By Lucy

People keep asking me, why New Zealand? I struggle to answer the question because it’s a long story, but also because it’s very nerdy.

It started with Bionicles.

Yes, really. I loved, loved Bionicles. The toys were satisfying to build, they interacted with Lego, and they had a lore that was far deeper than it had any right to be. Hell, it ends with the bad guy winning, and the good guys helping him seize power because they realized beating him would cause far more deaths than simply allowing him to win. Which is quite a depth of moral ambiguity and tough decision-making for a children’s series. I loved Bionicle so much I wrote a fan-fic blog about it for a while.

I was led to New Zealand when I discovered most of the fictional languages in the books were actually just Maori – yes, they cribbed a real language from brown people without asking them and passed it off as made-up.

However, in looking this up, I was hooked. I liked the language, and I was curious about this culture that a lot of Bionicle ‘culture’ seemed to be copied from. New Zealand is a beautiful country, as anyone who’s watched any Lord Of The Rings movie can testify, because they were all filmed there. Our winter is their summer – a perfect escape.

However, it’s, like, 48 hours and several thousands dollar just to fly there, so the idea of visiting was always a pipe dream.

Until I found the working holiday visa.

Why not? All I need is enough money to fly to New Zealand and keep myself fed until I have a job, then I can just work until I have enough money to come back.

Somewhat ironically, the plan was also created to accommodate the Vagabond, not that he appreciates it. We broke up last year because he invited me to Italy – for some reason – then changed his mind and didn’t tell me I wasn’t coming anymore. I decided that making a plan to go vacationing on my own was gracefully ducking out and leaving him free to do as he wished. I wasn’t so married to the idea that he couldn’t simply ask me to stay, but instead his ego pushed him to dump me.

C’est la vie.

Also in case you were wondering, the blog was about Nuparu. He was a Toa of Earth, obviously dressed in all black with a mohawk, and had a fondness for tinkering with machines. He also oddly ended up with a Mask of Flying, which since the masks are partially organic, you cannot just swap masks. So the guy who enjoyed being underground the most ended up having to do all the flying tasks (although by the end he enjoyed flying).

I was sore the next morning after sailing, although not as sore as I would expect from the two hours spent hauling ropes. Curiously, the part of me that hurt the most was the top of my feet. I suppose I was building muscle in them?

Over breakfast, out of curiosity, I check the muted conversation again.

Rather bafflingly, he’d offered that I no longer need to reimburse him for the trip. Originally we agreed he’d pay for everything, then he’d add it up and we’d split it 70-30, for me to pay him back when I had the money. He’d made a point of asking every cashier for receipts so there’d be no dispute over it either. Now he was saying he’d always had a thought of not asking me to reimburse him as a “birthday gift”.

I didn’t really believe it. Or, if it was true, he had gone pretty far into the act. Additionally, for something that was to be a gift, we hadn’t gone out of our way to see anything I wanted to see, and the latter half of the trip had been hell, so I’m not impressed. That being said, I was being let off the hook for hundreds of dollars, so maybe I shouldn’t argue. I did consider bringing up the fact I spent about 500 dollars of my own money already to cover the one hotel, dinner, and a few sundries, but decided not to.

Still, it was obviously just a ploy to try and get me to talk to him. I sent him a short text thanking him – hard to resist being polite.

I walked down to the dentist again, for a filling. The heat was brutal.

Maybe it was silly, but before I had left the Vagabond’s place, I had asked him for some parmesan. He always has the best Italian cheeses, sometimes brought from Italy by him in his suitcase! He gave me a chunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano. I threw a spaghetti squash in the oven and made a cream sauce with it on the stove, with garlic, spinach and some shrimp. It was delicious, vegetable-forward, and unintentionally the kind of thing he would have cooked for me. Sigh.

I checked my email as I was waiting for the sauce to cook down.

Immigration New Zealand has approved your application for a work visa.

I screamed and ran around the kitchen. I got it! And in exactly 7 calendar days as well, with no extra requests!

Well, now I had nothing to hold me back. Time to start working on job applications and flights and things.

Later on in the day, I got an email from Factor saying my meal delivery had been updated. When I clicked on it, it said… nothing. The page failed to load, repeatedly. I decided I was too tired to deal with customer service and I’d check tomorrow.

I was starting to get back to waking up at my usual time. But it was too hot to really do anything. I spent a good chunk of the day flaked on my bed, hugging an icepack.

Around 3PM my freakin’ Factor order finally showed up, which was good timing because I had another sailboat race at 5, so it gave me time to unpack and eat.

The box was ridiculously large, with 7 ice packs in it – as in, they were literally plastic bladders filled with frozen water. I cut them open and dumped the ice into the sink, then broke down the box. I was lost on what to do with the “insulation” and there were no instructions in the box or on the website. Garbage?

The first meal I picked was the blackened salmon with cauliflower “grits”, and broccoli with a cheese sauce. 600 calories, 4g of sugar.

It was pretty tasty. I found both the salmon and the broccoli a little dry, and there wasn’t enough cheese sauce with the broccoli. I ate the salmon first and mixed the “grits” with the broccoli – the grits were very yummy.

All in all, I was pleased with what I got. It’s a little pricy, but healthier than take-out or the ready-made freezer meals you usually find at the store. Plus, they’re just all in your fridge, waiting for you to be hungry.

I was pleased to be the first one to the boat this time. Chris’ wife was there, so he introduced us. Then asked me if I could help him prepare the boat! Take the cover off, hook this thing up over there. I really need to practice my bowlines. Duff would be so disappointed!

Sailing was different this time. We had almost an entirely new crew – Kevin and Jeff weren’t there. Instead, we had two more girls and a boy named Foster, who works at the Yacht club and studies sailing. Also, a couple friends’ of Chris were visiting from International Falls, for a grand total of 8 people on a single tiny sailing boat.

I was still helping to tack and jibe, but Gillian went to the front of the boat, so I was stuck dodging the mass of bodies in the pit. Also, me and Gillian seem to be perfectly in-sync, because I could never quite match the other people managing the ropes with me this time.

This race was out past the breakwaters. which I was excited for. A sail on the open ocean! (ish)

Unfortunately, weather is a fickle thing. After we did one length, the wind went down enough everyone broke out their spinnakers. Basically a parachute-like sail that catches the wind more efficiently than a jib but presumably has drawbacks in other ways.

After the second length, even the spinnaker wasn’t enough and we were dead in the water. Half an hour later, when it was clear that no one was going anywhere and we were all just waiting for them to call the race, we broke out the drinks and charcuterie and sat around chatting for an hour and a bit.

“It’s so hazy you can’t see the Giant, even from out here.” I mused aloud, surprised.

“It’s the smoke.” Gillian said. “From the wildfires.”

Oh, really? No one had been complaining about the smoke, which is how I usually know it’s happening.

Around 9, they finally called the race and we headed back to the dock under power of the motor. They invited me to a dinner at the yacht club that night, but by the time we were docked and packed up, it was nearly ten and I decided I should go crawl into bed.

It was supposed to rain around noon on Thursday and break the heat, but it did not.

I walked down to the dentist for the third time this week. Just a cleaning, thankfully.

Thursday was time to start applying for jobs.

The Worldpackers website made me watch some instructional videos on how not to be an asshole before it would let me fill out my profile and apply for jobs. I’d had the same job open on my PC for a month, so I applied for that one first.

I noted that a lot of the jobs said they couldn’t accommodate special diets. I suppose that’s the issue with accepting a job for room and board. That being said, I could still fit Keto into a regular diet, depending on what they usually serve. More likely that not, I’d be rotating myself off of it for the time being, but I’d miss it. My guts feel good and my skin has been glowing!

Honestly, people whose meals are all carbs drive me up the freakin’ wall. If you are having pasta, you do not need dinner rolls and garlic bread!

The other problem is that this job is an hour and a half from Christchurch, so I would need my own personal transportation.

I glanced at car rentals. 200 a day, eesh.

However, you do not need car insurance in New Zealand. So I could just buy some rusty old ’90 Honda Civic, convince the wheels to roll, and sell it before I leave. I like that option better.

I glanced at flights as well.

Flying to New Zealand is a trek and a half. It’s 2 grand, and 2 days unless you have like 5 grand to throw at a direct flight. My options were, fly to Vancouver direct and catch a flight from there, or fly to Toronto and catch a flight there.

I liked the idea of Air NZ’s skycouch, but it’s an extra 600 on top of the cost of the flight – still cheaper than business class.

After clicking around a bit, I ended up back on Air Canada’s site again. They had two options – leave Sunday, and spend 24 hours in Toronto, or leave Monday, and spend 12 hours in Toronto, but either way I’d be taking the same flight out to Vancouver.

Decisions, decisions.

The 24 hours in Toronto seemed like a nice option. I could have someone pick me up from the airport and spend the day in Barrie. I’m not sure how I’d pass 12 hours in an airport.

In the evening, I got a reply from the job saying that I would be very welcome there!

Yay!

I drafted an email to my landlord. Leaving on such-and-such day. He emailed back and asked if I could be out by the first weekend in September. Sigh.

Another long text from the Vagabond. This time asking me to go to couples’ therapy.

Oh, sure, the cliche. Come back baby, we’ll go to therapy!

The daily texts were grating. I had no logical reason not to just block him immediately on everything; so far as I had noticed, I hadn’t forgotten anything there, and he had released me from owing him money.

But there’s a difference between logical and emotional. Emotionally, I am still very much in love with him. If he hadn’t broken up with me, we would still be dating. He had trapped me in this dilemma where he was acting like I had broken up with him and he was trying to win me back – except he had dumped me! So going back would basically be letting him win – he could dump me and ask me back, anytime, no punishment.

I knew I shouldn’t be replying to him. I had to find a reason within myself not to, beyond just knowing it was the correct option. It’s like recovering from alcoholism – you know what you should do, but the other option is inexplicably tempting. I think it’s important to show the messy parts – sometimes often we fall off the wagon.

I broke my silence. It was hard to resist. I asked him if he had an actual answer as to what and why he wanted to fix us, and if he had realized that by the time he got back there would only be 3 weeks until I left. If he had a good answer, I’d probably be game.

The rain never really showed up. It started drizzling late in the afternoon and continued through the night.

Friday morning I was supposed to go for a short hike with Hanuman, but his leg was still hurting him. We went to Bay Village Coffee instead. I was surprised and pleased to find “bulletproof coffee” on the menu. Bulletproof coffee is a Keto coffee; coffee, two tablespoons of butter, and one tablespoon of MCT oil. They had Splenda on the side.

I added a little bit of Splenda, but it stuck to the froth and to be honest, I enjoyed the coffee as it was. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s the addicting, filling quality of fat, but once it was cool enough I practically chugged it, kinda confused as to what exactly was enticing to me.

Bay Village is nice, covered in rainbows and other LGBT merch. I’d say I should go there more often, but they tend to close at 2 for some reason, and my coffee dates are usually later in the day.

My landlord was outside when I got back. We chatted for a bit before he asked me about moving out early. I asked him if he actually had any international students waiting to move in and he didn’t answer in the affirmative, just started complaining he doesn’t like renting to international students. He said the one week I was staying would be 150.

I went back up to my room and looked at the cost of renting at the hostel for a week – 480. So over one months rent, just with the one week here and the one week there.

I emailed around. Maybe someone would let me crash on their couch for a week.

I had finished my vodka and decided not to drink the rest of the four weeks until I left.

I was ravenous today and I couldn’t figure out why. The bulletproof coffee? I grabbed a can of Spam – my favourite secret treat. Fried some up and had it with what was left of my spaghetti squash.

My weekend was the perfect example of “hindsight is 20/20”, or, if I had known how it was going to go I would have planned it differently.

I went on a walk with one of the other guys from the Discord – his name was also Kevin. He’s much more animated than Kevin 1, though, we were practically talking over each other as we got excited. He works in advocacy for Indigenous people, so we will definitely be spending more time together! We also had a mutual lament about how the parents of our generation pushed us to go to post-secondary school instead of letting us go into the trades.

I made plans with Emily to test drive my car on Sunday.

In the mid-afternoon I went down to the Fort William Park pow wow. I had gone last year – actually, I think it had been the first thing I’d done in Thunder Bay last year, even before work. August 20th. I had spent a long time sat at the quillwork table talking with the lady who runs it, and learning quillwork.

She was here again this year, although I’m unsure if she remembers me. We talked for a long time again. She had a fresh porcupine to pluck – someone shot it to get it away from their dogs. She also has a new puppy.

The birchbark canoe experience was open – despite me having been to Fort William 4 times in the last year, I’d never managed to get on the canoe. This year, I did, surrounded by 5 screaming children, who hit me with the paddles (by accident) and splashed water on us.

Joy.

At one point when we were back on shore, some random guy came putting around the corner in a tiny steam boat. As me and the employees immediately twigged, this guy was running Hudson’s Bay colours – the fort was run by the Northwestern Company, meaning this guy was the enemy. He putted around in front of the dock, blowing the steam whistle on his boat, which sounded awful. I love steam whistles, but it sounded like someone had stepped on a cat’s tail. Just buzzing us.

Apparently, because Kevin 1 knows everything, he knows the owner’s name is Jamie and the boat is named Jennie.

Last year they had spruce tea – this year it was clover and fireweed. What’s fireweed? I didn’t try any, I had my green tea.

The Ontario Ombudsman was also there. Their table was rather lackluster. I asked them to give me the speech and they were not very good at it. They did say they were trying to perform more outreach to indigenous communities, which is good cuz they need it – but they didn’t sell it very well! They packed up before 4 and I was disappointed.

I walked around a bit, but I’d seen everything not even 4 weeks ago and I went back to the pow wow quickly.

At 5 we had feast. They had bison stew and a roll. I accepted the stew and left the roll. I also ignored the 4 potatoes in my bowl and just ate the bison, which was fall-off-the-bone soft and delicious.

At 5:30 K texted and asked if I could come over. I felt bad eating and then leaving, but we’d been having a hard time trying to make plans and I did want to hang out with him.

He asked me to fix his pair of shelves. After he gave me the tools I needed and left the room, I opened the drawer to fix it and found adult entertainment products inside it. I died laughing on the floor while he hurriedly removed them, blushing furiously.

Sunday morning I almost accidentally double-booked myself. There was a sailing event I had intended on attending, but I didn’t realize how early we were expected to be there and had organized the test-drive with Emily. Fortunately they had more than enough people on the boat and I hadn’t really committed to it anyway, but I had a panic attack before I found that out.

We went on a drive up to Mills Block forest and did the quick hike around there.

We made it most of the way back before Hanuman started visibly limping, grimacing in pain. We made him stop, but after assessing the problem – pain in his ankle – we decided the best option was to keep going slowly.

On the way back, we dropped him off at the ER. My biggest concern is that it’s just a damaged muscle, and rest and stretches will help it, but he won’t stop walking and let himself heal. He ‘joked’ that we should just drop him off at the compost center. Which reminds me uncomfortably of the Vagabond’s plan to off himself as soon as he’s lame because he doesn’t believe anyone want to care for him (although at this point, that’s a self-fulfilling prophecy).

I had planned to go to the Westfort Street Fair, not realizing it was Saturday only. Oops. So I just sat around my room, moping.

At 3 I drove down to Amethyst Harbor to help bring the boat back. The parking there was not designed for such an event and cars were littered by the side of the road. I had to half drive my car into the ditch to make sure I had left enough space. Then I walked down the dock and ran into Holly. We chatted for a minute before she got distracted by something else.

I continued down the dock, feeling a little out of place in my full length pants – almost everyone else was wearing shorts or a bathing suit. I finally found Chris’ boat. The boat got third (I think?) in one race, but second last in the rest. 3 boats ran aground… somehow.

As it turned out, basically everyone was leaving, and it was just me and Chris driving it back!

Kevin stayed until we cast off, I suspect to make sure I was comfortable with the situation and didn’t have any questions, which was nice of him.

The wind was at our bow the entire journey, so about half an hour in Chris decided we’d just sail back under power of the motor. He walked me through how to pack up the ship by myself – once we were out of the coves, the water was wide open, and there was no rush. It took us two hours to get back to the marina. Then he showed me all the electronic doodahs and gauges on the boat. He also pulled out the paper charts and showed me the surrounding area. There are reefs in the area! One of the places someone had run aground is called “Temple Rock”, unsure what it is. I will research it and report later.

I told Chris about my plans to go to New Zealand, and he mentioned him and his wife had backpacked around the islands in their youth. That’s a large part of the reason why his is the chill boat – he views it as paying back all the goodwill people have shown him over the years.

I like that idea. I’m not keen on the races to win, but I like the idea of being the skipper who doesn’t really care if they win or come last, so people who want to learn can practice!

There were 5 grain ships hanging around the harbor, which is a lot!

Fortunately for us, someone was waiting for another boat to come in and helped us dock. By the time I went back for my car and got home, it was after 8 and I was tired.

Monday was cooking day!

I’ve decided I should wean myself off the Keto diet. It takes at least two weeks to do. I asked my host what the usual meal plan is and while wholesome and yummy, it is too carb-heavy for me to get away with it. I might as well give myself time to adjust.

(I mean, the given options for breakfast are oats, cornflakes, Weetabix, milk, bread, butter and jam, but no eggs even though they have chickens?) Also, apparently the husband hates pasta, which is a confusingly vague term. All pasta? No distinction between lasagna and spaghetti? Or does he just dislike the way she makes it? I have so many questions from one simple statement!

I made some creamed spinach, feta-crusted salmon fillets, and… well, the recipe is called a posset, but apparently it used to be called syllabub? It’s basically a custard, without any eggs – just heavy cream, citrus, and your sweetener of choice. So it’s easily customizable and easy to make sugar-free, but the citrus is essential. It’s also just easy in general; it’s hard to break heavy cream on the stove. I will say, I found the half-cup of Splenda too sweet.

The Vagabond texted me again. Today’s flavour was “pretending everything is normal”. He had texted me some pictures of the moon, which he was doing almost daily before.

Some lightbulb clicked in my head. He’s never visited my house. I asked him, more than once. He said he had visited, back when my landlord first bought it, and that was enough.

But I wasn’t living there 15 years ago. Don’t you want to know what I have hung on the walls, what things I have strewn about my desk, whether I fold my clean laundry and put it away or if I let it live in my laundry hamper? Aren’t you curious about me?

So I broke my vow of not texting (again) to text him that.

Monday’s race was more race-like, although it started out slow. Everyone was tired from the weekend, so I was first on the scene (Gillian was second). Even the other crews were slow to arrive and start heading out.

Right out of the gate, Chris started giving me more things to do. I like it and I don’t; I like being capable and reliable, and I like learning. I also feel like my life is ridiculously chaotic right now and I can’t focus. But the boat is kind of like the motorcycle – you feel the wind in your hair and let everything else blow away. The wildfire smoke had finally cleared and the horizon was crystal clear.

This race was a good mix of everything. In one direction we had strong wind for the jib, and in the other direction a breeze for the spinnaker, so each length had us switching between the two. It was the same as the first week; me, Jeff, Gillian and Kevin, but Gillian was at the cockpit ropes (sheets) and Kevin was up at the bow.

I surprised even myself a few times that evening. I noticed something that Kevin would usually take care of, and just leapt over to do it. Then everyone was sort of stunned by it. I’ve been fairly good at keeping my feet no matter how much the boat pitches and yaws, although I did run back to the pit occasionally.

It was hard work! I was lifting the jib and the spinnaker, carrying the weight of the sail, the rigging, and the wind as it starts to take it. My arms were sore!

We were gaining on a few boats and might have placed well in the standings, but on one of the lengths the rigging for the spinnaker got tangled and we lost too much time to make it up again, so we placed last.

Also, I somehow gave myself a teeny tiny cut on the end of my pinky. I wear some work gloves that I cut the finger tips off of – they were mostly worn out anyway, and it’s easier for knots while still protecting my palms from the rope. The cut stung like a paper cut but was barely noticeable.

As we puttered back to shore, I checked my messages. One from Adrianne – and three from the Vagabond. Angry messages. My mood dipped immediately, as was no doubt the intention.

Kevin brought out the chips and drinks as usual, and I stayed for a few minutes, but it was weighing too much on my mind. I was the first to retire for the evening, the message spinning in my head as I walked.

By the time I got home, I realized what an absurd flip in mood it was from this morning. Another childish tantrum, throwing his toys out of the pram because I wasn’t playing his game. There was nothing of substance in the message – he wasn’t even really insulting me, because the gist was “you are everything you accused me of being”, which isn’t terribly original.

Hopefully, this was the last, although I didn’t think it would be. But at the very least, perhaps a few days of silence.

I was thinking about Snape today. Rowling is a loathsome human being but she was a damn good writer at one point. The arc in Snape from bog-standard bullying teacher to Byronic hero was a masterclass in writing complex characters. There’s a lot of good juxtaposition too, from Snape to James, and Snape to Harry.

I’ve often surprised people, even the Vagabond himself, by guessing the choices he’ll make correctly. I see it as us being the same person, born in different eras and different genders. I find it hard not to feel bad for him, as I would doubtlessly make many of the same choices.

It’s curious – my hardships have made me softer, while his cushy childhood made him hard. Part of that is gendered expectations – women must be soft and accommodating, although I’ve come around to my own sense of kindness and empathy separate from that. He grew up in the “me” era, when a confident, attractive man could steamroll everyone to get what he wanted. Not to say that he didn’t earn what he’s got, but… it’s hard to explain. Some sense of not having enough, some sense of what he’s got being more fragile than what I’ve got.

I pity him and I still love him, but I can’t make him find clarity. All I can do is protect myself.

I like this new artist. Well, he was published last year, but he is new to me. I like that he makes soul music while looking nothing like a soul artist, and when people questioned it he said “why do I have to look a certain way to make certain music?”

Rock on, my dude.