Working with race horses sounded cool…

Melbourne, AU

Working at a racing stable sounded cool.

Really, it did.

First off, horse racing is a big deal and a major piece of Australian culture.  Heck the entire state of Victoria has a national holiday for their version of the Kentucky Derby: The Melbourne Cup.

The rest of the country is also glued to their TV sets to watch “The Cup” every year.  There are fashion contests at most major races and everyone is expected to dress in nice clothes at the minimum but two piece suits or cocktail dresses are more the norm.

So it’s a piece of Australian life that really isn’t part of American life. (We bet you can’t name the date of the Kentucky Derby off the top of your head or who won it last year.  Aussies can for the Melbourne Cup.)

Also, horses!  Tiffany loves horses and she’s done volunteer work with them in the past.  Greg’s a rider and likes horses well enough so why not?  We may never do this again so let’s go work with horses…

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Our Original Plan

Enroute Melbourne, AU

So ends our time with Dan and our adventures in the land of the Kiwi.  But New Zealand isn’t the kind of country that goes out on a sad note or at least without some final amusing antidotes.  A fact they made sure we realized as got ready to board a plane and fly to our next destination.

“Wait, what!?  A plane!?  You guys use those!?”

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Christchurch, New Zealand

Christchurch, NZ

We have, to a degree, made light of the titanic forces that shaped and continue to mold this tiny island nation within the South Pacific’s ring of fire.  We don’t do this out of lack of respect; simply out of acceptance of how very small we as humans are before the fury of Mother Nature.

As people who have lived in Northern California and Southern Florida we have learned to live with the fact that a natural disaster could just up and kill us at any given moment and there is, in the end, precious little we can do about it.  Coming from the San Francisco Bay people ask Greg what they should do if there is an earthquake.  His response,

“The truth of it is that if you actually have enough time to realize that an earthquake is what’s happening, you have more than likely already survived it.”

What he doesn’t say is that conversely, by the time you realize you’re in danger from an earthquake you’re probably already dead.

Christchurch Cathedral
Before the 2nd quake – taken by us
After the quake – thanks to wikipedia

That knowledge, mixed with our unapologetic and absolute love of this country, made the fate of Christchurch weigh heavily on our minds as we prepared to depart New Zealand.

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Blizzard of Independence

Jindabyne, New South Wales, Australia

So a quick jump ahead and a bit of a preview of what’s to come:

We spent the 4th of July in Australia which worked out really well being as our Australian friends had access to things that light on fire and we, as Americans, could provide them with an excuse to use said things that light on fire while consuming beer…all in the name of international friendship.  It should be noted though that this ain’t the Australian outback you’ve been expecting.

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A Teaspoon of Concrete

Mt. Aspiring National Park, NZ

[fgallery id=7 w=450 h=385 t=0 title=”Mount Aspiring Descent”]

After a week of enjoying the excellent company and stunning views provided by living on a mountain surrounded by glaciers and waterfalls from, most importantly, behind the protective barrier of a New Zealand hut, the day finally came for us to depart.  Unfortunately no one decided to tell the rain.

Now seems an opportune moment to discuss a little saying, a philosophy if you will, that we’ve found is said down here when things get a little tough:

“Take a teaspoon of concrete and harden up!”

With that little nugget of Kiwi wisdom we depart our shelter and remember that “Kiwi Moderate cliff face we crawled up a few days ago?

Now it’s a waterfall…and our only way down:

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A Hut Warden’s Life

French Ridge hut
Mt. Aspiring National Park, NZ

Notices posted on the kitchen wall of French Ridge hut:

Seriously, we freaking love these people.

By now we’ve mentioned it enough that you’re probably asking “Hey guys?  What are these huts and wardens and whatnot you keep talking about?”

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Regarding the Locals

Enroute Mt. Aspiring, NZ

We would be remiss to recount our many adventures in New Zealand and never once mention the Maori.

The “native” people of New Zealand are themselves settlers from a foreign land.  Polynesian in origin, the Maori trace their roots back to the people of the South Pacific who used their…

“mind-bending supernatural powers of badass navigation so awesome it took the West hundreds of years and a satellite network to replicate what Polynesians could do in their heads around the time the rest of us were learning that fire was hot” 

…to locate, land on and settle these islands a few hundred years before Europe came on the scene.

Massive authentic Maori war canoe : 75 feet long & able to carry 100 warriors to battle.

Eventually the West did show up and to make a long story short we colonized New Zealand and eventually claimed her for England.  The nation retains its card-carrying status as a member of the “Empire on which the sun never sets” to this day as a member of the Commonwealth.

So where did this leave the natives?

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To simply be

Helensville, NZ

Despite rumors to the contrary, there’s a lot more out in the farms of New Zealand than Kiwispossums and sheep:

Sometimes things fall into place and life moves on when we’re least expecting it.  After about a month our battles with taxation came to an abrupt and, if annoying, at least vindicating conclusion, we got a job offer in Australia and received an invite for one last Kiwi adventure from an unexpected source.

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Proximity

Whangarei, NZ

The sailing life leads to odd relationships.  Not odd in the quality but more in the means employed in establishing and growing those interpersonal connections: the happenstance, randomness and good fortune involved in who we even have the opportunity to connect with.

People come in and out of our lives literally with the passing of each tide.

Some fellow sailors are friends for a meal or a few days in one port, remembered fondly but as fate and diverging cruising plans would have it, never to be rendezvoused with again.

Other people are friends for a longer time.  Perhaps an overlapping prolonged stay in a Mexican port or a shared long-term rally provide ample opportunity to get to know each other over a longer period of time.  The cruiser’s net, dinners aboard and joint shore excursions are the fabric with which we begin to weave our social tapestry.  Radio comms and emails (yeah, you can get those via satellite uplink or over a HAM radio now…) allow us to fill in the gaps when we are mutually underway while Facebook and blogs can keep us connected while we’re in different ports.

In our case, there are those people who ask us onboard their vessels for anywhere from a few days to a few months.  For that time we become roommates in a home that none of us can leave.  Typically we share meals, time, adventures and our lives for however long we’re onboard.  We, to a varying degree, become family.  These people are, for the time we’re connected to them, a huge part of our world.  Often we leave as good friends.

The downside to our situation is that, unlike most cruisers, we are unable to extend our time in places to form a relationship if our captain decides that they wish to depart.  Friendships are created and maintained by a mixture of fortunate run-ins and dedicated effort placed into correspondence.

What we’re saying here is that interpersonal proximity is a variable, sometimes an obstacle and always a consideration in the formation and maintenance of friendships at sea.

Then there’s the case of Rod & Elisabeth.

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Kiwi Killers

Helensville, NZ

There is an invading force that is, right now as we write this, entrenched in the sovereign territory of New Zealand.

Estimates vary widely but everyone seems to think there are AT LEAST seven invaders for every man, woman and child of this nation.  Yes, that would be a force 30 million strong and growing by the day.

Not happy to simply live here in a land known for its beauty and kind hearted peoples, these soulless devils are pillaging the land and actually killing the natives in their own homes.  Likely, at this very moment a mother is watching powerlessly as her innocent offspring is ruthlessly murdered by this merciless horde.

We are speaking, of course, of possums.  Evil, dirty, disease-ridden, kiwi-killing possums.

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