stars

Sometimes the stars just align. Even for klutzy, crazy girls like me. After plenty of roller-coaster riding and hanging in there, the universe has cut me some slack or rewarded my resilience and sent some blessings my way. Normally, I might be worried that bad tidings are on the horizon with so much good feeling around me right now. But I'm too busy feeling energized, hopeful, and grounded to let worry harsh my mellow.

A friend convinced me to take a little cruise across the Bay to Kent Narrows to meet up with some friends for drinks and live music. It would be a 20 minute drive from Annapolis, but a five-hour sail. I hesitated to spend the bulk of the weekend in transit when I had studying to do, but with Labor Day weekend likely being the last opportunity to make such a trip with my friend before winter sets in, I decided to just go for it. 

We made good time, raised all the sails, and burned off stale diesel. It was my first time "cruising" Ambrosia away from her home dock overnight. A baby step, perhaps, but a start, a great shakedown sail, and the cats made it there and back with all their bodily fluids kept in check. 

Kent Narrows may not be an exotic location, and at about the same distance perhaps "We sailed to St. Michael's" sounds more sailor-y. But not long after docking we were at The Jetty and those rum runners went down so smoothly. The early band at The Jetty was fun, but we found out the later band would be hip-hop so rather than have to guard my tush from jerks grinding their junk on me without invitation, we decided to find another spot for the night's eats and drinks.

A group of us enjoyed the marina pool, jammed out a bit aboard over drinks, and then looked at our watches and realized it was getting late. Not having eaten, we now had to find a fun spot with a kitchen still open. I figured Ram's Head Shore House would have live music and a hopping scene, and the kitchen would at least be open until 11pm. We piled in a car and headed out, but when we arrived there were literally two people there other than the bartenders. Then they said the kitchen was only serving appetizers. I felt terrible having convinced the gang this was the spot where we wanted to be. But there was a pool table and my friend is a pool shark, so the games ensued. 

I needed another beer and headed over to the bar to order something. More people had arrived, but still there were only two or three people sitting at the bar at that point. I could choose any spot along the bar to find the bartender, but I "might" have picked a spot near a cute, floppy-haired surfer guy, just because. He quickly struck up a conversation that lasted until my friends came over and said they were heading back to the boat if I wanted a ride. My friend had been the consummate wingman and let me enjoy my chat uninterrupted. I said my goodbyes and gave the guy my card. Some twelve hours later he texted me that he wanted to continue our chat and the rest is history as they say. I could dish all kinds of wonderful things about him, but I don't ever want him to feel he'll be dissected here. Let's just say he's a great tipper, a Southern Gentleman, and makes me want to sing for him, bake for him, and take care of him.

Trying to keep up and build up my running, I headed out last Saturday for a six-miler. I was killing it for just shy of the first four miles until this happened. Gratefully, a cyclist and some drivers stopped to see if I was okay, and the kindness of strangers got me home alright.

I may be bruised and bloody, but I always bounce back. The scars just remind me that I'm out there, living life, seizing the day, and seeking out adventure. I would take a thousand scars over a day of the zombie-like life I escaped. 

Finally, among the blessings that have come to me of late, my friend sold me his old car. So after over a year without a vehicle, at last I have the freedom to get to work, school, the store, and fun when the whim strikes me. The car and I are tight; she wants to be driven fast and decisively and has plenty room for pup dog and a massage table. 

You never know where great friends will come from. Someone who was once among the "friends I haven't met yet" became a true friend in "real life" over time and only because of that friendship did these blessings find me, Ambrosia's first cruise, the freedom of a vehicle, and meeting a wonderful man in whose arms I've never felt so safe and at home. And so I am starry-eyed and so very grateful for the blessings that have fallen like shooting stars at this mermaid's feet.

(happy?) holidays

If you don't have a perfect Pottery Barn house and a centerpiece Martha Stewart would be proud of then, well, let's be frank: you're a bad wife, a bad mother, a bad woman, a bad American. Spend, spend, spend! Buy, buy, buy! These are the modern carols of the holidays. Our American (Western?) society is founded upon buying cheap plastic crap from (inhumane, animal-testing, slavers) China and then promptly throwing it in US landfills so we can buy more cheap plastic crap from China. Since this is the only way to fuel our economy now, (because American ingenuity and support of local small businesses is effectively dead), this incessant, addiction-riddled, consumerism has somehow become Patriotic. Yes, it makes me want to vomit.

Society puts ridiculous pressure on us all to buy gifts (I haven't in maybe 5 years) and to put on a perfect holiday. I remember being so poor growing up that we had an enormous box under the tree. Elaborabately decorated. And empty. The note said the box wasn't empty; it was filled with love. Most of the gifts under the tree today aren't filled with love. They are filled with guilt, obligation, and fawning attempts to buy affection.

Despite this rant, I actually love Christmastime. The smell of Douglas Firs, the sparkling lights, decorating the tree, drinking cocoa, hoping for a white Christmas. I still watch classic Rudolph, Grinch, and Charlie Brown Christmas shows if I manage to catch them. But as with most things in life now, I am concerned with the substance, not the appearance. I would rather have fewer friends who are top-notch, focus on quality not quantity in my meals, relationships, and how I spend my time. Things break. Things generate clutter, mentally and physically. Experiences and adventures provide a lifetime of memories. 

On the subject of materialism, but colliding with the soap opera of my life, I headed to the pub for my Thursday night chicken tostados the Thursday before Thanksgiving. I noticed "Dimples" was sitting at the bar and tried to stroll past but he'd spotted me and I got roped into sitting there with him. I don't know what I saw in him other than the dimples but there I was getting lectured for two hours. I'm sure you all know just how much I relish unsolicited advice. (Sigh.) He went on and on about how with all my education I should be on a nice, new 60' sailboat. That I need to go back to a real job and make real money, that even if I only made $150,000 I could at least be paying my bills, my student loans, and get rid of my boat. Although a life in the law is not much of a life worth living in my opinion, I explained it isn't exactly easy to find a legal job these days, and that until you're post-menopausal law firms don't want to hire women because they think you'll immediately go on maternity leave. He looked at me and said I obviously don't have to worry about that anymore. Excuse me? I'm still quite fertile and only a hot 35-year-old who wants a lovechild away from being a mom. 

So, the idiot basically tells me I'm lazy, old, and that my boat is a dilapidated wreck. Not exactly the way to my heart, that's for sure. But gee, Prince Charming said he would help me with "exactly two" things: borrowing his diesel mechanic to look at my starter and getting my boat to a marina for a haul-out. Those two things, he repeated, he would help me with and for those two things I could call him. I was puzzled insofar as I never asked for his help and I'm sure not going to take it from some schmuck making me feel like a charity case. I politely smiled and nodded. He kissed me on the cheek and told me he'd see me later. I walked out the door and deleted every last trace of him from my phone and iPad. I didn't even want to risk sending a drunken text rant or anything. He's a rich guy who only cares about and values shiny new things. Me, my life, my boat, we sparkle from within, but he can't see that. His loss. I texted friends in town to smack me upside the head if I start getting all gooey over Dimples again. I deserve so very much better than the likes of him. Gratefully, one of my best friends in town has been at the pub with me the last few times I saw Dimples there and I simply ignored him and he's ignored me (other than feeling my ass when he walked by on Saturday night, ugh). It sucks to have that awkward feeling at my local watering hole, one that he is new to. But I'll just have to suck it up and not make that mistake again. 

What do I need in a guy? One like this! www.twentyeightfeet.com. (Please watch the beautiful documentary; it's only 8 minutes long and a feast for the eyes and soul.) Floppy hair, check. Jim Morrison curls, check. Young and adventurous. While you're blinded by that chiseled bod, don't forget to notice the great smile. Loves his boat from the bottom of his heart. And has the right ideas about life, money, and what it means to be rich. Yep, my dream guy. Unfortunately for me, that guy has a lovely girlfriend and she's one of those rare white girls who can carry off dreadlocks, so no competing against that. But if he's got a doppelganger, I sure need to meet him and sail off into the sunset. (A big thanks to my friend Chuck who sent me the video; I needed to see that there really are guys like that out there somewhere!)

How did I sell myself so short in life and love? It's hard to explain how demoralizing it is to have literally applied for thousands upon thousands of jobs in the past decade and have had interviews I can count on my fingers and toes. Probably just my fingers. It really tells me I don't have anything to offer that this society wants or values. Admittedly, I don't really like, respect, or value this society. So I guess the feeling is mutual. But I am so underutilized and we all want to feel useful, purposeful. And we all have to eat. I don't need a fancy life. But my pets, who have kept me going through it all, get a fraction of the medical care they should. And their medical care exceeds mine by at least double. I haven't seen a dentist since 2008. It just wears me down sometimes. But I keep on keeping on, because that's what one has to do. If I am anything, it's resilient. But when people ask "How are you?" I want to stop saying "hanging in there," and instead wholeheartedly say "the world is my oyster!"

So, in other news, my engine won't start. I was all ready to head out for a little day cruise, but the starter just buzzes and the engine doesn't even try to cough or strain or anything. My diesel guy came and listened to it and said it's likely the battery is kaput and just not enough juice getting to the starter to even spin it. I protested that my battery monitor says 13.2 volts. He said that is probably only because I'm on the battery charger, hooked to shore power, and if I disconnected the shore power I'd likely see the voltage plummet. Now that I think about it, the voltage has stayed constantly at 13.2 for a while, whereas it used to drain down to 12.4 and then recharge up to 13.4. I still need him to come back and help finish the diagnosis so I can plan accordingly. I have been planning to pull out the two 4Ds (200 pounds each) and replace them with as many (75 pound) golf cart batteries as I can fit, and also replace the starter battery. One problem I won't repeat: prior owners connected the house and start banks, which should be separate. Naturally, I don't have several hundred dollars laying around to buy the new batteries, or the solar panels I wanted to install at the same time so it would all be in sync and happy. OK, I know I just ranted about not wanting things, but I admit batteries are the kind of things I need cluttering up my life. They are things that will help me move forward rather than things that hold me down. There, see how I rationalized that and made it sound very beautiful and philosophical? 

In other boat news, I had a diver out. Sean from Open Water Diving called me back within two hours of my initial call, made it out in less than a week, was very professional, and fairly priced. He also does search and recovery so if you lose a phone overboard in Annapolis, now you know who to call. I will admit that I got his card back when I was working on the fishing charter. He had been cleaning a boat in that marina and was changing out of his wetsuit into street clothes. I walked by and said "whoa, no need to rush putting on that t-shirt." What can I say, we all like youth and beauty. Most guys take their shirt off and you'd beg them to put it back on, so when a guy has a nice physique, it's nice to enjoy the view. I got his card and of course I waited until winter to call him, so alas, no show for me. But trust me, he's more than a pretty face. Very professional and did a great job. In the cold and rain he came out the day before Thanksgiving and cleaned the hull and installed a new zinc. The hull was very dirty, but he said the bottom paint is in good shape and I should be good until July for another cleaning. Bad news was the old zinc was totally gone. But a new one is there now so I'll sleep a little easier. 

Someone on one of the boating forums has a signature line that says "rust never sleeps" and it sure is true. The corrosion is a battle I feel I just can't get ahead of. It just gets overwhelming. All the projects. Not having the money to repair things I know need attention. I love my boat so much and I frequently tell her I'm sorry I haven't done more, done better. She saved my life and I have to return the favor.

e noho ra aotearoa

Goodbye to the land of the long white cloud, but I do hope it is not too long before I return. New Zealand has such stunning natural beauty and so many wonderful people, I can certainly see myself living there. So, yeah, any hot, single, floppy-haired Kiwis out there?

My last two days in Bay of Plenty were rainy and gray. On Friday I took the city bus from the Rotorua Central Business District to the Whakarewarewa Forest, a/k/a The Redwoods and walked some trails for a couple hours. (I apologize for the delay in getting all the trip photos back online via Flickr; Flickr's interface is very un-user-friendly and uploading so many photos has been challenging between that and the spotty and slow wifi I've been hopping onto here and there). Friday afternoon I took a regional bus back to Tauranga. I had hoped to hit the trails at the Karangahake Gorge on Saturday and stay just late enough to see some glow worms there, but the rain just wouldn't let up. I convinced my hostess Nikki to grab burgers at Astrolabe in Mt. Maunganui for lunch, since the burgers back in the US cannot remotely compare. We decided that after lunch we'd catch a movie someone had recommended, The Dark Horse (see the trailer here: http://youtu.be/X3YopiaQ3k8). We had to drive to the "Kiwifruit capital of the world," Te Puke, to catch a showing. 

The Dark Horse is the true story of a Maori chess champion who suffered with bipolar disorder. It's a moving story about his struggle with mental illness and the social struggles of many Maori. I think it stands on its own as a film worth seeing, but especially recommend it if you are visiting New Zealand. Maori terminology and symbols can be seen everywhere in New Zealand and give the impression that white Kiwis have embraced Maori culture and it's all one big, happy family. The reality is that there is a great deal of underlying racism and resentments running both directions. While I suspect many "white" Kiwis probably have a little Maori in them and take pride in it, there are definitely class distinctions along racial lines. The "chamber of commerce" portrayal of Maori culture will give you pricey hangi buffets and dance shows, but they don't want you to see the poverty or gang problems. I walked around in areas that some white Kiwis would consider unsafe for me, but didn't faze me in the least. Maybe being the palest one on the street made me stand out, but no one made me feel that way. I only wish I had bought a Maori phrasebook at the beginning of the trip so I hadn't been butchering pronunciation and so I could really learn the langauge. I can't imagine living in either the Cooks or New Zealand and not being bilingual. It's like living in Miami and refusing to learn Spanish; you're missing out on a huge part of life there and really only hurting yourself.

Before I had left Rotorua I was back to researching tattoo artists. There are plenty of tattoo shops out there and New Zealand is the tattoo capital of the world from what I was told when I was there. Based on the volume of tats you see when out and about, I tend to think that may be true. I found an artist back in Auckland whose fine line ta moko (traditional Maori tattoo) was right up my alley. I had already bought a bus ticket for Monday to head to Auckland before my flight, but figured I could change plans and head to Auckland a day early if the right tattoo opportunity got sorted. I decided to roll the bones and give a call. The artist, Thomas Clark, was the one to actually answer the phone and I explained I was leaving on an evening flight Monday but wanted to see if there was any way he could see me earlier in the day. He said he had a large piece (8-9 hours) scheduled but he might be able to push it back a couple hours if I could come first thing in the morning. He said it'd be at a studio he's setting up at his house, near the airport. Close to the airport sounded good to me. I had a good feeling about him from speaking on the phone so I sent him a lengthy email about what I was thinking of, where, and why, and we set up an appointment for 9:00am Monday morning. 

Taking the bus back to Auckland, yet again I hadn't figured out where I'd stay. Part of the issue was not being able to walk far with the ridiculous duffel bag full of gear. The bag weighed between 20-23 kilos depending on whether I pulled things out into a gym bag or just had a few items in my small pack. Next time I will have a really good backpack, period. Duffels are bullshit. They are just for people who drive their luggage everywhere or have servants to carry it. If you actually have to carry a bag even a couple blocks a shoulder strap never wants to stay on, you're tipped all sideways from the weight of the bag, and walking down an aisle on a bus or plane means holding it awkwardly in front of you. I couldn't really have packed lighter for the trip I thought I was going on, thus the weight and size of the bag were in large part due to the snokel gear and lifejacket that took up half the space. Oh, and a whole gym bag I had had to take to bring the chartplotter, batteries, flashlights, 5200, et cetera for the scumbag captain. Anyway, next time I will pack lighter and have a serious backpack.

When I got to the city I ended up going with a six-female dorm room at Queen Street Backpackers, just down the block from where I'd been before. People there seemed friendlier and it was cheaper at NZ$27 for the night and free wifi. No lockers in the rooms, a loud, creaky door, and sort of old and dirty, but it was just one night. I chatted with one of my new roommates, from Czech Republic, and convinced her to come out for happy hour. Then we met up with one of my roommates from before, who had also moved to a different hostel. I was tired and had to get up very early, so a few beers and I was done. 

I was up at 6:00am to get to the airport. Although my flight wasn't until 7:15pm, I needed to check my enormous bag and get my boarding pass so I wouldn't have that stress while getting the tattoo. I felt like I was running late and stressing at the airport, but managed to get it all done and catch the local bus to Mangere Bridge. It was less than 10 minutes to walk from the bus stop to the house, so I was relieved to even make it a smidge early (I'm notoriously on "Miami time" and 10 minutes late for everything).

If you've been following along you know I had been planning on getting this Maori mask that's on the ten cent coin as the central feature. It stuck me the first time I saw it in the Cooks because it looks like a cat, then a butterfly, then a warrior. I was thinking of a small piece between my hairline and necklace chain, so the chain wouldn't be breaking across it. Thomas asked me about my family and heritage and how my life was connected to the water. He explained that he felt the mask has a lot of detail and would need to be much bigger than what I was wanting so the lines don't blur together as the tat ages. He also convinced me not to worry about the necklace chain going across it. I just had a good feeling that he understood what I was trying to express, that I needed to trust his ability to capture that, and went for it. I felt he genuinely wanted to understand who I am so the tattoo is meaningful. That willingness and ability to "get" what I was after is what was missing when I spoke with someone earlier in the trip.

As I've probably mentioned, Maori tattoo is not stenciled. The basic outline is drawn on with a Sharpie, a photo is snapped, and then the piece is done freehand. When he showed me the Sharpie version it was not what I had originally envisioned but was beautiful. I had been concerned that a piece of such a different style from the one on my shoulderblade would look odd if they were close together but I saw that it really worked, fit the shape of my neck and back, and had a symetrical elegance. My only requests were couldn't we have a matau (fish hook) and could we add touches of color here and there. Thomas agreed we could do some color if I wanted, but thought I should see it done first before commiting. When it was finished he said he'd add the blues we discussed but really felt the piece was complete and would be more traditional left without any color. When I saw the finished piece I agreed and left it in black line. 

As for the matau, he said it's very touristy and instead of that he made a hammerhead shark, which is a very strong guardian for me on the water and that the hammerhead represents strength and determination, and thus suits me well. (The hammerhead design is formed by two large koru (spirals) coming from either side of the center line.) Koru are the unfurling fronds of the silver fern and represent rebirth and the eternal nature of the universe. The smaller parallel koru represent me and my father, with whom I was very close. The fine directional lines within the design represent navigational signs so I always find my way on the water and in life. The center line is me, independent and often standing on my own. Ta moko is considered a sacred ritual and the piece is very meaningful for me, so I am glad I went with a traditional style. A lifelong memento of my trip but that captures me on its own, and the bonus...takes up no extra space on the boat.

So, drum roll please, and here it is...

When the real work began he apologized that the first line was a really long one, but that it was going so well he didn't want to stop. Any tat right around the spine is going to hurt, so I just reminded myself how laser removal was far, far more painful and I had made it through eight sessions on a large piece on my arm. We were chatting while he worked and I mentioned that my last couple of days had been terribly rainy and one day I decided to just hide from the rain in a movie. I told him I went to see this great movie, The Dark Horse, it's in theaters now, had he heard of it? He was quiet a little longer than I expected, which made me think maybe he didn't care for the film. Then he told me Genesis, the chess champion protagonist, was his uncle and had taught him chess as a boy. I got to hear cool stories and family history and get more context for the film. He put on a documentary that the feature film is based on so I could watch it while he was working. What an incredibly small world it is that led me to that film and to Thomas within days of each other. The universe just has its ways.

I absolutely love the piece and I'm glad I trusted Thomas' suggestions. He did a wonderful job, moved his schedule around to fit me in, and even got me to the airport. If you're getting a tat in New Zealand, check out his page at https://www.facebook.com/matakioretamoko/photos_stream, and you can also find his contact details there.

In addition to lots of great Kiwis and Pacific Islanders, I met cool backpackers along the way, and may have even left a better impression of Americans than much of the world has. There is definitely a view that Americans are ignorant of the world, and, sadly, many of them are. If you followed the government's directions you'd never learn about another culture or have much fun when traveling. They'd rather you stay blissfully ignorant of the larger world around us and the fact that the US is not the center of it. They tell you not to eat street food or drink the water or have sex or get tattoos (I almost did all those things on this trip, wink-wink). Well, that's a sanitised way of travelling that keeps the sheeple dumb and easy to control. People would say to me that I seem nice, that most Americans they meet seem nice, but that they hate our government and its policies. Well, so do a lot of Americans. Our government gives us all a bad name and makes it more dangerous for us to travel because its terrible policies are attributed to us. I simply cannot comprehend traveling to another country and not learning as much of the language as possible, eating all the local food I can, spending as much time steeped in the local culture as I can. If all you want out of travel is to lay on a pretty beach, speak English, and eat McDonald's, you can do that in most of Florida so please just stay stateside so the rest of the world doesn't think we're all that mindless. OK, rant over.

My flight from Auckland to San Francisco was 11.5 hours; the flight from San Fran to Baltimore is 5+. So, roughly 17 hours flying time, plus 4 hour layover, plus arriving early enough for my flight out of Auckland equals over 24 hours in transit. I think I'm going to sleep in when I finally arrive, except I will want to get up and go fetch my sweet pup dog and give her a huge hug. I'll miss the Cooks and New Zealand, but it will be good to be back with my pack. I am so incredibly grateful to all my friends who made the trip possible, by babysitting my pets and boat, stepping up as emegency back-up pet-sitters, driving me to or from airports and bus stations, and welcoming me into their homes. I'm blessed by great friends and the kindness of strangers, many of whom I am lucky to now call friends.

cafe culture

Monday: I made it in time for the walking tour from the hostel, but the guy who leads the tour was sick and as the girl in the travel shop said "the weather is rubbish" so they cancelled it. It turns out that I had basically already covered their walking tour with my big loop yesterday, anyway. I do still want to pop by the fish market, even though I'm allergic, just to see it. I thought about making today the zoo day but the zookeeper talks today don't cover the NZ birds and reptiles, so I'll wait for tomorrow. 

I hopped on a city link bus to Karangahape Road (a/k/a K'Road), which has vintage and second-hand shops, cafes, tattoo parlors, and sort of a general counterculture element. Apparently Ponsonby Road is the more upscale hipster hangout and K'Road is slightly "shabbier." When I got off the bus I went into The Paper Bag Princess and found a pair of second-hand jeans for NZ$9 and a cute short-sleeved top for NZ$4. I only have one pair of long pants on the trip since I thought I'd spend 99% of my time in a bikini. The farther south I head from Auckland the colder it will get, so the jeans will come in handy and I won't cry if they get roughed up climbing or caving, but I would cry if I wrecked my fav yoga pants. I should get a long-sleeved t or a sweater, but I wasn't completely in love with any I tried on, so I'll keep looking. 

I turned down Queen Street for a couple blocks and saw a noodle shop packed with Asians. All the other spots I passed were empty, so I headed back to try ShaolinKungFu Noodle. I should have trusted my gut that the meat would not be up my alley, but I got a huge lamb noodle bowl. The broth and noodles were great, but the lamb was gray, flavorless, and mostly gristle. I wish I'd gone with either lamb and fennel potstickers or a tofu and veggie noodle bowl, but c'est la vie. I feel like as much broth splashed on my fav t-shirt as made it down my throat, so now I'm worried the top will be stained. Eating huge flat noodles and broth with chopsticks isn't exactly easy or neat, at least for me! I felt like all the Asians were staring and laughing at this white girl fumbling with her chopsticks and noodles, and wanted to scream "You had your whole life to master chopsticks, give me a break!" But I'm sure none of them even noticed me as the cacophony of all the different conversations bounced off the walls. 

I stopped into a tattoo studio (www.otautahitattoo.com) that is by far the fanciest I've ever seen, so I tend to think it's outside my budget. Since a cafe culture is big in Auckland I figured my trip to these neighborhoods would be a good time to stop for coffees along the way to rest, write, and people watch. Coffee seems pricey to me here, but I think I've at least figured out that what I am looking for is a "long black" with some hot water added. I settled into a comfy couch for a long black at Alleluya Cafe and enjoyed a bit of free wifi. 

K'Road was full of cute, eclectic shops reminiscent of Portland.  I wandered up a narrow stairwell to Dreamhands Tattoo (www.www.facebook.com/dreamhandsnz) just to browse around. They told me to make myself comfortable, sit down and browse the books for ideas, and brought me a cup of green tea. One of the artists, Liam, was sitting at a table sketching and gave me some great tips for travel. He turned me onto Naked Bus, which is a cheap bus line for me to hop around the country, but doesn't involve any nudity. He's from the south island and got online to show me a beautiful national park at the north end of south island near his home town. Everyone makes it sound imperative to see Queenstown, but it's a long haul to get all the way down there and the budget is just too tight. But it would be cool to take the bus down north island and hop the ferry across to be able to see a bit of the south island. I wanted to see portfolios of the work from folks at Dreamhands so I begged off getting anything right then and headed to Ponsonby Road.

The same things at a second-hand store (called an "op shop" here) might cost NZ$20 on K'Road, but NZ$100 on Ponsonby. It's just obviously posher and while the shops were cute, they were too pricey to even be worth much window-shopping. It was a dreary rainy day so although the very large park on Ponsonby, possibly the oldest in the city, was tempting, I figured I should find a nicer day for walking through it. I popped into a pub for a beer and was shocked to find bar stools at the bar. It really makes a bar so much more welcoming.

Friday: When I got back to the hostel on Monday evening and mentioned I might go back to K'Road the next day to see about a tattoo, one of the girls in my room asked to come along. On Tuesday we went back to Otautati since I was feeling I should do some traditional moko Maori ink, though I was very tempted to see what lotus flower work Liam at Dreamhands might be able to do for me. I had to make an appointment, and make a NZ$50 deposit, to come back on Wednesday to see the artist at Otautati. The traditional Maori patterns are generally hand-drawn right onto you, ensuring that each one is unique and that it flows with the shape of your body. I explained what I was looking to do and why it was meaningful to me. He drew on a piece but it was a very big solid-looking piece and definitely not what I had in mind. 

I really like the idea of a piece on my upper neck along the hair line, but the very old butterfly simply had to be covered as part of that. I came back again on Thursday to see what the artist had come up with, but again it just wasn't capturing what I was after or covering the butterfly. It's a pretty design, but not what I was after.

I decided there just wasn't a good fit and I'd pass. Luckily my friend Elsa who came along for these various appointments decided she definitely wanted a turtle, so they just applied my deposit toward her tattoo and I got my cash back. I went back to Dreamhands hoping to chat with Liam about a small cover for the butterfly, but he wasn't there at the moment. Another artist there said he could definitely do a lotus and use a leaf to cover the butterfly, but they were talking about NZ$300, which seems really expensive for what I envision as a small neck tattoo. Anyway, the large cover I need to do should match with it, so it would be best to have the same artist do all that work in the same style. It would have been nice to get a Maori fish hook (matau) with fern spirals (koru), as those designs have a lot of meaning for me, (safety over water and rebirth), but I think it just wasn't meant to be on this trip. Perhaps when I get back to the Cooks I'll go back to Polynesian Tattoo in Rarotonga, where I felt the artist would work well with me and was much less pricey than in Auckland.

I sat with Elsa for almost two hours while her turtle tattoo was drawn on but she felt bad having me spend my last day in Auckland sitting there with her. I felt bad to leave her without someone to distract her during the painful bit, but I headed out. I grabbed a quick lunch of beef curry over rice for NZ$4 at a cafe on K'Road that serves two choices every day for lunch at that price and all the money goes to help fight homelessness. Elsa and I grabbed lunch there yesterday, too, and it was good, a nice portion, and the price was right! Then I walked through beautiful, lush Western Park and mugged for selfies in front of the trees.

Off to the zoo! I had to get online to figure out a bus to get to the zoo, and the stops and routes are not very clear. But I finally found the bus I needed. A whopping NZ$4 one-way to get there, plus the zoo will be NZ$28, and just three+ hours to see the zoo, but better than just wasting my last day in town. I generally dislike the idea of animals in cages and that aspect of what zoos are about, but more and more zoos play an important role in wildlife and habitat conservation, through both education and breeding programs. Auckland Zoo appears to be very involved in promoting conservation and was also the most "open" zoo I recall visiting. There are a lot of areas (not the lions and tigers, duh) where animals are free to walk around though people are directed to stay on the path. So wallabys and lots of birds could hop, stroll, or fly on over to investigate the goofy humans. 

I didn't get to see any kiwis, which was disappointing, but they are just too shy and noctural. The very cool blue penguins were hiding under an overturned row boat to stay out of the rain, but the seals were playing and goofing off tirelessly. The zoo has virtually no feeling of traditional cages or wire, with lots of natural materials and beautiful Maori design elements incorporated throughout. It was heartbreaking to see signs that said along the side "gone forever" and on the front listing the all-too-numerous native New Zealand species that are now forever gone. 

kia ora

Wednesday: Hello from New Zealand! I arrived very early (about 4:00AM) in Auckland. Flying from Rarotonga to Auckland involved crossing the international date line, a first for me, so suddenly Tuesday went poof! and the clock just moved forward an entire day. The upside is that is one less night I needed to spend money on a hotel! I still haven't wrapped my head around the international date line, and had thought I'd have plenty of time to philosophize and come to grips with the concept while sailing across it, but I'll just roll with it like everything else. 

I spent my last night on Aitutaki in Vaipae, on the other side of the island from Amuri, where I had been. Carol and her family were incredibly gracious to scoop me up after they went to church, bring me to their house, settle me into a room of my own, get me on their wifi, and feed me well (ice cream and yellow bread for lunch, some mango, then delicious chicken, pumpkin, rice, potato salad and spinach for dinner). I offered to help cook but she said she's not much of a cook and her husband does all the cooking; she certainly is blessed! And of course Carol made sure I got to the airport on time in the morning. Vaipae is quieter, and it was nice not to hear the sometimes-continual buzz of scooters going by that one can get in Amuri. I'm sad that I went all that way and didn't get to see the beautiful lagoon and its giant clams, snorkel, or enjoy much beach and water time, or hike across the island. However, I arrived a tourist and left a friend, so I will certainly have to return to beautiful Aitutaki. A huge and heartfelt thank you to Carol and her entire family and to Emma, too!

I arrived in Rarotonga at 10:00AM and had until 1:45AM for my flight to Auckland. I left luggage at the airport and paid NZ$16 for an all-day bus pass to go round the island. I grabbed a great burger and fries at Boogie's Burgers in Avarua, then headed to Muri to see likely the nicest stretches of beach in Raro. I immediately regretted not wearing a bikini under my clothes so I could've hopped in for a swim or a snorkel, but going back to the airport would have taken too much time. I sat on the beach and enjoyed the view while trying to get my phone and ipad charged up with my solar charger. I waded in the waves a bit, and watched some of the various off-leash dogs wander about. They always approach me, never aggressive, give a sniff, and once they realize I have no food they just take a pet or two and move on.

I hopped the bus again and headed further around the island. I stopped for a happy hour glass of wine at a very elegant resort and watched rough waves building and crashing just past the beach. I walked further down the road and stopped at The Anchorage for a beer and some delicious garlic bread. The bartendress there was very friendly and helpful and also a blogger, so hopefully she'll pass along her blog information if she wanders over to read this one. The Anchorage had a bookshelf full of books and games and the librarian's daughter in me couldn't help but start organizing the books to fit the shelves better while I waited, but I stopped short of organizing into subject areas. I headed out to the road early so I wouldn't miss the bus going by as I needed to get back to airport. Now the sun had set and all was dark. I waited and waited, but the bus still hadn't come and I grew concerned about whether there was time enough for me to walk. A woman pulled up on a scooter. "Where you going?" she asked. I told her I was waiting on the bus for the airport but it still hadn't come. "Hop on." she told me. I asked if she was sure and she said she had to go right by the airport anyway on the way to her husband's bowling match. So, we zipped along around the last stretch of the island and she dropped me right at the little terminal. My experience has been that while Cook Islanders could be reserved at first, once you break through that circumspection, once you show that you are interested in the locals, they welcome you with open arms. One ugly American put a damper on my trip, but countless Cook Islanders and Kiwis have made the trip a wonderful adventure.

Thursday: I arrived in New Zealand yesterday not even knowing where I would stay the night or where I should head. I spent a few hours in the Auckland airport with a Rarotongan, Doug, who had been seated next to me on the flight, helping him get sorted for his onward flight and gathering an armful of maps and brochures to try to orient myself since I hadn't yet done much research on New Zealand. Though I'm quite free-spirited, I never stayed in a hostel in my youth and although the price was much more palatable than a hotel, I was worried about keeping all my gear safe. A couple of backpackers from the flight mentioned the hostel they had found and I tried to book a cheap rate for a private room online, without success. I was out of free wifi time at the airport and just hopped on the bus to downtown. I walked  a block to the hostel and just rolled the bones on a 6-bed female-only dorm room for NZ$31 per night (about US$27 per night). There is a drawer under my bunk where I loaded all my gear and popped on a small padlock. The mixed (i.e., with men and women) bathroom and showers is down the hall. But I soon realized I'm used to dorm-style bathroom facilities since that's been marina-life for two years. A hotel would have been NZ$100/night, and the fancy place north in wine country that I was dreaming of would be NZ$140/night. I decided that I'll probably enjoy the trip more if I can save as much money as possible on lodging and instead eat interesting food, take some tours and ferries, and buy a little memento here and there. Yes, people come and go at different hours than I might so we wake each other up, but it's a dry and non-smoking hostel and the hostel arranges pub crawls (going on one tonight) and walking tours (planning to join one tomorrow) and even has a sauna and jacuzzi on the roof. 

Though I landed in Auckland not knowing anyone, not even knowing where I would spend the night, by the end of the day I had met two great new friends, Zane and Michelle. A few days before leaving Aitutaki I had posted on Cruisers' Forum that I was looking to hop a boat sailing for Niue and/or Tonga. Zane responded with some tips and when I mentioned that I was resigned to a trip to New Zealand he offered to bring me along as crew on their Friday night races in Auckland harbor. I certainly couldn't turn down the opportunity to go sailing after coming all this way. Then he emailed me that he and his wife had made reservations for an unforgettable dinner and I couldn't refuse to join them. We went to dinner at the top of the Sky Tower, in a revolving fine dining restaurant, taking in a stunning 360 degree view of Auckland and the sparkling lights once the sun set. Many restaurants with great views leave something to be desired with respect to the food, but not this one. I had delicious corn-fed chicken with pumpkin puree and green beans. A woman after my own heart, Michelle ordered a second dish of garlic aioli for our fries. The hokey pokey ice cream (it's a Kiwi thing; think chunks of gooey caramel in ice cream) and ginger creme brulee are not to be missed! Small world that it is, Zane and Michelle are coming to the Annapolis boat show, just over 6 weeks away, so hopefully I can return some of their amazing hospitality with a local's tour of Eastport. Before long they'll be sailing across the Pacific having the adventure of a lifetime. I can't thank them enough for giving such a warm Kiwi welcome to some random girl from the internet and helping kick off my New Zealand adventure in style.

I ran 6 miles along the waterfront this morning, and will have to take a camera along on the next run. Then I've been running around trying to find a warm pair of shoes, as the "warmest" shoes with me are open Keen water shoes. I keep wishing I had brought my Uggs but hate to spend so much money on another pair when they are very seasonal in Annapolis. I looked and looked and ended up getting a pair of leather Keen shoes that have the profile of a sneaker but more oomph to them like a boot. They'll be great for tramping around being a backpacker for the next two+ weeks but will also be 3 or 4 season shoes back home. Pricey, they were, but also oh so comfy. It was clear we were meant for each other. The guys at the outdoor shop were great and when I asked for a tip for middle eastern or asian for lunch they suggested a tapas place called mezze. It was about NZ$30 all in, but I had kofte, hummus, bread, a glass of wine, baklava, and some rose Turkish delight. The atmosphere of leather couches and low tables can't be beat, and it's their free wifi that is making this post possible just now. 

Alright, time for me to go enjoy some adventures! Many thanks from the bottom of my heart to my friends back home who made it possible for me to take the trip (Mike and Jenn puppy-sitting and Fred boat- and cat-sitting and all the folks who stepped up as back-ups) and to all my new friends in the Cooks and New Zealand who have made the trip a heart-warming adventure so far. 

kindness of strangers

Somehow I manage in the worst of circumstances to meet the most amazing, generous people.

Earlier in the afternoon I walked down the road just a few doors to the Tamanu resort to see if I could get on their wifi. I expected it to be more expensive than the official telecom accounts, but it turned out that all week I could have had wireless by time instead of megabytes, which would have been a big benefit for uploading photos, videos, and viewing websites. The atmosphere is very elegant, but casual, and just serene. I made sure to wear real clothes, nothing torn or dirty (whereas the captain only wears scissored wife-beaters and shorts showing far more butt crack than anyone cares to see). There was a guest at the desk inquiring about booking a lagoon cruise so I waited for her to get help before asking about the wifi. The guest asked where I was from and I mentioned that I was from the States and looking for a boat to sail on to Niue and Tonga to get closer to Auckland for my flight home. The front desk agent was as sweet and helpful as can be and told me to just go ahead and relax on the lobby couches and get online. It was also the nicest, cleanest restroom I've used since Los Angeles, so that is nice. I got a lot done online in just 40 minutes, so I hung onto the last 20 minutes of the hour I'd bought to use later. I heard that Saturday they have half-price happy hour so I figured perhaps I'd come back by in the evening. 

The captain was all piss and vinegar when I was back at the house and said I should fly out on Monday. I think it's nonsense for me to pay my airfare from here to Auckland so I will push for him to pay it one way or the other. He gave me some total BS that I'm not ready for 1000 miles of open ocean sailing, but personally, I think I'd be risking my life with that nutjob at the helm. I've got far, far more perseverance, physical stamina, and mental aptitude than him, not to mention just generally being a good person instead of a schmuck. He gives a fake face to everyone he meets, is a consummate bullshit artist, and then has nothing but snide remarks about everyone on the island. He thinks he's liked here but locals definitely don't care for him. That is clear both from their body language and what they acutally say to me about how he should've sought local help for things long ago, has had other crew come here and quit, should have married a local girl if he wants to be a part of the community, and on and on. So, because I wasn't going to sleep with him and finally just told him to shut up, stop talking, that he was like babysitting an 8 year old, he will run around saying I wasn't compentent crew. Well, all I can do is call bullshit on that, and anyone who knows me and knows him, knows very well where the truth lies.

Intermission: here's a beautiful drink for NZ$3 at happy hour, yum. 

So after his bellyaching about me leaving, I decided I would get out of the house and stroll back down to the lovely Tamanu resort for happy hour and some internet. I sat at the end of the bar and browsed the happy hour drink menu and a lady at the other end of the bar asked if I'd found a boat yet to sail on. It was the guest from earlier in the afteroon. I told her I hadn't and though I hoped to hop a boat to Niue and Tonga, I may have to fly out Monday for Auckland three weeks before my flight home. I said I'd love to see New Zealand, had heard wonderful things about various sights to see, but couldn't possibly afford a hotel for three weeks. And before I knew it she told me I could come stay at their house on the beach as long as I need, not to worry about it at all, that they are south of Auckland and just 40 minutes from Rotorua, which everyone says I must see. I asked her if she was serious, told her I would really take them up on that. She walked right over, got paper and pen from our wonderful bartendress, and wrote all their information, plus her brother's name in Auckland if I got in a jam there. She said if I get my international driver's license I'm welcome to use one of their cars, too. She said they'd be at work all day so I'd really have the house to myself and that there were plently of beautiful routes for me to run. I actually had to hold back the tears that strangers would be so welcoming and generous to some crazy girl sitting at a bar half-way around the globe from home.

I asked the bartendress where the cheapest place to crash a night on the island would be, so I could avoid even going to the captain's boat tomorrow night. The "paratrooper motel," which I have walked past, was the suggestion. The ladies from the resort and at the bar asked where I was from, when I was leaving, where I was staying now. They quickly knew what house I'm at just up the road and after a while the front desk agent came over and asked when I need to be out of the house tomorrow. I told her probably by noon or so. She pointed out her husband down the bar and her one-year-old daughter running about. She said she has several children and the house is active and noisy, but it would be a safe place for me to stay the night tomorrow, and they could pick me up after they go to church in the morning. It took a minute to sink in that these strangers were also welcoming me right into their home, without hesitation willing to drive from the other side of the island to pick me up. Just, wow. And of course, the women all well understood the conundrum of men expecting more than was offered or reasonable to expect. So I am incredibly blessed by the kindness of strangers and can say that once one breaks through the initial circumspection of locals, they welcome one as if an old family friend. It is heartwarming, life-affirming, and kindnesses I will never forget.

a tree, by the ocean, in the wind

 

I haven't been able to spend hardly any time in the water or at the beach. So yesterday I quickly cooked up some dinner for the captain and then hurried down to take a walk on the beach around sunset. The sun was tucked behind clouds, but it was still a nice, peaceful evening. I walked down the beach a ways in the edge of the waves and then headed back to the beach in front of the house. The beach was a little sloped and the waves were lapping at my ankles, but I dug my feet in the sand, took a deep breath, and tried to do a little yoga. On solid ground, or even on a rocking boat but with a firm deck beneath my feet, I can stand in tree pose for several minutes. But in the shifting sand, wind blowing into me, I would begin tipping over after just 20 or 30 seconds, or less. I focused on the horizon and kept telling myself I need to be a tree, by the ocean, in the wind. I have to plant myself firmly, but sway with the wind a bit, and find my balance. Once I had managed to hold tree pose for a couple of minutes on each foot, I moved on to crane. Perhaps a crane is more appropriate to my current circumstances, for I need to find my wings now, rather than planting myself like a tree. But both poses are about balance and in my practice also involve keeping balance in motion. The stars were beginning to appear but the sun was still slowly sinking into the reef. After much frustration and tipping over, I got to that place of real balance. I felt that force holding me in place from head to toe, from fingertip to fingertip, I was focused on the horizon and at that very moment saw a whale blowing and then doing backflips just beyond the lagoon. Coincidence, perhaps. But at that moment it felt very clear that Gaia was telling me that I had found my balance in this crazy, spinning world.

Every couple of hours it seems the plan for the captain's boat changes. If his local friend comes through and they are partners in the business, then supposedly the island council will approve him staying and doing day sails outside the lagoon. The flux doesn't help my situation, but I hope he just gets approved to stay here and that I can hop on another boat to Tonga. If I found a boat leaving soon I would make it to Niue and Tonga and fly to Auckland in time for my flight. Everyone here, locals and cruisers alike, seem pretty shocked that I've been left to get the flight from Tonga or here over to Auckland. But it is what it is. I would just be thrilled to find a boat onward with no one expecting sex. Fingers crossed. I met a great couple who will be heading that way but not sure if they'll take me on. We ran into them at a local dive bar last night. Patrick and Mary are a very sweet couple together, a complementary pair. And in a world full of pretense and agendas, Mary is refreshingly honest, knows what she wants, and doesn't intend to let anything stand in her way. We hung out with a bunch of locals singing and playing guitar and partying way past my bed time. So, we'll see what new twist today brings. I'd much rather sail for the next couple of weeks than have to cut my trip short and head back to Annapolis after so much juggling to be able to get away for this extended time. Something will work out; it always does. 

city of angels

I had to pull an all-nighter to get packed and on my way. On the plane, crying babies on both flights. But I made it to the City of Angels and one of my oldest friends scooped me up from the airport and delivered me to a little garden oasis where I relaxed, took care of last minute bills, emails, and such, and chatted with King Leo, her sweet and majestic semi-wild Santa Monica jungle cat. She insisted that I sleep in her bed and let her take the couch, so I got a great night's sleep sinking into the mattress and pillows up in the loft. She could certainly live on a boat, for her house is diminutive but everything in its place and beautifully decorated. Far more organized and downsized that I have managed so far.

I also met up with an old college friend and even if only for an hour and change, it was so great to catch up. We always make new friends throughout life, but those ones who were with us in our formative years, our wild and crazy years, when up was down and such, they are something truly precious.

I had hoped to post here nicely formatted rows of photographs but it seems impossible to select text that I want to select on the iPad. Indescribably frustrating. I just want technology to work, to do as I tell it. It does not know best. Sigh. At least I was able to select my sigh and make it italic. Sigh.

I got to the airport early and had time to stop for a bite to eat and a couple of pricey ($11 a pint, ouch!) beers. I chatted with Omar, a Mexican living and working in New Zealand, and Dan, an Aussie returning home after a month-long tour of the major American cities. Very cool to meet interesting, smart, and adventuresome fellow travelers. Hopefully we'll all find what we're looking for, though it secretly is always already within us. Sometimes we just have to have an adventure to see that.

the world is my oyster

I'm not really sure what that means: the world is my oyster. I mean, oysters are kind of ugly and slimy. They are pretty stuck where they are, not big world travelers. But they do take an annoyance, e.g., sand, and turn in into a beautiful pearl. I can crack open the oyster and who knows what I may find. But I feel like the saying is more akin to being on top of the world, and I haven't noodled out the analogy yet. I guess I could just check wikipedia. Or not. But I think, perhaps, the world is my oyster. I'm still broke. No car. No "real" or "steady" job. No fancy digs. No savings or back-up plan. But the world has thrown all kinds of shit at me and still hasn't taken me down. I'm gonna carpe the hell out of the diem and enjoy all the adventures that lie ahead.

My friend dropped back by Saturday morning and we managed to get the steering and engine controls reassembled. I think the tachometer is on the fritz. It was stuck on 700 rpm and now on 1600. But we got her started up and let her idle in the slip a bit. Unfortunately, there is some piece attached to the engine that is badly corroded and should be replaced before I take her out. C'est la vie; that's boat life. Always another project or repair around the bend. We had initially set the housing with the controls on the binnacle upside down and I kept sort of looking at it askance. I knew the shifter was on the left and the throttle on the right, but the range of motion and where the levers were placed seemed off. My friend didn't believe me at first but I convinced him to give it a try and indeed we had them upside down! Everything about reassembling parts at the binnacle was a puzzle, which can be both fun and frustrating, like any game I guess.

A few weeks ago I finally admitted that after almost two years I was in fact never going to make little marlinspike-sailor-y mats for the steps. I looked at getting the Treadmaster nonskid pieces for steps but ended up with a much more economical (about $1.00 per foot) nonskid adhesive tape from 3M. I cleaned off the steps, then wiped them down with alcohol. I cut the tape into three pieces per step and then took something round and drew rounded corners. I honestly don't remember if it was a cup or what now. I trimmed the corners and then carefully tried to get all the pieces lined up nicely. I actually think it came out well. It feels secure but not abrasive on my bare feet and the pup dog seems to like it. She can definitely go up the stairs by herself but doesn't yet realize it. She still makes me boost her up the first step but I am letting go of her earlier and earlier to try to convince her she can do it on her own. She is still jumping down from the top step which I think is really bad for her shoulders. I need to get someone really good with dogs to help me teach her how to walk down the stairs. I've seen other dogs go up and down them with no problem, so it is all in her head. But that doesn't make it any easier.

I am in the weeds on getting ready to leave. The boat is still a disaster zone but has to be spic and span before my friend staying aboard arrives. I still have gear I need but am nervous about buying anything and being short on funds. I'm hoping I'll have three solid days of work in DC this week, but it does seem like the end is near on the project. I need to upload documents to the cloud, print tickets, just get all the loose ends wrapped up. Still need to nail down my pet back-up people and write a good tome on the care and feeding of my beloved furry crew. But everything is coming together. There is still some work to be completed on my friend's boat when I arrive, but I don't mind the hard work and enjoy the hands-on chance to learn whatever I can on repairs and installations.

My hair has gotten insanely long and the ends are rather dry and frazzled, so with making a little money and working in DC I've been really excited to go get a cut from my fav guy in Georgetown. I haven't had my hair cut since last November in Miami and before that it had been a little over a year. That was the last time I went to my usual guy, Thomas, in DC. I first went to Thomas six or more years ago when I still lived in Miami and came up for a job interview. I wanted a good blow-out and landed in his chair. He's the only hair stylist I've had whom I trusted completely. He knew that I came less and less frequently because I simply didn't have the money to keep my hair up anymore. The last time I saw him he asked if I needed some help with the cut or color but I insisted he needs to make his money, too. But when I got to the counter he'd already comped my whole session (north of $150). I'd bring him butterscotch brownies since he couldn't have anything with nuts or chocolate. He was there with me through a divorce, several silly boys, and a few heartbreaks, including the death of my father. I remember sitting in that chair and joking that the one good thing about being so depressed over losing my father was that I'd lost a ton of weight! Even though I hadn't made it out for a cut, we had messaged on Facebook now and then. I thought about briefly popping back on Facebook to shoot him a note but just went ahead and called the salon to book an appointment for next week so my hair would be refreshed before my big trip. The usual guy at the reception desk answered and I told him I'd like to make an appointment for a cut with Thomas. He paused a second and then "I'm sorry, but..." Oh, great, he moved to some other salon, I thought. Or back to St. Louis. "I'm sorry, but Thomas passed away three months ago. He had advanced pancreatic and liver cancer. He only had a month." Why do the poisonous people have to live so long and the really wonderful people go too soon? The world shined a little brighter because Thomas was in it, and I just hope he knows he's truly missed.

So, I'm still here, they haven't gotten me down yet, and one of these days I'm going to figure out what it means, but the world is my oyster.