An incomplete compilation of people who deserve to have cactus spines between their toes

This half of Trail Talks has been fucking around in New Zealand for three months now. I’m on the road again after three weeks working at the disastrous Penguin Bar and Cafe, run by a perpetually stoned Canadian and her alcoholic yet kind Kiwi husband. On the way down the scantily inhabited west coast, I’ve done a couple magnificent “tramps,” climbed a little, and listened to now three Harry Potter audiobooks while driving down narrow, winding roads with jaw-dropping views and absurdly high speed limits. I presently find myself in the touristy, adventure hub of Queenstown. 

If you’ve traveled internationally before like the white middle class privileged little shit that I am, you know being so far away from home is challenging, exhilarating, and tends to show endless examples of humanity at its finest. There was the kind man running a food truck (serving pancakes, of all things) who gave me and my traveling companions clandestine directions to a cave that has been shut off to tourists for decades; the Colombian traveler who enthusiastically helped push the White Whip back to safety when it went into the ditch (entirely of its own volition!); the banker who, after I broke down crying in frustration, did some mild forgery so that I could set up an account without proof of address (“Oh, you poor wee thing.”); and of course the many wonderful people from around the world who were strangers just weeks ago but have since become dear friends. Yes, there have been so many times when I’ve thought to myself, “Maybe humanity won’t die a brutal, fiery death after all.” 

Yet through it all, one must sometimes step back and concede that some people are just jackasses with no redeeming qualities. So intensely loathsome that I can only seethe and imagine the worst possible fate befalling them: going about their business barefoot and carefree only to trod directly upon hundreds of intractable cactus spines. 

Below I’ve compiled a list of such figures. If you find yourself amongst these goons, keep in mind that my opinion doesn’t matter whatsoever and you could just as easily counter with a lengthier list of, “reasons Monica Nigon deserves to have cactus spines between her toes.” I anxiously await its publication, and in the meantime will only wear close-toed shoes. 

But I digress. Here is an abridged version of people who, in my never-sought-after opinion, should go step on this quintessential desert flora. 

1. People who leave lengthy Trip Advisor reviews, particularly if it’s about a certain female server who “put the plates down on the table loudly and without smiling.”  

2. People who snore in the Grannity Hut on Mount Owen in Kahurangi National Park and don’t even have the decency to sleep in the mud outside so the rest of us can get some shut eye 

3. Those who use the term, “literally,” when in fact they mean, “I’m trying to stress an important point to you, but I am in fact speaking purely in a figurative sense when I say ‘it was so loud my ears were literally bleeding.’” 

4. People who shout, “Freebird!” at every concert they attend, even in small island nations in the Commonwealth. That was funny only one time, and it was at a cozy venue where Jack Johnson was playing early in his career. 

5. Those who take their time in public restrooms, particularly when a young woman pacing outside mi is about to shit her shorts and keeps testing the doorknob not because she thinks it will be miraculously unlocked of its own accord but because she’s trying to tell you to for God’s sake hurry up.

6. Food judges (if I want to have peanut butter for breakfast and lunch and beer and cigarettes for dinner, I will!) 

7. People who, upon meeting you, give you a hug and say, “I’m a hugger!” without considering that you are absolutely not a hugger unless it’s family or close friends and you will involuntarily strike said hugger in the kneecaps if hugged without warning 

8. Secular white people with dreadlocks and culturally appropriated tattoos who walk barefoot in grocery stores 

9. People in rented camper vans who drive 30 km/hr under the speed limit and pass no less than 10 pull off opportunities where they could easily let the girl behind them pass who also happens to be late to work (“fucking tourists!”)

10. Old, greasy drunk men who call me, “sweet” and make lewd comments and are then surprised when I smash a glass over their toupees. 

11. Bloggers. Wait....what was that? Oh...fuck. 

Travel wrenches

Today I had the pleasure of participating in Kiwi culture - to truly live like a local - not by attending a Maori welcome ceremony, not even by bunjee jumping or seeing a flightless bird. No, today I went to the dentist due to a small chip in my front tooth.

At the time of writing, I look like a bit of a mess even though the injury to my central incisor has been repaired. At the procedure the dentist numbed my upper gum and lip to avoid any sensitivity to the point of trauma on the aforementioned tooth. Although I can now smile without looking like a “pretty Floyd from Dumb and Dumber” (as one kind friend put it), my lip now droops in a way that hides my front teeth altogether. I was given no information on how long I can expect this side effect to last.

It turns out dentistry in New Zealand functions in much the same way as North America except the situation is somewhat more pleasant given their cuter accents and a national insurance covering accidents from extreme sports. (If anyone asks, I chipped my tooth while mountain biking, not on the metal mouthpiece of my water bottle.)

I also currently have somewhat of a doozy of a black eye which makes it look like I went rogue with lavender eyeshadow. Above the purplish eyelid, northwest of my eyebrow, is a large bump that is the cause of the bruising below. My left eyebrow subsequently sticks out a bit further than the right rendering a rather Neanderthalic vibe on that side.

The bruising on my eye is due to a pretty unfortunate incident. If any of my aunts are reading this, the accident involves someone missing my shoulder when playing punching me when they said, “aw, shucks,” in response to some witty retort. But for the rest of the Trail Talks audience (Aunties, this is where you leave us), the grim appearance of fifty percent of my face is the result of me being a real dumbass.

I was out climbing at what now I now consider to be my home crag - Paine’s Ford - on a little ditty of a route called Lost Soles. I was chatting with friends, not paying great attention, actually rehashing an earlier incident in which I’d fallen off a climb before the first bolt (meaning I wasn’t clipped in to anything) and dislocated my friend’s thumb as he attempted to spot me. I was chuckling about how silly that was and how I wouldn’t make a mistake like that again when I reached out to clip the bolt and in seemingly no transition time found myself headfirst in the dirt. About ten people rushed to my aid, and I sat up dazedly but otherwise OK, small cuts in my shoulder and forehead. I felt fine, but judging by everyone’s reaction, I had jumped into the waiting jaws of death itself. Unprompted, a stranger nearby said I should watch out because she has a friend who took a fall EXACTLY LIKE MINE, (“actually, you look a lot like her, her name is Annika and she lives in a parallel dimension“), and now she can’t walk or talk anymore. And while I of course offer sincere sympathies to this stranger’s friend, I didn’t exactly want a list of horrific worst case scenarios before I’d even brushed the dirt off of my elbows. 

As of now, I’m still walking and talking normally, except of course for the slight (hopefully temporary) lisp I’ve acquired as a consequence of my droopy lip.

As I continue to receive wrench after wrench in my plans, I’ve created an image of some evil cosmic force throwing them, cackling madly, rubbing their hands together and wondering how much more I can take before I pack up and go home. Well, listen here, Cosmic Demon! My trials with an overall fucked-up face are easily ignored because so many other things are incredible. The almost daily climbing with some friends with whom I’ve grown remarkably close, hiking to the top of a peak through  a temperate rainforest to take in views of craggy mountains and a turquoise bay, laughing with friends about my teeth, and declaring my purple eye to just be a trendy makeup routine.

The best compliment I’ve ever received is that I’m “resilient, like a potato.” And while I hope my friend was not making the comparison in a physical sense, I am proud to say that no matter what I’m thrown, no matter how shitty shit gets, I’ve always kept going. It’s part of what brought me to New Zealand in the first place.

So, put up your dukes, Evil Universe Bummer. I wouldn’t mind evening out my black eye anyway.

The time Monica disappeared in New Zealand

It was New Years Eve. Monica and I both had our respective many drinks in our respective countries. We exchanged a few texts, something along the lines of "I am getting roaring drunk"- Monica and "sorry I was too drunk"-Evin. That was our last exchange before I figured that the only explination was a strange disappearance. Now it is January 2, It is Monicas Birthday in New Zealand (because she lives in the future). I send her a Birthday text, then 2, and 3...4... No response. So obviously I come to the conclusion that something has gone terribly wrong. It hadn't been more than 48 hours, the legal amount of time that someone has been to be missing before its recognized as a missing person. But of course I know best and I feel in my core that something is wrong. My best friend has disappeared.

I decide to cover all my bases. Maybe her phone wasn't working, was flushed down a toilet or taken by a Kiwi (the bird). So I blew her up on all forms of social media. No response. I am sure now that something terrible happened on New Years, she was either in a ditch somewhere, locked in a basement or maybe ended up in a strange town. No response on other platforms either. It is Now Thursday January 4 ( for me , and the 5th for Monica). I decide to take the next step. I looked up the camp she is staying at and tried to call. Forget the international call fee, my friend is in trouble! And I was certain. The first time I called I got no answer. So of course I e-mailed them, explaining the situation and that I needed a response stat. I was to anxious and couldn't wait, I called again. This time someone said hello, I quickly described the situation. Apparently a lot of people are at the camp and so it was hard for this man to picture Monica. She has beautiful eyes, great biceps, is a wicked climber and is hilarious I said. She also currently has a chipped tooth, and it clicked. "Ohhhh yes Monica!, I saw her the other day", he said. I unclenched finally. He said he would let her know I called when he saw her. Apparently he rushed all over the camp looking for her, finally someone who understood my worry.

At last I receive a message on Facebook from my dear Monica. Apparently my texts did not go through and she was camping out of service. The logical scenario was the correct one, who would have thought. Clearly not me. I understand that my thought process wasn't all that rational. But how would you react if you were certain your Best friend was laying in a ditch... Thats what I thought.