Baaa

I forgot to brush my hair today.

I dreamed last night that my first husband approached me about getting back together. Do you realize it’s been 30 years since our family broke? He’d parted with his current wife and wanted me back. Hah. Still, it was a bittersweet dream.

At sunrise, a line of sheep went marching across the adjacent meadow, a brilliant streak of morning light along each back and clouds of steam puffing from each mouth. (They hadn’t brushed their hair either.)

Poor Syd has a cold. Yesterday our boat drove us right into a waterfall where brave souls (like us) could go on deck, step into the pelting, icy shower and fill a cup with fresh falls water. We, particularly Syd, got drenched, all for a little yellow-tinted water. It looked gross but we drank it, after the sacrifice we’d made to gather it. I don’t think the experience helped Syd’s health. She was damp and chilled for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, I’m pounding down echinacea and vitamin C and hoping for the best.

We had a slow start this morning before leaving Bob & Maxine’s backpackers’ lodge. Bob is a feisty character and Maxine is nuts. She’s like a spider in a web. When she spots you, she moves slowly toward you, head cocked to one side, and gets very, very close. Then she starts to whisper, hoping that you’ll get even closer. I took one look at her and tried to steer clear but her web is well-built. She caught me when I went to fetch my laundry from the dryer, wrapping me in her silk as she picked up things off her shelves to show me: a plastic airplane, someone’s business card, a photograph of some guy, a refrigerator magnet from France. I wriggled free and escaped out the door. We think she has a touch of Alzheimer’s, actually.

It took about four hours for me to drive from the west coast to the east, from Te Anau to Dunedin. The scenery, particularly after the stunning places we’ve been in the last days, was uneventful: just rolling farmland interspersed with 1960s and 70s suburban sprawl. The road took us through the towns of Mossburn (where they render all those deer I told you about yesterday), Gore and then Clinton (here they call the road “The Presidential Highway), Balclutha (intersected by the Clutha River, “New Zealand’s highest-volume river,” according to Lonely Planet) and Milton (with its very own coronation hall, whatever that is) before plunking us in Dunedin.

Dunedin was settled by pious Scots in the mid-1800s (“the Edinburgh of the South”) who did a lot of gold mining, and it’s home to the country’s oldest university. Guidebooks reach for superlatives in describing places, and so the Rough Guide points out that this is the second-largest city in the South Island. As a distinction, that’s a stretch. It’s known for its Gothic Revival and Victorian architecture, as well as the penguin and albatross colonies that dwell nearby on the Otago Peninsula. There is also a Cadbury chocolate factory. We don’t have time to see any of that.

We’re staying in Room 4 of the Arden Street House, high atop a hill overlooking the city. The decor is weird, even by my standards.

We wanted to stay at Hogwartz, a hostel in a Gothic building, but it’s closed for the winter.

Our B&B host is Joyce, of South Island Maori descent. Surprisingly, we’ve met few Maoris here. I hear their population is thin in the South Island and much more hearty up north. I still haven’t seen any old-timers with facial tattoos but haven’t given up hope.

After we got settled into our room I carefully removed my wallet, put it in my backpack and set out on the hour-long walk downtown (that’s half an hour in Kiwi time, remember) looking for food and Internet. We passed through the Dunedin Botanic Garden.

Inside the park were wintering rose bushes and a Lulu Belle camellia.

We entered a college-student neighborhood with a dozen kids sitting in overstuffed armchairs on the sidewalk drinking beer and smoking pot. The streets were lined with trashed Victorian duplexes with visible chaos inside and litter all over the sidewalk outside. Did I used to live like that? Yes.

We found food with no Internet and Internet with no food, but not both. We swallowed our sense of everything that’s right and went into the Golden Arches, where they have free Wifi. I reached in for my wallet, and… it wasn’t there. In it are my New Zealand dollars, my credit cards and my driver’s license. (My passport is tucked away in my suitcase.) Frantically I ripped everything out of my pack and my pockets. Nothing. I went into something like quiet shock and Syd moved into calm overdrive. In my head I was processing what would happen if the wallet wasn’t in my room. “Will I die? No. But I may have to go home.” I told Syd she could stay in town and I’d take a taxi back to our room, but she replied quickly, “I’m not leaving you.” She found us a bus that took us close to our lodging and then we walked the final steep bit. I was stony-faced, unable even to speak, distraught. I raced up the stairs, past the ugly mannequin and into the room. There was my wallet on the bed. I buried my face in the pillows with profound relief mixed with fury at my braindead self. This is the second time I’ve done this. Syd, bless her heart, sat by my side and talked me down.

Kiwi talk: will is wool.

Now we are having dinner at a restaurant called Filadelphio’s (no wifi, but abundant French fries, pumpkin soup and chicken salad). A Kiwi just came over and asked what is this device I’m typing on. I have an external keyboard for my iPad, so it does look a little different. He went away and then came back to chat us up, quite drunk. We politely escaped.

Would someone please tell me: what is the moon doing in the U.S. now? Is it full? I really need to know, because I’m astronomically very confused. Thank you in advance. Love, Baaa.