Author: KandE

From the handles of his walker, his shopping lay suspended in plastic bags. Six trays of meat and a bottle of ketchup.


by KandE

Our social circle is expanding and we are THRIVING in Timaru. Our best friend count has now increased to TWO today with the new addition of Charlie.

When he first sat down beside us, full of lopsided grins and good manners, I disregarded him as just another elderly fellow with a walker needing a rest. I wasn’t planning on having any manner of extended conversation beyond pleasantries, as I was planted on that particular bench to swipe Wifi from the nearby grocery store. But MAN, when Charlie asked us if we wanted to see something that would “freak us out,” a dialogue really opened up. After the invitation to view his left foot, sans shoe, four of five little piggies permanently off to market, we were instantly bonded. From there he proceeded to tell us about his blood clots, hospitalization, and getting hit by a car, while he cracked open a bourbon and cola mixer. (No stories, however, about the 4 missing teeth.)

Between sips, our new pal took care to politely ask about us as well. When he heard we were Americans his excitement could hardly be contained, quizzing us to see if we’d been to Brooklyn and if we knew Neil Diamond. This was the pivotal moment when our newfound friendship became official, and he formally introduced himself. Outstretching his right hand, showing off the faded spiderweb inked across the back, the three of us shook hands, sharing open smiles. Our intimacy only grew from there as the topic turned to tender love. “So, are you going to marry her?” he questioned Eric, his head swiveling spastically between the two of us. My love let out an embarrassed chuckle before countering, “I don’t know, should I?” “Of course!” replied our new friend, eyes bulging as he sagely counseled us on our future. “Of course you should get married!” After thanking him for his guidance and advice, we parted ways, both parties smiling, shaking their heads.

-K

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^ Speaking of alcohol… and a first! Red, red wiiiiine! Strictly NZ, however. Gotta drink local, support the economy. Doing the duty.

Gleniti Auto Shop


by KandE

Today has been a day of tummy aches.

The first wave of nausea I came by honestly. Really, that’s what you get for sitting in the passenger seat at the grocery store, a giant slab of “moist chocolate cake” in your lap, and your fingers for forks. I attacked that colossal rectangle of sugar with much gusto, zero grace. The cake then repaid the favor, attacking me in turn.
Aching tummy.
Tummy. Ache.
(Happy birthday, Judy!)

The second episode today wasn’t chocolate induced, but the kind of ache that festers from a deep, little nugget of frustration, foreboding, and stress. The final diagnosis on the van: a cracked head. Whatever the EFF that means. (Eric tried to patiently explain the situation but lost me at “pistons.”) According to Malan, the new BFF, it’s an additional $2,800 to fix, plus the $400 charge already levied upon us for 3 days of head scratching.
Ouch.
I know I’m more affected than I outwardly show or recognize, because when my dear is visibly distressed, I cleave my yin to his yang to try and retain some measure of balance + harmony.

Lastly in today’s misadventures of the stomach: the universe is listening. And the universe hates us.
Cooking dinner, camping in the back parking lot of the auto shop, I SAY the motherfucking cursed words: I HOPE OUR LPG RUNS OUT WHILE WE ARE HERE. HA, HA. A mere 5 minutes later, trying to mix my raw steak into a sizzling mess of hot veggies, the burner dimmed, shuddered, and disappeared altogether. Apparently my poor wit in noticing that the auto shop advertised gas refills was mistaken as an urgent, celestial plea for a ruined dinner, as the shop had closed 10 minutes previous. That wasted $8 of sustenance had me closer to tears than a figure 400x that amount as quoted by Malan. (Hey, boo.)

I miss home.

-K

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^ Exploring the Victorian district of Oamaru, a sweet little town to the south.

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^ Old photos to fill in while we waste away our days at the town bibliotheca.

Timaru


by KandE

Calm. That’s the word. Sometimes relaxed, but mostly calm. This has been my assigned label for the past several years by casual acquaintances and coworkers. I get it. Sort of. But it just means we’ve never played a board game together, nor engaged in any kind of competitive activity. Rolling dice, dealing cards, cracking a croquet ball, and I’m likely a raging menace. Which is why after 171 recorded games of rummy, Eric is calling for a cessation in game play.

… I get it.

I want to be cool, I do. I’m not proud of the number of times I’ve overturned boards and pieces during family game nights. I’m still embarrassed by that afternoon when I was 14, throwing a miniature golf club manically around hole #12 in town, with my daddio vowing to never bring me back again. I have managed to rein in my bad behavior over the years, but this new rummy obsession has been my un-fucking-doing. Eric is the enemy. I’m demented with my desire to win. I now require deep breaths and closed eyes to restrain my impulses to throw cards and bang fists upon every dramatic loss. And I think what the eff is going on?
.

.

.

For the record: on truly important matters in life, my behaviors are much more mature and optimistic. I’m not usually such a demon, I promise.

-K

2016-02-23_0006^Speaking of undoings, let’s chat about how making mushroom and butternut risotto with Bulgarian sheep’s feta should only be attempted by the bravest of campervan cooks. Nightmare. But a delicious one.

 

Waihao Box


by KandE

I had the beach all to myself this morning. I sat in my little pile of pebbles to watch the sun rise over the Pacific. What started out as “I’m too cold” and “This is taking too long” slowly morphed into “This is all for me?!” and “Mmm, now I want cotton candy.” By the end of my 30 minute vigil I was literally laughing, cheering, and tearing up, witnessing the full procession of light + color parade across the sky. Life’s certainly grand if you allow it to be.

-K

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^Eric, meanwhile, refused to be moved. 😉

Waihao Box


by KandE

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

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^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.

Timaru


by KandE

I can think of several ways to begin tonight’s entry.

Waiting is an exhausting business.
“Come back and pay tomorrow,” hey says.
We are considering cutting all losses and heading to Indonesia.

Let’s just leave things there, shall we?

-K

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Mt. Cook


by KandE

“Is far? Top?” a woman with short legs and red cheeks asks us as we pass. “It’s a way yet. Right up there at those rocks,” I respond, directing a pointer finger several hundred feet higher, many degrees closer to a molten, midday sun. As she follows my gaze, I can tell by her silence that she is defeated. “Thank you,” she manages between short, sharp breaths of exertion, and we each continue on our way.

I found it incredibly amusing yesterday during our tramp (read: hike) that Eric and I were being repeatedly stopped, questioned over our trail knowledge. It makes sense that in a sea of slogging uphillers that the long pair making the descent might hold the key to Pandora’s box. To be seen as an authority with our there-and-back status entertained me to no end with all of our bumbling, amateur foibles in previous ascents. Eric is in white low tops and jeans for Chrissakes while I haven’t worn a bra in months. No waterproof pants masquerading as zip-off shorts for us, nor any pretentious facial hair, hiking sticks, or snappy neon pullovers with too many pockets. Our attire is better suited for a shopping mall vs. a mountaintop, but we hike just the same.

At this point in the story you miiiight be wondering why we were along in our descent? Aha! Yes! Now is my opportunity to boast that we only hit the snooze button 3 times when the alarm sounded at 5am. We arrived at the mountain by 6. We were on the trail with peanut butter sandwiches packed before 7, just in time for sunrise. Never mind that dense layers of moisture blocked our view as the sun only rose above the cloud level. That just meant that while we tackled the 1,780 thigh busting steps to the halfway point, we were in the perfect position for an epic game of peek-a-boo with the surrounding mountains, valleys, lakes, and glaciers. Our feet on the ground, our heads in the clouds, our eyes wide open, it was utter enchantment.

-K

001mtcook ^ It was an undertaking of Titanic proportions each way (3.5 hours) or a Byron to Duluth drive.

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^ Fog makes everything cooler. One of my new favorite shots.

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^ To quote Rafiki: “Look haaah-daaah.”

002mtcook^ We’ve arrived at the I-35 split! (Halfway.)

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^ Cruising towards Hinckley, and our peanut butter sandwich break.

006mtcook^ That last hill in to Duluth where you SEE it and you’re SO CLOSE but you’re not there yet.

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^ Hooray! Our destination, Mueller Hut! Positioned at the crest of the Sealy Range, it’s set an altitude high enough for summer snow.

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^ Cute little outhouse o’er yonder.

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^ SNOW, guys, snow!

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^ Catching all the scenery we missed on the way back down. Majestic, but I prefer the clouds. They’re more fun.

013mtcook^ Talk about a capsule wardrobe. The all purpose outfit.

Oamaru


by KandE

Today we were lazy. We parked by the beach, tapped into some free Wifi, and settled in. Eric made coffee. The bed: never made. (Or should I say the table was never made?) And guess what: I DON’T FEEL BAD ABOUT IT. Yes, I scrolled my Facebook newsfeed! Yes, I stumbled around on Instagram, double tapping anything that struck my fancy! And it was wonderful.

I feel as though there’s too much competition, too much envy, when it comes to traveling. I don’t often allow myself such idle, online indulgences because languishing about on a pile of pillows with my iPhone doesn’t allow me the opportunity to #liveauthentic while I #exploremore.

Oh, the shame!

I also get a fair amount of “So jealous! Wish I was there instead of here!” which makes me feel guilty if I’m not spending every moment exploring caves with arty backlighting or sitting on any variety of scary, high-up ledges gazing into the distance. (HASHTAG MAKEPORTRAITS.)

 

This isn’t a competition, and it’s a game no one can win. This traveling thing should be about more than the artistic caliber of your Instagram feed, or your ability to be the one-up guy at the bar back home. (And be real: no one likes that guy.) There’s a time to play, a time to rest, and I don’t want to be another foreigner confusing my ideas of self worth + relevance with my ability to buy a plane ticket + take a pretty picture.

The consequences of this silly, little mindset has been a decent weight of anxiety. Every choice you make comes at the expense of every other potential option. Every hike you skip, every roadside stand you drive past, and each admission you decline to pay is an experience you’re missing out on.  The fact that you’re opening up options for alternative adventures with the choices you DO make is often overlooked, lamenting what you’ve passed by.
It’s maddening.
It’s ridiculous.
And it’s why today was so damned good. This mindset I’ve found myself slipping into lately–competitive, anxious, guilty–wasn’t invited. No shits were given. I set my own pace. And everything was cool. The end.

-K

Now how about a bunch of pictures that we’ve snapped over the past few weeks that still haven’t been posted? Yep? Okay, you win.2016-01-30_0013
^ This was the hike that followed that one wheel of cheese and bottle o’ wine.

2016-01-30_0014 ^ Rocky Mountain Trail

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^ Something that happens regularly in the morning: coffee by the water.
^Something that happens irregularly in the never: yoga podcast in the forest.

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^Furry little beasts + a neat-o chasm.

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^ Hiking in Milford Sound. Eric is on the left, I’m on the right. Promise.

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^ Cruising out of Queenstown

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^ Pretending I’m good at handstands
^More Milford Sound

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^ Peaked outside the curtains. Grabbed my camera. Managed a pretty pose then danced around in the surf. Our backyard while camping in Brighton Beach outside Dunedin.

2016-02-08_0004 ^ Lighthouse!!!

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^ One of the better houses we’ve seen. Most of the ones we’ve seen so far have been inaccessible, covered in fence, practically demolished when decommissioned, or are little more than a buoy. Praaaise!

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^ One of Eric’s snaps from our waterfall weekends in the Catlins.

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^ More Brighton Beach goodness.

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^ Yeeeeep.

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^ Another lighthouse! (Covered by a fence, disfigured with the decommission.) Enjoying it from afar, hot coffee in hand, while we peacefully trespass. Our attempt at night photography at 430AM failed. We settled for this alternative instead.

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^ Inside the train station in Dunedin: my new favorite NZ city.

2016-02-08_0013^ Boop. And you thought I was done with the Brighton Beach set.

 

Wakiti


by KandE

Let me preface this entry by saying Eric, I love you.
Now that we have that out of the way…

Tempers are hot, tension is high, and insignificant skirmishes are beginning to erupt with increased frequency. My beloved is continually stressed out by van repairs + maintenance (overheating, dying batteries, a broken blinker, oil leaks, and two holes in the floor both discovered and created) while I am suffering from a distinct lack of personal space. Being an introvert I should have expected this, should have been prepared with proper coping mechanisms. But I didn’t. And I’m still figuring out ways to be cool when Eric’s foot trods on mine during dinner or when he head butts me with his afro in his sleep. But I’m also finding as we get deeper into this experience that I’ve all but lost that graceful art of solitude. (Oh, irony!)

This afternoon while Eric was fiddling with another tub of coolant, I volunteered to restock the fridge with a few essentials form the grocery store. (Eggs. Sandwich meat. Chocolate. Wine.) Before I had even dug out the reusable bag and stepped onto the pavement, I felt fear. Mmhm, over a few aisles of produce and a flock of grocery carts. Fear, yes, alongside it’s sassy sisters apprehension, uncertainty, and vulnerability. And with most fears, I was well aware of the absurdity, however that doesn’t mean I was any less overwhelmed, tackling the Dunedin city center Countdown at 5PM.

Everyone is on a schedule, whooshing through cramped aisles. Most have a gaggle of kids in tow, or a partner absorbed in a cell phone. I felt I was the recipient of more than 1 dirty look, pausing overlong in the biscuit aisle to compare prices and brands. I couldn’t keep up with bagging my dozen items, and my birthdate and signature were scrutinized by multiple employees.

After 20 minutes in that shop, I couldn’t wait to have Eric’s kneecaps bash into mine “back at home.”

-K

And a little belated wine wrap:

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^ A wheel of cheese, a good book, and a 9/10 wine. YUSS! After it was all demolished, we decided to go for a hike of several hours up a nice, big, arduous hill. Not my best idea.

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^ Here is where the numbers end. I can’t keep up. I’m no connoisseur. The new ranking system: above, below, or right at average. I can’t even remember what Vidal scored, but look! Pretty forest at our campsite!

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^ Fools for rummy.
^ We broke our last plastic wine glass. Mugs it is, kids. Cheers.