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.
Friday, November 27, 2009
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.
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