I'm currently taking advantage of my uncle's PC and internet connection in Rotiti. Blog time. (Further editing made on a different uncle's computer in Melbourne, but that's just detail.)

A week in Reefton

I spent my week in Reefton with my mum mostly hanging out, writing the previous blog post and playing guitar. We did a two-day walk from Black's Point up to Kirwins mine and back down to Boatman's Road. The first day turned out to be considerably longer than I'd anticipated, and my knee complained a bit and was swollen and complained a bit on the way out. However despite being short on humor on the second day, I made it without incident and it was a fantastic tramp.

Fond memories include: seeing Forch on his first day of retirement; surprising Kate in the supermarket; getting to the top of Kirwins; getting to the van from Kirwins.

A week in Christchurch

After my week in Reefton expired I took the van and the boat east to Christchurch. Basically this time was reserved for hanging out with Max and Rowena, and for revisiting old friends. Max wanted to see how the dhingy floated, and decided it would be a good idea to row it to Quail Island and back. It wasn't really, but after a lot of rowing we got there and back again without catastrophy. There was an old computer science study group meetup, Sean's bachelor party (where I got lost in town, only to be found by the FCC lads, only to be lost again), and a bring-your-own-roadkill pot luck event (aka Pot Doom) which Marissa put heaps of effort into organising (big thanks!). I shot a young deer grazing Max's orchard, which was perfect timing for our Pot Doom event. I visited Marissa & Sagar, Jay, Ella, Luke & Brett & Jill, the Brights, and Eleanor & Mark during that week not to mention a good chat with Sel.

Row, row, row your boat madly across the bay	Meat is murder...

Shaky Quaky Christchurch

We were fine. The house is a swiss-style log chalet, so it just wobbled and flexed. Even the foundation was fine. A few glasses were broken and some shelves were emptied out on the floor. But otherwise? All was well. We lost power but had candles. We had spring water from the hill. The chimney was metal, not brick so we could light the fire. We even took in four refugees from Lyttelton whose houses ceased to exist. We were all quite shaken though - particularly from the aftershocks during the night. Many of us slept in tents out on the lawn. Max just said everyone was crazy, and slept in the house. I spent the evening in the little hut up on the hill.

Lots of strange co-incidences. I was in town the day before the earthquake, doing a last round of catch-ups and running errands. Maik and Zoe sent me a text saying they had just hitched a ride from Oamaru to Christchurch. I offered to pick them up from Burnham and visited a friend until they arrived. The net result is that they ended up being out at Bergli when the quake hit, rather than in the CBD. Zoe had a big asthma attack later that evening. Out of caution we drove her to the Christchurch public hospital, by which time she was fine. So we went for a walk around Hagley Park, ate at Burger King in the CBD and walked around the cathedral and gave $10 to a druggy spinning a fantastical story. We remarked how quiet it was. The next day it was all gone.

My grand scheme was to fly from Christchurch to Wellington on the day of the quake to see Queens of the Stone Age. However, Mother Nature said NO. The airport was closed, so I sent a text to Thomas saying he should sell my ticket. He replied that the QOTSA concert was postponed till tomorrow. There was still hope, so I rose at 5am the next morning, drove with Maik and Zoe to Kaikoura, hitched to Picton (I was picked up by a shaken up guy who's holiday home in Redcliff had had a cliff land on it), caught the Interislander across to Wellington, dropped my stuff off at a backpackers, showered and rushed off full of enthusiasm to St. John's pub to meet Thomas and Tanja at 4:30pm. Only to learn that the concert had been cancelled. So after several beers and a dirty gin martini later ("shaken, not stirred" was my running gag for the evening) I was drunk enough that it didn't really matter. Almost as good.

North

Thomas headed south the next day. Tanja and I went north. We hitched to Palmerston North and were picked up by a tattoo artist who had wonderfully colourful ideas on some of the big questions in life, involving magnets, fibonacci sequences and Mayan calendars. His knowledge of tattoos was awesome, and he told us heaps of really interesting stuff. His theological theories could have used a little more... research. And he gave me a dice! I will use it often.

Palmy North is a bit of a rural town. Not much happening. We entertained ourselves playing guitar and drinking beer in the backpackers with our Swiss and Austrian roommates.

Hitching from Palmy was probably the hardest bit of thumb-work I've done. We had to walk for ages - I was carrying a rediculous amount of gear, which was a) heavy, and b) my own stupid fault - to get out of town. One woman picked us up and took us to the next minor town. Her dog Shadow loved licking faces (bearded or no), and she had a learners license. Meh. She dropped us at a good spot and we waited. After having no success, I brought forth the guitar, sat on a rucksack and played while Tanja thumbed us a ride. The presence of the guitar was an instant success, and I had but finished one song and we were on our way with an old tractor driver from Napier. When we asked him what there was to see in Hastings, he shook his head and said "Nothing. Sorry." Well he dropped us at Rush Monroe's ice cream place. We played guitar in the town centre with some local kids and stayed at a backpackers full of fruit pickers (it was picking season).

Other fond memories include: Mr. Scratchy; corrupting Tanja with marmite; and the grumpy guy at the internet cafe.

Team Spork

BJ and Claire arrived in Hastings. I had previously hosted BJ in Zurich, and after we realised we'd both be in NZ at the same time we decided to meet up somewhere. And here we were! BJ had his mandolin with him, I had my guitar. There was space for Tanja and I in the back of the car, and we had our own tent. Even my luggage fit. Don't you love it when plans just work? We went to the Tim O'Brian concert there, where we discovered Mr. Cackle. Wow. I have never seen anyone so completely oblivious to their own annoyingness. Think pushy, egotistic, over-enthusiastic, super-talkative and shouting-loud all at the same time. And completely unaware. Did I mention he could cackle? Was truly a sight to behold.

Tim O'Brian was absolutely amazing, by the way. Played every type of bluegrass he could think of on mandolin, fiddle and banjo, backed by a guitar and an acoustic bass. Awesome.

When our sporks combine...

On day two we drove to Taupo and stayed on Rieds Farm, a free campsite funded by local rate payers. It had mowed lawns, toilets, picnic tables and a river. Great times.

White water rafting was next somewhere north of Taupo.

Then the drive through the Forgotten Worlds Highway to New Plymouth. We passed through a "town" (according to the map) called Marco. I found a sign, and being the respectable tourist that I am, climbed it for a photograph. The weather packed in, so we stayed in a backpackers and hit the thermal spa the next day. Good call. I think my favourite memory in New Plymouth was BJ and I jamming outside the pub as we waited for our fish & chips. A cop approached us in mid-song, stopped and said "You boys should put out a hat". Chur.

Next day it was on to Wanganui, by which time the rain had eased. We camped in the campground and went kayaking the next day on the Wanganui river for a few hours. The rest of the team were headed to Wellington. They dropped me in Bulls and, aside for a broken spork (plus a few sundry backpacks), I hitched northwards alone.

Favourite memories include: 3x rush munroes; BBQ in hastings; the "meh" factor; action sandwiches from the back seat; being scolded by BJ for our collective musical ignorance; being bitch-slapped by a passing tree; jamming by the ocean in New Plymouth; sleepless sunrise haka on the beach at Wanganui; asserting burp-master status; crazy restaurant with 40min wait times and an empty till.

What an amazing holiday so far.

So I'm here in Reefton with a little time on my hands, and have decided to write a blog update. How did I get here? Guess there are some gaps to fill. Listen - I tell you.

So if we rewind to where we left off - after the Sziget adventure in August. I had a great night out drinking with a last minute Turkish couchsurfer and a local Irish expat in October, did a night hike with the local Couchsurfing group and a wild ride to Oktoberfest (photos will have to wait till I'm back home) in September, knee surgery (sewn meniscus + replaced anterior cruciate = fun fun fun) in October, and I played tour guide and helped my Kiwi cousin Tamar find winter season work in November.

And with that out of the way, I'm at December where the real story begins. Thomas and I met early one Friday morning, boarded an aeroplane and flew to London Heathrow, then to Singapore, then to Sydney, and then at long bloody last after 32 hours of flying with minimal sleep, no shower stops and no luggage we arrived in Christchurch on Christmas day. I had Christmas dinner with both my parents, Rowena, Maik, Thomas, Simon, Olivia and two other Swiss guys and stayed awake until it was over. Max gave me a rowboat for Christmas which he'd built himself earlier - wow. We stayed there a few days and our luggage arrived - broken, but there. I disappeared into town on the 26th to visit the old gamer crew at a lan party somewhere, crashed over at Paullo's current residence and returned on the 27th.

Then began Convergence. How does one explain Convergence to someone who's never been there? The simple fact is that you can't really explain some 300 people living out on a remote farm as a big extended family for a week or so. I did a music writing course, had lots of hugs, lived on a vegan-only diet (except for the one day we escaped to town for steak and beers), played lots of guitar, mantained (and quality-controlled) the sauna, learnt a haka, lost my voice, and came away with several new perspectives. More than that? You'd have to ask me personally and even then it's a tough one to picture. You just had to be there. Sorry.

Sailing came next. Max, Rowena and I caught some wild southerly winds from Lyttelton harbour and sailed in one 30 hour stint to Cape Jackson. We took shifts and came into the shelter of Cape Jackson at around 2am in blustering winds and high seas. The ship got pooped once and we damaged a kayak. We waited out the next day, then proceeded to make a run through Cook Straight starting at 5am and arriving in Ship Cove shortly after lunch. And this is where I must switch perspectives and tell the tale from Maik and Thomas's point of view. You see, we had agreed to meet these unforutnate lads in Ship Cove the day before, however having been loaned a somewhat unreliable cellphone connected to a somewhat unreliable cellular network, they did not get my message about meeting one day later. Oh, bugger. So off they went, paid their NZ$70 water taxi fare and waited patiently in Ship Cove for us one full day before we actually arrived. Did I mention that Ship Cove had no cellphone reception? Superfail. So by the time we arrived, they'd already paid another NZ$70 to head back to Picton to figure out what the hell was going on - only to be greeted by a hail of text messages, emails and facebook messages from me saying "hope you get this message but we're coming tomorrow" as soon as they came into coverage. Switching back to our perspective, we arrived to find the place deserted. I thought they might come a bit later in the afternoon so I brought a book and sat out at Ship Cove for the afternoon. When evening rolled around with nobody having showen up, I determined that something was up. Did I mention there was no cellphone reception? Ho hum. The next morning we sailed out into the middle of the Queen Charlotte Sound where there was reception, only to receive a hail of text messages saying "guys, where the hell were you? We're back in Picton". So 48 hours behind schedule we made first contact. One further surprise for me. Maik made the decision to skip the sailing trip altogether, and followed his lady friend (whom he met at Convergence) to the north island.

We met in Picton. Sean and Tanya were there too. Expecting bad weather, we spent two days on land doing day walks and exploring Nelson. My knee held out pretty well actually - better than expected. Several of the following days were spent cruising the Queen Charlotte Sound. Had a really nice evening with a fire on the beach, and discovered Punga Cove where they serve Monteith's Black on tap. Day walks, swimming, anchor hopping. Great times. We eventually left Sean and Tanya at Punga Cove and embarked on our sailing journey towards D'Urville Island where we caught a Bigeye Tuna and shared it with some local friends of my dad's. Then on across the bay to Abel Tasman, leaving at 2am and arriving to early morning torrential rain and gusting winds. It eventually cleared, and the bay was beautiful again. Turquoise water, golden beaches, native bush. Just paradise. We swam more, walked more, and eventually walked out from Torrent Bay to Marahau for some well earned tucker and a Monteiths. Hitched to Kaiteriteri with a French spear fisherman, bussed to Nelson, hitched on to Picton to pick up the van (we bought our driver Roses chocolates), drove to Christchurch, and that was the end of the salty sea dog story.

 The Crew

 Catch-and-release fishing

 Resolution Bay (Queen Charlotte Sound), Torrent Bay (Abel Tasman)

 

:D

Gone fishing. Blew NZ$500 on fishing licences, reels, lures and other necessities. Got the boat trailer registered, loaded the van and drove south. Fished the Rakaia. Fought through vertical drops, gorse, blackberries, wild roses, swamp and darkness. Caught nothing. Dropped the boat into Lake Clearwater and Thomas caught two Rainbow Trout. I caught nothing. Visited a friend in Ashburton. Ate the fish. Camped beside Lake Tekapo, launched the boat on it and caught nothing. Stopped at several rivers, but caught nothing. Went walking at Mount Cook village. Went out drinking for the weekend in Queenstown, left the boat there. Drove to Te Anau. Fished in Milford Sound, caught nothing. Walked to the Key Summit. Drove back to Queenstown. Launched the boat on Lake Wakitipu, caught nothing. We did eat the best burgers ever at Ferg Burgers though. So much goodness. Picked up the boat, drove to Wanaka and ate the best spare ribs ever at Uncle Mike's BBQ. Drove to the west coast and launched the boat on Lake Moeraki, caught nothing. Tried on the way, caught nothing. Tried in Reefton, caught nothing. Tried, tried, tried. Caught. Nothing.

So much hope

 Not. Fair.

Hooker Valley, Mt. Cook

Key Summit, Fiordland

And that was the end of our fishing trip. Oh! But we did walk up the Copland Valley to Welcome Flat and back. Five hours in torrential rain to get to the hut, spent a day soaking in the hot pools, and walked out in four and a half hours. It was the big test for my knee. I gave the heavy stuff to Thomas, and all was well.Was great to get off the beaten track and into the bush.

 Singing in the rain, and the hot pools

 

The months following the Sri Lanka trip pale in comparison - at least as far as excitement goes. I got home and it was frozen. Work was waiting for me, and life rumbled on at the same pace it had before I'd left. Aside for a tan and some new perspectives it was as though nothing had changed. February and March disappeared into the cold monotonous haze of the Zürich winter never to be seen again. Sure, I had my share of couchsurfers, jam sessions, DnD, training and other social highlights but without getting above the fog-line and into the mountains, and despite the reprieve of my Sri Lanka trip, Züri winter was slowly but surely getting me down.

This gradual spiralling descent was interrupted and ultimately broken by our company event to Kiruna. The company flew everyone, including partners, on an all expenses weekend trip to Kiruna, the northernmost city in Sweden and situated within the Arctic circle. The company had hired some event organisers to plan the weekend with events. I mean, what can you do with a few hundred people on a frozen river? Well quite a lot, it turns out. We flew up on the Friday morning and spent the afternoon in groups building fortifications for the ensuing snowball tournament. The evening consisted of a fantastic meal at the hotel's restaurant (did I mention we were staying at a ice hotel?) and inevitably ended horribly in the Absolut Ice Bar. I think I need to emphasise the ice hotel bit - it's exactly what it says. The whole thing is built out of ice and compacted snow. There are only curtains in the doorways for privacy, but since it's -5 degrees inside you don't need it that much. It's cunningly lit with LEDs and holes in the ceiling let in natural light. Additionally, it gets rebuilt each year from scratch by construction crews and teams of artists which come from all around the globe to work on it. And the work is amazing.

So anyway, this Absolut Ice bar is built completely out of ice. The bar, the tables, the benches, even the glasses are made of ice. It's cold in there, but fortunately there's plenty to keep the cockles of yer heart warm. The drinks are sweet, cold, and hit you like a silent sledgehammer. I'm normally a relatively controlled drinker, but these drinks sneak up on you like a windshield on a bug. So I was awoken the next morning by the 'wake-up' guy and a hot berry drink. Where was I? How did I get there? Why did my head ache so? No answers - although Moni had a few for me. And the guys at breakfast. And a bunch of other guys I'd never met before. Apparently I told the Sheep joke at least twice ("hey, that's the sheep joke guy!") and was eventually dragged to my sleeping bag by a less than jovial Moni who was even less jovial when I asked her if she'd be pissed off with me if I vomited. She answered in the affirmative so I didn't. On the bright side if I'd had've popped it've been all frozen by the morning - an addition to the hotel by a particularly gifted artist.

Don't think I've ever experienced quite that hard a hangover before, and it lasted the whole day. Didn't even consider going away at any point. Pulled myself up out of my sleeping bag. My boot laces were frozen stiff, which is just the sort of added difficulty you need at that moment. To my utter salvation there was a delicious selection of the fattiest fried breakfast foods I could have thought off. Bacon, sausages, eggs, baked beans, toast... just what a poor man needs in that condition.

The Saturday was spent doing activities. The really awesome ones were dog sledding and driving snow mobiles. (Incredibly, the woman I was paired with managed to prang our snowmobile into the parked one in front of it. That's what brakes are for, luv.) The other notable event was the song recording, where we huddled in a warm hut with some professional recording equipment and sang our own rendition of 'I Will Survive'. Such fun. Least interesting was ice fishing, apparently. Regardless, it was a hard day, and my rest in the nice warm 'regular hotel' with hot shower and fluffy bedding was a blessing.

Sunday was a bit of a chill-out day before climbing aboard our plane and heading back home. And that was the company event. A great way farewell the winter. Back to Zürich, work and routine.

The routine lasted for several months in fact, and then there was the break up of my relationship with Moni. It was a difficult time, but it eventually passed. Moni and I still see each other regularly, play DnD in the same group and maintain contact.

July brought about a birthday party in Grindelwald, the Gurten music festival in Bern, and an insane bike crossing of the Grosse Scheideck involving 1500m of vertical climb, which I accomplished on the Hog. My beer was earned that day.

The major event of August was without question the Sziget music festival in Budapest. My mate Andy and I started in Vienna, crashed a few nights there at Petzi's new flat. She'd received the keys the day we arrived, so thanks to her generosity we had a big empty flat to ourselves for three or four days before the painter came. It's a bit out of Vienna but is wonderfully quiet, and not worrying about waking people up when stumbling in at 4am is a definite luxury. Navigating there's a bit tough though - I played navi for a taxi driver using his map on one night. We got there, eventually.

Hundert Wasserhaus, and riding clumsy rented city bikes.

Chilling in a park, and Apple Strudle in Bretzl Gwolb.

We found hosts in Budapest for the weekend! A lovely family with two kids took us in over the weekend, so just as Vienna was getting historic we took the three or four hour train ride (35 euros) to Budapest. We cooked them dinner one night, played guitar and talked a lot about Hungarian artists and musicians. It was a wonderful interlude before the storm to come, and I think they really enjoyed our company too. Hooray for Couchsurfing! A brief exploratory excursion of the city for a day and it was time to head on to Sziget.

And then we were there on Óbudai-sziget ("Old-Buda Island") on the Danube, bang smack in the middle of Budapest. But to any of the 382,000 people in attendance simply Sziget will do. Getting in on the Monday meant we were able to find a primo camping spot. The ensuing week was simple, undiluted craziness. There were around ten individually themed stages, and another ten or so event locations. There's no way we could hope to have seen everything, so we picked our way through the event schedule and meandered from stage to stage to see the best acts. Sometimes the decisions were painful but I was never disappointed. Andy and I both had a sick day which rendered us useless for around 24 hours. The cause may have been any or a combination of the following: alcohol, smoking, diet, heat, dehydration, sleep deficiency, over partying, hygiene, or as-yet medically unproven factors. We don't know which, but once our respective 24 hours were up all was well again and party time resumed. A typical day consisted of being woken up by a continual thunderous, pounding roar from the Headbanger's Hall. Down the street to the nice pizza lady for a slice, then to the espresso girl. Shower if the queues weren't too long, brush teeth and go for a mindless meander around the camp. Then it was time to grab the camping stools and assemble by the Blues Bar for the first beer of the day. The rest of the day divided between making friends, catching acts, eating (maybe crêpes for variation) and drinking. Add occasional events of notable craziness (such as playing in mud, being struck by the gods themselves or being sent on one's way by Neanderthal torch-swinging bouncers) and the day swiftly becomes action packed. The bottom line is that it was a hullova great festival, and I've got every intention of going back. Long live Sziget!