We All Almost Die (OR: The Dancing Morgan)

After Noah and Keller went skydiving, we headed out of Taupo for Turangi - which is a small town on the southern edge of Lake Taupo and (were are told this by most of the residents) the "Trout Capital of the World". We stayed at "Extreme Backpackers" which was owned and managed, inexplicably, by a 70 year old couple. Checking in took longer than perhaps would have been expected because the old man - Roger - was "deaf as a post!" (his words) because he "had grey hairs" (his words as well - while pointing to his head). Attatched to to hostel was a climbing wall, which was where we occupied the remained of our afternoon. We determined that a key element of rock-climbing is being light - as the main patrons were kids under 10 and small (-er than normal) Chinese women. We did OK though. For dinner we cooked up some burgers, which attracted the attention of a fellow countryman - a younger guy from Cleveland (whom we called "Cleveland") who came over when he "noticed someone grilling burgers and knew they had to be Americans.". We had a lovely talk with him about the NFL, Major League baseball and, in passing, US politics. We collectively began to work a puzzle waiting for our after-dinner rice pudding to cook. This drove us all into a towering rage as 1) there were many missing pieces and 2) most of the puzzle (over 2/3) was either a)blue sky with no clouds, b) out-of focus grass or c) water the same color as the sky. We go to bed tired and angry.

We woke up the next morning with an hour before check-out. I take a leisurely shower, and head back to the room, only to find the owner and cleaning lady (whom Noah informed us was the crack-addicted estranged daughter of the owner) puzzling over why we are there. We think that this is not puzzling at all - until we reach the unanimous decision that it is actually daylight savings time. Oops. We eat a breakfast of oatmeal, which prompts me to have the realization that bioling oats in water is clearly something God never intended man to do. We go for a walk along the river and see many, many people fishing and doing a resplendent job of not catching anything. Back in town, Noah passes out on the ground, and I get the Sunday edition of the NZ Herald. It turns out that the "Sunday" in "Sunday Edition" actually means "Stabbings, arson, and melodrama". "Edition" still means "edition". Inconveniently, this is the only day the herald comes in a readable form (stapled together like a oversized magazine - rather than the normal, senselessly awkward pages, one of which could be used to sail a small ocean-going vessel). We get on the bus and head to Palmerston North. Upon arrival, we are tired and decide to bee-line it to the hostel. We head to the hostel, but at some point decide that we are on the wrong road and turn around. We repeat this procedure several times, before heading back the origional way - only to find that the hostel itself was roughly 10 feet further from where we first turned around. The downside, is that the hostel is boarded up, and (upon further inspection) looks like a meth den. We head to the only other hostel in P. North - Peppertree Lodge. We did not know this then, but in ancient Maori folklore, a Peppertree symbolizes the enterance to Hell. We are checked in by a woman roughly the size and shape of a mailbox (the big blue ones on street corners back home). In stark contrast with the other hostels, this is inhabited solely by elderly women. We wonder where all the other guys are.

I gotta leave this here - time on the computer is running dangerously low and dinner's ready. The stunning conclusion tomorrow.

Peace and love, Nathan