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.

Bro Town Part 1: Fries to Chips

When a Cahan bro is getting hitched the call to arms echos far and wide, from the concrete canyons of Midtown to the oil-soaked bayous of Texas, all the way out to the surf-kissed beaches of SoCal and New South Wales. Like the Horn of Gondor's clarion note it summons a scattered people to return home, over the Misty Mountains and across the Great Sea, through blinding snow and blazing heat. Ok fine, it's more like a WhatsApp channel, but you get the idea.

Phase one of the Operation Pukeko airlift involves a ferry flight to the West Coast staging base. From there the advanced scout team will launch the first assault under the cover of darkness, clearing the way for a wave of heavy reinforcements two weeks later.

Don't worry son, I heard they only stuff doggies in the overhead bins.

Let's see, we could either fly another 14 hours or stop right here. Tough call.

One more sleepy time and those are chips, eh bro?

A long time ago a great warrior from Hawaiki named Kupe sailed over the horizon to discover a mysterious paradise shrouded in a long white cloud, where even a modest fixer-upper pa costs a million bucks.

Generally the Whale Rider, you know, like, rides the whale.

Enjoy. The next sunset you see will be from 42K. In fact, so will the next sunrise.

Speaking of sunrises, they tend to come awfully early when your alarm clock is two years old and set to east coast time.

Let's see, water that's too cold to swim in, jumpers instead of togs, why you're basically home already son.

Dad, how will we know when we're there? Just keep an eye out for a garage by a bay son.

Just remember son, never, ever, under any circumstances does a Kiwi Kid wear shoes. Not to the dairy. Not to the beach. And most certainly not to Pak 'n Save. For the latter you don't need to wear a shirt either.

Is this the bay Dad, it's pretty big? No kid, not enough gorse.

Find your Beach. Well I've found mine, pity the folks who still have 14 hours to find theirs.

Just enough time to swing by Great Grandma's house before first call for NZ 5.

What's this, an outdoor fire pit at LAX! World-weary LGA travelers are just happy to have a roof that doesn't leak.

The first transport is away! The first transport is away!