Listen.

"When you tug at a single thing in nature, you find it attached to the rest of the world"
-John Muir

The Tree at the Top of the World [Written Feb 6th, 2009]

The first major "overcoming-fear-and-affirming-self-confidence" experience I had in New Zealand was a feat to climb. More literally: a climb with my feet.

Up a tree.
A very tall tree. 

This particular tree reached for the sky at the top of Paul's property, the highest point of all the surrounding hills.

Let me begin with a little background story...
One or two of you might remember a time when I was 

conquered by a certain tree. This tree was a solitary-standing thorn-tree that planted its roots right in front of the River Forest Library, right next to Roosevelt Middle School (my junior-high). We were playing football, per our usual after-school routine, all of us 15 year-olds delaying the inevitable going home to the parents. I was on the defending team, chasing down my friend who was about to receive a pass. As a proper d-back following protocol, I kept my eyes on the ball, feeling out in front of me for the receiver in order to follow him (just kidding, I knew nothing about football at this point). Well, without making it seem unnecessarily heroic, I basically chased down the thorn-tree instead of the receiver. I'm pretty sure I knocked down the ball, but it cost me 9 stitches in the forehead.

The tree won, needless to say. 

But it wouldn't be long before I would have my revenge.

The day before leaving the Harris family, I had the sudden urge to climb as high as possible, bound by no safety equipment. Aka-free climb tallest nearby tree. I packed my camera up, threw the bag on my back and started up...

I went up...and UP. I never looked down. 

[Except for this picture, past the first part of the tree]

[The upper part of the three-limbed tree. Not three separate trees!]

[I'm in there]

I reached for the last few twigs at the canopy of pine-needles above my head. It was extremely dense with young branch networks, all fighting there way to the top for the glorious sun... 

I didn't come this far not to see what it was like above the tree... 

[Not sure what possessed me to throw out the heavy-metal sign at that particular moment, but this one's for you, Johnny]

I burst through the pine needles, wiped the webs and bark-dust from my eyes and experienced the first rush of spine-tingling chills I've had since first discovering the band The Mercury Program. The chills resonated throughout my limbs, tickling my cerebral cortex and rapidly focusing my pupils in and out. It lasted for quite an extended period of time. I took in the biggest breath I could, and absorbed as much of the 360 degrees of landscape as I could. I was holding on to a tiny stick with all my strength as the wind blew the tree back and forth, knocking me around. Eventually, I found myself numbed, completely in awe. I released some of the tension in my shoulder and arm muscles, feeling suddenly confident that I wouldn't fall. I lightened my weight and balanced myself using just the palms of my feet. All of a sudden, my body started shifting naturally with the tree, as opposed to a foreign object latched on. The tree accepted me, and I invested my trust in it. This agreement allowed me to perch up there for a full 40-minutes, observing all that was below. I saw miles and miles of rolling hills, dense with the tea-tree, clearings for pasture and regenerating bush. I saw the coast to the north and the east, the pine forest to the west and the native bush to the south. I looked as far as I could in every direction, appreciating every depth of field between my feet and the furthest tree I could make out. 

[There's Sarah, somewhere down there at the top of the hill]

Eventually, my eyes began to focus on the networks of spider-webs that have likely never been seen or affected by human presence before. These nets of silky fresh webs were constructed much like that of the volleyball variety, posted inbetween two of the highest little branches at the top of this section of the tree. It caught and launched balls of air much like a sling shot, if you could imagine it going back and forth. This was prime real estate for the little eight-legged mutants at the top of the world. 

As I suspect will be the case for many of my experiences here, no picture could ever depict the visual  stimulation I had in the tree.

It wasn't until I heard the call for my final dinner here I started my rapid descent... 

Paul and Antonia (and Ruby) Harris [written Feb. 5, 2009]

The Postman took us to Ngunguru, just west of Whangarei, where we met the Harris family. Paul-37, Antonia-40, and Ruby-4 years old, live on a small home-made cob/earth-house perched atop one of the tallest of the nearby rolling hills. The bush is thick with young, regenerating tea-tree and the view from the dinner table stretches all the way out to the nearby coastal beaches. A bit of a closer look informs you that there aren't people for miles. The isolation gives them what they believe to be the most freedom possible. Lifestyle= Green planet + Liberty, in all senses of both terms.

Half of the area they live in isn't even mapped on Google Earth.

This statement should invoke shock in at least two different directions...

[Note: The following pictures in no way depict the vibrancy of this place. They were last minute documentations I snapped shortly before leaving.]

[Paul and Toni's bedroom, Ruby's trampoline]

Paul and Toni live a beautiful, natural life farming their land, nearly self-sustained in terms of vegetables and fruit. They collect rainwater, use solar power and a self-composting toilet.

[Composting bathroom, inside there is a view out over the bush from the toilet!]

Among other things, they grow tomatoes, citrus and banana trees, allowing them to become basically disconnected from the dependency of civilization. This is not seen as a negative and voluntary exile or expatriation, but simply an effort towards what they consider a necessity for the sustainability of a finite planet they so delicately cherish (Earth).

[Paul's jewelry-making studio.]

Their sun-shower, a floating wooden platform, resides down just a few stone steps from the main house, outside, in a small bush quarry.

[Bathe in the sun with the birds]

The area is spotted with banana trees and various entertaining wild birds, not far off from certain birds of paradise that star in the BBC's Planet Earth series. Their deck is roofed with snaking grape vines that hang down from naked wood-panels, spotted and full with "stick-insects" that are curiously approachable and friendly.

[Can you spot them?]

Extremely slow movers, these little 4-6 inch creatures wobbled back and forth as sticks might in the wind in attempt to climb forward. It was as if they were struggling through a wind tunnel with only suction-cup grips to plop onto slick walls, one at a time. But they were only moving forward an inch or two in the grass. There were two varieties, which I seemed only to be able to distinguish as "brown stick insect" and "green stick insect," female always a third larger than the male, both of which seemed to enjoy a frequent amount of sex. Lots of puns and play on words are coming to mind, but I will spare you. Paul and Toni's place was certainly romantic...

Well... the house part was at least. Sarah and I stayed in an old, spider infested camper-van down the driveway. This was called "overcoming-the-hygiene-standards-of-home-for-the-sake-of-adventure-experience" Number 1. The first few nights, I stayed up hunting mosquitoes and torching spiders near the bed-side. The city boy in me was coming out for the first time. Eventually, I got used to the friendly little bumps on my thighs and arms and would sleep side by side with the 8-legged ceiling bungee-jumpers.

[Home-sweet-home]

Antonia (and Ruby) taught me some new yoga poses. Toni is really into new age spirituality and various contemporary conspiracy theories. A lover of Louise Haye (a contemporary motivational speaker and writer that seems to be quite popular in NZ), she maintains an extremely positive outlook on life, despite her awareness and seeming cynicism. She maintains a wide array of knowledge and interests covering several theories and truth movements that are character of various American underground networks. She shares a concern for the future of humanity and has many ideas regarding light and energy and the prophecies of 2012. Aside all the negative truths she is aware of, she remains happy, understanding that her own future is dependent and shaped solely on the principle of positive thinking. She, in the shadow of Louis Haye, believes our future realities are shaped based on the thoughts and mental efforts of the present. Daily affirmations and imagining the future the way you want it to be only seemed rational to me. It was excellent observing her life-philosophy, however "out-there" some might think it was.

Paul, a surfer from South Africa, works hard on the land every day. Lately he's constructing a cabin for guests and hopes to rent it out at some point. Surprisingly, Paul had heard of and listened to The Sea and the Cake and Tortoise, two not-widely known local Chicago bands that happen to be favorites of mine. He let me play his gut-string guitar on the porch in the evenings, enabling me to hash out my first composition in New Zealand. His land and lifestyle inspired me to write in a MAJOR key, without conscious effort, for the first time in years. For non-music-theorists, more simply stated: I wrote happy music.

Ruby was the purest child I have ever encountered. She skipped through the orchards singing familiar songs, often running around free and naked, fearlessly playing with various bugs and instincively picking the ripened berries off the plants she passed by.

[Ruby + Cockroach #1 + 2]

She had several pet ducks, whom she loved to feed and let nibble on her fingers and toes, and she had the imagination of 10 children twice her age. She often asked to be pulled around in an old wheel barrel (wheels detached, rope tied to it) that she imagined was her boat. She would sail to shops while making phone calls and dressing her stuffed animals in different uniforms (hand sewn by grandmother) appropriate for school, work, play or bed, accordingly. I would soon miss Ruby most of all. But of course I could't leave her without giving a back-hand Frisbee lesson...

During my stay with the Harris family, my birthday creeped up on me. My only wish before leaving the states was to be on top of a mountain for my birthday. While their tall hill wasn't quite a mountain, I simply felt on top of a mountain being at this point in my life. I was climbing mountains I had never thought I would see this early in my life. This birthday, for the first time, represented no turning points for me. Rather, it simply serves as a marker for onward thrust into a path I feel so confidently happy about.

Antonia (Toni) made me French crepes with chocolate sauce, berries, marscapone and other delights on the morning of 24. Little Ruby triggered the inevitable birthday song, and I sat awkwardly at the close-quarters breakfast table thinking about the situation. There I was, turning 24 in front of crepes-suzette, a beautiful family looking me straight in the eye, singing in a country as far away as possible from home. I know 24 will be an extremely important year for me and this was definitely a good start. I am so fortunate to be able to have this experience and I plan on taking full advantage of it.

I took bits and pieces of this place and family with me, taking note of their alternative lifestyle. Bags packed and thumbs pulling outward on heavy shoulder straps, I moved onward.

[High five. Later, Rubes]

But that didn't happen until I had my first Adrenaline rush in NZ, surely a moment of self-symbolism and conquering...

Postmen in the mountains

We spent two days at Daniel's Point of View before moving onward, eyes set towards a town called Warkworth. Taking advantage of a free ride, we ended up going 4 times the distance north of Warkworth, ending up in a town called Whangarei, now in the Northland region. The "Wh" in New Zealand is pronounced as an english "F," so you would say "Fangahray." I learned this pretty quickly after several awkward looks at me trying to pronounce it incorrectly as "um..Wang-ear-ee?."

It was then we had our first hitch-hiking experience.

Let me tell you a little something about hitch-hiking in New Zealand: It's pretty amazing. We haven't had to wait more than 10 minutes before a willing Kiwi pulls over, often willing to over-accomodate us and many times insisting on giving a tour of their locale. One of our early hitches serves as testament to the mentality of the people out here. The local postman, on the clock and en route, gave us a small tour of the beach and surrounding town on our way to Ngunguru, right outside of Whangarei. I feel everyone should have the experience of hitching on the back of a mail-truck at a bajillion-miles an hour (Kilometers per hour, here) in the middle of New Zealand, so have a look here:




We spent two days in the town of Whangarei, one to explore and the other to make arrangements for our next Wwoofing experience. On exploring Whangarei, we found that there was a nearby falls that included an hour or two hike. This is FREE amusement, no tickets or vendors or postcards or little furry kiwi bird bobble-heads and waterfall keychains at the top. Just "a toilets" (I'll get to that later).

Perfect.

I'll give you one guess as to what the falls were called.

..."Whangarei Falls." Likely because there are waterfalls all over NZ, this title exemplifies simplicity and straightforwardness, unlike the directions that Kiwi's give. I swear there was a time a Kiwi instructed, "at your first right there's no left, so don't make a right, then you'll have a second right where you'll make the left and on up. There's a hotel on your left at the first right and a signpost on the way." ...

Anyways, we took about 4 or 5 hours on the supposedly 1-hour hike to the falls, often going off trail into the lush bush and stopping for scenic photographs on the way. If you hiked it in an hour, you clearly have not seen anything on the way.

The victory that awaited us atop the waterfall was well worth the two layers of blisters I earned on the bottom of my feet. To be more specific, these blisters were located precisely between where my big toes meet the palm of my feet. This experience was called "overcoming-physical-pain-in-exchange-for amazement, natural wonder and experience" Number 1.

Okay, here's a picture of the falls:

Hello I'm a tourist #1.

We sat atop the falls for a good 20 or 30 minutes just resting and contemplating. When I say atop, I mean right damned there where the water falls off the rocks, looking 82 feet down. It was... beautiful. You might hear me say that a lot. But it was relatively nothing compared to what was ahead...

The Island of the Long White Cloud [from 1/5/09]

New Zealand is amazing. Is that a surprise to you? No, I didn't think so. The people are incredibly hospitable, courteous and non-judgemental....at all. There are no signs of vanity, over-materialism or anything but genuine concern and contentment. People don't always pay at the grocery store, composting is a "what? why the hell wouldn't you?" thought, the public restrooms (conveniently marked by street signs everywhere that say "toilets-->") display class and comfort equal to Chicago's finer hotels, and the children run around naked and happy on the beaches playing with bugs, fish, seaweed and other typically "gross" things. This is the land of the free-- in a different sense than that of the states-- a more realized environment. You can live completely isolated from civilization, or in the middle of a lively city. In either case, the government will pay for your child's education...at home if you choose, mailing "kindy packs" and funding child-teacher correspondence. A lot of folks seem to do that out here, considering their mud-brick and hand-made cod-house homes are in the middle of the bush, address-less and unallocated by Google Earth. The coolest part is, the parents get to keep the left-over paints.

We first arrived right outside of Auckland, bussing in to stay at a cheap hotel/hostel right in the heart of town. The place was oddly named "Formule1." This title made no sense to me. Surprising, considering they speak the same language as you and I, but you'll notice a lot of that kind of thing out here. The Kiwi's (English New Zealanders) call chickens "chooks," say "lovely" sometimes in place of thank you, and have a way better pronunciation for the words "oregano" and "aluminum".

Currently, we've stopped in a small tourist coastal community called Piahia. I'm sitting atop a bunk bed in a backpackers called The Pickled Parrot, steps away from miles of beaches with stretching views of small islands and the surrounding bay area. I enjoy this name, The Pickled Parrot, and am also enjoying the accompanying real-life bird that imitates a variety of unsuspecting sounds. He/She can meow like a cat, chirp like a chicken and speak a few words of proper English with a U.K accent. Unfortunately, the Pickled Parrot also has the talent of frequently yelping in the style of my mother at the stove or within view of a successful mousetrap. This fittingly pickle-green parrot lives outside my room, basically in the open air, free to fly away if it chooses. It is loud and entertaining during the day, but we'll see what I think after my attempt at sleeping.

In-between Auckland and the Pickled Parrot, a lot has happened. There won't be time to share all of my experiences, obviously, so I will limit to some of the highlights. Because of my lag with the posts so far, I'm going to play a bit of ketchup (thank god they have Heinz out here).

After a night in Auckland, the once capital of New Zealand (I suppose the South Island got upset about how far away it was), we got on the number 4 train to our first Wwoof house. We were off to a small town called Hellensville. I had images of horses, folk music and good wine. You know, the kind of Helen that might come from Troy. While those images would be realized soon enough, this Hellensville resembled my old German grandmother Helen-- shriveled, small, and in love with weird vegetables-- much more than it did Helen of Troy. A quaint little town, hilly Hellensville has one strip of shops and cafes about 2 blocks long. And yes, it is home to some of the freshest veggies I've ever tasted.

Manned by a gentlemen named Daniel, our accommodation served dually as a backpackers called "Point of View." As you might suspect from the title, Point of View perched us atop a hill that overlooked the entire town. We worked a bit, weeding in the olive orchard and putting together a studio for Daniel's "partner" (that's how Kiwi's refer to spouses in heterosexual relationships and marriages alike.... English seems to make much more sense out here). Point of View was an excellent transition from urban to rural, warming us up for what was to come...

Allow Me To Introduce You...

For those of you who don't already know...this is my travelling partner,

Sarah Herold.

Sarah Herold comes from a small town in Minnesota.
She likes meat loaf, but not olives.

Here's me:

(80's/epic?)

I don't like meat loaf, and I like olives.

Here's us together, in NZ.

It's hard to make these pictures happen, so this is probably the only one you will see of us simultaneously.

Lag

Hello everyone-

Okay, Okay, I promised I wouldn't be one of those people who would start a blog and never post anything...

I have every intention of keeping this thing updated, but internet and communications have been hard to come by. I've been keeping a physical journal, so I will pick some things out of there to bring things up to speed, and then promise to keep things more regular from here on out!

 Updates will follow shortly...