Now or never kind of guy
February 26, 2006
Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
8:41pm
Whether it was Cable Bay,
with its funky pink sand, or Coopers Beach with overhanging trees to shield the sometimes white hot sun
or, our particular favourite, Matai Bay
which could easily rival any south pacific or carribean beach for most scenic, we certainly chose the right area to just kick back and watch the world go by. It also will be, I am sure for all of us, the warmest February on record.
We are off tomorrow, to Auckland, for two days, to get some last minute city things done, as well as Hud and I going to the aquarium, which I think I am looking forward to as much as him. Steph will spend a day at retail therapy, searching for appropriate return gifts for family and friends. She is envious of our little underwater jaunt, but something tells me wandering in and out of little boutiques squinting at the way too expensive price tags is not her idea of a bad day, particularly without the picks and prods of her whiny husband and demanding son.
We are almost all packed, just a couple of things left to jam in our bags, and then we will drive the 450kms to our swank hotel in Auckland, check in, eat pizza, and watch cable television until our eyes explode. Isolation is fun sure, but so are city amenities and a potential cold draft beer in the downstairs bar.
I enjoyed it here, but I am sure I would have enjoyed it more if it was in the middle of our trip or the beginning. This close to the end with not very much to do allowed me to ponder our future, and I really had to focus to keep the ball of anxiety at bay. I will have to do the same in Waiheke, which has equal majesty and lack of things to do.
It also means, barring a rare wireless neighbour again, that we will be without home based internet for the last two weeks, meaning answering random sports trivia or what we ate last night for dinner e-mails may be delayed in response.
I will miss my walks here though. 9.5km of beach walking and not even making it halfway. Even seeing the old guy’s schlong couldn’t completely destroy these memories.
Oh, I finished my novel. 168,000 words, 439 pages.
The easy part is over.
Now the log must be whittled to a toothpick.
Love to all,
J.
Sweet Chariot
February 23, 2006
Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
7:58pm
Close your eyes and come with me along a magical journey.
Imagine awaking to a gentle fog coming in across the ocean, smothering the cute cottages and rolling hills surrounding you. You dress, quietly, hoping your early morning ritual does not wake up your family. You open the door and smell the cool, sea soaked air. You begin your walk, knowing as the sun moves higher in the sky, the fog will drift away, and the cool air will quickly become quite balmy.
The first part of your walk is along the street, running perpendicular to the beach. You nod stoically to the men in their early morning construction trucks; you wave gaily at the female bus driver beginning her route. After 20 minutes you reach the end of the street and the beginning of the beach. This beach is long, 18km, and wide, at least 30 metres when the tide is out, like it is this morning. The fog is almost gone, skimming the water, hovering as if hummingbirds are pulling a large blanket across the surf. The waves roll in sets of five, the back one breaking hard, looking big even though its at least 100 metres away. The first of the set, the leader, trickles up to your toes, kissing them, before sucking back to the waiting sea.
You look down the coast, and you squint, looking for any sign of life. You see a dog chasing a flock of gannets, leaping in the air as they tease him with their easy flight. You see big ugly gulls, with eyes like rats and beaks curved in a scowl. There are many of them, picking at dead fish, cracking open oysters and clams plucked from the moist sand. They part as you walk, but they do not go far, they are afraid, but not terrified, knowing full well if they wanted to, they could gather, circle and do you in Hitchcock style.
Looking further down the coast, appearing almost like a mirage, a visual whisper, is a shape entering the sea. A person, looking to begin their day with a dip in the ocean. You look harder, somehow hoping that this person is a female, draped in seaweed, blessed by Neptune, and ready to sweep you into your own personal moment of ecstasy. You keep walking, noticing that this person is indeed naked, furthering your fantasy even more.
You pick up your gait.
As you approach, the figure becomes more apparent, it is long, lean, balding.
It is a guy.
You brush off your fantasy quickly and chuckle at your own silliness. As you continue walking you notice the man, the naked man has finished his swim and his rinsing off his mask and snorkel in the surf. He does this bending over. He is not facing you. You shudder.
He stands up and starts walking toward his camper van or cottage beyond the dunes. You continue walking.
You slow down your gait.
It is unavoidable. To stop would be rude so you continue walking, now knowing that no matter what, fate is meeting you at the intersection.
You approach. He approaches. The man is old. Not ancient, but much older than you.
His testicles are hanging down just above his knees. He is uncircumcised. It looks like an interrupted banana.
You smile politely. He smiles and says:
“I thought I was the only person on the beach this morning..” He shrugs.
You are speechless.
You pick up your gait.
You don’t look back.
Love to all,
J.
Burned my fingers
February 20, 2006
Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
6:25pm
Ok, so a lot of it was water weight, giving me the false impression of what my new goal weight would be prior to hopping on the plane back to the mighty Canada. I am still comfortably ahead of schedule so my disappointment looking down past my stomach, over the bulbous phallus and down to the flashing weight on the scale was short lived. Needless to say I have already spent too long talking about my weight loss or lack thereof.
Why talk about weight loss when you can discuss our day trip back to the Bay of Islands to visit the quaint little town of Russell, full of cafes and art galleries selling, yes, you guessed it, ceramic kiwi birds and pedantic paintings of New Zealand landscapes? Can you tell I have had my fill of small towns and their false allure? Small towns and playgrounds. I am done. Sorry wee Hud, we will have to find alternate things to do then slide down graffiti speckled tubes or dangerously wobbly monkey bars.
Ok, Russell wasn’t all that bad, we did lunch looking out over the marina and docking of the pedestrian ferry. We took the car ferry located 9 kms outside of the metropolis of Russell.
I had a BLT and Steph and Hud split a burger served topped with a fried egg and a cooked pineapple. No beet root surprisingly enough. After lunch we managed to find a beach, recommended by the information centre, which was nice, but nothing compared to the majestic beach just up the road from our cottage.
Only one more week here in Northland before heading south to Auckland and over to Waiheke Island for 13 days, completing the circle as Waiheke was where we started back in August. Bizarre. 10 months it will be when all is said and done. I am not about to wax poetically about the time spent abroad. I am sure I will find an appropriate crestfallen mood to meander through the ups and downs, the yips and yaps and so on. Right now I just want to write to fill in the gaps between posts. Otherwise I might forget about all the times we spent lounging in the morning, eating lunch and then dashing up to Matai Bay to swim in seawater as clear as a virgin’s conscience.
It gets boring to write about it. It almost, and I say this perfectly knowing what a lucky fucking chump I am, is boring to do. So yes, I admit this beach based boredom knowing the majority of the people I love are shoveling themselves daily out from the grey and icy murk of a Canadian February.
So even if we are biding time to our illustrious return, I can’t think of a better way of doing it. It’s just at this point we want our lives to begin, knowing full well this bohemian life of fantasy is coming to a sudden and drastic conclusion.
I hope I never forget this type of luxury. This type of white-hot fun.
Love to all,
J.
Size Matters
February 15, 2006
Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
5:31pm
Please excuse the lack of post, but for the last five days or so I have been battling some odd form of stomach flu, which finally has turned the corner and allowed me to begin eating real food again. I had a nice fever for 36 hours (since gone) and was basically never far away from the toilet as the word urgent would come into play quite often.
The bonus? I lost 6.3 lbs in one week! Steph calls me Mary Kate Olsen as I was relishing in the fact a solid sickness allowed me to lose a substantial amount of weight in a week where I was already on the path to losing my projected two lbs. I say if I have to suffer a couple of sleepless nights and have to poo through the eye of a needle oh, every thirteen minutes, bring it on! I will be a whisper of my former self by the time we get home. 38 waistline jeans? It’s Jason calling. Remember when I was nine and I could slip into you with ease? Well spread your legs again here I come!
Wait a minute. That didn’t sound right.
There really is nothing else to report. Oh, a little tidbit. After almost jokingly sending out pictures of our boy to a couple of agencies, our little Hudson has an appointment with head of the kids division of Ford Modeling Agency on March 21st in Toronto. And of course Steph has already received potential work from a company she sent a resume to a couple of weeks ago.
Me?
Well, with a son and wife working I can concentrate on what I do best. Shit, what was that again?
Oh, here are a couple of pictures of Steph and the biggest telegraph (English) cucumber I have ever seen.
And it’s not just the length, check out the girth.
Insert your own jokes accordingly.
Love to all,
J.
been there, done that
February 11, 2006
Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
8:18pm
30 days today we get on a plane in Auckland and begin the long journey home. Feels odd writing that, 30 days, a month basically, before frost seeps under my skin and icy boney fingers wrap around my brain. I guess my goal here is to burn the hell out of my skin to ward off the cold back home, because I am getting nice colour brown, to at least look good when I am pawning for change at Queen and Spadina.
Today we were at a restaurant for lunch and Hud was immersed in the collection of toys the restaurant provides for toddlers and infants. We had finished our food and we going to go across the street to pick up some shampoo and body wash from the Four Square grocery store. To entice Hud away from the toys, I did what all good parents do; I bribed him with a promise of a Popsicle. To which he replied, very matter of factly I might add… “That’s ok Dad, you can go across the street to get me a Popsicle, I don’t need to go with you, and I will wait here.” He is three and a half going on 25. I was stumped. I almost jumped out of my seat to cross the street for the Popsicle. Needless to say he accompanied us with a scowl and a whine.
Two days ago we made the 100km trip to the very tip of New Zealand to a place called Cape Rienga. We did stop on the way to take a look at 90-mile beach, the western coastline that runs up to Cape Rienga. It was pretty awesome, the sheer magnitude and strength of the ocean crashing into shore for such a long stretch.
You can drive along the beach, but are warned that you can get stuck at any time due to sand depth and pliancy. I was game, but Steph was not, convinced by the roving band of locals and their trucks lingering about, waiting to yank the dumb tourists out of the sand in their 20-year old cars. Steph, as usual, won this argument. The only other problem with witnessing this expansive coast was arriving at the same time as all the tour buses, stealing the serenity and solitude of the moment. Hud did find a dead shark, so that was kind of cool.
Next up, giant sand dunes. Rolling, massive mountains of soft sand about 25km before the tip. We stopped and climbed, me making it to the top of one tall dune, almost dying of a heart attack before muscling to the summit.
People were sand surfing, something I really did not know exist before being there. We watched and sat in this huge desert before snacking on some sesame crackers and continuing up the to the top of New Zealand.
Cape Rienga, where the Pacific Ocean meets the Tasman Sea. The geographic northern tip of New Zealand. A place of Maori legend and a trap for tourists. It was beautiful, with a lighthouse and a MASH like sign, which demanded a picture.
Hud and I climbed a little mountain to look back down the coast; him being such a trooper when I want him to do something I know is just for me/
A couple of pictures later and we were back in the car, finding a hidden beach with a camp site right next to it, making me wish we actually camped on this trip, instead of some of the way too expensive places we stayed in.
Oh well. Next time.
Love to all,
J.
Maori yo
February 8, 2006
Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
8:53pm
It’s been two days since Waitangi Day and I thought I better get something down before I forget. I was going to wait until after tomorrow when we go up to Cape Reinga to watch two oceans collide, but that, as they say, is another story.
As previously mentioned, Waitangi Day is the celebration of the signing of a treaty between Maori chiefs and British settlers back in 1840. It is celebrated all over New Zealand, but we are lucky to be staying only 95 kilometres from the actual location of the signing, Waitangi, so we made the drive to at least soak up some of the history of a country we have loved and called home for the past six months.
Our interaction with the Maori people and their specific culture has been limited mostly to casual small town conversation and one Vegas like show back in Rotorua in October. I am not fully versed in their spiritual enlightenment, but I know it is more about nature, the ocean, the sky, the forests, then an individual all mighty deity. I know a lot of the Maoris live in poverty, and live with resentment about what has been taken away from them and what they deserve. I am some of their gripes are justified, and I don’t know enough about their plight to start making accusations about either side. I do know that for whatever reason, they have chosen the anti-establishment role with a certain verve, and even though they have automatic weighted representation in their parliament, they still manage to constantly complain about not being properly represented.
One thing that I do have difficulty accepting is their passion for the gangster culture of the United States and to a lesser extent all of North America. It is everywhere here, the graffiti, the gang colours, the hand gestures, it is intimidating and was everywhere in the small community of Waitangi on Monday.
For the most part though it was interesting, seeing the Treaty House where the document was signed as well as the wood carved meetinghouse of the Maoris back in the 19th century.
We also were witness to a planned protest, which everyone was expecting to turn ugly but was actually just a well-organized group of Maoris voicing their concerns about the disappearance of their land.
But for a second there, when the cops kept marching into the circle surrounding a tall group of flags,
it flashed through my mind that if something goes really wrong here, the white people were outnumbered at least 2 to 1.
Waitangi itself and the surrounding Bay of Islands resort community were beautiful. This is the primary weekend and summer getaway location of Aucklanders and you could tell.
It was way more commercial than any of the other sparse locations we had been, and way busier, but that could have been because of the special day.
We will go back some other time when it is not as busy. Maybe swim with some dolphins or something equally out of this world.
Yesterday and today were low key, grocery shopping and walking and hanging out with Hud catching spiders and watching ants eat them.
You know, normal stuff.
Love to all,
J.
No shirt, no shoes, no dice
February 5, 2006
Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
6:46pm
Excuse me if my writing reads all garbles and nonchalant. You see, sand from one of the seven pristine beaches within a ten minute drive from our holiday home may be lodged underneath my fingernails, or at least in a small part of my brain.
We sure know how to finish off an almost year of leisure. Doubtless Bay (named by Captain Cook, who named half of New Zealand, at least all the places you can pronounce) is like this little round oasis of marine activity, with islands and hidden rock formations, and, as mentioned so thoughtlessly earlier, a number of really sweet beaches.
We are basically settled. We went through Kaitia on the way to Tokarau, spending a wad on groceries, foolishly thinking it would last us a couple of weeks, when, after four days, we are basically down to Ryvita and pink hundreds and thousands cookies. What are hundreds and thousands cookies you may ask with your eyebrow queered and your heart all a titter? They are cookies with pink frosting with multi-coloured sprinkles on top. They call the sprinkles hundreds and thousands. They also call bathing suits, togs. Why? I have no idea, and when last week I mentioned I had to change into my bathing suit before going for a dip in the pool, Brenden laughed and asked me what a bathing suit was? A tog I replied. Oh he chuckled. He thought I was going to come out in one of those one-piece striped jobbies from the early 1900’s. I admit, bathing suit does sound odd, but togs? Pass me a hundred thousand cookie and give me a frickin’ break.
We are in serious money hoarding time, so our activities are limited to waking up leisurely, staring at each other until beads of blood form at our temples, and then getting in the car and going to the beach. I was never much of a sun worshipper, particularly recently, as the red rash from hell let me know it may not be a good idea to lollygag at high noon under ozone layer free sunlight.
But, my rash has since disappeared, I figure by acclimation, and reading a pulpy garbage paperback, while your son’s hair gets blonder and your wife’s tan gets deeper is simply not a bad way to end this completely wacky journey.
So if I am little darker by the time we get home, well, at least more radishy, it’s because of our time here in Northland.
I am back under my adult all time low weight again, which is good after a couple of weeks of chips and dip and no walking. It did not take a long time and my guess is I was not eating as bad as I thought. I am so much more aware of the sixteen or seventeen pepperettes I am eating now, as opposed to prior to leaving, where you mind as well attach a conveyer built to my lips and get the hell out of the way.
Awareness is key, as is little pieces of motivation. I now have an almost selfhelpy homemade sign up near the pantry and fridge, telling me to do something other than eat out of boredom. That is a big problem of mine. Hey, nothing going on, why not snarf down a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Ha ha laugh, but I have done it. In one sitting. I also used to make BLT’s with a loaf of caraway rye bread, slicing it clean down the middle, and layering at least ten slices of bacon on top of very little lettuce and tomato. It was more like a GB, then a BLT. Yum a greasy bacon sandwich. Oh, not to forget the trough of mayo to give it that added, pass me the defibrillator, kick.
Welcome to gluttonville, population me.
So hopefully those days are gone. I told Steph that I never want to be over that particular milestone weight I just passed. It is an ongoing battle, but as mentioned, awareness is so key.
Tomorrow we are going to Waitangi, to watch the Waitangi Day celebrations. Waitangi Day is a celebration of the treaty at Waitangi in 1840 where Maori chiefs all over New Zealand agreed to relinquish power to the British Monarchy in return for some land guarantees. This of course is the basis of every Maori land dispute now and another wonderful example of the people who were here first got the worst deal.
But, as all who know me can attest, I am just a tanned dude in search of the sun.
I don’t get wrapped up in that political mumbo jumbo man….all I need is some tasty waves, a cool buzz and I’m fine.
Spicoli out.
Love to all,
J.
Doctor, doctor, give me the news
February 2, 2006
Tokerau Beach, Doubtless Bay, New Zealand
8:06pm
We’re here. Our second last destination in New Zealand, not counting flying out of Auckland on March 14th. We are in Tokerau Beach, a tiny beachside community in Doubtless Bay, almost at the geographic tip of the North Island. The actual tip is called Cape Rienga, where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean, where swells can exceed 10 metres, where we will be making the 100km drive sometime in the next four weeks. For now its about chilling, getting to know the immediate area, and unpacking all our bags and cleaning out the car of all the popsicle sticks and Diet Coke bottles.
Oh, and how is this for sweet, I flip on the computer and it recognizes a wireless network. We are in the middle of nowhere with one neighbour never around, and the other a small family who moved here from Australia. A small family with a wireless internet server mere steps from where I sit. So we are connected for the month, unless they get mad and disconnect us. I did tell the wife we were able to catch her signal, she was not pleased, but what are you going to do. I did offer her money, she declined, but maybe she will change her mind once I start downloading all that porn.
The Hokinga Harbour experience was wonderful. It’s amazing how we just toss darts at a map and fret about where we are going to stay and it turns out to be this huge harbour, surrounded by even bigger sand dunes, and a wonderful little resort with a posh pool and cold beer and friendly staff.
We didn’t do much, other then visiting a Kauri forest to see a tree the size of a small apartment building.
It was cool, but brief and a coastal walk, which looked even sweeter was unavailable due to the tide being in. Not that we really had planned to do anything massive, and besides, I was in one of my bitchy moods, driving Steph crazy with my inane picks and prods, until finally she told me off. I sulked for about seven seconds before realizing how right she was and tried to jump back into funny, goofy husband role instead of the crusty old skate I was portraying at the moment. I did manage to get some nice shots of what looked like an old boat ramp and a cow cooling off area.
That night we bit the fleshy bullet and had dinner at the resort. It was a little costly, but to stare out over the harbour, cheersing fellow resortians, watching Hud play with Maori kids and a bunch of Jack Russell puppies, it was so worth it. It was also the place where able to witness a boat come out of the water and put a 220lbs blue marlin on a hook to be weighed. It was just under the size of the entire boat and took two and 1/2 hours to land. Pretty awesome stuff.
The drive yesterday was pretty tame, we were only about 200km away, including a small ferry ride over the harbour from Rawene to another town I can’t spell or pronounce.
It was one of those last minute decisions we were glad we made, even if it was $16 for a ten minute ferry ride. It did cut our trip about 40kms, and at $1.52 cents a litre for gas, it is almost a wash.
Our actual abode for the next four weeks is a two-bedroom cottage about three minutes from 18km of Tokerau Beach. The place is a good size, with some counter space, a nice size dining table and bunk beds for Hud again. It will be perfect for some really good reflective time and also serve as the place where I will finish the first draft of my manuscript. I would wax on a little more about my novel writing, but I am afraid a certain asshead solicitor will call me out via e-mail.
Anyhoo, not the most entertaining entry, but I am still keen on documenting every little crag and cranny of this journey.
I did manage to find a good little four-mile walk this morning. Food and exercise wise, the last two weeks were one half of the yo.
Now to find the other yo.
Love to all,
J.
