I just got rocked.  Thirty minutes of mouth hanging wide open - "Did that just happen?" - rocked.  Because of Allison's rave reviews of the new show "Duck Dynasty", I decided to give it a go.  The Robertson's, a Louisiana family from West Monroe, have apparently been makin big dollars in the duck call business.  It's a family business, with a crazy uncle, half a dozen brothers, some grandkids, a cookin grandmama, and a papa bear duck call inventor.  Megan Buhrow, don't watch this show.  There were shotgun rounds unloaded on a beaver, ducks swimming in a loading dock pond, three dozen frogs caught, chopped up, skinned, and basted in buttermilk, and five grown men who had yaks growing out of their face...a southern trifecta with a cherry on top if you ask me.

Here is a peppering of wisdom from this newly minted family:
"Willie went off and got educated.  He wears suits.  I’ve never bought a suit in my life.  He’s a suit man now.  The life of a CEO, that’s what your brother’s into.  When I look at Willie, I think - you’d be lookin for a can to put a dollar in, or a sign saying the end is near."

"If you’re too busy to duck hunt, to catch fish, then you’re too busy."

"I would rate Jason Robertson as one of the greatest frog catchers of all time.  He’ll sacrifice life and limb to get the frogs. "

And finally...my favorite - marriage advice from papa Robertson.  Keep in mind, this soliloquy comes while he is ripping the skin of a dozen bull frogs (after chopping their heads off of course to an accompanying croak that apparently leaves the frog's throat when you chop).      

"Don’t marry some yuppy girl, you know what I’m sayin?  Find you a meek, gentle, kind spirited, country girl.  If she knows how to cook and she carries her bible, and she loves to eat bullfrogs, now there’s a woman.  See what I’m sayin?  The first prerequisite for marrying a woman in my opinion – can she cook?  You gonna be there for 50 years and you don’t even know if she can cook?  What kind of thinking is that?  Well we’ll just live off love…not really, you’ll starve to death.   She doesn’t have to be a pretty one.  It’s hard to get a pretty one to cook and carry a bible anymore.  Pass me another frog. " 

Good thing Willie Robertson wasn't around sooner...I'm pretty sure he could've gotten the Republican nomination.  Oh man.  I love Murica.  

  

It's almost midnight on Tuesday, and the night is about to spill over into the dawn of Anzac Day. Like Memorial Day, Anzac Day is the day of rememberence for NZ and Australian soldiers who fought and died in Gallipoli during World War I.  Poppies are pinned to the lapels of men and women throughout the city in remembrance of those soldiers who have left this earth in defense of New Zealand's freedom.  There is a parade at 5:45 a.m. - a parade I will not make it to...

I have always loved school.  I can remember smiling inside when a teacher would assign something that I secretly could not wait to research...and rolling my eyes at my desk when I could hear the other kids around me mumble and groan at the mere prospect of homework.  I haven't turned into one of those grumblers, but I can tell you that I'm not flying high above my peers anymore.  Graduate school has done a number on my academic cockiness, and I can tell you with 100% certainty that I am finally being challenged.  Finals are the third week of June.  In between now and then, I've got a stack of papers to research, write, and re-write, and a heck of a lot of in class presentations to get on top of.  Somewhere in there, I need to fit in a few hundred pages of reading.  Trekking around the North Island last week satisfied my thirst for travel for the time being, but these gorgeous views from the library / my bedroom / all the classrooms on campus make me itch to get outside.  My mind wanders constantly, and I'm practically worthless during the day.  This leads to late late nights in the quiet of the library, a time of day that I can completely focus.  Tonight, I'm making leaps of progress.  Tomorrow night, who knows.  This ebb and flow of productivity makes it hard to stick to a schedule, but I'm getting the hang of it slowly.  I'm not sure that I'll ever get used to having to look up the words of my homework assignment before I can get started, but hey - I'm learning right?   


 

  



 

We started out the night like civilized folks...and then the Rotarians turned us into this!  District Conference 2012 for the win!  

Mount Ngawhikaflocka?  Mount Nockawamawika?  What is that thing called?!  "It's Mount Doom from Lord of the Rings.  Just call it that."  Fine, Mount Doom it is.

Our trip up to this point has been delectable.  The three of us travel well together, and I completely enjoy the company of Holly and Jana.  Until today.  Today I hate Holly.  Let me tell you why.

We wake up around 7 and pack up in anticipation of an 8 hour tramp that will lead us to the summit of Mt. Doom.  According to the wiki, Mount Ngauruhoe is an active stratovolcano or composite cone in New Zealand, made from layers of lava and tephra. It is the youngest vent in the Tongariro volcanic complex on the Central Plateau of the North Island, and first erupted about 2,500 years ago. Although seen by most as a volcano in its own right, it is technically a secondary cone of Mount Tongariro.

Mount Ngawakaflaka has apparently erupted 45 times in the 20th century.  We did not read this before ascending, not that it would have stopped any of us.  Throughout the last week, we have been consulting a guidebook that takes you sort of off the beaten path.  This has worked like a charm for us up to this point, so we figure hey, let's take this guy's advice on Tongariro - don't do the crossing, climb Mt. Doom instead.  About 1.5 hours into our hike, we get to the base of Mt. Doom.  It looks a lot smaller from far away, so I'm starting to have some doubts here.  There are no plants on this mountain, just loose topsoil and small rocks.  We start our climb, and it becomes quickly apparently that we will probably die on this volcano.  I'm not trying to be dramatic here, but I absolutely hated this fuming spire of loose dirt.  Holly, our haas of a leader, (who is doing the NZ Ironman in March I might add) is miles ahead of us and quickly getting impatient with Jana and me.  At one point, Jana has to break out her inhaler and take a drag, because her lungs are starting to act up.  I'm sure it had to do with the sulfurous gases, but hey, we are already on the way up she says.  (German boss that one)  


Eventually, we are dragging ourselves up the few big rocks towards the top, trying to find a place to dig our feet so we don't slide straight backwards.  It is a rough few hours, but we finally make it.  Holly is absolutely over us after the ascent, so she decides to descend immediately and do some of the crossing.  "Good riddance you damn racehorse" I think to myself as she scrambles down the side and becomes invisible to my eyes.  Jana and I sit at the summit for a while and curse this blasted mountain.  Looking down into the crater, I take a bite of my soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich and think hateful thoughts at the mountain.  It is beautiful up here...stunning actually.  The sort of beauty that sort of takes your breath away.  I take out my iphone, call Alex, and let him give me a pep talk to put under my hat so that I can actually get off this damn thing.

The volcano is steep, and going down is 100x worse than going up.  There were points where it was too steep to walk down, so we just had to sit on our buts and slide.  The ground is very hot beyond the base layer of dirt, and it doesn't take long for us to bolt back up and hope we don't lose our footing.  Maybe this "off the beaten track" hike wasn't the best idea.  At long last, we make it down the mountain, and the sun is setting in front of us.  I pull out my hand mirror to make sure I haven't cut my face during my last tumble, and I see streaks of dirty tear lines on my face.  That's right friends, I cried coming down that mountain.  I took a good long tumble and had no idea if I was going to stop falling or not.  At that point, all dignity was out the window.  

Let me tell you - I absolutely love being outside.  I love to hike.  I once hiked a 14er in Colorado, and I remember LOVING every second of it.  It was a grueling 24 ascent, and we killed it.  Amazing.  I am not a sissy.  But for some reason, this volcano and I did not gel.  I'm going back to do the actual crossing this year, but me and Mt. Doom, done.  Forever.  Jana and I joked about sending each other emails every April to remind each other about this horrible day. 

Now that there are a few days in between my cuts, bruises, sore legs and the mountain, I'm thinking ... if my worst day in NZ so far was climbing a mountain I didn't love, are things really that bad?  The answer, no - things are amazing.  I still love NZ, I just did not love that blasted rock.  Holly climbed Mt. Doom and did the entire Tongariro Crossing in 7 hours.  It should've taken her maybe 12...she was actually waiting for us at the other end for an hour before we made it to her in the Sunny.  When we picked her up in the pitch black parking lot, she is doing a Beyonce dance all by herself.  "Ahhh man, I kind of love her again" I think to myself.  We head home that night and collapse into the hot tub at our hostel, again into the showers, and finally, into our beds.  The trip has finally come to a close.  I have become addicted to travel in this country, and I am counting down the days until our next break.  Coromandel, South Island, Stewart Island, Australia...these are all on the list.  It's going to be a good year.  

Driving out of Rotorua, we make a few pit stops at Huka Falls and Craters of the Moon National Park.  The water at Huka Falls is completely 100% blue.  It looks like one of those mini golf course lakes that could be that good kool-aid flavor, you know the Icy Blue or whatever it is.  I asked the guy standing next to us "How in the world could it be so blue?"  "Water is that supposed to be that color, and humans just haven't gotten the chance to mess this batch up yet."  

The Huka Falls jet boats are out in full swing as it's yet another gorgeous day.  This boat drives right up to these waterfalls and does spins and hard reverses and hydroplanes whilst slingshotting squealing passengers around like mad.  We watch from above in amusement as these banchees scream and squeal and get absolutely soaked.  I am still struck by the color of this water.  The water is flowing hard now and the sound soothes me into a trance.  We just look at it for a while, basking in the good fortune that led us to New Zealand.  

At Craters of the Moon, we take a fun walkabout.  Again, the earth is hissing and sputtering as the steam jumps out of the fumaroles that dot the park.  There is a planked walkway throughout the 45 minute walk, and the lack of side rails just begs to be violated.  We walk a bit on the hot ground, but eventually get back to the planks.  I still haven't seen Lord of the Rings, but this place has been described to me as looking like Gollum's Lair.  Is Gollum that creepy wrinkly looking guy?  If so, I'm not trying to be his houseguest, so we make our stroll fairly short.  Like most of Rotorua, this place is captivating and absolutely begs to be just stared at in awe.  Giant holes in the ground with black inky pools of 200 degree boiling mud are strange, as is the rising steam in every direction that sort of gives you a hug as you walk by.  After our steam embrace, we are off to Taupo.  

We drive right to our hostel, the Urban Retreat, and check in.  After we shuck our things, we go to the isite visitor's center and find something to do with our afternoon.  Lake Taupo glistens just a few blocks away, so the Barbary sailboat excursion is the perfect find.  For $35 bucks, we get wine, a sausage sizzle, and three hours sailing on the lake.  The draw here is the Maori Rock Carvings.  Oh they are ancient I'll tell you - a whole thirty years ancient.  In 1980, a couple of artists decided to use the blank canvas of a very large lakeside rock to carve an absolutely stunning face of a Maori god.  Aside him sits two tuataras and a slew of other things that I did not catch from our captain.  Jana and I were too busy dragging our toes in the cold water and sleeping on Holly in the sunshine.  It seems the three of us have the same ideas about travel...it should be slow and indulgent, with occasional bursts of adventure.  The adventure will come tomorrow in Tongariro.  For today, we are just going to sail.  Cheers to Easter break.

We probably smell, the toes could use some good ole TLC...we are going to the spa.  Word on the street is Rotorua has one of the top 10 in the world, so that means there must be some comparable ones around?  Holly, me, and our London hostel mate Maria pop in the Sunny and head out to Hell's Gate Geothermal Park.  We arrive around 5 pm to an almost empty house.  

You can feel the raw power of the earth here.  Whether it's in the pools of boiling mud or the steaming fumaroles, this place just feels alien.  The Maori have used this site for 800 years to heal wounds and spirits after numerous battles (they were a warring bunch).  They have used the boiling water for centuries to cook their food (I'm not sure how you could eat boiled chicken that tastes like sulphur, but that's just a personal preference...) and to wash their babies (not in the boiling parts hopefully).  We put our toes in the bubbly mud while the sun sets behind us, hoping the curative powers rub off on us.  The sun starts to go down as we walk past the Devil's Cauldron.  The black mud has a temperature of 120 degrees C (248 degrees Fahrenheit for all you Americans out there- yes I just googled that), and it creates circles and pops as the steam releases.  There are three types of mud here, black, grey, and white - all with their own specific and special "plops" as they bubble up and explode.  The cliffs around us steam as the sun goes down behind us.  We walk up to Kakahi Falls, the largest hot waterfall in the Southern Hemisphere.  The full name of the falls is "O Te Mimi O Te Kakahi" which is translated into "the urine of Kakahi".  Poetic.  

We head over to the interactive carving house on site to a gruff Maori gentleman who clearly does not want to have these three Westerners carving stuff in his house!  We wear him down after a while with smiles and witty banter, and he lets us get our carve on.  Whakaro, or Maori carving, is a huge part of Maori culture, and I'm excited to get to try my hand at it.  Our new friendly mate hands us each a block of wood.  I carve the symbol for compassion on mine http://www.squidoo.com/koru-maori-design - which apparently does not mean compassion, but growth, strength, and peace.  Man, I feel slighted.  Not only was this guy hateful, he was full of lies too!  After we were finished carving and lacquering said carvings, Mr. Friendly gave me one that he had just made - depicting loyalty.  Well listen here mean man!  You aren't going to make any new friends that are loyal if you keep acting like an ogre you see!  As we are readying ourselves to leave, three ladies walk up and I'm thinkin "ohhh these girls better watch out, this guy is not going to be happy to have to help them!"  Sure enough, he says "You three will be my LAST for the day".  Scary.

At long last, it's time for our mud baths.  Clothes off, currently white swimsuits on (they do not stay white), the girls and I slowly lower ourselves into a very hot pool of mud.  The silky mud squelches around our feet, and I say a quiet prayer to the volcano gods.  "Please keep it down for the next few minutes.  I'm not trying to get boiled alive here."  This doesn't make much sense as this is a temperature regulated sort of thing, but that doesn't stop my prayers.  I just kind of wanted to give a shout out to the ole earth mothers if you know what I'm saying.  Respect.

We grab handfuls of the mud and spread it from our fingers to our arms, necks, and faces.  We've got twenty minutes in the mud, but no more, as we might overheat we are told.  Steam rises around us as the hot interacts with the cool night air, and we become invisible from the neck down in the murky water.  As instructed, we have to cool ourselves down now.  I slop out of the mud first, and our attendant makes me stand under a shower spicket.  He explains that I have to stand under the "cool water" and completely rinse off all the mud - and remain under as long as I can.  Cool shower, nooooo problem.  Icy daggers hit my head first and I am beyond miffed.  This is not "cool water".  This is straight from a pipe to Antarctica, don't think I don't know!!  I start chattering immediately and might have yelled some profanities at this nice Indian gentleman, but I somehow get most of the mud off and cool my body temperature down.  

Into the first of the warm baths.  We practically run into the first one, with instructions to stay in this for a bit and then deposit ourselves into the next one.  "You can stay as long as you like, we close at 8:30".  That guy just messed up.  We are staying here allll night.  The sun has completely gone down now, and the starts dot the sky.  The mud boils behind me, but the glug doesn't interrupt my happiness.  I feel amazing in this sulphorous water, and my skin is happy.  

For dinner, we pan sear some more steaks and eat more broccoli.  The people in the hostel eating noodles and spaghetti sauce probably hate us.  That is what you get when you travel with a Texas - meat, meat, meat.  She can't get enough - meat or salt.  I can't even believe it.  I thought I was addicted to salt.  Noooo ma'am!  Nothin on this one.  Dessert, nutella and toast.  This tramping lifestyle...pretty choice.

NAPIER - Three girls, four towns, a Nissan Sunny, and the open roads of New Zealand.  Driving from Wellington to Napier, my eyes take in the richness of the different shades of green in the forests and mountains we pass.  The pastures smell rich and earthy, just waiting to be planted (or mowed by some sheep).  Long white clouds fill the baby blue sky and the wind whistles through our windows as we cut through the air in front of us.  On our left, I count five layers of mountains, jagged at the top.  To the right, rolling farmland dotted with black faced and newly sheared sheep.  Holly gives Jana directions, five kilometers until our turn.  We are headed to the Criterion Hostel in Napier, a city that is beautifully stuck in the 1930s.  

Before my eyes flick open in the morning, I smell eggs.  Not scrambled eggs, but old Templeton approved rotten eggs.  The day is brilliantly sunny with a temperature in the high 60s.  Jana and Holly are still asleep while I eat breakfast on the veranda overlooking main street, the ocean to the left just a block down.  I am transported back to Malgrat de Mar in Spain, feeling much the same as I did that morning.  

Sitting on the beach in Napier, I can feel the sea spray on my skin.  The beach runs as far as my eyes can see in either direction.  The ocean sizzles as it scrapes across the thousands of pebbles scattered across the beach.  A millisecond after the waves crash, I can feel a cool breeze dance as it comes off the ocean.  Again, the weather is perfect.  A man is napping a few meters from me, his hat pulled over his eyes.  I can see the outline of the NZ coast on either side of me, hugging the Napier coast line.  I look for the fins of the Mako sharks that live in these waters, but see none.  The water is blue green here, and so beautiful that I wonder how I will ever live away from the ocean after this day.  

We stroll through Napier, amazed that its buildings transport us back in time.  The ocean runs parallel to Marine Parade, a street that proudly houses a gorgeous amphitheater, a large fountain, and statues of the sirens.  Passing a clock maker's shop, I again feel that I was born into the wrong decade.  Apple crumble gelato at 10:30 a.m. with Holly, and the day is off to a wonderful start.  We again load up our Nissan Sunny for the drive to Rotorua.  With Holly behind the wheel, I feel some nerves.  My turn driving is next!  

Our drive is magic.  We climb small mountains of green and stumble upon a waterfall that rivaled all I saw in Tahiti.  

Holly pulls off the road for a second.  When we open the doors after parking, we hear a roar.  Four veins of water pulse through the lush forest, barreling down the mountain side.  The shiny black rocks have been worn to soft edged squares, eternally fighting the rushing water that falls towards the valley below.  The river to the left is flowing the fastest.  I can almost feel a heavier breeze on my left cheek.  Like a small child yells for his mom to look his way, this vein begs for attention.  The clouds above are grey, soaked with unfallen raindrops.  As the rain falls, I see the river run faster, breaking the horizon into pieces.  It sounds like heavy static - breathing faster as the throngs of rain pour down onto the horizon.  Less than an hour to go to Rotorua!

ROTORUA - in the dark and rain is still lovely.  We take a spin through the city center to get to our hostel, The crank, and check in with no problem.  When you walk in, you are faced with an enormous climbing wall - the largest on the North Island.  Below, there's an intimate movie theater where we watch The Iron Lady.  Chocolate and cheetos in hand, it's a good way to spend the night.  Shortly after the movie, we head to bed to the sound of rain tinking on the windowsill.  

"Should we go left or should we go right?"  "Left."  One hundred meters down the path, the horizon opens up into an azure lake.  We are hiking a mountain recommended in a lesser known guidebook, and not a soul is in sight.  Never before have I experienced such a color in nature.  The raw earth is white with stains of pink.  It oozes under our boots as we squelch down the hillside.  We scramble down the mountain, digging our knees into the dirt to keep balance.  The stratification of colors - green, white, crystal blue overtakes my eyes.  Steam rolls towards the sky in columns, originating from deep inside the Earth's core.  Everything is still - an unnatural silence.  The birds are quiet, but I still feel them around me.  The plants are sodden with dew from the sulphorous steam, and there are plant species I have never seen before.  The rocks are streaked with yellow.  Holly and I feel the soles of our shoes heat up and decide it's time to go.  We clambor up the hill and start our hike up to the Rainbow Mountain Summit.  The trail is awash with milky pools, ankle deep in some spots.  The fog lays, heavy like a blanket, on the vistas we pass.  We have perfectly bad timing for the summit, and we quickly realize we won't see Lake Taupo from here.  We hike back down the track, carefully placing our steps on the mud.  I turn right back towards the azure lake, wanting another few minutes with this captivating place.  The color is just as shocking the second time I see it.  Back at the car, we grab our swimsuits and change behind some trees, hoping no trampers walk up on us.  We haven't seen a single person in the last two hours.  That is a great thing about New Zealand - even near the city, you can find solace in the world of nature - up a lesser known track, next to a volcanic lake, or even on a sailboat with friends.  You can always get away.

Togs on, we drive to Kerosene Falls.  Guidebook suggested, we bring all of our stuff from the Sunny.  Two minutes from the carpark, a couple sits under a small waterfall.  After the rain, the water temperature has dropped below the reported 40 degrees celsius, but it still feels warm after that drenching rain.  The water moves forcibly, and everything on me is trying to come off.  Dirt, mascara, swimsuit - not good!  We see some folks walking up from further down the track.  "More waterfalls!" they say.  We freeze on our walk down.  Jana says she is done with the swim, so Holly and I hike down and get back into the warm water.  It is hotter here, and so lovely I can't even process it.  The frothy white spray collects around us, and the current knocks me back.  To balance, I dig my toes into the sand at my feet.  The sand an inch down is as hot as a burner, hot enough that I pull my toes out as soon as they touch.  Feeling around, I find warm spots and give my hiking feet their first ever waterfall/volcanic hot rock foot soak.  Eventually, we have to force ourselves from the water.  Pruney and shivering, we race to the car thinking about the hot showers in our very near future.  The trunk is full of our wet gear, the front full of our satisfied adventuring spirits.

It's dinner time.  We settle into our seats at Brew, a local pub.  My Pilsner battered fish and chips don't last long, especially since this place has Heinz Ketchup.  This NZ tomato sauce - I just cannot get on board.  It's sweet and tastes like rotten tomatoes.  Just no.  Dinner is slow, and ends with a walk to the Thursday night market.  A chocolate crepe, Heaven sent, lasts about three minutes.  Three days in, this trip is already rocking my world.  Next stop, Taupo.

Around 4 pm on Friday, Amy and Holly picked me up from Kelburn campus.  We were off to Martinborough, a town in the South Wairarapa region of Wellington famous for it's large number of vineyards and award winning Pinot Noir.  The drive from Wellington to Martinborough is winding and gorgeous.  The mountains envelop you as you enter into them, like the big fat arms of a grandmama baker you know you can trust.  Carsickness crept up quickly, and every turn in the road made my tummy lurch with that old familiar feeling.  I hoped I might someday grow out of it, but it hasn't happened yet.  To distract me, we started playing car games.  For every letter of the alphabet, name a country.  We made it through two rounds before with got stuck on Q.  Before we knew it, we'd arrived at the Brown Residence in the wop wops of Martinborough!  The house is lovely, with a huge amount of outdoor space - gardens, fig trees, a paddock, a pool, and a very large pizza oven.  True to kiwi form, I had a Gin & Tonic in hand no more than five minutes after our arrival.  Holly and I got right to cookin - a delicious batch of deliciously Texmex fajitas with all the trimmings.  Our audience seemed to appreciate this culinary endeavor, as it represents our homeland to a T.  Post dinner, Cranium was brought out.  My teammate, Brad and I, absolutely killed the competition in game 1!  Second game, not so much.  Who doesn't know the song "Time of My Life" from Dirty Dancing?!  Come ON Brad Brown!  I did find out that skosh means "a small quantity" so it wasn't a total loss.  After a few hours of intense Cranium play, the lights were dimmed and we hurried off to bed before the glasses were refilled.  I think our hosts kept on in this way until hours after we had gone to sleep.  Champions.  Our bedroom, a converted shed, was stocked with an air mattress and a small bed.  We had just enough room to collapse into bed and  be forced into snuggling because of the freezing cold NZ night.  

"Do you want a glass of wine?"  "Is the Pope Catholic my dear?"

This was one of the first things I heard on Saturday.  While visiting a few friends of the Brown's in the latter part of the morning, I found myself having to cover my wine glass with both hands to keep it from getting refilled.  We had breakfast on the sun soaked porch out back - hot cross buns and tea.  After breakfast, Allan and I discussed Rotary for a good while.  Discussion of my club came up, and with it some suggestions in helping them to move toward the future.  More broadly, all the talk of service through Rotary has the gears in my head turning - back always to the idea of writing a book.  Rotary needs a mechanism for forward change, and I think a travel book might be a great way to reach the younger audience that the organization is searching to target for membership.  A huge number of people in my age group feel dissatisfied with desk jobs and the cyclical world of email and meetings about meetings.  I know dozens of folks who dream of travel and service, but who see it as financially impossible.  What if I were to take a trip around the world, stopping for a month or so at a time to work on a project with other Rotarians, and write about those experiences (as a sort of call to action for others)?  Rotary has achieved things government has not been able to, so I think there is real opportunity in the huge and influential network of world Rotarians.  There is a want from people my age to help with hunger, sanitation, development, disease, and education, but no real idea as to how to get started.  I would love to show others how easy it is to actually influence change through action and in so doing, become real global citizens and eventually the new wave of Rotarians.  Home club, what do you think?  I'd also like to figure out a project that links my host club with my club in Arkansas.  It'd be wonderful to serve as the link between the US and NZ.  All of my gears are turning!

After our Rotary session, Amy, Brad, Holly, and I headed into Greytown to have lunch and do some window shopping.  Greytown reminded me so much of Eureka Springs, with it's sunny and eclectic vibe.  We eventually headed home to a round of Trivial Pursuit and Bananagrams and a gorgeous dinner of fresh salmon and vegetables.  This night, we wrapped ourselves in a stack of blankets and slept like well incubated little chicks.  We didn't open our eyes until 11 a.m. the next day somehow.  

Finally caught up on sleep, Easter was off to a roaring start!  It was the day of Brad's birthday party, so we started preparing pizza crusts and a mess of pizza toppings for the party.  We hid Easter eggs high and low, and then made a game of throwing them at each other.  Brother and sister Amy and Brad about killed each other with the golden eggs, and Amy ended up with a big bruise to the neck.  Over the course of the night, thirty people showed up to celebrate Brad's big 2.9.  Around 12, I hitched a ride with Brock, Hannah, and Blake back to Windy Welly.  As we began our mountain descent, our chariot started overheating.  Four attempts to cool down the ole engine didn't work, so we abandoned ship and caught a ride with friends who were following close behind.  Yes, you can pile 7 deep in a Rav 4 it turns out.  Forty-five minutes later, we arrived home, safe and sound.  

Currently, I'm home working through my to do list in anticipation of mine and Holly's trip around the North Island on Tuesday.  I have no desire to think about the mountain of homework I need to get on top of, so I thought I'd give it a solid go before Tuesday rolls in.  Being almost 25 is making me too responsible!!  Think good thoughts for our Tuesday roadtrip - we are driving on the wrong side of the road over here!  HAPPY EASTER FRIENDS AND FAMILY!