Frozen Grass Blog 1

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

New zealand: Phase Twelve - Raglan to the Remnants and Reminiscences

It was a cold, windy night in Raglan - pretty much what you would expect for a New Zealand night, however we awoke to a lovely sunrise in beautiful Raglan. A quick brekky and a quick drive around the area and on to achieve our goal for the day - drive all the way through Auckland, and all the way up the west coast to Waipoua. The day was going to be tough.

The first half of the day was taken up by driving through the outer suburbs of Auckland, the inner suburbs of Auckland, the centre of Auckland some more inner suburbs of Auckland, and then finally the other outer suburbs of Auckland. Needless to say, Auckland is quite pretty for a city (much prettier than Sydney, although how hard is it to look better than a horse's testicle?). As we travelled north it became noticeably warmer; more of a Sydney like temperature.

Our first touristy stop was the Kauri Museum. Being a museum employee, I was deeply impressed by this place. It had enough hands on thingys, readable information, tangible experiences, and those things that make you go 'woah' to keep me happy for hours. I also got a little lost and disoriented which is also a sign of a good museum. Except if it were a map making museum. Then it would suck.

Lots of the Kauri harvesting was done by Dalmatians, hence the movie 101 Dalmatians with that dirty transvestite, Glen Close, didn't make much sense. What a hag. I didn't really understand why the movie didn't feature
more tree chopping by Yugoslavians, instead it was about spotty puppie dogs? Oh well, the Yanks can't get everything right. *cough* Iraq *cough cough*

After the museum we drove on north to our last vancamping spot in the Kauri forest at Waipoua. It was a beautiful place to be for our last night on the road, the last remaining pocket of Kauri forest in the entire country. Just being out for one evening, trying to write my journal with the clouds of mosquitoes, sand flies and other bities makes you realise how tough it must have been for the white pioneers of the area. Luckily I could crawl back inside for a ginantonic and a beer and watch a DVD. What a pack of pussies.

The journal that I have been transcribing from (and taking liberties with) for the past year takes on a more reflective and melancholic feel. It was our last night in the wild, and the last time we would sleep in little GPS, our faithful van. Every now and then I think I catch a whiff of GPS, only to realise that it is a woman wearing cheap perfume and no deodorant.

I sat out there with my family to be, reminiscing, and reflecting on humanity in general - from the conspicuously inconsiderate to the incredibly patient and forgiving - and hoping that we would turn out 'just fine' and that our little boy or girl would get to appreciate and feel the would as we felt it.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

New Zealand: Phase 11 - Rotorua to Raglan

If you ever visit Rotorua don't ever wake up, look at your wife accusingly and say 'holy crap, that stinks!'

It isn't a good way to start the day.

Thankfully I said something like "you are more beautiful than a million roses plucked by a million angels playing golden lutes and silver flutes".

Whilst cooking breakfast in the communal kitchen we met a nice chap from French Canada (the part of Canada that speaks French, as opposed to the other part of Canada that speaks Gibberish). He was most of the way through riding around New Zealand on a pushie. Something, I fear, that I possess too great an intellectual prowess to even consider doing. That sentence just proved how smart I ain't. Riding a pushie around NZ, with its undulating friggin mountains, steep winding curves, and indescribably brutal wind (read my previous post regarding the Minister for Road Fans) is ridiculous. I mean doing something like this must be more frustrating, and require more patience than waiting for Alexander Downer not to say something stupid, arrogant or slightly gay.
Either way, Frenchy Kanuk was a nice bloke and we wished him good luck as we departed on the next leg of our journey.

After visiting a few more interesting areas around Rotorua, a Maori/Anglo chapel and the park full of farty springs we drove on through a swathe of very annoying bike riders (I think they were secretly trying to compete for the 'Mr. Tight Pants New Zealand' award).

Out the back of Rotorua is a little place called Te Wairoa - it once was a hotel, and a place for Missionary whities to stop by and brainwash the locals. Now it is a museum, and a true credit to the people that manage the area. Again, New Zealand impressed me with its power, and its proximity to what feels like the centre of the earth. The village was destroyed by a volcano in 1886, however much of it was preserved like a modern day Pompei - suffocated under mud and ash. We had a lovely, ye freezing bloody cold, walk around the village and down a little waterfall walk.

In the shop I found the Tiki I had been looking for. He is so little and cute and like a little Aaron.
After this wonderful little detour we went on back past 'Titus Pantus Maximus' towards the glow worm caves at Waitomo. It was like night time inside, all serene and pretty. Kind of like if you covered your bedroom walls with those glow in the dark stickers and pretended you were drunk and the eye doctor had put that stuff in your eyes that makes everything really bright. Yeah, kinda like that. Except you were on a boat with other people that were generally quite annoying and stupid. Perhaps they would have been less annoying if I were drunk and in high contrast.

After our dotty experience in the dark caves we moved on to an unusual (well for Stacey anyway) point in our travels. Where were we going to go? We had driven up to Whatawhata, a little shit hole in the middle of nowhere. I left Stace in the LOCKED van and wandered into the local pub to buy some beer. Inside I was greeted by a reinforced wire cage with a small slot to pass the beer through, and some disconcertingly friendly locals. I said "g'day", they said "eh bro", I said "six Speights" the bar maid said "eh bro", I said "keep the change" the bar maid said "eh bro", the locals kept staring as I wandered out to the van (Stacey was laughing at some local farm produce, like a donkey or something) I started the van, turned it around, pointed at the map and said "were going here".

That's how we got to Raglan - kind of like the Byron Bay of New Zealand. Black sand (it kinda makes you feel dirty), weird pubs that won't let you pee unless you buy a beer, and apparently the best left hand break in New Zealand. Fortunately I didn't hurt myself, although this bloke who was about 40 years old, was drinking with his dickhead mate and two chicks in the van park, and he tried to do, like, this mono on his pushie to look cool in front of the chicks and he stuffed it and nearly broke his back. Ha, and his mate had to help him into the van park shower and they looked gay.

What a cock.

Monday, April 14, 2008

A brief intermission and welcome back big fella (aka Dad)

It's been a while since my last post, however there is good reason. You may recall the post 'The Greyish Blob that is my Child' and the other post 'Aaron with two 'A's' - if you don't, well, you aren't reading closely enough. Either way, my child has grown from a pink/grey blob into a little ball of trouble.

Basically, my wonderful wife has gone back to work this week, and from now on I am in charge of that little bundle of trouble called Aaron. Thankfully I only have to do this in the evenings. As much as I love my time with the little fella, I just don't have that motherly knack that my wife does. We can make mess, we can scream in joy, we can vomit in unison - we just don't seem to have that wonderful sense of order Mum brings. We do, however, break new ground when it comes to babies eating hats. In particular filthy, dirty gardening hats.


What I really wanted to say in this post is that the Overflow of Concentrated Emotion, the Depth of Love and the Fear and Anticipation that comes with raising a child is more than one can bear sometimes.

Stacey went to work this evening,and I cried on and off for hours. It didn't make sense. I AM MAN. I NOT CRY.

I think I was sadder than my wife, who had to go back to work after eight months of maternity leave. Stacey sad. MAN NOT SAD.

I know it doesn't make sense.

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