My First Hitch-Hiking Adventure

Corentin and I both wanted two things on our first weekend off. I wanted to go to the healing hotsprings of Ngawha and Cory wanted to buy his girlfriend a pounamu necklace for her birthday. Although I would have preferred to go straight to Ngawha, I definitely didn't want to go alone. Hitchhiking.
So off we went Saturday morning. We were picked up within ten minutes. Our first victim was a cop and his son on the way home from a school soccer game. He got us to Awanui. The longest stretch was between Kaeo and Kawakawa, where this huge bodybuilder engaged me in a fascinating conversation about politics and his new exercise regime. He complimented me on my muscly legs (240 kgs on the leg press), big coming from him. He was from Auckland but on the road delivering pokie machines to small town pubs. We stopped at a local BBQ fundraiser at the Kaeo local tavern. We ate lunch (avocados) and purchased some Maori bread. I helped the BBQ stall write their sign because I have nice handwriting ($5 for a hamburger - deal). We were offered weed immediately by a local hoodrat. I was nervous and welcomed our imminent depature half an hour later. We were delivered to Paihia from Kawakawa courtesy of a high school teacher putting in some weekend hours. After hearing her scolding her two daughters who weren't there for sixty minutes, we arrived at the seaside town.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, it was 3pm by then and we started thinking about where to crash for the night. We sat on the rocks at Paihia beach and smoked cigarettes, watching the waves and taking photos of the beautiful view and land accross the Bay - Russell, New Zealand's first capital. Then, afternoon shopping! Unusually, we found a legit seller of authentic New Zealand greenstone and Cory bought a very expensive spiral shaped necklace, similar to my own. Worn almost like a badge of Kiwi membership by me in these parts - claiming, I belong here! The spiral shape meant 'new beginnings.' As I was in a shopping mood I purchased a special 'fruit picking' khaki button up shirt, today still one of the only sensible items of clothing I own. Today, still one of my least worn items of clothing. We tasted free fudge in the famous sweet shop and I proceeded to get in touch with my Aunty and Uncle's old neighbour in Haruru falls, for the third time that year. Coincidentally, he was also on home detention so didn't mind my third sporadic visit, or visits from anyone for that matter.
We walked to Waitangi first and I experienced my most meaningful experience there. It could be because it was dusk, and we had the grounds all to ourselves. It could be that I was at a moment in life where I was more in tune with my surrounding environment than I've ever been. But the sense of stillness and history I felt at that time was one of the most profound I've ever felt in my home country. I thought back to February the 6th, 1840 where my ancestors signed the Treaty for the first time. But I also thought back further and realised that the Treaty isn't the only thing that makes the place special. In the centre of an old meeting house was the huge stump of an ancient Kauri tree. Everything was stronger here. I guessed that maybe this was the reason the place was naturally chosen as a place where big deals were made. Or lost. The sense of power and calm almost brought me to my knees as I stood absorbing and revelling in it. We were silent as we walked along the road in the dark to Haruru Falls.
We were grateful that Cory thought to bring his fishing light, that straps to the head - even though it smelt kinda fishy. After catching up with Brian, my old best friend's Dad, he asked Cory if it was OK to let the dogs out of the bedroom. Three big bulldogs, scary looking and smelly, but completely good natured. For some reason the dog Max took an instant dislike to Cory, especially when he spoke French. This put us in complete hysterics for some reason, at Cory's expense. Brian and I caught endless fits of giggles and I realised for the first time that he had an identical sense of humour to Melissa, his daughter and my old best friend. It's a shame that we've grown so different now. I try to see her when I'm up there but the death of her little brother from Leukemia has made her much more introverted. I made the boys some noodles while they drank wine and we smoked cigarettes into the night. We left early in the morning after visiting Davie's memorial stone in the garden for what would be the last time in a long time. My orchids from Aunty Kathryn's old orchard nextdoor were still left there from me and Brady's visit back in June. I guess they don't go down to the bottom of the garden much anymore. The pool where I spent so many of my summers bathing in, on a floaty staring at both at the summer sky and thoughtfully under the moonlight, was green with algae. Everything was much smaller than I remembered from my childhood. I remembered the time when all my hairclips fell out of my hair into the pool, leaving rusty marks on the bottom. Brian was pretty grumpy about it at the time. You know those days, when excessive amounts of sparkly butterfly clips were all the fashion. We walked past the small swamps outside the front driveway where Davie, Melissa, my sister and I used to go eel hunting. I remembered screaming with fright as I once disturbed a sleeping bird.
We stopped by Haruru Falls for obligatory photos, and then walked and walked for what seemed like ages before we were picked up again. It was a Sunday morning and quiet, but we finally got picked up by one of the rich Yugoslavians that I only recently learned are part of the fixture in the Far North. We always knew it might be tricky to get to somewhere as remote and not well known as Ngawha. But a friendly local coming back from visiting her husband at the local prison went out of her way to drop us off. Let me tell you about Ngawha. It's a natural sulphuric thermal spring similar to the ones in the more renowned Rotorua, but it's much more untouched, and infinitely cheaper. Someone from Hauhora, not far away, once told me that the local Maoris believe a Taniwha resides in the area. When the prison was built there the Maori advised the Government against it, but it went ahead regardless. A digger once went missing during construction and has never been recovered. And believe me, in those parts it's difficult for something to really disappear, there's too much talk. Some believe the digger was just sucked into the ground (legend). To this day, the locks at the prison need constant replacement because the suphur in the air eats through any metal (fact). The springs I visit can't use EFTPOS as eventually, all the electrics degrade quickly in Ngawha. I'm always sure to bring cash, but the people who run it would let you in free anyway, they're nice like that.
Regardless, the pools have huge medicinal benefits. I have this kind of embarrassing condition with my feet - let's not go there, but after visiting the pools I always leave with baby-fresh pink skin and feel beautifully detoxicated. We spent hours there that time, and I am happy to say I impressed Cory with my local knowledge. We discovered the colder pools round the corner, and gave ourselves full-body mudmasks. I spent ages that time in the hottest pool, called 'the Doctor.' I have learned that my heat tolerance is pretty high, and later have had that tested by Bikram Yoga lessons. But that's a story for another day. Sated with sulphur, we cleaned ourselves up as best we could and got out of there with the help of some German tourists.
The next ride was an extremely intelligent Maori guy convinced that Maoris up North have the means, and guns, to overthrow the New Zealand Government. He bagged Pakehas for most of the journey, while we debated about how hard the Government is trying to make life better for them today. He reminded me that Maori always win their wars, and the one between them and my ancestors was won by legislative paper and disease introduced by new colonists, not weapons. And history is written by winners anyway. He spoke proudly and authoritatively, and really knew his shit. I've studied this extensively at university and he still taught me many new things. He affirmed that Maori generally are peace-loving people, and have in fact been responsible for keeping more of the peace than they are given credit for. He almost brought me to tears until I finally convinced him that I'm one of the nice Pakehas, a fact he ended up admitting. I kept trying to say it wasn't <i>my<i> fault, and he showed me up again by saying that my ancestors speak through me. I had to agree with this new point of view. If people thought more like this, we would take more responsibility instead of pretending that we're all on even ground. We're not. Anyway, after this intensely heated discussion he invited us to his house for tea and coffee. After taking a closer look at him and his neice I realised that he was part of the Irish-Maoris with green eyes. Well that explains the fiery disposition, I thought. Then he whipped out a bag of green and proceeded to offer us some. All in all, a very interesting afternoon.
We got dropped off in Ohaeawai where things started to take a turn for the worse, starting with the weather. Looking back on his words 'the Maori love cheekiness,' I am starting to wonder if this was on purpose, as he insisted it would be the best place to find another ride when it turned out to be the worst. We stood in the rain for over three hours with our thumbs and signs out, hoping to get back to Pukenui in time for work at 8am the next morning. Eventually a family accross the road offered us shelter for the night, as they had a spare caravan. They were also having a bit of a party, so were in very good spirits. They fed, showered and housed us and I was introduced to a 'boil-up.' All this time I thought New Zealand had no food dishes that distinguish us from the British and Australians, but I was wrong. Potatoes, Puha (watercress) and meat are all boiled up, among other things, into a delicious stew. I avoided the meat but still enjoyed its stocky flavour. The woman who owned the house was really lovely, and she had two twin boys who I chatted to while everyone else got drunk in the garage. She commented that we were meant to come there. The garage door had one of the best signs against asset sales I've seen - which is a campaign against some proposed government policies. I took many photos and one of them ended up being used by several friends involved in politics. Leaving our carefully folded blankets in our caravan we wearily traipsed out early in the morning, unfortunately leaving Cory's fishy-smelling light behind.
We were taken back to Awanui by another schoolteacher who had had no sleep at all. In fact, we almost crashed going round a corner. She had been up all night helping set up a new office for Hone Harawira, an independent Maori Member of Parliament and Maori activist. I enjoyed another good discussion and learned what I already sort of knew - that New Zealand politics doesn't really work for Maori - you need to just sit down and have a korero - discussion - with them. Our final ride didn't get us back to Pukenui, but straight to the avocado orchard, in a truck. Only one hour late for work. I inwardly chastised myself as it turns out that my first weekend in the country was just as crazy, if not crazier, than any weekend back home - the very thing I had hoped to avoid. It left me with so much satisfaction though, that I can still write about it in detail now. And I was still late for work - does anything ever change? Funnily enough Cory was only worried about delivering his necklace in time for his girlfriend's birthday - so much that he became sullen and worried about it. French people, so passionate. Malcolm of course, gave me the heebie jeebies telling us that he would have fired us immediately if we hadn't shown up. Totally worth it though. I came home from work that day with a very deep sense of satisfaction and fulfilment. I am a lot richer for it.
All in all, this weekend was about the closest to New Zealand I have ever been.

Far North Adventures Part 1

I started my first leg of the journey in the Far North of New Zealand. I had planned to move to Melbourne, but I didn't feel quite ready to leave the country. In fact, I wasn't sure what to do at all. It was a case of 'anywhere but here.' For about six weekends in a row I left Auckland to party someplace else for several days. Not good for the Melbourne savings, I can tell you. After Paihia, Wellington, Matakana, Paihia, Whakapapa and Wellington again I sat at my home in Mt Roskill nursing an extremely bad hangover. My Mum mentioned that a distant Uncle had just decided to go fruitpicking. Boom. There was my Divine Inspiration.
You see, work had really gone above and beyond to tolerate my absences. To this day I don't know how I got away with it. Even more so, my friends and family had tolerated my stagnation in life and the moods that came with it. I had traveled four years ago, got caught up in a relationship for two years, finished my degree, pulled out of Postgrad and then suddenly found myself not on the path I wanted to be. The temporary change of environment was stamped with approval (and other people's approval was very important to me then) and off I went on a bus to Pukenui, via Kaitaia.
I never got hold of my Uncle Peter, but luckily avocado season was just beginning, and avocados are my second favourite fruit. The week before I left was fraught with intense sleep deprivation and low iron levels, making me even more manic than usual. I am still proud that for that last week at work, I forced myself up every morning. Things suddenly started to get better. 
In the week beforehand I was also lucky enough to come accross a book called the Zahir, by Paulo Coehlo. As I read the true story of how the author faught to come to terms with his own Zahir, I thought deeply about my own. As he learned to trust the universe around him, I began to trust my own. Everywhere there were signs of someone looking out for me. The more I looked, the more answers were revealed. In a conversation with someone that week someone asked me who would look after me in the state I was in, so far from home. 'Me.' I replied.
Now I'm a firm believer in incremental progress, and revelations are rare. But suddenly at that moment I felt all the parts of me coming together. I wasn't speaking in doubt, it wasn't a tentative answer. I was sure. And nothing has really been the same since.
Pukenui was fantastic. I stayed at a Holiday Park next to a famous fishing wharf and waited for three blissful days for the avocados to ripen. That far North, the climate is subtropical. Although it was technically Winter, the sun made an appearance more often than it does in Auckland. It was much needed for my dismal mood. The holiday park was quiet and I found myself with a French guy four years younger than me, and another French girl with her Spanish/Italian boyfriend. Corentin and I, the French guy, soon found that we got along famously and went exploring immediately. We found: nests full of duck eggs, mandarins and macadamia.
The avocado orchard was run by a grumpy man who went by the name of Malcolm. I took an instant dislike to him - but he had his own demons (I found him outside a travel agent's in town looking in wistfully).
Regardless, Malcolm sure did get to me sometimes. I'm a city girl, you see. I had never had a go at manual labour. I devised my own method of picking avocados, much to his dismay. I then strained my wrist so much that I had to use my left hand to pick. In other words, I wasn't the fastest orchard worker. I believe his worst comment was: 'Why can't you just be normal?' All of his criticisms had more effect on me because I was the only one there with a full understanding of English, and he wouldn't dare speak down to the older couple working there, who were much slower than me.
It got better though as I bowed to his forceful will. I have never been very good at not being good at things. The orchard was lovely too. Rolling green hills, rides on the back of a tractor everyday and a sunny disposition that began to permeate my soul. My sleep patterns were fixed within a week, and I found myself getting up early each morning, voluntarily. It had been so long since I was able to do that.
I met a couple of permanent workers on the farm also. One of them, Ben, was particularly interesting. Sadly he was paying for a noble act from his past, and seemed to have received the raw side of the deal. This guy had a lot of mana. You could tell that he came from a family of fairly big prestige, even though they were mostly gang members. Let's just say the North has its own law and customs. He had assaulted a guy who had threatened his missus, like in the worst way possible. So he hunted him down and gave him a piece of his mind. This being shall we say, a euphemistic way of putting it. Six years later he was still paying the price, wearing a tracking bracelet and on home detention. He continued to refuse gang membership and crime, pay for his three children and partner's bills, while paying rent to his grandparents. One of his kids was adopted even - Ben rescued the girl from an abusive family. He really was a good guy, and really good at reading people. I knew he was attracted to me but he never hit on me like other guys in the area. I hope one day he finds a better deal in life.
Corentin occasionally went fishing at the wharf after work, and I joined him in conversing with the locals, watching the tide and ruminating blissfully. A thoughtful young man, lover of food and totally at one with the earth. The way he would manage to make his earth-stained, carefully folded jeans look graceful is still a puzzle to me. The best thing about Corentin is that he would shout at the ducks that began following me in very loud French, and chase them. But they would always return. They never forgot me feeding them on those first days.
Still thinking of my Zahir, I wrote letters to him that were never delivered. Corentin was kind enough to take on the 'straight man friend role' and give me his perspective on the matter. Only one small postcard was approved, much later in my stay in Pukenui. In hindsight, thank goodness for that. Nobody wants the ramblings of an unwanted lover coming back to haunt them, making them feel guilty. Hardly anyone can ever see those ramblings to the end. It was great having male company without the pressure of anything else. Our friendship grew quickly and he had the ability to make me laugh hysterically for minutes on end. We went for long walks, we borrowed the canoes and he helped me cook. Eventually he got too lazy to help me cook but I always tried to feed him to stem the dullness of cooking for myself.
The days were peaceful, the days were good. But the first week had barely finished before we started our first adventure...

Welcome to Sparam Sparam

Hello and welcome. I started this blog so that I could write random things about my travels around the world. I don't need more sites to visit and update, far from it. But I thought I would create a space that's mine, all mine, on the internet.

I won't post about politics, the trolls get too annoying. Although I definitely have opinions. I won't post things that are too personal. I will post what I had for breakfast (cornflakes). I can't even post much about my work as I signed a very strict confidentiality agreement. So, how to differentiate from all the other random shit on the internet? We'll see.

I'm not too fussed about a large audience, I just want to write.