
Last View of Australia
rumbles down the tarmac at Brisbane International Airport bound for Nadi, Fiji thus ending the passenger in seat 32A’s time in Land Down Under. As we lift through the clouds I look back at the verdant landscape of Moreton Island and wondered silently to myself if I will ever return to this place. The answer… I honestly don’t know. This uncertainty in life is both strangely upsetting and spiritually liberating at the same time.
Air Pacific is the way to go. Free beer and friendly service…the only two things I really need on a flight. We touched down in Nadi just prior to the six o’clock hour. The air is thick and warm, the atmosphere jovial. Customs is a breeze, the man didn’t even so much as look up at me. Quarantine was just as simple. The Aquarius resort sent a van to pick me and shuttle me off to their hostel for my one night stay prior to the Awesome Fiji Adventure Tour that I will be starting tomorrow. Rolling through the streets of Nadi, I am reminded of the poverty and squalor that grips Jamaica. To be honest, it isn’t half as bad as Jamaica, but the dichotomy of the glitzy Oceanside resorts and the rustic homes of the local people still exists.
My First Fiji Beer and Sunset
The Aquarius Resort is a small, quiet, clean little place directly on the beach. Occupancy was well below 50% and after dark I had the pool to myself. The waitress kept my table well stocked with Fiji Bitter, a local beer that would pass for quality only in the Midwest. The sea itself is as warm as bathwater and laps softly at the white sand beach. Vicious mosquitoes attacked my feet as I lay in a hammock and stared up at the stars through the swaying palm trees. I packed up a bag to leave in the long term luggage storage and headed to bed early.
What I Learned Today: It appears that the Fijian people are as advertised…the friendliest in the world.
written by  exumenius on March 6, 2008 from Suva, Fiji

The Blue Lagoon - Night 149
Suva, Fiji
South Sea Island
Promptly arriving at 7am, the shuttle bus was filled with passengers anxious to get off the mainland and out into the small islands west of Viti Levu. I had booked a six-day/five night package visiting two island sand offering two nights on a boat. The first five day would be spent in the Yasawa Islands with a day sailing adventure to the Mamanucas at the end of the trip.
View from the Boat
For the first two nights I’m booked at the Sunrise Resort on Nanuya Lailai Island, the absolute last stop on the boat route. We departed at 8:30 and didn’t get to our stop until well after 1pm…though one can’t really complain about a five hour tour through calm tropical seas and amazing island scenery. The resort sent out two small aluminum fishing boats to collect the seventeen passengers and our luggage. We were a diverse group. Introductions revealed that we were made up of citizens of Ireland, Spain, England, the Netherlands, Canada, Israel, Turkey, and, of course, America.
Snorkeling in the Blue Lagoon
After a weak lunch offering, the English, the Irish and I hiked over to the other side of the island to snorkel in the famous Blue Lagoon, apparently the setting for the movie of the same name. The walk was rough, especially in sandals, but was well worth the effort. The reef in the lagoon is absolutely amazing. Just a few feet below the surface lies acres and acres of coral all teeming with multitudes of strangely shaped and oddly colored fish. It is not hard to spend
Drinking Kava by Candlelight
hours with your head in the water contemplating the wonders of nature. We returned in time for a large communal dinner cooked in an underground oven (the traditional Fijian way). Chicken, salad and three different types of Taro, a potato like tuber native the island. At night, we sat around drinking Fiji Gold and Kava (purportedly a slight narcotic made from crushed tree roots) with the village men.
What I Learned Today: Even the most confident of people have a slight fear of public speaking.
written by  exumenius on March 7, 2008 from Suva, Fiji

Cave Diving - Night 150
The Unnamed Cave
Heavy, tropical rain fell all through the night. In my infinite wisdom I left both my towels and my swimming trunks out on the line. Even with the rain and the nets that we slept underneath, the mosquitoes still had a field day on my feet and ankles.
Breakfast consisted primarily of Fijian sweet
The Creature in the Cave
bread and various fruits and melons. On the agenda for the morning was a trip out to some unnamed caves. The 45-minute ride, each way, was provided by Joe’s Water Taxi. Their name itself certainly offers up no illusions of grandeur, and nor should it. Joe’s Water Taxi was nothing more than a 16-foot aluminum boat powered by a 40-hp Evinrude. The driver and his assistant would also function as cave tour guides. I was expecting some small caves filled with sea water, instead what was awaiting us was large limestone caves filled with cold fresh water. In addition to the main cave there is a side cavern accessible only by diving underneath a large rock. The whole journey takes about 3 seconds, but that can seem like an eternity when you are underwater faced with trying to find an airhole amidst the rocks. One of the guides went first so that we would have a flashlight to aim for. The whole experienced sounds worse than it actually is. One of the first ones through, it was eerily being on the other side in a pitch dark cave, floating in cold water with the only sound coming from the faint echoes of the others back in the main cave.
Atop Nanuya Lailai Island
We returned in time for a rather inadequate lunch. On our afternoon hike over to the Blue Lagoon we were caught in a brief, but torrential, downpour that turned the track into a mudslide. This time it was low tide so the snorkeling was even better as you narrowly floated above the coral with millions of fish hardly paying you any attention. I’m beginning to enjoy snorkeling as a calming activity. Rarely in our lives are we aware of our own breathing cycle, but when snorkeling it consumes you. Snorkeling is, no doubt, a highly Buddhist activity…a form of active meditation perhaps. If I were Robert Piesig, I would call my next book Zen and the Art of Snorkeling.
Dinner proved much heartier than lunch. Swimming all day creates quite the appetite. The night time entertainment was advertised as a fundraiser for the local Fijian school. We all expected school children and local music, instead we were subjected to a one-man dance show by Queen, the not entirely heterosexual head of the resort. Nonsensically dancing to some of the 1980s worst songs, his show was bearable only because we had been drinking Fiji Gold for some time.
Our Sunrise Resort Family
Spurred on by the lameness of his presentation, Ken and I cracked open my bottle of Bounty Extra-Proof rum to numb the pain. The rest of the evening followed with lively discussion by all parties on topics ranging from travel to politics to religion. Ollie, the self-employed financier from Denmark, admitted that one of his life’s greatest moments was meeting Bill Clinton in Copenhagen ten years ago. Having travelled widely, he claims to have never met another soul with that much charisma.
What I Learned Today: Don’t try to work Muslim girls….
written by  exumenius on March 8, 2008 from Suva, Fiji

Boarding the Wanna Taki - Night 151
I had to kill another morning at Sunrise Resort
View from the Sunrise
since our boat down south wasn’t due until 1pm. A bit of swimming and some volleyball with the Canadian girls and soon lunch was on. Thankfully it was our last meal at Sunrise. Though I have nothing to compare this place to, I have been unimpressed with the entire resort, the exceptions being the Blue Lagoon and the friendliness of the staff. Eighteen of us boarded the water taxis (the aluminum boats) for the long ride out to the Yasawa Flyer, the main transport boat.
Aboard the Manna Taki
My next stop would be the Wanna Taki, a live-on boat that calls home the water surrounding Naviti Island. Over half of the people from the Sunrise would be joining me aboard the Wanna Taki. Immediately we could see this was going to be much better than the Sunrise Resort. An air-conditioned sleeping room, toilets that work, a TV lounge, full bar, free kayaks and snorkeling trips and, most importantly, decent tasting and ample amounts of food. After settling in, most of us acquiesced to the initiation ritual of jumping off the top deck of the boat. It seems easy enough to do, but looking down the nearly 20 feet into the water will give you second thoughts. The best way to attack this, I thought, was a running start and a headlong dive. The jump is long enough for you to actually think about it on the way down. I over tucked and nearly landed flat on my back.
Dinner was an excellent meal of lamb green
The Yasawa Group Map
curry. The workers played Fijian music while we drank and taught each other drinking games from our respective countries. The night ended with more Kava drinking. This time, I could feel my mouth go numb from its narcotic effects…it must have been mixed of proper strength.
What I Learned Today: Do not play ‘never have I ever’ with an Irishman. His stories will always trump yours.

Another Day on the Boat - Night 152
The Three Dolphin Guides
I haven’t swum this much in years and boy are my arms tired. We snorkeled again in the morning and afternoon. In between I squeezed in two naps and a lunch. The boat moved to a new Harbor spot today and along the way three dolphins joined the boat and performed tricks and turns for us for almost an hour. As we slowed to anchor, our new friends bid us adieu. The crew noted, quite prophetically, that dolphins are unwelcomed visitor as they generally signal the approach of bad weather.
As I write this I am still three days behind on
The Yasawa Flyer
my journal and my will to shower you with the details of my day has waned. It was an early night for all of us, exhausted from the drinking the night before and all the swimming during the day, we gathered round the TV lounge for a movie night. A storm moved in and made for a rolling night aboard the boat. More than one British girl lost her dinner overboard.
What I Learned Today: I am a whore for variety.

Transfer to Bounty Island - Night 153
I slept like a baby. Actually even better than
Our Airconditioned Bunk Deck
that. After breakfast I took a kayaking trip to the nearest beach and built myself a gigantic sand castle that I can only imagine the sea has since reclaimed. Try as I might, I don’t think I’ll leave my mark on Fiji in any way. Temporary as my work will ultimately prove to be, there was a definite sense of atavistic joy found in heaping piles of sand together to form a faux-defense system complete with moat and bamboo-reinforced outer walls. Man is inherently industrious and creative.
In the afternoon the large yellow Yasawa flyer stopped by and whisked me away down to Bounty Island. Ken, the aforementioned Irishman had left the day before and now today the three Canadian girls would be headed another direction. If meeting new people is the yin of travel, then watching them depart a few days later is certainly the yang….and it doesn’t get much easier with practice. On Bounty Island I was reconnected with the two Dutch girls and the Spanish guy from the first night on the islands. Bounty is a tiny little place. After
On Bounty Beach
arrival and check-in I took a circumferential stroll around the island, total walking time: 20 minutes. And that included a stop to talk with one of the security guards and a few sunset photo opportunities. The evening meal was stellar; seafood pasta, fresh salad and dinner rolls and even dessert. Attempting to read in a hammock by the lapping sea while listening to the Fijian band play I drifted off to sleep in a state of complete and total relax.
What I Learned Today: Fiji has the world’s greatest cumulonimbus clouds.
A Fiji Sunset

Sailing the Mamanucas - Night 154
Bounty Island
I have a strange yearning for 7-Up. Seriously, this is what I thought when I woke up today. I had been fiending bacon as well, but the Bounty Island staff delivered in the form of an immense breakfast buffet. The only thing missing was the funny guy in a hat cooking made-to-order omelets. The two Dutch girls and I had a sailing trip planned for the today and our transfer catamaran arrived at 9:30 to take us to Mana Island for a transfer to the Seaspray, the supposedly legendary sailboat that no one outside of west Fiji has ever heard of.
Aboard the Seaspray
The boat was too packed for comfort and the trip started off poorly as I sat on some wet paint and stained the back of my new swim trunks. Good thing they were just a $20 pair from Target. The paint proved to be oil-based and won’t wash out, but at least it sort of matches the color on the shorts, so perhaps only an astute observer will notice my blunder.
The adventure slowly improved. Our first stop
The Mana Island Market
was at a little traditional Fijian village on some island who’s name I cannot pronounce nor remember. The guy chosen to be the chief of our group for the Kava welcome ceremony dropped the bowl of Kava, a very bad sign of gratitude. An impromptu market set up by the Fijian women plied numerous identical goods. The women in our group descended on the market like only women can; holding and examining trinkets, trying on bracelets, fingering the tapestries and in the end emptying their purses on such goods. The men, on the other hand, wallowed in the background occasionally swinging a war axe or eyeing one of the masks, though generally refraining from purchasing anything. I’m guessing they had already spent enough to get to this point…dating, marriage, houses, flights, hotels, boat trips….
We returned to the boat for a stunning lunch straight off the grill. Did I mention the free beer? Well, I guess it wasn’t free as we paid for the trip, I believe the word would be complimentary. After lunch the captain swung us over to the island from the movie Castaway. On one side was the perfect white sand beach and palm trees that kept Tom Hanks alive for all those weeks and on the other some of best snorkeling in the area. I
Tom Hanks' Castaway Island
walked in Tom’s footsteps for a while and then donned the snorkel and fins and dove in the water. It doesn’t take all too long to become entirely proficient with snorkeling gear and in no time I saw my first squid, who I chased about for a bit. He seemed as interested in me as I in him. Once we returned to the boat the drinking began. The couple next to me turned out to be from Sydney and the girl was studying to be a city planner. Good to see we are invading the minds of the youth. It rained on the trip back to the mainland as vicious August-like thunderstorms drenched the hills of Viti Levu and then cleared long enough for an absolutely amazing sunset. I wouldn’t classify it as beautiful, but rather as eerie. The sky had become twisted and shredded into shades and configurations of red and yellow that are generally reserved for abstract art or crime scenes.
Another Fiji Sunset
I spent the night back at the Aquarius resort. Most of the people from the boat were staying there upon my recommendation (I should have asked for a referral discount), so we dined and conversed by the pool until my energy gave out around 11pm.
What I Learned Today: Every girl thinks that they are an expert on how to pick-up all other girls.

Back to U.S. Soil -Night 155
Los Angeles, United States
View from the Pool Lounge
Up to this point I haven’t spoken much about the weather in Fiji and that’s because it’s basically a non-issue. Now that we are past cyclone season, every day brings mid 80s, a bearable level of humidity, and clouds that build during the day and sometimes drop rain on the mainland. Today, my last day here, was different. Today, my last day, It proved to be noticeably cooler and windy to the point where it was uncomfortable to be topless. What a shame, I know. I checked out, packed my bags (in that order) and sat under the thatched roof huts enjoying the light rain and diligently worked on the conclusion to my travel journal. I was having one of those days where I could write. Words and ideas just appeared on the screen. I wish every day was like this. This sense of accomplishment sends all the right chemicals to my brain and, naturally, I basked in the afterglow.
Our taxi (two German girls from the Aquarius
The Aquarius Resort
were on the same flight) arrived at 6:30 and took us to the airport amidst another gorgeous sunset. The last three nights have been some of the top three sunsets I’ve ever witnessed. Check-in was a disaster as we arrived right after a large bus full of retired tourists from Minnesota. Laden with heavy bags and lacking any sort of travel wherewithal, their check-in procedure was painful slow and greatly delayed the entire airport. Feels like I am right at home already. I purchased the required souvenirs, had the best Chinese food of my trip and then spent the remainder of my Fiji cash on one last Fiji Bitter beer. (I’m glad I could end my last entry with the word ‘beer.’
What Learned Today: This is it, the last one…instead of a conclusion here, I’ve put it all together in the next entry entitled “Epilogue.” Read that and hopefully I’ll see you in the coming weeks and we can discuss further.
written by  exumenius on March 13, 2008 from Los Angeles, United States

Epilogue
Los Angeles, United States
Well this is it, the end of living out of a bag for nearly six months. It would be a kitschly little example of my lameness to detail the exact figures of how far I traveled, how many places I visited, much money I spent, and how many people I met because that sort of objectivity is the surest way to misrepresent the true essence of such a journey. Suffice it to say that I spent enough time on planes, trains, busses, boats, and automobiles to be a poster child for Dramamine. Nor would it be an exaggeration to say that I’ve been to more places in Australia and New Zealand than most of the people who live there. Through the past six months I’ve spent what could have been a down payment on a condo in Greenwood or a house in Appleton and I’ve met hundreds of people I’ll never remember and a few I’ll probably never forget. But none of these were the reason for this trip. No, my reasoning was the purest form of epicurean selfishness…I went for me.
I went because I was sick of sitting in an office staring out the window as my mid-twenties rolled by. I went because my incessant reading had given me a terminal case of wanderlust. I went because I was bored. I went because I had the time and the money. But most of all I went because I just had to know what it was like.
Prior to leaving my previous life experiences had taught me that expectations are often the surest way to ruin anything, so I tried to keep them to a minimum. I can’t possibly remember everything I thought last fall, but I’ll try to cover the major ones. Part of me expected all travelers to be interesting and congenial. This is not the case. Identical to the general populace, you have a decent mix of bigots, bitches, douche-bags, weirdos, and dumb asses along with a fair portion of down-right good people. I figured I would meet numerous other American traveling the Southern Hemisphere. This is also simply not true. The guys in my volunteer program notwithstanding, I can probably count the number of Americans I met on both hands. Apparently we don’t leave our country all that often. I expected the time to go really fast; however, it didn’t, although now I understand why this occurred. I thought that I would enjoy doing nothing, when in fact it nearly drove me nuts. I never thought I would miss having a cell phone, though I secretly did.
If you are reading now and thinking that my trip was a total failure, you couldn’t be more wrong. Many things met or exceeded my expectations. When I was preparing to leave, many people couldn’t believe that I was going to live for half of year on what I could fit in my backpack. I fully expected that it wouldn’t bother me in the least and it hasn’t. In fact I threw away more clothes than I purchased. My bag is now lighter than when I started. I expected to be sick, crabby, and lonely at times. And I was. I also expected to be joyously happy, strangely smitten and quixotically confused. And I was. I expected Australia, New Zealand and Fiji to be incredibly beautifully places. They were that and more. I expected to lose weight and come back with a killer tan. I have. I expected to have a lot of time to think. I had much more than I ever could have imagined. But mostly I expected to learn. Learn about the world, about people, and about myself. It is here that all my expectations were grossly exceeded.
I tried to document some of the superficial and some of the deeper, philosophical things I learned in my daily “What I Learned Todays” at the end of each entry, however, most of the true learning wasn’t accomplished in a day, or a week, or even a month for that matter. The following is a list that is by no means all encompassing of some of the things I learned, and now pray, that I do not forget.
• Be more observant but less judgmental. Recognize differences as neither better nor worse, but simply different.
• Value relationships above all else. Do not take friendships for granted.
• Retain a balance between hard work and idle wonderment. Too much of either is debilitating
• Anything great and worthwhile takes time to grow.
• Real change, at any level, personal or otherwise, is very, very difficult.
• The grass on the other side, though a different shade, is not always “greener”. But sometimes it is, and the only way to truly find out it to jump the fence.
• I need something to work on, something to do, something to expend mental and physical energy on. Idleness kills me.
• Perception is often more important than the actual experience
• Traveling amplifies your moods.
• At any given moment life is 30% to 80% chance. Learn to accept this. Play the odds if you must, but don’t be disappointed when chance falls not in your favor.
• Never underestimate the power of a stare.
• Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. If you don’t know which way your dreams direct you, just go confidently in any direction. Something will work out.
• Everyone is just as confused and neurotic as I am. Well, at least confused.
• The world is a huge place and incredibly small at the same time.
• Accept aging and enjoy it. Reminisce with a smile and not with longing.
• Too much order is boring, too little is schizophrenic. i.e. Random is good in small doses. Relish the uncertainty in your life.
• Damocles and his Sword possess ageless wisdom.
• You’ll never know if you don’t ask.
• Control over our own mind is the only form of control we should ever strive for. This in itself is a Herculean task. Desiring control over anything more is childish at best and despotic at worst.
• The rest of the world loves American culture, America’s founding ideals, and American opportunities, however, our political system, voter apathy, gun control laws, xenophobia, and lack of trains absolutely mystifies them.
• Most people, myself included, want neither to be #1 in a village in the Alps, nor #2 in Rome, but rather would just like to have a dynamic community of good friends.
• Industriousness (in a female) is an incredibly appealing trait.
• Live in the moment.
I fully acknowledge that many of these ‘learnings’ sound a bit Hallmark-ish, but I suppose such is the nature of certain inalienable truths. All of this bullet list, made-for-the-self-help-aisle summarization aside I must proudly proclaim that not all of my experience can, nor should be, encapsulated in cute little maxims and ill-adjusted haikus. Bear with me as I digress into what will likely be a rambling, semi-incoherent stream of consciousness:
“Location, location, location” says the ex-high school quarterback now touting a real estate broker’s license. Translation: No two places are the same, each is unique in its own way. By virtue of the physics of the two dimensional space occupying the face of the earth, this very statement is the epitome of an axiomatic truth. Each of Fiji’s 300 plus islands and each of Australia’s amazing coastal vistas and each of New Zealand’s fjords and mountains are themselves unique and different in a physical sense. As humans we experience all of this variety first through our sensory perception of it and secondly through our memory of it. Basically, though chemical reactions our eight pound ball of soft tissue internalizes everything this wonderful world has to offer. After awhile Fiji’s island become just another island, and Australia’s coastal vistas just another vistas and New Zealand’s…oh, you get the idea. But wait - A caveat: This isn’t to say these places become less enjoyable, they simply begin to run together in your mind, becoming more alike than their inherent uniqueness would warrant. (Note: some places cannot be marginalized as such…Uluru, Milford Sound, the Grand Canyon, etc). Try as we might, this process cannot be avoided. Thus, the physical realities of travel begin as a million special places and wind up being collections of types of places. It is factor analysis on a grand, geographic scale.
People on the other hand are experienced in the opposite taxonomic direction. Everyone we meet begins as simply male or female, then becomes old white female, young Fijian male on down the line. This process happens lightening quick. Traveling teaches you to almost immediately identify nationality based on a vast array of qualities. For example, without even hearing the language being spoken, you can almost guarantee than any group of more than four girls or guys traveling together are British or Irish, especially if they are being abnormally loud and/or complaining about something. German and Dutch girls are likely to be found in pairs and dressed much more conservatively than their Anglo neighbors. A very thin couple found smoking is bound to be French. Canadians, regardless of their number are dressed strange, but not as strange as the Aussie men who are also given away by their haircuts. Surprisingly, I don’t know how to spot an American over here, since I didn’t meet enough of them to develop telling points. I don’t say all of this to demonstrate some preternatural power of perception I’ve developed (believe me, I haven’t) but rather to explain what goes through my mind walking into a hostel bar or at a group introductory meeting. Plus, there are always exceptions to the rule.
However, it is not until you meet and talk to people that they begin to take on a unique dimension. Well most of them at least. (As I expressed earlier, some of them are simply your run of the mill British gap year pisshead or boring, chubby Irish girls, but most aren’t.) I couldn’t possibly summarize all the different people I talked with, but one correlation did seem to underlie it all. The more disgruntled people are about their ‘real life’ back home, the more completely they have thrown themselves into their travel experience. I am not so sure the opposite hold true. Nonetheless, through this observation I came to internalize the second most important realization of my trip: I have a great life back home. Talking to all these people I now know that I’ve done a better job chasing my dreams (as shifting and changing as they may be) and building a solid community of friends than I often give myself credit for. I came to realize that I went on this trip not to run away from a life I didn’t like, but simply to augment what has, so far, been an amazing twenty-seven years on this planet. Likewise, in no way does this eschatological ‘a-ha’ diminish my trip at all. Nor does it mean I will go back to being the same person I was before I left. Quite the opposite, as I feel it can only help me build and change for the better. It has also shown me that I can do this sort of thing again (and probably will), with the knowledge that I can treat it as a learning experience and not an exodus from regular life. It will not leave me content with what I have but it will remind me to cherish my life and ultimately provide me with the impetus to improve upon it with the zeal and endless energy necessary to change.
What then you may be asking is the single most important thing I’ve realized? Here it is: I am what I am. I like the things I do for a reason, a reason that is my own and that is what makes it a powerful reason. We all live in our own realities and I happen to like mine, regardless of the praise and or criticism the world may shower upon it. The same goes for other people’s realities. Once upon a time (not long ago) I thought that the life of a permanent traveler, that dreadlocked guy with a backpack and worn out shoes, to be the ultimate life. After observing these guys and girls in action, I know that it just isn’t for me. I simply cannot sit at a table, rolling my own cigarettes, drinking coffee and talking about past concerts for days on end, trying to squeeze every penny out the money I made working at the hostel’s front desk. I am not condemning this sort of life. Rather, I’ve accepted that, at this point in my life (a life based on my past experiences and social environment), I need something productive to work on…even if it just finishing a good non-fiction book. The world takes all kinds and as much as I try to be a polymath, there is a certain segment that I fit into. Everyone does to some degree. The problem arises when we fail to accept others who don’t fit into our small, minute pigeon hole. This understanding does not mean I’ll never change; in fact it has given me the courage to accept that someday I can be the yeoman farmer living off the land in Nova Scotia, or the condo-living writer in Seattle or the small business owner on the Mexican coast. But only if these life changes come to me through my experience-built realities and not through force.
I am well over 2,000 words and in danger of repeating myself and/or sounding existentially obtuse….so, in sum, it was a wild ride. One that I’ll never forgot. One that will change my life for the better. One that I’ll be able to look back upon with tender merriment. One that I can only hope each of you will get to experience sometime (maybe with me in a few years). And, finally, one that I am glad is over.
written by  exumenius on March 14, 2008 from Los Angeles, United States

My Foster Home

Perth Skyline

At Cottesloe

The City from the South Bank

Cottesloe Beach

My Foster Family and I

The City from Kings Park

Kings Park

The Adelaide Conservatory

Sunset in Adelaide

The Glenelg Beach

A Wee Creature

The City from the Gardens

Marriot's Rooftop Pool

THE Italian Place to eat in Kirrabilli

Paolo and I on the rocks near Bondi

The Aquarium

Jagermeister in Sydney

Charlie on Stage

Sydney from the Ferry

The Iceman

Hyde Park

World Famous Bondi Beach

Charlie and I at Manly Beach

A Koala and I

Boat Ride from Koala Sanctuary

Brisbane at Night

A Meal at the Volunteer House

Petting a Roo'

Drinking on the Boat

Boat Ride Home

Chilling with the Roos'

New Friends on the Boat

Drunk on the Train

Brisbane from the Air

Brisbane Square

Some Church Downtown

The Volunteer House

Brisbane Skyline

Mangrove Swamp

Brisbane from the Pedestrian Bridge

Last View of Australia

City at Night II

City at Night I

The City at Dusk

The Meat Market

The Queen Victoria Market

The City from the Botanical Gardens

At Sister Something's Bar

Ned Kelly's Iron Vest

The Melbourne Cathedral

State Library of Victoria Reading Chamber

National Gallery

The Olympic Memorial

Outside the Royal Cricket Grounds

The Skyline

Melbourne from St. Kilda Pier

Beach Wakeboarding

Scott's Birthday Party

Chinese New Year Celebration

On top of the YHA

The Kum Den

Amazing Street Art

Leaving Melbourne

The Aquarius Resort

The Yasawa Flyer

Bounty Island

Another Fiji Sunset

On Bounty Beach

Aboard the Seaspray

A Fiji Sunset

Tom Hanks' Castaway Island

The Mana Island Market

View from the Pool Lounge

My First Fiji Beer and Sunset

The Unnamed Cave

Drinking Kava by Candlelight

South Sea Island

The Creature in the Cave

Atop Nanuya Lailai Island

Snorkeling in the Blue Lagoon

View from the Boat

The Yasawa Group Map

Our Sunrise Resort Family

Aboard the Manna Taki

Our Airconditioned Bunk Deck

The Three Dolphin Guides

View from the Sunrise

The Group plus the Sea Lion

900 lb Sea Lion

Waikapu Point

Nugget Lighthouse

By the Falls

One Huge Tower of Chocolate

Dunedin Railway Station

$12 Haircut Bar

Chess in Cathedral Square

The Cathedral

Some Church

International Antarctic Center

Inside the Antarctic Center

New Brighton Pier

New Brighton Beach

The Canterbury Art Gallery

dDub at Al's Bar

The Center of the City

The World Croquet Championships

Leaving Stonehurst at 4am

The Avon River

New Year's Eve

Wellington from Mt. Victoria

View from Belmont Park

Kowhai House

Pauatahanui Park Headquarters

The Korakora Dam

Makara Park

Sunset from the Volunteer House

The Eastbourne Beach

Group Photo at Makara

View from Makara Peak

Makara Peak

Weeding at Eastbourne

Ray's House

Diving off the Eastbourne Pier

Sunset in New Zealand

Resetting the Trap

An 800-year old Monster

Destroying a Computer

The Trash Palace

Te Papa

The Wellington Waterfront

Belmont Trig

A Meal at BurgerWisconsin

View from Belmont Trig Peak

Lunch on the Porch

Kapiti Island in the Distance

The Prize Catch

The Fern Forest

Lunch in the Glen

Getting Instructions from Terry

The Sentinel

Two Americans Playing Cricket

Group Photo at Cape Palliser

Cape Palliser

Seal on the Rocks

Tasman Sea in the Background

The Hills of Belmont

Botanical Gardens

Parliament Building

Nga Manu Jungle

Our Tree

Bowling Action

Kapiti Island

Nga Manu

Trimming the Flax

Full Moon over the Harbour

At the Karaoke Bar

In the Cab with the British Girls

The Lower Hutt Jungle

Cape Palliser looking South

A Wary Seal

Christmas Eve Dinner

Christmas Day Barbecue

Kiwi Black Jack

Eastbourne Beach

All Packed and Ready to Go

New Year's Eve Barbecue

Interislander Ferry

Karori Cemetary

The Wellington Harbour

The Big Board

Bradley Terminal, LAX

Me, Daniel and Charlie

Drinks at Koala's

The Beach

Catching some Rays

Noosa National Park

Hell's Gate, Noosa NP

The Last Supper

Volleyball on the Beach

The Apartment

View from the Apartment

Auckland Town Hall at Dusk

The City from the museum hill

White Mountain (a volcano) in the background

The City from Mt. Eden

White Mountain from Mt. Eden

The World's Greatest Burgers

The Glacier

The Blue Ice Bar

Southern Alps

Along the Alex Knob Trail

Franz Josef from Above

The Chateau Franz

Lake Matheson

High Above the Glacier

Lake Wanaka

Wanaka from Mt. Iron

Sunset over Lake Wanaka

PuzzlingWorld

The Original Bungy

The Purple Cow

The Luxmore Hut

The View

In the Emergency Shelter

Down the Ridge

The Iris Burn Falls

Sunrise in the Valley

The Iris Burn Hut

The Deep Forest

The Motarua Beach

The End

Te Anau YHA

The Remarkables

Climbing on the Ben Lomond Trail

High Above Queenstown

7 on 7 Rugby Action

Kawarua Bridge

Queenstown from Across the Water

The Homer Tunnel

A Fallen Leaf

On the Boat

The Milford Sound

Mitre Peak

On e of Many Waterfalls

The Limestone Cliffs

The Beginning

Rock n Ropes Park

Wai Te Pu Hot Pools

Huka Falls

Taupo Bungy

Mt. Ruapeho

Mt. Ngauruhoe (Mt. Doom)

Blue Lake

Mt. Ngauruhoe

Tongariro Crater

Steam Vents

The Emerald Lakes

Deep in the Cave

The Waitomo Creek

Pepin Island

Lunch in the Cove

Pepin Island Kayaking

Downtown Nelson

The Geographic Centre of New Zealand

Enjoying our Free Beer at Monteith's

Pancake Rocks at Punakiaki

Pouring a Pint at Monteith's

Byron Point

Drinks at the Cheeky Monkey

The Caravan Park

Rafting the Kairuna

Rotorua Museum

The Fire I Started

Our Kings Canyon Campground

Scooter took a Fall

At Kings Canyon

Kings Canyon

Finally

No Idea What is Happening Here

Uncle Sam Wants You

Post Trip Pisser at Annie's

Crazy Swiss

Chilling in the Pool

Sunset over Alice

Pl;aying with Reptiles

Thorny Devils

The Tropic of Capricorn

Typical Outback Scenery

The Devil's Marbles

Me and a Marble

Aboriginal Rock Art

The Lonely Train Station

My Artistic Sunset Photo

Lake Hart

Welcome to Nowhere

The Mining Museum

Our Underground Accomodation

Lake Pukaki

Evening BBQ

Sunset over Lake Tekapo

The Observatory

The Little Town of Tekapo

Rottnest Island

Rottnest Beach

The Freo YHA

Indian Ocean Sunset

Fremantle Streetscape

Bather's Beach

The Beginning of the Stuart Highway

Mataranka Thermal Pools

Almost There

Swimming with the Crocs

The Katherine Gorge

Downtown Nimbin

Main Street Nimbin

Halfway There

Kata Tjuta (The Olgas)

The Rock

Scooter and the Booze

Drinking at Uluru

Our Kitchen

Sunrise at Uluru

Look....a rock

The Whale

The Brits Hard at Work

The Cause of All Our Problems

Reedy Creek Ranch

The Crew on the Veranda

The Troupee in Taroom

Napping in the Hammock

Giving the Brits What They Deserve

Our Friendly Wallaby

Pomerica Peak

Reedy Creek

Affixing the Flag

Miles Caravan Park

Exhausted in Toowoomba

The Dragonweyr Homestead

Swimming in the Dam

Local Wildlife

Huck Finn?

Clouds Moving in

The Granite Belt Vista

Climbing Aussie Style

Home (for two weeks)

The Forge and Our Kitchen

Our Lovely Trail

A Stupid Pose

A Woo-Boy

Our Tent City

Inspecting the Track

Adrian Hammers Away

Manning the Forge

Strike While the Iron is Hot

Jana at Work

The Boys Working Hard

Digging out Rocks with Jana

Pizza Night

Hard at Work

Moon at Dragonweyr

Lightening on the Horizon

Full Moon at Dragonweyr

Chilling at the Forge

Championship Spoons

Group Photo

Daniel in the Wheelbarrow

The Mexican Chef

Taco Night in Bribie

Our Fearless Bus

On Top of Wilpena Pound

The Nothingness of the Outback

The Pelorus Bridge

Back of the Ferry

The Marlborough Sound

The City of Picton

The Villa in Picton

Kaiuma Creek

Nydia Bay from the Saddle

Te Mahoerangi Resort

Our Hike

The Nydia Bay Pier

Duncan Bay

Tennyson Inlet

The Ancient Watertower

The World's Southermost McDonalds (sort of)

The World's Steepest Steps

A Game of Cricket

Downtown Invercargill

Stewart Island in the Distance

The Estuary Walkway

World's Steepest Street

Penguin Colony

Whisky Distillery and Pub

The Daly Waters Pub

Charlie the Water Buffalo (of Crocodile Dundee fame)