Journey to the South

I left Wellington this morning on the Interislander Ferry, "Kaitaki," bound for Picton on the South Island. I've heard how beautifully scenic the south island is, and I'm excited to continue on my journey. I spent too much time in Wellington, a place I didn't particularly like. The city itself didn't have too much to offer in the way of sights and activities. It boasted myriad restaurants and bars, but not much else. The hostel was also one of the strangest places I've stayed at. It was super unfriendly, even the reception guy seemed to dislike me from the start, and the people gave off an exclusionary air. There was a group who had been living at the hostel for long stretches of time, some of them for almost a year, and they seemed totally uninterested in any new people passing through. At first I thought it was just me, but after speaking to a Dutch girl and a Welsh girl last night - both of who had just arrived - I found I wasn't the only one who had felt that way. It is the only hostel I've seen like that. Usually everyone at a backpacker's is open to meeting and greeting the numerous people that come and go. It's such a shame to me that people can dampen the experience of a whole city - not that I was very keen on Wellington anyhow. The hostel did have free internet, breakfast, and wine so I should give credit where credit's due.

The ferry ride over was fairly enjoyable. I have always thought boat travel to be a pleasant experience. I had a really nice day for it so I was able to stand on the sun deck and watch the ship pull away from the dock and Wellington. When I went below though I started to feel nauseous, which was strange because I'm not prone to sea sickness or any motion sickness for that matter. I actually fell asleep for about an hour and woke up feeling much better. I think I had just been tired from lack of sleep last night and waking up at 6:30 this moring to take the ferry.

I ordered fish and chips as a snack on the ferry for $5.50NZD. It's probably not a good sign when the french fries cost more than the fish, but I went for it anyway. The fish was actually really tasty in all of its greasy goodness. The fries, however, were undercooked and still partially potatoes. I had a problem with the squeeze-on ketchup packets though. One, for whatever reason I had pointed at myself, squirted all over my clothes immediately. Thankfully I was wearing my red jacket so it blended in well. The second packet I successfully squeezed on the french fries - and not on myself - but I think I got a little overzealous with my squeezing and the entire plastic packet shot back in my face. I think I should stick to ketchup bottles from now on.

I wasn't sure where I was heading when I landed on the south island, which is so unlike me. I usually have every place booked and planned way in advance. I suppose I've mellowed a bit over the past month and have become more of "go with the flow" as opposed to "rigid strategizer." At this rate, I'll be hitching by the time I reach the U.K.

I decided to make my way to Blenheim, a sleepy, little country town on the east coast. I stopped at one of the hostels I passed in town because I couldn't find the one I was actually looking for despite having three maps beside me. The first was fully booked so I headed to another one down the road called The Grapevine. I'm not totally impressed with the hostel or with Blenheim for that matter. I suppose it doesn't help that I arrived on some obscure public holiday that the whole town shuts down to celebrate. As for the hostel, I don't quite like the fact that there are no locks on any doors and everything has been infiltrated with dead bugs because the owners leave all the doors and windows open all day long. It was a bit disconcerting when I grabbed a bowl to put some salad in and ten dead flies fell from it when I tipped it over. I'm only staying the night so I suppose it'll have to do. As long as I have a warm bed to sleep in (preferably bugless) so I'm fully rested for my drive to Kaikoura tomorrow, I'm satisfied.

Laying Low

On Thursday, I decided to make a trip to the National Tattoo Museum in Wellington. Apparently they use the term “museum” quite loosely. I don’t particularly consider a few hundred pictures of tattoos coupled with odd armor soldiers a museum. I even saw a Simpsons chessboard and Lord of the Rings figurines. I’m not sure how those particularly fit in or why they were there, but they were. The museum resembled someone’s old dust-covered attic full of long-forgotten, meant-to-be-sold-at-the-garage-sale crap. I had entertained the idea of getting a tattoo as they have an attached tattoo studio, but I feared they would use the tattoo needles displayed in the dirty cases and decided against it. I’d prefer to have my tattoo done at an immaculately clean parlor even if it means I can’t claim the honor of being tattooed at New Zealand’s National Tattoo Museum.

I had thought about going to Te Papa, the Museum of New Zealand, also but decided against it. I think I hit my Maori culture quota after I visited the Auckland Museum and experienced the concert and hangi in Rotorua. I figure once I’ve seen a few indigenous wooden carvings and tools – I’ve probably seen them all.

I tried to book my ferry over to the South Island on the Bluebridge Cooks Strait Ferry Line yesterday, only to find out their ships are inoperable due to maintenance. Thankfully the Interislander Ferry Line, which is a bit more expensive, was still running and had trips on Monday. I was originally going to leave on Sunday because Bluebridge doesn’t run on Mondays, but now I decided to leave a day later. It makes it a bit easier to pick up my rental car and I get an extra day in Wellington to explore.

Last night, I hung out at my hostel with a group of regulars who have been here for months. It was great to sit with people from all over the world and just hear how they get on and what their plans are for the future. I met an English girl, Beth, whose top three childhood movies are Goonies, Princess Bride, and Willow. I knew immediately we would get along well. No one I have ever met has even heard of Willow, nevermind actually lists it as one of his or her favorite childhood movies. I used to watch Willow incessantly as a child, and I have no idea why I even saw it in the first place – it is such an obscure movie. However, it was nice to see that despite being from different nations and raised in different atmospheres, some things are consistent across borders.

Today started as an absolutely fantastic day, weather-wise. I was actually able to wear short sleeves and not freeze my butt off. I took a walk into town and came upon a band playing out in the street so I listened for a while. Then I stopped into a Turkish restaurant for lunch today. One of the main reasons I chose it was for its name – AbraKEBABra – I thought it funny and original. I’ve never eaten so much Turkish food as I have since I’ve been in New Zealand. I don’t know if there’s just an overabundance of Turkish places so it’s constantly in my face and therefore on my mind or if I’m just really developing a taste for Middle Eastern cuisine. Indian has been another one of my favorites since I’ve arrived. I only ate at an Indian restaurant once when I was in New York, and I’ve already dined at quite a few Indian restaurants since I’ve been in New Zealand. Perhaps my palette is changing, and I’m losing interest in the American continental foods that I used to enjoy.

After lunch I made my way over to the Cable Car, which is supposedly a “must-do” in Wellington. The cable car makes it’s way along a path that ends at the Botanic Gardens. As I should have predicted, because luck does not seem to be with me when it comes to seeing sights and attractions, the cable car was closed due to annual safety checks. Of course it’ll reopen on Monday, the day that I leave for the south island. I contemplated taking the bus or some other transport up to the Botanic Gardens but the weather had taken a turn for the worse and I thought I might get stuck in the rain. I’ll possibly make my way up to the Gardens tomorrow if the weather turns out to be conducive to my plans.

Strike Two & Redemption for the Germans

In Napier, I stayed at Toad Hall Hostel. There were four Germans staying there as well, two girls and two guys, whom I disliked, mostly from the start. I think it was the one’s face – it had a perpetual snotty, contemptuous smirk, which in turn I took as proof of the Germans’ superiority complex, and I was back to zero on the German/American friendship scale. It was her face, and the fact that all four of them did absolutely nothing day in and day out but sit and watch TV and type away on the computer. The computer, by the way, had free internet, which is virtually unheard of at a hostel, and they were obviously taking advantage of it. I just thought, what’s the point of vacationing or traveling if you see nothing but the inside of your hostel’s common room the entire time.

Now let me tell you what happened to redeem them in my eyes. Two nights ago, I was watching TV and eating dinner with the rest of the guests. After picking up my pizza, I had placed my bag hanging on the back of a chair. I woke up the next morning with the intention of calling Carlo for his birthday and reached for my bag to retrieve my phone cards, but the bag was nowhere to be found. Of course I freaked, Jenn-style, and tore up the place looking for it, banging on the manager’s door in the process. He told me no one had turned in a bag sending me on the verge of hyperventilation. I started to rundown the items in my bag – my bankcard, my credit card, my camera, my license, my rental car key, etc. He assured me he would check the other rooms and ask if anyone had seen it. A few minutes later, he came down the stairs with my bag in his outstretched hand. The Germans, who had seen my bag hanging on the chair last night, took it into their room for safekeeping with the intention of turning it in in the morning. I actually hugged the snobby German girl, probably to her disdain, but I was just so grateful. Oh, irony gets me every time. I suppose Germans aren’t that bad.

Yesterday, I went on a wine tour around Napier and Hawke’s Bay. We visited five different wineries in four hours and sampled tons of different wine varietals. The premise for wine tours and tastings is so funny to me. It seems like such a sophisticated activity to partake in to expand your enjoyment and knowledge of wine, yet the main result is drunkenness. Honestly, who uses the spittoon buckets anyway? Wine tours are almost like fancy pub crawls, just with wine glasses instead of plastic cups and cheese and crackers rather than pretzels and chips.

I made the trip to Wellington today, a four and a half hour drive from Napier in some nasty weather. Driving around Wellington is almost as frustrating as driving in New York City. The majority of the streets are one ways and are so narrow that the fear of ripping off the side view mirror is ever-present. There’s also absolutely no place to park whatsoever. You aren’t allowed to park on the streets until after 6pm and you must move your car by 8am. After phoning my rental car company and learning that I’d have to hang on to the car until tomorrow because I arrived too late to return it today, I searched for a spot and found one not too far from my hostel. The only problem was that it was only 5:30pm, and I didn’t want to abandon the car and risk getting a ticket. I actually sat in my freezing car for a half hour. At times I thought the wind would blow it over the edge of the hill I was perched on. Wellington isn’t dubbed “Windy Welly” for nothing. I’m looking forward to dumping the car tomorrow, because all it’s giving me at this point is anxiety. Cities are much better seen on foot anyhow.

Flying

My hostel cancelled the trip to the Tongariro Crossing due to the weather forecast. I was frustrated to say the least – I had set aside one day only to do the hike and now it was a no-go. I thought about rearranging my travel schedule but that involved too many factors so I chalked it up to bad luck. Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise. Because of my caving adventure in Waitomo, I’m still missing chunks of skin from my ankles (see right – and that’s after a week already) and just the pressure from my hiking boots was painful. I’m sure I would have been crying after 10 hours of hiking in them. However, I am annoyed that I woke up at 6am for no reason, and I wasted money on power water and trail mix at the store. The power water, I’m sure I’ll drink, though I generally dislike heavily flavored sports waters. The trail mix, however, will probably go in the garbage. On second inspection, it’s just peanuts, the worst nut ever, and raisins. It said “Nuts & Raisins” on the package, implying a variety of nuts. It’s false advertising. Had it been called “PEAnuts & Raisins,” I wouldn’t have bought it.

Instead of the hike, I spent the day indoors climbing on the climbing wall with a few friends that I met at the hostel, which kept me occupied for hours. There wasn’t much to do in Turangi other than the Tongariro Crossing, so my options were a bit limited. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be and a great workout. I woke up with sore back muscles the next day.

Yesterday, I drove to Taupo with a few travel friends I met in Turangi. It was nice to have travel companions after so many lonely drives all over New Zealand. I went skydiving with my friend Wayne at Taupo Tandem Skydiving. I dropped from 12,000 feet over Lake Taupo, free-falling for 45 seconds before JK, my tandem partner, released the parachute. Once you’re strapped to your tandem master, there’s no turning back whether you want to or not. They just throw themselves out of the plane with you strapped on. It was an exhilarating experience with fantastic views of cobalt water and snow-capped mountains, but to tell the truth, I wasn’t scared or nervous in the least. I don’t know if my tiredness from lack of sleep the night before numbed my senses, but I just enjoyed the ride all the way down without a single heart palpitation. I think I was more intrigued by the experience than frightened. It’s something I would definitely do again, if money weren’t an issue, and something I would recommend to try at least once, just to feel the wind on your face and enjoy for a few seconds what it feels like to fly.

Cold and Hungry

I tried to go hiking yesterday on some of Rotorua’s trails, but ended up walking in circles for an hour. I still got an hour of exercise, which was my main goal, but it would have been nice to see something other than the same scenery over and over again. They don’t seem to keep up their trails very well in Rotorua because I saw one, only one, trail marker the entire time I was walking. I did see it five times, but it was the same one. My other option would have been to drive to The Redwoods in Whakarewarewa Forest, but that was too much effort, and I wasn’t in the mood to drive anywhere anyway.

For dinner, I went to Indian Star Restaurant because I was in the mood for Indian food. It usually doesn’t settle well in my stomach, but I always enjoy it while I’m eating it. Since I hadn’t eaten lunch, I left my hostel around 4:30pm thinking I would grab an early dinner. When I got into town 5 minutes later, I realized all of the restaurants close between lunch and dinner and don’t re-open until 5pm, so I had to occupy myself in town for 25 minutes. I presented myself promptly at 5pm at Indian Star and had the entire place to myself. I didn’t mind being their only customer, I was just happy to be out of the cold. I have been perpetually freezing in New Zealand. I saw people in shorts and t-shirts on my way into town. Are they crazy? Maybe it’s just me that’s cold all of the time, but I was dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a jacket, and I was still chilly. The only time I’m not cold is when I take my daily steaming-hot shower, but then it’s right back to my freezing room. I’m kind of looking forward to Australia – even if there is a hole in the ozone over the country – at least I’ll be toasty-warm all of the time.

I arrived in Turing today. The town itself is dead, I had a hard time finding lunch at 2:30, but I really like my hostel. I have a 4-person room all to myself, and after depositing my bags, I wondered how 4 people would even fit. Maybe it’s because the baggage I lug around equals what 4 would have. I signed up to do the Tongariro Crossing tomorrow, weather permitting. I’m hoping the weather is agreeable because that hike was one of my main goals in New Zealand.

I went for an hour walk today along the river with a friend I met here at the hostel. We walked the owners’ dogs, which was funny because I’m not particularly fond of dogs, but they kept their distance and didn’t lick me so we got along fine. I was mainly trying to get some exercise in today, in preparation for tomorrow, so I don’t completely shock my body with a rigorous hike. When I got back from the hike, I received upsetting family news via email, so I’m probably just going to lay low tonight at my hostel and turn in early because I have to be up at 6am in the morning.

Real Food. Real People.

I spent most of the day on Sunday at the Polynesian Spa, which was voted in the Top 10 World’s Best Spas in Conde Nast Traveler 2005 and 2006. I didn’t go for the private pools, as they are under construction, just the public ones so it was 15NZD for an all day pass. The four public mineral pools were at varying temperatures from 38C to 42C (I have no idea what the conversion is to F so if you want to know, I suggest looking it up) and were situated overlooking the lake. It was quite relaxing and I was hoping the steam and minerals would help clear the sore throat I’d woken up with. It was a nice way to waste a day, but I ended up staying longer than I would have liked. I got stuck in a lengthy conversation with a man at the pool who felt the need to impart his life story, along with his quirks, his shortcomings, his romantic history, and everything else. I didn’t mind so much talking to him – he was somewhat interesting. He held nothing back – I suppose he doesn’t like to censor himself or is just socially inept – and I felt more like a psychologist than an acquaintance. I must have an inviting, approachable face or something – I never thought so, but lately all kinds of crazy have been engaging me in conversations I’d rather not partake in. I should pretend to either speak another language or be mute.

I went to Fat Dog Café for dinner that night, a funky, little place with poetry written on the furniture and walls. It was pretty busy though and I had to rush to a table before an old couple grabbed it first. Aren’t I the polite one? To be fair though, because I’m alone I do have to wait to claim a table until after I’ve ordered. Everyone else has the advantage of sending one half of the couple to the table while the other half orders. So I didn’t feel so bad barreling past an old lady to grab a spot – I was at a disadvantage after all.

Yesterday, I decided I wanted to try my hand at zorbing, a unique New Zealand invention where you roll down a hill inside a huge, inflatable ball. New Zealander’s, at least those in Rotorua, seem fairly proud of this invention and tout it as the next big thing in outdoor activities. When I got to zorb central, I found it would cost 45NZD to ride and they only had the hydro cycle available, in which they dispense water in the ball with you so you slip and slide, unharnessed inside, all the way down the hill. I watched a few runs and decided 45NZD was way too much to pay for such a short-lived ride. I could just situate my Slip & Slide down a hill and have possibly as much fun for free. Besides I wasn’t feeling particularly well and decided standing wet in the freezing cold probably wouldn’t help matters.

For dinner, I ended up at a café named Freos, whose slogan was “Real Food. Real People.,” as opposed to “Fake Food. Fake People.,” I guess. All I wanted all day was soup and after looking extensively during lunch and finding nothing, I decided to give it another go for dinner and happened upon this café. To my surprise, the café had actual waiters servicing the tables but I found only after I had sat down that their soup didn’t include bread. I would have exchanged the service for bread like all the rest of the cafes I’d encountered. But once I sat down, I felt trapped and unable to leave. When the soup arrived, I really wished I had left because the portions were so small I’d have to eat a second dinner anyway. The soup, which was chicken and capsicum (which I’d only learned two days earlier was pepper), was pretty tasty but not at all filling, so I slurped it up and moved on.

I sat outside on the upstairs porch when I got back to the hostel and admired the view thinking it would be one of the last times I’d see it. It made me appreciate that much more where I was at that moment. Then I spent the rest of the night listening to my iPod and dancing around my tiny, single room, which resulted in me tripping over my luggage several times. It brought me back to the days when Shannon and I used to dance and sing to Dar Williams and Jewel in college. Of course I didn’t sing – I didn’t want to send the rest of the guests running from the hostel – I only mouthed the words, but it had the same therapeutic effect. I realize, had anyone seen me, I would have looked like I was having an epileptic fit, but I was totally content to lose myself in the music of Sarah, Tori, Ani, et al., and that’s exactly what I did.

Brawling and Banging

I headed down to the Wai-O-Tapu thermal reserve for a look around yesterday afternoon. The reserve, which has the largest area of surface thermal activity, boasts New Zealand’s most colorful and diverse volcanic area. It should also boast the worst smelling volcanic area. My eyes watered during the entire hour walk from the rotten egg smell hovering in the air. The scenery was terrific though, and I can attest to the spectrum of colors represented at the reserve from burnt orange to mint green. There weren’t many people, which was nice because I didn’t have to fight for trail space, and it gave me time to observe the nature around me. I’d forgotten how much I like hiking, I haven’t been on a backpacking trip with my father in a long time, and how much I enjoy that sense of accomplishment when you reach the end. Though it was a short hike, it wound all the way around the park and provided for optimal viewing of each of the different thermal activities. I took a ton of pictures on the way including ones of myself in front of mud pools and sulphuric craters. Sometimes I think it’s funny to take pictures of myself holding the camera at arms’ length. It looks like I’ve superimposed my head on a background scene.

After the thermal reserve, I headed to the supermarket to pick up some food for the rest of the week. When I used to shop at home, I’d zip through at a rapid pace and throw things into my cart as I went. I somewhat enjoy shopping in foreign countries because all the products are so foreign and new to me; but I usually end up placing a ton of stuff in my cart because it intrigues me at the time only to leave it at the check-out saying “I’ve changed my mind.” The thing is, I probably stood in the aisle for at least 5 minutes reading the descriptions of each of the products and the nutritional information deciding which one to go with. In the future I have to overcome my urge to impulse buy. It’d make for a much more efficient shopping trip.

I have to say that I really dislike the other lodgers at my hostel, barring the German, Franz, surprisingly. There are these 3 girls and all they do is cook and eat – very loudly – all day long, and unfortunately my room is right across from the kitchen. I think I’ve only been in the kitchen once without them being there, and that was only because I was passing through to go downstairs. They woke me up yesterday morning with their chattering and pot banging. I tried to stay asleep but it went on for an hour – honestly, how long does it take to make breakfast? And can’t they take turns at least to cut down on the noise – do all 3 of them have to cook at the same time?

I decided to take a walk through town before dinner last night, seeing as I had just eaten my usual Special K and fruit lunch, but Rotorua was absolutely dead. There were a handful of teenagers skateboarding at the City Focus building, but otherwise there was hardly a soul around. I’m thinking there’s a lull at certain times and it will liven up at night. I hope so – if this is what it’s like on a Saturday night, I wonder what the rest of the week looks like.

I decided to have a drink at the Pig & Whistle and possibly some dinner. I thought it was odd that there were no seats at the bar so patrons had to constantly get up from their tables to get a drink, but I guess the bartenders don’t work off tips so they could care less about socializing with the customers and making sure their drinks are topped off. I’m sure they don’t care if there’s a single person in the place – they still get paid. As long as they keep busy wiping the bar, which they did constantly spraying cleaner in every direction, and straightening glasses, they’ve done their day’s work.

Last night I headed to the Lava Bar with Franz, a bar that’s attached to one f the backpacking establishments in town. It was like a typical college bar, just with an international clientele. As the bar started to get crowded, the customers started to get drunker, and I decided it was time to leave. I was tired of being knocked into by screaming 18 year-old girls, who are allowed to drink in New Zealand, racing toward the dance floor, so I made my exit.

I was woken up again this morning by the rattling in the kitchen, but thankfully I think this was the 3 girls’ last morning here. Even more annoying, I was woken up at 3:45 in the morning by a brawling couple who apparently had drank too much Midori and Sprite. It went on for hours with banging and screaming. Just when I thought things were calming down, I’d hear a chair being thrown against the kitchen table. I thought about venturing out of my room to break up the fight or at least plead with them to be quieter, but I didn’t want to get punched in the process. Besides my bed was so cozy and warm. And I only learned this morning that it was a couple. I had thought it was 2 men, in which case I really didn’t want to be in the middle. I found out from Theresa, the proprietor, this morning that they were in their mid-40’s. You’d think they’d learn to control themselves by that age, but I guess some people never do. I’m hoping tonight I can actually get a full night’s rest uninterrupted by brawling and banging.

Kia Ora

I arrived in Rotorua yesterday after a nice, scenic ride. I was glad to see, as I drove down the main road, that there was some life to the town, unlike Waitomo, which I liked but was a little too country for me. I found my hostel by chance after taking a few lefts and a right, and when I first saw it, I thought I had been scammed. From the road, it looked like an abandoned building and I started to list in my mind the hostels I had passed on my way in. However, when I went around back, I saw it was just undergoing some major renovations and was open and in full swing. The hostel is a big, sprawling mansion situated on Lake Rotorua. It features a grand staircase in the foyer, upstairs and downstairs wraparound porches, and an outside patio overlooking the lake. It reminds of a charming, long-forgotten southern estate house. The view from the upstairs porch is breathtaking – just sapphire blue water dotted with jutting green peninsulas. At 17US a night, this place was a steal. However, it seems as if not many know about this bargain with a beautiful view because I’m one of its only lodgers. No matter – I like the peace, the quiet, and the chance to roam around the place uninterrupted.

Last night I made a trip out to the Tamaki Maori Village. I signed up for the tour, which included access to the village, a Maori concert of traditional song and dance, and a hangi or feast, which is cooked underground and then served. It was all very interesting and involved, and after subsisting on Subway and Special K for the past week, I dug into the buffet feast with vigor. One of the highlights of the night was when my Australian tablemate called our English tablemate “backward” during the course of their beer discussion. I sat back in my chair and wondered what would happen next because the Englishman became all huffy after that comment. They continued to exchange quips until the Englishman pulled out the Australians-are-only-English-prisoners-anyway card, which ended the argument. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and the Australian took it in good stride. Mind you – these were 60 year-old men fighting.

Maori culture is such a big part of New Zealand, and until about 15-20 years ago it had been suppressed in the nation. The Maori people are only now beginning to reclaim their lands and their culture for themselves and share it with those willing to participate. Though touristy, the night was very informative and intimate, and I was happy to see and partake in an authentic representation of their culture.

This morning, while eating breakfast on the porch, I encountered a German staying at my hostel. I have to recant part of what I said about Germans, because he was super-friendly and even invited me out with him and some friends later on tonight. I guess they aren’t all bad after all.

I’m frustrated with the internet situation in New Zealand so far. I have been spending a fortune trying to connect. Yesterday, as I was driving through the town, I saw a Starbucks, and as they are known for their free wi-fi, I stopped in and asked about it. The employee nodded and smiled when I asked if they have free wi-fi as if it were a secret he wasn’t supposed to reveal. Anyhow, here I am in Starbucks and to my dismay the wi-fi is far from free. After trying to connect, I realized I’d have to buy an internet card like all the rest of the places, and I even bought a coffee first for 4NZD because I didn’t want to use their wi-fi without purchasing anything. I should complain to the Starbucks Corporation; they shouldn’t advertise free wi-fi if you have to pay 10NZD an hour to use it. I think they should reimburse my coffee as well because it was bought under false pretenses.

Just Like Home

On Wednesday, I made it to Waitomo after a 4-hour drive with a ½ hour mishap. Route 21 wasn’t marked on my map so I had to backtrack a little, but I made it nonetheless. The B&B I’m staying at is situated on an ostrich and calf farm and is really cozy. My hosts Ann and Ross are super friendly, offer free breakfast, and have coffee available at all hours so they are top-notch in my book.

One of the perks of staying at Big Bird, my B&B, is getting to watch the owners feed the calves. I didn’t want to say “no” when Ross asked if I’d like to watch so I obliged. As I was watching the animals suck milk from a teeted trough, Ross told me all about rearing cows and what happens to them after they leave the farm. He described how the cows are sent to a dairy farm and the bulls are eventually slaughtered because their meat makes for such tasty, flavorful burgers. All I thought during the entire tutorial was “Thank God for him I’m not a vegetarian, animal-activist or would he have gotten an earful.” Instead I just nodded along and then excused myself explaining that I wanted to get to town to find an internet café before they all closed for the day (though it was only 4pm at the time).

When I returned from my brief trek into town, I found Ross on the deck, probably waiting for me, and he startled me with a “G’day, Jennifer.” Inside I encountered their 3 lively grandchildren, the oldest of whom insisted on showing me the book of local brochures over and over again. Most people who know me know I’m not a big lover of children, but they were cute enough – for 10 minutes. After the seventh time, 4 year-old Macaula described the glowworm cave adventures I could partake in, I decided it was time for dinner – elsewhere. “You didn’t expect to be part of a family household, did you?” Ann inquired on my way out. You got that right, I thought.

The good thing about B&B’s is the home-ness factor (as I call it). They’re comfortable and make you feel as if you’re sitting in your own living room. The bad thing about B&B’s is also the home-ness factor. They’re suffocating and make you feel as if the price of sitting in your own faux living room is babysitting and letting them know when you’ll be expected back. I prefer to come and go as I please without having to answer the unasked questions on their expectant faces as I reach for the doorknob to leave. I decided, though hostels can be impersonal, I enjoy freedom to home-ness.

Yesterday was my big caving adventure, the Haggas Honking Holes. The trip wandered deep into the ground to the glowworm caves of Waitomo where we were underground for about 2 hours. I was able to abseil down into the caves, which was a first and definitely unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. The glowworms looked like little stars on the ceiling of the cave. I had a lot of fun doing it, though at times it was a little rough hoisting myself up rock walls in a wetsuit and boots filled with water. I had originally contemplated embarking on a much longer trip, but I’m glad that I didn’t – two hours in a smelly, clinging wetsuit was enough for me. Luckily there were only three of us on the trip with three guides so it was pretty fast moving. Tony, one of the guides, said they’d had 12 people earlier that morning and it took a long time to get everyone through. Because our group was so small, they also added a few extra climbs and whatnot. It was an overall very fun experience.


After I surfaced and took the most refreshing shower of my life, I set out in search of food. I tried two places right by the caves but they both stopped serving at 8 they told me, implying I should move on – it was 7:45pm. Who stops serving food at 8pm? That’s right in the middle of dinnertime, but not for Waitomo. Apparently they’re on the early bird schedule – their early dinner deals must be from 1-3 in the afternoon rather than from 4-6 like most everywhere else. So I ended up where I had dined the night before, the Thirsty Weta, which thankfully was still open and even had a late night menu. I ordered the vegetarian pizza, thinking I could get my recommended daily intake in, and it was quite good but not your run of the mill vegetable pizza. The Thirsty Weta’s version included vegetables like parsnip, carrots, and I think there might have even been sweet potato in there, instead of the usual mushroom, pepper, and onion. I probably would’ve eaten cardboard pizza at this point anyway so I savored the variety and devoured it entirely.

I ate breakfast with a grandmother and her 2 grandchildren from the Cook Islands this morning. Interestingly, they told me they had another sibling, a baby boy, but they gave him to their father's relations, as they put it. When I raised my eyebrows in surprise, the grandmother explained that it is a custom for one family to give another family, who has no children, their child. What? So let me put this in perspective. At the time Samantha was born, Aunt Joanne and Uncle Bob hadn't had Nick, so they could have asked for Samantha and we would have had to hand her over as if she were furniture or something. "Well we don't have a bed and you have three beds, so can we have your extra one?" Who the hell came up with that custom?

Ruminations on Cultural Differences

I’ve been meeting so many people so far from all over the world and here are the nationalities I’ve liked and gotten along with so far:
New Zealanders
Australians
Irish (obviously)
Austrians
Scottish
Welsh

Here are the nationalities I don’t particularly like:
Germans

I don’t know what it is about them that I don’t like (at least the ones I’ve met for I don’t want to make sweeping generalizations in part because I am German and have family members from Germany and because I’m not the sweeping generalization type), but something about them rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps it’s that smug look in their eye that makes you feel you have to explain yourself to their satisfaction or that I’m-better-than-you-and-you-should-be-eradicated-from-the-face-of-the-earth tone in their voice or maybe it’s because they stick together and speak German solely for the purpose of excluding everyone else when they’re perfectly capable of joining the English conversation happening two feet away. They are almost as bad as the French.

Most of this conclusion arose from a brief conversation I had with a German staying at the same hostel I was. As I spoke to him, he just stared at me as if wondering if I were worthy of an answer, not even nodding or anything. So I continued to talk and mentioned to him that I had been to the bone-carving studio that morning and would recommend it. “It’s very close, right next to the museum,” I added. His retort: “I don’t want to see museums, I want to see a nation.” Point taken. My thought: “Why? So you can figure out best how to take over the place? In that case, a bit of history might actual be useful.”

Beating the Rain

I took a walk down to the beach on Monday night and stood at the top of the dunes looking out over the calm, inky water of Mercury Bay. Though I could feel the chill penetrating my clothes, I was rooted to the spot in awe of the boundless beauty that lay before me. I was at total peace, enjoying the quiet sanctity of the beach. It was as comfortable as the silence that echoes between two true companions.

I went to the bone-carving studio yesterday morning to carve my own Maori necklace out of bone. It took me about 2 ½ hours, but was fun and very different. There was an array of Maori designs to choose from and I chose the fishhook. It symbolizes strength, authority, and leadership, and is part of a long Maori legend. It was an interesting activity that I would recommend to anyone if the opportunity ever arises.

Later on, when the weather started to get nice again, I decided to take a drive over to Cathedral Cove, a picturesque stretch of beach with a huge limestone arch. The beauty of Cathedral Cove was surreal. The sky and the bay seemed to melt into each other. My photos look like they’re pages torn from a “Most Scenic Landscapes” calendar. The weather in Whitianga is the most fickle I’ve ever seen, and as soon as I reached my car, it started to hail. It had been glaringly sunny just 5 minutes earlier. I should have expected it though. During my bone carving session that morning, it had poured then cleared five times over the course of 2 ½ hours. I’m lucky I got back to my car when I did and didn’t get stuck standing underneath the cove waiting for it to let up.

I stopped at a café on my way out of Hahei, where Cathedral Cove is located, to wait out the rain. I wanted to stop at Hot Water Beach that day as well so I was hoping the sun would show again soon. I had a quiche and a brownie at the café. The quiche, they had microwaved, and as most things that are microwaved, it was hot in some places and cold in others. The brownie was like most café desserts – it looked great in the case, but offered no appeal once on the plate or in my mouth for that matter. Just as I started on my brownie, the sun came out and I thought I might try to beat the rain to Hot Water Beach so I wrapped the rest in case I was in the mood for a dry, cakey brownie later on.

I made it to Hot Water Beach while the sun was still shining, and it was one of the strangest places I’ve ever seen. There were hordes of people on the beach digging massive, steaming holes in the sand and wading in the pools as if they were hot tubs. The water, which I wondered if it would actually be hot, was scalding and turned my feet an instant bright crimson when I stepped into a pool of it. I had brought my bathing suit, but the weather was too cold to expose anything but my feet and lower legs so I left it in the car. It seemed Hot Water Beach turned people to instant children. Full-grown adults were laying in the sandy water making water angels, one woman whom every time she dug a hole and put her foot in it guffawed with delight, the deep throaty laugh of a long-time smoker, and another man dug his hole so fast and intensely that he looked like a cartoon character in fast forward. If it were summer, or at least a little warmer, I probably would have joined the antics, but I stuck to my small pool of water. I wanted to stay longer but the rain had found me again, and I headed back to my hostel for the night.

Left-Side Driving to Resort Town

My first New Zealand road trip was a success. I made it to Whitianga and my hostel without getting lost. I’m fairly proud of myself considering the roads were less than stellar. I don’t think they could have added any more perilous curves and turns if they tried though. The road to Whitianga seemed to be cut into the side of a mountain and curved around like a roller coaster. It was my first experience driving on the left side of the road and though it’s strange at first, I got used to it pretty quickly. However, every time I went to signal I pushed down on the windshield wipers rather than the directional because it’s on the right side of the steering wheel rather than the left. I also always went to put on my seat belt by reaching to my left when the belt is on the right. Years of driving result in automatic motions when you get behind the wheel, no matter if the wheel is on the right or the left.

Driving on the left does skew your perception a bit though. When pulling into the gas station, I pulled too close to the pump and knocked the fuel handle off. Thankfully the gas attendant took pity on me and laughed rather than yelled. When I was leaving, he even assured me that he would be there to help me on my return down from Whitianga if I needed gas again. It was a strange comment, but nice just the same. I also came too close to a road cone and flipped my left-hand mirror in when I hit it. Thank God it didn’t break off.

When they gave me a sheet to look over the car this morning and mark any previous damage (so I won’t be liable upon returning the car), I should have just made random marks all over indicating scratches that I inevitably will put on the car in the future, but I had no such foresight. I guess I’ll just have to stop hitting things. I’ve only hit one thing in all my years of driving, and now I’ve hit two things in one day while driving in New Zealand. I’ll blame it on my left-hand driving inexperience, thank you very much.

After I settled in, I decided to go for some food in town. I tried Snapper Jack’s, as I was told they have great fish and chips, but when I got there, the doors were locked. I noticed the takeaway window was open so I went in to inquire about the restaurant. The counter lady informed me the restaurant had been open this morning, but was now closed because their cook had walked out on them. Interesting, I thought. She said they’d like to open, but can’t at the moment. But then another woman appeared from the back and said she’d open the restaurant for me. I don’t know if she was the cook, who had since returned during the strange conversation I had with the counter lady, or another employee who had a handle on the basics of the fryer. Either way, I was let into the restaurant and happily sat down to a meal of fish and chips, real authentic New Zealand fare. I yelled “Thank you” on my way out and I almost wanted to add “You can lock up the restaurant again,” but didn’t.

Whitianga is a bit strange. They exude that small town, anti-big-city mentality, which really just serves to mask their jealousy. I strolled back into town around 5pm in search of an internet café. I was one of about 7 people in the whole town. It was completely deserted at 5pm on a Monday – shops closed, café tables locked inside. No wonder they hate the big cities – they have all this time to sit in their houses and grumble over what they are missing.

Whitianga is a typical beach town, akin to Montauk or Cape Cod, and there certainly wasn’t anything else around to do except enjoy the beach, but even today the sky was overcast and the wind blew the chill from the water in my direction. I decided it would be best to lay low at my hostel tonight and plan pitches for magazine articles I plan to write.

Restaurant Gripes

I spent Saturday afternoon ambling around Parnell Village, a quaint little part of Auckland. I decided to hole up at a café for a little while and try a flat white in the hope of finding the sort of coffee I’d been looking for. At first glance, the drink set before me was a frothy concoction, and I swear I heard the waitress say “Latte?” as she put it down at my table, and for some reason, I had ordered a large. I have a habit of ordering a large even when I don’t know what it is that I’m ordering. I guess I just like torturing myself by ordering huge quantities of things I don’t like so I can acutely feel the financial loss every time I discard the item. I should just throw my money in the garbage. However, I was determined to drink the jumbo-size “non-coffee,” and once I got past the five inches of foam, which refused to dissipate even after several vigorous stirs, it wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t quite coffee, but it was decent enough. I think I’m giving up on finding coffee and from now on, I’ll just order whatever strikes me when I get to the espresso counter.

Soon after, I checked out the shops in the village and happened upon this small wool store where I bought a beautiful handmade wool scarf. The saleslady wasn’t sure if she could even sell it to me because it was marked “sample,” but she decided to throw caution to the wind and risk scolding by her boss and sold it to me anyway. I was pleased.

I worked up an appetite strolling around the village and stopped into an Italian restaurant. I’ve been craving pizza since I arrived and this place, La Porchetta, was the only one so far that billed itself as an Italian pizzeria as opposed to the Middle Eastern pizzerias scattered around called “Istanbul Pizza and Kebab” or something of the sort, which could have been very good but were somewhat off-putting. La Porchetta turned out to be very tasty and cheap.

I had planned nothing for today, but I didn’t really mind. Sometimes, though, when I’m not doing anything, I think I should find something to do. But then I think about when I was home and I did absolutely nothing most of the time. Why is it that when you’re in a foreign country, you feel you have to fill every minute with sightseeing or touring or some cultural activity? I consider sitting at a café, people watching, a form of cultural immersion so that’s what I decided to do. I spent half the day at Little Turkish Café, a small place on K Rd., where I had dined a few days ago. The food was great and they serve the best hummus I’ve ever tasted.

For dinner, I went to an Asian noodle restaurant. When the waitress handed me utensils, I noticed she had tucked a fork into the napkin along with chopsticks. I thought at first it was because I was the only Caucasian in the place, but then I just thought I was being reverse-racist and assumed they probably do that for everyone. But then I watched her put down place settings for the numerous Asians who walked in the door and not a one contained a fork. I laughed. If they feel the need to supply me with a fork at an Asian restaurant in New Zealand, imagine what they’ll give me when I’m in Southeast Asia – probably a ladle, for how else would I be able to get anything into my mouth they’ll think. I left the fork unused next to my finished dish of chicken curry and rice.

I booked a rental car to drive all over both islands, which I’ll pick up tomorrow and drive to Whitianga. I had originally planned to buy a car at the Backpacker’s Car Market, but after discussing the pros and cons of renting vs. buying with Phillipa, the hostel travel agent, I decided against buying. She made it abundantly clear that buying would surely result in financial loss and great, all-around risk. Tomorrow will be my first experience driving on the left side of the road. I hope I don’t forget to yield when making a right.

Ruminations on Auckland

Here are a few observations about Auckland that I find interesting:

1) When I got to the corner of Queen and Wellesley (I always somehow end up on Queen no matter where I intend to go), I heard the buzzer signaling it was safe to cross the street and to my amazement, for I had never seen anything like it, every person on all four corners crossed the street at once – diagonally. Who crosses diagonally? I laughed out loud at the oddity of the situation. If you crossed a street diagonally in New York City, a cab would undoubtedly flatten you in less than two seconds.

2) To tell you the truth, I didn’t realize how clean Auckland was until I saw a girl walking barefoot across the street – for what reason, I have no clue. I would never walk barefoot in New York City. God only knows what I’d step on. But there she was waddling along as if it were normal, and it dawned on me that there wasn’t a piece of litter in sight. Either Aucklanders are super-diligent about not letting a piece of trash slip from their fingers or they pay an awful lot on city sanitation. I’d have to go with the latter considering that in every café I’ve stopped in, the customers have left their trash on the tables for the employees to throw out. Didn’t their mothers teach them to clean up after themselves?

3) I can’t figure out New Zealand’s coffee situation for the life of me. The choices consist of long black, short black, flat white, etc. What does that mean, I couldn’t tell you. And I’ve asked six people so far what “normal” coffee is, and they’ve all given me different answers. I don’t think they understand my question; to them, it’s all coffee. I’ve tried all kinds of combos so far to see what tastes like coffee as I know it. I tried Dunkin Donuts, thinking it was a safe bet, because they’re known for coffee. That was a bad idea. Apparently the New Zealand branch of Dunkin Donuts only serves dressed-up water. I tried espresso poured into hot water with milk (Americano but not really American). I tried a short black with skim milk, which they put in the smallest cup ever and charged 3NZD for – it’s extortion, Starbucks’ style. I was told that what I’m actually looking for is a flat white. I’m hesitant to try it and spend yet another 3NZD on something I’ll eventually just throw out after 5 sips because it’s undrinkable. Maybe I’ll just have to wean myself off coffee for the remainder of my stay in New Zealand.

Out and About

The first day I spent walking all around Auckland. I walked to the Viaduct Harbor, over to the Sky Tower, the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, and up and down the streets of the city center. After I got back to the hostel, exhausted from my few-hours walk and calves burning from traversing the hills of Auckland, I decided to take a nap. That nap turned into a 12-hour comatose sleep and that was the end of day one.

On Thursday, I decided that I’d do some sightseeing. I caught the free shuttle to Kelly Tarlton’s Underwater World, where I saw penguins, sharks, stingrays, and hordes of interesting looking fish. After, I decided that I would check out the Auckland Art Gallery. Art galleries only half appeal to me. I like the idea of them, but most often boredom sets in really quickly. I took a lap around the gallery, which didn’t contain many impressive paintings (but what do I know), and it was back to the streets for me. I have to say that I'm able to navigate the city pretty easily for only being here a few days. I barely have to consult the map. Dad – you would be proud of me.

The highlight of Thursday was doing the Sky Jump off Sky Tower. It’s a 192m base wire jump off a building – I did it twice because the guide offered me a second jump for free. The first time I went down forward and the second time I did backward, which is a bit disconcerting because you fall backward off the platform without seeing where you’re falling. It was exhilarating but didn’t last as long as I would have liked. It was a good starting point for the rest of my extreme sport escapades.

Yesterday, I spent at Auckland Museum and Lionzone Breweries, which ended with a beer tasting. Carlo – you would have loved it. I met two girls from California who gave me some good tips on wine tasting in Napier/Hawkes Bay, a place farther along on my itinerary. I planned to go to Parnell Village also, but was so cold that I headed back to my hostel instead. I wasn’t planning on the weather being so frigid and it’s only going to get colder as I travel south.

After I grabbed a jacket, I walked to K Rd., one of the main thoroughfares, to grab something to eat. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast at 8 that morning, which is probably why I was slightly buzzed off two small half-pints of beer at the brewery. It seems so far that food is the first thing to go – I eat more as an afterthought or out of necessity, rather than out of wanting to enjoy the experience. I should probably try to sample the local cuisine more, but it’s a bit intimidating. I haven’t encountered a single restaurant with actual waiters yet. They all seem to be self-serve cafes or places you order and seat yourself, which half the time leaves me standing in the doorway trying to figure out the menu while the employees wonder what I’m doing. I’m hoping to explore K Rd. more today. There are tons of boutiques, shops, and vintage stores – not that I need any more clothes or anything.

Last night, I went out to Globe Bar with a few people I met while doing the Sky Jump. It was actually a lot of fun, not much different from bars/clubs in New York. The music I have to say was great. Sheryl – they played Madonna’s Like a Prayer, which reminds of me of that time at Pi Lam. I had a great time and was happy that I got to see Auckland at night, since the previous few nights I’ve been passing out at 7pm out of exhaustion.

I Have Arrived

I've finally landed in Auckland after an arduous flight in which I lost an entire day. I can't say that I lived through October 3rd, 2006 because I didn't. I skipped right to October 4th. Anyhow the flight from NY to Tahiti was rough to say the least. I sat next to a smelly frenchman whose hair hung down to his waist. Everytime he turned his head, it tickled my skin and not in a good way. I hate feeling my own loose strands attached to other parts of my body, nevermind someone else's. I didn't sleep much during the first 12-hour flight because my mind was racing with anticipation. Thankfully, I slept the majority of the 6-hour connecting flight from Tahiti to Auckland and arrived here around 7 am this morning.

After lugging my ridiculously heavy bags uphill to my hostel to check in, I settled in to my small but comfortable room, and set out to find an internet connection. After repeated attempts at various internet cafes and emailing anyone who has a clue about internet connections (I had to use the cafe's computer), I gave up and came back to my hostel, where to my delight I found I could purchase a wi-fi card right at my hostel, albeit for a ridiculous 10 dollars for 2 hours, but I have no other options. Anyhow, now I'm sitting in the hostel lobby typing away at my blog when I probably should be out exploring the city of Auckland and all it has to offer. I reason that I hadn't counted today as an actual day of sightseeing anyhow so I'll probably just lounge around and acclimate myself to my new surroundings. From what I've seen, which wasn't much from the cab, Auckland looks a little like an upscale Chinatown. I'll have to investigate some more today and tomorrow and get back to you on that one.

By the way, the luggage I brought was the absolute worst idea in the history of travel. Not only did I have to take out half of my stuff at the airport and transfer it to another bag because I was way over the alloted weight, but the other bag (after unwrapping the shrink wrap) ballooned to the size of a small car. I could have fit 6 bodies in that bag, which also didn't make it very easy to carry. But I made it, as I'm sure I always will. I just have to chuck both bags and purchase smaller, more manageable totes. Hindsight is such a beautiful thing.

Anyhow I'm starving. I've barely eaten since my airplane crepe breakfast, so I'm done for now. I'll probably pay another ridiculous sum of money tomorrow to update you all on my (mis)travels thus far. Hope everyone is doing well. Stay tuned...