When Murphy met Lusi Part 2: When life gives you lemons, make L&P

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So yesterday I gave you the backstory leading up to my epic adventure that was New Zealand *

I have two disclaimers.
First, New Zealand is amazing. Nothing more I can say because the country is too beautiful for words, the people are nice and considerate and full of common sense (Which was soooo refreshing), and the food was fantastic! I absolutely love New Zealand! The problem was that New Zealand did not love me.

Second, these posts are not for the squeamish. In our Bible Study, Sir Smiley made a rule that we could not talk about bodily secretion. Mainly because there were a bunch of mothers in our group which ultimately led to conversations of poop, breast feeding, and periods. I break this rule here…frequently.

And so this epic saga begins. I will be going through my vacation a few days at a time… twice. First, I will be focusing on the insane and horrifying things that tainted so many parts of our vacation…and then later I will be elaborating on the amazing and awe inspiring moments of our journey. This trip needed a good dose of Prozac because the high points were euphoric and low points were truly mortifying.

Possible names and slogans for our vacation:
Chasing Lusi
Adapt, Overcome, Conquer
Roll with it. No regrets.
When life gives you lemons…make L&P (a popular New Zealand drink)

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Our flight out of LAX was pleasantly uneventful. After we landed in Fiji we had our first set of dilemmas. Yes, I said set. We had a three hour layover in Fiji. There were two lines to join when we left the plane, one for reboarding another flight and one to leave the airport. Not wanting to risk running late after going through customs twice, we opted to reboard. This sent us into the airport where we checked in for our next flight…only to find out it had been delayed a couple more hours. So no we had five hours to kill instead of three and the airport was the size of a small food court…only with less to do. So we looked for an exit to go exploring out on the island. But there weren’t any. Once we were in airport we were stuck there. Almost all the staff left and those that were there just shrugged and sent you elsewhere. Fed up we finally went downstairs past the one store in the airport and found a small set of cushioned and long benches we could stretch out on so I took a nice long nap.

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zzzzzzzzzzzzz

A few hours later we decided to get something to eat, at the one small and sketchy “cafe” they had in the airport (and I use that term very loosely). This is when Sir Smiley discovered his wallet was missing. His driver’s license, credit cards, police commission card, ems cards…all gone. Thankfully his passport was stored in a money belt so we still had that but now everything else was MIA. The irony here being that I always lose stuff and he never does…but I was the one who managed to keep track of my wallet the entire trip (thankfully, as we would have had no money otherwise). We tried to call the card companies to cancel the cards…only to discover that none of the phones in this insane airport worked. By this point we were cursing the hell pit that had become Fiji to us (it does redeem itself…more on that later).

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This is basically the entirety of the upstairs of the airport.

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A map of the entire downstairs…that little X on the map is the benches I was laying on in the previous picture…if you want to get a feel for the scale of the map

We finally board our plane and head off to Auckland. We land at about 3pm instead of 1pm and then sit for thirty more minutes as the stairs to disembark did not fit our plane. After much shoving and ramming and shaking, they finally gave up and went to fetch a new set. So now it’s 3:30 and we head off to rent our car…now in the middle of rush hour in one of probably three countries in the world that think driving on the left and sitting on the right is the way to do it. Sir Smiley can’t drive now…as he doesn’t have his license. So I’m driving on about four hours of sleep in the past forty hours, through rush hour, trying to get to our campsite that closes at 8 and is at least three hours away. By the time we finally escape the city we realize there is no way we’re making it to our campsite before it closes so we get some food and head off to find a hotel. Only, everything is booked. No vacancy, after no vacancy, after no vacancy sign. Finally at about 9:30 we pull into a hotel without a no vacancy sign. Nope, they’re packed. She then informs us that the local mine laid a bunch of people off and for some reason that caused people to flood the hotels. So nothing is open. She pulls out a phone book and someone in the neighboring town takes pity on us and gives us a room.


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Pretty much how I felt when we finally got to our room..

Thus ends day one.

Day two begins bright and early as we pack up and head off for our dive, a dive they had been threatening to cancel due to weather but thankfully we were still on for that day. Sir Smiley is an excellent driver and a terrible navigator, I cannot focus worth beans at this point, and when we pass our turn I have to make a u-turn on the wrong side of the road (in my mind anyway). In the process, I get too close to a fence post and two bolts sticking out gouge the whole left side of the car adding a decal that would ultimately cost us $2k. This may or may not have led to some marital strife…something along the lines of “You need to be more careful!” “Well, if you hadn’t lost your wallet you would be driving not me!” “You gouged the whole side of the car!” “Why didn’t you tell me to turn when we were supposed to!” “This will cost us the entire deductible!” “Anything you say right now, I’m thinking a million times worse in my head! I feel terrible!” Followed by uncontrollable sobbing.


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How the accident looked in my head…

We have three minutes to get to the dive center so I slowly drive us there through my tears and then sit in the car crying while Sir Smiley checks us in. I finally compose myself, quickly down my breakfast of a muffin and apple juice and immediately hop on the boat. The staff were friendly and helpful, and gave us a quick warning that the boat ride may be a bit choppy. Neither Sir Smiley nor I were concerned as sea sickness was never an issue for us (*insert ominous music here). We go to the top of the boat for a better view and thus begins our boat ride out to the Poor Knights Islands. A little rough apparently means at least 6-7 foot waves that we were fighting the entire way there. I was doing great until the last ten minutes of the trip when I suddenly started to feel funny. One of the staff members runs downstairs to get me a barf bag just in case…but alas he was too late. I started spewing everywhere. Sir Smiley has been a paramedic for ten years and has never seen such and epic barf. It ended up on:
– the boat floor
– the bench I was sitting on
– Sir Smiley’s arms and legs
– my entire front of my shirt, my pants, my sandals, my watch, my arms…even my face and hair.
Sir Smiley shoves some barf bags at me. Paper thin bags that were neatly folded shut. I was spewing so much I couldn’t yell at him to open them, and since I couldn’t get them open with all the puke already on me, I tried to cup one like a bowl up to my face which served more as a sprinkler effect…spraying all my vomit right back at my face. The staff just stared at me frozen in horror. They very obviously had never seen anything like it and had no idea how to help, Meanwhile we are still going over these huge swells but I’m so busy puking that I’m no longer holding on. Sir Smiley is holding me still so I don’t fly off the boat, but over a particularly large swell he slips on all my puke on the floor and scrapes the whole side of his back on the bench.


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A fairly accurate depiction really…

It finally ends and I feel much better and now smell strongly of apple juice. We make it to the islands and are sheltered from the waves. I sit and try to recover while Sir Smiley snags my shirt and pants (I had my suit on) and did a bit of laundry off the back of the boat and then hangs it up to dry. We get suited up and go diving successfully. Around this time we discover it’s not just a bit of rain, but a tropic storm cyclone named Lusi. Upon arriving back we discover that the roads are lined with emergency response vehicles, emergency generators, etc. in preparation for this storm. So again, we end up looking for a hotel room back in Auckland instead of camping on the beach in the middle of a cyclone.
Thus ends Day 2.

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Me, pre-puke, with the infamous bottle of apple juice that will soon be making a reappearance…

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Putting my wet suit on post-puke.

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Praise The Lord, the puking stopped!

Chasing Lusi to be continued tomorrow.;

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