Home sweet home

I arrived back in Sweden last Saturday. The jetlag wasn't too bad, I was back on track in two days. Went back to work on Wednesday, where several people told me I looked really calm. One colleague wanted to rub up against me twice a day to absorb some of it. Sort of like rubbing the belly of a Buddha for luck.

My hope is that this zen-like trance will last at least a week. On Wednesday it felt like I was a spectator, watching from outside as others ran around like headless chickens in the office. A smile on my face all day long.

Something which didn't put a smile on my face was my grandfather passing away on October 1st. Olov Larsson, the rock of my family, was finally eroded by the river of life to a point where he fell apart. Everything points to him going quietly, just going to sleep, which is a relief. He was 98 years old, had spent the last few months in a care facility and refused to eat for the past few weeks, so no one is surprised he passed. Still, I'll probably cry like a baby at the funeral. 'tis what I do. I'm thinking about buying a pipe to leave instead of flowers. I think he would have liked that.

Stop eating fruits, stop eating vegetables, it's doing something bad to you. Fruits and vegetables will seduce you, like a woman

Some final impressions of Kuala Lumpur. My cab for the airport leaves in a few hours, and I've spent the day doing some last minute shopping and now just hanging out at a café with the laptop and a lemon ice tea, watching people walk by. I'm actually sitting outside, on a roofed patio, so no AC but plenty of fans around.

Began my day with the usual killer breakfast. Perfectly scrambled eggs, beef bacon, a waffle and heaps and heaps of fresh fruit.

The remains of the fruit table at breakfast after my meal
I did another walk through Sungei Wang. Now, there are a lot of shopping malls in downtown Kuala Lumpur. Not be missed are Plaza Low Yat for electronics, Suria KLCC at Petronas Towers for just about any kind of shopping (but especially for the huge bookstore on the top level) and Pavilion if you want designer brands and those Japanese pastries. I haven't even checked out a few, like the even more upscale Starhill Gallery.

The best one though was Sungei Wang. It's a warren of stores and small restaurants, that gets more interesting the higher you get. On the top floor you can get a tshirt or a top for 10 ringit, about 20 kronor, as long as you don't try it on. There was a big arcade hall, with rows of old school fighting games, most of them completely incomprehensible. Young men hunched over the games or standing around, smoking, their hairdos like something out of manga. This is where they go to kill digital things when they don't find that graphics card they were hunting for at Low Yat.

The best store by far, for me at least, was street wear store Echo Park, which was also in a couple of other malls that I've been to. I now have a membership card there for some obscure reason that I really wasn't able to figure out from what the guy working there told me.

Lunch today consisted of fried dumplings, one serving with veggies and one with mystery meat. When I ordered the ten dumplings the waitress looked at me, confused, and said "Is all?". I nodded yes, is all. She made a face and walked away.

This reminded me of the Mexican place where my brother, my parents and I ate somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the US back in 2005, where the staff seemed to mock us in Spanish when we only ordered one dish each. Around us, 300 pound Mexicans that had tables full of food. So I looked around at this place too, and noticed tiny Malaysians with three or even four dishes each, with rice on the side, and here I had only ordered two. The dumplings arrived, with a side of chili sauce you could strip paint off boats with. There was also a small dish of thin yellow slices that smelled slightly lemony. Turned out it was pickled ginger that made the chili sauce taste like water by comparison. I had to eat an ice cream afterwards, and my tongue is still sore. I ate the stuff four hours ago.

Evil in food form in the middle above the plate

Then I took yet another walk to Low Yat, where I picked up some more electronics plus a killer action figure to soothe my inner not tech-geek.

Bob wasn't sure the makeover had gone all that well
As I walked out a guy passed me on a moped wearing a Darth Vader helmet. Literally. A shiny black Darth Vader helmet. He was too fast so I didn't have time to get the camera. Then the bizarreness continued as I walked past a sign advertising STD Calls. Is that the really bad version of a booty call? I tried to take a pic but the store manager came storming out, shouting at me, so I walked away. Last thing I needed was to be wrestled to the ground by someone advertising STDs...

And then I got to confuse three young Muslim men. Over the past few days quite a lot of Muslims have nodded at me or said hello. 'tis the beard. Now three twenty something men walked by, looked at me, and then one turned around and said "I'm sorry, you are Muslim?"

"No", I replied, to which he said "So sorry for bothering you." I smiled, said "No problem", and then "As-Salamu Alaykum". They all stared at me and then walked away. Win.

One night in KL and the world's your oyster

Last night in Kuala Lumpur. Tomorrow I go back home, flying out at 2355 to Amsterdam where I transfer to Stockholm. Why the transfer you ask? Mister Control Freak here booked in March, shouldn't he have been able to book a direct flight?

See, I did. I booked a direct flight from Kuala Lumpur to Stockholm. However, those Malaysian Airlines flights have only been half-full, so over the summer Malaysian decided to stop the Stockholm flights from October 1st. Tomorrow is October 2nd. Hence the transfer in Amsterdam. Bastards.

Just finished packing everything, except my carry-on which will hold laptop, some other fragile electronics and stuff I need to get throught the flight without going postal. I will also carry a paper bag with some toys. Yes, toys. I may have passed my sweet sixteen twice over, but I'm still a kid at heart. Or wait...is that geek at heart? Either fits. So yeah, toys. One or two for me, one for a friend who doesn't know what he's getting. Eh, Steelwheels?

I was worried I would go over 20 kilos for my two bags, plus five for the carry-on. However, unless the scale in my room is lying (which might be a possibility) I am still a couple of kilos short. Which is a good thing, since excess weight costs 450 kronor. Per kilo.

Earlier today I almost perished in the heat. In two different ways. First I walked from the Suria KLCC mall to Ampang Park, to meet the tailor that did two pairs of pants for Mah Girl, and then back. In 37 degrees, the air like lead weights on my head. Horrible. Smoothies in two places, one pineapple, one pineapple/star fruit helped.

I really can't get enough of those buildings. Or the beard

The second death, narrowly avoided, came when I was walking down the street gawking at skyscrapers and almost fell into a hole in the ground. Now there would have been a spectacularly bad way of ending a trip.

Hans Moleman was having an open house

Since the flight leaves at 2355 tomorrow, I have a lot of time to kill, and since I can't hang out at the hotel room after 12, I will probably try and find some air conditioned place to read and write. Oh yeah, and go out to buy a toy and a portable hard drive.

The facts about food and cooking can be learned and understood by anyone with good sense

As with most of my vacations, food has been a big part of this trip. I've done my best to avoid Western cuisine, since a friend who lived in Malaysia informed me that they can't really cook that here. He was right.

What has been good, other than the stuff already documented here, has been local food. Or rather, Asian food of various sorts. Fresh, lots of taste, cheap. Good combination.

The breakfast buffet at the hotel is also good. Cooks in hats and aprons so white it hurts your teeth that make your eggs just the way you want them. And pancakes and waffles, for that matter. Excellent service at the table, almost too frequent, and a fantastic table of fresh fruits.

However, I have been longing for a more authentic Malaysia. Jalan Bukit Bintang, the street my hotel and several of the shopping malls are on, could be the Strip in Vegas, if you threw some dilapitated buildings in the mix and had a bunch of mopeds and piece of shit taxis driving down the street. I've wanted dirty back streets with hole in the wall restaurants, and admittedly I haven't really looked for it.

Today when I walked out of Plaza Low Yat I ended up on just such a street. Throngs of locals and tourists drinking beer or eating noodles, while a band played Smokie's "Living Next Door to Alice", standing on the sidewalk, amps and all. It was like something out of an Asian Twin Peaks, including the midget who was wearing red but didn't talk backwards. That I heard.

I'm going back there tomorrow night, to take pictures, eat and socialize with the locals.

Shopping bugs me, for metaphorical reasons I'm sure, because in life as in shopping, you go in looking for one thing

I'm all shopped out. I didn't think that was possible, but I am. My head is all numb, my feet are throbbing, my shoulders hurt after lugging a backpack full of electronics and writing material around all day.

Seated now at the Hub Café, nestled within the insanity that is Plaza Low Yat, six floors of geek nirvana with dozens if not hundreds of places selling laptops, video games, printers, anything with a USB plug, servers, etc. And so many geeks. They're everywhere, young Asian men with that empty look in their eyes indicating that they won't be happy until they found that specific graphics card that haunts them in their dreams.

This is how heaven appears to geeks

There are 19 wireless access points at this particular spot, 18 of which are encrypted. Geeks, you say? The last one belongs to the café.

In the center of all this gadget madness is a big place that sells action figures and nothing but action figures. Surprising, eh? If I have any room left in my bags once they're packed I'm so going back there to shop.

My plan now is to spiral down to the bottom of Low Yat, hunting for a meaningsless gizmo for a friend, and then hitting the hotel room for some well deserved R & R. Tomorrow, I will go back to the Kinokuniya bookstore at Suria to pick up some Daredevil graphic novels, and then pick up pants for Mah Girl. Other than that I intend to do as little as possible. Sleep in. Finish my book. Maybe, just maybe ride the monorail to see what all the fuss is about.

On Friday, I leave KL for the flight back to Stockholm via Amsterdam. The flight doesn't take off until midnight, so I'll have another day to kill. No more shopping. Maybe some sightseeing. Maybe a movie. Basically enjoying the last day of vacation. Though that's technically not true. I still have three and a half days off from work when I get back, to set the jetlag straight and just kick back.

Maybe it was because you were too busy eating twice your bodyweight in chocolate

Last night I walked a bit further from the hotel, in a sort of loop out and over towards Petronas Towers. Insane traffic was braved (how come there are so few crosswalks here?), pictures of skyscrapers snapped, Swedish hardcore (as in hardcore punk, not porn) discussed.

I had two beers and a sandwich in Rum Jungle, where sharks swam in a tank above the bar, the staff practised their Cocktail bottle flipping skills and what sounded like a 45 rpm recording of a DJ talking being played at 78 rpm (yes, children, that is a vinyl record reference) over various 60s and 70s hits. Hell, the guy even sang along to most of it, through the mic. So weird. Also, the staff were wearing six pieces of flair each. They just weren't expressing themselves enough.

Kept walking and passed a karaoke place. Nothing to get you smiling like drunk sarari men belting out a truly horrific version of The Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations". The security guard at the door stopped me from taking pictures, pointing to a no photos sign. Oh well.

By the way. The Wikipedia entry for sarari man links, amongst other things (ege. Your word is amongst. Amongst), to here. Sad and interesting at the same time. Did you know that Japanese rail companies will charge the families of those who commit suicide in front of a train a fee depending on the severity of disrupted traffic?

Right now I'm in MOF, a Japanese café. I ordered a milkshake and a small pastry. My order unleashed a flurry of activity behind the counter. One guy did the shake, with the kind of meticulous attention to detail that characterizes most things Japanese. The result was not so much a milkshake as the idea of what a milkshake should look like. In the 50s, in an American Diner. Say, Jack Rabbit Slims.


The work that went into the shake was nothing compared to the pastry, though. When I ordered it I thought they only had the one, since there was only one in the glass top counter. I should have noticed that there was only one of every single pastry. So two guys in crisp white uniforms made my pastry. From scratch. It was sort of a waffle thingie, with chocolate filling. Mmm...filling...

The café is in Pavilion, a fairly upscale shopping mall. I managed to score a couple of sneakers for 200 kronor and some gifts for various people. I walked around and gawked in a very touristy fashion at ridiculously expensive art and furniture and home decor. You know, in the kind of store where the staff ignore you unless you walk in wearing a Saville Row suit, waving a big wad of cash around.

Interestingly enough, one of the most swanky art stores was playing Richard Cheese over their speakers. I wonder if it was ironic or if they really didn't have a clue.

Photography is the recording of strangeness and beauty with beguiling precision

Go mopeds go!

Larry thought being out of focus was a pain in the ass

Average snack counter in Kuala Lumpur

No one was going to miss Daniel's cook colleague. Slice and dice

Blog owner photographed by Japanese geek.
Who looked at blog owner's camera with disdain

Optimus was outnumbered two to one

Dylan was pleased with how the Lego house took shape

Two quick things.

1. Skyscrapers rule
2. I sat down and spoke with some skateboarders today, after snapping some pictures of them. Turned out one of them was a huge fan of Refused, Millencolin and Breach. Good man. He wasn't on FaceBook though, so a pox on him.

Zombies pounding against the shopping mall's glass doors

Poking around the center of Kuala Lumpur a bit more today. Only a high of 33 degrees today, the moisture is actually lower today and there's the occasional waft of air down the streets. Just as you start to imagine that maybe, maybe its a breeze it dies down, but still, better than nothing.

Began my day with the sumptuous breakfast buffet at the hotel. Waffles and an abundance of fresh fruit. Hallelujah, brothers! Then out into the hustle and bustle for shopping. People everywhere. My first stop was Isetan, a Japanese department store where I scored some shirts. As in "not tshirts". Actual shirts. Seems Japan is more of an XL and even XXL country than Malaysia. Who knew?

Now online from a café where I'm having some fruit juice while hugging the air conditioner. Soon more shopping, at two or maybe even three different malls. Looks like they stay open a lot longer here, so there's plenty of time. Stamina is more the issue, I think.

I found a Tower Records that had racks and racks of TV show DVD boxes, at very affordable prices. Unsure if they will play at home though. Does anyone know?

To be well-informed is to have the world at your fingers

Things learned in the last 48 hours:
- Cape Reinga, the northernmost point of New Zealand, is frikkin' windy. I had trouble walking straight at times.

- Just because you have an SUV doesn't mean you can drive around on a beach any which way you want.

"Honey? I need to tell you something about your new car..."

- Toyota RAV4s are extremely popular in New Zealand for some reason. On the drive from my brother's place to the airport, which took maybe 30 minutes, I counted ten.

- There's a city outside Kuala Lumpur called Cyberjaya. Only in Asia would a place have the word "cyber" in its name. Its apparently a semi-failed attempt at creating an Asian Silicon Valley.

- Mopeds are popular in Malaysia. On the highway. Preferably with two people on.

- Keeping speed limits is a big deal in New Zealand. My taxi from KLIA into Kuala Lumpur did 100 kph on a 60 kph road. Marvelous.

And I don't know what is more scary. That the taxi driver had a 2 Unlimited ring tone on one of his four cell phones, or that I knew it was 2 Unlimited.

Quotes from my brother overheard in the last 48 hours:
- I have a feeling we're supposed to turn left. Or right.
At a T intersection in Whangarei

- It's very uncommon to see a road sign with distance stated on it in New Zealand.
As we're passing a sign that says "Auckland 164 km"

- Damn you!
After we have passed signs that say "Auckland 163 km" and 161 and 158 and 157 and 152. I was in tears.

Any landing that you can walk away from is a good one

I don't like flying. I rarely sleep, even if the flight leaves late, and there's all that stuff that everybody complains about. Leg room, dry air, the noise, etc. However, I also don't like landing. At all. Seeing as how most accidents involving airplanes take place on take-off and landing, this may not seem all that strange, but it is to me. I'm mostly a rational person, and statistics like that really appeal to me and calm on a logical level. Here something else is at work.

This feeling of fear is often augmented by the fact that a lot of the time landings aren't exactly feather soft. With two notable exceptions.

When Mah Girl and I were in the States in 2008, we had two flights to get from Vegas to NOLA, and two more to get from NOLA to New York. On one of these flights, I didn't even notice we had touched down. Not a single jolt, and probasbly no noise from squealing tires either. It was like we landed on a big cushion. And also, last night. The landing in Kuala Lumpur was smooth and uneventful. Or maybe I was just sleeping...

More on KL later. I'm still trying to wake up and come to grips with reality.

Behind the wall of sleep

I snore. A lot. Enough for Mah Girl to once have hissed "Let's see how well you snore with a pillow shoved down your throat" when I woke her up at some ungodly hour. She claims not to remember having said so, but I know that burning hatred I heard then is only hidden in some locked backroom in her mind, the door to which can only be shattered by snoring.

While visiting my brother I have been sleeping on his guest bed, a hellish contraption that really has no business calling itself a proper bed. No, I exaggerate, it is a bed, though one that seems to have been built by people with a different opinion about dimensions and spacetime than us average mortals. It slopes down from the middle, in both directions. If I want to sleep on my left side, I need to be on the right half of the bed, face inwards. If I want to sleep on my right side I need to be on the left half, face inwards. There's no way to sleep on my back unless I want to feel like I'm strapped onto some torture device.

So, while here I haven't snored, not loudly enough to disturb my hosts anyway, who are in the next room with only a thin door separating us.

When we went to Wellington (wow, four... make that five words... make that six... that begin with w... make that seven... starting to feel like a Spanish inquisitor Python style here) I slept in a regular bed, and a queen size at that, so I had plenty of room to roll over on my back. I snored. A lot. Enough to make my brother resurrect a tradition that was spawned when we were in the US in 2005 and had to share rooms for almost three weeks.

This tradition has two versions. The first consists of him saying "Encarnacióooooooon" really loudly to wake me up. We watched a Marlins - Astros game in Houston, during which a spectator sat and taunted Juan Encarnación with just such a call, over and over. It was hilarious.

The other version consists of him saying "What are we gonna do tonight, Bwain?" and me answering either "Narf!" or "The same thing we try to do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world!". This is a somewhat incorrect reference to Pinky and the Brain, an excellent part of the Animaniacs show. During the US trip I never managed to answer it correctly, but in Wellington I managed to groan "Narf!" before fading off to sleep again. My brother was very impressed.

Brain wasn't pondering what Pinky was pondering

All this confirms what the snore analysis I did a few years back said. I shouldn't sleep on my back. The doctor told me, after concluding he didn't want to carve up the roof of my mouth, that I should wear a tshirt at night, with a plastic ball sown into the small of its back, thus preventing me from rolling over on my back. Ouch. But might be worth seriously thinking about.

Also, he said I should lose some weight, which often is a reason for snoring. And whaddayaknow, I actually lost about 10 kilos over the last couple of months, through nothing more than shifting my breakfast habits and staying away from alcohol and most fatty foods. I haven't been closer to weighing less than 0.1 metric tons since I was 23 or so.

Though I'll probably put at least some of that weight back on during this trip. Oh well. I can always shift my food habits again when I get home. And maybe start walking some more. And maybe practice my couch potato skills less. Well, maybe the first two will be enough...

Knowledge is a wild thing, it must be hunted before being tamed

Right, kids, sit on down while uncle Beard unveils fragments of another culture for you.

The Maori language only has 20 letters and digraphs. Thus, the same word combinations can have different meanings depending on, for example, the lengtening of vowels or emphasis on different syllables. For example, kia ora is both the traditional Maori greeting (sort of like "hello") as well as a more celebratory expression (like "great!" or "awesome!"), as well as other things. Read more here.

The Ta Moko, the Maori facial carvings, have deep significance for the tribes. On female chiefs, forehead carvings mark them as chiefs. Below their nose and on the chin the rivers, mountains and forests of that chief's particular tribe are described, showing the influence of the tribe. Likewise, the carved wooden idols of the different tribes also showcase the source of that tribe's influence, be it a mountain, a hill fortress, a bountiful river or their close connections to the English missionaries of old.

For male chiefs, the Ta Moko is all about ancestry. Their father's ancestry is carved on the right side of the face, and their mother's on the left.

There had never been an appropriate time to tell Donald he was adopted

And the Ta Moko is not really tattoos. Its more like scarification, the skin is carved at the same time as its tattooed. I'm going to try and find replicas of usi, the bone chisels used to carve, for my cousin who's very much interested in the art form of tattooing.

The funniest historical fact I learned at Waitangi was that in 1642 when Abel Tasman, the first Western explorer to find New Zealand, attempted to land he was met by Maori tribes, shaking their hands and weapons, chanting, tongues protruding. Tasman fled, fearing for his life. This was repeated several times as Tasman tried to land. Turns out what he saw was only a Maori greeting, saying "Hello. Welcome. What do you have to trade?". Had Tasman realised this, the Dutch may well have been the first Western nation to lay claim to New Zealand instead of the English.

The haka, the traditional Maori dance, was actually quite different a ways back. One form of haka was mental and physical preparation for battle, a way for the warriors to get ready for combat. It was very much an internal process, though performed in large groups. Many of the physical aspects of the haka that the All Blacks rugby team or Maori perform at cultural events comes from that greeting ritual that scared Tasman off, and the current haka is actually a combination of that greeting and the ancient battle haka.

Now, kids, I'm going to be nice and not give you homework. Off you go, you little rascals.

The history of man is a series of conspiracies to win from nature some advantage without paying for it

Today I spent a few hours at Waitangi, the grounds where the Declaration of Independence of New Zealand was signed, as well as the Treaty of Waitangi, the treaty between the English and the Maori tribes. For the Maori, this is basically sacred ground, and it is the birthplace of the New Zealand nation as we know it.

Waitangi is situated by the Bay of Islands, four hours north of Auckland, on the North Island, next to Paihia, where I'm staying. All the little towns along the bay are ridiculously focused on tourism, and I have never seen so many hotels, resorts and bed n breakfast places in one place as there are in Paihia. Five, six, seven in a row on some streets. There is basically no other industry here except tourism.

To my eyes, Allegra House takes the cake. Along with a few other places its on the top of a massive hill overlooking the bay, and the rooms are excellent. Better than most of the hotels I've stayed in over the years, except for the insulation which, like the rest of New Zealand, is really bad. If you ever go here you could definitely do worse than staying here.

Allegra House on the right

I took a tour at Waitangi, which basically consisted of listening to a Maori guide speaking about the history of his people and the details of the treaty. We were seated in Te Whare Runanga, which is the only meeting house in New Zealand dedicated to all the Maori tribes. Usually they belong to one tribe or even one chief. Te Whare Runanga was finished on February 6th, 1940, exactly 100 years after the treaty was signed.

Lawrence's face paint session at McDonalds had gone horribly wrong

He also spoke of the history of the Maori, who arrived in New Zealand or Aotearoa (the land of the long white cloud) around 1000 years ago in large, ocean-going catamaran canoes. They had left their Polynesian islands with the express purpose of finding new land that could sustain enough people to found a new culture. Once they found Aotearoa they started calling themselves Maori and brought over more of their kinsmen. The south island was deemed too cold, and all the tribes except one chose the north island to settle on. The guide said "We tried convincing them it was too cold, but it didn't work".

I poked around the area a bit more, had kick-ass French toast for lunch and then walked back to Paihia, which was a fairly long walk along the beach and then up the hill where Allegra House sits. Now I'm looking forward to a quiet night in, with my laptop and my book and the TV. Tomorrow, depending on the weather, might be more of the same or another walk.

The worst day at the beach is better than the best day at work

Today I got on a bus in Auckland for the four hour journey up north to Paihia, to stay at a BnB run by relatives, look out over the ocean and read.

It was sort of unclear how we're related, until we sat down with some charts of our various families that they had compiled and had filled in by my parents when they visited a few months ago, and figured it out. The common denominator is two generations back from my grandfather, with the Dybecks. Back in the 1800s our common forefather Richard Dybeck wrote the Swedish national anthem, our family's only claim to fame.

The trip up here was cool. Winding roads up and down steep heavily forested hills, interspersed with vast green fields with sheep happily munching away. Like something out of Lord of the Rings. Oh, wait...

I wonder what this country looked like before the Maori (though they weren't Maori then, only becoming so after coming to NZ) and Cook came here, when it was all covered by bush. Dotted throughout the forest landscape along the road were ferns, some over 6 meters in height. Like something out of Jurassic Park. This must all have been very wild and untamed wilderness back then, seeing as how a lot of the country still is.

So now I'm at Allegra House bed and breakfast, a very modern building on a hill overlooking Paihia and the Bay of Islands. The view is spectacular. Too bad its pouring down. With a bit of sunshine it would be breath-taking.

Tomorrow a slow day, reading, writing, just kickin' back. Maybe a walk down to Paihia and look around. My brother is coming up on Friday, and we'll probably do some kind of tour on Saturday. On Sunday I'm leaving for Kuala Lumpur, and a completely different cultural experience.

Pornography: A two-dimensional substitute for that which the consumer cannot accomplish in three

This morning on the news, the words "boobs on bikes" caught my ear. Boobs as in know-nothings? Boobs as in breasts? Either way, this was obviously news in New Zealand.

Turns out that today is the 7th annual parade of Boobs on Bikes, where a group of semi-nude women (strippers and porn stars, apparently) ride through downtown Auckland on motorcycles. Last year, an estimated 100 000 people came out to watch. In the middle of the day. What the hell? According to Wikipedia, this is done to advertise a pornography trade exhibition.

I wonder if this would even get a permission in Sweden? And if it did, I wonder how far they would get before angry feminists blocked the road? Different cultural parameters here, though they did say that protesters will be there.

On the news they had footage from last year's show, showing a women from behind on the back of a massive Harley driven by the archetypal biker, as they passed - not kidding - a construction site. Dozens of men in hardhats stood on scaffolding, leering down.

I find it fascinating when stereotypes are confirmed, or when people conform to stereotypes. In this case, three stereotypes. Adult film star, biker, construction worker. Well done to you all.

To refer to (part of) a statement that has been made by someone else

The best quotes from the trip so far.

1. Drink, drive and die in a ditch
Sign by the road. New Zealand don't mess around with warning signs.

2. Excuse me but it appears that I have imbibed a touch too much tequila and my legs are no longer functioning as they should = Estoy hasta el gorro.
Part of the Spanish dictionary on the menues at The Flying Burrito Brothers. If you're going to Mexico, learn it well.

3. Why you stopping there for? Why you stopping there for? Hey! Why you stopping there for?
Just fuck you.
A taxi driver questioning our taxi driver's decision to stop in the middle of the road outside the train station to let us get out of the car. And his response. Not very New Zealand-ish.

4. It might be that they suddenly find themselves outdoors and in shorts, and start running to get inside and warm up.
My brother's theory as to why New Zealanders run around in a tshirt and shorts when its eight degrees outside.

Don't let the mystery go now

Some Rings trivia for y'all. The film geeks among you may already know this, but whatever.

1. The first Orc Aragorn kills on Pelenor Fields is Viggo Mortensen's son.

2. Stuart Townsend was originally cast as Aragorn, and was in New Zealand when, according to IMDB.com, "after four days of shooting" he left the production because "they realized he was too young for the role". In fact, Townsend was kicked off because he was an arrogant bastard that didn't get along with the other actors and above all Peter Jackson. Has anyone seen him in anything memorable since then? No? Now isn't that a surprise.

3. Liv Tyler had some serious problems during the shoot. She couldn't handle a horse at all, and when she finally figured out how to sit in a saddle, she managed to stab her horse over and over while attempting to sheathe her sword. Her character, Arwen, was also supposed to be at Helm's Deep for some reason, and she was there to film it. However, when she fired her bow she kept letting go of the bow instead of the arrow, hitting herself in the face over and over. In the end, Weta Digital made her hair blond so Jackson wouldn't have to reshoot the shots where she's just standing there.

4. Sean Connery was offered the role of Gandalf, for a percentage of the profits. He turned it down. Had he accepted, he would have made 450 million New Zealand dollars (about 2.2 billion kronor) and counting. Good call, Mr Connery. He went on to do The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen instead (which I won't link to on sheer principle, since its such a horrid POS). Who else was in that movie? Stuart Townsend, ladies and gentlemen. Good choice to the both of you.

Anatidaephobia: The fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you

Or is that window washer?

I was sitting in my brother's living room, in his third floor apartment, when suddenly a guy rappels down and plonks himself down on the balcony rail. No kidding. Rappelled down like he was spelunking (one of the best words ever, by the way).

Then he pulled a short fat rod from his back, extended it with a few expert clicks, flipped it around and aimed it at the glass balcony door, which was slightly ajar. I had the time to think "what the hell is going on?" before he pushed the door closed, and I realised the rod was in fact the handle of a mop.

He then proceeded to hose down the floor to ceiling windows and the door, used the mop to give them a good soapy clean, and then hosed them off again.

Now, how come we can't have that service in Sweden?

Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world

Wellington was a blast. After the sightseeing, we went to a great Mexican restaurant, The Flying Burrito Brothers, where we had enchiladas, Monteiths Golden (good local beer), churros and chimichangas, and treated ourselves to a tequila tasting board each.

Tequila to me has always been piss-poor stuff that needs salt and lemon to go down, and hasn't been anything I've had on any kind of regular basis. This was completely different. Three different ages of the same tequila, one that burned, one that went down smoothly with a sharp licorice aftertaste, and one right in between. There's a place in Stockholm that specialises in tequila, might need to go there to do some research...

Then on Saturday we took a Lord of the Rings tour, going around Wellington and the surrounding area for four and a half hours. Turned out it was just me and my brother taking the tour, which was cool. We took in the locations for Helm's Deep, Minis Tirith, Rivendell and others.

Aragorn realised Aglarond wasn't exactly what it was cracked up to be

It would have been hard to actually see that the scenes had been shot there if the guide hadn't brought lots of film clips on his laptop where he could point out trees and rocks that were in the frame. He guided us to spots where we could stand and see the specific views the cameras had over the scene, and showed us plenty of clips in the van while driving around, setting it all up. Very effective. 400 kronor well spent, if you can live with forever seeing in which parts of the Minas Tirith scenes that Pippin is a doll.

The only real downer was that the previous day, when we went sightseeing on our own, we did have some plans to see some Rings sites, but realised they weren't properly marked on any map and so we scrapped those plans. Then we got a little lost, and had to pull into a parking lot to check the map and get our bearings. To our left a big white van was parked, and behind us, across the road, was a quarry. The next day we sat in that same van in that same parking lot while the guide pointed to that same quarry and said "Helm's Deep is right there". D'oh.

After the tour we spent the afternoon at the Te Tapa Museum, checking out exhibits of Maori artefacts, New Zealand art through the years and some natural history stuff (kiwis, wetas, whales, etc). I built a squid. His name is Beardonaut. Check out what he's up to here (click "Enter Squid's name" down the page).

The coolest thing was a Chinese earthquake catcher, constructed in the second century AD, which determines the direction of an earthquake through a pendulum within a large jar knocking a ball loose to fall from a dragon's mouth into a metal frog. Of course. Western science sucks.

Benji the frog insisted he could catch the ball every time. Liar

Saturday ended at the All Blacks vs Wallabies rugby test. Calling it a test is evidently important. Nation vs nation is a test. Team vs team is a game. This was New Zealand vs Australia, a real grudge match. I have just about zero experience watching rugby, and since I'm a football guy I really didn't know what to expect. It was faster than I had anticipated, and while a lot of the rules are as incomprehensible to me as football rules are to an outsider, I think I grasped some of it. Thirty thousand fans and a couple of beers helped put us in the right mood.

Bruce wondered why his mate's hand felt so good right there

And for any Americans or indeed football fans reading this, I doubt there's a single football player that could survive a rugby game, even if they did know the rules and had mastered the techniques. We felt some of the full on body hits up in the stands, and these guys make do without any gear on except a teeth guard and a cup.

Then yesterday we boarded the Overlander train and spent twelve hours going from Wellington to Auckland, the reverse version of the trip that took us fifty minutes on a plane. The landscape was spectacular, with wooded hills, deep valleys and snow-capped volcanoes. The trip was at least four hours too long, but well worth doing. Once.

Now I'm back in Auckland for a couple of days of just hanging out, before going up north to Paihia to stay at a BnB run by relatives, write and look out over the ocean. The next few days won't contain a lot of adventure, but I will probably write some anyway.

Next they're gonna give the Oscars in the parking lot. It'll be like a drive-through Oscar lane.

Got back about an hour ago after a twelve hour train ride from Wellington. The first eight hours were cool, with some very spectacular views. The rest was mind-numbingly boring.

So my brain is too scrambled for a long post. Suffice to say that the Wellington trip was very good. More tomorrow.

I will leave you with this nugget of movie trivia. The Gates of Moria, the Dead Marshes and the scenes from flooded Isengard were all filmed in a parking lot on the outskirts of Wellington. Good bye, movie magic.

The traffic warden had a bit of an attitude problem