Last Days in USA

Land Rover Expedition Time: 19 May 1998

Our passage back into USA from Canada was effortless. It was a huge contrast to the west coast, when we drove down from Vancouver in our “antique buggy” with those red apples on board.
http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2005/08/core-business-for-us-customs.html

Upstate New York is rolling, green and pretty like Vermont. While the countryside was beautiful, we wanted to cover as many miles as possible to ensure a short run to JFK International Airport the next day. We decided on a toll motorway to get a few miles under the bonnet.

It was easy driving and I didn’t need to concentrate on navigating for awhile. We talked over the expedition to date and both of us agreed that Yosemite National Park and Niagara Falls had been the top scenic views.

The hardest thing to cope with had been F2’s unexpected and destructive behaviour and we still had major concerns about this for the future.

We also agreed that, even in a county that had good roads and easy-to-follow signs in English, some things took a lot longer than planned or didn’t happen as they should have. This had been the second hardest thing for me to cope with.

I loved to plan and organise, but I couldn’t plan for every contingency and this had created circumstances when I became uncharacteristically indecisive. In turn, this had forced TH to become more decisive than previously, which he wasn’t comfortable with. While he took an active part in longer-term decisions, he was usually content to just to sit back and let me make any instant decisions that cropped up along the way. My dithering had sorely frustrated TH. In return I had become angry when he didn’t try to help me out when I had trouble making decisions. Both of us had been waiting for the other to take the lead and were confused when it didn’t happen.

We had learned a lot in the two months we had spent driving around North America, but we’d need to become a lot more resilient if we were to survive the tougher stages of the expedition, which were still ahead of us. Managing stress and changing circumstance can be relatively easy for a 2-week jaunt or maybe a slightly longer holiday. Most people can cope because home and rest is not far away. But, this was a long expedition and it would be relentless. We would solely dependent on our own resources and we’d have to cope for a whole year, whatever happened.


We pushed our troubles aside and turned off the toll road to take a look at the Finger Lakes. This is an area of long, narrow lakes, spread out in a loose fan shape rather like fingers on a hand. The area was originally Iroquois land, and many of the lakes still retain the names of the sub-tribes that belong there, such as Seneca and Cayuga.

Countless years ago the area was thickly forested with oak, hickory, maple and chestnut trees. However, the Iroquois burned-off the flatter areas to create a large prairie on which to run a large herd of bison. The area was still pretty with lush, wooded hills and clumps of trees clustered around the lakes. Today herds of dairy cows have replaced the bison, along with endless rows upon rows of vegetable crops and grapevines. Sadly we had a plane to catch and there was no time to stop and sup the local vintage.
Photo/map credit: http://www.fingerlakes.com/

Around an hour later we found a motel with trucks outside. Truck drivers always go for value and we weren’t disappointed with our basic, clean and comfortable room, which was a good price. Amazingly, we had our own coffee-making machine right in our room, with all the ingredients provided.

We had a big sort out of our gear and repacked to be ready for our departure from USA in the morning. I am a bit of a squirrel when it comes to tourist information and brochures. I just love to read up on any area I am in and then keep all the leaflets as a reminder of a visit. But, tonight, I had to be ruthless. Once we returned the rental car, we could only carry what would fit into our bags. It was either my clothes or the tourist brochures and, fetching as those coloured leaflets were, they had to go.

We had a restless night, thinking about the drive and day ahead and we were up and gone before 8am.

We kept well away from toll routes and enjoyed the scenery on parkway roads until we were almost into New York City. The parkways were aptly named and allowed us drive among the trees, while the ugly suburbs and city areas are well hidden. We made good time and stopped for an early lunch. We were down to our last few dollars.

Before we ordered our meal we looked at the map, noting we had one last toll bridge to cross. All toll bridges had cost us either $1, or $1.50 at the most, in this part of the States. We calculated the meal price and the bridge toll. TH wanted to tip the waitress as is customary in USA, but I hate this practice as I feel that it allows employers to exploit their staff by only paying a pathetically small wage. I prefer New Zealand’s system where employers must pay a minimum living wage, so workers are not reliant on tips in order to live. Tipping is still not common in NZ and long may that continue.

However, TH is a great one for “when in Rome” and so we did end up tipping the waitress after our meal. That left us with just $US2.84. Now, there will be some who ask why we skinned ourselves so short. Well, this was an expedition on a shoestring and everything was tight. Due to the costs of changing currencies, we hated having too much local money remaining when we left a country. We thought we had enough and we did have those marvellous gold MasterCards. Yeah right!


Just over an hour later we were on the access way to the last toll bridge – the Whitestone Bridge. There was a traffic jam and we were only making slow progress. However, we had over two hours to travel to JFK International airport and we estimated that it would only take ½ hour once we had crossed this bridge. We inched closer to the tollbooths.
(Photo from wirednewyork.com.)

TH has sharper eyes than I do over long distance. “Oh, no”, I heard him mutter.

“What is it?” I asked

“The sign says it’s $3.50 for cars. How much did you say we had?”

“$2.84. I told you not to tip that waitress!”

There was silence while I searched for coins down the sides and underneath the seats, but I had no luck. I did have one British pound as well as thirty-five Canadian cents in my wallet, but I didn’t think they’d accept that. We had already passed the last off-ramp before the toll bridge, so there was no chance to get off the motorway. We were stuck fast, almost at a complete halt, and I sized up our neighbouring motorists. I idly considered asking one, “Hey buddy, can you spare a dime (or 7)?” But, they all looked pretty angry to be in a traffic jam, and I didn’t pursue that idea.

Instead of wishing the traffic would hurry up like we had been doing, we now hoped for further delays, so we could think of another solution.

“We do have our gold credit card”, I said to TH in a hopeful fashion. This had worked wonders at the Canadian border.
http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2005/08/road-to-canada-is-paved-with-gold.html

We considered all options but the card still came out as our only hope. If they didn’t accept that, what would happen? No doubt there would be delays and we might even miss our flight. Surely we wouldn’t get arrested?

We looked ahead to see if any cars stopped at the booths without money. Everyone had their $3.50, handed it over and zoomed on through. Four cars to go, then three, then two and we were there.

TH had prepared his best smile and hangdog look.
“Do you take credit cards? I don’t have enough cash.”
He waved our gold card in what he hoped was a friendly manner.

The toll collector screamed at him for not having money, for wasting her time and holding up her line of cars. She then growled that she wanted his driver’s licence and the registration number of his car. TH hurriedly handed over his New Zealand and International driver’s licences and stammered out our car’s licence plate number.

“Get over there and wait for the sheriff”, she screamed some more, and pointed to a waiting bay to the right. Poor TH had to edge our Chevrolet through several lanes of tooting and annoyed motorists to get there.

We waited in the hot sun for ten minutes and I watched the second hand on my watch circle around the dial. TH just sat. We didn’t know what to say to each other and we didn’t dare speculate on what the sheriff was going to do to us.

We were parked with the car nose into the waiting bay. TH had his eyes on the rear vision mirror, watching the door of the building behind us. Suddenly he sat up straight, “Here he comes.”

I turned in the seat. The sheriff was in a uniform, was around mid-height, middle aged, had his hair tied back in a ponytail and, of course, had a gun in a holster on his right side. He was sifting through some papers, as he walked towards us. I recognised one of them as a New Zealand Driver’s Licence.

Looking stern, he leaned down into TH’s window and said, “We know the car is a rental and it’s obvious from these documents that you’re tourists. Where are you headed?”

“JFK International”.

We also added that we were sorry we had underestimated the price of this last toll bridge.

He nodded. He’d probably already figured our destination, as it wasn’t that far away. He continued, “I’ve never seen a New Zealand Driver’s Licence before but it looks legitimate. However, what is this?” He held out TH’s Rover Car Club of Auckland membership card.

In the scramble to give his licence to the screeching tollbooth woman, TH had also accidentally pulled out his Rover Car Club card as well. Rover cars weren’t common in the States. We explained that we owned two classic Rover cars at home and what they looked like.

The sheriff looked very interested in all this. Then he said, “We want you to have had a good time in New York with no bad feelings. Just give us the money you have and you can be on your way.”

TH gave him the $2 in notes while I scrabbled with the coins.

“Just the $2 will be fine, ma’am”. He gave me a kindly look.

Dazed, and very relieved, we stammered out thanks and drove off before he could change his mind.

We were at the rental car depot in less than half an hour and took the shuttle bus to our air terminal. It was a huge “mad house” of an airport and the shuttle driver used his horn more than any other device on the vehicle.

After check in, we scooted straight to the departure lounge. With only eighty-four cents left there was no point lingering in the airport shops. Last night I had written a postcard to my cousin Susan, which I already had a stamp for but had forgotten to post on the way to the airport. I couldn't see a post box and I asked one of the security personnel for their location. He advised that there weren’t any mail drops on the air side of the terminal. Seeing my disappointed face, he offered to post it for me, when he got off his shift. I was delighted and thanked him very much.

“My pleasure, ma’am” he replied. I noted his New York accent.

Waiting for our plane I reflected on our experiences that day. New Yorkers are heaps better than their bad press suggests - apart from tollbooth operators, of course. I had learned that the world is a better place than I thought and people can be more understanding and kind than expected. As such, I should learn to trust that it was possible to negotiate a safe path in difficult times and this probably would be the same in other countries, too.


http://www.iloveny.com/home.aspx


New York had been a good learning opportunity. As they say, New York – what a town!

As for the next leg of the expedition – bring it on!

© Eventful Woman, 2008

Want to keep up with Eventful Woman? She can notify you as soon as she has updated her blog. This is a FREE service. Please email her on eventfulwoman@clear.net.nz and type “update ASAP” in the subject line

Falling Back Through Time

Land Rover Expedition Time: 18th May 1998

Our departure date to leave North America was looming fast. We had to get back on the road and, as always, that uncomfortable, familiar feeling was back – apprehension battled with anticipation; the fear of the unknown wrestled with the lure of the adventure ahead.

I wasn’t looking forward to navigating to JKF International airport via New York City. But, we would have a treat on the way - the majestic Niagara Falls. I had already been awed by these on a previous trip to Canada and they were definitely a "must see" for a second look. TH had never seen them and had endured my constant raving when I returned home from that earlier trip.
http://www.niagarafallsstatepark.com/

Niagara Falls are actually three falls – The American, the Bridal Veil and the magnificent Horseshoe Falls where the rumbling, great, green waters constantly roar over the edge. The Horseshoe Falls are best viewed from the Canadian side. Standing there, I could feel the raw power of them and their thunder pounded my ears.

My brain flashed irrational messages to stand back, as if I might suddenly get sucked into the water and flung over the edge. Maybe the compelling beauty of Niagara Falls kept me standing there, or maybe it was the power of Roger.

Roger was my date with the past. Up until 1998, only two living things had been seen to go over the Falls (without special protection) and survive - a dog in the 1800's and Roger Woodward on 9th of July in 1960.

Some call it the "Miracle at Niagara", when 7-year-old Roger and his older sister, 17-year-old Deanne, survived certain death. The siblings and an older family friend had been enjoying an outing in a small boat several kilometres up river. The motor failed and the little rowboat was swept along in the swift current. They were all thrown out in the turbulence before the falls.

Chance swept Deanne towards the observation platform on the American side, which jutted over the edge of the Falls. Her cries for help alerted the tourists. There was just enough time for them to lean over the railings and to snatch her out in the few seconds she was nearest to them. Her brother, the family-friend and the boat hurtled over the falls. The man was killed, the boat smashed to pieces, but Roger somehow survived with only a few scratches. He was plucked from the roiling waters beneath the Horseshoe Falls, after grabbing a life ring thrown by the crew of one of the "Maid of the Mist" boats that scud about near the base of the falls. His survival made news throughout the world.

Back in 1960, I couldn’t read as I wasn’t yet at school, and New Zealand didn’t have television then. I remained ignorant of Roger’s amazing story until I was aged ten. I can still recall that rainy lunch hour, sitting in my classroom in Standard Four, with an old magazine spread out on my desk. For once, my sandwiches were forgotten. I read, and re-read the story, staring at the images of Niagara Falls. Even in black & white I could see the mighty power of the water.

Enthralled and excited by this tale, I thumbed through an atlas to discover where the Falls were. Canada, painted Empire red on the map, was separated from USA by a straight borderline, before the border wiggled around the Great Lakes area. My finger briefly rested at the oddly named town of Buffalo, and then moved up to where the magic words "Niagara Falls" were written. I made it my goal right then to go there. It took me nearly thirty years and, here I was back again a few years later. I stood near the edge of the falls and thought about the boy who drew me there. Just wondering how he survived that punishing torrent gives me goose bumps.

Google was not available in 1998, but now writing this in 2008, google has been a useful tool in finding out "whatever happened to Roger". Despite the media glare at the time, it’s wonderful to know that Roger has gone on to have a normal life with his own family, although he has cheated death twice since 1960:
http://www.triviaguys.com/whtexam.htm
or
http://community.seattletimes.nwsource.com/archive/?date=19981126&slug=2785592

In October 2003, Kirk Jones intentionally went over the Falls without a protective device of any kind and survived. He was immediately taken into custody by the Niagara Parks Police and charged with stunting. Jones had to pay a large fine upon being found guilty in court of criminal mischief and for violating the Niagara Parks Act.

I had no intention of falling or diving into Niagara Falls. Although I love surfing, the thought of being in this roaring water terrified me. However, when I wasn’t directly next to the edge of the falls I was quite fearless. From my previous visit, I had tried out nearly every daredevil ride possible, except for rocketing over the falls in a barrel, of course.

TH and I took a trip on my No.1 favourite – the Maid of the Mist boat. Standing on the deck, very close to the base of the falls, the drenching spray and water’s rush seems too much for the boat to keep afloat. The lightweight little blue plastic "raincoats" that everyone is given to wear are almost useless.

But, the best bit is when the captain slows the boat to announce: "This is the exact spot we picked up young Roger". There is hush from the squealing excited patrons and they stare at the broiling water and shiver at the odds he had to overcome to survive. Thank you, Roger, for helping to give me a love of life. Every day above ground is good, no matter how silly I look in a wet plastic-bag of a raincoat.

The next thrill of our visit was at the Imax theatre. To give the idea of what it is like to go over the falls in a barrel, they somehow managed to get a camera to survive a real fall in a barrel. When they show this part of the film on the giant Imax screen, your eyes tell you that you are actually going over the falls. It was fabulous and real "shriek territory". Imax also ran a dramatisation of the "boy over the falls" story and I was back to being an awed 10-year-old again. I realised then that, apart from the usual child's dream of going to Disneyland, Niagara Falls had been my first ever conscious travel goal to a far-off destination.


© Eventful Woman, 2008
Want to keep up with Eventful Woman? She can notify you as soon as she has updated her blog. This is a FREE service. Please email her on eventfulwoman@clear.net.nz and type "update ASAP" in the subject line

Lost in Translation

Land Rover Expedition Time: Mid May 1998

We’d scored a "contentment troika" - a two-night stop, a cat to pat and beautiful scenery. We settled into a cute little holiday cottage on a sheltered bay in Maine, near Acadia National Park. As well as sightseeing, we had time to wash our clothes and clear emails, while the on-site tabby rubbed around our legs. Each night the moon rose a buttery salmon colour over the bay, mirrored on its still waters. When I described this to TH one night, thinking I was being romantic, he said that I must think about food all day. He was right, of course, but this didn’t mean I wasn’t romantic as well.


We toured Mount Desert Island, which is the largest island within the Acadia network. The Bass Harbour Lighthouse crouches on the southern most tip of this Island.

The land finishes in chunky slabs of pinky-golden granite, with the Atlantic crashing against them. They were like a jagged margin of giant stepping stones and I had to take huge strides, leaps really, to walk along them.

http://www.nps.gov/acad/index.htm

After this brief sojourn, we resumed our journey heading north towards Canada. On our way we tracked down two remote Land Rover parts dealers - one in Maine and the other in Vermont. Providing parts, restoration and tours provided the owners with a reasonable living, as well as a good life style. Most of the work happened over the nine warmer months of the year, and in the worst of the winter, they toured warmer climes in their Land Rovers.


TH fossicked amongst their stock to find some extra items that could be handy for our expedition.

Over coffee at one of these stops, we asked what the sign "Frost Heaves" meant. We had seen the first of these near Cape Cod, then several since and wondered what they meant. Our hosts looked surprised that we didn’t know and advised that these were warnings about uneven surfaces in the road. They explained that, if rainwater settled into cracks in the road and then froze, due to a heavy frost over night, then the road would buckle upwards from the expansion of the water turning into ice.

New Zealand has a more temperate climate, so we had never encountered this phenomenon before. Most of the recent backcountry roads we had travelled on were uneven, so we hadn’t really noticed extra upheavals. And, of course, with my love of language, and its proper usage, I still hadn’t quite got used American practice of turning verbs into nouns. I had always regarded "heaves" as a verb, as is usual. Up until then, whenever I saw the signs, I had read them out to TH and asked, "But, what does frost heave?"

We stopped for lunch at one of those truckers’ cafés, which always provide big meals at cheap prices. There was a sign by the cash register: "We cash personal checks [cheques] up to a maximum of $20 if you have six pieces if ID and leave a $50 cash deposit until the check [cheque] clears."

On Maine’s northwestern boundary to New Hampshire a sign welcomed us: "Brake for Moose. It could save your life. Hundreds of collisions". And, of course, there again was the sign with New Hampshire’s proud slogan: "The Granite State". With the collision warning, I wondered if the moose were made of granite, too. Fortunately, we never got to find out.

Up-state New Hampshire and Vermont is really pretty with its rolling green hills and picturesque red barns. It was beautiful day, like that of a postcard. In fact, any moment I expected to come to the edge of the postcard and into a rainy, grey day. But, the sun and scenery were all for real. Either that or it was the biggest postcard in the world.

However, I did wonder if the women we overheard later in a restaurant were for real. They talked their entire meal about house furnishings, and particularly on the vexed question of linoleum versus tiles. While eavesdropping, I wrote one of their best utterances on a serviette:
"Although I have tiles I sometimes get jealous of those who have linoleum, as it’s so much easier to clean. Then again, I have tiles because they are so much nicer."

I could imagine a future group of Miss World contestants chattering about the next genuine cause – keeping tiles clean – rather than wasting any more time on world peace, cures for cancer and saving the whales.

We filled up on cheap American petrol just before the Canadian border. We were asked a number of questions by Canadian Immigration officials, but nothing like the rigmarole of the previous border crossing into Canada on the West Coast:
http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2005/08/road-to-canada-is-paved-with-gold.html It seems that having a tame, regular rental car does not raise eyebrows as much as an old Land Rover does.

We were now in the province of Québec and it seemed rather odd to suddenly encounter French signs while still in North America. We had got used to bi-lingual English/French in British Columbia, but it appeared that only the English speaking part of Canada was required to be bi-lingual. The French Canadians seem to have inherited the traits of their Gaullic ancestors and decided that they didn’t need to bother with bi-lingual signs.

This arrogance also applied to business brand names. Kentucky Fried Chicken had buckled under the pressure to re-brand as Poulet Fritte Kentucky in this part of Canada. But, now that Kentucky Fried Chicken had re-branded across the world as KFC, they had the global meaninglessness of PFK in Québec.

I remembered the Montreal business students we had met, while they were on holiday in Cape Cod. They told us that they were very concerned that the strict French language code, even for global branded companies, was driving business away from Quebec.

If we remained here, Eventful Woman would have to become femme mouvementée and "the husband" would turn into LM (le mari).

Although I can read French, we decided to do our bit for the English language business-branding cause, and to keep driving west until we found a bi-lingual sign for accommodation. We both agreed the defiance was worth it, even if this meant breaking our "5 pm find-a-bed-for-the-night" rule. Fortunately, we were not kept up too late, as the first we found was only after we had driven over the provincial line into Ontario. Then, many bi-lingual signs miraculously reappeared. We found a quiet motel with an attached restaurant, which had a reasonably priced banquet meal. We stuffed ourselves full to celebrate our business acumen.

The next day we cruised along Route 2, by the Great Lakes St Lawrence Seaway. This is a deep draft waterway extending 3,700 km (2,340 miles) from the Atlantic Ocean to the head of the Great Lakes. We stopped at The Iroquois Lock to watch the ship, "Canadian Progress", trundle through. I was very impressed how this huge ship was manoeuvred within such a tight space.






The distance between the lock gates was 285 metres (934 ft) and the lock was 24.5 metres (80 ft) across. The biggest ship they could handle was 222.5 metres (730 ft) long and had a beam of 23 metres (75ft 6 ins).
http://www.greatlakes-seaway.com/

The weather had been warming up in the last few days and now it was quite humid. The back seat of our rental Chevrolet was piled with our jackets and jerseys. We had fortunately thought to put one pair of shorts each into our holiday bag. The rest we had left in the Land Rover for shipping. We were hot and sticky by the time we arrived at our Canadian friends, Lander and Terri, who lived in Hamilton, Ontario. There were hugs all around and we were soon slurping cool drinks.

We had met Lander while he was hitchhiking his way through New Zealand. He was doing his "O.E." (overseas experience/holiday) while Terri, then his girlfriend, was finishing her PhD. A classic car friend of ours had been on a car rally in Christchurch, without a navigator. When he saw Lander standing on the side of the road, taking photos of all the classic cars zooming past, our friend had stopped and asked him if was any good at navigating. He was, and they finished the entire rally together. Later, our friend and Lander cruised up to Auckland together. They stayed with us, and we have kept in touch with Lander ever since.

Lander and Terri provided a 2-day holiday haven. Most of the time was spent talking, eating and drinking. We also caught up on washing, photo processing and emails. As we were in a rental car, we didn’t have to spend our precious leisure time on vehicle maintenance. Hoo-bloody-ray!

© Eventful Woman, 2008
Want to keep up with Eventful Woman? She can notify you as soon as she has updated her blog. This is a FREE service. Please email her on eventfulwoman@clear.net.nz and type "update ASAP" in the subject line

Hogs and Sea-dogs

Land Rover Expedition Time: Early - Mid May 1998

As Cape Cod shrank in our rear vision mirror, I couldn’t help wishing we had longer there. But, we had made it our goal to get up to Maine during this trip and we still had some distance to go.

It was perhaps unwise to have taken on such an ambitious goal, especially as we wanted to also visit our friends in Canada. We had been through considerable stress over the last few months and probably we should have taken it easy and built-in few more two-night stops. But, that’s the trap with travel. Although we hoped to return to this area one day, there is no certainty that time or money would be available in the future to do so. So, we pushed ourselves in the time we had now. And, of course, roaring along in a modern rental car, with no camping to worry about, we were seduced by the freedom.

Being constantly on the road, we had also got out of synch with the week days/weekend regime of working people. It had been easy to find cheap and pleasant accommodation over the past few days, and we had grown complacent. It was a Friday evening. As we headed for Plymouth looking for accommodation, we didn’t know that thousands of Americans would be pouring off planes at that moment in Boston and other major centres nearby, looking forward to some well-earned and pre-booked R & R in the Plymouth/Cape Cod area.

We drove around the main tourist area of Plymouth but there were no motel vacancies. We headed north and still had no luck. Rather than drive further into the unknown, we drove back to Plymouth and found an old motel that had one unit left. It was expensive. And yes, of course, it smelled of stale cigarette smoke. It was 8 pm and, as there were no other vacancies, we had no choice.

It was late, we were tired and hungry and we were stuck with sub-standard accommodation. This had happened all too often in the past and TH and I had quite a scrap. We each blamed the other for the predicament we were in. Eventually it was resolved by having some dinner. My personal motto is: “On a full stomach anything is possible.” I always view the world in a better light if I am not hungry. We agreed over dinner that we had become “mileage junkies” and we had both been responsible for breaking our previous rule of finding accommodation by 5 pm. We also decided on a two-night stop as soon as we reached Maine.

Back at the motel I tried to ring my friend Robyn, who was home in New Zealand. It would have been about 2pm the next day over there and her University graduation ceremony was scheduled for that evening. There was no reply from her 'phone and I realised she must have already left home was probably enjoying a splendid lunch. How I wished I was there, instead of in this grotty motel.

We perked up considerably the next day when we successfully navigated our way through what was listed in our guidebooks as the notoriously difficult streets of Boston. The weather was drizzly, so we decided on a tour of the USS Constitution – the oldest commissioned navy ship still in existence and nicknamed “Old Ironsides” due to its solid construction. In a gob-smacking stroke of luck, the USS Constitution Museum was having a special promotion - the museum, the parking outside and the guided tour of the ship was all free. “Hooray”, we said, “let’s stay all day”. Well, we couldn’t because the parking was only for four hours, but it proved to be just the right amount of time.

A young navy seaman had been press-ganged from his other duties to give a tour of the ship. He was a bit nervous, constantly shifting from one foot to another. Eventually he got into his stride and became more confident.



The USS Constitution was built in the 1790’s and was named after America’s founding document (The U.S. Constitution), which had been adopted in 1787. Built using the resilient timber of 2,000 oak trees, USS Constitution’s planks were up to seven inches (178 mm) thick. As a pig fancier, I was fascinated to hear that the ship's unique diagonal, cross-bracing hull design also prevented “hogging”. Hogging turned out to be a nautical term used to describe the bending upwards of a ship’s hull (or keel) when under stress in big waves. Too much hogging and the hull could snap, sinking the ship. I guess everyone would then have to swim to save their own bacon.

Photo credit: http://www.ussconstitution.navy.mil/index.htm

One of our guide’s fellow seamen had crept up to our tour group when our guide was distracted and suggested we sing “Happy Birthday” to him, adding that it would make him feel better about working on his birthday. The compliant crowd was happy to co-operate and the poor sod looked at first completely amazed, and then sheepish, trying to hide his blushing face.

I asked him later when his real birthday was. He asked how I knew it wasn’t today. Well, the guilty blush was one big clue. However, I told him he had instinctively looked behind him, looking for the birthday person, when we started singing.

While the drizzle had held off during the open deck part of the tour, the rain set in once we had finished. It was too wet for a walking tour of the waterfront area, that we had hoped for, and the forecast was predicting more rain for tomorrow. We decided to get back on the road and aim for Maine. Sometimes you have to accept that you can’t do it all. There’s always the hope that we might get back to this beautiful city one day and, probably, there will still be walking tours on offer then.

We bounded over the State line to New Hampshire, noting the official nickname hewn out in a large slab of stone "The Granite State". We also noticed that many of the number plates (license plates) on vehicles had the State motto: "Live Free or Die".

True to our renewed promise, we started looking for a motel at 5 pm in Hampton. I spotted a nice looking one when I was peering down a side street. We took a few wrong turns to get back there and ended up trundling through what looked like a deserted old car yard.

We took it slow, as there was a lot of glass and old bits of car scattered about. Suddenly the door flew open of an old shack on the grounds. A woman, who was surprisingly well dressed, strode out into the squalor and started hurling abuse at us. We were on HER private property and she thought that we were also driving too fast. She was worried about the safety of her dogs. I noticed some yappy, hairy, four-legged things milling about her feet. We tried to explain that we had simply made a mistake and had taken a wrong turning. She wasn’t having any of that and screamed more abuse. She blocked our path forward and so TH had to do a three-point turn in a really tight area to get out of there, using the same "road" that we had came into the car yard on. The dogs, upset by their owner’s behaviour, yapped frantically and skittishly raced around our wheels. Thankfully, we didn’t squish any.

We laughed with relief when we got out of there. If she’d kept the mutts inside, instead of letting them out when she launched her tirade, they would have been much safer. I suppose she was letting them "live free or die" while also clearly demonstrating what New Hampshire prides itself on - being rock hard and self-sufficient. It was a big change to how we had been treated in the Land Rover everywhere else in USA. But, I guess we were now just common tourists, taking one wrong-turn too many and upsetting the locals.

Fortunately, the motel had vacancies and we settled in. I telephoned Robyn. Her graduation had been fabulous and, yes, she’d been having a long, happy lunch when I had called and left my message the day before.

Relaxing on the bed, I continued reading my Henry Beston book. I thought of him in his Outermost House, which was a scarce 20 feet above the high water mark. I was surprised it had taken as long as 50 years before the sea claimed the house. http://www.henrybeston.org/rebuild.htm

In the middle of my gypsy existence, I envied Henry his year of stasis. Even with the sea growling at his front door, it must have been wonderful to just stay on one place each night.

© Eventful Woman, 2008

Want to keep up with Eventful Woman? She can notify you as soon as she has updated her blog. This is a FREE service. Please email her on eventfulwoman@clear.net.nz and type “update ASAP” in the subject line

The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on

Land Rover Expedition Time: Early May 1998
Photo: Inconspicuous rental car

We were back to being ordinary Mr and Mrs TH. Travelling in a "plain clothes" standard rental car meant we were completely incognito. No one noticed us, we could stop off where we liked without being mobbed by people, and we could "slob about" how we liked. While we always happy to be our sponsors’ ambassadors while in the Land Rover, it was terrific having the pressure off us.

This was going to be a real holiday. How wonderful it was to sleep in and have the day open up without responsibilities or commitments, combined with a fast car to chew up the miles.

We drove on through Connecticut and stopped in Bridgeport at the Barnum Museum. http://www.barnum-museum.org/core.htm
The museum, which is a very attractive and unusual looking building, features the enormous collection of Phineas Taylor (PT) Barnum. The museum is also committed to the preservation and interpretation of Bridgeport's industrial and social history.


Photo Credit: Barnum Museum

PT Barnum didn’t actually say, "There’s a sucker born every minute". He did admit that his hoaxes or "humbugs" were "advertisements to draw attention...to the Museum. I don't believe in duping the public, but I believe in first attracting and then pleasing them."

Looking at the exhibits and reading his philosophies I can believe it. He believed that every sales transaction should be a win/win for both customer and salesperson. He is often misquoted or misunderstood by erroneous assumptions that he traded in hokum at any price. He always maintained that you could only get away with deceit if the public accepted it was false and they had the opportunity to be entertained or educated in the process. I don’t think I could 100% subscribe to that sort of blarney in a sales career, but I understood what he was saying, especially when applied to his entertainment businesses. Every salesperson and entertainer should visit this place or at least read his autobiography. ("The Life of P. T. Barnum" written by himself, or his book "The Art of Money Getting" by P.T Barnum)

Barnum didn’t get into circus life until he was in his 60’s. He launched the fabulously titled: "P. T. Barnum's Grand Travelling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan & Hippodrome" in the 1870’s. He was a consumate self-promoter, marketer and showman. I wondered if I should re-title our expedition and launch it immediately for some lucrative American funding.

Later again, Barnum successfully arranged and promoted the American tour of Jenny Lind, a Swedish opera soprano, proving again that he was a marketing "supremo".

Much as I had to learn from PT Barnum, there was another institution I wanted to visit while in Connecticut. As a recent Masters graduate from university, I wanted to tour one of the great American East Coast university campuses and Yale was nearby. http://www.yale.edu/about/index.html

We called in at the Yale University visitor centre on arrival at New Haven and booked ourselves onto their walking tour in the morning. We found a lovely motel nearby and I lay on the bed in the late afternoon sunshine, reading a magazine. I couldn’t remember the last time I had done this - never in the last two months. Maybe not even in the last few months I had spent at home preparing for the expedition. I stretched out like a happy baby, gurgling in the sunshine.

The pleasure continued into the night when thunder awoke me. I remember thinking, "who cares, we don’t have to pack up a wet tent in the morning" and then rolling over back to sleep with a huge contented sigh.

The American equivalent of a continental breakfast at this motel was coffee and doughnuts. While this was provided free at the motel office and I enjoyed the rare chance to have a hot drink in the morning, I missed my cups of tea. So few motels in USA had tea or even coffee making facilities that I wished we had brought along our tiny, one ring burner, so we could regularly indulge in "brew ups". A few days later, I got into the ghastly habit of drinking cola in the mornings. I was bored with water and the cola ensured I took on enough liquid.

Yale was a very attractive looking university. It was built from mainly honey coloured stone, in a neo-gothic style. Some of the older buildings were constructed in the early 1700’s in more traditional red brick.

Photo Credit: Yale University

When the neo-gothic buildings were erected in the 1920’s the architect, in some sort of bizarre cultural cringe, had acid poured down the walls to artificially age them. The masonry was deliberately chipped and cracks were purposely made in the lead lights and then "fixed". All this was to emulate the truly aged buildings, such as those in Oxford or Cambridge in England. It resulted in rapid deterioration of the buildings, which had then cost millions of dollars in repairs in the 1960’s. Speaking of things that are expensive, I fell into chat with the student guide on his fees to study at Yale. He told me that he paid $US30, 000 per year for a three year bachelor degree. When I told him how much cheaper the same degree cost in New Zealand he was incredulous and very envious.

At Yale’s war memorial, I could see a similarity between its design and that of the Vietnam Memorial Monument in Washington DC. Refer to earlier blog entry:

http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-am-not-much-into-boats-but-most-girls.html

In fact, it had been a Yale student who had won the design competition for the Vietnam Memorial. She had initially drawn up her designs for a university assignment, but had only received a B grading from her professor. Undaunted, she had entered it into the national competition for the memorial at Washington DC. This sort of thing is always subjective.

We left Yale and hit the road for Cape Cod. I saw one amusing sign, which was for recycled children’s clothes on our way – "re-run for wee ones". We whizzed through one of America’s smallest States, Rhode Island, and then drove across two amazing, soaring bridges into Massachusetts. The second one was three miles long and we disappeared into sea fog part way along it.



Cape Cod is an up-turned comma of land that juts, like an arm flexing its muscles, out into the Atlantic. On the sheltered Cape Cod Bay side is quiet tidal waters. On the other side of the "arm", is the wild Atlantic surf. The mighty surf erodes this side of the Cape by 3ft a year. The sand is deposited back onto the sheltered side.

I love the sea and, at the first tang of salt spray, I suddenly realised how much I had missed it.

I took off my shoes and socks, and shocked all but the wet-suited surfers by paddling in the icy waters. The surf reminded me of Oakura Beach, where my family used to camp every year, not far from my childhood home in New Plymouth.
How I wished I could have got my hands on a surfboard and given those breakers at Cape Cod a really good run.

At Coast Guard Beach near Eastham I was again staring longingly at the waves. If I turned, I could look back over to the quieter estuary. Strong feelings washed over me along with the urge to remain here and to write. Had I forgotten New Mexico already? (Refer earlier blog entry):

http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2006/10/new-mexico-land-of-enchantment.html

At the Visitor Centre I learned about the writer Henry Beston, who wrote the now legendary "The Outermost House." At almost the exact spot where I had been standing at Coast Guard Beach, overwhelmed with the compulsion to write, Henry had spent a whole year doing just that. Between 1926 – 1927 he lived and wrote in a little cottage, which he called "the Fo'castle", and which was perched in the dunes and not far from the high tide mark.

When he arrived at this beach, Henry's intention had been to take a two-week break to write about nature and the sea. The call of the surf lured him to stay on longer. That was something I could really relate to. I thought desperately about staying on here for a year, instead of driving around the world in a Land Rover. It was not the first time I entertained these thoughts, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Beston talks about why he stayed on longer at the beach, in his book: "The world today is sick to its thin blood for lack of elemental things, for fire before the hands, for water welling up from the earth, for air, for the dear earth itself underfoot… The longer I stayed, the more eager was I to know this coast and to share its mysterious and elemental life."

I read this passage with great excitement, the book clutched in my hands, and with an intense desire to see Henry’s little writing house. Sadly, it had been claimed by the huge high tide during a furious storm in February 1978. I was twenty years too late. I bought the next best thing - a copy of the book, with a photo of "the Fo'castle" on the cover. I had a job to complete – the expedition. But, I promised myself that I would keeping writing and I would also return to this spot one day.

Since my visit to Cape Cod, two organisations have been formed.
The Henry Beston Society, established in 2002, which celebrates Henry’s nature writing and his life at Coast Guard Beach. They have plans to re-build a replica of The Outermost House.
http://www.henrybeston.org/rebuild.htm

photo credit: The Henry Beston Society, Inc.
email: henrybestonsociety@yahoo.com

The Friends of Henry Beston, established in 2004, also focus on his writings and philosophy, but particularly on his life after Coast Guard Beach, when he lived and wrote at Chimney Farm in Nobleboro, Maine.
http://www.henrybeston.com/about.html

By now, a sea mist had rolled in, but we continued further along the coast. The old Cape Cod Lighthouse had been saved from the clutches of the sea. It had recently been moved from the eroding shoreline at a cost of millions.

Lighthouses are no longer considered necessary in these modern times of radar and sonar equipped vessels. Left alone, it would have since fallen into the ocean. The local historical society campaigned for five years to save it. They raised over $US130,000 themselves and had convinced businesses, local and federal Government to provide the rest of the funding. The Lighthouse is an iconic landmark for Cape Cod. Let’s hope the Henry Beston Society can achieve the same thing.

The Lighthouse’s Visitor Centre sells a number of items to fund their on-going operational costs. I bought some of their dried cranberries to eat while watching the video of the Lighthouse’s story. Cranberries grow best in salt wind. The ones I was eating, which were delicious, had been harvested in nearby Plymouth.

For a thin curl of land, Cape Cod had a lot to see.

Marconi’s first transmission crackled across the airwaves from here and, of course, this is where the American pilgrims on the "Mayflower" actually made their first landing. While Plymouth makes the biggest claim on the official landing site, and it is agreed that the Mayflower was indeed headed there, a storm drove the ship into Provincetown Harbour. Using the Cape Cod "strong arm" simile, this harbour lies in what would be the curve of the palm and fingers.

It was getting late and we also headed towards Plymouth for the night. This town was named after the English one, just like my old home-town of New Plymouth. Plymouth (England) was where some of my forebears originated from in the 1840’s. Maybe I shared some ancestry with the citizens of Plymouth, MA? I wondered if there was a way of finding that out. I looked forward to doing an investigation and also to an early night, curled up with "The Outermost House".

On our way to Plymouth, we drove past a traffic warning sign we had never seen before: "Yield to Rotary Traffic". We wondered what on earth we were going to come across – a platoon of lawn mowers, maybe a fleet of Mazda rotary cars, or even the local chapter of the Rotary service organisation on a mission? But, it was a simple "Give Way" on a roundabout. These round traffic islands are common in New Zealand, but not so in USA. This was the first one we had encountered on the entire trip and we drove around it several times, just for fun.

© Eventful Woman, 2007
Want to keep up with Eventful Woman? She can notify you as soon as she has updated her blog. This is a FREE service. Please email her on eventfulwoman@clear.net.nz and type "update ASAP" in the subject line

The End of the Beginning

Land Rover Expedition Time: Early May 1998
Photo: Our entire expedition possessions

Sorting out belongings – what to take and what leave – was a job I hated, due to the warring factions within me. From my father I had inherited spirited "don’t worry/everything will be alright on the day" qualities, whereas from my mother I had been blessed with the opposite: "best to be safe than sorry/always be prepared". All morning conflicting messages blasted from one side of my brain to the other as I shuffled my possessions between two piles.

It was the morning after our function at the New Zealand Embassy and our last full day with J and N. We were preparing the Land Rover and us for transport to England, in a few days time.

The plan was to get the vehicles to our shipping agent, Kuehne & Nagel, in New Jersey. http://www.kn-portal.com/ Then, TH and I were going to hire a car for ten days touring the New England States, and calling on friends in Canada. F1 and F2 had decided to fly on ahead to UK.

J and N were hosting a farewell party, where their neighbours and many of the people we had met over the last week could gather to wish us "Bon Voyage". They had generously invited F1 and F2, as well. But, having isolated themselves in a remote campsite in Maryland, and not being part of the previous week’s happenings, F1 and F2 decided it wasn’t worth the hour’s drive to get to where we were. They suggested they go on ahead and met us at Kuehne & Nagel on the agreed shipping date. After the embarrassment F2 caused the night before at the Embassy, I was relieved I didn’t have to see them.

Eventually, my two piles were settled. These were just personal items. One lot would be stowed inside the Land Rover, and the other was for our 10-day holiday. TH had sorted his hours earlier and had spent the rest of the time checking over the Land Rover, his camera gear, my lap top and all the required cables, plus some eating/cooking equipment.

Chores done, it was time for a relaxed and happy party with our friends and supporters. J and N were fantastic hosts and had not only organised the invitations, but contributed all the food and drink for the party.

It was time to move on again the next morning, after Jim’s visit to give us the commemorative Vietnam memorial gifts.
http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-am-not-much-into-boats-but-most-girls.html
I gave N a big hug, snivelled (just a little) on J’s shoulder and we hit the road. We had two days and one night to travel a fairly short distance to New Jersey.

It should have been a breeze. We had a clear run through Baltimore and Philadelphia and started looking for a motel once we were on the eastern (New Jersey) side of Philadelphia, around 5:30 pm. I don’t know where we went wrong, but we couldn’t find anything other than overpriced Sheraton or Hyatt Hotels.

We stopped in desperation at a petrol station to ask about the proximity of motels. They directed us to the town of New Brunswick on Highway One. We searched desperately, ending up in Edison. All we could find there were scruffy, noisy places, within exhaust belching range of the Highway. It was now nine pm. We settled on the best looking of the bunch. The exhaust fumes mingled with the stale cigarette smell of the room. We were hungry and tired. We had packed some cereal for our last breakfast and we ate half of that, washed down with orange juice, saving the other half for the morning. All night the trucks roared past, shaking the building.

The only good thing was that we had made more progress towards the shipping yard, so it would be a shorter run on the morrow. Cold comfort, when a better night’s sleep and a good dinner, even with a longer run the next day, would have been preferred.

There was no chance of a sleep-in with the increasing racket of the traffic. We both had headaches from lack of sleep, and my legs throbbed from my restlessness during the night. We gagged down the rest of the cereal with the juice.

It was an easy drive to the New Jersey ports area of Bayonne. This was a real, run-down area, but probably not a lot different to working port areas in most countries. The directions that Kuehne and Nagel had given us were very clear to follow and soon we pulled into their yard. F1 and F2 were already there, sorting their gear out.

In New Zealand we had been allowed to drive the Land Rovers into their containers and fasten them down. Here the vessel would be roll-on and roll-off and it was not yet in port. Kuehne & Nagel would be looking after our "babies" in their locked yard until then. We checked and re-checked our gear and filled out numerous shipping forms. The K & N team helped us find a reasonably priced hotel in Jersey City and ordered a taxi for us to get there.

It was now the 4th May 1998, almost exactly two months since our departure from New Zealand on 3rd of February.
http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2005/07/about-to-be-swamped-by-big-wave.html
So much had happened since then and I felt like I had done a full expedition already. Our Land Rover had been our mobile home for that time. I felt a real sense of loss and dislocation as we left it behind in the shipping yard. It had been such a part of me. It was my rock and security blanket. I turned round in the back seat of the taxi for a final longing look, until we were out of sight. I wondered if I would ever see it again.
Photo: Last view of the Land Rovers

Each team of two (F1 & F2 and ourselves) were uncomfortable with the other and we said little on the way to the hotel. The bedraggled port area fell behind us. Jersey City approached, but didn’t look much better. I laughed when I saw the slogan for New Jersey – "The Garden State". I couldn’t see any gardens, anywhere. Maybe it was a garden for something else – depression? Ugliness? Graffiti?
http://www.netstate.com/states/intro/nj_intro.htm

The hotel was a high rise "blah" of a building, near the Jersey Tunnel. At least with double-glazing it was relatively quiet. We made our arrangements for the next day. We all agreed to do a tourist bus tour of Manhattan in the morning. Then, F1 and F2 would fly out to England from John F Kennedy airport. TH and I arranged for a rental car for our holiday, which we’d collect the next day from nearby Newark airport. We crashed out for an early night.

Despite the early start, the bus tour of $US38 was well worth it. I would have paid most of that to listen to the sassy New York tour guide. Once we’d collected a number tourists from various Jersey City hotels, we took the tunnel over to New York State. The tour guide hopped aboard in Manhattan. He glanced around the bus and sneered, "Good Morning to you all from The Garden State. Have you seen any gardens over there yet?"

I don’t know how to describe someone who can be so delightfully sneering, but he kept up this New York brand of banter throughout the tour. He obviously loved his city and couldn’t help showing it, despite his sophistication. He punctuated his patter with all sorts of titbits and gossip about his town. I just loved this guy.

It was a drizzly, wet and cool morning. But, we packed a lot in. We learned about the early history, and then its first billionaires – the Rockefellers, the Roosevelts, the Vanderbilts, how the metro got built, and the first apartments.

We saw the spot John Lennon was killed outside of The Dakota apartments and we had a short walk in Central Park. The guide was proud of this area too and told us that, even with a name like Central Park it wasn’t just anywhere. It was uniquely associated with New York. He asked the group of twenty, and all Americans apart from us, if we could name a park anywhere else in the world that was as well known. I suggested Hyde Park. He sneered that he supposed I’d said that because I was British. I happily sneered back that I wasn’t. He snorted that he wasn’t so sure about that as I sounded English. Yeah, what did he know! However, he was already onto his next snippet of information. Despite the perceived reputation for crime, in fact Central Park has only 11 felony crimes for the 11 million visitors to the park each year.

An absolute highlight was the visit up the Empire State Building. This building is, to me, quintessential New York. http://www.nyctourist.com/empire1.htm
The lift went up and up for ages. On the observation deck, I looked down into the tunnels of streets. While the day was wet the view was still amazing.

There were lots and lots of yellow taxis. Apparently, only 1 in 5 people have their own personal cars and there are over 17,000 Yellow Cabs in New York City. A taxi licence, at that time, cost $US250, 000. Most drivers rented a cab for $US80.00 per day.

Back at ground level we drove on through Greenwich Village. Our tour guide pointed out a sign, which advertised ear piercing with or without pain. "With pain" was dearer.

We were allowed a quick wander into the famed St Patrick’s Cathedral and around the Rockefeller Centre area of tall art deco buildings. We had another chance to prove to our Tour Guide that we truly weren’t from Britain when he pointed out that this area had the largest collection of Art Deco buildings in the world. TH informed him that it might be the collection of LARGEST (tall) art deco buildings, but Napier in New Zealand, had the largest COLLECTION of art deco buildings.
The tour guide looked very doubtful at this.

Photo: The National Tobacco Company Building, by architect J.A. Louis Hay, completed 1933. Napier, New Zealand

The bus dropped us back at our Jersey City hotel in the early afternoon. F1 and F2 left for JFK Airport, and we took another taxi in the opposite direction to Newark airport and the car rental centre.

It took ages to complete the paperwork - longer than it took to fill out all the forms at Kuehne & Nagel to ship the Land Rovers. It was 4 o’clock when we pointed the hired Chevrolet’s nose north on the freeway out of town. We were very tired after two busy days and early starts. So, we agreed we’d drive for an hour just to get out into the countryside. For once our plan worked.

By five pm we’d found a lovely motel at Nyack, not far from the Hudson River. We’d had a proper feed at the nearby Chinese restaurant and were back in our nice, quiet room by seven.

Over dinner I finally relaxed. The first leg of the expedition had been nothing like I had expected, mainly due to the crap team dynamics. However, we had successfully planned an expedition, got it underway, driven across America in what the locals considered "antique jeeps", had been warmly greeted and helped by wonderful people, seen fabulous scenery and we hadn’t killed each other. That was definitely worth celebrating. What’s more, I was now in a warm, comfy bed and I wouldn’t have to pack up a wet tent for at least another ten nights. Now that was certainly celebration territory, too!

© Eventful Woman, 2007Want to keep up with Eventful Woman? She can notify you as soon as she has updated her blog. This is a FREE service. Please email her on eventfulwoman@clear.net.nz and type "update ASAP" in the subject line

Speaking for your Country

Land Rover Expedition Time: 1st May 1998

I had a restless sleep. I was mulling over what I could say to F1 and F2. My instincts were to just tell them to p#$! off back home and that TH and I were better off without them. But, we needed that damn Series One Land Rover. I cursed the day that F1 had met F2. The expedition was blighted from that moment. Without her, it would have been just the three of us. We would have stayed together, rather than being in this sticky alternative position now. In hindsight, we should have just made the decision back in Tuba City to have just gone on without them.
http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2006/08/big-is-beautiful.html
Or, for the sake of nicety, we could have stayed together until we got to England and then permanently separated after the 50th Anniversary functions over there.

As TH and I would end up with all the work obtaining the visas and medical supplies in England, while managing the sponsorship relationships and doing the entire route planning, it would have been so easy to have left F1 and F2 to sort out their own arrangements. It was likely that they'd never manage this on their own, and we would sail across 'The Channel' unencumbered. But, we felt we had to have a Series One Land Rover. The whole marketing and sponsorship of the expedition was based on this one vital component.

Around three in the morning I resolved that we’d have to somehow make a go of it together, all four of us. That said, I wasn’t going to let them off too easily. They would have to comply with all sponsorship arrangements in future and call in regularly, if we ever separated.

By the time F1 phoned in the morning, I was calm but very firm – their lack of communication and consideration had disappointed more than just TH and I and had compromised the credibility of the expedition. They were to meet us early at the New Zealand Embassy for our special function and they were to wear their Land Rover sponsored clothing, which needed to be clean. I conceded on the photo shoot. F1 wasn’t to know that the Embassy staff had already been in touch with me. It was pouring with rain, and unlikely to stop. The outdoors area we had planned to have the photo, near the Embassy, was now out of the question. The Ambassador had wondered if we could postpone the shoot. Of course, I had agreed.

TH had already left to spend the day in Washington DC to have another look at the Smithsonian Museums. We’d agreed that we would meet at the Embassy ahead of time. I would wash the promotional clothes we had worn at Land Rover North America last night and bring them, cleaned and pressed, for him to change into. He went off happy that he wouldn’t have me in tow, and he could linger as long as he wanted over old planes, engines and machinery.

I was so tired and needed to catch up on some sleep. I also wanted to review the speech that I was to give that night. The Ambassador had asked me to speak for at least fifteen minutes on the expedition, our preparation, and what we hoped to achieve by the end of it. With the important trade guests invited by the Embassy, all my business experience and instincts confirmed that my presentation needed to be about the New Zealand "brand". That is, the "can do", innovative Kiwi attitude that can effortlessly deliver on whatever has been promised, while being sophisticated, yet comfortable in any culture. I needed exactly the right pitch and not come across as an obvious advertisement. To sound natural and "unscripted" takes a lot of effort and preparation. The pressure weighed heavy on me.

J and N drove me into the New Zealand Embassy, which is located on Observatory Circle (shown by the red pin).


I was keyed up like an over-wound spring. My speech was prepared, but I was apprehensive about meeting up with F1 and F2 again. Things had been pretty tense on the phone earlier in the day. I had this nagging feeling that they would somehow let the expedition, or me down.

TH had already charmed them at the Embassy, despite arriving dripping wet from his walk in the heavy rain from the train station. They had given him some of the promotional clothing from the Baltimore Trade Stand to wear, so he could get out of his wet clothes. He had that slightly hangdog expression when I walked in - the one that makes people love him and want to help. Fortunately, I had brought a complete change of clothes, a towel and a comb. He was soon looking his handsome self once more.

F1 and F2 arrived at the agreed hour. Instead of wearing her promotional Land Rover green outfit, F2 was in a purple dress. She looked tidy, but that was not the point. As soon as we were alone I hissed the question at her. Her answer was that she had thought she looked more presentable like this. Not a bad answer I suppose for someone with a complete lack of business or promotional sense. But, what annoyed me even more, F1 had not thought to question her or remind her of the direct request I had made over the telephone that morning. I sighed, maybe he just hadn’t noticed. That was his usual response to most things.

The evening had to go on, of course. And, I had to concentrate on being at my best and not waste energy on angry thoughts. Guests were arriving and TH and I had a lot of talking to do. We soon lost F1 and F2 in the crowd. In her purple dress, hopefully people wouldn’t realise F2 was part of our team.

It was such a great experience meeting up with so many Kiwis and a number of American business people. They were all charming and interested in our expedition. It was a very relaxed and easy function. Speech time soon rolled around.

The Chef de Mission (deputy ambassador) was the MC. His role was to welcome everyone, invite the Ambassador to say a few words, and then to formally introduce me. I stood at the front and concentrated on looking calm and professional. Inside, the butterflies were fluttering overtime. TH stood to one side. I made a quick eye contact with him. I love that look in his warm brown eyes that is just for me and helps me believe I can do anything.

The Chef de Mission was about to speak and I turned back to face the crowd. J and N gave me positive smiles, and the room quietened to an expectant hush. He started to say that the Embassy had some special New Zealanders tonight and, as such, he wasn’t going to speak for too long. In a brief pause, while he took his next breath, F2 suddenly called out a loud response, "Thank bloody goodness."

She had completely misjudged the deceptively relaxed nature of the occasion. I think the Ambassador and the Chef de Mission were far too professional to let too much show on their faces. But, in that tiny pause, I felt the shock wave between them and a flood of amazement around the rest of the room. Then, the Chef de Mission continued with his introduction of the Ambassador. I kept my eyes on him and I didn’t dare look at anyone else, in case I totally crumpled with embarrassment.

In his speech, the Ambassador said some wonderful things about adventurous and innovative New Zealanders. He frequently looked at TH and I, but never at F1 or F2. There was something in his eyes, when he turned to me, that told me he didn’t blame me for F2’s ghastly gaffe. It boosted my confidence once more.

I gave my best during my speech and the adrenaline took over. I hardly needed to look at my notes. I kept my gaze sweeping around different people in the room to include everyone. Well, everyone but two people, who were best forgotten.
I finished with a presentation of a gold enamelled Land Rover for the Ambassador, the extra one that "wonder woman" Meg from Land Rover Knoxville had given us, expressly for this moment.
http://eventfulwoman.blogspot.com/2007_02_01_archive.html
The Ambassador and I shook hands, and posed for TH’s ready camera. The Chef de Mission invited everyone to stay on for refreshments and to talk with us.

Everyone came rushing up to TH and I. There were so many questions. It was almost overwhelming, but very exciting. Through the swirling crowd I saw F1 and F2 sitting alone. And then I saw dear, sweet N going over to talk to them, and to sit with them. He told me later that he did that to avoid further embarrassment for TH and I, rather than because he felt sorry for F1 and F2 being on their own.

The Chef de Mission approached me as the evening was coming to a close and the crowd had thinned. He asked me if I’d ever thought about making a career move into Embassy work. I knew then that the event hadn’t been stuffed up for them.

I thanked him for the offer and said that I had a job to do first – driving around the world. He said he expected me to complete my current mission, and gave me his card. He asked that, when I was getting close to arriving back home again, if I would give him a call. I promised I would. This conversation really made my night and confirmed again that the whole function had been a success.


© Eventful Woman, 2007
Want to keep up with Eventful Woman? She can notify you as soon as she has updated her blog. This is a FREE service. Please email her on eventfulwoman@clear.net.nz and type "update me on Eventful Woman ASAP" in the subject line