Universal Traveler

Just a dude with a backpack, a plane ticket, and a nasty case of intercontinental wanderlust.

Name:
Location: Minnesota, United States

Friday, March 25, 2005

The Never-Ending Superultramegapost From Hell

As some of you (i.e., my mom) may have noticed, it has been a long time since I updated the ol' blog. My apologies to all of you...it's been a very busy and eventful week and a half. Since I have kept you in the dark for so long, I've decided to satisfy your Universal appetites by bringing you up to speed with THE NEVER-ENDING SUPERULTRAMEGAPOST FROM HELL!!!

So...when I left off I had just finished my kayak trip on Doubful Sound. I think I covered that pretty well in my last post, but pictures were conspicuously absent. Well, I actually didn't take too many pictures on the trip (it was drizzling most of the time and I was too busy paddling), but here's what I have. These two pics were taken from the shore of our campsite on Hall Arm after the first day of paddling. I think they capture the overall feel of Doubtful Sound pretty well:

After finishing the kayak trip and hanging around in Te Anau for a while, I set off to walk the Kepler Track, one of New Zealand's nine so-called "Great Walks." In general, I think the "Great Walks" term is more of a DOC marketing device than an actual indicator of the quality of the track. You can often see scenery that is just as beautiful on less well-known tracks, but the Great Walks usually feature well-groomed trails and hostel-like huts with gas cookers and flush toilets, which make them prime targets for tourists that don't usually go hiking. An unfortunate side effect of these posh amenities is the cost of walking the track...it actually costs more to stay in a hut on the Kepler Track than it would to stay in a hostel! I took issue with this, so I devised a plan to hike the track in such a way that I would not have to stay in any of the expensive Great Walk huts. This turned out to be one of the best decisions I've made in a long time.

I started by combining the first two days of the hike into one, creating an exhausting 10-hour day. I set off walking at sunrise to make the most of the daylight. At the time, Lake Te Anau was shrouded in a thick fog, making for a cool and refreshing early-morning stroll. I walked along the lake for a few hours and then began to climb the grade leading up to Mt. Luxmore. As I gained alititude, I was able to get above the fog, and once the bush thinned out I was treated to gorgeous views of Cloud Land:

I continued along the track, stopping briefly at the Luxmore Hut for lunch. By this time the track had reached the sub-alpine level, and the landscape was covered with scrub and grassy tussocks:

For a little side trip, I ditched my pack and scrambled up to the summit of Mt. Luxmore. Here is a photo of the trig station at the top. You can see Lake Te Anau in the background:

I trekked through the sub-alpine zone, admiring the panoramic views, fresh air, and tranquility. After a long day (and what seemed like a million switchbacks), I descended into the Iris Burn Valley and camped next to the Iris Burn hut. The valley was damp and misty the following morning:

I spent the day hiking alongside the river. In contrast to the dry sub-alpine environment of the previous day, the valley was lush and green. In this picture, I came across what seemed to be a sea of ferns:

Eventually I came to the Shallow Bay hut on Lake Manapouri, where I would spend the second night. Shallow Bay turned out to be, by no small margin, the best feature of this track. The beach there was clean, quiet, secluded, and peaceful, and the weather was absoultely perfect. Scarcely a cloud in the sky, and nary a breeze to disturb the clear, cold water:

Later that evening, I caught a great sunset on the shores of Lake Manapouri:

I spent the night in the six-bunk Shallow Bay hut, which seemed plenty quaint:

However, a terrible secret was revealed to me at about 9:30 that night: the Shallow Bay hut has a serious mosquito problem. They came out just as I was nestling into my sleeping bag, and they would leave not even the smallest bit of exposed skin unpunctured. I ended up having to sleep with my head under the covers of the sleeping bag...not very comfortable.

Thankfully, I survived the night, and the following day was looking just as beautiful as the one before. Since I was in no hurry, and it was so pretty and peaceful there, I decided to spend another day just hanging around Shallow Bay. And since I had my tent with me, I was able to set that up to provide protection from the "mozzies:"

After another beautiful day (and night) at Shallow Bay, I finished the track and headed back to Te Anau to recharge. I spent a couple of days with Kelly and Nadja, travelers from The Netherlands and Germany, respectively. Since I was the youngest in the group (I'm 24, Nadja was 26, and Kelly was in her 30's), they took to calling me "Benjamin." I'm not sure why Europeans use this term for young people, but they certainly got a kick out of it.

Anyways, after hanging out in Te Anau for a couple days, I was eager to get out for a bit. So I decided that I would take the 3-hour round trip drive up to Milford Sound on the infamous Milford Road. Thus began the chapter in my story that I like to call:

THE SOUND AND THE FURY

The drive itself up to Milford Sound is pretty spectacular itself, so I was making plenty of stops to get out, take in the views, and snap a few photos. Here's one I took just before I plunged into the stygian depths of the Homer Tunnel:

(Note: The fact that some random guy's ass is prominently featured in the photo is an accident...AN ACCIDENT!!!)

Anywho, I was starting to notice that when Blue Steel would slow down and start to idle, the engine would bog down just a little. I didn't think anything of it at first. Unfortunately, the symptom was brought to the forefront of my attention when, as I turned into the parking lot at The Chasm, about 20 km from Milford Sound, the car stalled. Not good. I coasted into the lot and tried to restart the engine, to no avail. REALLY not good. Eventually I gave up and had to push the car into a parking spot. I was scratching my head trying to figure out what was going wrong. There was plenty of gas, plenty of oil, and everything under the hood seemed to be in its right place. But still she would not start. I was slowly getting used to the idea that I might not be driving back to Te Anau in my own car. Luckily, a sympathetic English couple offered to give me a ride back into town so I could talk to a mechanic.

To make a long story short, Blue Steel got towed all the way back to Te Anau, where the mechanic diagnosed the problem as distributor trouble. Apparently the distributor coil had blown. But no problem: he would just order a new coil, install it, and then I'd be good as gold. It was going to take a few days, though, so rather than sit around Te Anau and twiddle my thumbs, I decided to head out on another trek through Mt. Aspiring National Park.

My plan was to start at The Divide, just off the Milford Road, and link up the Greenstone and Caples tracks with a steep climb over Steele Saddle along the Steele Creek Route. In the morning, I caught a ride up to The Divide with a group of Milford sightseers and started off through the beautiful Greenstone Valley:

After two days in the Greenstone Valley, I began the 10-hour hike up to Steele Saddle. The Steele Creek Route was especially challenging because it's a route instead of a track. This means that there is no defined trail to follow, only trail markers...it's up to you to find the best route between markers. I will admit that I got a bit lost a few times...at one point I even missed a forest re-entry that was marked with three cairns and two blazes. Duh. Anyways, it got to be extremely tough going once I got above the bushline, as the landscape was covered with scrub brush and tussocks that I literally had to force my way through. It's a good thing I had gaiters on hand, or my legs would have been scratched to hell.

I took this picture as I was nearing the saddle and trying desperately to force my way through all that scrub brush. Steele Creek is in the lower left:

This is a shot from the top of Steele Saddle, looking back along the route towards the Greenstone Valley. It was a long hike!:

Me, triumphant after my conquest of Steele Saddle:

The route down the other side of the Saddle was ridiculously steep, and my knees took a pretty good beating. I couldn't believe that people actually tackled this route in the other direction! Eventually I made it down to the Upper Caples hut, where I relaxed and recuperated for one last day of hiking.

On the last day I made my way over McKellar Saddle and back to The Divide. Two sub-alpine saddles in two days...not too shabby! I was really tired by this point, though, so the trek was a bit of a chore. I was relieved to make it back to the parking lot, where I hitched a ride back to Te Anau with a geophysicist from Denver. Apparently he was in New Zealand to go on caving expeditions, a hobby of his. And here's another one for the "it's a small world" file: I found out he went to University City High School, which isn't more than a couple of minutes from Wash U!

He dropped me off at the service station in Te Anau so I could pick up Blue Steel and head back to the hostel. However, I was in for a bit of a shock. I walked into the garage and said "I'm the owner of the blue Honda Civic," and the mechanic sort of shuddered. Not a good sign. The conversation that followed went something like this:

"Is everything was alright with the car?"
"No. Did you enjoy your walk?"
"Yeah, it was great."
"That's good, because you might be doing a lot more walking."
"Uh oh. What's the matter?"
"Well, this car has never had regular oil changes, so there's wear all along the cam shaft and cylinder head, which caused the cam shaft to seize, which caused the pulley gear to slip on its axis, which threw off the engine timing and blew the distributor coil."
"Okay...so what are my options?"
"Well, professionally, I shouldn't even put the engine back together in this condition, but I could order a new pulley gear and try to polish the camshaft and cylinder head, but I wouldn't guarantee the car to drive more than 5 feet in that condition. To replace the camshaft and cylinder head would cost more than the car is worth."
"What's the other option?"
"We can charge you $80 to dump the car for you."
"Uh, alright. So what you're saying is there are no good options?"
"Exactly."

I'm not sure why, but at this point I recalled an old Star Trek episode, where Captain Kirk learns of the death of one of his extraterrestrial love interests. Of course, you have Dr. "Bones" McCoy there with his standard blunt delivery: "She's dead, Jim."

She's dead, Jim. Blue Steel is dead.

I suppose I could have taken a gamble and had the mechanic polish the worn spots and rebuild the engine, but who knows when it would have broken down again? On top of that, I could not in good conscience attempt to sell this car to anyone after I was finished with it. It was a time bomb waiting to go off. So I made the decision to put Blue Steel, after a lifetime of abuse, out of her misery.

As weird as it may sound, I think I actually went through the 5 stages of grieving with Blue Steel:

1. DENIAL: "I can't believe this is happening. I mean, what are the odds? This is the sort of shit that's supposed to happen to other travelers, not me!"

2. ANGER: "Dammit, of all the times for this car to quit, it had to be NOW?!?!? I bet the dude who sold this car knew it was in terminal condition...the bastard! Oh, cruel fate, why dost thou torment me so?!?!?"

3. BARGAINING: "Maybe she'll still run if I polish the cam shaft and use some fancy engine additives...then I might at least be able to finish the trip with the car intact. You can make it, Blue Steel...I just know you can!"

4. DEPRESSION: "Jeez, I am so f---ed. All that money, vanished like a fart in the breeze. What the hell am I going to do now?"

5. ACCEPTANCE: "Okay, there is a harsh reality to face: the car is dead. But that's in the past, and there's nothing I can do about it now. Look...I willed this trip into existence. I embarked on my own terms, I am going to continue on my own terms, and I will quit on my own terms. No goddamn car is going to tell me when it's time to give up and go home. F--- that. You hear that, fate? Is that the best you've got? You can't stop me! I'm the Universal Traveler! The Universal goddamn Traveler! I'm INVINCIBLE!!!"

So there you have it. That's how the last week and a half went down. I hit the highest natural highs the Fiordlands have to offer. I suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. But I'm still going. Yesterday I took the bus into Wanaka, the last outpost before heading out along the West Coast. I'm taking a day or two just to relax, collect my thoughts, and plan my next move. I'm not exactly sure where I'll go next, but hopefully I'll be better in the future about keeping you all updated. Stay tuned!

Blue Steel (The Wonder Car), R.I.P.

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Doubtfully Yours

Aaaaand I'm back. I just finished up a 3-day Doubtful Sound kayak trip in Fiordland National Park, which was an awesome experience. Kayaking is a great way be a part of the fiords for a bit, as it gets you away from the terrestrial crowds and allows you to cruise along in relative silence. Doubtful Sound is especially peaceful, simply by virtue of its inaccessibility: to get to the beach where we were to put our kayaks in, we had to take a 45 minute boat ride across Lake Manapouri, transfer our gear to a van/trailer, and take a 30 minute drive over a mountain pass on a dirt road to Deep Cove. There are no direct roads from civilization to Doubtful Sound...you always have to take a boat at some point.

Anyways, on to the actual trip. Let's start out with the crew. We were a motley bunch, to say the least. First of all, there were eight of us (seven not counting Adrian, our Kiwi guide), and six of us were Americans! This is the first time that this has happened to me in NZ...usually Americans seem pretty scarce. Because four of the Americans were all friends, the team became loosely split into two (friendly) "factions:" the four American buddies and, well, everybody else. Now, I don't usually like to pass judgment or make sweeping generalizations about people I hardly know, but I think that something needs to be said about the American friends: they were all huge nerds. There was Alfred the computer programmer (yes, I know I am a computer programmer, too, but this guy was a STEREOTYPICAL computer programmer), his wife, Claudia the librarian, Jonathan the finance manager, and Dan the accountant. A computer geek, a librarian, a finance manager, and a bean-counter...Jesus tapdancing Christ, that's like a laundry list of the world's most boring professions. Anyways, in the other faction there was me, Adrian, Will (who "breaks" horses for the US Forest Service in Wyoming), and Lee, a graphic designer from Manchester, England, described by Adrian as "quite a cheeky pom." Although the nerds kept pretty quiet during most of the trip (stunted social skills?) the rest of us were able to entertain ourselves quite well. Lee had made an observation that characters in American movies say "goddammit" a lot (apparently quite a bit moreso than in England), so we had a running joke of shouting, "goddammit!" in an exaggerated John Wayne accent whenever the opportunity presented itself. Got bit by a sandfly? "Goddammit!" Morning coffee too weak? "Goddammit!" You get the picture.

Things were looking pretty rough when we met at HQ at 6 AM on Thursday...it had been pouring all night, and we were getting reports that the sound was looking pretty rough. But we pressed on anyways. When we got to Deep Cove, the water was covered in whitecaps and it was raining like crazy. Supposedly there was going to be a southwesterly change that would bring better weather, so it turned into a waiting game. We hung out inside a government-owned hostel used by NZ schoolkids, had lunch, and twiddled our thumbs. After about 5 hours things finally started to clear and we jumped at the chance to get going. Although it was still cloudy and drizzly, we were very fortunate to be kayaking at that moment, because the deluge had generated a TON of temporary waterfalls and cascades. It was unbelievable...everywhere you turned you were greeted by at least one spectacular waterfall, some starting from over 1000 meters above sea level. Later that day we set up an improvised campsite at the spot where the two-day kayak trippers normally spend the night. We had a rain and insect shelter for cooking and socializing, and Macpac tents for sleeping. After a potent dinner of ramen noodles with beans, tuna, and powdered soup mix, I fell asleep to the sound of waterfalls in the distance.

The weather on the second day was a lot better. We did a strenuous 23 km paddle to a campsite on Crooked Arm. A lot of the previous day's waterfalls had disappeared, but the break in the weather allowed us to take in views of the steep fiord walls and mountains in the distance. The highlight of the day was running into a pod of about 15 bottlenose dolphins. Apparently they like to fish and rear their young in the sounds, and we were able to see them up close as they surfaced. Really cool.

Although we were all enjoying ourselves, by the third day we were all eager to get back to the comforts of civilzation. We started paddling back to Deep cove, and about halfway a long a pretty good tailwind picked up. So Adrian suggested that we sail for a bit. It's hard to explain how this works, but basically all the kayaks "raft" together, and the paddlers in front grab the bottom of the sail while the rear paddlers hoist the top of the sail up on their paddles. Long story short, we enjoyed a leisurely, wind-powered cruise most of the way back to Deep Cove. It was a nice way to end the trip.

It just happened that the last day of the trip was also Lee's birthday, so we all met at a restaurant called Bailez later that night. We all dug into satisfying, meaty fare (mostly burgers and steaks), and Lee, Will and I went out for beers afterwards. We ended up closing down a local bar called The Moose, which was an interesting experience, to say the least. The place was filled with Te Anau locals, most of them thoroughly drunk and dancing (convulsing, rather) to tunes provided by a crappy local cover band called "Charma." (What kind of weak-ass name is "Charma?" Apparently these guys did not go to the SmackDab School of Band-Naming). Anyways, we were trying to finish up a game of pool when we got shouted down by one of the bartenders for holding things up and keeping the bar from closing. I was ready to turn tail and go, but Lee was having none of it. In his own special Manchester style, he "cheekily" rebuked the bartender for her attitude and language (which was colorful). I thought there might be a "scrap" if thing got any more out of hand, but thankfully we were all able to escape unscathed.

Anyways, since my arms and shoulders got such a good workout from kayaking, I've decided to turn it into a total-body workout by starting the Kepler Track tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have the chance to post some photos once I get back from that. Adios!

Monday, March 07, 2005

The Great Dunedin Gorge-Fest

So I've been back in Dunedin for the past few days, just maxin' and relaxin' and waiting for my fancy back-up boots to come. As I may have mentioned earlier, Dunedin is, so far, my favorite "big" city in New Zealand. Of course, I only have Auckland, Christchurch, and the ferry terminal at Wellington to compare it to, but hey, take it for what it's worth.

I've been staying with Hanne since I've been here, and somehow we both decided to use my visit as an excuse to stuff ourselves silly. It's almost like I've been visiting my grandparents or relatives..."eat, eat...you must eat!" Anyways, we kicked things off with a visit to Thai Over, one of Dunedin's well known curry joints. I ordered pad thai, but they served it in an interesting way that I had never seen before. Basically, the noodles and spices were all the same, but they took the noodles and wrapped them in a thin egg omelette in lieu of having fried egg strips in the noodles. It tasted about the same as traditional pad thai, but I gotta give them points for originality. Afterwards, I ordered a cheap sundae for dessert that turned out to be a monstrous, four-scoop leviathan which I couldn't even bring myself to finish. Things were off to a good start.

The next day we drove to Port Chalmers, a hip artistic suburb of Dunedin, and then headed up to the Moeraki boulders, stopping at Palmerston along the way for some coffee. Of course, I had already seen the boulders, but since Hanne is so geologically inclined and she doesn't have a car, it was the least I could do to drive up there to take another look. For dinner, we cooked up a tasty batch of New Zealand's famous green mussels, boiled in a tangy sauce of white wine, garlic, onions, and red chiles. We also managed to scarf an entire loaf of bread between the two of us. Not sure how that happened.

The gluttony continued the next morning when I decided to whip up a traditional American breakfast: blueberry pancakes with maple syrup and hickory-smoked bacon. I have to say, it was a really nice reminder of the comforts of home. Memories of the camping trips of my youth(where my family most often made blueberry pancakes) made them taste even better. After breakfast, it was mostly a lazy day of running errands. We went down to the University of Otago computer lab, where I was able to crank out two blog posts...for free! Take that, internet cafes. I also managed to swing by the post office and grab my back-up boots, which will hopefully be able to see me through the rest of my NZ tramping activities. Later that night, Hanne cooked up a Norwegian specialty dish. I can't remember what it was called, but she said that it loosely translated to "lumpy soup." Sounds appetizing, huh? It was basically boiled milk with dumplings, served with cinnamon and sugar. Like most Norwegian dishes, it had a rather subdued color palette of white and brown. Ah, those Norwegians...not much for presentation, are they? Despite its lack of visual appeal, it tasted quite good. After dinner, we went down to the movie theater and saw The Aviator while dispatching a large popcorn, two cokes, and a bag of M&M's. See, I told you I was eating nonstop! I enjoyed the movie, too...look for it in an upcoming Universal Media Review installment!

Anyways, in an hour or so I'll be heading off on another road trip to Te Anau, on the other side of the island. I'll have a day or so to gear up for my Doubtful Sound kayak trip, which will finish up on Sunday. I probably won't post again until after I get back, so take care and stay tuned!

When we walked in fields of gold...

Well, I have certainly had my fill of the central Otago goldfields over the past week. As you may recall from a previous post, I was drifting between the old mining settlements of Alexandra, Clyde, and others, leading up to a weekend sojourn in Queenstown.

In all honesty, Queenstown itself was not as intense as I expected it to be. I think it comes down to this: in Q-Town, you only have to deal with as much hype and "extreme-ness" as you subject yourself to. Since I wasn't really interested in doing any bungee jumping or skydiving or canyoning or extreme pancake flipping or anything like that, I was largely able to avoid most of that nonsense.

Times were good, overall. On Friday I met a group of English and Scottish folks who were working in New Zealand through the BUNAC organization. They were all planning on spending at least 8 weeks working in Queenstown. I wondered about their choice of location, but hey, whatever floats your boat, right? Anyways, I went to see the movie Closer with Andy (see previous post), and afterwards we met everyone else at a bar called Brazz for happy hour.

The concept of "happy hour" in Queenstown deserves special explanation. If you know what you're doing, happy hour basically means anytime in between 5 PM and 2 AM the next day. Bars will often have an early happy hour after people leave work, and then a later one to get people back in the bars at night. Since no two happy hours between bars are the same, you can essentially bounce from bar to bar in a state of perpetual happiness. Apparently, someone actually publishes a guide to explain all this.

Anyways, after a hearty (and cheap) dinner of sausages and beans, I embarked with an Irish group to The World Bar, which serves half-price "teapots" from 10 to 11. A teapot is just a traditional teapot filled with a boozy drink of your choice, conveniently served with little shot glasses to share with friends. We were able to tear through several teapots in that hour, each of a different flavor. After a few subsequent beers and gin and tonics, I was sure that I would be in for a rough night, and definitely hurting the next day. Luckily, I was improbably saved by a gift from the gods called...

...The Fergburger.

When we left the bars at around 3 AM, someone suggested that we grab a few Fergburgers for late night sustenance. What is a Fergburger, you ask? Why, only the BEST DAMN HAMBURGER I have had since I arrived in New Zealand, thank you! They are administered from a seedy-looking little hole in the wall, nestled deep in a dark, unassuming alley. They are thick and juicy and served with interesting ingredients like aioli and coleslaw and Brie cheese. They are, indeed, damn tasty.

But are they worth waiting 45 minutes for?

That was the question we were asking ourselves when we saw the impressive queue of famished partyers waiting for their Fergburgers. Unfortunately, the Fergburger shack is not a model of Western industrialized efficiency. We really did end up waiting 45 minutes for our burgers. Luckily, we were entertained by a super-drunk English pool shark for most of that time. He spent a good fifteen minutes ranting about the rule variations he found in New Zealand pool halls, which apparently made it difficult for him to hustle people for free beers. When he found out I was from Minnesota, he was actually able to talk about the Vikings and Twins! I was shocked that he even cared about baseball and American football. And once his number was finally called, he struck a pose and did a little dance of joy that looked strangely like Ryu's "shoryuken" uppercut from the Street Fighter 2 arcade game. What a guy.

Anyways, as I was saying earlier, I had subjected myself to an unholy alliance of alcohols that would surely spell disaster for the coming hours. But that's where the magic of the Fergburger comes in. Somehow its careful selection of fresh ingredients and robust, juicy flavor were able to purge all those nasty toxins from my body, and when I woke up the next morning I felt like a million damn dollars. Because I had not consumed even a single glass of water before bed, I could only attribute my unexpectedly pleasant condition to the wonderful, magical, mystical Fergburger.

Wow, I just realized that I've written damn near an entire treatise on a slab of ground beef placed between two halves of a bun. That must mean it's time for me to sign off. I plan on heading to Te Anau in the Fiordlands sometime tomorrow, where I will gear up for my upcoming Doubtful Sound kayak trip! I'll keep you all posted as I "get back to nature."

Sunday, March 06, 2005

Universal Media Review No. 1

And now for something completely different...

One thing I've realized about traveling for a long time is that you have plenty of opportunities to catch up on your reading. I've been through about 4 books (and 2 movies) since I arrived in NZ, so I figured I would take a moment to critique them in a little segment I like to call...

...UNIVERSAL MEDIA REVIEW!!!

I'll describe each bit of media briefly, provide some commentary, and then assign a "Universality Factor," on a scale from 1 to 1o, 1 being the least universal, 10 being the most. The more universal the better, of course.

Book One: The Beach by Alex Garland

You may recognize this book by its Hollywood adaptation, starring Leonardo DiCaprio. I never saw the movie, but I seem to remember hearing that it sucked. Well, as far as the book goes, I place it firmly in the "so-so" category. I was initially drawn to the book because it's about a group of 20-something backpackers in Thailand. While stuck on the infamous Khao San Road in Bangkok, the protagonist stumbles across, somewhat cheesily, a handwritten map drawn by the enigmatic Mr. Duck, who constantly mumbles about "that *$&#ing beach" right up until he mysteriously commits suicide. A tale of adventure and intrigue then unfolds as the protagonist and his intrepid French cohorts search for, and find, the beach. What follows is a traditional "paradise lost"-style narrative, with hints of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness or, more recently, the film Apocalypse Now (minus those wily VC and Marlin Brando). All in all, I give it a Universality Factor of 6.

Book Two: Once Were Warriors by Alan Duff

This book tells of the plight of a Maori family, the Heke's, living in an infamous New Zealand subdivision (read: ghetto) called Pine Block. Led by the well-intentioned but self-destructive matriarch Beth Heke, the family struggles with poverty, domestic abuse, street gangs, and other plights. Being from the USA and having already read a fair amount of fiction and nonfiction about the numerous American ghettoes (There Are No Children Here, etc.), it was interesting to hear about the NZ counterpart. The book was a little difficult to read in spots, as it switches between 3rd person narration, 1st person musings, and dialogue, on a whim, often without any helpful clues like, say, quotation marks. Still, an enjoyable read, and an interesting contrast to the sugar-coated view of the Maori put forth by NZ tourism organizations. Universality Factor: 8.

Book Three: A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson

This is, by no small margin, the most readable nonfiction book I have ever laid eyes on. Basically, it is an expansive rough guide to science (chemistry, physics, biology, geology) from the beginning of the universe right up through modern humans. Sounds ambitious, huh? Well, I really have to give credit to Mr. Bryson...he has taken a ridiculous amount of exceedingly complex material, reduced it down to the Cliff's Notes level, and presented it in an entertaining and accessible way. Hell, even slack-jawed mouth-breathers like myself can enjoy it! He accomplishes this feat partially by interspersing fascinating tales of squabbling scientists, mad eccentrics, and theoretical divas among the more weighty material, creating an engrossing human interest element. This is the first Bill Bryson book I have read, but I can assure you it will not be the last. In fact, A Short History is just so damn universal, I have to bestow upon it a Universality Factor of 9.

Book Four: Stupid White Men by Michael Moore

Alright, let the groaning and eye-rolling begin. I picked this book up for free at a hostel's book exchange because, as you can imagine, I was desperate for something to read at the moment. It's a typical Michael Moore rant: heavy on polemic and hyperbole, light on substance. Each chapter can typically be reduced to controversial but easy-to-swallow nuggets such as: "Rich people suck," "Kill Whitey" (that's the actual title of one of the chapters), "Men are pigs," and so on. Now, I typically identify myself as a fairly "progressive" person, and a lot of my political leanings fall to the left of center. On the continuum of American politics, I probably qualify as a solid liberal. Even so, I just cannot stomach Moore's knee-jerk reaction of blaming "the usual suspects" (i.e., rich, white men) for all of society's ills. It's just too easy. He sees white, the prototypical Christian fundamentalist WASPs see black, and all the shades of grey in between go unnoticed (but for the valiant efforts of the Knights of Truth at Your Thoughts Exactly). I might be able to handle all this if the book were actually funny, as the endorsements on the cover trumpet: "The angrier Moore gets, the funnier he gets!" Uh, no. The angrier he gets, the more he grates on my nerves, the less sense he makes, and the more I feel like I need a stiff drink. Universality Factor: 3.

Movie 1: Maria Full of Grace

I saw this Colombian film at Arrowtown's overpriced but sumptously comfortable Dorothy Brown's Cinema. It's the story of Maria Alvarez, a 17-year-old Colombian girl, who tires of her job at a rose plantation and decides to become an international drug runner. She ingests a batch of cocaine-filled pellets and hops on an airliner from Bogota to New York. Of course, everything goes wrong along the way, and she is forced to use her wits and cunning to survive the streets of NYC. A typical drug film in a lot of ways, but I still enjoyed it. In fact, for reasons that I don't quite understand, I almost always tend to enjoy drug films. (No, Mom, it's not because I'm on drugs). This one deserves a Universality Factor of 7.

Movie 2: Closer

Okay, last review. I saw this one with an English film nut named Andy that I met in Queenstown. It's about two men and two women whose lives constantly intertwine as they create and mercilessly destroy a series of messy, angst-ridden relationships. It seems as though they are inescapably bound to indulge every single impulsive, self-destructive libidinal urge they encounter and then describe, in excruciating detail, their misdeeds to their partners. Somehow they manage to be incredibly honest and incredibly dishonest at the same time. I get the impression that they revel in their own dysfunction. Maybe I am being a bit too harsh and judgmental here. But here's the thing: I certainly don't handle my own relationships this way, and I can honestly say that I've never met anyone who has. The first thing I thought after leaving the theater was, "When the hell am I ever going to meet somebody who acts like this?" Seriously, people like this do not exist in my little world. In the end, the movie was interesting and pretty entertaining, but I (clearly) just could not relate to or empathize with the characters. So I give it a Universality Rating of 5. (Edit: One thing this movie does have going for it is its soundtrack. Ever since I saw the film, I've had The Smiths' "How Soon is Now" in my head, and I've always liked the Damien Rice song that plays during the credits.)

That's it for now. Stay tuned for more editions of Universal Media Review in the future!

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Wherever I may roam, where I lay my head is home

Just a quick post for the moment, as internet usage is sort of expensive where I am (Arrowtown), and I don't have all that much to report after all.

I currently find myself in a weird in-between phase of my travels, where I seem to be drifting, more or less. I will admit that it is a situation I have created for myself...unnecessarily, for the most part. After I left Wanaka, I had the idea that I wanted to see Queenstown for at least a day, but I somehow got it in my head that I should splurge for a single rather than a dorm, where drunken revelers would no doubt be stumbling in at all hours of the night. So I booked way in advance for a single for this Friday. In the meantime, though, I was scratching my head trying to think of nearby places to go. I decided to rule out any long hikes due to the condition of my boots, so instead I've basically been criscrossing the central Otago goldfields, visiting small towns along the way. I've stopped by Alexandra, Clyde, Glenorchy, Kinloch, and Arrowtown. Never heard of them before? Probably because there isn't a whole lot going on in either of them.

In retrospect, I realize that a lot of the decisions I made were based on faulty reasoning. Queenstown, despite all the hype and craziness, is still just another town, and I should have just stopped by for a night when it was convenient. And even if I decided to keep my Friday booking, I should have treated myself to a decent-sized hike in the meantime, if for no other reason than to provide cheap entertainment for a few days.

So, as you can probably tell, I am a bit frustrated with myself for ending up in this position. Despite the fact that I will be in NZ for a total of almost 3 months, I still feel like my time here is precious, and that I haven't been making the greatest use of it as of late. BUT...I realize that everybody makes mistakes, and that, being inexperienced as a long-term traveler, I am certainly due my share of them. I hope to be able to learn from this week and treat it as a lesson...to live every week to the fullest.

There is light at the end of the tunnel, of course. After I leave Queenstown, I'm heading back to Dunedin for a couple days to catch up with Hanne and pick up a pair of back-up boots (the sturdier leather kind) that my mom sent to me (thanks, Mom!). After Dunedin, I'm heading to Te Anau to start my Fiordland adventuring, which I've been looking forward to for some time. Late next week I will be doing a 3-day guided kayak trip through the Doubtful Sound, which I think will be awesome. My hopes are boosted by a glowing report from Hopie of her recent kayaking experience in the Abel Tasman National Park.

Anyways, I'm sure I'll have the chance to update again once I get to Dunedin. In the meantime, notes of encouragement are appreciated! Catch you all on the flipside...