From Queenstown to Sydney

In a tragic turn of events, my small Canon Elf camera broke. For those of you who know my love of taking about a million photos a minute with that thing, you can understand my devastation. I almost jumped off the ferry I was on when it broke, just out of sheer depression.

However, Laura has kindly let me borrow her camera for photo taking until I purchase a new one. So hopefully the lapse will be short.

All of that to say, I've uploaded a ton of new photos in the "From Christchurch" album.

Enjoy!

Barefoot in Sydney

We're in Sydney and it is beautiful. Like, seriously, such a cool city.

I've never walked as much in my life as I have the last two days getting around this city though. For reasons too complicated to try to explain in this space, we ended up at a hostel called Tokyo Village that is like 8 miles from anything. So we walk alot.

Yesterday we decided to go check out a few Sunday markets and then catch a ferry over to the nearby Manly Beach. It was the perfect day for it as the weather here right now kind of feels like Labor Day weekend in the states. It's not fall yet, but it's too cool and dry to just be summer. The beach was great and after hanging around in the town for awhile after lounging on the beach, we caught the ferry back to the city.

At some point over the course of the day yesterday, Everett started to morph into the ultimate tourist. I don't know exactly what happened. We left the hostel with him wearing a normal t-shirt and shorts and shoes and me carrying his wallet and book in my bag. Then, at the first market we went to he bought a bathing suit that looks like every other bathing suit in Australia. Then, when we arrived at Manly, we stopped in a super market to get some drinks. Everett decided while we were there to purchase soap and a canvas bag. A bag that he loves more than anything now.

He moved his book, wallet and passport into the new bag with his soap. He changed out of his shorts, putting them in the bag. Then, while at the beach, he went up to the shops again, this time purchasing a bright red "Manly Beach Surf Patrol" shirt. He put his old shirt in his bag. And then he put his shoes in the bag.

So, for the rest of the night, all he wanted to talk about were two things 1) how awesome it was for a guy to carry a bag and how he wished it was acceptable in the US and 2) how he wanted to see how long he could go barefoot.

We went to a nice beachside bar before dinner, a nice Indian restaurant for dinner and another bar back in Sydney once we returned. Everett never put his shoes on. Or took his bathing suit off. At one point, as the evening wore down, he went up to a guy who was walking barefoot down the street and just stood next to him, noting that they were both barefoot. The guy told Everett he'd been barefoot for 2 weeks. I'm pretty sure I've never seen Everett be that impressed with someone.

We're off to the beach again today. And, in fact, Everett just walked into the internet cafe wearing his beach patrol shirt and bathing suit.

I'm just glad he has shoes on.

Roomies

I've roomed with some random people on this trip. And I'm not just talking about Laura, who gags every time she brushes her teeth and Everett, who talks incessantly about how amazing his sleeping bag is every time he gets in it.

I have literally slept in the same room with countless people over the last few weeks. Countless because some of the rooms I don't even know how many people were in them.

Most notable among them are Michael and Vick (easy enough names for two girls from Atlanta to remember) in our beachside bure in Fiji; Neil, the British guy who wore boxers WAY too short for him in bed and then forgot to cover with a sheet in the morning; the guy with an odd lip piercing sleeping six inches from me in our prison like dorm in Nadi; Elliot and John, the two British guys who kept Laura and I up until early morning asking us to pack their backpacks for them and make them sandwiches - among their less offensive suggestions; the seriously goth girl who was reading a book called Slasher alone by herself in the room all night in Wellington; the very short German guy who I almost smushed in the middle of the night from the top bunk falling through... the list could go on.

However, the guy in our room last night beat them all. We were staying in a hostel for our last night in New Zealand in a dorm room with 8 people total. Of course, per usual, Laura and I were the only girls. Last night was a little unusual for two reasons. 1) We had to set our alarm for 3:30 a.m. in order to catch our flight this morning to Australia. 2) I have the worst cold EVER. And I could NOT stop coughing. Like, uncontrollable loud coughing.

So, after a shower, I settled into my bottom bunk and proceeded to cough up my left lung. There was an older German guy standing next to my bed who began shaking his head.

"Are you sick?"

I nodded.

"Did you take medicine?"

"Yes, a lot." (I had pretty much swigged down a bottle of cough medicine.)

"You need to drink tea. Hot tea."

I laughed, hoping he'd take the hint that I didn't need his medical advice. I just wanted to go to sleep.

Then he took his shirt off, muttering something about it being hot.

Then he muttered something about my mother not being there to take care of me. Then he said something in German and laughed. To himself.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he giggled again. "I can't tell you."

I rolled over, glad Everett was on the bunk above me because this German was creepy.

"You really need hot tea," he insisted.

I rolled back over, coughing. "I'm too hot to drink hot tea," I said, because I felt pretty feverish.

"Really?" he seemed incredulous. Then he began tsking as if that was absolutely terrible news. He was packing his bag and kept walking in and out of the room. Everett and Laura and I began talking a few moments later and somehow the conversation came around to Everett saying something negative about people dating people they'd met on the internet.

The German jerked around as if he'd physically been slapped. I kicked the bottom of Everett's bunk, wishing he'd take it back, certain this guy was going to kill us in the middle of the night for insulting internet dating.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's great. Lot's of people find true love that way," I said loudly.

He turned back to his packing, seeming content for the time being.

A little bit later I fell asleep. Finally.

But then, around 2 a.m. I woke back up (coughing of course) to see you know who, crawling out of his bed wearing black bikini briefs! His bed was right next to mine and he stood right next to me, with his light shining behind him. I closed my eyes, wishing I'd never seen that.

He walked out to go to the bathroom and I leaned forward, tapping Everett on the bunk above me, whispering to him to check out the German. A few minutes later, after getting locked out of the room and having to have someone open the door for him, he returned, in his undies. Everett looked at him, moaned and then rolled back over.

This morning, Everett was none too pleased with me. Apparently, he feels that there is very little worth waking him up in the middle of the night for and that German guys in black underwear are DEFINITELY NOT on that list. Something he has reminded me of multiple times today.

Frankly, I'm just glad I never have to share a room with that guy again.

Family Reunion

We're reunited with Everett.

This was no easy task. In fact, it's pretty much taken a week. When we left him at a Starbucks in Auckland it was kind of open ended as to when we would see him again, but Laura and I kind of assumed we'd meet up with him sometime in the next few days.

That was not to be. He stayed in Rotorua on the northern island for much of the time and then followed our steps through Wellington, on the ferry across to Picton and then on the bus down to Christchurch for the last several days.

Of course, I knew he was in Christchurch so I'd emailed him telling him we'd already made reservations at Base Backpackers here for tonight. He emailed back saying that he had gone ahead and moved into our 10 person dorm room and would see us there. That was the last we heard from him.

I emailed several more times, giving him flight details and meeting times. Nothing. Finally, today we arrived, we attempted to go to the meeting places I'd mentioned, hoping that maybe he would show up, having read the email and just not responded. He didn't.

So, around 4 we were able to move into our room where we discovered Everett's sleeping bag on the bed. It was a nice confirmation that he was probably still alive. Finally, around 5 o'clock, I'd gotten sucked into watching Back to the Future 3 with some British guys in our suite while Laura read outside, and then, who walks in the door, but Everett.

He was burnt red sunburned, his hair looked like he'd stuck his finger in a socket and there was a giant ripped hole in the back of his shirt. But, he was alive.

And he had plenty of ridiculous stories from his last week-from sleeping on a cot in the office of a hostel because an Indian family had moved into his room and kicked him out, to meeting "the love of his life," a German girl named Lana, in Rotorua.

It's good to have him back though. Although I think he's going to feel pretty differently about having me around because I have developed a cough that sounds like a mix between a person with emphysema and a loud dog barking. (The girl at the computer next to me literally just offered me some of her coke because I was coughing so much. It's out of control.) So, sleeping in the dorm tonight is going to be fun. I'm pretty sure the two guys who shared the room with Laura and I last night wanted to murder me this morning.

Luckily, I don't have many hours of sleep tonight to worry about. Our shuttle for the airport leaves at 4 a.m. On that note, I'm off to bed!

Last day in Queenstown

I have a cold. I've actually had it since Fiji. Seriously, I might be the only person I know who can catch a cold in tropical climates. I have the immune system of a 95 year old.

Anyway, so after sleeping 14 different places in the last 16 nights. (That's right. I counted.) My cold hasn't really had the chance to recover and go away and this morning, it finally all caught up with me. I did NOT feel good. So, I spent much of my morning lounging in Starbucks and doing some reading as Laura meandered around Queenstown.

However, as the afternoon approached we both decided we wanted to do one more Queenstown-ish adrenaline junkie kind of thing. So, we opted for something called jet boating. I'd never heard of this before, but apparently it's pretty popular over here. Basically, it is a small boat that can run in about 6 inches of water and goes extremely fast and makes sharp turns. They put it in a river in a canyon and then you go flying down the canyon while your driver whips around doing 360s in the water and you cling on for dear life. There are about 8 or 9 people in the boat.

The canyon itself is really like nothing I've ever seen. It looks like something in Disney World with blue, blue water, massive rock walls and random waterfalls. Our driver, Phil, was a very kind Kiwi who seemed fairly intent on killing me. I say "me" there because Laura and I ended up on the front of the boat with Phil. Laura was in the middle, Phil was on the left and I was on the right. Phil's inclination seemed to be to be to ram the right side of the boat into a jagged edge of the canyon while going about 60 miles an hour. Afterwards an Australian man came up to ask me how close I thought I'd gotten to hitting a rock.

Too close.

It was tons of fun though and so beautiful. We got sprayed a few times with lots of river water as we spun across the rocks, but that was about as dangerous as it ever got. But, that, in combination with my cold and Laura's general tiredness, was enough to wear us out for the day and we headed back to our dorm for a late afternoon nap.

While this pretty much makes us grandmas by Queenstown standards, I couldn't have been happier. Actually, the only thing that made me happier today was the purchase of cough medicine, cough drops and extra klennex. Now that's what I call exciting stuff.

Picture Perfect

Ok, so I've been putting up A LOT of new pics. So I've run out of room in my old album. Which is why I've renamed some things and moved some stuff around. Now, I have an entire links section for photos (with two albums). The original "My Backpacking Trip" has been changed to "From Fiji to Picton, NZ" - there are new photos at the end of it! There is also a brand new album called "From Christchurch on." It's all new stuff and I'll keep adding to it as we travel until I run out of room.

Check 'em out.

Jumpers

Today I jumped out of a plane at 12,000 feet.

And it was AWESOME.

So, last night around 10, Laura and I decided that we wanted to go ahead and get to Queenstown today minus the crazy bus driver and 9 hour trip. Checking online, we found flights for this morning for $85 so we booked them and set our alarms for the 9 a.m. flight.

Queenstown is easily one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. It's a little like Jackson Hole, Wyoming is the closest I can come with an American city. It's surrounded by staggeringly tall rocky peaks and has beautiful woods going up the side of many and has azure blue water in the middle of it all. The town isn't too big and the whole thing is like an amusement park for adults looking for adrenaline rushes. From "Canyon Swings" to bungee jumping to white water rafting... everything in between... they've got it all.

And, it's known for being the best place to sky dive in New Zealand. Maybe the world.

So, arriving at our hostel, we asked the friendly guy at the desk, Ben, about it. He strongly encouraged us to do it and before we knew it, we'd booked the 12:30 time at nzone, a local skydiving operation. Laura was terrified. I took a lot of pictures of her scared reaction. And she even went to far as to tell me that if she began to cry, I was still allowed to take pics to document the experience. Luckily, she didn't.

Skydiving isn't cheap. I wasn't particularly nervous about the jump part so much as the "will this kind of money be worth it?" part. It was $300 NZD a piece, but I swallowed, handed over my Visa and figured this is probably one of those once in a lifetime kind of things.

After getting a short instructional video and being told that we would be jumping with one other person - our "tandem instructor" - we rode the bus to the landing location, a small field outside of town. Getting there, we watched as probably about 40 people fell from the sky in random intervals while we waited for our turn. Laura and I were the last to be called.

Walking in, I met my tandem instructor. And let me say, it was $300 dollars well spent. There is "hot," and then there is "dark German guy dressed in Top Gun-ish flight suit, wearing polarized sunglasses hot." Volker, or Volk as I like to call him, was almost as good of a view as that from 12,000 feet. Laura is completely infatuated with her instructor, a british guy named James and Volk as well. In fact, she had the nerve to tell me that Volk was too short for me. (This may be true, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of our love.)

So, after Volk suited me up and James did the same for Laura, we were given a quick lesson on how to jump from the plane and then we hopped on the tiny plane where we literally had to sit between their legs as we ascended to 12,000 feet (like how I keep saying that? It was a long way up).

The view was beautiful. The plane was so small, but I was sitting next to the clear door so my view was totally unobstructed. Laura was still pretty terrified and kept randomly screaming the whole way, which was highly entertaining. Finally, we reached the point and I opened the door, as instructed by Volk. We scooted to the edge, I leaned my head back on his chest and he pushed us off.

And wow. I mean. Wow.

There is nothing like the feeling of free falling like that. Nothing. It doesn't feel real. It feels like you're watching it on TV with 100 mile per hour wind rushing at your face. It is the most bizarre feeling ever because you're flipping all over the place. After 45 seconds, Volk pulled the parachute and the world stopped rushing towards me.

The rest of the ride was pleasant. Almost like parasailing. Volk loosened my straps a little and let me briefly steer the parachute. Then he spiraled us downward, pointing out Queenstown in the distance. Finally, we smoothly landed, me on my bum, on the grass. We got up, Volk giving me a high five (and then a hug. again. totally worth $300.) and I watched as Laura and James landed behind us with Laura yelling enthusiastically.

So yeah, that was it. I then called my parents as soon as I returned to Queenstown (thanks Katie for being my phone operator for the night :)). They were none too pleased. In fact, I believe the word used most often was disappointed. And there was also some talk of me leaving Rosie an orphan. (Don't think this hadn't crossed my mind. I may have even left a brief will for Rosie tucked in my journal.)

So tonight we're taking it easy, because, well, I think that was enough for one day.

Kiwis, Clowns and Craziness

Every day I get up here thinking, nothing could be as odd as yesterday. I mean, what are the chances I'll end up at something as weird as a burlesque show on a New Zealand island or a gangster party in the capital? But then, every day, we end up with so many weird and random stories, I'm never sure what to include in my blog entries.

Today, we caught the 8:30 a.m. Interislander ferry across from Wellington (the north island) to Picton (the south island). It's three hours and rumored to be the most beautiful ferry ride in the world. I've been on limited ferry rides, but I'd say it has to be up there. It was pretty incredible really because the ferry itself was about the size of a cruise ship and yet it somehow managed to maneuver itself between massive mountains and back into the port at Picton. (Photos will come soon when I'm on a computer created sometime post 1995)

As of yesterday, our actual booked places to stay on this trip ended. So, at this point Laura and I have become true nomads. Real fly by the seat of your pants kind of backpackers. It's awesome. So, we didn't think we were going to be able to get a seat on the bus from Picton to Christchurch today, which we really wanted. We didn't think that because a "travel agent" (also known as "one of the weirdest people I've ever met who it took me the first 10 minutes of the conversation to establish the gender of") told us that there were no seats left. However, upon arrival, only 2 seats were available on the bus so we hopped on!

The ride was beautiful but SERIOUSLY curvy. Knowing my tendency towards motion sickness - and taking no risks post the Fijian boat ride that nearly killed me - I'd taken some dramamine with breakfast this morning. So, I was fine on the bus. However, a teenage guy a few rows back was not so lucky. About 45 minutes into the trip, there was a bit of a commotion, an awful smell and then the bus was pulled over. Not only had he vomited all over the floor, but it was now rolling down the bus. Luckily, Laura had Vicks Vapor rub and we smeared it all over our noses to help with the smell. Our crazy driver kept mumbling about it, made some phone calls, cleaned up a little, and then hit the road again.

The bus driver was actually my favorite part of the trip. The entire way he would just randomly start talking into the mic about whatever towns we were passing through. However, what he was saying was rarely anything important and he never finished his sentences. He also really liked the word refreshing.

"This is a lovely little town with vineyards and a refreshing cafe where you can-"

"In this spot there's a refreshing garage, lots of people-"

Etc.

He also liked to talk on his cell phone while driving and would even pull over to do things like write numbers down. I'm pretty sure I heard him talking to someone named Chuckles once which made me really suspicious he was talking to a clown. And clearly I distrust people who make phone calls to clowns while they're supposed to be driving buses full of people.

Eventually we made it to Christchurch, which is really a very pretty city. When we went to check on our now favorite backpackers spot, Base Backpackers, it was full except for a mixed dorm for 10. We're tired of sleeping in rooms with boys, so we went searching for another spot. My Let's Go book recommended an all women's hostel on the outskirts of town, so we walked here.

It is interesting.

There is some kind of witch theme going on with pictures of witches and witch ornaments everywhere. So that's weird. And there's also a guinea pig pen in the back yard with two guinea pigs in it. That's also weird. At first I thought it was fun, but then the guinea pigs ran away when I tried to pet them. There's also a cat who is hanging out near the guinea pigs watching them. I don't understand that dynamic really. After we'd been here about 10 minutes Laura turned around and whispered "I think this is the kind of place there are lesbians."

I think she's probably right.

Oh well, we're just here for a night and then we're catching the bus tomorrow to Queenstown. And guess what? As we pulled into town today our crazy bus driver announced that if anyone was catching the early bus to Queenstown, he'd be driving it! Of course. I'm just hoping there are no more clown calls.

New Zealand Gangsters

Laura and I have made it to Wellington. This is the capital of New Zealand and where they filmed a good bit of Lord of the Rings. (That's right. This blog is both entertaining and educational. Keep reading.)

Anyway, we're here staying in another hostel. They're all starting to kind of run together at this point. And we're only like a week and a half into this trip. So it's Easter Monday here and apparently these New Zealanders take their Easter holidays very seriously. Like, I'm all for celebrating here, but we're going on four days of every city we've been in being totally dead. Wellington, which looks like it might have a fun nightlife (highest number of cafes per capita in New Zealand. Don't you like how I just keep teaching?), is a ghost town.

We were planning on going to some place called Mac's Brewery that I'd read about in my Let's Go New Zealand books. I'm a devoted reader of these books by the way. We differ on some things. Like, the books are kind of anti Starbucks and say things like "thank goodness, Wellington only has three" when all I can think is "where are those three located?" but for the most part, the books are quite helpful.

Anyway, so the plan was to go to Mac's. It was on the harbor and supposed to be quite nice. However, after walking there, we realized Mac's was closed. For Easter Monday obviously. So, dejected and hungry, we walked back towards the hostel. Which is where we came across Blend. Blend was the only restaurant open and looked cool enough from the outside, so we went in.

Turns out Blend was having a Gangsta Rap theme night. Awesome. So basically a bunch of white New Zealanders were dressed up in their best imitation gangster outfits complete with bandannas, baggy pants, hoodies, bling and fake hand guns. Rap music ranging from Run DMC to Eminem was playing on large TVs and speakers all around and these crazy New Zealanders were dancing on tables.

Laura and I settled in, ordered our dinner and sang along to Baby Got Back because, well, why not? After dinner we watched as the bartender made a REALLY long line of Red Bulls down the bar. Then he proceeded to expertly place shot glasses on top of each and then fill each shot with jager. Finally, a girl dressed in droopy camo pants and a backwards visor climbed on the bar, tapped the first shot and the rest fell like dominoes as the crowd cheered and Nelly sang. And everyone took jagerbomb shots.

Just another Monday night in New Zealand I guess.

Next stop Wellington

Laura and I are leaving Auckland. Photos are up from our time here and on Waiheke Island. In other news, we've showered for the first time in days and did our laundry for the first time on this side of the Pacific. Life is good.

Waiheke

Saturday started off like a good many Saturdays in my life have: sitting in a Starbucks, drink in hand, chatting about plans for the day. However, around 10 a.m., when Everett, Laura and I stepped out of Starbucks and onto Queens Street in Auckland and said our farewells as Ev headed for Rotorua and Laura and I to Waiheke Island, normal/previously experienced things kind of came to a halt.

Laura and I ended up actually running (not particularly gracefully) with our packs on to catch the ferry just in time to make it to the island before noon. Then, after some serious maneuvering on a full bus (I literally had to back up the aisle with my pack and some New Zealand kid started beeping like I was a wide load with my massive pack. quite flattering), we were dropped off and told our hostel was about a half mile walk down a hill.

The island is beautiful. I'd say it's kind of Martha's Vineyard meets Carmel, CA New Zealand style. It used to be a bit of an artist's colony and there are still studios and artists around the town. It's got breezy streetside cafes, numerous picturesque vineyards and beautiful beaches.

Our hostel was... well... interesting. I liked it fine, Laura did not. It was kind of a bohemian spot where the owner actually mixes house music all day long that plays around the pool and decks. I'm pretty sure he's a bit of a pothead, but he was nice enough. Unfortunately, our room was us, three guys from Chile, two guys from the UK and a guy from Australia. Most of them had been living there for weeks. And it was all bunks crammed into a VERY small space so it was insanely messy, kind of dirty and reeked of boy.

WE quickly left and headed for town where we had a nice afternoon meandering around shops, eating lunch and then laying on the beach. Around 6 we wandered back up to town for dinner a fantastic spot looking out over the beach. However, because we didn't have a reservation we were kicked out of our table promptly at 7:15 (about the time I took my fork out of my mouth after my final bite) and directed to a bar just around the corner to watch the sun set over the water.

This was where things got a little different.

The bar was actually have a burlesque show that evening. Laura and I had never seen a burlesque show, but it sounded interesting enough. So, we ordered drinks, sat down and watched the crowds come in. Lots of women in very short black dresses and men in tuxedos. And lots of odd maid costumes, nurse outfits and the occasional gothic look. Fantastic people watching.

Until a man who would later become known to us as the stamp nazi came and asked to see our tickets for the show.

We obviously hadn't purchased any and when we found out they were $35 there was no way were going to. He asked to see the stamps on our hands saying we were supposed to be there. We didn't have any. So he said we had to leave. We said fine. And then we didn't move.

Five minutes later he came back to escort us out. By this point, for some reason, we had decided we were going to watch this burlesque show and we were going to watch it for free. So, instead of leaving, we went to the bathroom. As we waited in line, he came up again. We said we would leave as soon as we used the bathroom. He walked off.

When we came out of the bathroom Laura and I decided that we were going to just hide. In retrospect I'm really not sure why we wanted to stay so badly. I think it was the principle of the matter. We'd already been kicked out of a restaurant, we didn't want to be thrown out of a bar. So, even though we were wearing our bathing suits and casual clothes and everyone else looked like they were dressed for a Halloween Gala, we tried to sink into a couch and look inconspicuous. I've never longed for fishnet thigh highs, a corset and a nurse's costume so much in my life - especially for the purpose of fitting in with a crowd!

We befriended some New Zealanders, hoping they would make us stand out less and chatted with them until a rather naughty looking nun came on stage, did an odd dance with two girls in thigh highs and bored us to death. We decided that maybe burlesque wasn't nearly as exciting as we'd hoped and we left, smiling at the stamp nazi on our way out.

Filling a little unfullfilled from our evening, we decided to go to a party at a vineyard we'd heard about earlier in the day. The vineyard, called Stoney Ridge, backs up to a "clothing optional" beach on the opposite side of the island from where we were staying.

We found a bus, hopped in, asked our driver (who smelled a lot like he'd just bathed in anchovies) to tell us when the stop for Stoney Ridge was, and settled in. The other people on the bus were a little crazy. At some point a guy wearing an odd Roman Soldier outfit got off carrying an ax. Weird.

Finally, we arrived in what appeared to be the middle of no where at the end of a gravel drive and the driver announced this was it. Laura and I got off. Alone. Walking up the empty, silent road, thanking God the moon was full enough we could see, I wondered where in my life I made the turn that led me to be rambling around random islands in New Zealand wearing my bathing suit and looking for a party.

Eventually we heard the music ahead and finally found the party. And wow, it was a party. Actually, it was a rave. Apparently there were about 2,000 people there and they'd all come over from Auckland and were returning on the midnight ferry. And I'm pretty sure Laura and I were 2 of about 4 people not wasted out of their minds at this event. I've been to a lot of parties in my day, but never one with quite this much in the way of drugs. And people on drugs. And techno music. And people just randomly dancing among olive trees.

Laura and I sat in the grass together, people watching, and every few minutes another guy would come up and sit down beside us. The best part was that they would all start talking to us as if we'd been mid conversation and now they were coming back.

"Yeah, so my mate took some heroine and now he's not even speaking with me," a guy plopped down and said.

"I'm sorry to hear that?"

My favorite was the guy who sat down next to me, explained that he'd taken a "lolly," whatever that is, and then said that he was Pharrell's cousin. He swore it so much and made me promise to believe him. I said I did. But I lied. Because he was white.

Eventually, we shared a cab with some New Zealanders and made it back to the lodge where we stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking to two 18 year old British guys who were quite funny. I've not felt that old in a while, but they made us laugh, which was good because Laura was feeling a bit discouraged from our bed situation for the evening.

(Ok, so I was going to write about our experience at church today for Easter, but this entry is getting insanely long and if anyone has read this far then you're a better friend than I. So, I'm cutting this short. Also, I'm doing laundry tonight and it's time to go and check and see if maybe my clothes don't smell like something died on them anymore. Thanks for reading!)

End of Fiji, start of NZ pics

They're up!

It's been a Good Friday

So yeah, it's Good Friday here. Which is cool because I don't recall having ever spent Good Friday in another country before and it's a little different in New Zealand than in the US. More on that later.

Today has been a REALLY long one. Laura and Ev have already gone to bed so I'm braving this internet cafe that has no less than 35 backpackers in it alone. After an early morning and a long flight we arrived in NZ and caught a bus to the hostel where we were staying. Except, it wasn't the hostel where we were staying. It was another one by the same name 10 blocks north. So we started walking and for the first time, I offically felt like a backpacker.

By the time we'd made it we were all a bit tired. Laura and I checked in our room and agreed to meet Ev in ten minutes in the lobby. We got on the elevator, hit the button for our floor and nothing happened. Then we hit the button for other floors. Nothing. Then we started yelling. Nothing. Then we hit the alarm. Finally, some reaction from outside. We heard "I think someone's stuck in the lift." "Yes!!!" we screamed. Silence again. We couldn't stop laughing. Or sweating. It was VERY small and VERY hot in the "lift."

And no one was doing anything.

We screamed again. This time I yelled "EVERETT!!!" as loud as a I could. And I could hear Everett start laughing and say "Oh my gosh." Then his voice got closer. We screamed again.

"Be quiet," he said, clearly exasperated. "They're going to help you. I'm going to go put my stuff in my room, I'll see you in a little bit."

Laura and I felt a little abandoned.

We screamed again. And then we took some pics for memory's sake.

Finally, someone came to the other side and told us to pull the doors as they pulled. As the doors opened, the worker looked at us like we were crazy, complained that her hand her from pulling open the doors and then walked off. Welcome to New Zealand.

The day improved drastically from there. Our room is nice and private. The weather is insanely perfect after the humidity in Fiji. There's a Starbucks across the street (I've already been). We walked in the park, went to the top of the sky needle (or whatever they call it) and hung out down at the harbor where we got dinner and drinks. Interesting note though (back to Good Friday) on Good Friday, they can't sell alcohol to you unless you have food in front of you. So, while we probably would have hung out longer by the harbor, our food was taken away and hence, we were left with nothing.

We wandered for awhile, but everything is closed for the holiday. It's kind of refreshing really compared to the US where CVS is still open 24 hours on Christmas day.

Anyway, I'm off to bed now. Tomorrow we're splitting up again. Laura and I are going to an island that sounds like Waikeke and Everett is going to a town that sounds like RoterRuter. I don't know how either are actually spelled. Hopefully we'll figure that out sooner rather than later.

"Jesus cried out with a loud voice, and gave up the spirit. The veil of the temple was torn in two from the top to the bottom. When the centurion, who stood opposite him, saw that he cried out like this and breathed his last, he said 'Truly this man was the Son of God!'" - Mark 15: 37-39

Off to Auckland

We're in the Nadi airport getting ready to catch our flight to New Zealand. Everett has threatened to punch me in the face about 37 times this morning already. I guess I get a little stressed when traveling. He just asked Laura if anyone ever walked into my cube at work and beat the crap out of me - because apparently that's what he'd like to do.

Other than my impending black eye, all seems well though. We're about to get in the longest security line of all time though so I've got to run.

Check 'em Out!

New photos are up. We're on our way back to Nadi for the night before we fly to Auckland in the morning. I'll try and update with stories soon!

Smuggler's Cove

Let me start this post by saying that we are now happily tucked away in a lovely hostel on the south side of the island. It has palm trees, a beautiful beach and six person dorms that are perfect for relaxing under fans in the jungle air. Ok, now let me go back to last night's accomodations.

Yesterday, Laura and I arrived at Smugglers Cove in Nadi. We had been warned by a few people at our previous spot that Smugglers was a bit of a struggle. Actually, I believe the words used to decribe it were "if you want to go to Coney Island and actually go in the ocean there, then Smugglers is fine." And that was by some Canadian guy who can best be described as a total douchebag who probably thinks beaches in Jersey on the best thing since the Carribean.

Anyway, Laura and I arrive, checked in, recieved our neon orange jail-like towels, and then walked into what can only be decribed as a prison like setting. The "Pirates Dormitory" had at least 40 beds and smelled, as Everett later described it, like boiled beets. But worse. Laura quickly began to look like she was going to cry. In order to avoid that I tried to be positive and said we'd leave as soon as we could. However, there was no way we could avoid spending at least one night because Everett was due to arrive this morning and our planned meeting place was Smugglers. So, I agreed to wake up VERY early in order to make sure he did not check in so that we could leave today.

Laura and I passed our time with dinner, some internet time and generally trying to ignore the seemingly millions of high schooler Europeans congregating around us. As it was rainy yesterday, the pool (approximately the size of my bathtub) and the ocean (which looked like a black colored pool with dirt sand) were pretty much abandoned. Finally, around 11 p.m. I crawled into my bottom bunk, located about 6 and a half inches from another bottom bunk containing a very skinny man with odd lip piercings, and tried to fall asleep.

The one plus was that there was air conditioning (there had to be some venilation in the room- which had NO windows!) so sleep was nice. However, I awoke around 5 a.m., nervous that Everett would arrive before I could stop him from checking in. So, after some long morning ours in the lobby, he arrived. The three of us quickly decided that we would go to the place where we are now (The Beachhouse Resort) because we'd seen a flier for it in the lobby. However, that still gave us about 4 hours to burn at Smugglers in Nadi.

So, we decided to go for a walk on the beach. This was pretty much the equivalent of deciding to go for a walk in a dump where it has just rained, and the ground is black, and there is lots of glass. We wore shoes. Along the way, we met a rugby team who after an early morning game drove their white van onto the beach to take a swim in the ocean. (Later, as we walked back, their van was actually stuck in the ocean) As we continued to walk, we noticed a variety of lovely "sea life" washed up onto the beach including, but not limited to, a tank top, beer bottles and a pair of red panties.

At the end of the beach, a fairly sketchy man had pulled his car next to the sand and asked us if we wanted to go for a ride. We declined. By the time we made it back to the hotel, which, incidentally , turned out to be so close the airport you could actually see the people's faces in their windows as the planes flew behind it,it seemed like ages had passed.

As it was, we still had two hours to burn so we headed into Nadi, a town I can only describe as the third world south pacific's answer to Shelby. After popping in and out of a few shops, checking out a Hindu temple and repeatedly turning down offers for deals on sarongs, we caught a ride back to Smugglers.

Finally, after a quick lunch and a final stop in the stinky dorm, we were off. And frankly, I think the rest of my life will be much better for not having suffered any more time there.

Ok, internet time is up - and I've left Laura with Everett so it's best that I check to make sure he hasn't scared her to death yet!

Photos are up!

Ok, check the "My Backpacking Trip" link - I'm so proud I somehow managed to use a slightly foreign computer (definitely not my Mac) to upload some photos. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to upload the ones from my fancy camera so the best are still yet to come. But, for an idea of just how awesome Fiji is via images- and how burned I got - click away!

* Update: All photos are now up and on the site (from both cameras). I am a computer genius.

I'm no sailor

It has been quite a day. Today was our last day at Octopus, where we've been since our arrival and it was hard to leave. This morning it rained so much it felt like buckets were coming out of the sky. Laura pointed out that if we had one rain like that in Georgia, the drought would be forever over.

After our final lunch at the resort and our good byes to all of our new friends- (on a side note, while we met lots of people including two very friendly Australians we will probably be calling when we're in Melbourne, Laura and I kept coming up with names for everyone that were not their actual names. It was much easier to remember them that way. So, leaving Octopus, our thoughts were much more "we'll miss Toronto, Brown Bean, the bum rubbers, the old guys, Obama, Michael Vick and the Russian" more than any kind of missing "Tom, John, Jennifer etc." ) Anyway, so after lunch, it was time for our boat ride return to the mainland.

The water was a little choppy as it was still storming, but I didn't think much of it. As a person who gets seasick when I take the kayak out for a ride at the beach, I'm not sure what I was thinking. The boat, which was the same one we'd ridden in on in smooth waters on a sunny day, is fairly small and seats about 12 to 15 people. Before we'd even started the engines it occured to me that my stomach might not be prepared for this trip.

I had no idea.

Within twenty minutes I'd broken into a cold sweat and was focusing all of my energy on watching the horizon which I could barely make out over the cresting waves. Laura was sharing her iPod with me in an attempt to distract me, but it wasn't doing much. Then, suddenly, my earphone was jerked from my ear as Laura lunged forward with everyone else in the boat as Chris, the Australian manager for the resort who happened to be on the boat with us, yelled "Shark!"

At that point, I looked behind the boat to see what I can only describe as the biggest shark fin I've seen since I watched Jaws at my friend Joe's house in fifth grade. According to Chris, the fin was "wobbly" because he thought we'd hit the shark. Funny though, because "wobbly" also looks kind of like "terrifying, cutting back and forth in the water, wants to eat Americans." I'd actually seen a shark when snorkling yesterday, but it was a friendly enough looking leopard shark, minding his own business just off the reef on the bottom. He was also only about 4 to 5 feet long. Unlike the Moby Dick of sharks behind our boat.

Anyway, unfortunately, the ride became even worse after the shark. Within moments I'd swallowed a dramamine and everyone on board was requesting motion sickness medicine. Then, I became fairly certain I was going to throw up and apparently my very pale face made that evident because I was quickly moved to the back of the boat with a bucket where I hung my head out like a dog for the rest of the trip, praying I didn't have to throw up in front of a large group of people I didn't know. And into a bucket.

As we pulled into the harbor, Chris actually shouted "Yay! You didnt vomit!" which sounds much more charming with an Australian accent and everyone congratulated me. I felt pretty proud of my accomplishment to be honest. I'm pretty sure I've never had to work that hard before to avoid it. Meanwhile, poor Laura had spent the ride completely terrified that we were going to capsize and be thrown into the ocean with the shark. While that may have crossed my mind as we moved over some waves, I think I would have been perfectly happy to be thrown from the boat as it would have given a nice reprieve from my state.

So, I wish I could say that from there our day has gotten better. But that would be a lie. Laura and I have pretty much managed to end up at the sketchiest hostel ever. The beach looks like dirt, the dorm looks like jail and a man at the front asked Laura if he could carry her bag for her because he thought she was pregnant. A man, who, by the way, looks like he's been smoking pot for the last 60 years straight. So, we are currently quite busy trying to find where we can move to next so that we can get out of here. My only hope is that the next place doesn't require a boat ride.

*I am sorry about my lack of photo uploading! I haven't found a spot yet where I can do it, but as soon as I do, they'll be there!

Sunrise

This morning Laura and I both woke up sometime around 5 a.m. Laura, because she was so hot she felt the need to get up and take a cold shower and me, because there is definitely a mouse working very hard to create his home in the thatch roof right above my head. It's kind of distracting having images of rodents falling on your face in the middle of the night.

So, rather than stay in our room, roasting and fearing mice, we headed out to the beach. I decided to hike back up to the top of the mountain to see what I could of the sunrise through the early morning clouds. It was beautiful.

The first day that we arrived here, as Laura and I were lounging in the sand, she rolled over and asked me how one could ever describe the kind of beauty we're seeing. How do you put this kind of scenery, these kind of people and this kind of place into words? I said I didn't know.

Several years ago, I was at a place in my life in which I was really questioning God's existence. I'm not really sure why in retrospect, but I thought of it often and of Him often and I wasn't so sure I believed He was there. Then, one Sunday evening I was driving home to North Carolina after a weekend in D.C. visiting my brother with some friends. Everyone else in the car had fallen asleep and it was quiet as we drove the mountains in Virginia. The sun was setting and as we came up over one crest, the sun looked so startling in its beauty, sinking into the dark mountains that I knew then and there that I believed in God's existence. If for no other reason than the fact that every fiber of my being cried out for me to thank someone for what I was seeing.

I think that is how I would describe the beauty of this place. Every part of me wants nothing more than to praise its creator.

Fiji!

So as it turns out, Fiji is pretty close to the equator. Which, while I was no science major, actually indicates that the sun is closer apparently. Something Laura and I learned very quickly yesterday when we turned into red lobsters by mid afternoon.

In addition to the sun burning problem, this also leads to quite a bit of heat. This morning, Laura and I accompanied several other guests from the resort where we're staying to church in the village on the island for Palm Sunday. I'm pretty sure I've never sweat that much in my life. (I know I've said this before, but seriously, it's true. I looked like I might as well have swam around the island for church.)

However, it was beautiful. In fact, everything is beautiful. The place, the people, the entire atmosphere is one where you can't help but relax. There are NO americans. Plenty of Brits, Canadians and Australians though and all very friendly. We've shared stories and heard plenty of traveling advice for our next stops.

Our room situation has been highly entertaining thus far. We're pretty sure there is at least one mouse living with us. He was kind enough to leave his droppings on the bed next time sometime last night. And there's definitely "the biggest lizard I've ever seen" (-Laura Birnbaum) living in our bathroom. Of course, it's an outdoor shower so he does kind of have some rights out there.

The room was just ours until about ten minutes ago when two guys from Vancouver moved in with us. Should be interesting. I'm hoping they're prepared to take care of that lizard and mouse for us.

Ok, internet costs too much here so it's time for me to go! Farewell!

We're in the Fiiiijjj!

As I affectionately like to call it.

So Laura and I have arrived. It's Saturday morning, March 15 and in case you stateside readers are wondering what the future is like for Saturday, I will tell you. It's warm and lovely and filled with alot of people saying bula. Which apparently means hello, good bye and everything in between.

We're currently hanging out at the airport and waiting for a "tall indo fijian man named daniel" to come and retrieve us to take us to a boat that will then travel 1 and a half hours to the Octopus Resort on a small island in the Yasawa islands. I CAN'T WAIT!!!

That's about it for now. Due to a severe lack of sleep, lack of water and food and alot of sweating (how does a plane at 40,000 feet get so freaking hot that you wake up sweating through your eye cover?! This, I will never understand) I feel a bit delirious as I make this post. So, I'm going to let Laura have a go at the internet and I'll go back on backpack watch. And hopefully track down a diet coke because I'm pretty sure I've never wanted one more in my life.

Ok, I'm off! Bula!

Hide and Peek

So I’m back home in Shelby and living the life of the unemployed. Which, I might add, is not so bad so far. Today, I got to sleep a little later than usual. Not much later really as living with Rosie prohibits really any kind of relaxing habits like sleeping late without loud barking noises occurring, eating a meal without the same said barking noises, or even taking a bath without the same affect. My parents are thrilled to be getting her for the next seven weeks.

So today, I decided to fully embrace my unemployment and go to Wal Mart. In my pajamas. I didn’t really intend to go in my pajamas. I actually consider the grey pants I wore today yoga pants (even though I’ve slept in them way more than I’ve ever done yoga in them. Considering I’ve never done yoga in them, this was a fairly easy feat). However, my mom pointed out to me several times that they are pajama pants, and, well, she’s probably right. And wearing pajamas fits better anyway for going to Wal Mart when you’re unemployed I feel.

I had to get a few last minute things for my trip at Wal Mart and my mom had some grocery shopping to do so we split up. And I immediately remembered why I avoid Wal Mart when I’m in Shelby. It is inevitable that you will see everyone you’ve ever known while you are there. Today was no exception.

As I am at a point in my life right now that is rather difficult to explain without people looking at me like I’m crazy (you’re quitting your job? You’re living with your parents? You’re traveling where?!) I’ve been avoiding human contact so as to avoid lying. It’s just hard. Like, at this point, my friends get it. I’ve told them what I’m doing and if they do think I’m crazy, they’ve had enough time to conceal that emotion so I don’t have to see them looking at me like I need to be committed.

Which is exactly what happens with other people. Which is why I lied to everyone in my condo complex. (I’m sorry everyone who lives in Chastain Court Condos, I didn’t get a job transfer and buy a new home in Charlotte. I made that up.) See? This is what happens when I’m forced to answer what’s going on in my life. So this is why today, when I saw my mom speaking to one of my high school friend’s mom, I hid in the plus size women’s section of the store.

As I lurked behind some rather large sweat pants, trying to peer around a rack of Hanes t-shirts to see if the conversation was coming to an end, it occurred to me that I might have gone over the edge. And that maybe I need to come to terms with the fact that while quitting your job and heading off to travel in southeast Asia sounds kind of eclectic, hiding from people among elastic waist band jeans is just plain crazy.

And so, I’m going to quit avoiding it. I’ll just tell people. And if they look at me like I’m crazy, that’s ok. At least I’m not hiding in Wal Mart.

Pink Dachshund

I have had three people forward me these photos in less than 24 hours. So I thought I'd share them. I have to admit, they make me want to find Rosie a pig orphan.

To and Fro

About two months ago I decided to quit my job, move out of Atlanta and go backpacking around random parts of the world. For most people, when I first told them I was doing this, their reaction was “that sounds cool.” And then I actually did. Well, not entirely. I leave one week from today. But I’ve turned in my resignation, moved my stuff out, bought the tickets and gotten the shots. It seems pretty clear that I’m actually going to do it.

So now people are starting to ask why. It’s funny because I think this is a question I kind of expected more at first. It seems like an obvious one. Like, remind me again why you’re giving up a perfectly good job/salary, moving your stuff into your parents’ basement and facing the possibility of Japanese encephalitis? Why exactly would anyone do that?

When I first decided to do this, I think my answer would have sounded pretty desperate. I felt trapped in a nine to five life I didn’t feel ready for yet. I was afraid if I went to one more cocktail party for another random charity at one more mansion, I was going to become so cynical there’d be no going back. I was worried I’d start to think that the lifestyle I promoted every day was normal—and even good.

The thing is though I came across this passage as I was reading yesterday: Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro: He bustles about, but only in vain; he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it. (Psalms 39:6)

I think that’s it. I don’t want to spend the next 35 years going to and fro so that I can store up enough money to pay for a nice retirement home one day. I fully believe there is so much more to life than that. I want to see more of this magnificent world. I want to experience cultural happenings I could never imagine. I just want to meet people who don’t say y’all.

And so, I can’t think of a better time to do it than this moment. My responsibilities are few (basically one dachshund who will be happily living with her grandparents for two months). My parents are supportive (with the possible exception of my mom’s small breakdown: “Yesterday I had two successful children in their mid-twenties with jobs and salaries. Today they tell me they’ve quit their jobs and are moving home!”) And the feeling of freedom and liberation I have when I consider what I’m about to do is like nothing I’ve ever felt in my life. I can’t stop smiling.

So yeah, I guess that’s why.

Call me crazy

I love to vacuum. Like, a totally abnormal amount. It's definitely the weirdest thing about me— at least from the obsessive compulsive, slightly crazy side. To me, there is just something so relaxing and refreshing about vacuuming. I love nothing better than a vacuumed room. Give me those perfect little lines of cleanliness in a really plush carpet and you've pretty much made my day.

I've actually relaxed a bit with this habit. When I was growing up I had vacuuming hours. I was not allowed, under any circumstances, to vacuum after 9 p.m. But trust me, I did plenty of it before (and occasionally would try to sneak and do it later). I recall being slightly ashamed that I felt the need to go vacuum my room every night after dinner, but I couldn't help myself. I actually had a path through my room that basically led to the bed, closet and bathroom. I never allowed myself to step into the other sections of the room for fear of messing up the lines. To be honest, I still kind of avoid those sections.

My brother, on the other hand, loved nothing more than running into my room, stomping all over the smooth lines and running out. I wanted to murder him. But usually I was too busy running for the vacuum to go after him. I was probably the only teenager in the world with her own supply of Resolve, vacuum bags and carpet scrubbers in her bedroom.

The thing is, after I went to college, I had to start getting over this. It wasn't easy. I definitely enjoyed borrowing the vacuum from the RA more than the average college freshman. When things really changed was when I got Rosie. My insane dachshund has forced me to become about a million times more laid back than I ever was before. These days I consider carpet clean if Rosie's not in the middle of crapping on it.

The crazy thing is though, I think the guy in the condo above mine may just be an obsessive vacuumer. It's 11:30 p.m. right now and he is vacuuming. Clearly, he doesn't abide by the vacuum curfew. He vacuums all the time. Morning, noon, night. I hear him. And I get a little envious sometimes, I'll admit. It's kind of how I'd imagine a recovering drug addict feels when they smell pot or the way a Weight Watchers success story feels when they see McDonalds. I want it.

More than anything I just want to see the inside of his condo. I imagine it's just wall to wall beautiful, pristine carpet. Chances are, I'm wrong. He has a large dog and all of the condos have hard wood floors. But, it's such a nice fantasy and it would explain the vacuuming. And, well, it makes me happy to think of it that way because even if I've been doomed to a lifetime of dirty rugs, someone should be so lucky.

Meal of Fortune

Tonight I had thai take out for dinner. That is what happens when you've packed everything you own and sent it two states away two weeks before you actually move out. That, and you spend an exceptional amount of time on your air mattress with your dachshund.

Anyway, so the lady at the restaurant gave me two fortune cookies. (This could be because I asked for two sets of chopsticks because I like to fool restaurant people into thinking I'm a light eater. "Oh yeah, definitely two sets of chopsticks. There's no way I could eat this entire pad thai myself," I usually say loudly enough for anyone within a ten foot radius to be able to hear.) So I ate the first fortune cookie, excited to see what it would tell me.

It read: You will obtain your goal if you maintain your course.

It's funny, fortune cookies are pretty much designed to be applicable to everyone and I'd imagine the creators of this cookie felt they'd done a good job with that, but they were wrong. Of all the cookies in all the world, that one just does not work for me right now because about two months ago I gave up all goals in life. With the possible exception of not dying from some odd southeastern asia virus, I've got nothing.

If you'd caught me a few months earlier my goals could have been promotion, more money, a better body, a bigger place, publish my novel, breed Rosie for money, learn how to speak a second language or any number of other random things. But I've kind of decided to take a break from life and goals and such and just live for a little while.

Lucky for me, there was another fortune cookie. I shared this one with Rosie so I guess this means we'll share the fortune. This one read: Tomorrow you will find the item you have been searching for.

Thank goodness. I can only assume this means I'll find my hairbrush which was lost in the move about a week ago leaving me with tangled hair for the last six days. And for Rosie, she hid a piece of pizza crust behind my printer a few days ago and I think she's forgotten it. Maybe I'll help fortune along on this one and point it out to her in the morning.

Sounds Amazing

Packing for my upcoming world voyage is easily one of the harder things I've ever done. I am a notorious over packer. If I'm going on a weekend ski trip, chances are I've brought along a sundress just on the off chance Utah has a heat wave. If I'm at the beach, you can be certain I have sweatpants and sweatshirt. I'd say it's a matter of being prepared, but that's not it at all. Because inevitably I forget 90% of the things I actually need. For instance, last time I went to London, I didn't pack an umbrella for possibly the most notoriously rainy city in the world.

I have now packed and repacked my bag so many times I can't keep count. I come home at night and take out a sundress, wake up the next morning and put a new t-shirt in. I have packed pills for any illness that could occur, deet to ward off all those crazy encephalitis carrying mosquitoes and enough sunscreen to ensure that even with my "this makes you sensitive to the sun" malaria medicine I probably won't die of skin cancer before I return home.

In all of my packing, I am determined to make it so that I will be able to sleep during my seven weeks in hostel dorm rooms and on planes and trains in the middle of the night. So, I've purchased a few things to help. Yesterday I bought some mask and ear plugs at REI that are designed to block out ALL noise. I decided to give it a shot last night. I put the plugs in, looked at Rosie and let out a long howl. (Rosie howls along if you howl. One of her many talents.) And so Rosie began a long series of howling and barking that ensured (once again) that my neighbors will be none too sad to see us go. And, it was like a little miracle occured. I couldn't hear her. Amazing. I mean, there was, faintly, as if somewhere in the background the sound of a dog barking. But it was like a cute bark. Not the ear piercing, nails-on-chalkboard noise that usually comes from Rosie's little snout.

And so, for now, the earplugs are not packed. They are firmly in my ears. At this very moment. Because inevitably at some point this evening Rosie is going to hear another dog bark outside, or see a piece of dust fly across the room or notice that the ceiling fan goes around in circles or some other totally bark-worthy event will occur. And then she'll start with the yelps and I won't care. It is going to be awesome.

Ok, I'm back to packing. I've got sundresses to take out.