A Journey to The Island, Part 1: Extreme Planting

Hi, everyone. Sorry about the lack of posts recently, I've been trying to keep up with my readings and I suppose I'm also a tiny bit lazy. Onward with the grand narrative...

Four weeks of interesting but increasingly tedious schoolwork yielded a fair amount of local exploration around the Wellington area, but inside of me laid an ever growing thirst for a more nature-rich, truly "New Zealand" experience. Last weekend, in what turned out to be a very lucky choice of dates weather-wise, My study abroad program organized a weekend volunteer project at Matiu-Somes Island, a small land mass laying in the middle of Wellington harbor, visible from most high points in the city. Somes Island was originally used as a quarantine area for infected immigrants seeking to enter Wellington, followed by an animal quarantine station, followed by what has now become a rather extensive and beautiful nature reserve. I was very excited for the opportunity to see another beautiful piece of the country and to give back to the land I now inhabit, and the forecast foretold sunny skies and not much wind. 

I awoke around 7:45 a.m., a time which would have struck extreme fear into my heart at home but one that I've grown used to after choosing 9 a.m. classes. It's good to get the most out of the sunlight as it sets at 5:30 during the winter here. I had a pretty decent breakfast (I've branched out from just eggs recently into more gourmet options such as sausages and oatmeal. Exciting.) and packed quickly. I've yet to buy a sleeping bag so I packed my top two layers of sheets into my pack along with a change of clothes and some toiletries. I also found an ingenius method of attaching my pillow to my pack through a loop on the side. It only gets more exciting from here.

The walk from my flat to Wellington Harbor is a solid 25 minute walk, but I probably walk through the city more extensively than this at least 4 times a week, so it wasn't a huge deal for me, even with the pack on. I am noticing my stamina increasing very slowly after living in this walking-intensive city, which I'm happy about. A few friends and I met up at the top of the hill and made our way down the impossibly steep slope known as Vivian Street. I'll expand more on Vivian Street later, but to make a long story short, it's everything evil in the world manifested in a city street. It's the quickest way home but is legitimately at a 70 degree angle uphill. To make matters worse, at this angle, you look equally as ridiculous going down the street than you do going up it. 

So we trekked down Vivian, walked across the city through Willis St., and came at last to the shores of the sea at Wellington Harbor. At this point it was about 9:35, and our wharf departed at 10:00. After some confusion of which boat to go on and how to get tickets and a solid 20 minutes of sitting in silence/staring into the abyss due to the fact that we still hadn't really awoken, we shuffled onto the Daily Post ferry, soon to set out for Somes Island. The weather channel didn't lie (a rare occurence around here; weather is ever changing and impossible to predict) and we enjoyed a beautiful, cloudless day with minimal winds, about 15 degrees Celsius. I'm going to act really smart and pompous and leave it at that, letting all you Americans calculate the Fahrenheit on your own. 

Wellington City seen from the water.

After about 20 minutes we began to approach the island. Myself and several others, without prior planning, all found ourselves spontaneously whistling the theme to Jurassic Park. It really, really felt like that scene in the movie when they approach by helicopter and Richard Attenborough goes "Welcome...to Jurassic Park." Only we approached by ferry. We spared no expense.

Landing on the island, we were met by two rangers who introduced themselves and shuttled everyone from the boat into a small shack immediately after getting off. We found after a short lecture by the woman ranger, Jo, that the shack was a containment area, used for inspection of all bags and shoes for unwanted plants, dirt, and stowaway rats and mice. New Zealand has a fragile ecosystem as it's very isolated from other lands, and this island in particular is home to many endangered species. We all shuffled through our bags and picked our shoes free of dirt, and proceeded to listen to Jo talk a bit more about the island. They loaded all of our bags onto a small, beat up but hardcore looking tractor rig and hauled it up the hill. Our bags got the easy ride. We, however, had another experience altogether.

First task: carry a 20 foot, rather light looking but in fact very heavy drainage pipe up the side of the island to the summit. I still haven't decided if this was a real favor he needed or if it's some sick form of hazing that the D.O.C. puts its volunteers through every day. We split into teams of three, switching off every hundred meters or so. It was actually executed quite impressively, with military precision. Even with two other people, the pipe was very heavy, especially at such an incline. The weather was still beautiful and the sun was out, and I felt that this was a great way to get our energy going for the day ahead.

Our house turned out to be a very nice vacationing flat full of nooks and crannies to sleep many  people. I grabbed a nice chunk of bed sitting in the family room overlooking the harbor and dropped all of my things, finally feeling that weighless sensation after being released from a heavy load. After divvying up our sleeping places, eating some "morning tea" (it was quiche, and it didn't taste too bad) and "taking ten", we walked up the hill to begin our first assignment. Our activities for the next four hours can only be described as a hardcore form of "extreme planting", an activity that should most certainly be coined as the next olympic sport. 

The land on the island was beautiful and we soon found ourselves walking along a roped off path along the beach. The scenery reminded me of the opening scenes of "Prince Caspian". The beach was located at the foot of a large, steep mountainside. We were to plant about 50 saplings of the endangered plant species "Euphorbia" into this mountainside. After demonstrating the technique of digging a level ground, making a hole, pouring in a water-saving concoction called they called "liquid rain" (I kept calling it Purple Rain for kicks), etc, Jo asked for 3 volunteers to go up the steep side of the mountainside to attempt to plant some saplings there. I was in an adventerous mood and raised my hand along with a few others. 

Getting up the hill was a mighty challenge. To start, my sneakers have little to no traction, and the ground constantly fell apart at your feet as you climbed. Using the spade as a grappeling device, I was able to slowly climb the steep mountainside until I found blessed solid footing upon a rock. I helped the other 2 up and we began the arduous process of finding small bits of plentiful earth in an area rife with large rocks. 

Yes, that's me up there

It was an incredible challenge just to journey up this hill, let alone to gain the proper leverage and grip to dig a hole and plant a sapling. It took about five minutes each time to find the right angles and footholds to start planting again. I took occasional breaks to watch the sailboat races in the distance and the birds as they circled above the sea. About an hour, 15 plants, and several precarious slips and a few epic "QUICK grab onto a random vine somewhere to save yourself from falling to your death" moments, we made our way sideways across the cliff face to plant some more, because why not? At this point it became an issue to watch out for already planted saplings as other groups had covered areas in between. 

My "extreme planting" team

Remember that book "The Lorax"? That was a great book.

I found the most ridiculous, rocky and steep way down because, as I said, I was in an adventurous mood, and scaled my way down to join everyone for lunch. Before I decided to turn around and scale this bad boy, my friend Alise grabbed what may become the most epic picture of all time:

"This Summer...One Man...Has Had Enough."

I don't think I've mentioned this, but they fed us 3 square meals a day, which is very exciting when you're cooking your own food all the time. Lunch included chicken/lettuce/tomato in a torpedo roll, an apple, and a ridiculously rich and delicious piece of brownie/cake. 

After lunch, Jo asked for yet another few volunteers to join her on a particularly difficult ascent to plant saplings in a difficult area. I joined a few other kids and the rest journeyed back to our house with all the equipment. The ascent we took was so unstable that we took all of our backpacks, plants and planting tools with us, planning to basically climb to the top of the cliff and make our way home from there, as climbing back down would be impossible.

 Following You, I Climb The Mountain

We had a good time and go to know Jo a bit more. She turned out to be a pretty cool person, despite my initial impressions (she asked a woman and her baby to leave the shack during the intro session when the baby was making noises. It was a bit awkward). We some great discussions, ranging from such topics of geckos to sociology to the book "1984".

Jo keeping ahead of the pack

The EXTREME extreme planters

 

I still can't believe how beautiful it can get here, especially since it's during the winter (albeit at the very end of it - Spring in three weeks!). It was all blue skies and warm sun. Wellington has been blessed with now officially 8 days straight of sunny Spring-like days. In a town infamous for its wind and rain, this is incredible for the Winter months. People were kayaking and sailboat racing and all of the animals were demonstrating their various chirps and bellows (particularly the birds). 

The second leg of extreme planting took another half hour, and reaching the summit and some solid walking ground was a welcome relief. We walked with Jo back to our house and took a half hour break to rest. Our next task involved planting some particularly porcupine-like grass plants in a lamb and sheep breeding area. I'm going to wrap part one up now because I need to get some work done, but I promise part 2 will be up quickly. Sorry again for the delay between posts there. I'll leave you all with a priceless portrait/memento (can be utilized as a signed 8x10 glossy upon my return) of yours truly as a sign of reconciliation. Until next time,

Bill

The Last Leg

Here at last comes the end of a long and arduous retelling of a very detail-packed five days.

Monday, July 6th

After doing the now-standardized awkward "who's going to turn on the lights first because I don't want to be 'that guy'" wake up, we had about twenty minutes to shower, pack our bags, and throw them onto the Magic Bus. This wasn't as difficult or tedious as it might sound, namely because we had been "living out of our suitcases" and hadn't really expanded our wardrobe out into closets or drawers. With time to spare, we made it to a pretty decent hot breakfast. After loading up on juice bottles, we transferred to the Rotorua Boy's School for our last orientation session. It was during this session that I had yet another brush with "Murphy's Law".

"Alright, I'm going to read out everyone's name and describe who is meeting up with you to bring you to your accommodations." After quickly (for it is not very difficult) recognizing that the names were being listed in alphabetical order, I registered even more quickly that my name was conspicuously absent from the Victoria University read-off. Not Good. For the love of God, all I wanted at this point was a blessed room of my own, and now my name was missing from the accommodations list. Also fantastic was the fact that Alicia decided to read these names BEFORE the information session. This lended me the opportunity to sit in a pool of sweat for about a half hour before I finally had the opportunity to approach her at the end of the session and request that she please make sure that I had a bed to sleep in once I got to the city I had never been to on the opposite side of the world. It didn't strike me as too much of a thing to ask. After sweating it out for a few more minutes, she got off the phone and assured me that it was a clerical error and that Victoria did, indeed, have a place for me to stay. I was happy about this.

It was a great feeling riding on the bus to the airport, knowing that my long journey was soon to be over. I wanted to see where I'd be spending my time for the next five months and finally be able unload all of my belongings into my own private space. It's important , after all, to have somewhere to call your own, even if it's very small. It's somewhere to gather your thoughts at the end of the day and to retain your sense of self. About twenty minutes of driving finally ended at the parking lot of the Rotorua airport. Crutchie made the males and females "guess a number he was thinking", the loser had to get the luggage out. The males lost, and were then required to get out of the van and unload all of the girl's bags. I have a sneaking suspicion that the game was rigged and we would've lost no matter what number we chose. Just a guess.

Rotorua airport was absolutely beautiful. It was the smallest, most low key airport I've ever seen. The building itself was built right on the edge of a lake, and the lake had a beautiful island in the middle of it. Like the guard dog at the Auckland airport, I felt that this establishment further reflected New Zealand and its more casual, simple way of doing things. The sky, as it always is in New Zealand, was extremely dramatic and beautiful. I was excited to get above the clouds and see them from a different perspective.







We passed the ninety minute or so wait time by eating "Salad Sandwiches" which were provided to us by Australearn (I failed to get a picture, but they were genius. They were literally delicious salad put between two pieces of bread. I think I ate three of them) and by playing various card games. Joe laid some card tricks down and blew us all away. I tried my "tell me when to stop and I'll read your mind" card trick. It worked on about two people before they figured it out. I think I need to learn some new tricks.


I was in the middle of an earth-shatteringly amazing card hand when our flight was called. We ran through the "security checkpoint" (which was basically two airport employees grinning like their life depended on it and wishing you a good flight) and walked out on to the runway. It was all quite exclusive and I felt like the president. The pilot shook our hands and we walked up the stairs into the puddle jumper. Rumors suggesting that puddle jumpers are small planes are quite accurate.



Contrary to what I expected, I found the flight on the puddle jumper to be much more enjoyable and bearable than my Southwest flights across America. It may just have been because the weather was infinitely nicer and we experienced little to no turbulence. It was just before takeoff that I again met my dear friend Murphy and his law that "everything that can go wrong, will go wrong". My camera ran out of batteries the instant we left the ground. This prevented me from taking pictures of what were probably the most beautiful and breathtaking things I'd ever seen. About five minutes in, everyone on the plane fell deathly silent and just gazed out of the window. We rose above the clouds and their shapes began to take the forms of pillars and gaseous giants silhouetted by the glorious colors of the sky and sun. I listened to "Love, Reign O'er Me" by The Who on my Ipod as I gazed in awe of the clouds and the various glimpses of valleys, mountains and sea sneaking in through their cracks. It was certainly the most moving and beautiful thing I've experienced on my trip so far. It was about a fifty minute ride down the North Island, but it seemed like minutes. The FASTEN SEATBELT sign came on and we began our descent...into Wellington. The Journey was over, and I had reached my destination. I was grinning for most of the next hour as I took it all in. My camera was able to snap three quick pictures after resting for an hour, but quickly shut off soon after.





So this is Wellington. It's a small city built into a beautiful scenic harbor on the very bottom of the North Island. All of the suburbs and living areas are built on the upper edges of the harbor, so getting to and from town from home always involves a lot of steep downhill and uphill climbing. When you look up, no matter where you are in the city, without a doubt you will see something dramatic and beautiful, as you are surrounded by the sea and the mountains from all sides. The air, even in the middle of the city, is the most beautiful, fresh smelling mountain air I've ever smelled, and I can often taste the purity of it as it fills my lungs. It is winter here right now, but it only really ever gets sweatshirt cold at night when it's windy out. Sometimes it's quite cloudy and it often likes to rain, but the city has a saying that "You can't beat Wellington on a good day", and it's quite true. When the clouds decide to part and the sun comes out, I wear shorts and sunglasses and chuckle to myself at how ridiculously beautiful this place is. Spring comes in September, so it's only getting better from here. Next time I suppose I'll give you a quick rundown of my flat and various places in the city I've been so far. I guess this is the end of my "origin story", though, so I hope you enjoyed. By the way, I want to thank everyone for the great comments, I do enjoy reading them and greatly appreciate the feedback.

Writing again soon,

Bill

Speak Up, Sir

I've officially made an "American" of myself for the first time. While discussing society and it's possible influences on the individual, my SOC 211 teacher asked if there was anyone from The States present in the class. After remaining cool and sizing up the situation, I grew excited when I realized that I was, in fact, the only American in the room! What a cool feeling to be the absolute outsider, the diamond in the rough. I raised my hand slowly and cooly, ordering myself harshly NOT to make stupid American out of myself. I felt as if I was a cultural ambassador upon whom all would judge the mental capacity of my home country. The teacher acknowledged me, smiled, and proceeded to ask me a few questions concerning differences I've noticed between New Zealanders and Americans in regards to interpersonal communication. After considering, I gave him a fairly intelligent answer in a clear and concise format. When all was said and done, I breathed a small sigh of relief, happy that I didn't let my country down. The teacher smiled, paused for a moment, and then said to the class, "Now, who can tell me the difference between how I'm talking and how he's talking?" Almost instantly, four hands went up. I was completely at a loss as to what the answer might be, other than the obvious accent. Perhaps this was the point he was about to make? The teacher selected a hand. "He's a bit louder than you..." said a girl in the front. "Yes, thank you," said the teacher, "on the whole, Kiwis are much more soft spoken than Americans, who tend to come off a bit louder in the classroom and in social settings. When I travel to New York, I often feel myself having to yell in order to be heard." After assuring me that he wasn't bringing my way of communication DOWN in any way, and thanking me for volunteering, the professor went on with his lecture. I was stunned. Despite my grandest efforts, I had completely played into an American stereotype without even realizing or apprehending it. I was half shocked and half...actually sort of amused. The teacher KNEW that I would prove his point before he even met me or acknowledged me chiefly because of the society that I grew up in. It didn't wildly offend me or leave me feeling ridiculed, as the teacher handled it respectfully, but it certainly put me in my place and spurred my awareness of myself and how I act on a global, sociological scale. Already I'm beginning to learn more about different ways of living and communicating, especially noting how my own ways of life relate to New Zealand and the rest of the world. Incidentally, I did a reading on Freud for this class an hour or so ago and he's probably one of the most interesting people I've ever read. It's going to be a very enlightening course, I'm sure. 

I'll probably have another archival account up tomorrow,

Bill

The Deep Places of the World

Back to my orientation narrative...

Sunday, July 5th

7:00 a.m. Depart for Waitamo caves

Having my biological clock completely restarted afforded me the opportunity to choose when I was going to regularly get up in the morning. Although I'd been training myself to wake up relatively early, a 7:00 departure was still pretty rough. The entire group had been broken up into two groups, and my half departed to the caves on the Magic Bus today. We basically had two options to choose from in regards to cave diving: the wet cave or the dry cave. I got some insider information that the dry cave involved an underground zipline over a gaping abyss. There no longer being no contest between the two, I signed up for the dry caves. It was a solid 2 hour drive from the east side of the country (Rotorua) to the west side (Waitamo). Arriving at the Waitamo caves parking lot, we were shuttled away in groups of 6 or 7 at a time by small volkswagen-esque vehicles. My group, of course, was last. We whittled away the time waiting on the increasingly empty bus by fiddling and jamming on Joe's acoustic guitar, Will playing some Bright Eyes and myself of course whipping out some vintage Who. The last shuttle arrived and a tight squeeze and 20 minutes or so later, we arrived in the middle of what I considered my first real taste of an idyllic New Zealand countryside. It was endless, rolling fields with strange rocks and trees jutting out and making the landscape unique and ever changing. The morning was again rather cold and foggy, and we hiked through the countryside for a good 15 minutes from where our bus stopped. I was informed that the land was rented by this tourist company from a woman who owned the land. The cave was discovered about five years ago and had since been capitalized upon. 

Remember how I said that the New Zealand tourist industry was really, really smart? You'll notice that there's a conspicuous absence of many pictures on this post. That's because the cave people made you leave your cameras and personal belongings in lockers before you left due to "liability reasons". Conveniently, however, they did supply special camera shots of you and you friends for only 15 dollars a piece. Genius. I grabbed some great shots on the small bus shuttle journeying to and from the caves, though. The sun was on its way up and the sky was parting, and every time I looked up there was a dove flying through a sunny crack in the clouds. It was just ridiculous.

Note the rainbow. Not to brag.

This may or may not have been the Garden of Eden.

It's at this point that I'll have to rely on some descriptive language to get a proper image in your heads, because I have no photos. After journeying on foot through this absolutely absurdedly beautiful landscape, we came upon a swiftly declining slope. All of the hills around us also slanted downward gradually, meeting at one spot on the bottom of the small grassy basin. At the center of this spot stood a single small tree, craned over and drooping its green leaves as if it were hiding something. The root of the tree was hollowed out. Upon approaching the tree, it became apparent that its base shielded a foundation of rock that lead down into an unknown abyss. To my complete surprise, we had arrived at the Waitamo caves. 

After a bit of waiting and a solid amount of training and equipment exercises that wouldn't be too entertaining to recount, I found myself journeying underneath the tree and hooking myself onto the supports. I was about to cave dive. "Now," said the instructor, "the drop is shaped like an hour glass; you'll find it open for a while, but then you'll have to squeeze your way through the middle. Don't Panic, just shimmy your way through." Have you ever seen a film called "The Descent"? I have, and it certainly didn't help my first diving experience. I did feel pretty cool as I put my life in the hands of a rope support system and slowly lowered myself down, releasing small bits of the rope at a time. I turned my helmet light on and looked around me. Everything was wet and quiet, and all I could hear was the friction of my rope gliding against my hand as I methodically released it bit by bit. The guy wasn't kidding when he said the middle was shaped like an hour glass, and I learned (and have learned in several different instances since I've arrived here) that the instruction "Don't Panic" is a sure sign that you will panic, at least in the initial stages of the journey. To be honest, yes, a small bit of panic crept into my throat as I found myself wedged between two narrow rocks hanging in midair in complete darkness 150 feet beneath the earth. Having never done this before, I think overall I probably didn't look as cool as I would have liked to, as it took me a solid couple of minutes to navigate my way down, awkwardly bump into as many rocks and walls as possible, finally squeeze through the narrow part, and finally touch down and send my rope back up. That being said, I THOUGHT I looked pretty cool until the instructor came down after all of us and completed the drop in a total of about ten seconds, bouncing off the walls with his feet and looking like some awesome hybrid of Indiana Jones and Ethan Hunt. It was then that I realized I could have looked cooler. Lesson learned.

So, the depths of the earth. Truth be told, it's everything it's cracked up to be. The first course of action upon fully gathering in the caverns was to turn everyone's lights off and experience the darkness. I really can't explicate upon this idea enough: it was very, very dark. It was so dark that that darkness itself felt like a physical force that was forcing itself upon me. I couldn't see my nose in front of me and found myself questioning whether or not I did, in fact, exist at that moment in time. I had never experienced an absolute darkness of that sort before, and it was certainly another new experience for me. Moving on through the caverns, I found the terrain to be increasingly difficult and treacherous to navigate. The cavern would go from loose rocked, slippery terrain to water-logged holes in the ground. The walls looked like a rainfall frozen in time; nothing moved but it always looked to be in a state of in-between motion. This was due, I soon learned, to the fact that all of these walls, stalactites and stalagmites (which I learned the difference between, by the way) WERE in fact in the process of growing. Unfortunately, my limited human perception could not register this growth as it was occurring at a rate of 1 cm every hundred years. The water drips through the ground, collects small amounts of calcium from the rocks on their way down, and then deposit the calcium on the walls and pillars before they drip into the ground. I learned all of this AFTER I had sneakily hidden a small piece of cool looking cave rock into my pants, and realized that the smuggling would all be in vain: anything taken out of the cave turns to dust, a chalk-like calcium deposit disintegrated due to lack of moisture that only the caves can provide. Bummed, I dropped the rock casually by my side. Next time, Gadget. Next time.

After a quick snack break (which was great, by the way, because I was in fact quite hungry at this point), we proceeded onto the zipline. The zipline was very long and was situated above an indeterminate amount of the unequivocal darkness that I had spoken of before. Going over the abyss sent strange, powerful shocks (probably of adrenaline) through my limbs and I looked down the entire time. It added to the adventurous feeling of it. There was quite literally nothing there, but I almost felt that if I was to fall, the darkness would catch me; it was that thick. Ziplining to the other side, the guides began to rattle off their nicknames and personal interpretations (kermit the frog, horse carousel, John Cusack) of various unique rock structures high up in the ceilings and embedded in the walls. This drove home to me that these two men had been working here for far too long and should perhaps, at least for a while, find a different line of profession. For their sake, not mine. 

After the zipline it was a short, steep ascent up what the guides called "probably the most interesting structure of all" (it was an iron staircase). On the way up through the tunnel, we were told to observe the giant Weta bugs on the walls. For those of you unaware, the Weta is basically a beetle on steroids native only to New Zealand. They have been able to grow this large due to the lack of predators native to the country. So Wetas are about the size of my hand and allegedly extremely aggressive. Looking onto the walls and seeing these big black monsters about five inches from my face was an experience enough, but I was even happier when the guides warned us (after we had shone our lights on them for a solid minute) not to shine our lights in their eyes for too long because they're aggressive and prone to pounce and attack anything that annoys them, namely light. We proceeded to scurry up the ladder and found ourselves being forced into a very, very small cubicle without any prior explanation.  After forcing about ten of us into this small, hollowed out wooden cylinder, the guide closed the door behind us. At this point, we had still not been informed as to what in the name of God we were doing in this thing. Now, I'm not the most claustrophobic person, but I think it's fair to say I had a very mini panic attack from the combination of being underground this whole time, being trapped in this small space with ten other people, and having been thinking about The Descent for the last hour and a half subconsciously. After about ten seconds, the opposite side of the cubicle was opened and we breathed fresh air. We had been inside of an airlock. That's all fair and all, but I would've liked some prior warning. Not to be picky.

The walk back up through the lush valleys to the shuttle was equally as scenic and beautiful, and the sun had decided to come out. We were given mass amounts of pizza before we got on the bus. However, were the lucky group to be chosen last, so we were informed that "no rush, but everyone's waiting on the bus for you. no rush, though." We were very, very hungry and decided to take our precious time. It was my first exposure to New Zealand pizza and my first impressions still stick with me now: New Zealanders put a lot of toppings on their pizzas. I'm talking like 10+. There is no conception of a "cheese" pizza here. I wasn't complaining though, because all of the toppings were amazing and it was served on an almost unleavened bread that tasted delicious. Sure, some of the concepts and ingredients were different, but upon further many slices and much contention, I concluded that "the song remains the same". That's how a lot of things are here in New Zealand: same key ideas but with different ingredients. On the Magic Bus ride back to Kiwipaka, we stopped for a few minutes to take a group photo outside of an information station. I'm on the far left, looking quite smashing.

After that, we made one more mass requested pit stop to observe a beautiful man-made dam and bridge built inside of it. Here, finally, is a bit more multimedia to satisfy your visual needs.

I decided on the spot that pictures couldn't appropriately capture the tone and beauty of this river, so I took a video. Enjoy.

Most of us slept on the ride home, the caves were physically exhausting and certainly took a toll. We got back to Kiwipaka and were given a "free night" to ourselves, basically meaning that they didn't have to feed us. Smart. This had been our last full day at orientation. I had a great experience but was more than ready to finally get on the puddle jumper and get to Wellington, my school, and a blessed empty room all to myself. We had not gotten a minute to breathe since we got off the plane, and I for one just wanted to be able to sit down in a quiet room, take a deep breath, and let my thoughts catch up with me. Departure time was 12:55 p.m. out of Rotorua airport, and I was excited to finish the final leg of my journey.

"That painting really tied the room together, did it not?"

I'm going to interrupt the narrative flow yet again to chronicle some more recent happenings. My flatmates and I have been living in our flat for about three weeks now, and we've certainly grown into it a bit. First impressions of the recently vacated flat were fairly positive, but there was always a certain lack of SOMETHING in the space that made the inhabitant very aware of a gaping void. We had done our best with what we had available to us: cleaning and arranging all of the furniture and placing our "stuff" in various nooks and crannies to make it feel more like a worthy replica of "home". As of last night, the void remained. Though it was a well-maintained and properly heated flat, it still didn't have a "homely" feel to it and felt a bit cold and empty. I had a moment of clarity when I realized that what was most essential in bringing the homeliness back into our flat was to fill the gapingly white, empty walls that bordered it. Here's a few pictures I snapped "pre-wall renaissance." I suppose this counts as my first world premiere of a mini-tour of my flat as well. I'll film a video tour at some point in the near future. Please note that the single piece of wall decoration that we were afforded was a lone trumpet player silhouetted in the spotlight.

"Dining Room", Television, and some of the Kitchen. Whoever sits on the left of the table always bangs their head on the T.V. as they're getting up. It's getting better.

This is the hallway out of the communal room down to the bathroom on the left and a grand view of the city through the door that leads out to the porch.

Yes...the kitchen, I suppose.

Again, note the trumpeter. It's important for later in the story.

It was during the very night that you see pictured that I declared a personal and (and proposed communal) objective to decorate our walls with the most colorful objects possible. The motion passed unanimously. On July 24th, 2009, a fellowship departed from 3A Landcross Street heading south towards the Salvation Army. Our mission was to find the chepest, most colorful and interesting wall art possible. After careful selection and consideration of several exotic paintings and murals, we succeeded. Here's a taste of the S.A. experience:

After much debate, it was decided that it was against the interests of the group to purchase this strange plant painting, as it curiously mirrored what many of us considered to be one of our worst, most disturbing nightmares.

It should also be taken as no surprise that we did not purchase this other fine piece of "pseudo-nightmare" artwork. It was legitimately a whiteboard that had never been wiped off and ended up permanently staying that way. Apparently, someone was about to do something BIG. As you can see, severe lack of thrills about this one.

It was here, among the scattered artwork, that Aron made the greatest find since Indiana Jones and the Lost Ark. It was ten dollars but completely worth it. Stand by for fulfillment of the cliffhanger. After purchasing about ten pieces of art (it ended up costing us about 8.50 piece) and lugging them all the way up the hill into the suburbs and into our flat, we carried out what I consider to be the greatest reunion of all time. Check it out:

We found the guitarist to match the trumpeter from the same collection. What are the odds? So we basically framed the two performers around the hallway door that leads to the porch/bathroom. Epic.

I think this is an attempt to mimic the performers in the photos.
I think they just look ridiculous. But I didn't tell them that.

We also found a poster promoting stamps for The Two Towers. It's great because it features key Lord of the Rings promo artwork AND only cost a dollar, and it's also hilarious because it's an advertisement for stamps. So this was placed front and center on the doorway from the entryway hall into the common room:

Key.

Here's a sampler of some more brilliant paintings that really, really tie the room together:

This is our kitchen artwork. Nothing more needs to be said for this one. My personal favorite.

The choice Kitchen painting depicts some sort of odd measuring cup/ninja star combination, as the handles look pointy and lethal. Somehow, though, it still gives off that "homey" look.

This one is in the bathroom hallway that you saw further up in the post. We think it was done by an eighth grader for her art class, but it was three dollars and depicts a beach, so no harm done.

Lauren, our resident art/design major, assures us that none of our chosen paintings contain any artistic merit whatsoever. We're all fine with that (including her, really), though, because at the end of the day we have a couple of beaches and some happy images on our walls, and that'll make all the difference. We're that much closer to breaking the flat in and finally making it feel like a "home away from home." I considered the quest a great success and just wanted to report it all to you fine people in America.


Cheers,

Bill

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.

The Haka, Redwood Trees, and Epic Trailer Music

Good news. I've found my "itinerary" that I was issued over orientation. This will make it a lot easier for me to remember everything I did and in what order; I was a bit worried about remembering it all accurately because the three days sort of mesh together in my head already. Fun Fact: I found it in the side pocket of a pair of pants that just came out of the dryer, and was still able to unfold it and read it. And people say I'm unlucky.

I'm going to quote from the itinerary and then explicate the headlines.

Saturday, July 4th:

Everyone wakes up to their cell phone alarms going off. Nobody wants to get up and everyone feels awkward because if you get up and turn the lights on you'll make everyone else miserable. This would not be desirable, as you have just met these people and don't want to annoy them. So, cue about five minutes of silence after the alarm followed by someone going "So, are we gonna get up or what?" and another going "might as well". A mass exodus departs the motel room for the showers.

8:00 a.m.: Hot Breakfast

Much like the previous night's dinner, the breakfast was questionable. It was quiche but of a very odd and mysterious variety and I ended up gaining most of my sustinence from cold cereal. Nothing wrong with that. They were serving New Zealand-produced fruit juice of unique fruit combinations and we soon learned to stock up on these in pants pockets, etc to fuel us for the remainder of the day. Not the most exciting portion of my tale, I must admit.

8:45 a.m.: Transfer to Rotorua Boys High for 2nd Program Introduction Session

These Program Intro sessions were basically the serious, note-taking parts of the orientation where they informed us of ways to adapt/live in New Zealand, differences in the academic system, how to operate in cases of emergencies, etc. Not much to report on here, most of it was things that I'd already known. There were about four of these sessions over the weekend.

11:00 a.m.: Bus departs for a morning of adventure. You can try zorbing or luging or go on a hike around the Blue Lake.

As I was trying not to be the easily exploited tourist, I (along with many others) opted out of the 45 dollar one-time zorbing run and decided to take a hike in the Redwood Forests. This place was a huge nature reserve that New Zealand had planted about 150 years ago by importing redwood trees from California in order to preserve and maintain its forest life. It had a diverse and interesting gift shop which included a 3-d scaled map of the entire forest. I was blown away by how big it was in relation to the now relatively small trail I was about to walk.


A bit of an odd aside, but something happened in the gift shop that only I would freak out about. The background music speakers started playing the epic trailer music that they used in the trailer for "The Matrix" in 1999. It was extremely out of place and utterly ridiculous, yet somehow extremely epic. I had to get videographic evidence.




The forest itself was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Being on the other side of the world affords me opportunities to see plants and wildlife that I had only seen in books or films before now. Certain parts of the walk had a tropical feel that made me think of a prehistoric, dinosaur-ruled age. You could smell the rich life in the air and my ears were filled with the sounds of unfamiliar bird calls. The redwood trees were intimidating, large, and powerful.




It was during this walk that I first fully realized the joviality and outgoing nature of New Zealanders. I was walking at a fairly swift pace, but some people were running through the woods. Every time someone passed by me from behind, I was greeted with some variation of "cheers, bro". I was again initially struck by the odd nature of this outgoingness, but I then again reexamined my own social norms and wondered which out of the two cultures had the stranger way of communicating. In any case, these people made my day with their cheerful way of greeting complete strangers; I've been trying to adapt this mode of interpersonal communication myself. I thought for a while about taking a longer path, but I was uncertain about when the bus was departing and didn't want to risk it.

This was outside the forest restrooms and struck me as funny/odd.
I think it just went way over my head intellectually.

1:00 p.m.: Lunch at Kiwipaka

Nothing much to report here. I don't even remember what I ate. Moving on.

2:00 p.m.: Blue Group to assemble in Kiwipake meeting room to learn the "Haka"

Ah, we come now to the most ridiculous and certainly most memorable event of orientation. Remember the video I taped of the rugby team performing the Haka? This battle chant is huge in New Zealand culture, and us, being the hardcore New Zealanders that we now were, obviously had to learn it for ourselves. We spent about 25 minutes learning the actual words. There was a large blackboard in front of us to help us remember. After all, it was in a foreign language. The man teaching us was of obvious Maori descent and took great pride and respect for the Haka and its origins. Here are the lyrics in Maori: I don't recall the exact translation, but it stems from ancient Maori folklore regarding their eldest ancestor in a near-death experience and his rising from the depths to new life. Epic.

Ka Mate! Ka Mate!
Ka Ora! Ka Ora!
Tenei te ta ngata puhuru huru
Nana nei i tiki mai

Whakawhiti te ra
A upane ka upane!
A upane kaupane whiti te ra!
Hi!!

In Maori, the phonetic sound "wh" is pronounced "f". So after (more or less) getting this down, we had to stand up and memorize the aggressive postures associated with each aspect of the poem. It was really interesting; each movement directly corralated with what he was saying. After about a half hour of learning, I personally felt that we had all gone above and behind what the average tourist could do. Nay, sir. For now, of course, comes the real part of the lesson. We had to perform the Haka in traditional Maori garb. Outside. Guess what the Maori wore? Loincloths.

So, in what proved to be a "through the hellfire" bonding experience, all the males stripped down to their boxers and threw on a loincloth. Also, we had to pull out boxers up out of sight. This is a very FUN thing to do, especially among almost complete strangers. It was at this point that the males had to accompany the females (who, by the way, got to dress in regal black dresses) outside in their bare feet to perform the Haka for a camera. God, I felt like a tourist. Speaking of tourist, remember how I said that New Zealand really has the tourist exploitation thing down? Yeah, they didn't allow any cameras or video recording and sold their copies for 20 dollars each. Because of this, I unfortunately have no photographic evidence that this ever happened. However, my friend Will binged and bought the DVD, so I may be able to copy it in the near future. It was dramatically colder than it was when we first came to Rotorua, and most of the males had to kneel down in front of the standing women. Due to the precarious postures that we found outselves in coupled with our rather limited garb, various vocal concerns were raised (mostly by the men) concerning the vulnerability of certain elements of the male anatomy at that time. These comments, if they were heard at all, were disregarded or ignored. Needless to say, all of the Australearn men all felt a bit closer to each other after this experience, and more than a few boundaries were certainly broken.

Hopefully keeping you all well informed,

Bill