I hadn’t taken part in any fence building activities since the summer of 2004. It was time to get back on the horse.
That was pretty much all I was responsible for during my Workaway at Pete and Kyra’s house. Thankfully, Pete would be directing traffic — I was just “the muscle.” Aka good luck, Pete.
What I lack in bicep mass I make up for in…drinking beer?
To be fair, I dug almost all of the post holes by myself with a shovel and pry bar. Manually. As in, without an auger. It actually went pretty seamlessly. I think Pete was surprised at how much we got done across the 5 days. All posts set and cross beams bolted; on top of some general yard maintenance with accompanying runs to the dump. It was productive.
[Not Pictured: Everything discussed in this post]
My favorite thing about my time at Pete and Kyra’s is a toss up between a sushi salad we had for dinner (need to get that recipe) and Pete’s “go on then!” mantra.
They’re both fit and energetic people, so we ate a lot of tasty, healthy meals. My waist is a reflection of my diet while in New Zealand — I’m on a new hole in my belt. Withering away. Average weight, above average beer gut is probably more like it.
Anyhow, Pete and Kyra are British transplants to New Zealand. So anytime he was saying “go on then” it was essentially him being agreeable to something.
Kyra: Would you like some muesli bars?
Pete: Go on then!
Me: *Pushing a wheelbarrow of soil up a ramp onto the trailer*
Pete: Go on then!
Kyra: Let’s watch the poop program.
Pete: Go on then!
Yes. I’m not exaggerating. There’s a show here (The Good Sh*t) that followed a few obese teens who were in a drug trial that consisted of taking poop pills — literally pills containing bacteria from a fit persons feces. They were trying to prove that changing your gut bacteria would help a person lose weight.
There was an entire show about this. And I watched episodes of it.
I don’t know what to think. What I do know is that the results of the study seemed VERY inconclusive, if not outright a waste of time.
Moving on…
Apart from the odd television choices, they were great hosts with a comfortable house in a solid location. It was walkable to the Nelson city center. Even though it was only a few square blocks, it was by far the closest Workaway I had to civilization. At least I had options. I didn’t end up making it to a trivia night, but we did go out to a craft beer bar to meet some of their friends which was nice.
Timing is a funny thing. I was just thinking, this would’ve been a much better place to spend two weeks as opposed to Ngaruawahia. But if I’d done that, I would’ve been a week early in Taupo and probably wouldn’t have had such an epic experience on the Tongariro Crossing and getting that promo rafting trip.
Things work out. Sometimes with mixed success, as you will note from my trip into Abel Tasman National Park.
A long bus ride from Taupo.
An even longer walk from the depot to the hostel.
I hadn’t had a proper meal and was feeling destroyed from a brutal mountain biking session earlier that day.
The Marion
When I walked into the backpackers, I think exhaustion was written all over my face. The receptionist was the nicest person and helped me take a bag up to my room.
Last bed in my room and basically no room on the floor for any bags. At any other place, that would’ve been an ominous sign, but this place was different.
The Marion Bathroom
The Marion is an incredible hostel. It’s only been open for five months so the secret is only half out. The place had a modern design, lounges on every floor, a rooftop hangout area, rain shower faucets as well as curtains and outlets for every bed.
Amazing place for a hostel price point in a great location. Solid times.
Wellington is a pretty awesome city too. It’s got an energetic and artistic vibe. Coffee, craft beer and quirkiness were all highly encouraged.
There were a ton of murals, cozy alleyways and markets; plenty of quaint cafes and fun bars; a harbor walk, beach and a simple mountain walk. I got shades of San Francisco and Boston.
Wellington Culture
There seemed to be a lot of working-holiday travelers happy to set up shop and find a job in Wellington. If I had that type of visa, I’d probably consider that option too. I think there was a decent amount of opportunity in additional to culture, nature, nightlife and…beer.
They have a craft beer trail similar to Richmond’s. The problem was that the prices were too steep to complete any leg of it. $80+ in beer for a t-shirt at the end wasn’t quite enticing enough.
The only other detractor was the wind.
In the two days I had to explore, I did a lot of walking. Met up with Coen (from the Tongariro Crossing) and went up to the Mt. Victoria lookout. Enjoyed some exhibits at the Te Papa Museum, spent a decade trying to find the cable car up to botanical gardens and wandered through a night market on Cuba Street.
Mt. Victoria Lookout
All good things.
As with every city, there’s a list of activities that went undone. If/when I’m able to make it back, I’d like to take a (free) tour of parliament, check out the Wellywood sign and movie museum in addition to catching a rugby game if they’re in action.
For now, I’m off to catch the ferry to the South Island.
The last three days have been a complete blur. Things progressed quickly.
Keep Taupo Flawless
So quickly that this is the only picture I have of Taupo; which is a lovely town nestled on a lake with some stunning views.
Upon arrival, I checked into my hostel, settled in a little bit and made arrangements to do the Tongariro Alpine Crossing the next day. It’s a 6-8 hour trek and on several top 10 lists of best walking tracks in the world. I’d been highly anticipating it, following the forecast for over a week. It snowed within the last few days, and temperatures were as low as -14 C at night. Wild. There were some deaths recently as well, so it was kind of vital to pick a good spot. It was lookinggood, so I reserved a place on the morning shuttle (5:20am pick up — yowzers) and even convinced an Irish girl checking in to pull the trigger as well.
After that was all settled, I went to meet up with Rob, a German traveler I met back in Paihia. He was on his way out of town later in the day but we strolled around the lake. We had a solid chat about our respective careers and how difficult it is to manage multiple social media platforms while on the road. We made plans to reconvene in Wellington and ferry over to the South Island together on the weekend.
After we parted ways, I went grocery shopping for the first time while here. It made me feel like a true traveler but I went overboard and it still didn’t really save me from spending money on beer so it’s a work in progress.
I prepared lunch and snacks to take on the walk and fixed myself dinner. I’m appreciating the communal tables at hostels because it encourages socializing. Had a decent chat with a small group of people and then went back to my room to pack my bag for the hike. It was only 9:30pm but there were already two people in bed for the night so now I was the dick making a bunch of disruptive noise with clothing and zipping. Dammit. Did my best to sort it all out so all I had to do was wake up and go.
My god. I slept like dog shit
It was a mixture of anticipation, a rock hard mattress and a fingernail-thin pillow. That alarm was a son of a bitch. Made a bunch more accidental noise before grabbing a quick breakfast and hopping on the shuttle with a handful of other people from the hostel.
It was a long, dark, hour-long ride out to Tongariro National Park. There was kind of a combined air of anxiety and excitement over how challenging the crossing would be. One sure thing was that it was moody as hell with the sun still rising and a layer of clouds being stubborn about burning off.
A small group of 4 assembled as walking partners: myself, Emma, the Irish girl, and Coen and Luuc, two individual travelers both from The Netherlands. We started at a breakneck pace but it was the beginning and the easiest part of the whole track. Gave me a chance to get to know Coen who’s a cool dude.
Beginning of the Crossing
The fog began to clear as everybody’s pace set the order. The first difficult section was an ascent called The Devil’s Staircase. And oof. I started thinking, “Damn, we’re this close to the beginning and my legs are already wobbly. Probably dehydrated. Not smart on my part. Oops. Oh great, only 14 more kilometers to go.” Tight.
We died a few times. Then we climbed some more. Then we made excuses to take a break — gotta put on sunscreen real quick. Then we climbed some more. Hey, need to pull over to shed some layers. Climb. Water? Good idea. Climb. Contemplate life choices. Climb.
Snow Valley Pano
Fiiiiiinally.
Oh shit, this isn’t even the summit. But at least it was a simpler stretch of track. And actually a stellar valley of snow nestled between two giant mountains. It was interesting to see the silhouettes of a few people up in the distance against a white backdrop. Breathtaking.
Next was another challenging, but thankfully shorter, ascent up a slippery embankment. I’d get to a point where I didn’t think my legs could lift high enough to reach the foot hold, then slip a little, catch myself, and keep going.
Tongariro Summit
Out of breath. All kinds of back sweat. Straight knackered and heavily in need of a snack.
It was the summit at last. To the right – Mt. Doom from Lord of the Rings; in front – a red crater; to the left – a hairy downhill of snow and loose gravel reaching a silky blue sulfur lake…called Blue Lake. It was one of those euphoric sights where you have to mind your emotions as to not be too giddy.
I mean, that’s how I live. You’ve met me.
Me at the Summit
Also, one misstep and you’d be sliding a few thousand feet into a crater, so yeah. Plus I already climbed my ass off and I didn’t have a spare one in my backpack.
It was really dicey on the way down to the lake. I felt like I was skiing with the amount of skidding and carving I was doing to remain upright. Intense.
Again, the view down there was amazing. The smell on the other hand was brutal. Take about a thousand rotten eggs (or just one of my farts) and that was it. Surprisingly, the setting was enough to make you forget about the stench.
Reflection in Blue Lake
Everything was beautiful. And then it was time to climb another snowy hill toward the long descent. It was about a three-hour journey down a windy path. There were a few parts where we had to go up some stairs and my hamstrings were just like fuck you, man.
A quad cramp. A sandwich. And about 15,000 steps later, we were at the bottom.
I cracked a beer that I carried all 19.4km and still had enough energy to survive every jealous look.
On the shuttle ride home pretty much everybody passed out which was funny to witness. So many bobbing heads.
Back at the hostel, the guy at the front desk asked us how it was and all that. Then he’s like, by the way this rafting company called, they’re doing a promotional trip tomorrow and there are still 4 spots available. I was thinking, $15 off isn’t really going to pique my interest, but then he said FREE. Ballin.
It was an all day trip where they’d be shooting a promo video and some pictures. For a moment, I almost declined since it was going to eat up the whole day. That would’ve been monumentally stupid. I signed up and changed my departing bus so I could still do some stuff around town.
Very happy that I did. A fun group of 10 from the hostel went.
Rafting Group
It was just us and our guides, broken into two rafts. There was a third boat floating behind with the photographer and videographer.
We got so lucky. The package we experienced was a $145 value. We did have to slow down or stop a few extra times so they could set up equipment and decide on shots but it was all good. I gave a video testimonial, so we’ll see if I’m in some online promo or brochure some time in the future.
What a day though. The weather was perfect. The water and scenery were spectacular. You could see a ton of trout swimming upstream to spawn. It was beautiful. I think I was the only person that had been rafting before and it was also on level 3 rapids. Such an enjoyable time. I sat in the action seat in the front of the boat for half of the trip and almost got bounced out when we slammed into a rock but that was all part of the fun.
After we finished, we even got taken to a thermal pool to have a soak and then got soup and bread to end the day. Oh, and a free T-shirt and all pictures. What a deal. Made some awesome connections and had a blast.
Bossin Them Level 3s
With my final few hours in town the next day, I decided to rent a mountain bike and ride a Grade 2 trail up to the popular waterfall nearby. It was a three-hour return walk, so I figured by bike I could scoot out there, take some photos and have enough time to enjoy the hot springs before grabbing my stuff and making it to catch my bus.
Welp. I was wrong about that.
Let me reiterate, the mountain bike track was classified as Grade 2. On any scale, that shouldn’t really be a problem. A combination of heavy legs from the crossing, a bike that was shifting whenever it wanted (primarily on uphills), and a seat made of stone and torture, it was quite an embarrassing performance.
Getting out to the falls was ok. I only had one or two points where I had to hop off and get up to the next peak.
This Bitch
The way back was a disaster. There were a few moments where I was worried about missing my bus. At a minimum, having to sit in all my sweat and subject a bus load of people to that for six hours. And possibly have to stand the whole ride because of how punished my cheeks felt.
Thankfully, I had just enough time to bathe in a frenzy and scramble to the stop to find out the bus was delayed by 30 minutes. Lolz.
It was a whirlwind few days in Taupo. A lot of highs and a single low – fuckin bike number 4.
Boarding the bus was a relief because I was ready for a nap. But it was also bittersweet because things had been so solid in this unassuming town.
Regardless, I was off to Wellington to experience some capital city life.
As of now, I’ve been in New Zealand for a full month. A little over, actually. Crazy.
It doesn’t feel that long. Partly because I’m south of Auckland for the first time this trip. I’ve done “heaps” of stuff so far, but there’s so much more on the agenda that I’m excited about.
A month in feels like a good time for a temperature check. There’s obviously some fun verbal/pronunciation items that I’ve noticed – all vowels have a different sound; “wh” = “f”; they refer to a pharmacy as “the chemist” which is sweet.
Heat Light Switch
There’s also random things like everybody having a compost pile, being able to sign a receipt in pencil, and bathrooms having a heat switch (genius). The biggest standout, though, is the “No worries” culture. Kiwis in general are so pleasant and helpful. When asking your opinion, the phrasing is even, “Are you happy to/if/when/with…” It’s a subtle, yet big difference in the way an American would direct that type of question. I’ve been wondering why that’s the case.
Is it because there are inherently less complications for a country with a population roughly the size of Kentucky? Are infrastructure, health care, and agriculture industries easier to institute and maintain because they service substantially fewer people? It must be simpler just being an island, period. Also, less political pressure on the world stage – no question. I’m not sure if any of those factors actually affect an American’s day to day happiness levels though. Like, sure, there’s a certain amount of face-palm embarrassment based on Trump’s tweet for the day but that’s not creating a palpable negativity that limits me from carrying on with my life. Is that a dismissive attitude? It could be a sad realization that the US standard is, shall we say, less encouraging than other countries.
They do have their own issues here – Mauri relations, housing prices, fishing regulations. While they’re important, things of that nature don’t seem to have a prying impact on life.
I was having a conversation with my most recent Workaway hosts. I guess they were more bickering to me about their recent trip to the US while I sat and listened politely. They complained about the food scene in New York. That they didn’t get a consistent recommendation after asking a handful of people where to eat. As if there should have been a clear favorite among the thousands of restaurants in the city. I mentioned the sheer scale and diversity of a single neighborhood in a place that size, which didn’t quell their dispute. They brought up tip culture and claimed that restaurant workers being predominantly women and minorities — whose low wages need to be supplemented by everyday customers — was a new form of slavery. Wow. Mouth agape. Persnickety people content in their perception that what they like is right, not just different. Other cultures offer a variety of differences in everything – tastes, opportunities, values. The beauty of traveling is experiencing those differences, not passing judgement on them. Of course you might have a preference, but that’s not set in stone as the best thing for everybody else. And if I’m being honest, for a so-called “foodie,” the meals I had ranked last out of all the Workaways I’ve been to date. But that’s just my preference.
At least they had one of the sweetest dogs on the planet.
Mojo
Anyway, I digressed big time there. But I think I landed on what I was looking for. Perception being the reason behind happiness. I mean, some of the most kind and down to earth people I’ve met have been those with the “less desirable” jobs. I was hitchhiking and got picked up by a painter on his way into work. He said he’s lived here all his life and isn’t going anywhere because “why leave paradise?” Can’t argue with that.
I guess it could be something in the air though. The ocean breeze mixing with volcanic fumes to create some sort of euphoric oxygen compound. Is that science? Nah. That’s most certainly not a real thing. But it’s still nice.
The ultimate question is: how can you change your perception? It’s pretty easy to get bogged down in the shitty details of this or that. Wiser to just focus on the simple things that are positively influencing your daily life. Priorities, man. No worries.
When I got to my Workaway in Ti Point, I had a brief moment of shock. Distance-wise, this place was not far, but it was just an entirely different set up.
The thing that drew me to this listing was the fact that the hosts were very involved in the folk music scene. But in this moment, as I was being welcomed by an under-the-weather Jenine, I was like shit – this is going to be interesting.
It was more unkempt than my rustic cabin accommodation in Pakiri. And when I got there, I remembered that I was supposed to be staying in a caravan in the yard. Ooof. With an outhouse too. OOOF. Thankfully, she ushered me into a room in the house, which was a good omen. There was some helpful introspective writing on the walls that I could consult in case of utter panic. Then she gave me a list of tasks for the week (one of the items was cleaning said caravan and outhouse). I dropped my bags and got started. I was trying to buy myself time to process the update in surroundings.
After a few hours of stacking wood and getting invested in the “Up & Vanished” podcast, I came inside and settled in. Shortly thereafter, Nat (Jenine’s husband) came home from work. He was awesome and immediately engaging and personable. That really set me at ease. The whole family had super fun personalities so there was nothing to worry about.
The second day I was there, I was woken up early with a bang on the door. “We’re going on an adventure!” …Ok. I finally got filled in that we were going for a morning paddle in Whangateau Harbor. Down. The weather was perfect and the water was like glass. The tide was in but the whole spot was really shallow so you could easily see the bottom.
They went out of town for the weekend and I was graciously allowed use of another vehicle so I got some good exploring in. A few highlights were the Ti Point Coastal Walk, Tamahunga Trail Hike, the view at Omaha Bay Vineyard and wandering around Tawharanui Regional Park.
Coastal WalkOBV Views
As for the work, it was mostly tidying up around the property. I cleaned the caravan and outhouse (so many spiders) and did a decent amount of weeding. I got to use a chainsaw to shred a fallen tree limb into firewood and such.
Garden
I was also charged with getting their burn pile going. It had a bunch of old grapevines, dried branches and the aforementioned weeds.
I’m no stranger to a large fire. We’ve done this at my parents house a decent amount. And you know what helps get these types of fires going?
An accelerant.
Good ol’ petrol sounds good.
I set up two catch points and then found out that there were only 3″ matches available. Like only a few.
No problem. I got this. The first bunch petered out.
Shut the fuck up wind. Just for a second.
I was down to my last two before a deece flame began. Cool.
I probably could’ve let it go and it would’ve taken off. That’s the thing that gets people in trouble in these situations – patience. I wanted a good fire immediately.
You know what’ll do the trick? An accelerant.
Some more good ol’ petrol sounds good.
I put some in a small cup to make a trail. I had a real plan in place. And as I poured it, I thought about how good my fire would be.
So then, naturally, the flame shot into my cup and I caught on fire. Legitimately, my arm and chest were on fire.
Let me tell you something: this is why they spend all that time in elementary school ingraining “Stop, Drop and Roll” into our young brains. It works, guys. It really does.
After taking the yard for a nice spin, I stood up and rejoiced that I still had all my limbs. Then I witnessed the most beautiful and long-lasting fire anyone has ever lit.
[FIRE NOT PICTURED]
I don’t know what material Under Armor is using – because I’m too lazy to look at the tag – but I would highly recommend it. I had two layers on and neither of them had burn holes. Genuinely good news because I only have 4 shirts anyway. Wish I could say the same about my chest hair. That shit singed off in a weird ass pattern.
But don’t worry. To get some of my dignity and manhood back, I chopped the hell out of some wood.
Alright, I bought this one-way ticket to New Zealand. Now what? A friend had told me about this site called Workaway. It’s a site with a network of hosts all across the world that offer a cultural exchange. The basic rundown is that you can meet up with a local and do a bit of work (20-25 hours/week) in exchange for lodging and meals. Sounds great. Save money and get an authentic, everyday experience. Prime situation. For months, I combed through the site vetting hosts.
What was the location?
What was the accommodation?
What was the work arrangement?
Did the host have positive reviews?
There are a ton of variables. The work ranges from landscaping to childcare to teaching a foreign language. The lodging can be a caravan and outhouse in the yard to a rustic cabin [foreshadowing]. I’m pretty sure I saw a teepee/lean-to situation on one profile. All in all, it’s a ton of information to process.
So after doing all of this research, I lined up six weeks worth of work across 4 different hosts. Conceptually, I had a good idea of what I signed up for. But when you’re half a world away, you’re not exactly sure how it’s all going to turn out. I guess people were also taking a chance on me since I had 0 reviews on my profile.
Good news: my first experience was a success. I mean, I’m still alive and not buried in a random corner of New Zealand.
But really, I may have accidentally spoiled myself by picking the best place first. I had incredibly gracious hosts in Alan and Gill, a boss cabin all to myself [shadowing complete], and some pretty dope meals.
Here’s an Instagram story I made of the daily routine:
Soon enough, I’m going to be a wizard at all things yard/home beautification. Meh. We’ll see.
A big benefit to this work exchange is that once your tasks for the day are complete, you’re free to do some exploring. Buuuuuuut, what I didn’t really take into account was how rural most hosts are. There was pretty much nothing in walking distance of the property I was at, so it was a balancing act not to waste the day.
Thankfully, Alan & Gill let me borrow one of their cars. That was a whole experience within itself (everything related to driving is opposite from the US). So I did get to see some of the main haps in the area.
My first main off day was completely shit weather, of course. I made it to Pakiri Beach, which during low tide was probably the widest sand beach I’ve ever seen. I tried flying the drone and it was tilting sideways from all the wind. Bust. Next, I went to this marine reserve called Goat Island. Saw some birds that I’d never seen before — big ol orange beaks. It was a pretty place aside from the rain.
Variable OystercatcherThe CoveGoat Island Marine Reserve
And finally, to cap the day, I did a very Nathan move and went to the nearest brewery. It was mid-afternoon, mid-week, so there weren’t many people. Plus — there’s a theme — the rain had intensified. Naturally, I got a flight which was $20 New Zealand Dollars ($13 USD). Kind of pricy, but 5 decent-size tasters. I rated their Bock the highest, 3.5 squirrels (per the Scott Toney system of beer rating). It’s gotta be something about the water here that creates a specific flavor. I’m still acclimating. But since I drink like a fish, I’ll be up to speed in no time.
Sawmill “Tasting Tray”
My Saturday off was a totally different story — beautiful weather. Perfectly sunny day and low 60s which is warm for a New Zealand spring day. I went up to a place called Mangawhai (‘wh’ is pronounced as ‘f’). They had a decent farmer’s market that I perused, a butcher that was making dank ass grilled sausages and another brewery (3.5 squirrels again). I hit up some shops and then went to check out the surf beach. There were some bluffs with trails that took you up to the peak. An EPIC view I wasn’t expecting. It was windy again but a much better drone session.
That’s more or less my first week in Kiwiland.
The only drag is that I haven’t met many people outside of my hosts yet. I’m sure that will change in time. And when I get a little bit more outgoing in striking up conversations with strangers. Don’t worry, Mom. People here are nice and not threatening [second murder reference].
I’m onto my next host now after a good first run. Let’s hope the vibe continues!
International travel is long and exhausting. Obvious statement. Between babies preventing sleep and the built-in germ box of an airplane, you’re pretty spent when you land. So having things perfectly planned to get you to your accommodation is ideal.
I did not do that.
I figured it would be easy enough to find a bus or snag an Uber or taxi. That was sort of true. Taxis and Ubers were priced out so I got a bus ticket. What I didn’t really consider was that it was already past midnight. Late night bus routes. They weren’t going to the stop I thought I was getting off at. Oops.
The driver was nice about it but I was last off at a very unofficial spot in downtown Auckland. It made for an interesting trek to the hostel. My phone was still in airplane mode so Verizon didn’t rip my underwear through my asshole. And I had already planned my walking route from the phantom bus stop.
Another interesting tidbit is that a highway splits the city centre from the neighborhood I had to get to. Had a dickens of a time finding a walking bridge or underpass. Then my wonky GPS shorted the address by about half a mile.
Keep in mind I’ve slept probably three hours since departing San Diego, which was…who knows? A day and a half ago at least.
But finally, I got to the hostel. Entered the code on the door and made my way in. It was past normal check in hours, so there was an envelope waiting for me.
I forgot how shitty it is to arrive super late at a damn hostel. And I of course got the dorm-style option cuz it’s cheaper.
I walk into the room and it’s pitch black. Everyone’s asleep. You can’t help but feel like a major douche fumbling around in the dark trying to figure which bed is yours and where to set down your stuff. There was no space and what seemed like no beds. Then I saw mine.
This fucking top shelf, indent afterthought area. Very audibly I’m like, “Good Lord!” A few people toss and turn. Worst pick of the lot when you’re last to arrive.
Whatever. I have to shower. Have to. So I start unzipping my shit and trying to locate what I need. Zippers have to be one of the top five most hated sounds in hostels. So disruptive. There’s no way to unzip something quietly. Try it.
After rinsing off, I was ready to get some much-needed shut-eye. I figured out how to navigate James’ giant beanstalk of a ladder up to the bed. Situated my noisy sleeping bag into position and zonked out. For a very restful three hours before the room started to hustle and bustle. Sniffling. Snoring. Jostling about. Getting up to pee. Coughing. Alarms. ZIPPERS. The sound of getting dressed.
