After a couple day bout with food poisoning, I’m back and primed and ready for Lord of the Rings tourism! Word to the wise: when staying on a rural New Zealand farm, replete with sheep, horses, and any number of enthusiastically defecating creatures, don’t eat unwashed fruit you find on the ground.
Anyway. Wellington is a truly remarkable place, windswept, rugged, and instantly and effortlessly charming. The NZ fanbase is predominantly Maori, and we’ve been welcomed with a warmth I’ve been told’s unusual, and inundated with generosity of all sorts. In Auckland, we played our largest headlining show outside of the US and, almost by accident, we’ve discovered the Al Stone band’s second home.
The world’s a big ol’ confounding bit of, some would say, flat nonsense, and regardless of the insanity levels of those I meet along the way, I’m happy to be right there on the front lines with them, just as befuddling in my own forsaking-soy-lattes kinda way.