Having acquired some kind of cold in Marrakech, I’ve started to cough. I hoped that good food and the warm air would snuff it out before it (and I) became a nuisance. No such luck. I awake today to begin a two-day mountain trek with a full-blown hacking cough.
I normally begin a trip recounting the items, often essential, that I’ve forgotten. And while this excursion isn’t without a few minor wayward objects, the major gear is all with me. As the days tick by, however, I’m now progressively losing stuff. At this rate, it’ll be me and whatever I can stuff into my pockets.
On the bus to Rotorua, light is fading and we’re rolling across Middle Earth. Well, northern Middle Earth. Sheep and horses and merinos dot roadside pastures. They’re around every curve out here, and an hour south of Auckland, there have been a lot of curves.