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We're in New Zealand now, and you will all be happy to know the weather is about as good as in England. Except sunnier and nicer. But there was a little rain. This internet cafe finally provided affordable prices, but it sucks, so no more photos for now (except for Lowe's abortive attempt, a photo from St Albans).
Our last days in America were spent around a few beaches, first Newport, then Venice. They were beachy. We visited a surfer bar full of beautiful people, where some dude got chucked out and a valiant squad of some 3 police cars and a fire engine, and a police motorbike, came to solve the crime of the drunken eviction. Troubling times.
We had a gruelling flight over here, overnight, in which I faced the mixed blessing of a attractive young australian to one side and a fat columbian overlapping onto my chair on the other. I got little sleep. We're in Auckland now, and our day has been spent getting bread for peanut butter and jam sandwiches. It's starting to feel that without the trek to spur us on, our pursuits are becoming less grandiose. I took a photo of a church sign though.
I should start talking about anecdotes from earlier in the trek, never added to this journal, but there's too many to tell. I don't know if the one about ben attempting to urinate at a campsite, and finding himself in front of two men's camp (one of whom shouted 'you a******!'), has been told here. He bore all to those poor gentlemen. Another: on our first night, when we were sharing beds in LA, Lowe woke up Chraa with a gentle caress to his back (he claims he was trying to save him from a fire, in his deluded mind, but all we know is Chraa screamed f*** OFF and Lowe responded 'what the hell's going on?').
We spent much of the time bullying our tour leader, Tara. Nay, it was not bullying just idle affection. We rolled her down the hill at Mitten View, Monument Valley (against the background of a glorious sunrise, no less); Ben and Irish Phil tackled her one night and swung her by arms and legs, spilling her beer; kicked sand into her shoes at the arches; spun her round till she fell over at our cowboy and indian party; Ben burnt her shoe, in a fire, unprovoked...but she insisted the worst abuse came from Irish Phil and I in our attacks with words. We mostly just wanted to know how high the golden gate bridge is. And when we'd see mountain lions (never, would you believe, gosh darn it). But it was all for the best.
That'll do for now. We have cheaper internet and may now be able to update things more regularly. Ciao for now, keep on keeping on, Craig sucks.
Phil out.
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