The Mean Reds

Against his better judgement, my usually most fiercely-logical flatmate has taken to astrology (specifically, the brilliant 'New Astrology' by Suzanne White), so I got the chance to re-read the description of my sign. And, even though I've read it about ten million times, I noticed something I'd never seen before - Truman Capote was also a Libra/ Rat. Holy. Happiness. Out of 144 combinations, I get to share mine with the author of two of my favourite novels ever (Breakfast at Tiffany's and In Cold Blood).

Anyway, in Breakfast at Tiffany's, Holly Golightly describes 'the mean reds':

"You know those days when you've got the mean reds.... the blues are because you're getting fat or maybe it's been raining too long. You're sad, that's all. But the mean reds are horrible. You're afraid and you sweat like hell, but you don't know what you're afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don't know what it is."

She then famously describes her ideal place to go when she's in such a state - Tiffany's, of course. I don't live in New York, I live in - what I think of as - fairly rural New Zealand, so instead I think of my mountains. Those big ones along the spine of this beautiful island.

Or very small, from a nice distance:

(If you're offended on behalf of that imposing mountain being demeaned in such a crass way, don't worry, I walked alone for two days until I reached those ranges and then did an alpine crossing with a clowder of idiot friends from Australia during a blizzard-esque storm. I got owned, in other words).

MOSS !

p.s. These pictures are from my solo stroll along the Greenstone track, which I walked to get to the 'Divide', where I began the Routeburn with a posse of pals - and of which there are no photographs on my camera, since I was too busy laughing my ass off. xoxo until next time.

Tautuku Hut, the Catlins

In early December my siblings and I drove down the Catlins (about 1.5 hours south of Dunedin) to take little brother Lukas on his first overnight tramp. We chose a very easy tramp - only two hours each way - to Tautuku hut; a basic, free DOC hut mostly used by hunters who leave notes in the guest book like "PITBULL GOT A DEER ON WAY IN" and the like. We felt badass, by association.

Click on the photo below and read the warning signs - one of these things is not like the other.

Lukas, being the rugged, outdoor kinda online-gamer he is, brought his own sleeping bag. Only problem: it was a Pipsqueak Std (note his feet in the second picture).

At dusk, the surrounding trees were full of native birds, especially Tui (my darlings).



Hardcore Hana and Lazy Lukas above, and the vista over the seemingly infinite forest below.

St Bathans: secret garden slash apocalypse

Ever since my stay at the Vulcan Hotel, St Bathans, with two of my most charming friends (and, of course, I have the best friends in the world) my mind has been on a loop of "oh my gosh, I love St Bathans", "Isn't the Vulcan great?" and "Hey, remember St Bathans?"

Eleanor, Benjamin and I agreed that anyone present would find us extremely tedious with our constant stream of praise for the place, and that our trip away would not make a good travel story - as there was nothing to complain about. Even the tap water was delicious!

In any case, two of my favourite aesthetics are 'secret garden' and 'apocalypse moonscape.' Previously, I had never thought to combine the two - they seem paradoxical, and certainly not obviously complementary. Well, thanks for righting that wrong St Bathans.

Aaand here they are on the moon:




Other aesthetics I enjoy include: gold miners cottages, overgrown gardens, historic pubs, converted stables and a well-mixed gin and tonic. All of which were provided in droves by the good people of St Bathans (all four of them - seriously).

My First Tramp - Welcome Flat

Last weekend I finally went on my first overnight tramp to Welcome Flat Hut on the West Coast, just south of Fox Glacier. For company I had Seth and Justin - two burly men with tonnes of outdoor experience, and Anh - pictured above - my gorgeous medical-student friend. I was pretty well-prepared in terms of the expertise of people with me, but I still felt nervous about how well my unfit body would cope with a 7-hour uphill slog carrying a pack.


Really well apparently! A few hours in, I asked Seth: "I wonder when the uphill bit starts?" and he looked at me like I was stupid, and said "Lei, we've been going uphill this whole time..." The walk up to Welcome Flat Hut is really gradual and easy-going most of the way - only the last few hours are steepish uphill, and involve a lot of scrambling over rocks.

But at the end ... the most stunning 'hut' ever* and ... natural hot pools! See my feet and Mt Gorgeous above (that is it's real name).

* From my mattress I could lie on my back and look out a huge window, up at the mountain ranges encircling us. Bliiiissss.

Hot pools in the rain and red wine!

Justin braving it out in the extra hot part.


And the cheerful stumble back down the mountain, followed by an 8 hour drive home with a space-saver tyre (ergh). At least central Otago is stupidly beautiful.

Election Mourning Party

Almost a week ago now, my fine country held it's free and democratic election and the people spoke, as we anticipated they might, to re-elect neo-liberal maniac John Key. Ok. As a good friend of mine said at the time: "that's the price we pay for liberal ideals" - or something.

In any case, Logan, Gigi and I had decided to dress formally for this momentous occasion. Then, without discussing it previously, both Gigi and I had decided this would be a mourning party and we would dress in funeral appropriate garb.



Above: watching the horrendous results roll in, Gigi hiding her grief behind dark glasses and burying her sorrow in champagne. Below: group suicide (although what IS Logan doing? It looks more like murder if you ask me...)


Below: the since departed opposition, Phil Goff. Visibly shaken on the night, I thought. Poor guy. (I've always said I could never, never, never be a politician. Those poor bastards).

Armchair travel

I'm well aware that the secret to greatness is the ability to edit oneself, but I mean "I'm well aware" so as to say - I'm "well aware" I should save money, for instance, but I'm yet to develop the skills to actually carry this action out. According to Aristotle, who did not believe one could 'have' ethics - only those you acted upon count - I certainly do not understand the value of editing. So, it is in this spirit I present you, dear reader, with fifteen photographs of these 1960s American Geographical Society 'Around the World' guides I bought at the Regent book sale positively ages ago. I got them for $1 each and they are taking turns being on display in my bedroom. At the moment: Bermuda.

What I love about these covers is the way the basic, stereotypical little drawings, making spots on the map - as if you could go to that place and indeed see a real life cart being pulled by oxen - show you the changing views people have of other places - of overseas.


Aside from that, I love the fantasy of a place, which only exists in our collective or individual imaginations - and which will never stand-up to the reality once you arrive. People always look at me questionably, as I talk-up a place I've never been, and ask if perhaps I'm worried I might be disappointed with the real place. I always feel wildly flattered by the idea that my pitiful imagination could possibly dream up an actual pulsating, spontaneous and utterly 'Other' place - not to mention that I could, within my controlled imagination, actually ever imagine another person. A real place, and real people, will always be infinitely more than a controlled, you-absorbed fantasy place.

But the fantasy has a lightness and silliness about it which I quite adore also. Which is why you'll find me sometimes, in a bar in Bangkok, reading an old novel set in Burma and day-dreaming about 'Burma.'



These ridiculous images and maps are precisely for people like me. Below: good old Austria.

And back to Bermuda ! Cricket and cucumber sandwiches, exotic fragrances, exploring hidden waterfalls, horse-drawn carts and early morning jets back to New York.

Below: a friendly traffic warden in safari get-up helps a couple of blissed-out, slightly drunk tourists on their way.