Piss-Up in 'kune

Looks like I've failed to provide timely updates on my adventures again. A lot has happened since last entry, but I primarily settled in Hawke's Bay for the end of the summer, painting houses, deep-sea fishing, and enjoying the sunniest region in New Zealand. Many more adventures have been had, but I will not hollowly promise to write about them or post pictures later; you've all seen the rate at which I pump these out, it just likely may not happen. After it all though I've ended up back in Wellington. Many of the friends I've made over my year in this country seem to have congregated here, and with the beachy weather of the northern summers gone for the year, I couldn't think of a better place to weather the onset of winter. Wellington is a lively city as I've described in a previous entry, dotted with cafes, bars, and never lacking in social events or causes to join for all walks of life. The attractive lifestyle and attitude here is hard to resist; it truly is a big town that manages to keep it's image as a tolerant and fun place balanced with the political happenings on issues like whether or not to put the 'h' back in Wanganui. However, in all the hustle and bustle of a functional and fun capital city, people seem to have forgotten about another capital- Ohakune, the Carrot Capital of New Zealand.

Ohakune produces two-thirds of the North Island's carrots, perhaps due to the late growing season and nutrient-rich soil from the nearby volcano/ski hill, but more likely due to the lack of more exciting available pursuits. Thriving three months of the calendar, this small resort town becomes seemingly lethargic during the rest (with the exception of the carrot carnival in July), leaving only the carrot-growers to lounge around each morning and chain smoke in front of deserted diners and empty rental shops. Miles from charming but only a stone's throw from interesting, a great volcano view and tepidly interesting railway history coaxed us in for the night. The colorful characters we met made it memorable.

Alecia and I scooted up to the table, dragging stools behind us with one hand, balancing full beers with the other. The Wellington couple we had just met followed suit, unravelling their scarves as they sat. The cozy cabin-style pub was at the tail-end of a shift from diners to drinkers, from full stomachs to empty drinks and liquid conversation.

"...yeah, I work with Americans at WETA. It's good to meet a few who get it so quickly, it takes most of my workmates a few years. They're always groaning, 'why does stuff take so long here? what the hell's wrong with the road rules? and why's the front of the car called a bonnet? Amish aren't supposed to be driving.' Don't get me wrong, good chaps 'n all, but seems like it takes 'em a bit to get used to our way of life over here. Eventually they come around but damn it's slow!" Quentin chuckled, gripping my shoulder. "Glad we found ya! Whatcha drinkin'?"

"Anything whisky," Alecia answered.

"Rocks?" He winked in reply to her nod. "Yeah, knew you were alright. I'll have them bring something special down." He looked over at me.

"Sounds about right." Top shelf whisky? Graphic designing for the Lord of the Rings gurus must pay, although Quentin had cheerfully described the love he had for his work and the WETA organization that had kept him at his job seven years running. His girl Charlotte hardly blinked at the order.

" We come up here lots, my parents own a vacay home. Mint as Welly is, it's great to get out to somewhere a bit more quaint. Plus they're selling in a month...I'm so gutted! Buying another vacation place closer to the city, getting up to that age where they can't really be bothered to travel all that far I guess."

"Shame, that giant carrot really is something," I replied, "Volcano's alright too!" Her eyes squinted, pulling her rosy cheeks up into a smile.

" Gettin' a little cheeky eh?" She winked. "That carrot has history ya know, it took two full years to get it approved, there was a lot of opposition! Women here considered it too phallic. A bit ridiculous eh? I mean it's bright orange, narrows to a point and has a green bush on top! What kinda guys were they runnin' around with? Anyways, I quite like it." She blushed. "For other reasons of course... This place really does swell up in winter. Eh Quent?" she asked, changing the subject. His dark eyes darted up quickly in a motionless nod, dropping back even more quickly to the load on his tray. Four whisky-rocks accompanied by four neat shots slid gracefully onto the table. As Alecia reached for a shot Quentin's arm reached out as well, gently grabbing her elbow.

" You wouldn't want to drink your chaser first, wouldya doll?" Deal sealed- we were getting pissed.


Several drinks later we were outside battling the autumn chill with the warm internal fuzz from the liquor. Quentin used his scarf to shield the flame as he lit a round of cigarettes. Mt Ruapehu loomed and several drunk locals hunched in the background. Puffs of steam, smoke, and laughter filled the semi-enclosed porch, pulsing with merry people under the moonlight.

"So foreigners always grill me about Lord of the Rings stuff... surprised you guys haven't! What they don't realize is that here, everyone had something to do with it, either was an ork or elf or supplied them with something or other. It's really not considered that cool here." Quent spoke animatedly, hands waving, scribbling on open air with the glow of his cigarette. "Really the best jobs were the runners, I used to sign all my mates up for that. Got one of them a job taking a few of the girls on cast around town one night. Posh eh? Then they took Elijah and--err, the hobbits out for a few drinks at Espressoholic. 'S how that place became famous, funny what Rings did to NZ."

"You say the Rings eh?" A short man with a mid-sized potbelly and full-sized voice limped up, tugging and twisting at the scraggle on his face. Liquor and Lord of the Rings twirled in my head while I tried in vain to blink away the man's hobbit-like qualities. "You with WETA? Yeah by the looks..." He cased Quent's wool overcoat, scarf, and well-manicured appearance. He grabbed the lapel of his jacket and tugged, more pulling himself towards Quent than vice-versa."You know Benny?" he asked, voice lowered. Quent smiled.

"Hell yeah, worked closely with him for years!" His eyebrows slanted a bit, voice dropping concurrently. "How do you know Benny?" Quent's confusion stemmed from the man's grey dreadlocks, badly stained teeth and tidily dishevelled style. His appearance was not that of a man with connections in the film industry.

"Fucker bought my house! Right over by the railway, 'magine 'twas more for speculative purposes. Bought my drugs too. Shit everyone on that set used to buy me drugs from me, had to the hours they was workin'! Made heaps then, those was the good days... By Criffins they was good!" He roared.

"By what?" I managed to ask through my smile.

"By Criffins! C-R-I-F-F- ins! Couldn't get enough drugs first time round... Damn good thing they made a trilogy! You have an accent on ya...." He leaned in close, head inches from my shoulder. 

"Whereabouts ya from?" he grumbled.

"The States, Northwest. Painting over in Hawke's Bay at the moment though, been in the country ten months," I answered with my now-well-rehearsed reply. I had been saying six months out of habit until about a month ago. "Good country ya have here!"

"Ain't it? Welcome!" He was roaring again, expression beaming with aggressive sincerity as he gripped my hand and leaned too far back on his heels, slamming into a wooden beam. "Mighty glad to have met ya! Name's Craig!"

"So what ya do here in... 'kune ya call it around here?"

"Yeah mate ya catch on quick! Good ol' 'Kune..." His already glassy eyes twinkled as he looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "I make wooden vases. Ya know, like ya put plants in? I make giant wooden vases out of native timber, Kauri, Pohutukawa, use it all. Make 'em all out of one piece too, some damn near tall as you!" I suppressed a grin. Stocky but short, Craig just as easily could described the pieces as the same size as himself. With his slight bulge in the middle, the shape wouldn't have been that far off either.

"Sounds tricky! You must drill into the middle and hollow it out; how do you do that?" His eyes twinkled even more with pride.

"Ain't easy. Get those suckers down to ten mils thick!" he exclaimed, squinting his eyes and sticking his tongue out at his fingers, held narrowly apart. "It's friggin'... fuckin' hard on the ol' body mate, some of those trunks are 3,000 years old, just huge!" He threw his arms up in a circle. "Damn tough I tell ya, but what I lack in size I make up for in denial!" He swayed as if under the weight of the imaginary trunk his arms were encircling, taking a steadying step before continuing. "Gotta lift 'em with heavy machinery, get 'em situated on a sorta contraption that spins 'em round. Shit it spins! Had a block a' one fly off last month, cost me a tooth!" He lifted a lip, exposing a row of teeth that looked like they were barely clinging on anyways, less a couple goners. "Anyhoot, I use a custom drilling bit invented by my boss, near as long as you are! Smart shit he is, though don't tell him I said so. You visit the big carrot?" You couldn't miss the carrot; it is ten meters tall, situated on the main road at the city limit. Reputedly it is the world's largest model carrot. I nodded. "Good on ya mate! He carved that there sign."

"Not bad at all, saw that earlier. 'Ohakune, Where Adventures Begin' right?"

"Well now, that may be a bit of a stretch..." He started wheezing at this, clearing his throat after a solid minute. "Ol' 'Kune though, she ain't bad. Look you two," he said, throwing an elbow Alecia's direction, "if ya want come down tomorrow, I'll show ya my work." He steadied his sway long enough to give a nod and an exaggerated wink. "'Nuff about all this now though, good to meet some good 'mericans, let's grab a drink eh?"

The night stumbled on, leaving only our table drinking at its tail end. Charlotte and Alecia slurred shopping, promising to meet back up in Welly. Quent's eyes looked lost' and his brows looked quite concerned about this. Craig swayed and stumbled, more back than forth, occasionally slapping a hand on the table to steady himself. Surviving on whisky and whisky alone, he rambled on.

"Good mate-a-mine use ta work 'is boots off all year jus' ta head to Sturgis for that-there-n' biker rally. Loves 'is hog 'e does." Even Craig's chuckle seemed a bit slurred between the wheezes. "Good bastard, ain't all the smartest though, type a' guy doesn't 'ave as many bright crayons as the next... err no... 'is crayons ain't sharp as others. So this mate, 'e loves 'is bike so much 'e gets another mate-a-mine give 'im a big 'ol tattoo." He pointed at his upper arm and across a large part of his back, slamming his hand back down on the table as he had started to tip doing so. "Right 'cross 'ere. Biiig ol' tattoo. By Criffins it was big! One problem was 'ad though- mate was illit'rit. Now guy rides 'is 'og 'round 'Merica every year with this huge ol' tattoo says 'Hurley Durvison'!"

Getting over my laughing spasm at that point wasn't easy- buzzed as I was, the comical state of this man's mannerisms and our own intoxication wasn't lost on me. It called to mind my favorite Kiwi phrase for indulging to much- getting absolutely 'trolleyed.' I finally managed to catch my breath again, moving to wrap up the night as quickly as I could before it turned into tomorrow.

"Well Craig, rough a shape as you may be in, I'll be textin' ya tomorrow for a look at those vases."

"And by Criffins I'll answer!" he roared, stumbling against a bench and involuntarily sitting. He hopped up quickly and just about fell in the fireplace. "I'd be more'n --hiccup-- more'n happy to show such fine folks as you how I make'n the timber into a --hiccup--, jus' outta one piece! May not be the smartest but what I lack in brains I make up fer in denial!" I nodded, finally seeing the clarity in that saying. "N' the thing 'bout it is... ya see I'm a walkin' injry. This 'ere," he said lifting his pantleg and falling back onto the bench. "Chainsawr." His face took on a grave expression. "N' this 'ere? Stray dog. Thing jus' clampt on, fucker. Threw 'im in the truck to take him ta animal... the dog controllers. Made friends on the way though, poor ol' Tut- passed last year. Ten a' them we was companions." Craig started to tug his flannel shirt out of his jeans. " I'll show ya a real beauty..."

"Well Craig," I cut in, "sure lucky to have met a guy hospitable as yourself, it's the people that make the country here and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. This type of welcome and open acceptance has made my year here unforgettable. You'll be hearin' from us tomorrow." He grasped my extended hand heartily and, leaning back with all his weight, managed to pull me close, face somber and eyes nearly tearing with sincerity.

"Okey dokey."