From A to NZ and Back Again

Our last night in Rotorua was restful and we had a morning apart, allowing for some much needed alone time. Jackie spent hers regretfully not eating or emailing, but luxuriating by the lake and I spent mine mowing down on my new favorite dish - Muesli - and accessing WiFi at the local library. It was a relaxing morning and a great way to say goodbye to the town that is known as the 'cultural center' of the North Island of New Zealand. Our 12:50 Naked Bus was late, but much like the third world countries I am so fond of, no one seemed to mind. The attitude down here seems to be very Hakuna Matata. No one has more affection for the string of animated Disney hits from the 90s than me, but unfortunately that particular mantra never quite stuck. Finally on the bus close to an hour late, we were on our way to our last stop on this crazy month- long ride.

We had been informed by Jack, our trusty hostel aide in Rotarua that staying the night in Turangi would likely be a better bet than taking the bus all the way to the holiday park in Tongariro National Park, as we had booked. Evidently most day trippers set up often set up there prior to the hikes in the park, as accommodation is much more easily sourced. After passing through Taupo we finally made it to Turangi late in the day to either stay, or change buses, depending on what decision we chose to make last minute- as we are wont to do. A friendly woman on the bus had confirmed that Turangi was our best bet as I was making best friends with her 4 year old granddaughter and Jackie was sitting by awkwardly (who knew I was a kid person) and the bus driver designated to take us up to Tongariro National Park base camp gave us sage words of wisdom that Turangi offered not only more places to stay, but more places to eat. With the clock ticking and our time running low in New Zealand, we made the perhaps hasty decision to hop on that last bus to base camp/holiday park in Tongariro National Park. This base camp consists of one place for sleep that consists largely of spaces for tents and RVs, one trekking shop, and one cafe. As we rolled in around 4pm, after having been on the bus all day we were greeted, initially, by a sign left on the cafe door informing us that the proprietors had taken a little holiday of their own and would not return until Tuesday. It was Friday.

Jackie immediately went into panic mode, as we had not prepared for either camping or eating and had a half a box of crackers, one apple, one banana and two granola bars amongst us - and a 6 hour hike ahead of us the following morning. We were luckily able to procure the #24 'cabin' which was the size of a shoe box and smelled uncannily like my grandmother. The beds had no linens but Jacks had her sleep sack, I had my Qantas blanket snagged on our first flight that has served as makeshift everything along the way, and we had a heater in the room so we were good to go.

Before the sun set we decided to take advantage of the small, local hikes and went to a path about 15 minutes from our housing for the evening which had two locations at which some Maori big wig had his last stand. It was quiet and beautiful and as it gave me a sense of peace. It only made Jackie hungrier.

Back at cabin 24, at sunset, we divvied up our provisions - me making the mistake of putting the pungent Balsamic and Sea Salt crackers I had purchased in the same bag as the gummy-filled chocolate bar Jackie had purchased for her sister but decided we needed on our hike, and the handful of almonds I had left all in one bag. This created some sort of salty sweet trail mix - but not in a good way. At dawn, Jackie essentially drank her banana, that had seen better days, and I grabbed my apple and camera and we set off - being promised that the front desk Scotswoman would retrieve and hold our bags for our return later that day on our way back down the mountain.

A bus full of fellow trekkers came to pick us up - replete with REI and North Face gear from window to window as Jackie and I loaded up on the frigid 6 am bus in a mess of pattern, colors and layers - mostly dirty - anxious to attempt New Zealand's best 1 day hike. One of their 'Great Walks.'

The day started pretty easily - with a babbling brooke and lush scenery. I have never seen or read 'Lord of the Rings' but with this being the location for at least one of the movies - I can see why - as the rolling green hills and jagged rocky mountains set in a clear blue sky - it seems ideal for fantasy. Walking in the early morning chill, as the sunlight just begins to peek over the mountains, with only the sounds of running water and native insects to provide a soundtrack I had an epiphany. As I began to mount the first incline it all became so clear - I am not a hiker. Even a little. This is not the first volcano I have scaled, yet each time I do it I realize just a little bit more how outdoorsy I am not. I am athletic. I like nature - but I have to admit the combination of the two is, to a large degree, lost on me.

Despite this realization I endured the 3 hours up the loose gravel path, revealing ice blue pools in the sky and the 'red crater' that bears a striking resemblence to the birth place of... babies. 3 more hours back down and I was ready for the hour lounging in the sun before the bus was set to pick us up. It was so nice basking in the warmth and silence, until all the other hikers harshed my mellow by finishing their hikes and waiting for the park sanctioned bus to come retrieve them from their 13 mile sojourn as well.

The departure from Tangariro led us to the long ride home - literally. Jackie was going into sugar shock - or lack there of, suffering from some sort of hypoglycemic episode and she grabbed a candy bar as I grabbed our bags at base campe en route to Taupo where we knew dinner awaited. Lucikly, Jackie's resourcefulness also led to showers for $2 a pop at a local hostel where a stag party was taking place with the sun still high in the sky and I, being the people pleaser I am, licked a strange man's nipple per his friend's scavenger hunt request. First the hike, then the lick - it was a day chaulked full of adventure.

We made a quick run to Pack 'N Save , an establishment in which I have not been since I was a little girl for some needed snacks and we were out. When I say run, I mean run as the bus to Auckland was coming in 10 minutes and I was openly mocked by locals as I ran with my contraband cart being pushed, heavy with both snacks and bags, at full speed to the bus stop.

4 more hours on the bus to Auckland allowed us to watch our final sunset below the equator and when arriving around 1am on Quay street, where this particular leg began, we decided it would only be right to sample a local beer before departing from this foreign land. 2 Mac's Gold were partially consumed and the airport shuttle was boarded. Arriving at the airport we once again found choice spots in the massage chairs that remain erect and provide me with an ideal sleeping situation while providing Jackie with a severe lack of REM and subsequesntial crankiness.

Auckland to Sydney - where our flights was delayed and I befriended some nice older ladies and a young man from whom I wish I had retrieved contact information - James McKnight I am looking for you - and then Sydney to LA where the welcome home was less of a welcome and more of a pain in the ass due to the less than stellar staff at LAX, lacking in both people and cognitive skills. Jacks remained in LA to hang with her bestie and I came here - to chilly New York. Left with a pack of stale Anzac biscuits and a tan I am intent on keeping in the frosty east.

Not the trip I had envisioned and certainly not the cure all my loved ones had hoped for - but a new adventure, a new continent, and a new series of ridiculous stories to tell.

Photos to come...

Lesbian Lovers in Paradise

Jackie and I calculated that we have spent 11 nights on this trip in some sort of compromised position for the sake of free lodging. Our last night in Australia was no exception, as we spread out on two benches in the international terminal and awoke to our luggage cart having been pinched, and our flight about to board. Our Qantas flight was once again pleasant and I was entertained by 'The Session' for this leg of the journey. A film that garnered some Oscar buzz that was, in my humble opinion, well deserved. I was only slightly disappointed that TSA edited the much talked about full frontal scenes featuring Helen Hunt (who looks fantastic) but somehow I got over it by the time we arrived in the land of Hobbits.

We quickly became aware that we had made even less of a plan for New Zealand than we had for Australia and with nowhere to stay and no idea where to go we quickly put a plan into action. Jackie got a SIM card for her phone and I purchased snacks ... everyone has their strengths. We hopped on the public bus for the bargain basement deal of $16 to take us into city center Auckland where we knew some hostels were sure to be located. After chatting with a USC alum on the bus we parted ways and headed to Nomad's Backpackers where we roomed with a sweet Norwegian girl studying in Wellington but on holiday in the North. In need of a real meal after nearly 2 days of flying we opted for some Thai Cafeteria that had large portions and an abundance of unidentifiable fried foods. We opted for fried balls (after being reassured they were sweet potatoes) and some spicy chicken dish to split before heading out in search of internet. A couple of minutes at a bar close by with free WiFi and I got my fix before heading off to bed.

We had set the alarm for 5am the next morning in the hopes of getting to a 6am Bikram Yoga class. Having tossed and turned all night the alarm seemed to go off exceptionally early and it was quickly decided that the 9am class would be much more suitable. A 30 minute class across town was required to make it to East West Yoga and after a satisfying practice with an Oregonian instructor Jacks and I both entered a world neither of us had ever entered before - the world of group showering. Somehow I managed to make it through all of my formal education and days as an athlete without having had to bathe in front of another woman, let alone a group of them, but at this particular establishment it was our only option. For those of you who have not taken Bikram before you may not understand just how filthy you are after your 90 minute class, but when drenched in your own sweat having rolled around on the floor no doubt permeated by many other's, showering is really your only option so we went for it. Making sure to take turns as to not have to be naked together, it actually wasn't so bad. At 15 I think I would have chosen the guillotine over communal showers, but at 31 perhaps I am slightly more comfortable with my body - or maybe I have just reached a place in life where I simply can't care about such irritations. Either way - not the new experience I anticipated experiencing down here - but a new one nonetheless...

Side note: have you ever noticed that the largest, most repugnant locker room attendees are the most comfortable being buck naked in a room full of people? Like the possibly pregnant, possibly obese woman who dropped trow not 2 feet in front of me? Strange. Moving on...

We went back to the hostel to retrieve our bags and made our way to Quay Street to pick up the 12:50 pm Naked Bus to Rotarua, a town that had been suggested to us repeatedly and a town that is evidently the cultural center of the North Island of New Zealand. We immediately located a hostel and procured a private room, although I private coffin may be more fitting as it is just enough to house narrow bunk bed and has no windows. We then went to the front desk where a very cute, but very young man was able to help us find out activity for the evening. We opted for a 'cultural experience' and one I would usually turn my nose up at but with such limited options for authentic cultural interaction down here I was thirsty for something other than a poor man's version of America so we bought 2 tickets to the 6:30 pm show at the Maori Cultural Center for a performance and dinner.

Along with a slew of tourists - including the most Americans we have seen in one place since actually being there - we loaded up several bus fulls of people where the driver gave us some insight into the culture before arriving at the village where you are entertained by a traditional tribe greeting and move along to a series of locations where things such as traditional Maori war craft or game playing are explained by some natives. A little contrived for my taste, but to Jackie's point it is a way to keep the culture alive and share it with others - so I did my best to move through the experience with an open mind. Dinner was a Hangi - and after some song and dance it was served. Having paid $88 a head to be there I did what any red-blooded American does at a buffet - I dug in, consuming my fair share of calories and making sure I ate my money's worth. I am disgusting, I know. The steamed vegetables, prepared much like a Luau and bread were fantastic and I went so far as to sample the customary New Zealand dish of Pavolova, which I was told is similar to Merengue in the US, but never having had it domestically before it was all very exotic.

The tattooed warriors were perhaps the most attractive men I have seen thus far leading me to believe I either love an extraordinarily outdoorsy and rugged men, or I am in such a daze of depression and disdain that I don't know which way is up. Perhaps it is a little of both.

Dinner ran late and after an embarrassing round of 'You Are My Sunshine' while holding hands with our table-mates - German Laura Hahn, her Swedish BF and the oldest and most confused woman on he face of the planet - we were asked to touch noses, a tradition of the Maori people, when disembarking the bus. Not my finest moment - but a great experience as a whole.

Jackie is hard-headed, perhaps even more than me and despite the fact that we had been told most Rotarua activities are not actually available within the city limits but had to be accessed after commissioning expensive private trasport, we slept in and then put on our best lesbian lovers on holiday costumes and went in search of hiking. It didn't seem promising so I chose to go to Fat Dog for breakfast instead where I spent $30 on not fresh fresh juice and eggs that most certainly were in powder form at some stage of their existence. Yum! My father keeps asking me how the food is - and think that there may be my review in a nutshell. Like sex with an ex boyfriend, not worth the cost and more often than not disappointing.

We headed to the lake which was beautiful and splurged on a paddle boat rental we kept out much longer than was advised while cruising through packs of ducks and a pair of beautiful black swans. The walk around the lake leads you to the natural hot sulpher springs which are as beautiful as they are odipherous. I am just at that stage of Summer where tanorexia sets in and now, all I can think about is my ability to brown my skin to the color I believe it should naturally be. Women do some ridiculous things to convert their given form into that with which they would have preferred to be naturally blessed. I have not touched mascara in over a month and as much as I think boob jobs look great, I doubt I will ever cough up the cash for such a frivolous and vein expense. That being said, what do you do when  you think you've been born the wrong culture? Is there such a thing as cultural reassignment surgery? Looks like I have some research to do, as soon as I can locate some more Wifi ...