Life is good.

No postings for September as my baby was here to visit and writing (as well as many other issues) took a backseat to living. Not that I lead a monastic lifestyle normally, but there is nothing quite like waking up to someone you love next to you to reorder your priorities a bit. I suppose if my priorities were less malleable I might be a wealthy man. I also might have a slew of stress-related diseases, several divorces, and the abiding disgust of my peers and neighbors. Actually, I might have that last one regardless, but it doesn't stress me unduly, so all is good.

A trickle of grant money has been trickling in which has allowed me to start planning my research. Fiji in November, back to the States to visit and work December and January, San Bruno in February, back to Wellington and Auckland in March, then Tonga and Samoa in April. Yes, you heard right, I get to spend weeks in glamorous San Bruno! Home of the worst burrito in the Bay Area as well as a series of office complexes whose design hearkens back to the final burst of creativity from Ceausescu's Romania but with that little extra bit of glam that says: "We don't like you, and we could care less if you like working for us, but we do not want to get sued when this pile of asbestos falls apart in the next quake. So in lieu of raises or utensils in the cafeteria, here are a few extra structural supports." Ah, maybe I will be lucky enough to have a Starbucks close to the archive. So cosmopolitan. Colma is significantly more exciting, despite the fact that 82% of the humans there are dead.

To put the PhD lifestyle in perspective, when I was sitting at home and heard on the radio about the Samoa quake/tsunami, and heard that we might be swimming ourselves in an hour and a half, my first coherent thought was: "I wonder if the archives are still there...."

No right to complain, I suppose. I could have a job rather than this sneaking suspicion that I am simply, yet again, faking my way through something. In all honesty, that is how most of my jobs have felt as well, when I wasn't sleeping. Aside from the negligible stipend and the cabbage trees, not too much has changed.

The music scene here is great. The people are mellow which I attribute to a seemingly overpowering urge to destroy furniture while drunk. The scenery is beautiful. I get a hot chick to come visit me every 3-4 months. The rest of the time I can do pretty much exactly what I want. I even have somebody's house and pets for short periods. Money is overrated, my friends.


Twa, however, cannot be overrated. Especially the goth twa in the background.

These particular twa were seen along our trail to Alexandra, a town in central Otago. There we stayed with some clan members who have a homestay named Duart, after the seat of our family in Mull. Nice folks, and an incredible view from their porch. Duart homestay, Alexandra, hospitality MacLean style.


From Alex we headed up to Wanaka. After assorted adventures in Queenstown, a few winery stops, and an incredibly beautiful drive up the Cadrona road between Q and W, we hit Wanaka itself. Mom and Dad sported us a timeshare for our birthdays, which was very kind in every possible way. Cheers to Mom and Dad!

Wanaka itself was where the people who like the area but are sick of all the drunken madness in Queenstown go to grumble and live elegantly. Like Montana, there are lots of locals just getting by, gaggles of lost tourists sipping coffee, and a few extraordinarily rich outsiders that own houses larger than a rural hospital. You never actually see these people, whom I believe to have become lost in their McMansions where they await rescue while slowly depleting their supply of Pavlova (supplied, of course, by their realtors in gratitude for six figure commissions). It is also an extraordinarily beautiful setting for a town. White House restaurant is great as well, though once some friends of the waitress showed up I had to interrupt her twice just to pay my tab, much less to actually get any service. Que sera; when you don't tip, you can hardly bitch.

Outside of Wanaka is Mt. Aspiring National Park. Yes, Mt. Aspiring. There is also a Mt. Difficulty, the mountain range named The Remarkables (which would be a great name for a band of superheroes), Mt. Honey, and Mt. Dick. Memorable, I agree. Here is a shot from the access road to the local ski resort. This road was, literally, insane. Even the areas without snow were terrifying; with snow on the ground and 16 year old board-freaks flying around you randomly this was one of the more intense driving experiences I have had here. Apparently more people die on these roads in the summer, because while opened they are not maintained. Unmaintained dirt switchbacks straight up the side of a mountain with no guard rail. Lack of liability makes for an interesting infrastructure.


Once we made it back down we headed for the park itself. Below is the bridge to the Rob Roy valley and glacier. The people on the bridge were basically the only others we saw all day.



Heading back from Wanaka we passed a small sign for a scenic drive. 60 km of sealed then dirt road led us to the Ahuriri valley, another spot that would be a crowed park back in the States. Here we ran into no one else at all, aside from a startled possum trapper sleeping in the govt. hut.



Creepy. Look closely at the middle of the hill and you will see the symbol Prince used during his psychotic, but not yet Jehovah's Witness, interlude. This man has serious power.


ALBATROSS! (Screamed in a John Cleese voice)


Took a catamaran out to Karitane on a beautiful spring day. Nothing cynical I can offer about this. Seal pups, Albatross, dusky dolphins swimming under the boat and playing all around us.


They were kind enough to let me steer the cat for an hour or so. Must have been the power of the chops. Did get a little bit of sailing into my blood. Could be expensive.

After Karitane we spent our days wandering, finding gems such as Nicols falls, just outside of town. I could wander this place for a decade and not grow bored.


Adieu....