Parasailing in the Bay of Islands

We had one of those now infamous New Zealand "perfect storms" hit us again this past weekend. For three straight days, the wind bent the trees in half and it poured. The big sail that shelters patrons from the sun in the back garden bar of the resaurant broke again--the wooden beam supporting it snapped in half. I don't know how many inches we got (or millimeters, as they say here), but it was a lot. The wind was so strong that the ferries stopped running for a couple of days.

But, as a veteran of Kiwi weather hell, I marched on...to the pub, to drown my liver in alcoholic bliss. What else is there to do in a small town when it rains? Really, though, what else is there to do when you live in Russell? It gave me ample time to think of thematic nuances for the bar I'm going to open up one day -- The Spotted Liver. Which will adjoin Cirrhosis Lounge for an evening of probably very forgettable fun.

My day off greeted me with, quite surprisingly, fantastic weather. And there are few places that can match the aesthetic quality of The Bay of Islands on a sunny day. I've been wanting to go parasailing in the bay for quite some time, and a new colleague at the restaurant joined me for 20 minutes of adrenaline secretion today. What views! At 1,200 ft., it's the highest parasail in New Zealand. A good, if sometimes dizzying, time! On to the proof...




Ascending upward as the boat takes off. You get strapped in, with someone else beside you, to a harness, which connects to the parachute, which launches from the back of the boat. You never get wet. We were the only ones on the boat, so the skipper was kind enough to keep us up in the air twice as long as usual--about 20 minutes. As he turns the boat, the rope slackens, you fall almost to water level before he turns again and you quickly ascend back up to 1200 ft. With the wind whipping around over open water, you can get jostled a bit at the top, making for a few stomach-churning moments. Keep in mind: I'm a control freak. That's psycho-babble for a wimp. The worst thing that could happen is if the parachute gets twisted and you plunge over a 1000 ft to your watery grave. But, get this, you have a life jacket on! They'll have no problem finding your bruised corpse and Fed-Ex'ing it back to the States!

Racing toward Paihia, across the bay from home.

Those sunglasses belong on Posh Spice. That is not Posh Spice.

That's Russell behind us.

Somebody should have shaved for his photo-op, but he shall remain nameless. No unibrow action, though, so points for that.

Russell.

I tried to get a picture of the parachute above us. Not so much.

It's a long way up. And down. That's the boat that we're attached to. I'm sorry...to which we are attached.

Looking over New Zealand coastline.

This is the best position to be in when the two guys on the boat say, "that cord looks frayed. Remind me to check on that if we can pull these two back."

Looking West, over Paihia.

Looking North, over the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, where it all started for the Kiwis.

The sea and stuff.

The fresh air, the water, the panoramic view...the eggs I had for breakfast sneaking back up the esophageal track.

Mom, that's for you. If you still read this.

Getting reeled in.

I'm parasailing in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Pretty cool. I bought a t-shirt to commemorate the event. Even cooler.

Not a bad view.

Looking East, past Russell, just visible on the extreme right. The Eagle's Nest, one of the planet's more outrageously priced luxury resorts, is nestled right in front of you, among the trees at the top of the hill.

Still attached.

Working my life-saving parachute...

Russell livin' pics

Waitangi Day-on the treaty grounds, the march ended with a "haka" greeting from teenagers, along with a 20 minute back-and-forth in Maori between the kids and the leaders of the march. The "haka" is a sight to behold--even the University of Hawaii football team got into the practice of doing it before games, with the majority of their players being of Polynesian descent. It is famous worldwide largely due to The All Blacks--New Zealand's official religion, I mean, New Zealand's national rugby team employing it as an intimidation/psyche up routine prior to its matches. Check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Zvs4T4RU30&feature=related

Pretty cool, huh?

It might be akin to how Confederates used to yell as they were charging Union positions back in the Civil War or how American Indians used to yell before attacking whitey and withdrawing to casinos--it's designed to intimidate. And because Maoris themselves are big people, one can see how it would work. I'm going to incorporate it into my life by doing it at important moments--before asking for a pay raise, when I ask a woman out, or when I can't decide which cereal to buy.

Check the face of the guy in the middle, as well as the two girls up top on the left. Now imagine a 250lb guy doing this with an instrument in his hand designed to decapitate. www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haka

The end of the march on the treaty grounds. I think that flag is emblematic of the Maori motto: "White people need not apply."

Saw a couple dozen Maori gang members who were kind enough to grace the special day with their presence. Reminded me of the 00's version of the 80's gangs in L.A.--many of them are affiliated with colors. I half expected Sean Penn to show up to bust some heads together. I would've taken a picture, but let's just say we tried not to make eye contact.

The march around the flagpole. Just prior to this, my roomie and I excused ourselves from the march--at this point, the march becomes a symbolic gesture of defiance toward the police-guarded flagpole and, well, the only things I would like to symbolically defy are ATM fees, older Asian women with drivers licenses and America's love affair with the word "like."

The fuzz.

The man.

5-0.

Guarding the flagpole.

In years past, there have been attacks on the flagpole during the march. Government officials have been jostled and egged. This year, it was docile. I'd like to think attitudes have matured. But I think it was the intimidating presence of that lady right in the middle of the picture. That body says, "not on my watch, Bubba."

The flagpole ringed by the po-po. And eager cameramen hoping their careers are propelled by a violent confrontation. Alas, no such luck. Maybe next year.

Stunning landscape behind the media. That is the new H.M.S. Canterbury off in the distance in the sea on the right. The old one was scuttled and is now a diving site. The new one looks like a half-finished rhombus on water. Not exactly the most aerodynamic or discreet thing sailing the seas these days. It basically obscures the view of the horizon from 1000 miles away.

This is where I removed my very white rear-end from the march, ambled down in front of the horde to take pictures as if the Maoris were exhibits in a zoo. I essentially fulfilled about 6 different stereotypes by doing this.

There was an American flag present among all the Maori independence flags up at the front. You can see it in this picture. The Stars and Stripes had a picture of an American Indian Chief on it, however, and said, "California, U.S.A." One gets a real good insight into how the Maoris view themselves and their historical role in New Zealand's history when Sitting Bull's image is conjoured up for the masses. At this point, were anyone to ask, I'm Canadian. You would be too if you saw how big Polynesians are.

Marching! Land for Maoris! Justice for my people!

I haven't felt this safe as an American abroad since never. Usually the most hated nationality (called "bushism"), here I am among hundreds of Maoris and I've got an Englishman right in front of me! Say "hello" to England, the country responsible for this march! And, who do I see, but an Englishman with a bandana on right in front of me: my roommate.

I told Mark, if anything were to happen today, it was every man for himself, which meant there was a 99% chance that I would yell something like, "he's English! He did it! He's right here! It's his fault! His fault, I tell you!" as I ran for the woods screaming my national anthem.

Mark and I made the newspaper the following day. In a half-page photo of the marchers, you can see us in the crowd. I've hired an agent to field all the calls from Hollywood, now that I've been discovered. You should see the groupies, though.

Still marching. Half-tempted at this point to start reciting Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech, since by this stage I'm half-Maori.

The H.M.S. Canterbury anchored off in the distance. A UFO in the left foreground. Russell is just off the picture on the right, where the hills are. If you look closely, you can see Los Angeles in this direction. Or at least some of its smog.

Approaching Waitangi.

This is Bonnie, the ex-cook at the Garden Bar in the back of the restaurant. She's saying, "nooo" as I try to take her picture. Ah, vanity. She and Fiona, the dishwasher in the kitchen, have left my life as they began their travels around the country just a week ago. But they left me a better man: more resolute and bouyed with character from all the rejections I endured from them. Thank you girls.

Your humble blogger trying on the Swedish cook's uniform. As you can see, he's the size of a viking. Between lunch and dinner shifts, he loots and pillages the town and hones his weapons for war.

That's me during a lunch shift. You know, contemplating the mysteries of the faith, ruminating on the boundaries of existentialism in a scientific universe, doodling...that sort of thing.

That's Fiona, our dishy, or dishwasher, who made me fall in love with Asian girls all over again. And Charlie, an occasional helper in the kitchen and a man of the town, with the uncanny ability to talk without moving his lips, making it nearly impossible to understand what he's saying.

The Viking and the French Chef...the title of one chapter in my forthcoming autobiography, "How You Too Can Avoid a 9-5."

Just to go on record: Bernard, the French chef on the right, is the coolest boss in town and probably the coolest Frenchman you'll never meet. I'm tempted to forgive France for World War II after working for him, but I won't.

My friends, from the left: snapper, gurnard, flounder, trevally, and John Dory. On top: crayfish, still alive and kicking. I had one jump off the tray after I had presented it to a table. They're fiesty when they first come out of the water and before we can refrigerate them for a few hours to calm them down. But it's fun to freak people out when I show up at tables and his antennae are moving around and I have a hand on him so that he doesn't flip off the tray. This one is smiling: ah, vanity.

Emilia from Argentina. She and her boyfriend helped us out for a month or so before going back home.

Zee Gables.

A tall ships race in the bay. The view from the restaurant.

Ditto.

Seeing all the boats everyday makes you want to get one. It's a pretty good life, spending your days on the water. They say the two happiest days of a boat owner's life are the day you buy your boat and the day you sell it.

Russell livin'

I haven't blogged it up in the last 6 weeks because, well, there really hasn't been too much to report. I sell fish, essentially. I work 6 days a week at the restaurant. I drink because, well, that's what you do in Russell. Ironic when you consider that the first temperance meeting in New Zealand took place in the Bay of Islands in 1834. Ha. If they could only see us now.

Okay, a quick recap: beginning Boxing Day, Dec. 26, until about the 10th of January, Russell actually resembled a tourist town and the restaurant was busy every night during that stretch of time. From October until Christmas, we probably averaged about 20 - 25 people each evening. Remember, Russell is off the beaten path, meaning you have to either take a passenger ferry here or the car ferry, which is about 5 miles down the road. Between Boxing Day and the 10th of January, that average doubled to about 50 a night. On one Saturday night, Kamakura, the self-appointed jewel of Northland dining, was closed, and we did 83 meals. With three servers. I take all the orders in the restaurant, too, as the other servers do drinks and dessert orders. That was a memorable evening. For a couple of weeks after the 10th, the crowds eased a bit, then picked up for about 10 days, before settling down again in the past 10 days. And now the summer season is winding down, just like that. It goes to show that restaurants in town have to squeeze the bulk of their yearly revenue into about a 10 week period beginning after Christmas.

The Drifters showed up in town a few weeks ago and performed at the restaurant right behind us. I was working, so I couldn't go. The group is responsible for "Under the Boardwalk" and "This Magic Moment," among a few other well-known hits. Not the original members, of course, as the group started in 1954 (thanks Wikipedia).

New Years Eve was a sight to behold. I worked until about 11 and then got to watch the chaos of the back Garden Bar as literally 100 people danced to a DJ to celebrate the new year. It was surral to see so many young people a) in Russell and b) at the Gables' back bar. The staff then sat on the beach and watched the fireworks show that the town across the bay puts on for everybody in the area. Very nice.

On Feb. 6th, the country celebrated a national holiday called Waitangi day, which commemorates the signing of the Treaty of Wataingi, which established New Zealand as a Commonwealth country and set up a framework for Maori-European relations. Well, as it happens, I happen to live within sight of Waitangi, which, of course, sits just on the opposite side of the bay Russell is on. So, my roommate and I made our way over there and began walking toward the festivities when we realized we were a part of the festivities. We were caught in the Maori march that leads onto the Treaty grounds, around the police-guarded flagpole (which marks the sight of the treaty signing and is a rallying cry for Maori land reclamation). Good times. I was looking around in the crowd and realized we were two of about 6 white people in the march. Why were all the white people on the side of the road taking pictures? We just went with it. We're that progressive. Now I can imagine what it was like to march with Dr. King at Selma. Only maybe not so much. But being a minority really does change your mindset. Quickly.

Okay, this is a quickie blog. Oh, someone caught an 850lb. Marlin and brought it into the Russell wharf for measurement. Impressive beast. Hello, Old Man and the Sea. Awesome big-game fishing in the Bay of Islands.

My last thought before some pictures. I really am quite lucky. The staff at the restaurants here in Russell are ex-pats travelling around the country, spending but a few months here in Russell (well, for some of us, a bit longer than that). Everybody complains about how boring Russell is for our crowd. And, we're right. You work, go to the pub, and drink. But, I've got a good boss, a restaurant that is turning itself around and I'm a part of that, a good roommate, a good living situation, an office that sits a few yards from the water overlooking the Bay of Islands in New Zealand, great sunsets, and a small but good group of friends to spend my days and nights here in small-town New Zealand. All things considered, I'm coming out ahead, I think. Now, if only Russell was a bit bigger...