Jordan and I are working women. We've done the impossible: found immediate employment in Raglan. Now if only we had somewhere to live...
We move from backpackers to backpackers trying to find something equally cheap/close to town/with hot showers, but nothing meets all our criteria.
We ask around everywhere for WWOOFing opportunities and scour TradeMe but it seems as if we're out of luck.
Finally, a glimmer of hope: I receive an email back from the manager at Karioi Lodge stating that she may have two openings in housekeeping.
We're over the moon, especially when we drive out there and see just how incredible the lodge property is. Sprawling lush jungle and stunning ocean views on acres and acres.
We meet with the manager, she's sweet and friendly and it seems that we are a show in, until she asks:
"Are you looking for work while you're here?"
We tell her we both already have jobs. Her face falls.
"Unfortunately, we've discussed it and recently decided we would no longer accept WWOOFers who have other jobs. There are days we will need you to work into the evening and we can't work around another schedule. Besides, you want to have time to enjoy your stay in Raglan right? Sorry. You're welcome to rent a campsite while you're getting your accommodation sorted out."
Disappointed, we do end up staying a few days, but the lodge is not without its flaws. There's a huge front gate that is locked at 8 pm daily, our camping spot is small and narrow and involves navigating the van at a 70 degree angle AND making it up a steep gravel hill. On top of that, there is zero phone service in the area making pick ups and ride to work arrangements nearly impossible for us.
No matter, we make the most of our time there and get to know many of the other travellers living and working at the lodge.
The next night Jordan and I head into town to meet up with Maddy who is in town visiting.
We wander down the long gravel driveway, through the dell of sparkling glow worms and all the way down to the street where we intend to hitchhike into town.
When we reach the road, we are less than hopeful. Because the lodge is situated next to nothing, far out of town, there is no passing traffic.
We start to walk and soon a car approaches. We both jut out our thumbs with no expectations, but the car roles to a stop and the owner opens his door and beckons us in. He's a nice local just coming in from a surf. We chit-chat and he drops us off at the backpackers.
We can't call Maddy because she doesn't have a phone and we can't go into the backpackers because it's locked and they don't allow outside visitors. We begin wandering around the building, peering into the windows like creeps, but still, no sign of her. We describe her to a large group sitting outside, but none of them have seen her. Now what?
We sit down with the group and have a beer, hopeful that she'll come outside in search of us.
There are many Canadians amongst us and one pair is from Tofino. We marvel at the fact that we never crossed paths back in Tofino, but instead met halfway across the world.
Maddy does eventually appear and we all make our way down to the beach.
Jordan and I decide to head back and begin the ordeal of hitchhiking home. A group of drunk guys in a van stop. They're hammered and insistent that we come to a party down the street. We politely and venomously decline. Another group of guys stops, they also try to convince us to attend the party, but we would rather take our chances walking.
We're not even half way and the road begins to get sketchy: no sidewalks, no streetlights, no light of any kind. We're terrified of getting hit by a car so we stand well to the side in the best lit area and stick our thumbs out to the first approaching car we've seen in ages.
Thankfully, the driver stops. His name is Blake and he gladly drives us to our location, even though it's a bit out of the way. We make small talk and tell him of our housing conundrum.
"I have a cabin on my property that I sometimes rent out, I may be able to help you guys out."
He gives us his number and tells us to call the next day.
We hike up the pitch black driveway to our awaiting van. As we come around the corner we are met with a pair of glowing eyes: a possum. He steps towards us in curiosity.
"Shoo!" I yell and kick rocks at him. He is not phased.
He continues to rapidly approach and get unnervingly close to us. We run past him and start climbing in the van. We look down and he's directly at our feet, poised to jump into the van. Jordan lets out a blood curdling scream and without thinking I punch her in the arm.
In the morning our neighbour laughs and says, "You guys must have met Phil the Possum last night!"
The net day we get in touch with Blake to view his property. HIs family owns practically all of Manu Bay. Blake himself is an ignominy: he is a professional boxer, tattoo artist, amateur musician and deep sea diver. He has a tattoo studio and a recording studio set up on his land. He hosts well-known New Zealand artists like Katchafire and Che Fu whenever they visit town and owns Bob Marley's original drum kit. The man is Raglan royalty (literally, his family is descended from Maori royals.)
[Side Note: later in the week I would meet a cousin of his at Sunday Sesh who laughed when I mentioned his name. "Blake has a reputation for constantly talking, he always wants people around and he'll never want you to leave. He's sort of famous for that."]
He insists we stay for dinner and is constantly asking if we need anything. We hardly discuss the accommodation except for the fact the cabin has no power or running water. Blake also has a terrifying guard dog. We're not totally convinced, but at least we have an option.
The next night, after getting off work I leave the van for Jordan and begin hitchhiking back to the lodge. Severals cars pass before a couple stops to pick me up. They are on their way to the beach to drink whiskey and want to stop at their house to pick up ice before dropping me off and heading to the beach. While the guy, Sean, is in the house, his girlfriend Vicky turns and asks me where I'm living.
"Right now we're living in our van, but we're looking for something a little more permanent," I tell her.
"Really? Sean has a room that he rents out to travellers, you could probably move in here."
When Sean returns, Vicky relays my story to him.
"Lately I've been thinking of renting out the room again. I've always gotten along well with my Canadian renters, I had another girl from Tofino stay with me for a while."
They drop me off and Sean gives me his number, "We were meant to meet. Call me about the room, it's available for you guys to move in anytime."
I'm ecstatic.
The next morning I have to work. I'm exhausted from only a couple hours of sleep, the repercussions of attending the lodge's Salsa Party. I lay in the van debating whether or not I should bother showing up for work, because here's the thing about my job: I
hate it.
It's easily the worst job I've ever had.
Granted it's super easy, straight forward work, but its a tourist trap.
The other employees are a Cambodian family that are constantly telling me conflicting information and love to yell my name:
"FRAN! Help customer!"
"FRAN! Take drinks!"
"FRAN! Run food!"
All the while I'm thinking, "Cinderelly, Cinderelly, wash the dishes, do the laundry!"
They can never read my bills and hate my printing, they want me to relearn to write. Apparently my 2s look like 3s and my 0s seem to represent 6s.
Every time I put a bill up in the kitchen the Kiwi chef has something so say about how useless I am.
"Learn how to write your numbers like a Kiwi!" He bellows at me, "Fuckin' Canadians!"
I am concerned he may actually be totally insane, because obviously my printing is flawless and he needs glasses.
While discussing my work "situation" with the lodgers the previous night, I was met with multiple warnings about how they may fire me with no warning and try not to pay me.
God, I just want to quit. I lay in bed debating: On the one hand, I need the money. On the other hand I may bust my ass off for 10 hours straight and never see a dime for it. I finally decide to go in (I've never left my co-workers high and dry before and I don't intend to start) and make it through the door at 7:00 on the nose (by some divine miracle!) and struggle through my work day.
I meet up with Jordan and we head to our new/temporary home at the backpackers in town. I shower and eat and we sit sipping beers with Maddy, Erica and a few others. We make our way into town and attend our first (of many) Sunday Session.
Sunday Sesh is an event every Sunday (duh) it starts promptly at 4:20 and goes until 1:00 am. The local bar, the Yot Club, closes off all of Volcom Alley and sets up a stage where they feature heaps of DJs and reggae bands along with $5 beers. It's always a gong show and a good way to meet other travellers.
We dance, we socialize, aside from a couple random bumps, it's a successful night. I return to the backpackers and dread another full work day on little to no sleep.
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| Sunday Sesh |
I'll spare the gory details, but I survive the next day and meet up with Jordan and Maddy so we can go eat pizza.
But first, since I've clearly written Sean's number down incorrectly and cannot get a hold of him I suggest we stop by his house on the way and see is he's home.
I manage to find it and Sean is home and invites us in. He shows us around and tells us we can move in tomorrow, but wants to make sure we all vibe. Something about him is a little... off.
Firstly, his face and skull are deformed from having reconstructive surgery following a terrible car accident, he tells us this in detail and goes onto say he lacks short term memory and has some brain damage. He's an incredible sculptor who creates traditional pieces out of animal bone, but he's just a strange guy. He doesn't like closed doors in his house, he doesn't like people in the kitchen when he's trying to cook, he doesn't like people coming over, he doesn't like a lot of things...
But he's offering us a place to live along with the freedom to move out anytime, so we agree.
Maddy picks up on his bizarre energy and tries to persuade us to keep camping, but we NEED a home base, at least for now.
Luckily, Jordan has a co-worker who is leaving town and offers us her bedroom to rent, fully furnished with two beds. We only spend a week at Sean's but it feels like a lifetime. For someone who claims to be "laid back" he has a lot of pointless rules. Rules on when to use the bathroom fan, rules where to hang our laundry, rules for disposing of rubbish (he wants us to cut up every piece of trash into a million pieces before throwing it away.) He talks endlessly about nothing and everything from philosophy, to energy, but mostly about himself. He loves blasting 90's music at all hours of the day. One day I come home and Jordan informs me that she now has "Things That Make You Go Hmm" stuck in her head. "Sean is my thing that makes me go 'Hmm,'" she tells me.
One day I mention that I want to surf and he insists I take out his longer board, right now, this instant, while the tide is still high. I wearily accompany him down to the beach where we discover: there is no leash on the board and it's actually a bigger day than either of us expected. Nonetheless, Sean insists on taking me out for a lesson in the crowded line up. I'm utterly terrified and cut the lesson short.
Sean is full of energy and insists we walk down the beach. At the end, we watch as the tide recesses bringing all the water that has entered the inlet in town with it. Two paddle boarders with a dog are ripping across the inlet.
"Watch," Sean says, "I bet they'll cut across the point and get stuck in the current."
As predicted, the pair get sucked out by the current and are soon fighting against the oncoming waves from every direction, making no progress and wasting energy.
I could care less about the stupid people, it's the dog I'm truly concerned for. He can barely stay atop the board and looks terrified.
Sean yells over to a group of people who call up the coast guard.
"Should we wait and make sure they're alright?" I ask in horror.
"There's nothing we can do now, except say a prayer for them," with that, he begins bellowing out a Maori prayer at the top of his lungs while people look on in confusion.
We watch the lifeguard boat arrive. We try to wave it in the direction of the SUPers. When it reappears on the beach, we run over and enquire about the people. They're okay, the dog too.
"I hope you confiscated their boards!" Sean says.
Days later, we pack up and move into our new home in Lorenzen Bay. Our roommates are wicked, from Germany and England, and although the landlord lives on the property, he has his own space and keeps to himself.
We begin to finally settle into our new home away from home.
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| The Beach |
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| Surfers waiting in the line up at Manu Bay |
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| Raglan Township |
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| Whale Bay at Sunset |
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| Raglan Mainstrip at Sunrise |
