Talk To The Donkey

Location: Paihia, New Zealand 
I included this picture because I desperately want to prove to myself that the reason that some of my posts seem to be conspicuously over-read is not because they include pictures of women (my most popular post included a picture of three hot Portuguese women), but because of it's content. Not that I give a sheepshit, but it'll be interesting to see. By the way, that's the New Zealand Olympic team. I triple checked to make sure. 

Content: I had a kind of eureka-day. After staying at a crazy insane quiet BNB in the middle of nowhere, just like I like it, and where I was the only guest and treated like a King, I drove 350km's to Paihia, way up in the Bay of Islands. It was the kind of drive to induce a heart attack, if you are on that cliff, and since there are only a couple of bad radio stations to listen to, I began making some voice memos on my phone.

King-sized breakfast at Foxglove BNB in Waingaro. 

They turned into an idea. The first ten memo's sucked, I was just talking about stupid shit. And yes, you talk to yourself when you travel alone. It starts after the first couple of weeks, and then it just happens out of nowhere. It happens so frequently that when you actually talk to a person you think to yourself "did I already tell them this?" but then you realize it's the first time you met them and it was YOU who you already told it to.

I'll tell you more on that subject later.

So, four hours in the car and I had this idea that I would actually build that really cool, self-contained, modern but rustic cabin down by the Brandywine River where I live. I have thought about it, and dreamed about it, and designed it without even really realizing it, over the last ten years. I could not stop recording ideas for it. It was glorious.

It'll have an outdoor shower, a shitter with a glorious view, a bidet, heated floors, an oversized bed that looks and feels like a cloud, a wood burning stove, a wood burning oven, a separate room for bikes, tons of windows, a huge enclosed deck over the river with a tin roof just for the sound when it rains, a telescope, a separate reading room with comfy rocking chairs, board games, a naturally cooled sunken wine cellar in the ground accessible only through a trap door, a hedgerow-line driveway, a herb garden, and maybe even an old sailboat attached to it that acts as a second bedroom that rocks back and forth like it was in a harbour.

You think big when you think of these things, than you dial them in. Im in the think-big portion of it, so hold your judgment.

Part of todays drive. Have to stop to regain breath. 

My only fear: the regulators, the white-wigged robots, the complainers and the legality of it, and the rights-of-way, and the bullshit. Besides people who blame everything else but themselves for their own shortcomings, I believe red-tape is my biggest pet-peeve.

The wild wild west must have been the best; find a place you like, piss on it, build a house, light a fire, turn up the fucking music, and drink some beer.

We will see what happens, but the "Cabin Not Yet Named" already has some traction. Who knows why it came to me today to pursue the reality, but it did, and so I thank the 350km's of road in New Zealand for it's birth.

Lastly, on the talking to yourself bit; one of two things happen to you after traveling alone for a long time, and it can happen multiple times a day and the feeling can last for a minute, or a week. These are those two things:

(1) Everything is awesome: you think this because you are experiencing something great and beautiful and life-changing and you know it but there is no-one with you to crap on it, hence, everything is awesome.
(2) Everything is shit and you are lonely: you think this because you are experiencing something great and beautiful and life-changing and you know it but there is no-one with you to share it with, hence, you are lonely.

Sometimes very hard to distinguish, but it's a part of the whole you take on when you book that ticket.