I have left the room and the elevator has just passed the floor and am I taking the stairs, four floors of a spiral open to the depths with smooth stone steps and the whole thing smells of french fries, the ENTIRE FOUR FLOORS, french fries, french fries, and I wonder how this has come to pass.

There is a well-dressed Chinese man sitting at the last step. He has no french fries. He is checking his phone. My investigation is at an end. I leave through the glass doors at the end of the hall into the rain and am accosted as a rock within the river in a rapid current of businessmen, a family of South-East Asian tourists, a gaggle of Japanese girl students in skirts and white blouses, all of it a crossfire of languages and conversation and anger, happiness, a family in silence, the wild freedom of conscious experience: then I am free. I stumble forward. Strangely, my wife is ahead of me. It cannot be my wife – she is in the apartment, working – and yet here she is, her yellow jacket, long wavy currents of blonde hair, little leather boots lined in wool at the top – and yet it is not her. It couldn’t be. Anyway, I double check as I pass. Nothing like a man approaching a woman from behind and looming into her face to see if she’s his wife.

Jesus. ANYWHO.

Return of the Round-up:

You! Yes you, come along. I believe you must have imagined we were dead. You may have imagined that, as fathers do, we had gone out for our fateful last cigarette-and-milk run at the convenience store. You were mistaken. Now, keep up. Where are we going? That’s a question for theology, not anthropology! Begone with your devilry! Let me try again:

Return of the Round-up:

Ah. Yes, I can settle down, though I will remember (with consternation) your request. There’s been quite a bit since the last time we spoke. Driving on the left, learning about New Zealand as the last bastion of Christian ‘blue-law’ extremism (removed reference to ‘Christian Jihadi’s’ and ‘Wahhabi’s of The Son’– Ed.), a cheerful cannibalistic bus driver, Hobbiton, human hamster balls, EXTREME ACTION SPORTS, drinking, sulphur pits, the Great Klamath Falls Revelation, work, drinking, zoo, Kiwis, and, finally, a good old mental breakdown (mutual) to finish things off.

In The Beginning:

I may have to play a bit of catch up. I apologize. I’ve been very busy with things, very very busy, overwhelmed even – ah, what’s that? Nevermind your pestering!

I’ll have to go back to Easter. Now, I will leave certain parts of this experience for Christa to narrate, but to put everything simply, Easter Weekend we took a little drive down to Rotorua for a host of classic En-Zed activities.

Taking a Drive:

I never bothered driving in England, as the roads are about as wide as a chariot for an entire highway (dual carriageway – Ed.). Anyway, the roads here are better, but Christa wanted to drive. Which is great. I hate driving. So we got the car: the rental place was closed at 3, so we had to walk up the street to collect the car from a local pub. Apparently they knew the publican…they asked us for the password, and we got the car. It may seem a little odd, but I’m learning to take these little NZ touches in stride. Five minutes in, we ended up in the wrong lane with oncoming traffic. ‘What do I do!’ yelled Christa.

‘Hop the divider!’ I cried.

‘What?!’

‘We must! Fly, you fool!’

After that everything was fine. Easy Peasy. Down to Rotorua.

The Hinterland:

Rotorua itself is an interesting sort of place: it has a collection of outdoor tourist activities, noteworthy, not terribly much for a Cascadian, as having a Great Redwood Forest. Yes…..they stole some of ours and they’ve turned it into a big zipline sort-of thing, and I guess people like it. But there’s a host of other strange activities: Mario Kart for humans, a giant swing off a cliff that goes 70 KPH, wineries, hot tubs, and poisonous pools. Yes. It’s a geothermal hotspot, and a whiff of sulphur is never far, like a sort of tame Yellowstone, or a hot day in the Tenderloin. We had a little hotel at this one, that, like the Hamilton Run, was a curiosity:

Saturday/Sunday:

We first had to go to Hobbiton. I don’t have much to say about this. It’s quite nice and it’s pretty fun.

Probably looks like you imagined. Perhaps you’ve even seen it in a film…

I digress.

Day two we went Zorbing, which I am leaving for Christa to fully elucidate. Let it suffice to say that she has dreamed of rolling down hill in a human hamster ball since the day I met her, which, as I have ascertained, is a Christa kind of thing to desire. So, we did it. We were the only people our age without children. I wanted to explain to some of them that they didn’t have to have the children just to go zorbing, but it was too late for them.

Mario Kart for Human Beings:

Rotorua is also home to a luge track, which is a sort of plastic bucket you sit in and blast downhill. We were , once again, the only people our age without children, for the second time that weekend. We’re beginning to find that our job is to explain to children that, when they are grown-ups, they can in fact spend their money on whatever they want and achieve their dreams. But it comes with a price – not a price exactly, as the decision only saves you money. It comes with a rebate? I’m not certain. But I do know many problems in this world of ours began when a sperm cell gained sentience.

Thus ends the sermon.

Anyway, they sold us photos. But half of them were of us, and the other half were of some random Asian family. We bought ’em all. I’ve forgotten the log in for the library, or I would share them. We hope those folks bought ’em all as well. Maybe we’ll meet again in another distant place…

We took a few rides around then took a walk in the park. Which is were we discovered this:

Yep. Your eyes do not deceive you. The sister city of Rotorua, New Zealand….is Klamath Falls, Oregon.

Yep. Turns out the world really is a small place.

I’m going to have to cut it short for now, as I’ve got such urgent, pressing matters to attend to.

Coming up: I’m not quite sure any more. You’ll find out as soon as I do. But there’s a diatribe coming up (promise, promise), and a quixotic quest I embark upon tomorrow…