21

Does this even need words? Probably one of the best birthdays ever. 

far north

New Zealand's North Island is easily the most underrated place I've ever been. Tour books, DOC advertisements, and locals all tell you that everything worth seeing is in the south. They say the North Island is full of sheep, farmers, and Auckland. Down south, the hills are bigger, the roads are emptier, and there are more people shouting at you to go Bungy jumping. Thanks to all the hype, lots of southern towns have a hyper-developed tourist infrastructure. Buildings and street signs are Aspen-style rustic-plastic. 

The towns up north (besides the cities) are tiny and dingy; the only people there during the off-season are locals and the occasional German traveler. But the scenery is on par with anything in the south. 

On my first day, I took a bus tour from Paihia up to Cape Reinga, NZ's northernmost point - where the Pacific Ocean and the Tasman Sea collide. It was cold and rainy, the drive took 11 hours, and I hate bus tours. Still, our driver tried his best to make it bearable, and I got some nice moody lighthouse photos.

Getting to Raglan the next day was a relief. 

I went surfing, drank some coffee, and hung out on the beach with a puppy. At night I slept at the Raglan Backpackers, one of the nicest hostels I've seen yet in NZ (free surf lessons, a hot tub, pizza night, and weekly massage classes? It doesn't get better than that). I could've easily stayed in Ragland for a week, but my bus ticket called me over to the Coromandel. 

In Coromandel Town, I met some Germans who'd used their working-holiday visas to pack Kiwi fruit in Tauranga. They were a little cracked from staring at fruit for two months, but they were great company. I invited myself to drive around the Coromandel Peninsula with them. The hairpin turns on the one-lane gravel roads were terrifying, but the scenery was breathtaking. 

I spent my last day on the bus back to Wellington, flipping through the hundreds of pictures I'd taken over the week and wondering why I didn't take this trip earlier. 

Now I've got just two and a half more weeks left in New Zealand... sigh.

to the mountains

Yesterday I bought a spare spork and some trail mix. I've just finished the last two assignments standing between me and a trip backpacking through the South Island.

Tomorrow my friend Lauren and I are catching the sunrise ferry across the Cook Strait to Picton. Then we're hopping aboard the Magic Bus.

Not this kind of magic bus.

The real Magic Bus might be a bit lacking in hallucinogen-fueld orgies and sitar-playing longhairs. It's actually a cool NZ travel company that buses backpackers around the islands.

Our bus leaves from Picton and heads southwest down the coast, stopping at all the coolest tourist spots.  There's gonna be beaches and breweries aplenty - along with glaciers and mountain ranges. You can get off and on the bus whenever you like, so you're never really tied to a schedule. Lauren and I are planning on staying in Queenstown for a week to tramp the Kepler Track. Plus they'll book hostel beds for you and provide generous bathroom breaks.

I'MSOEXCITED.

Here's where we're going. The olive-drab map doesn't do my excitement justice. I wish it were neon yellow.

So I've set some goals for the trip:

1. run at least 10k a day
2. sample a coffee at a different café every day
3. go to the legendary Fergburger
4. not die on the Kepler Track
5. ride a bike at least twice
6. hitchhike out to the Milford Sound
7. meet sweet-awesome people everywhere we go

As they say, it's gonna be sweet as, bro.

Now I just need to pack my bag and pray for good weather.

reviving my inner 11-year-old

When I was in junior high, I was hopelessly obsessed with The Lord of the Rings. I drew pictures of dragons and people weilding swords. In seventh grade I had my mom sew me a gray woolen cloak so I could dress up as a hobbit for Halloween. Drunk with power, I hunched barefoot around the neighborhood that evening, brandishing my gold-plated One Ring before my neighbors faces. I threatened to turn them into my goblin-slaves if they refused to submit to my will and fill my hobbit satchel with Snickers. Needless to say, I didn't get invited to any Halloween parties that year.

I wish I had a photo to share with the Internet.

Yesterday I lived out one of the wildest dreams of my awkward preteen years. We took a trip to Weta Cave, the tourist-friendly part of Weta Digital. They're the folks who did all the special effects and costume work for LOTR trilogy, The Lovely Bones, and Xena. They've also had a hand in District 9 and Avatar. Right now they're working on The Hobbit.

But you can't see inside the studios, since the new hobbit capes are top-secret material. Instead, Weta lets people into their gift shop and lets them watch a promotional video about how awesome they are. (Which is, to be honest, pretty damn awesome).

As always, the trip started out with some coffee n' cake at a cafe hidden inside a home and garden store.

Then this guy greeted us at the door.

I geeked out for a couple seconds and nearly started hyperventilating at the sword display. I held myself back from buying a $99 woolen hobbit scarf.

Thankfully the video show killed my buzz. I managed pull myself together and share a moment with some of the Weta locals.

Ahhh. Life is cool.

down the rabbit hole and what we found there

Another Wellington weekend's come and gone.

This one started out on a low note. After a month of falling in love with the (mostly) beautiful city, I think Wellington was testing the power of our relationship. Last Monday the rain started. I got soaked walking to class. The southerlies blew. My skirt was ripped from my legs a la Marilyn Monroe on multiple occasions. Luckily, houses in Wellington are built with poor insulation and no central heating - so I didn't have any incentive to sit at home and feel sorry for myself. I trudged out the door every day for runs and attempted to enjoy myself.

I didn't take any pictures. I was too depressed.

On Friday morning, my friend and I tried to get tickets for Flight of the Conchords. They sold out in five minutes. So we went to get coffee instead. Holding a steaming cup of espresso, while delightful, doesn't quite feel the same as gripping a crisp new ticket voucher. We were a little sad. Later my friend Lauren and I tried to drag ourselves out of the funk. It was raining. We didn't care. A dingy one-room sushi bar in town sells their rolls for half price every day after 4:00. It wasn't glamorous. But it was delicious.

 OM-NOM picture. Note the rain jacket.

Then we decided to do one of the most popular Kiwi activities: go out drinking. Wellington is full of tiny, cool bars hidden in back alleys. We wandered down one of them and found a rabbit hole.

Alice is the coolest bar I've been to yet. It's a small, dim place crammed with stuff from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The book's original illustrations are displayed on the walls underneath an array of funky clocks and blown-glass lamps. On one side of the room, the furniture is slightly too small and the ceiling is a little too low. On the other, the stools are tall and the ceiling is high. The bar itself is cluttered with teacups and teapots and books. And you can order drinks for two served in your own personal teapot. I believe they also have a few kinds of cake on the menu.

 There's just something inherently awesome about sipping an absinthe cocktail from a teacup.

Saturday rolled around cloudy and rainy. The climbing trip we'd planned was cancelled. I took it as a sign that I should go meet up with the local running club instead. I'm glad I did - I finally connected with some runners in Wellington (no more lonely long runs!). I even managed to get a ride to a race the next day. I walked back into the wind with my skirt whipping around my legs, feeling almost content.

On Sunday morning, one of the club captains picked me up for the Mt. Lowry Challenge, a 12 km trail race. I squinted into the sunrise. The weather had finally broken.

"It's a flat 4k on the road before the trail starts," a runner said as I was waiting in line to register. "The trail might be a little messy and it kind of undulates when you reach the ridge trail. The descent's a bit steep after that."

I nodded. I've done some trail races before. It couldn't be too bad.

The race started flat and fast, winding around the road by the bay. I tucked in behind a group of five girls and blazed along as well as I could. Then we turned up a gravel road and crunched uphill for a while. People started walking. Ha! I don't walk. I run cross country. I surged past, feeling smug. And then we turned onto the real trail. I don't have pictures from it yet, but here's a preview from the event website:

See those people? Do any of them look like they're running? No. Because it was nearly impossible. "Kind of technical" was a gigantic understatement.

The term "trail" only loosely applies to the ridge trail. It was steep and technical, covered in slimy, muddy roots and rocks. I lost sight of the leaders immediately. The climbs were endless. I stopped caring about running fast and started caring about keeping my ankles in one piece. As I picked my way down the descents, little kids bombed past me. Whatever. The last bit of the trail was basically a cliff face covered in roots and gravelly dirt. At least twenty people passed me going down.

I managed a shaky sprint to the finish line and staggered to the water station. I won zero prizes. Eight miles has never felt so long.

Wellington rewarded me for sticking with it in the bad times. The day was still beautiful and sunny. After I washed the mud off my legs and shoes, I went to town to watch the National NZ Barista Competition. The passion for coffee was palpable - you could actually taste the freshly ground espresso in the air.

Wellington's baristas nearly swept the competition. I've made a resolution to visit their cafes. And finals are in Vienna, Italy. If only I could go.

Then I meandered down to the harbor and took some touristy pictures. 

This guy is called "Solace in the Wind." He stands alone every day, facing into the wind at the waterfront. Sometimes I think he looks like he needs a friend.

Then I sat in the grass for a while and read a book. After an atrocious week, it was a perfectly delightful weekend.