Israel: The Stories of Old and New

Israel is hard to talk about. There is so much ancient history, and modern politics combined. The people of America are so enmeshed with Israel politically and religiously, that it is hard to get a truly objective look at it without actually going there. I will try to be as objective as possible to avoid conflict or angry letters to the editor. We have been home long enough to have a few Israel conversations already, and I can say that one thing is true for both there and here: Israel is a source of great disagreement.

So, rather than give too many analyses of our experiences, I will just focus on what we did and saw and allow you, the reader, to come to your own conclusions.

When we got to Israel, after the long trip out of India, we were SO glad to be there! We met up with Hadas (who we had met on our flight to Mumbai) and her sister Daphne, and drove to their house in Yuvalim. The first two days, I was so excited I couldn’t stop pointing and exclaiming. It was our first Western country in 6 months, and it felt so different and yet so familiar. We showered, did laundry, ate homemade cake, and went for hummus. Mmm…hummus. I could write a love song.

After a few lovely relaxing days in Yuvalim, we Couchsurfed one week with a fun couple our age named Ariel and Michal. They cooked us tasty food, entertained us with trivia games, and showed us a pleasant hike to a cold river. On one of our last days, we went out for an Israeli dessert called kenafe, a highly rich cheese coated in crumbly noodles and too much sugar. Delicious.

We next went to Ofra in the West Bank with Ofer and Yoni, another Couchsurfing couple, to celebrate Shabbat with Yoni’s parents and siblings. We listened to a lot of singing and praying and Hebrew, and did lots of eating and sleeping and reading, and occasionally took walks at night when it was cool. We went to the synagogue, where the men sat on the main floor near the altar, and the women sat on a second floor balcony looking down through a screen. The family lives the Orthodox life, keeping separate sinks and dishware for dairy and meat foods and dressing modestly with covered heads and arms. They were very kind and interested in our lives, and welcomed us graciously. Their family lives in a Jewish settlement, so we didn’t get the opportunity to meet any Palestinian families while we were there, but we did see some surrounding villages on our walks, and heard stories of other “illegal” settlements in the area.

We parted with Ofer and Yoni and went back to Ariel and Michal’s for another night, went out for bagels and ice cream, and hitched it to Yarok Az. Our final WWOOF location was an eco-tourism campsite-slash-goat farm, with fresh vegetables and goat cheese every day and lots of art projects to keep me happily busy. I began painting a sunflower in the volunteer trailer, which was fun and relaxing. I felt so excited to have some stability and a work schedule after all our travels, and I began waking up at 7am to milk the goats and feed the rabbits and chickens and guinea pigs, and water the trees and be busy again! Busy in a different way from the chaos of travel, what a relief. It would all be perfect if it weren’t so blasted hot outside. It was helpful to get outdoors early to get work done before it got so hot I couldn’t bear my own sweatiness anymore (around 10 am). The goats were curious and eager to interact, always eating my shoelaces and my fingers and rubbing me with their horns. I plan to be an expert milker, perhaps even with my own goats someday. We made yogurt and Labonet cheese with their milk, and pounds of delicious pasta sauce out of the enormous stock of fresh garden tomatoes.

The room we are staying in is mostly mud and wood and linen, and I love it. There is lots of breeze and light shadows and singing frogs outside the window (as well as one infernal rooster).

Our host Avi took us to Nazareth, and we got to see the spot where Jesus leapt from Mount Precipice to Mt. Tabor to escape the Romans (a new story for me). We also saw a beautiful Franciscan church built on top of the cave where Jesus lived with his parents. Then we went to the church of Mount Tabor (the mountain Jesus jumped TO), which was in simple but luminescent Franciscan style and was holding mass with some pleasant a capella singing.

We went to the Sea of Galilee (called the Kineret, meaning Violin), and to the Jordan River where John baptized Jesus. There was a group dressed in white all getting baptized Gopel-style, which, judging by the dramatic baptism photos on the walls of the gift shop, seems to be the favorite style around here.

We went to the construction shop of Avi’s good friend to look at gravel. Avi had helped this friend open a second shop in Avi’s neighborhood, which had caused controversy because the man is an Arab and even secular Jews have a hard time forgetting their old teachings and welcoming non-Jews into the community. The politics are very interesting in this country. It definitely seems like there is this feeling of Jews vs “Arabs” (aka Everyone Else), but the Jews are the favorite children so they get all the good stuff (like paved roads, quality food and water, and other materials/resources, religious freedom and even land that isn’t legally theirs, like the West Bank). Most of the people we meet here make at least one racist comment about Arabs (who are not necessarily Muslim, they are Christian and other ethnicities, too). Ariel did tell us that some of the talk about Arabs not respecting/obeying laws and rules of order is probably true, though not because they are lesser humans. He thinks they are probably just tired of being treated like second-class citizens and they don’t feel compelled to behave like “upstanding members of society” if they already got a bad rap at birth.

Israel is such an interesting place. Only the Arabs are actually from here; the Jews all moved here from mostly Europe, and Hebrew was resurrected with a few modern additions (such as “perfectionist”). It is such a fascinating dynamic, especially since in its short time as a country the people have already started generalizing Israeli mannerisms, ways of phrasing things, and other cultural tidbits as though the people had really birthed, lived, and died here for generations rather than their parents or grandparents moving here 60 years ago. Maybe it is because since coming here, the people have done a lot of living and dying. Israel is a patchwork, a pidgin, a big mix of factors from all sides, and still difficult for everyone to live with. It doesn’t have the smoothness and security of the melting pot, the easy understanding of the creole, but it has a lot of culture coming in—and you’d never hear anyone call the place boring. Every time I talk to someone else about visiting here, no matter where I am or where the person is from, I am always inevitably asked the same question: “Why Israel?” Nobody EVER asks, “Why India?” even though I found myself asking what I was doing there many times during those exhausting train rides. Avi said, “We are a tiny country…We have so many problems…We are so far away from all your other destinations…Why here?” It is strange to me. Why anyplace else? Why leave home at all? And why NOT Israel? Honestly, I can’t remember any of our reasons for choosing ANY of the countries we went to, aside from one or both of us having always wanted to go there, or for practical reasons like money and country hugeness—and Africa is an undertaking all its own. I usually tell people that I have always wanted to see the places that were mentioned so often in the Bible, to get a taste of the Holy Land and see how religion exists there today. I also say something about the frequent news in America about the Israel/Palestine (as well as every other bordering country) conflict, and our alliances here. I want to know more, to see it firsthand.  

We visited the Bah’ai Gardens as our last adventure with Avi before leaving for Jerusalem. The Bah’ai religion is one of the many ancient religions throughout Israel, and one that believes in harmony through differences. The garden is totally symmetrical and decorated with plants of contrasting colors (red and green, purple and yellow) in order to display the beauty that comes from the union of opposites. It is amazing the level of spirituality that exists in this country, as well as the extreme religious strife. It is a little hard to understand why the Holy Land cannot be shared among all of these religions at once, rather than torn down over their differences, but of course I don’t live here, so I can only assume the issue is a little more complex than that. Ethnic disparity and religious intolerance is never a simple issue.

We said goodbye to Yarok Az, took the bus to Jerusalem (with the driver lipsynching opera and waving his arm dramatically), and found Daphna. She took us out for Belgian waffles and beers our first night, and the next day we toured the Old City of Jerusalem with her tour-guide friend Yael. We walked the ramparts and looked out over the land in the early part of the day before it got too hot. Then we visited the Holy Sepulchre, supposedly the site of Jesus’ crucifixion but now a patchwork of building styles on the outside and a super neat cave-slash-four-part church inside. The church is owned by four different sects of Christianity who don’t even get along enough to decide who can take down the work ladder outside. I saw the slab Jesus was lain on after being taken off the cross, and I touched it. I saw the Dome of the Rock from afar, but not up close yet. We walked through the narrow covered streets with markets filling the spaces on both sides, and went to the Arab part of town for lunch. The food was so good—salads and pita and hummus and fries and falafel and leftovers! Then to the market for zahar spice, grapes, and some delicious chocolate pastries.

We went to the Israel Museum all the next day, and saw exhibits on Hasidic Jews; the Greeks, Romans, and other origins of religion and philosophy; as well as the Dead Sea scrolls. Jerusalem is very cultural and diverse; a place I hope to return to, though I’m not certain it will be the same when I get back.

We met up with my college friend, Yarden, in Tel-Aviv. He took us to the beach, gave us a tour of the city, and joined us for hors d’oeuvres. Neal and I ventured out on our own to brave the heat and the difficult transportation system, seeking a few last adventures before returning home. I was ready for “a vacation from the vacation,” as Michal put it, but I was also anxious about returning to the normalcy of life at home. “Am I ready?” We walked to the beach and had our last ocean swim of the international portion of our trip.

We met Roya, a German-Iranian girl who came to Israel in response to a big “Israel Loves Iran” movement within Facebook. It’s very uplifting to see such an act of love and I hope it does some good for bringing peace to this region. I also see some Americans getting involved. We were both interviewed, showing up on You Tube! Famous.

On our last day in Israel, we took a bus to the Dead Sea. It was super hot when we got there (44 Celsius), but still packed with people. We ate lunch, and then got into the water. WOAH! What a mind bender. It takes effort to keep your body from bobbing up and spread-eagling on the surface, and it is SO salty that any contact with orifices (especially mouth and eyes) leads to extreme discomfort. We had a ball, practicing our ridiculous poses and gathering salt deposits and beautiful rocks near the shore. We set up our tent just before dark, and spent some quality time reflecting on our trip and sharing our feelings and expectations about the future until the bats began to swoop around our heads. We decided we just had to go for one more soak in the darkness, so we tumbled down the slippery slope to the water, guided only by our hands on the railing and the dim red light of the clock. Even after dark, it was 41 degrees Celsius. The wind had picked up since we left, and the big water was full of rolling waves. It was like being in a sensory deprivation tank, with no light or sensation and the low hum of the moving water. We actually had to be careful to pay attention and stay close to shore, because it would have been very easy to be pulled out too far and get in big trouble. But wow, it was worth it. It was beautiful and mystical and deep and dangerously comforting and EXTREMELY painful when I got a good amount of salt water in my eye. We stayed as long as our already over-salted bodies could handle it, lying on our backs to see the stars and occasionally gently bobbing into each other.

We went back up, showered and went to bed. It was quickly obvious that the inside of the tent was too hot, so we moved outside, occasionally waking to see the moon a little higher in the sky. What a wonderful way to conclude an epic journey like this one (even though the adventure still feels far from over). I woke up early with the sun, and the heat soon followed, along with the flies, and the cackles of crows. We packed up our tent, waited for the bus, and went home for our last meal abroad. Yarden and I made shakshuka omelets for dinner, and we chatted with him and his friend from France. She talked about how she has been traveling almost constantly for the past 5 years and she is trying to make herself settle down a little. She says she loves travel—the exploration of new cultures and people, the adventure, the constantly opening doors of opportunity. But it spreads her mind out too much, making it hard for her to find that one interest to pursue more permanently. She keeps moving, saying, “Maybe this next town will be the perfect place to settle down and live for awhile.” But life is rarely that obvious, so she is going back to France to find her bearings and do something with herself. I understand that. Travel has defined me but not directed me. It opens it all up, which is fantastic and frustrating at once.

We took a plane to Madrid, and sat in the beautiful airport watching all the Americans be American, trying to get ready for a whole country full of them. I felt like a glass that is too full of water but the tap is still dripping into it and it begins to quietly overflow. The world is an expansive and engulfing experience, and I expect it will take me years to discover the many ways that it has become me, and vice versa. Before we left, Avi told me, “You are young. Your life is ahead of you. Mine is behind me, and I am glad for that.”  I think he is wise. The experience of life is tumultuous and exciting and overwhelming at times, and sometimes it is a gift to be able to look back on one’s experiences and be grateful that it happened just the way it did. Now my only job is to reap the benefits of all my past experiences, and to be grateful for the chance to go home.

A Recipe For Chaos

Mix together:
One recovering alcoholic artist who is 65% smoke free
Two exuberant mischievous daughters, aged 5 and 7
One CEO who replaces sleep with coffee and cigarettes and stress
One Hare Krishna conspiracy theorist with a big crush on Mother Dearest
One legitimately insane German builder with too much knowledge of Vas is da PROBLEM!
One theatrical 17 year old boy with a passion for YouTube and chai tea
One 25-year old who has eagerly reverted back to a 17-year old as well
One dog with a limp and a neurotic cat with chlamydia in her eye
Too many meetings and changing plans
Lots of sugar and coffee
Rats in the trees

Remove from the mix:
Sense of direction and time
Privacy
Functioning machinery

Leave to stew for a bit, then see how much work has been done on the yoga studio/art room/wine and juicery/restaurant by the 6-week time limit.

Makes one big helping of Full-On-Chaos per person served.
*Whew*

The House of the Hari Guru

Harideva and Guruvati, also known by us as the Hari Guru or HuG, run a small farm and B&B in the remote and beautiful Motueka Valley, nestled among the hills and just across the road from the river. Their property is a quiet haven of beauty and peace, with roses and fuschia taking center stage this time of year. They have several houses on their property which they rent out to a few young families, as well as a small meeting space they rent to a nearby Hare Krishna community. We spent two weeks WWOOFing there over Thanksgiving, and ended up returning to their house for Christmas as well (because we all know how important it is to spend Christmas with family).There is no way for me to fully express how magical our experiences were during our stay, but I will try to touch on a few experiences that might give you a taste of the place.

First of all, speaking of taste, Guruvati is one of the best cooks I have ever known. She cooks strictly vegetarian (the only one exempt from that rule is the dog), also without onion, garlic, or mushroom (as part of their spiritual following). Yet despite their (and my) ingredient limitations, I never had the same meal twice, which would have saddened me had the next meal not been even better than the last. She wasn't an extravagant cook by any means, preferring to keep the main course simple with one or two side dishes, but she would always throw in something out of the ordinary (like homemade goat cheese or vegetable croquettes covered in berry wine sauce). We had artichokes from the garden almost daily, and homemade jams and juices with every meal. And don't even get me started on our multiple Christmas delights-- all I will say is, BEST.CHEESECAKE.EVER. Praline and graham cracker crust, cinnamon and honey swirls, fresh hand-picked berries... I should stop before the memory of it makes me drool on the keyboard.

Our stay with HuG marks the initiation of our journey into the broad and eclectic world of Spirituality and Religion. The Hari Guru are members of a spiritual following called Ananda Marga, the main mantra of which is Baba Nam Kevalam, translated to "Everything is an expression of the Divine," or, more simply, "Love is All There Is." I am so down with that. During our stay we often chose to join Harideva (or as Neal called him, "Hairy Dave") in his twice-daily kirtan meditations. Every morning and evening he would don his yoga pants and give us his secretive gap-toothed smile as he shuffled toward the meditation room, which was the signal. Guruvati would join in if she wasn't feeding the goats (her favorite pastime) or working on dinner, and we would all sing the mantra and move in unison while Harideva played the guitar. Singing and dancing together is a very powerful meditative experience in itself, and I often found myself surprised by how quickly the music stopped. We would then sit together and meditate to the sound of birdsong and wind. Afterward, we would walk outside in silence, only to be greeted by the sweet, heady scent of roses. This experience was meaningful for me in several ways. I found that starting the day with peace and mindfulness sets the tone for nearly all subsequent experiences for that day, making love-focused actions so much easier to choose. I also discovered how quickly and effectively movement and song can put me in a meditative state of mind, something which previously required a good deal of restless shuffling and forced focus to accomplish. HaHA-- ADHD is no match for the powers of movement!! Plus, I just really love the mantra. I could sing it every day and it would never get old (unlike my mind's usual fallback entertainment of "Baby One More Time." Just kidding. That would be terrible).

During our stay, the neighborly Krishna clan invited us to Sunday rituals. Every Sunday evening, the Hare Krishnas would have a call-and-response kirtan (spiritual sing), followed by a discussion-slash-sermon on the Vedas (various spiritual scriptures, such as the Bhagavad Gita, which are utilized by many different religious sects), then we would share a delicious vegetarian meal. It was always a memorable and unique experience, and boy, did we always leave with something to talk about! We would hear about justifications for vegetarianism, karma, other sentient planets, and the "so-called end of the world"; and then we would head back over to HuG's and hear Harideva's passionate response to it all. It was extremely satisfying to get to hear so many new philosophies and then stay up super late having in-depth discussions about reincarnation and home-schooling and the like with such an enlightened soul, especially since his viewpoints are paired with his powerful desire to implement socio-economic change for the greater good. Ananda Marga is actually only one side of the coin; the spiritual beliefs are a supplement to the socio-economic theory of Prout (aka Progressive Utilization Theory). I will not go into great detail about this, as those of you who are interested will get a much better understanding of it through your own research, but it is basically a social theory which creates tools for sharing the earth's resources to reach the highest collective good. Neal was particularly interested in the application of Prout in the real world, and he spent many evenings alternating between reading furiously and presenting me with his personal opinions on the subject matter. I personally have not often heard of spiritual and social belief systems being paired together in this way, since most everyone in the U.S. seems entirely obsessed with keeping religion and politics separate, so needless to say I was intrigued. It also sparked in me the urge to always keep in mind "the people" as a unit when I try to decide what is best for my individual well-being.

Finally, although I very much enjoyed the farm work we did, it was a relief to get a little break once in awhile. Harideva took us down to swim in the cool river water a few times, and once we went on a bush walk to help him reset his rat traps. Supposedly we were walking on an established trail, but in my view, it was a "trail" only in the way the ferns and vines trailed behind my barely visible hiking boots as I struggled awkwardly along. I was also entirely convinced we were going in circles. The birdsong and beauty quickly overcame the obstacles, however, and we were once again wooed by New Zealand's mystical nature. We got home and were greeted by the tinkling sound of Guruvati's laughter as she observed the panting dog, our dirty clothes, and the leaves in my hair.

There are so many stories to tell about our growth and shared love with our hosts, but the point is that our eyes have started to open to new ways of living which can help us to keep joyfulness and mindfulness in our Here and Now. It is hard to forget how fortunate we are to be here when every other moment is an awe-inspiring experience, and we will definitely never forget that it all started at the House of HuG.

An Update from the Beach House

Home sweet home in New Zealand. This place is truly one of a kind. New Zealand has been beckoning me since I was a kid, and as I've grown the list of reasons to come has steadily grown with me. Maybe it's the awe inspiring diverse landsapes that vary from the endless summer beaches in the north to the huge snow covered peaks in the south, giving you the option to surf and snowboard all in the same day (I know, it boggles my mind too). Or maybe it's the fact that you only hear stories of friendly New Zealanders. Or maybe what attracts me is the fact that they don't feel the need to police the rest of the world and instead focus more on their own domestic issues, like not allowing genetically engineered crops or nuclear energy. It's for these reasons I will always feel at home here.
So it's been exactly two weeks since we landed in Auckland, and it has been a non stop adventure from the time we stepped off the plane. I've got to admit I was stressed about not knowing if we would even be allowed in due to Siri not having a visa, but after 30 minutes her passport was stamped and it was time to let the adventure begin. We left customs and walked through an empty airport to the baggage claim where we found a massive empty room with nothing but our two duffel bags sitting on the floor, so we picked them up and began our journey to downtown Auckland. We walked up to the bus ticket window, saw the price of the tickets and quickly decided to try and hitchhike to town. The ticket lady looked shocked when I told her we were going to hitch it and asked what direction town was, and and all she had to say was, "I hope I don't see you in the paper tomorrow." So we both walked away a little wary, but stoked. We wandered through the parking lot for about 5 minutes and found a ride with a guy from New Caledonia and his mom, and they drove us out of their way right to downtown Auckland. After a failed attempt at giving the guy gas money, we settled with a "thank you" and a "cheers" and went on our way. We walked about a block and found a hostel, walked in and decided this would be our spot for the night. We gave the man $50 for the two of us, dropped our bags and went out to see the town. Auckland is a beautiful city -- giant contemporary styled buildings interspersed with smaller old brick and vine covered buildings, steep rolling streets and wide cobblestone alleys. We made it back to the hostel around dark and settled in for the night.
The next morning we got up early and went out again to see the town. On our journey we went to the boat harbor, saw the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, and sat in the park and watched a wackanut in short shorts fro his ginger hair, shave his nipples, and take a dip in the fountain. After that we went and checked out the University of Auckland and made our way back to the hostel to make plans for the next day. When we got back we realized that the hostel price had tripled and that, along with all the others in that area, it was booked out for the Rugby World Cup that weekend. So we started searching desperately for a way out of the city. I managed to contact a WWOOF host, and I think she could sense the desperation in my voice, because she offered to take us that night and told me she would pick us up around six in a town three hours south. This gave us about four hours to get there, so I immediately started looking for bus tickets and found that a train-bus-taxi combo would get us there right at six, so we grabbed our gear and made our way to the train station. We got there and I saw right away that the train was leaving in ten minutes to Papakura so we bought the ticket and ran to the train and made it as they were shutting the door. Catching rides by the skin of our teeth seems to be a reaccuring theme on this trip. On the train I got a phone call from Annie, and she said that she would pick us up in Pukekohe, which saved us the bus and taxi ride. We got off the train in Papakura and waited in the park for her to pick us up for about an hour, which is when we received a phone call from her husband Sean asking us where we were. I proceded to tell him we were in Papakura, which is when he told me we were supposed to meet in Pukekohe a half hour away. I felt horrible, but seriously, Papakura and Pokekohe-- anybody could have done it. So Annie came by a half hour later with a smile on her face and drove us to her orchard in Miranda which was on the East Coast on the Firth of Thames. We spent the next week at her and her husband's farm with another German WWOOFer named Simon. We woke up in the mornings to fresh squeezed orange juice everyday. After breakfast we would work for five hours around the farm laying mulch around the crops as an herbicide, eating oranges, picking oranges, mowing, eating more oranges, working in the shop, and eating homemade yogurt and more oranges. I ate so many oranges that my mouth stung whenever I thought of oranges. Every night we would eat dinner with Annie, Sean, and Simon and end the night with tea and delicious chocolate, which really taught me to appreciate the simple things in life. We also got to watch the Rugby final at the local pub, and fully enjoyed observing the drunken celebration dancing...Go All Blacks! Near the end of our stay Simon, Siri and I decided to go to the Hot Water Beach, which is a beautiful beach an hour and a half drive up the Coromandel Peninsula. At the Hot Water Beach you can dig your own little hot spring in the sand 2 hours either side of low tide and relax up until the time that the cold ocean water breaks over the little sand walls you've built and lets you know it's time to head home. After our pool was washed away, we packed our stuff and headed back to the farm. About an hour into the return trip I realized that I had left our new camera back at the beach on a rock and began to cry uncontrollably. I didn't actually cry, but it really did suck to realize all of our pictures from the trip so far were either with some French tourist or getting swept away with the tide. After we got to the house I jumped in the driver seat only to realize I was in the passenger seat, switched sides, and drove back to the beach on the left side of the road (most of the time), only to find the huge ocean waves pounding into the rocks I had set the camera on. It was a sad day. I managed to come to terms with the loss of "my precious" on the beautiful drive home.

After about a week we decided to make our way to our next WWOOF host Dean Martin's house on the other side of the island in Port Waikato. We left the orchard and began hitchhiking around 8:30 and quickly began to realize that we were in the middle of nowhere after watching the sixth car go by in an hour. We finally got picked up by a really nice lady who drove us to the next town and gave us a fairwell hug and two granola bars. The next ride was by a younger girl who was stoked about everything and decided to take us out of her way to the next town we needed to go to, just because she wanted to see it too. After her ride we threw our bags on our backs and immediately took them off again to throw them into the back of an old fisherman's truck. This old guy, Jacko, was a riot. He happened to live in Port Waikato and he knew Dean. He told us stories about New Zealand and his own travel experiences the whole way into town. After about twenty minutes in the car, I looked over and noticed that Jacko didn't seem to be wearing any pants, and I began to think of ways to tell him, "bro, please let us out here." After inspecting the situation further, I was relieved to see that he was wearing pants, but they were just really short and hidden by his sweater. I also noticed he was wearing galoshes... short shorts and galoshes. The funny thing was he wasn't the first person we saw in this attire. We pulled up to Dean's house, jumped out of the truck and said our goodbyes.
So here we are in Port Waikato and damn LIFE IS GOOD! Port Waikato is a small surf town made up of about 350 people, a few dogs, a couple stray cats, a goat and a "heap" of avid surfers. I knew when I started this trip that Siri and I would be traveling on a shoestring, but I had no idea that meant staying at a little beach house equipped with surf boards, wet suits and lessons 20 meters from the beach. And not just any beach either, they call it Sunset Beach for a reason. This place is undescribably beautiful. We've spent the last week and a half working a couple hours in the morning, taking a two hour break around 10:00 to surf, then working a few more hours and ending the day with long walks on the beach. In that time I have managed to catch some waves, learn a bunch about surfing, watch some bad ass surfers, and get stung by a jelly fish. This place is paradise and the low tide walks on the beach will be etched into my memory forever.
So far New Zealand has repeatedly boggled my mind and has been everything I could have hoped for and more. With each passing day I am convinced over and over again that this will be a place I call home in the very near future. And from what I've heard we haven't even made it to the good stuff yet.
So until next time,
Cheers, Mate.