Christchurch Earthquake

After dropping Vince off at the airport last Saturday, I had planned on staying in Christchurch until the Queens of the Stone Age concert on Wednesday. So I was passing the time pretty uneventfully until then. On Tuesday the 22nd around 1PM I decided to get a falafel for lunch. I paid the falafel guy and was waiting in queueueue. Then the building started shaking, the power went out, and I ducked under a nearby table.

It was definitely the strongest earthquake I had felt, but I really didn't think it was gonna be that bad. The building I was in was fine for the most part and no one in it got hurt. To be honest, I was more annoyed by the earthquake than anything, I just wanted to get my falafel. As soon as the shaking stopped, someone yelled "everyone out" and we quickly left the building and fled towards the nearby park. It wasn't till I was outside that I started to get a sense for how damaging the earthquake really was. Many of the nearby buildings were in complete ruin. Everyone was kind of in shock. I saw some people who looked badly injured, but we were pushed towards the safety of the park.

There were a few strong aftershocks and a lot of panicked people trying to find loved ones. The city center was soon closed off and ambulances arrived. After a while, I started the long walk around the city center towards my hostel. I was able to take some pictures of the outskirts of the city but my camera ran out of batteries. Luckily for me, my hostel survived relatively unscathed. However, my board bag and clothes are stuck inside the hostel until the city center is reopened. My hostel is pretty close to Hotel Grand Chancellor, the tallest building in Christchurch, which is on the verge of collapsing. Until that building collapses (or someone makes it collapse) I probably won't be able to get my things, and I'm supposed to be here for about three more weeks.

But I'm not complaining!! I have been very lucky throughout the ordeal and have many things to be thankful for: 1) my life! 2) I happened to be wearing a backpack containing my computer, wallet, and passport and 3) a lot of people who care about me back home!

The first night after the quake I stayed with everyone who couldn't get into their hotel, hostel, or home in a giant tent. It was very nice to be sheltered as it had started to rain right after the earthquake. The next night I spent in a basketball gym. We were actually fed very well and I got to help at the Red Cross stations setting up food and makeshift beds. The scrapper in me was happy to get free food and a free place to sleep! I actually ate some meat for the first time in 4 years out of necessity and decided it was my "F-You" back to mother nature.

After two nights in desolated Christchurch, I headed south back to Dunedin to figure out some idea of what to do for the last month in NZ. One week after the quake, there is still no word on when they will allow people into the Christchurch city center, so my surf trip is on hold indefinitely. In the meantime, I might try a long hiking trip or maybe volunteer back in Christchurch. I'm jealous Vince got to see QOTSA and I didn't. I almost expected them to show up in Christchurch and play "The Sky is Falling" for all the refugees.

I won't be able to upload my earthquake photos till I can get my charger but here is a video someone shot with their iPhone of the area that I was in during the event:

Kiwi Music

Joe and I made this playlist of songs, for one reason or another, we've heard a bunch in New Zealand. They LOVE American pop music here, but also seem to be into a lot of really good music that wouldn't make it in the states because it's not mainstream enough.

First Week In Auckland

Great night last night. My friend Pie, who everyone has been saying is “pretty much the Indian version of Vince from New Zealand”, takes us to his buddy’s house and I get to really experience some authentic Kiwi house partying.

One of the guys has an Aunt who works for American Honey (the WIld Turkey whiskey drink), and apparently she got ahold of a batch that somehow had gone sour (the sugar was crystallizing). Obviously, we could care less about some sugar in our whiskey, so we have a massive batch all to ourselves.

My buddy Nick put it well yesterday, “Drinking with the Kiwis is like drinking with Hobbits.”  They’re just such a cheery little bunch. We spend the night singing, playing games, singing some more, and asking trivia off of our beer bottles.

To top off the night, Joe, the guy who’s house we were at, decides to make us all food. Somehow he manages to spill an entire carton of eggs on the ground, but we are not deterred. Joe and I scoop the eggs into a frying pan, straight off the ground, and happily serve the party “floor eggs”. They were a bit chalky, crunchy from the shells, and absolutely superb.

We look straight out of “Superbad”, all drinking our malfunctioning whiskey and munching on floor eggs. Joe would have been proud.

This morning, I wake up and find this note on the kitchen counter:

If you  can't read it, it says "Message from Joe. Have gone to dispose of beer bottles & pick up some more floor eggs possibly bacon too"

Joe returns, and we all feast on hangover eggs, bacon, sausage, fresh milk, bread, and a mixture of beans and canned spaghetti that I expect Joe must be salivating over...

Other than that, things have been great here. I start school on Monday, only have class from Monday-Wednesday, have met heaps of great people here, and accumulated some blog-inappropriate stories along the way. Oh, and I saw Joe’s favorite band, The Queens of the Stone Age.

Joe was supposed to see them in Christchurch, but, as he playfully put “Christchurch concert rocked my world!! Oh wait that was an earthquake.” 

Earthquake

Just got news from the Statom Family and apparently Joe was able to get through back home, and he is safe. From what I've heard the damage was pretty disastrous. Thank you all for your prayers and thoughts.

Greymouth

I am awoken this morning by Joe slamming the door shut. The sun is just peaking up over the mountains, our windows are heavily misted from the night, and I’m still pretty sleepy. We’re parked in a little grass parking lot. Between us and the beach is a rugby pitch, which has turned golden in the sunrise. I had heard there is nothing to do in Greymouth, but it looks absolutely beautiful to me. I sit and make some breakfast while Joe goes and scopes the waves.

The trip up to Greymouth was one of our prettiest. Leaving from Queenstown, we head North for glacier territory, but are stopped several times by the scenery.

First stop is along the main highway, at this stunning lake. Joe and I are like kids again as we run from the car to the water. This is just some little place we pull off on the side of the road. Nobody else stops here because, I can only assume, this is no out-of-the-ordinary beauty for the natives here. For us, this is one of the greatest lake views I’ve seen.

Next, we make a pit stop at some short little hike advertised as the “blue pools”. After a little walk through the rainforest and a few rickety bridges, we find the blue pools and hop on in. I was feeling a bit fatigued on the road, so the ice-cold water is a good little wake up for me.

Finally, we make it to the glaciers. The largest in the area is the Franz Josef glacier, named after Franz Josef. It’s hard to grasp how big this thing is in pictures, but it is freaking massive, and a bit surreal looking at a huge chunk of ice like this in the middle of summer.

Joe, on a bet, dunks his head in the glacier water (which, we determine, is the coldest possible water he could dunk his head in), and we watch the sunset over the mountains with some tuna sandwiches (prepared on the top of the car).

We drive until Greymouth, and both pass out in the car. It’s supposed to be a pretty good little surf spot here, so Joe is excited. I’m pretty content, amidst the scenery, to just sit back and watch.

Vince Bungee

Joe Bungee

Bartenders and Bean Sandwiches

Alright well I guess a lots happened since the last time I had a write up. I've laughed. I've cried. I've done some amazing things. And I've done some dark, terrible, unforgivable things. In the past week we've travelled from Auckland to Christchurch to Dunedin to Queenstown and to Greymouth. Here are some things I've noticed along the way:

"-as" is the kiwi equivalent of "hella". If something is sweet, you say it's sweet. If something is hella sweet, it's sweet-as. If a whale were beached far up on the shore, he would say, "I'm beached-as, bru."

Instead of ketchup, NZ serves "tomato sauce". It's like ketchup, only sweeter and a little bit spicier. However, NZers are brain-washed into thinking that "tomato sauce" is so good that it should be put in every kind of canned food. This includes canned spaghetti and (most importantly) canned beans. As a mass-consumer of beans, this leaves me unsettled. I mean, it's really hard to ruin a bean sandwich. It's the tastiest of all scrapper meals, with the added nutritional benefit of combining your daily serving of bean with your daily serving of sandwich. However, these sheep-shaggers are making a mockery of the fine American Institution of Bean Sandwiches by tainting them with this "tomato sauce"!

All the local Maori (indigenous NZers) males have mullets and it actually looks kinda cool.

The Lonely Planet book is amazing. Every once in a while I hear Vince in a conversation saying something like, "Oh yeah, but the things I've liked the best are the things not in the guide book. You know, off the map." Or something like that. But he's full of crap because I literally can't think of one thing we've done that wasn't in that book, unless it was sleeping in our hatchback in the middle of nowhere. But really, those Lonely Planet books are awesome. Thanks Danielle!

The Lakers just lost to the Cavs. Is Lebron still on the team?

People from other countries make fun of football. And it's not just because you hardly use your foot in a sport with the word foot in it. No, foreigners make fun of football because they think it's for pansies! They make fun of it's lack of toughness as compared to rugby. They prance around, squealing in a high-pitched voice, "Look at me, I'm playing American Football in my cute pads!" Saying football's isn't tough is like saying Marmiduke from Carpoolers isn't the greatest TV character of all time. I was so astonished that I just froze up the first time I heard it. I was too shell-shocked to even think of a comeback. In fact, we watched the super bowl at noon on a monday at a pizza place with hardly anybody in all of Auckland caring. Plus they didn't even play the real super bowl commercials.

Let's say you're at a bar and at some point in the night you ask the bartender, "Hey man, I need some advice. Do you think I should ?" It doesn't matter what is filled in that blank. Listen to bartenders. They are trained to give out life lessons. It the bartender tells you no, then don't' do it. Trust me.

It's a proven scientific fact that Bagface needs to be incorporated into every game of king's cup. But I'm going to go a step further and say that Bagface need to be incorporated into every facet of life possible. Any group of friends needs to create some competition where the loser has to where a bag over his face until a new loser is crowned. The person with this bag on their face must be referred to only as Bagface and must start every sentence with "Bagface say". I'm calling out bros everywhere to replace "Icing" with Bagface. It'll make the world a better place.


Well, soon Vince and I will part again and I'll be on my own for a few weeks. I'll probably rent a car and drive around the bottom of the south island looking for waves. After that I plan to realize my life long dream of becoming a sheep-shearer. I recently asked two local artists for their depictions of me in one month's time. Here's what they came up with. Sweet-as!

Netball

After a late night out on the town, Joe and I spent this morning, absolutely captivated, by this mysterious sport they play down here.

Pre Bungee

Joe has been practicing his swan dive all morning, jumping off of the ledge out front, mastering every last arm swing so that when he takes that fateful leap, that magnificent jump, with nothing but 450 feet of doubt and sorrow between him and the menacing ground, he will be prepared.

Joe is ready. He is pumped. He is a warrior who expertly displays such a magnificent calm before the storm that those around him questions whether the storm is coming at all.

Alas, the storm is coming, we already paid our $260 or so, so the storm is definitely coming. The bungee company is smart, they make you pay before your jump, with no refunds, so if you whimp out while looking down at your impending mortality, it’s your financial loss.

But Joe is not a whimp, Joe is ready to conquer this bungee three times over.

I, on the other hand, am scared shitless.

Queenstown

Thusfar, Queenstown has proven to be nothing short of strikingly beautiful. When Joe and I pull into town, first thing we do is check into a bargain backpacker spot, and then immediately head up Bob’s Peak (or something like that), which, as promised, is ridiculously tiring. The views from the top are incredible, nothing but dark blue water, light blue sky, and golden mountains all around. On top, we meet a Kiwi fellow that pretty much makes fun of Austrailians the entire time, hilariously so.

Pretty tired from the night we settle in with some free soup provided by the hostel, and watch a few movies with some new friends we have made. Watching “Lord of the Rings” was awesome, as many of the locations are spots that we actually hiked to and can recall exactly.

Today, I wake up and decide to take a kayak out on the water, as the clouds had cleared up and the wind had yet to pick up. The wind never really clears up, there is not a cloud in the sky, the water is some of the clearest I’ve seen (I could easily see huge trout swimming all around me), and I absolutely fall in love with this little town.

To gain back some calories we head over to the famous burger joint in town, Fur, I mean Fergburger. Hands down the best burger I’ve ever had. Joe is even raving about his veggie burger, which is called the “Holier-than-thou-burger”. After the feast I walk around the gardens (only after picking up a cone from McDonald’s, obviously), and spend the afternoon reading in the sun. Very relaxing here, and it is easy to see why so many people say Queenstown is their favorite spot on the South Island.

Tomorrow, Joe and I have made reservations to “embrace the fear” at the 140 m (450ft) bungee jump. That’s a long way down and I’m pretty intimidated, but expect a solid set of pictures/video tomorrow.

Day With The Canadians

Bad news everybody: I think God wants me to marry a Canadian. Worse news: I think I do too.

It all starts this morning, when, after having breakfast with the Canadian girls from last night, we say goodbye and go our separate ways. They’re headed South, we’re headed West. I have their phone number and hope to see them again; they’re fun girls.

So, Joe and I go check out a surf spot but says he doesn’t want to go, as the waves are pretty weak. Next, we check out Baldwin St, otherwise known at the steepest residential hill in the world. It is, and at the top I talk with a Scottish man about it. Or at least I think I’m talking with him. The Scottish are so hard to understand that I never quite know if their talking or just making noise.

In a plot all too remeniscent of “White Christmas,” Joe and I decide last minute to head South to check out the Catlin islands instead of just heading due West for Queenstown. 

We’re driving for about an hour, seeing lots of pretty hills and sheep, until all of the sudden we see two hitchhikers off in the distance. I say to Joe, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it was the Canadians?”

Then as they come into view he says “Holy shit it is.”

We stop, and tell the girls that we don’t have much space, but if they want to hitch with us they’re more than welcome.

So, we spend the day with the Canadian girls, checking out some cool beaches (no good waves for Joe), a sweet waterfall, and then a Petrified Tree forest.

Lindsey steals my heart away when she tells me she flashed a big group of people while peeing in public. I think I’m in love, bros.

Next, we decide on a whim to make the trek further South to Slope Point, the Southernmost point on the South Island. It’s actually really pretty, green hills and sheep as far as the eye can see. After Joe and I make a few sheep sodomy jokes we head West to Invercargill, the city of dreams.

Once in Invercargill, fate strikes again, as we run into a hitching group we had said hi to just leaving Dunedin. They say they are French but they looked like gypsies to me. Either way they were friendly for the most part, although I didn’t appreciate the gentleman degrading the quality of my boxed wine.

We sit and have dinner with them in the middle of some city park. The girls, who are awesomely scrappy, make some sort of macaroni and cheese and beans concoction, and Joe and I stick to our sandwiches. We all share a bit of candy and give the ol wine bag a slap and call it a night.

The girls are stay in Invercargill, hoping to find their way to Milford Sound in the next few days. We leave them in a McDonald’s, which was advertised as being open all day. I believe they are going to test that and see if they can sleep in the slide in the indoor playground. Like I said, I think I’m in love with these girls.

I was sad to let the loves of my life leave on the eve of Valentine’s Day, but, alas, these girls would not be impressed with flowers and chocolates. They seem much more into knives and beans.

They say they eventually would like to make it to Queenstown, which is where we will be for a while. If Fate so desires, we may cross paths again, sharing good humor and exotic ways to eat cheap beans...

Tonight we are sleeping on the side of the road, Joe’s feet are stinking the hell out the car, it’s raining outside, I haven’t brushed my teeth in lord knows how long, and Joe is keeping me awake with his snoring. I’m beginning to fall in love with this country.

Dunedin II

Yesterday, still a bit in recovery mode, I decide to have a nice relaxing day. Joe goes out to catch some “gnar” (I guess it’s been pretty good here), and I head down to the Cadbury factory for a tour.

The tour is great, as they continually give me free chocolate bars because they really like my purple shirt. Next, I hit the town and check out the street fair going on. It reminds me a lot of the strawberry festival thrown in my hometown every year, except it isn’t as touristy or crowded.

The food is sweet. I munch on a very phallic brat and wash it down with hazelnut ice cream (it was good, like Ici good). I run into Joe and some girls from our hostel and we decide to all hit the town together.

The clubs are absolutely packed. For the first time, I really experience the NZ club scene (rather than the bar scene). The Canadian girls we are with are awesome. They’re flirty as all hell with everyone they meet, but seem to really like us. For most of the night they amaze us with their incredible knack for getting guys to buy them drinks. Then, once the drink is procured, they just give them to us. Free drinks and free girls! Gotta love those Canadians.

The streets are packed when I finally walk the girls home around 3am and show them to bed. I then, as has become a bit of a nightly ritual, take a stroll around the late night town to McDonald’s for an ice cream.

The McDonald’s is absolutely packed, it is like a party in there with low lights, loud music, and frisky girls. On my way back home I am stopped by two drunkards. The first is a group of Kiwi girls that repeatedly ask me to tell them “You’re sassy” in my California accent. The second is a Scottish guy that strikes up a conversation and then abruptly asks “Aye muh boyah! Whe’ruh be’uh the nearbeest strippeer cluuuub??”

I tell him I don’t know, but if he finds it to let me know in the morn. I also get to thinking: strip clubs must be prohibitively expensive here, as the lowest paper currency is $5, and I feel like throwing $1 and $2 coins at the girls is frowned upon.

This morning, I have some toast and tea with our Canadian friends, and they kindly bequeath upon me a magnificent Canadian pin so that I will never forget them. If not for this, I probably would have. 

The Morning After

I wake up this morning with a raging wine hangover. Wine is a great drunk. It’s cheap, it’s fun, and you look classy when you drink it. Especially when it’s boxed wine, or “goon” as they call it down under.

Joe wakes up with this written in ink on his shirt.

Apparently it was from this girl.

Joe tells me he made sure to “write his email address all over her” as well.

In our morning haze, we begin to look back at photos from the night before to piece things together. It was all too similar to The Hangover. Still not quite sure how the events transpired, but it sounds like we had a great time.

Walking around the farmer’s market downtown today some girl comes up to us and starts talking. Our brains, still a little slow, take a bit to register exactly who she is. Suddenly I remember - she’s headlamp girl. This Canadian dame was wearing a headlamp out to the bars last night, and apparently we took quite fondly to it. She wants to go out with us tonight, hopefully I wake up with that headlamp on.

Also, there was a cat in my bed this morning. No idea where that came from.

Dunedin

So, we survive our night last night, I actually get some sleep (I’m getting pretty good at this whole sleeping in a hatchback car thing) and we head straight for Dunedin.

First thing we do when we get here is go directly to the beach. Joe chooses this place called St Claire’s, which is a groovy little beach town just outside of Dunedin.

Looking like a kid in a toystore, he jumps in the water right away and gets shredding. 

I, on the other hand, was like a hipster in a coffee shop, and got myself a latte, read a bit, and went for a jog along the beach.

This place was awesome, there was maybe two other people on the stretch of the whole area. It felt a bit like Avila Beach back when Avila Beach was still cool. It’s nice to be in a place that feels like home when you’re so damn far away from home.

The way the offshore wind was hitting, a very cool little phenomena occurred on my jog. As I ran along, every once in a while the wind would pick up behind me, perfectly picking up the white sand from further inshore, covering the darker sand nearer shore like little threads of sand.

We then check into our hostel which is right in the middle of town. The town center in Dunedin is called “The Octagon”, which, to our disappointment, featured no ultimate fighters.

We walk around for a while, heading to the famed railway station. It is supposedly the most photographed building in New Zealand. I’m not really sure why, and frankly I was underwhelmed.

On the other hand, this old town has awesome churches sprinkled throughout that were all open and bustling with workers as they prepare for the Flower Festival this weekend (We had no idea this was going on. Good timing I suppose.) The churches are massive, stone, hundreds of years old, and had some of the best stained glass windows I’ve seen.

Tonight, we’re going to hit the town. Joe has his pants on and his shirt is, for once, not inside-out. You know that that means! Its party time in Dunedin. Hopefully some good stories from the bars tonight...