Peggieeeeeeeeeee!

And we were off! But then we weren’t, because Peggie died again. At this point we hear you all sigh for us in pity and not at all out of frustration for our ridiculous decision in buying a beat-up, botched-up van, with very little space in the back (just enough for our bed), made in 1983 (the year Chad was born – he's thirty by the way). 

Thankfully, we were close to civilisation. This is nothing short of a miracle here in New Zealand, which has so much open space in the form of endless, perfect, rolling, green hills and so many sheep filling them it could almost make you cry and definitely turns you to vegetarianism (we know, we were converted, but that’s a story for later).

We were in Puhoi, a tiny, quaint, historical town with a definite hint of Wales about it, buying some food before finding a place to park up and sleep. Alas, when we returned to Peggie to get on our way she’d given up the ghost for the second time that day and sat pathetically spluttering and shaking instead of starting and going, like a normal van would.

Luckily, of the two or three buildings nearby, one of them was a pub (hurray, good time for a drink! Just kidding!) which was full of happy drunks willing to help. We were told that of those two or three (now apparently four) buildings nearby, an illusive garage was located at the bottom of a hill upon which we were parked. So in what was either a brave or incredibly stupid manoeuvre, we let off the hand brake and rolled backwards down the hill (to applause) straight into the garage forecourt, five minutes before closing time. 

We were begrudgingly assisted by (I can’t remember his name but I’m going to call him) Steve and his assistant Chase (who’s name badge actually said Jamie?!). Chase was one of the sweetest, clearly kind-hearted people I have ever met, but he kept dropping things into Peggie’s engine, which can’t have been helping the situation and which led to us inadvertently stealing his torch. Sorry Chase/Jamie. 

Oh yeah, then it started to rain...

With Chad’s help (the best mechanic around at the time) the problem was diagnosed and I’m told “the negative battery terminal had corroded”. We were relieved to discover this was only a minor problem and so fifteen minutes, a few dropped items and forty bucks later, Peggie was fixed and grumpy Steve could go on home to celebrate the 23^rd birthday of his twin daughters (that's why he hates us so much… well that and the stolen torch of course). 

Blogginsis

So a few people have told me I should blog to keep an account of our journey as we go along but mostly to entertain people with the stories of the crazy characters we meet, and are still meeting, along the way. By we, in case you’re a stranger to me and have stumbled across this blog/diary by accident (yes this is being handwritten before typed because I’m obviously old fashioned and more to the point, because I’m a total nerd) my name is Alison, I’m 28 years old and I’m an alcoholic. NOT REALLY. That was just a bad joke because it sounded like I was introducing myself at an AA meeting, get it? I’m not very funny. I should stop.

So yeah, I’m Alison, preferably Ali. I’m from Blackpool, England and I’m travelling around with my boyfriend Chad, who is also from the UK. Chad’s 30 now and I like to remind him of that regularly. 

Maybe I should tell you more than our names, ages and origin, so that, if you are a stranger, you know what you’re dealing with and perhaps better understand our decisions, actions and reactions throughout. 

Chad is ex-army but you would never guess it. He is most definitely not what you think of when you think soldier. He doesn’t have a shaved head for a start, he’s not butch, nor does he like football (sorry for the ridiculous and sweeping generalisations people – but you know what I mean). Instead, he’s kind of effeminate (some might say, maybe because he wears jewellery and girl’s belts) and lean (I said lean Chad, not skinny!). He’s creative and sensitive. He plays guitar and writes lyrics and poetry (well, only one poem so far, I might exaggerate sometimes) but despite all of this there are a few army traits he’s been unable to shed. First off, his blind protective streak will appear from time to time, when he gets mad if people offend/piss off/upset anyone important to him, he may make the odd, crazy threat to set fire to them, or something like that maybe, I don’t know, ask my sister. Anyway, I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you. He’s very strong and has a tendency to push and push himself to physical limits with running and cycling and stuff, I suspect because he is punishing himself for setting someone on fire. 

Chad also harbours his army trained precision for packing and planning, on occasion anyway. I say on occasion because since being with me, a kind of disorganised and messy soul, I have managed to break him down (ahem, I mean relax him a little) and now he’s messy and chaotic to, but still, every now and again, grand master captain Chad will rear his head and whip everything into shape, usually at a time when I’m all emotional and have lost all reason, like the time we said our teary goodbyes to our family, or the times our place has looked like a bomb site and I don’t know where to start. It’s great, and one of the reasons I love him.

Now my turn, although in my opinion I’m not very interesting and there is very little to tell. I’m no tortured writer or a creative lost soul or anything anywhere near as alluring, although those types always fascinate me. I’m much to sensible, reserved, and/or boring to follow in their footsteps. Instead, I’m a grade A geek, that reads on average four books a month (who’s counting? Well, me. I told you I’m a nerd.) and I studied law, qualified as a lawyer and was working at being a proper grown up. Now, I’m unemployed, living in a van, on the other side of the world, in New Zealand. 

I do have other characteristics and quirks, for example, I am an incorrigible worrier. If I start to worry about something, man will it fester. The things I worry about aren’t necessarily worth worrying about either. I can worry about things that are never going to happen. I can worry about things as unlikely to happen as meeting Jude Law, having him immediately fall in love with me and me then having to say “Sorry Jude – meet Chad” (NO CHAD THAT IS NOT THE UNBELIEVABLE PART OF THAT RIDICULOUS SCENARIO! OF COURSE I WOULD SAY THAT! IT’S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN ANYWAY!). I’m also a crier, everything makes me cry. A nice rhyme in a birthday card has been known to make me fill up and leave the store responsible for selling it. 

Anyway, enough about me, if I keep this up and you actually find it entertaining enough to read again, I’m sure you will find out more. The purpose of this was to keep account of our travels and so here goes. 

As previously mentioned, Chad and I are in New Zealand, living in a van. We have been here almost three weeks now and so this story so far is told in retrospect and with a blurred memory of time and dates. Not because I have been drunk the whole time. I’m not an alcoholic. That. Was. A. Joke. For some reason the days are blending into one and so I apologise in advance should this turn into nonsensical ramblings (what am I saying turn into?!)

We arrived in Auckland after a long and arduous flight from L.A, via Fiji (prior to this trip we were living in Canada and moved on through the States, but more about that another time). Although we landed in the morning, and although, surprisingly, it was still daylight when we left the airport after an over zealous and jobs worthy inspection of our tent and walking boots to make sure we weren’t smuggling any vicious plant murdering toxins through with us, we could think of nothing but sleep and so we made our way to our prison-like hostel (naming no names – they still have our mail) and straight to bed. Later, we woke up, ate, watched some British TV (HURRAH! British TV is the best!) and then went straight back to sleep, how adventurous.

Before arriving in New Zealand, and because it was so difficult to buy and insure a vehicle in Canada, we had our heart set on buying a camper-van here, serving as accommodation and transport and thus killing two birds with one stone. Genius. Day two was therefore dedicated to finding a vehicle and with sleepy, fuzzy heads and without full concentration, we found and decided upon Peggie. 

Woah Black Peggie (Bam-ba-lam)

We didn’t name our matte black beast Peggie, but rather she named herself, what with her reg being PE7795. Now see if it takes you as long as it took Chad to figure that out (… two weeks …) I still don’t know why he so readily adopted the name Peggie without understanding it, as I said Peggie is matte black, very masculine looking, with tinted blacked out windows. However, I think it is only fair to mention that I am equally as stupid and just wrote Peggy, instead of Peggie, over and over again and had to go back and change it. That is one of the reasons we make a good pair, obviously. 

By day three PEGGIE is bought and paid for and we’re off! But we didn’t get very far because Peggie is very old, and seemingly can’t be arsed, because less than one hour later she stops working and refuses to start. We console each other by reminding ourselves just how cheap Peggie was and how if we’d spent more we would have less money to fund repairing our hypothetical, more reliable, but more expensive, camper. There is logic in there… right guys? Anyway, Chad is nothing short of an actual genius (unless it comes to all things alphanumerical) and he immediately diagnoses Peggie with a case of naff battery. 

Cue help in the form of an incredibly strong Maori couple and a very reluctant, religious old man (I hope it was clear that I meant reluctant to help and not reluctant in his religion) who jump starts us and gives us a sharp lecture regarding blasphemy. Don’t do it, you’ll go to Hell for breaking a commandment, even if you apologise to God and/or Jesus.

 

And upon sharing that valuable life lesson, I will end this instalment because I’m not sure a blog entry/brief introduction is supposed to be this long…