Sweet love in a public toilet.....

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Before I get to that, let me tell you about Okarito. Beautiful wee campsite close to the shore, no shop, no cafe, but jungle behind, sea in front, a lagoon to swim in and a nice man who left me 2 beers in a fridge. This has nothing to do with toilet love, incidentally. I stayed a couple of nights and enjoyed what the highly organised NZ tourist industry tends to trample with its emphasis on concentrating buses and the omnipresent campervans into the scenic highlights, which consequently lose their charm. More swims and camps by lakes going well too, though the bugger sandflies are now showing up and chomping me. I've a lovely big bite on my eyebrow. What was supposed to be a highlight was Franz Joseph glacier, but it was just far too backpackery and organised for me, so I didn't stop any longer than to buy food and go to the loo. In one of those shiny silver pay 50 cent jobs. Which is where the lurrrrv found me. 1st off, a voice welcomed me to my commode and designated me 10 minutes of comfort (ample), but then it started playing Burt Bacharach What the world needs now is love, sweet love (not my usual associations with toilets - Shitting on the Dock of the Bay one of many alternatives), but I liked it. More than mouldy old glacier, so I went back in for another go with my dv camera and had a little dance around.
Not wishing to let a good subject go (I'm actually quite bored right now, hence it assumes greater interest than it might otherwise), peeing in the bush has its own hazards, as each time I re-emerge from the privacy of the bush I'm covered in sticky vegetables, which splinter into hundreds more when I try to remove them. Currently in Haast (a one miniature pony town) with a great fish and chip van and a local shop keeper who is allergic to citronella. It doesn't work against sandflies anyway, she rightly says, and recommends her own concoction of baby oil and dettol. I'm going back in 20 mins to negotiate an under-the-counter purchase.
I have, unfortunately, met another cyclist, equipped with a feather-light racing bike and 2 tiny bags, who is doing about 200 kms per day (as opposed to my 60-70). Ok, so his bile weighs a fraction of my tractor but, still, I'm piqued. So stuff the day off, I'm going for a biggy today (in theory) and hope to get to Lake Wanaka. I have clocked up 4,500 kms though, so he can stick that in his pie and suck on it. Plus, he's wearing one of those cycling lycra romper suits. Imagine Tinky Winky at aerobics. Sometimes it pays better to be slow. I've just read my spelling mistake: 'bile' should read 'bike', but I'll leave it in, as it looks good.

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