Hawkes Bay, New Zealand

Just arrived here in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand, today, and my what a day. Woke up tired as hell after snatching a few hours of patchy sleep between runs to the bathroom to piss out the mixture or alcohol and liters of water I was chugging to avoid a hangover. Didn't have a hangover but the exhaustion was just as painful. Was zombie-like packing up and making my way to the airport to head from Auckland, where I'd been for a few days experiencing New Zealand biggest, most multi-cultural city. Not much to say about my time there; went to a music festival and listened to a bunch of Kiwi (aka New Zealand) music, including Katchafire and Lady Six, my two favorites.

So after arriving in Hawkes Bay, the winemaker Adrian Baker showed me around the region, at first in his car then after a bit we picked up my rental car and I drove that. I'm not renting it- they are, for me. It's a sweet deal.

We ended our day with lunch at the winery. Rare venison with pomegranate for appetizer, then a gratis appetizer of pork belly, crispy on one side and fatty on the other, as well as this apple-pie like thing. Had a beer with all that, which I think took Adrian off guard; he would have expected me to get a glass of wine, considering the situation. I wanted to impress that I was a hard working bloke type. To his credit, he got a beer too. A very proper guy, very serious, but also friendly and I think down to earth. Anyway, the main was salmon with capers and tangerines for me, and a whole flounder (Adrian's 6 year old son loved the crispy part aka tail and the eyballs, and swallowed it all down with pink lemonade. Cappuccino to finish.

After he dropped me off I introduced myself to the neighbors. Jeff, Felicity and Craig. The first two were and old married couple, but Craig looked early thirties; turned out to be 36 but in amazing shape. I told them I was thinking of taking a hike up towards the local mountain, Te Mata Peak, and he said he'd like to join me. I puttered around until he finished what he was up to (shifting some cattle from the other side of the road back to the stable), then we headed off...accompanied by his 8 year old son in law. The kid talked constantly, never an iunternal thought. It was cute though, and I was happy for the company. Craig was much more reserved but still friendly. We chatted as we went up the hillside, but when it got hairy- and it did- I shut up and so did he mostly, except for some advice. For twenty minutes I knew (and Craig warned) that a slip would mean death or seroius injury. At one point I could not have made it up without Craig's help, or at least it would have taken awhile. But that 8 year old was doing it, only a little more slowly than me. At times, better. We all eventually got to the top and enjoyed amazing views of the entire valley, down to the river and ocean and Craggy Range and towards Napiers and then the hills on the way to Havelock North. He showed me some good hiking, and told me about the Three Peaks run, a sort of outdoors trail marathon, sounded fun. So then we went down, much easier than up becauyse we took one of the easier routes. We got back and Craig invited me over for a beer and we shot the shit a bit, while he showed me Jeff's egg sculpture, and Zavier (his son) showed me Jeff's full-size garage theater. It was awesome. I also met the daughter and wife briefly through the window ("Sorry, I'm in me Jammies, or I'd come down").

So then on the way out a beer bottle I'd picked up along the trail fell out of my pack and shattered. "Another smooth exit by Kevin," I joked. We cleaned it up quick like and I said goodbye again, walked home, made and ate dinner, did yoga, and here I am, exhausted but proud and happy and free in my newest home.

Enjoying myself

So the time has come, and now harvest is over. I can´t say I am sad to put it behind me. I suppose it was partly culture shock, and partly the difficulty of working at a larger winery, but the style of working here drove me crazy. And the mood around the intern house was already rather Debbie-Downer, if you catch my drift. Sometimes I woke up sad, sometimes happy and ready to go, but always after 10 minutes talking with my housemates and coworkers, I was in a bad mood. We spent most of harvest complaining about harvest. That being said, oftentimes we were complaining about harvest over a few (or 15) Liters of beer, playing dominoes or going out partying all night...

So with a mixture of harvest-from-hell and fun times behind me, I moved to the center city of Mendoza. So did Mike, and the York twins, and we had a few fun days. Right before Jesse left, we had a crazy day of winetasting (we were just a little bit drunk) and I was reminded of how retartedly, awkwardly strong I am when I accidently bodyslammed a dear friend and gave them a minor concussion. Seriously. But besides that, everything was great, and we let off a lot of steam from harvest. Jenna and Mara (the twins) headed back to the US and better, richer things, and Mike and I continued our adventures. More amazing wine-tasting (few things are better than amazing wine, served by beautiful women, in a gorgeous winery, with a view of the astounding Andes mountains while eating a 7-course gourmet meal), more going out at night till 6AM and meeting cool people.

Hilariously, after all of this relaxing, I guess I felt the need to work more...I joined a local gym. I´ve been going twice a day and am in some of the best shape of my recent life. Today I rode my bike for 5 hours in the park and hills surrounding Mendoza, it was quite exhilirating and amazing to get out of the city for a little while, see some nature...

Besides variously indulging in gluttony and excercise, I have been sleeping odd hours (the daily schedule here involves a long nap late in the afternoon, a very long night, and then another nice long sleep until I wake up late...), practicing lots of Spanish (the place where I live has lots of older, very lonely women working who follow me around talking to me, so I get lots of practice), walking around the city alone while people watching, walking around the city with Mike while people watching and making lewd comments, and uh...more gluttony, excercise and sleep...

I have no clue what I am doing with my life, even less than I used to. It is definitely fun, and definitely unique. I don´t regret a moment of it...but I am losing my connection with reality and convention mores. I am so lost amidst beautiful distraction and people and cultures, that I often forget who I am, and what morality and philosophy control my actions. I have come to understand so many different cultures and philosophies, that at any given moment I can justify my actions by utilizing any of the above...it results in a shitfest of actions that retain very little central reasoning. I chalk it all up to experience, to the remembrance that I have rarely regretted things done, only things I did not do. So I act, act, act, and try to remember who I am, as I continue to drastically change...for awhile there, I had an anchor that I drifted around, which kept me stable, but now I am fully adrift...Gocke will join me soon, and together we will travel this crazy land called South America, and hopefully he will lend me some stability and reason for acting and remind me of the drive and inspiration that started this whirlpool...

Harvest, fucking harvest

So the life of a traveler comes with its pitfalls. There's the fact that to travel, one must save up money, or build up debt. I have done much of both. Funding travels requires lots of money, even if you travel cheap, like I have learned to do. I work my ass off during harvest to make a little money, and it rapidly disappears. I am currently down in Argentina, working for 300 pesos a week, which is roughly 80 dollars a week, or $1.50 an hour. Yeah, no joke. So this isn't exactly funding any travels, let along paying for my time here...

No doubt, I am gaining valuable experience, mastering my trade, practicing my Spanish, and having some fun. Working too much to have too much fun, but the harvest will be over before long, and I will be able to enjoy myself more fully. It's about halfway through, and I have earned the respect of my coworkers with my knowledge and work ethic, which keeps my morale up, but god harvest wears a man out. It's not just the hours of work...that I enjoy in a twisted workaholic sort of way...but your mind gets twisted, because you are with the same people all the time, and when you have time off, you are so physically tired from shoveling and pushing and pulling and handling grapes and machinery that you don't have the energy to do anything. Life becomes an odd warp, and your mind gets fucked. This whole situation basically altered/fucked-up my life path a year back. Then in Oregon, where my coworkers became amazing friends, this same situation was one of the best times of my life. It's a strong force. Ever stayed up all night, then done stuff the next day? That haze, the dreamy, surreal quality of life, is exactly how I feel during harvest. At times I am sharp as hell, and I haul ass at work, but it's still a glazed reality. Then when harvest ends, the feeling is amazing. It's the well-earned exhausted relaxation like after a five-hour session of basketball, or long bike-ride, when you just sprawl out on the couch, maybe lean over for some juice or a beer...

So emotions are both muted and powerful at times like these. I find myself bitterly drinking myself to sleep at times because of some fuck-up at the winery, or because some lazy bastard coworker just sits on a forklift all day and never gets in the shit and works a shovel. Other times, a glance at facebook or an old memory or depressed alt-country song on my ipod sends me into some moody spiral. Other times, days go by without much of a thought of anything significant.

So this being a travel blog of sorts, I'll mention what I've been up to in my travels...I've been eating excellently, they have great cheap meat and veggies and I've been eating lots of beets and steak sandwiches and stuff. Plus I have met a few local folks, gone out a few times and danced myself to shame... I am failing horribly at seducing Argentinas (the hottest girl I have met told me that I reminded her of someone from a movie...turned out it was the son from Beverly Hill Billies...the next hottest girl suggested we got out, then stood me up...) but I am comforted by the fact that my roommates are doing about as horribly...the Andes provide a beautiful backdrop to my morning yoga...I went for a 5-hour bikeride up towards those same Andes, it was really fun, this place is a total desert but the view is great. I have Sunday off and I think I might go hiking with a coworker, that should be fun. Other than that, I am currently exhausted and think I'm going to go to sleep now.

New friends, challenges, elation and boredom

The challenge of adapting to this new culture and language has been exhausting but amazing, and I have been impressed with my improvement, but constantly frustrated by being unable to communicate properly. It is difficult to explain how immensely annoying it is to have a simple thought to express to your friend, but to be unable to say it for lack of words. You have to explain around the idea, using the words you do know, until the person figures out what you are getting at, and tells you the proper word in Spanish. Sometimes, after minutes of struggling, you cannot even find the word or explain the idea. And if you can, by the time you've figured it out, you cannot remember your original reason for needing the word. Other times, the comedic timing is completely ruined. My jokes fucking suck right now, even worse than they do in English. And by the way, when you think something is funny in Spanish, you say jajaja, not hahaha. Think about it. Fucking hilarious.

Anyways, so that's been rough but fun. I joined a language school and they had difficulty placing me because I was able to communicate, but didn't know any grammar or verb conjugations (past, future, etc). They straightened me out on a lot of that shit, and I made mierda-loads of progress in my months in Uruguay. But my progress in communication was mostly due to evenings spent hanging out with my Uruguayan friends, rather than at the school. I ended up staying with two guys, Pablo y Guille, for almost a month, and man they were freaking cool. After a couple of days I was going to leave, but they insisted I stay. Out of a sense of honor I cooked big dinners and cleaned a bunch, and it seemed like a good arrangement. We all got along so good that it felt like we were old friends, or perhaps brothers. They're friends are amazing as well. We spent many evenings hanging around in the park (they like in a park that has 15-story-apartment complexes scattered around...they live on the 15th floor with an amazing view of the city) drinking mate, beer, and smoking a little bit, but mostly just talking and shooting the mierda. They can hang out like no other people I have ever seen, with an amazing capacity for holding marathon conversations. One night we played Risk until 5AM, which was kinda surreal. Other nights we moved it back to the apartment and turned it up a notch, throwing on the music and intensifying the inbibing. The stereotypes are true by the way; they can all dance excellently. I suck at dancing by US standards, and here it is just a joke. Every single person at a party can tango and salsa at least a little, and every single one has some sense of rythym. The good ones are amazing. I hope to learn to salsa or tango while I'm in South America, but I'm so busy who knows if I'll be able to make it happen. And another night, they plugged in their guitar and bass, and starting playing songs they wrote themselves (they have a band, called Buen Pregunta, or Good Question) which are absolutely amazing. Sort of in the Sublime/Rancid ska-punk realm. A lot of the music here has that sort of things going on, with definite fusion of many styles, almost always punk, ska, metal, and some latin influence.

On that note, I went to a concert on the beach the other day, this famous band that does the above described style, but with a heavy circus-music influence, and a pixies-like male/female double lead vocals. They were dressed up in orange insane-asylum outfits, it was pretty nuts. Oh, and their mosh-pits are like a formal dinner practically, so freaking polite and gentle. It was more like a gentle massage than the angry free-for-all that I am used to. But still very energetic and fun. That's a good microcosm to give a sense for Uruguay...musical, friendly, polite, and fun.

Honestly, I fell in love with Montevideo and Uruguay. I will go back and explore more. It was such a livable and lovely city, perhaps my favorite yet in the world, neck in neck with Portland, with Melbourne trailing a little behind the two. They are an amazing city and people, with so much culture. But it is all very understated, humble yet proud. It is a quiet pride that is held close rather than bragged about; if pushed, they will talk about how they are only a small country, overshadowed by neighboring giants Brazil and Argentina. This inferiority complex is misplaced, as their culture is distinct and easily on level with these other countries. They are certainly influenced by both...more of the beach culture of Brazil, some of the African culture from Brazil, the mate and wine of Argentina, the Catalan Spanish of Argentina, they hot girls of both...they have a relaxed and carefree approach to things that reminds me of Fiji in many ways, but they are not lacking in a sense of hard-work, punctuality, or dedication by any means. Buses run regularly, lines are formed, but no one taps their fingers or acts frustrated if things go slowly. People are helpful and patient, efficient but not manic or obsessed with time.

So it should be obvious now that I was sad to leave. I felt a need to see something else in Uruguay, the better to know the country and other parts of her, so I visited a small beach town, Punta Del Diablo, for a couple of days. It was a couple of days well spent, in a beautiful little town with an amazing beach with scattered sun-bathers and gigantic waves. I spent my time practicing my Spanish with an Uruguayan-born Portena (Argentine from Buenes Aires) named Julieta, who told me that Argentina is amazing, but will never hold a candle to Uruguay.

So, with that in mind, I had to hop on the bus and come to Mendoza, Argentina, to begin my seasonal work at the winery Vina Cobos. They have gotten amazing reviews from the American wine press, but are relatively new and unknown in their own country, as it turns out. Upon showing up I found out that the winery is still in construction, and harvest has already kicked in. I started almost immediately, and was working 12 hours straight off the bat. Since my Spanish is only passable, and I don't yet know the wine-related words, it has been really difficult to take any level of responsibility as would be fitting to my abilities in a winery. So while it has been long hours and physically exhausting (lots of heavy lifting and alwasy standing), it has been mentally relaxing, compared to my time in Uruguay, where learning Spanish was a very intense job.

As for my coworkers, the Argentineans are very cool. Several are interns themselves, either studying wine or recently graduated and looking for a full-time position. Others are experienced hands. They have a rougher sense of humor and are more intense than the Uruguayans, but very likable in their own way. But they talk way faster and do not enunciate their words very clearly, so I am having a hell of a time understanding them.

Meanwhile I am living with 6 other foreign interns, 6 of us from the USA. We all speak basic or in some cases no Spanish, and are at able the same position at work. At home, we live in tiny houses in the middle of nowhere, with shit-all to do and only one car to share. I share a room with two other guys. We have a tiny kitchen, and tiny dining room. But at least there is a pool, and a beautiful view of the distant mountains. Currently, we are struggling to figure out how to have a social life of anything outside of work. We are very isolated out here, and on our days off get a bit stir-crazy. I have been going on walks through the scarcely-populated countryside when I am not too exhausted from work. It is very beautiful, and I am at my happiest when able to slip into their culture a bit and observe their daily life, with kids playing in the streets and adults sitting around chatting and watching soccer on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

I hope shitty Spanish is charming

So it's my third day in Montevideo, Uruguay, South America. I came down here to learn Spanish, and amazingly, that's what's happening. I spent each day wandering the streets, mostly sans map or intent, making excuses to talk to people. I have asked directions, and what bus to take to go some place, and how much something costs, and so on, even when I didn't need the information. It has been good practice and while I occasionally faulter, mostly I am able to communicate on a basic level. My understanding is rapidly improving; early on I had a lot of difficulty understanding the accent, but this crazy moon-man gibberish is slowly coalescing into a comprehensible language. I walk around town all day with a freakishly large dictionary in hand, mumbling spanish to myself, so I probably look pretty nutty, now that I think about it, particularly with my long unkempt hair and heavy stubble.

But in spite of being a complete weirdo, I'm receiving much kindness and friendliness. The native Montevideans have pretended they can understand my Spanish and are willing to work with me on it, and are very patient. And absolutely gorgeous. Seriously, the rumors are true. It's not just Argentina and Brazil, their little sister Uruguay is quite a fucking hottie.

Yesterday was a big day for Carnaval here in Montevideo, with the streets teeming with drummers, dancers, and drunken revelers such as myself. It was a throbbing pulsing free-for-all of music and rhythm and public snogging, which I'm told is an Uruguayan tradition. It went on all evening but slowed down around 2AM, when I headed home for some much-needed sleep and rest for my knees (all this walking has been wreaking havoc on them). And besides, it's the same thing tomorrow, so I'm quite excited. Yesterday I met up with random fellows from couchsurfing.com, some of whom were natives and some being internationals currently sleeping on the couches of natives. A very cool group. I plan to meet up with them again today for more of the same. The immensely awesome guy whose couch I am using (although I prefer the beanbags honestly) might join tonight, we'll see. In any case, drunken revelry is always a good idea.

Oregon to Sacramento

Harvest was actually pretty mellow. I worked a lot of the peak of harvest doing lab and computer related work, which was quite a change from the cellar-oriented stuff I had done the previous two harvests. It definitely broadened my understanding of the entire process, and allowed me to integrate a lot of my theoretical knowledge with the processes down in the winery. Also, working with a winery management software program allowed me to get a God's-eye view of the winery, understanding where processes fit in with each other. I was lucky to work with an extremely knowledgable team, between the Cellarmaster Cris and the Winemaker Lynn, both of whom are Davis graduates with a very deep understanding of how science fits in with winemaking. They were able to elucidate a lot of the intricacies that had seemed beyond the comprehension of previous coworkers at previous wineries. So though I missed cleaning tanks and driving forklifts, it was nice to see the other side of things for a season. It will do me well in years to come.

Meanwhile, we were eating fabulously. Our cook, Natalie was the tasting room manager, who created feasts every day. She'd downplay her chili or pastas, but couldn't help but admit that her best meals were excellent, like the seafood soup (you float a little crispy wafer with a chili paste on top, and only eat that part once it has soaked up the seafood boullian/broth)...mmm. Amazing. And everyone was really cool and friendly so harvest was extremely enjoyable. We didn't even work particularly long hours or for a long time, as it was a rather brief and moderate harvest, and we had many volunteers helping out.

While we had biked through the beautiful countryside to work during good weather (and from the hilltop where the winery sits, we could gaze upon the path we'd just taken), during harvest we had to carpool. The cloudy skies and regular rain dampened my mood at times, but good friends staved off the SAD. I can't emphasize too much how much fun I had with Doug Adam and Cris. It was amazing, and I'll never forget hanging out with those guys. Between biking Portland, touring breweries, watching movies, bitching about Newberg and work, and just shooting the shit, it was great times.

Meanwhile, I tried to explore Portland as much as possible. My cousin Becky was there and we were able to meet up a few times. My brothers came up and visited once, which was freakin awesome. I went to a weekend music festival around Portland and met cool people and saw awesome bands. In short, I fell in love with Portland. A beautiful city with cool and beautiful people.

Alas, it ended too soon, but I was happy to return to Sacramento and family. My dad took the train up and joined me for the drive home. It was a lot of fun walking around Portland and driving around Oregon with him telling me stories of his years spent in this part of the country. He worked the orchards, went to clown/mime college, and lived in Portland, variously. We together explored the coastline, staying in a teepee (actually a yurt, but close enough). Then headed inland to my Aunt Fran's cabin up in the mountainous regions between Eugene and Bend. Fran is a cool chick and we ate good food and enjoyed good conversation, as always with the family. Then we made our way through Bend, on to the California border and finally to the evil I-5 and back to Sacramento, in the nick of time for Thanksgiving.

The holidays were excellent, also with great food and conversation. I was lucky enough to pick back up my old waiting jobs in Sacramento, for the holidays, and make a bit of money to help fund the travels. But most of my free time has been spent hanging out with family and friends, and making some new ones. It has all been very fun and I've enjoyed Sacramento's social world like I never did back when I really lived here.

So in two days, Jerome and I head off for Fiji, aka paradise, aka second home. The joy is sneaky, and it rises up slowly as the day approaches. I can't wait.

After Fiji, I head off to South America. My job doesn't start until March 10, but I'm going down early because, well, I don't have a job any more here in Sacramento, and it's cheap down there, plus I need practice on my Spanish. And besides, who knows how much longer I can manage to maintain this lifestyle; for now I need to make the most of every opportunity.

Recent Months

So now it's Oregon, family and self-assessment. Since I've been here in the second home of half my extended family, it's been a constant string of experience. I see why so many of them make Oregon a second home...Portland has the perfect balance of city life, bar scene and book stores with excellent walk-and-bike-ability, there are many interesting towns across the state, and the natural setting is magnificent, with every outdoor sport available in some season. It's like that Beatles song, If I Needed Someone, or whatever, except with states instead of people. It's been a good place to be.

A mild summer is leading up to a late harvest and so I've had ample opportunity to explore the northwest before long hours kick in. I went to a weekend festival in Seattle called Bumbershoot and saw tons of bands I didn't know and a few I did (Beck was solid, Monotonix got shut down 10 minutes into the show). I went to a music festival in Portland the next weekend amidst bottling at work (lots of coffee and mental focus). This time Monotonix did a complete show and the singer crowd-surfed within 5 seconds, and at one point I was helping hold the drummer and his drum set above the crowd, plus they played good hard-driving rock.

I've had a chance to hang out with various cousins, Becky quite a bit up in Portland and recently Toby and his wife Amanda down on the coast for some camping, and soon the Irish clan up at Fran's cabin, which I'm really excited about.

As for how I got here: Laos led to Cambodia and disappointing temples, then to Thailand and letdown, loss and difficult times, then coming home for too short of a time before starting the next new span of my life, in Oregon. Next is Argentina? I reckon the best path is to plan for boldness in order to mask indecision. I'm wearing myself out with filling my time with pleasure at the moment, so I'll enjoy the hard work of harvest and after that the comfort of Sacramento. And the excitement of Marcus having a baby. That's fucking awesome. I'm looking forward to reaping all the benefits of being an uncle without the resonsibilities of being a dad. That should be fun. Until I have something interesting to say, I'm signing out...