Bro Town Part 2: Reinforcements

Two weeks of the Terrible Twos and it's time to call in the reinforcements. That's the last pallid, watery New York drip for a while, the Land of the Flat White Cloud beckons.

Gjelina, a fine place to raise a glass to commiserate the end of two weeks of bachelorhood. Maybe having 14 hours still to go isn't so bad after all.

Venice Beach is a good place to re-acclimatize to the whole kid thing, the official uniform is beach casual: Baby Bjorn + Lululemon with an Uppababy in the back of the Land Rover.

The LAX fire pit is a whole lot more enjoyable when someone isn't trying to throw a sippee cup in it.

NZ5, you are cleared for an extended fuel dump over the Awhitu Peninsula.

Let's get these shoes off, eh bro. On Air New Zealand you're always home before you're home. Because bare feet and a stubbie beat champagne any day.

Breakfast over Big Bay. Only thing missing is an ant or two.

Looks like those reinforcements weren't needed after all. In two weeks he's already learned how to walk on everything from sand to lava to a Pak'n Save carpark barefoot.

Team Cahan pre-gaming before the big event. Why have a house party when you can have a garage party!

Probably best not to venture into Onehunga in that one.

Daddy, how it it possible no one in New York realizes you can put meat in a pie?

The Professor grills up winning steaks almost as fast as Accounting Review articles.

Kiwi Kid 101: Nothing toughens the feet up like a few gorse needles.

Big Bay looking mighty fine, but what's that I hear overhead? Sounds like NZ29 on short finals from Houston town! Actually nothing short about that one.

Uncle Jared laying down the Dad Bod gauntlet. Don't worry son, a couple more Tim Tams and you'll be in the mix.

Plum-off at 10 paces.

So how many of these can we polish off at Casey's stag do? Uhm, if it's up to the the American imports probably whatever's left in the hose.

The ultra-hip Hallertau Brewery wouldn't be out of place on the Williamsburg waterfront. But then you'd have to wear shoes. Screw that.

There's more cranes in Auckland than Midtown Manhattan. But don't worry, the buzzing cafe at the bottom of each tower will cushion the crash. She'll be 'right mate, there's always the dole eh.

Daddy, you mean anyone can use this beach? You don't need a coveted East Hampton Village parking pass? That's right son, but you do need the blessing of the local Iwi, so pretty much the same thing.

Exactly how Daddy feels every time he finishes a blog.