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Will's World Quest
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Tuesday, July 08, 2003
ok, i was really nervous about heading to india. i've
heard so many horror stories about traveling there.
it's hard, it's dirty, it's challenging ... all that.
and you know what? i got there, and damn if it wasn't
true. every word of it.
india is a constant psychotropic kaleidoscope of
activity; it's a full-frontal, continuous shock to all
your senses. you are hammered from the moment you
arrive, until the moment you leave. it's hot, dirty,
smelly, busy, crazy, colorful, sickening, vibrant,
challenging, frustrating, and at times, brutal.
most travelers (particularly americans ... we're
pussies) get here, get smacked in the teeth with the
experience for two days, and hop on the first plane
out.
to survive here (forget about enjoy yourself), you
have to have a thick skin and a seriously perverted
sense of humor. you need to be able to deal with
anything (and i mean *anything*), and you need to be
able to laugh when your instinct is to scream, or cry.
can't do that? don't come.
you see things here that are simply not of this world.
you end up with stories that you know nobody will
believe, except other people who have been to india.
for instance, the guy on the motorbike who was riding
down the street carrying a bagful of pots and pans on
one side, and his father's carcass on the other. see?
you have a hard time believing that, now don't you?
well, it's a true story. welcome to india.
and folks, i absolutely loved it. i extended my stay
longer than expected. i want to come back.
so allow me another bullet-pointed list, as i sit here
in the civilized comfort (and high speed internet
connections) of london. here's what india did for me:
1. went trekking for 3 days in the himalayas. the
himalayas make the rockies look like a hillock. they
are the largest mountains in the world, and they don't
let you forget it. we hiked up to a remote mountain
village, whose inhabitants believe themselves to be of
a higher caste than everybody else, and thus will not
let any outsider touch them (or their temples), lest
they become "tainted". get near them, and you may as
well be waving a knife in their face for the reaction
you get. there are actual signs posted that warn you
will be charged 1,000 rupees (around $20) for touching
anything. i soooo wanted to play the "i'm not
touching you" game.
2. attended, in all senses possible, a 3-day full moon
party in manali, with the towering himalayas as our
setting. experience a himalayan sunrise after being
up all night ... just once. i swear you'll never
forget it.
3. i learned that my name ("will", in case you've
forgotten) is not, as i had originally thought, easy
to understand or pronounce. the fact that there is no
"w" in the hindi language makes it particularly
challenging. they would spell my name, if they could,
as "ouill".
4. i no longer have even the remotest trepidation
about being around, driving next to, touching, being
sneezed on by, or eating next to the following: cows,
oxen, camels, elephants, horses, water buffalo,
monkeys, baboons, goats, rats, cats (not cats in the
sense we're used to, believe me), pigs, hogs, dogs,
leeches, spiders, black and white spotted mosquitos.
5. i meditated in a stunning all-marble hindu temple in
jaipur, thinking nice thoughts about my brother's new
baby girl, who (i found out later) was being born at
that very moment. peyton annee chase, in case you're
wondering.
6. i learned the meaning of fear while driving up what
was basically a cliff face to 13,500' on narrow,
winding, hairpin-turn laden roads, with large trucks
and cars coming at us full speed, and no guard rails
to keep us from plummeting to our death, while our
driver giggled manically. he could do that. he was
stoned out of his head. oh, and he had some
inexplicable need to pass as many cars and trucks as
possible on this road, despite the fact that it would
result in absolutely no net gain in the long run.
7. i took flights on such eminent airlines as "royal
nepal airlines", "jagson airlines", and "buddha air".
i'm not making that up. buddha air was fine, except
for all the smoke pouring into the cabin during
takeoff. nobody else seemed to mind except me, so i
just kinda laughed (see "survival", above) and blew it
off.
8. i puked my guts out on the side of the road in the
rajastan desert, in 115 degree heat. the appreciative
indian truck drivers gave me a resounding salute with
their horns, bless their hearts.
9. i ... well ... interacted with 5,000 wild monkeys
(i'm not making that number up, it's a fact) who run
around and cavort at a village of hindu temples high
in the jaipur hills. it's like walking around
*inside* the monkey cage at the zoo. except that
there's 5,000 of them, and the way they act, they
could very well be on strict amphetamine diet.
thought of the day: "oh man, i *really* wish i had
gotten that rabies shot!" luckily, they more or less
leave you alone.
10. within 3 hours of being in bombay, i was having
dinner with high-ranking members of the indian mafia,
while (simultaneously), the most powerful cop in
bombay was offering to call my hotel to have my hotel
bill waived. i swear to god, i'm not making this up.
11. oh, i decided to go to nepal. i figured it would
sound really cool to say i went to kathmandu. i went
to kathmandu. see? doesn't that sound cool?
12. of the 4 days i spent in bombay, i only slept
during one nighttime. the rest was day sleep, if you
call it that. more like day pass out. bombay is the
unsung city of the world. it's got the action and
variety of new york, crossed with the sprawl and
dream-factory atmosphere of LA. go there, trust me.
13. i learned that bathroom facilities are not
restricted to places with porcelain fixtures, or even
walls. oh no! oh the contrary! you can defecate
wherever you want, whenever you want. go right ahead!
be our guest! side of the road? sure! the world is
your toilet, my friend.
14. littering is apparently fun.
15. people look at you funny if you eat with your left
hand. the right hand is used for eating, while the
left hand is traditionally reserved for cleaning one's
nether regions. personally, i use toilet paper,
folks, so it ain't an issue.
16. toilet paper is a privilege, not a right.
17. it's apparently best to get rid of your garbage by
adding it to the giant steaming pile on the side of
the street. the pigs, cows and goats will eat it. at
some point.
18. let's just say events transpired such that a
headline flashed in my head, reading "tourist killed
in bizarre restaurant accident when monkey guard fell
asleep."
19. you can be arrested and thrown in jail for making
out in public. i found this out only after kissing a
girl in the new delhi airport.
20. i had a good laugh (not) while going through
bombay airport security in ... well, let's just say "a
certain state of disrepair" (thanks to a going away
soiree with my zany bombay friends), when the security
guard found an expended M16 bullet cartridge in my
carry-on bag. i tried to explain to him that it was a
"souvenir from the M16 i shot while i was in vietnam"
and suddenly realized that this sounded as though i
was claiming i had been in the vietnam war. after 5
minutes of spirited argument, i left it with him and
made a hasty retreat.
21. indians are wonderful wonderful people. i love
them all. even the cheats, liars, scammers, would-be
"guides", salesmen (see "cheats"), beggars and touts.
oh, spend 3 minutes in india, and you'll learn that a
"tout" is anybody who attempts to get you -- at any
cost and great lengths -- into their or their friend's
hotel, taxi, auto-rickshaw, store, horse, vagina,
whatever, for the commission they will thereupon
receive.
22. the most important word to know as a traveler in
india sounds like "cello". said correctly, and with
adequate force and viciousness, it basically means
"piss off!". commit this to memory and make it a
regular part of your day-to-day vocabulary before you
get off the plane.
23. when leeches crawl into your shoes while trekking
in nepal (this happens every 3 steps), you will not
know it until you take your shoes off. then you will
know it for sure, because it will look like somebody
sacrificed a cow on your foot. and you must laugh
(see "survival", above). when leeches bite you, they
secrete a little painkiller (so you don't feel it), as
well as a chemical that staves off blood's natural
clotting properties. they're so fun!!
24. it's almost impossible to tell the difference
between a raindrop hitting your rain jacket, and a
leech landing on you (they see you coming and throw
themselves from the leaves above), whereupon he will
steadfastly make his way into your clothing. leeches
have to be one of the most highly evolved, effective
and efficient creatures on earth, after sperm and
cockroaches. but that's just my opinion.
25. apparently, i'm a rock star. everybody wants to
look at me, see what i'm doing, look over my shoulder,
shake my hand, take their picture with me, find out
where i'm from, talk to me, chat aimlessly, marry me
off to their daughter, whatever. constantly.
incessantly.
26. i've forgotten how to buy something, get a hotel
room, or utilize a service without first having to
engage in colorful histrionics about how expensive and
overpriced and unfair it all is, despite the fact that
what i'm being asked to spend is about 1/10 of what it
would be in any first world country.
27. "hello friend!", loosely translated, means "hi! i
would like to cheat you! come on over and see how!"
28. i went horseback riding and skiing on the rohtang
pass (13,500'), wearing a seriously bad-ass full
length fur coat that would make snoop doggy dog green
with envy.
29. bollywood movies are seriously goofy and fun.
they take the concept of "musical" up several notches.
i'm a closet addict.
30. just because you tell the taxi or autorickshaw
driver what hotel you want to go to, doesn't
necessarily mean he will actually take you there. i
mean, what were you expecting?
31. there was a spider in my hotel room in pokhara,
nepal, that deserved its own zip code. i left him
alone, he left me alone.
32. let's just say that events transpired such that i
had a hilariously frightening vision of a chase family
christmas dinner, and me with my 15-year old nepali
wife.
33. stagnant pools of urine have horrific olfactory
properties in 115 degree heat.
34. i was blessed by a brahman (holy man) in pushkar,
and in turn blessed everything and everybody in my
life. so, you've got that going for ya.
35. it's now strange to walk along the street and not
be offered hashish every ten minutes.
36. stand in delhi for 1 day. you will have inhaled
the equivalent of 2 packs of cigarettes.
37. thanks mayra, anya, sushma, vishu, harsh, lippi,
martin. love you guys.
ok, i think you've all probably had enough. this is
only the tip of the iceberg, and as usual, it's been
seriously edited for content, lest i end up in prison.
i'll tell you those stories over a beer sometime.
i'll finish by saying this: i've chosen to live my
life such that if somebody were to write a book about
me, people would want to read it. experience
everything you can, folks. it's out here, but it's
also where you are ... it's all right there in front
of you. bob, it's in peyton's eyes.
go large,
-will
shameless experience junkie
3:22 AM
Southeast Asia
by Will Chase
In May of 2003, as part of a solo around-the-world backpacking trip, I spent one month traveling through Southeast Asia. I visited Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia, moving through the countries by whatever method made the most sense at the time, be it plane, train, bus, automobile or chicken truck.
These are just some of the things I learned in Southeast Asia:
1. When watching a Thai kickboxing match from the front row, you must be prepared for the fact that the contestants’ blood is still warm when it hits your face. This takes some getting used to. Same goes for the sweat.
2. Just because it’s unbelievably cheap, don’t get lulled into thinking that a Laotian “happy pizza” (readily available in a plethora of Vang Vieng restaurants) won’t send you into orbit around your very own star system for hours and hours and hours …
3. The parasites found in the Cu Chi tunnels of southern Vietnam will leave you with a particularly nasty pimple-ish rash that itches like a mother****** at night. Apparently these parasites are part animal and part plant. I don’t know quite what to make of that, really ... in fact, I don't really want to think about it that much. But I can tell you this much for a fact: they’ll stick with you for a good 4 months, by my clock.
4. Eating the still-beating heart of a bamboo viper snake is not really as bad as people will have you believe. You just have to get past the whole thumping thing as it sits in its pool of blood and rice wine. No really … it’s not that bad. Hey, where you going?
5. Despite what they think, the local teenagers on Cat Ba Island in Vietnam don’t provide terribly stiff competition in drinking contests. They learned this the hard way. (Score one for the good ol' USofA!)
6. Apparently, I can fight off 5 muggers. Unfortunately, my friend Tom couldn’t.
7. Taking a longboat ride up the Mekong River from Saigon up to Phnom Penh to emulate the “Apocalypse Now” experience is, in fact, all that and a bag of chips.
8. There is a woman in Bangkok who, I kid you not, can fire a blowdart out of her coochie and pop a balloon you’re holding in your hand – 20 feet away. I seriously thought I was going to lose an eye ... I mean, how good can your aim really be? Blow ping-pong balls at me, that’s fine ... but darts??
9. Dog tastes like ass.
10. There’s a lovely ladyboy (read: transexual) in Chiang Khong, Thailand who will really look after you, if you give her half a chance. She’ll be happy to give you a ride through town on the back of her motorbike while waving and cooing to everybody she sees. You just have to be OK with basically looking like her new boy toy. Ask for Kitty.
11. Buddhist monks have email addresses. Who’da thunk it?
12. One sure way to garner lots of attention in Vietnam is to crash your motorbike into the guardrail of a bridge. Be sure to bleed profusely from your new wounds as the crowd gathers. Now we’re talking fun!
13. Contrary to popular belief, riding a longboat down the Mekong River to a tiny Laotian village called “Pakbeng” and being offered copious amounts of dirt-cheap opium actually makes for quite a pleasant 35th birthday. That is, of course, if you don’t mind the fact that they cut the power to the village at 10pm.
14. The gallbladder fluid of the bamboo viper snake tastes like Drain-O. And it doesn’t look much different, either.
15. Nestled snugly between Burma, China, Cambodia, Thailand and Vietnam, Laos has the ignominious honor of being the most bombed country in the history of warfare. And yet, it is populated by some of the kindest, most generous people on the face of the earth. Go figure.
16. One is, in fact, capable of taking a “shower” while straddling – by necessity – a urinal.
17. The maximum capacity of your average Laotian flat-bed truck (read: taxi) is 24 persons. And that doesn’t include the chickens, snakes and other unidentifiable animals on board. And just for the record, I’m counting the pregnant woman hanging off the back as one, not two.
18. You get a pretty weird buzz from drinking shots of rice wine fermented in a) goat balls, b) gecko, c) sea horse, d) bees, and e) snake venom. Viva Hanoi!
19. If you haven’t burned your leg on the hot tailpipe of a Cambodian auto-rickshaw motorcycle, you just haven’t lived. Just remember this: chicks dig scars.
20. With just a little bit of coaxing, Laotian Buddhist monks will join you in launching from a 30-foot rope swing into the lagoon on top of a massive waterfall outside Luang Prabang. Just don’t tell their masters.
21. The brain poster acquired from seeing the Khmer Rouge’s killing fields and S21 torture prison will stay with you until you die. Pol Pot was one crazy bastard.
22. The Hanoi Museum of History features, amongst other things, a gold medal-winning plastic bucket. Yes, a bucket. I’m not kidding.
23. It will cost you only US$200 to fire a rocket launcher in Cambodia. If you want to make more of a sport of it, they’ll be happy to sell you a cow to shoot at for an additional US$200. If you miss, they keep the cow. Unless of course you can fit it into your backpack. Your call.
24. There are over 200 tailors in Hoi An, Vietnam. They will make you anything from a bikini to a tuxedo to a wool coat, to your exact measurements, overnight, for about 1/10th the cost of any first world country.
25. Toilet paper is a luxury.
26. The hill tribesmen of northern Thailand make one mean-ass moonshine. You don't fully fathom this until you’re being recruited to help drag one of the village elders into his hut to pass out, and you realize you can't feel your legs.
27. Put yourself in the right place at the right time while visiting Cambodia, and you will be offered the tantalizing opportunity to fire a Russian RK-67 machine gun at a live chicken. It’s not exactly a fair fight, but who’s keeping score, right?
28. Laos Airlines does not fly with navigational instruments. In other words, they’ll just fly around until they see a hole in the clouds through which they can descend. I didn’t quite get the scoop on what exactly they do if they can’t find a hole … I opted to fly Vietnam Air instead. Call me crazy.
29. One can become paralized from the waist down by riding on the neck of an elephant for a good half hour. This becomes particularly problematic when you try to actually get *off* the elephant.
30. You quickly learn the art of self-control when you’re crawling through Vietnam’s highly-claustrophobic Cu Chi tunnels (they’re about 2.5 feet tall, 2 feet wide, and pitch black), and the bats fly past your head. If you don’t, you completely freak out, causing you smash your head into the wall and to likely place your hand on a millipede or a spider. Good luck to ya in there, cowboy.
31. “Same same but different” is not just a phrase, it’s a way of life. I'm still not sure exactly what it means, but it all seems to make sense when it's being said to you 10 times a day.
32. Nobody saw me do it, you can’t prove it, and as far as I know there is no evidence. That’s all I’m going to say about that one.
33. Ditto on the other thing.
34. The “streets” of Cambodia are fully capable of, at the very least, loosening your teeth, and at worst, swallowing your car whole.
35. Anywhere in Southeast Asia, the running average number of geckos you can expect to find clinging to the ceiling directly above your head while you eat is 8.
36. Once you’ve fired an AK47, Colt 45 and an M16, it’s not such a hot idea to keep the shell casings and try and take them through airport security. No sir, not a hot idea at all.
37. There are over one zillion temples (wats) in Southeast Asia. I’m not exaggerating that. One ZILLION.
38. If you would like a mango, pineapple, coconut, massage, pedicure, necklace, bracelet, pack of cigarettes, deck of playing cards, bouncy-ball, or 5-course dinner for 4, just stand on the beach in Hoi An, Vietnam for 10 minutes. Just stand there. Feel the love.
39. Vietnamese alligator farms are terribly weird places, and their owners terribly accommodating. Maybe it's all the aphrodisiacs they're sucking down? I dunno.
40. Southeast Asia is a magical place filled with beauty, joy, and some of the most wonderful people on earth. If you haven’t gone, you should be kicking yourself right now. Go ahead, kick. I’ll wait.
3:21 AM
Saturday, April 19, 2003
4/7/03 Waitomo, New Zealand
We rolled into Waitomo around noon, which gave me some time to chill before my 4pm departure for my caving adventure. I chilled on the nice, warm deck of the hostel, overlooking the beautiful Waitomo countryside under crystal blue skies filled with monster clouds. At 3:45, I wandered down the street to the Waitomo Adventure Company to do the Haggas Honking Holes cave expedition. I met my fellow cavers, including 2 French, 2 Hungarians, a Swede, and 2 Irish -- one of whom was Lauren, a beautiful blue-eyed blonde from Northern Ireland, with a great smile and an engaging laugh. We chatted on the van ride up to the caves, talking about how nervous she was for the trip. She had never abseiled (rapelled) before. Well, as it turned out, neither had anybody else (except me), and at least she had an advantage nobody else did - she spoke English.
I think it's funny how often I find myself these days standing in some shack or other, getting kitted up and trained to do yet another crazy thing. This time was no different, as we got into our wet suits miner's helmets, big rubber wellington boots (wellies), and a climbing harness. I was amused to watch our guides (Ali B and Teri) attempt to do a thorough technique and safety training in more or less sign language to a bunch of non-English speakers. It was pure comedy. He repeatedly used the word "splat" accompanied by a dramatic pantomime to emphasize some of the more dangerous aspects of our little adventure. His audience would smile and nod blankly. Okee dokee then. Off we go.
We hopped back into the van, and took a rather harrowing drive down a bumpy dirt track out deeper into the countryside. We piled out at a little turn-around and scrambled down a steep escarpment. They checked our harnesses one last time, turned on our headlamps, and gave us some last-minute important instructions that only a handful of us actually understood. All set, we dropped down into a 2-body-width sized hole of limestone, the walls damp and muddy. We squeezed one-by-one down and around some tight twisting corners on our way to the start of the first abseil. One-by-one, we fed the rope into our belay device (a multi-part stainless steel set-up rather than the usual figure-8 or ATC device), swung ourselves out over the center of a gaping hole, water crashing down into its pitch-blackness, and dropped in. I zipped down, quickly scanning the rock face for reasonable foot placements along the way. After a good 25 feet, I reached the bottom, and turned from the wall to see the row of lights of my fellow cavers lined up against the far wall. The stalagmites and stalagtites ringed the room -- milky white and caramel formations seemingly dripping from the ceiling, and jutting from the cave floor, oftentimes meeting in the middle, in thick taffy tubes and thin spaghetti strands. The vaulted ceiling of the cave glistened in the soft light of our headlamps, as water droplets clung to the tips of the thinner stalagtites.
"All right! Let's go!", Teri called, as Ali B fired himself down the hole, landing with a rocky crunch. We moved on through a narrow opening, squeezing ourselves through the tight walls, heads bumping against the stalagtites. We crawled onto our bellies to scoot ourselves through a 2-foot tall opening with 8" of water flowing through it. My wellies filled with frigid water, shocking my feet. I thought what it must have been like to be the first one down into this cave, exploring it for the first time, wondering whether any given twist or turn might pin them in as they followed the flowing water assuming it must lead somewhere. We were lowered (read: dropped) down into narrow slots, we abseiled down through crashing bone-chilling waterfalls, we regularly emptied our wellies when they filled with painfully cold water, and we contorted our bodies to squeeze through claustrophobic slots, our helmets continually clunking on the stalagtites.
Finally, we began to see glow worms, tiny blue glowing dots on the ceilings like so many stars, the product of tiny maggots that (somehow) illuminate their bottoms to attract prey during their exceedingly short lives. They dangle hair-thin fibres from the ceilnig to catch passing insects, much like spiders do. We had to be careful not to breathe on the fibres, so as to not tangle them and subsequently starve the little guys. We sat in a particularly well-populated cave and tuned off our headlamps to watch in wonder the glowing blue constellations overhead.
As the group moved on, I lingered and followed far behind to get the feeling of being down there alone, the intrepid explorer discovering this cave for the first time. Very spooky, and just a little bit unnerving. Finally, it was time to climb back out, a combination of ladders and fairly easy rock climbing on wet rocks. At one point, while others climbed a ladder (on belay), I asked our guides if it would be OK if I was to climb the steep wall next to it instead (I saw good handholds and a decent challenge, particularly in wellies). They said "Sure, go ahead." I love this country! I scaled it (stemming in wellies on a wet rock face is no mean feat) and squeezed through the hole at the top -- I got stuck with my wetsuit -- got off belay, and we cruised on. Ali and Teri took some more pictures of us, and I led the group up and out of the cave (it turned out to be a big loop) and into the blackness of the night. Exhausted, I lay down on the soft grass and watched the thin clouds run past the waning quarter moon, the stars sparkling in the sky like so many distant glow worms.
We drove back down the bumpy road to the shed where we got out of our gear, showered and got ready to go. I chatted up Lauren on the drive back to town, and she and her friend Ali (a different Ali) agreed to get dinner with me that night. We made store-bought pasta and sauce at my hostel and chatted about anything and everything from travel to politics to language. We had plenty of good belly laughs, and by the end of the evening, I was quite enamored with Lauren -- there is just something about that Irish accent -- but alas, as happens with travelers, we'd part ways and perhaps see each other again down the line.
4/8/03 Taupo, NZ
The next morning, we were back on the bus, heading from Waitomo to Taupo, and our next adventure. We stopped on the way to take a nice hike along a beautiful river. Upon returning to the bus, our driver -- Kane -- informed us that our skydive was going to be pushed to tomorrow instead of today. Very disappointing, as I had psyched myself up for it, but one day is good as another to jump out of a plane, I figure. In a lame attempt to get my adrenaline fix for the day (I'd gotten used to it by now), I decided to take a parasail over Lake Taupo, the largest crater lake in the world. Parasailing is where they take you out on a powerboat, hook you up to a parachute, and drag you behind the boat on a 1,000 foot cable, which gets you pretty high. Pleasant? Sure. Scenic? Yeah. Adrenaline? No. I went with Lucy (a beautiful young Brit) and Shea (a pretty Canuck with a contagious rifle-shot laugh), and they had a great time, especially since Lucy is afraid of heights (that helps if you hope to get some modicum of excitement out of the ride). For me, a waste of money. Oh well.
That night, we had dinner with the Kiwi bus gang at Mulligan's (bangers and mashed washed down with a couple pints of Murphy's Stout). It was Mark Tolley's birthday, so we -- in the usual form -- poured tons of nasty shots down his throat ... from tequila to scotch to absinthe. And then we stumbled a couple doors down to the famous Holy Cow, a bar reknowned for late-night dancing on tables. Anybody who knows me will not be at all surprised when I report that I finally crawled down from the tabletop around 2:30am, thoroughly shnockered. I crawled into bed in a hostel (aka backpacker) dorm, laughing it up with Phil and Mark, looking forward to tomorrow's skydive.
6:59 PM
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
4/5/03, Whitianga, NZ
I sit now, 3 days in, in a pub in a small coastal town on the northern island of New Zealand, watching rugby and drinking beers with a group of Brits and Kiwis. Today, I went sea kayaking around Cathedral Cove -- stunningly beautiful rock formations jutting from the sea, remnants of ancient labva flows and millenia of weathering and erosion. This follows two days in Auckland, including one on nearby Waiheke Island, where I chatted up a couple girls on Palm Beach who turned out to be locals ... and sisters. They offered to drive me into town (Oneroa) to get dinner and do a local pub crawl (a guided tour!).
Kiwis are without a doubt the most kind, generous and earnest people I have ever met, hands down. Each one I've met -- from the customs inspector (M006) who searched my luggage for drugs, to the shuttle bus driver who offered to drive us to the top of Mt. Eden for a spectacular panoramic view of Auckland en route to the city, to the kayak guides who graciously made us afternoon tea on the beach -- has been absolutely true at heart.
While NZ is an outstanding country, Auckland is quite odd in its own unique way. It caters to backpackers as if they held the crown jewels. It's quaint and cosmopolitan. They built the largest tower in the southern hemisphere, and they let you -- encourage you, I should say -- to jbungie jump off it. 192 meters worth of adrenaline in downtown Auckland. The city is rife with sailboats, backpackers, and swish businesspeople, ultra-hip japanese kids, and wanna-be gang bangers. The police don't carry guns. Kids between 18 and 24 trick out their little cars and cruise them down the main drag (Queen St.) on Friday night, creating a mile-long solid traffic jam of souped up Hondas, Toyotas -- even Subarus -- each chock full of teenagers and whumping music. The police don't bother them. The city is young, yet quaint and reminiscent of classical Europe. You cannot buy filtered regular coffee here ... only espresso. A "flat white" is the closest you come to coffee with cream. Everything is "sweet" or "sweet as" or "wicked". The city lies on an isthmus formed from the eruptions of 60-odd volcanos that still dot the landscape, looking like big green cups scattered about. You can buy absinthe here. This will make you either black out, hallucinate, utterly stupid, or all three at once. It's definitely worth a try. I was drinking this magic stuff with Alexis, who I had met earlier at the ACB (Auckland Central Backpackers) hostel. She's an interesting tomboy from way upstate Michigan. Probably too smart for her own good ... and for her sharp tongue ... but a sweet girl at heart.
I booked myself on the Kiwi Experience bus, which takes backpackers around the country, making numerous stops that allow travelers to hit any and all adventure and cultural activities their appetite can handle. They arrange for your hostel stays along the way as well. Their network of backscratching relationships borders on daunting. Let's put it this way: the drivers (e.g. guides) will never have to buy a drink at any pub they ever walk into.
My roommates in Whitianga last night were a couple of cool Brits touring around for a year (typical story) before going off to university back home. One of them (Strewan) had a possum pelt drying in the bathroom. He had trapped and shot it on his uncle's farm weeks earlier, and was working through the rather arduous and painstaking process of curing and drying the pelt. The stink was assaultingly pungent. But you got used to it after a minute. Good practice for the upcoming long flights on India Air (which I fully expect will be a vacuum sealed can of stink), I figure, or just pure nasal masochism, one or the other.
4/6/03 Rotorua, NZ
It's been absolutely pissing rain all day. I made the right decision to go ahead with my whitewater rafting trip, reasoning that -- well, I'll be wet one way or another, right? Philip, Mark and I were the only three from our full bus to opt for the rafting trip. Just 45 minutes on the water, but it includes three class 5 waterfalls to drop into, including a 7 meter fall (that's not a typo). The Kaituna River flows between 2 lakes just out side of Rotorua. the rain pelted the fogged windows of the Land Cruiser as we sat rumbling on the sheepskin covered bench seats. Mark and Philip (Brits) prattled on about rugby and football, and a quiet Japanese kid who spoke almost no English looked way too uneasy to be on this trip. You got the impression he had gotten on the wrong car and didn't know enough English to say "get me the hell out of here." I chatted with the driver, who used to run rafting trips out on the American River, where I learned to raft with my Cal Adventures guide friends. Small world.
We arrived at the river, and got kitted up in wet suits, helmets and fleece as the rain continued to hammer down on us. We were quickly trained in paddling basics, plus a key moved for this river called "Hold On!" where you hold onto some sturdy straps as if your life depended on it (it does), and wedge your bum firmly down on the bottom of the boat, jammed between the pontoons, chin on chest (unless you *want* to eat the helmet of the guy in front of you). Fully trained, and somewhat unnerved by the photos of flipping boats (and subsequently launched paddlers) adorning the walls, we walked to the river's edge and put in. After a couple class 3 or 4 rapids, amongst spectacularly lush rainforest scenery, we came upon the first waterfall. This one was 4m, followed quickly on by a 3m drop. "If you fall out of the boat, curl yourself up in a ball, hold your breath, and think of a happy place," we were told. This ain't no Disneyland ride, folks. We put up a cheer, paddled fowards and executed out "Hold On" move with the precision that only a distinct fear of drowning can inspire. We pitched over the edge, slamming headlong into the churning pool below. The boat popped up, and I looked up to see nothing but roiling whitewater all around the boat. We extricated ourselves from the floor of the boat, made 3 more quick paddles, and jumped back into "Hold On" mode as we pitched off the next fall. This time, as we smashed into the pool, the boat lurched up to the left, nearly flipping us over. "Put those two on top of each other, and that's the big one," our guide told us. Wicked.
We took a moment to look up. The rain fell like golf gballs, pocking the water's surface, popping on our helmets. Judging by the scenery alone, we could easily have been in the Amazon. We rounded a few turns and made for the big drop. Now, for those Americans not familiar enough with the metric system, 7 meters =~7.5 yards, which is about 22 feet, give or take (I'm a writer, not a mathematician ... cut me some slack). Either way, that, my friends, is tall. We watched and waited as a boat before us went over the edge, filled with people. We heard the screams, and waited. And waited. And waited. No sign of them. we stood in the boat to look for them. Nothing. Then, a paddle appeared. And another. Then a guy swimming. And another. And then the boat floated by, apparently righted either by the guides, or by the river flipping it back over. We looked at each other and laughed nervously. Our turn. We let them clean themselves up, gave a cheer, paddled and held on ... grasping those straps with a deathgrip. I could feel the water fall out from under us, and everything went white as I peeked out from under my helmet, chin to chest. We slammed into the water and went under. Deep. It was an absolute maelstrom, but I could tell the boat was maintaining its equilibrium. The water crashed into my face -- my eyes, my nose, my ears -- everything was force-filled. After what seemed like a long time (relatively speaking, it *was*), we popped up and were shot across the pool to slam into the rock walls on the other side.
I tried in vain to focus my vision -- my contact lenses literally floated in my eyes. I pushed them, squeezing out enough water to be able to look back and see what we had just come down. Holy moly. Terrifying. This was not a trickling waterfall, but more like a water cannon, where 3 different flows were being funneled into one roiling thunder of blasting water. I quickly saw how to guarantee a flip -- miss the dead center of the fall by inches. Do so, and you'll catch one of the sideward flows, and it'd flip you like a pancake. Awesome stuff.
The pictures we'd later see would show us going over, being completely vertical, and ultimately disappearing completely from view for 3 full frames. We exchanged high-5's and continued down the river, hearts pounding from the adrenaline rush. One of the guides looked at me and said "Give me your paddle." I did. "Go sit up on front of the boat and hang on." "OK." I scurried up front, sat on the bow of the boat with my feet dangling over, and held on to the rope attached to the bowring. "Paddle forward!" I held on, seeing the big hole he was heading me into. I felt like Slim Pickens in Dr. Strangelove. The nose of the boat dove down into the hole, burying me. I held on, laughing wildly. We cruised into calmer waters, and somebody pushed me from behind, into the river for a swim. I swam back for the boat, laughing, and hauled myself on board. We played some more water tricks (surfing eddies, etc.) and headed for the pull-out point.
Rotorua is home to a panoply of thermal activity, including bubbling mud pools, geysers and hot springs. It's beautiful stuff, but the whole town stinks of sulphur. Well, on the plus side, it's the one place I've found where you can pretty much far with impunity.
It's also the home of an authentic reproduction of a Maori village, where they put on demonstrations, show, and a huge feast for the tourists every night. A large group of my fellow travelers and I went to see it that night. I was asked by the group on the bus to act as our chief, which required that I represent our people in a variety of Maori rituals, and to take an honored place during the demonstrations and banquets. Not one to turn down such an opportunity to be treated well, I agreed. I have to admit that I was rather startled when the Maori warrior came at me ( and the other four "chiefs", each representing their own bus), waving a big sharp speakr in my face, screaming bloody murder, bugging his eyes out, jutting his tongue out, fairly spitting at us ... terrifying stuff if you're not coming in peace. We held out ground, keeping our hands in front of us (showing we had not weapons ) and our eyes on him, as we were told to do. We accepted his peace offering (a stick placed on the ground) and were thus welcomed into his village with the rest of our tribe.
The Maori are the indigenous people of New Zealand, thought to have arrived here from some unknown Polypenesian island hundreds of years ago, and the village was an authentic reproduction of ancient Maori culture, activities and dress. Very well done, especially since it was done by and for Maoris themselves (rather than by Roy Disney). The feast was big and plentiful, and quite tasty. I had a great time hanging out and chatting with all my mates around the table, getting to know them all a little better. Afterwards, we were off to the pub for a few pints and some pool (somebody's gotta show these Kiwis how to play, right?). The bartenders poured me free drinks when they spied the chief's necklace hanging around my neck, given to me in a nice ceremony after dinner. It's good to be the king.
6:25 PM
Friday, April 04, 2003
Has it really only been two days? Oh boy, am I in trouble.
Well, I met up with a nice girl (no, nothing like that) here at the hostel, and headed out for dinner at an Irish pub. Well, one thing led to another (no, nothing like that), and we ended up sucking down endless local beers (Speight's) and absinthe. Yes, absinthe. Tastes more or less like licorice crap, and creates a nervous-making burning sensation in the throat for an uncomfortably long time afterwards ... and, well ... now I know why this stuff is illegal.
Let's put it this way: you know you're in trouble when the bartender winces when you order the drink.
We headed (stumbled) back up the street towards the hostel, stopping off at the Fu Bar for a quick spin on the dancefloor to some reasonable techno and a quick chat with some other travelers. Then to The Globe bar, the big scene. I do believe I actually hallucinated on the dance floor. We danced until 4am, when they finally threw us out, and I returned (stumbled) to my dorm room (I haven't said that since 1986 ... please appreciate the irony with me, would you?) where I kinda made enough noise getting in the door to wake my 7 roommates, whose eyes popped up at me from the various beds. Heh heh ... sorry, folks.
This was day one. One. There's still 5 months to go. Whoa nellie ... batten down the hatches.
4:57 AM
Thursday, March 06, 2003
April 3, 2003
People ask me why I'm doing this. Well, the answers are myriad ... but it mostly boils down to this: I can.
After shaking the intensive stress of moving all my worldly possessions (save what I could stuff in a backpack) into storage and giving my cat to a loving home, I finally started to relax on the flight from SFO to LAX. The flight from LAX to Auckland was smooth ... 12 hours that felt like 4. I managed some good sleep thanks to an entirely empty row of seats, and made it here before I knew what hit me.
I collected my baggage from the claim, and headed towards the customs area. A very nice black lab met me there with joyful enthusiasm. I returned his enthusiasm, and the kind smiles of the customs agent tending his leash. The dog sat down in front of me, almost grinning. I looked at the customs guy and said "niiice dog." And he looked at me kind of gravely. Suddenly, I realized what was happening, just as he said "this is a drug-sniffing dog. If he sits down in front of you, he smells drugs." Shit.
He was smelling the residue of some allegedly illicit substance perhaps hypothetically formerly carried in a particular theoretical day-pack. Of course, I'm not stupid enough to actually carry drugs around on international flights. But damn did this dog have a nose on him! After a thorough (and I do mean *thorough*) inspection of the contents of my pack (read: everything short of the contents of my colon) by a kind and friendly agent named M006 (she was not allowed to tell me her name, despite the fact that I told her I'd make her famous), I was on my way. As she held aloft my emergency roll, she mockingly informed me that "we do have toilet paper here in New Zealand". Yes, thank you.
I hopped an airport shuttle to town. The shuttle driver took us on a complimentary ride up to the top of a dormant volcano with panoramic views of the city, and told us all about the geological history of Auckland ... gratis. And he steadfastly refused my tip until I nearly forced it on him. I like these people already. He dropped me at the door of Auckland Center Backpackers (ACB) Auckland's largest and most hopping hostel.
Now ... within a mere 2 hours of arriving, I've booked bus transportation around the island, and (deep breath now) bungie jumping, sky diving, abseiling, jet boating, mountain biking, glacier hiking, whitewater rafting, backcountry hiking, ziplining (basically being shot across a canyon harnessed onto a wire), and crawling around in caves studded with phosphorescent glow worms. I've met a small town's worth of cool backpackers willing to share a smile and a conversation. The beer is cheap. A house DJ spins tonight downstairs. Life is good.
This country is incredibly bizarre. Its catering to travelers (especially backpackers) is highly impressive. Its focus on adventure sports borders on the absurd. It's all laid right out for you, if you want to grab it. Want to jump off a 192 meter tower? Go right ahead, step right up, and off the plank. Want to be shuttled directly to the most creatively absurd adventure sports conceivable (or otherwise)? Sign right here, we'll get you there, sweet as (as they say).
This is messed up. I mean, I haven't even been here for 8 hours yet. I haven't slept yet. And my mind is already reeling. Sweet as, my friends ... sweet as.
Game on.
11:35 PM
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