Well it's been a while, and so I think it's time for a new update. I have been in New Zealand for 2 months now and since arriving I have been doing all the marvellous things that you have read about in my previous entries. When it came time to settle down for a couple of months I was loathe to do it, but I have slid into the routines of the job without too much issue and am currently enjoying the sights, sounds and smells that come with living in a hostel.
I'm staying in Albert Park Backpackers for $119 a week - about 40 pounds - living in a 6-bed dorm with 2 German guys named Carsten and Carsten. People come and go but most of the time it's just us three laying about, reading, studying and occasionally - when there's enough money about - drinking. There are plenty of hostellers who are living there and working in Auckland, and they are all a good laugh. There are also plenty of wierdos coming and going to keep me entertained when the conversation gets samey.
For the last two weeks we had this guy staying with us who became affectionately known as "Psycho Man", "Crazy Guy" and the slightly more distinctive "Smelly Freaky Towel Man". All will become clear. The guy is quite possibly the weirdest of people I have observed on my travels. He is about 60, perhaps a hand shorter than myself with a partially bald head - the obligatory crescent of hair surrounding the back and sides - and a tendancy to instill memories of Lurch from the Adams Family. His day-to-day attire consists of some 30 year-old black trainers and dirty grey socks - which are plainly visible in the 30cm gap between shoes and bottom of trousers - with a dirty $2 fleece and some jogging bottoms of equally poor quality. He seems to follow a regular routine which, if broken, would probably send him into a downward spiral of decay and eventually, complete madness, although whether or not this state has already been reached is a matter of intense debate within the hostel...
1. He gets up. Possibly as a result of a huge coughing fit which would wake the dead and rip apart the eardrums of many small mammals. After this has subsided he murmurs a profanity.
2. Slides on clothes. Murmurs a profanity.
3. Stomps into bathroom and shaves face and head, somehow missing back and sides. I would point this out to him, but its funny when the side bits stick out and make him look like a mad professor. Murmurs something about dirty f*****s and devils. Mostly unintelligable.
4. Stomps into TV room.
5. Watches TV all day, stinking out room and forcing people to watch such shows as Shortland Street and other pap. Murmurs many profanities during the day.
6. Goes to bed at night time, usually not before yelling at someone for making too much noise or staring at them eerily through partially drawn curtains to make sure they get the message.
I stayed in the same room as him for a couple of nights but the smell became unbearable, so I moved next door where I could observe him from afar. Carsten and I had a row with him pretty much the first night he was there after he shouted at two people smoking outside for talking very very quitely, waking us all up and then proceeding to get into bed and start swearing about dirty b******s and devils and spanish... well you get the idea. We both yelled at him and eventually got him to shut up.
After the arrival of a new guest we also learned that he collected towels. He spotted one when the guy got into the lift and went to Erica (the receptionist) asking her to get the guy to bring down his towel "because it was a really nice towel and he collects them and it's a really nice towel and he really wants to see it". Suffice to say that he is quite, quite bizarre.
Staying with Smelly Freaky Towel Man was Depressive Hippy Guy who looked at me very strangely when I commented on how tasty his food looked and inquired into what he was cooking. He replied with 'venison' followed by muttering something about the price of meat being terrible. I said that it was really cheap compared to England. He looked at me funny again. That was the last time he said anything to me.
There was an Asian guy who looked like an Umpalumpa thanks to his extra long t-shirt and huge beanie hat. There was also the ever present flood of crazy Asians who never fail to amuse, including Halumi who we taught how to say "Speak up, bitch" because she was having trouble hearing some of the customers that were coming into the shop where she was working.
For my birthday we went to the Hare Krishna restaurant for a $5 vegetarian meal which was very nice. Unfortunately there were no robes, cymbols and drums involved, but we did get a taste of the music. There are loads of different tunes... and they all use "Hare Krishna" for the words. All of them. Just think of the creative scope these guys have for making new tunes when they don't have to worry about fitting the words to the tunes. All they have to do is sing "Hare" or "Krishna" for a longer or shorter period of time. They're bloody geniuses. After that we went to the Dogs Bollix Irish Bar where two old men entertained the crowd with traditional tunes.
So there we have it. That brings me pretty much up-to-date, and with only one more month to go until I'm back on the road, I hope to have many more stories for you before then. Adios.
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