Category: Struggle Bus

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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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.

Te Anau


by KandE

Today’s game: musical chairs.

If one was to drop into the Kimberly & Eric show this afternoon midway through our program, one might come to the conclusion that it was instead solitaire. However, you would be mistaken, dear viewer, for lonely card games were simply a way for our damsel in distress to while away the time, waiting for the hero to finish the necessary vehicular repairs.

And just like that: Tada! The van is once again on the fritz.

But why musical chairs?
Excellent question, oh clever observer.

Our 1993 Hiace has no traditional hood that precedes the body and bulk of the van. The brains at Toyota decided to hide it beneath both diver and passenger seat to economize on space + heat our buns. The current problem: buns aburnin’ too hot + a needle on the dash pointing all the way flush with that ominous, red H.

And so:
We drive.
We pull over.
We futz and fiddle.
We buckle back in and cross our fingers it’s cool enough to continue.

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Me, I’m not much bothered. I sit in the back in my place of comfortable dislocation, a pack of cards keeping me company. I lost every single round I attempted (Vegas style: not for the faint of heart) however, Eric ultimately succeeded in his mission and effectively saved the day. Hooray! Sir boyfriend wins this round!

-K

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^ Cruising down the highway, we passed a cheesery. UH HUH.

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^ Cheesery / WINERY. UhHUH,uhHUH,uhHUH.

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^ Stud.

 

Wanaka


by KandE

Tomorrow is the day each year I dread, yet simultaneously desire above all others. My birthday. Before anyone can tell me “Oh, just 28? You’re still a baby!” it’s really never been my age that’s the worrisome bit. It’s solely ever my inflated expectations, purely my longstanding belief that this is the best day, your only day, to indulge with impunity. The single day out of every 365 that you earn good wishes, good vibes, good dessert simply by being alive. Just as you are. By making it through one more year. Sure, it may be a somewhat arbitrary and underserved honor, but a happy childhood full of chocolate barbie doll cakes and party streamers stuck to the door frame have made me feel otherwise.

But what if I don’t get that velvet bucket hat from the JCPenny catalog? What if none of the friends I invited to my pool party at the RAC show up? What if I fail my driver’s test and everyone else passes? What if my locker isn’t decorated by the time I get to school? What if I don’t accumulate enough “Happy birthdays!” on Facebook? What happens if I have no one to get a celebratory 21st drink with, still not having made friends at this school? What if this is only my 2nd day at my new job and no one knows me nor cares? What if it’s also a national holiday in Australia and the foreigner’s 25th is overlooked? What if no one remembers me on my special day here on the other side of thew world, and I spend my day barricaded in a van, trapped in my 2×6 meter box, while it’s forecasted to rain all day? What then?

Part of me thinks–knows–I’m being rather immature about the whole thing. That one day has no bearing on the year previous, nor any indication on the upcoming. That as long as one is able to honestly reflect and give proper thanks for another year of ups, downs, and in-betweens, that you’re sitting rather pretty. That if you’re just content having reached 365 more days of opportunity, the calls, the cards, and the cake are unnecessary, as you no longer need any affirmation that you are worth celebrating.

-K

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timaru


by KandE

Photo post today, dears.
El Nino (el Mofo) has been messing with our plans.
And it rains.
And rains.
And rains.
And we’re confined to a small vehicle which drips water from the top, fuel from the bottom.

Life really isn’t too bad in spite. Hot coffees, hot showers, and a top + bottom set of long johns are making my world go round.

-K

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^ The last day of sun. We had the wind to contend with instead. This is Eric and his magic carpet. It’s also the more modest van carpeting which we have to regularly remove to clean off bread crumbs and errant blades of grass. The gale force winds that night were so intense, it felt like a gnarly case of 12 hour turbulence.

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^ More sun! Hiking!

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^ Perched atop the Lord of the Rings movie set site for Edoras.

Lincoln


by KandE

It happens most every day; we’ve come to expect it. After arriving at a new campsite, scrutinizing the suitability of each swath of 2×6 meter terrain — is it level? private? shaded? will the neighbors see me in my underwear? — our careful planning is for naught. For most every evening around the time of the dinner bell, some lumbering RV will tap it’s brake light gingerly in our proximity. Chin moving left to right as if spectating a phantom tennis match, the man behind the wheel will be trying to assess the situation quickly, eager to be rid of the burdensome title of driver. Beside him, there will be a female in the front, jabbing a steady pointer finger determinedly in our direction. They’ve got their own list of priorities in deciding which site to alight upon. Unfortunately for us, privacy never seems to be an area of overlap.

As each oversized, overfull vehicle comes to overcrowd our nest, the newcomers are not given the warmest of welcomes from the ’93 Hiace. Upon seeing our backyard quickly disintegrate, my typical response goes to the tune of “Get da fuck outta here!” in low, accented tones one would associate with the Chicago mafia. And so: it’s really no wonder that we’ve made no friends here, swapped no stories over the campfire. (Not that we could, NZ’s got a restrictive fire ban.) I clearly do not love my neighbors as I love my unobstructed views, or the opportunity to carry on, sans pants.

-K

Edit: I, of course, being the good Minnesotan I am, make sure all parties have windows firmly closed before being properly passive aggressive. We’re not actually hostile towards our fellow campers. We just like our space, preferring bird song and cheery, dappled trees for company over vehicles bursting with a gaggle of eager kids, or German teenagers with backseats full of cheap beer. (Of which there seems to be an inexhaustible supply. Wie schade.)

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^ The recipe for an exquisite morning.

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^ This place (Akaroa) is pretty as a postcard. I’ve never seen anything like it. Photo snapped while hanging out the van window.

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^ Are all forests here enchanted?

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^ F/18! Camera play. Refreshing. Picked up a new wide angle lens in Christchurch to have some fun with.

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To Greymouth


by KandE

Gripped by terror, seized with rage, we are a people at war. Public enemy #1: Austrosimulium australense. Our adversaries in this battle are a formidable lot, with an indefatigable army, limitless reserves, and a monumental thirst for blood.

It’s cousin, the Minnesota mosquito, is an almost graceful creature in contrast. The whine and shimmer of wings gives the victim advance warning to allow for a fair fight, time to strategize a defense. While the mosquito is satisfied with one elegant little pinprick, the sandfly is a more feral beast. As soon as the insect makes contact with the enemy, it appears to burrow it’s entire head in the victim’s flesh, hitting hard, striking fast. The New Zealand predator also runs a more discreet operation, it’s prey unaware of it’s presence until it’s too late. The abominable bug treads lightly, silently bringing it’s brethren into formation, for a forward march onto any and all exposed areas of skin. After generations of combat, these bloodsuckers have learned to target their opponent’s feet and ankles, exploiting the least sensitive areas, for highest profitability.

Defensive strategies on our side include barricading ourselves in the van against siege attacks, applying layers of spray repellent in vain, windmill arms, and tucking our pants into our socks. No man, woman, or child is safe until these creatures are vanquished. This. Is. War.

-K

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^ Looks idyllic, eh? ALMOST.

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^ “This is hell.” (But a beautiful version, to be sure. I’m a sucker for a swing bridge.)

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^ This is what we’re working with, people. I count 15 just in this photo. But that could also be a dirty computer monitor. BEASTS!

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^ And now a few photos of me reading a book, drinking a beer on the beach so we may end on a happy note.

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Life really is lovely. Cheers. 🙂

Wa-wa-water


by KandE

The word of the weekend: water. (Also this entry is brought to you by the letter W!)

Yesterday we visited the largest freshwater spring in the world (mildly underwhelming,) Eric attempted a load of laundry in the creek, and I discovered a brilliant swimming hole named “Crystal Pool” at a nearby scenic reserve. I would suggest the latter be renamed “Ice Crystal Pool,” but I still went for a quick dip to fulfill a ballin’ photo op and to sooth my PMSing soul in a river the Maori have long believed to have mystical healing properties.

Today’s aquatic adventures began in the form of my bathing! Huzzah! Eric is keeping track of all sorts of statistics in his journal, and has catalogued this as the X day since my last shower. (My apologies, the number is too horrific for me to admit publicly yet.) Anyway, I swallowed my pride and brought my shampoo and soap caddy to the cold, outdoor shower head at the park. I endured only a slight humiliation as families strolling on a Sunday morning took note of the hairy armpits being soaped across the sidewalk. OH, WELL. I’m clean (today) and nothing can dampen my deep, joyous contentment over silky hair. Not even our newly broken… (wait for it) … water pump! It’s not the worst problem we’ve been faced with on our trip so far, but it reduces our fully functional appliances down to to one: the stove. Unfortunately our batteries for the “house” are still on the fritz, meaning minimal charging of our electronics + no refrigerator, which leads us into our final ode to H2O. We devised a strategy today to keep our dinner meat + produce cold sans fridge, by attempting to harness the cool temps of the campsite river. We hacked an empty water bottle apart (I wasn’t even trying for that w,) stuffed our perishables inside, then wedged it into the shallows with a steady stream to pass through the plastic. It wasn’t a 100% success, but we’ve just finished our dinner and are suffereing no apparent ill effects.

Now that both tonight’s dinner + journaling are done, time to wash all of these highs and lows down with a glass of WINE.

-K

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^ Riverstone. A 7/10 for me, 6.5 for E.

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^ Ice Crystal Pool. It hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. At least, not about anything but the pain. Certain I now know what ice fishing on Lake Wissota is like.

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^ My sweet eldest nephew reminding us to KEEP LEFT. (And when I say us, I do mean Eric. The last time I tried to learn how to drive a manual, it ended in tears.)

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^ More cooking adventures. This is the 3rd time we’ve tried and failed to make a proper cuppa. (Street cred rapidly sinking.)