now I'm saying it

It is the most uniquely Kiwi piece of slang there is: "Sweet as."
(When you first arrive in this country, you hear an extra "s" on the end of the phrase).

It's used the same way I used "no problem," or "that's cool" or even just "sweet."
It can be used as a descriptive expression: "That skydive was sweet as!"
or as a statement to express a laid-back contentment: "Sweet as, bro."

There's never any indication of what it might be as sweet as, of course. The construction can also be used with just about any adjective, usually to express how intense something was.
"Yesterday it was cold as, man"
"Last night I was drunk as"
"That guy is crazy as, bro"
"Your coffee is bitter as"

Mostly, however, the "as" only goes with "sweet." And once you get used to the expression, it's quite handy.
It's sweet as.

it was moderately entertaining

When we were traveling around the North Island we picked up a brochure for a private Elvis museum - basically a guy obsessed with Elvis letting you pay to see the collection of stuff in his basement.
The funniest part of the whole thing, however, was a list of television programs that have featured the collection.

No. 1 on the list: a show with the not-quite-enthusiastic title, "That's Fairly Interesting."

Apparently this was a New Zealand-produced show some years ago. It's a good illustration of a certain bit of the Kiwi character, a knack for understatement and a fear of appearing too proud. After all, you wouldn't want to advertise something as being can't miss and disappointing your audience. Better to be safe and underwhelm.
For someone used to American hyperbole, the title amuses me every time. I am just picturing a old gentleman of the English type coming on my TV screen on Sunday afternoon, introducing a piece on a local attraction, then after the piece airs coming back on, and in a slightly hopeful tone of voice, suggesting he regrets taking up your time and hopes you don't blame him, saying,
"Well, That's Fairly Interesting."

world cup fun

One of my favorite moments as a sports spectator came four years ago in a New Orleans Irish bar filled with Brazilians.
It was the final game of the 2002 World Cup, between Germany and Brazil. The game was being played in Japan or South Korea (I don't remember which country hosted the title game) and so kicked off at 5 a.m. New Orleans time.
My buddy Wright and I started the night before, with the goal of ended up in the Quarter at a bar we were told had been adopted by the local Brazilian community for the tournament.
We showed up an hour before game time, and the bar was nearly empty. But in the next half hour or so, every square foot in the bar was packed and everyone was rooting for Brazil.
Fans hung flags and banners, chanted throughout the game and there was even an air horn among the crowd.
It was all of the best aspects of watching sports: a roomful of strangers turned into best friends, united in every Brazil attack, euphoric at each Brazil goal. I would have barely cared about the result if I'd watched the game at home, but in the midst of the revelry, I could share in the euphoria of the contest and eventual victory. The fact it all happened between 5 and 7 in the morning just added to the atmosphere of the whole event.

I'm reminded of that World Cup fairly often during this one. Not because I've had any experience similar so far this time around, but simply because the games are once again at an impossible time.
Four years ago, it was impossible to casually watch any of the World Cup, because all the games kicked off sometime between 2 a.m. and 6 a.m.
Four years later, it is impossible to casually watch any of the World Cup, because all the games kick off sometime between 2 a.m. and 6 a.m.
Yes, somehow I've managed to once again end up on the opposite side of the globe from the World's Biggest Sporting Event. It takes dedication to watch sports at times like those. You either have to stay awake until the game finishes or force yourself to wake up at strange times.
Unusually for me, I've actually had more luck waking up at odd hours. Last night, for example, I dragged myself out of bed at 2:45 a.m., after about three hours of sleep, to head out and find a pub showing the US/Ghana game. (The first-round games are only showing on cable, which the hostel doesn't have).
I wandered downtown to my first choice, only to find the bar was only showing Italy playing the Czech Republic. I headed to another pub rumored to be open, to find the US game on a big screen in a back room.
There were about 15 fans watching, most of whom appeared to be displaced Americans (I'd guess most were studying abroad at the University here). I didn't arrive until halftime, however.
There was no opportunity for bonding through sport here. With the States down 2-1 and needing two goals to advance, the mood wasn't celebratory. I watched a mostly desultory half of soccer before heading home for another four hours of sleep.
Regardless, I'm glad I headed out. I feel like I've achieved something each time I say I'm going to watch a game and actually manage to do so. And even when there isn't a celebration, there's something about wandering the deserted early-morning streets, opening the door to a bar open specifically for World Cup fans, and finding a group of people who are just as idiotic as you are to be up at a time rarely seen simply to watch a game of soccer.

(One of the best single moments of watching that game with the Brazilians: There were two constant chants from the crowd. One was easy to pick up: Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole, Bra-zil, Bra-zil.
The other I couldn't make out, After about 30 minutes, I turned to the fan sitting on my right.
"What are you chanting?"
"Oh, that's 'Fuck the Germans,' in Portuguese."
I think that's a phrase that should be in the guidebook for every country. It seems like a sentiment most of the world is united behind.)

lights on the old museum

lights on the old museum
Originally uploaded by slack13.

I just like this photo. It was taken several months ago in Wellington. This is the old museum, which is now part of Massey University. It was also across the street from my old apartment. When King Kong had its New Zealand premiere, this was the site of the cast party, which is why it was lit up like this. We wandered by the night before, when they were setting up the lights.

hills and cold

I've gone from one city built up and down hills to another.
In a few ways Dunedin is like a smaller version of my other New Zealand home, Wellington. Both are nestled between hills and a harbor, both lay claim to a better nightlife and music scene than their size would normally call for. And both have a reputation for leaving something to be desired in the weather department: Wellington for wind and Dunedin for cold.
I realized the other day I'm almost exactly as far away from the equator as I was growing up in Montana. Dunedin lies at 46 degrees South. Geraldine, Montana, is 47.6 degrees North.
Since I'm about 1,000 miles closer to an ocean here in Dunedin, it doesn't get quite as bitterly cold here. But after four years of living in Mississippi all the natural antifreeze built up by my upbringing has left my blood, so the near-freezing temperatures here are testing my body's ability to cope. Fortunately, the hostel has wood fireplaces so I can blast heat into a room without having to curse the Kiwi lack of central heating.
Unfortunately, the hostel sits at the top of the hill overlooking downtown. I've had to trudge up and down (it feels like mostly up) more hills here than I usually did in Wellington, since we lived in the relatively flat central city. If we choose to take the elevation on all at once, the sidewalk at the end of the street turns into a staircase with 169 steps, which leads to another set of about 30 steps. Otherwise, we just walk up a constant grade to get to the same place.
On the plus side, the city really does seem like a fun place to go out in, when I get up the motivation to brave the stairs.

driving oddities

We may not have had a car for most of our time in New Zealand, but we have been subject to some of the oddities of New Zealand's roads from the beginning. Road trips in rentals or other people's cars, and now our own, clued us in.
There were a number of strange rules and regulations to get used to: obviously, driving on the left was the biggest one. Also mandatory stops at pedestrian crossings on the highways as well as city streets.
The strangest rule is one unique to New Zealand, at least according to the guidebooks. If two cars facing each other at an intersection are both turning the same direction, the one turning right has the right-of-way.
For those used to driving on the correct side of the road, picture this: You're at a red stoplight ready to turn right (in New Zealand you can't make those easy turns, which are left turns here, against a red light. Ever.). Another car, facing you, has it's blinker on to turn left. You're both going to turn into the same lane. So, obviously, you have the right of way. Right?
That's not how it works here.

Another oddity is just how well people follow directions. Those pedestrian crossings, for example. In theory, crosswalks in the States work the same way. But rare are the cars who stop at them, especially on a busy street (when you can find a crosswalk on a busy street). Here, the crossings are everywhere, and everyone stops.
Kiwis also have a propensity to have a two-lane road turn into one lane immediately after an intersection. If there's much traffic in both lanes, as there often is, drivers are expected to effortlessly complete the transition by alternating cars from each lane. Traffic signs urge you to "merge like a zipper."
Amazingly, everyone does.

touring along

This was the weekend of the afternoon drives.
Dunedin is situated at the end of a long, narrow harbor formed by the jutting thumb of the similarly long and narrow Otago Peninsula. This weekend we explored both sides of the harbor; on Saturday we drove out to the end of the Peninsula, and on Sunday we drove along the mainland side to the harbor entrance.
Then on Monday, which was a national holiday here as New Zealand celebrated the Queen's Birthday (which was actually in April - don't ask me), we drove further north up the coast and then west into the rural mountain landscape.
By the time we took off Monday, Kirsten remarked she felt like an old couple going out for a Sunday drive. I figured since it was actually Monday, we were all right.
Saturday was a day for animal-spotting (and the only day we paid to be tourists). At the end of Otago Peninsula is an Albatross breeding ground, the only one in the world that's not on a remote, inaccessible Sub-Antarctic Island. This is where the payment bit comes in - you can only see the nesting area on a guided tour.
We'd been here once before. On Christmas Day we drove out to the end of the Peninsula in driving raid and a cold wind, and caught a glimpse of the albatross loving life and gliding through the air. The worse the weather is, the better if you're an albatross, apparently.
This time around, we were told it was unlikely we would see any adult birds, as they no longer are feeding the chicks more than once every few days. This is because the chicks have been fed so much in their first few months of life they're now fat bastards, weighing more than their parents. They're still covered in down and haven't grown their real feathers, so they don't fly, barely move and are now on a diet.
We got lucky. As we walked into the observation shed, we saw an adult standing next to the one visible chick (which really was just a fat ball of white fluff, at least as big as the adult). It was there just a minute or two, before taking off and flying out of sight.
It wasn't the end of our wildlife viewing, however. Next to the parking lot for the albatross center is a small beach. After sunset, a number of Blue Penguins, the world's smallest penguins, came ashore. There was just one small problem: it was a dark moonless night, and it kept getting darker. We could just make out the first penguins, which were only about a foot and a half tall, but after that all you could see was the blue flash of the later arrivals' bellies. We did get to hear the penguins after we could no longer see them.
Sunday was originally going to be for finding some walks along the coast, but a bitterly cold wind started to blow, bringing with it occasional rain, so we were content to stay in the car.
Sunday night Dunedin picked up some hail with it's rain, and when we woke up there was actually a dusting of snow on the hills around the city.
Our Monday Sunday drive led us up to the Moeraki Boulders, a group of perfectly round rocks, about four feet across, lying in the sand. They are impressive on first glance, then they become just a group of big rocks on the beach. We headed back to Dunedin on a scenic route into the hills, passing a huge open pit gold mine as well as the ruins of settlements from a late 1800's gold rush in the area.
Sure, we didn't get out of the car much. But we saw quite a bit of the area, and after all, it was cold.

island life

New Zealand is a Pacific Island nation. New Zealand is not a tropical island nation, although it sometimes pretends it is.
This might be something visitors fall prey to more than native Kiwis. To an American, New Zealand looks like it belongs with Fiji, Samoa and all the rest sitting all the way across the blue expanse of the Pacific. At the very least, New Zealand is lumped in with Australia in our geographic mind.
It's easy to overlook the fact New Zealand's Southland is nearly as far away from the equator as Canada.
New Zealand is not a tropical island, but there is a small bit of the easy-going island mentality here. Sometimes the mentality is here defying all logic.
This was the case the other day here in Dunedin. Mind you, there was a dustin of snow here yesterday. Temperatures have been around and below the freezing point. But there he was, hanging on to the island ideal, a New Zealander to the core, pulling on a winter coat, bracing against the bitter wind...
And wearing flip-flops.

dunedin view

This is the view from our hostel, which is located on a hill above the city center. Looking from the front door, you look over the city to the Pacific Ocean. If you turned left, you'd look toward downtown and the harbour, which is sheltered from the ocean by a long, narrow peninsula.