After grad school mapping the volcanic stratigraphy of the Copper Canyon, Mexcio, I decided at last to move to Europe again and find an intellectual center. I chose Prague and fell madly in love at first sight. But six months Later I realized I could not live without surfing and nature, and with a broken heart I left Prague for New Zealand--it was the best decision of my life.
Preface:
Back and Away
Dear friends,
I have been back in the US from Prague for about 10 hours now and will soon be leaving for New Zealand. I have visions of vast, unpopulated landscapes, with big clean skies, crashing waves and tall mountains, and just walking along, alone, with my pack and guitar, into the distance, sleeping wherever darkness finds me, in my sleeping bag, under the sky and on the earth, and dropping down the faces of big, glassy, cold waves.
See me there, or see you in six months,
Phoenix
Knowledge of New Zealand Anyone
Hi Amigos,
I'm off to New Zealand. If anyone has any:
contacts
info about surfing
info about backpacking treking
info about weather and seasons and best time and place to be for surfing
and backpacking
and...ditto for Bali, the other place I intend to surf.
If you choose to accept this mission any help, as always, will be
appreciated greatly. This message will self-destruct in 20 seconds.
Phoenix
From: jessica pearson
Sent: Nov 14, 2003 2:33 PM
To: phoenixv@earthlink.net
Subject: Re: Knowledge of New Zealand Anyone
Hey Phoenix,
Keep a look out for Teluo Filitonga!
A smiley Tongan I laughed with in Auckland. His relatives live on John
Street and he is there periodically. He is setting up a hostel on the family
island plot, whale watching and diving in Vavau (Northern island group of
Tonga). In that group, Mounu Island is one of the most exquisite places I
have spent time on. Amber a Kiwi and her family have a chilled space there
on the edge of a huge coral bedecked ravine in the big
blue.................................
Bon Voyage Jesssssss
From: phoenix vamvakias
i am off soon, much to do (about nothing) before I leave...stoked stoked stoked! you will be coming to surf with me a bit, yes? bring little foxy, excellent attire for the after-wave beach yoga and pineapple parties.
smiles and sparkles,
phoenix of the high sierra
--
A Brief Update from New Zealand
Dec, 2003
The highlight of the flight was looking down on New Zealand from 30,000 feet at dawn. It was a beautiful green gem in the sea, so inviting.
I cleared customs with only a minor misunderstanding about why the duffel-bag full of dehydrated backpacking food that I brought into the country wasn't actually food, as such, and why I shouldn't really pay the $200 fine for not declaring it. After much inner-agency consultation they let me go with a warning and told me to stay closer to church related activities in the future, and assuring them that I would I moved on to greener pastures with my bag full of backpacking 'food'.
I was met at the airport by two surfers who took me straight away to Takapuna beach where I had a bowl of cafe late' at a sidewalk cafe in the sunny cool green New Zealand morning while we waited for the surf shop to open. By the way, that's right, I said a bowl, of cafe late', wonderfully delicious, hot, frothy and milky, nothing better on a cold morn when the world is fresh and new and alive with delight.
I spent the morning at Takapuna beach park lying in the shade of huge beautiful trees on manicured soft green grass that rolls down a gentle hillside to the curving sandy beach and lovely blue-green sea. Utterly relaxing in the cool breezy sunshine reading The Return of the King, feeling good in the fresh air and gentle swish of the waves lapping on the beach.
At noon Ben the surfer bro returned to pick me up with friends Amy and Coriana and we met more of their surfing crew, Rea, Jessi, Isac and Gareth, and all road-tripped near to Bethel's beach and hiked up a stream between two steep hills, into verdant subtropical life, ancient tree-ferns, flowering, sweet-smelling green plants of all sorts exploding all around us, until we came to black sand dunes that towered above us in the air and finally the stream curved and the towering dunes came down directly into a lake surrounded by the desert of black dunes on one side and lush green hillsides on the other three, all flowing down into the lake. There were bare bleached trees standing out white on yonder hillside, in beautiful relief against the multi hues and varied expressions of green plant life of all sorts and shapes. In the west, gradually the sky turned steely grey with towering rain clouds while in the east it remained bright blue. The ocean was visible between the green hills to the east. We swam in the lake and frolicked, doing cartwheels and back flips in the dunes, wrestling and playing my new backpacking guitar until the day passed on to early evening and we left, hiking out across the hot black, silica-rich sand dunes.
I spent the night at Andrew's house, a surfer who has graciously taken me in, and we talked about...surfing, God and the meaning of life. I woke up refreshed at dawn, did yoga, and spent the day drinking bowls of cafe late', reading on the green grass at Takapuna beach park where a Christmas fair was underway, listening to a bag-pipe brigade as the Christmas parade passed by, and shopping for a new surfboard; what could be more enjoyable than that?
It is gorgeous here, green and cool and sunny with sweet-smelling air, friendly people, fish and chips, homemade ice cream, surf shops on every corner, and beaches everywhere you turn. Oh, and strange but true--everyone drives a mothership. Yes, there are more Toyota Previas per capita than anywhere in the western world. And they are all tricked out with curtains and mirrors and such. An intelligent lot these Kiwis, exquisite taste in vehicles. If only they would drive on the right side of the road.
Monday I will leave with another friend of a friend of a friend of an acquaintance who has a car and we'll take off south to surf. I am so stoked to start surfing I could pop. It's all I think about. I can taste it. This is the life I dream of living now--surfing in paradise.
May the force be with you...may you dream of big, glassy waves, towering high above you and thundering down in crescendos of white water and steep walls of silent deep blue faces where the only sound is the hiss of a board carving cold blue water.
Guerilla Camping
12/8/03
I woke up in my bivy sack beside my new surf board, on soft green grass, under the protection a low tree with red blossoms that covered me nicely, tucked away and hidden by sand dunes, shrubs and the tree from the eye of any park rangers. I slept in soft rain to the sound of waves all night, happy and peaceful. I love guerilla camping; I love the taste of freedom, of being able to throw down my bag wherever I am and sleep and get up and surf. I cooked dinner in a lull in the rain in the dark in a parking lot on the bumper of Sean's little Subaru wagon.
Yesterday I got a smoking deal on a new surf board. Today I surfed Raglan and now I am relaxing with a big cafe late', savouring the warm, milky, frothy, bitter sweet taste of the coffee, sitting at an outdoor table in the drizzly grey rain, still with a chill in my bones from the ocean. I feel alive as only I can after a session of surfing in the ocean. The coast is green and wild and disappears into the grey rain. This is day two of the surfing adventure. This is the life I love to live. Everything I need is in my pack, my board and my guitar beside me; the sound of the waves, taste of the sea in my mouth, my body tired and happy from hard exercise, everything is right.
Raglan and Beyond
12/11/03
After the double late' I was positively shuddering with caffeine. I walked across the street to the local pub and sat outside in the rain sipping a beer and reading 'The Return of the King' trying to take the edge off the caffeine. The rain grew steadier and stronger and at last we went in search of a dry place to cook dinner. Driving around the tiny town we spied an animal feed store with a car-port attached to the side and eased the little Subaru wagon in out of the rain. Breaking out the backpacking stove we feasted like kings on a can of cold baked beans, some hot macaroni and cheese and a slice of bread. Dry and content out of the rain we settled down to play the guitar and sing when the owner drove up. He kindly agreed to let us camp there for the night and told us if the police came by to tell them that Mac said it was OK.
I threw down my bag up against the wall of the building, wedged in by the car and using my board as a wind block. I slept fitfully half the night to the sound of passing cars and noisy pedestrians passing by and sat up the second half of the night, watching the steady rain and the tall grass in the alley blowing in the wind under the dark rainy skies, meditating and thinking about what I was doing in New Zealand.
In the morning we hit the surf and as we suited up in the parking lot the wind was blowing driving, horizontal rain and the trees and shrubs were bent over. It was like a mild hurricane. I paddled out through endless lines of white breakers and finally on the outside, caught one of the best rides I've had in ages. My new board handled like a sports car. I was so stoked that I was high for the rest of the day; I couldn't stop smiling.
The rain and wind were relentless and we decided to head out, driving for four hours through the storm to a farm stay cottage where we had warm beds waiting, a kitchen and shared our little cottage with Andrea, Christina and Ariko from Japan. I went straight to the jacuzzi and melted into the warm bubbles while the storm raged outside.
Since then life has been working hard in the mornings on the farm and then jacuzzi, yoga, playing guitar, making dinner together and laughing and having fun with the girls, gazing at the snow covered volcano (Mt. Doom in the Lord of the Rings film) in the morning sun, enjoying lingering sunsets and reading. As soon as the swell comes in we leave for more surf.
I woke up in my bivy sack beside my new board, on soft green grass, under a low tree with red blossoms that covered me nicely, tucked away and hidden by sand dunes, shrubs and the tree from the eye of any park rangers. I slept in soft rain to the sound of waves all night, happy and peaceful. I love guerilla camping; I love the tast of freedom, of being able to throw down my bag wherever I am and sleep and get up and surf. I cooked dinner in a lull in the rain in the dark in a parking lot on the bumper of Sean's little Subaru wagon.
Yesterday I got a smoking deal on a new surf board. Today I surfed Raglan and now I am relaxing with a big late', savouring the warm, milky, frothy, bitter sweet taste of the coffee, sitting at an outdoor table in the drizzly grey rain, still with a chill from the ocean. I feel alive as only I can after a session of surfing in the ocean. The coast is green and wild and disappears into the grey rain. This is day two of the surfing adventure.
Taranaki
12/15/03
After six days the rain stopped...and was replaced by heinous winds. Sean and I and Andrea and Ariko left the farm near Tongariro volcano and drove to Taranaki. Two days before our departure I met Alysha from Oregon and she asked me to take off and hitch with her. My heart said yes but my logic said to stay with the car and my surf trip. As soon as she was gone I regretted my choice.
Last night the four of us camped on a green grassy bluff above a reef break, the swell is in but the onshore north wind flattened the surf and our tents; we had to tie Sean's little Subaru wagon to a tree to keep it from blowing away in the night. I slept warm and cozy in my bivy sack in the howling wind and rain.
This morning the sun came along with the wind and we have been invited to stay the night with the owner of the local surf shop in Opunake and have lobster for dinner that he got diving. It's a lovely tiny town with flowering trees and parks, but it's not surfable today. Alas...tomorrow they swear it will be perfect...
Why We Are Here On Earth
12/17/2003
This morning I was standing on the deck of the inter-island ferry cruising from the north island to the south island, breathing in deep breaths of fresh air and feeling good despite having had no sleep the night before and being sore all over from a hard surf session yesterday at a place aptly named 'Graveyards' when I noticed out of my periphery the deck door opening but no one coming out. Looking closer I saw a wheelchair and walked over and asked the boy in it if he needed help getting out of the door. He said yes and I said 'Just tell me what to do." and he told me how to set up his chair for him to get into it.
We strolled and rolled onto the deck and chatted in the fresh morning air as the ferry wound along the winding passage-ways between the steep green hills, cutting through the jade-green water. Yoga came up during the conversation and toward the end of our talk he said "Can you teach me yoga? I am in pain and it is hard to live with it." He looked me right in the eyes and asked so simply. I said 'Yes; lets go inside.'
We went in and found a piece of carpet and sat down and I began to teach him yoga. I didn't care about what anyone else thought as they passed us sitting on the floor; in fact I wasn't aware of anything else. I taught him one to one the things that I thought would be best to ease his pain and to get energy to his legs. We learned meditation and asanas, pranayama, and relaxation. I felt blessed to have been given such a gift to actually help another person with yoga.
The boat trip came to an end before our yoga did so we agreed to meet on shore and find a place to continue. Before we left I went into the bathroom and found a stall where I could be alone with my feelings for a moment. I felt so absolutely blessed that I had been given this beautiful oppotunity to help another human being in pain. I felt real. I couldn't stop myself from spontaneously praying to the universe and saying thank you so much for allowing me the opportunity to help someone and please allow me to give my life to service to others, to help other people in suffering, please allow me this in my life, to give it to help others, to have a purpose and a meaning beyond my self. I felt so deeply moved, emotional and so grateful.
On shore we found a lovely grassy park and got out and did yoga and meditation and relaxation and then exchanged emails and information. We said goodbye and as I was driving away, he caught me at the light and rolled down his window and said 'No more pain in my legs; it worked.' We looked each other in the eyes deeply for a moment and then said goodbye again and drove away.
This is why we come to earth, to give our lives in the service of others. This is what gives meaning to our lives. If you ask you will find.
Christchurch I
12/22/2003
Landing on my feet. Dominic comes to pick me up on arrival in Christchurch although we've never met. Things are off to an awkward start when my board won't fit in his car and I have to take the city bus to his house with my board in hand.
That night we have a barbecue at his place. Friends arrive and under the stars we eat barbecue and play the guitar and sing and rock out, talk about surfing, travel and life. One of the nicest nights I have had since Joshua Tree days with my climbing buddies under the sky at night around our pallet fires.
The next day Dominic and his sweet girlfriend Na Kyong show me around Christchurch and that night I'm invited to a home fish fry and then it's Return of the King at last and then off to spend the night with Rob and Loretta. This morning I buy my Toyota Corolla hatchback and teach a yoga class, then taken out to lunch for famous New Zealand pies and more shown around more by my new friends and invited to Aaron and Kelly's house on the beach where tonight we have had another gathering of friends and again it is great food, music, games and laughter all night.
Tomorrow is unknown, travel is a way of life, is zen, is first hand knowledge of self through experience, is forged in fire, is the mystery revealed at last. When I let go of my ideas about what I think I should do and surrender to now then the flow is attained and there is nothing more than now unfolding freely.
Welcome to Middle Earth.
All Who Wander Are Not Lost
12/22/2003
Sitting outside on the patio of Aaron and Kelly's house drinking hot milk tea in a steady rain under heavy grey skies listening to the stormy surf behind me over the sand dunes. Got up early and did my meditation, yoga and pranayama and played the guitar and sang in the rain.
All who wander are not lost. You'd think that traveling for the sake of traveling is a selfish pursuit. But I am re-learning what I learned years ago on my first big travel for two and a half years in South America. It is this: By traveling, real traveling, you find yourself, discover yourself, come to know yourself and your true nature. You discover your skills and abilities and cultivate and utilize them. You renew your faith in yourself and who you are as a human being. You learn to tap the flow of life and surrender to it and let go and let it take you on your journey into the mystery of life. That is traveling.
I have found good people here in Christchurch. Who love the comraderie and fellowship of their friends, enjoy gathering at night for food and music and fun. Who have time to do things together, hike, surf, fish, play golf, cards, barbecue, whatever...they are enjoying life, friendship, and giving joy to others. It renews my faith in life and reminds me of that first South America trip when I made friends who will be my brothers and sisters for life and never leave my heart. It is happening again; finding people who care about people.
Traveling can lead you to your path in life and take you beyond your ego's ideas of what it thinks you need. I have met people who have wanted to learn yoga and I have had a chance to teach them. Or who have some problems that Ayurvedic medicine and yoga can help, and I can share that. It changes all our lives by doing so. When traveling you realize that you know much more than you think you know and that you have a lot to offer to others to help their lives become nicer and healthier, and they have so much to offer to you. We all have much more to offer than we let ourselves realize until it is drawn out of us by need. We are sources of knowledge and skill to be shared with others for the good of all in joy.
Kaikoura Christmas Eve
12/25/2003
I wake up and see a flaming orange-yellow sunrise over the sea to my right and a jagged range of snow covered mountains to my left. I always dreamed of living in a place where the mountains came down to meet the ocean. I sit up on my knees to look over the top of the wild grass and grain blowing softly and I see sets of glassy waves rolling in on clear green water. I suit up and wax my board as a train rumbles by on the tracks nearby. I love trains. As I'm checking the surf a dolphin appears just fifty feet offshore and taking this as a sign I paddle out to him or her. It is a gorgeous place, mountains to the sea, dolphins and fur seals, lovely.
I am camped with Tyler and Katie who I met here and with Paolo from Portugal who joined us. Our life consists of getting up and doing yoga, eating, surfing all day, reading, cooking, doing more yoga and more surfing, more eating and more music and yoga. We surf in the evenings into flaming red sunsets and into the dark. Then come back for baked brie and fish, salad, beer, and then make music and sing, do yoga at midnight and then sleep until dawn.
We had a great Christmas dinner together, exchanged presents, made a driftwood christmas tree, woke up and went surfing on christmas morning. More and more people keep showing up at our lovely campsite and asking me if I'm the yoga teacher and more and more people join us for our yoga sessions. Each day three surf sessions and three yoga sessions. The best is the midnite yoga. It is good here; the epitomy of what traveling can be.
I am content.
Christchurch II
12/27/03
I fell asleep in my car feeling utterly peaceful as a howling south wind from Antarctica raged outside. Our little encampment had grown as more people gathered to our site. I awoke at dawn and watched the pink colors smear across the sky over the Tasman sea and the Kaikoura mountains begin glowing in the sunlight. Last night's wind had died and the sea was glassy. I got out my little stove and shivered in the early morning cold while I made egg-drop soup on the hood of my car while the sun rose out of the sea, an orange ball. The swell was dying out.
On the spur of the moment I felt a desire to go and so I left a note for my friends and drove two hours to Christchurch arriving at Aaron and Kelly's house and grabbed a shower for the first time in days. They showed up soon thereafter from surfing and within an hour there were fifteen people gathered at the house and the biggest barbecue I have ever witnessed in my life underway. Stacks of steaks, porkchops, lamb, sausage, chicken, and a table loaded with trimmings. This house seems to always have at least three or four people visiting staying in the various guest rooms and always a get-together or gathering of friends underway. We ate, played guitars, laughed, had a siesta and then all went surfing until after sunset. Watched the fading colors from the top of the sand dunes and then all came home for showers and more fiesta. A good life in Christchurch.
The Miniship, the Mini-Mal, the Mini Guitar, and Me
Dec 31/Jan 1, 2004
I loaded my board (a mini malibu), guitar and hiking gear into my new Toyota Lite-Ace mini camper van, said adios to my friends, and hit the road to freedom. Followed a braided river with beautiful milky blue water up into the mountains listening to Jimi Hendrix 'Blues', feeling like I was in a film. I drove into real mountains for the first time here in NZ. I had an idea to climb a peak and bring in the new year meditating alone.
I rolled into Sumner Springs near Lewis Pass to find the Department of Conservation office to get info for my climb and was overwhelmed by the tourists and tourism packed like sardines. Ugly commercialism, the antithesis of my trip. I suddenly felt exhausted and wiped out. Overwhelmed, I got in my car, turned around and drove along the crest of the range on a winding tiny road with no cars or people, crossing river after milky blue river, pointing the Miniship toward Kaikoura. As soon as I started heading back to the ocean I felt light and free again; a weight was lifted off my spirit; I didn't really want to be alone on a mountain on New Year's eve.
When I caught the first glimpse of the blue ocean far below me I felt a surge of joy. I rolled into Kaikoura, not knowing if my friends had already moved on. Wheeling out of town to our site, 'the hot spot', I found my friends waiting for me. The wind stopped, the South Pacific glassed over and Tyler and I paddled out for a sunset session and the surf picked up to beautiful head-high sets that kept rolling in relentlessly. It was the first good session on on my new board. We rode through the sunset, into the gloaming, the snow glowing on the Kaikoura range behind us. Darkness was upon us but we couldn't resist one more set, one more set. Bliss.
Shaking with cold we came out and joined our friends for a feast and rang in the New Year with a jam session and techno party on the grass beside the beach, below the stars and moon and snowy mountains, with waves crashing. Beautiful.
I slept for the first time in the Miniship, like a baby. In the morning a group surf to bring in the New Year, then a bowl of latte at a cafe and off to a waterfall to wash off the salt water. Talk talk talk about future surf trips among friends. This new year is going to be good, very good.
The Catlins
1/7/04
They're out there. Waiting. I can feel them. Big waves rolling in from Antarctica in the night. I am at the southern-most point of New Zealand, three hours away from Antarctica and home of the Great White shark. Camping in the mini-ship in a little green field beside an estuary and on the edge of a forest that is tropical. Deep dark shades of green, thick with tree ferns, huge hanging vines and gnarled-trunked trees.
There has been chest to head high surf in a bay with clear green cold water, with a point at one end and a river mouth with a bar at the other. The bay is the home of a pod of rare Hector's dolphins and they come and swim with, around, and through swimmers and surfers on the waves. They love to surf. It is uniquely wonderful to be surrounded by dolphins in the water and to share waves with them.
There is also a colony of yellow-eyed penguins, two feet tall, who come in from the ocean in the evening and waddle to their homes across the reef. The very reef where there is a petrified forest. The other half of it has been found in South America, like two parts of a ring, indicating that these two places were once one land mass.
Life has revolved around making tea, surfing, doing yoga, hiking in the forest, cooking dinner together, playing guitar, and talking about surfing and places to surf. The weather has alternated sun, cloud, gale-force winds with glassy swell. Always changing. The land is rugged and wind-torn, unpopulated; what you would expect from the end of the earth. We feel like gypsy surfers; free and happy.
Keep the stoke alive.
Dolphins in the Mist
1/13/04
I wake up at dawn and hear the waves pounding, calling me. I make my
secret Indian chai recipe on my little stove beside the estuary in the
cool morning wind and head to the break. There is a pod of dolphins in
the water and Nadia and I put on our wetsuits and paddle out tandem on
my board. The dolphins surround us, arcing up out of the water,
breathing, swimming under my board and rolling over on their backs with their
bellies up looking at us. We slide off my board and float apart in the
water and we are both surrounded. There are six dolphins swimming
lazily around me, under me, close enough to reach out and touch. We stay
out with them for an hour. A life-long dream realized.
Other delights:
Surfing alone on an unknown beach in a big storm with black sky, rain,
high winds, feeling my pulse beating fast thinking of Great Whites.
Suddenly a patch of blue sky appears and a full rainbow arcs across the
sea. I feel better. The sky gradually clears and the sun comes out and
the world turns beautiful with sunlight.
Walking around a headland with a beautiful sunset painting the sky a
swirl of colors, huge, windblown trees, green rolling hills and
wildflowers, a stream coming down from the hills and flowing along rocks across
the beach to the ocean. gorgeous colors; a rainbow across the sea and
land; heaven.
Mornings of chai, surfing hard and getting pounded in big waves,
getting freezing cold and then drinking latte and listening to jazz and cafe
del mar.
Yoga in a field of clover and wildflowers with a soft rain falling on
me. Yoga at sunset with hills so green in low angle light, the sky
black on one side and blue in the middle and softly pastel colors of sunset
on the other. Wrapping in my blanket to meditate.
Hiking every morning and evening in the forest. Playing my guitar and
singing. Sleeping and cooking outdoors everyday, never seeing a watch
or clock.
Whenever I close my eyes I see waves imprinted on the insides of my eyelids.
The Mountains
January 14, 2004
I pried myself away from the ocean with such great reluctance that I was compelled to pull over three times and contemplate my decision on the way out! I caught one last surf session and then pointed the Mini ship north toward the mountains. Buffeted by strong winds as a storm gradually brewed in the west I cruised the remote landscape still feeling the hooks pulling me back to the waves.
Crossing a mountain river I was compelled to turn around and pull into a shady grove of sweet-smelling pines beside the river and plunge my body in the cold, clear, fast and deep water, washing off five days of ocean salt in the pure cold water. I felt so utterly alive, laughing with joy like a child.
I was under the spell of this place and this moment and unable to go on. I had an intense yoga session on my blanket on the soft pine needles and then washed my clothes in a bucket, feeling so free and self-sufficient! I made an omelette and then some chai and relaxed under the grey sky while the birds sang and the wind blew in the pine boughs.
Later, a wonderful jam session on my guitar and then a peaceful night in the Miniship while the storm blew outside and I smiled in my sleep.
In the morning, more chai and reading, a full rainbow over the western hills, bright and rich, a raptor calling over my head as I point north and disappear into the landscape.
Arriving at last in the mountains I stop on the shore of a deep blue lake with mountains rising up from its shores and I swim and do yoga and laugh with sheer pleasure at being alive. My god do I love the mountains!
The Greenstone
1/20/04
Frodo and Sam stumbled over dark tree roots and slipped in the mud as
they scrambled over wet rocks in the gloom. The deep forest surrounded
them and the blackness grew. They were exhausted, they ate their last
wafer of lembas and stumbled on without light and with little hope.
With dread they heard the black riders approaching on their track. And
then suddenly, miraculously they came to a little hanging bridge and
heard elves singing, thge stars came out in the sky and on the other side
they saw the Last Homely House and they were come to Rivendell and the
house of Elrond, elf-friend.... Poof!
Actually it wasn't Sam and Frodo but Phoenix and Emma and although
there weren't any Black Riders hot on our heels and possibly no elves
singing, the rest is pretty much as it was, the lembas was an Odwalla bar.
We had walked for twelve hours, from 10:30 am to 10:30 pm and were
delirious with exhaustion and ready to give up and lay down and spend the
night in the cold mud and roots and boulders in the dark deep forest
when we saw the bridge and the mountain hut. And just as we walked into
the clearing the stars came out and there was Orion and Betleguise and
Sirius in Canus Major, but upside down.
We stumbled into the hut to find a warm fire burning and a soft bed
beside a huge window that looked up to the stars and surrounding
mountains. We made a huge pot of hot cocoa and drank it then fell asleep giving
each other foot massages and looking at the stars. I slept like a rock
with a smile on my face all night, utterly at peace and happy.
The Road to Paradise
1/21/04
Katerina and I met too late. When I finally reached her at last after
a month of e-mailing she'd given up on us ever meeting and accepted a
job at Fox glacier and had a bus ticket to leave at eight o'clock the
next morning. But we decided to go for a ride for a few hours with the
time we had. I had no destination in mind as we drove along the lake
into the mountains. Then we saw the road sign, "Paradise 12 km". I
stopped and looked at her. "Do you want to go to Paradise?" She looked at
me and smiled. "Yes." We were off.
The road to Paradise is long and rough, with many river crossings and
no sign posts. After a long time we stopped the Miniship and climbed up
on the roof, looking at the snow covered mountains and beautiful
scenery around us. "We must be very close to Paradise." she said.
Continuing on we eventually saw a car and I asked "Is the road to
Paradise?" The driver answered "I think so but I am not going any further."
We drove on crossing another river over rocks. Just as we were about
to give up I saw another car. "Are we on the road to Paradise?" "It's
only 300 meters ahead." he said with calm certainty. Assured, we drove
on. No. Eventually the road ended at a beautiful braided river.
Again I saw a man there. "Is this Paradise?" I asked. "No, this is the
end of the road, Paradise was back there."
Katerina and I drove back to where we had seen a beautiful spot by a
mountain stream and parked the Miniship. "THIS is our Paradise." we
agreed. There were tall snow covered mountains surrounding us, a beautiful
mountain stream and a lovely camp site. She blindfolded me and led me
by the hand into the woods and then being my 'angel' she let me go to
explore, blindfolded. The more I walked along the more I felt like an
animal, full of animal grace. It was like finding my true inner self
again. Eventually I was on all fours stalking along the earth moving
like a cat. I felt exactly like a wild animal. I had no use of my
vision. When I found the stream I pulled off my shirt and plunged my body in
the icy water and took off my blindfold. I was in Paradise. Then it
was her turn and I was her guardian angel.
That night we built a huge fire and kept it burning all night long. We
played guitar and danced and chanted and sang and did yoga and made
chai and talked all night and looked at the stars and Milky Way. It
reminded me so much of the life I had led at Kripalu that I had gradually
forgotten about when I went back into the mainstream world. The life of
Spirit and creativity and dance and song. Somewhere during the night
she said "Is there room for two in the Miniship?" I said "Sure, you can
sleep in it." and then I realized that's not what she meant. I
smiled. "What about your job and bus ticket ?" She just smiled and looked at
me. It was agreed. We fell asleep in the Miniship just before dawn.
Westland
1/26/04
Fourteen thousand years ago this place was a sea of glaciers. Today, in the blink of a geologic eye, it is lush, verdant, nearly impenatrable rainforest. There are abundant rivers flowing down from the glaciers that have receeded into the mountains beyond the coast. Everywhere is rich green life, life on top of life, epiphytes growing on top of other plants, moss, lichens, vines, treeferns, wild riotous life.
At Lake Paringa the sand flies are too bad for us to be still so we take a walk to keep them at bay. The only place for passage is up the river flowing into this lake left behind in bedrock gouged by the glacier. The water is crystal clear and cold and cuts a path through the lush greenery. Trees, covered with all possible flora, have fallen across the stream due to rain and wind and we climb under or over these trees. Deeper and deeper into the jungle we penetrate along or means of ingress, until eventually there is no more possibility of continuing. It is though we are in a world far away in time and space from the one we normally live in. I carry a spear and keep an eye out for dinosaurs, without luck.
In a glowing pink and yellow sunset we retrace our way to the shores of the lake and watch the stars come out and a thin crescent moon setting. Shannon calls it a 'fingernail clipping moon'. We talk into the night feeling the breeze and watching the stars.
I sleep at peace as the rain comes down in the night.
Moments
1/26/04
It's not the big things that mean so much to me here; it's the moments, unexpected and small, that matter most. I don't care about all the things I 'should' see here, I don't care for tourism at all. I like the freedom and serendipity of my journey. I love waking up beside a river, lake, or the ocean and swimming in the morning, making chai, playing the guitar and doing yoga, reading.
Leaving Paringa in a rain that grew heavier and heavier for 36 hours I found myself stopping and walking down to a clear cold jungle river flowing down from the mountains. The jungle was so lush and green and deep and tall, the clouds floated in the valleys, the rain dropped down on me. The water was so clear and deep, too inviting. I stripped off my clothes and jumped in and swam and swam and came out feeling so utterly alive, shivering in the rain and as I walked back, naked and barefoot, to the miniship, over the rocks, I laughed like a child with pure happiness at my audacity and my love for the moment.
The rain grew to a downpour as I hiked through jungle to the ocean and eventually we parked the Miniship beside Lake Wanaka for a night of wine and playing the guitar and massage and in the morning there was no more rain, just clouds floating over the lake and in the valleys, fresh snow on the peaks and a new day.
No plan. Just a new day. There is one thing though: I belive that we are not made to spend our lives behind desks doing jobs to earn money to buy things to survive. We are creatures of bright spirits and courage, we are born to live fully, to live with honour and for something we believe in, not to pale our lives away in drugery to fuel a system.
Return to Paradise
1/28/04
The road is long and arduous. Even so, the valiant Miniship pulled through and made the many steep and deep river crossings to my beloved campsite by the mountain river in the valley of many snowy peaks at midnight. I cooked up ramen noodles with tomatoes and melted cheese on the camopg stove and then we uncorked a bottle of fine New Zealand wine and unsheathed the guitar and sat leaning against the trusty Miniship looking at the stars and drinking and singing and playing.
The Milky Way was thick and creamy white and the stars sparkling like diamonds. the night was far too beautiful to consider sleep; I waited for dawn and sunrise and then slept for a couple hours.
On the next day, after chai, we met a couple who had come to New Zealand to raft and were invited to join them for a trip down the Dart river. It was fantastic. We floated on the milky grey glacier-fed river in a wide bed with braided channels that reminded me of the Kali Gandaki in the Himmalya in the Kingdom of Mustang. A side canyon poured a turquoise blue stream into our river and we portaged over the rapids and then eddy-hopped up this river to a place called the Chasm. Imagine if you will the slot canyons of the Southwest with turquoise blue clear water running in them. The tortured, snaking passage was only inches wider than our little craft and soared up high above us, voluptous and curving, glowing with filtered light.
We continued our trip, surrounded by these tall snowy peaks rising straight above us and indeed it was Paradise. Later in the day, back at our camp, I walked naked along our mountain stream, swimming in every cold pool and drying in the sun, lying on the smooth rocks, wandering under forest and into meadows of clover that smelled so sweet as to be narcotic. Not a soul, not a footprint, pristine nature. Above me nothing but tall peaks, craggy and snow-clad and a blue sky with puffy white clouds.
That evening we made a big fire and drank wine and played insturments and sang into the night, joyful, joyful, joyful. In the morning we bid farewell once again to Paradise and headed down the road to ecstacy.
Rain and Reading
2/1/04
Rain, rain, rain. But meanwhile I'm doing some great reading. I'm reading the 'Velvet Jackson; Queen of the Pinkertons' series. The plot centers on a family of young Welfarian mothers on an AID mission to Afghanistan to diseminate misinformation to pregnant mothers agbout Siberian farming techniques as a scheme to enlist them as operatives for the CIA's 'Mothers on the Run' covert South Asian operations assignment bureau. With a plot-line like that, served in a softshell of intellectual, post-modern chagrin that will whiten your socks and your teet how could it lose?. And that's not meant to be interpreted as Aryan euphemism; it's litterally the case.
The case being the one the Afghani intelligence bureau puts together against these young, orphaned street moms when it brings them up to the high court under charges of sedition and treason against Islam and Afghanistan. The trial is a sham and the sentencing is rigorous. Death by burning at the stake while being stoned. But that's Afghan justice for you; swift and thorough.
But before the sentence can be carried out a company of Delta Force rangers is secretly deployed on a rescue mission and make their way into the city, under heavy civilian fire, to rescue the sisters of mercy who turn out to be a sect of Cistern nuns under cover as street moms for Christ. At the darkest hour the Pope intervenes with the amir in Kabul for the release of the nuns in exchange for an original manuscript of the Quoran that had been in safekeeping in a Vatican vault for the last 1000 years.
The Pope's emissary flies to Kabul and hands over the manuscript and the amir releases the nuns to the emissary and guarantees them safe passage out of the country. On the way to the airport though the amir's black sedan with mirrored windows runs smack dab into the intense street fighting and rioting that has flared up in a protest to the US intervention troops who have enetered into the heart of the city to rescue the young mothers from captivity in the Imperial Palace.
In the middle of the flaming chaos of this violent milieu the sedan carrying the nuns is recognized by one of the Black Hawk pilots as the amir's car and he is given the green light from General Delgravy, back at the HQ bunker, to terminate with 'extreme prejudice'. Zooming in low he lets go his payload of rockets and sends the entire block up in flames, taking out the sisters of mercy, an orphanage, children's hospital, old folks' home, school for underprivleged children, the US embassy and ambassador's house, a hair salon, the public TV station, fire station, town's drinking water supply, an arms factory (US owned and operated) and the Lincoln/Hummer dealership.
But before he can pull out he's hit by civilian fire and a hand-held rocket launcher in the hands of a fourteen year old boy, Quatro Gonzales, the nephew of the Danish Ambassador's wife's ilicit lover, Juan Diego Garcia, the gardener, who is actually a double agent working for the newly reorganized KGB under the auspices of the Russian delegation's security staff to help bring down US imperialsim in South Asia.
The young boy, on the crash and explosion of the Black Hawk, does a victory dance on the Ambassador's roof, only to be observed by rogue CIA agents in deep cover disguised as Shi'ite terrorists in the thick of the chaos who use the inflamed situation as an opportunity to turn passions against the amir who they accuse of Westernization of Islam and polluting the purity of the True Faith. They call for an immediate jihad against the amir and the maddened crowd leaves the entrenched Delta Force survivors and turns on the palace en masse overwhelming the amir's security forces and his personal guard and dragging him to a balcony hurl him into the rabid crowd below to the cheers of 'Hail Alah; Hail Mohammed, his true profit!'
But before the amir can be ripped to bits by the crowd he is wisked off by the Shi'ite terrorists (aka CIA deep cover rogue agents) and held for ransom from his family in Monaco who were ousted from power and forced into exile after the 1979 USSR advance into Afghanistan. The amir is handed over for 10 million dollars which is then used to purchase the original Quoran manuscript from the now-acting Caliph; Quatro Gonzales, who it turns out is actually the direct heir to the throne, but who was smuggled out of the country at birth and raised in Russia by KGB special agents who groomed him for this moment. Once in power as the true heir to the throne, but a secret KGB operative, Afghanistan becomes a puppet to the newly reforming superpower, Russia, whose recent advances in nano technology have put them back on the map as an emerging 'New-era' super power to be reckoned with.
The book leaves us hanging with Quatro abdicating the throne to run off with the Danish Ambassador's wife, Helen, to a small South Pacific island where he opens a ballet school for 'Children Who Want to Meet Michael Jackson Someday and Get Rich.' We're left hangng there, hungry for the sequel...
Southlands
2/6/04
Flaming sunsets; sublime moonrise over the mountains, flaming surise. Alone again. Peace and contentment. The best surf in two months. Rain, cloud, sun, wind. Rose bush tea with powdered milk and manuka honey. A free shower along the way, hot and cleansing. A peaceful night by a river in soft grass and sheltering trees, eating chocolate and reading Don Quixote. The miniship buffeted by wind and rain in the night, while I feel a thrill inside, candles and reading and Indian music. Such peace, utter contentment, joy, an inner thrill that I can't explain. Such a feeling of freedom, of serediptiy. So good to be alone after two weeks. So good to be in the rolling green of the where the trees all grow on one side, away from the wind. The air is clean, full of wild clouds, sun and rain. The sea is green and blue and turquoise. The land undulates and is green and crossed by rivers everywhere. There is no plan; there is no plan. Follow the coast into the Catlins, find some surf, begin to head north.
But despite the joy here there has begun the pull back to California, to the Sierra Nevada, Joshua Tree and the Cali coast and its great surf. The clock has begun to tick, the bell has begun to toll. I feel the pull home. Thoughts of family, friends, and my beloved Cali start to take hold of me despite this good lifestyle I am living. Thoughts of the future begin to creep in for the first time. Avanti.
St. Clair’s Beach, Dunedin
2/7/04
After a long hard, windy, rainy day I pulled over into an apple orchard with soft green grass, big hedges and quaint and clean toilets. Perfect. I had a peaceful night sleeping like a stone in the Miniship in the rain. So peaceful, so happy. In the morning of course I made Rosebush tea with powdered milk, cardamom and manuka honey and was glad. Thick black clouds overhead with blue on the horizon.
I drove up, up, up into the hills and down to the east coast, and followed the old coastal rode along beautiful rocky beaches, sand dunes and blowing golden grasses. It began to storm in earnest and the surf was not good by any account. At last I stopped at a tiny little store and the kind woman gave me two scoops of Deep South ice cream and directions to St. Clair's beach, the most known local surf beach.
Standing out on the street, eating my ice cream, the front blew over and there was bright sun and clear blue skies and the air turned cold as though it were Fall. A cold front had blown in and it was lovely.
At St. Clairs' beach I found no good surf but I did find a lovely cafe with a table out on the sidewalk and as the weather was the most perfect imaginable I sat there and had the first latte I have had in weeks, reading Don Quixote, writing, sitting in the cool Autumn wind and sun, walking back and forth to the boardwalk to check the waves and reassure myself I wasn't missing anything. It was the most lovely Sunday morning one could imagine. So perfect, such a good feeling.
And just as I was on my way north to Christchurch at last leaving the south behind I have paused again, and that magnetic pull that will not set me free has put its power to me again and I find myself compelled to turn around again and drive back, back, back to Riverton, to Porpoise Bay, to the Catlins and the Southland, to the clear cold water, green rolling lands, the rivers, the windswept landscape and wind bent trees, to all that that has filled my life for the last six weeks.
So, to the South, again...
Avanti
Living the Dream
2/15/04
The last week has been a surfer's dream, and my dream. I have explored remote breaks along the south and southeast coast, driven miles of deserted gravel roads through the coastal and camped at beautiful beaches each night, in rain and heavy skies much of the time. There has been huge surf, well over my head in every sense, but I have taken a licking and keep on ticking.
I feel like an explorer, a surf explorer. At night we camp in the back of the miniship, buffeted by rain and wind, we light candles and in the soft golden light drink wine, play the guitar and cozy up under the thick duvet, or maybe build a fire on the beach, drink beer, play guitar, talk, watch the moonrise, moonset, the sunrise, lulled to sleep and awakened by the pounding of the surf coming in and going out with the tides. In the night I think we are never really asleep, just half asleep, half awake, moving in and out of dreams under the big duvet and the wild wind and cozy warm miniship. I love the tenderness of the nights as much as I love the adrenalin of the days.
We make tea a lot; it helps us stay warm, eat chocolate in bed, cook ramen with cheese and veggies for dinner. The serendipity of the road pulls us along to unknown and unlooked for beaches and camp spots and encounters with people and the land.
I love the remote, empty south coast. I love the wild waves, coast, and weather and the lifestyle living out of the miniship, parking and camping where we like, always someplace beautiful, waking up and rolling out of bed straight into the surf and getting pounded. I love getting free showers here and there in unexpected places; I helped a family break into their car and they invited us in for tea and showers, another couple invited us in for showers, a man helped me change my oil in his front yard... etc, etc, etc. It is like a poem that flows on and on every day.
Wherever I go now I seem to run into people I have met already on my trip, surfers, locals or travelers, so that in the most unlikley places I will get out of the miniship and hear someone call out "Phoenix!" and there will be someone I met somewhere surfing on some beach or campsite in the last nine and a half weeks; I like that a lot.
This is a dream I have dreamt of living since I was a teenager growing up in Texas. Now I am living the dream.
Parakanui Bay, Catlins
2/16/04
We guided the Miniship down a dirt road through coastal
mountains into a rainforest clad, U-shaped, green valley that opened up to
a beautiful bay with white limestone cliffs rising up two hundred feet
on the north side and green hills with windblown trees to the south, a
beautiful shallow river winding out onto the sandy beach and into the
ocean. Soft grass to park the miniship on on a shelf above the beach with a great windbreak and fire pit. We back in and open the rear hatch so we can lay on the bed in the back and look straight at the break and be out of the wind. The place was stunningly beautiful.
I stepped out of the ship and heard someone calling my name and to
my utter surprise there was my surfing buddy, Doug, from Christchurch! He'd
come down for the swell and was just about to paddle out. There were 12 to 15 foot perfect barrels rolling in and the tide was high. Amazing!
Shannon and I laid in the back of the Miniship under the duvet and it was like
watching a surfing film on a lifesized screen. Perfect dream waves with Doug disappearing into barrels and re-emerging. Low-angle
lighting turned the cliffs a luminous white-gold, and the puffy clouds turned
yellow, then red, pink, and finally mauve and faded to pale grey. Our friends left near nightfall and we were alone in our magic spot.
We fired up the stove and cooked ramen noodles and veggies with melted cheese for dinner, listening to
U2 and Nirvana. Rain began to fall on us and we climbed into the back of the miniship and sat cross-legged with the hatch up
watching the rain come down, the waves barelling, and night fall.
Stars emerged and we built a big fire on the sand, and
drank a six pack of gingery Summer Ale chilled in a my plastic wash bucket with ice, and warmed by the
fire, relaxed by the beer and the beautiful night, we played guitar and
sang and talked until the fire burned to coals and the cold began to bite us.
At last we climbed into the Minship under the warm duvet,
watching waves in the darkness. Hours later the moon suprised us rising out of the ocean and disappeared into the clouds. It's hard to describe or explain the utterly peaceful content happy feeling; like being in heaven; it feels so safe in the back of the Miniship with candles and oils and the fragrance of lavender, soft music, waves crashing, the wind buffeting, warm under covers, waiting for dawn to come to paddle out.
In the morning I surfed until
the tide was too low to catch any waves and then, shaking with cold, I
said goodbye to this beautiful place and to living a surfer's dream--sleeping right on the break, camp fire on the beach, music, and
unbelievable surf! Heaven, surfer's heaven.
Brighton
2/17/04
I paddled out at sunset into a giant washing machine and got pounded for an hour and spit out on the beach just in time to rendezvous with Shannon returing from a run. (If nothing else I am learnig to surf alone in big waves with frolicking sharks for companions.) It wasn't raining and we made spaghetti and fresh Italian sauce on the little stove sitting on pine needles, under huge pines with contorted lateral braches that offered protection and shade and a break from the wind and rain. We sat on the ground, listening to Pearl Jam, 'No Code', and drank Montieths Summer Ale, which tastes like honey-flavoured ginger beer. As night fell we played the guitar and sang until cold and drizzle drove us into the Miniship.
All night we could hear waves pounding on the beach; we were camped just on the beach line in this grove of pines. We lit candles and the essential oil diffuser, played guitar, ate chocolate, massaged, listened to Portis Head and had a beautiful, peaceful night.
The next morning we stayed in the Miniship until one in the afternoon, in the rain, eating chocolate and enjoying ourselves and then emerged for passionfruit muffins and chai, and omelettes and then I hit the surf and she left to go bike the Otago Rail Trail so I won't see her for a while. Such is the sway of life here. Relaxed is the operative word.
Golden Days
3/2/04
The last week has been the time of greatest contentment for me on this trip, of the greatest fulfilment, and living my dream. After nearly two months in the deep south I returned to Kaikoura where it all began almost three months ago, when I found the Miniship, met my surfing buddies, officially began the surf trip, and got lured away to the south where Ive been sequestered for most of my time in Middle Earth.
After a five day hiatus from life on the road in Christchurch at my sanctuary I drove north with Helena to Gore bay for an evening surf in grey ocean and under grey sky, in big barrelling waves where I could smell sharks. Parking the Miniship on a shingle beach just above high tide line and under white limestone cliffs, we made dinner on the little stove in a strong wind until rain drove us inside the ship where we drank wine by candlelight and played music together. She sang her heart out with me and we harmonized together and made up spontaneous songs into the night until the stars came out and the Milky Way was thick and creamy. She talked about magic and passion and life. She was so beautiful that it almost made me dizzy.
The next day we got three sessions in, the final one being at a right point break with a rip so powerful that I had to paddle steadily until I caught a wave or Id be sucked down the coast and winds so strong that it knocked us down on our butts and almost ripped our boards out of our arms. The day was sunny and blue and time and life melted into something magic.
About the ensuing week I can say: surfing, yoga, making music, wine, nightly walk/talks, laughter, passion, magic. We parked the miniship beside the ocean in a field of golden, tall grass, where we could sit or lie facing the waves and walk right into the waves to surf. For fun we started writing a book called A Ninja Surfers Guide to the Reintroduction of Magic , we read Alan Watts and discussed his essay on sensuality and spirituality, she let me read her journal, all of it, exposing herself in all her vulnerability and human glory, I think that is what did it for me, seeing her exposed in her journal as a fragile human being; every moment was intense; she said we were living in a bubble that no-one else could penetrate.
On her birthday I blindfolded her and drove her up into the snow covered mountains that crash straight down into the sea at Kaikoura to a winery and led her onto the balcony with a view of the ocean far below us and the mountains and scalloped coast running away into the distance. After having her smell champagne from a glass I took off the blindfold and surprised her with the view and an afternoon of wine tasting. From that afternoon on life was far beyond anything average; life was nothing if not pure passion and magic. The relationship progressed so intensely and quickly that we were both swept away in a storm of emotion with no time to think about or process what was happening between us.
But every garden has a snake; every bubble must burst, this one, by my own hand.
On a surreal and sad morning, without stopping to think about what I was doing, with a cold pit in my stomach, we agreed it was time to separate and I let her off on the road to Picton. My last sight of her was standing on the side of the road, lonely and forlorn.
Twenty minutes later I picked up Shannon who had arrived the night before in Christchurch for our pre-arranged meeting; I was in shock. The next morning it was raining and cold, I broke my board in big closed-out waves and sat in the rain feeling depressed, empty and the cold pit in my stomach. That night Helena called and I told her how I felt. We knew from the beginning that I had only one week free. That night I got pizza for everybody, embraced my fate and Shannon, switched my mind and attitude, adjusted my heart, and made myself move on.
Super Pod
3/10/04
I woke up for a pink dawn and rolled out of the miniship to make chai and watch the sun rise over the sea. The swell was dying here at Kaikoura on the east coast but it was supposed to be pumping on the west coast so I decided to drive across the island, over the mountains, to Westport. I said farewell to my friends and drove out to Mangamanu, the right point break, to say goodbye and have a quiet moment with the waves.
As I was pulling up I saw a commotion in the water. At first I thought it was a flock of sea birds on the surface of the sea, then it looked like a huge school of big fish jumping out of the water, but as I got out of the van and looked closer I realized what it was--the super pod! Kaikoura is famous for its dolphin watching because there is a super pod off the coast here and for $100 dollars you can take a boat ride out to see it. But here was the super pod right at my break. It looked like a hundred dolphins, all arcing and backflipping and jumping out of the water, fins everywhere. I was stunned and excited.
Without stopping to think I stripped my clothes off, slipped on my board shorts (no time for the wetsuit or booties), grabbed my board and ran down the slope, over the rocks and paddled out. The water was cold and clear, the sky blue and sun sparkling on the waves. I felt alive! I could see them jumping out of the water over the swells as I paddled out; they were moving away from the shore.
When I caught them I suddenly stopped short. These were not the little Hector's dolphins I was familiar with at Porpoise Bay; these were Dusky dolphins and suddenly they looked huge. I stopped on the edge of the pod. Everywhere were fins, everywhere were dolphins jumping out of the water; chaos. I was frozen on their edge; I held my breath the way I did the first time I saw sequoia trees; I couldn't move; I was in awe. I sat like a statue and watched, paralyzed. They were big and everywhere. Gradually they moved away from me and eventually I remembered to breathe and felt my body relax. Wow.
I paddled back toward shore, caught a few farewell waves in the cold water and then carefully made my way out of the mine-field of boulders and rocks between sets and said goodbye to Kaikoura, feeling alive and happy on this beautiful sunny day.
A Day in the Life
March 25. 2004
I am filled with stoke; I’m living my dream. This has been my dream since I was a child growing up in Texas; living the surfing life. As an adolescent I used to draw countless pictures of me sitting playing the guitar at sunset on a beach with waves breaking, my board by my side, the sun setting over the waves. Now it’s real. Amazing. If you wish for something hard enough it will come true...
I back the Miniship up facing the break at Graveyards and open the back hatch looking out at the waves and moon. The interior of the ship takes on a soft glow in the light of many candles; a bottle of wine is uncorked, aired and poured. We sit looking at the waves, talking and letting the red wine pour down inside us, a soothing nectar, warmth. The full moon emerges from the clouds, bright. The ocean sparkles silver and white except for bands of flat black, the faces of waves rolling in.
I play and sing my heart and guts out. An hour or two passes while Shannon cuddles under the duvet and rubs her feet against me. The night gets more and more beautiful as the moon climbs high in the sky. The snowy mountains are glowing; the ocean sparkles, it seems bright as day. Magic. Magic and beauty and passion are in the air. Finally my voice is raw and I have expended my energy for singing and playing.
The energy of the night is palpable. I put on Ben Harper ‘Live from Mars’ side two—‘Roses from My Friends’, ‘Waiting on an Angel’, ‘Another Lonely Day’…the music wrenches my heart. I get sleepy Shannon to turn around and we slide under the duvet and pull our clothes off and I take her in my arms and put a piece of dark chocolate with orange peel in my mouth and she takes it with her mouth. We kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss, slowly, passionately, until the last bit of chocolate is melted. It lasts forever. I take more and we kiss again. I begin to make love to her and she says, in her sweet, breathless voice "I was waiting for this the whole time you were playing."
The music is so heart-piercingly beautiful I shudder as we make love all around the Miniship, the whole time the waves roll in in sets. We are drunk and fuck like horny teenagers. She giggles and laughs and moans and I laugh and smile. She says "It’s like a fire." When we come we laugh and sigh and collapse into each other’s arm and through the night the moon arcs across the sky and the waves roll in. She sleeps peacefully; I watch the swell with excitement.
We awake at dawn and I watch the swell until we fall into each other’s arms and make slow morning love. I slip on my wetsuit and paddle out. Glassy green swell, no wind, blue sky and sun, mountains white with snow, ocean blue-green. I am absolutely alone on a head high swell at a point break with consistent rights.
I paddle outside past the regular break to where an occasional rogue set comes in. Suddenly one of these mastodons will rear its head up out of the ocean and I know it’s time to go to church. They go off like bombs and all I can do is ride the explosion. I let a few pass and then I start whispering to myself ‘Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.’ It becomes my mantra. ‘Don’t be afraid; don’t be afraid.’
A wave rears up right at me. I watch it and keep whispering ‘Don’t be afraid; don't be afraid’, turn and paddle, watching it over my shoulder, I catch it on the peak, in the pocket, and do what I love to do best on my longboard back in Cali; a late drop in. Right on the peak, as it’s breaking, it feels like looking over a cliff, one final explosive paddle, an extreme arch of the back and I’m over the falls at the last instant. I tell myself to jump up and I do and for what feels like an eternity but is probably only an instant, I am free falling through the air down the steepest part of the wave. I hit the bottom and bottom turn hard and the wave is right there with me. I cut and carve back and forth, staying with the peak and then I shoot away. It is maybe the best ride I have had in New Zealand and the first of the morning. The waves get more and more clean and glassy and concave with the rogue sets exploding out in the outfield.
Eventually I make it out over the rocks unscathed, shaking and radiating excitement and stoke. I walk back on the sandy beach in the sun, shaking. Back at the Miniship we make love, then eat, read, write, relax, do yoga, then another session in the evening, a campfire, Monteith’s Summer Ale, brewed with ginger and rata honey, guitar and singing, moonrise, making love listening to the waves with one ear and Shannon with the other, watching her with one eye and the swell with the other, watching the waves all night. Another 24 hours.
Mastodons
3/25/04
I awake at dawn and watch the swell. I slip on my wetsuit and paddle out. Glassy green swell, no wind, blue sky and sun, mountains white with snow, ocean blue-green. I am absolutely alone on a head high swell at a point break with consistent rights.
I paddle outside past the regular break to where an occasional rogue set comes in. Suddenly one of these mastodons will rear its head up out of the ocean and I know its time to go to church. They go off like bombs and all I can do is ride the explosion. I let a few pass and then I start whispering to myself Dont be afraid. Dont be afraid. It becomes my mantra. Dont be afraid; dont be afraid.
A wave rears up right at me. I watch it and whisper Dont be afraid, turn and paddle, watching it over my shoulder, I catch it on the peak, in the pocket, and do what I love to do best on my longboard back in Cali; a late drop in. Right on the peak, as its breaking, it feels like looking over a cliff, and then an explosive paddle, an extreme arch of the back and Im over the falls at the last instant. I tell myself to jump up and I do and for what feels like an eternity but what is probably only an instant, I am free falling through the air down the steepest part of the wave. I hit the bottom and bottom turn hard and the wave is right there with me. I cut and carve back and forth, staying with the peak and then I shoot away. It is maybe the best ride I have had in New Zealand and the first of the morning. The waves get more and more clean and glassy and concave with the rogue sets exploding out in the outfield.
Eventually I make it out over the rocks unscathed, shaking and radiating excitement and stoke. I walk back on the sandy beach in the sun, shaking. Back at the Miniship I eat, read, write, relax, then another session in the evening, a campfire, Monteiths Summer Ale, brewed with ginger and rata, guitar and singing, moon rise, watching the sets all night. A day in the life.
Wind, Sand, and Stars
March 25, 2004
I follow the tides, the swells, and the winds, looking for surf. At night I
sleep under the sky, on a beach, beside a driftwood fire wrapped in my pink yoga blanket, or in the back of the Miniship facing the break, watching the waves, waiting for morning to come. (Oh the sweet aromatic fragrance of the first waft of smoke as I light that driftwood fire; nothing so sweet as the smell of driftwood burning clean, the warmth of it in the night, the
flickering orange of it.)
The sky is so clear that the Milky Way is rich and thick and creamy white.
The stars sparkle like cold, frosted diamonds and it is ironic that
appearing cold and frozen they are in fact converting hydrogen to helium at ten million degrees Celsius, glowing as they radiate electromagnetic energy that fuels life on this chunk of rock hurtling through space, this rock
attracted by something we don't understand and call gravity to that very
ball of glowing gas that gives us life. Is the earth not in love with the
sun? Does it not revolve around that which gives it life, taking delight in
the warmth or its beloved? We call it gravity; we don't understand it.
Orion eternally chases the Pleiades across the sky as they evade him riding on the back of Taurus, never attaining the object of his mortal desire.
Each night I watch the moon rise and over the weeks go through its cycle,
from new to full, rising lemon yellow out of the ocean, turning white as it
rises higher and higher until the earth is bathed in bright pale blue
light. The moon light sparkles on the sea like liquid chrome, the waves
roll in in black bands rupturing the molten silver. The snow glows on the
mountains with black glittering sparkles. The air is sweet with fennel and
pine and sea air. In my sleep I hear the waves rolling in and the cobble
and shingle clattering as the waves suck back out dragging them along.
In the mornings I watch the pink and crimson, yellow and gold dawn coming, out of sleepy, happy eyes and I roll out of the ship and slip into my
wetsuit and paddle out; this has become second nature to me, the way some people brush their teeth. I taste the cold, clean water and feel it crash
over my back as I dive under a wave and suddenly I am alive and content,
excited and happy. Sitting outside I look at the clear water, the snow on
the mountains, watch the sky turning blue and the sun sparkling on the
waves, turning the mountains green and gold, the clouds puffy and turning
bright white as the morning passes. Maybe a dolphin comes by, maybe a seal.
There is the joy, the always- new joy of catching a wave, dropping down its face, the pure joy and excitement of riding the silent green face, up and
down, a kind of balancing dance, as it unfolds constantly now before me. A couple hours later, shivering with cold, stupid with exhaustion, falling o!
ff my board, mouth puckered with salt, I paddle in, feel my feet on the
sand; I can't stop smiling.
Back at the Miniship I peel off the wetsuit and slip on a sarong, peel
ginger root, crush cardamom pods and seeds, boil them, steep the tea bags, pour it over the powdered milk in my blue cup and add manuka honey and sit in silence drinking my chai, my morning ritual. I read, do yoga, relax, listen to music, and surf again, maybe three sessions, into the sunset and dusk.
The nights are dark chocolate, red wine, and romance, guitar and singing,
massage, music, stars, smiles, drifting in and out of sleep, always smiling.
I have one pair of pants, a pair of board shorts, two tee shirts, one pair
of socks, two pair of calvin kleins, my sarong, a towel; that's all I need.
My on-board library, beside my bed, in this moment hosts Dostoevsky.
Steinbeck, James Fennimore Cooper, Hugo, Cervantes, Vergil, de
Saint-Exupery, Melville, Lord Lytton, and Bronte. It changes as I devour
the books and find more in used book stores. I love that I have time to
read and read and read on this trip.
The sun has burned my skin golden brown, seven months of easy city living in Prague have been burned away by constant paddling and surfing and my body is hard and lean. The days have drifted into months, months of living outdoors by the ocean. It is not a vacation; it is my life.
But I feel the subtle steady pull to home?. to kith and kin, friends,
beloved mountains, desert and ocean of California.
Winter
26 March, 2004
From high in the hills above Wellington I look across the Cooke Strait to the South Island and across Lyall Bay to the houses on the hills. It reminds me of looking across San Francisco Bay when I was 18 and left home for the first time in my life. How excited and alive I felt; the beauty of the lights sparkling on those hills and reflecting in the water at night, like colored lamps. What energy and magic I felt in the air and what life I felt pulsing in the veins of the City, pulsing out of the very concrete beneath my feet. How many lifetimes ago was that? How many lives have I lived since then?
The first encroaching fingers of winter have come in the night and I am chilled now; the house is cold and my cold hands suck the warmth from my empty teacup. The wind howls cold outside and the sun is pale and feeble. I spent the night deep in discussion, pondering the history of the Maori and their culture. The cold wind blows down the chimney. Soon, soon I will return home.
Dream Big
Life is as big as you dream it, imagine it, and believe it. There is nothing between you and your wildest dreams but your own beliefs. Argue for your weaknesses and they're yours. Step out of your mental conditioning and habitual patterns. Dream big and embrace the largeness and vitality of your reality.
Glory
March 25, 2004
Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative
instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever
created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in
art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation
has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never
invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.
And now the forces marshalled around the concept of the group have declared
a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man. By
disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the
stunning hammer-blows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being
pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species
seems to have taken.
And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human
is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the
freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I
must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or
destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can
understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free
mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system.
Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to
preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the
glory can be killed, we are lost.
Steinbeck
East of Eden
The Final Dispatch;
Fried in LA
4/16/04
Ramada Inn, Los Angeles, California, USA
Serious weirdness in Auckland International Airport. Easter morning dawned on Auckland, which looks suspiciously like LA. It reminded me of what it's like back here--all concrete and asphalt and traffic lines and multiple lanes and hundreds of cars and stores and malls of all sorts. Lots and lots of nothing. Chaos. No sound of birdsongs or waves or wind; just cars. A kind of concrete sickness spread over the land and into the people who inhabit that land.
The last night in New Zealand was spent, ironically, in a motel, watching TV...waiting for dawn. Easter Sunday, breakfast at Denny's, checking e-mail at McDonald’s. We laughed at ourselves and at the irony of it; the last night and morning were the antithesis of the life we've led for the last five months in NZ. Finally we found a park and laid in the grass by a duck pond on the pink yoga blanket. I painted her toenails pink while incredulous gang members looked on. We cooked in the back of the Sacred Cow in the rain one last time and then ate sitting on the curb while cars passed by and suspicious, uncomfortable faces looked at us sideways; just like they would in any typical American city.
Shannon dropped me at the airport and I gave her the Sacred Cow and told her to enjoy it. Inside the airport, alone now, obstacles presented themselves: I had to pay $190 to an indifferent, bored woman behind the counter in order to change my ticket so I could go home. Then, at the check-in, it started. The little man went through my passport and the look on his face told me there was going to be trouble.
"What's wrong?"
"This passport has gotten wet." He looks worried.
"It's been raining for the last five months."
"I have to show this to someone." He says nervously and walks away.
I watch him go from person to person around the airport, disappearing into rooms and doorways and back and going from counter to counter. Finally he hovers around a woman who picks up a phone and begins talking while they both look at me furtively and I know something is not right and I need to stop it before it goes too far. The little man with my passport is whispering to her and trying not to look at me. I walk over.
"What's going on?"
"I'm sorry sir, you can't board the airplane today. You'll have to go to your embassy and get a new passport."
The button that sends the survival signal to my reptilian brain is pressed by this statement and I go directly into survival mode. I am focused into a laser beam of survival instinct. I attack with vehemence.
"I'm getting on that plane; nothing is going to stop me. Call your boss, now."
He threatens to call security. I insist on talking to whoever runs the airport. In the end I think I win by sheer intensity of will and utter desperation. The human mind is an amazing thing when it is pushed by desperation in the direction of its capacity. He takes me to a counter and furtive whispers pass between him and three women as they discuss what to do. They refuse to look at me. I have whipped out my other forms of ID and am promising to get a new passport as soon as I get home and insist that if there is a problem with mine the US authorities will deal with me on arrival and that in all cases I must be on that plane. (For the record, when I got home Customs said my passport was fine.)
They are iresolute and as soon as I sense that they are caving in and faltering I don't hesitate; I press my advantage at their indecision and began thanking the one in charge profusely, retrieving my passport and heading for the check in again before they have said yes or no. And then I'm past security and on my way to the gate, where I encounter...
Weirdness number two; but good weirdness:
My flight is delayed by an hour or so and the boarding gate is switched three times during that hour. When I finally track my gate down there is a large crowd already waiting and only a few seats left. A girl with long brown hair and green eyes is sitting on the floor in front of an empty chair reading a book; she smiles at me. I take the seat and ask her where she's from.
"Homer, Alaska."
"What’s your name?"
Her name is Anna. Anna from Homer, Alaska. And then I realize that this is the very friend Shannon has been telling me so much about who was supposed to come travel with us. Anna from Homer who has been studying in . Shannon has been trying to meet up with her for the last few weeks. I tell her I have a friend from Valdez, Alaska named Shannon. Ana’s eyes get big, "She's a good friend of mine; we went to college together."
Ana and I do yoga on the airport floor until it’s time to board.
It is remarkable that out of all the people in the airport I walked directly up to this one girl and it is Anna, Shannon’s friend. Quite remarkable.
The flight is long and rough. As the plane tosses up and down in turbulence at 3 am over the ocean I think about death. And finding peace with it. I think that I want to surf more than anything in the world and that it is a blessing to be alive and free. I promise myself not to fly anymore; I always do on these long flights.
Touchdown in LA around noon Easter Sunday. I clear customs to find that I have a 13 hour layover in LA and will not be home for Easter. For only another $845 they can fix my problem, or for $45 I can get a room at the Ramada Inn. Hello Ramada Inn. I have not slept in so long, this is the third night now, and I won't be home until 8 am tomorrow. A long time. A long way home. But soon I will be back in Cali, in my Mothership and I will be with my friends and surfing cold waves, as many as I can get.
Post Script
NZ is heaven
Kia ora friends,
I made it back to the states. Coming back here is the best way to realize I want to be there. I will look into getting a teaching job in nz. If anyone has any suggestions please share. I could maybe be back there to start teaching next January.
I miss everyone and NZ mucho. Thank you all for your hospitality and kindness, for sharing your lives and being so good to me. I love New Zealand and the reason is because of New Zealanders; Kiwis. The US is just not a place I want to be--concrete, crowds and the stupidest madness sickness in government and consumerism that pervades our society in general. If you ever want to know what almost all of America is like then just go to Auckland, on Great South Road, where the MacDonald's and the Dennny's are, near the airport--that is a perfect replica of America. Traffic lights, traffic, concrete, useless consumerism, unsmiling faces.
But on a positive note--NZ is heaven.
Be happy, thank you, your kindness has made me love your country,
Phoenix
