Tasmania and New Zealand

October 23rd, 2006 Tower Motel, Hobart, Australia
Saturday night, Anna, Ashley, Kevin Larey, Pierre, Katie Witter, Felicity, and I stayed up and played Sardines. It’s the reverse of hide-and-seek: one person hides while everyone else tries to find him or her and hide with them. We turned out all the lights in the large and had a lot of choices of places in which to hide. I hid first. I ran into a room and ran to a door on the other side. I opened it and felt cold air and realized it was an exit. However, I heard voices and footsteps and realized the rest had already finished counting and were coming. So, I hopped outside onto a ramp and hid. I waited a few minutes until I was sure no one was around and then I went to open the door and come back inside. But it was locked. And I was stuck. And it was cold. I finally began tapping on the door until someone realized where I was, so I came back inside and hid under a table. I guess I cheated, but it wasn’t intentional. It was a lot of fun playing that game.
We had a short church service the next morning before we loaded up and headed down to our bus. On the drive into Melbourne I finished The Prestige. I sat there for a minutes after I finished, trying to process the genius of what I had read. Good book. I can’t wait to see the movie.
Our flight was around an hour, so we soon landed in the island state of Tasmania in the city of Hobart. This state, like Victoria, is beautiful, and has perfect “sweat-shirt weather.” Hobart is a city on a series of hills on a shore of a wide river, all of which is surrounded by mountains. It’s a great city, because it is devoid of any towering skyscrapers and excessive modern-esque buildings. It’s a very British town, and that’s a good thing. It’s a tranquil place, without any loud noises. A country town. It’s very comfortable.
We arrived at the Tower Motel, which does consist of a tower, but the rooms are in a square which surrounds a parking lot. I am rooming with Derek and Will once again. They are comfortable rooms, quite large in size and the beds are worthy of a thumbs up.
Dinner was buffet-style at Wrest Point Casino. Back at the motel, Derek, Will, Kevin Finn, Darren, and I sat down in Room 33 (my room) and watched The Fellowship of the Ring. Oh yes. It made me very happy inside. We have wanted to watch all three before we arrive in New Zealand, and that is fast approaching. Watching brilliant filmmaking based on a literary masterpiece never gets old. Atta boy, Peter Jackson.

October 24th, 2006 Hobart Airport, Hobart, Australia
I would like to begin this by wishing my grandmother, Honey, a happy birthday. Wish you could be here to celebrate it.
Yesterday was an early start, because we had to drive to Port Arthur which sits close to an hour-and-a-half away from Hobart. I don’t remember much of the drive, because I slept. However, I do recall one story Bill, our driver, told. It concerned what is referred to here as the Massacre. Ten years ago, a young man drove to Port Arthur with several guns and enough ammunition to start a small war. At the historic site, he opened fire and killed thirty-five people, injuring several others. He was finally captured, but only after he had burned down a local guesthouse. Many of the people in the area lost close friends or family members in this atrocious crime, and it is rarely ever spoken about. Bill, whose mother lost her best friend, felt it his duty as a tour guide to tell us about it. I could hear in his voice that he was about to cry.
We finally came to Port Arthur. This was a penal colony once upon a time. To be specific, it was a secondary transportation spot, where criminals from the colonies of Australia were sent. Governor Arthur (for whom the penitentiary was named) chose the Tasman Peninsula in 1830 for the spot of secondary transportation. He referred to as a very natural place for one to be, because the peninsula is connected to the mainland of Van Diemen’s Land (another name for Tasmania) by small land strip less than a hundred meters wide, known as Eaglehawk Neck.
Around 12,500 convicts were sent to Port Arthur between the years 1830 and 1877. It’s a beautiful place in which to be imprisoned, but I’m sure that wasn’t the first thought on the inhabitants’ minds. For many, it was a living hell. Brutality reigned supreme. However, if convicts showed good behavior they were given better living conditions. I wonder what thoughts ran through peoples’ minds as they were sent from England to the other side of the world to prison, many of them for live. There are quite a few interesting stories.
We were given a guided tour of the facility, which stretches itself beside a lovely little bay. Many of the buildings have been partially destroyed by bushfires, but they were certainly intact enough to leave an impression of what it may have been like. We were shown many of the cells, as well as the cottage in which the Commandant lived. We then boarded a boat and were given a tour of the bay, arriving at the small Isle of the Dead. Around 1,100 people are buried on this tiny piece of land, convicts on one end and free settlers on the other. One of the guides gave us a very entertaining tour around the place, telling stories of some of the convicts and about life in that time.
On arriving back at the mainland, we were given some time to wander around by ourselves. I headed up a hill to the old church, which had also been destroyed by fire. The roof was gone, as were all the windows and part of the walls. It was an impressive structure, though, and flowers now grew where the pews would have once stood.
Lunch was at the Fox and Hounds, an English pub. This is my kind of place. The food was good, the place was warm and darkly lit, and it just looked like it had been thrown here from England. All that was missing was music.
We then began our trip back towards Hobart. We stopped at the Devil’s Kitchen, which was a large narrow cylinder of cliffs leading down to the sea. I hopped over the fence and climbed a hill to provide a better view of the shoreline. It was good to be alone as I gazed out into the expanse of water, ending at the bottom of the world. We also stopped along Eaglehawk Neck where a statue of a dog had been placed to represent the line of dogs which had once been here to prevent convicts from escaping along the isthmus. Tales of the shark-infested waters added to the discouragement of escape, although there really were no sharks. Smooth.

Quest Apartments, Melbourne, Australia
I slept the whole back into Hobart, where we went to the Drunken Admiral for dinner. The restaurant was on a dock and the interior was decorated as if it were an old galleon ship. Fish and chips were the course, but I wasn’t feeling exceptionally hungry because I had stuffed myself at the pub. I shoveled my food to other people and Ashley and I went out and walked around the dock, checking out the boats, wishing we could go out to sea on one of those things. We crossed a bridge, under which I climbed around for a little awhile, but soon began to fear falling in and getting my camera wet. That would have been upsetting.
I went for a run once we arrived back at the motel. I ran fifteen minutes one way and then back. I don’t think it was quite four miles, because I was going up some pretty steep hills. I ran through residential streets, filled with small, quaint homes which in the daytime would give quite a nice view of the surrounding area. Tasmania is most certainly British-influenced.
Once back, Dr. Byram and Kevin and Darren joined us in Room 33 for The Two Towers. Yet another beautiful film. Wow, two masterpieces in as many nights. How cool is that?

October 25th, 2006 YMCA, Christchurch, New Zealand
The first stop on the 24th was the Cadbury Chocolate Factory. I was not at all looking forward to this excursion. There were several reasons for this disdain. Firstly, the factory has no interesting historical significance. Secondly, I wouldn’t be a better person for going there. And lastly, it had no aesthetic interest (translation: it wasn’t something visually stunning). I guess I really don’t care how chocolate is made; I just want to eat it from time to time.
We were given a sort of shower cap to prevent our germs from infecting the chocolate. I was given another one to put over my face because of my ever-increasing whiskers. It was modestly intriguing, I will admit, but I could have thought of a few other things I would have preferred. I actually didn’t try any of the factory’s wares, but I heard it was quite good. I’ll take their word for it.
Our next stop was Mt. Wellington, which sits behind Hobart. This is where I wanted to spend the whole morning. The view from the top was visually stunning. The cliffs of this mountain fell away into the hilly valley which led in curving shorelines to the sea. Hobart rested atop these hills and looked very quiet and friendly from this distance, as it was up close also. I climbed all over the rock formations, wandering off by myself down the cliff-face. I would have loved to have taken this narrow dirt path as far as I could, but we were given an unfortunately slim margin of time in which to see everything. It was certainly well-worth the trip to the top, even with such a short amount of time. Tasmania is a beautiful state. It reminds me of Tennessee in some ways.
We drove east of Hobart to the cozy village of Richmond. The oldest bridge in Australia, built by convicts in 1823, connects opposite sides of a calm river, just down the hill from St. John’s Church. This is the oldest Catholic church in the country, built thirteen years after the bridge.
We ate lunch at the Richmond Arms, and I enjoyed a chicken schnitzel. Greer and I then went into the bar and played a few games of pool where we saw our rotund and cheerful tour guide from the Isle of the Dead cruise the day before. He had the day off and was enjoying a few glasses of beer before he headed to his farm. We chatted as the two of us shot pool, talking about Port Arthur, his work, our travels, and Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard, both of whom he is a very big fan.
We drove down a lonely street to Grannie Rhodes Cottage. Half the group went in while the other half walked around, awaiting their turn. I was in the second group, so I walked back into town and walked down the antique-shop-filled (awkward adjective, don’t you think?) street. I found a very lovely Anglican church at the end of a road with the plains gradually transforming into tall hills. The church was empty and reminded me of the interior of a country church in the States, smelling strangely of funeral home flowers. I walked down the dirt track beside the church, staring out into the tors and valleys.
Grannie Rhodes Cottage is a very small house decorated as if it was the 19th century. Miriam is the owner. She’s a very jovial and just downright perfect Englishwoman. She was a teacher for thirty years, and majored in English while in university. Seven years, she purchased this place and built a bed-and-breakfast next door. She researched the family who once lived here, finding a rich and entertaining history of convicts and mystery and…death. She had memorized a forty minute skit in verse in which she reenacts events from the characters’ points of view, changing rapidly in the incredibly cramped space of the cottage to the attire of the period. She reminded me immensely of Julie Andrews. It was actually uncanny. It was a very enjoyable and involving story, thanks in no small part to her wonderful acting and storytelling. I spoke with her for a few minutes afterwards, inquiring about her life here. She married a Tasmanian and moved here thirty years ago. They have since divorced. She is a Christian and believes she can use her business here as a ministry. More power to her. Miriam said when she bought the property, she and several friends prayed over the site as a sort of blessing. All of them felt something was wrong and had someone check it out. They discovered, buried a few meters beneath the surface, enough dynamite to blow Richmond to smithereens. The dynamite was discovered on September 11th, 2001.
We returned to Hobart, going straight to the airport. As we flew I began A New Kind of Christian by Brian McClaren. My dad has recommended this book, as well as its two sequels, saying they are definitely the kinds of question-filled and deep-thinking faith-oriented books I want. I have so far read the introduction and first chapter, and already I’m running out of ink on my pen. I can tell this is going to be a meaningful read. Thumbs up, Dad.
We arrived in Melbourne and went to a buffet-style restaurant before transferring back to the Quest Apartments in the same suites and living arrangements as before. I went for a thirty minute run, down the dark streets and to a river which would have eventually led to downtown. After I returned, we settled down to The Return of the King. This is beauty on film. In case it isn’t obvious, I love The Lord of the Rings. It is such a moving and compelling mythology, filled with incredible symbolism and amazing characters and breath-taking landscapes. Thank you, J.R.R. Tolkien, for living and writing.
This morning we returned to the airport and boarded Air Zealand. It was a three hour flight, and we lost three hours. It was 6 by the time we landed. As we flew over, I could see the most incredible mountain ranges covering the entire landscape. A tattered blanket of snow had been thrown across the dark slopes, and it was beautiful. We then landed, and I finally stepped into New Zealand.
The air is amazing. It’s so clean and fresh. I felt like I was better for having breathed that air. We were picked up by Malcolm, our tall driver for the week. We drove into Christchurch and to the YMCA, where we were staying. All ten guys are in one room. We ate in the cafeteria and then had the rest of the evening off. I went for a run in the Botanic Gardens, which is right across the street from the YMCA. It was a gorgeous place to run. The air was cool and the vibrant colors of the flowers created a perfect atmosphere in which to run. I ran in New Zealand, and I think I bettered myself even further. New Zealand is even more British than Australia, and that is most certainly a good thing.
I walked around the city for a little while, walking into a large church where a service was being held. The choir was absolutely breathtaking, and I felt myself simply relax and feel like God was definitely present in the sound of those voices. The human voice was definitely one of God’s greatest inventions.
I met up with the Littles and the Byrams, as well as Patrick. We all walked around together, William and Shelby taking turns riding on my shoulders. We found a dimly lit little coffee shop called the Honeypot Café and Rich very kindly bought me a hot chocolate and we all sat around and talked. This is a great city. I’m kind of out of good descriptions for the night, so I won’t beat a dead horse and just simply say Christchurch is enjoyable.
William, Annie, Shelby and I raced back to the YMCA. Those children wear me out, but I really enjoy being exhausted. As William rode on my shoulders, he pulled my hair back, saying it looked like the wind was blowing it back.
“Oh my goodness,” he said, “Donafan, you wook bad! You wook sooo howible!”
I started laughing and he said, “No, Donafan, I’m sewious. You wook bad!”
Honesty. Nifty idea.
Katie and Pierre and I visited with a lady from New York who has been traveling for a few weeks after a conference in Melbourne. She is the director of a cultural center in Manhattan and gets paid to travel around. She gave us her contact information for whenever we come to New York. I may have to look her up someday and visit her center.
Tomorrow, we head out into the wonders of the South Island. Wow….I’m in New Zealand.

October 26th, 2006 Glebe Apartments, Queenstown, New Zealand
We left around 8 this morning, heading out into the wide and amazing land of New Zealand. I have to say that Ireland is now officially the second most beautiful country I ever seen. New Zealand is Heaven on earth. This word has been used to describe it so often, and yet it fits so well: pristine. It is clean, fresh, reviving, rejuvenating, and just easy on the eyes. Actually, beauty like this should be illegal. The colors are vibrant and full. I have as of yet to see something ugly in this country. Long ranges of snow-capped mountains run behind hills of the purest green. Crystal rivers cut neatly through the land and create a masterpiece of scenery unrivalled anywhere except in the imagination, and even there it would be hard to form a land more stunning. Whether God intentionally made it all this way or just set in motion to evolve and erode, he gets two major thumbs up. It’s one corner of the map that maybe he spent a little more time on. This is Tolkien’s Middle-earth. This is paradise on earth. This is the most breathtaking land I have ever seen.
The first place we stopped was Lake Tekapo, which represents everything I have been thus far waxing somewhat eloquently about, except that there was a lake which mirrored said beauty, which created two beautiful pictures, which is just amazing! The picturesque Church of the Good Shepherd, built of stone and oak in 1935, sat atop a hill or rocks, and behind the altar was a window which provided a perfect view of the landscape beyond. It better be an awfully good sermon to keep everyone’s attention, because I admit I’d be tempted to just stare outside.
Our journey continued on to Glentanner where we ate another buffet-style meal. Mt. Cook loomed like a massive painting in the distance. There are twenty-seven mountains in New Zealand (and by that I mean mountain peaks, eg. Mt. Everest, McKinley, etc.), and twenty-two of these are in the World Heritage Mt. Cook National Park.
The stunning drive continued, stopping for a time at a fruit market. In the early evening, we arrived in Queenstown. As we drove around, I thought of Gatlinburg, Tennessee, a sort of Swiss-flavored town, except even better. We stopped at the white water rafting store, where those of us who are going in the morning paid. I am one of those people. We then drove up the street to the Glebe Apartments, which would be our accommodations for the next three nights. I was in one with Ashley, Kevin, Greer, Patrick, and Pierre. I do not think I have ever stayed in a more amazing or expensive place. These are absolutely huge! The kitchen is made of marble and everything seems breakable. The view from the balcony is of the town below with the Remarkables and Eyre Mountains and Lake Wakatipu behind. I would never, ever live in a place like this. I would feel guilty, and I also want land with trees and such. But, a few days aren’t so bad at all.
Dinner was our choice, and Darren, Heidi, Katie, Felicity, and I walked around the storefronts. I found, of course, a kebab. I attempted to go for a run later, but my nose began spewing forth blood and I found it difficult to continue. I then sat around in this astounding suite. The fire is going at my feet and the lights of the town are shining dimly outside. A cup of coffee doesn’t sound too bad right now.

Interesting note: Sheep dotted many of these hills. There are twenty sheep for every one person in New Zealand, which equals around 65 million of the little buggers! New Zealand is the world’s largest exporter of lamb and the third largest producer of wool.

October 27th, 2006 Glebe Apartments, Queenstown, New Zealand
The day’s adventures began a little early. Katie, Chesley, Darren, Heidi, Felicity, Dr. Byram, Jennifer, and I walked to the white-water rafting shop where we boarded a bus and drove around fifteen minutes to the base. There we were given a black wetsuit, a red jacket, and a yellow lifejacket and helmet. We then boarded another bus and drove forty-five minutes to our embarking point. David pointed out things of interest as we made our way through Skipper’s Road, a vast cavern of rugged rocks and cliffs. David’s a Canadian and has been white-water rafting for ten years, moving from country to country (such as Scotland, France, Iceland, Honduras, India, etc.) and rafting the big rivers and serving as a guide. After his stint here in New Zealand, he will be going to Morocco. Not much to complain about there.
We finally arrived at the foot of the road where the icy-blue Shotover River wound its way through towering faces of jagged rock. We were given the obligatory safety speech, reviewing proper techniques and signals to ensure no one was killed, because it has happened here. We were preparing to go on Class Four rapids, which is just a notch below the top. These said rapids boasted such colorful and descriptive names as the Mother, the Toilet, Pinball, Jaws, Anvil, and Oh Sh**. Five rafts were lowered into the water and Simon the Scotsman kayaked, serving as a sort of guard dog. David was captain of our giant red ship, but we subtracted Felicity and Chesley from our group and added Morgan, a Swede who was on his month-long honeymoon. The current swiveled us around and we began moving quickly down the river.
White-water rafting is a perfect way in which to see nature. On both sides of us rose impressive gray walls dotted with thin trees and shrubs, through which climbed mountain goats. Silver slivers of waterfalls broke through holes in the stone. It seemed to me the descending water was unusually dark and gray, but then I noticed it was just so darn clean it was like it wasn’t there!
I’ve done a good bit of canoeing and some rafting, so I was pretty comfortable with paddling. But in the first five minutes my oar became wedged between a large metal object in the water left over from gold-mining days and the side of the raft and promptly snapped in half. Fortunately, we had an extra and no other problems were encountered. The fun then began.
It’s quite an adrenaline rush, shooting down through narrow passages, bouncing off walls, knowing that at any moment you could be tossed from the raft. David shouted orders from the back and we did our best to accommodate. I think we made a decent team. We whipped around corners and fired down drop-offs, ricocheting from the impacts and spinning through the current. It would take an extremely pessimistic person to not be smacked into happiness by being surrounded by nature as you swiftly pass along the surface of a rushing white river. The final rapid was preceded by a tunnel, created for gold-mining. However, the diggers dug it a little too tall and it now made a perfect place through which to raft. We ducked as we speedily passed through, exiting and tumbling down the final rapid. The ride ended at the base of the rafting where we had received our equipment. It was worth every dollar. Exciting danger and beautiful surroundings is an excellent marriage. David and I exchanged blog sites. He was an incredibly friendly and helpful guy and I am now inspired to raft elsewhere.
I returned to my large, spacious, and exceedingly comfortable suite and relaxed for approximately thirty minutes before Kevin Finn, Derek, Dr. and Mrs. Byram, and I hopped on a bus for our Lord of the Rings horseback-ride. A few others were picked up before we drove along Lake Wakatipu to Dart Stables in Glenorchy. Along the way we stopped by the side of the road. Our driver pointed out a spot near the water where a pale patch of ground was surrounded by trees. This, he told us, was Twelve Mile Delta where Frodo, Sam, and Gollum witness the massive oliphaunts as they are attacked by the Rangers of Ithilien in The Two Towers. Some of you who read this will have absolutely no clue what I am talking about, but those of you who do are sufficiently jealous and envious to the point of expressive anger. Wait………..it gets worse. Wow, talking like this is going to come back to haunt me some day, isn’t it?
We arrived in the wonderful nowhere that is Glenorchy and were given helmets for riding. Unfortunately, it’s required by law. The five of us were the only ones going on the Ride of the Rings, so our driver took us further into the picturesque wilderness. At every turn of the head there was something worth capturing in photography and in memory. I’ve found in the last three days that this is true of everything in this little country. We came upon our destination where six horses were tied to a fence and a man in a manly purple coat and toboggan (the hat, not the sled) stood next to them. His name was Pear, and he was born in Sweden and bore a small scar on his right cheek. He and his wife lived in a small cottage just over the hill until their home in Glenorchy is finished. We mounted our steeds, two of which were used in the final battle in The Return of the King, and began our trek as a light rain began to fall.
This place is called Paradise for a good reason: it is. People think the Garden of Eden was somewhere in Iraq. Oh no, it was here. Hills of green, spotted with tall stalks of light brown, sloped between white-tipped mountains in a way that makes you want to cry. Words will not really do this place justice. Rarely do you see such beauty, and on horseback was indeed a fine way in which to see it. Pear led us into the woods, which was divided by a muddy path. Part of the way through we stopped by a small ridge. Just through the trees was a portion of Amon Hen where Boromir bravely defended the hobbits from a horde of orcs and honorably met his end. Very cool. I couldn’t really see this as the place, but I’ll take his word for it. Many of these locations in the movie were filmed in differing sites and edited together to appear as one. However, this was also the place where an overhead shot of orcs running down a stone staircase was shot, and I definitely could see that. Middle-earth was clearly all around us.
A small disclaimer: the next little bit will deal with Lord of the Rings-related material, so if you don’t understand, bear with me, and if you don’t like it, deal with it.
Just across the path of tall, thin trees illuminate by rays of sunlight softly passing through the leaves. This was where some of the magical woods of Lothlórien were filmed, in which the Fellowship, minus Gandalf, were met by Haldir and taken to Galadriel, the Elf-Queen. Like Amon Hen, these woods were filmed in various places, but some of it was certainly shot here, but I’m pretty sure the entrance of the Fellowship into the forest and meeting the Elves was filmed here. It was an enchanting spot, perfect for Lothlórien.
For the next little while, we simply trotted along, soaking in every view. I wanted to spend the rest of the day exploring this vast valley. Pear told us a theory on the origin of the name Paradise. A miner by the name of Alfred (after whom one of the peaks in the area is named) was sitting atop a mountain when a beautiful Maori woman walked towards him. The Maori are the indigenous people of New Zealand, and seem to have been treated infinitely better than both the Native Americans and Aborigines. Alfred attempted to impress her by recalling the names of the summits around them, saying one was named for his boss, another for this and that. The one on which they stood, he said proudly, was named for him. The woman was not so easily awed (especially since she basically owned the whole place), and pointed to the heavenly valley below, asking what its name was.
“Darling,” he said with sincerity, “anywhere with you is Paradise.”
Smooth. Supposedly, it worked and they became quite close. Platonically, I’m sure.
For some reason, Dr. Byram’s horse and mine didn’t get along and they began to race each other. I didn’t mind. I may not be extremely experienced (my little sister could kick my butt at this stuff, I’m sure), but I enjoy moving quickly, leaping over streams and running up hills. We climbed a gradual slope to the top of a hill. Before us was the expanse of Paradise, laid out in all its natural glory. The view which now captured our eyes was the spot into which Isengard and the tower of Orthanc, the home of the wizard Saruman, was digitally situated. The mountain ranges remained the same in the film, and I could certainly visualize this. My guidebook states this is also near where Gandalf rode towards Isengard. I wanted to build a home on that hill, or just put up a tent. I was encircled by some of the best nature possessed, and peace and contentment came in the package.
Even if none of my favorite films had been filmed here, this outing would have been one well-spent. A piece of paradise was in this stunning place and I felt a twinge of sadness as we pulled away in the van. Perhaps some jealously was in there also, because Pear was staying in this haven.
At 7 the entire group convened once again on the bus and we drove out of town to the Haka Pa Maori Cultural Village, run by one family, including in-laws and the like. Beside a slow-moving stream which began at the bottom of a one-hundred-and-thirty foot waterfall was a recreation of an ancient Maori settlement, consisting of low-lying huts. Other groups were there as well, and we walked up the hill to the lodge where we were greeted by three guys decked out in Maori regalia. Rich had been chosen as the leader of all the groups present and received a gift from one of the men as a sign of friendship. We were then shown into a room where a show was performed. It was a very impressive display of Maori song and dance. I enjoyed it more than the Aboriginal displays. The singing by three women was beautiful, accompanied by the chants of bulky men behind them.
At the conclusion of the performance, we were shown into an adjoining room where a buffet-style meal was presented. During this, a song of greeting was sung, followed by the leader of the group, Rich, saying a few words of greeting on behalf of all of us. In accordance with Maori tradition, we were then required to back up this greeting with a song. A perfect opportunity presented itself to share our faith, and we sang the beautiful four-part harmony of “Love One Another.” And we sounded good.
Two men from each table were then asked to come to the front of the room. We were then taught a Haka, which is a warrior dance. I was one of them. We crouched in a sort of defensive basketball stance and rhythmically smacked our thighs and chanted in the language of the Maori. We smacked our forearms and extended our hands, pulling them back in rapid movements. It was a great experience, and a lot of fun in which to participate. I had seen one done before and I felt more in touch with this fascinating culture after taking part in it. The girls performed a Poi, which consists of artistically swinging around a ball attached to the end of a rope. When done properly, it is a remarkable display and our girls did admirably. These times spent in the presence of other cultures are very entertaining and a great time in which to learn.
On the way back, we stopped momentarily to view the canvas of the sky, painted vividly with the stars. Many different constellations were visible. William and I sang on the way back until he accidentally head-butted me and my nose began bleeding again. His eyes grew wide and he wrapped his Little arms (Ha!.......cough) around my neck and patted my nose saying, “Donafan, oh, ah you awwight?”
The radio is playing some really good classic music in the corner and the fire is blazing, but the day begins early tomorrow. The strenuous hike begins at 6:45 and more visions of primeval wonders, untouched by civilization, will be seen.

PS For some reason, my email isn't working, but, Mike, I did read about Coach Jones and I would like to beat the snot out of him. We haven't had much like with basketball. Nobody cares as much as we do, I suppose. And, Mom, class registration is coming up soon. We should correspond about this.