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.

Not eating meat is a decision, eating meat is an instinct

“Super Bowl Sunday. My place. On the projector. Chili will be served. Chocolate cake will be made. A possibility to kill terrorists before the game. Welcome.”

Now that there is how a text message is supposed to read.

Sometimes dead is better

I've found the concept of the elephant graveyard interesting for quiet a while. It is fiction, with a powerful mythical quality that I can't help but find fascinating. Like something out of a fairy tale.

It is my firm belief that we have a fly graveyard in our windows. Flies from all over the country come to our home to die. Some of them wander around aimlessly between the glass panes, before ending up on their backs, dead. As dodos.

And as an add-on. Not sure if anyone reading this cares, but Darren Sproles, gods (if I were the least bit religious, all kinds of expletives would have been inserted here. I choose to go with a very non-denominational expression instead)! The very definition of a game-winning player.

I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting

I read an article today that people that snore have the equivalent of a full workout every night while they (we) sleep.

I'm not really one for working out anymore, so maybe I should give up snoring, on principle alone.

Back when I played football, I worked out three times a week. Went to an actual gym, strapped myself into contraptions the Spanish Inquisition would gladly have used on their victims (no, not a comfy chair), and did whatever it is people do at a gym.

Now I snore. Hell, I did then too, but no working out = more body fat = more snoring. Just the way it is. I need to do something about that body fat soon, and even though that has "New Year's Resolution" written all over it, that just won't happen. We had a Resolution this year, which was to go to the movies more often. We've been about twice a month, which is pretty good. However, that's about as far as I will go with a Resolution.

I need motivation to work out. And I'm not talking about some personal trainer screaming at me. Back in the football days, working out equaled hitting people harder, moving faster. I need that kind of motivation, some sort of goal that's more tangible than "feeling better".

So maybe snoring less is motivating enough? We'll see. The plan is to begin A New Life in 2009. The jury is still out on whether or not it will actually happen, but at least the intent is there.

There's no place like 127.0.0.1

I was considering drinks with friends today. Mah Girl is at a birthday party, and I figured I'd hang out with some people and then maybe meet up later.

But alas, I am old and tired, so instead I'm sprawled on the couch, laptop on my stomach, Bears vs Saints on TV. I might shoot some terrorists later, I might not. Sleep feels like a good idea, but I doubt that will happen anytime soon. That would mean turning off the laptop and shutting down the Internet, and too many people rely on that for fun and info that I just can't do that.

That's actually something that people at support desks (like the one I used to work at) hear regularly. “Internet is broken”. And then you have to stop yourself from saying “Your Internet connection is down, moron, not the entire Internet”. But you don't. Cause customer satisfaction is oh so important.

The plan for the weekend is to kick back, relax, and sleep a lot. I feel drained, and I really look forward to sixteen days away from the office over the holidays. We're going to my parents' place in Karlskoga, to eat mom's food, hang out with friends and relax even more.

Going home like that (cause even if this is home now, Stockholm, I still call Karlskoga home on occasion, since it's where I grew up) becomes something of an event, and that's why I can stand it. Parties are thrown, friends are visited, favorite foods are prepared.

During the almost seven years that I've been here I've come to the realization that I'm never moving back (here's where a voice inside my head says “never say never”), but I still enjoy going back. For short periods of time. After about a week, small town angst settles over my mind like a wet, cold blanket, and I have to get out.

The Bears vs Saints game is turning into a really interesting game, so I'm going to stop writing now and focus on the TV. Good night.