The Start of the Season

I’m definitely a child of summer. When the sun is shining I feel better - healthier and everything seems more positive. The world and I come alive. However, there is one aspect of winter that gives me all that goodness in a form so potent that it might as well be intravenously injected. Sure, the dark evenings, wet and gray days, and cold wind take the joy out of most normal activities, but winter also means a divine blessing of the white stuff on the mountains. Then it’s time to wax the snowboard, pack the car, and get beaten up by nature whilst having the time of your life. The benefit of New Zealand being such a small country is that the hallowed hills rest only four and half hours drive-time from city stress. There was absolutely no reason not to purchase a season pass as soon as they went on sale.

The weather forecast became the top internet search topic for the next 4 months, and I’d start every day by checking Mt. Ruapehu’s website for updates on snow depth and lift status. Once there was a sufficient base for at least some of the mountain to open, we committed to the first weekend away of the season. And seeing as it was the first, we took Friday off work, so as to make the drive down there more casual than the normal post-work Friday night toil.

Even with a late start, and a slow drive, we made it to our accommodation by early afternoon and were up the mountain for about 3pm. When we opened the doors to the car, and the wind slammed them back, and we suspected it may not have been the perfect afternoon. It wasn’t worth Lucie spending any money to hire a board for what little time remained of the day, and in such horrible conditions, but as I had everything there, there seemed no reason not to have a little go. Yeah, little being a bit of an understatement here. I managed 2 runs on the beginners slope before they called ‘last lift’ due to the high winds, and my first outing for the season was over. Never mind, it was better than nothing.

That evening, our flat mates Erik and Minerva joined us, and we all hit the slopes the next day. It was raining at town level and unfortunately even worse on the mountain. But, we hadn’t come to the mountains to not snowboard so everyone that needed one, hired a board, and we made the best of it. Only one proper run was open for the majority of the day, and as everyone else had the same resilient attitude as us, the lift lines were far longer and slower moving than such whether should dictate.

Never-the-less, the snowboarding gods rewarded our dedication and the rain ceased for a good few hours in the afternoon. There were even a few blue patches to the sky, although none passed directly overhead.

A beautiful blazing fire waited for us at our accommodation when we returned cold and wet. The owners had asked us in the morning if we’d like them to light the fire later for us. We knew it would be a nice idea regardless, but after that day’s weather, it was very, very, appreciated.
The next day saw no relief from the rain so we only lasted a few hours before deciding to start on the return journey back to Auckland. It definitely wasn’t the best snowboarding trip I’ve been on. Hell, I probably enjoyed the snowboarding more at Milton Keynes, and it rained so much I would have been better off taking a surfboard, but it did teach us one major thing - how easy it was to get down to the mountain for a weekend. This lesson would not be forgotten easily.

Visa Fishing

Feeling rejuvenated from such a perfect holiday, it was a great relief to come back and face the potential that Lucie would be kicked out the country in less than 3 weeks if she didn’t arrange an alternative visa. No problem; as per the recommendation of 3 separate ‘specialists’ from the immigration office (including our case officer), she would now need to apply for a tourist visa to pass the time until residency was confirmed. There were a couple of questions in the application that were as clear as vomit so she phoned our reliable immigration office for assistance. In doing so, they now advised that it was impossible to apply for a tourist visa if currently in the country on a working holiday visa. For some reason, this small problem was not identified by anyone previously. Our new situation was, either we heard positively on our residency application in less than 3 weeks or Lucie would have to fly to a non-NZ jurisdiction country (that didn’t require a visa application itself), and then she’d be able to return to New Zealand and be immediately granted a tourist visa. B*llocks to that! Understandably, we were a little miffed at this incompetence so I phoned our case officer and in the nicest possible way, told her to sort her act out. Her response was at least positive even if not totally reassuring. We were told not to worry; she would make that deadline. The back-up plan was that if we hadn’t heard, we would send our passports to immigration and plead the case of it being impossible for Lucie to leave when they had our passports. This was going to be interesting.

I’d lost a lot of weight when travelling. I managed to drop around 5kgs just in the Himalayas, and that was with eating 2 helpings of Dhal Bhat twice a day for nearly 3 weeks. I guess the rest of the loss was through not eating my usual 6 meals a day and simply, not lifting weights. When we got to New Zealand, I knew we’d be here for at least a year, so registered with a gym within the first couple of weeks. After that, some good home-cooked food, no more packet noodles, plenty of meat, and initially no work to go to, helped me pack on 4 kgs in the first 3 weeks. Since then, the battle has been slower but consistent and I’m now heavier than ever. “You can achieve your dreams. Beafcake.” No ‘Weight Gain 4000’, but I have had the help of a few tubs of protein powder, and enough porridge to feed Scotland.

In the last couple of months I decided to take up another hobby. This time, something which has appealed to me for years, but for one reason or another I never got round to trying. The sofa can be a powerful adversary of action. For the last couple of months, every Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I have been learning Wing Chun Kung Fu, courtesy of Sifu Tony Brooks – who according to rumour, would have kicked Bruce Lee’s ass, if they fought at the same age…and one wasn’t dead. I’ve really enjoyed this escapism. No matter how tired or even ill I’ve felt beforehand, I always feel better for going. The class suits me perfectly. There is no bullshit, pretense, or unnecessary exercise. The way they see it, if you want to get fit, go to the gym, this class is for learning kung fu. I couldn’t believe how much we covered and so quickly. I remembered doing Shotokan Karate years and years ago, when we never learned anything remotely cool until reaching the higher belts. On my 2nd class of kung fu, I was practicing multiple hit combos, and finishing with arm breaks. What’s more – it all made sense. It is a lazy mans martial art – defeating an opponent using the least amount of energy and using an attacker’s force against them. This is so much fun it should be illegal.

While there were still the odd weekends of sunshine, we couldn’t resist another attempt at fishing. This time, we went all out and chartered a boat. The skipper said from the start that it wasn’t the best of the year to go, but we remained optimistic. On the way out, a pod of 20 plus dolphins swam with us, and we were content with the day already.

In the distance, the sky was dark with movement. This was a good sign. Where there were birds en masse, there must be fish drawing them there. We tried our luck in the area but consistently came up with nothing. From there we tried a few different spots, and our luck increased each time. I managed to convince myself that I was pretty good at fishing and reeled in 12 fish over the next few hours. Unfortunately most of these were either no good for eating, or infuriating close to, but below, the legal size limit, and had to be released. However, at the end of the day, Lucie and I had a glorious red snapper each and a couple of Mau Mau. Some people do it for the sport, I do it for the dinner, and it tastes even better when you’ve reeled in the beasts yourself.

The penultimate date arrived and Lucie's visa was over. Thankfully, confirmation had arrived that our residency had been granted, and she wouldn't have to go on the run. It was such a long build up, and so much stress, that it should have been a huge relief or cause for celebration when it was actually over. It wasn't though. It was an anti-climax. Just an end to stress, rather than massive elation. True, we were very pleased that our future was back in our hands, but we never felt the need to pop a champagne cork.

Balance

I phoned around every resort on the island and told each of them our story. Some offered sympathy in reduced rates but others only responded with words. The final outcome was a choice of two, and the difference in price between them was fractional compared to the quality. Now, was not a time to be cheap; we had a holiday to save.

The Muri Beach Club Hotel looked impressive in the pictures, but was nothing compared to the real thing. We felt like imposters, beggars almost, as we arrived in the plush marble reception, soaked from the rain and carrying our backpacks. We were shown to our room and once again questioned whether we were in the right place. Surely this room wasn’t ours? I must have misheard how much she quoted.

Before we left the lodge, I’d phoned the police again and asked if there was any update on the search. They’d arrested one kid and had a bag. What bag? My bag? I described our bag, confirmed it was mine and asked them to list the contents. Red t-shirt. Yes. White T-shirt. Yes, yes. Black trousers. Yes, come on. Sony Playstation. Eu-bloody-reka! Still, no cause to break out the champers just yet; it had been raining all night, and even more today. Unless it had been protected, it was highly likely the PSP was now downgraded to an expensive paper weight. I said these things to try and stop my hopes from soaring, from being too happy, but my optimism is a powerful attribute.

The weather improved, so we caught a bus to the old accommodation, picked up the scooter, and raced into town – thank God it’s a small island. Of course the rain started again soon after starting up the scooter, and we were drenched by the time we got to the police station, but mustn’t grumble.

The bag was brought out and we shifted through the contents. It felt strange pulling out, what the burglars had hastily stuffed in. All the clothes were damp. Not a good start. 1/3 of the vodka remained. Better. The PSP was there, and although damp, some life remained.

The sergeant told us that they’re captured the kid, after finding him laughing his head off, pissed out of his thieving little mind & sitting on the beach. The vodka had brought the perpetrator into the arms of the law and justice to Rarotonga. I’ve always maintained that booze has been good to me.

Back at the hotel, we scraped off our saturated clothes, stepped into the enormous shower, and then slipped into bed. The hotel movie channel would see us through the rest of this rain, and plenty of food and booze would get us through the evening. That night, we dined gloriously.
The morning rain washed off any signs of a hangover, and the afternoon brought us something wonderful. Something we’d been wishing for, for days; the touch of sunshine. Like addicted fiends we chased the sun for all it was worth, as it made its descent into the west. By the time we were on the other side of the island though, it had disappeared from view. We hoped for its return tomorrow.

The curtains were thick in our room, but the difference in the morning light shining around the edges was unmistakable. When we pulled back the curtains our joy was incredible. Please let this last.

We ate breakfast, hardly looking at our plates; just staring outside, and smiling at each other. Almost afraid it would be gone soon, we went outside straight after and starting taking as many photos as possible. The transformation was miraculous. We’d left our holiday hell and walked into paradise.

There isn’t a great deal to see on the island, but one thing we said we would check out was the waterfall, and considering the drowning this place enjoyed over the last few days, we expected it to be in full flow. We zipped up the dirt track on our scooter, and joined the other tourists at the top to see the spectacle. While others held back, we stepped past them and up to the water’s edge. This turned out to be the mosquito buffet area, and they immediately stepped up for their fill. Before Lucie could snap a single photo, at least ten of the little suckers were seated for dinner on the backs of her legs. Now we knew why everyone else kept their distance.
Back on the beach, everything was perfect. Ipod soothing the soul, the sun browning skin, and dips into the lagoon cooling our bodies. This was the kind of holiday we wanted, that we deserved. Imagine how good it would’ve been if it just started here. It would take a lot to convince us to stay in a standalone studio again. It would be resorts all the way from now on. Well, on holiday at least.

In the afternoon, we took a kayak around Muri lagoon, circling the islands and stopping to snorkel whenever the fancy took us. It really was beautiful. Such purity in all directions.

In the evening, we walked along the shore to a recommended restaurant and had our last dinner on the island. We treated ourselves to a lavish feast with cocktails and cake for dessert. Afterwards we took the longest 100 metre stroll in history - dodging crabs, watching shooting stars, and taking silly photos.

The next morning, and our last on the island, I managed to squeeze a dive in. I’d have needed at least 24 hours before flying to do two dives but could safely dive once with the 16 hours that remained. The dive was impressive for the visibility (around 20 metres) although this was considered very poor for the island, but I didn’t see much of great excitement. A beautiful Lionfish was a high point, but other than that, it was just a peaceful experience that I consistently enjoy.
While I was 30 metres below sea level, Lucie was floating a metre above it, enjoying a scrub and a massage in the hotel health spa. The afternoon was a beach affair for both of us, and in the evening we tried out a cultural night. Unfortunately our first choice of venue was booked up and the 2nd choice didn’t exactly impress. We wondered how authentic the night would be if the intro performance had a stereo system backing beat, so our patience didn’t hold out for the main show. In truth, this was also attributed to the fact we knew our departure was only hours away. We found it hard to enjoy ourselves when we knew our holiday was coming to an end. Months of looking forward and now it was to be imminently behind us. How cruel the movement of time is.

We dozed for an hour or so back at our room before the taxi took us to the airport and then we slept for most of the flight back to Auckland. When we got back to our home around 6am, we made for bed straight away. A few hours of rest and the feeling we had when first waking up in Rarotonga was reversed. It was back to the real life. Back to responsibilities and city living.
From the moment we’d arrived at the Muri Beach Club Hotel, we wondered if the price she’d quoted was incorrect; there had to be some hidden charges. Throughout our stay, we were consistently impressed with the quality of the accommodation, the food, and the entertainment (some of the best amateur singers I have ever heard). Even when we requested a late check-out, they charged us a third of the standard price and asked no set time for us to be out by. The price for the room was exactly as stated.

Back in Auckland, our curiosity got the better of us and we searched for the hotel online. There we found the standard prices for each of the room types available. It turned out, ours was the most expensive available and we’d been paying over $400 less a night than it should’ve been. That’s almost worth getting burgled for. We would never have stayed here unless that horrible event occurred and considering that I had most of my things returned to me, including the most valuable item, we felt slightly lucky. I’d say very lucky but the weather had to balance that out, didn’t it.

Loss

We travelled during the night and arrived at our studio around 2am. Our sleep suffered, but it was a joy to wake up to being on holiday. Smiles brought our faces to a level that contradicted the tiredness we felt, and we sprang from our slumber to the windows like kids to their presents on Christmas morning. The curtains were peeled back and ‘Rarotonga’ was revealed, the main island of the Cook Islands. Light golden sand ran from the back of our studio down to inviting lagoon water. A short distance beyond, a band of white from crashing waves, separated the lagoon from the deep blue of the ocean, and betrayed the location of the surrounding coral reef. It was beautiful. The rythmic sound of waves breaking over the reef was calming & the feel of sand beneath our feet was therapeutic. We were defintely on holiday. After months of looking forward to this moment, it had arrived.

With no sense of urgency we roused ourselves to leave our piece of paradise and check out the main town. The bus service of the island, although less than punctual, was reliable and easy going. It stopped whenever anyone asked to get on or get off.

We promised ourselves a true holiday on this occasion so agreed to not worry about spending and just enjoy. However, some habits are hard to shed, and we ended up buying enough food for a few days. We had the cooking facilities in our studio, so why not use them? And besides, holidays are not for worrying –whether it is about cooking or not cooking. Plus, we were looking forward to our first sunset barbeque. This was the reason for choosing accomodation on the west of the island and away from the resorts – privacy, peace, and sunsets.

We saw out the remaining hours of sunlight by walking up and down the beach in front of our studio. Taking pictures of everything from every angle, and constantly smiling at our fortuitous location. Who wouldn’t lap this up?

Remembering the pleasure of eating fresh coconut in Cape Tribulation, Australia, we teamed up once again. Lucie found us a suitable choice, cut away the outer layers, I used a corkscrew to open a hole, and we poured out the exotic liquer. I then applied the overhead swinging technique of our primate ancestors, and smashed the nut onto beach rock. The harvest was in, and our appertiser was ready.

The sun dipped beyond the horizon and we cranked up the BBQ. Steak, sauages, mushrooms, and tomatoes on the grill and cocktails in our hands. The evening was nearly perfect. Nearly, because whilst we enjoyed our dinner, the local mosquitoes enjoyed theirs. Why has no-one eradicated these pests from the planet yet? What possible purpose do they serve except in spreading discomfort and disease? We weren’t mad though. It was just another sign that we were on holiday and was easily accepted. It would take more than that to raise blood pressue in a place like this.

The next day, the skies promised trouble and it wasn’t long before it materialised. No problem. We knew this was a possibility. We had books, booze, a TV, and a DVD player. We were fine, thank you very much. No cause for stress here. The hours passed by like rain falling from the trees, and it wan’t long before we were sleeping the night away to wake to our third day. At some point during the night, my boardshorts had left the clothes line outside and gone walkabout. Not Lucie’s towel or bikini. Just my shorts. Fair enough, I shouldn’t have been so trusting. Besides, they were white and not exactly decent when wet, so it was no great loss. The perpetrator would find this out as soon as they stepped into the ocean.

The morning brought a hiatus to the precipitation damnation so we caught a bus back into town. Our intention was to hire a scooter for our remaing time on the island, but first I would need to obtain a Cook Islands driving licence. This is mandatory under the ruse of ensuring safety to the roads, but is little more than a money making endeavour. Not everyone is required to take the test (a small anticlockwise circuit from the police station, round the block, and back again) , but everyone is required to pay a fee. A simple ‘road tax’ would have worked just as well. What cracked me up about the whole procedure was you had to take the test with your own vehicle, thereby hiring and driving to the test centre without a licence, to gain a licence that was presumably not guaranteed by the essence of a test being required.

I returned to the police station half an hour after registering for my licence and was issued one without requiring a practical test.Perhaps the quota had already been achieved for that day so the test supervisor had gone home for the afternoon.

Almost immediately after we left town, the rain began to fall again. It reminded me of being back in Vietnam, getting soaked on a scooter on the way to the Demiliatarised Zone, and we laughed at our misfortune. This seemed to enrage the storm and the intensity increased viciously. By the time we’d arrived back at our studio, we were soaked through, but still jovial. Thunder started rolling across the heavens with such frequency that we were sure it was the sound of crashing waves. The wind increased and the lightening came. Our patience was tested but still we remained calm.

It took hours before the torment eased slightly and we walked two doors down to the owners of our studio to pay the remaining balance. Whilst there, we borrowed half a dozen DVDs to see us through, and returned home. We were gone for around ten minutes.

When we returned to the studio, we decided to pop up the local supermarket and stock up on cocktail mixers. Might as well use this break in the deluge to bring in supplies. Even though we’d only be gone a few minutes, for some reason, I put virtually everything of value in a bag to take with us. When I considered bringing the only other valuable items left such as my PSP, I reasoned it wasn’t necessary as we’d only be gone a few minutes. The property was locked. It would be fine. I didn’t even know why I was bringing everything else along.

When we left our studio, we said hello to a couple of kids in the apartment next door. They were cleaning windows and sorting a few things out, so we weren’t sure if they were part of a family who’d just moved in, or local help employed to get things ready.

The drive to the shop was only a few hundred metres but something felt wrong. A smile from a passing motorist seemed sinister, not welcoming. We were back within minutes, and it took only seconds to see our feelings were just. The dividing door between our studio and the apartment had been forced open. The frame was off the wall, and plaster littered the floor. Then we started noticing things that were missing. My PSP. Why didn’t I take it with me? We called the owners, they rang the police, and I had a look next door for how they managed to gain access. This section of their mission was easier than the last, as no force had been required to open the windows on the far side of the propery. It was only then that we realised we had probably disturbed them, and they could be nearby. Were they running or waiting to return?

What else was missing? The list grew as I went over a mental checklist of what was brought, and our anger increased. They had gone through our things and taken only specific items. They’d emptied Lucie’s sports bag and filled it with possessions. My other pair of boardshorts, my PSP, a spare camera battery (obviously the retards believed this to be for the PSP), Lucie’s camera charger (once again, an obvious mistake over the appropriate accessory for the PSP), two pairs of my trousers, 3 t-shirts, & 3 pairs of underwear. The local kids would soon be fashioned in the style of Nick Parker. I wanted to tear their limbs off. They’d also gone through our fridge/freezer and taken milk, cookies, musli bars, and a bottle of vodka. What kind of human being takes another man’s booze and his underwear? These were demons.

During the discussion with the police, it was clear that there would be no C.S.I. team to aid our misery. But there was hope; my discription matched that of a kid previously caught by the owners of the property, his identify was known, and he’d previously been arrested. Add a bottle of vodka to the equation, and they were going to get caught.

We felt angry and insecure. They had shown incredible cheek by saying hello to us, and continuing with their crime in broad daylight, but it also showed they had no fear of repercusion. These were not masterminds. The milk and cookies illustrated their age, but their stupidity was worth being afraid of, as what limits did they have?

We didn’t want to stay there another night. Our holiday had been invaded, our safety threatened, and our relaxation polorised. The safety that the owner promised with the help of a dozen screws in the door was of no comfort. They had forced entry before - there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t again through a different door. They had also shown no logic in committing the crime in daylight after being seen, so there was no confidence in the owner’s words that they wouldn’t return.

He took us to his sister’s accommodation a km down the road at Puaikura Reef Lodges. The close proximity brought little comfort, and we discovered later that this place had also suffered a number of break-ins in the last 6 months. Lucie spent most of the night with the light on, unable to sleep, and fearful of another attempt. We played over the series of events in our minds, and constantly questioned whether we could have done something different. I blamed myself for not questioning them when I first saw them next door, for not taking my PSP with me, for not running to catch them immediately upon discovering the scene, for choosing this accommodation, for our luck. We considered the possibility of catching an earlier flight back and continuing the holiday in New Zealand, but realised this would cost greatly.

I promised Lucie that I would give her a proper holiday for our remaining time, that we’d get beyond this. It was now down to us. We could let this affect the rest of our holiday, or we could accept it, move on, and try to recoup something good from this trip.