Road Trip

Quick Update...

So I'm leaving in about five minutes to go on an eight day road trip around the North Island with four other people. We're sort of a mini-United Nations as we hail from Germany, America, China, Canada, and France. I've just driven the rental car here on the left side of the road and it's one of the most mentally draining and stressful things I've ever done. I'm told you get used to it. Anyways, headed through Napier, Taupo, Bay of Plenty, through Auckland and into the Northlands, then back down again. We're going to sleep in tents on the beach as much as possible. I'm a bit nervous as we're sort of winging it, but my biggest concern is getting back in one piece what with the driving. I have another kid to switch off with. Anyways, I have to get going, sorry for the lack of posts but I'm doing well and will have a lot to write about on Tuesday. Say hello to America for me.

Bill

A Journey to The Island, Part 2: "If you hear a crunch, you've just killed an endangered species."

Somes Island's sole inhabitants are the two D.O.C. rangers that live in their small houses. After about 5:30, Jo left us to our own devices and went back home for the night. After learning that the penguins on the island were only visible for two hours after dusk, we made a point of quickly going back to our house and making dinner so as to budget our time correctly. Continuing the fantastic motif of feeding us for free, the rangers had stocked our refrigerator with many great ingredients for dinner. I did find the choice of food a bit humerous, though, as they seemed to reflect the stereotypical American food: Burgers, chips, fries, apple pie and oreos and ice cream. I could just see  the kiwis going "I-I don't know what they eat...just get them some burgers or something." To be fair, we were really happy with the choice of food, especially since they don't sell oreos here (it's some ripoff brand) and they were definitely imported specially for us. Fantastic. 

We spent about 20 minutes looking for "the grill" that Jo had mentioned. We pictured a glorious outside charcoal grill in which to have an authentic american barbecue (albeit without any actual barbecue sauce). We came to the conclusion that "the grill" was probably just the plain old gas stove inside of the house. A bit of a shame, because there's really nothing better than grilling burgers on an outside grill. Anyways, what followed was the most absurd and unique form of burger grilling that I've personally ever witnessed. We basically used a huge wok-like pan that covered the length of two burners and dumped all of the burgers, onions, and mushrooms on it at once. I declared myself grill master and manned the wok. We were all pretty hungry so the food got done fast, despite the oven refusing to preheat. We ended up cooking the fries with the burgers on the grill. Innovative. Burgers here taste VERY VAGUELY of sausage, at least much more so than beef. This coupled with the fact that they did not think to provide us with ketchup (I'm telling you, they just don't get the concept here) led me to give the burgers probably about a 6.5 out of ten. Nothing awful, but nothing earth-shattering. Again, though, it was free, so I can't complain. Here's a few choice scenery shots that I grabbed at dusk along with some stills of dinner.

Still big on the Garden of Eden theory

This is near the top, the only signs of human civilization on the entire island.

See the harbor opening up into the Pacific Ocean in the distance.

After dinner, the quest began. We left at about 7:30, knowing that we had only about an hour to find some penguins. When one is presented with the opportunity to see penguins, one does not tarry. The pace was unrelenting and the pace was brisk. While walking along the infinitely dark, increasingly curvy paths of this isolated, lonely island, Jo's parting words continued to echo in my head: "If you hear a crunch, you've just killed an endangered species." The New Zealand Weta was plentiful on this island, and being a noctournal species, they spend their spare time sitting directly in the middle of all the footpaths on the island during the night. They are undetectable, sort of intimidating, and also very endangered. I'm absolutely sure I killed at least five just by walking through the paths, every time I actually looked down with a flashlight I saw myself just narrowly missing one. RIP Wetas; The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away. Amen.

Fun Fact: Peter Jackson's visual effects studio is called "Weta Workshop"

So basically we spend the night discussing how frighteningly close our situation was to a horror film. We were on a small, isolated island with no electricity (the generators turned off at 9:30) with literally one other person on the island and far outside of our reach. It was pitch black aside from Aaron's cavediving headlight (the luminescence from the city didn't reach us) and our group consisted mostly of females. You know how the horror films always have the last surviving person be a female? The odds were with us that that'd happen. Also, it was a full moon. Anyways, we trekked along in the quiet darkness of this nature reserve for about two hours, searching for the ever elusive blue penguin. At last, on the shores of the sea, came the end of our search. We found one sleeping underneath some rubble from a knocked down World War II hospital that used to be on the island. We were definitely intrusive and annoying humans (we tried to snap as many photos as possible) but WE SAW A PENGUIN. How often can you see a penguin, really? This country is great. The poor thing was just trying to get some sleep, but we shoved our cameras in its face for as long as possible. Victory.

"Dude, go away."

Other activities that night included an awesome inventive photo session involving a camera with a 40 second lens exposure setting, resulting in many awesome doodles in the air with a flashlight. Now, we all have our talents. That night I learned that "light drawing" is not one of mine. However, you may observe one of my many failed attempts to draw my name in the air with a flashlight. It's actually very difficult because you have to write backwards and inverted so that the camera can capture it as readable to the Naked Eye. I'm actually sort of happy with my attempt at "William" (despite it's almost nonexistent form and backwards "a"...the a really confused me); I successfully dotted the second "i" with the moon. 

The night was very strange. Our generator turned off at 9:30, and we found ourselves hanging out in an electricity-deprived house on a small isolated island. It was pretty cool. We found a couple spare candles and lit them on the table. At this point, some of us wanted to play some cards, but most of the volunteers were wiped out and we all ended up going to bed relatively early. I was happy I did this, as I was able to catch a hot shower in the narrow time window (7:30-8:30 a.m.) that our water heater was on. 

I took this picture of the candles and I think it's awesome.

Before I go, quick P.S. with my cousin James in mind. I saw some really cool geckos on the first day. I was shoveling out weeds/quarantining them in big bags and about 100 little geckos came scrambling out periodically; they had made a home in the pile. I was a bit sad to be shoveling their home away, but the pile was made of infestious weed growth, so no loss. We found a few squirming tales at the bottom of the pile, but I guess at those numbers, an occasional tail trim is inevitable. I hear they grow them back. Anyways, here's a picture of me with a smaller baby gecko. I'll get some better ones when I go back to the island in a couple of weeks. I also got a quick video so you can see what it moved like. They like to flick their tongues a lot; it's how they smell things.

I've got to write a big chunk of a paper now, but more coming soon. Sorry I've slowed down a bit with the postings, it's my midterm week, but break is coming so soon you'll be overwhelmed with a torrent of endless posts. Prepare yourselves. 

The Little Differences

After six weeks of observation, I thought I'd take a moment to reflect upon small differences that I've noticed here in language, culture, and everyday life in the last six weeks. The overall way of life and social norms are basically the same as the United States, but small differences in "lingo" often throw me off. I think I've done alright adjusting to this, and I've already begun to find myself taking a few of these terms on in my everyday life.

- Where we would say "tons", they say "heaps". I haven't adapted this one yet, but I've seen some really funny New Zealand tee-shirts that just say HEEPZ in capital letters. 

- As I've already mentioned, they call restrooms/bathrooms "toilets". This actually makes a lot more sense.

- There is a tendency, some showing it more frequently than others, to add the syllable "ay" to the end of a sentence when stating a fact that the other person should rhetorically agree upon. They don't really raise the end of the sentence in a question mark way (this is more of a canadian thing), but rather utter it as another normal word at the end of a statement.

- As the Kiwi accent is basically a hybrid mix of English and Australian, a lot of Aussie lingo creeps over here. The word "reckon" is used frequently. 

- Probably the coolest and most recognizable/easy to adapt term here is "cheers". Cheers can be used in a wide cornicopia of different circumstances, but it's most commonly uttered in place of "thanks". I've personally began to train myself to say "cheers", but am not yet comfortable enough to feel like I've sufficiently thanked the person. Because of this, I am at a sort of compromising crossroads where I now say something like "Cheers. Thank you." This way I've adapted the awesome lingo AND feel like I've actually thanked the person. Cheers alone doesn't feel comfortable enough yet.

- Kindergardens are called "creches". I know this because there's one down the street on my way to school. Is this french or something? I'm not sure. 

- Kiwis aren't really sure how to make the following things: Ketchup (it's called tomato sauce and has a slight barbaque aftertaste with an overly runny texture), Peanut Butter (it's rather sweet and less dense), Ranch Dressing (they just don't make this), Root Beer/Cream Soda (bloody shame), and I have yet to find a simple bag of frozen meatballs. 

- Credits cards are replaced by EFTPOS cards, basically the same concept, just a harder acronym to say.

- I also periodically hear such australian sounding terms as "She'll be right" (it's alright), and "good on ya" (good for you).

- McDonalds has a "KiwiBurger", which is a regular hamburger (you're on board so far, I know) with an egg on top (Blasphemy).

- Fast food in general (Burger King and McDonalds) is much classier here, and I often find that the inside aesthetics look something like a Johnny Rockets. I think that this is their idea of the "American Ideal": the shiny, everybody smiling look of the '50s. 

- Being a small, isolated country, everything is a commodity here. I went to a fish shop yesterday where you have to pay 90 cents for every small packet of ketchup you used. They charge your internet by the space you use, not the speed you get. Things just aren't as plentiful here. It's far from being impoverished or lacking, but things just cost a bit more.

- Speaking of which, a coke costs four dollars. I'm not lying.

- I've already spoken about this but the money is just downright exciting. It's colorful and multisized. I don't carry cash around much though, which is a shame.

- People generally like Americans here, especially after Obama came into office. They still love to have a go at Bush, which none of us really mind.

- "Have a go", there's another one that I've sort of adapted.

- Outlets are indeed frowny shaped, and there is a little switch next to all outlets that turn them on or off. I suppose this saves energy. Also, there are no toilet handles or lightswitches, but different little tabs that you click up or down. 

- Central heating isn't big here, and people are usually fond of space heaters (I rock one of those) or just wearing a bunch of sweaters. To each his own.

- "Classes" are called "Papers"

- All the taxes are included in all of your purchases. Not having to mentally add 7 percent to everything is fantastic.

- Nobody tips here. It's not rude, it's just not socially required or even expected. Kiwis gape when I tell them of how much money I make delivering pizzas off of tips. Interesting.

- I'm not sure what term they use to replace it, but the concept of learning through "grades" (i.e. 1st grade, 2nd grade) is unknown here, and I often get confused faces when I mention a grade I was in at a certain time. I then have to translate to how old I was instead.

- Obviously Celsius is used here, but I've gotten quite good at doing the conversion in my head. It's actually very easy once you get used to it.

That's all I can think of for now, but this list will be ongoing and probably limitless. 

Bill

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.