Nomad Backpackers

Being Wet Is Simply a State of Mind

Published

on November 19, 2008

. 0 Comments

Natalie and I set out yesterday, accompanied by our new friends and fellow WOOFERS Michael and Fanina, to hike the Mount Hobson summit trail. (Natalie and I had attempted to do this last Monday, but we were waylaid by an adventure with Dr. Peter.) Inspite of the fact that local fisherman assured us that it would definitely rain all day, we arrogantly ignored their warnings and headed out to summit Mount Hobson. After catching a lift to Grey Road, we walked for 2.5 hours before we came to the Tramline trail head. (Before reaching the trail head, we had already hiked 9 miles) As we had expected to get a lift to the trail head and were growing increasingly concerned about whether or not we would be able to catch a lift back to Tryphrena, we opted to hike along the Tramline to the Hot Springs which would let us out relatively close to Claris. We thought we were being smart by opting to hike through the middle of the island instead of following the parameter. As luck would have it, the rain began as we reached the trail head. This type of dark luck would haunt us for the rest of the day.

Informational packets on the the Barrier, warned that the Tramline track would have limited trail markers but that people of average fitness would have no problem navigating the trail. It would appear that average physical fitness here in New Zealand is equivalent to a Louis and Clark style fitness in the United States. This became increasingly apparent as we navigated a trail that commonly contained 60-70 degree downward clay paths that possessed the type of traction usually reserved for icy ski slopes after an ice storm, 65-75 degree upward inclines that required us to scramble on hands and feet up wet clay slopes, and 10-15 river fording that left my shoes with that annoying squeaky sound usually associated with the mixing of small children and large puddles.

For 5 hours we slipped (at one point, on an especially slippery piece of clay, I ended up sliding backward, on my feet, for about 10 yards before I was able to latch on to a tree), slided and fell up and down this treacherous “path” until we reached the hot spring.

When we arrived at the hot springs, I was soaking wet, muddy, bleeding freely from my right elbow and happy to be alive. We spent 30 minutes relaxing, drying off and gathering our strength (read: skinny dipping) for the 75 minute walk to Claris. Luckily, the rain had stopped and we were feeling optimistic. After about 45 minutes, while we were out on the road, the rain started falling cold and fast. All four of us were quickly soaked through to the skin and shivering from the icy blasts of wind that accompanied the rain. Seriously, it was really really cold. Tired and sore we stopped at the Crossroads Backpackers, to attempt to call or cab or bribe someone to drive us back to the pub. After taking one look at us, Katie and Bruce (the hostel owners) took pity on us. They invited us in, helped us dry off, made us coffee, and eventually drove us back to the pub.

I suppose that many lessons could be learned from this series of unfortunate events (read: listen to locals) but I learned once again that life is what you make of it. This could have been a truly miserable experience with the rain, the clay, the near death experiences and the endless, Organ Trail style walking. However, Natalie, Michael, Fanina and I had an wonderful experience. Sure we arrived back cold and tired, but we saw a large portion of the island, bonded together as friends, and enjoyed our day off.

When life gives you wet clay, ah…..err….. make pottery.

How to Steal a Boat

Published

Justin

on November 16, 2008

in Great Barrier Island, NZ

. 2 Comments

We set out the other day to climb Mount Hobson via the Windy Canyon route. From Claris, we caught a lift with Peter, a retired doctor who later admitted that he only picked us up because Natalie has nice legs. Peter is a slow speaking, careful driving impulsive man with somewhat bizarre metaphysical theories that revolve around the healing power of love and bioelectric energy. Initially, Peter had only planned on driving us to Grey’s road, north-east of Claris. As Peter was letting us out, Natalie kindly offered up my web design services for Peter’s blossoming non-profit organization. Unexpectedly, this caused Peter to grow very excited. He demanded that we get back in the car (4Runner), saying that we were going to Port Fitzroy. Port Fitzroy is a rather far distance from the Windy Canyon path, but hitch hiking often leads to unexpected events. Adventure is found by those who grasp for it. With little idea what would happen next, we hopped back into the car.

Peter mumbled something about a Land Rover and began driving in the opposite direction. We quickly arrived at an auto yard and pulled up next to a Land Rover from the 1960’s. Peter alluded to the idea that the Land Rover (nicknamed “The Beast”) had not yet been fixed. Of course, this begged the obvious question of why we were preparing to take a journey in a vehicle that needed to be fixed. I thought it was prudent to not ask this question as Peter popped the clutch and a cloud of black smoke poured forth from the exhaust.

Soon, we were roaring off in the Beast. Come to find out, Peter was on a mission to steal a decaying boat from the side of the road in Port Fitzroy. He wanted to put it on his front yard and paint it orange. Apparently, this is all the rage in Brazil where Peter had recently visited. We drove all the way to Port Fitzroy, conducting a conversation by shouting over the constant roar of the Beast. Between the sound of the Beast and Peter’s low talking, I missed over half of the conversation. In Port Fitroy we came upon the oldest most decaying row boat I have ever seen, laying half buried in the weeds. After much struggling and finagling, the three of us manage to get the boat into the back of the Beast.

After only 2 weeks in New Zealand we had become thieves by association. Yikes!

Nomad Learning Curve

Published

Natalie

on November 16, 2008

in Great Barrier Island, NZ

. 2 Comments

Recently, Justin and I received an email from Gillian, a long term subscriber (3 months or so, wink wink!) inquiring about what we have learned. Her and her husband are currently selling their house and making plans for their own life style change of long term travel.

Gillian wrote:

Hey guys, now that you have been on the road for 1 month and 14 days, I
wonder if you can comment on some of your newly gained knowledge and what you
would have done differently before you left. For example, what do you
think now of your packing list after lugging it around for 6 weeks? Are you
traveling according to plan or was all that planning just an exercise in
building excitement? Any tips or tricks so far?
Cheers,
Gillian

My response:

Our new lifestyle has certainly led to some humbling experiences. Justin and I have made mistakes. Learning to live with undesirable situations one at a time.

One recent example occurred at a hostel in Auckland. Don’t stay at Queens Street Backpackers! Everything seemed great until we went to make dinner. The kitchen had no community food like olive oil, salt, pepper, nothing! Cooking suddenly became rather challenging with our limited materials. However, saying that the kitchen was under stocked is an understatement, as the kitchen had no dish soap, or any soap, as well as no towels or any means of drying dishes. We asked around and the staff informed us that they had ran out of dish soap yesterday. What!?!

Our second problem was that we were returning to our room to sleep before having to wake up at 5 am to catch the freight ferry to Great Barrier Island, and we discovered that the hostel was directly above a popular Auckland club on Guy Faux Day (popular British holiday also celebrated by the Kiwi’s)!

Through the horror that we have faced at this hostel, we decided it would be beneficial to format a loose checklist to run through at the reception before checking in for a night. In truth, we should have been doing this from the start be we simply got lazy.

The Boyd Family Hostel Check List:

- Location (Club/Bar nearby, etc)

- Prices (per person, specials, etc)

- Is their a lock out?

- Does the kitchen close? What time?

- Wi fi? If not, what will you charge me for internet (if available)?

- Kitchen (clean, FREE food zone, available utensils, sharp knives, etc)

- Let me see the room…lighting, carpet, test bed (ask locals about bed bugs), hangers, places to hang stuff, etc

- If dorm…can I secure my pack?

- Is their a bar inside the hostel (this can be a negative and attractive youth binge drinkers)

- Is their a common room without a television? We like to meet new people and T.V. often distracts discussions.

- any FREE meals (we have seen both breakfast and dinner offered FREE)

- Tradable book library?

- Extra’s to pay (not just leave a deposit on, but pay for): towels, sheets, secure luggage room or storage

It might sound like overload, but it should prove to be beneficial in avoiding extreme problems in the future. Staying in a hostel is an adventure. It can be extremely rewarding to share life with others and discuss cultural differences or similarities (like the Simpsons). Also while engaging in discussions that occur in hostel communities it’s a great resource to learn about where other people have been and the experiences (including mistakes) that they have learned from. We have even met entire families (mom, dad and the kids) from countries all around the world. It is not only 20-something’s that stay at hostels but they can be rather intergenerational. Overall, the hostel experience is one I would recommend to anyone. Read about our first stay at a hostel.

Now as for what we brought with us…as we left we felt as though we were bringing very little. But beware! It’s easy to accumulate things as you go. Just now (not exaggerating), Louise walked up to me and gave me Guinness dice. We are at the Irish Pub on Great Barrier Island, in New Zealand, not to be confused with our time in Ireland, although Louise is from Ireland. She wants me to have the 2 dice, as a gift. “It’s so small.” Should I accept this gift from her? Even little things add up quickly in a backpack. That’s it! I will have to give them to a local before leaving the Barrier.”

Overall advice, I offer, is the concept of bringing less. I have a short article that was published on eurotrip.com titled, “Bring Less Stuff”. If you are a backpacker and you can offer advice to Gillian, please feel free to follow as she plans www.one-giant-step.com

We have lost our cork screw, pocket knife, laundry rope, some of our plastic zip ties, a medal butter knife , and a few other things as a result of airport security. So, that’s a quick and easy way to lighten your pack too.

To finish answering Gillian’s questions, overall we feel as though we prepared as best as we could. Our plans of getting 12 month work holiday visas in New Zealand worked. After having many Kiwi’s tell us that it is really hard for American’s to get them, and others tell us that once you are 25, they basically don’t give them out, we felt all the more blessed to each receive the long term visa.

Justin’s 26, I am going to be 25 in less than 3 months, and we are not going to get any less American. But it worked! So, plan, dream and plans are sometimes dependent upon which countries will give you visas, and how long you can stay.

Beer Taste Better When Driving

Published

Justin

on November 13, 2008

in Great Barrier Island, NZ

. 6 Comments

Greetings from Great Barrier Island, New Zealand. First off, it took us a few days to get over jet lag and find a constant internet connection. Now that those issues have been surpassed, the various stories that details our travels will continue.

Currently Natalie and I are on Great Barrier Island which is a 4.5 hour ferry ride from Auckland. Great Barrier Island (GBI) is populated with somewhere between 800 and 1000 people and it functions very much like a small town. Everyone know everyone and no one can keep a secret for very long. Hitching a ride (getting a lift as they say in New Zealand) is both common place and relatively safe on the Barrier. It is an excellent way to meet the local population. For the rest of my time on the Barrier, I will be devoting my posts to the many amusing experiences that I daily encounter.

More Fuel For the Driver

After hiking Tk 19, Te Ahumata, Natalie and I took to the road in an attempt to catch a lift back to Tryphena (where we are currently working for our lodging and meals). As Track 19 ends in the middle of nowhere, we were lucky enough to catch a wild ride down the mountain in the back of a boat. It was cold, but it got us to Claris. No complaints right? We were able to catch another lift to Medlands but there, our luck ran out. We spent the next 60-90 minutes walking up a 25% grade hill with cars passing us every few minutes. In retrospect, I imagine that we were not able to catch a lift because it was not safe for the drivers to stop on the many blind turns that characterize the road from Medlands to Tryphena. Eventually, an old man with a long gray beard (hanging to about the middle of his chest) stopped in a pull off heading in the opposite direction. The old man sprang out of the car with an empty beer bottle in his left hand and popped open the hatch. Digging around in a cooler, he came up with a fresh beer as he caught site of us slowly laboring up the hill. Holding the beer over his head, he winked and hollared out “more fuel for the driver” before scampering back to the driver’s seat and peeling off down the mountain. As I watched him speed away, I began to reflect on the safety of hitching rides from strangers in a place where drinking and driving are expectable.

About 30 minutes later, a pick-up truck responded to our frantic waves and pulled off the road. Upon discovering that we were headed in the same direction, the driver invited us to hop into the truck bed with his 4 children. The driver’s 4 children (3 daughters and a son) were positioned along the cab of the truck with the oldest child clocking in at around 13 and the youngest at about 3. As Natalie and I positioned ourselves along the tailgate the driver sped off, racing up and down mountain roads and flying around hair pin curves. (In his defense, all drivers on the Barrier seem to navigate in this reckless manner no matter the state of their sobriety.). The roads on the Barrier are only 1.5 lanes wide and it is necessary to hug the side of the road (read: the cliff) at all times. Natalie and I were holding on to the truck with white knuckled grips.

Suddenly, the driver yells out the window “BEER” while sticking his right hand out the window. His daughter, the second oldest, quickly unzipped the cooler (located in the back of the truck) and handed him a Heineken, which he quickly passed to his wife. So far, so good. The drivers wife however, cracked open the beer and handed it back to the driver. (Seriously, why would she do that?) At this point, I was starting to grow a bit concerned. Needless to say, the driver began to drink his Heineken. Enthusiastically. While accelerating down windy mountain roads. With his kids happily chatting away in the truck bed. All apparent dangers aside, the truck arrived in Tryphena about 10 minutes later without incident.

Of course, this whole experience left me a bit more cautious about catching lifts on the Barrier. However, it is the best way of meeting locals….

Meeting John Kelly

Published

Natalie

on October 31, 2008

in Ireland

. 0 Comments

On a much more serious level than most of my posts tend to be, we were recently in Derry, Ireland (also known as Londonderry) where Bloody Sunday (1972) occurred.

The Museum of Free Derry is extremely informative with all things related to the Troubles and Civil Rights. As an American growing up learning so much about the U.S. Civil Rights movements, it’s easy to forget other countries struggles towards resolving conflict and persecution. And after reading a few chapters in a history book, and learning of people who died, it’s easy to forget that they were each people, with real lives and real families.

In fact, while in Derry, Justin and I had the privilege of meeting and spending some time talking with John Kelly. He was only 23, in 1972 when Bloody Sunday occurred, but he remembers it like it was yesterday. His younger brother, Michael Kelly (17) was shot in the stomach while standing near the rubble barricade in front of Rossville Flats. Michael Kelly was unarmed. Fourteen individuals total were tragically killed that day. John shared with us the story of one of the 14 individuals killed that day, his friend simply trying to run home. While he was running he was shot in the leg, and was trying to crawl under a fence only 5 yards from his home when he was shot again and killed.

As John shared with us tears came to my face, because it was not just a history book, but it was one mans story of loosing his brother.

Thank you John for sharing with us of loosing your brother. The violent, tragic acts of that day will not be forgotten. But most importantly all of the Derry citizens that risked their lives that day will be loved and remembered by friends and family. Especially, young, 15 year old, Michael.

Much Love for the Kiwi Immigration Department

Published

Justin

on October 31, 2008

in News

. 5 Comments

New Zealanders, or Kiwis, that I have met here in Ireland have given Natalie and I a lot to think about in regards to whether or not we would be able to get a 1 year holiday working visa in New Zealand. To add to our nervousness, a New Zealand guide book we were checking out at a book store in Galway informed us that working visa spots were limited and that we should apply as soon as possible. Yikes! Well, I went back to the apartment (all lodging begins to feel the same after a while so instead of trying to remember the name of each hostel I simply refer to all of them collectively as “the apartment”) and applied online at the New Zealand Immigration site. About 24 hours later I found out that we were approved for the 1 year Holiday Work Visa. Sweet! Seriously, I was really surprised at how quickly they processed our applications. I am not sure if we will stay in New Zealand for the next year or not, but I am happy to have the flexibility and the ability to work legally while enjoying the exotic wonderfulness that I hope is New Zealand.

Although not taken in Ireland (those pictures are coming soon), the above image adequately captures are current level of excitement.

It happened to Natalie (or) The Ongoing Saga of the Absurd: Ireland

Published

Natalie

on October 30, 2008

in Ireland and The Natalie Saga

. 3 Comments

The following short tales are true stories from my time in Ireland.

Good Dinner!
I was walking down Saint James Place (some Irish streets make you feel like you are on a Monopoly board) with a big soup pot and a spoon that I was borrowing from next door, so I could make some soup. As I was walking, an Irishman saw me and kindly said, “Good Dinner!”, with a smile and a hearty accent. I responded, “I hope it will be a good dinner”, only later to realize that he said, “Good Day!” Fortunately, the butternut squash soup did turn out delicious, but it may have caused me gas, but that could be the Guinness too right?

Boston Beauty
One of three guys playing authentic Irish music in a pub one night, hmmm, that sounds like a joke. Well, the guy meets me, finds out that I am from Detroit, and tells me it’s close to Boston and that is where I am really from. It being midnight in an Irish Pub, I figured I shouldn’t argue with the guys relative view of geography. I returned to my seat with a slight identity crisis as he announced and dedicated his next song, “Boston Beauty” to me. Ironically, I saw him on the streets of Derry the next day, he recognized me and asked if I was coming to the Pub again. I think he just wanted another excuse to sing “Boston Beauty”.

The Not So French Girls
Justin informed me that he thought four French girls were laughing at him. In Ireland? No way! Okay, well girls of any nationality could laugh at Justin in any country so this did not sound all that ridiculous. About 20 minutes later I met four girls from Italy. I asked Justin if these were the French girls. He cowardly lowered his head and admitted that he thought their Italian sounded French. This was quickly forgiven as I realized we have been in both Italy and France in the last few weeks and Justin speaks neither language. Needless to say, we took the four Italian girls to the Pub that night. I drank my first Guinness and spoke in Italian with an ever increasing Irish accent. The Italian girls shouted “Bravissimo” and applauded, and although each of the Italian girls were beautiful, we never did hear “Bella Italiano” that evening.

V Eggs
One evening in Galway, I was in the kitchen of our hostel cooking eggs, when a guy from Spain approached me and introduced himself. This being a huge (200 something person) hostel, in which you could meet a new person from a new country every minute if that was your goal, I didn’t think much about meeting Carlos. Okay, not true, I must confess that when he introduced himself as Carlos, I nearly lost it. You see over the past month I have had a cough that comes and goes depending upon how much second hand smoke I have been exposed to. So, my cough became know as “Carlos”, with frequent references like, “oh Carlos, not again?”, cough, cough, cough.

Carlos (the actual man, not my cough) came back a few minutes later and admired my cooking, saying, “Incredible, incredible.” Then pausing to say, “It makes me curious”. Carlos wanted to know where I learned how to make the eggs I was cooking. I had cut a circle from the center of a piece of bread and I was frying an egg in the hole in the center of the bread. I told Carlos, feeling extra American at the time, that I saw it in a movie. He asked which film, and I replied “V for Vendetta”, in which he exclaimed, “Yes! I saw it too!” Carlos then wanted to know what we would call this type of egg in America. Sadly, I didn’t have a good answer, as I had just began calling them “V eggs” because of V for Vendetta. He laughed and decided he would call them “V huevos”. Hooray for enculturation of the Victory Egg in Spain!

Rainbows in Belfast

Published

Justin

on October 28, 2008

in Ireland

. 0 Comments

I am apparently ill informed regarding Irish weather. Thinking that rain in Ireland typically resembles more of a mist than actual rain, Natalie and I headed out to explore the city without an umbrella. This exploration quickly turned into a search for a winter hat (for me) as the Siberian style winds were causing all feeling in my ears to vanish. On Sunday, nothing in Belfast is open until 1:00 pm. (This is not really a problem, unless your ears are really cold and you are looking for a winter hat to help fend of frostbite.) With time to kill, we walked to the center of town and got caught in a surprise rain storm. Kicking ourselves for not bringing an umbrella, we ducked into a local bar for an Americano and a dose of Irish culture.

Feeling well caffeinated and cheered by the now sunny weather, we headed back out to explore Belfast. 1 hour of exploration and a cozy winter hat for my ears later, the sky began to look ominous. I mean really, really, dark. I was starting to get a bit apprehensive as I noticed locals running into the closest shops and bars. Than the rain started to fall. Sideways. I imagine that the sideways style rain was the unfortunate result of the gale like winds that kicked up at about the same time. We ducked into a covered doorway, out of the wind, to wait it out. This offered us the rare opportunity to watch tourist and Irishmen alike getting blown down the street, usually with their umbrellas turned out backwards.

The rain eventually dissipated and we were treated to a brilliant rainbow that spanned from horizon to horizon. I mean this rainbow was like nothing I have ever seen before. Each color was brilliantly displayed against a sunny sky and the colors seemed to sparkle as the last of the rain drifted through it. I imagine that this happens often as we were the only ones on the street taking in the stunning view.

New Pictures Uploaded (Paris, Spain, and Andorra)

Published

Justin

on October 28, 2008

in France and Spain

. 0 Comments

I know the pictures are coming a bit late, but I was finally able to upload our pictures from Paris, Andorra, and Spain. To view, select the Gallery link in the top at the top of the page, or following the below links to specific albums. Enjoy.

Paris

Spain and Andorra

Andorra. Catalan. And a Few Words on Driving in Spain.

Published

Justin

on October 27, 2008

in Spain

. 1 Comment

With time disappearing quickly through our fingers, Natalie and I were only able to spend a day in Andorra. This time was marked by the following four impressions.

Andorra would be a beautiful place to spend the summer hiking/biking. It would also be a superb place to spend the winter skiing/snowboarding. Although the fall in Andorra is excellent, it is not really the best time to be there as the snow has not arrived and it is a bit cold for hiking (unless of course you bring the proper gear).
Andorra is a ski nation. This tiny nation (2.5 time smaller than Paris, France) has created an entire economy around snow sports. It is really something to see.
Drunk people can be difficult to deal with when you do not speak their language. 2 drunk 20 something year old boys decided that 3:00 am was a good time to be extremely loud outside of our hotel room door. I had quite a few words with them, but I am pretty sure they were mostly making fun of me as I was the only person who appeared to think that their behavior constituted an issue. They left. Eventually.
Andorra has some high quality spring water. Natalie and I were in the village of Arsinal, when a van pulled up to the local spring (water pouring out a of bricked in wall like area beside the road) and opened their back doors. Inside, were roughly 100 one gallon jugs which they began to systematically fill up and load back into the van. I drew a few possible conclusions from this.(1) They do not have running water and must manually bring water to where they live. Although this is possible, it seems likely that they would have, long before buying the van, figured out how to get running water into their abode. (2) Their water is full of sulfur and they need to water to keep from overloading their bodies with sulfur. Also improbable based on the reason previously explained. (3) The are bottling the water and selling it for a profit. I like this concept, but if this is the case, their operation is so slow there is no way they are making enough money to pay for the gas in that van. (4) The spring outside of our hotel is actually the fountain of eternal youth and these old Andorrans were getting their yearly supply of immortality.

Overall, our time in Andorra was positive if not a bit perplexing. For example, Spain has a customs check for all motorized transport out of Andorra. Interestingly, this appears to be an exercise for the motorists. Each motorist is required to park, turn off the car, get out and open the trunk. This accomplished, a customs official looks in the car for .0056 seconds, before declaring the car “fine”. The motorist closes the trunk and zooms happily away, with 500 kilos of Andorran cocaine safely packed inside Osprey backpacks. (Disclaimer: I am not importing or export cocaine from/to Andorra or any other nation.)

Catalan

The Northeast section of Spain contains a province or state referred to as Catalan. They have their own language, Catalan, which is an unfathomable mixture of Spanish and French, with a bit of Italian through in here and there for good measure. It is my understanding that no one speaks Catalan outside of the Autonomous State of Catalan (I asked a local if Spain is divided into states or provinces and he told me they are called Autonomous States.) and the country of Andorra. I speak a smattering of Spanish which is about enough to get around a Spanish speaking country. Catalan is defiantly not Spanish and, although getting around was not difficult, I was not able to refresh my Spanish.

Spanish Driving.

Spanish drivers are….polite. This was a difficult change for me as driving in Italy is a survival of the fittest routine. Spanish drivers stop when a pedestrian is standing on the sidewalk waiting to use a cross walk. In Italy, people don’t use cross walks and I almost caused an accident by crossing the street outside a cross walk. Seriously. I felt bad. This politeness took some getting used to and I am afraid that I failed to stop for many pedestrians as they calmly waited to use the cross walk. Lesson learned. When driving in other countries, never assume that you are in Italy.

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Nomad Backpackers

Being Wet Is Simply a State of Mind

How to Steal a Boat