In Which Kat and Destiny Go To Prison

Napier, a quaint little town of 1930s architecture, open-air cafes, and sunny ocean-side walks. The crystal sea sweeps in over a landscape of grey pebbles, warmed by the sun. In the distance, the lights of cruise ships twinkle in the mist. With eternally sad eyes, the bronze statue of Pania, the sea-maiden, gazes out across the waters to the west. Children splash in the cool fountain under beautiful trees that bend as if to kiss the ground with long, twisting limbs.

But at the top of the hill (insert scary music) a sinister presence lurks above the hapless city…

The Old Napier Prison. Seeped in stories of murder, betrayal, and desperation, the undulating corridors, twisted by the 1931 earthquake, echo with the ghosts of the long forgotten. The names of men locked away from the world are sprawled across the walls, accompanied by symbols of their hate and their loyalty. Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpse the quick movements of the resident ghost cat, who treads on silent paws the same hallways that once rang with the steps of damned. In the back corner, the hanging yard surrounds the gallows from which swings a noose, tied and ready, as if still waiting.

So, yeah, that’s where we lived for six weeks. Home sweet home. We slept in a prison cell and cooked in the prison kitchen and watched movies in what was once part of the prison mess hall. The cell one over from ours belonged to a schizophrenic who murdered his wife and kids—in the 1880s. Obviously, he doesn’t live there anymore. We played with the ghost cat that is supposedly possessed by a cat-lover convicted of fraud in the 1960s. During the day, we led groups of tourists around the prison, read by the beach, or walked around town. At night, we hung out with the other backpackers living at the prison, watching movies and going out to dinner and rocking quiz night at a local pub. That was about it. We had fun, and now we’re continuing our adventure. 

In Which Kat Bids Destiny Goodbye and Proceeds to be Epic

After telling Destiny and the rest of Napier farewell, I made my way to Wellington, where I got to experience the singular pleasure of being greeted by people I love as I stepped off the bus. My family took me out to dinner that night—and every night for the following eleven days. From Wellington we took the ferry to the south island and drove to Franz Josef, which brings us to:

Epic Adventure Number 1: Hiking to Fox Glacier.

We made our way along a riverbed to what honestly looks like a flood suddenly frozen. It’s eight miles long, beginning in the Southern Alps and ending in a rainforest. It’s one of those things you read about, then one day you see it and think, "It really is a huge piece of ice." Makes me feel like an Arctic explorer. 

From Fox Glacier, we went to Queenstown, where we had epic adventures 2 and 3.

Epic Adventure Number 2: Milford Sound

This was not actually in Queenstown, but you get there by bus from Queenstown. We left the sunbathing crowds beside the lake and, within 3 hours, were among snow-capped mountains. On the other side of these snow-capped mountains is a beautiful fjord surrounded by mountains and waterfalls. I stood at the bow of our boat as one of said waterfalls crashed down over me. It was brilliant.

Epic Adventure Number 3: Jet Boating

You put on a rain jacket and a life jacket and get into a boat strikingly reminiscent of a ski boat. You are then driven up, down, and around this snow-fed river that is shallow enough for me to wonder if I could even kayak it in some places. You get spun around, frighteningly close to the bank, and rather wet, all while in a 3 ton boat that’s riding on 10 centimeters of water. Think of it as driving a boat as if it were a jet ski.

After jet boating, we flew to Sydney. We walked on the Sydney Harbour Bridge, toured the Sydney Opera House, and spent Christmas Day on the beach. The day after Christmas, we flew to Cairns for the next epic adventure.

Epic Adventure Number 4: Snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef

It’s just as awesome as Nemo makes it out to be—crystal-clear water full of fish and coral of every shape, size, and color. Most memorable were the barracuda hanging out just behind the boat and the small orange and white clown fish.

The following day, before flying back to Sydney, we took a train into the rainforest where we had:

Epic Adventure Number 5: Cuddling Koalas and Feeding Kangaroos

It’s exactly what it sounds like.

We flew back to Sydney for a few days before my family headed back home and I returned to New Zealand. Thus passed my Christmas holiday. Now to begin another year. It’s going to be epic.

In Which Destiny Bids Kat Farewell and Proceeds to be Awesome

So after waving Katherine goodbye as she sallied forth to join her family for the holidays, I set to work making my Christmas as memorable (read: awesome) as possible. It was a complicated game plan, requiring many long, sleepless nights at the drawing board. Or you could also say that it just sort of happened. 

Phase One: Bluff Hill

At the end of a long day of work at Napier Prison, the staff, which consists of several nationalities of backpackers, usually likes to unwind in various ways. (Have we mentioned that we are living in a prison now? Stay tuned for a future blog post with the details.) One of our more recent ventures was to the top of Bluff Hill in the dead of night, hauling backpacks full of snacks. Now Bluff Hill has the best view of Napier, but being a hill (and quite a large one at that) it takes a jolly bit of effort to hike it. The feint of heart use the sidewalks that zigzag through a quiet neighborhood, but those of us with a taste for adventure like to cut straight through the woods. As an Alabama girl, I’ve done my share of midnight wilderness tramps, and I found myself very quickly at the forefront. I tried to explain to them, as patiently as possible, that as there are no snakes, wildcats or bears lurking about the New Zealand woods, then there is really nothing to worry about. And after you’ve hiked in the Alabama backwoods, which are replete with all of the above, anything less just seems like a Sunday stroll. Someone pointed out the possibility of a murderous hobo, to which I replied that in the case of an ax-wielding maniac, I was probably not going to be able to protect anyone, so perhaps one of our strapping young British gentlemen might want to take the lead. Our resident strapping young gentlemen politely and vehemently declined. 

We spent several hours enjoying the night lights, counting cruise ships on the horizon, and swapping stories. If you’ve never spent time in a motley group of internationals, you should find the opportunity as soon as possible. It is quite a singular experience. We all wandered back down the hill in the wee hours of the morning, but a few of us weren’t ready for Bedfordshire quite yet. A stray suggestion from Alex the Welshman set Phase Two into motion. 

Phase Two: Climbing the Waterfall

Across from Napier Prison is Centennial Gardens, which boasts a 120-ft manmade waterfall. Now, I could go into tour guide mode and tell you all about how the gardens came to be, but I will save that for the blog post about the prison. For now, all you need to know is that there is a massively tall and extremely obvious waterfall visible from the front steps of the prison. 

Annabel, from Oregon, had somehow never noticed this waterfall before. In fact, as we described it to her inside the prison walls, she stoutly refused to believe us. Hence Alex’s suggestion that we take yet another (way, way past) midnight hike. So four of us set out—Alex, Annabel, Danielle the Canadian, and myself. We stood on the bridge and admired the waterfall, which is splendidly lit up at night, for about two and a half minutes. Then Alex mentioned that it was possible to climb halfway up the side of the waterfall, and obviously after he mentioned it we had to accomplish it. Alex went first. I was close behind. Danielle made it halfway, and then, quite suddenly, all the lights went out. Danielle fell five feet onto her backside, and Alex and I had to scramble down the rock face with only a cell phone’s light to guide us. 

After that we decided it was indeed time for bed, which I really ought to have decided much sooner, because it turns out I had a bus ticket for 7:45 that morning. Which leads us to--

Phase Three: Jumping Out of a Plane

This year, with the help of my lovely and generous family, I bought myself an unforgettable Christmas present. I took a bus to Taupo, about 2 hours away from Napier. I hopped in a white limousine that drove me to an airstrip. I strapped myself to a skydive instructor that looked an awful lot like Viggo Mortensen. Then we jumped out of a plane. Fifteen thousand feet, sixty seconds of freefall, several minutes of parachute time.

They tell you that you’re so high it doesn’t feel like you’re falling, and that’s absolutely true. The sensation of falling lasts about two seconds, and then you feel like you’re flying. The air is rushing past and though gravity is hard at work, you feel utterly weightless. It’s absolutely one of the best sensations in the world. Below was the gorgeous Lake Taupo and New Zealand’s ever-stunning countryside, and at the start of the jump, I could see both the east and west coast of the North Island. The jerk of the parachute is rather painful, but the sudden sensation of floating is almost as good as the flying. It’s all so fast and loud, but somehow peaceful at the same time, because for that brief amount of time you are literally high above your troubles. No debts or diets or disagreements. All you have to do is fly. 

Phase Four: The Celebration

Christmas with the Kiwis was a delight. I spent it with a family that I know really well. We had a fantastic brunch and then played Secret Santa. It’s odd how a Christmas celebration on the opposite side of the globe can be so very different and yet somehow exactly the same. There were family and friends and laughter and an enormous amount of food. There were Santa hats and gag gifts and Christmas carols playing in the background. But there were also shorts and jandals (flip-flops) and sunglasses and sunscreen. After brunch we all went to the river. The adults basked in the sunlight on the shore while the little kids splashed in the water. Try singing “Jingle Bells” while wearing your togs (swimsuit). It doesn’t work. 

In Retrospect:

So I have officially termed Christmas 2011 a memorable (and awesome) success, but to tell the truth, the old adage is accurate. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Something about Christmas, no matter how full of thrills and good friends it may be, just isn’t right without family. Those traditions that seemed silly or boring suddenly feel indispensable, and even the smallest joys, like the warmth of the fireplace on Christmas morning, are suddenly the greatest loss imaginable. 

I know that Christmas is about remembering Christ’s birth, but it’s also about remembering everything with which we’ve been blessed—the chief of which is family. I’m so glad I had the experience of a Kiwi Christmas, because I’ll never take “home for the holidays” for granted again. 

So I’ll see you in the New Year. I’ll bet I get there first. 

Love from sunny and warm Napier, 

Destiny

In Which Kat and Destiny Do All The Fun Things!

Fun Thing #1: So, in Dunedin, there’s this graveyard, and jutting out from the graveyard, which is on a little peninsula, is this little bit of land that would be an island were it not for a little stretch of dirt a few hundred yards long and a meter or so wide. Along this land-bridge is what certain fun-loving adventurers might mistake for a footpath. It’s not actually a footpath; it’s a walk-crawl-scoot-almost-get-knocked-over-by-the-wind-oh-no-I-think-I’m-gonna-die- and-thrown-into-the-bitterly-cold-water-below-is-there-room-in-the-cemetery path. But on the island…well, there’s two trees and a bush that can protect you, at least partially, from the crazy cold wind. But the walk-crawl-scoot out to the island is fun. Well, it was fun for some of us. Some of us (Clare (Constant-Is-The-Lord’s-Love Huxtable)) sat down halfway along the land-bridge, crossed her arms, and refused to go any further. So, maybe not so much fun for her, but still a great deal of fun for our two daring adventurers.

Fun Thing #2: Also in Dunedin, there’s this SECRET TUNNEL that leads down to this cool as beach with big rocks you can climb. Fun.

Fun Thing #3: Arachnocampa Luminosa. No, it’s not a spell you can learn at Hogwarts—it’s a glow worm! And not just a glow worm—hundreds of them, all hanging out in the trees by this stream, like a dark sky full of green stars close enough to reach out and touch.

Fun Thing #4: There is such a thing as an aardwolf. Look it up.

Fun Thing #5: We spent three nights in a crib (more or less a cabin) on Lake Wanaka in Central Otago. We explored Arrowtown and Queenstown and paid exorbitant prices for fish and chips (not a fun thing) and went swimming in a snow-fed lake (which was fun once you lost feeling in your limbs).

Fun Thing #6: “Have you ever found your way through darkness to the crown of the hill, stood in the lap of the statue of Time and shouted Shakespeare to the city of lights below?” Why yes, we have. It was fun. And probably disturbing to the couple enjoying the view.

Fun Thing #7: We visited the Weta Workshop, where they create props for various high-budget films, most notably Lord of the Rings. We got to see their mini museum of replicas and pieces. We also got to hold cool as steam punk handguns. Still not sure why they were there.

This is why Kat and Destiny will never be responsible grown-ups. There are too many fun things.

In Which the Blog Title Does Not Fit in the Blog Title Box (See Below)

In Which She-Who-Climbs-Trees (Kat) and She-Who-Swings-High (Destiny) Cook Thanksgiving Dinner for Constant-Is-The-Lord's-Love Huxtable (Clare) and Mourn the Absence of He-Who-Lights-The-Bears-On-Fire (the cat)

Many moons ago, somewhere off of Interstate 75 (probably), a group of happy, English-speaking Native Americans in brightly colored feather headdresses sat down with several austere pilgrims who did not believe in color. Together, they had a meal of turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and pink cloud. Being Protestant evangelicals, they gave thanks to God for all He had given them. Now, almost 400 years later, the exact same thing happened.


Only completely different.

We awoke at the unrighteous hour of 9 o'clock this morning to being preparing the many traditional Thanksgiving foods we wished to share with our Kiwi hosts, none of whom had experienced Thanksgiving before. After carefully strategizing, we began cooking and learned several very important things:
1) Always asks specifically where the mixing bowls are, because Kiwis do obnoxious things like store them under the sink.
2) French fried onions are actually a very important part of green bean casserole. Without them, it's more like green-bean-cream-of-mushroom soup. Kiwis don't believe in French fried onions. If you ask about them, they will accuse you of making them up.
3) Hand-whipping meringue takes a freakishly long time. Multiple shift changes are necessary.
Despite these difficult lessons, we managed to cook mashed potatoes with cheese, kumara (sweet potato) souffle, green bean casserole, dressing, pink cloud (fluffy pink cottage cheese/cream/pineapple/strawberry jello mixture), yeast rolls (turned out to be more of a yeast loaf but still pretty tasty), and chocolate pie, as well as a turkey.

Once the cooking was complete, we spent most of the afternoon engaged in the most important of Thanksgiving festivities: the making of handprint turkeys, Indian headdresses, and pilgrim hats. Note--Indian headdress require a great deal less work than pilgrim hats, unless you're like Kat and make yourself a full chief's headdress. That takes a very long time.

Hats on and turkeys tacked to the wall by the table (along with several colorful Kiwi birds to keep them company), we presented our hosts with our Thanksgiving feast, which they very kindly ate, with the exception of Moira, who refused to eat the pink cloud.

During the meal, we each told a few things for which we are thankful, the most interesting of which being unicorns.

Thus passed our traditional American Thanksgiving in New Zealand. We hope your Turkey Day is equally enjoyable. Tell the Macy's parade we said hello.

P.S.--He-Who-Lights-The-Bears-On-Fire has returned. There was much rejoicing.

In Which Destiny and Kat Kidnap a Pirate...Sort of

Once upon a time on the island at the end of the world there was a fearsome pirate named Clar.

Here is the story of how we kidnapped her.

But first, a short prelude:

After a delightful week of writing and not a great deal else we made our way to Wellington. In Wellington there is a mountain of magic and mystery where a number of scenes from Lord of the Rings were filmed. Thus it was absolutely necessary that we run around in a hired Hobbit cloak and take pictures of ourselves tumbling down the hill in search of mushrooms and hiding from the Nazgul (and being the Nazgul for that matter). We also visited the River Anduin, the Ford of Isen, and Rivendell. All of this took two days. (Can you imagine what it would have been like if we had walked the entire way? One of us might have died!)

While waiting to board the ferry to the South Island, we spotted a WWI-era army jeep, complete with WWI-era soldiers. We then spent a while discussing whether New Zealand was actually that far behind in military defense. Upon inquiry, we learned that they were not in fact members of the military, but re-enactors--very friendly re-enactors with lots of stories to tell. Thus passed a pleasant ferry ride.

After bidding goodbye to our new friends, we headed to our hostel in Picton, where we were too late for the famed hot chocolate pudding. We were not, however, too late for our kind kiwi guide Esther to have a lengthy discussion on morality with various other hostel dwellers. Because that's the sort of thing that happens in hostel common rooms.

In Hanmer Springs, we had our first experience with the magic of hot water bottles. In a land without central heating, these are the only thing standing between us and a long night of icy feet. We also visited Captain Mike's Fish and Chip Shop, where travelers are encouraged to write a note on the front window. We composed a limerick:

Two travelers in Hanmer Springs
Ate some fish and chips fit for kings.
At Captain Mike's
Everyone likes
The food and the fullness it brings.

That's right. Nobel-worthy. Next time you're in Hanmer Springs, look us up.

We then made our way to the city of Christchurch. We had a brief walking tour of the earthquake devastation downtown, as well as a tour of Esther's lovely and multitudinous friends who lived nearby. On the deadly rapids of the Avon River in Christchurch, Destiny had her first kayaking experience, alongside many families of fluffy ducklings.

Continuing our way south, we reached Oamaru, steampunk capital of New Zealand and home of the annual Victorian Heritage Fete. Among the many unique sites of Oamaru was one Katherine Harrell in a Victorian skirt and shawl, looking rather like a spinster governess. Also at the fete were fencers, pipe-smoking and penny farthings a-plenty.

But you don't care about any of that. What you really want to know is how we (sort of) kidnapped a pirate.

As it is necessary when kidnapping a pirate to look like a pirate, we had to stop on the side of the road and change into pirate paraphernalia, including eyepatches, a Jolly Roger, and a dark curly fro wig (think Screech from Saved by the Bell). Armed with our two-dollar plastic swords, we charged the abode of the above-mentioned fearsome pirate Clar. We kicked down the door (though you could say we knocked on the door and her mum let us in). We banged on the bathroom door, but then our plans were scuppered by the fact that our would-be hostage refused to meet her captors face-to-face for the first time half-naked.

We don't know why she had a problem with this.

We then waited with uncharacteristic and rather un-pirately patience for her to emerge in her orange and pink floral robe. She informed us that she hated us, and then hugged us. All the while, the fluffy black cat named Glitzy Candle-Bears made us feel very welcome and then bit Katherine on the hand. We very much enjoy the company of Sparkly Lightbulb-Pandas.

The following morning we sadly bid farewell to Clar's (who is sometimes, when she is not feeling particularly piratey, also called Clare) mum and Glamour Matchstick-Grizzlies and set off for the Catlins.  We spent two days climbing waterfalls, exploring beaches, staying proper distances away from penguins, and debating feminism. It was lovely.

We have now returned to the home of Clare, Glitter Sparkler-Yogis, Clare's parents and sister Moira (who requested to be described to America as "awesomeness and writingness". She is indeed both of these things.)

The moral of the story: When kidnapping pirates, be careful petting the cat or he will bite you.
 

In Which Kat and Destiny are Kidnapped by Gypsies

What follows is the true, unbiased Account of the not-quite-unfortunate Captivity of two certain Young Ladies with their relatively scant amount of Luggage and the Peculiar events and emotions that Proceeded from this Singular experience.

Beginning this post is proving to be difficult. As difficult as trying to write a blog post about two days in a major city followed by four days in a camper van with five girls under the age of 12 and their rather enthusiastic dad. That kind of difficult.

Day 1, Wednesday: we were kidnapped by gypsies, which is to say the two of us and our packs were pulled off the streets of Auckland and into a camper van. We did not refer to it as kidnapping; Craig, our driver and the ringleader of the gypsy band, put it that way. It was rather like being kidnapped, only with better food, more hugs, and occasional petting. After an outing to the zoo (I have no idea whether most kidnappings include zoo outings or not) and a stop for Indian takeaways (which is what they call take-out food here; we were not actually taking away an Indian. That would be real kidnapping), we made our way out of Auckland. After several hours of driving in the dark punctuated by poking, giggling, and odd questions like "are you going to sleep in the bus?", we reached a campsite. Which is to say, we reached a spot on the side of the road where we could pull off and set up a tent while Craig made up beds for himself and the girls in the camper van. He kindly offered us beds in the bus, but we felt we would be a bit happier in the tent. However, this happiness was soon threatened when we pulled out the tent to discover a missing crucial bit: tent poles. In case you've never tried to set up a tent, you should know that a tent without tent poles is a large and rather useless piece of canvas. We managed to tie a piece of rope between two trees and tie the top of our tent to said rope. Our packs were shoved into the corners of the tent to provide a bit more shape, and the rain fly was draped over the rope and tied to either tree. So not the way we would have chosen to spend our first night out of Auckland--but the view in the morning was entirely worth it. Green, rollings hills surrounding pastureland. It was like waking up in Middle Earth. All that was missing was a pointy-eared Orlando Bloom.

Day 2, Thursday: Hot Water Beach is aptly named. Though the water itself is ice cold, if you walk down the shore (keeping one eye on the magnificent horizon and one eye on the massive pockmarked boulders that provide brilliant climbing), you'll come upon a horde of tourists with shovels digging themselves hot tub-sized holes into the sand. These holes are indeed hot tubs, filling automatically with natural hot water. Sadly, we did not have time to splash around, but we have every intention of returning.

Day 3, Friday: In the seemingly unremarkable town of Paeroa, there is a giant bottle of soda by the side of the road. L&P is a delicious NZ soda that slightly resembles Mellow Yellow in taste, only not really. It was invented in Paeroa. As we were still in Tourist Mode, we felt it appropriate to buy a couple of L&Ps at the petrol station and take our picture in front of the giant bottle. Of course, the photo is populated by a couple of gypsy children, as they took an immediate liking to clambering on the bottle. Luckily, they are quite photogenic and having real Kiwis in our photos lends us a bit of authenticity, we feel.

Karangahake Reserve, famous for its gold-mining and battery ruins is dotted with rope bridges and nestled in a river valley that resembles Ocoee territory. With a gypsy child on Destiny's back and various other children in hand, we tramped through a tunnel that led us straight through the mountain. No dwarves were there to greet us, but the atmosphere was perfect for our rendition of "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," by Death Cab for Cutie. The gypsy child between us kindly did not voice her opinion of our spontaneous singing.

In Waihi, there is a ruin atop a hill beside a massive quarry. According to signs, it is an old pumphouse, but we have deemed it the Ancient Watchtower of Waihi, which we feel is altogether more appropriate. We had lunch on Waihi beach, Dutch cheese and bread, and then sat on driftwood while the waves crashed in and the girls collected shells. It's a pity--a tragedy really--that words and pictures are inadequate at best to describe the beauty all around us. The ripples through the cool clear water and the way the light hits the waves as they crest. The sweetness of a child handing you a pristine shell and telling you it's yours. The way the breeze plays at the flowers on the dune. The delicious warmth of a driftwood log against your skin as you step up from the cool water. Sometimes being kidnapped isn't bad at all. Sometimes it's beautiful.

(Sidenote: and sometimes you--by which we mean Kat--get mistaken for the mother of the gypsy children by a very enthusiastic Asian woman who is married to the Dutch guy who runs the Dutch market. Sometimes getting kidnapped is awkward.)

As the entire bus had been three days without showers, we stopped at Mt. Manganui, where we had chicken burgers on the beach, and then went for a soak in the hot saltwater pools that are heated naturally by the volcano.

Day 4, Saturday: More driving, more site-seeing, which ended in reaching Hastings in Hawke's Bay. We made our way to Esther's mum's house, and after a great deal of discussion, it was decided that we would stay with her to keep Esther company (she's here recovering from surgery) and give us a bit of a break from the gypsy children. As soon as the gypsies in the camper van left, Esther's mum offered us tea, toast, and towels and pointed us toward hot showers. So here we are, safe and clean and no worse for the kidnapping. May all your adventures with gypsies end so happily.