The jig is up, they’re on to us. We were on borrowed time and had to get the heck out of dodge.
They only give us scoundrels so much time in Australia before we have to re-up the old visa. This meant a couple weeks in New Zealand, which as we soon learned, was a terrible idea. Terrible, because you learn that your plans were backwards, or sideways, or upside down in general.
New Zealand deserves months, or years, or lifetimes. Upon realization you slap your forehead, to which the locals sympathize and simply tell you, “told you so”. There’s a chip on their shoulder called Australia. Not to worry, that chip is fading as these things do, and evolving more into secret-hoarding. Comparable to Canadians’ own sentiment toward Big Brother to the south, we understood this well.
And so, we conducted painful, guilt-ridden interviews throughout Brisbane to find the least scary place to leave A Dog Called Quest while we re-legitimized our stay in his birthplace. Ultimately, we settled on a robust military-man turned-doggy daycare general. He was sweaty and efficient, well-awarded and stern. His place was clean and busy. The dogs appeared less-frazzled than elsewhere, and he stressed the importance of good food for the lot.
Reluctance turned to haste as our time ran out, and Christchurch lay in wait, and in rubble.
New Zealand’s South Island is small, it’s personalities huge. Funny, resilient, lovers of all things natural and exciting. We broke out of the city to join them, up into the mountains with some sort of a golf cart from a discount rental lot. We returned that same contraption not long after attempting to summit mid-island to get to the other side. Lighter of perspiration and fear-poop, we traded up, skipping the mountains and choosing to trek the entire east coast instead.
The earthquakes had re-employed much of the island into rebuilding roads and bridges that had slid to the ocean below.
We drove and ate and explored hot springs and whiskey dives. We understood to not understand the dialect, but to conquer the gap through laughter and convivial love of all things bird. Hiking the northern bit via private boats, we appreciated deeply their familiarity of waterways and hidden beaches. Beautiful people, consistently choosing the windiest of roads and most cambered conversation.
It was a ‘to be continued’, A Dog Called Quest needed rescuing.