Madventures

The blog is (maybe?!) back - for at least this one update, maybe more. I don’t really know who will be interested in checking up, but hey, we’re here. I’ve got time.

You might think it’s strange to begin blabbing on my blog again after a two year hiatus in the midst of a pandemic where we’re supposed to be sitting at home doing nothing, but unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) we’re NOT doing nothing. We’re going on a road trip!

Now listen, I’m not actually that excited about this. I wish I was. Or rather, I wish I could be. At the moment, Australia is like most other places in the world practicing social distancing, limiting travel, closing non-essential shops, etc. However, hip-hip for the Land Down Under because they flattened the curve a couple weeks ago and overall kept numbers relatively low. Yay! 

Although things feel generally under control here, and there’s finally normal quantities of toilet paper on the shelves again, Viv and I are now both out of work and therefore have no income to pay for our $240/week rent. (Yes, that’s per week, which is how Aussies and Kiwis like to roll.) A decision had to be made, and it wasn’t easy.

Just three months ago we literally packed up our lives and took a road trip out west to this beautiful place called Margaret River. It was me who pushed for it, having heard lore from friends and strangers alike about how beautiful the area was, how hip and progressive and fun. It didn’t let us down, and we’ve made lists and plans of the things we’d like to accomplish here. This included the Cape to Cape walk: a six-day backpacking trip that was destined to be Viv’s first ever carry-all-the-shit-you-need-on-your-back-overnight type of camping. The summer camp trip leader in me is DYING not to have accomplished this. But I digress.

Interjection: I’m on what they call a “Second Year Visa” here in Australia. I did enough rural work on my First Year Visa to qualify for a second one, which is how I’ve been able to bum around here for so long. Just in case you were wondering.

Back to the story: like most people in the world, our plans came to a screeching halt with the virus. We had to choose between staying here and potentially burning through all our savings only to have to head home to Viv’s family anyway, or simply go home now with some savings to hold us over when we came out on the other side. 

We’d been leaning towards going home for a good few weeks. What made matters harder was an offer I received from a local business owner who I got to know recently. She and her husband run an auto shop in town, and she suggested that we could move onto her property with her family, rent-free, in exchange for keeping up her garden and tending her to her chickens. Amazing, right?! Absolutely stunning offer, and we debated the idea for several days. (Thank you a million times, Heather!)

But in the end, we both decided it’s wisest to stay on the path to the farm, especially knowing her family has been preparing for our arrival and (we assume) are excited for us to be back home.

“Home.” It’s a funny concept for this American-gone-rogue. I’ve found home in several parts of the world now, and in several communities in each of those parts. I’m disappointed - and I know I’m not alone in this - that Margaret River is no longer going to be home, after planning and hoping and willing it into being. But I take a strange solace in knowing that this disappointment is being felt worldwide, that we are all feeling this frustrating setback, like something has been stolen from us. And my disappointment is probably a lot less than the disappointment some other people are facing right now, or the terror, or the injustice. Perspective is important.

But we are intrepid, so we’re slowly preparing ourselves to leave town and quite literally take the roads that lead us here in the reverse direction. My new-old car has had repairs, Viv’s ute (or “truck” for us Americans) has gone in for new tires (or “tyres” for us Australians), and we’ll be packing up our things in the next few days leading up to our departure. 

As for taking a road trip through pandemic-stricken lands and attempting to cross alleged closed state borders, I’ve done my research. Though borders are closed to non-essential personnel and aimless travelers, we fall under the category of essential travel/compassionate grounds by needing to return home. I’ve called the borders to ensure we’ll be allowed through, and the very friendly patrols have told me that police are assisting at the border and will give direction or permits to people passing through. We’ll be allowed to stop for food, fuel, and sleep, but are otherwise instructed to take the most direct route to our destination, and of course to quarantine ourselves for two weeks upon arrival. 

Our plan spans six days to cross more than 3500 kilometres, which includes the famous Nullarbor Plain, a LOT of desert, and three state borders. We will leave shortly after my 29th birthday (which, by the way, holy shit), and that will be that! Or, “it is what it is.” Or something.

And it feels so different from last time! Better, I'd say. Rather than being thrust into the unknown - which is all very well and exciting in its own way - I'm returning to the familiar. To Kiwi family, to the Wither Hills winery, to my friends and favorite beach spots and coffee shops and all the other good things. (There are SO MANY.)

Looking back, this all feels like it came on rather fast. I think it was only October when my supervisor from the winery offered me the seasonal job back. I anticipated applying for a second vintage at the winery anyway, but they offered to have me start almost two months early! 

All I can think is, when life hands you lemons, ya better get started on that lemonade. 

I was (and still kind of am) REALLY financially unprepared to go back to New Zealand so early, but I also really wanted to make this work. In the end, I justify having literally zero dollars to my name knowing that I'll be working my bum off over there to make up for it. How nuts is it that I'm flying halfway around to the world to MAKE money?! This isn't quite the free-for-all vacation/travel trip it was last year, folks. This girl's got wine to make. And to drink, obviously.

I'm traveling on a new visa this year, as the Working Holiday Visa I had last year was a one-time deal, and also limited how long I could work for any one business. This year, the winery had to sponsor me as an applicant and assist in my application to the New Zealand government in order for me to obtain my Skilled Workman's Visa. Essentially, Wither Hills had to prove that I was capable and trained for the job, and that they couldn't find any NZ citizens to do the job otherwise. I can only work and stay in the country for six months this year, but I'll only be there for about five anyway.

But you guys! I'm going back! I was always telling my friends and Kiwi Family that I'd be back within a year, that I just couldn't bear to let that be the end of it. I'm a woman of my word.

The road here has been a bumpy one though, that's for sure. My blissfully unplanned summer was anything BUT blissful, actually, and my uncertainty in choosing what to do next spiked my anxiety and created some really negative feelings for a while. I thought I was going to be able to mold back into my "old" life, but everything had this strange shift to it. There were little changes here and there, both in people and in places, and with having very little plan in terms of work or living situations, I kind of lost my shit.

I won't go into the details of my (numerous) meltdowns, but I want to mention it here because I think it's important to see both sides. While I'm ecstatic to be starting my adventure again, it hasn't come without struggle. Personally, my biggest struggle was trying to reconfigure my relationships within the communities I had left. It was a very lonely summer; one in which I tried to remember all that I had learned while traveling - about loving yourself, finding your own fun, and putting yourself out there - but I found it difficult to do that in a familiar place, where I had already been established at one point. Suddenly everything felt off, weirdly shifted.

Eventually, I worked through these issues, and found a temporary new home for myself with my oldest and most wonderful friend, Katy. I told her that she saved me this summer, between all the visits and her persistence that I should move in for a while, and I really do believe that she did. 

I also know I was far from alone in the funny feeling of arriving home after a long trip. A few of my friends in the UK said they'd been dealing with similar situations, and it was a relief to chat with people who knew and understood exactly what it was like. 

BUT I digress. My point is this: sometimes it looks like I do really cool things, like travel to New Zealand multiple times in a year, and go camping all summer long, and take road trips as often as I like, and so on. But that's just what you see at a glance, whether on social media or in passing, and it is so far removed from the reality of the situation that I just want to remind us that it is NOT all sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes it's struggling relationships and broken hearts. Sometimes it's tooth pain and a root canal that costs $1500, and then a car that explodes and you have to repair it for $800 on top of that. Sometimes it's Christmas and you can't afford to buy a goddamn thing for your family so you thank your lucky stars that, in truth, they don't care about that stuff anyway. Sometimes it's schlepping your crap from one basement to the next and hoping your friends don't hate you for taking up so much of their space. Sometimes it's working a job that doesn't quite pay the bills, but it's the best you've got in the moment. And sometimes it's just making a cup of tea in the afternoon, chatting with your best friend, and trying to figure out how the hell you made it to this point.

In a few hours, I will be in the air again, heading westward for my first layover in LA, then Fiji, and finally good old New Zealand town. Another internal flight to get down to Kiwi Family from Auckland, and then I'll have made it! It'll be a long 30+ hours, but I'm armed with books, journals, a Rubik's cube, and ripped-out Sudoku pages to fill the time.

For those who actually read my gibberish, I just want to say thank you for coming along with me again. These reflections feel more or less like journal entries to me, so if my therapy can be your entertainment then I'm all for it! I appreciate you all. We'll see how it goes from here. (What else can we do?)

Cheers to New Zealand 2018!!

It's a rainy day here in Sydney as I sit and reflect, attempting to come to terms with the fact that I'm leaving this part of the world for a while, and wondering if I've even felt the distance at all.

In roughly nine hours, I hop a plane to Doha (where I'd rather not talk about the political skirmishes happening at the moment), and from there - hopefully - another plane to Barcelona. The best part of this leg of the journey isn't the fact that I'll be in Spain - another new place I've never been - but the fact that I get to see my mom for the first time in nine months. It still doesn't really feel like it's happening; I guess I got pretty used to not seeing the people I'm used to seeing. But I did see them, in a way. Modern technology is a modern treasure when it comes to traveling!

Leaving Aussie marks the start of the very last chapter of this trip, and what a trip it's been. I've learned more than I could possibly write, and I do believe it's changed me. I also happily believe that it's all for the better.

Some lessons were pretty standard, like learning to navigate airports and train stations, bus terminals and cities. Others were socially relevant, like learning a few words in Maori, and responding to an ecstatic "Kia Ora!" with an equally ecstatic "Kia Ora!" in return.

I learned the delicacies, the norms, the slang. I learned to be on my own, and to cope with loneliness.

Some lessons had an edge to them, like when I learned you can't always beat down the fear when it's time to go and do something. Sometimes you have to take the fear by the hand and let it come along. Be scared, but do it anyway.

And I've learned that, slowly, the fear in these things will go away. It's always going to be scary to try something new, but then you do it again, and again, and suddenly the scary thing starts to feel familiar, and it's not so bad anymore.

I've learned how to talk to people, and also how NOT to talk to people - even when surrounded - if I just don't want to.

I've learned that sometimes sharing your thoughts and fears with a complete stranger can be the most therapeutic thing in the world, because there's a chance they have something good to say that will help. (We are never alone in our fears and our worries!)

Perhaps most exciting, at least in my opinion, is that I've learned that there are options. Options that no one in high school, or even university, bothered to tell us about. Options that open doors to completely new lives, new worlds, if we're willing to take those first steps.

But the beauty in having options, of course, includes the option to stay home. Or rather, to come back home, if we want to. Not everyone is built for this, I know. In the same way that not everyone is built to be a stay-at-home parent, or a business owner, or a mountaineering instructor. Which is bloody perfect, because if we all wanted to do the exact same things, our lifestyles would never work. Our possibilities lie in our diversity. That's what makes this world so fucking cool. (I've learned that too.)

I don't know who to thank. My parents, for raising me to make my own choices, and for helping me follow through with them. My sisters, for blazing a trail, and showing me the options that no one else bothered to. My friends, for believing in me when I first spoke of this far-off dream, and for supporting me through the celebrations and the tantrums.

It's funny. Ever since I was a little kid, I've dreamed of New Zealand. Somewhere, somehow, I believed adventure awaited me there. Sometimes it feels less like I chose the place, and more like the place chose me. I don't think I really believe in that stuff, but then again, I believe in a hell of a lot more than I did before.

I believe in me.

May 9th, 2017

The feelings just keep coming, man. It seems like everyone is feeling them. So much has happened, and so much is changing. I guess it's natural that it should come with the changing of the seasons. We switch the mode of our lives with the seasons all the time. And here I am, in the beginning of winter in New Zealand, about to completely change my life again as I head into summer back home. But even when you stay in one place, change is thrust upon you. I guess that's just life.

With harvest ending, everyone's asking about our future plans or what we're doing when we get home. I'm not the only one who's an open book right now, which is comforting to know. I think we've all got the same pensive feeling about the open-endedness of where we are. What's to come for us? Where will we go? Who will we give our time to?

When you look at the grand scheme of things, the thing we're always looking for is more time. Time to do this, to see them, to be there. So we schedule and plan and try to make ends meet, but we can't do everything. Our time is so limited, and those who receive it from us must mean a great deal.

May 14th, 2017

You know, it's really something to have been here long enough to be able to hop in a car and know where I'm going... Despite the fact that I went the wrong way out of town and wound up at an entirely different beach than I intended. There's beauty in the accidents.

Thank youuu Coley for letting me borrow your car. Part of me wanted to invite her along, but the other part really wanted more me-time. Me, the sea, the sky, the sun... Ah.

How fucking much am I going to miss this place? I'm so thrilled to be planning to come back in less than a year. This could never be a one-time deal for me. It's too wonderful here.

Months ago I was craving my old forests and lakes - the things that I knew. But I know this place now too, and I want to learn more and more. I don't know that I will ever get enough, and I'm starting to understand what they say about traveling, about having pieces of your heart stuck in these places, about how who you are and what you become in these places becomes so meaningful for yourself. Maybe only for yourself, but that was the point all along. This is a solo journey. This is for me. And it will continue to be so, because I'm not giving this up any time soon.

It's time to walk.

May 20th, 2017

"You're now unemployed!" were Kent's words to Manuel and I on our last day at Wither Hills, and I loved it. I forced him to give me a hug at the end of beers today because I couldn't leave without one. He laughed.

Ah, the end of another "thing." I'm feeling pretty good about this one though. It's sad, but all on a sweet note. It's just been so good.

Sam high-fived us over our newfound unemployment, which might have felt funny in some other circumstance, but in the moment it was perfect. It helped solidify my understand of what the hell it is I'm doing. It's like working for the weekend, but I'm working for my seasons. Screw spending so much of my time just waiting around. I'm so ready for this.

May 22nd, 2017

The end, the end... I still have some cleaning and packing to do, and general un-fucking of my head space to come to grips with everything to come. I had this flash on the beach today of walking through my hometown, and it felt so strange. Less than a month until I'm back home.

May 24th, 2017

I officially tossed my boots yesterday, after giving them one last good romp out by the sea. I saved the laces though. I'm telling myself it's because they're good sturdy laces that might come in handy one day, but really I think I just wanted a relic for all the good places these boots have lead me. We've seen a lot together.

Man, am I a total sentimental asshole or what?

Moving on - flights to catch and people to see! I'm so excited!

That’s the best way I can think of to describe my life lately.

Although we’ve been busy plowing through work at the winery, we’ve still found time for some extra-curricular fun. Fires on the beach, makeshift hot tubs, pot-luck brunches, sunrises with a beer or four, and a few other things I’m technically not allowed to talk about. 

My birthday was last week, which I share with a good buddy of mine at the winery. The combination of our vintage shenanigans, a game night and cake with Kiwi Family, and dozens of letters from Wisconsin Family made this birthday one of the best I’ve ever had - which feels really good, considering how down I was feeling during the holidays. I wasn’t really thinking about it because we’ve been so busy, but this was probably the best traveling birthday scenario I could’ve gotten myself into. Between families and my wonderful new friends, I have been feeling very loved.

Night shift is still on, but we’ve cut back down to 8-hour shifts. I am now part of the very small “graveyard” shift that runs from 10 PM to 6 AM. The winery is still running 24 hours, but not quite at the level it was before, which is why they’ve spaced us out a bit. We’ll only have four or five more days of it, though, and then the vintage is essentially over.

Ugh, I hate endings, I really do. I know there are always good things to come, but I don’t necessarily like when people say “better” things to come. It’s just a different good. A new learning experience, a different adventure. Definitely good things, but not better. I’m not trying to one-up anything.  I was talking to Kiwi Mum earlier, telling her that I’d be home by mid-June, to which she exclaimed, “only six more weeks!” Hold up, only SIX?! Where did that come from? How did it all go so fast? A month and a half ago, all I wanted to do was go home and see my family and friends, get “settled” again, maybe go back to my old job... but now? Now I’m freaking out. Now I’m not ready for the end, even if it is still weeks away. Only weeks, not months. It’s astounding.

I calm myself back down when I remember all the other good things to come, even if they won’t be in New Zealand (for a while). I have an incredible hiking adventure in the almost-finished stages of planning with my annual road trip adventure girls, I have a niece and nephew to cuddle and play with in the summer sun, I have my Point friends to kayak and camp and drink with, my best friend’s wedding to prepare for, a Hamilton performance to go see, a bedroom to unpack, old towns to visit... There is so much good to be had.

And let us not forget these six weeks still waiting for me out in the world. Most of that will still be in New Zealand, but I’ve just re-done my flights to Aussie, and then to Spain. I’ll be visiting for about a week in each of those places, which feels like nothing compared to my months here, but they’ll be a good sampling to determine where I’d like to spend more time in the future. 

I could go on and on about those future dreams, but I better not bore you all with them too soon. I’ll tell you just this one, though: I’ve put my name down at Wither Hills to say I’d be happy to return next year for another vintage. It’s a long way off - ten months or so - but then, wasn’t I just saying how quickly the time flies? Because it really does. The moment I heard that I might have the opportunity to come back and work again, I think I had already made the decision in my head. And that was before I even really knew what working a vintage would be like!

I get ahead of myself far too easily, I know. But then again, for a long time, my original idea for New Zealand felt like something far away and unheard of, too. People were kindly supportive - “Oh sure, that sounds so cool!” But it wasn’t until I really stuck it to everybody and got a visa and a plane ticket that I convinced people it was really happening. That’s probably about the same time I convinced even myself that it was happening. It’s funny like that.

But there it is. My name is in the pot, and if I’m welcomed back for another season, I just don’t know how I could say no. 

That’s the beauty of being a traveler. You go where you want, wherever you’re willing to work towards. Which is also the thing the “Oh, I wish I could do what you’re doing” people don’t seem to understand. Of COURSE you can do what I’m doing. What’s stopping you, money? You think I had any money when I started this dream? I called my mother bawling because my Jeep was going to need $900 worth of repairs, which I could afford maybe half of and still make rent that month. I cried to my boss thinking I was going to need to pick up a second job six months before I was supposed to depart because I was freaking out with a measly bank account. I worked for this thing, yo. It was tough, and I made a lot of sacrifices, but I’m here. There is no better feeling than that.

I've decided you can get used to just about anything. If life is about change, then I think the quality of your life depends on how you adapt to those changes. Lucky for us humans, we're adaptable little creatures.

But lemme tell ya, this night shift business has been one heck of an adaptation. It helps knowing that it's not a permanent fixture in my life, but there have still been some major ups and downs. The ups come from the incredible group of people I get to work alongside, and the challenges that come along with learning new things. The downs come from the long, dark, cold nights, only to be slapped in the face by the sweet sunshine of the morning, which we then have to black out in order to sleep for our next shift. It's craziness.

But again, it's short term. And in our half-delirious state, as we sip a few beers at 6:30 in the morning, we find a way to laugh through the day (night), and hope to get enough sleep for our next shift less than 12 hours away. Sometimes the really rascally ones will stay up until ten, eleven in the morning. Scandalous.

It messes with you though. Your body is exhausted because you hiked up and down the tanks all night, lifted massive bags of sugar/additives/juice/whatever, moved hoses and tubs and pumps. I had to stop just now and feel my arm muscles real quick because we have been doing some SERIOUS lifting the last couple weeks. (They're nice and strong, thank you very much.)

Then your shift ends, and if you stay up long enough to see the sun, it wakes you right back up again. It's difficult to force those curtains closed when you could be enjoying the sunshine, walking along the river, going on a mini adventure...

But as hard as it is, I can't say it hasn't put things into perspective. I always knew I was a sun-loving gal; I'm crossing oceans and hemispheres to chase summer three seasons in a row. But it has been SO UNNECESSARILY REITERATED over these last few starry weeks. In that good way though, you know? Like, I might be a pale little vampire right now, but it makes me so much more excited for the sun I'll be soaking up again soon.

But anyway. We adapt. Two thirty in the morning now feels like the middle of the afternoon. A beer with breakfast is all too normal. My hands are calloused and blackened and might never come clean again, but I'm proud of them. They're my workin' hands. We get shit done.

I wish I could show you more pictures of the winery, but we've been told we're not supposed to post anything. I think that's more or less about the winery's particular procedures and yada yada, but I'm just avoiding it all together. It's been a hell of a learning experience though, and it's not over yet! Although our twelve hour shifts should come to an end in the next few days, I've extended my contract with Wither Hills until May 19th, which I'm really excited for. Bit more time with Kiwi Family, with my new friends, and to save just a little more moola. Life is pretty dang good.

And hey, it's my birthday in two days! It happens to fall on the New Zealand / Australia holiday called ANZAC Day - a commemorating holiday for lives lost in conflict. "Excited" might not be the best word considering the rather somber holiday vibe, but we're having a big party. So yeah, I'm excited.

And really, that's all I have for now. Working a vintage really takes over your life for these few full-on, bat-shit-crazy weeks. I'm not complaining, but I've hardly had time to think of anything else. Except I need to re-do all the flights I just purchased. That's a headache I'm saving for later.

Over and out, my friends!

First of all, don't judge my horribly slanted and awkward photos from the winery. We're not supposed to have our phones (even though we were walking out for our break and it was probably fine), so I was trying to be stealthy. I was a spy in another life.

Anyway, the winery.

It's mostly a maze of tanks, tubs, hoses, and of course - wine! There are rows upon rows of these tanks, both indoors and out, that look just like this. Some tanks are teeny, and some (like these) hold 50,000 liters! There are even bigger ones outside, and hiking up the platforms to get to the tops of those puppies is a thrilling little adventure, let me tell ya.

I'm wishing now I would've taken better photos, but ah well. They call this area Middle Earth because it's in-between the two big cellars, and they do all the in-between kind of work: additions, transfers, cleaning... wine stuff. The caution tape you can see is a precautionary measure from the earthquake we were in last November. The force of the quake broke the gigantic bolts that hold the tanks to the ground, so we're required to wear hard hats if we have to work in this area... because if one of those tanks falls over, we gotta protect our noggins, you know? (Anyone else remembering that scene in Titanic where Fabrizio meets his death? I know, I'm sorry.)

All jokes aside, I do get a little hopped up on adrenaline when I have to meander the catwalks in this area. I just try to get the job done well and quickly to minimize the need to go back up. I'm also constantly concerned I'm accidentally going to drop something over the edge and whack someone. Maybe that's the real reason we wear the hard hats.

The area I'll be working in is called White Receival, and although we don't require hard hats, we do need ear plugs to muffle the roar of the red machines you can see. These are some of our presses - the machines that press the juice from the fruit - and you can see some of the pumps and hoses we use to transfer the juice to the tanks as well. That's basically the quick and dirty of what we do in this area.

Here, sing this to Daft Punk's "Technologic" tune: Take it Crush it Pump it Press it Put-it-in-the-tub Transfer it

There. That's what we do. So in all actuality, my area deals with fruit and juice rather than wine. We're the start of the whole process after the grapes leave the vineyard. It's a sweet and sticky job, but someone's gotta do it!

And that's us! But not all of us. Our supervisor and second-in-command were somewhere else, probably picking up our slack. Just kidding, I think we're actually cottoning on fairly well for being brand new to this stuff. Or at least, I'm brand new. The others have varying levels of experience, but mostly in smaller wineries, so there's still plenty to learn. (Thank God, it's been a relief to know I'm not the only one starting from ground zero.)

I suppose that's where my "emotional weirdness" comes into play. Occasionally my anxiety kicks up a pretty good fight, and with the mixture of a new job, stresses of not knowing what I'm doing, sadness of getting ready to leave New Zealand, and feeling like I'm in a bit of limbo... well, I freaked. Kiwi Mum noticed I wasn't my usual joyful self and asked if everything was alright, which - when everything's NOT alright - is the perfect recipe to bring me to tears. I have no idea why, but I stood there doing the dishes and bawled like a baby while Kiwi Mum talked me through it. (Bless her sweet motherly soul.) Honestly, I was a disaster. And I'm not gonna lie, my period's on its way as well, which only added to the emotional cluster fuck going on in my brain.

So yeah. I blew my top a little, but later vented to Real Mom and family over a video call, and chatted with some friends, took a walk, cleared my head, and I felt better. I DO feel better. That's another thing I've learned over the years: it's really really really okay to reach out to people when you need a lift. I used to think I didn't want to "burden" people with my problems, but sometimes all you need to do is let off some steam. Vent, cry, laugh, whatever. 

The anxiety I've been feeling over work has decreased greatly over the last few days. The more practice we get before we go "full vintage" (working the 12-hour shifts), the better, so I'm happy with where we're at. And I'm trying to remember that it's OKAY to be new at something, and therefore a little bit shitty at it at first. The work we do is really just a long list of simple steps. It's the fact that there are so MANY simple steps that makes it seem complex, but I'm getting there, and gaining confidence, and probably a little muscle as well. Those hoses are heavy!

OH! And speaking of shift work, I've been assigned the night shift. Crazy, eh? At the moment we're still on 8-hour days, working from 12 pm to 8:30 pm. When the vintage really kicks off, we'll be working 6 pm to 6 am. It was nice knowing ya, sunshine. But actually, I'm quite excited to see what working a night shift will be like, and it will only be for a few weeks. Just adding another experience to the list!

Oh yeah, and they have a full-fledged espresso machine that we get to use for our break coffees. No complaints there.

Traveling is on hold - not that I've been good at updating on it anyway  - because I've officially started my winery job!

I'm back in the Marlborough region, which is the area in the north of the South Island. Kiwi Family welcomed me back with hugs, signs, chatter, and good company. 

It felt like returning "home," and it really has become my home-away-from-home. They're the reason I have this winery job to begin with, and I couldn't be more grateful for everything they've done/continue to do for me. (I honestly can't say that enough.)

Since I returned to the South Island a bit early, I got to spend a week working back at the vineyard with Mel and Doug. They're doing very well and it was a happy week of catching up and getting our hands dirty. It's also been really neat to see the different phases happening with the grapes, from just when they began to bud to being almost ready for picking now - hence working in a winery for the harvest season. Mel and I were busy clipping nets over the fruit to deter the birds, but soon enough the nets will come right back off to harvest the ripe grapes!

Which brings me to the winery. I'm working what's called a "vintage" or harvest: the busy season of picking, processing, and making wine from grapes grown that year. Most wineries hire on extra staff for this season to contend with the huge quantities of the harvest. My official title is a cellar hand, but truth be told I don't entirely know what that entails just yet. Something about pumps and hoses and chemicals and confined spaces and maybe a fork lift thrown in for good measure... and WINE.

I had my first day today, which was mostly induction, paperwork, a tour, and a tasting. I definitely did not take the picture above, but that’s the place! The winery is called Wither Hills, who hire on roughly 40 extra hands for the vintage. Everyone is extremely nice and I am so looking forward to getting to know them better, which will be made easy by all the social gatherings they've got planned (and unplanned), which seem to happen almost every night. 

When the vintage is at its peak, we cellar hands will be working 12-hour shifts for six days a week, day and night. That's how much processing needs to be done! Crazy, I know. They don't know precisely when our 12-hour shifts will commence as it's all up to nature/when the grapes can be picked, but it won't be long. I'm both excited and nervous, but luckily I'm no stranger to long shifts running around on my feet. (Thank you, waitressing.) 

However, with long shifts and specialized work comes good money. And with no life outside of work comes good saving. These eight weeks should fill my wallet with enough to get me through Aussie, Europe, and then some - which was exactly the plan. Two months of hard work for two months of traveling? I'll take it. 

And the REALLY COOL THING about this position is that there's potential I could come back and do it again. Or do it in Aussie. Or France or Spain or Chili or wherever - assuming I'll like it, and assuming they'll want to take me back. I've only heard really good things about the entire experience, despite the long hours and total exhaustion of the job. I'm genuinely excited to be learning something new, to be meeting loads of new people, and to find out if this might be a ticket to future traveling endeavors. The potential is there. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

In other news, I took what might be my LAST hike in New Zealand last weekend. This time around, anyway. I won't have time (or energy, probably) to do any tramping once the vintage is in full swing, and once it ends in May, I'm pretty much off to Australia. These are restrictions of my own making - I want to be home in July to assist in the best-friend-wedding-operation, go on the third annual road trip with my camp girls, and enjoy some of the Wisconsin summer, because it is simply the best. That's not even a biased opinion, it's just the truth.

So that's what's up. More blogs to come! I promise they won't be boring wine-making ones. (Just kidding that wouldn't even be boring Wither Hills please don't fire me yet.) BUT I've been collecting ideas and writings about things like how I planned for this adventure as a whole, why I chose New Zealand, how to go about eating/cooking while traveling on the cheap, etc. I figured this would be a convenient time to blabber about those types of things since I won't have new places to talk about for a while. Until two months from now. Then we're going flying.

I'm sitting in Auckland Domestic Airport, killing three hours before I board my flight to the South Island, though I've already been traveling for the past seven. It's been a few weeks since I've had a proper "travel day," so I guess it's time to have a big one. I like these in-between times, though. They're my excuse to eat out, drink a few long blacks, and let my mind wander while I people watch from one terminal to the next.

I didn't draw this and I wish I knew the source, but this is totally it. I had this conversation with a lovely British girl once, and she said she enjoyed her travel days too, because even though you're literally sitting on your ass all day, you're still getting somewhere. At the end of the day you feel accomplished because you've made a journey. I'm telling you - all that "think time" really takes it out of you. 

My thoughts today have mostly been a reflection on what I've been up to the last few weeks, and what glorious weeks they were!

Meet Rick, Momma Susan, and the yet-unnamed calf. (And the old pooch Misty!)

This was mere hours after the little boy was born, and Rick was helping him find his first drink!

Rick and his wife Lindy run a small Highland Cattle farm in the wopwops of Northland, the district north of Auckland. The couple took me in as a WWOOFer to assist them not only with their gorgeous animals, but to help them as they finish building their new house!

Plastering the walls was our main gig for the duration of my stay, hence the super cute overalls. (I actually loved them.) But I also took a wack at using that saw in the background to cut up excess wood for firewood, and we did some brush clearing on the hills when the days weren't too hot.

It's true country livin' out here, folks. The paved road only extends to the bottom of the valley, where it then turns to gravel for the few kilometers back to Rick and Lindy's house. They're currently living in a small cabin-style home, and they put their WWOOFers up in a caravan parked outside.

My humble abode, with guard dogs Max and Misty! They were sweet little rascals, although their barking sometimes kept me up at night. I wasn't scared of their barking so much as whatever it was they were barking AT at goddamn three in the morning. Probably possums or something, but still. I'm a pansy.

And I was a pansy around these ladies too. I can't help it - cows are big, and these ones have horns! I know they're shaggy and cute and adorable, but they sound like woolly mammoths when they start bellowing, and whatever; I don't mind admitting I was scared of them. But I DID like them, and I helped feed them and move them from pasture to pasture... I just didn't get too close. Which is something Rick teased me about relentlessly.

He also teased me for being American, which is something I've been getting more and more of these days. "Another bloody Yank," he kept calling me. He meant well, I'm sure. Sort of.

Work and teasing aside, my weeks with Rick and Lindy were relaxing, humbling, and an ever-wonderful learning experience. When they can, Rick and Lindy milk one of their cows and even make their own butter. They bake fresh bread every other morning, gather eggs from their chickens, and get their meat from friends who hunt in the area. Their gardens are lush with grapes, plums, apples, pears, figs, and a few fruits I've never heard of. Lindy makes her own washing powder with shaved soap and baking soda. Rick harvests firewood in the back hills of their property, and is working to continue clearing space for the cattle. Their water tank is filled by the rain, solar panels don the shed up at their new house, and nothing goes to waste if they can help it. I've taken more than a few notes from these two, and I can't wait to implement their ways into my own life someday.

But the simple farming lifestyle wasn't all they exposed me to. They had some friends visiting (from America!) who invited them on a marlin fishing charter, and they extended the invitation to me too! That's the thing about Kiwis, ya'll. Their hospitality is unreal and they treat you like family. I literally felt like an adopted daughter for the weeks I stayed with them - invited to dinners, sharing a beer at the end of the day, and then amazing experiences like this fishing charter that I never expected, and likely wouldn't have experienced otherwise. (Sadly, nobody caught a marlin, but they caught a tuna which we ate raw with soy sauce and wasabi!)

Stay tuned for the video I'm putting together (laundry not featured). It turns out I took more videos than I did photos, and there's so much more I want to share with you!

I’m a little out of date, but it’s hard to keep up with the madness. Even my own madness. (This is why I can’t hold down a girlfriend, folks.)

But MAN life has been beautiful lately. I hesitate to say it, because I’m still learning all about the ups and downs of this traveling lifestyle, but I have been so content lately. So happy. So filled with pride about what I’m up to, and what I’ve worked for.

There I go, looking all prideful. I have GOT TO STOP buying white shirts though. Granted, that one was like two dollars at a Salvation Army store, but still. It now has a lovely coffee stain somewhere near my belly button, and I haven’t washed it in a few weeks. So, er, yeah.

My walks have been my favorite thing lately. Mostly day walks rather than multi-day treks.

The Pinnacles hike was by far the best. Actually, the whole of the Coromandel Peninsula on the North Island was a riot. I took the expensive liberty of renting a car to spend about four days up there, but I don’t regret it in the slightest. 

It helps when you stay in a really cool place, too. This was my beach side hostel - literally right across from the sea.

My favorite bit was the private kitchen each dorm area had, and this was ours! Very cozy, and equipped with everything you could need.

Even free tea, which is a staple in almost every hostel. I’ve gotten so used to having my tea breaks throughout the day that I’m slightly devastated if ever a hostel doesn’t provide some. 

But I do my thing, and I enjoy it quite a lot. Plenty of reading, journaling, drawing, and even some embroidery! I realized I was missing the crafts I used to do at home, and then thought... why must I miss them, when I can do it all here as well? So I have a small drawing pad, a watercolor set, and some linen and thread all packed up with me for whenever the mood strikes.

My rousing week in Gisborne with the extended Kiwi Family was a huge success! After my little "word vomit" rant around the holidays, I needed a good pick-me-up. The Gizzy video says it all.

Thank you to these wonderful hosts, Sher and Walt. And thank you ESPECIALLY to the not-pictured camera lady/friend/Kiwi sister/adventure partner Nicole for inviting me along once again.

After leaving Gisborne, I took a bus down to Hawke's Bay to stay in a backpackers called The Rotten Apple, hoping to find an odd job to keep me busy for a little while. I stumbled across The Rotten Apple over a year ago, as I researched and attempted to prepare myself for what was to come in my year in New Zealand. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I didn't find what I was looking for. For one, January is a slow month for orchard/picking work. And two, the hostel wasn't really my style. (No quiet hours, no cleanliness, and they don't even give you keys to your room...?!) BUT the people were cool shit. I'll give them that much.

The people, man. These backpackers made me feel like I've been living a charmed life compared to what they work for. They're the real hippies, you know? I felt like I was peeking into the deeper side of the travel-work lifestyle. These people were a community of drinking, pot-smoking, sweaty, bra-less, hitch-hiking, broke, nag champa smelling nomads. Their lifestyle is impressive in its own right, but not one that I'm interested in becoming a part of. Good people, good conversation, but a way of life that's a few degrees different to mine. I'm just not on that level.

So, in a frantic need to get somewhere a bit more peaceful, I turned to WWOOFing and found a small family farm in Opotiki.

This was the view outside the spacious private cabin we had.

I shared the work and space with a lovely Spanish girl called Laura, who was an absolute blessing not only for her companionship, but also because I think I would shit my pants if I had to stay in that cabin all by myself.

The property was gorgeous. A river ran right through it with a nice sandy beach, the sheep roamed all over, the birds sang, the trees whistled - it was beautiful. Mike, our host, ran a working dog business - buying and selling sheep dogs - so the only thing that really took away from the atmosphere was the incessant barking of the 30-odd dogs. But you get used to it.

Laura and I were often separated when it came to work: one of us would babysit the children (18 month boy and 3 year old girl) while the other helped Mike with cutting and moving firewood. We usually finished work by mid afternoon and would spend the remaining hours lounging, reading, and enjoying the view. There was no wifi on the farm, and Mike only allowed us to use his computer "for 15 minutes every two days."

Yeah, he was like that.

Oh, Mike. Bless him, he will never read this, and even if he does, well... Mike, you're an asshole. Now truly, I can usually find a way to like an asshole, just like I can like my bitches, but you have to be able to ADMIT that you're an asshole (or a bitch). I don't think Mike had any idea; he was just a hard country man who wouldn't let you get a word or question in edgewise. His way was the only way, whether it came to hanging up laundry or throwing logs in the trailer. Laura and I often spent our afternoons regaling each other with stories about what he'd say to us, how condescending he could be, etc. Rather than being angry, as I probably would have been had I been alone, we just laughed, and were thankful we weren't the only ones to deal with his zero patience.

Ah, companionship is a wonderful thing.

At one point while we were cutting wood and loading the trailer, Mike stopped us to go get a drink. Instead of heading to the house, we walked over to a "stream" to sip from that. I've done this kind of thing before - drinking from natural waterways. I'm not opposed to it when I know it's clean and safe. The thing is, this stream was a fed by a drainage pipe coming from under the road, where farms dot the edges and you just KNOW that all sorts of animal and chemical waste are leaching into the water. I realize Mike has probably drunk from this place in all the time he's lived here, but ugh. I got up close to the water, saw all the algae and whatever else was growing in there, smelled something hot and rotting, and was completely turned off. I was thirsty, surely, but I wasn't convinced my stomach was going to be as tough as Mike's for this one. At the same time, I wasn't about to let Mike give me more shit for not drinking it. "It's the cleanest water in New Zealand." Bullshit, man, I've seen the glacial rivers. I'd drink from those any day, but not this. So I cupped my hands and brought the water to my lips and I PRETENDED to drink, despite my eager thirst. We finished up an hour later, so I knew I'd have access to my own water soon, but man. That was nasty.

I guess I did one thing right on my own, though. He told me to mow his lawn - all around his house, the driveways, the field in between, and around the cabin. It took around 4 hours in the hot sun and I was disgusting by the end of it, but would you believe he gave me a compliment?! He said it was the best mow job he's had anyone do for him. I'd like to thank my Nana for her very particular lawn-mowing requirements for that one! (Miss you, Nan.)

Five days into the WWOOFing at his place and I decided I'd had enough. I have to wonder about myself sometimes. Am I really as flexible and versatile as I think I am, or am I just a fickle bitch? Still working that one out, I guess. But my time is limited, and I just can't justify staying in a place that I don't enjoy if I don't have to.

As of now, I'm at a beautiful little hostel called the Funky Green Voyager in Rotorua. I'm in the process of lining up my next WWOOFing experience which should take me further north in a few days. Until then, I'm exploring the city and determining if I have enough time in between to do another multi-day hike!