The Mussel Chronicles

Week 1: Ahhh, a factory job at last. Our 12-passenger van leaves every day from Blenheim at 5:00am on the dot, drives about 40 minutes to the quaint little town of Havelock, and we start work on the line at 6:00am. The hours are consistent and the breaks are reliable. There is even a Nescafe machine in the 'canteen' for all of us employees, always ready to dispense cappuccinos and lattes just slightly superior to the instant coffee you get everywhere else. We have to don these ice-cream-man outfits, but it means that you can literally wear anything you want underneath. Welp, looks like yoga pants and one of Dennis' shirts is gonna make a frequent appearance in my wardrobe. We also have to wear hair nets, plastic sleeve covers, latex gloves, steel-toe gum boots, and the all important ear protecting headphones. We all look a little like oompa-loompas. When people ask me what I did before this, I generously pad my resume by telling them "fashion", they simply laugh. (So do I.)

This work is not hard, just repetitive, and very, very boring. These green shell mussels that come from my factory, Sanford, come in a half shell, and crawl slowly by on a conveyor belt all day. By the third hour of this three-month contract, I never want to eat another mussel again. My job as a grader is to eliminate as many of the defects as I can. This can range from broken shells, to mussels that haven't been opened, to these retched smelling 'sand blisters', to removing beards and pea crabs from inside of the mussel meat. The beards are simply a little piece of growth...like algae or some kind of vegetation, that has started growing on the inside of the mussel, that we must pinch with our thumb and forefinger and yank out.

With the thick Kiwi accent, the word "beard" is almost impossible to understand. I think it was a week before I understood that they were saying "beard" and not "bib" or "bid" or "bird". They are beards, and they are plentiful.

Mussel with a beard

We hunch over one of two conveyor belts the whole day, not too bad though. It seems as though this job won't be so bad. The three months will probably just breeze by.

Week 2: Nope. The months will not breeze by. It has been two weeks and I think I've come down with acute arthritis in my fingers from all that beard yanking. Also, leaning over the conveyor belts for two weeks has already given me a Quasimodo hunchback. It takes conscious effort to stand up straight at the end of the day. Also, I have managed to squirt mussel juice (don't ask) in my eye. It is now swollen and puffy and I am forced to wear my glasses as my contacts seem to have declared war on the mussel pool that was once my eye. On the bright side, my glasses are definitely pulling together the "given up hope" look I have going for me.

Week 3: Okay. Not so bad. My contacts have surrendered and the swelling has gone down. I hardly smell the shellfish in the middle of the night anymore. I have found exactly three positions that are comfortable anywhere from 10-13 minutes. So, if I can rotate through those for all nine hours....
Oh, and there's also this good news bad news thing that I've encountered this week. You might want to sit down to read this part.
So which one is usually requested first? The good news or the bad news? Hmmm... Well, I'll just tell you the good news first.
Ahem. This week, I have been PROMOTED. What? What does this mean, you ask? Well now, up to ten times a day, I have to weigh out some mussels, do a little counting, do a little math...use my college degree a little?...and essentially figure out the ratio of mussel meat to shell. Very thrilling stuff. Also, every time I do this, I make a phone call upstairs to where the meat is packed...it all feels very important. Sometimes I pretend I'm making a call to the Pentagon with vital information. I also never say 'goodbye' before hanging up, just like in the movies. You should all be duly impressed.

Okay. So the bad news. Well...the good news part of this bad news is that I have now started driving our gigantic 12-passenger van to work. A slight pay increase, and all that jazz. But...well...one of the responsibilities that comes with this position is to make sure the van is fueled up and ready to be driven. My boss, Geoff, is very kind, and took the time to explain everything to me. How the gas stations work here and where the gas door was, and all that vital information. And, well, long story short, despite his detailed explanation, I managed to fill this diesel van up with regular gas. BEFORE you can't see from the laughter tears streaming from your eyes, just recognize that in the States, the diesel handles are always, ALWAYS green. Right? Here, it just seems to be the opposite. Please ignore that in this picture, it does clearly state the word "diesel" on the handle. Let's just pretend that this wasn't there when I was at the station.

Week 4: I have been told that at our factory, we go through 700,000 mussels every day. Who even likes mussels? When you are ordering a seafood plate at a restaurant, and the menu lists everything that comes in it, does anyone actually get excited when the word 'mussels' appears? I think it's just something that we grudgingly accept because we are so excited for the calamari or cedar planked salmon or tiger prawns that we really ordered the dish for, we just kind of ignore the weirdly shaped shellfish on the plate.

Female=orange, Male=white

Week 5: Pro of this job: you know what to expect, every single day. Nothing ever changes! Con of this job: you know what to expect. Every. Single. Day. Nothing EVER changes. But the turnover rate of employees here is quite fast. This is my sixth week here. And out of twelve, there are exactly two other graders who have been here longer than me. It's always at least slightly entertaining to watch the new people try and figure out the best positions to keep their backs from aging seventy years in one afternoon. Oh also, there was one French employee who quit so dramatically, it blew all my daydreams of quitting out of the water. There was plenty of yelling, cursing, threatening, and throwing mussels in all directions. I secretly aspire to be him one day.

Week 6: 700,00 mussels. Every day. 700,000. Can you imagine seeing 700,000 of one thing every day? I do, and I still can't imagine it. Okay, but there are twelve other graders working on the line with me. How many mussels can I possibly touch in one day?
Well. I can tell you that in just 30 minutes, I yanked off 600 beards. SIX HUNDRED BEARDS. With my math skills that have been recently honed by this very job, I can deduce that in 9 hours of work, that is over 10,000 beards every day.
From this, I have deduced that my fingers are most definitely never going to be the same. My grandchildren are going to ask, "Oh geez Grandmama, why don't your fingers bend normally? And is that a faint scent of shellfish?"

There are only three more weeks left of this mussel grading. Will I make it? Will I explode like the French employee? ONLY TIME WILL TELL. But I do know that no matter the circumstance, I will forever claim a severe allergy to shellfish of all forms.

Puttin' In Work

Prior to arriving in Blenheim, the closest I had ever come to setting foot in a factory was whilst sample hunting on Sundays at my neighborhood Costco. Such is no longer the case. An impeccably timed and (in backpacker terms) unequivocally lucrative opportunity to work in the food processing industry arose for me, and I've been steady logging 50 hour weeks in a mussel/clam factory for the last month.

Back Story: Becca and I were down to the last $18 in our NZ bank account when we happened upon a peculiarity during a sullen trod along the streets of downtown Blenheim in fairly frantic search for gainful employment.
Literally out of the blue on the sidewalk in front of us there lay an open wallet with a fat stack of crispy bills hanging out -- the big ones too, none of them rinky dink 5's and 10's. Our moral compasses and sense of civility prevailed over the devils on our shoulders, and we were able to track down the mother of the owner and return it to her co-worker within an hour -- we later got a phone call from the wallet owners mother asking us where we found it and thanking us, but we weren't given any reward for our effort.

However, our borderline desperate situation turned around unbelievably fast after this trial of humanity/ lesson in humility. Within 24 hours of the wallet incident, we responded to a post on the NZ backpacker board website seeking a couple to act as weekend managers of the Lemon Tree Lodge in exchange for free accommodation in a studio apartment -- we literally power walked from the library where we saw the post straight to the Lemon Tree and assumed the position immediately; we were given the keys to our new pad before the proprietor even knew our names and told we could move in that day. We started the same night and have been holding down the fort weekend in and weekend out since then.

This took care of our housing expenses, indeed a blessing, but we still faced a formidable quandary: we had $18 in the bank. We left on our adventure with a far lesser monetary sum than almost anyone I've ever heard of who was doing a trip like this, and certainly we haven't met a soul here who jump roped on a shoe string as far as we had. We had a combined $2500 U.S. after purchasing plane tickets/ spending a week in Fiji; to illustrate our lack of free wheelin' purchasing power, Becca has some co-workers ( spoiler alert) who have spent ....40,000 POUNDS!!! in their 10 months on the road so far.....that's like $70,000. Gnarly. You might as well be in a Four Seasons every night if you're dishing out that kind of dough, not strapping on steel toe gum boots to process mussels.

Our financial woes were soon put down. Three days after the wallet incident, I was offered a days work at PHR Processing. I had no idea what was in store, but naturally accepted. I spent the day stacking 10 kilogram boxes of mussels into a storage container -- not that fun, but the factory owner (Vinny) really looks out for travelers -- I can't tell you how refreshing that is after the limited experience we've had with various contractors; we've seen / heard about plenty of pathetic attempts on the contractors part to exploit temporary laborers. Although I only worked 8 hours, I was paid for 10. Two days later, I was asked to come back and help out in the packing room again. After I demonstrated some basic math skills while packing and stacking to capitalize on our limited storage space, I was offered a full time job. Two weeks later, Becca was offered a full time position at a different (much larger) mussel processing factory. It might not sound like we're doing anything noteworthy, but consider that we set up camp in a totally foreign / alien country and now save well over $1000 a week having had no connections or short cuts.

We are now putting our heads down and grinding out our time here while making plans for the next few installments of our trip. The following 3 or 4 months after we finish here (starting end of July) will be entirely vacation oriented, and we'll have to budget wisely to afford ourselves all of the adventures we are hoping for. So far, we've booked our bus tickets to Queenstown and Christchurch -- spending only about a week between the two. We also bought our plane tickets to Bali, Indonesia leaving out of Christchurch on July 30th. We'll spend 2 weeks spread among 3 spots in Bali, then will spend about 3 weeks in South East Asia. Several other destinations are in the pipeline, but we can keep you all in suspense until we're posting photos from said locations!

Settling Down in (Beautiful?) Blenheim

Been There/Done That List 15/5:

Explored Fiji
Wwoofed in Auckland
Hiked (most of ) the Hillary Trail
Picked kiwi in Kerikeri
Spelunked the Waitomo Caves
Smelt of sulfuric Kerosene Creek
Roadtripped the North Island of New Zealand


However, since we have last posted, the tables have turned, and we have transitioned from adventuring around New Zealand to settling down, backpacker fashion, in the small-ish town of Blenheim.

Let me explain:

Upon arriving in Blenheim hitchhiking style, we checked into an average sized hostel where we were supplied with a list of vineyard contractors to hopefully get a job doing some pruning. Once we worked our way down the list and found that there was just no work to be had, we scoured the internet and the power that it holds to find any and all possibilities for work and/or eating for the foreseeable future.

Just our luck, we found a wonderful little hostel by the name of Lemon Tree Backpackers looking for a couple to take over as the weekend managers. After approximately three minutes of sweet-talking our way into the position, we moved into a quaint little studio apartment complete with no hot water and one working lightbulb. We started working that evening and have thus been fully trained in the ways of managing the hostel and everything that comes with it.

Common Area, Plus Our Apartment in the Back

Dorm Rooms

Shallot field

That being almost exactly two full weeks ago, we have also done other types of paycheck work:

I worked two days on a vineyard picking grapes and two days picking shallots, but Dennis worked only one day picking grapes and then was offered a full time position at a mussel factory!

What does a shallot field look like? Well it kind of looks like nothing. Like it actually looks like nothing. It's a bunch of dirt and looks like a field that has already been harvested. I worked two 8-hour days on my hands and knees in a shallot field, and I still don't think I would recognize one.


Also, these are shallots:

Shallots

So here we are, in our little apartment just a few blocks from the river that runs through town. We are surrounded by lemon trees and apple trees, and have all the mussels and clams we could ever desire. We now have hot running water and three, count 'em THREE, working lightbulbs.

Our Apartment

We also have a cat.

Ralphie (Bungleye)

And when I say that we have a cat, what I actually mean is we've taken custody of a local stray that sticks around the hostel.

And when I say that we've taken custody of this cat, I mean that we've moved her food source into our apartment, but we do have a cat door, so I think that it's serendipity or something. Anyway, it's our cat and you can't tell us otherwise.

Her name is Ralph (Ralphie), but due to her two different colored eyes, Dennis has taken to calling her Bungleye. She's not that kind, but she's a cat. I'm not sure what more you expect.

We've moved up significantly in the world in just the last few weeks: from living in a tent through a cyclone, to staying in what amounts to a closet (a "room" in Auckland with no windows), to sleeping in our car, and finally to a studio apartment with our own bathroom and cat and couch (in order of significance?).

Apple and Lemon(?) Trees

Blenhiem is not the most picturesque place here in terms of what New Zealand has to offer, but it's really not so bad. It looks like we will be here for a couple of months or so, and then onto the next adventure. Meanwhile, Dennis is working in a mussel factory and I am spending my days trying to find a job. Currently, I'm waiting to hear back from Burger King. (Now there's a sentence I just never expected to hear from myself. Mom, Dad, aren't ya proud?)

Road Trippin'

New Zealand Trampers

I have been on my fair share of road trips, and I previously don't even know if I would qualify four short days of driving as a road trip. However, there is no way that these four days of driving on the wrong side of the road in a foreign country cannot constitute as a road trip. After only a few hours, we gave up with all the conversions, because what fun is this math problem?:

If Becca and Dennis are driving 4.5 hours at 95km/hr and gas is 3.15 New Zealand dollars per liter, how many kiwis do they have to pick to pay for gas?

But really, it wasn't all that bad. Driving on the other side of the road makes a lot more sense to me now. In fact, if I were to spontaneously arrive in the US behind the wheel of a car, I reckon y'all should run for your lives.

ie: hard hats, head torches, on a boat, in a cave

On our little trip, we drove from Auckland down to Otorohanga where we were able to take part in a tour for the spectacular Waitomo caves. Definitely a huge recommendation from us. From the boat ride, hard hats, head torches, and stalactites/stalagmites as far as the eye could see, I felt like a real-life spelunker. It's a bit hard to see from these pictures, but there are WORMS that GLOW and cover the entire ceiling in these caves, quite reminiscent of the night sky. Thinking about it for too long can be a bit creepy, but the experience is incredible.

Waitomo worms

From Otorohanga, we drove down to the little town of Rotorua, a truly gorgeous place situated right on Lake Rotorua (quite original in their naming). We checked into the Rotorua Downtown Backpackers where we were blessed with FREE WIFI (whaat??) and some pretty rad Indian food. Our original plan was to leave the next day and stay in Taupo, but we liked it so much in Rotorua that we decided it was a necessity to stay another night. (Pretty hard to turn down free wifi right there in your own room.) We got to watch some good ol' American movies from the comfort of our own room (the driving scenes about drove me bonkers). But to top all that, we found some pretty bomb walking paths around the Lake Rotorua, more black swans than you could ever hope to see in the entirety of your life, and a pretty cool street fair, complete with pony rides for all the thickly-accented-kiwi-children.

Black swans in Lake Rotorua

After our second night in Rotorua, we drove just about 35 kilometers to Kerosene Creek. "What in tarnation could that be?", you ask? Why just a little hot spring creek that is just around 30 degrees Celsius ALL THE TIME. (Ahem, about 86ish Farenheit.) The rotten-egg-sulfur smell leaves a bit to be desired, but after some dreary drizzle and constant cold weather, nothing could be better. From Kerosene creek, we drove to Taupo and enjoyed a little picnic lunch overlooking the parasailers in Lake Taupo, and drove on down to Wellington. The next day we hopped on the ferry to take us to the South Island of NZ and have thus embarked on a new adventure.

Street fair in Rotorua

The ferry takes you through the Cook Strait and into a quaint little town called Picton where we spent two days enjoying some bike rides, an on-site hot tub, FREE WIFI (yip yip yip), and the company of many like-minded travelers. And, just a couple of days ago now, we hitchhiked into Blenheim where we are currently in the process of finding jobs to continue our travels. It seems as though Blenheim is very much a working town for backpackers and we are presented with quite a few options, assuming we can find a job opening. There is mussel shucking, vineyard pruning, or working in a salt or garlic factory. With such a variety in opportunities, I'm sure we'll have some great stories to tell. Ain't no one can say we're leading boring lives down here!

In the Waitomo caves

We're Still Out Here We Promise

Cookin' Easter dinner

Yes Yes, this post is to testify that we are in fact still alive and kicking down here in the southern hemisphere. We haven't exactly had our keesters parked in real comfortable-like rocking chairs, sipping iced tea on the front porch of our countryside cottage and thinking of how we could keep you all in the dark regarding our goings about. No, actually we've been pushing ourselves to the brink physically, mentally, and olfactorily via a hodge podge of strenuous activity including but not limited to mountain climbing, hard core trekking, remote camping, kiwi picking for a ruthless commercial enterprise abetted by villainous henchmen (only half kidding), and cyclone endurance (not kidding at all). We last left you loyal blog monitors with a post summarily expressing our experience in Auckland -- after such, due to a last minute cancellation on behalf of our to-be hosts on Kawhua Island (near Auckland), we had to improvise and decided to channel our inner Edmund Hillary by hiking the 5 day trail in the Waitakere Range that bears his name.

Little did we know that we were drastically both under and over prepared for the trek. Under because it was extremely physically demanding, often requiring 2 hour long 45-60 degree switchback inclines that at times required pulling yourself up a chain bolted into the rock, then descending an equally imposing rock face with little margin for error ( steep plunges on either side of the meter wide trail) -- add to this loose footing, rain, and mud in varying combinations, and you've got a situation that calls for refined mountaineering technique. We were over prepared because we had to bring our whole packs (nowhere to leave stuff) which included approximately 25 unnecessary pounds each in the form of excess clothing, laptop, books, kitchenware etc. All that, coupled with the lack of water due to "unfit for drinking unless treated" signs at our first campsite, and you've got a serious military training style exercise as opposed to a jolly frolic through gentle rolling sheep dotted hills ( that's more what we were shooting for). We persevered, oh did we ever, and made it to the aptly named "Watipu" ( pronounced 'what a poo') camp ground and lodge that was way off the beaten track. Wayne,the owner, wore a shirt that gave the executive summary of the Watipu ethos: "No cell service, no wi fi, no problem". Most importantly, we had a clean water source that was so much more appreciated than almost ever before at any point in our lives, and a pristine beach right next door. We hitched a ride out of there after 2 days of recuperating and licking our "tramping wounds" , then were fortunate enough to catch a free all day music festival in the town of Titirangi -- fortune smiled upon us, and we ate epic hamburgers at one of the food stalls near the main stage.

Rainbow falls near our working hostel

We then spent 2 nights at Surf n' Snow Hotel in Auckland, a very centrally located and efficiently run operation just across the street from the famous Auckland Sky Tower. We woke up early one morning and noticed Queen st. (main st. in downtown Auckland) was closed off, then realized that we were at the starting line ( near the amazing Auckland harbor front) for the Auckland Triathlon, an event showcasing many world class athletes and olympians from dozens of countries. That was cool!!! I think doing 2 back to back triathlons would still be easier than the way we did the Hillary Trail.

Alas, a praying mantis

After Auckland, we caught a bus to Kerikeri in the Bay of Islands. We spent the last 2 weeks there, camped out in our tent next to a river in a "holiday park" called Aranga Backpackers. We elected to go to Aranga mainly because they facilitate seasonal employment positions for Working Holiday Visa holders such as ourselves, and they delivered. We had only been there 2 days before we were asked to join a kiwi harvesting team run by "LD Packers". We started immediately, and believe me when I tell you it was WORK. Other than the first day, which caught us both totally off guard (didn't expect to be picking that day, just signing paperwork), we found that the picking was pretty fun. At least I did -- I compared it to being paid for a work out. Picking is a pretty mindless enterprise, but it's cool to talk to the other people on your team who are mostly local Maori and kiwi guys. Becca was designated as one of the premier kiwi pickers and often was showered with praise by the foremen for her swift technique and careful deposit of fruit into the communal bins. I was so jealous, as I usually received criticism from the same foremen -- mostly because I am not Becca. After one pay cycle though, we noticed LD Packers propensity to cut corners and blatantly disregard contractual agreements that they were bound to. The only answer we heard when questioning the orchard manager about their labor practices was 'if someone doesn't like it then they can find another job' -- this is most likely a widespread approach to labor in the agribusiness industry, i.e. "marginalized" communities composed of temporary laborers and immigrants who are taken advantage of by those that rely upon their contributions in the field. We were mainly doing it for the experience, and to bankroll our expedition just a little bit, so when the same circumstances were repeated ( no breaks while picking 6 hours straight, asked to wait around in uniform for up to 1.5 hours at a time without pay because we weren't picking yet, called to work on easter sunday then sent home almost 2 hours later without pay because of rain, misrepresentation of wages/ actual earnings, etc.) we just cut out and felt blessed that it was only a fleeting choice we had made to work in such an industry and not something that we were reliant upon. Whole groups of immigrants from Tonga, Vana Atu, and elsewhere flew in to work the harvest for months at a time -- what recourse does a population like that have with a company that exploits their eagerness towards, but ultimately unfulfilled earning potential? After 2 weeks, we will forever be in solidarity with all the countless fruit pickers and agri-laborers the world over who's hands have picked the succulent strawberries, ripe avocados, and ... killer kiwis that rest peacefully in your big ol' fruit bowl in the corner of the kitchen. Super glad we did it, super glad we're done.

Drivin'

So now we rented a car for 4 days to drive from Auckland to Wellington ( at the southernmost tip of the north island), stopping in some of NZ's most treasured and naturally beautiful locations en route. We are currently in the town Otorohanga ( all their names sound the same after a while) 8 km away from the hallowed Waitomo Glow Worm Caves -- our cave tour begins promptly at 10 am manana. long update, to be sure, but when internet is scarce and your adventures are many, sometimes it's the only way. Intend to be more regular / less intensive with future postings. However, as we are ever finding out, the map is NOT the territory.

Auckland Findings

Mt. Eden - top of 1/50 volcanoes

So far, New Zealand - and specifically, Auckland - has been quite kind to us. From the places we've been here thus far, we have been able to draw numerous comparisons to locations we've been in the United States (i.e. San Francisco, Balboa Park, Seattle, etc.). However there are just a few things that we haven't quite been able to match up.


1. The Metric System. Why, oh why, can't we silly Americans simply switch over? I have no idea what temperature it is here. Should I wear a scarf? A sun hat? A ski coat? Of course I could just step outside to see, but where's the fun in that? Oh, you say it's going to be 25 degrees? I don't think I'll be going outside. Oh that's supposedly nice weather? I give up. Not only the weather, but distances: "It's not far, just about 7 kilos away." Hold on, let me just dig out my calculator watch and do a few lengthy conversions.

In the highly acclaimed Auckland Domain

Aotea Square

2. Driving. Everyone keeps suggesting that we get a car. Public transportation is not all that convenient here - much the same as San Diego, it seems - especially when trying to get to some of the more remote places we may choose to go. Perhaps getting a car would be a good move. But gas is expensive and blah, blah, blah, pro and con lists, etc. But listen. Simply getting into a car and being driven around on the opposite side of the road takes up all my concentration. To think about being solely responsible for the operation of such heavy machinery, not to mention everyone else in the car, while driving on the WRONG side of the road, gives me the willies. Maybe not something we will be tackling in the near future. The fact that I have to close my eyes whilst being driven around is probably more ominous of a sign than Dennis is willing to deal with.

3. Language. It's quite common to talk about the United States as being a "melting pot". And this was something I was very willing to go along with, until I got here. Everything in Auckland seems oh-so-multicultural. The food, the people, the everything. This also means that there are people visiting from all over the world here. One thing I need to point out is that it is more than convenient that everyone here speaks English. The Kiwi accent is less pronounced than an Aussie accent, but it is different nonetheless. But here, we have a multitude of Kiwis, Aussies, Brits, Irish, and some Canadians accents. Being immersed in these accents, I no longer remember how it is that I speak. I've taken to ending sentences in "eh?" and saying 'quite' QUITE a bit more than I should.

Auckland Cat

All in all, Auckland is a marvelous place. We've been quite busy doing touristy things, local things, and everything in between. We've visited Auckland's Natural History Museum - easily one of my favorite museums I've been to - a smaller art gallery, experienced an underground, quite literally, experimental music scene, and hiked to the top of one of Auckland's 50 volcanoes for a spectacular view. I'm sure there are many more things to come, but be sure to note than despite the metric system and driving on the wrong side of the road, Auckland is definitely a place worth visiting.

Touch Down in Auckland

We've had an extraordinarily eventful last week -- so much so that blogging has taken a backseat to actually livin' our special brand of tropical backpacker hobo lifestyle. Internet in Fiji is wicked slow, and who wants to sock away 45 minutes behind a neon screen trying to represent the very beach bumming experience they should be having in that exact moment? Not Us! But alas, here we are in Auckland, New Zealand -- and the connection is prime again. We have a ton more photos from Fiji that hopefully we'll get around to posting in the near future.

Highlights of our last week on the Coral Coast: Hammock time! Yes, so much of it, with  uninterrupted views of crystalline clear blue waters brimming with turtles and sharks and pilot whales, and a rather curious creature that calls himself the "surfer". We went on epic kayak paddles everyday, beaching on deserted beaches and spotting marine wildlife. We did a Kava ceremony for Dennis' 25th birthday with a local chieftain of sorts-- Kava is a traditional Fijian/Polynesian drink made from the root of the Kava plant, and it is drunk in a traditional fashion that includes an arrangement of hand clapping and chants before and after the bowl is passed between participants. It is basically muddy river water that tastes like tree bark and mildly numbs ones mouth. We visited a local kindergarten, a one room school house right on a small bluff above the beach-- easily the best natural setting one could ever imagine a school in. They sang Dennis "Happy Birthday" in English and added an extra verse: "Happy Long Life to You, Happy Long Life to You..." . They also sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for us in Fijian, English, AND Japanese. Later on, we did another special birthday kava ceremony at "Beachouse "(We stayed at a backpackers style resort, kind of a mixture of hostel and resort) with many of the guests who were there on the night of March 21st. We then took two big vans full of us to an amazing dance hall on the beach a few kilometers away from Beachouse. There was a rip roarin' cover / dance band that was composed entirely of Fijian Police men and they rocked out for hours while we danced and talked to locals. The location for this event was simply stunning -- we didn't have the foresight nor feel the need to bring a camera, but just imagine a Disney fantasy palace on a faraway tropical beach and you'll get pretty close.

The following day, we took a guided jungle walk with a truly awesome staff member from Beachouse named either "Chuta" or "Juta" . We still debate that. He told us a wealth of information about the history of his country and it's current state of progress as he walked us along a bending river through the jungle up to a gorgeous cascading waterfall. It was a bit of a challenge because the trail was so muddy, but we absolutely prevailed and were rewarded with a swim in some of the most inviting and rejuvenating waters one could ever hope for -- and we also sat in a natural spa carved directly by nature into the gushing waters of the waterfall. Yea, it was good! Plenty more has come to pass, but we are on to a new chapter and currently type this from an extremely charming little garden villa in the Kingsland suburb of Auckland.

Today we helped refurbish an artists studio by sanding down the window panes and prepping the place for a new coat of paint in time for their winter. The woman who is hosting us is named "Anita" and she is truly delightful -- her husband also lives here, but he is currently a visiting artist/lecturer at Stanford University for the month. We will pick up our work in the morning tomorrow, then head out to the city center to explore the City of Sails and see what we can dig up! Until next time, it was great transmittin' to y'all!!