Day 18: More Kayaking, and a lift to an amazing hostel

Wednesday 23rd December 

Kayaking near Abel Tasman, then chilling in a forest-hostel with more Germans

Distance: Kayak, 5km, Minibus, 32km

Total Distance  3318km

Today began bright and early with a few hours of kayaking east of the Abel Tasman national park. I ended up in a sea kayak with 1/3 of a wild Swedish trio who were hilarious, to the point that they were nearly better than the kayaking.

The down side to the kayaking was that it was too short. And in the wrong direction. Out west of where we started is the amazingly beautiful Abel Tasman, which includes a marine reserve brimming with life. 

I've been told before, yet had forgotten, not to buy the prepaid vouchers from the Kiwi Experience website. The vouchers ensure you are paid up, occasionally at a discount, to do certain activities. The ones available via the website are not bad, but they are the minimum. There is actually better available when one is on the bus, as well as what is on the vouchers.

Thus, if I did it again, I would have signed up to do a full day in Abel Tasman. Or, had I been with other people, I would have done what the smart people were doing and getting kayaks for a few days, putting gear on them, then going glamping on the various beaches. You can carry far more on a kayak than on your back! Some people had brought everything with them, including their barbecue. But, being solo, I'm not so keen to take to the seas. I don't have gills. Bad things happen at sea, even when just off shore.

After the kayaking I had a different hostel to get to. Being lazy and the kayak crew taking their bus in the same direction, I asked for a lift down the road. To my surprise they took we down the road, then up the long drive to my hostel. Lovely :)

Most of the rest of the day was spent sprawling about the hostel.

I love Budget Hostels here- especially the small ones, they always have so much character.

This one was high in the hills, surrounded by forest, with no signal (but no where here has signal), and with hammocks! I love hammocks.

I alternated half hours of reading and napping for a while, until I was joined by a dasselling German. She smiled at me and I smiled back. I attempted to turn in the hammock to talk to her, but, failing to make it nonchalant I put my head back... and blacked out. Have you ever fallen into such a deep sleep that you lose your balance? I did. An hour later waking up felt like being hauled out of a deep well. Forgetting nonchalant I dizzily made my way back inside. 

After a shower, dinner, and a coffee I felt slightly more human. I was sat in the kitchen about to write a blog entry when a German girl asked me if I wanted to join a small group of random Germans enjoying a pre-Christmas celebration. She'd received a dried mulled wine mix plus spice mix from her grandmother and made some carrot cake. Thus Christmas Eve Eve was spent with 5 Germans, switching between a language I vaguely recognise now and my native tongue, discussing everything from various international Christmas traditions, to German markets in Munich, Edinburgh and Birmingham, to what activities we were all planning for the next few days.

Day 13: Hobbiton by day, Maori village by night!!!

Friday 18th December

Visiting Hobbiton

Staying in the Whare

Bus Waitomo to Hobbiton,84km,  Hobbiton to Rotorua 74km

Total Distance: 2552km

They're taking the Wingham to Hobbiton!

We went to the Shire!

We visited Bag End, and the Green Dragon, and the party tree!!!

Safe to say it was great. We had a large number of Middle-Earth fans on the bus, from a great number of backgrounds. 7 foot British rugby players became children, quiet nerdy Nords strutted about as if they belonged, and we all stood in awe. 

Despite all the other nerds, geeks, and fan boys, it was I who managed to answer all of the guides leading questions. (How do none of you recognise this as the place where Frodo meets Gandalf?!?! "You're late" "A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to")

There are all of the little hobbit holes, each showing signs outside of the profession of the hobbit within (cheese monger, potter, wheel wright, etc.)

I can't really describe it. It's HOBBITON. It was so beautiful. Everything is looked after to minute details. They have washing on the lines. The gardens are kept to always look perfect and crops kept in mid-growth by swapping plants around. It's just like it looks in the films all of the time. I want to go again for more photos. I could get a summer job there. Seriously, just looking aft the plants and taking a few tours a day.

We finished at The Green Dragon, the village pub, where we were served a half pint (so sadly no saying "It comes in pints!) from the brewery. They make a pale ale, a nice stout, cider, and ginger beer. The pub, like all of Hobbiton, has a huge amount of detail, down to notes on the wall such as "workers need for harvest" and "LOST green cloak". Having said that, it did remind me significantly of so many lovely pubs in Yorkshire and Cumbria, particularly those up in the hills.

Hobbiton. Go see it. Maybe twice. It's great.

Or go to the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District. Live there. It's great.

Moari Marae Stay!

There are a growing number of chances for tourists to see Moari culture. One of them I saw a week ago at Waitangi, and that was a great show, bringing the place to life, a reminder of the people and culture most effected by the treaty after its signing.

We were set to go to a larger affair in Rororua though. Tamaki was set up years ago by 2 brothers and their family to bring Moari culture, past and present, to life. It is hoped that this will help sustain the cultural heritage of New Zealand in the long run, whilst being enlightening, educational, and entertaining for visitors. Use it or lose it.

Over time there has been a growing interest in this cultural history leading to popularity of the project, large numbers of visitors, and even additional similar attractions in Rororua. But this is the oldest, the original, the best. (*biased source)

Most people go for the show'n'dinner option. Not I! No. Go big or go home. Let's learn about Moari Culture. 

The Marae stay option allows people to spend more time at the village, starting mid-afternoon and ending with a lovely breakfast the next morning.

We arrived to be met by a short formal greeting and invitation into the village, sung by one of our hosts. We were introduced to the Whare (Wh=F in Moari, so Fare. Translation: House), which has a carved exterior, with a head by the roof apex, the arm forming the roof, the hands the eaves, and the legs the walls. A Whare is a sacred place of safety and peace, away from the aggression of the world. To this end we were asked no to take any food or footwear in. These are part of the outside world and don't belong in a whare. Moari villages have a seperates place to eat, as well as a different place to hold political discussions.

I imagine keepin food and footwear out also makes keeping the place clean a lot easier!

Our whare was a long, clean, beautiful building. Along each wall stood many single beds, and behind them the walls were decorated with carvings of Moari Guardians. These carvings act to help tell the history of the people, as well as the mythology. The first Europeans called these guardian"Gods", seeing a non-Christian polytheism. In reality the Moari believed in one God who created all, including the guardians, who act like a cross between angels and the European pagan gods. Hence Christianity make a quick and simple transition into Moari culture, giving an identity to the highest God, whilst allowing the guardians to be retained. This has without doubt enabled the mythology to be retained.

Once our food had gone into the kitchen chiller and our gear was by our beds it was time for afternoon tea! There were biscuits and hot drinks, but the best thing was a deep fried bread, with clotted cream and syrup or jam. A bit like a doughnut, but round, the size of a small fist, to be cut in half to add sweet stuff. I hammered a few of them, getting my face nicely covered in cream and syrup as I did. So good. So good.

Moari was one of the things I struggled with when first moving the New Zealand. It's not a heavily used language, not many Kiwis speak it and everything is written in English if it's also in Moari. But place names don't often change, and as well as British names some farms, roads, towns and features have Moari names. What we learnt that afternoon would really have helped my pronunciation!

To the tune of "Stupid Cupid":

(NB Ng: Hard "n" sound, like a British tut. Wh:"f")

A haka mana para tawa ngä whä

E heke mene pere tewe nge whe

I hiki mini piri tiwi ngi whi

O hoko mono poro towo ngo who

A E I O U

U huku munu puru tuwu ngu whu

And that's the Maori alphabet!

Maori words basically alternate consonants and vowels, ends each word with a vowel, hence the word formation in the song. The words don't actually mean anything, but include all the consonants, vowels, and combinations, in the majority of Moari. It's taught to children at a young age, or tourists whenever they are prepared to make a fool of themselves.

There are also dance moves that go with it- which are the basis for the Macarena.

We would be performing A Haka Mana later that night for 200 people.

Next up was flax weaving. Flax fibre is extracted by removing all the green fleshy matter from one specific plant. The dry, light brown strands that remain can be weaved or platted into rope or string, later made into everything from rope, to bags, to baskets, to animal traps, to clothing. It's a very useful, important resource.

But you don't get much fibre from one flax leaf. We were given one each, with a small dried line in it where it had been bent. A mussel she'll was used to scrape from this point in with direction to scrape away the flesh. We were each left with a few strands of fibre. 

The Kiwi Experience bus has its own flax rope- a few hundred yards long now! We added our few inches by platting it into the end.

Moari games were designed to train the warriors who would protect the village in later life. Some where to train senses (Simon Says comes from a Moari game, training hearing and the ability to follow instructions), whilst others trained the body. We played two stick games, using broom handle like sticks, about the length of the traditional three-quarter spear (about 4 1/2 feet long) used by warriors.

The first game was a throwing games. There were words that I forget, sorry. Basically the routine went like this though.

Rules: Only the right hand may be used for both throwing and catching.

Physical injuries are expected.

Don't drop the stick!

Everyone has a stick, throwing them at the same time, catching at the same time.

Stamp stick

Lift stick

Throw to the person to your right

Throw to the person to your right

Stamp stick

Lift stick

Throw to the person to your right 

Throw to the 2nd person to your right

It took us quite a few attempts. You can't look where you throw, as you have to be watching to catch the stick that's coming towards your face. Plus the last movement requires one to ignore the first stick, catch the second, having just tried to pass your own stick to a different person from the last 3 throws.

The second game was slightly like musical chairs. Everyone has a stick. We stood in a circle. There was a word for right and one for left. Your stick was placed with one end on the ground. At the command your own stick was left standing as you ran to grasp the next one. If you didn't get the in time and the stick fell over you were out. Slightly fewer injuries than the throwing game.

Now was time for everyone else to arrive. We went round to the main village entrance where the coaches were arriving. Each coach had volunteered their Chief, and our little group had Cheif Garry. There was a full scale formal welcome. Two warriors came out of the village wielding spears to assess the visitors, jumping around, shouting, waving their spears in the faces of our chiefs, who did an admirable job of standing still, with hands empty and visible for the warriors to see. Having been declared safe the village chief came out. A peace offering- something from nature- a collection of leaves bound together, was placed before our chiefs and Cheif Garry pointed to. He keep eye contact with our host whilst bending down to pick up the offering, signally that we came in peace. With a shout the village gate erupted in song, as the warriors and women performed. We made our way through the gate up hill, into the small village used to demonstrate aspects of ancient Moari life to tourists.

Several small whares were positioned beneath thickly grown, tall trees, the earth about them packed down. We learnt about training techniques, fighting styles, musical instruments, flax and its uses, games, carving, tattoos, and finally the full show.

We were all gathered together and taken down to a large whare used for performances- theatre seats on one long side, a stage on the other. Here there was a more in depth discussion of village, warrior, and traditional life, as well as performances, such as the Haka and songs.

Then, finally, food!

The Hangi is an "earth-oven"

Dig a big hole, about 1 metre cube, placing the soil to one side. 

Light a fire in the bottom of the pit, covering the floor like a barbecue but bigger.

Place volcanic rocks in the fire. These will heat up and hold the heat. Non-volcanic rocks will split and thus waste the heat.

Take a large steel rack, line with tin foil, fill with meat, cover with foil and lower into hole. (Large leaves eg.Banana, were traditionally used, but foil's better)

Repeat with the vegetables.

Cover in wet sack cloth

Top off with the soil

Leave for 3-5 hours as the meat slowly cooks.

The Hangi was used to easily, slowly, cook a large amount of food for celebrations and festivities. They provide tender, succulent food with a smokey flavour. Tonight's buffet included chicken, lamb, stuffing, carrots, Kumara (sweet potato, a native to NZ) and new potatoes. There was also a few pieces not from the Hangi, including fresh fish, salad and the stodgy, slightly sweet, very filling, bread of the Pacific islands. On an all you can eat buffet. After only 1 1/2 plates I was stuffed. How is the food so filling?!? I should have been able to do way more than that! Well, I did get some Kiwi Fruit Pavlova, and some Kiwi Fruit Punch, as well. Kia Ora.

I should have mentioned Kia Ora before now.

Kia, say Quay, as in at the ports for boats.

Ora, say Order, take out the D, now, Or'er- helps one roll the R

It means hello, good bye, and thank you. And if someone says it to you, you say it back. There's not really a translation that fits such a versatile phrase. I guess in Yorkshire a head nod and "Good man/woman" might fit, but nothing in normal English.

"Kia Ora"

"Ki Ora"

"Want some cake?"

"Ooh, yes, Kia Ora"

"Kia Ora."

"See you at the pub tonight?"

"Sure thing bro. Kia Ora"

"Kia Ora!"

After dinner there were a few speeches, a couple of songs then...Us!

Our little tribe of 9 sang A Haka Mana in front of the seated crowd, performing the actions. We'd learnt Moari! A toddler's Moari, but I'll take that.

To finish we did the Haka. The 5 Chiefs present had been trained to do a proper Haka, but the rest of the men were encouraged to join in, so many of us did! There's a video out there somewhere of us performing a slightly ropey, but serviceable, Haka.

And with that everyone else left. We were in the village alone. With a hot tub and a cheaper bar. The next 3 hours was spent drinking Pinot under a starry sky discussing Moari culture, stars, how to whistle, animal noises, student life, and marketing strategy in the international Swedish motoring industry. That's a normal evening for me, some how.

We woke for a lovely breakfast of cereals, toast, marmite, fruit, yoghurt, and coffee, before being taken back into Rotorua.

A great night out, after a great day. 

Day 4 & 5: Rotorua, Redwoods, Buried Village & Exhausting Myself

Days 4 & 5, Wednesday 9th, Thursday 10th,December

Rotorua, The Redwoods, and The Buried Village

Myself & Tonto (Walter Knitty's just too big for some of these journeys)

Walked about 40km (25 miles) - thankfully I could carry a light bag

Total Journey Distance: 752km

The plan: 

Walk to The Buried Village- a cross between Beamish (a Northern England Must See) and Pompeii (an Italian Must See)

Walk, in part, through the Redwood forest park

I'm writing this on the afternoon on my fifth day. I just couldn't find the energy last night. I could barely walk. So amazing to have a soak and a shower afterwards. I wasn't much better this morning, so this has been a bit of a lazy day. Just talking to whoever was around the hostel. I deserve it. Yesterday was nuts.

I guess I should have felt warned when I managed to, in the rush to get out of the door, forget the green stone pendent I was given by the practice as a leaving present.

Although, maybe I kept some of the effects. I was certainly determined. I did get plenty of walking in. Just not so sure how good it was for my short term health.

The day started at the hostel at 8am. The Buried Village site is 15km away by road. With a small day sack I can easily cover 30km in a day. In theory I would be there by 11am, before the day became far too hot.

The first few kilometres I steadily got into my usual rhythm wandering along watching out for traffic and ensuring I was alongside the correct highway.

I turned onto the road that lead to the Village. There was the entrance to the redwood site. 1km to the centre and start of their tracks. I had a memory of one route that would take me across the are to a place far closer to the Village. But if I was wrong I could be doing another 2km, and if I was right, with hills etc. I'd be doing another 3km minimum- but under the trees and through the forest. I might also lose and hour. I could still be at the village for 12 though, that was fine.

The route does have a proper name. Something long and in Moari which, for better or worse, I can't pronounce, spell, or remember. But it had black arrows showing the way, so I just called it the black route. Simple.

The problem was that there was work going on in the forest.

"Please ask inside about diversions"

Pay, no fear,I was just wanting to follow the road, I'd work it out.

The first 10km were up and into the forest. We travelled through a region filled with giant American redwoods, brought over for the timber industry,but here left as a recreational park, mostly for mountain biking. There are also fern trees and bushes interspersed, giving the place a "Jurassic Park" feel. If anyone remembers the Walking with Dinosaurs episode about the baby sauropod this is that landscape.

Up and into the hills, the vies we distupted by the trees, until we got deep enough to were vast swaths had been felled. This was the commercial area at the back of the park.

Eventually I descended and reached the roadside. The path was due to follow the road further, in theory. I should have gone with the plan and followed it. Yet it wasn't obvious, and there was the road. There were a lot of cars on it, maybe I could hitchhike?

I've done a fair amount of road walking in the past. I don't generally encourage it due to the dangers.  There are a few rules to make it safer, though.

Keep as far off the road as possible. 

Keep yourself aware of traffic, and get out the way! Especially big stuff.

When walking round a bend walk on the outside. Your more easily seen and people tend to drive towards the inside of a curve.

The forest walk, whilst nice, hadn't given me a short cut, or a decent time. It was 11am, the sun was hot, I was hungry, and I still had 12km to do. I fished out one of my small burger buns, a cold sausage and a boiled egg. Not much of a sandwich but it hit the spot.

Right. Hitchhiking. People still do it here. People on highways with too much time and too little cash. People just trying to go somewhere else. Successful people doing it either look sensible or have a low cut top and sweet smile. So yeh...

After 6km I'd given up and had my kindle out, reading the last of my Harry Dresden novel. The trees had grown closer, the traffic less, and my legs were in auto. I sipped water from my bag and hammered along.

 Reached the Blue and Green lakes at about 12.30. There were a lot of families splashing about, having fun. I was knackered. Why was I bothering? This wasn't worth it! Surely I would have had more fun staying in Rotorua. Maybe if I turned back now I could do more in the redwood forest, go have a sleep, have a drink with my feet up. I'd done enough for the day. I'd earned a rest.

"Buried Village 4km"

Sod it.

There were even fewer cars as I carried on, but more trees. I just keep going. Mindless, just carrying on.

"Buried Village 1km"

We can do this.

Where all the cool kids at.

"The Buried Village. Devonshire Cream Teas 10am-3.30pm"

Finally!

Have you ever sat on a train staring out of the window, only for when it stops to still feel like you're moving? Your eyes and brain make it seem as if everything is very steadily slipping past.

I had that when I'd stopped walking. Freaky. I must have been doing a very consistent pace.

I shook my head and sat down outside. 2 bread buns, a sausage, boiled egg, and an apple. A little bit of bread when to the friendly wee bird that cautiously came to say hello.

The Buried Village

In the year 1886 the most famous tourist attraction in New Zealand were the Pink and White Terraces.

I know, tourism on the other side of the world for the Victorians! Looking at some of their stuff they clearly didn't travel light either. Glad I'm not carting around half a dozen petticoats. One's enough for me.

The terraces were formed as hot, mineral rich boiling waters bubbled out from the volcano. The minerals were deposited as the water cooled, forming a series of terraces and small pools, not unlike a Chinese paddy field hillside. Tourists would start at the cooler bottom pools, working up to the warmer pools, then down again. Some items were pertained in the pools- there's a bowler hat someone left in a pool for a year in the museum. It's not unlike Mother Shipton's cave in Yorkshire- but the minerals are a pretty white or pink, not a rusty brown.

It wasn't to last though. On the night of the 10th June 1886 the ground shook and then exploded. The volcanoes heating the terraces had erupted. Rock and dust fell out of the sky onto the local village, destroying Maori and Pakeha buildings alike. Hundreds died via direct hits, buildings collapsing under the weight of debris, or from toxic gases. Many tried to run, or huddled together in larger Whares ("Fares"- traditional Maori houses). Some were successful- the main guide, Sophia, a half-Maori half-Scottish lady successfully sheltered many in her home.

It was all over by morning. Rescue parties were sent out, digging people out from the 2 metres of dust and mud up to 4 days after the event. Some were even deeper. Some too deep to rescue.

Initial reports proposed the the terraces had, in part, survived. This would at least mean the tourist trade could continue. Then the truth came. They were gone. Simply gone. The land had shifted, moved, flown. The lake had been altered, part of the mountains obliterated, and the terraces nothing more than a memory, other than a few chunks littering the land.

No more farming, no more tourism. Local Maori donated food, blankets, and even land to help their refugees. The Pakeha were not so lucky. Many went to find new work, but those who owned businesses were ruined. The insurance companies declared that no one was eligible for protection from volcanic eruptions so wouldn't pay out. Some items were retrieved, medals were awarded to people for bravery, but nothing prevented bankruptcy.

Vi Smith had begun a little tea room not far from Lake Tawera. She was effectively right above the original village. He sons, before WW2 began excavating the site, finding Victorian items, and them homes. After the war the excavations continued, and do to this day. They are steadily unearthing everything that had been left behind.

Thus, today, the tea room has a museum attached documenting the day the terraces were destroyed. The grandson of the Maori chief who saw the eruption guides some of the tours. Outside are a collection of the houses they have unearthed, including a few Whare and the blacksmiths. 

And finally, their waterfall.

Sorry, the rest of my photos are on my camera, which isn't as easy to move photos from right now compared to my phone.

Suddenly my day REALLY doesn't seem so bad

After my wander round, I'd missed afternoon tea. It was bang on 3.30pm and everything was shut up. I managed to find someone to fill my water though, then sat down for a little snack. Still had to get back.

So, I set off. I'd finished my book and wasn't in the mood to start another. I was getting tired. Very tired. Must have done 20km so far. I didn't have a great deal of food left either. I really wasn't in to mood to carry on. Why should I anyway? I could be back at 10pm and it wouldn't matter. I got to the Blue lake and had a lie down. Just a little nap, a sleep to help. The wind picked up. The clouds might have been a dark shade. No rain as forecast. Wasn't going to take the chance though. A cereal bar and I was off.

I'm not much of a music person. I like it, enjoy it, appreciate it- but I can never remember track names nor artist's names. So far I hadn't put in my earphones- the book was already an excessive risk when road walking. But without it, and keeping the volume down, I risked it. And I'm so glad I did! My legs got back into the rhythm. I was suddenly positive again, able to just keep going. We eve off!

So far along I noticed, as we passed a few redwoods 8km along, a little hole in the hedge. I pushed through and there it was, the black track that ran along the roadside! It had been so close throughout my earlier walk. Well, I'd missed this opportunity before, let's not do it again. Hearty pace, don't get run down by the occasional mountain bike, keep going. 

After several kilometres the road diverted off and a gully grew between it and the track. This must be a short cut around that, I decided. Keep going.

The gully grew. Some hills were added to the ensemble. Big hills. A ridge. A long ridge. Ah. I'd missed the turning I hadn't taken that morning. I was lost. And going south- I wanted to go west, over the ridge.

Suddenly I came across a black arrow. So, i was in the right area. But do I go with the track, or against it? Against was uphill and south. With it was down into the gully. I followed it... Into a turning circle for log trucks. The path ended. Must have missed a diversion too. Oops.

I heard voices further down the gully. Young guys playing on mountain bikes. Time to ask for directions.

I know men traditionally are supposed to be too proud to ask for directions. If I have a map I usually am. But when I'm tired, the sun is setting behind the ridge I might have to climb, and I have no idea where I am pride can go (rude words) itself.

As I walked down I noticed an older man put his bike down and walk over the lip of the land into the gully. He'd know where I should go. I walked towards him. A head appeared out of the bush, his wife pulling up her shorts!

I blurted out something akin to an apology, then turned around for a few paces, trying not to blush. She came up the hill, pulling a bike I hadn't noticed out of the trees.

"You look lost"

I tried to explain my position.

"My husband knows this place better than me"

Her husband arrived out of the bushes with their daughter. He did a fair job of explaining were to go. But it wasn't exactly safe.

"Go over this creek, then climb up that bike track. You'll find a clearing. You see that gap between those two trees? Yeh, that's the exit of a bit track. You'll know it by the massive jumps it has. Follow that up to the track. Then do down hill to the filtration ponds. Take a right, follow that, it'll turn into asphalt. Follow that until the cross roads, take a right, you'll come to the end of the road the redwood centre is on"

Simple, easy, slightly dangerous and tiring, but God bless that man!

I followed his advice. He wasn't wrong about the bike jumps. The last one was like two king size beds at 30' angles, separated by a gap the size of another king size bed. The rest weren't much easier.

His was probably more dangerous than the roads. I took the earphones out and kept to the edges. I wasn't so much worried about anyone hitting m- I'd be able to get out of the way. But suddenly seeing a random guy when riding a bike at 20+km/hr through a forest- that could lead to some serious miscalculation and I didn't want to see someone crunch into a tree because of me. Keep close to the trees, be ready to hide well out of the way.

Is that a hare? What's a hare doing here?

The little fluff ball looked up at me. I wasn't going to get any closer. It wasn't quite right though.

Then it started hopping off. But not like a hare does. Just on its hind legs, holding its front paws off the ground.

A Wallaby!

There's not many in the park- they eye released by accident from a private collection. Now a few live out their lives amongst the trees. And I'd seen one!

I got to the entrance of the track without seeing any crazy humans trying out the massive jumps. At the top I got a confused but caring look from two mountain bikers who gave me the same directions as before and sent me on my way. I was so close that I had to celebrate. More music, my last half bread bun and an apple. Oh, splash out, have the other cereal bar.

There were more people as I got closer, a few dogs, families, walkers, asphalt. Finally I was back down to ground level. I found the information centre. It was 6.30pm and only 4km back to the hostel. I fished out the last of my food to help me finish off. A raw carrot. I'm sorry, who packed this bag? Where's the Jelly Babies, or the chocolate? Weirdo.

Once bag I hammered through 2 bread buns and a giant bowl of last night's curry. At 9 the Irish lass who's in the dorm room invited me to the warm spa pool. Oh, so good for the legs. She chatted with the old American lady we shared the pool with as I allowed blood to leave my head to do good elsewhere. 

After a shower I stumbled to bed and passed out. It was good night's sleep.