Yesterday my Father and I had driven from Queenstown to Christchurch in a sparklingly new bright blue pickup-truck the size of a small whale. We returned it at the airport and had no way back. So we were broke at the airport and had no cash to get back to the city and no PIN number to use the ATM. And then we ran into some people from our hometown - Hailey, Idaho (population 7,500) - and they loaned us some cash for the bus. At our hostel we met a few Aussies, a Swiss Miss, and a girl from 4 different countries all together who had a friend that locked her keys in her car outside our hostel. The next morning we took a shuttle to the airport, flew to Auckland, caught a shuttle to the City Center and bus from there to here, Paihia - Bay of Islands.
On the bus I met Julia.
Julia rides horses and came from Japan. She's German - blond, freckled and nice to look at. She meets Kevin and we all walk to our hostel. Kevin and I aren't able to check in because the middle man through which we booked is a robot. The robot made a mistake. So Julia and my Father check in and Kevin and I are banished to the nearby YHA where we meet a girl outside our room with a bandage on her face.
"What happened?" I asked, after the necessary introductions.
"Oh it's an infectious thing - very contagious to children. The other girl here also had it," she replied.
And we watch it mortified terror as she grins, slowly reaching for the flap of gauze on her face and peels it back, exposing the sticky bubbling infection to our soft virginal eyes!
At Jimmy Jack's Rib Shack Julia ordered a salad while my Father and I each ordered the largest plate of ribs on the menu (Kevin ordered something else). The atmosphere is nondescript, packed. Half-hour later our meals are delivered, the ribs on large blocks of wood with knives pinning them in place, orders of fries and crab-dip and bread on either side.
There was a notable difference in size between the ribs my Father was served and my own - a very blatant difference, actually. Excruciatingly obvious.
When we inquired of the waitress, she merely pointed at my meal and stated, "He got the bigger rack."
Eventually we spoke to somebody who understood the economic dilemma of "getting what I paid for" and my Father was swiftly brought a more appropriately proportioned helping of beef.
Back at the YHA Kevin and I met the other occupants of our room: Martin and Nicole, Czech Republic. He's a bald badass with a beard and a big smile - she's fittingly attractive. We discuss Donald Trump in the dark from our bunks.
Next day we meet the "Danish Girls" in the grocery store. Nothing happened.
We take a boat to an island that's mostly deserted and encounter Martin and Nicole who have a lunch cooler and diving gear. We walk with them over the soft rolling hills, barefoot. Everything is green and blue.
On a high hill overlooking the Bay of Islands we pass four Asians, one of which, when asked, exclaims, "Oooooooh VE-RY NICE!" gesticulating toward the above view; the words struggle to bypass his rather pronounced teeth and he's gagging on his own joy.
He was absolutely correct about the view.
We reach a beach and Kevin and I jump in the ocean while Nicole tans topless and Martin splashes in the coral reefs. My Dad wanders the shore in search of interesting sea shells.
We're in the water when the "Danish Girls" magically appear on a blanket in the sun near the shore. They join us in the ocean for awhile and I throw a mutant seaweed at them (later on Kevin will nail me in the back with a similar aquatic plant, slightly more grotesque).
We end up cooking a massive dinner together - burgers (beef AND chicken) with Avocado, Spinach, cheese (Brie AND Swiss); pasta, chips, beer. It's pretty great. The girls - Emma and Mathilda - and Kevin and I watch a horror move that none of us understand in an empty hallway on my MacBook.
It was good.
1 comments:
Meanwhile, in Los Angeles:
http://www.anagramgenius.com/archive/lakers-fans.html
Post a Comment