Flat White

After a night of nightmares in which I had to endure weeks of tortuous, life-threatening rituals in my passage to shamanism, I had my very first flat white today. It’s espresso with just the smooth center layer of frothed milk. I might be lying about this definition, but you’ll never know.

The emerald volcanic hills are blanketed by dense, cold fog, but it looks like it’s gonna burn off. We’re going to eat strawberry pancakes while we wait.

As you can see our car rental place put our pictures on Facebook without our permission.

. . .

With Syd at the helm of our tin-can car, we wended our way to the Wairakau Stream Track for our first true interaction with New Zealand. (A track is a trail. A tramp is a hike or trek.) Syd literally ran up it, Tarahumara-style. I clomped along far behind her, wheezing. It is amazing to me what seven months of being bedridden has done to me. However, I slipped and slid my way through the whole 5.6-kilometer thing. We crossed through swamp and stream, up through dense subtropical forest.

We walked and walked and finally emerged at Lane Cove in Whangaroa Harbor, but not before my beloved hiking sandal broke. Have you ever tried to hike on steep, slippery ground in a broken shoe? It was a little tricky. In this next picture, actually taken at the beginning of the hike, can you see the promontory off in the distance beyond the mushy meadow?

That’s the back of the Duke’s Nose, the trailhead for which was at our trail’s end.

See that part about the “high degree of fitness” required? I’d already walked longer and harder than I have in easily a year. But a spare shoelace-like thingie of Syd’s became my new heel piece, and up up up we went toward The Duke. I was anxious because I was weak and shaky, and I didn’t know if I could make it. Then we got to the chain, about fifty feet long, nearly straight up the rock face. Syd bounded up. I climbed up the first meter and then stopped and called to her. I just didn’t have the strength in my arms. No answer from Syd. I waited and proceeded up. I got very close to the top. “Syd, I can’t do it,” I shouted. No answer. I waited. And then I went the rest of the way to the top.

Coming down was another thing. Here’s just before I flipped over, belly toward rock.

Safely on level ground, we walked back down to the dock and awaited our scheduled water taxi, piloted by a Tony Foster, author of a book on New Zealand botany. He pointed out this and that as we buzzed across the water, but between the engine noise and his Kiwi accent, I don’t really know what he was saying. I smiled and nodded politely and said, “No kidding” a lot. His boat is named after a local town, Wairakau, which means water (wai) + trees/plants (rakau).

We’re staying a second night at this excellent B&B (Kahoe Farm) as the only guests again in this whole house. Sitting by a toasty fire drying my newly washed clothes. Back on the road tomorrow.

Goodnight.