As the title suggests, this is the blog post that will follow Brandon and myself from The Land of the Long White Cloud back to good ol’ American soil. However, even with the end in sight, we couldn’t avoid the mishaps and surprises that have been characteristic of our scenic-route approach to our twenties. In other words, a lot of stuff has happened since our last post. The past month has been such an unwieldly labyrinth of activity that it demands to be divided not only by parts, but by volumes. So to avoid over-abbreviation I’ll divide it into three sections, the first beginning during our final week in Marlborough.
PART ONE: What I Like About Heights
We quit our jobs at the vineyard one week before we were scheduled to leave our cottage, in order to give ourselves a chance for some last-minute sight-seeing and much-needed organization. Our grandest adventure during that time was on August 19th, when we betook ourselves to Picton to try our hand at kayaking on the Marlborough Sounds. The 30 km journey was the furthest we’d traveled from Blenheim since arriving there in March, and we were looking forward to our first picture-worthy adventure in months. We’re usually very meticulous about making reservations everywhere, but never once had they been necessary in New Zealand, so we got the name of a kayaking outfitter from our landlord and decided to just show up. Of course, when we got into Picton they told us that bookings were essential. Well, B and I were “gutted,” as the kiwis say. However, we sat in glum silence for only a moment before we decided to have a look around for other options. It took us about two minutes to find a guy near the beach with a rack of kayaks who could rent them out to us on the spot – cheaper and easier than the other company.
The day was sunny, but definitely not warm, and it was kind of awkward kayaking in jackets and pants , but it was still a fabulous trip. We explored the Sounds for about three hours, enjoying the the fresh air and the pristine landscape. Our only animal encounter was with an eleven-armed starfish, but something we did get plenty of was upper-body exercise. The next day everything from my waist up was sore, but of course the only place Brandon felt it was his butt, and that was from bruising rather than from muscle fatigue. Ugh… boys.
After kayaking we stopped for a coffee and a view before driving back to Blenheim for the long-haul of our cleaning and car packing. Then, suddenly it was Sunday - time to hit the road. And hit it we did, poor Mark stuffed to his bumpers with the piles of junk we knew we had to get rid of, but couldn’t bring ourselves to dump until the very last second. We bid farewell to our landlords, and Joss, and Mick the Goat, to the vineyards, the horses, and the chooks as we headed northwest toward Golden Bay. Our plan for the next two weeks was vague at best, but we had a dim notion that we’d spend a night in Golden Bay, go to the North Island, travel up to Auckland slowly, and then spend a week there selling our car before flying to Australia. We had reservations nowhere, but at this point we figured that there was nothing we couldn’t handle.
The road to Golden Bay was another classic kiwi disaster – winding, steep, narrow, and cloaked in fog. When we finally got to Golden Bay, we headed for the nearest information center. It was almost 5pm, and an old man with a hearing aid was just about to put up the CLOSED sign when we walked in the door.
“Uh, hi,” we said. “We know you’re about to close, but we’re looking for a place to sleep tonight. Any suggestions?”
The man smiled. His name was Wout, a Dutch immigrant who had lost his house in Holland in a divorce settlement, but won the NZ holiday home. He offered the house to us for $80 a night, and we took it. He asked us to give him 45 minutes to go home and make up the beds, so we took the opportunity to visit Pupu Springs, which are ironically billed as the clearest spring water in the world. It did, in fact, look like very clean water, but half an hour was all the time we needed there, and very soon we were pulling up a very steep, one-lane road to Wout’s house. It was getting dark, and the day had been gray anyway, but despite all that we could tell that the view was sensational – a horizon filled with the jagged coastline and the steely-blue bay. Once inside the house we realized that we had a three bedroom villa to ourselves, complete with a wood-burning fireplace, a massive TV, and a very functional kitchen. Best of all, we had a bathtub. Ahh, bliss. Wout didn’t have an EFTPOS machine (the kiwi version of a debit card, and our mode of money-spending for the past twelve months), but he said we could get cash the next day and leave it for him somewhere around the house, or even give it to his friend at the information center. We had decided to spend a second night there, which Wout encouraged, even though he would be leaving town. Basically, he was bizarrely trusting and adorable.
B and I made ourselves some dinner and then I hopped in the tub while B enjoyed the TV. Because Brandon is amazing, he made me a little plate of fruit, cheese, and cookies, which he brought to me with a glass of our dessert wine as I bathed. How did I get so lucky? Afterwards we watched a little documentary about base jumping, sat by the fire, and soaked up the luxury that $80 and some smashing good luck had bought us.
The next day we went to explore the region a bit more. Wout had suggested that we eat at a place called The Naked Possum, which was at the end of a 5 km gravel road, but worth the trouble. The Naked Possum specialized in pest-derived food (rabbit stew, venison, etc.), but I got a delicious corn cake thing and a salad. The restaurant was situated at the trail head of a well-known walking path, which B and I explored briefly despite a light mist that penetrated the canopy.
After that we traveled to Wharariki Beach, the northernmost tip of the South Island. To get to the beach we had to hike through about two kilometers of mountainous sheep pastures (typical), and as we neared the beach we came across a whole family of baby seals playing in the river. Of course, we had the place to ourselves. It was low tide, and the wet sand looked silver against the gray clouds. Everything was shrouded in mist.
That night at the house B and I were feeling so bedazzled and relaxed that we decided to finally open our bottle of 2005 Auntsfield Pinot Noir – the gift from the jogger on our first day in New Zealand. We had it with soup and cheese toast, nothing fancy, but it was sublime. We hated to leave our beautiful abode, but the next morning we left our money in the guest book, packed up our stuff, and headed back to Picton. It was quite a drive, and our only real stop was in a cute town called Motueka for lunch. We spent that night at a holiday park near the pier, ready to catch our boat across the Cook Strait the following morning. Holiday park bathrooms are communal, so going to the bathroom in the middle of the night was a bit of a pain (did I mention that it was raining?), but we managed.
On Wednesday, August 26th we took the ferry to Wellington. The ride itself was uneventful – I think B read a book while I slept in his lap – but once we got to Wellington we were back in the city, the likes of which we had not see in six months. We had lunch coupons for a place called The Arizona Bar and Grille, which was oddly Texan in theme, but good, and then we made a last stop at Te Papa (the national museum) before getting on the “freeway,” which extends for about fifteen kilometers before it narrows, once again, to two lanes.
That night we stayed at an over-priced holiday park in Levin, which had timers on the hot water for the showers – super inconvenient. We were, I think, one of two groups staying in the park, so we didn’t think it would be a huge problem if we left ten minutes after the 10am chuck-out time, but apparently it was. Anyway, it wasn’t our favorite place of the year, but we did have a nice morning jog around the town before getting back in the car.
That was the day we were planning on driving up to Lake Taupo, which was one of my favorite spots on the way down. On the way up there we stopped at a town called Taihape, just north of a touristy spot named Gravity Canyon. We were inquiring about sky diving and bungee jumping, but while we were at the information site we learned about a group package for two things at Gravity Canyon, plus bungee jumping and sky diving in Lake Taupo, which sounded horrifying, but like a pretty good deal.
So we headed back to Gravity Canyon for our warm-up activities: The Flying Fox and The Bridge Swing. First we did the flying fox, for which we were bound together on a kilometer-long cable and released for a guided fall/glide above the river. That looked scary, but was really gentle. However, the Bridge Swing basically turned out to be an 80-meter bungee jump. B and I were harnessed together and released from the bridge. Then, instead of bouncing, we oscillated. If I had known what the swing involved before I was dangling over the canyon then I probably would have said “no,” but “swing” was a deceptively reassuring name. After that we drove up to Lake Taupo and found a nice holiday park with a jacuzzi. The next day our extreme sporting would get a lot more intense.
On Friday the 28th I woke up with the jitters. I kept thinking about the things I was about to do and wondering why, WHY was I doing them? People did them all the time, but did that make them a good idea? I didn’t think so. One of the first things B and I bonded over was our appreciation of heights; however, I later learned that B and I appreciate heights in very different ways: I love the feeling of climbing to the top of something, B likes being at the top of something and then jumping off. Very very different.
The sky diving van was due to pick us up in the morning, so B and I had a quiet breakfast and then went to the front and waited. The weather was cloudy, so I almost hoped they wouldn’t come, but they did. We waited at the airport for the weather to clear, but the clouds were taking their time, so we were all dismissed until the afternoon when we were told to reconvene. One of the employees gave us a ride from the airport to the bungee jumping place… how does the saying go? Out of the frying pan and into the fire? Yeah, that was me. We had some time to wait, so B and I got a little lunch, which seemed stupid to me since I was certain I was about to vomit it all up, but then suddenly I was on the platform. It was awful. We were SO high up – 47 meters, I think – and I just kept thinking to myself, “This is such a bad idea…”
At the edge of the platform I really chickened out. B and I were strapped together by the ankles, but I really really really didn’t want to jump. Everything in me was saying, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” But then the woman started the countdown, and I KNEW Brandon would jump. I certainly didn’t want to not jump on time, only to be dragged off by Brandon, so I jumped. It wasn’t that bad, but I really doubt I’ll be doing that again anytime in the near future. Then, when we got back on land the sky diving van was waiting for us. Hello, again, frying pan!
The weather had cleared, so our group was suited-up and in the plane very quickly. My Tandem Master was a friendly Welshman named Ian, and Brandon was teamed with a kiwi named Mikey. They didn’t seem worried at all. As a matter of fact, no one did. We had a full plane – I think twelve people were jumping with us, excluding the cameramen and the tandem masters – and no one seemed that worried. However, my chin started to tremble as soon as we left the ground. I am a very rational person who likes to make decisions for myself based on logical reasoning, but to a simple question like, “Why am I doing this?” I had no answer. Even something like, “Because it sounds like fun” would have been an answer, but it didn’t sound like fun. It didn’t sound like fun at all. I was quite disappointed in my otherwise-functional Just-Say-No mechanism.
Ian and I were the last to leave the plane. In a daze I scooted to the edge and closed my eyes, being very careful to remember the few instructions I had been given on the ground. I kept my eyes closed for most of the freefall and thought about other things, specifically that I should have worn warmer pants, because during the fall my jumpsuit scrunched up to my knees, exposing my ankles to whatever temperatures linger at 14,000 feet above Lake Taupo. When Ian finally opened our shoot I was shaking, not quivering or trembling, but actually shaking from head to toe. I think Ian felt bad for me, because he very gently got us to the ground as quickly as possible. We beat Brandon by almost five minutes even though he jumped first.
That night I randomly burst into tears. It had been a very stressful, very irrational day. Anyway, Brandon has promised me that I never need to go bungee jumping or sky diving again.
The next day we drove to Coromandel. I had developed not only a cold, but a cold sore – no doubt due to the unreasonable amount of stressing out I did the previous day – so I didn’t mind sitting down for a few hours and watching the scenery go by. On the way up the peninsula we stopped at a place called Kiwi 360 – a kiwifruit farm and massive gift shop best known for the gigantic statue of a sliced kiwi in the front yard. I found a few things that I liked, but was so put off by the salespeople, who were hovering over us like chaperones at a junior high dance, that I bought nothing, and we went on our way.
It was dark by the time we made it to our first potential holiday park/sleeping point, so we were inclined to take whatever we could get. For better or worse, all this place had left was a so-called “chalet,” a name which the proprietor insisted on using as a means for charging a few pennies extra, but even though B and I would have been happy with a simple bed for the night, the “chalet” was nice. It was basically a one-bedroom apartment situated on a grassy knoll, with an excellent view of the unoccupied car park. After one good sleep I still woke up feeling under-the-weather, which was gloomy in its own right, so B and I mostly stayed in except for a brief jaunt to a look out point at the trail head to Cathedral Cove. The next day, however, we actually got up and went to Hot Water Beach. Unfortunately we missed the lowest of the low tide, so we never actually got to feel the hot water that supposedly bubbles up from underground springs, and can be accessed with a little bit of digging. As a matter of fact, we had to cross a wide, freezing river to even get to the beach, so all I got was cold, sandy feet.
After that we did the hour-long hike to Cathedral Cove, which was beautiful and remote, like most kiwi landmarks. I collected a few shells and we soaked up the tranquility before heading back up to our car. By the time we got back we felt ready for a little lunch. The only problem was that in the off season, which we were in, everything closes down in Coromandel, and we eventually had to drive all the way back to Hot Water Beach to find an operating cafe. Happily, the food there was delicious and well worth the wait.
The next morning we headed to Auckland, our final destination, via the Kauri Groves, which were in the middle of the Coromandel peninsula. We’d been hearing about these trees from day one in the country, but due to heavy 19th century logging and the species’ slow growth rate, they are pretty rare. The trees were indeed magnificent, reminding me of Ents (the enormous talking trees in Lord of the Rings), and thus imbuing their territory with a certain magic, which I always find appealing in natural landscapes.
But, rewinding slightly, on our way across the peninsula we passed a quirky, corrugated metal structure with a sign saying “Place of Interest,” so we stopped. I imagined that it would be some unique little gift shop, but actually it was the Whiti Farm Park, a sort of petting zoo for unique and indigenous animals. We decided to walk around the grounds, and since we were the only patrons in sight we got some special attention. My favorite part was feeding a baby goat with a bottle, but the entire place was very cool. That whole day Brandon and I were thinking about the things in New Zealand that we would miss, and the fresh air and open landscape is definitely one of them. As we left the peninsula and began to see the city in the horizon we felt quite nostalgic, actually, for the tranquility of the countryside, but, then, there was plenty to look forward to in the city as well.
We got to Auckland in the late afternoon and headed for a holiday park on the North Shore. This place was just about as far from our Coromandel Chalet as we could have imagined, most notably for the old-woman-smoker scent that pervaded each of the rooms. I’m pretty sure the rooms above us were an operating brothel. But that’s not the point. The point is that this was our FINAL WEEK in New Zealand, and we had so much to do that our heads were spinning. We had announced on Trademe that we would be available between certain hours at Walker Park in Point Chev for anyone wanting to view our car, so on Wednesday evening we went to the park and waited. And waited. We bought some Thai food from our favorite Thai place on Point Chev Road, and then we waited some more. No one came, but B and I had chosen Walker Park as the meeting place just in case that happened. We love that park so much. Someday you all should go there.
That evening we went over to our old Auckland apartment to take our ex-landlords a bottle of wine. It was a nice little reunion, giving me the warm fuzzies as we headed back to our smelly room on the North Shore. The next day the day the auction was due to close, but we still showed the car to only three people, which made us a bit nervous. The only bid so far was for $1,500, and we really hoped to get more than that. That evening (Thursday), Brandon and I went to a nice bar in the city to watch the auction close on our iPhones. It was due to close at around 8pm, with possible auto-extensions if bids were made in the last two minutes. At about 7:50pm the action began. B and I had so much fun updating our page and watching Mark increase in value before our eyes. In the end he sold for $2,500, which was still very cheap compared to what we thought he was worth, but we were still pleased.
The next day, Friday, was pretty hectic. We knew we needed to drop Mark off with his new owner, but we also needed to mail a box of stuff to my parents’ house. Luggage restrictions had quadrupled in a year, so B and I were frantically donating things to the city mission, throwing things away, and stashing things in unlikely corners of the holiday park so someone might come around and find a use for them. We donated my backpacking backpack, our radiator, two bags filled with clothes, a tent, kitchen supplies, shoes, and anything else that wouldn’t fit in our suitcases. We threw away my behemoth black duffle bag, because in the end we didn’t have anything to put in it. The box we sent home just had a few odds and ends we didn’t want to part with, but getting it organized took longer than we expected.
Then we still needed to pick up a rental car. The only place we could think of to try was back in the city, so we once again crossed the Harbour Bridge and headed toward Parnell. The first place we tried didn’t have an airport drop off, and the second didn’t have any cars left. Nor did the third. We eventually got a little Sunny something-or-other, which must have once been occupied by the same woman who probably died in our room at the holiday park, but by that time we were running so late that we had to take it. We said “goodbye” to Mark on the North Shore. He was such a good car, definitely got us through plenty, and we knew we’d miss him, but we think he went to a good new owner.
There were a few other people in Auckland that we still needed to see, which was nice. Being in Auckland again felt a bit like a homecoming. We did live there for six months – the longest time that B and I have lived anywhere together. One night we drove up to Kahikatea to meet up with Geoff, Lisa, and a few of their friends. One woman, Sol, had been quite pregnant the last time we saw her, but now she had an adorable baby boy. It was great to see everyone and meet some new people. We drank tea and played Wii Fit for a few hours before bidding them farewell.
So our days in kiwiland were dwindling. On Saturday we rose early and had breakfast on One Tree Hill, which was romantic and gorgeous. It had almost been exactly a year since Brandon proposed to me there. Then we went to St. Luke’s Mall, where we randomly ran into Sandeep – the last person we still had to see in Auckland. It was New Zealand’s Father’s Day, so he was taking his daughter to a movie. We agreed to meet up for drinks on the North Shore that evening, and then B and I went to meet up with Geoff and some of his dance troupe in Point Chev. They were having a rehearsal nearby and Geoff met us for a quick coffee on his lunch break. After that B and I went to the zoo. We only had about an hour to walk around, but we wanted to get one last use from our annual passes. B and I have an affinity for zoos.
That evening B and I went to Devonport, one of my favorite areas of Auckland, for dinner. Thoughts of our travel plans were foremost in our minds, but we enjoyed the night out. Sandeep never called us about getting drinks, but he had mentioned that his wife was in the hospital, so we didn’t mind.
The next day we intended to ship my instruments to the states and then have a relaxing day in the city, but when we got to the Post Office we learned, after much hmming and hawing, that they couldn’t ship anything that big. Period. We called around to shipping companies and found that my instruments were either too big or too small for all of them. As a last resort we drove all the way out to the airport and sent them as unaccompanied baggage to LAX, so my parents could pick them up. By the time that was sorted the day was over, so we went back to the holiday park, made ourselves dinner, did some final packing, and then went to bed.
The next morning we got to the Auckland airport in plenty of time, dropped off our rental car, and then went to check in for our flight. We had very carefully packed our bags, and knew that our checked luggage would be fine, weight-wise. What we DIDN’T anticipate is that they would weigh our carry-ons, which contained all of our electronics (laptops, cameras, etc.), and were therefore not exactly light. The lady at the check-in counter said that we would have to check one of our carry-ons, and it would cost over $200. However, she asked where we were flying to, and when we mentioned the states she said that if we were flying through to Las Vegas then our luggage allowance for all flights should increase, but the flight from London to Las Vegas wasn’t showing up, so we had to talk to someone at a different desk.
The man at that different desk was the devil incarnate. His name was Mike Hennessey, and once we finally got on our flight, which we did, I started to write a short story entitled “Mike Hennessey Must Die.” He said that because we’d gone through two separate travel agents it didn’t matter that we were flying through to the states, and there was nothing he could do. We asked a question and he said, “There is no discussion about this. I suggest that next time you travel with less stuff.” Brandon is by nature a very even-keel sort of person, but I was envisioning bloody torture for the little man before me. Ugh. Okay, enough of that. We paid the fine, went through security, and got on our flight.
Once in the air Brandon and I were still fuming, but we watched the emerald isle disappear beneath the clouds, and felt sad to be leaving it. In a way, it felt like New Zealand was the beginning of everything for us. It was definitely an adventure, but we had little time to reflect on it all before we began to descend to Australia.
PART TWO: Fat Lady Singing
The first thing we did when we got to Sydney was ship our largest suitcase back to the states via a much more professional unaccompanied luggage company than the one we’d used in Auckland. We found some open carpet and emptied everything out of our suitcases right there in the airport, throwing more stuff out – books, clothes, etc. – before re-packing and re-organizing our diminishing possessions into airline-acceptable weight groups. We were in Australia for about four hours before we even left the airport. The next thing we did was buy a Travel Pass, which would get us on all ferries, trains, and busses for seven days. We used that immediately to take a train to our hostel, Eva’s Backpackers in Kings Cross. We’d heard that Kings Cross was the red light district of Sydney, but B and I were skeptical. It couldn’t be THAT bad, right? Turns out, it was a really cute neighborhood and we never saw a single prostitute. Red light district, indeed. We loved our hostel, which was quaint and colorful. The first night we went to The Rocks, a strip of fancy schmansy restaurants with views of The Opera House, which was sensational, by-the-way. It is way more impressive in person than it was in pictures, and I was always impressed by the pictures. At our fancy schmansy restaurant, Brandon ordered crocodile, of course, which he said tasted like chicken.
The next day was Opera Day! The day we had been waiting for. The day that kept us in New Zealand after Stewart Island. In the morning we went for a walk through the botanic gardens, which were overrun with sulfur-crested cockatoos and enormous fruit bats. And I mean overrun. The woman who led our mini-tour of the gardens said that there were about 20,000 bats living in the gardens, which, of course, scared the bejezus out of me, but added that fun, exotic feel to our whole week.
That night we had reservations at a Japanese restaurant called Yukis at the Quay, which was really nice, with a beautiful view of the Opera House. The opera itself (Aida by Giuseppe Verdi) was amazing. Worth the wait, worth every penny, I would have gone back the next night if it had been possible. The performers all had sensational voices, and the parts were well acted.
After the show B and I stopped at the Opera House Restaurant for a gourmet dessert and matched wines, which was very nice, but the staff was all very snooty. By the time we left the restaurant it was about 11:30pm, and B and I were hoping to catch the last train to Kings Cross. Unfortunately, we had to change trains at Town Hall. We got on the first train fine, but by the time we got to Town Hall the lines were shutting down. We ended up sprinting through uncharted territory (for us) to find a bus that would take us somewhere, anywhere close to our hostel. We found the correct bus stop, but then stayed on the line too long, had to retrace our steps on a different bus, then finally got off at the right stop, and walked to our hostel at about 1:30am, which, by-the-way, STILL felt perfectly safe.
The next day we got a bit of a late start, but we made it over to Manly Beach in the evening. We got sidetracked by an advertisement for Streetcar Named Desire, which was being performed by the Sydney Theatre Company, starring Cate Blanchet. We walked to the box office only to discover that tickets had been sold out for months, but we did manage to book tickets to a nighttime observatory tour for my birthday.
Manly Beach, so named for the “manly” aborigines that were spotted there by Australia’s first European explorers, was beautiful, and B and I decided that we would have to return for a beach day during the week. We got kebabs and watched the sunset over the surf.
On Thursday we went on a full-day tour of the Blue Mountains, which B and I hadn’t really heard much about, but were touted as a tourism “must” for the Sydney area. We were picked up in a large, unmarked van by a Larry-David-look-alike named Jim. The drive to pick up the rest of the tourists took about an hour, and the drive to the Blue Mountains took about an hour, but the trip was well worth the price and time. We saw the semi-famous Three Sisters rock formation, went on a little hike down a canyon, rode up the canyon in The Steepest Train in the World, and saw a wild kangaroo and its joey (baby).
The next day we were able to check off some of the smaller items on our Sydney to-do list: the Opera Tour, the Aquarium, the IMAX, and Luna Park. The Aquarium was situated right on Darling Harbor, and had an enormous boat parked next to it, which housed a Dugong and an enormous shark tank, which were both incredible. The IMAX screen is actually the largest permanent screen in the world, which was neat. We saw a 3-D film about Australia’s ocean life, narrated by Jim Carrey of all people. After the IMAX we walked over to the Opera House, where a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers film called Swing Time was being screened. The set up was really neat; the audience parked on the steps leading up to the Opera House, and the screen was erected at the bottom of the courtyard. Luna Park was fairly underwhelming: a miniature, permanent fair frequented by local tweens, but it’s a bit of a Sydney landmark, so we were glad we went.
The next day we went back to Manly for a beach day. B and I mostly sunbathed, though we did put our feet in the water. Seeing the size of Australia’s salt water crocodile at the aquarium the previous day had made the Sydney waters seem fairly threatening. That night we went to a Lebanese Restaurant in the city called Hannibal’s, which had a cushion room and featured a belly dancer on Saturdays. The food there was absolutely delicious, and our waitress was really sweet. She even gave us some baklavas on the house. The rest of the cushion room was occupied by a “hen night” for a soon-to-be-bride who was massively pregnant with twins. When the belly dancer came in everyone got up and danced. Anyway, it was a fun night.
On Sunday we took a ferry over to the Taronga Zoo, which was really fantastic. Their reptile house was particularly impressive, as was the Koala feeding time. Something like nine out of the ten most poisonous snakes in the world live in Australia, and I think they were all available for viewing at the zoo.
And then it was my birthday. First thing in the morning Brandon let me open my present, which is always nice, and then he told me we had a little time to kill before I had to be somewhere. He had orchestrated everything about the day. We wandered toward downtown, getting lunch in a lovely park near the cathedral. Then we wandered to an even more central spot, then into a building, up a few floors, and to the doors of a day spa. B had arranged a facial and a massage for me at this amazing little place called Ayurve Day Spa. Ahh… that was great. In two hours I felt every iota of tension melt away. Luggage didn’t matter. Skydiving didn’t matter. WWOOFing didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except how very very much I love my fiancé. Then, as if he hadn’t done enough, he picked me up and took me to a vegetarian Asian restaurant, where he had even arranged for me to have a candle to blow out on a red bean paste dessert thing, which was delicious.
After that we headed to the observatory. The day had been completely cloudy – the only overcast day of the entire week – so we weren’t able to see anything through the telescope, but our guide was really fabulous. He was a bona fide astronomer who occasionally guides the talks in the evenings for fun.
Tuesday was our last day in Sydney, so B and I did some last minute shopping and wandering around. We briefly met up with a friend of my family, whom we first met at Disneyland about ten years ago. It was great to have a friend to chat with in a foreign city. That evening we got drinks with a French animator who we’d met in our hostel, and then we did our packing up before heading to bed.
We knew that we would be fine luggage-wise for our next flight, but we still wanted to get to the airport with plenty of time to spare, just in case. Our luggage did indeed get through fine, but that was probably due to the fact that our original flight had been canceled in March, and we’d been reassigned to a flight that was leaving two hours earlier. When we heard that we began to totally panic; where we thought we had three hours to get through security, we now had forty-five minutes. Our panic must have been contagious, because the ladies at the desk pushed us through the bag-check process without noticing our massive laptop case, which we weren’t really supposed to bring on the plane.
But we did make it to the flight on time, as did our luggage, and soon we were settling into our comfy airplane seats for the nine hour flight to Hong Kong. We were flying with Cathay Pacific, which was quite high tech. We had about 300 movies to choose from, and ended up watching The Hangover. We watched the Southern Hemisphere disappear below us in a blur of Neverland-esque islands and turquoise water.
Once we got to Hong Kong we were planning on settling in for a nine hour layover in the airport, but when we started to pass through a check point to the connecting gates, an airport employee suggested we spend the time in the city. “What??” we replied, certain that he was kidding.
Turns out that he wasn’t. We weren’t sure if it was a good idea to leave the airport, but it certainly sounded like the sort of thing we would do, so we changed all of our left over Australian dollars into Hong Kong dollars, waltzed through customs, bought train tickets, got a map, and headed into the city. I was feeling pretty nervous about the whole escapade, but the public transportation there was incredibly easy to navigate, even for English speakers. The most difficult thing to deal with was the humidity, which was fierce. That didn’t seem to effect the speed of the train, though, because we were in Tsim Sha Tsui in no time, where a free shuttle bus dropped us off at a behemoth, fancy mall. Once inside, we found our way to a restaurant for some dinner. The menu (in Chinese) was difficult to understand, and most of the “Vegetable Dishes” were listed as having weird meat stuff included, so I figured I’d go with something I knew, like sweet and sour chicken. Brandon ordered cuttle fish. We got soup for our starters and jasmine tea to drink, and were feeling quite worldly and confident as we waited for our meals.
My noodle soup came with tempura shrimp, which I did not like, and Brandon’s chicken soup was flavored by, get this… chicken feet. Brandon, of course, actually ate what he could off of them, leaving chicken claw skeletons resting on his soup plate. Brandon’s cuttle fish was about what he expected, but my sweet and sour chicken was actually a sweet and sour whole chicken, like, the gizzards and innards and all that stuff. I spent about half an hour moving the food around on the plate before I let a waiter take it away. Very kindly, that waiter brought me a little coconut dessert on the house. Anyway, the tea was very good.
After that B and I wandered toward the Harbor, where we were told that we would be able to see a laser show at 8pm. We got there a little early, so B found a good spot to park our stuff while I wandered off to find a statue of Bruce Lee that was supposed to be along the boardwalk. The statue was indeed a good likeness, but the crazy thing is that when I got back Brandon was standing there talking to Geoff, our friend from New Zealand, and four of his friends from Kahikatea. Well, I just about fell down. We had just said nostalgic goodbyes not two weeks ago in Auckland, and then there we were watching lasers in Hong Kong together. Small freaking world.
After that we headed back to the airport. It had been a good week in Sydney, a crazy day in Hong Kong, and a thoroughly exhausting twenty-four hours in general, but our next stop was England, the arms of our family, and what we felt would be a sort of end-of-the-road for our independent year of travel, which had been incredible, but tiring. We were looking forward to surprising Dale for his 60th birthday, which was the purpose of the trip to England in the first place, so we focused on those things rather than the thirteen hour flight ahead of us. Brandon spent most of the flight sleeping, and I spent the time dozing and watching movies, including All About Eve, which had been on my list for awhile. As we neared Heathrow, B and I felt a nervous anticipation – one thing would end and another begin, and it was all a part of the journey.
PART THREE: England
Lesley and her cousin Sharon picked us up at the airport – a weary, teary reunion. B and I just about collapsed into their arms and were carried to the car, at least that’s how I remember it. We were able to stand up just long enough to surprise Dale, who was just waking up when we tiptoed through Nanny and Granddad’s front door. Hugs and kisses and heartwarming greetings abounded for about an hour before B and I sank onto a bed for a short nap.
When we woke up we got a chance to meet our niece, Sophia, who had been born while we were away. Now, I really don’t think that this is just symptomatic of Proud Aunty Syndrome, but she is the cutest, sweetest, most angelic baby in the world. That first night we had dinner at Nanny and Granddad’s house, and then were driven over to Steve and Fay’s house, where we had a whole backyard cabin to ourselves for the week.
The next day was a relaxing trip to the seaside, which was gorgeous. I felt slightly awkward requesting a cheese pastry and avoiding the array of shellfish that Lesley and Sharon had found for us, but I’ve tried shellfish. Luckily I was with Brandon at the time, so when I spit it up he was able to finish it for me. I’m just no a meat-eating sort of girl. That night the whole family prepared an amazing fajita night for us, complete with homemade salsa and Kroger fajita mix. Ahh, Mexican food. I met more of the family then, which got increasingly overwhelming – after all, I’d spent the last twelve months having my conversations almost exclusively with Brandon and only Brandon – but the family was all so welcoming and kind that I managed to get through the night without needing to, like, go lie down or anything.
After the party, however, Brandon’s cousin Sam drove us home, which was an experience I won’t soon forget. When we got back to our cabin I burst into tears, which I’d been fighting to hold back as we catapulted down residential streets. I was inconsolable for about half an hour, liquid stress running from my eyes in rivulets, but Brandon promised we would not need to ride with Sam again, so I eventually calmed down. After that a sort of fear settled into me about fitting in with Brandon’s family. I’m just not a “cool” sort of person. I like my cars slow and my nights early. My conversations lean toward literary criticism when possible, and social gatherings involving more than about ten people have the tendency to scare the scat out of me. Anyway, I was getting a sinking feeling that B’s family was a bit too cool for me.
Luckily, the next morning Brandon and I were catching a train into London to meet up with my longtime pen pal, so I would have a couple days to try to work up some coolness. Coincidentally, Alex’s (my pen pal’s) boyfriend had just gotten off cruise ships, where he’s training to be an officer, so the four of us got to have a two-day double date, starting with a mini-tour of London, dinner at Pizza Express, and a show at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. The show at the Globe was Troilus and Cressida, but our tickets were for the standing yard. Yes, the Globe still does the totally authentic thing and makes the peasants stand in the pit area in front of the stage. What’s more, it’s an open air theater, so when it started to drizzle we decided to leave at an act break. B and I will go back someday and sit in the gallery.
The next day Brandon and I woke up first and went to find a breakfast cafe. When we got back the four of us had a nice cup of tea and then headed back into London – Alex and I had a date with the Ritz. The last time I visited her we had tea at Harrod’s, so to keep the tradition going we had reserved tea for ourselves at the Ritz. We got there about half an hour after our reservation, but were shown to our seats without a problem. Tea, sandwiches, and cakes were brought to us with all due alacrity, which Alex and I dawdled over. The building itself was absolutely gorgeous, and we were serenaded by a harp throughout our meal. However, after about an hour and fifteen minutes our waiter, who had not even bought us a second cup of tea, brought us our check and said that the seating was over in fifteen, could we please speed up and get out. We were horrified! The whole point of spending 74pounds on tea is to be able to sit there for three hours and feel totally pampered. Oh well. Next time we’ll try a new place, and the Ritz will just be one sub-par experience in our lexicon of afternoon tea outings.
After that Alex and I wandered around and went to the shop she works at, Lush, where she let me choose a few things for my birthday, which was sweet. Then we met up with the boys again outside a train station near Alex’s old school, where we went into a pub for a light dinner. After that we went to an AMAZING ice cream parlor, but by then it was getting late, and B and I started to get nervous about our train back to Essex, so we sadly parted ways.
It was a pretty good thing that we left when we did, because our most direct route home was closed for construction, meaning we had to make about three transfers, including a bus ride, before we got back to Rochford. B and I got home and collapsed into bed with yet another wonderful adventure securely under our belt.
The next day a whole group of us took a train in a different direction to Colchester, which is famous for its castle ruins, the location of Boudica’s Revolt sometime around AD 60. Actually, it wasn’t the castle back then; it was actually a Roman temple, which was later totally sacked. The current castle dates back to 1076 AD, and is actually the largest surviving castle in Europe. After the museum tour we wandered around the gardens, which were lovely, before heading off to meet Lesley and Sharon for lunch at a pub. The day also featured a flying visit with Wendy, one of Brandon’s aunts. That night when we returned to Rochford everyone piled once again into Sharon and Tom’s lovely house for delicious Indian takeaway. Every day felt like a party.
On Tuesday we took yet another train into London with a large group. Some of the girls split up immediately to go shopping on Oxford Street, while the rest of us went to do touristy things. B and I spent about an hour in the National Gallery, but then I realized that the painting I was so anxious to see – The Lady of Shallot by John Waterhouse – was actually at the Tate Britain. We met back up with the group for lunch at Covent Garden, where we had a flying visit with Wendy’s daughter, Tanya, but then after that B and I decided to run over to the Tate Britain to see my painting. When we got there, however, we were informed that the painting was on tour in Montreal at the moment, but we could see it at the Tate again in a couple months. We met up with the group again for the train ride back, and I felt bad for wasting so much time hunting for a painting that wasn’t even in the country, but it had been a very fun day nonetheless.
After London I think the group of us was pretty tourist-ed out. On Wednesday night we all went out for Indian food. On Thursday Amber made a delicious dinner over at Nanny and Granddad’s house. During the days we didn’t do much. One day we went back to the seaside and took a train to the end of The Longest Pleasure Pier In the World, then stopped at some more castle ruins before visiting with some family friends. Another day was just hung out at Nanny and Granddad’s, B and my favorite activity. On Friday evening B and I had announced that we would make dinner. We bought everything for a good roast, salad, and some baked brie, and started cooking way early to be sure we’d be on time. My grandmother always used to make flank steaks with the potatoes and carrots and everything in the same pan, which I loved, so we decided to try it that way. We got everything in the oven with time to spare, and were feeling pretty positive about the whole thing. When 6pm rolled around we took out our dinner, only to find that nothing, except the meat, was cooked at all. AHH!! Freak out time. Everyone was already over and hungry, and B and I had no idea what to do. At Pat’s suggestion we threw all the vegetables in a couple of pots and boiled them, which got them cooked, but washed off all the flavor we had painstakingly designed. Eventually we ate, and at least the dessert – a Norwegian fruit pudding – turned out all right.
Saturday was Dale’s Birthday Party, which was shaping up to be a pretty big event. The bulk of the day was spent fixing up the decorations, and then at 7pm people started to arrive. There was SO much food, but somehow by the end of the night it was pretty well finished. Fifty-seven people were there, as were about fifty-seven bottles of hard liquor. Uncle Steve made this amazing fruit punch thing with sparkling wine, and everything was delicious. The party was a smash hit, and it was fabulous to meet a whole slew of friends and relatives that I’d hitherto only heard about, but once again my anti-party mechanism kicked in and I felt a little overwhelmed by the size of the party. I did get to talk a little more with Tanya and her roommate, who were both adorable and really sweet, but once again I was feeling way too uncool for the crowd. The night was a blast though, and Dale got to blow his candles out at midnight.
On Sunday we all spent the morning cleaning up, but then B and I went back to Nanny and Granddad’s to hang out for the afternoon. A few other people dropped by to say “hello” including a cousin named Scott and his girlfriend. Scott then took us back to his amazing little farm to show us the five-week-old litter of German Shepherd puppies. Oh, they were so cute! We also met Scott’s goats, horses, and chickens. It was a beautiful place to spend an afternoon. That night we ate leftovers and then said “goodbye” to Lesley and Dale, and Jason, Amber, and Sophia, who would be heading back to the states the next day. Sophia fell asleep in my arms while the group was playing Knock. I was going to miss my new little niece.
The next day was our last day in England. Sam, who had found out what I thought of his driving, offered to take us around for the day, promising to drive a little bit slower. He showed us such a wonderful time, even finding a shop on the High Street that I instantly loved. We had breakfast at The Arches along the seashore, then did a little shopping, went for a drive through a rural area known for its hauntings, went to a wonderful shipyard bordering a river, had lunch at The Anne Boleyn pub, then saw the manor once occupied by Anne Boleyn herself. Then home again to our cabin. Dinner that night was at Nanny and Granddad’s, and all the cousins attended, even Tommy came over afterwards to chat. When B and I went back to Steve and Fay’s house we were very sad to think of leaving the next day. After all, this was really the end of the end. England was a little postlude, but flying to Vegas would be the beginning of something entirely different – an unknown.
The next morning Sam drove us to the airport while we watched Lee Evans comedy on the little screen in his car. We got to our flight in plenty of time, got on the plane, and the next thing we knew we were airborne. It felt a bit like waiting to jump out of a plane, waiting there to get back to the states. We were excited to start this new phase, but, like anything, starting from what feels like nothing seems daunting at the outset. During the flight we watched Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian, Coraline, Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, and Sunshine Cleaning, and then we were suddenly sailing over Salt Lake City. It felt surreal, but we were there at last. Our year abroad was finished. We’d made it! The year was not without its hiccups, but we were stronger, wiser, and more in love than ever after everything was said and done. And we have stories to tell. Oh man do we have some stories to tell.
EPILOGUE: Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig
Lesley picked us up from the airport, and Dale had margaritas waiting for us when we got back to the house. What a family we have! The details of our homecoming are unimportant. What IS important is how much we love the family that we had waiting for us when we got here. While we were in New Zealand I had a conversation with my mom where I said that B and I really wanted to try to forget that we had a safety net back home while we were traveling, to which my mom responded, “But if you didn’t have a safety net then you probably wouldn’t have gone to New Zealand at all.” Now, B and I are very independent people, but I realized immediately how true that statement was. Having a lovely family to catch us when we fall gave us the courage to adventure as far as we did. We definitely pushed our limits, but at the low points we were comforted by the thought that we’d never really be homeless without hope, or entirely friendless. And at the highest points, which were many, we had a loving band of family and friends to share our good news with. So thank you to our families, who enabled our adventure. Thank you to Brandon for being a wonderful partner, a perfect travel companion, and for putting up with my semi-frequent breakdowns while WWOOFing. And thank you to Virgin Atlantic for finally bringing us home. B and I are thinking we’ll do the Mediterranean next. South America sounds pretty exotic, too. We’ve done a country where we speak the language – next time we’ll be looking for a real challenge.
Thank you to our readers for following our journey!
Much love from your travelers,
Brandon and Jenny
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