End Times

Ten months ago I left the comforts of OR to face the trials of whatever NZ and Maruia Springs could throw my way. Overgrown mountains, snowstorms, housekeeping, isolation, korean veggie-men, endless rain, cuts, burns, sandflies, obscure orders, midnight rescue, earthquakes, vegans, shoddy butchers, rockslides, waking up to couples in the neighboring private bath, and so much more. It may seem like a list of terrible experiences, but without these happenings the good times wouldn't have been nearly as enjoyable. So, I'll revise the list: Clean air, peaceful mountains, snow in July, friends, fox 'n ferret, skateparks, steamer fire, Reefton, FIFA '09, mountain summits, Eels, the Professor, Dontel, pies, Stoke, goslings, sunsets, misty, chibi, Jon G, Nooow, fermentation, generator room, the knife, the language, the bath, and of course, white devil.

Meaningless words to most, but to me, they will forever spell out the highlights of 2011.

Ten months ago, I could imagine neither my looming 22nd birthday, nor going to Japan months later. Now they've both drifted by along with the subsequent months, like seed spores on the unperceivable wind that is time at Maruia. Come and gone before I knew it, and now life in the mountains near Lewis pass is over. My last night the staff saw me off with countless drinks, lasting well into the morning. Unsteadily, they packed me onto the bus and sent me off down the winding roads to Christchurch.  As ill as I felt, it couldn't hope to measure up to the exhaustion coarsing through my veins. Waking up only for fresh air in Culverton, I somehow managed to get to the airport after the bus dropped me near city centre. (Which has been closed since February)

A cramped flight up to Auckland, followed by a 40 min bus ride into town left me in no mood to be friendly. At the hostel in downtown Auckland I grumpily checked in only to have my foul mood worsened by the room. Like a pungent fist, the stench in the room nearly knocks me on my ass. One other guy is currently in the room but judging by the amount of luggage piled against the wall, every bed was taken.

"Hi, I'm Jesse. What in the hell is that smell??"

"Sven. Smells like ammonia. It's coming from those bags over there. I think it mouse piss."

Fueled by our disgust for the unknown others, Sven, from Frankfurt, and I quickly became friends. Along with a Dutch guy, Pancho, we went out for dinner and a few drinks.

You're probably asking yourself, how I could have gone out for drinks after beginning my day with a nauseous, drunken bus ride?

Believe me when I say, no living, or dead for that matter, person could ever fall asleep in that room without a few drinks to knock them out.
I'm meeting my parents in Auckland in the morning for more travels.
Will update when I can.