The thing that happened last night that nearly gave me a heart attack was this. Once I got back to my room, I looked at my flight time and realized I had confused the times. I had told Suzy that I had to leave at 7 a.m. when it was really 6 a.m.
Slowly, a sickly wave of panic unfolded. How could I ask her to get me that early, and I had no phone or way to even call her to let her know. This is a feeling I do not want to experience ever again. I had to get to her, but how? Could I possibly remember how to get to her house? All I could remember was that it was on Mortimer street.
I set out under the full moon, scared and nervous. I walked up the steep road and kept going until I saw a young guy walking the opposite way. He was happy to help me, and pointed the street out just ahead. I walked up the steep grade, it felt like a mile, until I looked up and saw what looked like their house and the path that led up to it. I was out of breath and nervous. I saw George in the kitchen and plastered my self on the window in a state of desperation. George's expression was priceless. He just stared at me and started smiling. Wilson stood in the backgound, laughing. I explained my foolishness, and asked them to please call me a cab for the morning as I had no way to contact one. They would not hear of that, as much as I protested. They insisted on taking me. I felt so bad about being such a dork.
So that is what happened. They got up early the next morning, and took me to the airport. These people have a reservation in heaven, that's for sure.
The next day...
When I arrived in Dunedin, I felt an odd sense of dread right away. The clouds blanketed the sky, and the wind blew cold as I pulled my coat tighter. Rod Rust met me there. He knew it was me when I picked up the only surfboard at baggage claim. He seemed as morose as the weather. I settled into the front seat of his car, resigned that I was going to hate Dunedin.
We talked, as the grey mist surrounded everything, about New Zealand, the waves, the weather. I had just missed two spectacular days of waves. Great. We had a lot in common. We were on the same page about so much, politically. He seemed depressed to me. He reminded me of Allan. But, I liked him, somehow.
I found out that he had lived in Australia, and had moved to New Zealand to escape the Vietnam war. I loved this. He had bought his house at 26 years old. Now he had 50 acres, an organic orchard, dream surf, and a young girlfriend named Natalie.
I said, as we drove along, "This reminds me of Scotland." The fog made it hard to see the road, much less the scenery. "Scotland, yes," he agreed. I was brought back to that former gloom, all the saddness there in Scotland where I only wanted to die. I mentally took Port Chalmers off the list of places I would ever want to live.
We drove down the tree lined dirt road to his place, past an old graveyard, how fitting. His place was rustic, had a farmhouse feel. I liked it, the kitchen was cozy and warm.
We had some tea, and I put the fins in my board. We headed off to St. Clair, where the sea looked cold and grey, and was a lumpy two feet. I was not stoked. We made our way over to "Murderer's Bay," a famous right hand point. I was a little more enhused when I saw the waves there, winding around the point at about 2-3 feet. But, the wind! My god, it was brutal, blowing the spray back off the backs in plumes of fury. Ugh. But, I paddled out with old Rod Rust. And, he showed me a thing or two.
It wasn't much fun, that first go out. It was hard to drop in, the wind sending bullets of spray in your face as you tried to drop in. Owwww! My fingers were cramping after one hour. I only had about three waves, and the ones I had I didn't dare cut back or hit the lip on for fear I would be blown to Australia.
I went in and hunkered down on the beach behind a dune. One of the locals came over and we talked. How do you guys handle all this wind? I see why they ride logs, mostly. Rod, meanwhile, was racking up more tube time than anyone I have ever seen. How does he do that? I asked. He can ride this wave in his sleep, the local told me. It was really eye-opening. I mean, this guy is sixty years old!
He came in and told me to put on that pair of gloves he had in the back of the truck and get back out there with him, that it was getting better. I didn't want to. He said I was a "lucky girl," that this place doesn't break all the time. All I wanted was food and a hot shower. But, I did it. I am so glad I did paddle back out. That next session saw a dying wind and we were the only ones out. I started catching wave after wave and had a blast. Thanks, Rod, for making me get back out there. I would never have done it, otherwise.
After a hot shower, I wandered downtown, getting lost in the process, and climbing hill after bloody steep hill. I ended up walking all the way back, lost as ever, and Rod just took me there. I had the cafe all to myself, and the owner treated me like a queen. He fetched me a newspaper and a gossip magazine. I feasted on cheese/garlic/herb bread and a giant salad. I wasn't hating Dunedin as much after that.
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