Eating icebergs and other diet tips
November 23, 2005Lake Ohau, New Zealand
8:57am
This morning I met a truck on the other side of a one-way bridge. He had the right of way. He tipped his hat as he passed. I promise to be brief today.
Yesterday was our foray into the mountains to boat on the lake created by the ever-receding Tasman Glacier. The lake was a balmy one degree Celsius. We stuck our hands in for ten seconds upon instruction from our guide who looked very much like the impossible offspring of Coburn and Aaron.
He pronounced Glacier “Glassy are”.
After walking about 2km along a path created in the middle of the glacial moraine, we were outfitted with life jackets and led down to our boat. Three other couples signed up for the journey, including a preppy Netherland couple in their late forties (guessing), an interracial couple from just outside of Sydney (she was Asian and all blinged out in diamonds, he was meek, perhaps an accountant or actuary, working sixty hours a week to provide for his wife who bosses him around in broken English. He did not look happy) and the requisite Japanese couple whose fashions were just on the outside of hip, her hat so fauxburry it almost looked cool, until I realized it was attached to her lapel with a potato chip clip.
We were surrounded by the many peaks in the Southern Alps exceeding 3000 metres, including Mt. Cook and Mt. Tasman, the first and second highest mountains in New Zealand. Our small yellow dinghy felt like a palm in a touch football huddle.
It was almost smothering. The lake itself was not the crystal clear blue water you would expect from a glacial lake. It was grey, because of the constant rock and silt falling off the glacier as it recedes and melts. The glacier itself was also covered in rocks and dirt, at least the bottom third of it was, the accessible part. Ben, our guide explained that the top two thirds were that snowy shiny icy part, but the glacier we could boat up to was still impressive. It is a glacier after all. Can I say glacier one more time? Glacier. Thank you.
The best part for me, and I think for Hud, was driving right up to the floating pieces of ice, and grabbing a hunk and eating it. Yes, Hud has now touched and eaten a piece of an iceberg.
Swam the Great Barrier Reef. Ate an iceberg. Oh, and driven a boat.
Three years, 84 days old. Nice.
The whole tour took about three hours, including the walk and the drive in the small bus. The whole Aoraki/Mt. Cook region is a giant National park. You could spend weeks here doing all the walks and tramps. They also have helicopters and planes that land directly on the upper two thirds of the Tasman Glacier. A little out of our price range though. Ok, we thought about it. The once in a lifetime theory is a tough one to argue. Poverty does not win all the time.
I have decided to give serious thought to tramping. I am enjoying walking so much, both visually and how my body feels, that I want to push it a little. I am going to start extending my daily walks gradually past five kilometers and hopefully get to 8-10-12 in the next month or so. Sometime in mid-January I will hook onto a two-three day tramp in one of the two National Parks up in Nelson. Steph thinks it’s a good idea, so everything is a go.
You, of course, will get to read about it.
Or read about bags of peanuts and diet coke farts and the return of the stomach.
You just never know.
Love to all,
J.
November 21, 2005
Lake Ohau, New Zealand
9:05pm
I undo my shoes before I take them off now. I never used to. A sign saying ‘cattle stop’ does not confuse me. Shitty wool around a sheep’s bum no longer causes me to wipe more. Walking 5km before seven in the morning is not just something other people do. Lower back pain is frustrating. Mountains and streams are difficult to get used to. Reading 15 books in 6.5 months may be life’s greatest luxury. Sitting by a fire in a million dollar home writing in a journal may be a close second. Head shaking happens often. Head scratching again, a close second.
Hud sounds at least six years old. If I only really knew what a six-year-old sounds like.
“Are you done your walk Dad?” He says, holding the door open for me.
“Yes my boy I am done,” I reply, peeling off the hood, sweat droplets fall from my temple, land on his perfect foot.
“Was it a good walk?” Still holding the doorknob, shutting it behind me as I lean down gingerly to untie my shoes.
“It was great Hud,” I say, toe removing my sock. “I saw a dead bird”
“Come with me Dad, I made a fort.” Off around the corner, same pink feet smacking the concrete.
I guess I am over my angst and frustration with this place. The views are too nice to walk around with a scowl all the time. It may be the isolation. All three of the weeklong stays we booked during November were very isolated. The shorter stays were in cities or at least near civilization. Places I felt happier. Again, this all may be indicators for future settling locations.
Yesterday we went to Twizel, the small town 40kms to the north of us. Omarama is the small town 40km to the south of us. Lake Ohau Road literally is in the middle of the two towns. I forgot to ask if there were any feuds. Twizel was built for the tourist, as it is the last town before Mt. Cook, the mountain that hovers in the distance looking out from our deck. We visited their information centre and decided quickly to book a trip to take a small boat on a glacial lake on Mt. Cook to drink water directly off icebergs. And to think I came all this way to skip a Canadian winter. With the trip booked for Tuesday, we piddled about the town, visiting playgrounds, drinking flat whites (espresso with not as much milk as a latte), and picking up some produce from their very limited grocery store. We did not talk to anyone, so there are no colourful anecdotes about the locals. I think I miss writing about people. I seemed to be better at capturing the humour with human interaction. Steph and I are great, wonderful even, and it is amazing our routine of making each other laugh has kept us afloat this long, but sometimes I miss people, and it is apparent when I corner someone and talk their ear off. Something I never really did before.
I am changing. Evolving hopefully. But I can feel it, the wrinkles in the corners of my eyes, a new one almost every morning, aging, my mind big picturing, caring less about less and more about more. My baldness remains unchanged. My belly smaller. Hey. I have a penis. Imagine that.
On the way back from Twizel we stopped at a salmon farm to feed the fish and to purchase a nice fillet for the bbq. The bbq we have to bring inside every night. It was trippy, for Hud and I, tossing pellets into the netted tank and the salmon leaping and thrashing in the water trying to score the free meal. After, the gloved lady retrieved a nice $12 fillet and put it in an iced bag for us. I like salmon now. Another change for the better.
Last night was quiet. Hud sleeps right through the night here. It’s been a treat.
This morning I saw the sunrise from my sessile position. I pushed myself up from the bed, testing the new pain in my back. It was manageable so I peed and weighed myself like I do now. The great room revealed a storm in the distant mountains, whipping across the water and dusting the peaks with new snow. You could see the line between rain and snow. I debated rushing out and trying to beat the storm, but was glad I did not as within five minutes rain started pelting the deck. The news was my next best option.
Steph and Hud woke soon after and the storm disappeared as quickly as it started. I rushed out the door, IPOD locked on shuffle and began my walk. It is a road walk, but the road follows the edge of the lake, so I am missing nothing by walking on comfortable terrain. The walk starts from the deck, through a field of purple lupines, down a rocky unsealed road, to the main road, to a bridge 2.6km away. I cross the bridge, touch both sides with my wet shoe, and walk home. It takes 40 minutes. It is brisk but not breakneck. I can talk while walking but I could not sing. Sweat finds my back and head easily. It is a nice daily workout.
After my return, we chilled for a bit, Steph and Hud painting and me putting together our lunch for our planned picnic. I made a bean salad with carrots, celery and feta and locally grown lettuce, a wee bit of oil and balsamic and dill. I made two pb and j’s, more carrots and celery, a fruit cup for Hud, two slices of leftover oven pizza, two red apples, a green apple and two plums, a plastic container of watered down orange juice for Hud, litre of water for Steph and I to share. A feast for kings. Or wayward jesters.
We drove further up Lake Ohau road to Round Bush Reserve, a small camping/picnic area right on the shore of Ohau. We had to shoo a herd of cows and I backed the car down near the water. We ate in the back as the wind was quite cold.
The car sat beneath the red blanket of Beech mistletoe, which grow wild here in the Ohau forest. Steph posed for the appropriate picture.
After lunch we drove further up the road, passed the most isolated motel in the world, most isolated with the nicest view. Weatherall Motel.
If you murdered someone and needed a couple of nights to get your shit together, this is where you should come. It is on the edge of the lake, at the beginning of a sheep station, at the base of a mountain. I almost wanted to get a room just to see what it cost. Steph said $50, I thought more.
Up the road still, through at least two mobs of sheep, over four cattle stops and one ford we found the turn off we were looking for, Temple Valley Reserve. We wanted a short walk to end our day. A small board listed three walks, two over two hours, the last, a one-hour return walk. Perfect. We set out up the mountain. It weaved slowly up, through forests and fields, across waterfalls and through felled trees.
It was marked by orange triangles, a perfect game for a three year old, who overcame his weariness to race ahead to try and find the next marker. He was a trooper and will sleep well tonight. The walk was perfect length and even though the rain returned to soak us all, it still felt great to be in such clean, open, big air. My lungs get pinker by the minute.
After we came home Steph built a fire, while I napped, resting my back after a day full of activity. We ate the salmon, which I coated in lemon, coriander, teriyaki sauce, lemon pepper and sea salt, letting the bbq do the rest. Steph made nice jasmine rice with cashews and mango chutney. Broccoli and cauliflower accompanied. It was delicious.
It’s almost ten now and I can feel myself slipping off, the fire cracking and spitting beside me.
Tomorrow its icebergs and glaciers. Today was waterfalls and mountains.
I look forward to the morning walk now.
I look forward to the new lines at the corners of my eyes now.
Love to all,
J.
November 19, 2005
Lake Ohau, New Zealand
9:05pm
Irritability creeps into me at the oddest times. It maybe the bouncing around the country. It maybe the fact I am back on the new age Jason regime. It maybe my big toenail growing sideways into my calloused skin. It maybe the combination of all three. The fact remains my fuse was short today. Today being the first full day in what could be one of the most beautiful places on the planet.
Staring into Steph’s eyes excluded.
Who the hell do we think we are? We are staying in about a two thousand square foot home looking directly at one of the biggest mountains in NZ, windy Lake Oahu thrashing about beneath our huge deck. It’s a rock star’s home in the middle of nowhere. And when I mean nowhere I mean at least 40km from a town with perhaps 500 people living full time. It feels like we were dropped from a space ship and told to populate this bountiful location. I am Adam. I think. I hope. Where’s my rib?
Travel day from Queenstown was highlighted by stopping first in Arrowtown so my little Georgia O’Keefe could pick up supplies to satisfy another goal of hers on this trip; painting. The other stop we made was at the first bungee jump site ever.
It was not the biggest drop, and I mentioned this was one of things I wanted to try on this trip and what better place to try it then at the original bungee location.
I didn’t jump. I barely even contemplated it. I am fat fucking chicken. I think Hud was even disappointed in me. It did not exceed my own sorrowful chagrin though. Maybe with Tony when he arrives in December.
The drive was quite tame until entering the Southern Range and its Mars-like terrain. It was only about 200km away, but with the winding roads, the pee stops and the groceries in Omarama, we turned off highway on the Lake Ohau side road around 2. It was 19km from the turnoff and very quickly we were able to see the mountains in the background, snow crested and ominous, begging us to come closer. We wondered where the lake was and with 5km to go we rounded a corner and were met by the placid lake, welcoming us with a smooth blue hand. We stopped to take a picture.
We caught our breath. We continued on.
Lake Ohau Village is not really a village, more a pretty darn new real estate development in a location not used to humans. Sheep yes. Possums probably. Humans no. We pulled into the carport of our ultra modern looking house. There was firewood stacked waist high, driftwood piled on top for kindling. Yes Heather. Driftwood for kindling.
We found the under the rock key and entered.
It is difficult to describe the feeling when I walked in. I liked the size of the place right off. The last two locations we all shared a bedroom and that is just cramped. This was a two-bedroom house with a large (34ft by 21ft) great room. Now when I say great room, the image of hardwood and big rugs and roaring fires comes to mind. Not here.
It is stark and modern. Clean lines, smooth wood paneled fireplace, stainless steel appliances. The floor is smooth concrete, with individual rocks pressed into it. It feels like the floor of a high school. In fact, with the 15 ft high ceilings, it almost feels like we are living in a high school. I want to drain a jump shot off one of the walls. And I would drain it. The net wouldn’t move.
The best part of the place is the view and the deck. One entire wall of the great room is glass. All in panels you can open in entirety. This walks onto a deck about half the size of the great room. And looks out over Lake Ohau with its mountain range backdrop. It is a legendary view and by far the most dramatic piece of scenery I have ever witnessed.
So why do I sound disappointed? Maybe I expected less modern and warmer accommodation. It is so white. Not one piece of art hangs on the walls. The furniture is ok, its cheap, it does not match the grandeur of the house. I guess I feel out of place in such wannabe Feng Shui surroundings. There is not a clean line on my coke bottle body anywhere.
The other thing irking me about this place was the list of rules and dos and don’ts that accompanied the e-mail with the key location. It also highlighted satellite television on the website. So far I have been able to get the two local NZ channels you can get anywhere in the country and 8 different religious channels. I get a Kurd channel. I get a Chinese channel. ESPN? Nope. If I did my mood would be much brighter. But that is not really a big deal; I did not come halfway across the world to see the NBA. It just would have been nice to read a sports ticker or one fucking game that does not involve a try or a wicket. I am whining I know.
The owner of this place lives in Melbourne and my guess is she spends maybe 4 weeks here a year, the rest of the time renting it out to rock stars and pretend writers and artists like us. All the magazines are marked with an identifying tag, in case we really wanted to steal a 2004 Air New Zealand magazine. With such fierce winds, all outdoor furniture including the bbq must be brought in every night, and there is such a vacuum created with the wind, that all open doors must be latched or they may shatter on return impact. It’s almost scary.
I think I am just complaining to complain. And because this is sometimes an actual journal and not just a desperate plea for attention, I get to write what I want, even if there are a thousand tiny violins out there playing just for me.
Today the highlight was skipping rocks.
It actually cheered me up more than anyone would understand.
Tomorrow we are going to Twizel. If it’s nice, we may go for a swim in Lake Middleton, the smaller, warmer, less violent next-door neighbour to Lake Ohau.
The lake where I skipped rocks. This last three weeks I feel like one of those rocks.
Sinking will not be tolerated.
Love to all,
J.
November 17, 2005
Tussock Cottage, between Arrowtown and Queenstown, New Zealand
9:33pm
I am not really serious about writing tonight. I am just watching Steph bend over and pack our dry goods in our green environmental bags. These bags have replaced our dog poo plastic grocery bags. We are so earthy. Especially as we peel away in our oil coughing 1991 Subaru wagon, chica in the front seat cackling as she shines up her Gucci sunglasses, me eating personal Dairy Milk chocolates, secretly wishing my son could be old enough for a Gameboy so he would stop pressing his bored yellow sandals into the small of my back.
We are leaving tomorrow. Away from Arrowtown and Queenstown. Away from civilization and into the mountain range, onto the secret lake, into the plush home we dreamed about six weeks ago. Lake Oahu near Mt. Cook, New Zealand’s highest peak at over 3700 metres. It looks like the mountain range lakes you see on postcards, reflecting off each other, not knowing which is real, which is rippled fake. I just want it to be bigger.
The last two days were mildly jammed packed with Asian type hysteria. We slammed Arrowtown in five hours, whipping in and out of the tourist stores until finally settling into a great Thai food restaurant for a cheap lunch. This was after visiting the Chinese Settlement, the New Zealand tribute to the Chinese that bravely ventured here to find gold during the rushes back in the 19th century. The settlement was boring and ridiculous and almost insulting as it felt like a bone being tossed to the Chinese for their limited input to the gold rush back in the day. They actually had a sign put up in front of basically five bricks saying it was the ruins of sum yung guys home. Whatever. It was old. It was gone. Why am I here?
Next up, watching grade school chicks and low rider undies bend over and fake pan for gold in the river as their isle of lesbos teacher watched. It was a gold country field trip. Funny thing about watching all these wee girls get together to listen to their teacher explain the gold panning history, was the random tour bus Asians sticking their noses into the huddle to listen and take pictures like these poor girls were part of some giant show. The girls were so polite. I would have been less so.
Steph and I watched the whole scene and giggled. Hud threw rocks. It was nice especially because the sun kept getting our eyes.
That was yesterday. I am at today and barely can remember yesterday, beyond the pubescent crack flashes and Pad Thai burps. Today started with a drive to Queenstown and poking and muttering about until the bus picked us up to take us to the jet boat. We signed up for jetboating the first day we arrived. It was the extreme adventure thing we decided to do.
It was awesome.
The boat sits 14 people. The boat goes over 80kms an hour. The boat weaves in and out of Shotover River canyon, within inches of the cliffs. The boat can ride in under 8 inches of water. The boat does 360 degree spins over and over again.
It was awesome.
Beyond its awesomability, was the fact that our stoic, sometimes serious son Hud, rode this boat like a bad mule, never once showing an ounce of fear or a smidge of hesitation. He tackled the adventure like an end around sweep. He is the king, always making me feel guilty for doubting his fearlessness.
After jet boating we sucked drinks at a pub looking at mountains. It was all Irish and tasty and cut too short by responsibility. Luckily when we got home, Lee took us in and fed us curry and wine and we talked until our kids’ bedtime.
We talked about the variety of our lives, the comfort of our choices and the laughter in our stupidity. She is just a wee bit older than us, but just as young in spirit. We all held the mike intermittently, without me once thinking someone dominated.
Although I did ask Steph later on if I talked too much. She said I didn’t. But I think I did.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 3:33 PM
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