Daniel, Sandra, Katie, Me, Cat and Felix at the sand dunes.
Me and Joe Rainey.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A few pics....long overdue
Daniel, Sandra, Katie, Me, Cat and Felix at the sand dunes. Me and Joe Rainey.
Sharks, glaciers, and lagoons
In 24 hours I’ve four-wheeled along a deserted beach, fished from the coast and caught two shark (each about one meter long ), cooked the shark over a campfire at sunset with two locals who have become instant friends, kayaked part of the Okarito lagoon, hiked to see glaciers and travelled about 8 eight hours down the coast to Wankaka, mostly with Germans.
All of this came about because Okarito was circled on my map, by whom and why I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t have a plan except to see and do as much as possible and the Okarito lagoon sounded exotic.
My generous Californian driver, Kevin, dropped me in Okarito, a village 12 km off the main road, where the only “store” is a kayaking and adventure-touring shop run by two Kiwi friends in their early 20s, Sarah and Shaun. The store is opened by one of the 20 families that lives in the village.
Three days earlier Ken, a man who lived in Okarito, and who picked me up on highway 1 when he was returning from his annual trip to town, offered to give me a cup of tea if I made it down his way. (He wasn’t the one who circled the location on my map- still can’t remember that detail.)
I entered the shop, lingered until all the other customers has been sent out to the lagoon, kayaks in tow, and struck up conversation with Sarah and Shaun. The three of us instantly hit-it-off and they gave me a phone to contact a very surprised Ken, a kayak to meet him (Ken, a well-known villager, lived at the end of the lagoon. One had to kayak across the water and ride a 4-wheeler 20 minutes up isolated beach to reach his house.) and a place to stay for the night when I returned three hours later with the shark that Ken and I had caught while fishing in the ocean (I caught the fish, Ken handled the flaying.)
The three of us cooked dinner over a fire on the beach, watched the sun set into the ocean and the stars emerge, unhindered by competing lights, and Sarah and Shaun took it upon themselves to create an itinerary for my coastal and southern travels. Since both were from the South Island and had travelled extensively, I valued their insider advice.
The sent me on my way with a plan, great memories, and a steaming cup of coffee to go.
Two hours later I was checking off the first item on the Sarah’s “To-Do List” hike in Fox Glacier.
All of this came about because Okarito was circled on my map, by whom and why I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t have a plan except to see and do as much as possible and the Okarito lagoon sounded exotic.
My generous Californian driver, Kevin, dropped me in Okarito, a village 12 km off the main road, where the only “store” is a kayaking and adventure-touring shop run by two Kiwi friends in their early 20s, Sarah and Shaun. The store is opened by one of the 20 families that lives in the village.
Three days earlier Ken, a man who lived in Okarito, and who picked me up on highway 1 when he was returning from his annual trip to town, offered to give me a cup of tea if I made it down his way. (He wasn’t the one who circled the location on my map- still can’t remember that detail.)
I entered the shop, lingered until all the other customers has been sent out to the lagoon, kayaks in tow, and struck up conversation with Sarah and Shaun. The three of us instantly hit-it-off and they gave me a phone to contact a very surprised Ken, a kayak to meet him (Ken, a well-known villager, lived at the end of the lagoon. One had to kayak across the water and ride a 4-wheeler 20 minutes up isolated beach to reach his house.) and a place to stay for the night when I returned three hours later with the shark that Ken and I had caught while fishing in the ocean (I caught the fish, Ken handled the flaying.)
The three of us cooked dinner over a fire on the beach, watched the sun set into the ocean and the stars emerge, unhindered by competing lights, and Sarah and Shaun took it upon themselves to create an itinerary for my coastal and southern travels. Since both were from the South Island and had travelled extensively, I valued their insider advice.
The sent me on my way with a plan, great memories, and a steaming cup of coffee to go.
Two hours later I was checking off the first item on the Sarah’s “To-Do List” hike in Fox Glacier.
Hari Hari, Wildside Backpackers
After staying with the Hargreaves in Ross I continued hitching down the West Coast and landed 2km before Hari Hari to wwoof at the Wildside Backpackers. And like most West Coasters the whole family talked with a backwoods drawl (usually incoherently) ate meat and potatoes at every meal and wouldn’t be caught travelling to the U.S. – too many conspiracy theories about 9/11 – or even outside of the coast if they could help it.
In addition to a slightly rough, although incredibly kind and generous, demeanour, the mullet is the official haircut of the West Coast, a rugged and often isolated section of New Zealand where coal mining, lumber milling and hunting are primary past times, and Dan, Kath and their two kids didn’t disappoint
“There the men are real men and the women are men too,” warned Joe Rianey, the father of my adoptive New Zealand family in Nelson with whom Katie and I have stayed repeatedly and eventually spent the Christmas holiday, before I initially left Nelson to head to the West Coast for my solo travelling.
Dan was a work hard and play often sort. The first day I arrived at the Wildside he weed wacked for 6 hours straight, and then he enjoyed the company of friends for the next two days. Kath was preoccupied with their 3 month old baby and 3-year-old daughter. She always looked dazed and disoriented from either lack of sleep or maybe in was long-term cabin fever – less than 20,000 people live along the entire stretch of the West Coast where towns of less than 50 occupants are common and neighbours aren’t.
Although it was challenging to understand Dan and Kath at times, they were very hospitable, appreciative and entertaining during the two days I resided in their backpackers’ cabin. When I wasn’t looking, Dan had managed to built an extensive garden, to run beehives, to monitor wine making facilities, to hunt enough meat to feed the coast, and to guide Japanese tourists who were shooting a film on a nearby mountain. Amid his ramblings I gleaned knowledge about brewing, bee-keeping and hot springs.
A short distance by car and foot from the Wildside are natural hot springs. Both nights, Dan, a fellow wwoofer (Kevin from Canada the first night and Josh from New Jersey the second) and I, hiked 15 minutes through the dark and across fields to reach the river where pockets of hot water, warmed from the earth’s core, seeped into the cold rush. With three shovels we would dig out a sitting whole in the sand and create our own, natural, hot tubs. Above us the stars shone brightly and around us, attached to the mountain sides were glow-worms.
I left after two days, so I could continue on the road and see all I’d hoped to see before returning north for Christmas, but I thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Wildside.
In addition to a slightly rough, although incredibly kind and generous, demeanour, the mullet is the official haircut of the West Coast, a rugged and often isolated section of New Zealand where coal mining, lumber milling and hunting are primary past times, and Dan, Kath and their two kids didn’t disappoint
“There the men are real men and the women are men too,” warned Joe Rianey, the father of my adoptive New Zealand family in Nelson with whom Katie and I have stayed repeatedly and eventually spent the Christmas holiday, before I initially left Nelson to head to the West Coast for my solo travelling.
Dan was a work hard and play often sort. The first day I arrived at the Wildside he weed wacked for 6 hours straight, and then he enjoyed the company of friends for the next two days. Kath was preoccupied with their 3 month old baby and 3-year-old daughter. She always looked dazed and disoriented from either lack of sleep or maybe in was long-term cabin fever – less than 20,000 people live along the entire stretch of the West Coast where towns of less than 50 occupants are common and neighbours aren’t.
Although it was challenging to understand Dan and Kath at times, they were very hospitable, appreciative and entertaining during the two days I resided in their backpackers’ cabin. When I wasn’t looking, Dan had managed to built an extensive garden, to run beehives, to monitor wine making facilities, to hunt enough meat to feed the coast, and to guide Japanese tourists who were shooting a film on a nearby mountain. Amid his ramblings I gleaned knowledge about brewing, bee-keeping and hot springs.
A short distance by car and foot from the Wildside are natural hot springs. Both nights, Dan, a fellow wwoofer (Kevin from Canada the first night and Josh from New Jersey the second) and I, hiked 15 minutes through the dark and across fields to reach the river where pockets of hot water, warmed from the earth’s core, seeped into the cold rush. With three shovels we would dig out a sitting whole in the sand and create our own, natural, hot tubs. Above us the stars shone brightly and around us, attached to the mountain sides were glow-worms.
I left after two days, so I could continue on the road and see all I’d hoped to see before returning north for Christmas, but I thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Wildside.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Settling into the Unknown
When I retell the tales of my travels the events seem more exciting, more entertaining and a lot less scary. When my memory has had time to smooth the edges and extract the periods of time where I experienced delays, anxiety and discomfort the stories are sifted down to the highlights, the good fortune and fun.
Almost every night while I was on my own I had no idea where I would end up, let alone where I would sleep, which was fine earlier in my travels with the car and five other people, but alone it’s a bit worrisome. But, every night I was provided shelter by a number of generous Kiwis. It’s easy to have faith after things work out. The anticipation of the unknown was also a bit addicting and thrilling. Until day 13, when I arrived in Te Anau, and the thrill exhausted my emotions and my resourcefulness felt depleted. I was tired from travelling with strangers all day, evening was setting in, I had no where to stay, I was tired from caring my 20kg pack so I’d hid it in the city bushes. Desperate for a bit of comfort and familiarity (and wanted to let my family know I was alive), I phoned my sister. After a measly five minutes of talking my phone card died.
I hung up the phone, checked that my bag was still hidden in the park where I’d left it, sat by the lake and stared out at the mountains. Behind me was a small Presbyterian church with Reverend Lamb’s phone number. I called him on my cell phone – I’d caved to using the cell phone, which probably will cost me more than if I’d payed for accommodation every night – and asked if I could set up my tent in the church yard. I would have camped in a proper campground, but in a resort town like Te Anau all camp sites are 10 km outside the city and cost about $20 per person. I didn’t have transportation or the will to pay to sleep on the ground.
“You’re welcome to set up your tent, or you can stay with my family, my wife and two boys (ages 14 and 16). We have a guest room you can stay in. How many nights do you think you’d want?” “Where are you?” “I’ll pick you up on five minutes.”
Two sunny days later I left the security of Lambs’ lake view home, which had a private spare bedroom with a queen-sized bed. They’d loaned me a bike and directions to trails and hiking (the Kepler Track) and treated me like an invited guest.
Revived, I hit the road early on the 23rd, ready to make my way from Te Anau, which is in the south part of the South Island, to Nelson, which is in the north part of the South Island and where I would be spending Christmas, but not sure I would make it intime for the Christmas day feast.
One car carried me from Te Anua to Christchurch, a seven hour journey, and a second car drove me four hours from Christchurch to the doorstep of the lake house in Nelson Lake, which was two hours out of his way, but he was feeling charitable and avoiding his family’s Christmas. I was the first to arrive for the Christmas holiday even though I had travelled half a country and the later arrivals lived one hour away and had their own vehicles.
Things worked out, which is easy to see in hindsight.
Almost every night while I was on my own I had no idea where I would end up, let alone where I would sleep, which was fine earlier in my travels with the car and five other people, but alone it’s a bit worrisome. But, every night I was provided shelter by a number of generous Kiwis. It’s easy to have faith after things work out. The anticipation of the unknown was also a bit addicting and thrilling. Until day 13, when I arrived in Te Anau, and the thrill exhausted my emotions and my resourcefulness felt depleted. I was tired from travelling with strangers all day, evening was setting in, I had no where to stay, I was tired from caring my 20kg pack so I’d hid it in the city bushes. Desperate for a bit of comfort and familiarity (and wanted to let my family know I was alive), I phoned my sister. After a measly five minutes of talking my phone card died.
I hung up the phone, checked that my bag was still hidden in the park where I’d left it, sat by the lake and stared out at the mountains. Behind me was a small Presbyterian church with Reverend Lamb’s phone number. I called him on my cell phone – I’d caved to using the cell phone, which probably will cost me more than if I’d payed for accommodation every night – and asked if I could set up my tent in the church yard. I would have camped in a proper campground, but in a resort town like Te Anau all camp sites are 10 km outside the city and cost about $20 per person. I didn’t have transportation or the will to pay to sleep on the ground.
“You’re welcome to set up your tent, or you can stay with my family, my wife and two boys (ages 14 and 16). We have a guest room you can stay in. How many nights do you think you’d want?” “Where are you?” “I’ll pick you up on five minutes.”
Two sunny days later I left the security of Lambs’ lake view home, which had a private spare bedroom with a queen-sized bed. They’d loaned me a bike and directions to trails and hiking (the Kepler Track) and treated me like an invited guest.
Revived, I hit the road early on the 23rd, ready to make my way from Te Anau, which is in the south part of the South Island, to Nelson, which is in the north part of the South Island and where I would be spending Christmas, but not sure I would make it intime for the Christmas day feast.
One car carried me from Te Anua to Christchurch, a seven hour journey, and a second car drove me four hours from Christchurch to the doorstep of the lake house in Nelson Lake, which was two hours out of his way, but he was feeling charitable and avoiding his family’s Christmas. I was the first to arrive for the Christmas holiday even though I had travelled half a country and the later arrivals lived one hour away and had their own vehicles.
Things worked out, which is easy to see in hindsight.
Wwoofing with the Heavres
We enjoyed many meals and conversations around the table.
Lynley and Brian build their home in the 90s. They are constantly "fine-tuning" the interior and exterior to their liking. 
View from the house.
A few out of many NZ sheep.
Nearby beach. Since it rained everyday during my visit to the West Coast I became accustomed to visiting the beach on cloudy days.
View from the house.
View from the house.
Neiko's second birthday bash. Isabel made a traditional French cake to celebrate the occasion.
Brian and Neiko spreading dirt in front of the earth oven. We enjoyed many pizzas and pies cooked in the oven's belly.
Isabel and I in the kitchen.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Cool weather makes me think about the countdown to Christmas
It’s been raining consistently for four days straight, and the forecast for sun is shaky. The New Zealand weather should be getting progressively warmer and sunnier, but the country is experiencing a delay in summer conditions, leaving those of us who expected to spend Christmas on the beach a bit disappointed.
Fortunately my Christmas plans, though not on a beach, are anything but disappointing now that Katie, Brian and I have been invited to celebrate the holiday with the Rainey family in their lake house on Nelson Lake.
For about 2 weeks I will continue traveling alone, while Katie is with Brian, and then the three of us will reunite and join the Raineys on December 23.
Until I head toward the Christmas festivities I will continue traveling down the West Coast of the South Island, wwoofing along the way, and end in the Southern region where Fiordland, New Zealand’s glacial area, lays.
I expect cold in the South, but here it’s feeling a lot like Christmas with the rain and wind along the cold coast. Inside, the fire is burning, and I’m consuming mass amounts of hot tea and coffee, but the dreary weather makes me miss the comforts of home during the holidays.
The sun should be shining Sunday, so I may be back on the road…heading south. I’m still happy with my decision to travel alone, but it’s difficult to find available wwoofing places. (I’m too scared to camp out alone in the rain and too cheap to pay for a hostel.). Wwoofing in popular in NZ, everyone seems to be occupied until February, and travelers from around the world are pouring in and filling the positions.
Today at 11 a.m. a French couple arrived at Lynn’s house to wwoof, they are wonderful people, easy to talk with – in English – but there is always tension among wwoofers as the number of people increases and the amount of work decreases. Hosts can’t keep wwoofers without a fair labor exchange. Lynn and Brian should have enough work for us all, but I would hate for us to strain their resources.
Fortunately my Christmas plans, though not on a beach, are anything but disappointing now that Katie, Brian and I have been invited to celebrate the holiday with the Rainey family in their lake house on Nelson Lake.
For about 2 weeks I will continue traveling alone, while Katie is with Brian, and then the three of us will reunite and join the Raineys on December 23.
Until I head toward the Christmas festivities I will continue traveling down the West Coast of the South Island, wwoofing along the way, and end in the Southern region where Fiordland, New Zealand’s glacial area, lays.
I expect cold in the South, but here it’s feeling a lot like Christmas with the rain and wind along the cold coast. Inside, the fire is burning, and I’m consuming mass amounts of hot tea and coffee, but the dreary weather makes me miss the comforts of home during the holidays.
The sun should be shining Sunday, so I may be back on the road…heading south. I’m still happy with my decision to travel alone, but it’s difficult to find available wwoofing places. (I’m too scared to camp out alone in the rain and too cheap to pay for a hostel.). Wwoofing in popular in NZ, everyone seems to be occupied until February, and travelers from around the world are pouring in and filling the positions.
Today at 11 a.m. a French couple arrived at Lynn’s house to wwoof, they are wonderful people, easy to talk with – in English – but there is always tension among wwoofers as the number of people increases and the amount of work decreases. Hosts can’t keep wwoofers without a fair labor exchange. Lynn and Brian should have enough work for us all, but I would hate for us to strain their resources.
West Coast gets 2 meters of rain each year...not surprising my day on the road is a wet one
When I was cooking in Sande’s kitchen and listening to Louis Armstrong blaring on the stereo, I discovered I wasn’t the only non - paying guests at the inn.
A mouse had made his home behind the oven, and a family rodents was harbored below my cabin. I pretended to not see the critters, but kept all food bags tightly sealed and my backpack locked shut. Two ducks also meandered around the yard, unperturbed by Bear the friendly giant dog. The rocky shore was also home to seals, but they weren’t around during my short stay.
The second day I was in Granity, and after I had returned from a four-hour hike, three female German wwoofers arrived and the happy Sands began to sink.
The kind, albeit intoxicated, Sande became irritable and unpredictable. After dinner she barked at the girls for not being energetic about dishes then returned 10 minutes later and told us how much she appreciated our work and hoped we enjoyed our stay.
She never addressed me when she was upset, instead she created a "me" and "them" dynamic that left me feeling like a one of the giant rocks out in the ocean being hit from all sides by the waves. Between Sande and the new arrivals I was pushed and pulled. I was Sande's go-to girl, and I safely maneuvered the Germans around the crazy moods of the Kiwi. They looked to me for translations and chores, and I felt responsible for their well being. Sande starting calling me the “Head wwoofer” when we were all together and I made apologies for the Pedi stool she’d placed me on.
During the third day, it was raining outside, so I’d decided to bake bread. Sande discovered I was toiling away, no matter how voluntary, and decided the girls needed to help. She shuffled them out of the cabin and into the kitchen where I was forced to delegate jobs that didn’t exist (the bread was rising).
Finally the eggs shells began to crack under our feet and an escape was planned. The girls would be leaving before breakfast and I was free to join them or stay behind. I chose to leave the negative environment, tired of the tumultuous moods and behaviors (I never knew which version of Sande would be walking into the room), but I made my peace before departing.
Over a two page note, a long hug, and a loaf of fresh baked bread I said goodbye, and wished Sande well.
Once again I was on the road heading about 200 km south to Ross, where a young couple in their thirties, with a toddler, agreed to host me on very short notice.
I traveled two hours with a family of five from Denmark, and stopped twice to check out tourists spots with them. The kids didn’t know English but they enjoyed staring at me and showing me their pokeman book.
Later, as I was passing through the city of Greymouth, an older couple was exiting their parked car to do some Christmas shopping.
“Wet day for traveling,” the man said (it had been raining all day).
“Yep. You wouldn’t be heading to Hokitaka would you?”
They proceeded to drive me thirty minutes out of their way, without getting their errands run, so I could get to Ross. Apparently they were spending their retirement helping strangers, and posting presents to their grand kids.
My new hosts, Lynn and her son Nicko arrived in a white car and drove me 3 km to their home where Brian was waiting to greet us all.
After a hot shower and cup of tea, we became acquainted with one another while building boxes. They only new me for one hour before they trusted me to work with a hammer and nails.
A mouse had made his home behind the oven, and a family rodents was harbored below my cabin. I pretended to not see the critters, but kept all food bags tightly sealed and my backpack locked shut. Two ducks also meandered around the yard, unperturbed by Bear the friendly giant dog. The rocky shore was also home to seals, but they weren’t around during my short stay.
The second day I was in Granity, and after I had returned from a four-hour hike, three female German wwoofers arrived and the happy Sands began to sink.
The kind, albeit intoxicated, Sande became irritable and unpredictable. After dinner she barked at the girls for not being energetic about dishes then returned 10 minutes later and told us how much she appreciated our work and hoped we enjoyed our stay.
She never addressed me when she was upset, instead she created a "me" and "them" dynamic that left me feeling like a one of the giant rocks out in the ocean being hit from all sides by the waves. Between Sande and the new arrivals I was pushed and pulled. I was Sande's go-to girl, and I safely maneuvered the Germans around the crazy moods of the Kiwi. They looked to me for translations and chores, and I felt responsible for their well being. Sande starting calling me the “Head wwoofer” when we were all together and I made apologies for the Pedi stool she’d placed me on.
During the third day, it was raining outside, so I’d decided to bake bread. Sande discovered I was toiling away, no matter how voluntary, and decided the girls needed to help. She shuffled them out of the cabin and into the kitchen where I was forced to delegate jobs that didn’t exist (the bread was rising).
Finally the eggs shells began to crack under our feet and an escape was planned. The girls would be leaving before breakfast and I was free to join them or stay behind. I chose to leave the negative environment, tired of the tumultuous moods and behaviors (I never knew which version of Sande would be walking into the room), but I made my peace before departing.
Over a two page note, a long hug, and a loaf of fresh baked bread I said goodbye, and wished Sande well.
Once again I was on the road heading about 200 km south to Ross, where a young couple in their thirties, with a toddler, agreed to host me on very short notice.
I traveled two hours with a family of five from Denmark, and stopped twice to check out tourists spots with them. The kids didn’t know English but they enjoyed staring at me and showing me their pokeman book.
Later, as I was passing through the city of Greymouth, an older couple was exiting their parked car to do some Christmas shopping.
“Wet day for traveling,” the man said (it had been raining all day).
“Yep. You wouldn’t be heading to Hokitaka would you?”
They proceeded to drive me thirty minutes out of their way, without getting their errands run, so I could get to Ross. Apparently they were spending their retirement helping strangers, and posting presents to their grand kids.
My new hosts, Lynn and her son Nicko arrived in a white car and drove me 3 km to their home where Brian was waiting to greet us all.
After a hot shower and cup of tea, we became acquainted with one another while building boxes. They only new me for one hour before they trusted me to work with a hammer and nails.
Staying in Granity, wwoofing on the West Coast
Before I opened my eyes and pushed myself out of bed, I prayed for Katie’s safety, and thought very hard about manifesting two weeks of beautiful sunny weather, hospitable strangers, interesting travel acquaintances and my own competence. I would be navigating my way across the South Island with only a vague idea of where I was heading.
A wwoof host in Granity, near the top of the West Coast, had agreed to host me for a few days, and my tentative plan was to stay until I was ready (or had another host lined up) and travel south. Eventually I would be making my way to the Fiordlands (glacial area of NZ) in the south.
At 10:30 a.m. Tom Rainey, the youngest of the Rainey kids, drove me out of town to the highway, my gateway to the west. My stomach had butterflies like the first day of school when I was excited about a fresh start, but nervous the other kids might reject me.
After fifteen minutes with my thumb in the air and a smile on my face, I was picked up by a man in van and away we went. He left me on the side of the road 35 minutes later with an encouraging smile and a mint tea bag – very random but I guess he wanted to leave me with a parting gift. Another five minutes on the side of the road, no one in sight except a field of cows and two horses who stared anxiously, apparently they’d never seen an American before, and I was picked up by a coal miner heading back to Granity from Nelson.
When I rolled my luggage out of the car, over 200 km later, I was greeted by a curvy middle aged woman with short dirty blond hair and her giant black dog.
“Jeanna? Welcome to Granity Sands,” said Sande as she turned and started walking, expecting me to follow.
She walked with a swagger, as if she were a cat sashaying her tail from side to side. It would have been obnoxious if she had been taller than 5’1”.
There weren’t any guests staying at the backpacker’s, and she didn’t mention any recent departures or arrivals. Not many people intentionally travel through Granity. It was founded as a coal miner’s town, but now harbors less than 200 people, one café, and one general store. The village is sandwiched between the rocky coastline of the Tasman sea and the mountains. River gorges, waterfalls, bush walks and coal museums are sprinkled throughout the region.
Sande showed me the grounds, explained the rules, gave me reign over the kitchen and set me free to unpack in the cabin that would be my dwelling place. The cabin was across the yard from the main house with views of the sea and the sounds of the crashing waves. I unloaded my things on a bottom bed that was one of six bunk beds and had the only non floral print comforter. The walls were covered in magazine cut-outs of men and women from vogue. I felt like I was at camp, except I had attended a conservative Christian camp during my younger years and instead of provocatively posed people there were Bible verses and chore lists decorating the walls.
Sande stayed in her room most of the time, emerging occasionally and reeking of red wine.
I spent the evening walked along the rugged beach line that stretched for miles and Sande eventually joined me to watch the sun set. We sat together on her homemade tree seat and watched the fireball sun sink into the sea. The rosy sky lit our way back to the house and Sande shared her wine and a movie with me, before sending me out to the hot tub where I could soak and watch shooting stars.
My first day alone was a success.
A wwoof host in Granity, near the top of the West Coast, had agreed to host me for a few days, and my tentative plan was to stay until I was ready (or had another host lined up) and travel south. Eventually I would be making my way to the Fiordlands (glacial area of NZ) in the south.
At 10:30 a.m. Tom Rainey, the youngest of the Rainey kids, drove me out of town to the highway, my gateway to the west. My stomach had butterflies like the first day of school when I was excited about a fresh start, but nervous the other kids might reject me.
After fifteen minutes with my thumb in the air and a smile on my face, I was picked up by a man in van and away we went. He left me on the side of the road 35 minutes later with an encouraging smile and a mint tea bag – very random but I guess he wanted to leave me with a parting gift. Another five minutes on the side of the road, no one in sight except a field of cows and two horses who stared anxiously, apparently they’d never seen an American before, and I was picked up by a coal miner heading back to Granity from Nelson.
When I rolled my luggage out of the car, over 200 km later, I was greeted by a curvy middle aged woman with short dirty blond hair and her giant black dog.
“Jeanna? Welcome to Granity Sands,” said Sande as she turned and started walking, expecting me to follow.
She walked with a swagger, as if she were a cat sashaying her tail from side to side. It would have been obnoxious if she had been taller than 5’1”.
There weren’t any guests staying at the backpacker’s, and she didn’t mention any recent departures or arrivals. Not many people intentionally travel through Granity. It was founded as a coal miner’s town, but now harbors less than 200 people, one café, and one general store. The village is sandwiched between the rocky coastline of the Tasman sea and the mountains. River gorges, waterfalls, bush walks and coal museums are sprinkled throughout the region.
Sande showed me the grounds, explained the rules, gave me reign over the kitchen and set me free to unpack in the cabin that would be my dwelling place. The cabin was across the yard from the main house with views of the sea and the sounds of the crashing waves. I unloaded my things on a bottom bed that was one of six bunk beds and had the only non floral print comforter. The walls were covered in magazine cut-outs of men and women from vogue. I felt like I was at camp, except I had attended a conservative Christian camp during my younger years and instead of provocatively posed people there were Bible verses and chore lists decorating the walls.
Sande stayed in her room most of the time, emerging occasionally and reeking of red wine.
I spent the evening walked along the rugged beach line that stretched for miles and Sande eventually joined me to watch the sun set. We sat together on her homemade tree seat and watched the fireball sun sink into the sea. The rosy sky lit our way back to the house and Sande shared her wine and a movie with me, before sending me out to the hot tub where I could soak and watch shooting stars.
My first day alone was a success.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Striking out Solo
When Katie and I were relaxing one overcast afternoon, during our stay at Ngaio Bay, ideas of separation – between Katie and me -- were percolating because after four months without seeing oneanother Katie’s boyfriend Brian would be arriving and the two would reunite.
We were each sitting on our respective beds, in our cozy timber-wood beach cabin, with an atlas, note-filled papers, books, and a few pens strewn about. Both of us were stressed about our financial situation – neither of our jobs, asparagus picking and fashion sales, had been as lucrative as we’d hoped -- and it looked like our South Island road trip wouldn’t be possible. Plus our friends weren’t going to be able to travel with us, which we’d been counting on to prevent an awkward trio of Katie, Brian and me.
Katie and Brian hadn’t seen each other since August and it would be better for all of us if I wasn’t around while they became reacquainted.
So there we were, annoyed by the reality of our money limitations, disappointed we wouldn't be seeing all the sites we'd picked out, and I was feeling put-out by a boy I knew very well, but had only seen once -- I'd attended a pub-concert with Katie and Brian almost three years ago.
Now, with my head against the wall, where a head rest could have been, I chewed my options. Out of spite I considered making Katie feel guilty for pushing me out (I was in a very bad mood), but I bit my tongue and decided venturing out on my own would provide me needed space and opportunity to have a solitary adventure.
I’ve never traveled alone, and the idea of pushing beyond my comfort zone sounded appealing, and intimidating.
Being alone had become foreign to me because Katie and I had not spent a day apart since June. Most of the time we were forced to share a tent or a bed, we worked together, ate together, and shared chores, fears and dreams. We had fallen into roles and developed dances around duties. Katie built the fires, I made tea. She never new the time or what day it was, I wore the watch and managed the calendar. She held the map, I chatted with whoever picked us up hitching.
Occasionally we stepped on each other's toes, aggravated one another, and intentionally hurt each other’s feelings when we were in bad moods, but our relationship was like an old marriage—comfortable, familiar, and at times merely tolerable.
As I was considering what I would do, I realized how free it felt to not have any one else to consider in my plans. The overwhelming liberty I felt, was beginning to taste sour with fear. Who would get the map, the wwoof book, the tent? The idea of parting left a tear. My emotions felt frayed. And my mind was racing around with what-ifs.
The idea of separation was mine. Katie never insisted we part, but I preferred the idea of striking it out on my own opposed to being a third wheel. Plus I’m sad to say, a part of me enjoyed playing the martyr for my friend’s happiness. In the emotional soup that was boiling within me there was also resentment toward the idea she could be happier without me, and toward Brian for breaking up our team. Above all I was excited about my upcoming quest and I saw this as a chance to stretch my independence. I believed I could survive on my own, but I needed to prove it to myself.
So with shaky plans we parted.
We spent one more week together in Golden Bay (We were wwoofing with Grant and Claire), and I continued to marinate in the emotions our new, separate, plans had drawn up. We hitchhiked back to our “home” in Nelson with the Rainey family and Katie left me to head toward Christchurch where she was meeting Brian.
I spent that night alone for the first time in six months.
Tomorrow I strike it out on the road solo.
We were each sitting on our respective beds, in our cozy timber-wood beach cabin, with an atlas, note-filled papers, books, and a few pens strewn about. Both of us were stressed about our financial situation – neither of our jobs, asparagus picking and fashion sales, had been as lucrative as we’d hoped -- and it looked like our South Island road trip wouldn’t be possible. Plus our friends weren’t going to be able to travel with us, which we’d been counting on to prevent an awkward trio of Katie, Brian and me.
Katie and Brian hadn’t seen each other since August and it would be better for all of us if I wasn’t around while they became reacquainted.
So there we were, annoyed by the reality of our money limitations, disappointed we wouldn't be seeing all the sites we'd picked out, and I was feeling put-out by a boy I knew very well, but had only seen once -- I'd attended a pub-concert with Katie and Brian almost three years ago.
Now, with my head against the wall, where a head rest could have been, I chewed my options. Out of spite I considered making Katie feel guilty for pushing me out (I was in a very bad mood), but I bit my tongue and decided venturing out on my own would provide me needed space and opportunity to have a solitary adventure.
I’ve never traveled alone, and the idea of pushing beyond my comfort zone sounded appealing, and intimidating.
Being alone had become foreign to me because Katie and I had not spent a day apart since June. Most of the time we were forced to share a tent or a bed, we worked together, ate together, and shared chores, fears and dreams. We had fallen into roles and developed dances around duties. Katie built the fires, I made tea. She never new the time or what day it was, I wore the watch and managed the calendar. She held the map, I chatted with whoever picked us up hitching.
Occasionally we stepped on each other's toes, aggravated one another, and intentionally hurt each other’s feelings when we were in bad moods, but our relationship was like an old marriage—comfortable, familiar, and at times merely tolerable.
As I was considering what I would do, I realized how free it felt to not have any one else to consider in my plans. The overwhelming liberty I felt, was beginning to taste sour with fear. Who would get the map, the wwoof book, the tent? The idea of parting left a tear. My emotions felt frayed. And my mind was racing around with what-ifs.
The idea of separation was mine. Katie never insisted we part, but I preferred the idea of striking it out on my own opposed to being a third wheel. Plus I’m sad to say, a part of me enjoyed playing the martyr for my friend’s happiness. In the emotional soup that was boiling within me there was also resentment toward the idea she could be happier without me, and toward Brian for breaking up our team. Above all I was excited about my upcoming quest and I saw this as a chance to stretch my independence. I believed I could survive on my own, but I needed to prove it to myself.
So with shaky plans we parted.
We spent one more week together in Golden Bay (We were wwoofing with Grant and Claire), and I continued to marinate in the emotions our new, separate, plans had drawn up. We hitchhiked back to our “home” in Nelson with the Rainey family and Katie left me to head toward Christchurch where she was meeting Brian.
I spent that night alone for the first time in six months.
Tomorrow I strike it out on the road solo.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Cat and Mouse- Reuniting with Felix
I laid in bed this morning long after the sun woke me, and went to the main house in search of coffee. Grant introduced me to his stove top espresso machine and coffee grinder and I believe we will be fast friends. I drank my coffee that was in a mug almost the size of my face (or close to it) and wondered if it is wrong to feel so much affection toward a beverage? But coffee gives a sense of familiarity to my mornings that I can enjoy wherever I am living – given that a cup of java is available.
Katie and I spent the morning weeding the garden beds that are built in a rock labyrinth. For a man who claims to practice practicality when it comes to his produce, the set-up doesn’t make much sense to me.
“I want you to have to take your time in the garden,” Grant explained. A mission easily accomplished when the weeds are growing between rock crevices. I don’t think I successfully eradicated a single weed root, which were all cleverly buried beneath the rocks. So the weeds – the only perennial plant in the bed – will return before we leave, keeping us and future wwoofers in business.
I’d like to take a lawn mower and weed whacker to the grounds, but the top priority is building a rock alter for a Minotaur sculptor that Grant will craft when he has some spare time. Right now he is swamped making drums, so the mythical creature will have to wait.
The day’s highlight wasn’t weeding, however, it was a surprise visit from Felix. Apparently he’s been pursuing Katie and I, trying to catch up with us for over two weeks. Two days ago he ferried over from the North Island and hitchhiked all the way to Golden Bay to find us. The only problem is there is no more room in our inn, so to speak, and his “plan” ended when he found us. Bless his heart. I hope his tent is waterproof.
Katie and I spent the morning weeding the garden beds that are built in a rock labyrinth. For a man who claims to practice practicality when it comes to his produce, the set-up doesn’t make much sense to me.
“I want you to have to take your time in the garden,” Grant explained. A mission easily accomplished when the weeds are growing between rock crevices. I don’t think I successfully eradicated a single weed root, which were all cleverly buried beneath the rocks. So the weeds – the only perennial plant in the bed – will return before we leave, keeping us and future wwoofers in business.
I’d like to take a lawn mower and weed whacker to the grounds, but the top priority is building a rock alter for a Minotaur sculptor that Grant will craft when he has some spare time. Right now he is swamped making drums, so the mythical creature will have to wait.
The day’s highlight wasn’t weeding, however, it was a surprise visit from Felix. Apparently he’s been pursuing Katie and I, trying to catch up with us for over two weeks. Two days ago he ferried over from the North Island and hitchhiked all the way to Golden Bay to find us. The only problem is there is no more room in our inn, so to speak, and his “plan” ended when he found us. Bless his heart. I hope his tent is waterproof.
Back to Golden Bay- Happy Acre Wwoofing
My sleeping bag, clothes and every surface of the campervan I’m living in feels moist. It’s not an obvious wet that could be mopped up with a towel (if I had one…), but damp to the touch and cold. It’s been raining off and on all day and the air is soupy. I’ve kept the windows and door sealed shut and the only precipitation leaking in is the window sweat.
I don’t mind the rain. It turns New Zealand’s vegetation a luscious green and all the ripe roses drip and sparkle after a shower, but I don’t like the cold that’s accompanied this week’s rain. It’s made sleeping an uncomfortable ordeal, so that when I slide into my sleeping bag I quickly find a comfortable spot and wait for my body heat to warm the section of damp flannel interior. It’s best not to move or else I have to wait for the new patch of fabric to acclimate to my body temperature. Every morning at least one trapped limb is numb from lack of circulation- usually my right arm, which acts as a pillow and leaves an unsightly red indent across the side of my face for the first hour I’m awake.
The campervan is our accommodation for the week while Katie and I are wwoofing with Grant and Claire in Golden Bay. It’s better than sleeping on the ground, but after two weeks of living in a secluded beach house 20 ft from the ocean in a queen-sized bed equipped with a down comforter at Roger and Jude’s in Ngaio Bay, everything feels a bid lackluster.
Our new “home” is “Happy Acres” home of Grant, his two sons, 12-year-old Ananda and 7-year-old Macunda, and his partner Claire. The whole family has dreads and practices emotional freedom of expression, music (Grant is a drum maker and he and Claire play in a west African-style band), art (painting, woodwork and stone carving), and Earth-Centered Celebrations (aka Paganism).
The lifestyle here severely contrasts the life I was living a few days ago.
Here is doesn’t really matter where kitchen equipment goes, or if it is put away at all. Dishes can be left to dry in the rack over night, and cups can rest on the table or countertop for over 24 hours. We eat with as few utensils as possible, bless the meal with an om- like “Yum” while holding hands, and consume mass amounts of sprouts and soy. Eating until your satisfied is the primary etiquette is this vegetarian household.
The property has mountain and ocean views and is about 3 km up the road from the beach (if the sun comes out I will confirm this statement…). It has a healthy number of mosquitoes and sandflies and I have red welts around my exposed feet and ankles. According to Grant if I welcome the bloodsuckers they will become disinterested in me. I prefer immediate gratification and doused myself in deet instead.
Minus my slight disgust at the ants that have overrun the kitchen and my itchy, cold feet, I’m happy and comfortable. Katie and I are free to make our own work schedule so long as we complete the garden chores, so we can wake, sleep, eat and come and go as we please. It’s really nice to feel mostly unmonitored and relaxed around the place.
I don’t mind the rain. It turns New Zealand’s vegetation a luscious green and all the ripe roses drip and sparkle after a shower, but I don’t like the cold that’s accompanied this week’s rain. It’s made sleeping an uncomfortable ordeal, so that when I slide into my sleeping bag I quickly find a comfortable spot and wait for my body heat to warm the section of damp flannel interior. It’s best not to move or else I have to wait for the new patch of fabric to acclimate to my body temperature. Every morning at least one trapped limb is numb from lack of circulation- usually my right arm, which acts as a pillow and leaves an unsightly red indent across the side of my face for the first hour I’m awake.
The campervan is our accommodation for the week while Katie and I are wwoofing with Grant and Claire in Golden Bay. It’s better than sleeping on the ground, but after two weeks of living in a secluded beach house 20 ft from the ocean in a queen-sized bed equipped with a down comforter at Roger and Jude’s in Ngaio Bay, everything feels a bid lackluster.
Our new “home” is “Happy Acres” home of Grant, his two sons, 12-year-old Ananda and 7-year-old Macunda, and his partner Claire. The whole family has dreads and practices emotional freedom of expression, music (Grant is a drum maker and he and Claire play in a west African-style band), art (painting, woodwork and stone carving), and Earth-Centered Celebrations (aka Paganism).
The lifestyle here severely contrasts the life I was living a few days ago.
Here is doesn’t really matter where kitchen equipment goes, or if it is put away at all. Dishes can be left to dry in the rack over night, and cups can rest on the table or countertop for over 24 hours. We eat with as few utensils as possible, bless the meal with an om- like “Yum” while holding hands, and consume mass amounts of sprouts and soy. Eating until your satisfied is the primary etiquette is this vegetarian household.
The property has mountain and ocean views and is about 3 km up the road from the beach (if the sun comes out I will confirm this statement…). It has a healthy number of mosquitoes and sandflies and I have red welts around my exposed feet and ankles. According to Grant if I welcome the bloodsuckers they will become disinterested in me. I prefer immediate gratification and doused myself in deet instead.
Minus my slight disgust at the ants that have overrun the kitchen and my itchy, cold feet, I’m happy and comfortable. Katie and I are free to make our own work schedule so long as we complete the garden chores, so we can wake, sleep, eat and come and go as we please. It’s really nice to feel mostly unmonitored and relaxed around the place.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Kiwi Thanksgiving
Tonight Jude prepared a Kiwi-enhanced Thanksgiving meal. She spent all day in the kitchen looking up American traditional recipes, inquiring about how Katie's and my family celebrate the holiday and the fare we feast on.
She made stuffed chicken the size of a small turkey, mashed potatoes with butter and fresh herbs, kumera- a native sweet potato, salad from the garden, homemade bread and pumpkin pie with butterscotch ice cream. When she couldn't match an entree exactly she improvised inlcuding serving black currant and balsamic dressing instead of cranberry sauce. I usually don't eat the stuffing, but I scrapped the bowl clean with my spoon. Her homemade crusts and pie had me eating in the smallest bites I could managed to make the sweet pumpkin and spice last as long as possible.
Jude has a magnet on her fridge that says, “The torch of love is lit in th kitchen,” and I tasted her love and nurturing spirit in every bite.
The elderly German couple staying at the B&B, Jude, Roger, Katie and I toasted glasses of Sauvignon Blanc to gratitude and an American holiday we were all thankful for.
Earlier in the day I sent my love 17 hrs ( I called them at 7 a.m. Friday my time, which was 2 p.m. Thursday in Ohio) back in time to member of my family in the States who were feasting on their own Thanksgiving festivities.
Holidays don't mean much without loved ones to share them with and I was happy to hear their familiar voices. My grandma coralled everyone up near the phone, so we could all chat over the speaker. My young cousin asked when I would be home and another gave me his best monkey impression.
The day was executed in a familiar fashion, so even though I was miles away I knew how everyone was carrying on without me.
I love being abroad, but today I missed home.
Jude replicated our traditions better that the real deal (foodwise...sorry family), but she couldn't replace the people.
She made stuffed chicken the size of a small turkey, mashed potatoes with butter and fresh herbs, kumera- a native sweet potato, salad from the garden, homemade bread and pumpkin pie with butterscotch ice cream. When she couldn't match an entree exactly she improvised inlcuding serving black currant and balsamic dressing instead of cranberry sauce. I usually don't eat the stuffing, but I scrapped the bowl clean with my spoon. Her homemade crusts and pie had me eating in the smallest bites I could managed to make the sweet pumpkin and spice last as long as possible.
Jude has a magnet on her fridge that says, “The torch of love is lit in th kitchen,” and I tasted her love and nurturing spirit in every bite.
The elderly German couple staying at the B&B, Jude, Roger, Katie and I toasted glasses of Sauvignon Blanc to gratitude and an American holiday we were all thankful for.
Earlier in the day I sent my love 17 hrs ( I called them at 7 a.m. Friday my time, which was 2 p.m. Thursday in Ohio) back in time to member of my family in the States who were feasting on their own Thanksgiving festivities.
Holidays don't mean much without loved ones to share them with and I was happy to hear their familiar voices. My grandma coralled everyone up near the phone, so we could all chat over the speaker. My young cousin asked when I would be home and another gave me his best monkey impression.
The day was executed in a familiar fashion, so even though I was miles away I knew how everyone was carrying on without me.
I love being abroad, but today I missed home.
Jude replicated our traditions better that the real deal (foodwise...sorry family), but she couldn't replace the people.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Dinner prep
It's nearly 6 p.m., the sun is shining over the ocean creating a surfacy sparkle and Katie and I are sitting on stools at Jude's kitchen counter watching her cook freshly caught mussels, chocolate sauce, stuffed zuccini and garden salad. The smell of garlic, wine, butter and coriander from the mussel sauce is wafting through the air and dancing with the jazz music playing in the stereo. Katie and I are drooling, watching Jude's every move with interest and anticipation. This must be how Jo and Oscar, Roger and Jude's labradors, must feel when they sit at my side during lunch. If I had a tail it would be wagging.
Wwoof Hosts- Roger and Jude
At 7 a.m. every morning – 365 days a year – Jude wakes up and goes for a swim in the ocean. Rain or shine, hot or cold, she is out in the waves wearing nothing but the skin God gave her. After her morning dip she prepares breakfast for the bed and breakfast guests, usually two to four people then Katie and me and finally Roger and herself. She spends the rest of the day running the two home businesses – an eco bed and breakfast and Roger's photography; working in her elaborate flower and rose gardens and tending to her multiple vegetable beds and 20 fruit trees; all before 4 p.m. when she fires up the kitchen and crafts a five-star meal for all of us to enjoy around the candle-lit, flower dressed table at 7:15 p.m.
Roger, Jude's husband of over 30 years, is a flower photographer whose voice sounds like Jack Nickolson. He spends his days waiting for magical lighting, playing the flute, fishing, and watching sports. He's constantly shadowed by his two labradors, Jo and Oscar, and his pet doves occassionally drop in to check the football scores. (The animals are allowed in when Jude is gone.)
Roger preferes meat and potatoes to Jude's fresh veggies. And both have the phisiques to match their dietary habits.
Roger's weather worn hands show signs of a life full of stories. He spent 12 years traveling, working in Crete and Sweden herding cattle, before settling in New Zealand and raising five kids with Jude.
Together they have maintained the Ngaio Bay Eco B&B for twenty years. The B&B is 5 km below French Pass in the Marlborough Sounds, two hours of windy dirt roads around mountainsides overlooking the ocean from town. Trip to town are infrequent and Katie and I rode in with the Mail lady, who comes every Monday and Thursday.
There are two guest cottages that Katie and I clean almost daily and one all timber beach house that Katie and I share. Our cabin sits on the ocean with windows that nearly touch the tide. Our second day here we watched dolphins from the comfort of our beds.
At first I had my reservations about staying in one place for two weeks, but I think I can endure.
I've learned how to collect and prepare mussels, build a raised potato bed, set a proper NZ dinner table (forks on the left, spoon and knife on the right), iron the bed sheets with the bunchie corners and act interested in small talk with guests over dinner.
I'm making my way in this new wwoofing site. Jude enjoys having her fridge packed a certain way and the bowls stacked largest to smallest. She is very particular about food rations, weeding and behavior around paying guests. She is teaching me about letting go of ego, and her library offers a delicious assortment of indulgences for the hours I'm not working.
I'm also learning how to relax in the presence of another's business...Roger is leading my example.
Roger, Jude's husband of over 30 years, is a flower photographer whose voice sounds like Jack Nickolson. He spends his days waiting for magical lighting, playing the flute, fishing, and watching sports. He's constantly shadowed by his two labradors, Jo and Oscar, and his pet doves occassionally drop in to check the football scores. (The animals are allowed in when Jude is gone.)
Roger preferes meat and potatoes to Jude's fresh veggies. And both have the phisiques to match their dietary habits.
Roger's weather worn hands show signs of a life full of stories. He spent 12 years traveling, working in Crete and Sweden herding cattle, before settling in New Zealand and raising five kids with Jude.
Together they have maintained the Ngaio Bay Eco B&B for twenty years. The B&B is 5 km below French Pass in the Marlborough Sounds, two hours of windy dirt roads around mountainsides overlooking the ocean from town. Trip to town are infrequent and Katie and I rode in with the Mail lady, who comes every Monday and Thursday.
There are two guest cottages that Katie and I clean almost daily and one all timber beach house that Katie and I share. Our cabin sits on the ocean with windows that nearly touch the tide. Our second day here we watched dolphins from the comfort of our beds.
At first I had my reservations about staying in one place for two weeks, but I think I can endure.
I've learned how to collect and prepare mussels, build a raised potato bed, set a proper NZ dinner table (forks on the left, spoon and knife on the right), iron the bed sheets with the bunchie corners and act interested in small talk with guests over dinner.
I'm making my way in this new wwoofing site. Jude enjoys having her fridge packed a certain way and the bowls stacked largest to smallest. She is very particular about food rations, weeding and behavior around paying guests. She is teaching me about letting go of ego, and her library offers a delicious assortment of indulgences for the hours I'm not working.
I'm also learning how to relax in the presence of another's business...Roger is leading my example.
Meet the Rainy Family
We arrived with only a 15 minute head notice and they welcomed us as if we were old aquantinces dropping in for a long anticipated visit.
We were hugged, shown to a bedroom with a king-sized bed, offered help with our bags and freedom to make ourselves at home.
Jo and Judy Rainy, parents of Annie, (whom we met in Wellington), Libby and Tom, graciously took us, fed us huge helping of dinner and acted enthusiastic about our presence. They devoted their Saturday night to hanging out with us, driving us on a tour of Nelson, a coastal city full of ex hippies and artists, and including us on their beach walk with Nikki, their blind and deaf cockerspaniel.
Sunday morning we all went to church together and they drove us an hour toward our destination in Golden Bay.
Their home is full of love and laughter, and we will stop by every chance we can.
We were hugged, shown to a bedroom with a king-sized bed, offered help with our bags and freedom to make ourselves at home.
Jo and Judy Rainy, parents of Annie, (whom we met in Wellington), Libby and Tom, graciously took us, fed us huge helping of dinner and acted enthusiastic about our presence. They devoted their Saturday night to hanging out with us, driving us on a tour of Nelson, a coastal city full of ex hippies and artists, and including us on their beach walk with Nikki, their blind and deaf cockerspaniel.
Sunday morning we all went to church together and they drove us an hour toward our destination in Golden Bay.
Their home is full of love and laughter, and we will stop by every chance we can.
Ferry Me Away
It's 1:30 p.m. Saturday, the sun is bright and the ocean breeze is blowing my hair in my face and flapping the sides of my flannel button-up. The water is turbulent and tossing the ferry, but fortunately I don't suffer from seasickness. I like the way the rocky motion shakes my stomach like I'm riding a kiddie rollercoaster.
This afternoon we left the North Island on the Bluebird Ferry to travers Cook's Straight and to begin traveling in the South Island.
We had spent five days and four nights in Wellington, the countries capital city, where we met a host of interesting and hospitable people, including Kyle a cyclist whose wheels had taken him around the world and were temporarily parked in the city to earn money for his next tour; Simon a man who picked us up hitchhiking and invited us to meet his lovely wife and son and offered us a place to stay, transportation to and from our various obligations (immigration office and Guy Fawkes party), and multiple numbers to reach him if we were in need of assistance; and Emma, Robbie and Annie who invited us to their potluck party, to share their abode for a night and to stay with Annie's folks in Nelson once we landed in the South.
The city was good to us, and thanks to meeting Annie we now have contacts in Nelson.
This afternoon we left the North Island on the Bluebird Ferry to travers Cook's Straight and to begin traveling in the South Island.
We had spent five days and four nights in Wellington, the countries capital city, where we met a host of interesting and hospitable people, including Kyle a cyclist whose wheels had taken him around the world and were temporarily parked in the city to earn money for his next tour; Simon a man who picked us up hitchhiking and invited us to meet his lovely wife and son and offered us a place to stay, transportation to and from our various obligations (immigration office and Guy Fawkes party), and multiple numbers to reach him if we were in need of assistance; and Emma, Robbie and Annie who invited us to their potluck party, to share their abode for a night and to stay with Annie's folks in Nelson once we landed in the South.
The city was good to us, and thanks to meeting Annie we now have contacts in Nelson.
Working it
After leaving Karuna Falls the gang all stuck together for one more week of work...asparagus picking in Matamata. Picking asparagus isn't hard, you simply slice the asparagus with a knife and put the spear in a bucket, but the money didn't come easy because we only worked one to two hours a day. The boss had overhired, making many hands and little labor. By 7:30 a.m. (we started at 6 a.m. Before the sun could wilt the veggies) we were sent “home” each day. The decimated fields couldn't keep up with our eager picking.
Finding a “home” each day and ways to spend our free hours became our pastime.
When we first arrived in town we were rejected from a local camping site Opal Springs because we were too dirty to camp.
“I don't want your asaragus mud clogging my showers,” resoned the unreasonable camp director.
“Does is look like we shower?” Katie retorted to no avail.
Our home hunting began with an ego blow. Too dirty to camp? Unbelievable.
We decided to make charity cases of ourselves and plead out situation to the local Anglican church reverend, who willingly took us in and gave us access to the kitchen. A game of hide and go seek in the dark church and a batch of chocolate chip cookies lifted our spirits and we settled into our free accomodation.
The second night we found refuge in a small cabin that was offered to us by a man Cat met while hitchhiking. An adorable pad that was gutted of all its furniture, but had hot running water, a shower, toilet and functioning stove and kitchen sink and had a strawberry patch in the back yard.
The next night we camped by a river surrounded by beautiful bush walks.
The fourth night we drove to mount manganuie(sp?) and after a night on the town slept in our car in a parking lot between the police station and rose gardens. Not classy, but very cramped. We had the next day off from work (to give the asparagus a chance to recoup) and we spent the day bathing on a beach before returning to Kim's house. Kim was a coworker's friend who offered to rent us a room for the night. Unfortunately the next morning while in my sleep stupor I melted Kim's electric kettle on the stove (it looked like a regular kettle) and I had to pay for the damaged appliance (kettle not stove).
Other than almost burning the house down and scaring all its occupants ( the house was floor to ceiling in smoke) we ended our week of work and house hopping unscathed.
Finding a “home” each day and ways to spend our free hours became our pastime.
When we first arrived in town we were rejected from a local camping site Opal Springs because we were too dirty to camp.
“I don't want your asaragus mud clogging my showers,” resoned the unreasonable camp director.
“Does is look like we shower?” Katie retorted to no avail.
Our home hunting began with an ego blow. Too dirty to camp? Unbelievable.
We decided to make charity cases of ourselves and plead out situation to the local Anglican church reverend, who willingly took us in and gave us access to the kitchen. A game of hide and go seek in the dark church and a batch of chocolate chip cookies lifted our spirits and we settled into our free accomodation.
The second night we found refuge in a small cabin that was offered to us by a man Cat met while hitchhiking. An adorable pad that was gutted of all its furniture, but had hot running water, a shower, toilet and functioning stove and kitchen sink and had a strawberry patch in the back yard.
The next night we camped by a river surrounded by beautiful bush walks.
The fourth night we drove to mount manganuie(sp?) and after a night on the town slept in our car in a parking lot between the police station and rose gardens. Not classy, but very cramped. We had the next day off from work (to give the asparagus a chance to recoup) and we spent the day bathing on a beach before returning to Kim's house. Kim was a coworker's friend who offered to rent us a room for the night. Unfortunately the next morning while in my sleep stupor I melted Kim's electric kettle on the stove (it looked like a regular kettle) and I had to pay for the damaged appliance (kettle not stove).
Other than almost burning the house down and scaring all its occupants ( the house was floor to ceiling in smoke) we ended our week of work and house hopping unscathed.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The Karuna Falls Communtiy...wwoofing
Under the bright Auckland afternoon sun, surrounded again by pavement and buildings, we said goodbye to Sandra and Daniel at the city center train station. Our group was beginning to disperse -- Felix was also left behind in Whangarie to stay with fellow artists.
Cat, Katie, Katie and I carried on, making our way from the city and hit the highway for a five hour drive of mountains, valleys, coastline and reggae music. We arrived at Karuna Falls, a solar powered ecovillage in Coromandel where Katie and I were to wwoof for the long weekend, by 7 p.m.
Cat and Katie were dropping us off and continuing onward to visit friends, but darkness was settling in and after our long hours spent in “G” – our nickname for our car – they decided to stay in Karuna.
Fifteen houses were tucked in among native bush in the side of hills, but no human life could be found. We walked around the wet gravel roads, knocking on doors to announce our presence, until finally we found Ron, a recent community member. Ron showed us to the community house, a central building with couches, kitchen and library, and to the guest cabin, where we found more couches, heaps of mattresses and a fireplace.
We made ourselves comfortable, cooked pasta by candlelight, lit the fire and read stories a loud from Cat’s book on Canadian short stories “Mugged by a Mouse.”
Our wwoof host, Stephanie, was running late and we communicated via texting until she arrived after 10 p.m.
Stephanie invited Cat and Katie to stay on as wwoofers – in addition to Adrien a Frenchman she was also hosting – and all of us spent Friday to Monday working on gardens, eating good food, celebrating Katie’s 21st birthday and further bonding ourselves together.
I enjoyed my time in the community more than any other weekend yet.
Canadian Katie and I zipped our sleeping bags together and shared a pile of queen-sized mattresses. And after the first night Adrien joined our party in the guest house. (The first night he stayed in another cabin.) At night we all read from our journals, poems and stories, all huddled around the fire place.
Everyone in the community was kind and interesting – they are all in their late 50s, most of grown children who are off exploring the world, they are were the front runners on environmentalism, some working on the Green Peace Rainbow Warrior ship. Men and women who chose composts toilets and solar energy before sustainability was a trend.
Saturday night Stephanie hosted Katie’s birthday party and half a dozen community members brought musical instruments and wine to the festivities. A bit tipsy, I watched everyone sing “Rainbow Warrior” and “Hotel California” through a candle light haze. The house was warm from dancing and later we stepped into the cool night to return to our cabin, guided only by starlight.
Cat, Katie, Katie and I carried on, making our way from the city and hit the highway for a five hour drive of mountains, valleys, coastline and reggae music. We arrived at Karuna Falls, a solar powered ecovillage in Coromandel where Katie and I were to wwoof for the long weekend, by 7 p.m.
Cat and Katie were dropping us off and continuing onward to visit friends, but darkness was settling in and after our long hours spent in “G” – our nickname for our car – they decided to stay in Karuna.
Fifteen houses were tucked in among native bush in the side of hills, but no human life could be found. We walked around the wet gravel roads, knocking on doors to announce our presence, until finally we found Ron, a recent community member. Ron showed us to the community house, a central building with couches, kitchen and library, and to the guest cabin, where we found more couches, heaps of mattresses and a fireplace.
We made ourselves comfortable, cooked pasta by candlelight, lit the fire and read stories a loud from Cat’s book on Canadian short stories “Mugged by a Mouse.”
Our wwoof host, Stephanie, was running late and we communicated via texting until she arrived after 10 p.m.
Stephanie invited Cat and Katie to stay on as wwoofers – in addition to Adrien a Frenchman she was also hosting – and all of us spent Friday to Monday working on gardens, eating good food, celebrating Katie’s 21st birthday and further bonding ourselves together.
I enjoyed my time in the community more than any other weekend yet.
Canadian Katie and I zipped our sleeping bags together and shared a pile of queen-sized mattresses. And after the first night Adrien joined our party in the guest house. (The first night he stayed in another cabin.) At night we all read from our journals, poems and stories, all huddled around the fire place.
Everyone in the community was kind and interesting – they are all in their late 50s, most of grown children who are off exploring the world, they are were the front runners on environmentalism, some working on the Green Peace Rainbow Warrior ship. Men and women who chose composts toilets and solar energy before sustainability was a trend.
Saturday night Stephanie hosted Katie’s birthday party and half a dozen community members brought musical instruments and wine to the festivities. A bit tipsy, I watched everyone sing “Rainbow Warrior” and “Hotel California” through a candle light haze. The house was warm from dancing and later we stepped into the cool night to return to our cabin, guided only by starlight.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Trip Nostalgia
I have walked barefoot for almost the entire week. I’ve been in grocery stores, gas stations, gas station bathrooms, beaches, parks and to a fish and chips eatery. The group has synchronized our decline in cleanliness, and no one seems to care. I don’t even smell myself or anyone in the car anymore even though we are smashed together. Unless my nose is pushed under an armpit, I don’t notice a stench.
Acceptance of body odours aside, we have become incredibly close, sharing one pot for community meals (oatmeal, pasta, salad and tuna with rice), we swap silverware unwashed (except Cat who thinks that is disgusting), and all drink out of the same water bottles. Two nights we had “slumber parties” in Katie’s tent—five of us smashed in a 2/3 person tent. We’ve shared secrets, histories, dreams, fears and hopes, lost all hint of personal space thanks to the tight car situation and forgotten modesty -- changing and peeing in front of one another without hesitation, hands hitting inappropriate places in the car. Or yesterday in the grocery store as Katie didn’t realize she was scratching Canadian Katie’s breast with a banana “I’ve been molested by a fruit, your hand on my knee is the least of my worries,” she said as she sat on my lap in the backseat.
We’ve become a family, even adopted roles ( I wear the pants in the group they like to say….) and we can set up and tear down our camp sites in under 15 minutes.
We are leaving one another soon, and it saddens me to think about our chapter coming to an end. I hope the best for everyone and that we all meet again in time.
Acceptance of body odours aside, we have become incredibly close, sharing one pot for community meals (oatmeal, pasta, salad and tuna with rice), we swap silverware unwashed (except Cat who thinks that is disgusting), and all drink out of the same water bottles. Two nights we had “slumber parties” in Katie’s tent—five of us smashed in a 2/3 person tent. We’ve shared secrets, histories, dreams, fears and hopes, lost all hint of personal space thanks to the tight car situation and forgotten modesty -- changing and peeing in front of one another without hesitation, hands hitting inappropriate places in the car. Or yesterday in the grocery store as Katie didn’t realize she was scratching Canadian Katie’s breast with a banana “I’ve been molested by a fruit, your hand on my knee is the least of my worries,” she said as she sat on my lap in the backseat.
We’ve become a family, even adopted roles ( I wear the pants in the group they like to say….) and we can set up and tear down our camp sites in under 15 minutes.
We are leaving one another soon, and it saddens me to think about our chapter coming to an end. I hope the best for everyone and that we all meet again in time.
What do I want out of this trip?
Monday started at 7:30 a.m. tipsy and unbalanced. I was up with the sun and birds, but hadn’t recovered from the previous night’s drinking –wine in the tent, beer at the pub. I attempted to practice yoga, but soon the tide came in and I resorted to sitting on a rock and attempting to meditate. I was recuperating my equilibrium and attempting to trick my body into feeling well rested when heavy thoughts began to invade my tranquillity. I began to brood about the meaning of this trip. What am I learning? What do I want to learn? Who do I want to be on the other side of this adventure? And is this a process or a goal that I can check off like a laundry list?
I am striving for balance, and learning what that looks like for me.
To live like there’s no tomorrow and make a future that I can live with, indulge in the riches the earth had to offer without becoming struck with greed and gluttony, relax and rejuvenate and work purposefully, take and contribute, be optimistic and accept pain as a part of life, engage in challenges and accept that some things are out of my control.
I don’t expect solutions, but within myself I hope to develop peace with the questions I can’t answer.
I am striving for balance, and learning what that looks like for me.
To live like there’s no tomorrow and make a future that I can live with, indulge in the riches the earth had to offer without becoming struck with greed and gluttony, relax and rejuvenate and work purposefully, take and contribute, be optimistic and accept pain as a part of life, engage in challenges and accept that some things are out of my control.
I don’t expect solutions, but within myself I hope to develop peace with the questions I can’t answer.
A beautiful life
Saturday after a night spent on a secluded section of the 90-mile beach, which a local Maori man personally led us to, we all piled in the car and drove 45 minutes along the sandy shore. I was sitting out the window gripping the frame while the window glass wedged my bum between window and panel. The 90-mile beach is a registered highway in NZ. It’s drivable during low tide or if you have 4-wheel drive…which we do not. Without getting stuck or pulled into the ocean we made our way down the “road” and ended in a small town where we treated ourselves to a fish and chips lunch before hitting the road again in search of hot springs.
We soaked ourselves until or flesh was white and shrivelled and darkness had set in, piled back in the car in search of a place to sleep. Reeking of sulphur gas (hot spring aroma) we drove over two hours before finding a campsite in the Kaori forest. The rate to camp was outrageously expensive (over $20 a person to sleep on the ground!). So five of us piled in one tent, two slept in the car, and we woke at the crack of dawn to pile back in our house on wheels before we had to pay.
Driving through windy roads that circled some of the oldest and majestic forests in the world (second only to California’s Redwoods), we caught glimpses of the ocean below, waves crashing against rocks that stood their ground for millions of years. The sun was bright and warmed my skin, reflecting rays off my outstretched arm. I grabbed handfuls of rushing wind and was slapped in the face by my wild hair. The car was cramped- I was crouched behind Katie because we were sharing one seat—and the reek of sulphur was pungent on my skin. My hair has begun to dread organically (sand, salt and no soap) and the sun has started to bleach me blond and brown my body. Yet I have never felt more beautiful. I think it’s the rush of freedom, which leaves all my cares and concerns for time and personal hygiene behind. I have no agenda to attend to, no appointments to remember, to schedule to adhere. I’m with great people and we are all loving life.
We soaked ourselves until or flesh was white and shrivelled and darkness had set in, piled back in the car in search of a place to sleep. Reeking of sulphur gas (hot spring aroma) we drove over two hours before finding a campsite in the Kaori forest. The rate to camp was outrageously expensive (over $20 a person to sleep on the ground!). So five of us piled in one tent, two slept in the car, and we woke at the crack of dawn to pile back in our house on wheels before we had to pay.
Driving through windy roads that circled some of the oldest and majestic forests in the world (second only to California’s Redwoods), we caught glimpses of the ocean below, waves crashing against rocks that stood their ground for millions of years. The sun was bright and warmed my skin, reflecting rays off my outstretched arm. I grabbed handfuls of rushing wind and was slapped in the face by my wild hair. The car was cramped- I was crouched behind Katie because we were sharing one seat—and the reek of sulphur was pungent on my skin. My hair has begun to dread organically (sand, salt and no soap) and the sun has started to bleach me blond and brown my body. Yet I have never felt more beautiful. I think it’s the rush of freedom, which leaves all my cares and concerns for time and personal hygiene behind. I have no agenda to attend to, no appointments to remember, to schedule to adhere. I’m with great people and we are all loving life.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Chance encounters
[Katie, Sandra, Daniel, Cat, Katie and me at John and Robyn's]
When our group of seven passengers, seven hiking backpacks, an assortment of groceries and three tents were cruising down the windy mountain roads of the Kauri Forest we passed a small handmade road sign for an artist's studio and gallery. We turned our packed station wagon around on the side of the road, past two toilets resting on the gravel road side and decided to pay a visit. (Our days are spent with minute by minute plans. Most days we don't know where we will sleep for the night, but somehow our open agendas has led us to interesting people and places so we don't intend to start scheduling any time soon.)
Snow White, our nickname for our rental vehicle, did not fail us this time. She delivered us to Diane and Seaborne, the artists, and connections that have taken us far. First the artwork was magical. Diane and Seaborne managed to capture spirit and life and seal them onto canvas usuing water and color. But the trip-changing encounter was with the elderly couple who were also in the
gallery.
John and Robyn, a couple in their late 50s from Whangerie, were traveling through Northland celebrating an anniversary and John's birthday. John chatted us up for a bit while we were all looking at the artwork, and casually mentioned we could stay with him and Robyn when we returned to Whangarie to return the rental car. We took his business card, carried on our seperate ways -- we went to visit a waterfall and camp at a beach.
Three days later, needing a place to stay, we rang up John.
John and Robyn adopted the group of us for three days. We were fed homecooked meals, enjoyed kayaking and fishing on the ocean-- which we could access through their backyard, slept in beds, rode horses (one of his employees has pollo ponies) and finally left chez-Keith with a car. They let us borrow one of their vehicles for the remainder of our time in NZ.
Now our group has become five. Felix is staying with artists up north, Sandra and Daniel are traveling together (we dropped them off in Auckland), and Katie, Cat, Katie and myself are traveling with the car and Adrien, a Frenchman we picked up in Coromandle (more blog posts will fill in the gaps soon!)through NZ.
John, who has connections to everyone and every industry in NZ, found us some temporary work in Waharoa picking asparagus. We pick for an hour or two in the morning, are off by 10:30 a.m. and then we think about what we want to do for the day and where we will sleep...so far we have slept in an Anglican church (made cookies in the kitchen and played hide-and-seek in the dark), camped by the river and were given a cabin (Cat decided to hitchhike into town and the man who picked him up offered us a free cabin to ourselves for the night). The randomness and blessings that we encounter every day is astonishing.
[John and Robyn]
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Roadtrip odd and ends
Once you accept that everything, including your food will be covered in sand, camping on the beach is fantastic. Sleeping under the stars, listening to the ocean waves and watching the sun rise over the water is a magical experience.
There are 28 sheep to every one person in New Zealand, according to Toby, a German guy we met while camping at Cape Reigna. He was the copilot of the Barack Mobile – a van completely covered with a painting of Barack Obama and his slogan “Yes We Can.” Now we have adopted Mr. Obama's campaign line as our trip motto. “Can we drive down the 90-mile beach?” (the beach is a registered highway, but you have to make sure you only drive during low-tide.) “Yes we can!”
There are 28 sheep to every one person in New Zealand, according to Toby, a German guy we met while camping at Cape Reigna. He was the copilot of the Barack Mobile – a van completely covered with a painting of Barack Obama and his slogan “Yes We Can.” Now we have adopted Mr. Obama's campaign line as our trip motto. “Can we drive down the 90-mile beach?” (the beach is a registered highway, but you have to make sure you only drive during low-tide.) “Yes we can!”
Rick- Rescued us from the Rain
Thursday, the sun was setting, rain was moving in and we were lost. We pulled over in a small harbor town of about 100 people, walked into the pub and ordered a pitcher of Red Lion beer. Soon the barista had found us a place to stay for the night, with Rick, a 70-year-old bachelor who lived atop a mountain overlooking the ocean and surrounding forests. He gave us two spare bedrooms, hot showers, Internet access and protection from the worst rain storm I've seen in New Zealand thus far.
We cooked dinner, he fed us a case of beer and bottle of wine, and we learned about his former wives.
We cooked dinner, he fed us a case of beer and bottle of wine, and we learned about his former wives.
Nick and Mo-- Germans 4, Americans 3
“Now all we need is someone with a guitar...,” Katie joked.
We'd found a beautiful beach to camp out on—no one else in site. We were going to fish for our dinner, build a fire and let Felix entertain us with his harmonica. Then a white van came up the gravel road and parked next to our station wagon. Two German guys, Mo and Nick, stepped out and with them came a guitar.
Daniel and I fished, unsuccessfully, and collected oysters that tasted like sand. Since we failed to produce a seafood feast, Nick made a fabulous spicy pasta sauce and penne noodles. Katie built a fire on the beach and we sat up listening to Felix jam –I held the harmonica to his mouth while he strummed on the guitar. We shared stories and fell asleep sometime after midnight.
We'd found a beautiful beach to camp out on—no one else in site. We were going to fish for our dinner, build a fire and let Felix entertain us with his harmonica. Then a white van came up the gravel road and parked next to our station wagon. Two German guys, Mo and Nick, stepped out and with them came a guitar.
Daniel and I fished, unsuccessfully, and collected oysters that tasted like sand. Since we failed to produce a seafood feast, Nick made a fabulous spicy pasta sauce and penne noodles. Katie built a fire on the beach and we sat up listening to Felix jam –I held the harmonica to his mouth while he strummed on the guitar. We shared stories and fell asleep sometime after midnight.
Northland Roadtrip Day 1
Day one of our roadtrip north we traveled almost 200km up highway 1 by the graciousness of seven different drivers including two men from South Africa, a Maori man, a dad with his four-year-old son, and finally Kathy, a Kiwi woman who fancied trucks.
While driving Kathy would spot an 18-wheeler and shout, “There you are you cheeeky motherf******. You sexy thing. Ha!” Occasionally she would snap photos of the trucks with her digital camera as the trucks passed by.
I sat up front an held my end of the conversation as much as possible, but I know nothing about trucks, I don't have any children, ex-husbands or addictions, and I've never found truckers particularly sexy, so she talked and I nodded and smiled.
At first she said she was a freelance truck photographer, but then she admitted that she was unemployed, and didn't usually earn money from her pictures. I think it was more of an extreme hobby than a source of income.
She insisted that we stay at her house, but we were skeptical. We agreed to stop by and were greeted by a large German Shepherd who was missing his back hair and smelled like cat urine. Pete, and old man with wild white hair, was watching a Kiwi soap opera and Kim, a trucker Kathy met on a dating site, was on the computer. The house was littered with toys, trash and clothes and the walls were plastered with truck photos. It smelled of rotten food, dirty dishes, and dog urine. The furniture felt sticky, so we three opted to stand, complaining of cramped legs from the car rides.
We decided we couldn't stay...and told Kathy friends were expecting us in town by 9 p.m.
That night we camped in a public park, which was recommended by the police station, and slept soundly until the sky started spitting rain at 3 a.m. By 8 a.m. We were cold, wet and hungry and found our way to the public library. The library was the Mecca of wet, stranded travlers that morning and we met Sandra and Daniel.
After chatting for 10 minutes we all decided to rent a car together and head north, just as the sun began to shine.
While driving Kathy would spot an 18-wheeler and shout, “There you are you cheeeky motherf******. You sexy thing. Ha!” Occasionally she would snap photos of the trucks with her digital camera as the trucks passed by.
I sat up front an held my end of the conversation as much as possible, but I know nothing about trucks, I don't have any children, ex-husbands or addictions, and I've never found truckers particularly sexy, so she talked and I nodded and smiled.
At first she said she was a freelance truck photographer, but then she admitted that she was unemployed, and didn't usually earn money from her pictures. I think it was more of an extreme hobby than a source of income.
She insisted that we stay at her house, but we were skeptical. We agreed to stop by and were greeted by a large German Shepherd who was missing his back hair and smelled like cat urine. Pete, and old man with wild white hair, was watching a Kiwi soap opera and Kim, a trucker Kathy met on a dating site, was on the computer. The house was littered with toys, trash and clothes and the walls were plastered with truck photos. It smelled of rotten food, dirty dishes, and dog urine. The furniture felt sticky, so we three opted to stand, complaining of cramped legs from the car rides.
We decided we couldn't stay...and told Kathy friends were expecting us in town by 9 p.m.
That night we camped in a public park, which was recommended by the police station, and slept soundly until the sky started spitting rain at 3 a.m. By 8 a.m. We were cold, wet and hungry and found our way to the public library. The library was the Mecca of wet, stranded travlers that morning and we met Sandra and Daniel.
After chatting for 10 minutes we all decided to rent a car together and head north, just as the sun began to shine.
Finding Felix, our first travel buddy
[felix]
Three days before Katie and I left Auckland to travel north we met Felix, a 19-year-old traveling artist. Katie found his profile on couchsurfing, a network of travelers who offer up a couch for other travelers or are interested in meeting travelers passing through town. Katie was searching for other travelers in Auckland who may be interested in traveling with us -- it's cheaper to rent a car with more than two people. Felix's interests – reading, writing, art, travel, outdoors – were similar to ours and our intuition told us he would all be compatible, so we invited him along. We couldn't arrange a meeting before departing the city, so we all met, bags packed, at the train station. “I'll be the German guy wearing brightly colored pants,” he said. And just in case he ended up being a weirdo Felix said, “You guys can always leave me if we don't get along.”
There on the train platform stood a blond boy, about 5'7'', wearing the bright red, orange and blue pants with a braided chin beard. We met, missed our first train and started hitchhiking north. Our plan was to hitchhike to Whangarie (pronounced Fangeri), which with 50,000 people is the biggest city in Northland, and then rent a car.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Heading North...
I just returned from a week-long road trip through Northland, the top of the north island.
Before we left Auckland, Katie and I met Felix, a 19-year-old German artist who is traveling through the country staying with other artists, and the three of us decided to hitchhike north until we got to Whangarie—the biggest city in Northland—then rent a car to visit the more remote locations.
Our trip was wonderful and I will add more posts soon, but right now I’m paying for the internet and I can’t be chatty.
The best part of our trip were the people we accumulated. Our party of three became five in Whangarie when we met two other travels, Sandra, a 21-year-old German girl, and Daniel, a 24-year-old Californian boy, who like us were hanging out in the public library waiting for the rain to pass. The five of us rented a car and traveled about 300 km north to the “topest of the top” as Sandra would say of Northland, also known Cape Reigna. There we met Cat and Katie, both from Ontario, Canada, who joined us for the rest of our journey.
During the week we slept on beaches, under stars, in a stranger’s home, in a public park, coped without showering for the week, ate bread by the bagful and shared our dreams, hopes, secrets, and histories.
I’m out of time…but I will post more soon!
Before we left Auckland, Katie and I met Felix, a 19-year-old German artist who is traveling through the country staying with other artists, and the three of us decided to hitchhike north until we got to Whangarie—the biggest city in Northland—then rent a car to visit the more remote locations.
Our trip was wonderful and I will add more posts soon, but right now I’m paying for the internet and I can’t be chatty.
The best part of our trip were the people we accumulated. Our party of three became five in Whangarie when we met two other travels, Sandra, a 21-year-old German girl, and Daniel, a 24-year-old Californian boy, who like us were hanging out in the public library waiting for the rain to pass. The five of us rented a car and traveled about 300 km north to the “topest of the top” as Sandra would say of Northland, also known Cape Reigna. There we met Cat and Katie, both from Ontario, Canada, who joined us for the rest of our journey.
During the week we slept on beaches, under stars, in a stranger’s home, in a public park, coped without showering for the week, ate bread by the bagful and shared our dreams, hopes, secrets, and histories.
I’m out of time…but I will post more soon!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Identity
When I was in highschool I wore high heels four out of five days a week. Even my flip-flops were wedge-heeled. I started wearing makeup when I was in my early teens (my mom sold arbonne cosmetics so it was easy to access free blush and concealer). I never spent a lot of money on my appearance (I was born inherently frugal), but I gladly accepted my mom's hand-me-down lipsticks and quickly learned how to filter through a thrift store to find the hidden gems.
Now I am living out of a 17 kg backpack (about 25 lbs) that inlcudes all my belongings for one year. Everything in my bag was packed for its practicallity, not style. Makeup, stylish shoes and hair conditioner were luxuries that required space and money that I couldn't afford. In their place I have malaria pills, a first aid kit, two pairs of hiking sandles, 12 sets of contacts, a southeast asia on a shoestring guidbook and a small neutral colored wardrobe.
Catching sight of my reflection in train's window is odd. Without eyeliner and mascara my eyes blend into the rest of my face and my eyelashes appear transparent. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself wearing my blue jeans, thermal longsleeved shirt, hiking sandles with wool socks and hair in a frizzy disaray and hardly recognize myself. I see a vague similarity to a person I used to be, but I can't quite identify who the new face belongs to.
I rarely have felt attractive on this trip, but I constantly remind myself that isn't important. I'm on an adventure to learn about different cultures, experience life with diverse peoples and discover and accept the person I am becoming (or maybe meant to be?). I want to live at peace in the skin I was given, whether it is decorated or natural. By the end of this trip I hope to have a better understanding of what identifies me as me.
Now I am living out of a 17 kg backpack (about 25 lbs) that inlcudes all my belongings for one year. Everything in my bag was packed for its practicallity, not style. Makeup, stylish shoes and hair conditioner were luxuries that required space and money that I couldn't afford. In their place I have malaria pills, a first aid kit, two pairs of hiking sandles, 12 sets of contacts, a southeast asia on a shoestring guidbook and a small neutral colored wardrobe.
Catching sight of my reflection in train's window is odd. Without eyeliner and mascara my eyes blend into the rest of my face and my eyelashes appear transparent. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself wearing my blue jeans, thermal longsleeved shirt, hiking sandles with wool socks and hair in a frizzy disaray and hardly recognize myself. I see a vague similarity to a person I used to be, but I can't quite identify who the new face belongs to.
I rarely have felt attractive on this trip, but I constantly remind myself that isn't important. I'm on an adventure to learn about different cultures, experience life with diverse peoples and discover and accept the person I am becoming (or maybe meant to be?). I want to live at peace in the skin I was given, whether it is decorated or natural. By the end of this trip I hope to have a better understanding of what identifies me as me.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
My First WWOOF Hosts in New Zealand
Caril and Brian live 40 minutes outside inner city Auckland. You could refer to their neighborhood as a diverse suburb -- to the right is a housefull of college kids and to the left is an elderly neighbor who keeps a wild garden and beehives in the backyard.
The couple are in their late 50s-early 60s and have been together for 20 years as commited partners. Both had previous marriages and now have three grown children.
They have two cats, a collection of contemporary art and four shelves of books that inlcude Zen Buddhism, Jodi Picult and the "Feminist's Companion." Their pale green house is tucked in behind a stone wall and the back garden forgets is has boundaries. The house has high ceilings, all wood floors and one wall in the living room is painted yellow. They have a particular interest in Asian cuisine and a fridge full of condiments and tofu.
We share long dinner conversations about religion -- Caril became a wicken (spelling?) after being burned by her years in the Salvation Army and Brian explored Buddhism, Hinduism and Christianity among others, but neither is affiliated with a church or religion today.
I'm inspired by their friendship and genuine love and respect for oneanother. They haven't tired of oneanother's presence, and I often hear them laughing together through our adjoining bedroom walls. This Sunday morning the couple spent hours having breakfast at a local cafe and discussed magazine articles that fascinated them.
They each had a long and arduous journey before discovering oneanother and they attempt to never take for grantid this relationship that they almost never found.
The couple are in their late 50s-early 60s and have been together for 20 years as commited partners. Both had previous marriages and now have three grown children.
They have two cats, a collection of contemporary art and four shelves of books that inlcude Zen Buddhism, Jodi Picult and the "Feminist's Companion." Their pale green house is tucked in behind a stone wall and the back garden forgets is has boundaries. The house has high ceilings, all wood floors and one wall in the living room is painted yellow. They have a particular interest in Asian cuisine and a fridge full of condiments and tofu.
We share long dinner conversations about religion -- Caril became a wicken (spelling?) after being burned by her years in the Salvation Army and Brian explored Buddhism, Hinduism and Christianity among others, but neither is affiliated with a church or religion today.
I'm inspired by their friendship and genuine love and respect for oneanother. They haven't tired of oneanother's presence, and I often hear them laughing together through our adjoining bedroom walls. This Sunday morning the couple spent hours having breakfast at a local cafe and discussed magazine articles that fascinated them.
They each had a long and arduous journey before discovering oneanother and they attempt to never take for grantid this relationship that they almost never found.
Housekeeping: What is WWOOFing?
I refer to "wwoofing" frequently in my blog posts. So here is a bit about this network that is facilitating my travles...
World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (also known as Willing Workers on Organic Farms) is an international network of hosts interested in receiving workers into their homes and educating them on sustainability practices. In exchange for a place to stay, usually food and an educative experience wwoofers work about four hours a day for the host.
World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (also known as Willing Workers on Organic Farms) is an international network of hosts interested in receiving workers into their homes and educating them on sustainability practices. In exchange for a place to stay, usually food and an educative experience wwoofers work about four hours a day for the host.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
You're Hot Girl
"You're hot girl...you're hot."
"You're hot girl...you're hot."
(music interlude)
"You're hot hot hot."
These are the lyrics that are stuck in my head after my second day working for the fashion sale at the ASP Showgrounds in Auckland. In addition to the horribly repetitive (and incredibly dumming) music trapped in my head, my feet and legs ache from an 8 hour day standing on a cement and concrete warehouse floor. I'm also $30 poorer because my new and very temporary boss -- Leon -- forced me to buy a skin tight, brand t-shirt because my well-fitted (aka loose) plain tank top and sweater was not "fashionable."
My job consists of helping customers in the dressing rooms, hunting down different sizes (small or extra small) and colors, and arranging racks of clothes that require an engineer to understand the fabric contraptions.
The sale, sponsored by a company out of Melbourn, is appropriate for those disinterested in clothing that will make it through multiple seasons for both quality and style reasons.
Leon, however, takes the business of fashion very seriously. He told me today to "F****** sell the stuff" when he sent me out in the rain and cold to push flyers at people taking their children to the "Jack and the Bean Stock" play in the neighboring pavillion.
He also likes to refer to all the brands he sells as "hot" or "very hot."
"This brand is very hot. All the celebrities including Misha Barton are wearing it."
"I'm sure you know this one [insert my confused and desperate smile]. This is hot in the states."
But I like to refer to Leon as frigid for not caring whether I freeze out in the cold in my tank top and sandles, which aren't weather appropriate in the 15 degree celcius (spelling?) (low 50s F) but meet his "fashionable" criteria. Usually he is in an overcast mood and seems to have a luke-warm personality -- of course he rarely acknowledges my existance long enough for me to make an accurate judgement of his character...
The upside of the situation is that the sale only lasts 10 days and then Katie and I will be more financially secure as we travel the rest of New Zealand, plus we are treating ourselves to two free days of no work in the Bay of Islands. Not a bad trade off really.
"You're hot girl...you're hot."
(music interlude)
"You're hot hot hot."
These are the lyrics that are stuck in my head after my second day working for the fashion sale at the ASP Showgrounds in Auckland. In addition to the horribly repetitive (and incredibly dumming) music trapped in my head, my feet and legs ache from an 8 hour day standing on a cement and concrete warehouse floor. I'm also $30 poorer because my new and very temporary boss -- Leon -- forced me to buy a skin tight, brand t-shirt because my well-fitted (aka loose) plain tank top and sweater was not "fashionable."
My job consists of helping customers in the dressing rooms, hunting down different sizes (small or extra small) and colors, and arranging racks of clothes that require an engineer to understand the fabric contraptions.
The sale, sponsored by a company out of Melbourn, is appropriate for those disinterested in clothing that will make it through multiple seasons for both quality and style reasons.
Leon, however, takes the business of fashion very seriously. He told me today to "F****** sell the stuff" when he sent me out in the rain and cold to push flyers at people taking their children to the "Jack and the Bean Stock" play in the neighboring pavillion.
He also likes to refer to all the brands he sells as "hot" or "very hot."
"This brand is very hot. All the celebrities including Misha Barton are wearing it."
"I'm sure you know this one [insert my confused and desperate smile]. This is hot in the states."
But I like to refer to Leon as frigid for not caring whether I freeze out in the cold in my tank top and sandles, which aren't weather appropriate in the 15 degree celcius (spelling?) (low 50s F) but meet his "fashionable" criteria. Usually he is in an overcast mood and seems to have a luke-warm personality -- of course he rarely acknowledges my existance long enough for me to make an accurate judgement of his character...
The upside of the situation is that the sale only lasts 10 days and then Katie and I will be more financially secure as we travel the rest of New Zealand, plus we are treating ourselves to two free days of no work in the Bay of Islands. Not a bad trade off really.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Working for the Kiwis
Katie and I tramped around the city yesterday, stopping in and out of hostels, in search of temporary paid work (hostels have bulletin boards where they post temporary job opportunities for their residents). Finding two to three weeks of employment in NZ was our plan all along because we ducked out of the states almost a month early and lost out on some extra income, but for the first week in the city we didn't find anything.
We are too early for the mass fruit picking season, which hires hoards of backpackers like ourselves every year.
Then we found hope in a help wanted immediately ad for a fashion expo.
I phoned Phil (name on ad).
"Hi My name's Jeanna and my friend Katie and I are looking for temporary work while we are in NZ," I said.
"Great, Come to the ASP Showgrounds for an interview at 11 a.m. tomorrow," Phil said.
"OK, what are we doing"... click, beeeppppp, I almost managed to inquire what we would be interviewing for when our phone booth connection was lost. I hung up on my future employer.
Katie and I did show up for the intervew. We walked an hour in the wind and mist, showing up in our best attire- we packed for backpacking not retail, and joined our four fellow high-heeled interviewees.
We were all interviewed individually by Leon, who showed up an hour late, and by this time at least I know I will be working in some capacity with clothes in a huge warehouse.
Leon wasn't concerned about what I was wearing or that I had no experience in retail or that I wasn't a Kiwi (nickname for New Zealanders), and he hired me on spot.
"Training for sales starts tomorrow at 11 a.m. then you will be on the floor until 6," Leon said.
"How long does that job last?" I asked.
"Probably two weeks," he said.
So there you go. I have a job in New Zealand for "probably" two weeks. Still don't know what the proper uniform is or exactly what I will be doing, but I don't think it will be a highly demanding or skillful job. The income will be lovely though.
We are too early for the mass fruit picking season, which hires hoards of backpackers like ourselves every year.
Then we found hope in a help wanted immediately ad for a fashion expo.
I phoned Phil (name on ad).
"Hi My name's Jeanna and my friend Katie and I are looking for temporary work while we are in NZ," I said.
"Great, Come to the ASP Showgrounds for an interview at 11 a.m. tomorrow," Phil said.
"OK, what are we doing"... click, beeeppppp, I almost managed to inquire what we would be interviewing for when our phone booth connection was lost. I hung up on my future employer.
Katie and I did show up for the intervew. We walked an hour in the wind and mist, showing up in our best attire- we packed for backpacking not retail, and joined our four fellow high-heeled interviewees.
We were all interviewed individually by Leon, who showed up an hour late, and by this time at least I know I will be working in some capacity with clothes in a huge warehouse.
Leon wasn't concerned about what I was wearing or that I had no experience in retail or that I wasn't a Kiwi (nickname for New Zealanders), and he hired me on spot.
"Training for sales starts tomorrow at 11 a.m. then you will be on the floor until 6," Leon said.
"How long does that job last?" I asked.
"Probably two weeks," he said.
So there you go. I have a job in New Zealand for "probably" two weeks. Still don't know what the proper uniform is or exactly what I will be doing, but I don't think it will be a highly demanding or skillful job. The income will be lovely though.
Mini meltdown
It's Wednesday, 11 a.m., and Katie is out sawing apart a tree (part of our wwoofing assignment today), and I'm inside crying.
I just lost a lengthy email to my mom, which after a bit of modification would have made a decent blog post. It took me over half and hour to write, and I'm a slow typer and slow, laborous writer...writing for me is an effortful task. Trying to sound witty and insightful often works me into such a sweaty distressed state that I have to pace around the computer, wringing my hands with excess anxiety. So the worste thing about losing my writing was I was happy with what I wrote. For a type A, recovering perfectionist, This rarely happens.
So here I am a melted mess on the floor, when I remember my resolution to not cry so much. I'm trying to practice not falling apart, especially over insignificant matters, but obviously it's not going well.
The comforting thing I know about myself is that I rise to challenges...I just struggle to handle the "manageable misfortunes" that happen on a routine basis. Give me a tragedy or seemingly impossible scenario and I will take it head, formulate and plan and take action without losing a beat.
Well, another good thing is that I usuallly stop crying after about five minutes and return to a functioning state, bright-eyed and optomistic. I have a two-second rebound rate...until the next email is lost.
I just lost a lengthy email to my mom, which after a bit of modification would have made a decent blog post. It took me over half and hour to write, and I'm a slow typer and slow, laborous writer...writing for me is an effortful task. Trying to sound witty and insightful often works me into such a sweaty distressed state that I have to pace around the computer, wringing my hands with excess anxiety. So the worste thing about losing my writing was I was happy with what I wrote. For a type A, recovering perfectionist, This rarely happens.
So here I am a melted mess on the floor, when I remember my resolution to not cry so much. I'm trying to practice not falling apart, especially over insignificant matters, but obviously it's not going well.
The comforting thing I know about myself is that I rise to challenges...I just struggle to handle the "manageable misfortunes" that happen on a routine basis. Give me a tragedy or seemingly impossible scenario and I will take it head, formulate and plan and take action without losing a beat.
Well, another good thing is that I usuallly stop crying after about five minutes and return to a functioning state, bright-eyed and optomistic. I have a two-second rebound rate...until the next email is lost.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
New Zealand Arrival
At 2 a.m. Friday morning, I flew over 6,400 miles (or 13.3 hours) from Buenos Aires, Argentina to Auckland, New Zealand. The plane landed at 7:30 a.m. Saturday, New Zealand time. Here they are one hour ahead of Argentina and 17 hours ahead of Ohio.
Katie and I were delayed through the airport and security a bit because our luggage was late and every ounce of dirt, produce or other transportable piece of nature must be expunged of your person before you are permitted to enter the country. The good news was they cleaned our muddly sandles and tent.
I became high on NZ the minute my feet stepped out of the airport and the rain struck my face. In the distance were lush greenery and foggy mountains. There wasn't a high rise to be seen. I no longer felt the handicap of not speaking the local language, and I reveled in the accented English all around me (New Zealanders sound very similar to Australians). I fancied everyone was on his or her way to trek through one of the hundreds of bush walks, climb to the crater of a volcano or bike home, regardless of the rain and luggage.
I felt like myself and all other passengers of flight AR 1182 had arrived just in time witness the shedding of winter and the awakening of spring.
Katie and I were delayed through the airport and security a bit because our luggage was late and every ounce of dirt, produce or other transportable piece of nature must be expunged of your person before you are permitted to enter the country. The good news was they cleaned our muddly sandles and tent.
I became high on NZ the minute my feet stepped out of the airport and the rain struck my face. In the distance were lush greenery and foggy mountains. There wasn't a high rise to be seen. I no longer felt the handicap of not speaking the local language, and I reveled in the accented English all around me (New Zealanders sound very similar to Australians). I fancied everyone was on his or her way to trek through one of the hundreds of bush walks, climb to the crater of a volcano or bike home, regardless of the rain and luggage.
I felt like myself and all other passengers of flight AR 1182 had arrived just in time witness the shedding of winter and the awakening of spring.
Friday, September 25, 2009
A Few Argentinean Specialties
Sebastian picked Katie and me up today in the General Rodriguez square. It is Sunday, a light work day in the community, so it’s a reasonable day to escape our normal duties.
Time froze as we sped down the highway, windows down, cool air blowing my hair across my shaded eyes. My outstretched arm glowed from the sunlight (I’m pale again…lost all my hard earned Ohio tan), and sliced through the air at 110 km/hr. Three youths, tasting the sweetness of freedom on an open road.
Sebastian played traditional Argentinean folk music, a perfect backdrop to our culturally exploratory afternoon. We visited the Lujan (spelling?) Basillical, a beautiful Catholic church over run by tourists and infested with vendors. Then after a short stroll over the river Sebastian treated Katie and me to a traditional Sunday meal, a large platter of sizzling beef and cow inards, fried steak and salad. They aren’t the healthiest eaters I’ve ever met. Katie, who eats vegetarian as much as possible looked like someone had asked her to lick the bathroom floor. The sausage grizzle, popped when Sebastian sliced it into three chunks. It’s really stuffed with a pish-posh of cow parts and blood. Can I have seconds?? I regret to confess that I liked many of the other parts including brain and liver. Katie was a champ and sampled each item in turn – after all when you are in Argentina, a country that eats more meat than any other, it’s difficult for even the strongest vegetarian to pass up a good blood-stuffed intestine.
Time froze as we sped down the highway, windows down, cool air blowing my hair across my shaded eyes. My outstretched arm glowed from the sunlight (I’m pale again…lost all my hard earned Ohio tan), and sliced through the air at 110 km/hr. Three youths, tasting the sweetness of freedom on an open road.
Sebastian played traditional Argentinean folk music, a perfect backdrop to our culturally exploratory afternoon. We visited the Lujan (spelling?) Basillical, a beautiful Catholic church over run by tourists and infested with vendors. Then after a short stroll over the river Sebastian treated Katie and me to a traditional Sunday meal, a large platter of sizzling beef and cow inards, fried steak and salad. They aren’t the healthiest eaters I’ve ever met. Katie, who eats vegetarian as much as possible looked like someone had asked her to lick the bathroom floor. The sausage grizzle, popped when Sebastian sliced it into three chunks. It’s really stuffed with a pish-posh of cow parts and blood. Can I have seconds?? I regret to confess that I liked many of the other parts including brain and liver. Katie was a champ and sampled each item in turn – after all when you are in Argentina, a country that eats more meat than any other, it’s difficult for even the strongest vegetarian to pass up a good blood-stuffed intestine.
The Last Day in Argentina
Wednesday Katie and I left the Twelve Tribes Community and returned to the Capital Federal, Buenos Aires. We need to be at the airport around 11:30 p.m. for our 2 a.m. flight to New Zealand, so we decided to stay a night in a hostel, enjoy the city, take our dear Argentinean friend, Sebastian, out to dinner, and prepare for the next leg of our adventure.
It was a wonderful last day. I really fell in love with Buenos Aires.
At first glance the city was not much different than other big cities I’ve visited -- Bumper to bumper traffic, overlapping horn honking, swarms of people on the sidewalks, homeless begging for money, street vendors selling magazines and junk food, and construction and flyers decorating every block. But then today I started to discover this city’s gems.
There is a tango studio one block from the Portul del Sol hostel where I’m staying that charges 15 pesos (or about $4) for three hours of lessons, down the street are gorgeous, crumbling cathedrals and parks where the roots cover an entire street corner. I walked through two areas – Palermo and Santelmo – that won my favor, with their cobble stone streets, ivy adorned buildings, sidewalk cafés, artwork and narrow alley way streets. These areas have been more heavily influenced by Europe than the newer sections of the city. Gazel-like women, wearing skinny pants, boots and black jackets walked through intersections, unfazed by the speeding taxis, groups of men held philosophical conversations, or so I imagined since I can’t eavesdrop on Spanish, over tiny cups of cappuccino. This place is intrinsically exotic with it’s layers of culture and influence. I’m happy the city decided to put her best foot forward tonight. My mind is already overly romanticising this place.
It was a wonderful last day. I really fell in love with Buenos Aires.
At first glance the city was not much different than other big cities I’ve visited -- Bumper to bumper traffic, overlapping horn honking, swarms of people on the sidewalks, homeless begging for money, street vendors selling magazines and junk food, and construction and flyers decorating every block. But then today I started to discover this city’s gems.
There is a tango studio one block from the Portul del Sol hostel where I’m staying that charges 15 pesos (or about $4) for three hours of lessons, down the street are gorgeous, crumbling cathedrals and parks where the roots cover an entire street corner. I walked through two areas – Palermo and Santelmo – that won my favor, with their cobble stone streets, ivy adorned buildings, sidewalk cafés, artwork and narrow alley way streets. These areas have been more heavily influenced by Europe than the newer sections of the city. Gazel-like women, wearing skinny pants, boots and black jackets walked through intersections, unfazed by the speeding taxis, groups of men held philosophical conversations, or so I imagined since I can’t eavesdrop on Spanish, over tiny cups of cappuccino. This place is intrinsically exotic with it’s layers of culture and influence. I’m happy the city decided to put her best foot forward tonight. My mind is already overly romanticising this place.
Toilet Paper
Last night I had a dream, or nightmare, that the toilet was clogged with toilet paper and the trash can with overflowing with a huge pile of the used tissue. The paper covered the floor and I stood in the middle of the mess, horror-struck and confined to the small space.
Here in Argentina they don’t flush the used toilet paper. Instead, after wiping, they throw it in the trash can. This has been a difficult concept for me to grasp. I suppose after 21 years of practice, I’m very good as flushing the toilet paper without much thought.
Here in Argentina they don’t flush the used toilet paper. Instead, after wiping, they throw it in the trash can. This has been a difficult concept for me to grasp. I suppose after 21 years of practice, I’m very good as flushing the toilet paper without much thought.
"Working" in the Bakery
Friday, Katie and I worked in the Bakery, which is in a newly acquired property in town (General Rodriquez). The entire house is nearly unliveable with gutted rooms, construction and carpentry equipment about, yet in the midst of all the chaos behind to double doors rests the community’s bakery.
The bakery produces one of the community’s main exports (baked goods) and supplies staple foods for the members’ enjoyment. Out of the baker’s oven come the most wholesome, nutritious and delicious breads. Loaves sprinkled with seeds, raisins, whole grains and honey. The Baker, Shi (for short), has over ten years of experience and can tell the temperature of the dough by working it through his fingers.
Inside the bakery it’s warm, regardless of the cold, wet conditions outside. Flour rises from the center of table as dough is kneaded, cut, rolled and placed on a tray for baking. The yeast that is poured into the mixer smells slightly sour and bubbles. Shi knows how much of each ingredient to add without measuring cups.
All day Katie and I are the lucky recipients of sample after sample of breads.
The bakery produces one of the community’s main exports (baked goods) and supplies staple foods for the members’ enjoyment. Out of the baker’s oven come the most wholesome, nutritious and delicious breads. Loaves sprinkled with seeds, raisins, whole grains and honey. The Baker, Shi (for short), has over ten years of experience and can tell the temperature of the dough by working it through his fingers.
Inside the bakery it’s warm, regardless of the cold, wet conditions outside. Flour rises from the center of table as dough is kneaded, cut, rolled and placed on a tray for baking. The yeast that is poured into the mixer smells slightly sour and bubbles. Shi knows how much of each ingredient to add without measuring cups.
All day Katie and I are the lucky recipients of sample after sample of breads.
A Few Final Words and Thoughts on the Community
At first I was resistant to the community’s lifestyle, but now I feel a fondness for this shared life. Like a fondness I would feel for a beloved cousin whose shoes I would never want to walk a mile in. I respect and admire the beautiful spirit in this oasis from the world and I see how God has brought salvation, renewal and joy to all the members. My admiration and their persistent confirmation that this is the only way to devote one’s life to God, however, did not convince me that this could be a permanent location for me.
I, too, desire the comfort of a large family, but here the family is not related by blood but by their devotion to a common vision. In both “families” unconditional love abounds, but I prefer to not dwell in the same grounds with my loved ones all day, everyday. Often I appreciate my family the most after a decent amount of time away from them- unconditional love is the easiest to take for granted. I also enjoy spending time alone and in a home where every bedroom and common space is the sanctuary for 50 other people, it’s hard to find solitude.
Here they are all artists of humility and all their toiling is out of respect and love for Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). They, as do most Protestants, believe that the root of man’s fall stemmed from pride (Eve desired Godlike wisdom and understanding and therefore ate of the forbidden fruit that has since allowed sin to enter the world and separated us from a perfect union with God). They lovingly critique one another’s character and actions and the receiver of this criticism humbly accepts the admonishment with the intent of eradicating the flaw.
It’s been an honor to live and learn with these people. Their hospitality has been overwhelming. It was not uncommon to find loving notes left on my bed or a couple extra cookies to be passed my way after lunch – I was the envy of all the children. They never lost patience with my lack of Spanish abilities and sent me on my way with hugs and tearful goodbyes. I will cherish the memories I made here.
I, too, desire the comfort of a large family, but here the family is not related by blood but by their devotion to a common vision. In both “families” unconditional love abounds, but I prefer to not dwell in the same grounds with my loved ones all day, everyday. Often I appreciate my family the most after a decent amount of time away from them- unconditional love is the easiest to take for granted. I also enjoy spending time alone and in a home where every bedroom and common space is the sanctuary for 50 other people, it’s hard to find solitude.
Here they are all artists of humility and all their toiling is out of respect and love for Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). They, as do most Protestants, believe that the root of man’s fall stemmed from pride (Eve desired Godlike wisdom and understanding and therefore ate of the forbidden fruit that has since allowed sin to enter the world and separated us from a perfect union with God). They lovingly critique one another’s character and actions and the receiver of this criticism humbly accepts the admonishment with the intent of eradicating the flaw.
It’s been an honor to live and learn with these people. Their hospitality has been overwhelming. It was not uncommon to find loving notes left on my bed or a couple extra cookies to be passed my way after lunch – I was the envy of all the children. They never lost patience with my lack of Spanish abilities and sent me on my way with hugs and tearful goodbyes. I will cherish the memories I made here.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Recipes: Calcium supplement
Calcium supplement:
Soak one whole egg in lemon juice for 24 to 48 hours, until the liquid becomes a milky white color. The lemon juice extracts the calcium from the egg´s shell. Drink one tbsp per day.
Soak one whole egg in lemon juice for 24 to 48 hours, until the liquid becomes a milky white color. The lemon juice extracts the calcium from the egg´s shell. Drink one tbsp per day.
Recipes: Viny
Viny- a drink that benefits the immune and digestive system
Mix apple cider vinegar, honey and water together and drink as frequently as possible. Here in the communtiy they try to have a glass a day. More or less honey and water can be added to achieve a palatable flavor. I happen to love the tart vinageryness.
Mix apple cider vinegar, honey and water together and drink as frequently as possible. Here in the communtiy they try to have a glass a day. More or less honey and water can be added to achieve a palatable flavor. I happen to love the tart vinageryness.
The Water Bottle Makes a Splash
Katie´s water bottle has become a spectacle here in the community. She has a sticker attached that says ¨God´s original plan was to hang out in a garden with a bunch of naked vegetarians.¨ In this conservative, meat-eating community the sticker causes such alarm that upon reading it most members look whistfully toward the sky...maybe praying for our souls. I think the humor in the message is lost in translation.
A Day in the Life of the Tribe
The day opens at 6 a.m. to the sound of singing (in Spanish of course) outside the room I share with three other single ladies in the community -- plus Katie. After a brief song, accompanied by instruments, a woman says ¨Buenos dias mis hermanas,¨and to confirm that we are awake each of us slumbering beauties must reply ¨Buenos dias.¨ The early hour finds me resistant to the day´s work ahead, and I find the joyful singing a bit irritating. We have an hour to prepare ourselves before the minha, where the community members sing, dance and share what God is teaching them, then it´s breakfast, a plate of rice, hardboiled eggs and coleslaw, then it´s off to work.
Katie and work in the gardens with a few men digging roots from a field that was recently deforested. With a few English words and mime-like gestures the men inquire about the first 13 colonies in America, and the similarities between our motherland´s foundation and Argentina´s. I don´t think I could answer that question in English let alone in Broken Spanglish, but somehow I muster out an answer that either surfices -- or at least it exhausts my entire Spanish vocabulary and the men´t patience.
We break for lunch from 12:45 to 2:30, salad, rice and beans, then back to the roots for more digging. We break for a snack, yogurt and granola, and finish the days work at 5:45, just in time for another round of preparation and minha. We eat a healthy organic dinner of salad, soup and bread, then I collapse in bed by 9 p.m.
The day´s schedule leaves little room for free time.
Katie and work in the gardens with a few men digging roots from a field that was recently deforested. With a few English words and mime-like gestures the men inquire about the first 13 colonies in America, and the similarities between our motherland´s foundation and Argentina´s. I don´t think I could answer that question in English let alone in Broken Spanglish, but somehow I muster out an answer that either surfices -- or at least it exhausts my entire Spanish vocabulary and the men´t patience.
We break for lunch from 12:45 to 2:30, salad, rice and beans, then back to the roots for more digging. We break for a snack, yogurt and granola, and finish the days work at 5:45, just in time for another round of preparation and minha. We eat a healthy organic dinner of salad, soup and bread, then I collapse in bed by 9 p.m.
The day´s schedule leaves little room for free time.
Community Clothes
It has been colder than I´d expected, but I´m being provided for. The conservative clothing worn by the women in the community is more winter weather worthy than the scandalous shorts and tank tops I packed. My roommate, translator and friend, Hannah, who is from Chili, gave me a selection of her clothes to wear for the various community activities including work and minha, which is a meeting the community has every morning and evening for worship and sharing what God has laid on the members´heart. I look rediculous in my new attire, but that is part of this experience.
The women attempt to conceal their figure under layers of baggie garments. Mostly I wear XXXL pants that are tight at the ankles but so baggy it almost looks like I´m wearing a skirt. The shirts are all at least three-fourths sleeves and usually coverd by a long loose vest that falls between my butt and knees. The clothes were convenient for the extra pounds I´ve packed on while living with the community because of the wonderful fresh breads and cookies that are constantly being transported from their home bakery to my mouth.
The women attempt to conceal their figure under layers of baggie garments. Mostly I wear XXXL pants that are tight at the ankles but so baggy it almost looks like I´m wearing a skirt. The shirts are all at least three-fourths sleeves and usually coverd by a long loose vest that falls between my butt and knees. The clothes were convenient for the extra pounds I´ve packed on while living with the community because of the wonderful fresh breads and cookies that are constantly being transported from their home bakery to my mouth.
The Twelve Tribes Community-Argentina
At 2 p.m. Sunday afternoon Katie and I are desperatly trying to convince a bus driver that we have absolutely no idea what he is talking about, but we need to get to General Rodriguez. He believes if he yells at us in Spanish then we will miraculously understand...not so. We are frustrated to tears when a young man sitting in the front row explains that we are infact on the right bus, but we need to pay in coins, not bills. And so our hour and a half trip to the Twelve Tribes Community starts...
The bus coughs us up on the edge of General Rodriquez, a typical small city in Argentina, that doesn´t expect many tourists. Here kids walk to and from school, and men can be seen delivering produce from the backs of horse-drawn carts. Stray dogs loom the streets and with some cardboard and duct tape old cars are beaten down the road by sullen looking passengers.
My 35 lbs backpack, which starting ripping from the moment my mom put it in the trunk, is supported on my back by a prayer, a couple bungie cords and two very tired shoulders. Katie and I start walking toward town and thanks to the kindness of another stranger, found a small taxi service(la remis).
When a taxi driver has never heard of the address you give him there may be reason to worry.
One and a half miles from the center of town, down muddy roads, and past multipe homes that appeared to lack any modern convenience including electricity, I was nearly clawing my way out of the taxi to make a run for the bus stop to take me back to the hostel. But we pulled up to a large yellow, ranch-style home, identified the address and were recieved with open arms.
We were ushered into the courtyard (everyone fences in their property with gates and-or shrubbery) by a couple and introduced to the 50 person family also known as the Twelve Tribes Community´s Issacar Tribe (spellig?).
The communities are dispersed internationaly and founded on the Biblical belief that Jacob´s twelve sons established the tribes that will reign in the years of Jesus´return. The tribes happily welcome anyone who wants to live in the community and devote his or her life to Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). Here there are many family and singles all sharing a life together.
Katie and I found this place in our Argentina wwoof book, so our job will be to help in organic gardens. The community has an organic garden, bakery and is building a cafe.
The bus coughs us up on the edge of General Rodriquez, a typical small city in Argentina, that doesn´t expect many tourists. Here kids walk to and from school, and men can be seen delivering produce from the backs of horse-drawn carts. Stray dogs loom the streets and with some cardboard and duct tape old cars are beaten down the road by sullen looking passengers.
My 35 lbs backpack, which starting ripping from the moment my mom put it in the trunk, is supported on my back by a prayer, a couple bungie cords and two very tired shoulders. Katie and I start walking toward town and thanks to the kindness of another stranger, found a small taxi service(la remis).
When a taxi driver has never heard of the address you give him there may be reason to worry.
One and a half miles from the center of town, down muddy roads, and past multipe homes that appeared to lack any modern convenience including electricity, I was nearly clawing my way out of the taxi to make a run for the bus stop to take me back to the hostel. But we pulled up to a large yellow, ranch-style home, identified the address and were recieved with open arms.
We were ushered into the courtyard (everyone fences in their property with gates and-or shrubbery) by a couple and introduced to the 50 person family also known as the Twelve Tribes Community´s Issacar Tribe (spellig?).
The communities are dispersed internationaly and founded on the Biblical belief that Jacob´s twelve sons established the tribes that will reign in the years of Jesus´return. The tribes happily welcome anyone who wants to live in the community and devote his or her life to Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). Here there are many family and singles all sharing a life together.
Katie and I found this place in our Argentina wwoof book, so our job will be to help in organic gardens. The community has an organic garden, bakery and is building a cafe.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Dulce leche y matte
At 3 a.m. I'm leading an amateur yoga and meditation class for Katie, Sebastian and Ramon in Sebastian's family's home. The original plan was to have pizza and meet up with Sebastian's and Ramon's friends at a local pub, but stricken with exhaustion from a long day of exploring the city and extensive Argentinean history lessons from Sebastian we have decided to abstain from further excitement. So, we decided to exchange relaxation techniques. I first lead the group through a modified vinyasa yoga flow and Sebastian teaches us a breathing exercise.
When Katie and I first arrived in the hostel, tired from our travels and concerned about our spanish inability, Sebastian befriended us. He is 23, studies tourism at the university and works part time in the Milhouse hostel selling travel packages. He is of medium build with short brown hair, and scruffy facial hair. Dressed in his wool sweater and black plastic rimmed glasses he looks like he could fit in on any college campus along the east coast of the U.S. He speaks almost perfect English and enjoys similar activities to Katie and me. You could say that wee are all kindred spirits who were destined to meet.
So over matte tea, which tastes like very strong green tea and is drunk out of a cup and straw, Sebastian generously offered to be our personal tour guide. He and his friend Ramon, who is stark contrast to Sebastian is tall, lanky and athletic with black curly hair and a shy demeanor, picked Katie and me up yesterday in Ramon's car.
We had a wonderful afternoon walking through a park in Palermo, an area in Buenos Aires, drinking matte tea, eating roasted peanuts, and exchanging vocabulary lessons. Then the boys drove us to a cafe in Tigre Delta where we sipped tea, cappacinos, and had our first dulce leche, which is a creamy caramel spread that you put on toasted bread with butter. The four of us watched the sun set over the river, enjoying conversation about politics, history and the current state of affairs in Argentina *Sebastian will make a wonderful professor one day. After our three hour tea time, we traveled to Sebastian's where we had pizza, met his family and ended our evening praticing yoga.
Sebastian's mother invited us to the family's barbeque and can't imagine a family I would rather spend a Sunday afternoon with in Argentina.
When Katie and I first arrived in the hostel, tired from our travels and concerned about our spanish inability, Sebastian befriended us. He is 23, studies tourism at the university and works part time in the Milhouse hostel selling travel packages. He is of medium build with short brown hair, and scruffy facial hair. Dressed in his wool sweater and black plastic rimmed glasses he looks like he could fit in on any college campus along the east coast of the U.S. He speaks almost perfect English and enjoys similar activities to Katie and me. You could say that wee are all kindred spirits who were destined to meet.
So over matte tea, which tastes like very strong green tea and is drunk out of a cup and straw, Sebastian generously offered to be our personal tour guide. He and his friend Ramon, who is stark contrast to Sebastian is tall, lanky and athletic with black curly hair and a shy demeanor, picked Katie and me up yesterday in Ramon's car.
We had a wonderful afternoon walking through a park in Palermo, an area in Buenos Aires, drinking matte tea, eating roasted peanuts, and exchanging vocabulary lessons. Then the boys drove us to a cafe in Tigre Delta where we sipped tea, cappacinos, and had our first dulce leche, which is a creamy caramel spread that you put on toasted bread with butter. The four of us watched the sun set over the river, enjoying conversation about politics, history and the current state of affairs in Argentina *Sebastian will make a wonderful professor one day. After our three hour tea time, we traveled to Sebastian's where we had pizza, met his family and ended our evening praticing yoga.
Sebastian's mother invited us to the family's barbeque and can't imagine a family I would rather spend a Sunday afternoon with in Argentina.
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