Paihia

I've been on the go since I last updated, so much so that I've barely slept since then either. Though that's more the cause of the roughly 45 Danish teenagers that checked into my hostel yesterday -- and sang drunkenly into the night. I now completely and totally understand the true difference between 19 and 26. I feel old just writing that.

So a quick recap here on what I've done since I arrived into town. Paihia is a beautiful small town on the northeast coast of New Zealand located in the Bay of Islands. The place is picturesque. All of Northland is, but then, apparently it's nothing compared to the south. I have no idea what that will be like. Every second I've been here I have felt like I was looking at a postcard. When I rode the bus over and around the north I was annoyed that we couldn't stop and take pictures, but then I realized we would never have been able to reach our destination. The New Zealand landscapes have forever spoiled me.

While here I'm staying at the alleged first 5-star hostel (oxymoron?) in New Zealand. It's "5-star" I think by it's own rating system, but otherwise still quite nice for a dorm. On my first day here, I took a bike out for a ride along the coast and visited the Whaitangi Treaty Grounds, where the Maori tribes requested British law and order be brought to their country. Actually, this was to deal with the drunken foreign sailors and traders. Though the birth of this country is still quite unbelievable to me. Request the UK's presence? Maori tribes are given rights and not killed off? They got a flag? Wow. I and another fellow traveler surmised that history went down the way it did likely because New Zealand is just so damn far away. To actually war against the locals (who had sought to acquire guns), would require more men, at a much greater distance from home...not to mention longer supply lines. That said, this is all guesswork, my knowledge of New Zealand history is scant. For dinner a group got together for a barbecue. I ended up speaking with a very interesting Austrian couple named Harold and Helga and we hit it off. Sadly they were only in town for one night, but we had multiple interesting discussions about travel, budgeting, and (scarily) dive-operator negligence in Cairns, Australia. Apparently a couple years ago an American couple were forgotten at the reef, and they drowned. The couple had another two friends who went diving in Indonesia (I believe), and their friends (also a couple) went out with a solo boatman who was drunk or high or both. He decided to leave. They came up and saw no boat. They were in the water for 16 hours swimming to keep warm, and only sheer dumb luck allowed them to survive when the current pushed them to shore. Needless to say, I'll be very careful selecting my dive operator when diving.

Yesterday I was feeling a tad healthier and not continuously hacking up a mucous-laden lung. So I went on a 10-kilometer hike to the Haruru Falls. Oh, two things of note before I forget. One, burn time here is six or seven minutes, so sunblock is a must. Two, this place is heavenly for an avid bird watcher, or even casual one. (Wasted on me.) Anyway, as I was saying, Haruru Falls. The hike there is pretty simple, and I just locked my bike at the trailhead. I love how once you get to the falls there are no guardrails or anything to keep you from falling in to your (possible) death. Seriously. I think people should know the risks they take when they go outdoors and be responsible, or deal with the consequences.

This morning I was up at 6 a.m. (well, really up most of the night because of the noise) to go on a trip out to Cape Reinga, which is the northern tip of New Zealand where the west coast's Tasman Sea meets the east coast's Pacific Ocean. The shallower, sandy-bottomed sea is a light blue, and the ocean a deeper green. It is a spectacular backdrop to the green rolling hills, dwarf plants and white lighthouse. But before we got there, our bus drove 45 miles along "90-mile beach," spraying water up along both sides, and nearly driving into the sea a couple times. We had to race up the coast to beat the rising tide, which is especially dodgy at a particular bluff. We saw the remains of a car door buried and rusted in the sand. Bus driver: "They should have taken the bus."

We stopped along the way and turned in to these huge sand dunes. We took out boogie boards, hiked up to the top and rode down the dunes. It was a bit of a touristy trick, but a ton of fun. The hike up was tough in the sand, but worth it. It made me remember the last time I was hiking up dunes in Merzouga, Morocco (well, just outside Merzouga actually, the road ends in the desert). I was also coughing up a lung from a cold I'd caught on my journey in. I blame the planes (or the hostels) -- big box of flying germs mixed together from all over the world. Anyway, I flew down thrice. Awesome.

The stop at the Cape was by far the best part of the journey though. The mixing of the two bodies of water is supposed to symbolize the mixing of spirit and living world, and the area is believed to be sacred. Many people travel to Cape Reinga to memorialize a loved one who has died, to say a prayer for them, and then speak to them -- to tell them the things they never had a chance to say (good and bad). Our bus driver, Barry, was a funny and fun guide along the trip, but here he turned somber.

"I had a son, once," he told us.

In 1983, his 6-year old boy was hit by a car while Barry was driving tours up north. Barry was alerted and flew to Hamilton to see his boy who was still alive. Barry was with him all night, but in the morning the boy was dead. For 12 years Barry told us he was a mess, his relationships ruined... he felt guilty, as if he had been a bad father. His mother, who was his best friend, passed on in that time too. Barry's aunt, trying to get him to join in more family activities, invited him to Cape Reinga. When they got there Barry's aunt said a formal goodbye and prayer for her sister, Barry's mom. Then told Barry to say some words about his son. After, the two sat and sobbed for some time. Four days later Barry said he had a lucid dream about his son (and he never has dreams). They were together, and he was able to hug and kiss him, cuddle him, and even smell him. When he woke up, he felt like he could finally let go, and finally move on.

"Since that day, every day is a new day for me," Barry told us.

It makes me think of a saying someone posted on Facebook the other day: "Every day may not be good, but there is good in every day." I am thankful to have so many goods in my day.

At the end of the day we had a torrent of good eats. Passion-fruit ice cream (with real passion fruit seeds in it!)...and the alleged best fish and chips in New Zealand (well, they say the galaxy). They really were spectacular. And yes, I'd post pictures but net here is charged by traffic. Sorry, when I get to a good connection, I'll provide some visual stimuli.

Well, it was quite a couple days. Tomorrow is my last day here, and I'm planning to go on a tour of the actual bay, via boat and everything. But, well, the forecast is for rain, so we'll see. In New Zealand people commonly say there are four seasons in one day. It is very changeable, and most people dismiss the forecast anyway. For example, yesterday I checked the AccuWeather update here and it said it was currently raining, while outside was clear and sunny. Anyway, I'll let you know how it goes. Back to Auckland for a night Sunday, the heading south.

Off now to watch a New Zealand film, I believe it's titled "Boy"...will try not to fall asleep.

Adios for now.