Auckland (passing through)

It had been six; No, seven days since our last shower. Thats not including the bath I took in the hot spring creek (the sulfur in the water smelt like rotten eggs, so despite my being submerged in water, the net effect is I was still one smelly American). Our individual odors were beginning to combine into one much larger transformer-like funk. So we decided to give in and hit a caravan park for a night and shower. Hollie caved a day ago, and decided to wash her hair in our sink. Our sink which moonlights as a toilet. It made some progress (to her maybe) but still we both stunk. The decision to stay at the park was a no-brainer. The funk had to be killed.

The avoiding caravan parks and just free camping has been paying off. It has been saving us at least 30 dollars a night. The only issue is, as I said, the poor hygiene. Bathing in thermals and swimming in creeks is a step in the right direction but doesnt quite do the job. These beautiful locks of mine require a level of care which I can no longer provide them.

Its hard to truly enjoy the beauty of this country when you yourself are a walking disaster.

. . . .

Hollie is siting in the driver seat with the car running. I open the passenger door and slide back in.

"What's wrong?" Hollie asks.

"I don't know what that guys problem was; I just used the toilet and asked him for directions and he didnt say anything?"

"You know you have oatmeal in your beard."

"? . . . "

Besides the bathing, it is hard trying to find a place to take a dignified crap either. Gas stations and KFCs are just about good as it gets.

Walking into the local McD's, hair standing on end like the bride of Frankenstein, looking like you just woke up in a van (because you did), no talking to any one or buying anything because you cant afford to (cant afford McDonalds) walking straight into the bathroom. Doing your morning routine in McDonalds sink is an all-time low. Brushing your teeth while some guy is trying to force out his supersized #4 with an extra hashbrown is an even lower one.

But no matter how grubby or pathetic we get we always have enough money to by wine and are never so desperate we eat bread ends.

Im lovin' it!

. . . . . .

Mt. Doom


Tongariro Crossing