Wellington

Arrived in Wellington last night about 6 and was harassed into a shuttle by a guy in a suit with a mullet down to his waist. It, along with his massive mustache, were flaxen blond. His shuttle, a monstrosity in gold that almost matched his hair, would have been passably sane had it been driven by anyone else. Inside was decorated with cheap plastic x-mas decorations of flying reindeer in the windows and the ceiling was lined with a string of LED light balls, shifting color every few seconds. Not to be out done though at the front of the van was a similarly shifting color cube shaped alarm clock rubber banded to the rear view mirror and an 18 inch tall, glass, illuminated figurine of the Eiffel Tower sitting on the floor. Now I remember a time when I thought of Le Tour Eiffel as a singularly unique symbol of the chicest city in the world. Of course having been there and climbed it myself, I remember it fondly now as the eyesore of an otherwise classy and thoroughly understated city. Appropriate symbolism in this particular shuttle. Last night I walked down past Cuba st and down a bit further in search of dinner. I found little was open except 2 Subway sandwich joints, 3 McDonald's and 2 Burger King's. There were a few asian restaurants open, but was not in the mood to sit in a dimly lit dining room as the only patron alone with my meal and the full attention of the wait staff. Been there, done that, found it wholly unpleasant. So I ended up in the mall of all places. Easy to blend in and look inconspicuous while I shamefacedly devour my McChicken meal replete with a coke and fries. I thought to maybe see the new Sherlock Holmes flick with Robert Downey Jr. but when it was my turn at the front of the queue, the high school student behind the register informed me that the only seats remaining were in the front row. (In case you’ve never seen this, some movie theaters assign seats, a practice I first encountered in Belgium. I think it is nice, unless, of course that is, I’m the last in line buying a ticket.) So I scraped the plan and hoofed it back to the hostel. I could have inquired about the next showing an hour later, but as it was I was already having trepidations about walking around in a strange city on my own at the hour when an 8:30 showing ends, let alone an hour later.

This hostel, by the way, is worth telling about. I arrived about 7:30 pm and checked in where I was promptly informed by the British woman behind the desk, only a few years older than myself, that I was NOT to use her kitchen after 10pm when she would be cleaning. She turns the gas off to the cooker promptly at 10 so I had better be out of her way. After she finishes cleaning I am welcome to use the microwave and hot water geyser for any late night needs I might have. Also, free internet access is available 30 minutes a day if I sign up in the morning for a time slot. Or I can purchase wireless access for $20 a day or $10 for 6 hours, but the internet is shut off at 9pm anyway. It is a clean hostel, but one that doesn’t encourage it’s visitors to hang out during the day. I woke up early, ate a quick breakfast showered and left. I didn’t realize it was only 9am until I was half of the way down the hill. I think that is earliest I have ever left a hostel of my own volition while on holiday. So I suppose the relative unfriendliness of the place is for the better.
So now I am sitting at the top of the botanical gardens inside the herb garden having finally found the time and inclination to write for the first time in months. Thank you, brusque British lady.

I am staying in the Rosemere hostel tonight again and then I’m moving down the hill to the Trinity Hotel for New Year’s Eve and Day. It will be a welcome holiday from my holiday to not share my room with 5 strangers and to not shower in my shoes. I say the end of this year will bring with it a lot of thoughts about what I’ve done in the past year. Not that any one thing was singularly spectacular, but all of it together makes for quite an exciting year. I think it would take me a full week to recount only the most interesting points.

Now the afternoon is is getting old. I think I will make my way down from the botanical gardens soon in search of lunch.

Pocus, my friend and cat of 23 years, was euthanized this evening. He's been having seizures since late last week as a result of renal failure. The kidney failure was bound to be terminal and the seizures were causing brain damage and stress for him. So my mum took him to the vet and they put him down before he was in too bad of shape from him rapidly declining health.

I wish I could have been there, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. I'm a wreck today, I miss him terribly and feel bad that my mum had to do this on her own. He and I grew up together, I don't even remember a time when he wasn't around. I knew he was getting old when I left home for college, so I said my goodbyes each time I went home for a weekend visit, just in case. Of course, after 6 years of bracing for his death, I think part of me started to feel like he'd always be around. I haven't seen him since I left the US over a year ago.

Day 1 on the farm

I arrived last night about half past eight. I was quite glad, as we were driving over the countryside, that I hadn’t had to ride a bike. The main roads looked almost wide enough to ride on the side of but the smaller roads would have been impossible and the terrain was never flat for more than 10 meters at a time. It was insane. I would have had a hell of a time getting up here. IF I even managed at all.
The farm is a small space, called a lifestyle block, meaning that it is mainly used for maintenance of the owner’s lifestyle, not for profit. They do sell the bulk of their produce and eggs, but also stock the fridge with them too. I just basically shadowed Jeni today as she showed me around from chicken pen to chicken pen, veggie patch to veggie patch. I listened as best I could but my head was reeling with information. I believe we’re going to do some planting tomorrow, so I probably will get dirtier than I did today.

I have never seen cobweb as a decorating scheme before. There are spiders in every corner of this house, hanging from lamps and lining window panes.

Today, we made the rounds and watered a few areas that were drying out, fed the animals and headed over to Jeni’s sister’s farm for the afternoon. Jeni was working out one lovely gray mare there with the friendliest personality while I took a brief nap on the living room sofa. I had, after all ,only gotten a few hours sleep last night, what with the wild horrors of sleeping with spiders in my room and the rooster crowing from 4am onward. Then we cut a dozen lengths of bamboo from a high field in Virginia’s farm to be used as support frame to hang netting from to give the new planting area shade before we put the young tomato plants in the ground.

Walkin' in Auckland

Well folks, I'm happy to the point of giddy today. I arrived in Auckland yesterday too tired to see straight. I had an 11hour flight from London to Hong Kong and stayed at the airport for about 8 hours before boarding another 11 hour flight to Auckland. I had my hand luggage pretty loaded down because of an unusually small weight limit imposed on my checked bags. I was glad to see that HK airport had little baggage carts available for carry-ons so while I was killing time there I didn't have to hang 10 kilos from my shoulders.
I got a shuttle from the airport that dropped me right in front of the backpackers lodge. I climbed into bed almost immediately and slept easily for about 16 hours. This morning I woke up worrying if I'd made the right decision coming here. I'm missing home and all the people there. But here I am, so I must go about getting things done. So since the buses are on strike right now, I walked to the grocery store which is north on Ponsonby rd and east down College Hill. It was a long walk and I hadn't eaten in really more than 24 hours since breakfast on the airplane yesterday. So I stopped at ThirtyNine Cafe on the way. Had two double espressos and a huge sandwich which was a BLT with honey pesto and avocados on it. Very nearly heaven. With renewed vigor I walked on, listening to my ipod on the way. I couldn't help but grin most of the way. Doubt about my choices disappearing with every step. I can't explain how much at home I feel here already. Friendly faces passing me on the street and big lovely trees lining the streets. The city, so far, reminds me a lot of Seattle not only from the skyline but also from the style of shops and restaurants and cafes here. Not to mention the hills and greenery around.
I'm at Verandahs backpackers lodge on Hopetourn Rd, just arounnd the corner from Ponsonby Rd. The backside of the hostel overlooks Western Park here.

I saw London, I saw France, I saw Belgium's Petit Prince!

So I was at Brussels Central train station this afternoon, returning from Zaventem because Kelly and Gudrun had a plumber coming this morning and they asked if I could be there to let him in. Anyway, when I got to Brussels I saw a gaggle of police loitering by the exit I was planning to use. I figured it wasn't anything serious as they were standing there looking like they were trading recipies for banana rhubarb crumble, so I smiled and continued on my way. No sooner had I walked through the door but I hear a police whistle coming from the street around the corner. I sat down for a minute to enjoy the fine fall weather we've been having when two cars with black windows and a motorcycle police escort pull up to the door. The police nonchalantly swarm as a few guys step out and shake hands and all with every bit the air of diplomacy. Rather a curious but uneventful show.
About a minute after that some guy comes weaving out of the train station; leans down in front of me grinning and says "I just saw Belgium's Prince, did you?" Well, I suppose I did!
Of course he quickly continued his path round the tree I was sitting in front of and proceeded to void his bladder to the tune of his mixture of humming and whistling. I decided the show was over and it was probably time for me to move, before the urine had a chance to roll downhill 'round the tree.

First Tattoo

So this seagull tattoo was a combination of inspirations. It started a couple of years ago when I read "Siddhartha" by Herman Hesse. In it the title character goes on a quest from his parents house and the life he'd known as the son of a Brahman to find meaning in his life, he goes through a series of lives from studying religion in a large following to living as a kept man with his wealthy lover to living as a ferryman by the river and as I remember, he made reference many times to the bird in his breast, the voice of joy and his sense of life. Sometimes he thought it was dead and other times it felt alive and gave him hope. I really liked that symbol, it jumped out to me and stuck with me ever since. I knew someday I would get a bird tattooed on my chest somewhere in honor of the bit of myself I see in Siddhartha.

Then a few months ago I read "Johnathan Livingston Seagull" by Richard Bach. This was about a seagull who wanted to learn to fly, to really fly, not just for the sake of getting to food fastest like the rest of his flock but for the thrill and the challenge of flying with excellence. So he was shunned by the great flock because he refused to be one of the hundreds squabbling over scraps of food and because he insisted on flying better each day than he did before. He got hurt over and over pushing his limits and still continued. Eventually he reached a higher state of consciousness and found a sort of seagull heaven where other seagulls have gone, only the ones who fought for perfection in flight, and so he learned from his teacher and from the other seagulls and was eventually able to get back to his own flock, the one that cast him out, to encourage other like-minded seagulls to keep fighting for what they want to learn. Then I decided that the bird on my chest would be a seagull.
Clearly it is a seagull in flight and if you notice the the silhouette of this bird is a bird changing course. One wing up and one wing down with eyes always on the ground (the blacked in silhouette though makes it impossible to tell which direction it is going). It is also facing left, towards my heart. So it is that the tattoo is the Johnathan Seagull in my breast, drawn to be forever changing direction and forever following my heart.



Myriam Fallon is the wonderful photographer to document my tattoo session. Happy? :-)


Update 4/13/2017: I lost my job just 2 months ago. The day after my crushing defeat of being fired, I realized this bird has been silent for many years. Here's hoping I can make him sing again.

The Girls are back in town

Myriam returned from her month long stay in France on Monday night with a million and one tales of idyllic life on L'Ile de Brehat and last night Amber took the train from London. It's like old times to have the trio back together again. Though with a bittersweet taint, Myriam is leaving for the states on Sunday and Amber returns to the UK on Friday, so our moments together are numbered. So while I'm so happy we all have lives to continue on living in our separate directions, it would be nice to not part ways again.