Tag 74: Stolen and Kidnapped

09/11/2016

Today we are driving back to our beloved Christchurch, the starting point of our New Zealand tour. Originally, we planned to bypass the city on our way north (or should I say right based on the topography), but recently a yellow light started flashing on the dashboard of our rolling bedroom. This prompted us to decide to make a check at the rental office in the city of the Christian church. I consider a yellow light at best as a recommendation or suggestion to do something, while Gudi sees the signal as an urgent necessity.

While the car is being checked, we try, unfortunately in vain, to complain about one of the numerous mishaps of the rental company. The only teasing response we receive is that we should have called in case of defects. As if every tourist had a New Zealand phone. A call over our mobile network to mention a half-full gas bottle would probably be much more expensive than simply buying a new one. Utterly nonsensical customer service. While our car is being examined by Doctor Uncle, we have some time and try to clarify some bureaucratic matters. This is not unusual and we try to keep track of our expenses and finances throughout the entire journey. But today, when I look at my credit card statement, I am almost shocked. It seems that I have left money behind on several occasions in London. Strangely enough, I cannot remember leaving the southern hemisphere in September at all. However, since computers do not lie, I quickly become sure: an extremely extensive episode of sleepwalking must have led me to London. However, since Gudi did not notice my absence either, I have to discard this theory rather soon and call the service hotline of the financial institution for safety reasons. They inform me that I have fallen for credit card fraud. Me!! Robbed, deprived of my own hard-earned money, attacked and in a manner of speaking faced with robbery and murder. I can hardly believe it. The lady on the other end of the line is visibly amused, as my behavior does not quite correspond to her idea of a credit card victim, and explains to me that the card would have been automatically blocked ten days ago anyway and that I can apply for a refund. So, on the one hand, I am relieved, but on the other hand, I wonder: Why the hell did no one inform me that my card was blocked, and furthermore, if I can apply for a refund, why don't I do that with every statement? Apparently, the company Mastercard is a huge charitable organization. Immediately, I want to upgrade to the next higher car class and charge it to the charitable organization, but I notice, as the German tried to explain to me earlier, that with this card and number I can no longer pay anything. I find this incredibly frustrating, as I have spent a lot of time memorizing the numbers and codes and was so proud of it that I almost told everyone in detail. Maybe that's where the problem lies. But I won't find that out so quickly, as I have neither the time nor the shovel.

After fixing flashing recommendations and leaking accounts, we continue to Kaikoura. There we park right by the sea and take a sweet little path towards the famous "Seal Bays". On the way there, I almost stumble over one of the fat contemporaries who apparently confused the sea and land and lies in the sun with enviable gusto right in the middle of the sidewalk. After circling around the meat mountain, we soon find ourselves in the midst of cameras, tourists, and a really impressive number of seals, who relax right on the beach. I can't help but lie down next to two of the stretched-out creatures to see if I can be initiated into the wisdom of perfect idleness. Just as I'm getting comfortable, I feel tons of flesh rise behind me and the teeth of a monster threatening to disappear into my flesh. Suddenly, the air smells like a Saturday at the Meidling Market, and I instinctively recognize that this fishy smell can only mean an attack by the seals. In the nick of time, I manage to roll along the ground in James Bond fashion to escape the razor-sharp fighting tools of the killing machine. Finally safe, I realize that the entire crowd of tourists, my friend at the forefront, has burst into laughter. Apparently, my near-death experience looked funny to my surroundings. Gudi later tells me that I was probably only two meters away from the fat blob when he briefly rose from his sleep, just panted, and lay down again. I, on the other hand, am still convinced that I narrowly escaped being kidnapped by the terrifying creature and already had more than one foot in the depths of the sea.

In the evening, we celebrate the fact that today I managed to avoid both robbery and the kidnapping by a walrus-sized seal, while enjoying the beautiful red sunset and being amazed by the snow-covered mountains reflecting in some of the puddles of the sea caused by the ebb tide.

Gudi's glorious laws:

Please Matthias, your exaggerations are becoming so unbelievable that soon no one will take you seriously anymore.

Ha, no way. This can't happen to me, because I am very sure that nobody takes me seriously already. We all know that I sometimes experience things a bit unrealistically and also engage in a bit of story-pushing when retelling them.