Border Patrol

Since I last updated my self-involved monologue, my American travel companion and I traveled south to New Orleans. Then to Austin. Then to Roma. Then to Big Bend National Park. Where I am currently. With wifi. And what better to write about myself than when I am in of the top 50 places in the USA, as I am currently doing. Rather than, you know, hiking, or some shit.

I think that it would be fair to say that New Orleans happened to both Emma and myself. Not least of all because I woke up in my closet sitting up, 7 hours after I arrived there in the wee hours of the morning. Before putting myself back to sleep until 5 pm. While some of the night is a blur and some of the night is gone, I think that it would be fair to say that it was wild.

New Orleans

But that night in NOLA aside, our travels have been fairly drama free. That was until we were driving from Roma, TX to Big Bend (also in TX) parallel to the Mexican border and we ran into border patrol. Our conversations went something like this:

Emma “Good afternoon, officers.”

Officers “Good afternoon. Where are y’all from?”

Emma “Well, I’m from Seattle and she’s from NZ”

Officers “Is it alright if I just let my dog look around your vehicle?

Emma “Of course, Officer”

Officers “Are there any other people in the vehicle with you?”

Emma “No”

Officers “Are you carrying any narcotics with you?”

Emma “No”

Officers “Right. And what are you doing here?

Emma “We are on a road trip across the country. From Boston to Seattle, but we were just visiting a friend in Roma”

Officers “Another red flag… Well, my canine is trained to sniff out people and narcotics and has alerted me that this is a vehicle of interest”

Emma “Oh”

Me “Oh”

Emma “Ohk”

Me “Ohk”

Officers “And, I’m not going to lie, all I am hearing from you two is weed.”

Emma and I “Ok, sir. I appreciate that, sir”

Officers “Do you have anything in your car that might hurt my canine?”

Emma “No, sir. Only sheathed knives”

Officers “Would you mind please getting out of the vehicle and waiting on that bench over there?”

Emma and I “No, sir. Not at all, sir. We’ll just be over here, sir. Nice dog, by the way, sir. Very masculine.”

* * 15 minutes later after extensive dog sniffing and federal officer searching of our car * *

Officers “Do you have any wet clothes?”

Emma “Ah, yes. We actually just went swimming. You can see that our hair is still wet”

Officer “What about dirty laundry?”

Emma “Well funny you should ask actually…”

(We had decided the previous day that we were too lazy to do laundry)

Officer “Well alright then. I think my canine was smelling your laundry. You might want to get those washed and dried as soon as possible.”

Emma and I “Why thank you, officer. What sound advice, officer. Will do, officer. You have a nice day, officer. And thank you, for keeping America safe.”

Officer “Stay away from those tokers”

Texas

I am so glad that these great men are keeping America safe and making it great again, one vehicle search at a time.

The Land of the Free

Welcome back to the road and the Land of the Free. For the past 2 weeks, we have had The Great American Road Expansion Pack, to include another straggler (and sometimes another other straggler) in addition to the Original Two. Throughout this time, I have gained a little insight into why Americans like to think that their homeland as ‘The Land of the Free.’

Firstly, wildlife spotting can be undertaken, free of charge, any time of the day or night. I have seen bears, raccoons, marmots, beavers, eagles, deer, snakes and skunks. The first 3 were alive. I think that these sightings were free because they all come with the inherent risk of being mauled, having your food stolen and being hugely underwhelmed respectively. The last 5 animals on my list were dead on the side of the road, but a sighting is a sighting and I will take what I can get. Especially when it is free of charge.

Ponies on Assateague National Seashore

America is great because you can do whatever you want, whenever you want. Including having three people having a nap under a single picnic table on a beach to escape the sunshine. This country is also free enough to allow us to walk up a hill for 4 hours (emphasis on 4 hours up) in the fog to get a fantastic view of fog in pursuit of a llama train, only to discover that the llama train had already been and gone. Not to rub it in our faces or anything, but walking up and down that hill with llama sign everywhere, and the knowledge that there were to be no llamas that fateful day, was pretty demoralising.

Foggy views from the top in Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Because 'fog' is just 2 letters away from 'fun'

Camping in Shenandoah National Park

However, I personally feel that calling America ‘The Land of the Free’ is a bit ridiculous. This country is not free because I am not free to buy alcohol every day of the week at any supermarket or liquour store. If that’s not an infringement on my freedom then I don’t know what is. Further, this country has silly rules about little things – like the whole, ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service.’ Do they think that my wearing shoes has anything to do with the price of eggs? Unlikely. Apparently, I have been breaking the law one terrible rendition of the songs on my spotify playlist after another, because in the state of North Carolina, it is illegal to sing off-key. In some places, it is even illegal for me to tie my pet giraffe to a telephone pole or street lamp. Not that I have a pet giraffe, but if I did, I would very much like the freedom to tie it to a telephone pole while I did my grocery shopping before I rode it home, thank you very muchly.

Water-falls

Great Smoky Mountains National Park

I think that a much more accurate name for this country would be ‘Land of the Almost Free.’ I say this because the other day we pulled up for gas, proceeded to buy $34 worth of fuel and receive $20 change from our original $40. When you get $14 off your $34 purchase, that makes America the worthy recipient of he title, Land of the Almost Free. The trend was continued when later that day, the Champion who worked at Dunkin Donuts took our order from $10.87 to $4.99 with a 99c ice coffee deal from 2-4 pm in the afternoons. Again, America, the Land of the Almost Free.

Welcome to Nashville, Tennessee.

I suppose I will give the American population some credit for their endless belief that one day America truly will be the Land of the Free. However, today is not that day.

And so it begins

So I guess that you got that I arrived in the US. Perhaps what I forgot to mention was that now, after a week of rest and recovery, my friend and I (with a few hangers on at different stages along the way) are going to send the next 2 months driving from Boston to Seattle via the southern US border with Mexico.

Post-swim in Acadia National Park

My friend, Emma, and I spent the first week planning which resulted in no fixed plans for the next two months. However, simultaneously our plans are not at all flexible. We have received a few recommendations of places to stay and people to see, but they are usually met with, ‘ah no, that’s not going to fit.’ Or, ‘It would suit you better for us to be there on the weekend? Sorry, our tight schedule doesn’t allow us to be there for that long.’ How this has happened I have little idea; an interesting development that I wasn’t expecting. Although, it may be in part due to the fact that this country is not little old NZ where you can rock up to a campground and sleep and then sort out payment and further stay days at a later date. No, no, here you have to book campsites in advance and even go in for a lottery to do some of the iconic hikes. And so you see, our planning has to be meticulous. So we began, as all roadtrips should start, going completely the opposite direction to the direction that we ultimately want to go (north instead of south). Although, we were concerned that perhaps the Acadia National Park campsite would be all booked out; with its hundreds of campsites and it being almost summer and all. But when we arrived, we knew all of our worry had been wasted given that there were a grand total of three cars in the car park, including ours. Not sure if the lack of people was due to the weather (it had been pissing down), the fog (you couldn’t see much more than 50 m) or the fact that it was mid-week (is Tuesday not everyone’s weekend?).

Acadia National Park, Maine

It is interesting though, that because I am travelling with white American ‘locals’ (or is that a contradiction in terms?) I am having all of these experiences that a ‘normal tourist’ in America would not have. For example, week one consisted of squirreling away spare food from the dining hall to feed my pie hole.  Week 2 consisted of visiting LL Bean (‘an American , privately-held, mail-order, online and retail company founded in 1912 by Leon Leonwood Bean’), Yankee Candle (‘American manufacturer and retailer of scented candles, candleholders, accessories and dinnerware) and Longwood Alpacas (an alpaca farm). I have also been attending baseball games with the star pitcher’s dad; my first American sport experience. Apparently my friend was the star of the game. But that was lost on me. What was not lost on me, however, was that the game 7-innings when I had spent the whole game mentally preparing myself for a 9-inning game.

Portland, Maine

Also, in the form of all good road trips, we have created a #instagram. I have no clue how #instagram works, but I leave that to the brains of the outfit. However, if you are interested in following our adventure (although many of the photos will be the same as they appear here); our username is odysseysodyssey.

Summer houses in Maine

And so, from western Massachusetts we continue our adventure ever toward the wild wild west.

The Sims

Welcome back to the road. I have landed in the original The Sims^©, New England beach house after New England beach house. American flag after American flag. Mature oak after mature oak. And it’s beautiful. Simply delightful in fact. Once I got through the rigours of American customs.

Woods Hole, Cape Cod (all above)

With just two hours to make my domestic connection, I was cutting it fine anyway. Especially if you consider that I was seated, quite literally, in the last row of the plane. Then they wanted to take me in for questioning about that time I didn’t come to the States. Then had to pick up my checked-in luggage, to put it down again 200 m further through the terminal to be scanned again. Before having to go through my own personal security again (shoe-less, which normally I would enjoy, but I had laces). I even had to break all my own rules, because I have this rather strict no-running philosophy, based on the belief that it gives the air of sophistication, Zen and maturity (to quote my sister, “I would be arrive late and composed than on time and flustered”). However, on this occasion, I was going to be very late and very flustered anyway, so I waved goodbye to composure because I could not stomach the thought of missing my flight. Composure is overrated anyway, right? Especially considering that while I do have insurance, it’s not the most comprehensive, because that was expensive… ironically. So I sprinted from the security up the escalator, past the lady taking up 9/10ths the width of the escalator and onto the train to terminal C (without my shoes). Then I raced down through Terminal C to gate 16, conveniently located at completely the other end of the building (shoes now back on, but backpack jumping up and down and up and down and up and down in the most unglamorous, unattractive way you can possibly imagine). Getting to the gate, huffing, puffing, sweat glistening, the lady, much to my great surprise, didn’t even want to see my boarding pass and just sort of causally waved me on. Which to be honest, despite being the desired outcome, was a bit of an anti-climax given the rigmarole of getting there, even for me. I think I would have appreciated at least an exasperated, 'finally' or 'you're here - we can go now' or anything actually. 

Bilbo is infinitely more glamorous than me

So, after all that I made it to Boston with time to spare. And since then, I have been enjoying the sunshine, mixing and mingling with the locals while remaining deeply disappointed that nobody even notices my accent (I would rather that there was a bit more recognition of the fact that I am NOT one of these people…). And since then, apart from a few wrong turns, a few accidental parking lots and the occasional over-enthusiastic seal-straddler at the National Marine Life Center, thus far, the trip has been without further incident. But I feel that that will most likely change next week when the adventure begins.

Until then, Happy International Donut Day.  #treatyoself

Super lazy

I am super lazy. Although, in other ways, I am marginally less so. So, ying and yang. Good cop, bad cop. Whatever. We can’t have it all. Why do good things happen to bad people?

I would just like to take a minute to acknowledge all of my recent achievements. I have been exploring my own backyard.  I have been stepping outside my comfort zone. I have also been overachieving at work.

Let me explain.

The last few weekends, I have been out and about falling even more in love with this beautiful country that I call home.  I have been climbing mountains, fording raging torrents, fighting off [the New Zealand equivalent of] of bears. My tramping wolfpack consists of three people. It’s exclusive. However, the third wolf, I think it would be fair to say, is not as experienced in the Great Outdoors as the other two wolves. Therefore, not knowing what to pack, this shewolf brought with her a preposterous 3 pairs of bedsocks on our overnight tramp. Although, I will claim full responsibility for, rather conveniently, forgetting to tell her that the track went straight up a large hill for over three hours. But things get better than the ‘3 pairs of bedsocks’ incident. Her confidence the rest of the wolfpack was not diminished, despite the lack of communication about the track being a vertical climb which, in hindsight, should have raised alarm bells. Needless to say, the next time we took her tramping with us, she decided it would be a good idea to fall down a bank and sprain her ankle. Up a gorge. With no track. Or avenue for help (don’t you hate the sinking felling of watching someone you care about disappear off a ledge?).  At which stage the wolfpack had do some pretty quick thinking as to how we were going to get that one wolf back out down the gorge. With no track. Or avenue for help .

Our logo

So we did what all normal wolfpacks would do. We made her walk out. On her own two paws. Because she was a strong independent young wolf who don’t need no man.

Buckler Burn

Mueller Hut

Oh hey there, pal!

On her own two paws

Not a tramp without a fire

Hooker Valley

Aoraki

Now, stepping away from the wolf pack situation and into a much more terrifying situation…

What could I possibly be more terrifying that watching a wolf from your very own wolfpack disappear over a small bluff? Ah, yes. You guessed it. Attending dance classes. And, as many of you know, I don’t dance. Like at all. Unless I am exceptionally inebriated. And even then, it’s usually more of a drunken sway that could be mistaken for an attempt to walk in a straight line. But no. Now, every Tuesday night, I put myself through an hour of voluntary torture and mortification just so that I know that I can do it. And if I can go to dance classes, I can do anything. Including graciously receiving compliments from my dance partners such as, ‘you could be worse,’ ‘that wasn’t terrible’ and ‘keep trying.’ Although there is always that one guy who refuses to dance with me, because I’m terrible at following.

Lies.

I’ve been achieving things at work, too. Well, actually, the majority of my calculations are wrong.  But that’s neither here nor there. I get paid for trying. But this week, my friend, office buddy and partner-in-crime (one person) and I stole (I use this term loosely) 4 garden gnomes from a careers expo. And, as all normal people do, we have spent the rest of the week painting said gnomes as caricatures of each person in our research group. Including our boss. It’s actually very meditative. If you are feeling a bit stressed, try painting a garden gnome. None of this adult colouring book bullshit. We just took the adult colouring book idea to a whole new level; added an extra dimension, if you will.

Like this. Except less weird. 

Kinda. 

Aside from that, I am starting to wind down and focus on getting paper work sorted for my imminent departure from NZ in less than a month’s time. But I wouldn’t want to spill the beans and tell you where I was going. Because then I would have to clean up afterwards. And I hate cleaning. And I hear cliffhangers are the best way to keep people reading. 

The million dollar question.