It's true.

Fortunately, I'm not actually traveling so much as nesting in the corners of living rooms. Because, let me tell you, when I actually TRAVEL, it is neither graceful nor painless. Somehow, in my frenzied packing state, my neurotic Girl Scout "take-everything-you-might-possibly-need-in-case-New-Zealand- turns-out-to-be-a-third-world-country" side won out over my practical "New-Zealand-is-not-a-third-world-country,-duh" side and therefore, I have with me a 4 months' supply of shampoo and conditioner and pathetically sore muscles and ragged breath after a good 2 blocks of walking with my stuff.

Luckily, Jessamyn is similarly outfitted and so we find ourselves the unwitting entertainment for many a local every time we go out in full regalia. I mostly walk around wheezing like I've got a solid case of emphysema, while Jessamyn's towering, top-heavy number is not only a trial to get on (as it has a tendency of causing her to topple over), but also frequently smacks into innocent bystanders. One time, a bus driver felt so sorry for us, he drove us a couple blocks beyond his normal route so that we wouldn't have to walk up a hill. Which was only a block long. Clearly it only took our stumbling, careening entry onto the bus for him to see that we would require a bit more assistance than the average bus rider.

What are we GOOD at, you ask? Finding free room and board, of course. We started out our journey staying with Halley, Casey and their housemates in Auckland, spending time exploring all of the gorgeous beaches in the area (Piha, Kerekere, St. Heliers, etc.), doing the self-guided scenic walking tour of Auckland (Sky Tower, Casey's work, funny little graveyard under a bridge, place with supposedly only okay but not great take-away, and so on). Attended a Green Party Party, where we learned all about NZ's government and chess clubs from the international collective, started to amass a fairly magnificent shell collection, ate good food, slept in a living room, etc. But the journey had to continue.

Which leads us to our current location, on the Whangaparaoa Peninsula, about 40 km north of Auckland, living in the aforementioned living room corner on mats. Things of note about our nook. 1.) Slightly shielding us from the rest of the living/dining area is a couch whose upholstery appears to be modeled after what I can only imagine to be black and pink granite. It is velor and missing all of its cushions. 2.) We are outnumbered three to one by daddy long legs, baby long legs, grandma long legs, etc. 3.) The wall near our feet is glass and, as we are right on the water, we wake up every morning to one of the most turquoise bits of ocean I've ever seen. Set on the hill, the house is three stories tall, but two elderly ladies live in the bottom level. One time they played loud techno at about midnight so I think they might be European. One of them recently had surgery and the other does volunteer police work. That's all I know about them.

New to this whole wwoofing business, our arrival to our new hosts' place was technically seamless, but mentally unnerving. As we had had only ever emailed or texted them, we got to creating elaborate character profiles from the insubstantial amount of info that we did have, after which we decided that we were surely being duped into delivering ourselves into some sort of white slave trade.

The facts were this. Swiss couple, Edith and Pascal, 30's, looking for 2-3 assistants for their chocolate and biscuit factory. All of our contact had been with Edith up until this point and at the last minute we hear that she will be "out of town for the night" and that Pascal would be picking us up. After scrutinizing each of their respective uses of text emoticons, Jessamyn and I came to a sobering conclusion. There was no Edith and we were going to die.

We had been tempted by the promise of working with chocolate and here we were, three buses out of Auckland, waiting outside a bank for our new master to take us to the sweat shop/brothel of our nightmares. Two little lambs (a Kiwi analogy) walking themselves up to the gates of the slaughterhouse. As we waited there, getting more and more nervous, I made one stipulation. If "Pascal" came to pick us up in a white van with no windows in the back, we were refusing the ride and hightailin' it straight back to Auckland. We breathed a sigh of relief when we were beckoned into a car that was more of a green station wagon and started the introduction process. Starting to feel more and more comfortable with the idea that this wasn't just one freaky con, we let down our guards. Until we pulled into their driveway. Their other car? White molester van. Seriously.

But more about our transportation, hosts, and adventures to come. Upcoming themes include: glowworms, Dr. Evil vs. The Count, kitten homicide, and, of course, chocolate.