On Sunday I awoke in a disoriented delirium. I found myself stuffed into the back seat of a sweaty sedan. Sam was at the wheel, hurtling the car around twisty bends on the moderately safe New Zealand highway. The time was 3:12AM, and from the middle seat, all I could see was a curtain of swirling fog. The experience mimicked some kind of nightmarish overdose. Allow me to explain.
Three days earlier, on Thursday afternoon, five men piled into an ’87 Mitsubishi Galant headed towards the “Wild Foods Festival” in Hokatika NZ. The drive would be just over 7 hours. Our spirits soared as we cruised through lush and rolling scenery. However, after an hour of driving, we discovered that only one tape existed within the car – “The Best Of Disco.” Daunted but still determined, we powered ahead to our intended destination. We pit-stopped for a brief tour of the Fox Glacier and associated photographic hilarity. By diner time we had arrived at our campsite and had finished erecting our tents. Then the binge eating began.
The Wild Foods Festival instantly doubles the population of Hokatika from 17,000 to almost 40,000, so you can imagine the town’s enthusiasm and energy during this weekend-long event - something like the excitement of a birthday for the middle child in a family of 12. On Saturday I ate the following: one piece of kangaroo, one piece of crocodile, one worm and almond truffle, a fried huhu grub, a stag heart sandwich, shark, a worm in a shot of Red Bull, kava juice, a snail, various exotic honey products, ostrich, rabbit balls, devil’s water, wild boar, and a host of “normal” foods. The 18-year-old drinking age boosted everyone’s culinary courage. Regrettably, none of the adventurous stomachs in our party consumed Viagra slushies, which were almost instantly sold-out. I was totally deflated.
After the festival, everyone (thousands) migrated to the beach. When the sun set and the light rain cleared, brightly burning bonfires illuminated the beach to both visible horizons. Each fire accommodated a cluster of about 30 remorseful digesters.
Our party decided, for reasons still unclear to me, to leave at midnight and drive 7 hours back to Dunedin. I entered a deep coma as soon as the car began rolling. At 3:12 I awoke to a horrible sensory onslaught. Five hung-over men filled the car with indescribable putrid gasses. Two of them slept on my shoulders. “It’s Raining Men” blared for the tenth time, and our driver had erupted in maniacal laughter. The ten foreign animals in my stomach had long since confounded my digestive system. My contacts had dried to my eyeballs, and the stiff back seat had somehow tied my lumbar into a square know. As a final terror, we were driving almost 120 km/hr into a wall of fog on a very twisty, very narrow road. “This is the most unpleasant dream ever,” was my first thought, but soon I realized “This is the most unpleasant moment of my life.”
Well, we made it back to Dunedin safely. I slept from 7:30AM to 2:00PM, and promptly began a thorough fasting regiment to cleanse myself of untold toxins and general bodily misuse. Feeling much better now.
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