Frogtails — Update #8

A portion of an E-mail written by Patrick Martino…

Subject: Update #8—New Zealand
From: “Patrick Martino

Editors Notes: this has been a difficult one for me. I had always imagined living in New Zealand when I was young. I had it in my mind that the area near Dunedin would suit me. Dunedin is only 50 miles from the mountains. Split the difference and you could be 25 miles to a port city of Dunedin or 25 miles from the mountains. I always suspected that it would be rural and suit me perfectly. I even wrote to the newspaper in Dunedin once asking about a job.

Besides the personal attachment I have towards this article I also found it near impossible to place the photographs next to the appropriate text since I do not know precisely what is in the photographs. By the time I received them they were labeled something like NZ1, NZ2, etc. Perhaps Patrick will see this some day and give me a hint about how he would like to see them arranged relative to the text.

The Short Update

Oh boy its been a long time since I have written, close to three months. I am still kicking and still having a blast traveling. I suppose I was too busy having fun biking, hiking, and hitchhiking through New Zealand to do much writing. Do not fret, however, a complete tale of my last three months of adventure is below, broken up into different headings for easier reading, for those who have the time and want to read it.

I am back to my base of operations now, Bangkok, getting geared up to take the bicycle I bought in New Zealand through Cambodia and Vietnam. From there I will go to China or possibly Taiwan, hopefully to teach English. I am not too worried about SARS. I should be fine. I still have plenty of cash and should be still able to keep traveling for at least another year.

I hope all of you, my friends, are well

Sincerely,

Patrick Martino

The Good Stuff (The Long Update)

Auckland

I watched the second Lord of the Rings film, The Tale of Two towers, after I got back from Burma. The movie was filmed in New Zealand. Watching the spectacular scenery on the silver screen I decided, since I was already on this half of the world, I would visit New Zealand.

Then, after touring through Laos I needed a break from the bustling chaos of Asia. I desperately wanted to eat something other than rice. I guess you can say I went to New Zealand because I needed a vacation from traveling and had a huge craving for steak and potatoes.

I flew out of Bangkok on March 5th and arrived in Auckland, the city of sails on the 6th. I just missed getting to the city in time to see the Americas cup. I am not a big sailing fan but was bummed I didn't get to see Cindy Crawford. She was in town as spokeswoman for Omega watches, one of the sponsors of the event.

I don't know how much fun the event would have been anyways. The kiwis were all pissed that their team lost, the mast on their boat broke during one of the races. The Swiss, a land locked nation with no access to a body of water larger a lake, won the event. Go figure.

Being in New Zealand was a welcome relief. The natives actually spoke English! I didn't have to point to my mouth and tummy when I wanted to eat something. No one was hassling me either, trying to rip me off or get me to ride in their taxi.

There were cows, and green rolling fields. Besides the fact the cars drove on the wrong side of the road, used round abouts, and everyone called you mate it was virtually home. I could even drink and brush my teeth with the tap water. Fantastic.

New Zealand is located at roughly 45 degrees south latitude. It has a population of only four million, 1.6 of which live in Auckland. The South Island only has one million people. New Zealand has a land area of 102,415 square miles and is just a bit larger than Great Britain. This means you can go for miles before you ever see a house or even another car.

Because of its temperate climate it is one of the worlds most efficient agricultural producers. It is perfect for dairy cows and sheep production. There are in excess of 50,000,000 sheep in the country on more than 25,000 farms.

My grand plan to see New Zealand was to buy a bike and cycle through this land of sheep. I spent three days in Auckland setting about trying to find a bicycle, what the New Zealanders call a push bike.

I lucked out. I found a German couple that was selling theirs. I got a steal on an aluminum Marin 24 speed with Shimano gears. Included with the bike were also a complete set of panniers, a bike helmet, a lock, maps, and nearly all the tools I needed. It was the complete set up for just around $300.

If that wasn't luck enough, I found a sign for a free tent. The only thing I really had to buy in addition to the bike were a few spare parts and a sleeping bag. I was all set to tour the island. I left Auckland on the 9th of March

The North Island Auckland to Turangi

Auckland did not impress me as a city. It was a nice city. It was very clean, ordered, and had an excellent bus system but it really didn't have anything special going for it. It was just another conglomeration of store fronts and office buildings. I was happy then to get rolling and be in the country side.

New Zealand has everything as far as scenery. It also changes constantly. It has bucolic green rolling farm land, foam crested sandy beaches, brown tussock prairies, wide expansive ultra marine lakes, volcanoes, geysers, pine forests, jungle like bush, alpine snow capped peaks, glaciers, cascading water falls, and fiords. You name it and New Zealand seems to have it and only a short distance away.

The North Island where I began to ride was largely green rolling farmland where coffee cream colored jersey cows lingered in paddocks munching on healthy offerings of grass.

I passed through pasture land with paddocks of Irish green grass and meadows dotted with yellow dandelions. I followed a long black paved road with white lines instead of yellow. In the distance, past the green pastures stood the outlines of black hills and blue mountains. It was a pastoral paradise of paddocks and hedge rows.

I would bike on average 100 kilometers a day, sixty miles. I would camp in farmers fields. I lived off of cereal for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and tomatoes and cheese on bread for dinner, since I did not have a stove. Every other day or so I would stop at a campground to take a shower and fix a real meal in the campgrounds communal kitchen. It was a basic existence but tons of fun. I was just surprised by how sore I was and how few miles I was able to do. I am getting old. I don't know how the hell I biked across the United States.

Biking is always tons of fun until it gets cold and rains as it did on March 11th. (My journal entry for the day and the fun story of how several New Zealanders helped me out is at the end of the update along with several other stories.)

The Lord of the Rings was filmed entirely in New Zealand, and as I stated earlier seeing the second film was what inspired me to fly down to the land of kiwis. One of the highlights then of my North Island adventures was visiting the film site of Hobbiton. You can also read all about this in my attached stories at the end of the update.

I biked to the smelly town of Rotorua, where the air is filled with the stink of sulfur, from the geo thermal springs, geysers, and bubbling mud puddles. I rested my tired limbs in a thermal pool. From Rotorua it was then on to Lake Taupo the largest lake in New Zealand. It was a sparkling treasure to behold.

Journal Entry

I reached the town of Taupo today, on the edge of Lake Taupo and beheld the glory of the lake and the mountains.

The mountains do not seem real. They hang from clouds and bow and bend between the horizon. They are blue, black, and thick with haze, giants in the distance, so large, so close, yet so far away.

In their seeming proximity they appear as contour less lumps, two dimensional cuttings and outlines. They are overlapping hills of black and shaded green. Their shadows stretch and spread themselves across the wind whipped waves of the monster, Lake Taupo.

The clouds above are abstract paintings of noticeable brush strokes painted in stretching stratified layers. They are landscapes of castles in the sky, boats and ships, portraits of vapor maidens and the faces of brave men.

A sailboat beats a course toward shore and I stand on a high hill in awe of the land and its lord the mountains.

I hid in a park tonight. I set up my tent in an area behind a Woolworths supermarket.

I bought 300 grams of "Fat Free" ham, a lump of cheese, a bunch of cookies, and some fruit. I sat in near darkness eating. Only the dull dim light of shadow sifted from a hidden moon and wilting stars provided any light. Mosquitoes were a hazard before I collapsed for a night of rest.

End of Journal Entry

New Zealand is located in the Southern hemisphere and despite the popular myth that toilets flush in the opposite circular direction than they do back home, a fact I was never able to confirm, it is true the seasons are reversed. This means while summer is now in full swing for most of my friends and family back in the States it is now winter in New Zealand. March in New Zealand was thus the equivalent to early Fall in New Zealand. The trees leaves were beginning to change.

The North island is great but I was told the real mountain eye candy and stunning scenery was on the South Island. At my slow pace, just 60 miles a day, I feared I would not get to the South Island and have time to really see anything before it got too cold if I kept lolly gagging around. I am no longer on he Appalachian Trail, so I don't have to be a purest and bike or hike every single mile. I caught a bus and skipped biking most of the Southern half of the North Island. I arrived in Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, in the middle of March.

Wellington is a pretty port city. It has a rowing club and an excellent bay. I went to the Te Pappa the New Zealand National museum. They had some great exhibitions including one on the Lord of the Rings. They had a number of customs and weaponry used during the film. It was pretty interesting. The most unusual part of the museum, though, was a special exhibition about the 100th anniversary of Harley Davidson. I am from just outside of Milwaukee, the home of Harley. I told the guard this and got him to let me in for free. I still don't understand why there is an exhibition on the 100th Anniversary of Harley in New Zealand of all places and not in Wisconsin. It was kind of fun though. I learned a lot about Harley I didn't know. I only spent one day in Wellington. I took a red eye ferry across the Cook Straits to The South Island

The South Island Down the West Coast

Captain Cook's name is ubiquitous in New Zealand he seems to have been everywhere in the Pacific, from Alaska all the way to the Antarctic. He however did not discover New Zealand, even with just about everything being named after him. The Dutch discovered the islands.

In 1642 a Dutch expedition led by Abel Janszoon Tasman made the first European contact with New Zealand called Aotearoa by the local native population.

Tasman named his discovery Staten Land, believing that it might be part of the Staten Landt discovered by Le Maire and Schouten off the southeast coast of South America in 1616. However on his world map of 1645-46, Joannes Blaeu renamed it Zeelandia Nova, Nieuw Zeeland, perhaps to match New Holland, as Australia was then known. Zealand was a province in Holland.

It was not until 1769 James Cook, and Jean Franois Marie de Surville, a commander of a French trading ship, arrived coincidentally in New Zealand at the same time. Neither ship sighted the other. Cook and his men were probably the first Europeans to set foot on the land. Tasman had never landed any boats.

It was French consideration of colonizing the South island of New Zealand that led to British annexation and later colonization.

New Zealand was one of the last places in the world to see the arrival of man. The Europeans didn't really start coming until the 1790's and the Maori, the Polynesian natives, only arrived on the island between 950 and 1100 AD just some 600 years before Cook.

New Zealand thus still feels in places, especially on the less populated South Island, untamed and untouched. There are few towns and fewer people. Cycling through the country side one feels like being in an immense national park and not in a foreign country at the very bottom of the Southern Hemisphere.

I cycled from the top of the South island from the tiny town of Picton down the particularly dramatic West Coast of the South Island. Along the way I had the snow capped Southern Alps to my left and the dramatic coast line to my right. It was spectacular.

Journal March 27

The waters of Lake Ilanthe ripple softly with the wind. The waters perhaps a mile in diameter are dark blue almost silver where they reflect the sun. A ring of green forest surrounds the lake. Rushes grow near the shore and towering trees further in.

The most stunning aspect of the scene are the Mountains of the Southern Alps whose shadow fills the southern banks. The mountains rise like jagged teeth covered with a green plaque of trees at the gums and crowned with crowns of billowing clouds.

On their precipices snow remains despite the sun. The mountains and lake together create a tranquil picture, a postcard of nature's sublime beauty.

End of Journal Entry

Not only were there lakes and mountains but there were stunning glaciers as well. I visited both the Fox and the Fran Joseph Glaciers on my way down the west coast. I wrote the following on seeing Franz Joseph glacier.

Franz Joseph Glacier

At Rata lookout I beheld the glacier for the first time in all of its splendor. It stretches for a seeming four miles up the face of the mountains to reach the Southern Alps crenelated peaks. The glacier is only a pure white at its greatest heights, in the nieve which serves as it titanic snow basin. Stretching down the mountain the glacier resembles the snow melt at the edges of a parking lot, where in dying winter the warming spring creates a gray black pile of gravel and dirt.

The glacier has retreated, shied from its former glory when it filled the entire valley, touched every mountain and stretched to the Tasman sea. It is still massive however probably a half mile thick.

Where the snow face of the glacier ends, a great melt wash of water flows. The melted water becomes a great mighty roaring river which can be heard even at great height. It is gray with silt and the glacier flour of pulverized gravel. The river flows and follows a sinuous braided path through a field of scree, boulders, and gravel.

The gravel beds and river lie in a valley carved by the great incising swath of the retreating glacier. Between the sides of the mountains it appears as if a great cutting digger, a bull dozer had come to scoop or blast a mile wide path of rock.

The mountains themselves are scarred by their battle with the ice. They cry, their faces streaked with the scars of cutting rock. They are wrinkled by the austere crags and nullahs from flowing streams.

End

The massive ramparts of the Southern Alps were created thanks to the collision of Tectonic plates. New Zealand rides on the ridge between the Australian and Pacific plates. The two plates grinding against one another have caused the great maze of mountains, the highest of which Mount Cook (You see they named everything after the guy) rises over 10,000 feet.

Because the Southern Alps create a virtual rock wall between the narrow west coast and the rest of the South Island storms coming in off of the Tasman Sea (they did name at least one thing after the dutch guy) slam into the mountains and dump their load on the coast. I was lucky and the whole South Island was in the throes of a drought. I had nothing but sunshine until I neared the town of Haast.

My bike was running smoothly except for one part. I kept on breaking spokes. With my tent, sleeping bag, and most of my gear on the back of my bike it was too much weight for my rear tire to handle. I kept popping spokes and I kept having to fix them. It was getting aggravating. Still I was able to manage.

That was until the day I tried to get to Haast. Just 20 kilometers, 12 miles, from the town after having climbed the very last rise and while preparing to descend I broke a spoke.

It just also happened to be raining

On the side of the two lane road, I got out my tools and went through he laborious process of taking off my wheel and removing the gear set. For some strange reason on examination of my wheel I found I had not broken one spoke but three. I only had two spares.

I labored on the side of the road in the wet cold rain trying to fix my wheel. I figured I could jerry rig my wheel and try to get the wheel true by tightening up the tension on some of the spokes to compensate for the missing one. It would be only a temporary fix though because the added tension would mean another spoke would be prone to break. I figured I had only twelve miles left to go. I could make it.

A very strange and cool thing happened. Just as I was finishing and about to put my tools away a blue Suburu Legacy pulled to the side of the road and stopped. A man got out into the rain and came to ask if I needed any help.

I looked up recognizing the voice and saw that it was Dr. Pete.

I had Met Dr. Pete, an anesthesiologist from Louisville Kentucky, on my first day on the South Island. He was also cycling around the South Island. I biked with him the first day and then saw him intermittently as I continued to bike. He was a tall man in his late thirties to early 40's with sandy hair and a strong drawling accent.

He had gotten sick of biking. He wasn't covering enough ground he told me. He wanted to know if I needed a lift. Being that it was miserable and raining I took him up on his offer. For his generosity he gets the good guy of the week award.

My plan was to head to Queenstown where the nearest bike shop was so I could pick up some more spokes. Kind of sick of biking and having my spokes breaking all the time and with the prospect of rain for the next few days I decided to abandon the bike for awhile. I drove all the way to Te Anau with Dr. Pete where we struck on hiking the Kepler trek together.

I liked hiking so much I left my bike in storage and did nothing but hiking for a month.

My Hiking Adventures

I have done a fair amount of hiking in my day. New Zealand though has the best backpacking setup bar non in the world. I could happily spend the rest of my days and do nothing but hike there. (Believe it or not I met a guy who does just that. He is a goat hunter for the department of conservation and walks through the mountains everyday shooting goats. Cool job)

Not only is the scenery spectacular but the hut system is unreal. Trails in New Zealand have huts spaced roughly a days hiking distance apart. Some of the huts on less trodden paths are nothing but shacks but most of the huts on the popular treks are palaces. These places are unreal. Miles from any road they have stoves, bunk rooms, and in some cases even running water and flush toilets. In many cases you don't need to carry a stove or even a tent. Talk about a backpacker's dream.

Trails lead through beech forest, through glacier valleys, and to uncompromising views from the top of saddles. It doesn't even feel like where you are walking is real it is so beautiful. You understand in a heartbeat why they filmed the Lord of the Rings here. It is probably one of the most beautiful places in the world I have visited with the possible exception of Norway and thats only because Norway has a higher percentage of gorgeous blonds than any other country in the world.

For those familiar with New Zealand I hiked the Routeburn, Milford, Kepler, Rees Dart, and the Northwest circuit on Stewart Island. Most of my hiking I did in fjord land, a spectacular region in the Southwest corner of New Zealand's South Island. IT is recognized as a UNESCO world heritage site and protected by a series of national parks. It represents a full 10% of New Zealand's land mass which will be fully protected for the ages.

I had some fun adventures while backpacking including seeing a rare kiwi in the wild and getting my shoe stolen by a parrot. You can read more about these tales in my attached stories.

To give you a feel of what it was like hiking in the mountains and seeing the spectacular sights of fjord land you can read two of my short journal entries below. And oh those who are curious and will probably ask, no I did not grow a beard like I did when I hiked the AT.

April 2 on the Kepler Trek

It was another gorgeous day today, perfect for making the alpine crossing. When I awoke and looked out the hut we stood above the clouds ringed by their frothy white vapor. It felt as if we were in the heavens. The sun's warm glow cast the valleys in shadow and set alight the covered landscape of high grassy mountain slopes.

The grass was green and brown, mixed in varied proportions. On the distant mountains boulders and schist coated long descending slopes and the giants rigid backs. We followed the ridge line and watched the distant black specks of other hikers.

My face and hands were red and numb by the blustery wind when we climbed the side trail to the top of Mount Luxmore. From atop the pile of crumbled rock all was revealed. It was a spectacular view and a spectacular day among the aerie of the clouds.

April 11th on the Rees Dart (This was my favorite trek. Absolutely mind blowing scenery)

It was another splendid day today. I have had excellent weather karma. God is finally delivering my due after having rained on me so much while on the Appalachian Trail. There was not a bit of overcast fog in the valley. It was blue sky from dawn on. I unloaded my pack and used it just as a day pack loading it with only a bit of bread, peanut butter, and a few muesli bars for my day trip to the Cascade saddle.

I am in awe of the scenery today. I crossed the swinging bridge over snowy creek and then continued on toward Mount Troas and the valley of the Dart River where the frozen remains of the Dart glacier lay.

I walked through a valley, a mile wide, filled with wasted gravel. The valley was an enormous gray V with a river running through and mounds of rock, dust, and in the shadows remnants of ice. Nothing grows in the valley. The melt wash assures only a inhospitable soil of sand and gravel remains.

A glacier lake of the purest sapphire blue lay below a rampart of solid rock 30 stories high. The rock face, sheer and abrupt was raked with glacier scars from razor boulders and rasping ice along its mile long face. It looked as if a great god had come with a cutting chisel to mark the earth, the stone with his graffitied name.

The path rose out of the valley along a zig zagging track. It rose steeply and abruptly in places hurting my calves. Gaining height I saw the Dart glacier at the end of the valley, the gods' great cutting chisel.

The glacier was a wave, a tide of frozen power.

I continued up the Eastern side of the valley scrambling at times up the loose rock and following the cairns which led the way Toward the top the rock disappeared and was replaced by blond tussocks dotted with mirror tarns. Finally on top of the windy saddle I stood facing the world with the Dart glacier at my back and the triangular pyramid of ice and snow, Mount Aspiring to my front.

Milford Sound

If there is any one place you absolutely have to visit when you go to New Zealand it is Milford Sound, actually a fjord. The road to the fjord is spectacular, lined with guardian mountains and misty falls.

Where rock and water unite there is no greater sight, no far reaching grandeur or panorama to compare.

Milford is unparalleled in its brilliance. Kipling called it the 8th wonder of the world and I agree.

The sound was carved by the maw of a glacier beast. Where there is water now there was once solid stone. The water in places reaches depths of 1000 feet. Its water is black betraying its immense depth. It is not wide perhaps only a half mile across and fenced by sheer rising stone which climb to heights of 1,200 meters straight up from the sea.

Tear white waterfalls run down the faces of the rock. when it rains the rock becomes a cascade of splendor.

I have seen fjords in Norway but Milford I think blows them away. But it is because of Milford sound that the only bad thing New Zealand has going for it was created, the sand fly. These black sucking biting insects about the size of a gnat are worse than mosquitoes. They will leave your skin itching for days.

The Legend of the Sandfly

According to Maori legend the demi god Tu Te Raki Whanua don't even try to pronounce it) was given the task of shaping the rugged South Western part of Te Ruao Te Meko or fjordland. Repeating an ancient chant he used his digging tool or Ko to chisel into the great wall of rock. As he moved from south to North he improved his technique creating the clean steeply cut sides of Piopiotohi, Milford sound, as his masterpiece.

The goddess of the underworld Hinenuitepo as she gazed at the beauty crafted by Tu Te Raki Whanua became fearful that humans would come and never want to leave so she created Te Namu the sandfly to harry and annoy visitors to this day.

Life on a Farm

After nearly a month of hiking I found myself with my bike in the town of Invercargill. I had just completed hiking on the extremely muddy Stewart island and found I had an enormous blister on the back of my foot. Unable to hike and since the weather was getting pretty cold and dismal for biking, I opted to look for a place where I could settle down for a week or two and experience what life was like among real New Zealanders, on a farm.

There is a terrific organization which is run world wide. If you ever travel and want to spend some time in a rural environment and experience life with the locals you have to look it up. It is called WWOOF, world wide organization of organic farmers.

Here is the concept. You work for four hours each day on a farm and in exchange get room and board. You don't need a special visa or green card to do it and there are wwoofer agencies all over the world including places like Switzerland, Norway and the Tuscany region of Italy where it might be extremely expensive to stay in hotels.

I signed up with the New Zealand organization for $20 and got a listing of all of their farms in New Zealand. I became what is called a woofer. I called up a farm and asked if they needed any help. I am not a die hard consumer of organic foods. I basically eat whatever is cheapest ie peanut butter and jelly but I think when I get home I will be a convert. After spending a week with the Nicol family I discovered eating organic fresh food just bar non tastes better.

I spent a week with the Nicol family dad Paul, mom Michele and their two daughters 5 year old Georgia and teenager Leigh on their 14 acres of land which had a dozen or so chickens (chucks as they called them), two cows, and 16 sheep. I had an enjoyable time.

I drank the most amazing fresh milk for breakfast and was introduced to New Zealand's best cereal Wheat Bix-the stuff is awesome, kind of like shredded wheat but better. Michele was an amazing cook and I was treated to fresh baked bread and roast lamb. I watched TV with the family and to my shock got hooked on trashy American shows, Joe Millionaire and American Idol. For my four hours of work I dug post holes for a new fence to divide one of the paddocks in half, scrapped paint off some boards and trimmed a hedge row of flax plants. It was actually nice to do some work for once and get my hands dirty. (Kind of cool hey I haven't been working for 9 months now!)

The best part of the experience was the insight into New Zealanders lives. The Southland, the region where I was, is almost exclusively agricultural. It is probably what the United States was like 70 or 80 years ago. The wives of the farmers gather for luncheons and teas. There are community dances and gatherings. Neighbors know each other and help each other. And all of the men gather on Friday nights at the local pub to drink Speights (The local beer "Pride of the south since 1876") and to talk about farming and watch the rugby game on TV. Everyone pulls together and although not wealthy with large homes and flash cars like us Americans, lives a pretty basic but good life.

Paul the father is a hard working man who has a bowling ball body with large strong arms. He is not cut but is certainly muscular. His belly is slightly round from the corpulence of middle age. He compensates for his thinning hair with a neat well trimmed beard. He smokes cigarettes which he rolls himself with zig zag filters. He farts, he laughs, and he occasionally swears. He loves hunting and eating meat much to the consternation of his vegetarian wife. Paul is a mans man who you could easily picture at the pub on Friday nights with the guys or out in the fields helping with the cows. He is extremely warm and generous with his wife and daughter and from my observations appears to be a great husband and father.

I was fascinated by Paul who for me represents the prototypical New Zealand male, a tough strong bloke who can do and has done just about everything. He has the kiwi can do ethos ingrained upon his mind from years of tough work and hard labor.

The man has hunted possums when he was young, fossicked for gold, hunted deer out of helicopters, done contract fencing, worked for the Department of Conservation leading at risk youth to build and maintain trails, been a river raft guide, fixed computers for a large company, and finally he currently is employed as a hand on a large dairy farm of which he will soon become the manager. He can live in the bush, hunt, fish, sail a boat, fix about anything, and when I last saw him he was knitting a sweater for his daughter. He is as tough and wise as they come and the South Island is full of these tough farmers. No wonder they love rugby-"Play with pads. Hell no."

I loved my time with the Nicols and was a bit sad to leave. They were extremely warm and friendly hosts.

Rugby

I left the Nicols and traveled by bike back to Invercargil where I then took a bus up to Christchurch, a wonderful little city with a quaint English feel. The city had a cathedral square and parks surrounding the city center. A beautiful college campus was located in the town and the city had the air of youth and university vigor. It was also home to the Canteberry crusaders and the semifinals against the Wellington Hurricans. You can't visit New Zealand without seeing a rugby match!

I am glad I have at last come to another country where soccer is called its proper name: soccer and not football. In Asia and the rest of the world its soccer soccer soccer all the time. I guess soccer is ok, I did play it when I was a kid, but there is no scoring. The teams just lob the ball about. Now rugby that's a sport. Its like non stop football. Instead of stopping the clock and lining up again after each down the players just continue to go, smashing into each other and without pads too. Its invigorating and I got hooked on it.

I am not sure it is better than our football though. There is no strategy, no special teams. It isn't the chess match of the grid iron pitting the strategy of coaches against one another. I saw no tailgating at all at the game I went to. The hot dogs they served at the game sucked, they were like corn dogs except dipped into a flour like batter. They did have great cheerleaders though and a beer was only 4.50 NZ that's like $2.25. Imagine getting beer for that kind of price at a major sporting event in the States.

The rest of the experience it was surprising just how similar it was to going to watching a game back home. There was a long procession of fans wearing the colors of the home team black and red . The fans waved flags and pennants. There were even the occasional male fans with their chests painted in pride with the team colors.

Jade stadium I would estimate held between 60 to 80 thousand fans. The place was packed for the semi final match. There was no national anthem. The only prelude to the match and in my opinion one of the coolest things I've ever seen at a sporting event was when the horses came onto the field. The loud speakers boomed a deep sardonic warrior like chanting music which seemed reminiscent of either a Russian sub marine movie or Conan. Out onto the field from a mock castle gate, which served as the entrance to the home team's locker room, came 6 crusaders galloping upon six chestnut steads. They encircled the crowd enticing the fans by weaving their swords above their heads. It was exhilarating and the crowd roared to life

The game itself pitted titan men against each other. The object is to get the oval shaped pig skin across the goal line to score a try. Any forward passing is disallowed. The ball can only be passed backward. Any movement forward has to be done by kicking the ball or by running with it. Players on the same side can not run in front of their man with the ball otherwise it is offsides. This is the basic concept. The side without the ball tries to stop the team with the ball and the team with he ball tries to run over and score against the team without it. It is basically a great maelstrom of colliding bodies spiked with excitement as a fleet runner breaks free and makes for the goal line.

The Crusaders went on to win handily beating the Hurricanes to advance to the finals. Unfortunately they were to lose to the Auckland Blues the next week. The Blues are kind of like the Yankees. They have the most money so they get all the best players but everyone hates them.

My Sister comes to Visit

I wasn't in Christchurch just to see a rugby match. I was also there to await the arrival of my sister. She was in Japan on business and decided to use up all of her frequent flier miles to graciously come and visit me.

I left my bike in Christchurch and we rented a car to tour the island. I was kind of her tour guide taking her hiking on some of the paths I had already done in fjordland. My sister is uber cool and inspired me to go traveling in the first place after she had traveled around the world when she was young. She is the first family I have seen in over six months. It was great to have someone I really knew to travel with.

We had a great time especially since Anne is pretty well off and paid for nearly everything (Thanks Anne). I didn't have to eat peanut butter thanks to her.

We traveled together for a week before flying back to Auckland together. Anne flew home and then I flew to Bangkok with my bike where I am now.

I hoped you enjoyed the update for those who have struggled through it. Sorry dad for any spelling errors or mistakes with my grammer. I have to go I am getting hungry. I have been typing for way to long. Next update Cambodia!

Seeing a kiwi

The United States has the majestic bald eagle as its national symbol. The French have the cocky cockerel. The South Pacific island nation of New Zealand, though, has perhaps one of the most exotic and unique birds in the world as its national emblem, the kiwi. Visiting New Zealand, on my trip around the world, I was determined to catch sight of this eclectic bird in the wild.

I once thought a kiwi was the fruit with the brown fuzzy skin and green flesh, wedged in between the oranges and the avocados at the grocery store. The only similarity a true kiwi might have with fruit is it has a pear shaped body.

The kiwi's name and image are ubiquitous in New Zealand. The kiwi is minted on New Zealand currency. Tourist gift shops are full of plush kiwi dolls and there are kiwi campgrounds and hardware stores. Even, New Zealanders affectionately call themselves kiwis.

Going to New Zealand for me and not seeing a kiwi would be like going to Egypt and not seeing a camel or driving through Wisconsin and not seeing a cow. Little did I know the kiwi is a threatened species. Seeing one in the wild would not be easy.

In 1923 there were an estimated five million kiwis. Now there are just over an estimated 70,000. The destruction of natural habitat and the introduction of predators to New Zealand such as cats, dogs, and stouts has taken its toll on the kiwi population.

Not only would decreased numbers affect my chances of being an amateur ornithologist but kiwis tend to be nocturnal birds. Out of the six types of kiwis in New Zealand, only one the cryptically camouflaged southern tokoeka, on Stewart Island, are known to feed during the day.

Stewart Island, New Zealand's third largest island is the place to see kiwis. The island is virtually untouched. Of the islands approximately 700 square miles nearly 85 percent of the island is protected as part of Rakiura National Park. The island is free from vicious stouts, allowing kiwis to thrive. There are an estimated 20,000 kiwis on Stewart island, representing almost a third of all of New Zealand's kiwis. The kiwi population also far outnumbers the human population on the island's lone hamlet of Oban, population 450.

Located in the latitudes known as the roaring 40's the seas surrounding Stewart Island can be rough and violent. Just getting to the island was an experience.

On turbulent waves, the hydroplane like ferry I rode for the forty five minute journey across the Foveaux straight, from the South Island town of Bluff, rolled widely from trough to trough. I embarrassingly succumbed to sea sickness. I regurgitated three times my late brunch of Kelloggs Rice Krispies, which New Zealanders for some reason call rice bubbles.

Landing in Oban at night, still sick, I learned I had arrived on the eve of ANZAC day, New Zealand's equivalent to Memorial day. Dark and raining out there was not a place to stay. I wondered about from guest house to guest house, cursing my stupidity at not having made a reservation. I at last found lodging but at a much steeper rate than I was accustomed to paying.

Kiwis are not found near towns nor idly strolling along easily accessible beaches. They are found in the bush. In the morning under a leaden sky I headed out with my backpack on the Great Northwest Circuit, a ten day 78 mile tramp along the coastal edge of the North Western part of the island. I was told I was virtually guaranteed to see a kiwi.

The Northwest Circuit follows beautiful coastal beaches and high walled cliffs into which the winds and waves of the great ocean clash. There are sand dunes, mountains, and low lying inland marshes to cross. Everything is green that grows, made verdant by the mild climate and the gray clouds and mist which habitually dump rain on average 210 days a year.

So much rain and the near fading darkness beneath the forest bush does not lend itself to dry easily trodden trails. Muddy or even mucky is not a fit description to describe the condition of the path. It is a quagmire, a swamp, a cattle track, where I at times found myself submerged in viscous gunk way above my ankles, sometimes to my knees.

I was ill prepared for a sea of mud. I had inadequate footwear. I am convinced only a pair of rubber waders would have been adequate or at the very least a sturdy pair of hiking boots with gaiters. I was equipped with tennis shoes.

It rained and misted. It was wet and cold. I played a game of hopscotch jumping from tree root to tree root in vain attempts to avoid the mud. I eventually always missed and sunk into the muck. All of this to see a bird!

I met a Dutchman on the track named Siebe Eling who was always either ahead or behind me. At the end of each hiking day, warmed by a fire and in the comfort of a back country hut we would compare notes. Siebe seemingly always had seen yet another kiwi, while I had seen none.

After five days, discouraged and distraught by the mud, I still had not caught sight of my prize. Perhaps, I was being too loud with my ardent vocal curses at the mud. Perhaps, I smelled bad after nearly a week without a shower. Whatever the reason for my past failures I did not see my first and only kiwi until I virtually stepped on one on my sixth day.

The size of a chicken the kiwi is nothing like a cute tiny warbling song bird, a graceful swan, or a soaring hawk. It is a biological enigma, having more characteristics of a mammal than a bird.

Million of years ago New Zealand was part of a great southern land mass called Gowanda. New Zealand broke off from Gowanda and became isolated. New Zealand became devoid of any mammals except a few bats. Because of a lack of mammal predators, the kiwi related to the ostrich and emu, lost its ability to fly and evolved into the rough equivalent of a shrew in the food chain.

The kiwi has no tail. Its feathers are more like hair than plumage. Its bones are filled with marrow instead of air sacks, like most birds. It has a body temperature closer to a mammal than a bird. It also has only vestigial wings hidden beneath its thick fur like feathers.

The brown plump kiwi was swift on his feet and ran quickly across my path to avoid my stomping feet. He disappeared into the thick undergrowth of leafy ferns. I was overjoyed at the sighting and continued to watch the kiwi. It seemed oblivious of just having nearly been stepped on. It continued its determined search for food.

I briefly lost sight of my kiwi friend but knew its location, as it would approach ferns at their bases and rustle their long leaves as it dug for food. Occasionally, I would then catch glimpses of the bird and its long bill, the length of a knitting needle.

The bird moved parallel to me, just a few feet from the muddy path. It drilled into the soil with the steady rhythm of a sewing machine for its worm prey. I could see its tiny mole like head with its tiny beady black eyes, its whiskers used to help with navigating through the dense forest undergrowth, and its thick strong legs.

I could hear the kiwi sniffle as if blowing its nose into a tissue, possibly clearing the dirt from its nostrils. The kiwi is the only bird in the world with external nostrils at the end of its beak. The kiwi uses these nostrils and its strong olfactory senses to smell out worms up to three centimeters beneath the soil.

I could have seen a kiwi in a zoo or spent the money about $70 NZ, roughly $35 US, on a guided night time kiwi spotting tour. For me though, seeing an exotic animal in a zoo or as part of a guided tour is a banal experience. The caged bird does not enthrall, its does not sing. It can be quickly viewed and the memory discarded. Searching for the wild beast, by oneself in its natural habit, embraces risk, adventure, and uncertainty.

With the first glimpse of the hitherto unseen creature, the heart leaps with adrenaline and excitement. The mind races. The feet stop. One whispers to himself or to his mates in shock and surprise, "Oh my god there's a kiwi." It virtually makes up for the misery, the rain, and the mud.

The kiwi disappeared again into the bush. I promptly took less than ten steps before I took another spill into the mud. I was happy, though, I had succeed in my quest. I had seen my kiwi in the wild.

Kea the Parrot that stole my shoe

Polly the parrot doesn't always want crackers, sometimes he likes shoes. The Kea an endemic parrot to New Zealand's South Island is notorious for its playful and sometimes vandalistic behavior. It has been known to damage backpackers' tents, tear the wiper blades off of cars, and abscond with hikers' gear. In my case, while on a backpacking trip, a Kea stole my vital right sneaker.

Kea are mountain parrots. They look like they would be more at home in a jungle, than the cold glacier snowfields and alpine tundra of New Zealand's Southern Alps.

Kea have lime green feathers, with a touch of orange underneath their wings, a powerful curved black beak, and beady black eyes.

Kea aren 't tiny little parakeets. They are the size of a large pigeon or a sea gull and can grow to be up to a foot and a half in length.

New Zealand is a backpackers dream with an excellently maintained network of trails and back country huts running through fern forests , along beaches, and through glacial valleys of unparalleled splendor.

I was one day in on the Rees Dart Tracks in Aspiring National Park, a five day tramp around the Forbes Mountains through the Rees and Dart river valleys when polly came to play. I had stopped for the evening at the Shelter Rock Hut when the yegg-man Kea stole my shoe.

Back country huts built by the New Zealand Department of Conservation provide simple luxuries while in the sanctity of postcard scenery. The huts can range from corrugated iron shacks to near houses complete with bunks, coal fed pot-belly stoves, running water, and flush toilets.

The Shelter Rock Hut was at an elevation of close to 1,000 meters in a va lley of brown tussocks and high rising gray peaks streaked with the tears of running streams.

I have stinky feet. I had especially dirty and stinky feet after having walked for six hours up the inspiring Rees valley filled with not only views but muddy black bogs mixed with the equally black waste of a friendly heard of bovines. My shoes were wet and muddy but the journey was well worth it for the views of the sharp Forbes Mountains and their sheer walls of metamorphic stone rasped by the cutting force of glaciers.

It is customary while using the immaculately clean and well maintained huts to remove one's shoes or boots before entering, to avoid tracking dirt inside. I thus left my once white sneakers on the porch of the generous hut which had enough bunk space for twenty.

In the stealth of night the Kea made away with my shoe. It must have been attracted to the miasma of my rotting sneakers, the bovine splendor homogenized with the dark black mud. "Nikes what luck!" it must have thought."Perfect nest material and an attractive present to lure a mate," it might have said, or perhaps its tho ughts were more malicious, "I am really going to screw this guy. Lets see him walk out of here with one shoe."

Mike Lawler a 45 year old options trader from San Fransisco and my hiking partner sounded the alarm on the thieving bird soon after we had finished dinner. On a visit to the loo he notified me Keas were in the vicinity. "You better get your stuff inside," he told me after showing me the insole of my shoe. He had curiously found it by the latrine.

Walking outside to the porch I discovered the insole was missing its mate. Expletives were my first response, followed by my agonizing doubt. "How the hell am I going to hike out of here with one shoe? Where did it go?"

Kea don't eat shoes or at least not Nikes. Their diet is primely vegetarian consisting of berries, fruits, and seeds. Keas if giving the chance do fossick in garbage cans and dumps for food left by humans. They have also been know to occasionally attack sheep, digging into a sheep's hind quarters to feed on fat deposits above a sheep's kidneys. Keas' attacks on sheep have led sheep farmers in the past to shoot them as pests. The birds are now a fully protected species, however, with an estimated population of 5,000.

One belief as to the reason for the Kea's exploratory and vandal like tendencies is the harsh Alpine environment in which the Kea lives. The harsh environment scientists believe has forced the Kea to be ultra inquisitive, so as to be more successful at finding food. For all the Kea knew, my smelly sneakers could have been a novel new food source.

If there is an Achilles heel to a backpacker, one piece of near absolutely vital equipment, it is his footwear. With blisters or without, in sandals, sneakers, or Gortex hiking boots, unless ones feet are as tough as leather, a back packer absolutely requires a pair of something on his feet. Being without a shoe was a nightmare, an unfathomable prospect, worse than running out of toliet paper halfway through a seven day hike, spending a wet night in a soggy sleeping bag, or discovering a naked corpulent couple making love behind the bushes. How in the world was I going to get out of this one? What if I couldn't find the shoe? What if the bird had torn the shoe to pieces? What if he dropped it in a river and it had floated away?

The sky was alight with the pinprick of stars. The mountain air was cool and my shoe was nowhere in sight of the immediate scan of my flashlight.

Mike with his headlamp and a serviceable pair of boots was kind enough to come to my aid. He searched for me, while I stood on the porch in my socks in anticipation. He splashed through the dew wet bushes all while a chorus of the Kea clowns screeched in laughter at the ongoing search. "KEEEAAAAH" they said in their native call.

It was five minutes, then ten minutes, and still the search continued. What was I going to do with just one shoe?

The question was still foremost in my mind when Mike announced he had found my sneaker. It was undamaged but still smelled bad. Mike found it lying ten yards from the hut beneath a bush. The delinquent birds were still laughing at their practical joke.

At least I have the consolation in knowing I wasn't the only one to be made a fool of. In the morning a fellow backpacker, who opted to sleep in a tent and not the hut, discovered his pants were missing. He later found them in a nearby stream.

Hobbiton

Ian Alexander, a New Zealand sheep farmer, received an unusual knock on his door one Sunday afternoon in 1998. The knock came from a location scout for New Line Cinema. The scout asked Mr. Alexander if he would be interested in having a few scenes for a movie trilogy, based on a series of fantasy books written by J.R.R Tolkien called the Lord of the Rings, filmed on his land. Mr. Alexander told the scout he had never heard of the Lord of the Rings. He asked the scout if he could come back again another day. There was a rugby game on television.

The first two movie installments of the Lord of the Rings trilogy have already grossed over 1.8 billion dollars world wide. The third movie, The Return of the King, due out this December is set to break even more box office records.

Luckily for the Alexander family and movie goers around the world the New Line Cinema scout returned.

The 1,250 acre Alexander farm with close to 10,000 sheep now boasts the original Lord of the Rings movie set for Hobbiton, the town where the hobbit Frodo Baggins, the central character in the Lord of the Rings, lived. You don't need to be a sheep, though, to visit the movie set for Hobbiton.

"This was beautiful. This looked just like the Shire." said Peter Taglia from Chicago, who traveled to the New Zealand town of Matamata to find the movie set along with his wife Carol and twenty year old son Chris. "I enjoyed standing in the same place the movie took place. It was magical. It felt like you were part of the movie," Taglia said.

Hobbiton is located in a make believe land called the Shire where the land is green, lush, and the hillsides roll to the horizons. Taking one look at the Alexander's farmstead with its bucolic scenery, dotted with the white wool fleeces of sheep, and it is not hard to see why the location scout choose the Alexander farm.

The ten acre film sight on the Alexander farm, however, was not chosen only because of its surrounding beauty. While on aerial hunts the location scouts saw the site also had a tiny lake, a perfectly round shaped 120 year old pine tree, and a rising green hill. The site fit, near perfectly, the setting of Hobbiton as described by Tolkien.

Unfortunately, you can't get to Hobbiton on your own. The location is hidden from the road. It can only be reached by taking a tour with Rings Scenic Tours, owned by Ian Alexander's three sons. The cost of the two hour tour is a steep $50 NZ for adults and $25 NZ for children ages 10-14, roughly $25 US and $12 US respectively. For a true Tolkien fan, however, the money is worth it.

Visiting New Zealand on my trip around the world, I picked up my ticket for the tour and my ride to the site at the Matamata visitors center. Nestled in the fertile Waikato region of New Zealand's North Island, Matamata is a tiny town of roughly 6,000 people. It proudly announces its association with its fictional principality at the entrance to town with a green sign with gold lettering declaring "Welcome to Hobbiton."

It is a short drive to the Alexander farm and the movie site. It is not until a Tolkien fan exits the tour group's white mini van, aptly named "Frodo," and rounds the curved contours of the hill that he is overcome with a bit of awe.

Henry Horne, 41, is the marketing manager for Scenic Ring Tours and a tour guide. He is a large strong man and looks like a rugby forward. Indeed, he got his job because he used to play rugby with Ian Alexander's three sons. This hard-working man beams when he relates the site of the movie set still gives him "a buzz," every time he turns the corner to take a look.

Into the green hill rising from the tiny lake are the hobbit holes, the homes for Tolkien's hobbits. Hobbits are make believe amicable creatures just a few feet tall, with pointed ears, and large hairy feet.

The movie set originally had 37 hobbit holes and 42 chimneys. Now only a few of the homes remain. The lavish gardens in front of the homes are gone, as are the painted polystyrene facades. All that is left are the plywood frames with vacant round holes where the glass windows and brightly painted doors once hung.

The hobbit holes somewhat resemble pill boxes dug into the side of the earthen hill. Irish green grass grows widely over the tops of the homes. Despite the abandoned look of the hobbit holes, one can not help but feel like an actor on the set. The hill, the trees, and the curious bell curve shape of the hobbit homes nestled into the earth bring alive Tolkien's descriptions.

Tony Gudbrand, 38, on vacation from Stockholm Sweden didn't have high expectations for when he first signed up for the tour. "I thought it would just be a few potholes," he said. He turned out to be pleasantly surprised.

"I've seen the movie so many times. I promised my daughter I would visit. I took twenty-one minutes of tape. That's more than in the film," he said laughing while referring to his hand-held camcorder. "Its really sad they tore almost everything down. It would have been amazing to see." Mr. Gudbrand also said.

The Alexander's contract with New Line Cinema stipulated the set be returned to its natural state after filming. The hobbit homes were dug out and leveled by a crane. All of the homes would have been destroyed if rain hadn't intervened and prevented the crane form reaching some of the hobbit homes located higher on the hill.

By the time the ground was dry enough to use the crane again so many people had visited the Alexanders wanting to see the movie site they decided it might make a good tourist attraction. I was visitor 3,641 in just over the three months since Rings Scenic Tours had started operations.

Luckily Bag End, Frodo Baggins home, was one of the hobbit holes saved from destruction. It is not the spacious home one sees in the movies. There is only enough room to just walk into the fictitious home's circular doorway before the plywood foyer ends abruptly into an earthen wall. To stand or rather hunch in the home of Frodo Baggins, however, is a unique experience.

On the tour I visited the hobbit holes, the lake where a bridge and mill once stood, and the large dominating pine tree. Placards are placed at intervals with pictures from the film to help visitors visualize what the site looked like during filming. By far the most intriguing part of the tour were the stories behind the building and filming on the site.

The site took nine months to construct but was used for just three. The New Zealand military was called in to build a road nearly a mile long to access the site. When filming began in December 1999 there were as many as 400 people on the set, including 28 gardeners and three full time veterinarians.

Detail was crucial to the director of the movies, Peter Jackson. He followed Tolkien's books like a bible. Bag End for example, was described by Tolkien as having an overhanging oak tree. The site did not have an oak tree so one was found. The tree was purchased and felled. The 26 ton tree was then cut into numbered pieces, transported to the site, and bolted back together on top of Bag End. The leaves having wilted were replaced with 250,000 artificial leaves flown in from Taiwan. The leaves were individually wired to the branches.

The oak tree's actual screen time amounted to only a few seconds. The tree no longer stands on top of Bag End but its pieces do. They are wired together so people don't walk off with them as souvenirs.

Hobbiton can not match the historic significance of the Pyramids or the grandeur of the Grand Canyon. I wanted to see Hobbiton, however, so I could be part of the magic. When I inevitably watched the movies again, I wanted to be able to brag to friends I had been to Hobbiton. I really didn't expect much, just a few holes, but I was pleasantly surprised. The remnants of the set retain their movie splendor. The set really was Hobbiton.

Bangkok Watches

Rolex watches don't tick they roll. Rolex watches along with other brands such as Cartier and Omega are the uber-expensive timepieces of the ultra-swank. Even the most basic Rolex can cost the consumer hundreds of dollars. If you can't afford a Rolex, though, you can always pick up a fake one on the sweltering streets of Bangkok. I went in search of a new watch in the Thai capital after mine had been stolen. I was surprised at what I found.

We can become attached to our timepieces. I certainly was attached to mine. My black digital watch measured the first quarter mile I ran in track. It warned me when I was running late to work and set my mind at ease when I arrived on time. Since before I can remember, my watch was the first thing I put on in the morning and the last thing I took off in the evening.

I was angry then, the morning I discovered my watch was gone. I had been a bit tipsy the night before, thanks to the local Chang beer which seems to vary from having no alcohol content to a whopping 5% or more. I had returned to a mattress on the floor of the 90 Baht, two dollar, a night bunk room I shared with four others just off of Khao San Road. The air was sticky and muggy. I took a shower and in my stupor left my watch on the back of the porcelain loo. In the morning it was gone.

The Swede in the bunk room had been my drinking partner the night before. He was passed out. The Japanese kid had a fancier watch than mine and no reason to steal. The English lad who had the far mattress had spent the night with a bonnie lass. He had left his sheets undisturbed. The final suspect, another Englishman, told me he had seen my watch while taking a late night reprieve but had left it where it was. I figure he wouldn't have told me the exact location of where my watch had been if he wasn't telling me the truth. The real culprits, I presume, were the cleaning ladies who only smiled when I tried to ask them if they had seen my watch.

Bangkok is a city of crowded chaotic streets filled with buses and cars choking exhaust fumes. The sidewalks seem not to be for ambling but rather an outdoor mall of packed vendors taking all available space. Under a cloistered canopy of umbrellas they sell their wares. Bangkok is a place where there are more t-shirts for sale than torsos and more watches for sale than wrists to wear them.

To replace my watch I headed to Chinatown, to a side street called Thanon Maha Chak, just off Charoenkrung Road. The shops that lined the street sold industrial equipment: air compressors, power drills, and door locks. The real action, though, came from the sidewalk vendors which clogged the sidewalk and even the narrow street so the occasional car could barely pass. Above the whine of motor scooters and bus traffic the spurious pirates plied their trade.

A vendor, a tiny young man wearing a black shirt and jeans, told me the cost of a Rolex sitting in a glass case and turning on a dais. "Two thousand nine hundred Baht," he told me. It was silver, with what appeared to be a crystal face. I tried to see just how low of a price he would let it go for.

"You you you last price 1,600 Baht" he told me. Sixteen hundred baht is about fourty dollars, a steal if the Rolex had been real but still probably much more than the fake was really worth.

There was every type and size of watch imaginable among the vendor stalls. Rolex, Omega,Swiss Army, and Tommy Hilfiger were all represented. There were digital watches, kids watches, and watches with enough dials and hands they looked like they could be used to fly an airplane.

Some vendors even had the Rolex catalog in front of their tables. The catalog's feature model was Brad Pitt wearing the designer timepieces. I pointed to one of the watches in the catalog, number 315, which the catalog described as a Men's Perpetual Date with a Blue Arabian Dial. It had a calm blue face and was made of stainless steel.

The vendor, a woman with a slightly pudgy face and wide black owl like glasses, told me "You want. I have. 2,500 Baht. Number One"

She rummaged around in her collection of bags, behind her stall, and pulled out two exact replicas of the watch encased in plastic wrappers.

"Number two, no steel," she said, indicating the difference between the number one and the number two watch. Apparently there is a difference in quality, even among the fakes. The number one watch had a solid steel band, while the number two watch weighed less and had a flimsy aluminum band.

Despite the appeal of buying a Rolex I came to the conclusion a Rolex just was not my style. I am a no fuss type of guy and an athletic type. I went in search of a good digital watch.

I passed tables where more than watches were sold. There were sunglasses, knives, remote control cars, tape recorders, and pirated video games. I even passed a small but sizable crowd of men who were anxious in fossicking through a bin of porno DVDs.

At the end of the street I found a stand with digital timepieces. I tried on a large green military looking watch, with a plastic band. The plastic clasp on the band broke when I tried to take it off.

The female saleswoman, a large woman with a pony tail and blue smock like shirt insisted I buy it. I insisted it was a piece of junk.

I instead settled on a generic black watch made of plastic with a circular face. It did not have a brand name and it looked very similar to my stolen watch. I suppose in some sentimental way its similarity to my old watch was the reason I bought it.

The woman wanted 199 Baht. I got her down to 160, four dollars. Its not a bad watch for four dollars. I just hope the band doesn't break.

Index of Patrick’s Stories