Facial hair says many things about a man.

When shopping it says "do you have a flannel section?"  When eating it says "are you done with that?" When renting a DVD it says "anything with Chuck Norris, please." But when hunting for a job in Queenstown we found out that it means something along the lines of "I'll chase off your customers with a chainsaw and piss on your toilet seats."  And that's why when we got to Queenstown in mid-April Adam and Pat had no choice but to shave off their beards.

Adam and Pat's last stand took place in an RV park, a well-known place of congregation for bearded men (and women).

Unsure of what job they were looking for, Pat and Adam experimented with a smorgasbord of facial hair configurations, each suited for a different occupation:

The Man-delbar (plumber, Cardinals' backup catcher)

The Rust-Stache (truck driver, stay-at-home douchebag)

The Whirling Dervish (serial killer, mandolinist, World Beard and Mustache champion)

The My Name Is Earl (prime-time network TV celebrity, pedophile)

The Chaplin (slapstick silent film comedian, socialist tyrant)

But when the frenzy stopped and the hair clippings settled, both Adam and Pat opted for the clean-cut approach. Alas, a new beginning:

Pat finally becomes a likeable French-Canadian.  Adam tranforms from the molester to the molestee.

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It's been awhile since the last time we blew your minds. Apart from the Sock Machine Museum there haven't been many holy-shitters to speak of.  We haven't zorbed (or is it zorben?) in like a month and a half, and the Steema/Snappa is just so March. So prepare yourself for "You Got Blown," a mini-series of posts that will leave you blown away in disbelief.

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Let's face it, we're all bored to death of hearing about the history of socks over and over again. It's the sock machines that we really care about - fascinating artifacts of a day and age when socks were made the old fashioned way - by machine. But who wants to pay an arm and a leg to go to one of those fancy-schmancy sock machine museums? Not us! If only there was a more affordable option.

Hokitika, you're sitting on a gold mine and you know it.

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Toyota only released the Estima in aquamarine, teal and blurple in order to play a huge joke on colorblind people.

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Yum, whitebait patties! Just like hamburger patties, but with fish! Just like a fillet-o-fish sandwich, right?

Completely fucking wrong.

Evidently in New Zealand "pattie" means "slimy unformed mass." And when they say "whitebait," they don't mean ground whitebait. They mean whole whitebait that still has fins and spinal columns and eyeballs. So we did what any sensible person would do - bought some and cooked it for breakfast.

They're watching you. And they said you used too much cooking spray.

When you ingest hundreds of murdered animals at once, we recommend you do so on a piece of toast. Way cuter.

No whammies no whammies no whammies STOP!

In retrospect, whitebait patties are more suitable for lunch or dinner.

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Bathing in Bonar Creek is not recommended due to its hard water.

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We got to the South Island in mid-April and our first mission was to hike the Abel Tasman Coastal track.  Unfortunately we didn't see a single beautiful beach.

 HAHA YES WE DID!!!!!!

Full pics here.

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Caving has something for everyone.  For Lara, it was the skin-tight wetsuit, white gumboots and oversized helmet that made her look like a cross between a superhero and a special kid.  For Adam, it was the opportunity to cram himself into as many tight wet spaces as he could find.  And for our guide, it was the chance to intermingle with hilarious/attractive people like us.

We started by doing 2 lines of coke and rappelling down into a 30-meter crevice in the ground.  Or as Adam calls it, "Wednesday morning."

When we reached the bottom everything all of a sudden got extremely badass.

We followed an underground river into the cave.  As we got further in we had to crawl our way through passages.  The cave was full of beautiful formations, none of which Lara was able to see because her helmet was too big.  Her head was definitely not too small.  The helmet was the problem.

Thousands of little glow worms hung from the ceiling, providing an enchanting site for all of us and an enchanting meal for Pat.

In a fit of self-indulgence, Adam attempted to squeeze through the tightest crevice he could find.  And he did so successfully after some emergency coaching from the guide.  The guide said Adam was the 3rd person he'd ever seen get through that space, but whatever it's like no big deal.

We then went tubing down the pitch black river while hollering at girls to show their boobs in exchange for a Busch Light, just like back home.

Luckily there wasn't anything scary down there.  Just huge fucking eels.

Nothing makes you appreciate the ground more than having to climb your way up to it.

In case you were wondering, this is what Lara looks like when she's shitting herself.  I really hope you weren't wondering though.

Full pics can be seen here.

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Sorry for not writing anything for 3 weeks.  We've been busy adjusting to our new lives in Queenstown.  But fret not, the blog will persist.

Chronologically, of course.  We're going to catch you up on a few highlights of the past month and then get into the stinky details about our new digs, jobs and facial hair arrangements.  Get excited! 

Or at the very least get less apathetic.

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Common sense tells us to stay away from things with green lips, or at the very least never touch them with your mouth.  But in the name of adventure we ignored our instincts and didn't regret it one bit.

Profuse sweating eminent, Adam opted to wear his moisture-resistant Nike base layer.


Look at the lips on that thing!


The euphoria of shoving mussels in our face was quickly replaced with lethargy and self-loathing, which was quickly replaced with gas.

Please do not try this at home.

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