So, I suppose you wonder what I’m up to here in New Zealand. Well, I seem to have brought two things with me from New York: poor weather and crime. Here in the costal town of Paihia the weather is usually good and everyone leaves their doors unlocked. Well, not any more. Now that good ole’ Jim is in town we have rain and thievery. In all reality the rain isn’t that bad, about every other day, but the comedy of crime in Paihia affects only me, I swear. 

See, for over five weeks I fretted about which type of footwear to bring with me on my trip. I wanted some solid shoes that would stand the added weight of a 70 pound pack, but be light and breathable enough so my feet did not bake when I was in the tropics. Well, the folks at the local Eastern Mountain Sports recommended these Vasque GTX boots that felt great, were reasonably light, and were purported to breathe and keep your feet dry. 

I thought these were the most comfortable boots I had ever worn, but feared they would be too hot and too heavy to carry around. I went to three other places, all backpacker experts, and they all agreed that the Vasque GTX was a good choice. I finally relented and took a pair home, still worried they’d be a pain. 

I put my boots on Thanksgiving morning and they stayed on for 29 hours while I flew to New Zealand from New York. They remained on my feet for another 18 hours while I found a place to stay, explored the local sights and snuggled into my bed for the night. They were warm, but not oppressive to wear, however my feet did begin to create a distinct odor over the next few days. 

I took a bus from Auckland to Paihia and settled into a cozy little hostel in a hidden away nook of downtown housing only about thirty people total. Because of our close quarters, and being concerned about the olafactory discomfort of my roommates, I strung my boots out on the clothes line next to my smelly socks to air out a bit. Big mistake. New York came to visit. 

Awakening late for my dive course at 7:30 the next morning I dashed out to the clothesline and met the sorry sight of my socks hanging lonely on the wire. My boots, so digilently shopped-for 9000 miles away, were gone. My first theft came after less than a week on the road. 

Everyone at the hostel was distinctly surprised at the disappearance. Through the day several other guests discovered missing belongings – a raincoat, some jeans, a few t-shirts – and everyone voiced the same disappointment in the state of affairs that lead to random thefts of clothing. Most agreed it was low to steal someone’s shoes. True. 

The funny thing about being shoeless and on the road is that it doesn’tmake that much difference. I was on a dive boat for most of the weekend, and never was in town when stores were open, hence I went shoeless till Monday morning. I ended up getting a fairly nice, though exceptionally overpriced pair of sandals, finally ending the pain of my soles, after all I’m really a tenderfoot from New York and my feet hadn’t seen the light of day for months. 

So goes my introduction to group living. I’ve been thrust back into the distrustful, conspiracy-believing person I thought I left behind. Now I even lock my shaving kit.