We're holed up in simple cabin in a deep, green valley, watching the rain fall steadily outside, eating smoked salmon on wheat crackers and sipping boxed Australian wine. Well, I'm sipping boxed Australian wine, Allan is sipping an orange juice concoction in an insulated mug. In an effort to escape camping in what the radar images depict as a very wet storm for the next few days, we've ended up in a cabin at one of the many thermal hot springs resorts a few hours south of Auckland. We're not quite in Rotorua, the famed thermal hot springs area of New Zealand, but by choice are father west. It looked to us as if this area was going to miss the storms, so we thought we'd outsmart Mother Nature, but we were wrong.

The Waingaro Hot Springs is a casual place, loaded with families and locals who come on day passes to partake of the huge mineral pools, the giant slide, and the bumper boats. The compound is layered up a series of tiers, with little cabins and camping spots for tents and camper vans, and something they call a "flat" which costs more than a cabin but none were available so we can't tell you anything about them. But we can tell you about our cabin: it's not made of logs, and it doesn't have a fireplace, and it doesn't have a bear rug in front of the fireplace it doesn't have. It does have a linoleum floor, 2 metal bunk beds, a table and 4 chairs, some plywood shelves, and a little kitchen with a metal counter top and everything you could need. The bathrooms and showers are a short walk away across a small green-carpeted bridge. There's a TV room over there with some really ugly chairs, a VCR, an old TV, and a sign that says "No eating & drinking." I suppose that means you can eat OR drink, but definitely not both.

The drive down was as lovely as every drive in New Zealand has been so far. We saw lots and lots of cows, and lots of sheep, although as yet none have crossed the road in a big, fluffy flood as so many tourist photos depict. We drove through lush, green hills, and saw gobs of quaint farmhouses and old rotting barns that are so picturesque it would be impossible to get anywhere if I stopped to take a picture of each one, which I ache to do. And anyway, most of the time there's nowhere to pull over on the narrow roads, so I aim through the window and do drive-by shootings and hope they come out. We saw cute towns and the requisite number of McDonald's -- our own pan-galactic exploit that exists in every corner of the universe. BTW, we enjoyed a nice Quarter Pounder and hamburger with extra pickles today, and I'm not ashamed to say, it's one of my favorite meals when thinking about food is just too much for my over-sensory-stimulated brain. Which is what New Zealand does to a person -- that over-stimulation sensory thing. You sometimes have to sink to the mundane to achieve balance.

We arrived in the late afternoon, not the least bit exhausted or deserving of a long, hot soak in a huge mineral pool, but we did it anyhow, and swam, and played in the slightly cooler lap pool, and then went to take hot showers. But the hot showers were actually ice-cold, so I, in my Women's Showers side of the building, thinking that rinsing the sulfur smell out of my hair and off the rest of me would be a thoughtful thing to do for the man who has to share a cabin with me tonight, stuck my head under the icy cold water and rinsed my hair. Then, after several deep breaths, summoning a bit of courage, I stepped under the rushing flow, dodging ice cubes, and rinsed off. Strolling proudly out of the showers I headed toward where we'd left our towels, feeling more chilled by the minute as I walked through the rain, and lo, I spotted my husband, smiling and waving at me from the hot pool. "I couldn't do it" he admitted gleefully, so I jumped back in and got all warm and sulfury again. We walked through the rain to our little cabin, clutching our damp towels under our tiny umbrella, and here we are, with the giant family of 37 next door, thumping and banging on the floors, running back and forth on the wooden deck in front of our cabins, and throwing objects at the walls and ceilings. It's so romantic, just like a second honeymoon.

The few days prior to all this were equally fantastic. We had two nights of camping at Muriwai Beach, although I'm sorry to say the winds changed and we couldn't go Blocarting on the black sand beach the next day as we'd hoped, so we consoled ourselves with more time watching the gannets. We took a drive to the nearby grocery and bought some broccoli and two little Porterhouse steaks, and took them to the communal kitchen at the campground where one guy was preparing a huge and luscious vegetarian meal and a woman was patiently stirring noodles and sauce for macaroni and cheese. We grilled the steaks sprinkled with Lawry's Seasoning Salt, served with piles of the steamed broccoli. We ate seated at the picnic bench outside the kitchen gazing across the beautiful lawn into the trees beyond, listening to the cicadas, and I can tell you, it was the absolute best steak I've had in over 2 years. Melt-in-your-mouth perfect and tender -- a New Zealand cow gave it's best for our meal that night, and the vegetarians-who-eat-meat, as we like to call ourselves, were grateful.

During the night the rain started falling, and we wondered just how waterproof Michael and Gloria's tent really was, but it proved itself just fine, and endured the gusty winds that roared through the trees as well. We packed up the next morning after cooking eggs and toast in the communal kitchen, sharing our spatula with a large group of Samoan school teachers (or a group of large Samoan schoolteachers) who were on a getaway weekend in their huge tent with loads of beanbag chairs.

We drove northeast to Whangarai, where we decided on a rain-proof private room with ensuite bath in a backpacker's hotel so we could visit with our friends Rod and Elisabeth on s/v Proximity. The backpacker's was located in a gorgeous old hotel called The Grand, with a sweeping staircase, swirling mahogany bannisters, ancient chandeliers, and (not-real, I'm sure) gold trim everywhere. The carpets were threadbare and the place was all-but vacated, I think we were the only guests, but it held a ghostly elegance,with hints of a glorious past. Our room was way down at the end of the hall on the second floor, and because 2 months in New Zealand with still-no-income is a bit challenging, we've decided to meter our splurges. So we chose the no-frills, bring your own sleeping bags and towels option, directly over the dive bar. We had a great visit over pizza with our old slip-mates on Proximity, and returned to our choice digs around 10pm. The Saturday night 70's and 80's band was just under our window, and thank goodness, they were really good. The bass player was excellent, and if you have to listen to a band under your window, that's about the most important thing. I fell asleep to the thrum, recognizing every song by the bass line alone, appreciating that musician's capable talent. Allan stayed up until the band quit at 1am. All I remember is drifting off to the last song they played: I can't remember what it was, but it was lilting and melodic, and they did a beautiful job.

Then this morning before we left Whangerai we spontaneously decided to hunt down our friends Ingi and Bert on s/v Boree, who we heard were at the Riverside Marina nearby. We found them in the throes of working on their cockpit canvas after it had been damaged in high seas enroute from Tonga, and were enthusiastically welcomed aboard for cookies and coffee. It was great to see them again, and we had lots to catch up on, but in an uncharacteristic move we'd made non-refundable reservations for our little cabin in Waingaro, a five-hour drive, so all too soon we took our leave and headed south in the rain.

And so here we are, living like college students. Our little dorm cabin is decorated using the explosion method, wherein everything from the car explodes into the room in a flash of utter chaos, and we don't really care. We'll hang out another day, get some writing and reading done, swim in the rain, and conjur up another odd meal for dinner from the disparate ingredients we have left in our larder. What's next, we have no clue. We are truly footloose and fancy free, and I have to say, as hyper-conscientious over-achievers, neither of us has ever had this kind of experience before. No boat, no schedule, no worries. We're having a blast.

PS: We drove into the nearest town, Ngaruawahia, for a quick grab on some groceries and to post this blurb, and it looks like some serious flooding has occurred overnight. We were unable to pass on the road we came in on yesterday, and there were some flooded areas on the road to this town. So we're in a rush to get back to our stuff, maybe even abandon camp before we get trapped. (Maybe I'll have to retract that "no worries" bit.) Seems the pool flooded massively last night, a giant mud puddle, and most of the guests have left.