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...

South to Dunedin

So we’re stuck in the middle of Waimata or something city like that. I asked Joe where we were and he said it’s this place called “Buttf*** Nowhere.” How did we get here?

Well it all starts this morning when we depart from Christchurch in our sweet new hatchback. This baby is way better than our old rental, and even comes with a CD player and airbags.

We decide to check out Mt John and Lake Tekapa. Only  few times on this trip have I been so struck by something that I could say nothing other than “Holy (insert explitive)”, but this Lake was incredible. The pictures wont do it justice, but it was such a vibrant bright, glowing blue that it looked straight out of a science fiction movie.

We hike up Mt John, which is also a star observatory, and despite my requests, Joe and I do not spend the night under the stars.

Instead, we head back to the main highway and head South for Dunedin, On the way there I make a gourmet tuna and cheese on bread, with a side of cereal. Joe opts for his bean sandwich a la carte, but in the process cuts the shit out of his finger. This situation is quickly resolved by my cunning medical abilities and a great first aid kit. Thanks Dad!

We continue driving until finally I decide we really need a fill up of gas, or petrol as they call it.

You know how I said the South Island is super desolate? Well that is charming at times, but incredibly inconvenient when every gas station you find is closed at 5pm.

Thus, we have no choice but to sleep on the side of the road again, waiting for any signs of life in the lovely BP station who’s sign is illuminating my keyboard as we speak.

 In the words of Joe, echoed sincerely by me - I really hope we don’t get raped tonight.

Christchurch

Christchurch is supposed to be the South Island’s most bustling city. Had you ever walked around here, you wouldn’t believe that.

I pull into the airport about 30 minutes early, because apparently our plane had a gnarly tail wind. This has never happened to anybody in the history of all plane rides, so I decide to take advantage of my opportunity and explore the town a bit with my extra time. The shuttle to the city is cheap and friendly, and the driver, who looks exactly like Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys (or my Uncle Duncan, who I always thought looked like Brian Wilson), tells me all of the great sites to catch.

I’m dropped off at the city center, Cathedral Square, and begin taking pictures immediately. This is a charming little city, and, as advertised, is unabashedly British. Even everyone at the bars is actually British, or I just assume they’re British because they’re loud and violent.

All of the streets are named things like “Manchester” and “Worschesire.” There’s an awesome little river running through the middle of town called the Avon, and Victoria Square looks like an ancient British garden, at it’s center is the Queen herself. For all the statues they have of her in this country, she’s really not that that attractive of a lady.

It’s a bit strange how much the Zealanders hold on to the whole “British Colony” thing. I had the chance to talk with a University of Auckland political science professor and he said although there is quite a bit of anti-monarchy sentiment, the stats show most people still like the idea of it. However, it looks like things may start to fall apart when Elizabeth dies, which probably wont be any time soon.

Walking around here I feel a bit out of a zombie movie. The city is large and well planned - but there’s just nobody here. The only people I do see are just about as close to zombies as you can find - hammered British folk limping around and slurring their words so much that they sounded like zombies who say “fuck” a lot.

Tomorrow I’m headed to pick up our rental car and we’re headed South to Dunedin. Joe is anxious to get some surfing in and I’m anxious to meet more girls who find my accent sexy. It sounds like we both just may get what we’re looking for.

The Toilet Paper Issue

So. Apparently the apartment I am staying at doesn't come with toilet paper.

Joe today, over some nice Indian food I made us for dinner, informs me that he had to use a page of the yellow pages to wipe himself today because our apartment didn't have any TP. And I quote, "In case you're looking for Mr. Kingsburg, he's hanging off my ass."

So, we take our new friend Mehgie (who lives upstairs and likes the show Arrested Development), and head to McDonalds. While Joe and her divert the authorities attention by cleverly ordering two ice cream cones, I sneak into the restroom (which they just call "the toilet" here) with my backpack. I felt a bit like Catherine Zeta-Jones in Entrapment, but alas I am able to get the roll out.

We sneak into the night, and flat 10 will have toilet paper another day.

First Night Here

I have survived my first night here.

Yesterday night, I finally get to meet the RA flatmate (he's the only one moved in, but he tells me an Italian girl will be joining us soon - SCHWING!), and I'm pretty sure he already thinks Joe and I are a couple. It didn't help that he walks into my room while we are sitting close on my bed (we're watching super bowl commercials on my computer) and we're singing "These Eyes" together (it's a good song). Anyways, our constant talk about "Honey, what do you want for dinner?" and me saying "Sweetie, you need to clean up more," probably doesn't help.

Later on in the night I have some friends over from orientation and we relax with a few rounds of King's Cup. The cup in this game is specifically deadly as we are playing with beer, white wine, and red wine. Needless to say the game is highlighted by my friend Paul suggesting that the Jack be for "bagface", in which you must put a bag (seeing and drinking holes) on your head, until the next Jack is pulled.

Bagface is declared a masterpiece when Joe also invents the rule that bagface must also preface all statements with the phrase "Bagface say..."

If you are unaccustomed to King's Cup, it is a silly college drinking game, the rules of which can be found written on the walls of several frats at UC Berkeley.

Also, don't worry, we would not allow the bag to stay on long enough to have any risk of suffocation. We're all UC kids and were way too cautious about that from the start.

Final Orientation Night/Super Bowl in Auckland

Alas, all free things must come to an end, and my orientation that has been filled with free laundry, free beds, free showers, and four free meals a day (apparently these people eat morning tea every day and are still not fat), is complete.

We go out with a bang last night, as the program paid for an awesome sunset ferry ride over to a cute little island outskirt of Auckland.  We play in the warm water for a bit, drink some wine (It’s real good here) and eat an insanely good meal. To my great surprise I consumed massive amounts of both shellfish and wine without getting a nasty red rash on my face that I have been known to get in the past. The event is capped by some of the members of our group, whom shall not be named, skinny dipping.

It’s a tad bittersweet saying goodbye to many of the people I have met. Unlike some of them, I’m realistic enough to know that if they are going to a school outside of Auckland, I probably will not see them, but promise to try my hardest anyways. On the way back to Auckland we take a double decker party bus, dance our asses off the whole ride, and return home to pack away for our next adventure.

I wake up this morning a bit sleepy, but excited as all hell to see my Packers play in the biggest stage in sports (other than all the other non-American stages).  Joe and I are finally reunited (he looks healthy, but I can tell his mind is a bit gone from the solitude), and we join some of the blokes from our program at a New York pizza joint called Sal’s. 

What a game! Some highlights occur when Joe suggested some “alternative” over/under values for the game including:

+/- 3 = Number of times they would show a screen shot of Jerry Jones (Cowboys Owner)

+/- 2 = Number of times they mention Brett Favre

+/- 5 = Number of seconds Christina Aguilera would hold “brave” for in the National Anthem

I am thrilled to see the Packers win, and to see Aaron Rodgers (a Cal alum) snag the MVP award. Quite classy of him to say he was honored to follow in the footsteps of Bart Starr (who was there) and Brett Favre (who was sending pictures to cheerleaders who were there).

I’m all moved into my flat here. Only one other person here now, and he’s one of the RA’s of the building. I’m a bit bummed about that one, but I hear they can be pretty lax here so maybe it wont be so bad. And, God forbid, I actually have a quiet semester and get some studying done.