December 31, 2013 S. Island III: New Years' Eve

I went bungy jumping at the first commercial bungy location in the world. It may well be the only time I ever attempt such a daredevil action, but I think it’s an appropriate end to the year which has turned out to be much different than I envisioned it would be last New Years’. Plus, I figured I’m far enough away from my mama that she won’t strangle me when she finds out what I did…

December 30, 2013 S. Island II: Queenstown, Milford Sound

The tour left Tekapo and headed farther south, and soon after departing we passed Mt. Cook, which is NZ’s tallest mountain. Unfortunately the day was so overcast that a thick cloud surrounded much of the mountain, so I’m still not sure what its peak looks like. However, our stop at Lake Pukaki at its base still provided a beautiful sight—but I’ll have to go back someday to take in all of Mt. Cook. We drove on into more gorgeous scenery, including the Lindis Pass through the Southern Alps, and stopped to visit a salmon farm and to get lunch. While in Cromwell for our midday meal, I chatted with a friendly trio of older ladies from Dunedin who were on holiday and who were most curious to find out how an au pair’s job works.

Our journey continued well into the Southern Alps until we reached “the adventure capital of NZ”: Queenstown. It comprises a small but beautiful area on Lake Wakatipu, and the downtown only fills about one square kilometer. The town makes no bones about how tourism-dependent it is; most of the stores cater to travelers seeking activities, food, and retail therapy. I joined two new friends in ambling through the town, and I enjoyed taking in the views of the lake. Tekapo/Queenstown pictures here.

However, no views compared and no description could have prepared me for the following day. We took a day trip to Milford Sound, a place that everyone raved about but no one really described; after visiting myself, I understand why that happens, but I’ll try to provide a substantial account.

The bus drove well into the Southern Alps. Heavy clouds clung to the mountaintops, and rain pelted the windshield a few times. The farther we went, the closer and higher the mountains grew until we entered Fiordland National Park. Heavy rainfall in this part of NZ gives the area a luscious appearance, and the park is indeed a temperate rain forest. Trees closed in on the road, but through the branches I saw the mountainsides become steeper, and saw narrow waterfalls rushing down their sides. The trees began to thin, and we were surrounded by sharp, gray walls and peaks topped with snow and covered by even more falls. The road took our bus through a long, narrow tunnel, and when we emerged the sight only became more astounding as the mountains and waterfalls increased in grandeur. We wound down into the valley between the two sides of mountains, and finally a glistening body of water appeared.

While no one resides in Milford Sound, a bustling depot for tourist buses and ferries sits next to the fjord. We boarded a ferry and rode for an hour to the Tasman Sea, and on the way the mountains remained steep and ominous, and the hundreds of waterfalls swelled and pounded the rocks. I didn’t remain on deck for the entire journey due to the icy rain that came and went, but I tried to take in as much as I could. Even still, when the ferry docked I was just as amazed as I was when we departed. My wonderment remained as we retraced the long road out of the park, and even as I reflect on the astounding work of nature that I took in, I struggle to articulate all that I saw and felt. All pictures here. 

 

I suppose that’s what visitors to Milford Sound really wrestle with: how to express how it felt. I’ve done a decent enough job piecing together what I saw, but it’s a place where every other piece of the environment that the senses can take—the magnitude of the mountains, the iciness of the waterfalls’ spray, the sound of furious water—all combines to strike awe and wonderment into any who enter. I can’t speak for every visitor, but for me, it was a place that made me feel small, yet made me feel truly alive and part of something bigger. If I take anything away from this trip, it will be how I felt in the midst of Milford Sound.

December 28, 2013 S. Island I: Christchurch/Tekapo

I now begin the holiday trip I have been looking forward to since I first considered moving to NZ: I will spend the next ten days traveling through the South Island. It’s sparsely populated and filled with awe-inspiring works of nature, and every time the South Island crops up in conversation, everyone I meet swoons over the journeys and sights they have experienced here. I’m filled with anticipation over what I’ll encounter on my trip, which I’ll be sharing with twenty other au pairs from around NZ.

The first leg of the trip was an evening flight to Christchurch, the largest city in the south. It seemed to be a journey through time, because the flying experience I had on this domestic flight made me feel as if I’d been transported to the 1970s. Security consisted of my placing my bags through a scanner, and a chatty pair of security officers glanced at the scan before I gathered my belongings and almost immediately reached my gate. We boarded at a reasonable time, and the plane took off a few minutes ahead of schedule. I half expected the pilot to announce the stewardesses would distribute complimentary cigarettes once we finished takeoff. The flight landed ten minutes early, and I almost got whiplash from how quickly I retrieved my checked bag. In short: I’m the newest and biggest advocate for Air New Zealand.

Because of the tour itinerary, I spent the night in Christchurch but left early the following morning. We drove around a few parts of the city’s central business district and a beach, but unfortunately Christchurch was not the most appealing town due to its weather and its crumbling buildings. Earthquakes devastated the city’s center in late 2010 and early 2011—claiming close to 200 lives and destroying hundreds of buildings—and the city has hardly seemed to recover from the event. On our brief tour we saw areas in the CBD that were still fenced off, and we passed a large number of homes that were now abandoned but had once had the best hillside views of the ocean. However, life goes on, and the dozens of surfers filling the water at Sumner Beach didn’t seemed deterred to enjoy it despite the dismal weather and the crumbling city they call home.

We drove south along Highway One, and I enjoyed staring out the window at the scenery that at first felt very familiar to me. The motorway reminded me of the many drives I’ve taken through Georgia (particularly US-441, for those reading at home): the two-lane highway ran parallel to a railroad for much of the way, much of the view consisted of crop-filled fields or cow-filled pastures, and every so often you’d hit a wide spot in the road named after some farmer’s relative. We had a whistle stop in a town called Geraldine; then our tour continued south, while we watched out the windows as the terrain began to stretch higher around us until we made it to the first real stop on the trip.

Tekapo, which shares its name with the lake it almost falls into, grew from an extremely small town to a very small town in the last decade thanks to its location (near halfway between Christchurch and Queenstown) and scenery. Lake Tekapo, a glacial lake surrounded by mountains, left me speechless. It’s fed by high mountain snow, and glacial movement scraping rock gives it an unreal shade of blue. We arrived to town in the late afternoon and viewed the lake first from its rocky shore, and then we drove to the hilltop of Mt. John Observatory to survey the stunning sight from above. (Although we didn’t get to visit it, the observatory holds a special place in astronomical research, so its surrounding areas form one of only four Dark Sky Reserves in the world.) Our final stop for the evening was the Tekapo Hot Pools, where we took in the beautiful environment while soaking our travel-weary bones.

Tekapo pictures here.

December 25, 2013 An Isthmus Christmas

This year marked the first time that I didn’t spend Christmas in Atlanta with my family. My traditional family activities include helping my dad lay strings of lights through the juniper in our front yard, decorating the tree while blasting Mannheim Steamroller holiday tunes, and joining extended family gatherings on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It’s a noisy, delicious, happy time of year, but I figured this will be the only chance for me to see a Kiwi Christmas, so I decided months ago that I’d spend this December 25th with my host family in Auckland. Despite the gifts for the kids not arriving on time—although I’m sure they won’t mind getting another present in January—it was a fun holiday for me.

I turned out feeling more homesick than I’d expected. I had a long Skype chat with my family during their Christmas Eve gathering, and it hadn’t really felt to me like Christmas time until I saw that. The setting, the food, the faces, and even some of the conversations were the same as always; only after glimpsing into their evening did I realize what I was missing and wonder if I had made a mistake in not returning to the homestead for the sacred yearly gathering.  However, I still got to laugh with my family and see them open the gifts I sent from NZ, which means I got to enjoy the best moments of Christmas.

I really enjoyed finding out not only how another country celebrates the holiday, but how another family spends it. On Christmas morning, I loved watching the kids euphorically cover the living room with toys and gift wrap, and for most of the day I enjoyed seeing how my host family shared their love and food with each other. The meals were a delicious departure from what I typically consume at Christmastime, and my favorite was a raw, cured salmon that my host dad’s mum had made for dinner. We also shared Christmas crackers, which are paper tube-like wrappers that two people pull apart from opposite ends; they pop loudly when they split, and within each is a toy, a crepe paper crown, and a slip of paper with a very cheesy joke. The kids loved the noisy colorfulness of it, and because we adults joined in, too, the floor was littered with paper scraps and we all sat around the table with our multicolored crowns by the time we contentedly munched our last morsels of dinner.

Even though I often felt like I was more an observer than a participant at this Christmas celebration (but hey, I feel that way at my own family gatherings sometimes), I had a lovely holiday. I’m so grateful that my host family is so welcoming, and I’m glad I could share a special time of year with them. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Dec 24, 2013 Northland IV: Paihia (day 2)

I spent my last day visiting the Waitangi Treaty grounds, which I reached on a rental bike since it was a few kilometers away from my hostel. The Waitangi Treaty was an important document in NZ history, and I enjoyed learning about it on the site where it had been written and first signed. Pictures here.

**If you think history is boring, skip to the next bit of red.**

Created in February 1840, it codified the rights and processes of trade, land possession, and law in NZ, particularly when it came to interactions between the indigenous Maoris and the newly-arrived English colonists (who were a rather rowdy bunch). The treaty officially sealed an agreement between the English inhabitants who remained under the sovereign British crown and the unified confederation of Maori chiefs throughout the country. However, as is common throughout European colonialism, there were a few discrepancies between the two copies of the treaty—the chiefs signed the one “translated” into Te Reo Maori and the handful of British authorities signed one in English—however, it still served as a strong and mostly peaceful document to bridge the two cultures. Thus, it is recognized as the document that made New Zealand a nation. Don’t you think people who don’t appreciate history are short-sighted and ignorant?

 
 
The Treaty Grounds contain a small visitor center and the handful of sites and objects important to the treaty’s creation or built to commemorate it. This includes the world’s longest ceremonial war canoe, which was built to celebrate the centennial Waitangi Day and holds 120 people at once (and requires 80 to sail). The building where the treaty was written and revised—the home of the English leader at the time—has been preserved, including life-size figures of him and his family, which I found a bit unsettling. There is also a ceremonial waka (a Maori house), which is unique in that it was built to represent all Maori, whereas a waka typically only represents a single tribe. Finally, the Flagpole standing on the lawn resembles a ship’s mast and flies a flag for both the Maori and the English, above which unfurls the NZ flag.

 **Whew, you made it! Now for more vacation bits.**

My final activity for the trip was what I suppose every other visitor to Paihia did first: I spent an hour on the beach in a bathing suit. While certainly a relaxing activity—and heck, probably the only time I’ll be on a beach for Christmas Eve—an hour was all my fair skin needed.

I returned home on an afternoon-long bus ride, and I savored my last moments riding through Northland. I thought about all the places I’d been, and how that’s probably the only time in my life I’ll ever get to go there; how beautiful they were, and asking myself how they felt and tasted and what they sounded like, so that I won’t just have photos to take home from this trip. I thought about the amazing, fascinating, kind-hearted people I’d met and really talked with, and how I might never have encountered them and realized there were such marvelous individuals in this world if I hadn’t gotten the guts to travel on my own. Finally, even though there were times when something happened and I thought, “I wish I had someone to share this with,” there were far more moments when I thought, “I never knew I was capable of this.” Those moments made this one of the most fulfilling trips I have ever taken in my life, because, dang it, it really is the journey, not the destination.

Dec 23, 2013 Northland III: Cape Reinga

Day three was the longest. I took an all-day tour to the northernmost accessible part of NZ, Cape Reinga, and we made some interesting stops along the way. See all photos here.

 
We drove a couple hours on the highway (which is what they call a winding, two-lane road) and then reached Ninety-Mile Beach. This stretch of sand extends along the northwestern coast toward the Cape, and despite its catchy name, is only 64 miles (and not even 90km). The bus drove the full length entirely on the sand, and often within reach of the waves, all the while with the driver encouraging passengers to approach the front of the bus where he would take his eyes and both hands off the wheel to snap photos for them. He assured us he’d been driving the route for 18 years, and surprisingly I never really felt in danger.

After passing the narrowest bit of beach we stopped to take in the view, and after that made our way to the Te Paki sand dunes. Once there, the braver passengers (including me) trudged to the top of a dune to catch the ride down. I’ve never been one for heights but after making such a massive climb, I was too out of breath to be apprehensive about riding a foam board down the slope with nothing but sunglasses and summer clothing for protection. Even though I my body was caked with sand once I reached the bottom, the ride was so fantastic that I climbed up and did it again!

We then headed toward what I most looked forward to: Cape Reinga. This spot not only marks the northern tip of the country, but also offers the incredible vantage point to see the Tasman Sea and Pacific Ocean collide. The ancient Maori held this spot sacred, because they believed it to be the place where spirits of the deceased journeyed and then leapt into the water to make their way to paradise. I can see why someone could take in such a location and perceive it as something quite spiritual; it was certainly awesome for this traveler. The views really took my breath away, and it’s one place that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.  

After leaving the Cape, we briefly stopped for lunch (yet another peanut butter-Vogel sandwich for this girl), where I discovered that two of my fellow passengers on the tour were Americans. This young couple from Texas was celebrating their tenth anniversary, and they had already been through the South Island a few weeks prior. I do love traveling and meeting people from all over the world, but there’s a certain kind of comfort that comes from hearing American accents (and Southern ones, at that). Listening to their experience on the South Island—where I’m headed next week—was definitely a plus as well.

The last stop before we returned to the Bay of Islands was the Manginangina Kauri Walk. If I hadn’t already seen a kauri forest a couple of days prior, I probably would have been in awe of this setting, but at the time my fatigue from all the bus riding outweighed my interest in seeing more kauri trees. The walk in Whangarei also extended much farther than this Manginangina walk.

We finally made our way back to Paihia, where I reflected on how much I had covered in a single day before once again collapsing on my bed in record time. 

December 22, 2013 Northland II: Paihia (day 1)

Paihia was my next stop. As one of the towns on the Bay of Islands (again, if only all of NZ had such obvious names), it’s a coastal town with a lovely stretch of beach. I joined a kayak tour there to better see the bay, and it ended up being one of my favorite activities from the entire trip. (Pictures here.) 

The tour began as one big reminder that I’m single and will probably die alone: when I tried to register online ahead of time, I couldn’t because it’s a minimum of 2 people to sign up; when I did join the tour, I was the only one in a 1-person kayak (which the guide said capsizes more easily); and one of the other people in group asked me why my other half hadn’t signed up as well. However, I didn’t let that get to me, and most of the tour—as I’d anticipated—turned out an absolute delight (even though I learned that I am absolute rubbish at steering a kayak). We paddled along the beaches, dug in the shallow waters for clams (I found over 20!) and visited a small island with stunning views. At the end of it I was shivering, worn out, and couldn’t stop smiling.

To make the tour even better, I met a family who are probably THE nicest people I’ve encountered in NZ: a Scottish/English bunch on holiday in Paihia before making their way to South Auckland to spend Christmas with extended family. During the tour we chatted about travel, family, and swimming (some of my strongest conversation points), and when I laughingly told the dad about my peanut butter-Vogel diet, he invited me to join them at a rib shack for dinner. After I recovered from hearing such a generous offer, I accepted, and breaking bread with them turned out to be one of the best experiences during my trip. We talked about where we’d gone before (their journey to NZ included stops in Dubai and Sydney), and what we thought of NZ (the mum told me her Scottish uncle said much of the kiwi countryside strongly resembles the highlands of his homeland).They were absolutely delightful, and I still can’t get over what a kind gesture they extended to me. 

December 21, 2013 Northland I: Whangarei

I just got home from one of the best trips of my life: I took four days to travel through some of Northland, the northernmost region of the North Island of NZ (I wish this country were covered in such obvious names, but most places actually bear Maori names that I can spell but rarely pronounce correctly). The entire trip covered hundreds of kilometers and proved absolutely marvelous, but it was a journey in more ways than one. This holiday has left an impression on me not only because of the places I saw and got to experience, but also because it was the first time I traveled completely solo—on my own dime and relying on my own resourcefulness. In only a few days, I met people I wouldn’t typically interact with had I been in my usual mode of relying on other individuals (usually an older sibling) to sort out details.

When planning the trip, I knew I wanted to travel as cheaply and lightly as possible, so I look only a large backpack of clothing and towels, and a small drawstring backpack for day activities. For meals, I bought a loaf of Vogel’s (a famous NZ brand), a jar of peanut butter, and some dried fruit—I’d rather spend money on activities than going out to eat, and I can eat simply for four days if I have to. My transportation would all be by buses; I had traveled that way during a trip in Spain with my oldest sister a few years ago, but I hadn’t taken any public transportation other than a ferry since I’d been in NZ. I was apprehensive, to say the least, but of course everything went smoothly.

The first stop: Whangarei, a seemingly small town on an east coast harbor 160km north of central Auckland. My host parents hadn’t been too complimentary on its “sights,” so I decided to stick to outdoor activities when planning my stay there. This included seeing Whangarei Falls, exploring the Abbey Caves, and viewing the city from its lookout on Mt. Parihaka; I checked their locations throughout the area and decided I could visit each on foot in an afternoon. The Falls were fine, but not spectacular; I much preferred the walk that followed it through A.H. Reed Kauri Park. A peaceful, half-hour stroll followed the Hatea River until I reached the kauri park, which they call a “canopy walkway” which actually didn’t include that many kauris (a giant, ancient tree valued for its gum during the nineteenth century). I found another waterfall—Pukenui Falls—in its midst, which I viewed from the top and then decided was worth a clamor through perhaps off-limits terrain to get a closer look.

 

Afterward, I walked another hour along country roads to find the Abbey Caves. These were the main attraction that made me want to visit Whangarei, not only because I haven’t gotten to explore too many caves, but also because of the glowworms (which are actually fly larvae) for which NZ caves are well-known. My hostel had rented me a headlamp, but I really didn’t want to go spelunking on my own (YES, mom and dad, I do listen to y’all), and by a great stroke of luck, I approached the Organ Cave at the same time as a family who had experience climbing through the cave. The dad invited me and a couple of other stragglers to join their party, and for the next two hours we all explored the Organ Cave—the biggest of the Abbey Caves, which extends 200m deep. Most of the cave was about 3-5m high and 2-4m wide, and much of it had freezing ankle-deep water. In some sections we all turned out our torches, and the ceiling of glowworms shone softly like a starry sky. The entire way, the rock to the sides was covered in striations from its ancient formation, and stalactites and stalagmites stuck out wherever they could fit. For some reason, my pictures kept coming out really dark, but here’s an image I did capture.

 

After this I chatted with the two other stragglers who had joined the family cave tour: two young Asian women on holiday from their seasonal work south of Auckland. It was almost 6pm, and when I told them I still had about 2 more hours on foot ahead of me, they very kindly offered to drive me to my remaining destinations. We then all went to the lookout at Mt. Parihaka, where we could overlook the city and western part of Whangarei Harbour. It was a nice view, but I admit that I would have been very annoyed if I had had to walk an hour uphill to see it. My new traveling acquaintances kindly returned me to my hostel when we’d all had enough of the lookout, and I think it took me all of twenty minutes to scarf down a peanut butter sandwich and collapse on my bed.

So, in a day I conquered riding a bus long-distance, and I walked and climbed for an entire afternoon. I also met a kind and adventurous local family, as well as fellow young travelers who were exceedingly generous with driving me around the town. Whangarei was exhausting, but I came away with better experiences than I anticipated. Check out all the pictures here.

December 6, 2013 Thanksgiving in NZ

Folks, I conquered the harbor. A couple of weeks ago I completed my second open-water swimming competition, which was a 2.4km race across the Waitemata Harbour just west of the Harbour Bridge. What an exhausting, but fun challenge! The water temperature felt quite pleasant, and I improved my pace from my first swim two weeks prior to finish third in the women’s non-wetsuit division. The only real drawback about the race was that once we completed the swimming portion, we had to climb a dozen slick stone steps to reach the finish line—which is tough to do when your muscles feel like jelly. For full disclosure, I’ve included very unattractive photos of myself just after I crossed the finish. I defy you to do a swim like that and be camera-ready.

 

Another challenge I flung myself into: baking a pie. On Thanksgiving, I mentioned to my host parents that it was the first time I was spending the holiday away from home, and they said, “We’ll have a Thanksgiving here, then! Tomorrow. Make a dessert.” I initially agreed to a pumpkin pie, but because that’s not a popular ingredient here, it’s not available in cans. Sweet potato pie, it would be then! I quickly found a simple recipe online, hit the local grocery store the following day, and nervously assembled the ingredients that evening. I must say it turned out better than I expected, but my family is full of talented kitchen-folk, so admittedly my standards are pretty high. My host family complimented it, and they made a wonderful meal, so I’m glad I could contribute something to our mini-Thanksgiving feast. 

I was glad to give a little culture back for all that I've taken in, particularly vocabulary. The latest:

• kumera – sweet potato. My host family and I had a debate about the differences among sweet potatoes, kumera, and yams—I had nothing to contribute other than a firm belief that they’re all delicious.
• tin – can (as in, “tinned tomatoes” instead of “canned tomatoes”)
• chilly bin - cooler
• singlet – tank top
• jandals – flip flops; a portmanteau of “Japanese sandals"
• togs – bathing suit
• arvo – afternoon
• wag – to cut class
• throw a wobbly – throw a tantrum. The girl I take care of will turn two in February, so I may become quite familiar with this…

It hasn’t really felt like the holiday season, of course, since it’s approaching summertime here. I’ve been wearing shorts and tank tops for most of the past month, which I find necessary not only because of the weather but because I still have to chase two kids around all day. In addition, central heating and air isn’t that common here, which means that when the weather is hot, you can’t always escape into the icy refuge of a building. Instead most places (including my host family) simply open the windows and doors, without worrying about screens, either, so we keep bug repellent and a flyswatter handy. This cultural difference still surprises me sometimes, but it really isn’t too bad; I have spent most of my summers sweating in the Georgia heat, y’all.

The weather also means I can spend time somewhere I love: the beach. Unfortunately I haven’t gotten to visit the sands as often as I’d like yet; I took the kids there for a short walk through the waves one afternoon, and I’ve gotten some quality time on the shore during my open water swims. However, I know I’ll have ample opportunity in the near future to sprawl out on a beach towel and listen to the surf. In addition to time on weekends to take some trips to the water, I should have opportunities around New Years to travel around, but I haven’t quite made up my mind where all I’d like to go.

a North Shore beach view of Rangitoto

I’m thrilled about all the exciting things I’ll get up to this summer!

—Lenora

November 12, 2013 What the Fawkes Say?

I’m happy to say that I’ve continued to look outside the box for things to do in these last few weeks. My host family and I have moved a few kilometers down the road, so I’ve been dealing with packing and unpacking and numerous other transitions—like not having internet at the house for almost three weeks. However, in between hunting for new local haunts, I’ve had ample options to experience some culture since a few holidays have occurred in that time.

Diwali, a traditional Indian festival, has gone on for a couple of weeks, and attended part of the city-sponsored celebrations one Sunday afternoon. I got to spend time with a friend and some of her extended family, which made me feel like I better understood what was going on; one of the city’s main streets downtown was shut down, had I wandered alone through the large area filled with vendors and performances, I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed myself nearly as much. My friend helps her mother-in-law teach traditional Indian dance, and after watching the students put on a marvelous performance on the main stage, I met with her family and happily joined them as they tried the goods from various food stalls (I discovered that I like Falooda and Samosas). Seeing the celebration, even in a more commercialized setting, was still exciting, because I usually enjoy getting to experience a bit of other cultures.

Labour Day also came along, and since I got the day off for this national holiday, I decided to do the most touristy thing possible in NZ: go to Hobbiton. When I told people back home that I would be moving here, they often asked me if I would visit the site of the hobbits’ hometown in The Lord of the Rings movies, so I felt almost obligated to journey to the set just outside Matamata. While I can’t claim to be a tremendous fan of the series, I did enjoy the location and certainly appreciate the attention to detail in creating the set for a fantasy world—and I took plenty of photos. The drive a hundred miles south of central Auckland and back was the more pleasant part of the trip for me; I have loved being behind the wheel ever since I got the chance, and getting to wind through the countryside with mountains and sheep-filled fields all around made for a lovely journey.

The other big holiday was Guy Fawkes Night, which is just a noisy enigma to this newcomer. It’s an English holiday celebrating Catholic extremists’ failed attempt to assassinate Protestant King James I in 1605 (Guy Fawkes was only one of the members involved), and NZ’s English colonization meant that the celebration is popular here. However, I gleaned from numerous newspaper articles this week and from overheard conversations that this has become a celebration devoid of its original meaning—but most holidays are, I think—and has evolved into an excuse for hooligans to run amuck. After hearing backyard fireworks go off every night for over a week, I kind of agree with such a sentiment. November fifth is the actual date, so because of the date some naysayers lump it in with Halloween as a commercial blight on society. In any case, I’m still not sure why it’s a big deal to anyone, so chalk it up to cultural differences.

On a more positive note, I have found some new words I think I’ll be throwing into conversation:

• chocka - full
• biff - throw
• gun (adj) - good; Ex: a gun athlete

The last—and for me, most exciting—new venture of late has been my first open water swim. It was in the Auckland Harbour, and although the course called for us to round a small island instead of crossing the harbor, it was still in very deep water. And the water was FREEZING: when I first got in, I was trying to inhale and couldn’t feel whether I was actually breathing or not, but after a short 100-meter warm-up, I decided my body wasn’t actually shutting down. I raced far better than I expected, especially since I really didn’t get a chance to do stroke work specific to open water, which is supposedly different from the pool swimming I’ve been doing my whole life. That meant that my speed was alright, but I kept changing direction, bumping into other competitors, and I never found the third buoy I was supposed to round. Despite those few detractors, I really loved it, and I’m looking forward to finding more swims nearby to attempt—hopefully one that crosses the entire harbor.

The harbour bridge--across the waterway I'd like to attempt to swim!

Until next time!

—Lenora

Oct 19, 2013 To New Things

Just deciding to move to another country—which is way out of my comfort zone—was something that took a long time for me to push myself to do. Now that I’ve been here awhile, I resolved to try things that I’d never done at home, and in the past couple weeks I’ve done a decent job of ticking a few boxes for things on that list.

First up: a Morris Dancing workshop. Oh, you’ve never heard of that particular genre? This Auckland Heritage Festival event advertised that anyone who could “hop, skip, and wave” could do this dance, so I convinced a friend to join me for an evening of learning moves from this traditional English dance. A local Morris team held the workshop, I was easily the youngest attendee by about 30 years, which meant that I was the spryest, but the moves were not easy to pick up! I gleaned that jig movement drives the footwork, but the dance also includes waving scarves and beating sticks, which my experience of choreography in high school musical productions hardly prepared me for. One thing I definitely like is that the musicians—ours played a violin, accordion, and woodwinds—are an integral part of the dance performance, not an add-on. In general I enjoyed myself, and I admire the many individuals in their 60s who regularly train and perform the Morris.

The next departure from my comfort zone came in the form of a horseback riding trip on the western coast. I hadn’t been on a horse since childhood (and that was only a couple times at a camp), but an event came up that advertised beautiful rural scenery, so I figured I should go for it. The excursion seemed like a great idea until the moment when I actually climbed onto the horse, and I immediately thought, “Mistake.” I had suddenly realized that I sat a fair height off the ground with options to hold onto a measly set of reins or a beat-up saddle, so I began making plans for how I should react when I would inevitably start falling off the horse—leaning forward to grab its neck would be my first move, but a swift barrel-roll to the ground was the backup plan.

Our guides had told me that mine was a “quiet” horse, and while I hoped I would be atop a creature that would pace himself like an enthusiastic mall-walker, my equine companion turned out to be less than ideal for my taste. He’d slow down the line, even though I kept digging my heels into his sides—then he’d run to catch up to the horse in front of us, bouncing me around like a rag-doll, despite my best efforts to channel The Man from Snowy River. He’d also bend down to grab a mouthful of whatever plant grew near his hoof whenever we stopped, so during every break I couldn’t relax or take a quick photo (although I got a handful) for fear that I’d lose the rein. There are just some things for which a suburban upbringing did not prepare me.

Despite the horse riding itself, I did enjoy the outing. The rural areas really are beautiful: the steep, green hills extend for miles around, and they’re mostly dotted with sheep and cows. We also went through wooded areas, and when the Tasman Sea came into view, we were close enough to hear the surf. I felt like I had stepped into a nineteenth century English novel, and for someone whose favorite book is Jane Eyre, that made my day. Although I ached for the next few days, I’m glad I tried something different, even if it was just to find out that I never want to try it again.

A couple of new things have been workout-oriented. Since my water polo team only convenes for sporadically-scheduled games, I looked for other aquatic workout options and decided to try my hand at open water swimming. To train, I joined a master’s swim team, and although the practices aren’t that strenuous, I’m glad to spend more time in the water on a regular basis. The other exercise venture has been a boot camp that meets three mornings a week; I’ve only completed the first week, but I can already tell my running has improved at least.

The final, and perhaps my favorite, new thing that I’ve experienced, was visiting the Auckland Zoo. My two charges often visit the zoo, so for them the outing wasn’t too far out of the ordinary; the last time I went to a zoo was when I was in kindergarten, so I had an absolute blast! We’ve visited the park’s extensive grounds a few times now, and we only get about an hour and a half to wander each time, but I’ve got to see a vast array of animals. The marquee names are the red pandas (which, granted, are kind of just glorified raccoons) and the new baby giraffe, but one of my favorites was this ape. Somehow my carting around two small children prevented my getting a chance to take note of what this is, but I'll find out next time. I look forward to many more trips there!

In general I had a fun few weeks full of new experiences, and I hope to continue that trend. As for the new words I’ve picked up:

• kit - attire
• brumby - a loose woman (it's a wild Australian horse). This term is funnier to anyone who went to UGA and knows the only all-female dorm there is Brumby Hall.
• box of fluffies - it's all good
• felless - female equivalent of "fella"

—Lenora

October 4, 2013 What's the America's Cup?

I’ve had a fantastic past two weeks—in that short time, I got to witness some great Kiwi patriotism, experience a bit of local culture, and see some really lovely outdoor scenery. Most of it renewed my positive feelings for where I am, and few things also sparked some reflection on where I came from as an American.

Scenery is probably what folks back home want to hear about most. I drove with a friend to Piha, a beach less than 40 kilometers west of Auckland on the Tasman Sea, where I got to see a few things I’d never seen at a beach. Ancient volcanic activity gives the “black” sand its color, and it also left behind Lion’s Rock (Te Piha), the large rock that serves as a landmark and tourist attraction for the area. First we ascended Lion’s Rock, and if the scenery hadn’t already taken my breath away, the climb would have (actually, it wasn’t too bad since there were newly-carved steps along most of the way). However, I still preferred the sand below: its color helps it absorb more heat from the sun, and it was so finely ground that it was heaven to pad along the stretch of the beach barefoot. I had a fantastic afternoon, and after this trip and the earlier one to Waiheke, I think I’d be very happy to live at a beach here year-round someday.

Coastal life plays a big role in life here—in fact, sixty-five percent of this nation’s population lives within five kilometers of the coast—and this manifests most notably in the sport of sailing, which I found out recently in the form of the America’s Cup. I’m afraid I actually can’t explain it since I’m still not sure how it works, but I’ll tell my ignorant experience of it anyway. For the past few weeks it was THE news story around here (as in, front page every morning and lead story of every TV news report), so I gleaned that it was something to do with a sailing competition in San Francisco between a team from NZ and an American team. Due to those nationalities, I jumped at the chance to join my host family last Sunday when they attended a gathering with hundreds of other Kiwis at Queens Wharf to watch big screen coverage of what could have been the Cup’s final race. Many attendees donned red socks, which my host parents explained was due to a former Team New Zealand captain’s superstitious habit of wearing a pair. Unfortunately, weather conditions led to numerous delays until the race was finally postponed for the day, and a very disappointed crowd dispersed.

That week, the final races played out, and it seemed the country held its breath and then deflated as slowly but surely the American team outscored Team New Zealand. Normally I would chant “U-S-A, U-S-A” at an international sporting event, but in this scenario I was pulling for the other guys, because a victory for the Kiwis would have meant something to more people here than it ever will in the US. Sailing plays a tremendous role in the NZ national identity, particularly in Auckland, which is called “The City of Sails.” My host parents couldn’t fathom an American who hadn’t even heard of the America’s Cup, and I felt like I was telling a kid about Santa’s nonexistence when I revealed to them that no one back home cared about sailing. In short, my seeing New Zealanders’ zeal for sailing proved surprising, and for a few days after the tough loss, the nation seemed as if it had just had the wind let out of its sails. Too soon?

The other recent culture events came my way thanks to the Auckland Heritage Festival, a two-week series of events that include a variety of activities, most of which are free. An amateur orchestra concert I attended proved delightful—despite the music selection and its instrumentalists’ skills. It was themed around the early twentieth century composer Eric Mareo, whose fame extends more from his being convicted of murdering his wife than from his compositions. The orchestra and the audience had the same number of people, but that made for a very intimate atmosphere, and I couldn’t stop smiling at the group of aging musicians who were just having fun playing the things they loved. Going to a concert like this was something I might never try to do back home, and I’m glad I got to see a group of local folks promoting the arts straight from the heart.

The second Festival event I attended was another opportunity to see some scenery, but I got to do so a bit closer to town. I went to a guided walk—advertised as a chance to discover “natural, archaeological, and cultural heritage”—at Oakley Creek a few kilometers from my home here. The area follows the long stretch of a reserve and indeed displays many lovely sights, including Auckland’s only urban waterfall. Much of the walk was very pleasant, notably the sounds of the stream and numerous birds chirping. Historically the Maori used the stream for portage, and their presence survives in a barely discernible midden (a rubbish pile that archaeologists relish because of how much they reveal about a culture). Early European settlers later used land near the creek for farming, and a long, moss-covered rock wall still stands from those days.

However, I was disappointed by the space’s artificial facets: many areas had been landscaped with nonnative plants and structures, and a paved walkway extended drolly throughout. Plus, the walk was more of a garden tour and there were only a handful of comments about the area’s past, so basically I didn’t get to discover much history or natural forms. Despite that, I still enjoyed being outdoors and seeing a great deal of natural beauty, and I saw a space I probably would not have explored on my own.

I have reflected on my national and cultural identity ever since I arrived in NZ (and beforehand), but these recent activities added a little tinder to my thoughts. Seeing a tiny country unite behind its passion for sailing really surprised me—I think I’ve only seen Americans get that way about a few Olympians every four years. It made me wonder what the rest of the world thinks about our sports scene, and it made me wish there were something as simple as a sailing team that everybody in my native country could support. Other moments of reflection about national identity arose in everyday situations, one when I scored a goal in a water polo game, and part of me wanted to shout, “For America!” Even though we were losing the game by a significant but never-to-be-disclosed goal count, I felt like that would seem rude simply because of my nationality. Perhaps no one would have cared, but the worry that I would confirm the international perception of Americans as overt braggarts kept my mouth shut. My eldest sister, who herself lived abroad for years, told me, “You never really understand what America is until you leave it.” I always believed her statement, but only now have I begun to really grasp it.

In the vein of cultural awareness, I haven’t gathered many new terms in an activity-filled, short week, but ironically they sound as if they spring from a very sedentary life.

• Lie in – sleep in/late
• Track pants – sweatpants
• Chippies – potato chips
• Chips – potato wedges (fries)
• Pavlova – a dessert made of meringue, topped with cream and kiwi fruit. Supposedly named for a Russian ballerina. I think Kiwis are trained to salivate at the mere mention of it.

My next weeks should be filled with more exciting events from the Auckland Heritage Festival. I look forward to finding out what else the free events in this city have to offer.

—Lenora

September 21, 2013 It's All Espresso Here

During the mostly sunny time since I last wrote, I have continued searching for everyday activities to take in Auckland life. This has frequently included more time out and about on Ponsonby Road, a lively area nearby filled with restaurants, cafes, and boutiques. I now feel quite comfortable venturing out on my own or with the new friends I’ve made, and the neighborhood where I live with my host family has started to feel like home.

The easiest thing to do is go to one of the many cafes I see everywhere, and while trying new ones has been one of my favorite activities since I arrived, the coffee has taken some getting used to. Back home I was accustomed to beginning each day with a huge mug of coffee, but that’s not really an option here since everything is espresso instead of filter coffee. Only twice have I found non-espresso on a menu in the form of French presses some places, but really I’ve almost stopped drinking coffee altogether. Instead I experiment with other hot drinks and often opt for chai lattes—which are even more delicious here than I’ve tasted back home.

Something that was unfamiliar before I came here, but that I’m getting a liking for, is rugby. I’m the first to tell you that I have very little understanding of the sport, but it is a good game to watch. There are actually two variations of rugby—union and league—and one of the things I still can’t really discern when watching is the difference between them. My host dad describes league as being more like American football because a team is allowed a certain number of downs before they must kick to their opponents, whereas union has a “make them take it” format where a team may possess the ball as long as they can. The league team my host family supports the Warriors, and the union team that basically the entire country supports are the All Blacks (so named because they have worn black uniforms since their formation in the 1880s).

While I haven’t yet attended a live game of either kind of rugby, I had heaps of fun when I watched a couple of the All Blacks games while at a sports bar. Not only was the game exciting, but being in a building full of kiwis cheering for their national team amplified the experience. The games I saw were against Australia and South Africa, which are apparently particularly hated rivals of the All Blacks, and I could detect that on the field and from the viewers’ heated reactions to the game. Imagine the passion American fans spread among all our pro baseball, basketball, and football, all funneled into a single team. The atmosphere was great fun, and I think I’ll enjoy becoming more familiar with rugby while I’m in the country where it’s the national sport.

However, it’s not just coffee and sports that they do differently here, but something that strikes me is that the approach to all food and drink is unlike that in the U.S.: I think kiwis really focus on enjoying their food whereas American culture focuses on the convenience of food. Here, fast food businesses are noticeably less prevalent, but grocery stores (small and large) and actual restaurants appear everywhere. My host parents, self-proclaimed “foodies,” love cooking—which is an activity I managed to avoid for much of my life—and my host dad is particularly appalled by my lack of culinary skills. In the last month, though, I’ve cooked and baked for the kids, and they usually consume the dishes without complaint. (Driving and communicating were the initial challenges I faced here, but I find operating ovens and stoves far more frightening territory.) Despite my unfamiliarity with this approach to food, I do like it, and it’s one thing from my time here that I hope to carry home with me once I leave.

Besides embracing the locals’ affinities for cafes and rugby, I still walk and drive around with a newcomer’s eye. One thing that I notice is the art around town—it’s nothing spectacular, but it sure beats plain cinder blocks. I took some photos of murals and mosaics I like best (more here), including this one from outside a restaurant in the Grey Lynn neighborhood. And, as always, what makes me feel most like a foreigner is all the times I have to figure out the language around here. The latest vocabulary:

• bench – kitchen counter top. This means I’m not sure what to call park benches anymore.
• capsicum – bell pepper
• rocket – arugula
• heaps – they use this the way we use “lots”
• dooberry (not sure that has a correct spelling) – doohickey
• bits and bobs – stuff. Also, the name of a store I saw at the mall...that presumably sells stuff
• churr brah – “Sure, bro”; an informal expression of agreement
• ta – thanks
• crikey – interjection 

Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I’m still surprised to realize I’m living in another country. I laugh to think how the Lenora from a year ago would react if told that I’d be where I am today. Doing something like this was something I’d dreamed of doing but never thought I’d actually have the courage to try. Here’s to more fun in the near future!

—Lenora