Skiffer the Drifter

Twelve hours.  Today.  Writing my personal statement.  I'm up to draft five, and still not at all confident.  But, at least now it has all the major ideas in there.

Please volunteer to proofread, dear friends.  I need all the help I can get.

PS. More to come on U2 ticket mania, another ill-fated yarn expedition, and a fabulous weekend in Wellington.  When I stop going cross-eyed from staring at my computer screen.

I HAVE TICKETS TO SEE U2 IN AUCKLAND!!!!!!!!!

Agony is when you are U2 fan club member, and U2 is coming to New Zealand for the first time in 4 years,  and you find out that the U2 fan club tickets go on sale the day that you are trapped on a bus for TEN HOURS with NO INTERNET and therefore you CANNOT BUY TICKETS ON THE DAY THEY GO ON PRESALE.  THAT, my friends, is agony.

I'm seriously considering changing my bus ticket.  No, really.

U2 ARE COMING TO NEW ZEALAND IN NOVEMBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


ieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Phrases that I have unselfconsciously uttered in the last 48 hours that were only heard in films 3 years ago:

-bloody hell
-it's a pisser
-kia ora
-she'll be right
-a bit dodgy, that
-whinging
-Yes, quite
-Pardon?
-Oi!

...also, calling movies "films".

Bloody hell.  I'm turning into a bloomin' Kiwi.  Ah well.  She'll be right.

So, I had a day off today, and I'm out of the particular shade of blue yarn needed to complete my latest crochet project, so I decided to drive down to Napier.  Plus, they have good wine, better shops, and a gourmet chocolate factory.  Road trip!

Usually I avoid the road down to Napier for two reasons: One, it is really, really scary.  Two, it makes me homesick.

As my friend M can attest, Gisborne is a really hard place to get to.  He's tried three times to get here, but no luck.  This is part of what I love about it: the people who are here generally want to be here and made a special effort to get here.  (M, if you do make it here, I'd love to see you.)  The flip side is, you have to make a special effort to leave, even if only for a day to pick up some yarn.  The road to Napier is no exception.  Driving along this road, you weave your way along a rather slender highway along the coast that is prone to washouts (especially with the weather lately... oy.)  Up and down, in and out.  If you go by the projected speed limit, it should take about two hours.  In reality, it's closer to 3, and that's if the weather is good.  The drive is, as always in New Zealand, stunningly beautiful.  I've heard the East Coast described as desolate, and it always puzzles me.  The Burren is desolate.  Mars and Antarctica are desolate.  The Australian outback is desolate.  The East Coast is verdant.  Forestry blocks with majestic pines snuggle up next to native ferns and the exotic-looking endemic podocarp trees (which sound like they should be a fish but aren't.)  Only in comparison to the rest of New Zealand would anyone contemplate calling this place desolate.  And there are also some random corn fields.

Corn fields.  Like at home, but much, much smaller.

Damn you, Kiwi maize farmers!  Why can't you import your corn from Australia like the rest of the Southern Hemisphere?  I had hoped that it would all be harvested by now, thus sparing me the spurts of homesickness that cornfields spur, but no such luck.

Le sigh.

Aside from that, the journey was going well.  I was making good time, and stopped for a quick stretch-and-coffee-break in Wairoa, which is about halfway between Gisborne and Napier, and spent a lovely few minutes walking along their Marine Parade.  I had a very nice coffee in a lovely and colorful shop whose name I've already forgotten, and then set off again.

Twenty minutes out of town, I started climbing a massive hill.  Really, a baby mountain.  Now, Steve-O, my formerly-trusty old Subaru, does not like hills.  Or baby mountains.  So halfway up, the check engine light clicked on and smoke started gently wafting out from under the hood.

um.......

Now, here is where I pledge to make another donation to NPR, because Click and Clack, you were the ones who taught me that if ever smoke comes out from under the hood, I should pull over RIGHT NOW.  Thankfully, not 5 seconds up the road was a forestry block roadway.  I pulled in, turned of the engine, grabbed my bag, and ran away from the car in case it exploded.  (Yes, really.)

After 10 minutes, the car hadn't exploded, and there was no more smoke, so I cautiously approached the car.  It seemed to lurk at me like a trapped and wounded animal, the kind that might lurch out at you suddenly for no reason.  Nervously, I opened the hood, expecting an explosion, or at least a burst of flame.  No more smoke, but a definite burning smell.  And some sort of greenish puddle under the car.  I would have bet money that it was a coolant leak.

A very nice lady in a rural veterinarian van stopped.  I gave her my details, and she said she'd call AA for me when she got back to an area with cell phone reception.  She was very nice.  And the weather was fairly warm, and the trees very pretty.  I pulled out a boogie board and a blanket and sat by the road to wait for the mechanic.

Time past, seasons changed, children grew older.... Well, at least, an hour passed anyway.  I started categorizing and counting cars that passed.  Then I started figuring out what percentage of traffic was represented by each type of car. (Logging trucks = 22%)  Two hours, my unofficial "the mechanic isn't coming" limit passed.  And...

A nice man in a telephone company truck stopped and asked if I was OK.  So I told him the story (minus the percentages and running away in fear), and he said he was, once upon a time, a mechanic.  So he looked under the hood, and found a ruptured coolant hose in two minutes flat.  He fixed it with duct tape from his car, and we both emptied our water bottles into the reservoir.  That, he said, would get me to the stream at the bottom of the hill.  The duct tape, he figured, would get me into Wairoa.  He was right.  I cruised down the hill in neutral (because maybe that would hurt the car less?) and, using my water bottle, slowly ferried water from the stream to the coolant reservoir, 750ml at a time.  I had some coolant fluid  in my trunk area, so I dumped some of that in too, and with one eye on the temperature gauge the whole way, made my way to the first service station in Wairoa.  They said that because I had pulled over so soon, they didn't think there was any engine damage, and they could replace the hose that day (for far too much money).  Not having much choice, I agreed and went back to the cafe where I'd had the yummy coffee to sulk.

And the ladies there gave me a free muffin!  It was a savory muffin with cream cheese, and it totally cheered me up.  And then my car was fixed, I overpaid the mechanic, and I drove home.  Without having eaten gourmet chocolate or gotten the right yarn.  But, hey, free muffin.

This, I feel, is just *such* a Kiwi moment.  From the forestry block, to the lack of cell phone coverage, to the duct-tape and stream water solution.  Oh, and the terror followed by kindness.  If you asked me to sum up what being so far from home is like, it would be that: whenever it feels terrifying, you find yourself surrounded by kindness.

So, the moral of the story is: 1. Steve-O REALLY hates hills. and 2.  Cornfields make me really homesick, but the Kiwis can cheer me right up.

So, I'm in a bit of an odd spot: I'm trying to plan a winter vacation.  One week, roughly $1000 budget, narrowed down to three contenders.  Votes welcome:

1. Wellington, NZ:  I've been here before, and guess what: I like it.  Enough that I want to go back for a week.  They have NZ amounts of theater, good running trails, lots of live music, and a good friend of mine lives there.  And this is my least expensive option, and I could check out my possible grad school's campus while I'm there.  On the other hand: the weather sucks.  As in, a LOT.  And I would kind of like to go somewhere I haven't been before.  And I could easily do Wellington later in the year as a weekend trip.

2. Sydney, AUS: I HAVE NOT YET GOTTEN ACROSS "THE DITCH!"  This whole (mis)adventure started with wanting to go to Australia, and I haven't been there yet.  Sydney would be a brief start, and I'm kind of missing big-city amenities.  Like Wellington, they have theater (including what is probably the most famous opera house in the world), lots of live music, good running trails, and shopping, but they *also* have drag queens.  World-famous drag queens.  And, oh my goodness, do I miss the fabulous sparkles. And beaches.   HOWEVER, if I don't get into grad school next fall (NZ time), then I'll go there anyway, in time for Mardi Gras, and possibly live there for a few months.  And it isn't much warmer than Gisborne is in the winter time.  Which brings us to option number three...

3. The South Coast, Suva, Fiji:  This is the most expensive and risky option.  After carefully studying the tourist possibilities of several Pacific Island nations, Fiji seems the best set up for the single female vegetarian traveler.  (These things must be considered.)  They have world-class diving, sandy beaches, surfing that is far too heavy for me to even think about, and, oh yes, it's WARM.  There are a lot of young people about, and they tend to be happy, drunk, and friendly.  Also, I'm not sure if I would go there if I don't go now.  But part of that is my somewhat less than burning desire to visit any teeny, impoverished nation in the middle of nowhere with recurring governmental issues (no jokes, please.)  But, then again, SUN and SCUBA.

But this is new to me: before I've either traveled with friends(the Bahamas), family (France, Ireland, most of the USA), or just moved somewhere (London, New Zealand).  This whole thing of planning somewhere that I'll go for a week is very bizarre.  Whereas, on the other hand, if you told me that I have to move to Australia in two months, I would totally know how to plan for that.  I think the only time I've done this before was the first time I went to Cozumel.

By which I mean, I just spent over an hour typing a thoughtful, well-edited post for your perusal, and the website couldn't load it and now it's gone.

I'll try again in the next day or two.  Bugger.

Meme for any friends still reading this: what are the first three words that come to mind when you hear the word "money"?

Sorry for the long delay.

Things have been a little rough in what is usually my seaside paradise.  Part of this is moving into a new and wonderful flat which does increase my necessary spending by about $200 a month. Ouch.  I hate worrying about money, but I'm currently living as close to my means as I ever really care to.

Also, I'm supposed to direct a play for a local theater group, but things are not going well.  The last play the group did was a financial flop, which totally changes the pressures on their next selection.  Only they have a committee with 8 people and 12 opinions, so things are not going well.  And I'm getting frustrated with the terrible communication.  LE SIGH.

And I've been not-exactly-fighting-but-not-really-getting-along with a coworker.  I'll let you guess which one.

And it is fucking autumn.  Which means, no more summer.  Which means, the waves are really big and the water is getting cold. GRUMPY.

But a few things are looking up.  Despite the aforementioned flat/money worries, my flatmates might just be the nicest people in the world.  K manages the iSite (tourist information center) in town, has trained as a chef, and travelled the world, so she has an incredible wealth of knowledge about almost everything I'm interested in, though her culinary interests are more Continental while mine are a weird combination of Southeast Asian and American.  And she doesn't get angry at me when I forget to do the dishes.  (Especially since I clean the bathroom on a pretty regular basis.  I hate doing dishes, but I don't mind scrubbing the toilet... yeah, I can't figure it out either.)  B, well, the best way I can describe him is to say he is a bloke.  He's a big guy, and he likes big cars, rugby, and grilling meat.  However, he will tolerate veggie patties on his barbecue, though he isn't sure about grilled mushroom caps stuffed with pesto.  I'm going to keep working on that one.  Also, I have never, ever, ever seen him eat any fruit or vegetable that isn't a potato, carrot, or some lemon juice squirted on fish.  I'm not sure how he doesn't have scurvy or rickets, but I'm pretty sure my med school friends would love to find out.  In return for me trying to convince him to take just one bite of some vegan food, he's trying to convince me that cricket isn't the most pointless and boring game ever invented.  Neither of us will give up, but I don't think either of us actually expect anything to change.

Also, I've set myself the goal of participating in the Queen Charlotte Classic next spring.  Which should renew my focus when it comes to exercise.  I've lagged a bit lately, and I haven't been feeling good because of it.  Now I just have to learn how to use an open-sea kayak.  But, hey, I've got all winter.

Last winter, I started running with a local running club, the Harriers (original, I know), and some of the members have been at me about coming back this year for more races.  Yay!  They miss having the slowest person there!  This was a worry last year.

However, I do need a greater goal for this winter.  I've had one for each of the last two winters; the first winter in Christchurch it had to do with writing an essay on Shakespeare that I never did write, but had a lot of fun thinking about.  Last winter it was writing my play, which turned into about 5 comedy sketches and some monologues, but was also fun to think about.  Also last winter was the joy of learning how to do vegetarian cooking.  (Still working on that, though I made a lovely shepherdess pie tonight; I totally didn't follow my recipe and used brown lentils instead of tempeh, and hot damn was it tasty... I'm making it again.)   I'm not sure what my project will be this winter, but I need something.  until then I'm going to walk around feeling all vaguely discontented.  Which isn't good.

Soon to come (and I do mean that): Wellington Internation Ukulele Orchestra review, the best Kiwi movie I've seen in the last two years, and possibly more stories from last New Year's, because I never did talk about R&V; only Baywatch

...and it was really, really boring.

Pretty, but boring.