The Bus Goes South

Morning, everyone. Moving right along here...

Saturday, July 4th.

5:50 p.m. Pick up from Kiwipaka for an evening show at "Tamaki Village" for a "living Maori experience" including traditional "hangi" dinner.

So after we all physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually recovered from the Haka incident, we were yet again shuttled onto a bus and brought to another semi-informative, VERY touristy attraction. Everyone was getting a bit tired of the summer camp structure of the orientation at this point, and I for one was just waiting to get my own bed and quiet space so I could finally take a deep breath and let my mind catch up with itself. However, for now it was all about movement and meeting the deadlines. The bus ride to the dinner was uneventful until Crutchie annouced that the bus had to choose a representative that would meet with the "Maori warriors" of the village first in order to gain permission for all of us to enter their land. It was a bit tacky but I couldn't help feeling a bit of excitement about the pretend authenticity of the whole thing. So Andy from the great town of Boston, Massachussetts volunteered and we soon pulled up to the village. It was a dark, windy and fairly cold night. Our group walked through a large, intimidating archway and stopped inside a large arena with no roof. The moon was bright and the sky was clear, but the wind was powerful. The middle was full of sand and there was space around the area for everyone to stand and watch.


The Maori, as it seems, had somewhat of a "taste of the theatrical" as their introduction and entry into the arena was accompanied with a lot of ominous singing and noises, appearing from all sorts of crevaces and doorways up high and down low along the entryway. The silent night and powerful wind ripping the trees every which way only aided the effect. Soon three "warriors" entered the sand arena as the three representatives waited near the entryway. The goal here to get across a somewhat educational experience and show how Maori used to greet and allow guests into their homes. Basically they performed a lot of ritualistic routines and then offered each representative a branch that was meant as a sort of peace offering. Having already experienced the Haka, I was not surprised by the aggressive and intense nature of the preceedings that followed.





After watching this show and then allowed "permission" to enter the village, we were allowed to walk around an open wooded area. The woods had a lot of stations where Maori descendents acted as their ancestors would have and demonstrated different aspects of their way of life, i.e. fishing, making clothing, cooking, fire-making, etc. It was sort of an interactive, live museum in the outdoors. This was quite interesting but only lasted about ten minutes, at which time there was a herald announcing that dinner was ready.

The way in which the Maori prepared and heated their food was very interesting and unique from anything I'd ever heard before. They would start a large fire, make the ground hot enough, and then dig out the entire fire and bury the food inside of the hot earth. The hot rocks and coals would retain enough of the heat to fully cook the food. It had started raining by the time we were able to check out a demonstration, but the fire was very strong and healthy and was able to withstand any amount of rain.

My camera was having a bit of trouble focusing that night. Apologies.

The food was incredible and they served the most delicious fresh water out of these classy looking wine bottles. My most exciting revelation/discovery for the night was a New Zealand dessert dish called pavlova. To the Naked Eye, it looks like a tasteless white fluffy mass, and I was not immediately intrigued. However, I was provoked. In keeping with my newfound "carpe diem" attitude of trying new things, I valiantly braved the new dessert dish. People clapped and wept with gratitude for my bravery. First impressions of Pavolva: "This is the most delicious thing that anyone has ever tasted, ever." When you bite into Pavlova, it's like you're biting into somebody's dream. The texture is not unlike that of a cloud, and the taste is light and sugary. Myself and everyone around me consumed multiple servings. Some cool Maori guys played some acoustic guitar for us before we exited and loaded back onto the bus at about 9:15.

It was cold, windy and raining. We Americans had been in a new country now for about 36 hours and away from home for about two days. For me and for what seemed like many others, the adrenaline and excitement of being in a new place was starting to temporarily wear off. Weariness and a quiet reverie for home and familiarity had begun to sink in, and the bus was quiet. A few quiet conversations, but the mood was generally that of fatigue and general disorientation from the long journey. About a half hour into the bus trip, Crutchie tried to liven the crowd by requesting if we knew any songs. There was, for a few seconds, silence. And then one of us quietly exclaimed: "It's the fourth of July." It began quietly, as the first person started the first line: "Oh, say, can you see..." Several others joined in. The Star Spangled Banner slowly grew, and it's power and emotion increased with each passing word. We sung it with passion, in a way that most of us had probably never sang it before. When you're forced to sing this song every day of your elementary, middle and high school life, you become oversaturated by it and it usually fails to carry any meaning or significance for you. However, in the same way that the American flag struck me as I exited the airport, our national anthem became for all of us a living force, a calling card and a loud exclaimation of pride and fondness for my home country. By the time the crescendo came, several kids were standing up and most of us were yelling as loud as we could. We were tired and we were nervous, foreigners in a strange new land, but we were American, and we loved our home. We sang as one, powerful voice. It was visceral and communal.The Star Spangled Banner became a living entity that contained and communicated everything that we loved about America, and singing it was like wrapping a warm blanket around yourself in the cold. I'll never hear that song the same way again. After we finished there was cheering, and then contented silence, as the bus rolled on.