The noise was unbelievable.
A room full of every nationality on the planet - all lined up in sleeping bags on the floor of a little hut in New Zealand...and I had managed to lie next to the snorer.
Me and my pal, Peta were on our travels. It was 1991. New Zealand was our first stop and we were doing one of the country's most beautiful 3 day walks - along with a load of other young travellers.
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| Pete and me - hitch-hiking around New Zealand. |
We were tired. Our feet were nacking, our legs were aching, we were fairly hungry and cold, but most of all we wanted to sleep.
But we couldn't. The big German guy next to me was on his back creating a noise that was so loud I thought it was Mount Tarawera erupting.
'I can't sleep, Pete,' I whispered. 'Can you hear that guy next to me?'
'Of course I can bloody hear him. I wish he'd shut up. Give him a nudge.'
I was horrified at the thought of giving a complete stranger a shove in the middle of the night whilst he slept. I lay and watched him for a while instead. It was pitch black, but some of the other young explorers were using torches and candles to read, so I could just make out the profile of my snoring tormentor.
He was big. He was hairy. And I guessed that he'd be smelly too. His mouth was wide open and his head was back. With each intake of breath, he emitted a noise like a pneumatic drill, before breathing out like a drone of bagpipes.
I willed him to stop. I wanted the snoring to end. As I lay there in the darkness I even thought that if it meant that he suddenly stopped breathing altogether, at least the snoring would stop. I would be happier lying next to a dead man than a snoring man. These were the weird thoughts that went through my head as my tired eyes watched him snuffle, snort and roar.
Minutes later, urged by Pete, I plucked up the courage and leaned across to push him gently on the shoulder. I quickly wrapped myself back up in my sleeping bag so that he didn't think it had been me.
There was absolutely no reaction from the loud, grizzly German bear-man.
'Do it again - harder!' said Pete, trying not to laugh.
I shoved him a little harder this time, and for a nano-second he stopped snoring....but then started up again, like a lawnmower.
'Again!' Pete hissed from the comfort and safety of her sleeping bag.
Another shove, harder this time. No effect.
'Pleeease make him stop!' wailed Pete.
It was then that I'm not exactly sure what came over me - sleep deprivation, yes - helping a friend in need, yes - survival instincts, most certainly...
...Under my head was a pillow case stuffed with my clothes. T-shirts, jumpers, jeans, socks...a 'do it yerself' pillow. I sat up, and held one end of the stuffed pillow case in my right hand. Then, just as the snoring man breathed in on one of his pneumatic volcanic eruptions, I whacked him. Hard. On his face with the home-made pillow, now an effective anti-snoring weapon.
Without delay, I quickly buried myself in my sleeping bag. I was innocent. It wasn't me. I pretended to be asleep, watching the big German guy in the darkness - sitting up, rubbing his head, looking around.
The snoring had stopped. Hallelulia!
I closed my eyes and smiled...savoring the silence that I had created. Then...
....
WHACK!
My moment of peace was over. The big, hairy, noisy, (and probably smelly) German guy had taken revenge. He had whacked me in return - hard on my head with his own home-made pillow case weapon. He muttered something German-ish, that sounded like
'do that again and I'll kill you,' before settling himself down again, on his back...
As I lay there, rubbing my head, slightly bemused, all I could hear now from Pete's sleeping bag next to me was the sound of laughing.
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| In our nice cagouls |
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| My journal - describing 'that' night in the little New Zealand hut in 1991 :-) |
