Our mechanic’s name is Malan. He has two rows of tiny, compact teeth, and wears a silver chain around his neck that is ill suited for a man his age. While he was fiddling around in the engine this morning, mumbling curses under this breath, I Googled “What kind of name is Malan.” My results were inconclusive, but Eric tells me from their sessions of man talk in his office that he’s from South Africa. All that I know about him is that his favorite phrase of the past 48 hours has been, “I honestly don’t know what to tell you.” Eric, meanwhile, has been offered tea for two and has a direct phone line to the repairman with small teeth. He’s now our closest acquaintance in New Zealand. I think he and Eric might already be BFF. ALSO, the van is inexplicably fucked. More tests to follow tomorrow.

-K

^Mt. Cookie!
^Repainting kitchen cupboards on the beach in my underwear. Which now we know might all be for nothing, depending on the magnitude of the repair. Palm to face.