Purse?

At the airport, I found another man with a man purse. What distinguishes a man purse from a satchel? What makes it fit for a man? First, I think it needs to be made of canvas, much like Indiana Jones. It needs to be black, brown, or green. It needs massive webbing straps. Lastly, it can't be shaped like a woman's purse.  However, I wonder what ever happened to fanny packs. Maybe I'll bring the fanny pack back into fashion. If I had my way...

Sideways phone

I found a blogging application for my fancy pantsy new phone.  It is convenient to blog from anywhere, and I mean anywhere (bathrooms included).  The issue with blogging from the phone is that it wants to turn all of my pictures sideways (or at least all in a landscape orientation).  So please bare with my sideways blogs, until I can discover the secrets of the blog-from-phone.   

A little birdie told me

I frequented McDonalds on my trip more times than I'd like to admit.  They have free wifi, so I was able to check the weather and say hello to family. They have McCafes down under, which serve fairly good coffee. Therefore, coffee and free internet=happy Dave.

My hotel or a haunted house?

As an aside, I stayed at a wonderful establishment during my first and last night on the north island. Shame on them for the first night, shame on me for the second.  The hotel was in downtown Hamilton. The communal bathroom had water covering the floor. There was no heat. There was also construction going on in my part of the hotel. Other than all of this, it wasn't too bad.

Oh how I wish it would rain

Suffice it to say, I had a delayed start to my day after the Ireland game.  I had camped out on the beach in New Plymouth.  Afterwards, I took some dangerous pictures, not paying attention to the road while driving.  The original plan was to climb Taranaki after the game, but it was shrouded in a cloud, so I headed toward the center of the north island, hoping for better weather.  My fancy new phone told me it was a good idea.    

I chose to take the scenic route, which was through rolling green hills.  The landscape was beautiful.  As you may imagine, I saw many sheep.   

Driving the winding switchbacks is actually a lot of fun, especially with a manual car.  The drive starts out on a gravel road, which later turns into pavement.  It goes through a gorgeous gorge, continues into the hills, until the center of the north island, which is fairly volcanic. 

 There was a cool tunnel on the drive.  It is barely wide enough to fit a camper van, of which there are plenty in New Zealand.  I don't think it would fit a tractor/trailer.  I was even worried that I'd hit the walls with my little Nissan. Like typical country roads, I came upon some cows that blocked the pathway.  The best part is that the closest one started pooping as I drove by, as if I startled it.  I also saw, a wild pig and many rabbits on my drive.  Overall, it was very pleasant.  Next stop:  the volcanoes of Mordor.   

I'm the Leprechaun

Hooray, Rugby World Cup (RWC)!  I'd like to begin by saying that I was told that my accent was great multiple times.  I never knew people enjoyed the Chicago/Wisconsin accent...  I spent the first night watching rugby at a pub with a bunch of English fans.  The awesome part was that I saw fellow Americans at the pub.  It is so strange and satisfying to see other Americans down under.  There's a certain comfort in seeing one's own culture.    

Subsequently, I arrived in New Plymouth to watch the U.S.'s first game (Ireland).  The Irish were EVERYWHERE.  The majority drove campervans.  All hotels were booked, so I stayed at a Holiday Park, which consisted of only Irish fans.  I gave 4 a lift into the city.  They were drunk.. and drinking... a stereotype of the Irish. I soon joined the Irish stereotype.  I tailgated... and by that I mean that I drank in my parked car before the game... since the Kiwis apparently don't tailgate like Americans. 

The atmosphere was awesome.  I sat next to a Kiwi who was rooting for the U.S.  He kept trying to coax me into heading to the rugby club pub after the game.. and I didn't need much coaxing.  Suffice it to say, it took me awhile to stumble out of my tent the following morning.. but then again it took awhile for everyone to stumble out of the Holiday Park that morning.

Doesn't this guy look like a Chicago-ite?

To rock and not to roll

 Street performers in Melbourne are called Buskers. Although, it may be true that they are named that as well in the States.  Since I came from a small town, I may be naive in the exciting city activity, known as busking.  One of my favorites is the human statue.  This doesn't work very well in the wind when wearing giant wings.  The statuesque form tends to be a little too dynamic.  On such days, statues need to pack up their bags and leave the busking to others.  

There is also a ninja card magician that does some busking in downtown Melbourne.  There are a variety of painters.  Some paint the tourists, some paint giant murals, some just paint graffiti.  I have seen sword swallowers as well.  However, the most prevalent busking art is the guitar playing type.  They are a dime a dozen.  However, I do feel like I have my own soundtrack as I stroll down the street.     

I have considered the activity of busking as well.  Hence, I bought a guitar.  So far my neighbors have been the only people that have been able to enjoy my sweet sounds that I produce.  By sweet, I mean out of tune, out of rhythm, singing and sporadic strumming.  My goal is to eventually walk down the street with my guitar and to play my own soundtrack, instead of relying on the other buskers.  I'll have a dark tune for strolling down dark alleys and I'll have a melancholy song for cloudy days, etc...  It would be even more fun to start following people and to play to their walking and activities.  If I had my way.....