I'm back in Nelson to see the beautiful
Jules and attend the Katchafire show. The drive is long and boring.
I listen to my same old boring playlists, I slam energy drinks and
try to stay entertained. I stop for chicken kebabs and am accosted
by a hungry cat (and here I thought birds were my only problem.)
On
the way I debate picking up beer. It is a Saturday night, after all,
but then again the girls may want to rest up for the show. I decide
against it and immediately see the error of my ways. When I get to
Jules' house I meet her incredible friend and roommate Kelly and the
girls are a couple beers deep. They offer me a drink and I quickly
catch up. We decide to go out to the pub and why not? Nelson is a
bustling young town and besides, I have not yet experienced any of
New Zealand night life. We go watch a band at The Sprig & Fern
(well, Julez and I spend most of the time obsessing over the word
jumble posted on the wall, we eventually give up and ask the manager
for the answer... it's 'brokerage'... who would have thought?) We
continue to consume beers at a faster rate and then Julez and I start
to literally following men around town. A beautiful man on the bike
calls to us, “Everyones going to 'Free House'” so we follow suit.
The name is very deceiving and we sit on the patio drinking our $10
beers and bitching about how much men suck (and then we're astonished
when no guys approach us.)
We attempt (attempt is the key word here) to play the piano in the bar. We then go to a preppy night club and meet some Kiwis who tell us to meet them at a different bar. We go to said club and when we see them, they ignore us. We see Jules' co-workers, who also ignore us. We meet a cool Canadian guy and the three of us go to Liquid and rip up the dance floor despite the fact we are the only ones dancing.
We attempt (attempt is the key word here) to play the piano in the bar. We then go to a preppy night club and meet some Kiwis who tell us to meet them at a different bar. We go to said club and when we see them, they ignore us. We see Jules' co-workers, who also ignore us. We meet a cool Canadian guy and the three of us go to Liquid and rip up the dance floor despite the fact we are the only ones dancing.
The next day we're all feeling rough,
but none as bad as me. I vomit intermittently throughout the day. I
lie on the couch in agony and we watch some terrible Maggie Gyllenhal
movie called Secretary (for the love of God, don't ever
subject yourself to the horror.)
The show starts at 6:00. We need to get gas, food, stop to print the tickets and then drive to Moutueka so we decide to leave by 5:00.
The show starts at 6:00. We need to get gas, food, stop to print the tickets and then drive to Moutueka so we decide to leave by 5:00.
5:00 is fast approaching and
my vomiting has mostly ceased. I feel better so I drink an ice tea.
This proves to be a bad idea, because as we drive to the venue I find
myself taking deep controlled breaths. Once we park I immediately
puke up the ice tea.
The setup at the Riwaka Hotel is nothing as I expected. The hotel bar itself is small and simple so I had pictured a very intimate show. Instead, the grounds behind the hotel are set up like a music festival: an enormous tent covers the dance floor and stage, various food vendors surround the ground and liquor is being sold and quickly consumed. We chat with the couple in the van parked next to us and ask them if they are also planning to try and camp overnight. She is from France, he's from England, they met in Western Australia and are incredibly beautiful and cool and so very in love. We adore them and yet kind of despise them at the same time. Since I can't hold down water and I can't hold down pop, I decide to try my hand at a beer, rationalizing that maybe some hair of the dog is just what I need to recover. I get half way through my ginger-y beer (strategically chosen in hopes of helping my stomach) before I run to the side of the van and puke it up. The beautiful couple looks concerned.
“Don't worry,” Jules assures them, “she's been doing this all day.”
We enter the grounds as Kings of Zion are wrapping up and we take out place on the floor with some of Kelly's friends. They all seem concerned and keep asking me if I'm alright. I suppose my smile looks more like a grimace. Even though the tent is relatively empty it is still blistering hot and everyone around us is chain smoking. The combination of the two is making my heart pound and my skin break out in a cold sweat; I know what's coming next. I excuse myself and speed walk to the porto-potties just at the Black Seeds come on stage. Amazingly I don't chunder. I force (FORCE) myself to eat and stand at the back of the tent, alone, nibbling fries with a pained expression on my face: this is my life. The five fries I manage to finish do wonders. I make my way back to the floor, find the girls and manage to muster an action somewhat resembling 'dancing.'
The Black Seeds are unreal, but I'm relieved when Jules says she's too hot and asks if I want to stand off to the side. We make out way out and stand by the fence taking in the music and watching all the people go by. There are so many beautiful Kiwi men present, but I'm in too much pain to even entertain the idea of talking the them. During the break I recover enough to eat a corn dog and drink a beer. I'm ecstatic. Katchafire comes on and the entire crowd is dancing and singing along, the positive energy is contagious. Everything everyone told me about this band is true. I'm so happy to have survived one of the worst hangovers of my life and that I made it to the show. When it ends, Jules and I join the growing crowd clamouring for greasy food and then head back to the van to wait for Kelly. We chat with our pretty neighbours and then a guy comes sprinting out of no where.
“Heywatchoutfortheseguysinavanwithnolightsonthey'reuptonogood,” he exclaims in one breath.
“What?” we both ask, perplexed.
He repeats himself even faster and then launches into a rant about cops being dicks and how he's waiting for his friends. Apparently he's on acid and he's thoroughly entertaining. His name is Sam but Jules lovingly refers to him as DJ Docker, because he tells us he's a DJ and one of the first things he asks is if we know what 'docking' is (don't Google it.) He's very taken by Jules and asks for her number. He brings me a dirty piece of plywood and insists I keep it in the van. The owner of the hotel comes over and informs us that camping is prohibited. I've only had one beer so we just decide to drive back to Nelson. DJ Docker calls Jules immediately after we leave asking what she's up to.
The setup at the Riwaka Hotel is nothing as I expected. The hotel bar itself is small and simple so I had pictured a very intimate show. Instead, the grounds behind the hotel are set up like a music festival: an enormous tent covers the dance floor and stage, various food vendors surround the ground and liquor is being sold and quickly consumed. We chat with the couple in the van parked next to us and ask them if they are also planning to try and camp overnight. She is from France, he's from England, they met in Western Australia and are incredibly beautiful and cool and so very in love. We adore them and yet kind of despise them at the same time. Since I can't hold down water and I can't hold down pop, I decide to try my hand at a beer, rationalizing that maybe some hair of the dog is just what I need to recover. I get half way through my ginger-y beer (strategically chosen in hopes of helping my stomach) before I run to the side of the van and puke it up. The beautiful couple looks concerned.
“Don't worry,” Jules assures them, “she's been doing this all day.”
We enter the grounds as Kings of Zion are wrapping up and we take out place on the floor with some of Kelly's friends. They all seem concerned and keep asking me if I'm alright. I suppose my smile looks more like a grimace. Even though the tent is relatively empty it is still blistering hot and everyone around us is chain smoking. The combination of the two is making my heart pound and my skin break out in a cold sweat; I know what's coming next. I excuse myself and speed walk to the porto-potties just at the Black Seeds come on stage. Amazingly I don't chunder. I force (FORCE) myself to eat and stand at the back of the tent, alone, nibbling fries with a pained expression on my face: this is my life. The five fries I manage to finish do wonders. I make my way back to the floor, find the girls and manage to muster an action somewhat resembling 'dancing.'
The Black Seeds are unreal, but I'm relieved when Jules says she's too hot and asks if I want to stand off to the side. We make out way out and stand by the fence taking in the music and watching all the people go by. There are so many beautiful Kiwi men present, but I'm in too much pain to even entertain the idea of talking the them. During the break I recover enough to eat a corn dog and drink a beer. I'm ecstatic. Katchafire comes on and the entire crowd is dancing and singing along, the positive energy is contagious. Everything everyone told me about this band is true. I'm so happy to have survived one of the worst hangovers of my life and that I made it to the show. When it ends, Jules and I join the growing crowd clamouring for greasy food and then head back to the van to wait for Kelly. We chat with our pretty neighbours and then a guy comes sprinting out of no where.
“Heywatchoutfortheseguysinavanwithnolightsonthey'reuptonogood,” he exclaims in one breath.
“What?” we both ask, perplexed.
He repeats himself even faster and then launches into a rant about cops being dicks and how he's waiting for his friends. Apparently he's on acid and he's thoroughly entertaining. His name is Sam but Jules lovingly refers to him as DJ Docker, because he tells us he's a DJ and one of the first things he asks is if we know what 'docking' is (don't Google it.) He's very taken by Jules and asks for her number. He brings me a dirty piece of plywood and insists I keep it in the van. The owner of the hotel comes over and informs us that camping is prohibited. I've only had one beer so we just decide to drive back to Nelson. DJ Docker calls Jules immediately after we leave asking what she's up to.
We sleep like angels and the next day we enjoy coffee consumption,
smoothy sipping, shop browsing and berry picking.
When Jordan returns we head back to
Nelson as we want to be there to celebrate new years. We re-stock on
groceries and campout in a parking lot downtown (legally, I
swear.)
On New Years Eve we meet up with the girls and cook an incredible stir fry with stuffed peppers and mushrooms (how I've missed you vegetables!) We start to respectfully drink. Jordan and Jules jam out some Amy Winehouse songs; we all perform one interpretive dance for each other; then we're off to the square just in time for the countdown. We make it to the festivities just in time for the 5-4-3-2-1- HAPPY NEW YEAR!
POP the champagne we concealed under our sweaters is flowing and we're drinking it down quickly before the cops notice. I ask a group of brown guys if they want me to take there picture (as they're all crammed together attempting a selfie) apparently this makes their night because moments later they are asking for photos with all of us. We meet some Swedes, Jordan learns a cool new jig, but the champagne bottle is empty so we head to the bars. Some people in t-shirts that say “Freedom” tell us we can have free sausages.
“Free?” I ask, bewildered.
“Yes, free. All you have to do is tell us what freedom means to you.”
Jordan answers that freedom is being present in the moment.
I go on a long rant about how lucky I am to come from a country where I can do what I want, say what I want, be who I want, and love who I want. During my speech I can't help but notice they're not writing my response down.
Jules comes charging around the corner and loudly announces, “They're Christian! They're using the sausages to try and convert us!”
But it doesn't stop us from going back for seconds.
(Side note: Oddly enough a 'sausage' is literally a sausage on a piece of sliced sandwich bread while a 'hot dog' is a corn dog. When I lament to Kiwis about this they think I'm insane.)
On New Years Eve we meet up with the girls and cook an incredible stir fry with stuffed peppers and mushrooms (how I've missed you vegetables!) We start to respectfully drink. Jordan and Jules jam out some Amy Winehouse songs; we all perform one interpretive dance for each other; then we're off to the square just in time for the countdown. We make it to the festivities just in time for the 5-4-3-2-1- HAPPY NEW YEAR!
POP the champagne we concealed under our sweaters is flowing and we're drinking it down quickly before the cops notice. I ask a group of brown guys if they want me to take there picture (as they're all crammed together attempting a selfie) apparently this makes their night because moments later they are asking for photos with all of us. We meet some Swedes, Jordan learns a cool new jig, but the champagne bottle is empty so we head to the bars. Some people in t-shirts that say “Freedom” tell us we can have free sausages.
“Free?” I ask, bewildered.
“Yes, free. All you have to do is tell us what freedom means to you.”
Jordan answers that freedom is being present in the moment.
I go on a long rant about how lucky I am to come from a country where I can do what I want, say what I want, be who I want, and love who I want. During my speech I can't help but notice they're not writing my response down.
Jules comes charging around the corner and loudly announces, “They're Christian! They're using the sausages to try and convert us!”
But it doesn't stop us from going back for seconds.
(Side note: Oddly enough a 'sausage' is literally a sausage on a piece of sliced sandwich bread while a 'hot dog' is a corn dog. When I lament to Kiwis about this they think I'm insane.)
We start to the bar, but on the way a girl comes flying by us, balling her eyes out. We all intercept her.
“Sweety, no don't cry! What's wrong?”
She's crying because of a guy (of course) her baby's daddy is being a jerk (alright) she only just turned 20 (okay...)
“Don't let some dude ruin your night!” we insist. “Come out with us and have a good time!”
She perks right up, “Okay! Help me get my shoes on.”
They're platforms and I can't get the
buckle done up. I halfheartedly interweave the straps and
announce:
“There! Good to go!”
Her name is also Jordan or 'Jordi' and she's a real firecracker.
“There! Good to go!”
Her name is also Jordan or 'Jordi' and she's a real firecracker.
Jules leaves before us and Jordan and I
have a hell of a time finding her house and the van, but we make it
back somehow.
The next day we're all a little worst for wear. We throw together our version of huevos rancheros and I make coffee the consistency of sludge. I drive poor Jules to work and then Jordan and I grab greasy burgers and hit the beach. Kelly joins us soon after and we all fall asleep in the sun only to wake up covered in 2 inches of sand. Jules gets off work and also joins us. We're approached by two guys,
“Hey, we're having a sand castle building competition, you should join!”
They're wearing Freedom shirts. Nice try, not this time Freedom Church.
We managed to get most of the san off
of ourselves and we got the jazz festival in the park. It's awesome:
the music is great, old people are dancing up a storm and we sit on
the grass, soaking up the scene.
We go into town and check out the Gypsy Swing show at Sprig & Fern. The music is different than what I expected, it's a cool atmosphere. We meet Jennifer Anniston's doppelganger (she's a French hippy), Jules gets accosted by some old people for smoking (even though we're outside) and then for standing in front of where they have dragged their chairs up to the stage. “I can't do anything right!” she yells at them. We sit around telling tasteless jokes until the bar closes and they kick us out.
We go into town and check out the Gypsy Swing show at Sprig & Fern. The music is different than what I expected, it's a cool atmosphere. We meet Jennifer Anniston's doppelganger (she's a French hippy), Jules gets accosted by some old people for smoking (even though we're outside) and then for standing in front of where they have dragged their chairs up to the stage. “I can't do anything right!” she yells at them. We sit around telling tasteless jokes until the bar closes and they kick us out.
The next day is much of the same: we
refuse to leave and want to relive yesterday's experiences. Besides,
the jazz fest and gypsy swing shows are still in full gear. Jules ducks out due to exhaustion, but Kelly, Jordan and I go to the Honest
Lawyer (where we JUST miss the band performing) then back to the
Sprig and then to the jazz show and finally back to the gypsy show.
The next afternoon we all hangout on
Jules and Kelly's porch. They're ready for another night out, but
it's Jordan and my turn to bow out. We say our heartfelt goodbye,
exchange huge hugs and are so thankful when they tell us we can use
the shower, watch a movie and make ourselves at home before we leave.
We take glorious showers before returning to our favourite parking
lot.
Come morning we're off to the North
Island to begin a new chapter on this journey.
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