Day 80: A Quiet Day

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The Canadians left before I came out of my room to eat breakfast. I was sorry not to have had a chance to say goodbye to them. I did speak to them in passing, seeing them in the breakfast area, as I went from my room to the restroom.

It had been a chilly night, and I told them that I had a new theory: that New Zealand was really just a couple of icebergs calved off from Antarctica, and the sheep and cattle and deer were optical illusions.

It really astounds me that New Zealand is so cold. In the South Island, when we were at the equivalent latitude of southern Canada, I could sort of understand it, but here I'm at the equivalent latitude of Raleigh, North Carolina. It should not be this cold at night in "August."

Anyhow, the Canadians left me a bag with a piece of fried chicken and some fries in it. I don't know for sure whether they meant to or whether they just forgot it, but by 4 p.m. they'd been gone for nine hours and it was obvious that they weren't coming back for it, so I ate it. It was very good.

It warmed up considerably by midday. I had laundry to do -- two days earlier than usual, thanks to my unscheduled swim at Hot Water Beach. It was high time, too; the sea-soaked clothes were starting to smell.

I got in three beach-walks. On one of them I found a conch, a lovely one with brown stripes, quite new to me, but when I picked it up I found that the shell was still in use, so I hastily dropped it. I'm not sure the occupant was the original owner, but it undoubtedly needs the shell more than I do, especially since the USDA is quite likely to take any shells away from me at the border.

On another I found an instructor teaching four students to move in slow patterns. I wasn't especially interested until I saw that they were all holding wooden swords. I wondered if it might be an SCA group of some sort. I asked the instructor what they were doing, and he said it was a form of T'ai Chi.

Exactly two weeks now until I get on the airplane and head home. I am very homesick. Whitianga has been lovely, but by now I just want to go home.

The good news is that I think Whitianga's sea air is finally helping to heal the damage Rotorua's sulphur did to my lungs. This is the first day my lungs have hurt more or less normally upon awakening, from the morning chill, rather than with that broken-glass quality brought on by Rotorua.

I ought to have realized the sulphur would hurt me; what good is it being a classicist if I can't remember the story of the elder Pliny, who died when he got too close to Mount Vesuvius during its eruption and breathed its fumes? Pliny had had lung problems too. But, I mean, people live in Rotorua, so it didn't occur to me. I hope the damage will prove temporary.

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