hansrohan-blog

[hansrohan-blog]

August 14

Hello! I’d apologize for my lack of recent updates but I’m not so disillusioned as to think that anyone actually noticed or cares. If you knew how uneventful my life has been over the last couple of months, you would thank me for not writing. Not to sound bitter—I’ve generally enjoyed the reclusive winter farm life.

To back it way up…Robin and I spend the first week of June on “staycation” at Whitianga on the Coromandel Peninsula. By most people’s standards, we were traveling cheap, but by our standards, we lived a life of luxury. We stayed at a nice hostel, cooked ourselves good (but cheap) food, drank beer, lay in the sun on the beach, made ourselves regulars at a café by the water, and laughed about most things.

On June 5th, we headed back to Jane and Hilary’s. The next day was my birthday, which we celebrated by making sushi and sipping champagne in a civilized manner around the dinner table—a scene about as far opposite as you could get to the previous years of drunken debauchery. It seems like a bit of a rite of passage: the first birthday (since childhood) of not binge drinking. Although that decision was essentially made for me through the circumstance of not having any friends around under the age of sixty, it still feels like a step closer to adulthood (ugh).

The next day, Robin and I got our much-talked about vegetative tattoos to both pay homage to our history/belief in organic gardening, and because we think it’s funny as hell. And the next day, (June 8th) Robin flew home.

I spent the rest of June gardening in solitude. Although it may sound dull and insanity-provoking, I actually loved it. I woke up early, gardened for four hours, and spent the rest of my time reading, writing, running, doing yoga, meditating, crocheting, cooking, and taking baths. After five months of fitting into other people’s schedules, eating other people’s food, staying in other people’s spaces, using other people’s compromised washing/sleeping/bathroom/internet/kitchen facilities, and having to be excessively friendly throughout it all, I was so ready to do my own thing and not talk to anyone for a bit.

But being flat broke is a very real thing. Although I wasn’t spending much money, with none coming in I was on the path to eventual bankruptcy. The weather was also getting colder and rainier making it harder to garden, so I decided to get work. I landed a barista job for a new café a short walk then train ride away.

July was spent working. Although it wasn’t the most exciting, it was a good way to pass the coldest month of the year and get some cash flow going. However, things always seem to be changing; my last day of work was Friday, and as I sit here writing this now Justin is on his flight to NZ and will be landing in just under 12 hours!

As the plan currently stands, we’ll be spending the first little while house-sitting just West of Auckland and mishing around the North Island. At the end of next month, we head out to attempt the South Island portion of the te araroa—the cross New Zealand hike (emphasis on “attempt”).  The track is 1400km and we’re budgeting a little over two months for it. I’ll try to keep ya’ll updated on that but internet will be sparse and energy levels low.

Anyway, that just about sums up all there is to say, so until next time!! xoxox

[hansrohan-blog]

May 31

The last few days at Magda’s were as amazing as the first. Our week of great sleeps and freedom from internet culminated in a vegetarian potluck which saw seven people cozily situated around the fire place in the house bus jamming and singing by candle light. Based on her grey-haired friends—many of whom had children—Robin and I surmised that Magda must be older than we had originally thought, but easily attributed her youthfulness to the fact that she sleeps ten hours a night and has never drank or been high in her life.

We took a bus into Auckland on May 27th and stayed a night at a hostel with the only note-worthy occurrence being our excessively drunk roommate who passed the night with much coughing, snorting, and farting. The next day we bussed to Whitianga on the Coromandel Peninsula, and stayed another night at a hostel there. The morning of the 29th we were met by our next WWOOF hosts, who we picked in a hurry and were immediately seduced by their kiwi and macadamia orchard and bee-keeping business.

But it appears we were misled. While Magda was exemplary in her optimism, Herman and Helga (or so we’ll call them) are without a doubt the most pessimistic people I’ve ever encountered. The two of them are socially awkward Christians and clearly didn’t give the smallist of shits about us, having neglected to ask either Robin or me anything about our lives. Every conversation invariably ended with one of the many ways human death occurs, how much they detest tourists, their lack of faith in humanity based on things like selfies and calculators, or the finer details of their less-than-ideal finances. It reached a comical level of morbidity, and Robin and I were in a constant state of fighting off hysterical laughter at their stiflingly blatant lack of will to live. We didn’t seen them laugh once—even when we pointedly made comments trolling their depressing outlook—and only spotted smiles when they were telling us about how tourists were crushed by a rock at the beach we were walking along. I almost suspect their exaggerated cynicism to be some kind of pre-meditated inside joke, or at least I hope for their sake that it is.

On our first day they made it clear they expect longer than stipulated working hours, but promised they take WWOOFers on great adventures and feed them excellent food. On the contrary, they took us on one thunder-stricken walk and rejoiced at our apparent fear of getting hit by lightning, and only fed us frozen bread with kiwi jam and kiwis.

We stayed one day with them, during which we worked seven hours chopping firewood in the rain and picking olives. With Helga gone to Auckland for the night, it was just Herman, Robin and I. Herman continued his boycott of learning a single thing about either of us, and instead entertained us by complaining about everything from Germans to coffee to receiving inheritances. Every attempt Robin or I made to redirect the conversation onto a more positive note was promptly shut down as his determination to hate everything was stronger than our will to try and contradict him. His fascination with death reached an almost clinical level of obsession, as he proceeded to tell us endless stories—his favourite being suicides and natural disasters affecting tourists. And it wasn’t enough for him to say “they passed away,” he had to go into detail about body parts, blood loss, and other such morbid statistics. After 24 hours it wasn’t funny anymore and Robin and I realized that if we didn’t get out soon, our joie de vivre was seriously at stake.

This morning we arose at 6:30, packed our things hurriedly, and set off on foot. I’ve never been anywhere with such astonishingly bad vibes, and never been so happy to leave a place. We hitch-hiked back into Whitianga and got a ride with a beginner sailor who offered to lend me his catamaran. Death wasn’t mentioned once, and from there Robin and I had breakfast at a café as we continued the pursuit of reviving our spirits. Now, I just hope they don’t take to the WWOOF website and write us the worst review ever. The most ironic part is that from their eyes, I could see how they could perceive the entire situation to be completely our faults. After all, aside from the long work day, the only thing that really made us leave was their personalities.

As Robin so aptly put it, “You had to be there, but it sucks if you were.”

[hansrohan-blog]

May 25

So, as many of you know by now, I’ve decided to change my ticket and come home in December instead of June. Right before I left for my trip, I had the epiphany to change it from a year to five months and now, two weeks before those five months are up, I’ve had the epiphany to change it back to a year. I’ve always been a last-minute kind of person, but this is getting a little bit ridiculous. If the powers that be could start enlightening me about my life a little bit sooner I could really appreciate that.

Regardless, I’m getting increasingly excited about my decision even though I haven’t the faintest what I’ll be doing with the remaining seven months. The thick blanket of ambiguity that shrouds my life path used to terrify me, but now I find it pretty exciting.

Anyway, before I get going on any existential rants, I’ll get back to my blogly duty: to tell you about my travels. When I last wrote, I was still with Julian, WWOOFing at a five start lodge/vineyard in Queenstown. As far as WWOOFing goes, things couldn’t be much more opposite now: my good friend, Robin who is from Gibsons, Canada, and I are up at the very North end of New Zealand near a town called Kaitaia. We’re WWOOFing at an artist-retreat-in-production that—as it currently stands—is a collection of rustic buildings scattered around a little yard that our host Magda has built completely single handedly with only a bit of guidance from her father and without any power tools. She is a quirky, lovely, and giggly inspiration.

When we got her two days ago, Magda’s ex-boyfriend was here “moving his stuff out.” He’s still here and Robin and I spied him cleverly stowing his belongings under a piece of tin roofing in the yard so I’m going to go ahead and call him one of the residents. So Magada and her live-in ex-boyfriend, Jason sleep in a converted retired party bus called “Purple Rain” (RIP Prince), which is also where the living area is. Just behind the bus, there is a the kitchen which is not much bigger than the outhouse, and beside that a shower pieced together from old roofing, recycled stained glass doors, and a raft that floated down the river in a flood. Robin and I share yet another tiny outbuilding that is mostly occupied by bed and a few of Magda’s incredible oil paintings.

There are several other roommates on the tiny section: Sabe, the mastiff/bulldog cross, Cougar and Lynx the two cats, a horse, and fifty-eight ducks. I can understand having the dog, cats, and horse for company, but I’m still not sure what the plan is with the ducks. If you’ve ever had ducks, you know how they stampede around in a pack, squawking frantically and shitting like it’s going out of style. Well imagine sixty of them…

There is no cell service, no internet, and not even electricity here. The hot water and tiny fridge are gas-powered, and the rest of the electricity comes from two tiny solar panels. The only way to charge electronics (not that you can use them) is through a USB charger. This may sound like I’m describing a small rural acreage of Hell, but I’ve actually never felt more at ease. With no lights or electronics to keep us up, Robin and I have been going to bed around 9pm, which means we wake up naturally and full of energy around 7am. There’s never the obligation of social media pulling your attention, so you can fully engage in whatever moment you’re in. It’s actually life changing.

We got here on Sunday afternoon, and the week before that was equally as incredible. We spent it on a small Island called Waiheke which is a fourty-five minute ferry ride East of Auckland. We were staying with a very strange man named David, who had the uncomfortable habits of drooling, not answering questions directly, and throwing active chain saws around cliffs. He also may have been a wizard, probably related to Radagast.

David owns a beautiful ocean-side property which he has managed to make very good use of despite the steep gradient. He runs an almost hostel-type living situation, with space for ten residents. Each room is on a different platform dotted up the cliff and connected by boardwalks, stair cases, and decks. For the week we were there we were made part of the Belle Terrace family by Paolo from Italy, Nathan from France, Sera from NZ, Damian from South Africa, and Alexander, a fellow WWOOFer also from France.

There are thrirty-six vineyards on the Island, which are worked by young people from all around the globe. During our many nights out at the bars we met Germans, Brits, Frenchies, Italians, Columbians, Swedes, Norwegians, Americans, Indonesians, and Scots, all of whom are attractive, profusely kind, and endlessly drunk. Another pattern we noticed was that each person we talked to had planned to visit Waiheke for somewhere between a weekend and a month, and had ended up staying somewhere between a year and a decade. After being there for only a few nights, we could understand why and had to resist the urge to stay ourselves. But who knows, maybe I’ll be back.

The WWOOFing itself was usually done with some degree of hangover, and a lot of laughing at the general awkwardness of it all. David’s habit of not communicating combined with Alex’s weak English compiled with the obscure task of moving piles of sticks and logs around the extremely steep property made for a lot of comical scenes.

When not WWOOFing or at the bar, Robin and I spent a lot of time walking around the nature reserve across the road, cooking, doing yoga on the deck, or wine-touring. It was an amazing week and at the end of it we felt like we were leaving home.

Before Waiheke we spent a few days at Jane and Hilary’s and few days with Mike and Maria; both were lovely as always. One night in between, we went into Auckland city to see Corey and Jackie from the Chateau. We all went to see Common and Talib Kweli at a club which was a lot of fun until the night culminated by walking the streets of Auckland in search of a kebab. We failed, and instead ended up getting in a heated debate with some characteristically stubborn Brits about the difference between the country America and the continent North America (“we are not American!”), and opted out of a ride that was almost definitely an attempted kidnapping. It was awesome to see Corey and Jackie again, and I nearly teared up giving them final good-bye hugs as they headed to the airport to begin their second year abroad, this one in Australia.

Well that just about covers my last few weeks, and with my computer battery waning and no way to charge it I’ll say goodbye for now. As always, thanks for reading and I hope everyone had an amazing May long weekend! Be in touch! XOX

[hansrohan-blog]

April 21

**Firstly, I have to apologize for the detrimental lack of photos. The entire of NZ seems to have sketchy internet, so every time I’ve tried to upload photos its failed. I promise to catch up when I get the chance!**

Wow! What a wild month. Since last writing, we’ve made our way to Queenstown –almost all the way to the bottom of the South Island! Starting in Nelson, we WWOOFed for a few days in Golden Bay, walked the 60km Abel Tasman track, WWOOFed at another farm near Westport, another in Hari Hari, another at Lake Hawea, and are now WWOOFing at a 5 star lodge/winery just outside of Queenstown. This will be a long one so I’ve thrown in some subtitles to make skimming my life a little easier for ya’ll.

Wellington

To back it up (a lot), our five days in Wellington was a blast! The city reminds me a lot of Victoria, BC in almost every way; the only difference being that it’s positioned amongst the hilliest landscape humanly conquerable. Despite the often crappy weather, the whole city is bright with life. During just two random afternoons downtown we managed to stumble across two different day markets, a night market, an arts festival, and sadly missed a gay pride parade by only a few blocks.

We had one night out on the town during which we hit a few bars, had some funky nacho pizza, drank wine on a bridge, and cruised around Cuba st., the main drive. Thanks to our lovely host, Lesley, our WWOOFing experience was comfortable and relaxed, and we left well-fed and well-rested.

Nelson

The flight from Wellington to Nelson ended up being about $30 cheaper and four hours shorter than the ferry/bus option, and offered stunning views of the ocean, islands, and of course, many hills between the two cities. We landed on a sunny afternoon, and were met at the airport by another couchsurf host from my last trip. Devon so generously put us up at this place for five nights, during which we cooked, checked out the town, beached, and Julian bought a small hatch-back for the road trip.

Golden Bay

On March 19th, we packed up the car and commenced the drive west along the terrifyingly windy, steep, thin, and scenic road over the mountain that separates Nelson and Takaka, Golden Bay. The area was just as beautiful and hippie-filled as I remember it being with its glowing mountains, sandy beaches, and quaint shops. In the town of Takaka, everyone wears flowy pants and rocks dreadlocks, especially the weekend we were there because there was a four day electronic music fest going on. It felt a little bit like a flash back to the Gulf Islands.

The WWOOF farm we stayed at is small, with a beautiful view of the water, and a gorgeous newly renovated house. Unfortunately, the hosts weren’t the best we’ve had; it seemed like they just wanted cheap labour because they had us working non-garden related tasks for long hours, and fed us noticeably cheap food.

But we were only there for four days, and one of the afternoons we drove out to Fairwell Spit, a long sand bar that stretches out from the very North West Point of the South Island. We walked through sand dunes and along the spit then freedom camped in a carpark by the beach.

Abel Tasman

There was a wicked rain storm on our last night in Golden Bay which shut down the roads for most of the following day due to flooding and landslides, but we made it back over the mountain and into Nelson in the late afternoon. We wanted to leave for the Abel Tasman track, a 60km walk through the tropical Abel Tasman National park, on Easter Friday, but our plans were thwarted by the fact that all the campsites were booked up and all the stores were closed for the holiday. We ended up staying the weekend at Devon’s house, ordered dominos pizza for Easter dinner, and drank family-dinner-left-over wine: a classic backpacker holiday.

We left for Able Tasman on the afternoon of Easter Sunday. The four days is a haze of walking, eating wraps, lighting our camp stove on fire, walking, sand, getting bitten by sandflies, sweating, walking, being in awe of how gorgeous the landscape was, laughing, swimming, walking, sleeping badly, going insane, and walking. We had sun the whole time, met some lovely people, and I got to cross multi-day-hike off my bucket list: things were good.

Westport

We had a night of recovery from the hike at Devon’s place in Nelson ft. long showers, home-made sliders, and a lot of sleeping. The next day, we set off down the West Coast. Partly because the car doesn’t like to drive long distances, and party because we don’t like to drive long distances, it took us two days to make it Westport, which is about a quarter of the way down the West Coast. We camped by the beach, and then early on April 2nd we drove to a WWOOF farm in Charleston.

We stayed in a beautiful off-the-grid solar-powered house with a doctor who specializes in extreme outdoor sports and has worked eleven seasons at the base-camp of Mt. Everest and many more at a base in the Ant Arctic. The weekend was rain, and being autumn here we’re high into zucchini and tomato season so we spent our couple of days there making and bottling zucchini relish, tomato relish, and tomato salsa. Good food, homebrew, and lovely people; a quintessential WWOOF experience.

Hari Hari – The Wild Side

We stayed at a farm called “Wild Side,” and the title is no exaggeration. To introduce you to the family, the father, Dan, is the rawest individual I’ve ever met. With a long ginger beard and hair, a shameless love for alcohol, and a rough sense of humour but tender soul, the only way I can think to describe him is as a kind-hearted red neck. The kind who kills animals savagely, but you’d want to have babysit your kids. His wife, Kath, is softer in company, but just as gritty in her ideals. Their kids, Shae and Dylan, are eight and six respectively, adorable and blonde, and home-schooled on their gorgeous property. 

On our first day we rocked up at noon, had tea and cake, scraped the side of the house in preparation for painting, and then had a late lunch at 5pm. We changed for a chill afternoon walk but found ourselves bottling 12 crates of homebrew nashi pear cider with Dan and two other American WWOOFers. We started with tasters—it was delicious—but each time we emptied our tiny glasses they were promptly re-filled. The five of us had a few more drinks on the deck and then made our way to a natural hot spring right by their house. It was dark, we bathed in the nude, Dan did raki on Julian and one of the other WWOOFers.

We woke up the next morning to a huge hang-over fantasy breakfast and then while we were washing the house, Dan came over with “morning tea.” Out of a rusty gold-panning dish, he handed us each a huge (at least an inch long) wriggling maggot. We stared in intrigued disgust as he demonstrated biting the head off, squeezing a chunk of wood out of its inside, and then tossing it back and chewing vigorously. “Just like peanut butter,” he promised. To my own surprise, I choked down the beast: it tasted indeed like peanut butter, but old, rancid, extra chewy peanut butter that you probably wouldn’t eat. We went fishing on a lake that night but didn’t catch anything.

The two following days we went fishing again: both days without luck. Having been vegetarian for most of my life, I thought I had got off lucky not having to kill any fish, but this all changed on day six.

We went out fishing in the ocean this time, and it wasn’t long after Dan set up the rods that he started reeling in catch after catch. Only they weren’t fish, they were sharks (its legal here, I promise). They were only small –less than a meter, but had the strength and sass to fool you. It was our job to gut them after they were caught, and let me tell you, they didn’t give in easy. Their bodies fought long after they’d lost their heads, and relentlessly writhed. I sat next to the bag of 12 wriggling shark bodies in the car ride home: a highly disconcerting experience.

We left Wildside after a week. The bio on the Wild Side WWOOF profile stated that WWOOFer’s maximum stay was seven days, and we were laughing as we left that we could understand why: nobody could keep up to Dan for longer than that. I’m a hard worker and seasoned homebrew drinker, but I can’t lie, I was kind of relieved to be heading to more relaxed days.

Hawea

WWOOFing in Hawea was about as far opposite from Wild Side as it could have been. We stayed with Isabell, an older lady, which Julian and I have realized is the best WWOOF situation because they tend to know exactly what is up with lots of coffee breaks, awesome food, and super comfy accommodation.

We had planned to camp for a night between the two farms but after walking around Franz Joseph glacier, it started to rain and Isabell messaged us saying we could come that afternoon.

We were there for four days weeding, chopping, and then on the last day harvesting and processing apples into apple sauce, apple and green tomato chutney, and apple butter.

Queenstown

We left Hawea on the morning of April 15th and drove about two hours to Queenstown. Downtown Queenstown is absolutely tiny—about four blocks—but according to Julian’s friend who lives here, contains eighty-four bars excluding restaurants that serve. Driving is terrifying, parking is impossible, and accommodation is even trickier. The first night we settled for paying for a commercial camping spot almost downtown, which worked well because we would not have been in a fit state to drive that night after browsing at least half of the bars. 

The next two nights we paid $10 to camp at DOC (Department of Conservation) camping spots just outside of town. On the first night it rained and on the second night we woke up to thick frost. We both got colds as the hunt for accommodation was becoming increasingly desperate.

Our prayers were answered later that day when we heard back from a WWOOF farm that happens to be a five start resort/winery that caters several weddings a week on top of many other events, and has even hosted shows like “The Bachelor.” We’re here now, amoungst rows of wine grapes, gorgeous rose gardens, and pristine old church-style buildings all overlooking a lake. All of our meals are chef prepared and so far we’ve done minimal work. It’s an absolute fantasy.

I’ve been going back and forth a lot lately about whether I want to come home in June or extend my stay to a year, so I’ll write again when I’ve made up my mind. Regardless, thanks for reading and I look forward to seeing everyone back home whenever that may be. X

[hansrohan-blog]

We spent a night out at Fairwell Spit; a sand bar stretching out from Golden Bay. Here are some shots.

[hansrohan-blog]

March 10

As of March 7th, I have finally left the Chateau and am back on the road doing what I came here for; exploring, camping, and WWOOFing! I can’t say I’m sorry to leave the Chateau; with the exception of a few people, I generally dislike most of what’s out there. The job and business itself, the accommodation, and the lack of accessibility to everything all make me excited to be reintegrated into the world beyond.

However, I am grateful to have had the opportunity to put some money in the bank, have some good conversations and laughs with people I would not otherwise have found myself with, see some beautiful scenery, and experience a lifestyle so outside of what I’m used to.

Also, without the job I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of getting to know/spending so much time with Jackie and Corey, who turned out to be two of the funniest, nicest people I’ve ever met. In particular, the four of us (including Julian) had two weekends together that I’ll definitely remember as highlights of the trip.

The first was the weekend of Feb 20th. I woke up on February 19 feeling as though I was on death’s doorstep. Nauseous, coughing, and with daggers in my throat, I packed for the weekend road trip we were heading off for that day. When we left, it was pissing rain and only a few hours before we were scheduled to go river rafting. We drove to Turangi—the closest town at fourty-five minutes away—through the aggressive rain with me curled in the back under numerous blankets.

However, by the time we got to the river, the sun was shining, I was dressed to the nines in hilariously unflattering (but warm) clothes and life-jacket, and had effectively convinced myself I was no longer sick. The two hours down the river were actually a lot of fun. In the past, I’ve maintained a stubborn aversion to typical tourist activities because I find they are often over-priced, over-done and adrenaline-provoking, while I am cheap, pointedly alternative, and don’t like being scared. In this way, the trip was a bit of step outside of my comfort zone, but like (almost) everything I’ve ever done that slightly intimidates me, I had a great time. Our guide was hilarious, no one died, and we got free beer and hot dogs at the end.

That night, we continued to drive into Auckland city so we didn’t have much trekking to do in the morning before the festival. It was dark when we got into the city, and were fairly blindly following the advice of a free camping app that led us to a park near the water. We set up the tent in the middle of a thick tree thinking it wouldn’t be visible there in the morning, and unassumingly passed out after brushing our teeth with beer. In the morning we woke up to many joggers, dog-walkers, and a disgruntled looking woman in a bath robe drinking coffee, dragging on a cigarette and staring at us only feet away from the camp. The bright orange tent was not well camouflaged as it turned out, and after finding out we were in one of the richest suburbs of Auckland and the head of police lived only a few houses down, we jetted pretty quick.

The day at the festival is a blur of dancing, singing, rotating between shade and sun to avoid heat-stroke, and laughing hysterically. We were lucky enough to catch the end of Savage, see Boo yaa T.R.I.B.E., Diana King, House of Pain with Everlast, Inner Circle, Xzibit, Macy Gray, and Wutang! Unfortunately, the Game didn’t show up because he was too busy partying in Dubai, but what can you expect. Our attempt to after-party in the van which was parked in a parkade in downtown Auckland was promptly stopped by a security officer, and we wondered around town and ate kebabs before passing out—four people to a single bed—in our hotel room.

The next day we drove to Tuaranga, spent the afternoon at Mt. Maunganui, and the night at Sam’s house again, then drove home in the morning early enough to get us all back to work almost on time.

___

This weekend, and unfortunately our last weekend together, the four of us decided to camp in Raglan, a small town just outside of Hamilton. We left the Chateau on Monday morning, drove to Raglan, wore moustaches, set up camp, walked to the beach, and drank much red wine in preparation to film us doing a cover of the “wine song” by the Cat Empire. We had an absolute ball practicing, doing the song in one take, filming b-sides, and of course, drinking wine.

We wanted to go to the bar and get some food that night, and we had been told earlier that the town was only a ten minute walk down the beach. But of course, it took us more like fourty-five in the dark and everything was closed when we got there at about 9:30. We got some slightly depressing kebabs and walked back.

The next day, we checked out NZ’s biggest waterfall, went to the beach, the skate park, and successfully made it into town to get some great burgers before getting lost continuously on the way home. Then alas, yesterday we said our goodbyes in Taupo as Corey and Jackie drove back to the Chateau to work, and Julian and I got on a bus to Wellington. We are now WWOOFing for a nice old lady for a couple of days before we head to the South Island next week! 

That seems like quite enough to write for now, and as always, thanks for reading! Missing all my people back home! Love, Hannah.

[hansrohan-blog]

Camping with the squad at Raglan Beach. Such a good weekend!

[hansrohan-blog]

Tongariro Crossing ft. Mount Doom and three beautiful friends

[hansrohan-blog]

Feb 15

Hey all! My apologies for not writing for a whole month! I’ve been living and working out at a Chateau in a small village called Whakapapa (pronounced fuck-a-papa) with a pretty compromised internet situation. There’s a lot to catch up on so I’ll try to give you the TLDR version. My last couples of days at Mike and Maria’s were lovely, and on Wednesday Jan 20 I left and met up with a friend from Canada in Auckland. Julian is an awesome cook on his way to becoming a Red Seal Chef and is one of the funniest dudes around: both great qualities in a travelling bud. From Auckland, we caught a four and a half hour bus to Tauranga, and upon it drank much duty-free gin and laughed as only a person who has been sober on farms for 3 weeks with someone who has just been on a plane for 30 hours could.

Another friend, Sam, who I couch surfed with during my last travels to NZ picked us up in town and drove us to his house, which he shares with three other equally as hilarious, laid back, and generous dudes. We had a few more brews with then then slept easy on a couple of make-shift beds.

Their house is a stone’s throw away from the water, with only a road and a few grassy sand dunes separating it from the white, expansive, and unpopulated beach of Papamoa. It’s also only a 15 minute drive (or about 75 hours by way of public bus) to Mt Maunganui. Mount Maunganui is a small mountain at the end of a spit, and describes an area known for its surfing beach, vast array of shops and restaurants, and stunning 360 degree view from the top of the mount itself. Despite how touristy of an area it is (I realize I’m not one to talk), it’s absolutely idyllic. Our five days there were mostly spent getting sun burnt and moseying up and around the Mt. We also did some cooking, lots of relaxing, and all round had a sweet as time.

However, after almost a week of bumming it on couches, we felt like putting ourselves to work so we emailed around to a bunch of WWOOF farms and got a last minute reply from a farm just outside of Taupo. Taupo is a small inland city on the edge of Lake Taupo, the biggest lake in NZ. We bussed there on the 26, and got to work gardening right away. Lin and Tony, the couple we were staying with, are quintessential NZ farmers with about 1,500 cows, 3,000 sheep, 3 horses, two goats, a pet deer, a cat, 10 herding dogs, and a small garden. During our four days there we completed a few random jobs like weeding, cleaning cow feeders, digging sawdust out of a barn, and ripping around the property on a quad dropping stuff off (my fave). Bonuses included some great food (courtesy of JJ,) riding a kiddy train around a park in Taupo, and finding “The Lord of the Rings; The Fellowship of the Ring” on VHS at a thrift store which we had been looking for in preparation for climbing Mt. Ngauruhoe (which played the part of Mt. Doom in LOTR).

On Friday Jan 29, we left the farm and met up with Jackie and Corey, two of JJ’s friends from back home who are working/living at the Chateau. Upon arrival, we were welcomed by dozens of temporary workers from all around the globe, and drank much beer. On Saturday, Corey, Jackie, JJ and I drove to a waterfall and kicked it on the sand listening to music. To try and shake the hangover, we jumped off the waterfall which was probably about 8 meters. I almost got swept down the river, but luckily managed to crawl out relatively unscathed.

On Jan 31, Julian, Corey, Jackie and I conquered what was—hands down—the most physically challenging thing I’ve ever done. The Tongariro crossing is over a rugged mountain range, 20km long not including the three hour long almost vertical detour up “Mt. Doom.” Mt Ngauruhoe (Doom) is one of the only active volcanoes in NZ, is extremely steep, and covered in shifting rocks and sand. It took us a little over two hours of crawling up on our hands and knees trying to avoid falling rocks to reach the summit. The air was thin but cloudy, and we only got glimpses of what would have been an unbelievable view. The way down the Mount, despite torrential downpour, was an absolute blast. I slid on my butt down a strip of sand all the way to the bottom. My clothes were shredded and muddy all the way through and I’d acquired a fair number of bruises, but it was one of those wacky experiences you know you’d be reminiscing about for a while. The rain subsided; we changed into (somewhat) dry clothes, and had a few celebratory beers before commencing the four more hours to the car (a 10.5 hour day in total).

When we finally emerged from the bush at nightfall, my feet were swollen and my shoes filled with mud, I was covered in bruises, my knees felt like unlubricated hinges, and my whole body ached, but I’ve also never felt so—what’s a less cliché term for “alive”? Exhilarated? Gratified? Despite nature having completely kicked my ass, there is no way I can describe how amazing it felt to be outside, active, and pushing myself to my VERY limits to find that I was a lot stronger than I thought. Hopefully that was the first of many adventures like it.

With no other plans, Julian and I decided to get jobs here for a little while. With essentially no interview, I was hired on as a “food and beverage attendant,” so for 10 days I’ve been working 9 – 12 hour days as waitress in the hotel’s fancy lounge, and food runner/busser in the dining room. I have to wear a black dress shirt, black tie, black pants, black shoes, and a black apron: possibly the most ill-suited uniform for hot climates ever devised. So far it’s been going well enough, though I have to admit I feel pretty uncomfortable in such a stiffly formal environment.

The Chateau itself is a wanna-be classy affair. Built in the 1920s, fronted by miles of expansive field and backed by a gorgeous Mountain (Mt. Rhupehu) that turns into a ski hill during the winter, it’s as close to any real life depiction of the hotel from “The Shining” as you’ll ever find.  However, the staff accommodation is an absolute wreck. Well thrashed by many seasons of rowdy backpackers on temp work, it’s also charmingly homey. The people are extremely generous and funny, and the communal lounge area—featuring many pieces of decrepit furniture that look like used cat scratchers, rude wall musings, and a who’s door spring is a bra suspended by two nails—is always full of welcoming people drinking beer, smoking on the deck, and chatting in a variety of languages.

In our off time, we’ve been road tripping around the area, going on some smaller hikes, and visiting various waterfalls/natural hot sprints. Next weekend, the four of us are going river rafting then to a rap/reggae music fest in Auckland called Ragamuffin. From there, I’ll keep working at the Chateau until I’m sick of it, and then head to the South Island. Anyway pals, that’s about all this cat has to say. I’d love to upload photos for you all but there is no chance the bandwidth here would allow that. I love you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to check up on your lil buddy Hans! Hope you are all well. X

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A few more shots from Mike and Maria’s

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Jan 14

Since my last post, I stayed another six days at Jane and Hilary’s farm, which felt more like a wellness retreat than a working agreement. We mediated, relaxed in the heat, and bantered over farm-fresh meals. Despite the idyllic nature of the place, I realized near the end that I had really only seen four other people for almost a whole week, and was struggling with a mild case of cabin fever. So Linda, the other WWOOFer, and I headed into Auckland city one afternoon to remind ourselves that other human life existed beyond the pastoral landscapes and dreamlike mountains of the farm.

We spent the afternoon perusing the shops along Queens Street, the main road, making longer stops at the art gallery and for lunch. Jane and Hilary have a truly delicious low-grain diet made up by a plethora of salads and yummy proteins, but after ten days I was a ready to sin again with some grease and booze. Linda and I had fish and chips with beer; my first beer since the morning I left Canada. If you’re doing dry Jan then good for you, but damn it’s hard to beat a cold brew.

Anyway, on Monday my eleven day stint at terrestrial heaven ended, and I said sad goodbyes to Jane, Hilary, and Linda. They dropped me in town where I was able to leave my bag at my next host’s work, and gander around Ponsonby, a very expensive part of Auckland, on my brief hiatus between rural isolations.

It’s both comforting and disappointing to learn that cities are pretty much the same in a lot of the developed world. As I cruised between pricey boutiques and hip cafés, I noticed the same music, styles, and food fads as I do in Canada. If it weren’t for the endearingly goofy NZ accents, various tributes to Maori culture, and reversed traffic, I may have thought I was home.

I am now settled back at another farm I stayed at on my last trip to NZ.  North-East of Auckland in an area called Kaukapakapa, the farm features a huge old house with a prominent motif of hearts, a small but productive garden, chucks (NZ term for chickens,) and two sheep on leashes, which cracks me up every time I notice them. Mike and Maria, the residents here, are a charmingly quirky couple who have a passion for alternative thinking, and watch deeply thought-provoking TED talks over dinner. Mike also has a mini distillery and makes hard bar, so daily happy hours offer a selection of stiff drinks.

Mike works as an engineer and Maria manages a health food store—both fulltime—leaving me to my own devices for much of the day. Being so far out in the sticks, there isn’t yet broadband internet so they’re on tight limit and we’re only supposed to go online between midnight and 10am. As alarming as this was to me at first, it’s actually been quite refreshing. Instead of scrolling listlessly through Facebook, I’ve been happily made to find other means of entertainment, like walking along the furnace-esque train tracks that border the property, crocheting, reading, and attempting to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my trip (with increasing franticness).

Right now the options I’ve been sussing out are either to continue WWOOFing, or to head down to the South Island and find work. If these are anything like my other plans, I’ll probably scrap them after a day and start rethinking my entire existence, but it’s nice to pretend I have a direction. Anyway, the internet curfew is approaching so I’ll say goodbye and promise do my best to keep you in the loop as things develop. Wish me luck! Hannah out.

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A few shots from Mike and Maria’s.

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A little late to the post on this one, but this is a polaroid of Hilary, Jane, and Linda sitting on the deck of the lovely WWOOFer cabin on my last morning with them. Jane and Hilary are the owners of Singing Heart Farm (where I stayed for the first eleven days of my trip) and Linda was my fellow WWOOFer from Montana. What a great week... thank you so much!! x

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Walking along the tracks...

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A sample of some of the work I've been doing in the garden: a before and after shot of an artichoke bed. Unearthing them was quite a chore, and then we composted and mulched around them. If you’re not a gardener, this probably won’t do anything for you, but if you are, you’re probably drooling. 

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Jan 5

I am so thankful for Jane and Hilary and their beautiful farm (which really does make your heart sing). Just West of Auckland, this dream scene faces the Waitakere Mountain Ranges, and is all green as far as the eye can see. Nadia and I WWOOFed here during my last NZ adventure: a week which was the source of some of my strongest nostalgia.

I drearily stumbled here from the airport on the morning of January 1st, and was greeted—into what felt like home—with hugs, tea, and the coziest of all living quarters. It was rainy, warm, and humid for the first few days I was here, which was such a nice change from the stale air of the thirteen hour flight.

It’s probably a combination of not drinking and still being a bit jet-lagged, but I’ve been getting up around 6:30/7am everyday which will come as a huge surprise to anyone who knows me. I’ve been gardening all morning either alone or with one of the other zany WWOOFers, and spending the afternoons blissing out to the sound of birds.

Yesterday, I attempted my first surfing lesson out on the West Coast with Kate, Jane’s daughter. I was not gifted with coordination, and have never been good at sports. Surfing was no different. Every time I find myself doing anything sporty, I wish someone was filming me so I could later watch it and get a good laugh. I not only spent the entire hour out on the water stumbling stupidly, but after I had returned my board, changed, and was stepping off the deck to leave, I caught the wrong edge of my foot and landed squarely on my ass in front of the entire class of twenty-five people, not to mention a few stunning surfers. Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained they say. I did enjoy myself and I managed to stand on the board a few times, which I am told is a success. All things considered, I think I’ll stick to gardening.

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