I foolishly declared my hiking boots during customs, because my passenger card said to, and this caused a big ruckus. I had to take off my boots and give them to the lady.  She actually took them into a nearby lab to be examined.  Boy, did I feel sorry for her.  Imagine, if you will, the sheer vileness of the evil wind swirling from boots that have endured a 12-hour flight, countless security lines, and a 4 a.m showing of Raising Helen aboard New Zealand Air.

Eventually, though, she brought them back to me--holding them in the tips of her fingers as though they were a pair of dead rats--and said something very cryptic to me. She said, “Be careful when you walk in the mud.”

So now I’m traveling around this country in fear. I read the history books, I read the guide books--and no one said anything about a carniverous New Zealand mud monster. I have a very stern letter to write to Lonely Planet when I get back.

In other news: I’m pleased to report that my friend Tuan and I are traveling very well together. The only way that we’re bad for each other is how we both love coffee.  And we keep encouraging each other to drink more.  So, today, we were discussing our plans:

“THAT WAS A VERY NICE TRIP TO THE WAR MUSEUM.”

“YES, AND A FINE VISIT TO UNDERWATER WORLD.”

“PERHAPS NOW WE SHOULD TRY BUNGEE JUMPING.”

“NO, I BELIEVE THAT IS LATER IN THE TRIP.  WE DO NOT HAVE THE PROPER EQUIPMENT.”

“IT IS OKAY.  WE CAN JUMP INTO THE AIR AND WE WILL NOT BE CONCERNED ABOUT THE LACK OF EQUIPMENT UNTIL WE ARE VERY NEAR TO THE GROUND.”

“I AM PERSUADED BY YOUR WORDS. BUT LET US HAVE ANOTHER COFFEE FIRST.”

“THAT IS AN EXCELLENT SUGGESTION.”