It's been harder to write while in New Zealand than I imagined it might be.
Primarily because New Zealand is more magical than I imagined it might be.
Right now we are in the mountains of the North Island--in the vicinity of a town called Wakapapa. Though I might be spelling it wrong. There might be more k's or more p's or even more a's.
In any event it is lovely.
The peaks are about 2,000 to 3,000 meters high--which is between around 7,000 and 9,000 feet. The scenery is stunning and there are sheep everywhere.
I've accumulated some savings through the years. Certainly not enough to retire on in Manhattan. But a little cabin somewhere out here might suit me.
We live on concrete in New York and I think too much concrete probably has a way of brutalizing you.
Here, like in San Francisco, people seem to live outdoors. They are forever "tramping" through the wild, jumping into the sea, popping on a mountain bike or hurling themselves off high-bridges or towers tethered only by dental floss they call bungees.
It's a bit like summer camp. There is a lot of activity.
Speaking of activity, I'm off now. To Rotorua--where there are hot springs and boiling mud and who knows what else.
I will let you know if I bungee jump however.