LLWorldTour

I’m sitting in only my knickers (underpants in Aussie/British speak) all alone in my hotel room. Well, I’m not actually, but I could be…because at long last I’m all alone in my own plush, fabulous hotel room! Yippee!

Nearly three months into my journey I was getting a bit burnt out on the whole ‘share a dorm room and have no privacy’ thing at the standard backpackers’ hostels. For a gal who loves her cleanliness, I think I was doing pretty well at being comfortable in these places and looking past the possibly less than hygienic standards I was used to. Now, don’t get me wrong, many hostels completely surprised me and were spotless, but there were a few that were a bit scruffier. But, I also needed a break from the constant on-the-go sightseeing activities of the last few months.

I’ve journeyed about an hour south of Sydney to the beachside town of Wollongong. And I’ve treated myself (a nice Christmas gift for moi) to my very own hotel room, complete with a cushy, crisp white-duvet adorned queen-sized bed, flat screen TV, my very own bathroom (it’s the little things, my friends), and minimalist wood décor. It’s a brand new hotel and I can even walk around barefoot on my nice new carpeting. It’s the lap of luxury. Well, okay it’s the Hotel Ibis, not the Peninsula, but it feels like a 5-star hotel after some of the no frills joints I’ve been staying in as of late. I’ve actually unpacked my backpack for the first time—something you just can’t do in most hostels because there’s nowhere to spread everything out, plus I wouldn’t want anything to touch the floor. I’ve lined up my shoes, took my few sets of clothes out, and even was able to put out some very special trinkets my mom had sent me off with back in October. One is a big, sparkly crystal that I’ve hung in the window to catch the sun’s rays each day. My mom told me ‘as the light passes through it, think of me on the other side of the rainbow of light.’ My mom is the most special person in my life and she’s given me incredible support and love on this trip. Thanks Ma!

This time of respite also coincided with the fact that I was completely without a place to sleep in Sydney for the New Year holiday. I’ve become so much better at planning less and being spontaneous, that it completely did not occur to me to pre-book my hostel in Sydney over the holiday season. I think in my whirlwind world-tour state, I honestly just completely forgot the holidays were coming. And of course the warm weather did not help me get a clue. So, try as I might, I could not find any accommodation in Sydney or the ‘burbs of Sydney at all. That is where my beach vacation came in.

I’m here in, say it with me, Wollongong, for eight nights. Eight nights?? I don’t think I’ve ever had a beach vacation that long in my entire life. I’m sure to get bored, but hopefully I will just be catching up on writing, reading, sunning, and just overall doing nothing in my own room while I have the chance. Since I’ve lived alone for the last fourteen years, you can imagine I’ve become accustomed to having my own space…and loving it. It’s taken a bit of getting used to on my part to share my 5 X 5 living/sleeping space with random smelly guys and gals doing the traveler circuit. Hopefully I’m learning some tolerance and strive to become a heavier sleeper. But, at least for now, I can do whatever I want—even if it is walk around in my ’skivvies’. Well, at least I can change my clothes without having to put on my shoes and go to the ladies bathroom and do the ‘balance on my flip flops so I don’t have to touch the nasty bathroom floor’ dance.

It does not feel like Christmas here at all. Besides the fact that it’s summer here in the Southern Hemisphere and the weather does not match the holiday season I’ve come to know, there seems to be a lot less decoration and overall Christmas hoopla around. Maybe we just go so overboard in the US with the commercialization of Christmas that I’ve gotten used to it and maybe here it’s just right. Not sure. But I have to say I kind of miss being force-fed Christmas songs day and night and being bombarded with tinsel, snowmen, and santa everywhere I go. Guess you don’t know what you got…’til it’s gone.

The day after I arrived here in Sydney, I was lucky enough to go to a free show in the park called Carols in the Domain. Thousands of Aussie folks flock to this festive Christmas concert every year. It is held in a huge outdoor park lawn and is a beautiful sight. Before I arrived, I could here the music floating through the city air. This was what I needed to get into the Christmas spirit. Then, I rounded a corner and was in awe of the sight before me. Literally thousands of red twinkling lights flickered in the night. Almost every person held a candle wrapped in red paper that was given to them as they entered the park. It’s was just beautiful. Onstage, some of Australia’s top performers and stars belted out their renditions of “Jingle Bell Rock,” “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,” and “White Christmas.” Although, they’ll have to keep dreaming because I don’t think they’ve had a white Christmas here ever—unless you count the sand at Bondi beach. It was good family fun. In fact, since it looks like Daley will be our Mayor again (and perhaps until 2025!), I would like to continue my ongoing conversation (okay it’s one-sided!) with him and formally pitch this idea. I can see it now: “Carols in Millennium Park” with performances by Cheap Trick, the Ides of March, and of course, the Jesse White Tumblers!

So, here I am in this big city and it’s Christmas Eve and I’m feeling a bit lonely with nothing to do. I really longed for a cool dinner party with some real Sydneysiders. But in the week I’d been here I wasn’t really meeting any real locals. As a traveler, the people you tend to meet the most are…well, other travelers. And in my hostel there were plenty, but it just wasn’t my scene. The place was filled to the brim with young Brits and Germans on holiday. Most of them were much younger than me and here for one thing only—to party! Getting drunk every night is not exactly why I came on a trip around the world.

On Christmas Eve day we had a big barbecue at the hostel which was actually quite fun. There were sausages and chicken and all kinds of potato salads and summer BBQ type dishes. It felt more like the 4^th of July than Christmas, but at least it was festive. I ended up going out that night with two cool gals, Ruth and Kathryn, from Manchester, England. We went around to a few bars and ended up at one in Newtown not far from our hostel. We weren’t there for 20 minutes when they were calling ‘Last Call.’ I guess it was Christmas Eve. I randomly met these two gay guys at the table next to ours—they were laughing and being silly and I easily began chatting with them. In less than 5 minutes they’d invited me over to their house for Christmas Lunch the next day.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Sean shouted over the bar’s loud music.

“Absolutely nothing.” I whined back.

“Well, then you have to come over to our house!!”

I was so happy—I’d have somewhere to go on Christmas and it was the real deal—Christmas in Sydney with locals!

I arrived at their cute house in the neighborhood just to the west of mine at about one-thirty in the afternoon on Christmas Day. They were so elated that I actually came and I instantly felt welcome and at home. Sean and Craig had lived together for awhile but were just good friends. Sean worked in finance with mortgages and house closings and Craig was a buyer and display designer for home décor. And their home showed this—various cool design elements were sprinkled about with a Zen-like Asian theme. Very cool. Sean’s mom, Robyn, was there visiting from a suburb about an hour away and one of their good friends, Helen, was also joining us for the day. Their house was in a quiet little neighborhood, but also just ten minutes by train to the city center. It was cozy and had a great yard and barbecue area plus an airy balcony that looked out onto trees where you could hear the sounds of birds singing in the afternoon sun. The kitchen and dining room were open and inviting and perfect for entertaining. We opened some wine and toasted to the holiday and new friends. It was exactly what I needed. They could not have been warmer and friendlier. We talked about the great possibilities that come along with travel, the people you meet and experiences you can have. We laughed and joked all afternoon and gobbled up some pretty tasty food. We started off with, my favorite, a beautiful cheese plate with mild blue and brie cheeses plus sweet strawberries, fresh local kiwis, and ripe red cherries. Next, Craig served up probably the best oysters I’ve ever had. He served them with a tasty soy ginger cilantro sauce on a beautiful bed of rock salt. Then, we sat down to a feast of ham, turkey, bean & beet salad, mixed greens, potato salad…and finally Sean’s masterpiece dessert. It’s called trifle (I think it’s British). It’s a cold dessert of sponge cake soaked in sherry or fruit juice, spread with jelly and fruit, and topped with custard and whipped cream. Wow. It was all so yummy. We chatted about their jobs, what they like to do with their time, and regular old stuff.

As I got ready to go, Sean handed me something I’ve been hoping to try since I got here—a vegemite sandwich!

Down Under by Men At Work:
I said, “Do you speak-a my language?”
He just smiled and gave me a Vegemite sandwich.

Well, actually it was vegemite and butter on a water cracker. I’ve heard from non-Australians that it is a horrible, disgusting goop. But, the Aussies grew up on it and love it. It looked like a very dark brown paste of some kind. I wouldn’t say I loved it, but it wasn’t horrible. It was very salty (which I like), but also had a taste of a fermented old Asian hoisin sauce. It actually is fermented brewer’s yeast, so I guess that made sense. It reminded me of the hairball remedy we used to squeeze out of a tube and to give our cat Pookie when I was growing up. Well, she loved the stuff so maybe she would have liked Vegemite. I would say it definitely seems like an acquired taste, but then I guess so is our ‘national’ food served in a can or tube—Spam!

Helen had made sweet handmade cards for everyone. In each one was a cool quote or saying pertaining to that person that we each read aloud. Since I was a last minute guest, she had just made mine after I arrived. But it was perfect—inside it said, “Welcome to Gay Sydney!!!” And I couldn’t have felt more welcome.

Hi my festive blog readers! I just wanted to wish everyone a joyous holiday and peaceful and happy New Year.

I’m off to have a Christmas vegemite sandwich!

LL

Sydney is a great city—clean and friendly, shiny and new. The harbour is stunning with the majestic Harbour Bridge on one side and one of the most recognizable images of the modern world, the Sydney Opera House, on the other. This white, shell-like icon is up there with the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building as one of the most photographed landmarks. The roofs of the Opera House are constructed of 1 million glossy white Swedish-made tiles that glisten in the Sydney sun. And not only is it recognizable, it has literally come to represent ‘ Australia’. The skyline, the bridge, the blue water of the harbour, and the Opera House together are a dramatic and unforgettable sight.

Interestingly enough, the Sydney Opera House has won tons of design awards, but the actual architect, Danishman Jorn Utzon, has never actually seen it in person. The huge design and construction venture experienced cost blow-outs and there were occasions when the New South Wales Government was tempted to call it quits on the building. In 1966 the ‘situation’ - arguments about costs and design and the Government actually withholding payments - reached a crisis point and old Jorn just up and resigned from the project and huffed his way back home to Denmark. The building was eventually completed by others in 1973. More than 30 years later, the Sydney Opera House had its first interior designed by Utzon. The Utzon Room, a transformed reception hall that brings to life Jorn Utzon’s original vision for his masterpiece, was officially opened just a few years ago in 2004. But, of course, he has still yet to see it. The old curmudgeon must still be bitter, I guess.

Besides the funny accent, insane obsession with Aussie Rules Football (footie), and cars driving on the ‘wrong’ (sorry mates, left) side of the road, Sydney can easily feel like ‘any big city, USA.’ It’s big, clean, and could be Chicago or Toronto. It doesn’t have the old historical feel of most European cities, and certainly doesn’t have the ‘foreign’ feel of a city with a different native tongue. Many like it for these very reasons—it’s easy to get around and brings a certain ‘comfort of home.’ Now, perhaps I differ from many US travelers in that although I think the city is nice, I find it rather boring and a bit too familiar. Perhaps I’m a bit spoiled after coming from my fabulous adopted city of Chicago—which you just can’t beat. And by the way, if you haven’t been there yet—go now—I promise it won’t disappoint. Well, maybe wait until spring when it warms up a bit. I don’t want to sound like some holier than thou, over adventurous traveler who longs for some remote desert in
Turkmenistan (although that could be cool to see). Don’t forget, I’m still a Jewish girl from New Jersey…I like my cleanliness, I hate bugs, and can’t go too long without some good sushi (c’mon—I grew up eating lox and graduated to snacking on sake (salmon) sashimi—it’s the same thing!). But, I just feel like I learn a hell of a lot more when I ride the boundaries of my comfort zone and immerse myself in a possibly more foreign environment. Now, all this being said, I’m about to venture into the depths of Southeast Asia to countries like Vietnam and unbelievably poor Cambodia—so maybe I will be longing for the familiarity of a city like Sydney all too soon. We’ll soon see.

Of course, something I had to do while visiting
Australia is see some of the great animals living here.

I took a day trip out of Sydney by train to the Featherdale Animal Sanctuary and had a fun day with some of the cutest creatures I’ve ever seen including Wallabies, Kangaroos, Dingoes, Tasmanian Devils, Emus, Penguins, Snakes, Bats, all kinds of birds, and, of course, the cuddly and very lazy (they sleep up to eighteen hours a day) Koala.

Breaking News! Chicago girl quits job, sells off belongings, and swims across the world’s oceans. Okay, it’s not that dramatic, but interesting enough that cool and irreverent website/blog Chicagoist, that documents all things Chicago, picked up a story on me and my little world tour. Check it out:

“Where in the World is Lisa Lubin?”

Here’s a special shout out to Rachelle, the editor and all around cool chick, who thought I was worthy enough for some screen space on Chicagoist. And a big thanks to Traci at Feedburner for getting my blog up and running in the first place AND making it a feed and subscribable to the masses. And in the vein of ‘it’s a small world,’ the irony is Traci and Rachelle both work at Feedburner (I did not know this), sit just eight feet apart, and had no idea they were secretly linked by LLWorldTour, ‘til now. Good Karma. LLWorldTour is spreading peace and joy around the world this holiday season…or it’s just a fun read!

Cheers, from Down Under.

LL

“Please remove all jewelry, loose articles of clothing, and accessories. Please make sure there is nothing in your pockets. No cameras will be allowed. You must wear closed toed shoes. Put on your jumper, fasten your safety harness, and sign this form stating that if you fall into the harbour, we basically don’t care.”

I’m about to experience one of the “must dos” here in Sydney—the Bridge Climb. At a whopping $130, it’s a little, er, steep, in more ways than one. But I heard it’s worth it and doubt I will be climbing many more bridges in my life. If you want to climb at sunset—you have to pay nearly $100 more! Wow—they don’t own Mother Nature, do they?

The Sydney Harbour Bridge was built in 1932 and is the world’s largest (but not the longest) steel arch bridge with the top of the bridge standing 134 meters above the harbour. Fondly known by the locals as the ‘Coathanger’, the Sydney Harbour Bridge celebrates its 75th birthday this coming new year. When the Bridge opened, it cost a horse and rider three pence and a car six pence to cross. Now horse and riders cannot cross, but you can bicycle or walk across the bridge for free. Cars cost around AU$3.30 for a southbound trip and it is free to go northbound. In 1932, the average annual daily traffic was around 11,000 and now it is around 160,000 vehicles per day.

The whole climb operation ran like a well oiled machine. One of the first things they actually do is a breathalyzer test! Alcohol readings over 0.05 will exclude you from the climb. Yeah, I’m thinking you do not want to be stumbling onto the top of a 450-foot high bridge. I’m assuming one of the reasons the climb is so expensive is they must have a huge liability insurance policy, so having tipsy climbers probably isn’t in their (or your) best interest. The climbing crew herded twelve of us from room to room gathering our specially made, bridge climbing suits, harnesses, headphones and radios, clipping on various accessories like rain shells, handkerchiefs, and fleeces (in case it gets cold at the 900 foot summit!). After a small demo of what we needed to do on the bridge we were on our way.

The whole experience lasts three hours. It’s a surprisingly gentle walk, and perfectly safe, as long as you aren’t drunk, of course, and don’t have a problem with heights…because it is high. We went up several ladders and then ascended the eastern arch of the bridge. We were literally walking on the top of the bridge. Most of the areas we scampered across were formerly only accessible to bridge workers. Halfway into the tour it started to rain (of course!) and as we donned our special “bridge climb” rain gear, we reached the ‘summit’ of the bridge. This was pretty damn cool. We had amazing 360 degree views, in between raindrops, of the harbour and stunning Sydney skyline. Looking down, you could see the rush hour commuters whizzing by to get home after a long day’s work. Every few minutes the bridge would rumble with the sound of the commuter train that also crossed the bridge. We snapped some photos, crossed over the top of the bridge and began our decent down the western arch. Again, when I say descent, we were literally just walking down steps, so it was not like we were scaling the bridge or repelling down its side—this was all very tame, but cool just the same.

What a great business idea! I’d like to write an open letter to Mayor Daley:

Dear Richie M-

In the vein of Millennium Park, I have a great idea for a huge money maker for the city–The Watertower Climb. I’ll lease it from the city for millions of dollars, and then take out a huge million dollar insurance policy (maybe you have a ‘friend’ or cousin in the insurance biz?). We will attach climb wires to it and have people scale up and down the ‘only building in Chicago that survived the Chicago Fire of 1871.’ I will charge $150 a pop and, just like Sydney, they will come. What do ya think Rich? C’mon, you love tourism!

Love,

Lisa

I’m about 2 and a half months in to this little journey and I have already crossed paths twice with some of the same folks. My first experience with this was in Costa Rica. There were the few big tourist stops so it wasn’t that absurd to see the same faces again in the next town. Just outside the Monteverde Cloud Forest I met Tobias, a cute young German guy, through my roommate Marcel (who I’d met earlier that day when we both were racing to catch our bus to Monteverde). He was living there and volunteering in the Cloud Forest. A couple days later, I left for my next town, La Fortuna near the Arenal Volcano, about 3 hours away and stayed at Gringo Pete’s Hostel which Marcel had recommended. The next day Tobias showed up. I was overjoyed to see someone I knew a greeted him with what was probably a little too much enthusiasm. Little did I know that this kind of thing happened all the time on the ‘backpacker circuit.’

In the Galapagos Islands I saw an Indian gal from London again that I’d met in Costa Rica about 2 weeks earlier. We’d met immersed in water in the town of La Fortuna at a Hot Springs resort where you can soak the night away in dozens of pools of varying degrees of hotness. She was there with a tour group and had mentioned going to the Galapagos in a few weeks—we’d laughed that maybe we’d see each other. Well we did. And I was in water again. I was snorkeling one day in the Galapagos and just happened to stop for a small rest by the end of another tour yacht similar to the one I was on. Keep in mind there are probably hundreds of tour companies in the Galapagos, let alone dozens of islands to see. I looked up and there she was. It was kinda funny, me saying ‘hi, remember me?’ while I was wearing a mask and snorkel, but apparently she did.

On my boat in the Galapagos, I roomed with Deepak, a funny young emergency medicine doctor from the UK. She super petite, but talked like there was no tomorrow and had a loud laugh that straddled the border of infectious and annoying. We had great fun rooming together and she always made me laugh. She recommended a hostel to stay in Quito when I was finished with my part of the cruise. She would remain in the Galapagos for five more days and meet me there later. When I checked into Huaki Hostel, everyone knew her and her laugh and it was nice again to have some kind of connection with people. So, later that week Deepak and I were eating dinner together once again. She also is moving to Sydney in January so I have no doubt I will see her again there.

In Chile, we were on the Navimag boat for about 4 days. There were about 250 passengers on this boat. One was this tall, lanky guy that I’d spoken to all of two minutes. I dubbed him ‘Kid Rock’ because of his skinny physique and long hair. We proceeded to bump into him, not once, but twice, after the boat—once in Chile and again across the border in a random hotel in Argentina.

Okay, cut to the middle of the huge metropolis of Buenos Aires. My friend, Mark, and I were walking on a random side street amidst the hundreds of blocks in the city. Walking right past us was a French couple that had bunked directly across from me and Andy on the Navimag Boat clear across the continent back in Chile. Since they too were probably on a big trip going through South America it may have not been that odd to see them again except for the fact that Buenos Aires is a city of nearly 4 million people and we were on the same side street at the same time on the same side of the street! We made eye contact and both hesitated for a bit. Then they kept walking as did I. But seconds later we both realized we’d seen each other somewhere before and stopped in our tracks. I looked back at the same time they did when my brain caught up with my body and realized where I knew them from. We gave an awkward wave to each other and went on our way.

Here’s the best one to date. I’m here in my small hostel on the outskirts of this small town known as Rotorua on the island country of New Zealand. I had just finished my lackluster breakfast of ‘fruity rings’ and milk and went to the shared kitchen to wash out my bowl and spoon. I walked past a table where a blond girl was looking down slicing bananas onto some bread. I didn’t look at her directly, but was mesmerized by her perfectly sized, thin banana slices and by the fact that she was symmetrically spiraling them on a slice of wheat bread. As I put my milk back in the fridge, I heard “Lisa?” I spun around and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Sinead from Ireland, a good friend I’d made in the Galapagos on my tiny Boat tour of just sixteen people nearly two months ago. And here she and her boyfriend, Damian, were half way around the world and at the same hostel! So crazy and cool at the same time. They were the first ones I’d met on the boat in the GI and were also traveling around the world for a year. My jaw dropped and we jumped up and kissed and hugged—it was like meeting a long lost sister or something. They had also gone to Buenos Aires and then flew out of Santiago, Chile to New Zealand a few weeks ago. We briefly caught up, but then they had to run to catch their bus to a whitewater rafting trip.

I’m learning the travel world is really, really small especially since a lot of people’s ‘top stops’ and ‘must sees’ are the same. With all the lists and books out now of “754, 395 Places to See before You Die,” I guess we are bound to see some of the same drifters once or twice.

Here I am all alone on the other side of the world in a foreign land and I’m still bumping into people I know just as if I was walking down the street in Chicago. I guess when you are traveling alone you are never really lonely. I think the “Lonely Planet” guides might need to change their title to “Crowded Planet” soon.

One of the first things you become immediately aware of in New Zealand is the influence of the Maori culture. The vast majority of place names are of Maori origin. At first, visitors may be puzzled by the seemingly impossible-to-pronounce names. In fact, Maori has a logical structure, and, unlike English, has very consistent rules of pronunciation (kinda like my old friend Español). The Maori are the indigenous people of New Zealand and it is believed they migrated from Polynesia in canoes sometime around the 10^th century. Today, they make up over 14 percent of the population. Their language and culture has a major impact on all facets of New Zealand life.

One popular thing to do as a tourist is to go to a Maori performance or Haka. These showcase traditional Maori culture as demonstrated by third generation descendants of Maori tribes. I went to the Mitai Maori Village for a $70 performance, meal, and night time tour of a neighboring animal sanctuary.

The show, which took place outdoors in a beautiful wooded setting complete with torch light and winding paths, started with some eerie chants as the Maori paddled upstream in their ancient warrior canoe while giving some tribal ‘shout outs.’ They performed a few tribal dance numbers and did their ritual war dance which was actually pretty scary. You wouldn’t want to cross a Maori dude the wrong way…they mean business. We learned some Maori words and even sung along with them, even though we had no idea what we were saying. The show seemed to be half authentic and half Vegas-style cabaret complete with dancing girls and costumes. Although, I was told they were all real Maori, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a good paying gig rather than a real traditional show.

Afterwards we were herded back into a huge tent for the traditional hangi feast. The hangi is a traditional oven made by digging a hole in the ground and steaming food in big baskets over embers. Succulent chicken, lamb, potatoes, plus rice, salad and dessert was laid out for us on steaming buffet tables.

After dinner, I toured Rainbow Springs. It was a beautiful night time tour. All the various Palm trees and ferns were lit up by colorful lights and even the fish ponds had dim lights to reveal rainbow trout swirling about hovering over the natural springs that gave this place its name. Here, I got to see what I came for, the endangered national bird of New Zealand, the cute, yet klutzy looking Kiwi. No, it is not a green fuzzy fruit. This flightless bird is only found in New Zealand and is a member of the Ostrich/Emu family. It has no tail, has horrible vision, but a great sense of smell which helps him snort out yummy grubs and other buggies. It is the only bird in the world to have nostrils at the end of its beak. Oh, and get this, a female Kiwi gives birth to an egg that is roughly 20% of her own body weight. Ouch. They are nocturnal so luckily we caught a glimpse of a few in the park. The one I saw seemed to have a bit of OCD—she was pacing back and forth and seemed very uncomfortable in her own feathers…or she just found out about the huge egg she’d have to ‘drop’ one day. They do have a Kiwi conservation program going on here which is a good thing because there has been a 99% loss in their population in the last 100 years. It is estimated that before human settlement in the 13th century, there were 70 million kiwi. Today, there are about 70,000 left. They say that at the current rapid rate of decline, unprotected kiwi populations will become extinct on the mainland in 75 years.

The ride home in our tour shuttle bus was perhaps the most memorable part of the evening. Our jovial driver wore big glasses and had a shaved head. He asked us all 6 of us which countries we were from.

“The UK!”

“India.”

“Canada.”

Everyone shouted out their homelands. He had each ‘country’ sing a song from their native land. The Canadians sang their national anthem. And the Brits sang their beloved Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine.” When he got to me (the lone US passenger) I asked him to join me since I was alone and did not want to make a fool of myself with a solo performance. He suggested “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” Easy enough. After our amazing rendition, I had to pick the next country and I shouted out New Zealand knowing he would have to sing. He regaled us with a sweet Maori tune.

After the Indian couple finished their anthem, our driver told us his story. He’d recently undergone a heart transplant. He told us how every day is a gift for him and he really enjoys meeting folks from all over the world and singing and laughing with them.

When we reached my hostel we parted ways with the traditional Maori greeting—the hongi–the touching of noses and ‘sharing of life breath’. He said this was very special and a bond of friendship. What a sweet man—who knew my bus ride home would be the highlight of the night and remind me, once again, how important it is to make the most of each day.

Kia-Ora

Unfortunately, after my long flight and 36 hours of no sleep, I started to feel rundown again and awoke my second day in New Zealand to my friend the ‘fever’ again. Damn it! We went straight to the doctor who diagnosed me as much as I could have myself, wrote out a prescription for another antibiotic, and I sent me on my way.

After a day of resting up at the Hamilton’s Cliffside home, I was on a big, cushy bus on my way north to the Bay of Islands, a beautiful area and popular tourist destination on the backpacker trail. I stayed at the Peppertree Hostel in a four bed dorm room with its own bathroom. Prices in New Zealand are the highest I’ve experienced on my trip so far, so I decided to try the dorm thing again since a single room, even at the hostel, was more than $50 a night.

Peppertree turned out to be great. There was a super large kitchen complete with dishes, pots, pans and three fridges for all your ‘save money and cook here’ needs. Outside there were outdoor picnic tables and grills under a trellis of twinkling Christmas lights. And there was a lounge area with couches, a TV and DVD player. Everything was spotless and constantly being cleaned. The folks staying there ran the gamut—from dreadlocked backpackers to families with kids in tow. It was a great mix of travelers which debunked all assumptions that hostels are just for the under 30 set.

I shared a simple room of 2 bunk beds with two pretty, yet unfriendly, girls from Israel who, although were fluent in English, proceeded to speak Hebrew most of the time they were in the room. The third girl in my room was probably nearing 50 and was from France. She’d actually dislocated her shoulder on some adventure trip in India and ended up changing rooms because climbing up to the top bunk was quite a challenge. The bottom bunk is prime real estate and I wasn’t giving mine up!

For the first time on my trip, I really was not meeting anyone aside from a few ‘hellos’ at my hostel. It’s the busy season here, so there are a lot of people milling about, but maybe too many for me. Because I spent the last month with friends in Chile and Argentina, had I lost the ability to be outgoing? Was I just feeling sick and anti-social? During the first part of my trip, I had already met so many friendly folks and made so many new friends. Where were the friendly Kiwis (New Zealanders) that I heard all about? Now, anyone who knows me well, will tell you I am extremely independent and like to be alone, but am very good chatting with strangers (probably thanks to my producing job). I do cherish my alone time and spend a good bit of time in Chicago alone…or at least wanting to be alone, but I also am very good at meeting new people and have made many new good friends over the last year.

My last day in the Bay of Islands, I took an all day boat tour that went out and around many of the islands and through what they call the “Hole in the Rock.” But the absolute best part of this trip was getting to swim with dolphins. We spent the first part of our day sailing around the large bay hunting for the smart sea creatures. Luckily we came upon a large ‘pod’ of about 40 dolphins. They were having a great old time–swimming in pairs, jumping out of the water, and swimming right up to and under our boat to get a good look (and laugh) at us staring at them. After feeling somewhat relaxed after our leisurely cruise up to this point, it was somewhat shocking to now be yelled at to “get ready!” and “Go! Go! Go!” when it was time to jump off the boat and into the cold water. Oh yeah, did I mention how freaking cold this water was? It was the coldest water I have ever swum in…ever. Just during the ride around the bay, I was already shivering and had put my socks on—socks and sandals (I was starting to look like a German tourist)—a great look, but I don’t care when my toes get cold fashion goes out the window. We put wet suits on, but wet and freezing is just not a fun combo. I hit the water and felt like I was swimming with the Polar Bears in Coney Island—except that I wasn’t naked. I had to calm myself down once in the water to breathe slower through my snorkel as my adrenaline was pumping and my body was shivering so much that I could see hyperventilation on the horizon. Luckily for me, a playful dolphin twosome swam right underneath me and before I knew it, our guide was yelling at me to get out of the water. It was a quick adventure, but probably best since I was about to get Hypothermia.

Aboard the boat cruise I met a petite, cute blonde gal named Caroline from the UK. Ironically, she and I had a lot in common as far as what propelled us to go on our respective ‘trips around the world.’ Her dog had died recently and she too had broken up with her long term boyfriend about 6 months ago. She had also sold off a property in order to travel the globe. Unfortunately for her, her father had also died and she and her mother were estranged. She was actually traveling for 2 years with hopes to end up buying some property in Spain and do horseback riding tours. We ended up going for a drink later that night at a local watering hole and it was nice to get out of my ‘alone time’ for a bit.

For some reason, the next day my Israeli gals warmed up a bit and invited me to ride with them in their rental car back to Auckland. I was all about to say ‘yes’ and cancel my four hour, $30 bus ride when Simon, the hostel manager talked me out of it.

“Never trust backpackers,” he said. “They say they will take you, but then along the way they will see a pretty waterfall and have to stop or just decide last minute to go a completely different direction.”

He had a good point and since I had no time to spare and had to catch another bus within an hour of arriving, I decided he was right. I guess saving a little money (although I would pay them gas money anyway) would do me no good if I never got there. Plus I was already worried the girls would get lost, or worse, weren’t too good with driving on the ‘left’ side of the road. So the next day I was back on the bus onto my next destination, the thermal, yet smelly, wonderland of Rotorua.