The underwear situation went hyper critical last week so I did a google search and found out that that  big white thing over there is something called a washing machine.  whoed-a-thunk it?  Now if I can only figure out what that thing in the closet with the hose and teeny tiny wheels is.

I drove north up the coast road 70 miles (yes MILES,  screw the metric system) last week It was  outrageously  cool.  Waves breaking on huge limestone cliffs jutting out into the sea eroded over eons into fantastic formations separated by MILES of broad and wide grey sand beaches at the total mercy of only wind and wave. And where the road did occasionally turned inland you drove through dense Jurassic Park forests of man sized ferns and giant fern trees appropriate for any self respecting dinosaur.  By far the most beautiful coast read I've ever driven and, except for the road and  a very rare structure, completely wild.  The end of the road was a place called "Cape Foul Wind" ( I assume that has something to do with old time sailing navigation stuff but I suppose there are other equally plausible explanations) where any upwardly mobile seal worth his or her sea salt haul themselves  out on the rocky shore to see and be seen and to look down there long noses at the hoi polloi. I swear I took pictures and as soon as I figure out how to upload them into the blog ....so, stay tuned.

Today I drove south along the coast road into the "Southern Alps" region through buckets of rain.  As I drove south the buckets got bigger so I bailed.  I couldn't see much through the driving rain but again passing through primeval forests where dinosaurs seemed a real possibility.  I did drive through a place called Ross.  The sign said "Welcome to Ross:  The Gold Mining Capital of New Zealand"  so I am for sure  going back there and not for some of your tiny little cheap ass flecks of gold.  No sir-ee Bob.  I talking baseball size gold chunks minimum.

The clinic is fine.  The patients are great - mostly your blue collar and farming types, easy going and usually pretty happy with good senses of humor.  The medical problems and medicines are pretty much the same as in the US but the names of a lot of the meds are different so that takes some time to get used to.  Also, since this is a cradle to grave socialized system there are heaps of government programs for everything (quitting smoking, getting exercise, any injury no matter how trivial,  drug and alcohol addiction, home maintenance and on and on) and each program has a heap of forms to fill out.  In the US I had people to do this stuff but down here I got no people.  Forms and paperwork seem to be a global pandemic 

I was getting a little shaggy last week so I found myself a local barber shop.  Think a sheep after an unnecessarily aggressive spring shearing.  Also I bought a car.  A 2005 Subaru (they pronounce it "su-BAR-u, emphasis on the BAR.  Silly Kiwis)  forester-like wagon.  Nothing fancy but 4 wheel drive to get me to my many and very dangerous upcoming mountain climbing adventures.  More about cars some other time.  Right now I'm hungry so it's time to go over to the stove for another adventure in pyrotechnics.

OMG! OMG! OMG! I've only got 2 pairs of clean underwear left.  I don't understand.  I put my gross stinky undies in the basket by the big white box thing with the door on top by the back door like usual at home but nothing happens.  At home clean undies would just magically appear in the undie draw.  Same with socks and everything. The magic draw doesn't seem to work down here.
Helen!!! Help !! What should I do?

Well I guess there is only one reasonable option; go commando.

As I was looking in the mirror the other day I epiphanied that the life of a single guy is a lot like one really long camping trip. One's grooming rapidly becomes more "rustic" and bare bones functional. One's level of personal hygiene plummets a bit and the general tidiness index of your crib drops a few (thousand) notches.  And the 3 second rule?  Fa-get-about-it. 

Last Sunday I drove about 50 miles into the mountains to Arthur Pass.   A super scenic drive despite the rain. Up a wide river valley along rolling green pastures dotted with metric tons of sheep. Then a really really steep last 10 kilometers and UNDER a bridge with a pretty good sized stream gushing over the top. The pass is a gassy little valley that boarders the tree line. Not content to just drive on the wrong side of the road up a windy rainy mountain road eye ball to eye ball with death every inch (centimeter) of the way I also had to tramp (that's what they call hiking in N.Z.) 3 more miles up a mountain trail in a driving rain to a ski lodge for a cup of tea and a pint of beer then back home for another cooking adventure.  I tried to include some pictures but I'm not sure if they will work.

Also up high on the pass they have these mountain parrots called Keas.  They are supposed to be endangered but they were all over the place.  Very inquisitive and fearless little buggers.  They come right up to you.  On and in your car just to check things out.   Little genius birds.  There are a couple of u-tubes on them you should watch.

And FYI water swirls clockwise down here.

I've been cooking for my self now for a week and the smoke alarm batteries are dead.  I was going to buy more but I thought why bother.  Even the fire department doesn't come any more.  They will call on occasion if one of the neighbors reports more than the usual amount of smoke but even that is tapering off.  But just when I thought all is lost I found this stuff called Soylent Green in an out of the way little dark alley establishment unjustly shunned and generally avoided by the discerning shopper.  Anyway this stuff is specifically made to be an exact match to everything the human body needs.  One pill three times a day and your good to go.  It also comes in a powder to mix with your favorite liquid.  Water is recommended but I find it pairs better with a nice blended Scotch Whisky.  Single malt of course needs to be enjoyed without adulteration.  I am told "S.G." will be available in banana flavor next month.  Things are definitely looking up.

I flew into tiny Hokitika airport just north of Greymouth 4 days ago.   Think McDonalds size building,  but with snow capped peaks visible to the North, South and East and the Tasman Sea to the West.  So, beautiful. Fortunately all my 14 billion pounds or rather 6.545454… billion kilograms (damn metric system – more on that below) of luggage also made it.  Fortunately they know what pallets and forklifts are for. Anyway the limo driver was this good humored but crusty old guy who has an opinion on pretty much everything and strongly believes your well being is greatly enhanced by him telling you what they are and , as a guest in his country, you were free to agree or walk.  Peter; an I.T. guy from Germany,  the other passenger and my first friend in Greymouth and I just nodded and laughed

Greymouth and the west coast area is the least densely populated and wildest area of New Zealand.  As such, some of the long time locals, the limo driver definitely being one, feel it gets shuffled off to forgotten by the government in Wellington and  so would not object to fortifying the south island’s north coast and seceding from the north.  I know there are lots of Washington 509ers that have similar treasonous sentiments

So what do you think was my worst case night mare fear of moving to New Zealand?  …..Getting totally disrespected by Santa because Christmas in summer is just wrong?......Nope.……..Developing a nasty allergy to sheep?…….. Guess again.……..Squishing a family of cute little fuzzy baby Kiwi birds as I speed down the highway texting to make sure they put  extra peparoni on the take-out pizza I just ordered?........OK, well maybe that’s second……but no.  It’s getting smashed to bits in a full speed head on car crash because they drive on the wrong side of the road down here.  So I get to the Greymouth Hospital, check in and pick up my loaner car. It’s getting dark and I am pretty sure I am going to die in the next few minutes but then I get behind the wheel on the RIGHT (wrong) side of the care and Oh #%*$ it’s a stick shift.  But wait, it gets worse. Within the first 50 yards (meters) of leaving the hospital parking lot I come to a round-about.  NOW what do I do?  Well when you are really up against it, I figured, go back to what you know best so:  “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” And here I am.

The town of Greymouth (population 15,000) is a mostly a working class town transitioning from gold and coal mining to eco tourism, lumber and fishing.  The people are your basic salt of the earth farming types with exceptionally well behaved dogs.  A real plus when I am out running.  The hospital is old and dated and the clinic even more so but they are just about finished building a new hospital / clinic complex and God willing and the creeks don’t rise we should be moving in a few months. 

I’ve spent the last few days wandering around town getting the lay of the land, getting my internet connection set up and even going to the grocery store.  Now I know many of you think I am a complete but lovable, domestically incompetent, totally clueless dunce incapable of surviving on my own without constant supervision……and you know who you are…..Helen….Rachel….Laura…..Sarah… All of Chelan……Everybody I’ve ever met.  Well to prove you all wrong and firmly establish my culinary creds I decided to start cooking for myself and for my first creation I decided to make salmon with pesto and goat cheese. Simple, right?  One would think.   I smear some pesto on a slab of salmon, crumble some goat cheese over the top and pop it in the oven just like Helen does.  I remember Helen telling me to cook it for 20-30 minutes at 350 degrees or so.  But I’m confused because the stove dial only goes up to 250?  Oh well.  I figure close enough.  So I am blissfully watching a rugby match (two street gangs fighting over an overinflated yellow football from what I could see) on Kiwi TV smugly anticipating imminent culinary redemption when hey, why is there smoke coming out of the oven?  I scrambled my way to the kitchen my thoughts rapidly flashing all the possible reasons that….then, as I reached for the oven door, epiphany and total enlightenment.  I wasn’t in the good old USA but in a foreign land among blissful but misguided barbarians who worship at the pagan alter of the Godless metric system.  So the 250 on the stove dial was in centigrade or about 525 degrees God fearing Fahrenheit.  Anyway, the meal was salvageable but redemption was not to be had.  Tomorrow? Spaghetti.  And yes the smoke alarm did go off.

I've  been "in country" (that's what we ex-pats. call it) for 5 days and so I now consider myself somewhat of an expert on New Zealand. 

I spent the first few days in Wellington for orientation to Kiwi life and medicine. The first day they asked us (2 Canadian docs, a Brit, a doc from Belgium, one from Oklahoma and me) the standard money question:  "Why did you come to New Zealand?"   one by one around the room it was the usual: "Friendly people." or" Beautiful country," Yea, yea yea but for me I said the deciding factor was; "No extradition treaty with the U.S."  And they still gave me a New Zealand medical license and tax ID number. Silly Kiwis.

Wellington is a great little city.  Compact, easily walkable, clean with lots of good restaurants and some cool museums but it is super windy and it rains All the time.  I imagine it's the way Seattle was 70 years ago.

The Kiwis seem to be a happy lot...very happy..... sometimes too happy.  There is something not quite right here.  It's like a country of Stepford citizens;  too perfect to be real.

On to Greymouth this afternoon