Hello, hello! We are just finishing up our first week in Thailand, and what a week it has been! We have spent the whole week in the Chiang Mai area in the northern part of the country, and we have enjoyed being REAL tourists. It's amazing how far your money can go here! Much farther than in New Zealand, that's for sure. We can stay at nice hostels with air conditioning, eat out every meal, go on tours, and SHOP! And we have done all of those things...
I don't have time to write about it now, unfortunately, but check out my pictures - http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy .
We are catching a train this afternoon that will take us all the way down south to a town called Chumphon. From there, we will catch a boat that will take us to Ko Tao, our island beach paradise for the next two weeks. We've had our dose of culture, and now we are ready to do what we came here to do - relax, and stop with the worry and hustle and bustle of traveling!
Hope you are all well! Much love.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Ending, Beginning
During the last three months – our months on the road – we have kept a joint journal, tracking where we’ve spent each night and some highlights of our day. We decided to tally up a few things yesterday, which I’ll share with you here.
93 - days on the road
45 – nights spent in a tent
12 – nights spent in a Department of Conservation hut
13 – nights spent in a hostel
23 – nights spent in a homestay
392 – kilometers hiked
12,000 – kilometers put on Betty from September to May – wow!
We have driven and camped and walked the hell out of this country! We have eaten breakfast next to lakes and rivers, in the middle of rainforests, on the tops of mountains. We have sat on beaches, drinking wine; we have eaten dinner by flashlight, huddled in the car on a rainy night. We have hiked ourselves into isolation and enjoyed quiet nights by a campfire. We have met farmers and hunters and horse breeders and shop owners. We have tried our hand at shearing sheep, planting gardens, and breaking in horses. We have seen cows and goats and horses and pigs and all manner of crazy birds, as well as endless sheep. We have learned the names of native plants and trees. We have collected a whole jar worth of rocks from special places here and there. We have celebrated birthdays and anniversaries. We have grieved for loved ones in far away places.
We have seen the real New Zealand. I am certain of that. And I’ve become attached to this place in a way I didn’t know I would. It has sunk in, as we’ve been trying to get all of our stuff packed up, that we’ve LIVED here, not just visited. I feel, in some ways, like we are in the middle of a move. We have said goodbye to Bettty, our beloved car, to Bob and Black Chair, our camping chairs, to the cups and bowls we’ve eaten out of every day. And every little thing I’m having to say goodbye to is making me sad! But, as Bjorn told me last night, you can’t have a beginning without first having an end. So true.
Today is our last day in New Zealand. Tomorrow, just after lunch, we will board our plane for Bangkok. One adventure ends; another begins.
I have no idea what to expect in Thailand. We bought the Thailand Lonely Planet a couple of days ago and have been trying to get ourselves organized and to get our heads in a new mindset! I am trying to brace myself for the experience of being in a really foreign country, where English is not the first language, and where I stand out terribly just based on the color of my skin and hair.
We’re getting into Bankok around 9:30 PM on Friday, and then we are getting on an early shmearly flight the next morning for Chiang Mai, in the northern provinces. (I know you all, like me, probably know nothing about Thailand, so it’s time to get out your maps!) Chiang Mai is supposed to be a cultural mecca, full of ancient ruins, Buddhist temples, museums, and classes! Apparently one of the big tourist activities is taking these day-long culture classes – on Thai cooking, Thai massage, meditation, etc. How cool! You better believe we’re taking a cooking class! Anyway, we’ll probably spend about half our time there and then hurry down to Ko Tao or Ko Chiang for some serious beaching. I’ll keep you posted.
And I will! But I won’t have my laptop anymore, and I don’t know how available internet will be. But I’ll be back.
Hope everyone is well! Much, much love.
Goodbye, New Zealand.
93 - days on the road
45 – nights spent in a tent
12 – nights spent in a Department of Conservation hut
13 – nights spent in a hostel
23 – nights spent in a homestay
392 – kilometers hiked
12,000 – kilometers put on Betty from September to May – wow!
We have driven and camped and walked the hell out of this country! We have eaten breakfast next to lakes and rivers, in the middle of rainforests, on the tops of mountains. We have sat on beaches, drinking wine; we have eaten dinner by flashlight, huddled in the car on a rainy night. We have hiked ourselves into isolation and enjoyed quiet nights by a campfire. We have met farmers and hunters and horse breeders and shop owners. We have tried our hand at shearing sheep, planting gardens, and breaking in horses. We have seen cows and goats and horses and pigs and all manner of crazy birds, as well as endless sheep. We have learned the names of native plants and trees. We have collected a whole jar worth of rocks from special places here and there. We have celebrated birthdays and anniversaries. We have grieved for loved ones in far away places.
We have seen the real New Zealand. I am certain of that. And I’ve become attached to this place in a way I didn’t know I would. It has sunk in, as we’ve been trying to get all of our stuff packed up, that we’ve LIVED here, not just visited. I feel, in some ways, like we are in the middle of a move. We have said goodbye to Bettty, our beloved car, to Bob and Black Chair, our camping chairs, to the cups and bowls we’ve eaten out of every day. And every little thing I’m having to say goodbye to is making me sad! But, as Bjorn told me last night, you can’t have a beginning without first having an end. So true.
Today is our last day in New Zealand. Tomorrow, just after lunch, we will board our plane for Bangkok. One adventure ends; another begins.
I have no idea what to expect in Thailand. We bought the Thailand Lonely Planet a couple of days ago and have been trying to get ourselves organized and to get our heads in a new mindset! I am trying to brace myself for the experience of being in a really foreign country, where English is not the first language, and where I stand out terribly just based on the color of my skin and hair.
We’re getting into Bankok around 9:30 PM on Friday, and then we are getting on an early shmearly flight the next morning for Chiang Mai, in the northern provinces. (I know you all, like me, probably know nothing about Thailand, so it’s time to get out your maps!) Chiang Mai is supposed to be a cultural mecca, full of ancient ruins, Buddhist temples, museums, and classes! Apparently one of the big tourist activities is taking these day-long culture classes – on Thai cooking, Thai massage, meditation, etc. How cool! You better believe we’re taking a cooking class! Anyway, we’ll probably spend about half our time there and then hurry down to Ko Tao or Ko Chiang for some serious beaching. I’ll keep you posted.
And I will! But I won’t have my laptop anymore, and I don’t know how available internet will be. But I’ll be back.
Hope everyone is well! Much, much love.
Goodbye, New Zealand.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Goodbye, Betty
Hello, hello! We have reached our final destination of Auckland! And, by some miracle, we have also managed to get Betty sold!
We had posted her on a website here similar to Craigslist several weeks ago, but we'd had very few inquiries. But all you need is that ONE inquiry! We had an email from a lady named Sonnia, inquiring on behalf of someone that was WWOOFing for her, who was a backpacker, freshly landed in NZ, and eager to get on the road! We received this email on Friday, and wrote right back saying we'd be in Auckland the next day and would be more than happy to show the car as soon as we got in.
Well, the following day, when we were about an hour outside of Auckland, we decided to make a pit stop to check our email (we had stupidly forgotten to get the address of the hostel we'd booked for ourselves). We had a reply from Sonnia, saying they were in a town about 45 minutes from Auckland, and if it was on our way, maybe we could stop by! We called Sonnia immediately, and it turned out we were quite close by to her home.
Our potential buyer was Nico, a 30-something German guy who was going to be spending a year here, basically doing what Bjorn and I have done. He was just what we needed. He really just wanted a CAR. Didn't have to be fancy, didn't have to be nice, just needed to be able to lay himself down in the back if he wanted to sleep. Nico and Bjorn went out for a test drive, and within 20 minutes of our arrival, we'd shaken hands. We would sell Betty to Nico for $1100, which, considering we bought her for $1550 eight months ago, is GREAT for us. We are thrilled.
We knew it was really right - destined to be, in fact - when we heard Nico giving his birth date over the phone to the car insurance people. March 16 - same as Bjorn! So Betty gets another Pisces owner. Wonderful!
We finished off all the paperwork, and then Nico drove us the short distance into Auckland and dropped us off at our hostel door, which was exactly what we needed, considering we still had all our crap in it. We shuffled everything into our sufficiently large room here, again shook hands with Nico, and said goodbye to Betty. What a good girl she was. I hope Nico has as much fun with her as we did.
So we arrived in Auckland on a Saturday and didn't have to attend the Sunday morning car fair at all! Of course, now we're sort of in limbo. We don't have any means of transportation, and well, we don't really have anywhere to go anyway. So we are just hanging around Auckland until our departure on Friday. We're exploring the city a bit, catching up on our movie-watching, reading up on Thailand, and trying to get packed!
We luckily had the foresight to check the weight limit on checked luggage for our flight to Bangkok, and realized we were limited to 44 pounds per person. That's not much for an international flight. So now we are going to ship a box full of crapola to Sweden, including my laptop. It's a slight hassle, but, it would be more of a hassle having all that stuff with us in Thailand. A traveller with too much baggage is a vulnerable traveller, I think. So just backpacks for us again!
Okay, we are now off to see Slumdog Millionaire. I'm excited. Check out my recent pictures (though there aren't too many). I realized, as I was posting the most recent album, that I had never made the last album public. So sorry about that! http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Hope everyone is well! Much love.
We had posted her on a website here similar to Craigslist several weeks ago, but we'd had very few inquiries. But all you need is that ONE inquiry! We had an email from a lady named Sonnia, inquiring on behalf of someone that was WWOOFing for her, who was a backpacker, freshly landed in NZ, and eager to get on the road! We received this email on Friday, and wrote right back saying we'd be in Auckland the next day and would be more than happy to show the car as soon as we got in.
Well, the following day, when we were about an hour outside of Auckland, we decided to make a pit stop to check our email (we had stupidly forgotten to get the address of the hostel we'd booked for ourselves). We had a reply from Sonnia, saying they were in a town about 45 minutes from Auckland, and if it was on our way, maybe we could stop by! We called Sonnia immediately, and it turned out we were quite close by to her home.
Our potential buyer was Nico, a 30-something German guy who was going to be spending a year here, basically doing what Bjorn and I have done. He was just what we needed. He really just wanted a CAR. Didn't have to be fancy, didn't have to be nice, just needed to be able to lay himself down in the back if he wanted to sleep. Nico and Bjorn went out for a test drive, and within 20 minutes of our arrival, we'd shaken hands. We would sell Betty to Nico for $1100, which, considering we bought her for $1550 eight months ago, is GREAT for us. We are thrilled.
We knew it was really right - destined to be, in fact - when we heard Nico giving his birth date over the phone to the car insurance people. March 16 - same as Bjorn! So Betty gets another Pisces owner. Wonderful!
We finished off all the paperwork, and then Nico drove us the short distance into Auckland and dropped us off at our hostel door, which was exactly what we needed, considering we still had all our crap in it. We shuffled everything into our sufficiently large room here, again shook hands with Nico, and said goodbye to Betty. What a good girl she was. I hope Nico has as much fun with her as we did.
So we arrived in Auckland on a Saturday and didn't have to attend the Sunday morning car fair at all! Of course, now we're sort of in limbo. We don't have any means of transportation, and well, we don't really have anywhere to go anyway. So we are just hanging around Auckland until our departure on Friday. We're exploring the city a bit, catching up on our movie-watching, reading up on Thailand, and trying to get packed!
We luckily had the foresight to check the weight limit on checked luggage for our flight to Bangkok, and realized we were limited to 44 pounds per person. That's not much for an international flight. So now we are going to ship a box full of crapola to Sweden, including my laptop. It's a slight hassle, but, it would be more of a hassle having all that stuff with us in Thailand. A traveller with too much baggage is a vulnerable traveller, I think. So just backpacks for us again!
Okay, we are now off to see Slumdog Millionaire. I'm excited. Check out my recent pictures (though there aren't too many). I realized, as I was posting the most recent album, that I had never made the last album public. So sorry about that! http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Hope everyone is well! Much love.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
One Week Left
Hello, all! We are up in Northland, the northernmost part of NZ. Today, we will start our drive back down towards Auckland, where we will spend our last few days.
It’s funny, because a month ago, when we realized our time was quickly beginning to run out, we panicked. How are we going to fit everything in? Where should we go? Aack! But now that we actually have just a week left, we feel like we’ve finally exhausted ole NZ. We are, finally, ready to move on.
We're hitting the car fair in Auckland on Sunday, in hopes we can pass ole Betty on to some new owners. We gave her a good clean out recently, and I actually teared up. I love that car, as I have loved this trip. What an amazing three months we've had on the road with Betty.
Anyway, below are three entries about this last week, which we spent WWOOFing. If you want to read on, please do - starting with "Wwoofing Again" and working your way back up. If not, I will try to post pictures soon. We will be in Auckland for almost a week, and we're staying at a place that has FREE internet. Glorious free internet. Better believe I will use it!
Hope everyone is well. Much love.
It’s funny, because a month ago, when we realized our time was quickly beginning to run out, we panicked. How are we going to fit everything in? Where should we go? Aack! But now that we actually have just a week left, we feel like we’ve finally exhausted ole NZ. We are, finally, ready to move on.
We're hitting the car fair in Auckland on Sunday, in hopes we can pass ole Betty on to some new owners. We gave her a good clean out recently, and I actually teared up. I love that car, as I have loved this trip. What an amazing three months we've had on the road with Betty.
Anyway, below are three entries about this last week, which we spent WWOOFing. If you want to read on, please do - starting with "Wwoofing Again" and working your way back up. If not, I will try to post pictures soon. We will be in Auckland for almost a week, and we're staying at a place that has FREE internet. Glorious free internet. Better believe I will use it!
Hope everyone is well. Much love.
A Case of the Crazies
Tuesday night rolled around – our last night – and we were hopeful that we’d be able to just have a pleasant evening and then get the hell out of there the next morning. Simone had never, at any point, decided to lay any ground rules for us – don’t do this, this is how you operate this, etc. Instead, we were left to wonder, and we decided, on several occasions when she left us at home alone for long stretches (once overnight – scandal!), that yes, we should turn on the TV. We had done this several times without her supervision just fine.
Well, on Tuesday night, while she was around, we made the mistake of asking her if we could turn the news on. It was six o’clock, after all. Great idea, she said! Go right ahead! Turn on Channel One. We turned the TV on successfully and then tried to change the channel to one. Nothing. After several fruitless attempts, we decided, with utter terror, to consult Simone.
Uhhh, Simone? We can’t change the channels – are we doing something wrong? She came over, tried herself, and upon discovering that she couldn’t change the channels either, exploded.
“What have you done? What the fuck have you done to my TV? You people come in here, and you mess around with things you’re not supposed to. FUCK!” This is just a sampling of the things that came out of her mouth, directed at us, for the next thirty minutes.
Bjorn didn’t take much of this, though. After about three accusations that we had somehow screwed up her TV, he said firmly, “No, we did NOT,” and walked out the door. I sat around for a few more minutes, trying to delicately explain to her that we truly had done nothing more than turn the TV on and try the channels.
“No,” she said. “You’ve messed it up. You’ve been in here watching TV when I wasn’t around and screwed it up. This is why I don’t let you people touch my gear.”
She called up a friend, and after she had launched into how “these guys have fucked up my TV,” I excused myself as well. I found Bjorn back in the caravan, steaming. He was furious and wanted to pack up the car and leave that instant. I was mad, too, but I was more afraid than anything else. I do not like confrontations, and I did not like the idea of leaving Simone’s on such a bad note. Leaving right then and there, I reasoned, was going to just make us look guilty. As is sitting out here in the caravan while she tries to fix the thing. I know it’s going to be awful, but we have to go back in there and help her get the thing fixed. (It was clearly some really simple something, given the time to mess around with it a bit.)
Bjorn, having endured a whole week’s worth of this woman’s insults and yelling during his riding, was not feeling inclined to get back in there, but after a few moments of breathing, we went for it.
Inside, Simone was still at it. On the phone, bitching about us, shining her flashlight around her TV, examining buttons.
“They’ve totally fucked it up,” she said, again. I could feel Bjorn tensing up beside me. When she got off the phone, Bjorn patiently asked her a few questions about how her TV worked.
“You don’t know anything,” she said, harshly. “Actually, I do know about technology. More than YOU,” he said back to her. “No, you don’t know about technology. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fucked this up,” she screeched. I wanted to crawl under the carpet. “This is why I don’t let you people touch my things!” she said. “I already had to put a lock on the computer because somebody fucked it up, and now the TV!” “Well,” Bjorn said, “maybe you shouldn’t have people in your house, then.”
This was the bottom line, really. If you are going to sign up to be a WWOOF host, you ought to WANT to have people in your home, make them comfortable, and share your things with them. If the TV is complicated, freaking take a minute of your time to run through how to operate it, or tell them explicitly NOT to use it. It’s that simple. If you’ve made a rule about NOT using the TV, then perhaps (and only perhaps) it’s acceptable to get a little irritated if the rule, and the TV, have been broken. In this case, of course, she had told us to go right ahead! Turn on the news! Great idea!
Finally fed up, Simone chucked the remote at Bjorn and told him he could try to work with it. And within five minutes, the problem was solved.
Upon hearing the sound restored on the TV (we had at some point lost ALL channels altogether), Simone, just like that, was a different person. “You’ve fixed it!” she shouted proudly. “Well done! Well done, team!” Uh, team? No, no, crazy lady, we are not on your team.
She was then all kinds of nice, saying, “You know, it’s just so frustrating when your stuff gets messed up, and you have to get some guy in here to fix it, and it costs you $100 or something.” Sure, we understood, we said (though we didn’t, really). Enjoy your show. Good night.
We retired to our camper van and must have sat up talking about Simone for two hours. The whole incident had been so ridiculous. We couldn’t hardly believe it had happened. Where Bjorn and I come from, in normal people land, even if you suspect someone has messed up your TV, you don’t make them feel bad about it. You certainly don’t blame it on them to their face. (Unless, maybe, it’s your best friend.) Her behavior was the ultimate in rude and impolite, in my book. Not to mention uncalled for. We had done nothing wrong.
The next morning, we got up early and packed up the car before breakfast. We had one little chore to do for Simone, but we wanted to make sure to get out of there as soon as we could. When we finally ventured into the house, Simone greeted us energetically. “Hey, you guys, I’m really sorry about getting crabby last night. It was just the end of a long day, you know, and that’s the last thing you want to have happen when your favorite show (your favorite crappy soap opera) is on.” “Oh, no worries,” we said. “We totally understand.”
She was so nice that morning, that by the time we left, we were left with a totally different feeling about her than we’d had the night before. She just had that way – when she was awful to you, you hated her, but when she was nice, you thought she was really cool. I don’t know what to really make of her. She’s got issues, to be sure. I’m just glad that I was blessed with not having someone like her for a mother (and yes, she does have children and grandchildren…can you imagine if a little grandchild had messed up her TV?).
In any event, we left, and with a couple hours on the road, we’d left her behind us. Filed her away in our NZ experiences file.
Well, on Tuesday night, while she was around, we made the mistake of asking her if we could turn the news on. It was six o’clock, after all. Great idea, she said! Go right ahead! Turn on Channel One. We turned the TV on successfully and then tried to change the channel to one. Nothing. After several fruitless attempts, we decided, with utter terror, to consult Simone.
Uhhh, Simone? We can’t change the channels – are we doing something wrong? She came over, tried herself, and upon discovering that she couldn’t change the channels either, exploded.
“What have you done? What the fuck have you done to my TV? You people come in here, and you mess around with things you’re not supposed to. FUCK!” This is just a sampling of the things that came out of her mouth, directed at us, for the next thirty minutes.
Bjorn didn’t take much of this, though. After about three accusations that we had somehow screwed up her TV, he said firmly, “No, we did NOT,” and walked out the door. I sat around for a few more minutes, trying to delicately explain to her that we truly had done nothing more than turn the TV on and try the channels.
“No,” she said. “You’ve messed it up. You’ve been in here watching TV when I wasn’t around and screwed it up. This is why I don’t let you people touch my gear.”
She called up a friend, and after she had launched into how “these guys have fucked up my TV,” I excused myself as well. I found Bjorn back in the caravan, steaming. He was furious and wanted to pack up the car and leave that instant. I was mad, too, but I was more afraid than anything else. I do not like confrontations, and I did not like the idea of leaving Simone’s on such a bad note. Leaving right then and there, I reasoned, was going to just make us look guilty. As is sitting out here in the caravan while she tries to fix the thing. I know it’s going to be awful, but we have to go back in there and help her get the thing fixed. (It was clearly some really simple something, given the time to mess around with it a bit.)
Bjorn, having endured a whole week’s worth of this woman’s insults and yelling during his riding, was not feeling inclined to get back in there, but after a few moments of breathing, we went for it.
Inside, Simone was still at it. On the phone, bitching about us, shining her flashlight around her TV, examining buttons.
“They’ve totally fucked it up,” she said, again. I could feel Bjorn tensing up beside me. When she got off the phone, Bjorn patiently asked her a few questions about how her TV worked.
“You don’t know anything,” she said, harshly. “Actually, I do know about technology. More than YOU,” he said back to her. “No, you don’t know about technology. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fucked this up,” she screeched. I wanted to crawl under the carpet. “This is why I don’t let you people touch my things!” she said. “I already had to put a lock on the computer because somebody fucked it up, and now the TV!” “Well,” Bjorn said, “maybe you shouldn’t have people in your house, then.”
This was the bottom line, really. If you are going to sign up to be a WWOOF host, you ought to WANT to have people in your home, make them comfortable, and share your things with them. If the TV is complicated, freaking take a minute of your time to run through how to operate it, or tell them explicitly NOT to use it. It’s that simple. If you’ve made a rule about NOT using the TV, then perhaps (and only perhaps) it’s acceptable to get a little irritated if the rule, and the TV, have been broken. In this case, of course, she had told us to go right ahead! Turn on the news! Great idea!
Finally fed up, Simone chucked the remote at Bjorn and told him he could try to work with it. And within five minutes, the problem was solved.
Upon hearing the sound restored on the TV (we had at some point lost ALL channels altogether), Simone, just like that, was a different person. “You’ve fixed it!” she shouted proudly. “Well done! Well done, team!” Uh, team? No, no, crazy lady, we are not on your team.
She was then all kinds of nice, saying, “You know, it’s just so frustrating when your stuff gets messed up, and you have to get some guy in here to fix it, and it costs you $100 or something.” Sure, we understood, we said (though we didn’t, really). Enjoy your show. Good night.
We retired to our camper van and must have sat up talking about Simone for two hours. The whole incident had been so ridiculous. We couldn’t hardly believe it had happened. Where Bjorn and I come from, in normal people land, even if you suspect someone has messed up your TV, you don’t make them feel bad about it. You certainly don’t blame it on them to their face. (Unless, maybe, it’s your best friend.) Her behavior was the ultimate in rude and impolite, in my book. Not to mention uncalled for. We had done nothing wrong.
The next morning, we got up early and packed up the car before breakfast. We had one little chore to do for Simone, but we wanted to make sure to get out of there as soon as we could. When we finally ventured into the house, Simone greeted us energetically. “Hey, you guys, I’m really sorry about getting crabby last night. It was just the end of a long day, you know, and that’s the last thing you want to have happen when your favorite show (your favorite crappy soap opera) is on.” “Oh, no worries,” we said. “We totally understand.”
She was so nice that morning, that by the time we left, we were left with a totally different feeling about her than we’d had the night before. She just had that way – when she was awful to you, you hated her, but when she was nice, you thought she was really cool. I don’t know what to really make of her. She’s got issues, to be sure. I’m just glad that I was blessed with not having someone like her for a mother (and yes, she does have children and grandchildren…can you imagine if a little grandchild had messed up her TV?).
In any event, we left, and with a couple hours on the road, we’d left her behind us. Filed her away in our NZ experiences file.
Karoke Night
We got a bit of work done the next morning – shoveling out some drainage ditches, cleaning up a flower bed, and giving the pony another ride around, which, thankfully, did go much better. Our work was cut short, though, by the rain, which started pouring down again. As we were getting ready for our big night out to the pub, we offered to drive. It was the least we could do, we thought, to serve as Simone’s designated driver. She accepted gladly, and went on making some weird comments about how naughty she could be that night, since she didn’t have to stay sober.
We met up with her group of girlfriends, four or five single women around her age. Simone introduced around (“Braun and Ellen from Sweden and Canada!”), and then we sat around, watching person after person get up to sing. We were sufficiently entertained. It was a standard New Zealand pub scene.
True to her word, Simone did not stay sober. She started out with two small bottles of champagne, and then, once everyone got loosened up and the evening could really get going, the men came over and started buying drinks. Bourbon and coke after bourbon and coke after bourbon and coke. Yuck. Bjorn was staying sober (volunteer sober driver), and I had no interest in having more than a couple of beers.
The men that were creeping around were foul – the kind of regulars you’ll find lurking in any backwoods bar in America. And one of them was all over Simone, and she was not putting up any kind of a fight. We assumed that, out of courtesy for us being her sober ride home, she would not linger too long at the bar, or at least tell us we could go on home and she’d find herself another ride. But no, we were forced to just sit there, watching this pathetic behavior, this disgusting, drunk, flirtation.
The karoke wrapped up, the bartenders announced last call, but Simone and the three men hanging around her, stayed on. I don’t understand why, but far past last call, while they were cleaning up, the bartenders continued to serve these idiots, and in the last hour we were there, they probably consumed four more rounds of bourbon and coke. It was like, as the hours got later, and their time ran out, they became desperate for total drunkenness. They couldn’t leave the bar until they’d reached the point they wouldn’t remember the next day. I somehow thought this kind of drinking was reserved for young people, who hopefully would grow out of it, but that was clearly a very naïve notion. And watching a sixty year old woman and her friends, get drunk and try to find a guy to go home with, made me very, very sad. It was like they’d never progressed past their 20s.
We were the absolute last people in the bar. Bjorn and I were furious. We’d stayed about two hours longer than we’d wanted to, but it was only our second night with Simone, and we didn’t really know how to explain to her that we wanted to leave. Even after we walked out the door and stood out front waiting, she stayed inside, having some argument with this guy. When she finally stumbled out the door, she explained that he just needed to make up his mind, between herself and his current partner. We assumed that this was the same guy she’d mentioned the day before.
The next morning, aside from admitting that she was feeling quite hungover, she really made no mention of the night and didn’t appear to feel sorry or guilty for anything, especially not for making us stay out much longer than we’d wanted to.
The next few days with Simone was a total waste of our time, aside from getting rid of quite a bit of our stuff and organizing the car. The rain poured down every single day, so there was little we could do for her. She did get Bjorn out on the pony a few more times, but I won’t get into that. I’ve gone on long enough as it is. By Saturday, halfway through the week, I was ready to go. Our last days in NZ were wasting away.
We met up with her group of girlfriends, four or five single women around her age. Simone introduced around (“Braun and Ellen from Sweden and Canada!”), and then we sat around, watching person after person get up to sing. We were sufficiently entertained. It was a standard New Zealand pub scene.
True to her word, Simone did not stay sober. She started out with two small bottles of champagne, and then, once everyone got loosened up and the evening could really get going, the men came over and started buying drinks. Bourbon and coke after bourbon and coke after bourbon and coke. Yuck. Bjorn was staying sober (volunteer sober driver), and I had no interest in having more than a couple of beers.
The men that were creeping around were foul – the kind of regulars you’ll find lurking in any backwoods bar in America. And one of them was all over Simone, and she was not putting up any kind of a fight. We assumed that, out of courtesy for us being her sober ride home, she would not linger too long at the bar, or at least tell us we could go on home and she’d find herself another ride. But no, we were forced to just sit there, watching this pathetic behavior, this disgusting, drunk, flirtation.
The karoke wrapped up, the bartenders announced last call, but Simone and the three men hanging around her, stayed on. I don’t understand why, but far past last call, while they were cleaning up, the bartenders continued to serve these idiots, and in the last hour we were there, they probably consumed four more rounds of bourbon and coke. It was like, as the hours got later, and their time ran out, they became desperate for total drunkenness. They couldn’t leave the bar until they’d reached the point they wouldn’t remember the next day. I somehow thought this kind of drinking was reserved for young people, who hopefully would grow out of it, but that was clearly a very naïve notion. And watching a sixty year old woman and her friends, get drunk and try to find a guy to go home with, made me very, very sad. It was like they’d never progressed past their 20s.
We were the absolute last people in the bar. Bjorn and I were furious. We’d stayed about two hours longer than we’d wanted to, but it was only our second night with Simone, and we didn’t really know how to explain to her that we wanted to leave. Even after we walked out the door and stood out front waiting, she stayed inside, having some argument with this guy. When she finally stumbled out the door, she explained that he just needed to make up his mind, between herself and his current partner. We assumed that this was the same guy she’d mentioned the day before.
The next morning, aside from admitting that she was feeling quite hungover, she really made no mention of the night and didn’t appear to feel sorry or guilty for anything, especially not for making us stay out much longer than we’d wanted to.
The next few days with Simone was a total waste of our time, aside from getting rid of quite a bit of our stuff and organizing the car. The rain poured down every single day, so there was little we could do for her. She did get Bjorn out on the pony a few more times, but I won’t get into that. I’ve gone on long enough as it is. By Saturday, halfway through the week, I was ready to go. Our last days in NZ were wasting away.
Wwoofers Again
We have spent the past week WWOOFing for a completely crazy woman. We decided that it would be very beneficial to us to have a home, as it were, for a little while, so we could have some time to clean out the car, organize our things, and prepare for our departure. (I absolutely HATE feeling stressed and frazzled and unprepared when I’m leaving a place, and so wanted our last week here to feel CALM.)
Simone Finch, our new WWOOFing “hostess” (though I can’t really call her that) is probably 55 or 60 and lives alone on a huge farm. She breeds and trains horses as her main source of income, and has a little company called Sirroco Lodge. In addition to having about 14 horses of her own, she has a goat, two dogs, and a few cows.
We were a little unsure about ole Simone from the start. She had called us in response to an email we had sent her, but seemed to be in a big hurry on the phone. She said she’d love to have us, we accepted, and then she said she had to run, but she’d call us back “later” with some directions and details. Well, that call never came, so we finally called her again, a day before our supposed arrival, wanting to know what time we should come. “Oh, I have nothing going on here tomorrow. I’ll be here all day,” she said. “Come whenever you like.” Great, we said. We’ll be there around noon.
Well, we arrived around 12:40 PM, which I reckon still counts as “around noon”, but Simone was nowhere to be found. We found the house, we thought, a large barn-like structure with aluminum siding, and could hear rock music blaring from inside, but we couldn’t get anyone to respond to our knocks. Finally, we called her cell. “Oh, I had to run into town,” she said. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes”. So we sat in our car and waited. For over an hour. We were starting to feel, well, slightly unwanted.
Simone finally pulled up in a silver pick-up truck, decorated with a yellow smiley face bumper sticker, and one that said, “If there are no horses in heaven, I’m not going!” Our hostess emerged, all smiles and energy. “Well, I waited AND waited for you guys, but I finally gave up and went into town.” Oh, so you waited for…thirty minutes? And now you’re going to make us feel guilty about being a little bit late even when you said come WHENEVER!? “But nevermind,” she said. “Let’s go in and have a cuppa!” (“Cuppa” is an incredibly irritating Kiwi favorite phrase that means a cup of coffee or of tea. I thought it was just a colloquial thing, but I actually heard a newscaster use it in a story on the local news the other day.)
Simone is a fairly tall woman with stick thin legs and large bosoms. She has short hair that’s been dyed an unnatural red, and her face is lined with deep wrinkles that suggest a past (or current?) life as a smoker. Her home is essentially a barn that’s been converted into a single woman’s loft. The ceilings are quite tall, and the living area, though fairly small, is sort of one big room, so you get the effect of having lots of space. Simone’s been living here about three years, but it’s clear the place is a work in progress – there is no paint on the walls. The place is decorated with – what else? – photos and paintings and figurines of horses, as well as piece of aboriginal art collected during trips to Australia, and stacks and stacks of miscellaneous papers.
Within our first ten minutes in her home, Simone had informed us that she was dating a married man. “He just needs to figure out what he wants, you know?” she asked us. “Men!” I said, trying to be polite. She went on to tell us about Thursday nights at the local pub – the big night out! – as well as her boat, which she would take us out on, if we were lucky.
She asked us how long we wanted to stay, and after re-stating what was written in our initial email to her – one week – she seemed very disappointed. “Just a week?!” Good grief, I thought. She didn’t even read our email.
That afternoon, during a small break in the rain, she took us out for a ride around her property, introducing us to all the animals. Then, we went down to the stables and saddled up one of her ponies. During his stint in the Swedish Army, Bjorn rode the show horses that marched in the parades, and generally took care of the horses, tidying their stables and whatnot. When she had initially called us, she’d asked about our riding experience. Bjorn explained that he was a pretty confident rider, though perhaps a little rough, and that I essentially had no experience at all. No problem, she’d assured us. But it appeared that her plan for Bjorn and I was for Bjorn to break in this pony and for me to stand and watch.
Of course, Bjorn’s being a confident rider says nothing of his ability to break in a previously un-ridden horse, and Simone was not impressed with Bjorn that first day. My feelings were terribly hurt, standing there watching her order Bjorn around – take the horse this way! No, not THIS way, THAT way! STRAIGHT! The poor pony, of course, hadn’t been sat upon in weeks, didn’t remember what any of the commands were, and generally did not want Bjorn riding on him. “This isn’t going to work,” Simone said. “You just don’t have enough experience. The horse might as well have a child up there on him.” I wanted to cry for Bjorn. Thank God it was Bjorn up there and not me, or I probably would’ve cried. Bjorn, luckily, is a bit more thick skinned, and lets stuff like this roll off of him a bit better than I do.
When we were done with that, we were shown to our “accommodation”, an old caravan parked behind the house. Upon inspection, we found the caravan doable, though it was clear that Simone had gone to no trouble to prepare it for us. There were no sheets or blankets on the bed, and there were several empty cans of some nasty Bourbon and Coke mixed drink laying on the counter, one with a cigarette butt sitting on top. When we asked for sheets, Simone seemed slightly agitated, poked around the house a bit, then returned with a set of red sheets – two fitted sheets, we found out, when we tried to put them on the bed. And no blankets. We decided not even to bother asking for those and just got our sleeping bags out of the car.
We sat in the damp and dusty caravan, and I felt terribly uncomfortable with the whole situation. She didn’t appear to take her hosting responsibilities very seriously, she had been mean to Bjorn, and she had asked me my name four times already. Well, it’s only for a week, we reasoned.
Simone did fix us dinner that night and showed us some pictures of her boat, and generally made us feel slightly more wanted and welcome in her home. Before we went to bed, she reminded us that the next night was karoke night at the pub!
Simone Finch, our new WWOOFing “hostess” (though I can’t really call her that) is probably 55 or 60 and lives alone on a huge farm. She breeds and trains horses as her main source of income, and has a little company called Sirroco Lodge. In addition to having about 14 horses of her own, she has a goat, two dogs, and a few cows.
We were a little unsure about ole Simone from the start. She had called us in response to an email we had sent her, but seemed to be in a big hurry on the phone. She said she’d love to have us, we accepted, and then she said she had to run, but she’d call us back “later” with some directions and details. Well, that call never came, so we finally called her again, a day before our supposed arrival, wanting to know what time we should come. “Oh, I have nothing going on here tomorrow. I’ll be here all day,” she said. “Come whenever you like.” Great, we said. We’ll be there around noon.
Well, we arrived around 12:40 PM, which I reckon still counts as “around noon”, but Simone was nowhere to be found. We found the house, we thought, a large barn-like structure with aluminum siding, and could hear rock music blaring from inside, but we couldn’t get anyone to respond to our knocks. Finally, we called her cell. “Oh, I had to run into town,” she said. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes”. So we sat in our car and waited. For over an hour. We were starting to feel, well, slightly unwanted.
Simone finally pulled up in a silver pick-up truck, decorated with a yellow smiley face bumper sticker, and one that said, “If there are no horses in heaven, I’m not going!” Our hostess emerged, all smiles and energy. “Well, I waited AND waited for you guys, but I finally gave up and went into town.” Oh, so you waited for…thirty minutes? And now you’re going to make us feel guilty about being a little bit late even when you said come WHENEVER!? “But nevermind,” she said. “Let’s go in and have a cuppa!” (“Cuppa” is an incredibly irritating Kiwi favorite phrase that means a cup of coffee or of tea. I thought it was just a colloquial thing, but I actually heard a newscaster use it in a story on the local news the other day.)
Simone is a fairly tall woman with stick thin legs and large bosoms. She has short hair that’s been dyed an unnatural red, and her face is lined with deep wrinkles that suggest a past (or current?) life as a smoker. Her home is essentially a barn that’s been converted into a single woman’s loft. The ceilings are quite tall, and the living area, though fairly small, is sort of one big room, so you get the effect of having lots of space. Simone’s been living here about three years, but it’s clear the place is a work in progress – there is no paint on the walls. The place is decorated with – what else? – photos and paintings and figurines of horses, as well as piece of aboriginal art collected during trips to Australia, and stacks and stacks of miscellaneous papers.
Within our first ten minutes in her home, Simone had informed us that she was dating a married man. “He just needs to figure out what he wants, you know?” she asked us. “Men!” I said, trying to be polite. She went on to tell us about Thursday nights at the local pub – the big night out! – as well as her boat, which she would take us out on, if we were lucky.
She asked us how long we wanted to stay, and after re-stating what was written in our initial email to her – one week – she seemed very disappointed. “Just a week?!” Good grief, I thought. She didn’t even read our email.
That afternoon, during a small break in the rain, she took us out for a ride around her property, introducing us to all the animals. Then, we went down to the stables and saddled up one of her ponies. During his stint in the Swedish Army, Bjorn rode the show horses that marched in the parades, and generally took care of the horses, tidying their stables and whatnot. When she had initially called us, she’d asked about our riding experience. Bjorn explained that he was a pretty confident rider, though perhaps a little rough, and that I essentially had no experience at all. No problem, she’d assured us. But it appeared that her plan for Bjorn and I was for Bjorn to break in this pony and for me to stand and watch.
Of course, Bjorn’s being a confident rider says nothing of his ability to break in a previously un-ridden horse, and Simone was not impressed with Bjorn that first day. My feelings were terribly hurt, standing there watching her order Bjorn around – take the horse this way! No, not THIS way, THAT way! STRAIGHT! The poor pony, of course, hadn’t been sat upon in weeks, didn’t remember what any of the commands were, and generally did not want Bjorn riding on him. “This isn’t going to work,” Simone said. “You just don’t have enough experience. The horse might as well have a child up there on him.” I wanted to cry for Bjorn. Thank God it was Bjorn up there and not me, or I probably would’ve cried. Bjorn, luckily, is a bit more thick skinned, and lets stuff like this roll off of him a bit better than I do.
When we were done with that, we were shown to our “accommodation”, an old caravan parked behind the house. Upon inspection, we found the caravan doable, though it was clear that Simone had gone to no trouble to prepare it for us. There were no sheets or blankets on the bed, and there were several empty cans of some nasty Bourbon and Coke mixed drink laying on the counter, one with a cigarette butt sitting on top. When we asked for sheets, Simone seemed slightly agitated, poked around the house a bit, then returned with a set of red sheets – two fitted sheets, we found out, when we tried to put them on the bed. And no blankets. We decided not even to bother asking for those and just got our sleeping bags out of the car.
We sat in the damp and dusty caravan, and I felt terribly uncomfortable with the whole situation. She didn’t appear to take her hosting responsibilities very seriously, she had been mean to Bjorn, and she had asked me my name four times already. Well, it’s only for a week, we reasoned.
Simone did fix us dinner that night and showed us some pictures of her boat, and generally made us feel slightly more wanted and welcome in her home. Before we went to bed, she reminded us that the next night was karoke night at the pub!
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