holiday

Today, we venture South.
Kirsten and I start a trek around the South Island with a three-hour
ferry ride tonight. We're driving a friend's car (he went back to
Scotland for the holidays) and have only a very vague plan.
Essentially, we're quickly driving south down the east side of the
island. When we hit the bottom, we'll stop for a bit, look around,
and head even further south to Stewart Island (which hangs just below
the South Island). We'll slowly meander along the bottom to the west
side, and then toward the end of our trip quickly drive north up the
west side of the island to try and catch our ferry back Jan. 8.

Probably no updates until then, but when I get back into Internet
range full updates and photos will be posted.

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Have a Good Time During Any
Other Holidays you choose to celebrate during my absence.

they turned them into hopped-up freaks

Tell me that's not a little bit disturbing if you grew up in the States.

on further review...

I thought I understood cricket. Then I tried to read a newspaper game story and realized it's still too jargon-filled for me to pick up.
Of course, everything I wrote for the past few years probably had the same problem.

dreaming of a white-sand christmas

For Thanksgiving, our group of Americans in Wellington put together a
feast and invited the internationals: my flatmates (two Germans, an
Aussie and a Brit) as well as a couple of New Zealanders.
I didn't have the proper equipment to fry a turkey as I would have
preferred, but the turkey turned out fine regardless. We threw in
some stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole (I don't know
why) and a reasonable facsimile of candied yams. Instead of yams, we
used Kumura, a New Zealand sweet potato.
The internationals were mostly bemused by the situation. Why did we
feel the need to cook more food than we could possible eat on a
Thursday night? And why did we add brown sugar and marshmellows to a
vegtable? But the food was good, even the dishes I made that I'd
never eaten, much less cooked, before. The company was good, and
everyone had a merry time late into the evening.

I won't get to repeat the occasion on Christmas. Kirsten and I are
taking a little more than two weeks off from Wellington to travel
around the South Island during the height of New Zealand's summer.
We're going as south as we can get, or at least that's the plan,
exploring the southern coast and Stewart Island (which hangs just off
the bottom of the South Island). We haven't actually set our
itinerary, but there will be mountains, the coast, several towns, and
whatever lies in between.
We've borrowed a car from a friend who will be spending the holidays
at home in Scotland. We'll have a tent and some sleeping bags, even
though we don't have a plan.
And I don't know what we'll do for Christmas or New Years. Perhaps a
beach for Christmas. At least a day spent somewhere, rather than
driving the holiday away.
It's not the first time I've been away from friends and family on
Christmas - last year was the first time I'd spent Christmas with my
family since 2000 - although most years I have gone back to Montana
for at least a few days in January.
I don't think Kirsten's missed a Christmas. Although she professes
not to enjoy the trappings of the holiday, we'll see how the day goes.
No matter what happens, it can't be worse than the first Christmas I
spent away from home. That was my final day of an internship for the
Birmingham (Alabama) News. I drove an hour and a half south to
Montgomery to cover a football game, and had Christmas dinner at
Waffle House. (Completing an odd pair - I'd also spent that
Thanksgiving at Waffle House, unintentionally, after my car broke
down driving back to Birmingham from Montgomery).
To the best of my knowledge, there are no Waffle Houses in New Zealand.

now I know

Cricket has always been satisfying in its obtuseness.
I never had to worry about actually understanding the game before. I
just knew it existed, and was an easy object of ridicule. A game
where all the players wear white, games go on for days and the
players take tea breaks.
Tea breaks.
My only real knowledge of cricket came from the wonderfully
jargon-filled game reports. The only knowledge cricket writing gives
to cricket novices is this: while the writers are supposedly using
English, they were speaking an entirely different language.
Now, I've lost all that. Although, perhaps thankfully, I've only been
exposed to the one-day version of the sport.
I was exposed Wednesday, at Wellington's Westpac stadium for a match
between Australia, who I was told was perhaps the world's best team,
and New Zealand, who was not.
I couldn't have picked a better game to see. And lest you think I'm
simply using a figure of speech, know this: The general consensus in
the New Zealand media held Wednesday was the best one-day Cricket
match ever played in New Zealand.
(At least, until Saturday's match. More on that later.)
Not only did the game come down to the final play, not only did New
Zealand score one of its highest totals ever only to fall two runs
short, not only did I learn what over, wicket and run rate meant (and
can now decipher those stories and scores such as 234/6 chasing 280).
I also ended up with a ball hit into the stands. Held it.
They didn't let me keep it.

Here's how little I knew of Cricket before Wednesday. A friend, a
native New Zealander, texted me Tuesday night to ask if I wanted to
go to the game. Of course, I replied, but I don't think I can make it
- I had to work until 5. He replied: let me know if you're keen after
work tomorrow.
The game started at 2 p.m. How much could I see after 5?
Enough to experience the heat of the sun, then cricket under lights,
and drink a fair amount of beer. The game ended just after 10:30 p.m.
And in what even Cricket fans admitted was an unusual twist, it was
exciting at the end.
The Black Caps just weren't scoring runs fast enough to catch up as
the game swung into the final stage. Then, all of a sudden, they were.
New Zealand made one of the best rallies in the history of one-day
cricket to pull closer, and closer, and finally were within six runs
with six pitches to go. (In one-day cricket, a team bats until it
loses 10 wickets [outs] or faces 300 bowls [pitches].)
One run per pitch is doable, especially when New Zealand had been
scoring about two per pitch during the rally. But Australia made an
amazing throw to take one wicket, leaving the Black Caps with just
one more wicket.
And on the second-to-last pitch, down two runs, Australia picked up
the final wicket, on a play that required instant replay to decide.
About 17,000 fans waited for five minutes to learn whether New
Zealand would be one run down on the final bowl or finished. Then the
board flashed: OUT.
It shouldn't have even been close.
I met up with the Kiwis at a pub a little after 5, where they were
watching the game on a TV while drinking a few pints. The decision
was made to have at least one more, because the tea break was coming
up - Australia had just finished their 50 overs (the limit in one-day
Cricket; an over is six pitches) going for 322 runs. That,
apparently, is a good deal. Especially after the Aussies destroyed
New Zealand the previous weekend in Auckland.
Eventually, we made our way to the stadium where the fans, several of
whom had been drinking in the sun since 2 p.m., were ready to drink
more in resignation. The Black Caps (New Zealand's national team) had
barely scored 100 over the weekend. Three twenty-two seemed well out
of reach.
New Zealand started well enough to lift a few spirits, and I started
to learn the basics of the game.
After an hour or so, the Black Caps faltered, as expected, and the
game seemed out of reach.
There were a few moments of life, including one ball hit into the
crowd which seemed to be headed right for me. It was, although it was
just short, and bounced into the row in front of me. But I ended up
reaching over and picking up the ball (the stadium was only
half-full).
I've been to probably 40 Major League Baseball games, several more
minor league and even college games where I sat in the stands. Never
once did I come close to ending up with a ball. What a cool souvenir,
I thought. I cricket ball.
Then my New Zealander friend started to tell me to throw it back. I
told him he was crazy. He told me to throw it back. I stared at him,
thinking he was joking. He grabbed it from my hand and threw it to
the expectant Australian fielder.
In cricket, they use the same ball the whole game. Apparently, had I
kept it, I might well have been thrown out of the stands.
This is just one of the many reasons baseball remains better than cricket.
To add to the insult of the situation, I learned had I caught the
ball on the fly, I would have won $500. Had I been told that earlier,
I would have made a lot more effort to get to the ball.

On Saturday, the two teams played the third game of a three-game
series. Australia had already won the series with two wins, but New
Zealand was the team smiling at the end.
Saturday in Christchurch the Black Caps came from even further down,
330-something, and made an even bigger rally at the end. This time,
they ended up winning, with an over to spare.

A few rules:
In one-day cricket, a team bats until one of two things happens: the
opposition takes 10 wickets (think outs) or finished 50 overs. One
over is six bowls (pitches). So they face 300 pitches or lose 10
wickets.
I don't have the talent to explain the rest of the game. But when the
ball is hit, batters can choose not to run if they would likely have
a wicket taken (get out). If it's hit away from a fielder and remains
in the park, it usually means one or two runs. If it leaves the
ground on the bounce, it's an automatic six. If it leaves the ground
on the fly, it's an automatic six.
You don't get to keep balls hit into the stands.

sorry. I'm on dial-up.

It's been a long time since I haven't had a high-speed Internet
connection at my disposal. Ever since I got to college (or uni, as
they call it here) I've had a wide-open hook up to the informative
and time-wasting online world.
Now my direct IV to the digital has been yanked away, and I'm dealing
with once again trying to cram too many bytes into too little
bandwidth. Other than putting me in withdrawal, it's not like I
really need the 'net for anything. But it gives me an excuse not to
update more often.

falling water

updates

I've finally gotten some updates from the road trip up (now that I've
finally re-gained Internet access). The comments are dated from the
days I was on the road, so they start with Nov. 13. I've got about
half the week up now, and more will come in the next day or so.


NOTE (Nov. 27): the week's posts are finished.

the rest of the trip

We didn't try to pack too much into our last few days at Waitomo. We drove around the area, walked to some more waterfalls (every where you look water is falling down rocks in this country), saw some beaches.
Friday, especially, we spent the day driving from beach to beach to beach, with a few waterfalls in between. We headed up north about an hour to Raglan, home to one of the most famous surf spots in New Zealand and an inviting black-sand beach. Watched the surfers ride the wave, hunted for shells. A good time, even if the sun didn't come out quite enough.
Drove gravel roads south for a while looking for a hot-water beach. There is a spot where you can dig into the sand and make your own hot tub, but we couldn't find it.
Saturday afternoon was spent underground. We settled on a cave adventure that included a 75-meter abseil (descent down ropes) into the cave, then wading and floating on inner tubes through the cave and its stream, including a fairly lengthy time with no lights to see the constellations of glow worms on the ceiling. They are small insects who give off a faint blue light, to attract and eat insects who float into the cave. It's a surreal sight - with the lights off, the roof of the cave turns into a star field. You can see where the ceiling is, but at the same time your brain also wants to interpret the lights as far-off stars.
For a finish, we had to rock-climb up about 60 feet (with a safety line) to get out of the cave.
Then Sunday, back to Wellington. We need to get out more.

back on the ground

We left Taupo Thursday and headed to Waitomo, known for its large
number of caves, glowworms and companies offering all sorts of ways
to explore the caves and see the glowworms, from a basic tour-group
boat ride through the caves to lowering yourself into the caves on a
rope and spending the day underground.
On the way to Waitomo, however, we took a side trip and stopped in
Rotorua at Kiwi Encounter. It's a conservation and breeding program
for the endangered Kiwi birds - rangers and others find the eggs in
the wild, grab them and send them to the lab, where they are hatched
and raised for about a year - until they're big enough to fight off
the possums and weasels which eat the eggs and young Kiwis.
The program offers a tour, including a chance to see some Kiwis.
Kiwis are some odd birds. They are the national icon of New Zealand;
New Zealanders refer to themselves as Kiwis, the dollar coin features
a Kiwi, and just about every logo seems to incorporate the Kiwi.
They are flightless, with feathers that look more like hair and a
long skinny beak, and they forage for insects and grubs at night
making it nearly impossible to see one in the wild.
I knew all that. I've seen the birds' silhouette nearly ever day
since I've been here. I wasn't prepared for actually seeing a Kiwi.
First off, they're much bigger than I expected. They said the older
Kiwi we saw was about 10 pounds, but it appeared much bigger - the
size of a full-grown turkey, but more muscle. As they shuffle along
the ground, they snort - they smell for their food and have nostrils
right at the end of their beak. The informational material at the
center explained it thusly: the Kiwi evolved to fill a niche that
anywhere else in the world would have been filled by a mammal, and
the Kiwi also evolved to look more like a mammal than any other bird.
They don't move like a bird, either - since they smell the ground
with their nose, they walk bent over. Since they appear to be covered
in fur, they give off the appearance of a anteater-like animal that
happens to be missing it's front two legs.
I kept waiting for one to lose its balance and topple over forward.

The hard part, the real shock, is when you first put your feet out the plane's door at 12,000 feet, feel the cold wind and your mind realizes there's nothing below.
Then you're out, without making any move to do so because the instructor strapped to you has all the control.
The first second or two out of the plane, it feels like you're tumbling, a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Then the instructor gains control of the air and positions the two of you in the standard pose for falling through the air - chest down, limbs out.
Mostly, the sensation of falling is gone. Instead, it mainly feels like the air is rushing at you, instead of the other way around.
But for the 45 seconds it takes to fall 7,000 feet, no matter how much you want to soak in the sights and details, your brain can barely register it all. It's too much, too different.
Jumping toward a cloud, you see a small rainbow, in a complete ring. Instead, another, smaller ring, then a third at the center, so small it's almost just a dot streaked with color. A bulls-eye that you can't hit, but then you're through the cloud, and the chute opens, and all the ground is below, lit for dazzling color and contrast, the green land and blue lake, with the crisp border of the shoreline and mountains ringing the distance.
It's easier to soak up the experience under the chute, when you're still too far up for your brain to really think of being scared of falling and there's no longer an intense collision between your body and all of the air between it and where its headed.
Although when the instructor makes a course correction, your bodies swing out from the chute, turning in a circle, and your stomach lifts further than your body, as it will on the cheap carnival rides.
Mostly, though, it's a leisurely descent, with only a few nerves rising at the end, when the ground really does seem to be coming at you far too quickly, but then a tiny lift at the right time, and you're back on the ground with barely a jolt, already wishing you were back up and above.

in Taupo

We're a few hours further away from Wellington in the tourist hub of Taupo. We start by driving about 10 miles north of town to the Craters of the Moon, a thermal area of steam vents (which eventually collapse, causing it's namesake look) and mud pools.
It's similar to the walks around Yellowstone, except here the ground between the steam and the pools is covered in small, hardy plants. In Yellowstone the thermal areas' ground is, well, yellow stone, along with white and faint brown, barren from the heat, minerals and nature of the steaming water. I think the relative youth of New Zealand's thermal area is the difference, but that's just a guess.
We drove back on a road that may as well have been called tourist lane - every couple of hundred yards there was another shop hoping for business. We decided to give some of ours to the Prawn (shrimp) Farm's restaurant and gift shop, as well as the Honey Hive's mead tasting, and obviously, honey.
The afternoon was a three-hour cruise on a sailboat once owned by Errol Flynn around Lake Taupo, once the site of huge volcanic explosion and supposedly the largest crater lake in the Southern Hemisphere.
The main destination of interest on the sail were some huge rock carvings done by local Maori in the late 1970s. The main interesting sight the rest of the time were the people falling out of airplanes. Taupo is the cheapest place to skydive in New Zealand, and probably the cheapest place in the world you'd want to skydive. I assume the price drops because they don't really have to worry about litigation under the country's laws, and because they do more volume than anywhere, and because it's one of the main selling points. For whatever reason, on a clear day like this, you can occasionally spot the people leaving the plane for the free fall, and you can easily see the colored parachutes drifting down, usually 10 or more in the sky at once, with waves of jumpers coming every 20-30 minutes.
We end the sight-seeing with a trip to Huka Falls. It's not a tall waterfall, may 15-20 feet, but there is a high volume of water falling at high speed, causing the quarter-mile or so of river below the falls to churn and look like a blue, cool, larger version of the brown, boiling mudpots we saw to start the day.
(Then into town for another quiz night. And, of course, a second-place finish.)

for my dad, the botany major

The vegetation in New Zealand is one of the few things about this country that feels demonstrably foreign. Fern trees, a plant my mind wants to associate solely with tropical rain forests, are everywhere.
Around the volcanic mountains and plains of Tongariro National Park, the ground is covered in rust-colored, thick grasses or brown-and-red shrubs, still with the ferns scattered in the mix.
Elsewhere, the landscape is uniformly green, usually the stunning, not-quite-natural green of golf courses and baseball fields. Part of this is due to the sheep. Hillsides have been cleared of trees and the grass kept short by millions of sheep.
Even when the landscape doesn't look like a well-kept lawn, where the trees have been allowed to stand free, it only means more shades of green. Often with the fern trees poking through the pine or leafy stands.

second verse, same as the first

Tongariro National Park, Try No. 2.
We stayed in the same hostel Kirsten and I stopped at during our first week in New Zealand, when I went skiing here in the rain and zero visibility. After spending a few days then around these three mountains without ever seeing the peaks, we're back and hoping to actually see the sights while hiking around.
Of course, the day starts out with exactly the same weather, possibly even colder. The fog cover and misting rain means we can't see a single mountain, and we decided to concentrate on shorter hikes rather than one long one.
The longest walk of the day is a two-hour hike to a waterfall. As we start, the rain stops. The sun almost moves from hypothetical into reality, although the mountains remain in the mists of myth.
Layers are shed, and the falls are spotted. Five minutes later, the sun makes a sudden departure, making way for more rain, a sudden drop in temperature, then sleet. Little time to admire the falls, but not far down the path back the sun once again makes it's way out. By the time we reach the car, the bases of the mountains are visible, although I leave the park still without having seen the tops of all three.

the journey starts

Three of us - Kirsten and I, as well as Nick, a student teacher from Minnesota who we met in Wellington and had a week off at the same time (better known as Magnum, P.I. from Halloween night) took off for a week of hitting the tourist spots on the North Island.
After picking up a almost-too-small rental car, we headed for Tongariro National Park by way of the Wanganui River Road, about 50 miles of gravel winding through and around the hills of the Wanganui river valley.
The scenery, as pretty much always in this country, was outstanding. The road and its small villages had the air of rural solitude - we met perhaps five cars on the whole road.

road trip

Driving in New Zealand is like I imagine driving in the U.S. might have been like 60 years ago.
There is no Interstate counterpart here. Even State Highway 1, a large red line on the map, turns into a winding two-lane road spooling out and into the main street of all the towns between your starting point and destination.
In the states, a lengthy road trip means a departure point, an arrival point, and a nearly uninterrupted flow of road in between, a track for the car to follow.
In New Zealand, a lengthy road trip isn't, comparatively, lengthy. Travel is done at a more leisurely pace, especially since the country is serious about its maximum 100 kilometer an hour (60 mph) speed limit.
You drive through the towns, rather than past them, and see at least a little of what is there. You pull out at scenic lookouts, and make spur-of-the-moment decisions about pulling in at that roadside business, or taking that little hike, or seeing where that road goes.
The country doesn't exactly have all the qualities the photos, songs and movies would have you believe were there in the Route 66 days. It does have some fun diversions, of the kind I've never come across in the States unless I was taking a trip solely to see the diversions.
I love the Interstate system. I've utilized it to go to every corner of the country, to drive 1,000-mile days. I wouldn't want to take many cross-country trips back home on roads like they have here in New Zealand.
But you also miss out on something when you're driving 1,000, or 800, or 500 miles in a day. I'm sure some people take the time to find that something, to drive the back roads. But it's a lot easier to see here in New Zealand.

out for a week

We're taking a week-long trip around the North Island starting today, likely with no interenet access. The sporadic posting schedule will continue when I get back.

weather or not

I really should have known better.
I knew this town was nicknamed "Windy Welly" even before I moved here, but I still don't like the wind. Wind was a constant growing up, blowing the dust across the plains, or at least that's how I remember it now whenever I'm chilled by the air rushing across my skin.
Once indoors, though, it is cool to watch the clouds race across the sky. I've realized the cloud formations here are different - I don't think I've ever seen big, billowing, high-altitude clouds of the sort you'll get on a clear day back home. Here, the sky is either completely clear and blue, perhaps with a few wisps of condensation, or it's overcast with a thick, low ceiling of water mist that would be fog if it descended.
I wonder if the peculiar cloud formation is a function of the relatively small landmass surrounded by water. And I wonder if having a small bit of land out in the middle of a lot of ocean also makes it harder to predict the daily weather.
Because the weather forecasts here sure do seem to be crap.

blowing stuff up

The waterfront was standing-room -only Saturday night, as all good Kiwis turned out to celebrate the foiling of a plot to blow up a government house 10,000 miles away 400 years ago by watching stuff blow up. (The only amazing thing about that last sentence is I wrote "400 years ago" just to have a number, then looked it up, and found out it really did happen in 1605.)

It was Guy Fawkes Day, which, like the Queen's head on its coinage, New Zealand apparently kept even after it decided not to actually be ruled by Britian. At any rate, there was a fireworks show, and fireworks on sale in all the stores, and apparently no fireworks laws to keep people from shooting off fireworks anywhere in the city.
The last fact was fun when we watched people on the pier shooting bottle rockets toward the general vicinity of a police boat, not to mention fireworks going off at random just about anywhere you were Friday or Saturday.
It also made for a fun extension of the fireworks show, when a grassfire started at the Mount Victoria lookout, large enough for us to see from the waterfront below (as well as watch the emergency vehicles' lights wind their way up the mountain to try and reach it.)
A good time had by all - especially since we brought food and libations.

(The photo isn't actually mine - I stole it off Flicker)
Note: Post edited to use a photo covered under a Creative Commons license. Photo taken by rachelbolstad

don't you want to be, my neighbour?

I am starting to like the fact it's November and the sun is just started to shine with some regularity. I've also been in Wellington long enough the novelty of a new country has worn off, as I realized tonight in the grocery store, and found I wasn't trying to do any currency or weight conversions, or wondering about the lack of familiar brand names. This is kind of a interesting point in the trip, since I came over here to experience a new country, and at this point it's just feeling like a move to a city, although one I'm rather enjoying. However, starting this weekend we should be spending a week traveling around the North Island - there's nothing like living out of a backpack to feel like a traveler again.

So it's also probably a good time to take stock of some of my everyday surroundings. I'm not tired of our location - we ended up with a room looking onto of New Zealand's oldest cricket grounds, Basin Reserve; and further out, Mount Victoria, one of the elevated ridges which have largely remained free of houses, buildings, or other development and instead serve as parks overlooking the city and dividing the central city from many of the suburbs.
Mount Victoria is also home to the city's best-known lookout, a spot which invariably makes me involuntarily say "I can see my house from here," as one is supposed to do and as one wants, unsuccessfully, to avoid doing.
However, if you, too, want to see my house from here and join in the crass nature of the whole thing, follow the above picture's link.


The large oval green space is the playing surface of Basin Reserve. The city, or someone, thoughtfully leaves the stadium gates open for pedestrians to wander through (although there are small signs politely asking the public to stay off the playing surface. Amazingly, this suggestion is apparently universally followed. I can't imagine such a thing happening in the middle of a city in the States. There's a lot about Basin Reserve I can't imagine happening in the States. It's one of the oldest test cricket grounds in the country; has housed some of the biggest moments in New Zealand cricket history, which really is a big deal down here, at least among the sport fans; but has become obsolete as bigger, nicer stadiums have been built. I'm thinking the best comparison is to one of the grand old-generation baseball stadiums - Ebbets Field, the Polo Grounds, maybe Tiger Stadium - which just fall into disrepair and eventually demolition.
Basin Reserve is still occasionally used for an international test match as an homage to its past, although even here the practice is apparently about to end in favor of the new parks, and regularly used for club cricket matches. And, as earlier stated, the inside of the park, the concrete walkway between the stands and field, is treated as an extension of the sidewalk.


The view directly across the street from my house. Above the brick wall is a steep grass-and-tree-covered hill about 100 feet high. On top of the hill is a local university, as well as the National War Memorial:


About a mile down the road, the city streets give way to the hilltop of Mount Victoria, a long ridge covered in walking trails.



Even below the lookout, you can see the entire city center from the trails. The first picture in this post is a view of the rooftops of the Mount Victoria neighborhood, looking toward downtown.
And I'll leave you with one more "I-can-see-my-house-from-here" snap, just to act like a proper American tourist.

it's halloween?

After two weekends of getting out and seeing something of the area (last week we headed North to Napier; the weekend before that Kirsten and I headed out to the east side of Wellington bay for an afternoon hike) this weekend was spent almost entirely indoors.
Friday night became the night to celebrate the quiz night win, by spending the quiz night bar tab. Saturday was spent recovering, as well as preparing for a Halloween party Kirsten was determined to throw, to teach the Kiwis about Halloween, a holiday they don't really celebrate, although a few people here do use it as an excuse to get dressed up.

Along with all that, the flat went through a major upheaveal this week. We had been sharing a three-bedroom apartment with a couple - Swedish guy and Australian girl - and a Kiwi student. The couple was traveling and left Saturday, and last week the student announced she was moving out as well, to go to a cheaper flat.
So now we have a whole new set of flatmates. One German couple, and another couple of Australian guy/English girl. Everyone and everything seems like it will work out well, but it took some time this past week to sort everything out.

The party, and the weekend, were a success. Kirsten went through some trouble to dress up as Velma from Scooby-Doo, and I went to less trouble to look marginally like Shaggy. There were schoolgirls, a sheep, and, thanks to some $2.50 "chest hair" from the local all-in-one store, Magnum P.I.

The Australian/English couple moved to Wellington from the South Island Friday night, had taken a room in our flat Saturday around noon, and were at the party Saturday night. At one point, the girl remarked: "I had hoped we'd find a flat soon in Wellington, and I'd thought about eventually meeting people and having house parties - I haven't been here a full day, and we've got a flat, and thrown a party."

sixth time's the charm...

My life goal has now been realized. Wednesday we came out with a relatively easy victory in the quiz, and also won a bonus round, making for a $200 cash prize and $100 toward a future bar tab, split seven ways. Tonight, we reap the benefits of the bar tab.

I haven't had a chance to update much or add photos lately, but some more should be coming by the weekend...

labour day, not labor day

New Zealand celebrated its Labour Day this weekend, which nicely coincided with a friend's ability to borrow a car, meaning we got out of Wellington and headed up to Napier, about four hours north.

The weekend was supposed to be entirely sunny, but it rained on us during the drive up Friday afternoon, then again Saturday morning - though it cleared off a bit as I drove the three girls around the celebrated area wineries (and found a brewery for myself). Sunday the weather was beautiful, and they went for a hike to see a bird colony, although I decided to stay behind and take the only opportunity I've had since I've been here to watch baseball, the first game of the World Series.

In between there was time to sit on the beach and watch the waves; walk around Napier, which claims to have more Art Deco architecture than anywhere outside of Miami; and hang out with fellow travelers in our hostel, which happened to be a 130-year-old stone prison that had been closed in 1993 and re-utilized. We slept in a narrow stone cell with narrower bunkbeds, complete with iron doors which had huge deadbolts on the outside. It wasn't the nicest place I've ever slept, but it wasn't the worst, either, and at least I could leave the cell when I wanted.
The venue made for some interesting showers, as well. They simply took the old shower block and put in a few stalls with curtains. It was still fairly open, and there was just one big room of showers for the entire hostel.

Monday meant a drive back to Wellington, and more rain. I picked up some temporary work (in an office, but at least its only for a few weeks) so today meant back to work. I liked it a lot better when every day was a work holiday for me.

i'm a not-quite-as-lazy American

Since we arrived in New Zealand, I've lost about 20 pounds. I'm
certainly not working out or doing any more organized excercising
than I was back in the States, so apparently not having a car and
actually walking distances of more than two blocks really does help
things.
(So, too, does having less money, at least less money to blow on
going out eating and drinking).

the city

Wellington is not a large city, by most standards; it contains about
400,000 people. But it has the atmosphere of a larger city. It is New
Zealand's capital, and so houses the headquarters of several of the
nation's businesses, or at least a significant presence. It boasts of
being the cultural capital as well, both for the high-brow arts such
as theatre and the bohemian cafe-and-nightlife scene.
Perhaps because it does such a passable impression of a much larger
city, or perhaps because it is forced to squeeze all of the central
city onto the flat coastal area or land taken from the bay, distance
is not what it seems in Wellington.
There are many places in town that offer a glimpse of almost the
entire city, or at least the entire central city. From the hills
ringing Wellington or a downtown office building you can see all the
way across, and "all the way across" seems like it should take some
time. But from our apartment, which is just past the southern edge of
what is considered Wellington proper, to the northern reaches of
downtown, marked by the train station, is only a 30-minute walk.
Even smaller distances are somehow deciving in their appearances. I
live perhaps 300 meters from the nation's War Memorial, which is
marked by a 50-meter-tall carrillion. Walking home, the tower looks
to be away off in the distance even from a few blocks away; then I
pass it, and almost immediately, it appears to be away off in the
distance behind me.
It's an odd sensation, although one Kirsten is tired of hearing me
talk about. It is also an interested facet of Wellington, one that
contributes to its pedestrian-friendly nature.

another week, another quiz night...

Another second-place finish.

days like today

It's hard to overstate how much better Wellington looks on a warm day with the sun out and no wind.

the Ultimate afternoon

Thanks to Amber, another American in Wellington, we headed out Sunday to try and find a pick-up game of Ultimate Frisbee.
Arriving at the designated park, we found a few other players gathered for the frisbee (including yet another American, in town for student teaching, trying, as we were, to meet people through the game). Unfortunately, a larger group of Cricket players had already taken over the field.
Not all was lost - a van showed up, and the decision was made to transport all of us poor saps who arrived on public transportation to a beach on the other side of Wellington. Since Sunday was the first day of really good temperatures and sunlight without much wind, the idea was roundly applauded.
The beach also helped me out. Since the last time I played Ultimate (as the practicioners of the sport refer to it) was somewhere around eight years ago. I was certainly still in school.
Even when I was a freshman in college, when I was playing basketball regularly and in the best shape I've ever been in, a game of Ultimate was taxing. Now, as an occasional smoker and less-occasional exerciser, I was worried about the game killing me.
Thankfully, the beach was narrow and the field was short. There were also 11 people gathered for our five-on-five game. This meant I didn't have to run as far as usual, could be subbed out occasionally, and on the beach, no one can run fast.
Still, when all was done, I was less worried about my performance and more worried about my ability to continue breathing. My body was running dangerously low on the oxygen supply it so desperately wanted. I held my own, though. Perhaps a few more sessions will teach my lungs a lesson about holding their own.

Quiz night update

Fourth time around, and the worst result yet - about 10 points behind, somewhere around 7th place.

I'm going to win this damn quiz.

spring is here, not there

A few weekends back, Kirsten and I managed to get a glimpse of the Botanic Gardens Spring Festival, which nicely coincided with (or, rather, was planned to be at the same time as) the blooming of the garden's tulips, a rather colorful display.




As part of the festival, the garden's observatory cut admission. Unfortunately, we weren't in time to catch a show detailing the stars of the Southern Hemisphere (there's no big dipper here!) but we were in time to check out the observatory's antique telescope, which was built in the 1800s.
The telescope was aimed at the sun - not the main lens, but two smaller lenses were filtered to give a look. One filter revealed simply a large white disk. The other filter turned the sun's rays red, and after a brief interval for my eyes to adjust, I could see flares off the main body, as well as a pair of sun spots. (There's a subtle irony in there somewhere, as the sun has been obscured by clouds during about 90 percent of the daylight hours since I've been in Wellington .)

a missed opportunity

This weekend my knowledge of New Zealand's obscure sports (obscure to me) was vastly broadened.
Friday, I somehow got into a conversation about cricket and it's nuances, and asked questions until the Kiwi I was talking to probably would have rather talked about something else. But (I think) at least I know what some of the numbers up on the screen during cricket telecasts mean, and I'm very close to figuring out what an "over" is. I just haven't figured out why they have them.
(Fun fact - apparently, a cricket game is only supposed to use one ball. If a ball is lost, by a long hit or otherwise, the umpire goes to a batch of pre-worn balls, to find one in the same condition as the lost ball).
(Fun fact No. 2 - I had this conversation in the wee hours of the morning after consuming some beer. Therefore, the entire first fun fact may be wildly inaccurate).

A Saturday barbecue at a friend-of-a-friend's house (with a crowd made up of friends-of-a-friend-of-a-friend) ended in an invitation for me to play netball on Sunday. Even though I don't own the proper attire I decided to go. Problem was, when Sunday rolled around, all I knew was I was supposed to be meeting people at the Newtown Sports Centre at 12:45 p.m., and I vaguely remembered some directions that were, at best, vague to begin with.
(Netball, by the way, is essentially the same "women's basketball" my grandmother played in high school. Players can't move past half-court and no one can move with the ball. It ends up with a lot of passing, and my best comparison is playing Ultimate Frisbee with a basketball, and shooting at a backboard-less goal).
A quick Internet check revealed that there is no Newtown Sports Centre. Or at least that there are a number of places which could broadly be said to be called by that name. Armed with the shaky memory of the shaky directions, Kirsten and I arrived at a decision on where to go.
Of course, we were taking a bus, and we were running late. When we arrived at our best guess of location at about 12:40 p.m., it became obvious we'd guessed wrong. After asking directions and consulting a borrowed street index, we realized the directions (go to the end of Riddiford Street) were meant to start from the other direction. Therefore, we were at the wrong end of the street.
The day was beautiful, but there was no netball. There was a slightly frustrating walk across town, complete with several other wrong turns and is-this-the-street-I-don't-know-I-don't either exchanges. The only thing keeping tempers under control was the sun, out for the first time in weeks.
We arrived at the sports centre (officially named Wellington Indoor Sports) exactly at the moment the netball game ended. However, we did spend the rest of the afternoon at another barbecue in the sun, with the netball players. Not a complete waste; but one of these days, I'll get some first-hand experience with these obscure New Zealand sports.

the best deal in Wellington

Is at a hotel bar on Wednesday nights. For NZ$7 (US$4.89 as I write this, according to an online currency converter) you get A) a quart of beer. This is a deal in and of itself - most bars around here charge between $5-7 for a normal glass. You also get B) a free barbecue. Including lamb chops, chicken wings, sausages and fixin's. Easily the best deal around.

Not only that, but afterward there's a pub quiz. Bars in the States do something like this as well, but there's at least one pub quiz every night here somewhere. Find a team, write down answers to questions asked, turn them in, match your score against other teams in the bar.
The key for us is to find some Kiwis who need extra people, because I know nothing about the history of New Zealand rugby, cricket, politics or pop culture. Surprisingly, this matters less than you'd think, but definitely enough to make native New Zealanders a necessity.
So far we've lucked out. Out of three trips, three times we've joined in with some Kiwis looking for extras. The first two weeks, it was the same people. They didn't show this week, so we found some other lonely Kiwis.
The first week, we came in fourth out of 16 teams, a chunk of points behind. The second week, the team finished second of 16 teams - 1 f'in point back. Yesterday, we tied for third of 19 teams - 3 points back.
The winning team gets $200 cash. The second-place team, and the other teams, get nothing. Four points from $400. One of these days, I'm winning that damn quiz.

differences

New Zealand doesn't require a lot of adjustment for Americans. Other than the really long flight to get here and the fact I needed a passport, in a lot of ways I may as well be visiting an unfamiliar state. The language is the same, except for a new accent, and that takes away of lot of the strangeness of a new country. Not to mention a lot of the brand names are the same. Almost all the movies, music and TV are the same, although a few month behind. I'm certainly not dealing with the things my friends in South Korea or Kazakhstan are.

There are a few differences, however. Little things that strike you just when you'd forgotten you were in a far-away land.

The Kiwis don't use a penny. They still price things to 99 cents, but if you're paying in cash, the grocery stores automatically round up or down to the nearest 5 cents.
They drive on the wrong side of the road. This also means cars are still going the wrong way in relation to me as I walk around.
The newspapers are an inch or so wider than American broadsheets. (This detail may be more important to me than it would be to others).
They speak, as I've said before, in a funny accent. This doesn't usually present problems, but three times now I've been watching the news and had absolutely no idea what one of the interview subjects said. Of course, this also happened to me from time to time when I lived in Mississippi.

I still find myself making conversions in my head, as well. Most of these are easy. Kilograms to pounds - 2.2. Kilometers to miles - 0.6. Kiwi dollar to U.S. dollar - .70.
Shopping is the first area it gets tricky. Produce and meat is priced in dollars per kilo, so I do two conversions: divide the price by 2.2 to get price per pound. Then try to calculate 70 percent of the number, to get the U.S. dollar equivalent.
Even then, I still don't really have a number that means anything, because I'm comparison shopping with stores in the U.S. rather than other shops in New Zealand, where I could actually use an alternative. But it makes me feel better to know just how much more I'm paying for green peppers here than I did in the States.
With temperature, though, I'm lost. Not only is the conversion a whole formula (algorithm?) rather than a simple ratio, it's not a formula I know, or can keep in my head. And temperatures given in Celsius mean nothing to me. I have no concept of what 17 feels like as opposed to 13, or 27, or 2. Not like I just know the difference between 55 and 65, or 30, or 88, or 47. So even when I see a weather forecast, what the day feels like surprises me.

The other big difference is one only roughly half the traveling population would have to deal with. The urinals here took some getting used to. No. 1, because you can't flush them. Every urinal I've seen has no flushing mechanism, not even an automatic sensor after each use. They are simply hooked up to a pipe that either continuously runs water into them, or, most often, flushes them on a standard time interval. I don't know if they are usually flushed every 15 minutes, every 30 minutes, every hour, every week - I've never spent enough time in any one public bathroom to know. But it was a little odd the first time I walked into a bathroom and suddenly every urinal started to flush.
For No. 2, as often as not the urinal will simply be a large metal trough, flush against the wall from about floor to chest height. Then in front will be a small platform to stand on. Occasionally, it's simply a grate of sorts, and the drain is actually beneath your feet.
The Kiwis build urinals you have to walk into to pee. That's a difference.

a weekend Wellington walk

Before it finished, my feet hurt. Up until then, however, it was a good idea.

We actually got out of the house this weekend, and even out of the city. Kirsten and I, along with our friend Amy, decided to take advantage of Wellington's proximity to the sea and walk to Sinclair Head, a point south of the city known for a fur seal colony.
To get there, we took the bus to the end of the line. Then walked to the end of the road. Then walked some more, to the end of the trail (where the seals were). Then reversed our steps, and walked back, since that was the only option.
In all, we walked 13 kilometers (about 8 miles), which was about 2 kilometers too many, especially since I'm still in American mode, which means I'm used to driving anywhere further than a block away.
Looking at Wellington on a map, one of the striking features about the city is its location near the bottom of the north island, therefore near the sea, and the mostly wild, mountainous landscape keeping the city penned in.
Living in Wellington, it's easy to forget the sea and bush are just over the hills. In just a few weeks, I've gotten used to walking between our house and downtown, and finding some of the urban nooks and crannies. Without a car, though, it's hard to escape the gravitational pull of all the buildings.
For a few hours, we did. The walk was level and really not too bad, especially when we were rewarded at the end with seals close enough to touch (although that seemed like a bad idea after one growled at me). It also didn't rain on us, which was a bonus, considering the increasingly dark hue of the sky.
Today, I picked up maps of other walks around Wellington, many of them longer, and including actually elevation changes. The idea is nice, but perhaps I'll invest in some new shoes first (or magically get in shape).

Massive update, part III (on the way to Wellington)

Part I-Part II

We spent one more night in Auckland before heading south.
Before coming to New Zealand,Kirstenn and I weren't sure where we wanted to end up, but the choice came down to Auckland or Wellington, the two largest cities. Auckland was big. Wellington had some familiarity going for it - one of Kirsten's friends from college had the same working holiday visa we do, and was going to be in Wellington. We also had (not really) family in Wellington - my uncle's first cousin, once removed, lives there.
It didn't take too much convincing to head to Wellington - everyone we talked to in Auckland described their city as "crap" and said Wellington was a more fun town. So the next question was how to get there - we knew we wanted to stop in Rangitoto National Park (about halfway between Auckland and Wellington, which are at the north and south ends of the north island) for a day of skiing. A day, because more would probably sap too much of our cash reserves.
A bus was the first choice, but it turned out taking a bus would be as much as renting a car, so we got a car. After returning from Paihia, we spent another night in Auckland. The hostel had a stay four nights, get one night free deal, which worked for us, because we'd been there four nights before heading north. However, the free night was only good for a dorm-style room - four bunk beds for eight people.
No problem. At least not until the eighth member of the room walked in at 4 a.m. and promptly began urinating in the doorway. My memories of the event are a little foggy. I believe he denied the urination, despite all evidence to the contrary, and was then not-so-kindly asked to leave. At any rate, I got some sleep.
One other aspect of the dorm room was picking up a third for the trip to Wellington - a British girl was heading to Wellington, and offered to pick up some of the petrol cost for the trip down. Works for us.

The trip was uneventful, except for my crash-course (thankfully without any actual crashes) in driving on the wrong side of the road. On the map, we were staying on State Highway 1 most of the way, which on paper appears to correspond with an American interstate. It doesn't.
Hwy. 1 was a several-lane divided highway for about 15 miles outside of Auckland, when it turned into a winding, two-lane road through the country side. It had the same speed limit either way: 100 km/hour, or 60 mph. Also known as: much slower than I usually drive. But I managed.
It was another sunny day, and the three of us pulled off the road a number of times to check out the scenery. It's one of the nicest features of New Zealand's roads - about the time you say to yourself, 'Man, that's a nice view,' they have asmalll turnout or picnic area for you to stop and look at it.

We pulled into National Park village just before sunset, in time to catch a view of the mountains, most of which were featured in The Lord of the Rings as part of Mordor.
Our hostel featured a huge fireplace, in front of which we spent most of the evening. Waking up the next day, the day we were to ski, it was foggy and raining. I decided to go ahead and ski, because I wasn't going to get another chance, while Kirsten decided to bow out and go hiking around the area with the British girl.
It looked like I'd made the wrong decision when I got to the slope - there was almost no snow at the bottom, and what was there was wet. Not slushy, wet. It made for a tough first few runs, not being able to see getting soaked while battling a crowd making their way down the only really usable run.
The ski areas on Mount Ruapehu don't have any trees and the runs aren't particularly well-marked, but they're basically the areas between the rocks. The whole thing's a volcano, which erupted about a decade ago. I'm sure it would have been spectacular to look at, if I could have seen it.
At any rate, the afternoon worked out much better, once I realized how to get to the top of the mountain, and then the back of the top of the mountain. I still couldn't see, but the snow was much better, and most of the time there wasn't anyone else on the mountain. It made for an adventure, trying to pick my way down with less than 50 feet of visibility. One time I almost ran into the base of the chairlift, because I knew it was there, but couldn't see it.

The next day, of course, the clouds lifted, the sun shone, and all was fine, although we were once again in the car. We headed to Wellington, where my uncle's-cousin-once-removed had graciously given us a place to stay based on two e-mails of contact.
Three days later, we'd found an apartment. Kirsten quickly followed that up by landing a couple of temp assignments, bringing in money to pay rent. We've had a little bit of time to explore the city, although we probably haven't been out and about enough.

We'll see what happens from here.

Part I-•Part II

Massive update, part II (up North)

Part I-Part III

Taking advantage of a free bus trip to Paihia, we headed to the Bay of Islands for a weekend. The area is a common tourist destination, and there is no shortage of ways to spend your money in exchange for a new experience or different scenery. On the bus ride up, we were given the opportunity to sign up for a few. We settled on an afternoon sea kayak trip (with a free bike rental thrown in) and swimming with the dolphins the next morning, followed by taking advantage of the free bikes.
We arrived in Piahia at about noon Saturday and would be leaving at 4 p.m. Sunday. Those two partial days were the source of most of the memorable moments of our time in New Zealand so far.
The sea kayak excursion was enjoyable - we were in a group of about 10 people on the guided tour, which paddled around several of the volcanic islands: small, steep chunks of rock covered in trees. On the trip were an American girl and English guy that joined us later in the hostel bar to watch the All Blacks play Australia for the Tri-Nations title.
The hostel bar was packed. There were a few backpackers (us) but the majority of the crowd seemed to be locals, or at least Kiwis working in Piahia's tourist industry. The crowd wasn't as loud as I'd expected. They were all watching the game, but watching intently, rather than yelling at the action in the manner of most sporting crowds I've been a part of.
I, having no knowledge at all about the rugby, picked up some knowledge of the game while watching it, and more afterward when I asked questions to try and piece together why things happened the way they did. (There's apparently no blocking in rugby, although you can do just about anything to someone with the ball).
The 7 a.m. wakeup call for the dolphins came way too early, and there was still far too much chill in the air, but we headed out to the boat just the same. It was a brand-new experience for me, both the actual swimming and doing it so close to these large, fast and powerful animals. After some time in the water, the boat took us to an island with a small cafe and hot showers, along with a number of odd-looking birds.

In the afternoon we rode the bikes a few kilometers up the road from Piahia, to the grounds where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed. The treaty was between the European colonizers and the native Maori, and has been a source of contention since.


The grounds were beautiful, however. There was a large Maori canoe on display, carved to the celebration of (I think) the 100th anniversary of the treaty. The colonial governor's house and its lawn (above), where the treaty was actually signed, have been restored and now serve as a museum about the treaty and the history of the area.
All weekend, the weather was beautiful. Sunny, warm, a faint breeze, blue sky, blue water. The weather help up most of our early time in New Zealand - at least until I tried to go skiing.

Part I-Part III

Massive update, part I (Auckland)

Part II-Part III

It's hard to say what my first impression was when we first landed in Auckland Aug. 30, at just before 5 a.m. local time, other than fatigue. Broken sleep on an airplane, even during a 12-hour flight, just doesn't cut it. Thankfully we were able to navigate our way to the hostel, despite some confusion about where to pick up our pre-arranged bus passes, and when we got to the hostel sometime before 7 a.m. they gave us a room, allowing us to add a few hours to our sleep total and check out Auckland as not-quite-stark-raving lunatics.
Auckland is an odd city. Our hostel was right in the heart of Queen Street, the city's main commercial strip, and the first-day impressions of Auckland tended to be of a bustling, vibrant city. Every block on Queen Street is packed with businesses, the sidewalks are full, and high-rise buildings line the street. It appears to be a city much larger than its 1.2 million people.
However, after walking around Queen Street and its environs a few times, you realize that's really all there is, at least for someone without a car. The bustle is confined, more or less, to a half-mile long, three-block wide strip, and there doesn't seem to be a ton of nightlife. Even a trip up to K Road, which is supposed to be one of the hip nightlife districts, showed little other than a few overpriced bars far apart from each other.
That's not to say we didn't have fun in Auckland. But the city is more than twice as large as any other city in New Zealand - you'd think it'd be the place to be. Instead, even the locals we ran into said Auckland wasn't exactly a happening place, certainly not as much as you'd expect.
It was good to spend four or five days there, though. We took a free city tour given by one of the backpacker tour companies - there are at least two companies that have bus routes around the country, and try to gain business with free Auckland tours. The tour guide had fun with the four-hour trip, and it got us to places around Auckland we certainly wouldn't have seen otherwise, such as Mount Eden, an inactive volcano providing a panoramic view of the city (and the volcanic cone).
There wasn't much else of note done in Auckland - a couple nights at the backpackers' bar downstairs, and a couple nights of looking for cheaper places, and then learning the $5 beers at the backpacker bar were cheap. One night, still not quite on a normalized sleep cycle, we simply headed up the street to see Batman Begins which I had missed in its theater run in the States.

Before we left the U.S. we'd booked a package deal at our hostel. I'm not sure it ended up being a good deal, but it did give us free transportation to the Bay of Islands, a trip we certainly wouldn't have done otherwise, and one that turned out to be the best part of our opening week.

Part II-Part III

more photos of the U.S. trip

a few photos from a whirlwind tour of the States

Between Aug. 1 and Aug. 24, I drove almost exactly 4,000 miles - from Hattiesburg, Miss., to Missouri, to Denver, to Montana, to Oregon (via Seattle).

I didn't have time to put much up about the trip while it was happening, and now it might be a little late to recreate some of my thoughts while we were driving around. But one thing a road trip of that magnitude will reveal (besides the fact it's surprisingly tiring to sit in a car all day) is the sheer magnitude of so much around the country. It's especially revealing when you come to a place like New Zealand. My month-long trip across part of the U.S. was long enough to drive north to south along both islands of New Zealand and back again - and then back down to the south. (Although here they don't have the beauty of a nation-wide, four-lane, limited-access highway system).

Driving across the states we ran into monster thunderstorms (we drove through the same front three times between Columbia and Denver, and each time hit blinding rain for about 20 minutes), the plains of Kansas (I could have done without seeing those again) as well as Wyoming, Montana, Washington and Oregon, mountains all around, and friends and family I'm glad I got a chance to talk to before leaving the country.


I drove Glacier's Going-to-the-Sun road for the first time in what I figure was about a decade, and got to introduce someone new to the park.
















We had to decide the route to get from Missoula to almost Portland one day, and decided to take a few extra miles to stop in Seattle at sunset, which was the perfect choice.











And I got to mark two milestones off at once in the second-to-last stop: not only did I knock off another state by setting foot in Oregon for the first time, I also completed the travesty of visiting all three of my siblings at their college (not an easy feat, considering the three locales were New Orleans, Boston and Corvallis, Ore.).

An inaugural trip to Portland determined I liked the city as much as I thought I would, from the massive bookstore to the underground bar some acquaintances-of-a-friend took us.



















We saw sea lions in Oregon and again in California just south of Carmel. We walked on a wind-blown beach in Oregon and then a golden, sun-warmed beach in California. Sunsets from the top of a mountain in Montana and overlooking the sound in Seattle. Saw Bob Saget at a comedy club, Mount St. Helens vent steam into the clouds and capped it all off with a perfect sunny day watching baseball by the bay in San Francisco.

Thankfully, by the end of the trip we had traded in the car for air travel. Then we jumped all-in for the air travel, and traded in late summer for late winter.

it's something, anyway

I finally saw part of Monday Night Football, caught on the TV screens of a department store.
It just happened to be Tuesday afternoon at the time.

my TV wasteland

My flat (apartment) has a TV, but no cable or satellite - we're restricted to the over-the-air channels. There are five of them we should be able to get, but in reality we only pick up two.
One thing this means is I haven't seen a single college or NFL football game this year. This is quite a difference, considering the past four years I've made a living watching college football, and long before I was paid for it I watched as much as possible. I have to say I don't miss it, but that's mostly because I'm not reminded that it even exists - there is no coverage of any American sports here, although there were about 20 pages of rugby coverage in the paper this weekend. I am on a quest over the next few weeks to find a bar to watch the baseball playoffs - I know they're carried here, I just don't know which establishments will feel a need to switch it on.

The other consequence of only having broadcast TV is that my roommates watch some horrible TV. Every night there's a local show called Shortland Street, which is a prime-time soap opera. The only thing I've ever seen to compare it too was a short-lived show on MTV (I don't remember the name, and I'm only hoping it was short-lived. For all I know it's still going on, but I only saw it a few times late at night when I was in college).
Every time I accidentally came across the MTV show I was convinced it was a sketch parodying a soap opera, because the plot and production were that bad. I kept watching, waiting for the joke, until I gradually realized there wasn't a joke - MTV actually expected people to watch this, and I'm sure some people did.
Shortland Street gives me that feeling every night.

maybe more updates

We've settled, for now, in Wellington, New Zealand's capital, right at the southern tip of the North Island and one of the three major cities in the country along with Auckland and Christchurch.
Originally, we were split on whether to start by settling in Auckland or Wellington. Then everyone we met from Auckland kept telling us their city was shite, and they'd rather be in Wellington.
Based on my rather brief time in each city, the breakdown seems to be like this: Auckland is the big city. Wellington is the cool city.
The closest analogue in the states I can think of is L.A. and San Francisco - just think of Auckland as a 1:10 scale model of L.A., and Wellington as a 1/10 scale model of San Francisco. Wellington, at least, looks a little like San Francisco - nestled into the hills against a bay. Auckland is spread out, but still seemed better than L.A.
At any rate, now we're actually spending more than a day in a row in one spot, I'm more likely to have regular Internet access, and access with my laptop, so more regular updates could be at hand.
No promises.

driving on the wrong side

Rented a car today and drove 350 kilometers or so from Auckland to
Tongariro National Park, where we plan to ski tomorrow.
After the alien experience of breathing underwater, when all 27 years
of my life experience have led me to believe that's a bad thing, I went
right into the alien experience of driving on the wrong side, fighting
13 years of driving experience and the subsequent learned reflexes.
The hardest things: turning right and ending up in the left lane. Also,
when turning right out of a turning lane, I kept trying to look behind
me instead of in front of me for oncoming traffic. When you're in the
middle of two lanes, the traffic should be coming from behind your
right shoulder, not in front.
Also, when cars come around a mountain curve to my left, it really
looks like they're coming head-on at me, because you can't see they're
in the far lane.
Made it, though.

beautiful weekend

Saturday morning we left Auckland on a bus trip a few hours north, to an area called the Bay of Islands (the transportation was part of a package deal from our hostel, so why not use it). Every time I looked around up there, it felt like I was looking at a scene set up for a postcard - too nice to be real. The weather was perfect, the water was calm and dark blue, with a hint of turquoise, and the bay was filled with sailboats and rock formations pushing up out of the water, topped with trees.
Saturday we arrived in Paihia and right away went on a guided sea kyack trip. Saturday night we spent in the hostel bar, along with a few travelers we met on the kyack excursion, watching the All Blacks defeat Australia's rugby team - and by the end, I almost figured out the basic objectives of the game.
Today, we woke up far too early but it was worth it. We took a dolphin tour of the bay - the boat took us, along with 20 other people, out on the water looking for dolphins. We ended up lucky - found a pod of about 10 dolphins in about 20 minutes, and they were active - jumping out of the water, playing next to the boat, the whole bit.
The tour was actually called swimming with dolphins, and we did. Fitted out in wet suits, flippers, a mask and snorkel, getting into the water was an option.
As a kid from a land-locked state, I'd never swam with flippers, a wetsuit, or a mask and snorkel before - much less in the open ocean. The first time in the water, I managed to get a breath full of salt water, and combined with the completely alien experience of breathing in the mask, it felt as though I was struggling for air, and had to depart the water early.
I got another chance, though, and did much better - now a little more used to the whole breathing experience, I could concentrate on being literally inches from the dolphins. I may even have to try that again sometime.

Tonight, we returned to Auckland. I think an early night is in order - tomorrow we're renting a car and trying another alien experience. Driving on the left-hand side of the road.

And, of course, I'm still spending my free time reading the news about New Orleans. I finally got to see some TV footage this weekend - it made the postcard vistas even more unreal.

a world removed

Since arriving in Auckland, I've meant to update this blog, but every time I get online I spend all my time looking at the news reports from the hurricane. I have a love for New Orleans, a more familiar relation with its streets, bars and sights than any other city. I held a fondness for New Orleans even before I got there, and spent just enough time there - one three-month stint, and countless weekends and three- and four-day trips - to have a passing knowledge of a few neighborhoods and a bare understanding of what it might be to be a local.
The past four years, I had been a local of Hattiesburg, Miss., a town that probably hasn't made the national (certainly the international) news in the fashion of New Orleans, Biloxi or the Gulf towns. It doesn't even deserve to mentioned, from what I understand. But in a normal situation, what Hattiesburg is going through would be bad enough. I got a call through to some former co-workers today, the first day they had phone service after the storm. About 20 of them have been sleeping in the newsroom, because there is no power in the rest of the town. There hadn't been running water until today, and it's still under a boil order.
The cell phone towers are knocked out, and travel is near impossible. Trees block most of the roads, and the gas stations don't have power, so no gas. A friend told me some stations came online today, but they limited people to $20 of gas, and ran out in about 20 minutes.
And that's 60 miles inland. The scene is obviously much worse in places that had to contend with the storm surge, and the flooding in New Orleans is near incomprehensible.
An aspect that hasn't been covered, and even I hadn't thought of until I talked to people in Hattiesburg, is that the past few days temperatures have hovered "around 100 degrees," they said. I haven't looked up exact temps, but even if they're 90 or so, with no power, air conditioning or water, that becomes unbearable even in the best of times.
As my former editor said, regarding the looting that appears to be widespread in the affected cities: with the heat and the destruction, "People have just snapped."

Kirsten asked me the other day if I wished I was there covering it. My first response was no. I realize, however, that a big part of me does wish I was there covering it. Despite the craziness of the situation. Despite the fact it means I'd have been sleeping on our newsroom floor the past four days or so, without a shower or decent food.
At least when you're covering a situation like this, you have access to the raw information. You know as much as anyone. You get to see what's going on, talk to people, hear scraps of information long before there's enough real knowledge to put the scraps in the paper.
And when you cover an event like this, it gives you some ability to put yourself outside the disaster. This one is likely much harder in that regard, because everyone covering it was also affected - a friend of mine at the paper currently has a tree in his living room. But going out and trying to find out information, going out and talking to people, means you're not just sitting around worrying, realizing, as someone I talked to put it, "I don't have any idea when we might return to normalcy."

I'm glad I'm in New Zealand. But being here, I do kind of wish I'd gone through Katrina. Gone through it to see just how I'd respond, as a journalist and as someone caught in a disaster few people ever actually experience.

on a lighter note

Even I, who couldn't tell you one thing about rugby, knew the NZ national team was called the All Blacks. They're playing Australia Saturday, and it's a big, big deal here.
But today I was reading the paper, and came across an article about the national basketball team.
The Tall Blacks.

the flight

Timing-wise, this worked out well. The plane took off just after sunset Sunday, and about 12 hours later, it landed just before sunrise (Tuesday). Sleep on the plane wasn't necessarily restful, but there was some; I was probably awake for six or seven hours of the flight.
Customs was ridiculously easy. The lady looked at my passport and entry card with a scowl, same for the printout of my electronic visa, but stamped a 12-month work permit in my passport. Kirsten said her officer said Kirsten's visa wasn't in the system, but gave her the permit anyway. No checking of the supposed requirements - they didn't ask to see proof of funds or health insurance.
The quarantine officers weren't any different. I told them I'd been on a farm and hiking in the last month (both questions on the entry card that sent you to the "something to declare" line). They wanted to know only if I had hiking boots with me. A negative response, and I was waved through. Kirsten had hiking boots, which sent her into a different line and delayed her about a minute and a half for boot inspection.
A shuttle into the city dropped us off right at our hostel, to which I am eternally grateful for allowing us to check in before 7 a.m. Four or five more hours of sleep and I'm up at noon - right back on my regular schedule.

Jetlag? What jetlag?

we're off

Or will be soon. Off to the ballgame, anyway.
Friday we ditched the car in favor of air travel from Portland to San Jose, where I have relatives. Since Aug. 1, I have driven approx. 4,000 miles across this Great Land of ours (well, perhaps 2,000 miles across great land, and the rest across places like Kansas).
Today is my last day in-country for some time, although the thought doesn't really sink in, considering I haven't had a destination with this much unknown involved since leaving home for college.
I do, however, have a good last day planned. A day game at SBC Park watching the Giants and the Mets (what better last day in the U.S.A. activity than a baseball game?) along with a meal in San Francisco.
Then board the plane, which should leave the ground of SFO at 9:45 p.m. Sounds like I'll be in the air as the apocalypse bears down on New Orleans. I'll be hoping everything survives, so the city is just as I left it for my return.

long way around

This is about what the trip has looked like so far. Rand McNally puts it at a little more than 3,100 miles, although we took winding routes across Montana to push our mileage somewhere beyond that.
I hadn't been through Washington for more than 10 years, and had never been the driver across the state. I'd forgotten what the ride into Seattle on I-90 is like - 20 miles away from downtown, you're still in the mountains, with almost no sign of a metropolis up ahead. At about mile 17, you hit the first sign of suburbia - Big Box chains, identical dwellings marching along a subdivision - but even there, it's different. The chains' signs have to compete for viewing space with the covering of evergreen trees, and the suburban home architecture is shoehorned onto a hillside. It almost makes the sprawl easy to look at.
My decade-old impressions of downtown Seattle were only reinforced by walking around for a couple hours - not enough to get a true feel of a city, I know, but enough to know I'd like to spend a lot more time there. After five years of Midwest schooling and four years in the South, it'd sure be nice to get back to the mountains.
Four more days, give or take, and I'll have entirely new mountains to look at. The road trip has taken up most of my thought space - drive for a day, see friends or family for a day, drive for another day, see a whole new group of friends or family - and the fact the end destination is actually 6,500 miles across the Pacific hasn't had a chance to really burrow it's way into my brain.
Today, we drive to Corvallis to see my little brother at Oregon State, then perhaps to Portland before giving up our auto-mobile life for airplanes. A skip from Portland to San Francisco Friday, then a leap from San Francisco to Auckland, New Zealand Sunday (but we land Tuesday).
No accommodations or other plans have been made in New Zealand, beyond the first two nights. We finally did make hostel reservations for those a few days ago.

a word of advice

When you go to Glacier National Park, drive into it from the east. There's nothing quite like churning out the miles of farmland plains on Hwy. 2, then cresting a small rise and having a line a mountains pop up on the horizon.
After their initial appearance, the peaks hang there, hazy in the distance despite your best efforts to decrease the distance, until the granite finally gives in slightly and moves into clear focus.


Continue into the park via St. Mary's and the Going-to-the-Sun Road, and the vantage points are better from the east as well. You get to roll up into the hanging valleys and Logan Pass, then take in the vista of a glacier valley with dimensions and suddenness you can't easily comprehend.


The sights from Going-to-the-Sun will stun you into silence no matter what, but I'm telling you, come in from the east. (Even though that means you don't get to start in beauty. It just makes sights all the better in the end).

the itinerary

Since I'm apparently not going to have time to post in detail any time soon, a recap of my last month:
Aug. 1 - drive from Hattiesburg to Memphis for my final assignment as a full-time employee.
Aug. 2 - cover the Conference USA media days, then drive to Springfield, Mo.
There spend a week in the company of two toddlers, and take a one-day side trip to Arkansas.
Aug. 10 - drive from Springfield to Columbia, Mo.
Aug. 11 - drink too much
Aug. 12 - wake up with the intention of driving to Denver. Go back to sleep with intention of getting rid of hangover. Wake up again, in the afternoon, and fulfill both intentions.
Aug. 14 - drive from Denver to Billings, Mont.
Aug. 15 - drive to Geraldine, Mont., with long detour into Paradise Valley, south of Livingston and north of Yellowstone.
Aug. 19 - drive from Geraldine to Missoula, Mont., with long detour through Glacier National Park and Whitefish.

Miles covered in the car so far: more than 2,900 (exactly 2,361 since leaving Springfield Aug. 10).

Future plans include a Monday trip to Oregon, then a short flight to San Fransicso before heading a good way away on Aug. 28. Rather, we take off on Aug. 28, and land in Auckland, New Zealand, on Aug. 30. At 5 a.m. I'm sure jet lag won't be an issue.
At all.
Once we land in Auckland, of course, the next item of business will be to ask, 'What the hell do I do now?'

it's hard to update on the road

spending too much time in the car to get much up - so far, the drving has gone from Hattiesburg to Memphis to Springfield, Mo., to Columbia, Mo., to Denver and today to Billings. Only about 1,500 miles to go, more or less.

maybe we won't kill each other

So for the next three weeks or so Kirsten and I will be traveling about 2500 miles in the car, driving for a day, then stopping for two or three days. Eventually, we'll end up in San Francisco and fly away.
I've done long road trips, by which I mean a week or so of hitting different cities each day or two. After about five days of living out of your car, tempers flare. Tension rises. Kirsten and I may not be engaged by the time we get in that plane.

no more health insurance

I am officially unemployed. My last story for the Hattiesburg American, at least as a full-time employee, was sent minutes ago.
It's an anticlimactic end - as always before a Conference USA media day in Memphis I stayed out too late and had to wake up too early. Now I'm just really tired and facing a five-hour drive.

Here we go

the story:

The best part about this move so far has been the reaction I get when I tell people what I'm doing. Everytime I tell someone I'm leaving Hattiesburg, I invariably get the standard question: "Where are you going?" Then I answer.

"I'm headed to New Zealand."

And immediately the face goes from the normal OK-standard-polite-conversation-mode, generally into a double-take and a mixture of envy and confusion. It's fun stuff.

New Zealand's working holiday visa application went online July 4. We applied late July 5, and I think I was approved as soon as the immigration office opened and someone could hit OK. It may as well have been instantaneous, and certainly took less than 24 hours. Much better than what would have happened before, when NZ required you to send the application - and your passport - to the embassy.
I was approved by the time I checked on July 6. Kirsten (thanks to spending too much time in Mexico) was required to get a chest X-ray and mail the results to New Zealand. She got her approval today, so we can each officially work for a year from the time we enter New Zealand. Of course, we're leaving on August 28 and as of yet neither of us has any idea what we'll do, or where we'll live.

I'm looking forward to it.

the leap

Eight days left until I leave Hattiesburg. I'll be three months shy of four years spent in Mississippi.

The heat index was 110 today. I think I'm all right with leaving.