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So, I had a travel breakdown...now many of you might be asking yourselves what exactly is that...well, it's kind of like your car breaking down minus the whole car thing. Almost like a faulty compass or like missing a bus to your next travel destination have you...well, basically it's a term I just made up so bare with me. Well, my breakdown involved a cold, heartless, touristy, lacking any real personality city called Auckland and a girl better known to most of you as Jenny aka me. Something about this city doesn't sit right with me from my initial glimpse of Auckland that first day back in February when I aimlessly wandered the streets completely jet lagged, to that evening spent in Alfred Park at the Chinese lantern festival to this past week where I spent my nights holed up in the kiwi international hostel and my days stuck in the self help section at borders--and yes I did infact travel 1/2 way across the world just to find out if it was in fact true that the self help section is better on the other side of the rainbow--or world have you.
Those who know me would vouch for me when I say I have an unhealthy obsession with this section in a bookstore in fact I would go as far as to say when I was younger I had probably read every chicken soup for the teenage soul known to man including the short lived chicken soup for the divorced, golf loving, bible toting creepy dad series...and yes even these books imparted valuable, inspirational messages to learn from like always make sure your bible cover matches your shoes and belt when taking out some jesus loving honey on a date. so as you see this section had yet to fail me so as I spent this week much in transition I looked to border's self help section for some sort of answer or direction much in the same way people look to mcdonalds for nutritious meals...in other words I knew I probably wasn't going to find what I was looking for but learning about how to be the best possible me, win friends and meet the man of my dreams all in one sitting was too hard to pass up. Anyways all jokes aside it has definitely been a trying week as I try to make sense of my early departure from the valley and what the hell I want to do these next four months....
Sitting in the basement at Borders with elton john's greatest hits streaming through the speakers I palmed my way through a stack of impressive looking books--that were all really thick, had small print and no pictures...with an occasional trashy celeb magazine decorating my pile of reading...and yes I too was appauled to learn that Sarah Jessica Parker was on welfare growing up in Ohio--I mean welfare comeon now...that whole rags to riches story has so been done...need I mention Jewel...campervan...alaska?!?! Anyways as I sat there reading it hit me I can agnoize about how life changes unexpetedly whether your prepared for it or not or I could stop overanalyzing everything and start paying attention to what really matters--like the lovely early 60s couple of chinese women who were dropping f-bombs like nobody's business and egging one another on to see who could belch louder--these were no ordinary burps...I mean seriously we're talking richter scale here folks. That day I learned a valuable lesson besides the critical don't let age and gender fool you women can be just as crude as men, second I learned on one of my visits to the public restroom that new zealand bathrooms are like ridiculously clean...I mean we're talking cleaner than many of the upscale bathroom facilities at such fine dining restaurants as clydes, mortons and the palm...third I learned new zealanders are under the false pretense that 1-ply toilet paper that happens to break into two classifies as 2 ply...which I'm sad to report is definitely not the case...and lastly my great insight into new zealanders is that 15 year old girls getting drunk for the first time sound exactly the same in any country...I mean seriously I get it you loooooovvvve your friend, and yes the room is spinning, oh and double yes you are in fact just that cool spending a tues. night hanging ou in the lady's restroom at the mall, drunk and waiting for daddy to pick you up in the family minivan seeing as your curphew on a school night is 10. anyways my love/hate relationship with auckland is thankfully coming to an end as i finally leave this city behind and learn what its like to use public transportation--the dreaded bus system that is.
My friend Jen from the valley told me that the bus drivers like everyone to introduce themselves and tell something unique about yourself...so this past week I have been toying with 'hi, my name is Jenny and I have a disappearing birthmark." now before you scream lame...let me just let you naysayers in on a little something I like to call conversation starter of the century...I mean seriously how many people can say their birthmark is pink, disappears at the touch of a finger and is shaped like Kirstie Alley pre-Jenny Craig ?? Or there is always the "hi my name is Jenny and I almost killed two chickens in one day--whether it was by accidently locking a chicken into the feed bin where it nearly suffocated to death and developed a serious aversion to food--add giving a chicken anorexia to my list of things to resolve in therapy as well as there was the other chicken or rather rooster that I by accident dumped all the compost on and it nearly got henpecked to death right infront of my eyes. So the vote is on...Jenny the chicken killer or Jenny the proud owner of fashion's latest must have--a disappearing birthmark...you choose!

This past week was also spent visiting Operau or something like that...a beach located in the north that is famous for it's rough waters and surfing. Visiting that beach on a cloudy, windy cold day could not have been any more enjoyable. With the beach nearly deserted except for the occasional surfer or couple walking hand in hand in search of mussels washed ashore--we were free to roam, take in the fresh salty air, dip our toes into the water, collect seashells and reinact our very best baywatch imitations...in other words what more could you ask for? This past week I also visited Devonport, a small island located just a short ferry ride from Auckland which is probably the most elegant and sophisticated suburb I have come into contact yet since being in this country. With antique shops and cafes galore it was easy to spend the whole day wandering the streets, sipping coffee and strolling along the coast. It was also the perfect setting for my last meal with Pippa before we went our separate ways--as we reminisced over the last couple of months, pretended to be all sophisticated in a classy restaurant and shed some tears knowing that not only were we ending one chapter of our journey, but saying goodbye at least momentarily to a friendship that we jokingly related to the movies 'before sunrise and before sunset'...in other words we had a year to meet back up in europe...where we would travel on the millions I would have of course made in just one month after graduating university and then if for some reason that fell through then we would show up to each other's weddings...so either way I have a friend for life.

The next day we spent hiking on a trail that was actually well defined in comparison to the backcountry treks we had been doing the last couple of days. The first part of the hike was on a section of the tongariro crossing--one of the most popular day hikes to do in all of New Zealand. The negative being that at any given point there can be some 800 people doing the crossing making the hike feel less like an escape from civilization and more like standing in a neverending line at the grocery store while somewhere faint in the distance you can hear someone continually asking for a cleanup on aisle 4. At times it felt like I was in my very own where's waldo where everyone seemed dressed in the same outdoorsy clothes and hiking boots making differntiating my fellow hikers from the masses difficult--except for the fact that we had huge backpacks on while most of the dayhikers were outfitted with small dayhike bags. Surrounded for the most part by unfamiliar faces and redundant stories of past hikes and heavy sighing and gasps as the scenery contined to mystify and baffle and the scree and upward ascents took their physical toll on the hikers of all ages. Anyways 1/2 way through the hike we ended up walking off the beaten path in an effort to do some illegal camping for the night. the place we decided to set up our tents at was surrounded in this mud which can only be described as goldeny mustard colored reminiscent of a mud facial that jiggled under the weight of one's boot much in the same fashion as cellulite--beautiful imagery I know. That night I shared a tent with Dagmar while Pippa and Jen were in the other tent nearby. I ended up getting little if any sleep that night seeing as how the ground was completely frozen over. Dagmar believes in cross ventilation and by that I mean having both sides of the tent completely unzipped and open. Now mind you this woman is pregnant so I was doing my best to accomodate her...while she on the other hand made it her personal mission to tell me everything that was wrong with my camping gear. It began with my sleeping pad...now mine is your standard ridge rest...her's was the inflatable type that kept her 5 inches from the ground while mine caused me to sink into the ground--with no protection whatsoever from the cold. Now on to the fact that I was wearing 6 layers on the top, 6 layers on the bottom as well as 4 pairs of wool socks, a rain jacket, a fleece jacket, a pair of glacial gloves and a wool hat...now what was Dagmar wearing you ask? A cotton shirt and pants...and she spent the whole night reminding me of just how warm and toasty she was as I shivered for dear life...lovely woman isn't she?

I awoke with a nervous excitement brewing as I knew the next week ahead would be full of challenging backpacking, exploration of a new place and time away from the valley. We left the valley at around 8am, but didn't arrive at Tongariro National Park until 6pm that night after making a mad dash to the Khatmandu outdoor apparel store in Hamilton. As we started the ascent from the carpark up towards the alpine hut where we would be spending the evening it was amazing to see the starc contrast between the farming land on one side of the road and near barren volcanic rock covered landscape that surrounded the bottom of Mt. Ruapehu. Hiking up with a fully loaded backpack along scree--gravel like rocky terrain by torches was definitely memorable as a faint and at times steady downpour of mist and rain clouded the air. Mt. Doom from Lord of the Rings was barely in sight in the distance illuminated by a near full moon and that lovely aura that radiates when the moon is caught behind a billowy cloud. When we finally arrived at the hut we were pleasently surprised to find that we had the whole cabin to ourselves--we each claimed a bunk and began prepping for dinner. No meal tastes as good as the one right after a nice hike--that's for sure. That evening as the temperatures got near freezing, I found myself shaking and unable to warm myself up no matter how many layers I seemed to bundle myself up in.
The next day we woke up again bright and early in an effort to get to the summit of Mt. Ruapehu before the weather took a turn for the worse. We started off walking along the riverbed, carefully maneuvering our way through rocks and cold glacial waters...that whole morning I couldn't seem to shake a feeling of negativity that seemed to linger in the pit of my stomach--in other words hiking that day was definitely much more of a mental challenge than physical. That is the common theme for much of what I've encoutnered since being in this country--things might be hard physically, but I know I can do them...it is the mind that is the much more powerful demon that needs the reassurance. The hike slowly changed from rocky to ice as we found ourself walking straight up sheets of snow and ice, having to really stab our feet into the ground--mimicking crampons--if we wanted any real chance of staying vertical. The final part of the hike consisted of a scramble up some scree and snow that for every two feet you were able to hoist yourself up and over you went four feet backwards seeing as how getting any real good gripping of the terrain with one's hiking boots was rather difficult. All that effort to get to the summit was more than worth it as we were greeted by a scene straight out of mars with a huge crater right infront of us covered in snow with random pockets in the snow every couple of feet that gave way to the molten rock that laid covered in ice below. What started out as a fairly clear morning started to take a turn for the worse as the temperatures became blistering cold, the winds picked up and seeing the person right infront of you became increasingly difficult...but since we had made it to the summit we weren't planning on descending until we at least got the opportunity to chekout crater lake and see how the terrain had changed in the last few months--seeing as there had been a fairly recent landslide. Relying solely on Dagmar's familiarity with the mountain we were somehow or another able to make it to a cliff that in theory was supposed to overlook the lake...but because of the dense cloud coverage it felt more like we were being enveloped in the arms of a cloud in the middle of nowhere rather than just a few hundred feet from an enormous frozen lake. We tried to wait out the weather, but the longer we waited, the colder it got and the fewer provisions we had so eventually we made our way back down towards the hut. The hike down made up for the fact that we didn't get to see the lake--it was amazing as my spirits quickly lifted as we took off our rain jackets tied them around our waist and used them as makeshift sleds to slide our way down the icy ravine that seemed to span for miles weaving our way in and out of rocks, as the speeds picked up and innocent screams of laughter and excitement echoed through the otherwise quiet mountainside I found my face flushed and a smile from ear to ear.

I am leaving my program 3 months early seeing as how things have kind of fallen apart...long story short and will be spending the next 3 months galavanting around the north and south island, staying at hostels and doing the whole touristy thing...followed by a 5 week stint in australia...so when i can get into town next i will update more. but on a side note had an exciting trip to tongariro national park last week...spent a week backpacking up the tallest mountains in the north island that were also used in the film lord of the rings...but will tell more about that later....hope all is well with everyone love and miss you all!

Well, I awoke thursday morning in high spirits excited to escape the humdrum life of the valley and see more that this country has to offer. Jen, Pippa and myself were off on a two day trip to Rotorua sans Jon or Dagmar--so this would be our first real roadtrip without the parentals and we couldn't have been any more excited. Before hitting the roads we made a quick stop at Pak n' save (the local grocery market chain) to load up on food for the trip...but no joke I am in love with this place not only is it ridiculously cheap, but sales tax is already included in everything in this damn country...so when something is 9.99 it is just in fact 9.99 okay I lied again...there are no 1 cent or 5 cent pieces so in reality it's $10NZ...but still. I also stopped at Warehouse, NZ's version of walmart and got a new watch seeing as how my luxurious name brand Pearl Jardin airport watch somehow broke.
We made a stop along the way in Mattamatta aka land of the hobbits where of course we took the obligatory tourist picture next to a makeshift replica of a hobbit home from Lord of The Rings. That evening we stayed at the Spa Lodge, my first real hostelling experience to date and so far I must admit the standards have been set pretty high. Between the overly friendly asian host who made us feel right at home and our own private three bedroom room I was ready to unload our gear and explore this supposed las vegas of new zealand town.
On our self guided three hour tour of Rotorua we strolled around the lake, went to Kairoa Park, saw the oldest Marae church (150 years) , went to the Government botanical gardens and finished off with a bit of individual time spent exploring the downtown--which for me meant getting lost, spending a good 20 minutes trying to get this nice Indian man to give me directions to amhaust street which I managed to severely butcher in pronunciation and then a good hour was spent at some clothing store called supree probably meant for 13/14 year old girls yet I had an enjoyable time trying on god awful outfits that screamed preteen and lindsay lohan wannabe--so all and all it was a most fulfilling afternoon.
Anyways, back to the walk around the lake--it was seriously like travelling through prehistoric times with water bubbling its way through sulphuric rock creating steam that hovered over the water and every now and then got swept away in a gentle summer breeze that left the top of the water dancing in ripple formations under the wind. The ever present smell of rotten eggs wafting in the air was present as were an abundance of black ducks with their heads tucked in underneath their bodies, floating in circles, seagulls scattered across the bits of beachy shore, eerily flattened beds of grass and black swans that resembled dinosaurs with red beaks that navigated their way through the sulphur infested waters in groups. These swans were just unreal with necks twice the length of your typical swan that moved in this awkward motion that can only be described as reminiscent of an inchworm, all the while these black beautiful creatures let out ungodly squaking noises that conjured up images of a trumpet being played out of tune. If you squinted your eyes just right you could have sworn that you were looking at a bunch of lochness monsters. Between the shore and where the swans were swimming in the water were seaweed deposits that were pretty thick clouding up the otherwise grayish waters.
That evening Pippa and I headed out to explore the nightlife and what a 'rocking' nightlife it was...we started the night out at a pub called hennesy's which was a quaint irish bar with a couple of geisers strumming away on some banjos belting out some faintly reminiscent version of 'oh danny boy' all the while there were middle aged folks laughing up a storm on one side and young 20 somethings trying to get laid on the other side of the bar...and yet Pippa and I decided to sit right in the middle of the bar--metaphorically bridging the gap between old and young, but more because we were utterly amused by the coasters the table had that had these highly amusing cartoons on them. from there we headed to a more sophsticated bar which was full of the early 30s lawyer types who were trying to scheme on underage girls and a rather enjoyable band singing 80s covers that I annoyingly sang aloud to each and everyone as Pippa the young'n that she is just smiled and nodded. Finally the night was capped off by a trip to the dirty mole, a bar which felt like it housed all the kids who were picked last for dodgeball as well as all the overly tattooed locals.
On the drive home from rotorua all I could think about was how I can't explain exactly what it is about NZ whether its the people, the landscape, the lack of congestion of everyday life, the laidback lifestyle or just how different it is than anything I know that really resonates with me. Cows that look like little figurines strategically placed atop rolling hills, narrowing roads lined with trees with branches cascading over the road blocking out the light except for the occasional ray of sunshine that manages to penetrate its way through the branched forest canopy.