Couchwarming Party!

Theme Song for the Day:

1. "Wonky Donkey", by Craig Smith

THE ARTS CENTER ARTS & CRAFTS MARKET

The mist in the streets of Christchurch today was a superfine drizzle that you could barely see swirling gently down from the grey skies above.  It sits on my hair and clothes like dew drops in the morning. 

We tour the Arts Center Market early in the afternoon and wander through stalls of hand-made merino wool clothing, carved greenstone jewellery, and beautiful photography of wild Kiwi landscapes.  Lunch is a spicy Lebanese Lamb Wrap from a street vendor, while my hosts and tourguides munch on a Czech Potato Pancake with Beef and Sauerkraut [I’ve never seen a Czech Food street vendor before!].

NOTICE THE DR SEUSS TUFTS GROWING ALONG THE RIVER BANKS

Hagley Park is 400+ acres of lush greenery that we walk through to go home.  A crowd is cheering on a rugby match as joggers bounce past us along the river, which is lined with willow trees and other Seussian water plants.  Ducks paddle and dive and waddle their way along the fast-flowing water, which is crystal clear and looks no more than thigh-deep.

It's a laid-back Saturday afternoon in misty Christchurch, and we spend it preparing for the party tonight; Marina is making chocolate truffles! Turns out last night that we missed the CouchSurfMeet by a day - it was on Thursday, not Friday - so Matt and I commiserated by sampling a couple rounds of the bubbly drink specials before Marina joined up with us an hour later after her work event.  When life gives you lemons, make ...sparkling wine!

After-drinking food is good here: the souvlaki joint was unexpectedly closed so we found a good Chinese take-out place right across the City Square.  This one even sold fish & chips ...apparently, not uncommon in these parts!

The festivities tonight are over at award-winning local musician Craig Smith's new diggs.  His new song, Wonky Donkey, won the 2009 APRA NZ Children's Song of the Year Award, and I am lucky enough to sneak a peek at the children's book version which is released in October.  

Craig is an easy conversationalist with a warm smile and a welcoming aura.  We swap stories about our respective journeys and find that we have walked similar paths: a few years ago, he closed up shop - after running his own business in sales and marketing for ten years or so - to feed his soul and pursue his music, and hasn't been happier ever since.

Craig also happens to be the Couchsurfing Ambassador for Christchurch which means that tonight I meet more locals, as well as fellow Couchsurfers from France, Germany, Canada, and LA... and, believe it or not, met someone whose Mum may have worked with my Mum in the Dole Pineapple Cannery in Hawaii... !  

I *HEART* Couchsurfing.

The world lies in the hands of those who have the courage to dream and to take the risk of living out their dreams - each according to his or her own talent."

-Paulo Coellho-

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Tasmania: Day 6 - Wild Beauty

Theme Songs of the Day:

1. "First Dy of My Life", by Bright Eyes
2. "Burn One Down", by Ben Harper
3. "Are We Different?", by Priscilla Ahn
   

CAMPING ON THE RIVER FLATS

The morning dawns achingly cold on the flood plains of Taylor Flats.

Blue smoke bellows from the still-damp campfire while I stand on the bank of a river, casting into the flow and hoping for a rainbow or a brown trout to strike. The air is still, and my breath hangs around my shoudlers in a puffy veil.

Kookaburras guffaw in the distance while other birds chatter and chirp and whistle all around me. An industrious little fellow tap tap taps at the skeletal tree standing behind me, pulling out grubs and other goodies from the dead wood.

Poplar trees grow thick along the banks to the water’s edge, and I pick my way upstream searching for breaks in the undergrowth large enough for me to cast from. Back at the campfire, butter and home-made raspberry jam bubbles away on the gridle, while bread smokes itself into toast for our breakfast.

Last night we met Roslyn and Oscar, Peter’s wife and youngest son. I spoke with Roslyn on the phone when we landed in Tassie, or rather she spoke to me through the crackling connection: “Is that you Matt??” She is tough as nails, all sinew and no nonsense, with a warm smile and a heart of gold.

Oscar and his brother grew up on the “luxury campgrounds” and were homeschooled by their parents. He is a confident, well-mannered 16-year old, also tough as nails, all sinew, and no-nonsense. He does have his father’s cheeky grin, and the twinkle in in his eye that suggests he may or may not be about to play a practical joke on you…

On the day that the Board of Education came to interview the children to find out how effective [or not] their homeschooling had been, Roslyn was nervous that they might deem their progress sub-par, and take her children away. Instead, the lady that came out was so impressed that she asked if the boys would come and speak to other homeschool families as an example of possibility.

Roslyn explains to me later that their approach was simple: keep the boys engaged and having fun, and they would learn something without even realizing it. For example, to teach them about mathematics and geometry, they built a shed and had them do all the calculations on site that were necessary to complete the project. They learned the theory and application of the concepts being studied, and gained the practical construction skills while swinging their hammers. At 23 years old, Wilbur now travels the world as a freelance adventure guide; he is currently away in Europe leading whitewater kyak adventure tours in Norway over the summer season.

We get to see more of the benefits of this kind of education first hand when we get back to camp and Oscar invites us to join him and his best mate Alex [who is 3 years older] on the downhill Moutain Bike Track that he and his brother Wilbur have built on the other side of the waterfall.

The track is impressive; a narrow trail winds its way down the mountain, earthen embankments allow you to throw the bikes around the switchbacks, and a fallen log provides a massive railslide that drops back onto the track on a steep, twisting ramp. The see-saw feature they fly over freaks me out and sends me careening off into the bush, mowing down a couple of baby eucalypts along the way.

I opt to take the side route on the final stretch, which drops off a rocky outcrop before slipping through a narrow gap in the trees. It took us twenty minutes to hike up to the start, and maybe three minutes to barrell down, hooting and crashing and laughing all the way down. I am thankful that the 15-foot jump they are still building mid-way down is incomplete… and that despite falling off twice, I survived my first downhill mountain biking experience with barely a scratch!

The adrenaline is still coursing when we return to “camp”, and we are still wild-eyed when Peter shows us the yield of hazlenuts that he and Aoba have gathered that morning. The Canadian has asked that we do a bonfire that night, so Roslyn announces that ice cream, molten chocolate, and home-made raspberry sauce will compliment campfire-roasted hazlenuts perfectly for desert.

Before we head out to gather wood for the bonfire, however, Peter invites us on a bushwalk with him to Levyn Canyon. The 45-minute trek up to the lookout point takes about 25 minutes with the pace that he sets for us, and our breath is taken away when we reach the end of the trail. Wooded valleys stretch to the horizon as a river winds its way through. We are ants perched precariously on the edge of this precipice, dwarfed by the massive spectacle of nature engulfing us. The platform and we stand on and polished trail signs behind us are the only sign of human presence; the work of a single park ranger who has carved the trail out with his own two hands, and the occasional help of a laborer or two.

THE RIVER WINDS THROUGH...

Once we regain our breath, we head back to the car which Peter guides deftly around the gravel roads twice as fast as I would be comfortable driving, to bring us to another trailhead. This one descends into the canyon and crosses the river, where we pass a sign reading EXPERIENCED BUSHWALKERS ONLY, and our motley crew - The Moustachioued One, The Canadian, The GreenBackpack, and the Tokyo Girl - pick our way along the steep trail until we round a bend and stop at a natural stone bench which overlooks dark tea-colored pools that eddy and swirl below.

It dawns on me how foreign an experience this must be for Aoba, who has probably only known the bright lights and ceasless racket of big city life... now we are surrounded by a natural symphony, the water rushing below, the breeze whispering through the treetops in waves, birds cackling and whistling and chirping all around.

NATURE'S SKYSCRAPERS

We sit and munch on the chocolates I have brought, drinking in the view from the canyon floor. The cliff face stretches up 100+ stories above, and you can almost hear the cracking and rumbling of the massive rock stratas which lie at a 45 degree angle from the horizontal rocks which are the adjacent cliff. The river does a huge switchback here, and Peter tells us that at some time in the distant geological past, this entire canyon was formed by the collapse of the massive rockforms towering above. If we were ants standing on the top of the canyon, we are gnats as we look up from within.

We return to "camp" with a new sense of quiet satisfaction, our glimpse of the awesome power of Wild Tasmania lingering in our auras. This is Peter's backyard, and I find myself longing to keep exploring, to discover yet more wild spectacles that few privelleged humans will get to experience in their lifetimes. The wild places of the world don't want to be discovered, preferring instead to reveal their secrets only to those intrepid enough to seek and discover...

Dinner is the vegeterian green Japanese curry that I have had bubbling away all afternoon. The homegrown baby yams added at the last minute are pink and translucent and no bigger than my thumb, and lend just the perfect earthy-sweet flavour to this Asian-Australian bush tucker meal we have just invented.

HYPNOTIC

We take turns simmering in the woodfired bath; house rules are that whoever is in the hot tub gets waited upon hand-and-foot, “As you wish…” Everyone outside of the bath house sits and stares into the fire, talking about past and future planned adventures [and misadventures], and even start to sketch out a vague plan to hike in to Cradle Mountain and back from Loongana when I return to Tasmania.

Aoba entertains herself by slicing cross-sections of the bonfire smoke rising into the night sky with her bright green laser beam, whistling Super Mario Brothers to herself and munching on potatoes roasted in the glowing embers. I can only imagine what her internal dialogue would be, 18-years old girl raised in the Tokyo metropolis in the middle of the Tasmanian bush and only enough grasp of English to understand fleeting glimpses in our conversations..

Roslyn and The Canadian have convinced Peter to break out a bottle of homebrew honey mead which has been “cellared” for a couple years. The amber liquid has a velvety texture, not quite as viscous as scotch, yet smooth enough to coat the sides of the glass when swirled. It smells sweet like honey, not the sickly sweet of desert wines, or the artificial sweet of soda pop, but a subtle, delicate sweetness imbued with a hint of citrus… and the taste? Divine. Almost spiritual. If one were lucky enough to sip from the nectar of the gods, than surely this would be it.

Maximus curls up in my lap and drifts off to sleep, twitching and eyelids fluttering as he starts to dream of chasing birds and sticks and severed wallaby heads. The conversation fades and becomes more intermittent, each of us losing ourselves in the hypnotic glow and crackly of the bonfire, connecting with some deep part of ourselves from eons past, when ape-like men huddled around campfires in caves.

Glowing embers float up and away into the milky way yawning above us. I realize that have discovered a formula for inner peace:

Homebrew Honey Mead
+
Vegetarian Japanese Curry
featuring Home-grown Baby Yams
+
Fire-Roasted Hazlenuts on IceCream with Molten Chocolate
and Home-made Raspberry Sauce
+
Woodfired Bath-house
+
Bonfire
+
Awesome People
+
Amazing Conversation
=
Bliss

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BEDFORD'S BACKYARD

RIVER CROSSING

THE CANADIAN


CHILLIN' ON THE STONE BENCH


AOBA [TOKYO GIRL] CONTEMPLATES NATURE


ROASTING HAZLENUTS


BLISS

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Tasmania: Day 4 - "Here: Loonagana"

THEME SONGS FOR THE DAY:

1. "Society", by Eddie Vedder, from the Into The Wild soundtrack
2. "Indifference", by Ben Harper and Eddie Vedder

PETER BEDFORD:
THE MYTH, THE MAN, THE BLOODY LEGEND

Urgh. After 10 hours on the road yesterday I'm not sure it was a good idea to stay up until 5am drinking wine with our Couchsurfing host and new friend, Peter Bedford... but geeeez his wine is good!

Home-made from blueberries, raspberries, and loganberries grown organically in the garden patches right outside the main house, there are jugs of new batches bubbling away in the kitchen. We made a pretty good dent in their supply getting to know each other last night...

Surprisingly, I'm not hungover, just tired from being on the road and then staying awake for so long. Guess that's what happens when you drink wine that is made from organic fruits, with no preservatives or additives - the wines taste clean, crisp, and fresh, like we are nuzzling from the bosom of the earth.

Aside from sharing our stories and drinking copious amounts of wine, last night - or rather, this morning - we learnt how to find due south by lining up the stars of the Southern Cross with the Pointer Sisters [with Peter's bright green laser pointer which seemed to touch the stars], and were given a tour of the place in near-total darkness. When I finally rise at around 10am, I jump out of bed eager to explore the place in the daylight.

FROST ON THE GROUND IN THE MORNING

The sun has cleared the mountains and the temperature hovers near 4 degrees C, only one degree warmer than last night. I walk down to the dam to get a better look at the "luxury camping" compound that Peter has built for his family over the years. A builder by trade, the building have all been constructed of materials reclaimed from old tear-down houses in the area, or timber milled on-site from the few trees they felled to create the clearing in which the houses sit.

BEDFORD LUXURY CAMPGROUNDS

For the first 18 months or so, the Bedfords would hike in from the main entrance and camp around the fire pit seen in the middle of the photo. The fire's embers were kept glowing 24 hours/day to give the family warmth and cooking capacity until a double wood-fired oven, barbeque grill, and covered dining table were all added later to finish out the heart of the compound. The original structure, which can be seen to the right, was built; then the family moved their tents into this shelter.

THE ORIGINAL HOUSE

This structure was later expanded into what it is today: carpets cover the original earth floors on one side, and a wood-fired stove sitting on carpet-covered brick floors warms the cottage from the other. It feels like a writer's cabin in the woods, complete with a corner desk that overlooks the dam and is bathed in sunlight each morning.

INSIDE THE BATHOUSE

The bath-house can be seen to the left of the photo above: inspired by the bathtub cauldrons used to skin slaughtered
pigs, Peter has built a wood-fired hot-tub out of brick and a reclaimed cast-iron bathtub. Fresh dam water is used, the color of weak herbal tea from being seeped with eucaplytus tannins. A chimney pipes out all the smoke from the fire, and a very high-tech system of pulling the plug to drain water while turning the tap to let in more cold water is used by the bather to regulate the temperature and prevent themselves from becoming boiled soup.

The veggie gardens sit above this area, well fenced to keep out unwelcome guests. The growbeds are raised, sitting on the north-facing aspect of the gentle slope everything is built on, and are a combination of worm castings and compost that has been cultivated on-site over the years. Most of the veggies have been harvested, though a few heads of lettuce and other yummy munchies can be seen growing; the seasons are shifting and the winter veggies will be grown in the two hothouses that have been built.

Peter uses what he calls "organic worms", which live in worm baths that sit in the shadows of a grove of eucalyptus at the edge of the compound. These worms are happiest munching on a combination of kitchen scraps and horse manure, and differ from regular earthworms in the quality of worm casting they produce. Buckets sit at the bottom ends of the worm baths collecting "worm tea", which is a nutrient-rich liquid fertilizer that is used throughout the gardens.

THE KIDS' HOUSE

The "main house" that we pulled up to last night is the most recently built structure on the premises: also built almost entirely from reclaimed building materials and timbers milled on-site, it features heated floors. A concrete slab was poured with copper pipes laid throughout that connect to a modified wood-fired stove in the middle of the house. Water fills a chamber surrounding the fire chamber, and a small pump helps circulate the water to keep the house warm in the cold winter nights.

The north-facing wall is almost entirely glass, bought for $100 from windows reclaimed from another tear-down house in the area. Growbeds line this wall, about three 1/2 feet off the ground so that tomatos and other veggies can be grown inside the house throughout winter. It's also a handy feature to be able to throw your dry scraps right onto the garden to be composted. Originallly intended to be the "kid's house", this structure has become the main living area, with a large kitchen bench to hang out around, and plenty of room to hang out wet gear.

A flat screen TV and impressive collection of dvds and video games look like any other suburban kid's living room, though these kids are hardly what you'd call any other suburban kid. Wilbur is 23 years old and is currently in Norway leading whitewater kyaking expeditions, while 16-year old Oscar is away with Mum whitewater kyaking somewhere near the Walls of Jerusalem national park in the middle of Tasmania.

We strike out towards the waterfall that can be heard in the background, and follow a large trek leading away from the ompound. The stream at the top of the waterfall is narrow enough to jump across, and seems harldy capable of producing the roar of falling water humming in our chests. There are a couple eucalyptus trees here that would take four men holding hands to span its circumference, and soar majestically 30 stories above the forest floor.

At the bottom of the falls, we are humbled by the sight which greets us. Only a handful of humans have ever born witness to this place, Peter tells us later that the locals didn't even know it existed until he moved in and discovered it himself.

We are standing at the bottom of a small canyon, whitewater falling in slow motion over glistening black boulders that are almost perfect squares, tempting me to climb this beautiful natural staircase. Massive tree ferns lining the canyon walls create perfect acoustics for the water to gently echo around this room, and we stand in silence for quite some time in awe and gratitude of this discovery. It feels wrong to cheapen the moment by snapping photos, so we quietly say our thanks and move on back up to the house.

Electricity for the entire compound is generated from one turbine at the base of the falls, and is pumped into a converter and battery store room where power levels can be easily monitored. Sitting around under one light bulb in the middle of the night no longer seems creepy once we've walked down to the turbine and followed the power cables all the way back up to the house.

They don’t get many visitors this far out into the bush, as Peter explains, “those who are meant to find us, eventually do…” This afternoon he is picking up 18-year old Aoba [pronounced “Oh-bah”], whose Couchsurfing sister has arranged for a two-week stay to get her out of the city and broaden her horizons.

She barely speaks English, and I am lounging naked in the hot-tub when she arrives late in the afternoon and is given the tour. “Can I take photo?” she says, and I nod vaguely through the clouds of eucalyptus steam.

Who woulda thought that I would be snapped nude by a Japanese tourist out in the wilderness of Tasmania?

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"KIDS' HOUSE"
AND VEGGIE GARDENS


STORAGE SHED, CUBBY HOUSE AND FLYING FOX


MAXIMUS PLAYING AROUND THE DAM


WOOD-FIRED OVEN


OUTDOOR DINING TABLE


BUNKHOUSE




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break on through...

"WHAT A FRIENDLY LOOKING HOLE.
LET'S GO SEE WHAT LIVES INSIDE!"

Today I went to the other side. Literally. Physically. Metaphysically. Let me explain:

A couple months ago while visiting Olomana Gardens in the foothills of Waimanalo, I followed along with an impromptu group hike and found out about a hidden trail that follows the water flumes which wind through the mountains and provide all the irrigation water for the agriculture in the area. We came across a tunnel about 4" high that disappeared into an almost sheer face of mountainside and was told that if we were to go through it, we would come out to the Lost World on the other side...

WAIMANALO WATER FLUMES

Today I went back. Today I went through the black, and came out on the other side.

We peer into the entrance and can only see blackness 30-40 feet in. The cool water rushing around our ankles gurgles impassively, and my stomach twitches as my mind starts to paint macabre pictures of creatures that lurk in deep, dark places, and of pale gaping faces floating in the night.

FELLOW ADVENTURER AND SOUL-SEARCHER:
LUCIE VOELCKER, THE TRAVELING POET OF GERMANY
AT THE TUNNEL ENTRANCE

Adrenaline kicks in and I can feel the glint in my eye brightening. The Traveling Poet's gaze meets mine, and our glinting eyes smile in agreement that we are actually going to go in.

The 9-LED flashlight, a gift I received only the day before, can only light the way 20 feet ahead before being swallowed by the blackness. It is a strange feeling, knowing that there are tons and tons of dirt, rock, trees, and who knows what else pressing in all around you. It is perhaps an even stranger thing to knowingly descend into these dark places of the earth; once the mind starts chewing on the your fears, the chatter is difficult to stop:

• "What if the light goes out?"
• "What lives in here?"
• "Remember that creature in Star Wars that dragged Luke under the muck in the garbage compacter? I wonder if that thing lives here..."
• "Now I know how Gollum must have felt; no wonder he went insane...."
• "Don't drop the flashlight."
• "What lies ahead?"
• "What was that?!?"
  
• "I don't want to see any faces. Or dead bodies. I don't do dead bodies. Or floating apparitions. No floating apparitions please."
• "What if this doesn't come out on the other side?"
  
• "What was that that just brushed my ankle?!"
• "Don't drop the flashlight!!"
• "DO NOT. DROP. THE FLASHLIGHT."
  

And on and on and on and on.....

On and on we press, losing all sense of time and space, save for what the flashlight can show us for the next twenty feet, the next 30 seconds. The tunnel walls are cold and roughly hewn, and beads of water glisten on the walls like pearls in the gray sky.

The water seems to simply appear out of thin air. The ceiling bears down upon us, seeming to get lower and lower with each step...then it toys with me, opening up every now and then enough to let me stand up straight.

Thankfully, The Traveling Poet starts singing. It is haunting and surreal and macabre and beautiful and strangely comforting all at the same time...

THE SOUND OF PITCH BLACK -
FOR BEST EFFECT, VIEW FULLSCREEN

We pause for a moment and turn off the light. The cool water rushes around my ankles, like busy commuters rushing and gurgling to make their trains. The walls press in around me, and my unseeing eyes blink naievely, desperately groping for light.

There is no difference between keeping my eyes open or closed. Panic rises in my stomach, and I smile broadly to laugh silently and keep the fear at bay.

The screen of my mind and the screen of my retina are one and the same, both inky blank canvases awaiting inspiration and direction...

We press on, the rythym of our sloshing footsteps keeping pace with my quickening heartbeat. I force my mind to stay on the light at the end of the tunnel, though it does not come. On and on into the next 20 feet of darkness we slosh, the water no longer gurgling but relentlessly going the other way, passing silent judgment on the decision to walk against the flow.

My life has become a cliche, and I am loving every minute of it: fear mixed with wonder mixed with anticipation shaken in mountain spring water and pressed by a hundred million tons of sheer-faced mountain...

It is no longer my imagination, the ceiling is getting gradually lower and lower now. Up ahead at the edge of the flashlight, I can make out a different shape, and I cringe....it looks like the roof has caved in, and I don't want to think about the implications of that.

As we get closer, the tunnel turns almost 90 degrees to the left, and what I thought was a cave-in is actually an older tunnel that has since been sealed. The water seems to have quickened its pace and is much louder here, and the cave ceiling keep getting lower.

Now, we are duck-walking, arse-deep in the water, and I am wondering if we will keep going like this until we shrink down and down and down into the size of m&m candies, like Alice in Wonderland, on our way to smoke hookahs with giant existentially philosophic caterpillars...

Up ahead in the distance, I see a simmering light...

It's not the Hotel California, it's the Exit to the Tunnel...and I can breathe deeply again. My thighs are aching from duck-walking the last 100 feet, but it doesn't matter now, I can see the end.

The Travel Poet emerges first, fourty feet ahead of me, and when I finally emerge blinking in the sunlight, a whole new world ... the Lost World ... comes into focus...

We are Sam Neil and Laura Dern, we are the only two humans left on the planet, we are the first two human beings on the planet...we are Adam & Eve. The other side is lush, vibrant green, a living, breathing soundscape of nature...

THE SOUNDS OF NATURE

With newly refreshed eyes and ears, each sight, sound, smell, touch is heightened, and we explore this wilderness we have discovered with childlike wonder, taking our shoes off and squishing through the mud, running up the valley walls and whooping with joy.

As the nature-induced ecstasy fades, we bask in the afterglow and settle back down next to the Exit, out portal back into the world we just escaped. Not ready to return yet, we hunker into our packs and much on organic energy bars and vegan apple cakes given to us that morning by our genius rockclimbing/smoothie-making friend [Badass Harvard Laureate]...and the Traveling Poet strums Martin [her guitar], and bursts into song again...

She is taken by the moment, channeling words and chords and melodies that speak to the moment we are sharing... I sit at her feet and am 6 years old again, close my eyes and am lifted with her voice, swirling with the notes up through the trees... she tells me later that when this happens, it is as if her soul is speaking to her through her own music. I am witnessing a faerie singing her heartsong in the wilderness with my own eyes...

INSPIRATION - CLICK FOR YOUTUBE VIDEO

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...Today, I sat under a mountain, and in the complete absence of light, became a thought.

A bodiless, floating thought. As if the tunnel had collapsed, and my consciousness was ascending through the layers of rock and dirt through the mountain to gain a better view...and in that moment, I experienced peace.

Peace, knowing that if I had indeed died, that I had died while adventuring, doing exactly what I want to be doing - something I love... and absolutely living in the moment.

Peace, knowing that few humans had ever trod into the heart of this mountain...and fewer still had taken the time to stop, turn off their flashlights, and savor the experience.

Peace, melting into the walls of the tunnel, becoming one with the 'aina.

Peace, knowing that the world is what you think it is.

Peace, in communion with nature.

Peace, reconnecting with the source.

Peace.

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barber shop chair wars!

Defending Champ: Matthew Lynch, World Famous Adventurer and Travel Writer
Challenger: Lucie Voelcker, Germany's Travelling Poet
Score: Champ - 2, Challenger - 0

Round 1

Challenger gets off to a [very] slow start...


Round 2

In which the Champ demonstrates that he has spent way too much time honing this skill...

The Equipment: vintage cast iron / red leather barber shop chairs circa 1940s...reclaimed from barber shop on Maunakea Streeet in Chinatown Honolulu...

....I'm gonna miss these chairs!!!

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Job Application

I had so much fun shooting this over the last week....er, OK well mostly today...thought the deadline was next week and SUPERMOM came to the rescue again, texting me with the news that the application vid was actually due in TODAY.

So in true procrastination-drives-creative-genius form, I spent the day filming like a maniac with my Couchsurfing Buddy [and new best friend] Lucie Voelcker [THANK YOU Lucie!!]

We spent the day asking unsuspecting tourists and locals to say, "HE WAS BORN FOR THIS JOB!!" into a stranger's video camera....and everyone happily obliged!! I'll follow up with the blooper reel on another post; this was so much fun!!

Of course, Mom thinks that I am a shoe-in for the job [love you Mom]; I thought "Well why not?!" In any case, now that it is out there we'll see what happens, aye??

Special thanks to: Mom & Dad, Lucie Voelcker, Laurens Laudowicz, Miles Burkhart, James Lynch, Jens Trumpa and his beautiful children, Pete Richards, Jim Schmit, Tom who we sail with every Friday [what the heck is ur last name??], Antoinella, Atlantis, Da Kalihi Boyz, that lovely couple from the west coast who we met on Diamond Head, and Morning Brew Cafe in Kailua.

The GR8EST Job In The World - Application Complete!

I had so much fun shooting this over the last week....er, OK well mostly today...thought the deadline was next week and SUPERMOM came to the rescue again, texting me with the news that the application vid was actually due in TODAY.

So in true procrastination-drives-creative-genius form, I spent the day filming like a maniac with my Couchsurfing Buddy [and new best friend] Lucie Voelcker [THANK YOU Lucie!!]

We spent the day asking unsuspecting tourists and locals to say, "HE WAS BORN FOR THIS JOB!!" into a stranger's video camera....and everyone happily obliged!! I'll follow up with the blooper reel on another post; this was so much fun!!

Special thanks to: Mom & Dad, Lucie Voelcker, Laurens Laudowicz, Miles Burkhart, James Lynch, Jens Trumpa and his beautiful children, Pete Richards, Jim Schmit, Tom who we sail with every Friday [what the heck is ur last name??], Antoinella, Atlantis, Da Kalihi Boyz, that lovely couple from the west coast who we met on Diamond Head, and Morning Brew Cafe in Kailua.

My First Couchsurfing Experience!

THIS IS HOW YOU PACK TO CYCLE ACROSS NORTH AMERICA

So I had my first Couchsurfing experience this week!!

Nico is from Belgium and is cycling solo across Canada, North America, and off to the Baja Coast of Mexico after a brief stopover in Hawaii to cycle around Oahu and hike Molokai.

Apparently, this is what Belgians do for fun.

Seriously though we Americans have it all wrong.....we live to work....Europeans work just enough so that they can live it up!

Nico has taken a leave of absence from work for 12 months to travel and recharge his batteries, and his job will still be there when he gets back. Apparently, he must take off at least 4 weeks / year to prevent burnout [he's a nurse], and can take up to 5 years of extended leave throughout his career....

Similarly, I backpacked New Zealand in 2003 with an Austrian nurse who was also on an extended 12 month leave of absence she had decided to spend travelling the world; with the knowledge that her job would be waiting when she returned. Come to think of it, I hung out with some German executives at a bar in San Francisco who were on their way to Tahoe, also on an extended leave....they even invited me to hang out with them on the slopes when I'm back in Europe!!

I wonder what the national health of developed European countries looks like....probably much lower stress-related diseases, which means that national health care costs should run lower....in my travels I've hardly ever met any fat Europeans; they always seem to be fit, healthy, and active. Not like the spongy fat Americans I am used to seeing flopped on Waikiki's beaches.

The recent movie WALL-E was a perfect parody of US society, which was probably lost on the vast majority of US audiences....the human passengers onboard the spaceship are whisked to and from their "cruise ship" activities on mobile entertainment capsules, devoid of any real human connection and interaction even though their fellow human beings are right there next to them. Kind of like the table at the bar where everyone is on their cell phones and no-one is talking to the people right next to them that they came to meet in the first place!!

Meanwhile, the endless array of mind-numbing and frivolous distractions from their true plight - the only survivors of the human race lost in deep space at the mercy of the supercomputer built to sustain their lives. What a potent metaphor for the decline of the American Empire that we are all witnessing this very moment. Caught up in our own indulgent need for more more more more more, we were blindsided by the white elephant in the room; What do you mean we can't spend our way out of trouble??

But I digress! back to the couchsurfing experience...we were to meet just for coffee and a chat, so that I could pick his brains about do's / dont's / insider tips from a real live actual person who has successfully couchsurfed... instead, we wind up sharing a few beers at The Dragon's Den, a local live jazz spot in Chinatown, which I had not yet been to in 12 years of living here!

I love the wandering lifestyle. It is as though simply meeting and hanging out with travellers gives you a new pair of eyes to see the world.....this trip may last longer than 12 months.....

THE DRAGON'S DEN IN CHINATOWN HONOLULU