Hiatus

Sorry about the long gap between posts, but I had a brief hiatus on the West Coast (of the US!), and didn’t seem to get around to writing anything. But now that I am in the Cayman Islands with nothing to do but sit on the beach and get sunburned with two of my teacher friends from home, I think I probably can find the time to jot something down.

I arrived in San Francisco after about 30 hours of traveling (ugh) and was met at the airport by a friend of mine from college (same friend I called when I had my little meltdown in the town square in Christchurch, so I was happy to thank him in person, as well as to show him that I came through all right). I managed not to fall asleep in the subway, so was coherent enough to appreciate when he said to me, “You’ll like this…” and pulled a dead bird out of his backpack. (No, nothing to worry about there—I don’t think. He’s just a bit of a bird nerd. So you never really want to go diving into his freezer in search of ice cream. Of course that could just be his ploy to keep the ice cream all to himself.) Although he was pretty busy with school work, he managed to find some time to hang out with me. (And when he couldn’t, he distracted me with a large pile of saved NYTimes puzzles.) He’s pretty calm and quiet, so let my stories pour forth as I saw fit. Luckily (I guess), he doesn’t read my blog, so all of my stories were new to him.

After just two days with him I headed back to the airport to go up to Portland, Oregon , to meet my mom and see some other friends. When I checked in at the San Francisco Airport, I saw that the gate assigned on my boarding pass was different from the one on the board (but only by one). I headed to gate 48, and there was the flight to Portland. Out of curiosity, I checked to see where the plane at gate 49 was headed. Saint Louis. I smiled, and checked my ticket to make sure that I was indeed heading to Portland.

While standing outside of security in the Portland Airport awaiting the arrival of my mother, I was surprised at how unexcited I felt. It’s not that I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my mom, I just wasn’t as giddy as I’d expected. Mind you, it could have been that I had absolutely no feelings whatsoever at that time, for jetlag was seriously kicking my butt, which really hasn’t ever happened to me before. I wasn’t managing to fall asleep until 2 am, and then my friend and his housemate were both up and functioning (and therefore I was as well) by 7 am. Ugh. But when my mother did appear, we both got a little teary-eyed, so I knew that all was well in my world.

We had a nice few days up there (COLD! I haven’t been in cold weather since England in October. But mom had brought me jeans), although I did try to get in on the wrong side of the car a number of times. On Sunday I went back to the airport (another flight… sigh) and flew back to San Francisco for a couple more days with my friend. Getting on the plane (Alaska Airways) in Portland, I had to walk out onto the tarmac… in the hail. I gave the guy ahead of me a good long headstart to get up the ramp into the plane, but I still was way faster than him and was standing in the rain and hail trying to protect my head with the Sunday Times (but not the magazine… that was safely tucked away from the elements so that the puzzle would be undisturbed). Once on the plane, I heard the guy behind me say “Let me try to get this hail out of my ear.”

Two more days of calm and quiet in San Francisco, and then I was back on the road. It was nice to be home (of sorts), I think, but it was a bit weird. My packing system was all thrown off. My sleep was a mess. And I constantly was confused as to where I was. (That has, surprisingly, only happened ONCE thus far, until now.)

And I did have many times where I wondered about the fact that I had thrown myself off the merry-go-round of life, and whether I would actually be able to get back on. Has my job gone by, and do I care? Do my friends still remember and need me? It may seem silly, but it’s true. But seeing my friend in SF, and getting to talk to friends on the phone whom I haven’t spoken to in months really helped allay my fears. I think it will be all right. And even if I can’t get back on the merry-go-round of my former life, I think that will be okay.

But I’ll deal with that all later. Now I think there’s a bottle of wine being opened by DeAnn and Claire (it’s 4:15, and I am colada behind them)…

random

The problem with having a blog that people actually read is that when I see my friends again, I'll have nothing to say!

The Longest Day

March 9, 2009 was the longest day of my life. Literally. It went on for 48 hours because I crossed the international date line. 30 of those 48 hours were spent in transit from Auckland to San Francisco (via Fiji and Los Angeles). I thought it would be the day from hell, but it turned out to be the best day of my trip thus far.

On the first flight from Auckland to Fiji I was seated next to a very friendly, interesting, not-hard-to-look at guy just a few years older than I, who has spent the last 3 months traveling through New Zealand. We chatted away and had lots in common, so that plane ride went by in a flash. He was making the connection to LA as well, so the whodunnit that I'd bought for the 6 hour layover looked like it might not get read.

When we got off the plane, we were hit by a wall of heat and humidity. The thought of six hours in a transit lounge again became unappealing, so when the airport people said we all needed to go through customs and then check in again (because the layover was just a tiny bit more than six hours), I didn't mind too much. I was looking forward to getting a Fiji stamp in my passport, and I thought I might escape for a while and see what I could see of the town or island. (The handsome man on my plane was right behind me in the customs line, but an airport guy came and said that we could actually check in, so he must have wandered off with the rest of the people after I went through.) So I changed my remaining $25 NZ to $22 Fiji, and went out to find a taxi. I told the taxi driver I had $20 and loads of time, and to please show me what he could show me until the money ran out. He seemed somewhat reluctant (I think $20 probably would have gotten me to the town of Nadi and back, but I didn't care), but agreed.

I introduced myself to the driver, Vinod, and we headed off. He suggested that if I had a bit more money, he could show me some really beautiful places. Nope, $20 was all I had to spend. I asked him various questions about Fiji and the town and we chatted. He drove me by a Hindu temple (he, like 35% of the Fijian population, is Indian) and asked if I had a camera. I duly took a photo of this colorful temple, so not to offend. He drove me through town, telling me that it was a public holiday (Mohammed's birthday, so there's another religion. I saw a church as well somewhere along the lines). Then he drove me into a little residential street, honked the horn in front of a somewhat ramshackle house and gate, and asked if I wanted to come to his home. Ummmm, okay.

So I got to meet Vinod's wife, Asha, 15 year old daughter, Arusha, and 20 year old son (whose name I promptly forgot, but it means rain). They gave me a cup of tea, and I shared the remains of my wasabi peas and half a candy bar which I had in my little pac. After half an hour or so, Vinod said he needed to get back to work, but I would stay with his family and they would make me dinner. Ummmm, okay.

I went outside with the son to get some leaves for dinner. No, we didn't go to a little garden plot and pick some spinach. He got a big knife (think machete), chopped down a large branch off of a tree (I kept asking if it was a tamarind, but everyone said no, even though it really looked like one to me), and picked off the little leafy branches. Asha cleaned the branches (smacking them a few times against her hand to shake off the bugs, I assume), then chopped up the leaves. Meanwhile the son cracked a coconut and shredded the meat.

When it was all said and done, that became a delicious something, which was served along with rice, roti with dal, some breadfruit curry, dal soup, and a dish made with potatoes and something I hadn't heard of. It was all amazingly delicious. And there I was, a random stranger sitting in their living room, having this Indian feast.

Vinod came home about 8 and the whole family, including the upstairs neighbor and her two young kids, piled in the car and drove me back to the airport. They asked if I would be coming back to Fiji some day. ABSOLUTELY!!!!! As I checked in again, and all the way into the transit lounge where I found the handsome man again, I had a huge grin on my face. What a wonderfully serendipitous day.

If you ever land in Nadi, Fiji, I highly recommend the taxis.....

Lake Taupo

The mice and rats in Taupo eventually did all arrange themselves as they were supposed to, if a bit late. I had just booked myself into a youth hostel, made my bed, chatted with two German girls I'd be sharing with, and was heading into town, when my phone finally rang. My hostess's phone was again working and she's just gotten my pleading email with my phone number.

So I headed back to the hostel, folded up the sheet on the bed, and (quite luckily) got my money back. I did see the two German girls and I thought about explaining that I was going to stay with a local, but I thought it would be more fun for them to postulate on what had happened to me.

I sat out front, wondering what sort of car my hostess would arrive in. At first I thought it would be a sedate little grandma-like car, like my two previous hostesses (this woman, as with the previous two, had been a student of my aunt's 53 years ago). But then I thought how my aunt had said that one of the pleasures of staying with this woman would be to have your bath in the garden, so I decided she might have a bit more of a clunker. Perhaps a beat up old station wagon. Datsun or Subaru. Lo and behold, about 10 minutes later an aged Subaru (which she pronounced su-BAH-ru) station wagon pulled up, and I gave myself a little pat on the back.

I was taken out to the house, which was amazing. It reminded me of an Italian villa, but then, as I was reading The House of the Spirits which is set in South America, I decided it was actually more Spanish. There was a central courtyard, bits and pieces of sculpture all over, and an absolutely amazing garden full of exotic trees. I went for a little wander through the garden, and was amazed (and sometimes startled) by all the sculpture around (the large copper leopard in the tall grass made me jump). I did some mental planning of what I want when I grow up and have a house of my own. (I typed "hose" the first time. Much more likely.) And yes, there was a bath in the yard. It was a hot-spring fed tiled pool, surrounded by bushes and ferns. Oh yes, I did my fair share of late-night, under the stars, skinny dipping, as well as some not-too-early morning dipping.

WAY better than any hostel!

As happens sometimes, I was not the only visitor to the house. My hostess's Kiwi goddaughter was arriving with her American husband and kids. It turns out that they live not half an hour from where I spend my summers. As he was my age, we started playing the name game. I began with all the people I knew growing up, but that got us nowhere. As he is a cabinet-maker, I went into the carpenters I know. My farmer-boss doubled as a carpenter, but this guy didn't know him. He did know another farmer though, so he tried out her name on me. I knew OF her, but didn't know her. Then I started listing off the names of farmers that I knew. (I spent 13 summers working on a little organic farm in coastal NH, so I knew a couple.) We had lots of luck on that front. He had been good friends with one of the farmers who lived in my house for quite a few years. He said to me, "You don't live in that farm house near the horses that lots of people rent out?" Yes, I was half way around the world, and I met a man who had been in my house. (Then again, who HASN'T?)

One day my hostess decided to take me down to the Hawkes Bay region to see Napier, an Art Deco town (it was destroyed in an earthquake in the 30s, so was completely rebuilt in the Art Deco style. Alas a lot of that has been pulled down to make way for more modern--read "ugly"-- construction) and go to a couple of wineries. Out of the garage she drove her 1962 Cadillac. I was excited to get in the right side of the car again, but was a bit dismayed to see that there was a leopard-print cloth covering the whole front seat, so none of the three of us (who were sitting abreast without touching, the car was so big) had seat belts. It's not like the roads in NZ are only two lanes, hilly, and windy or anything.

The woman was a bit of a nut, but enjoyable, and treated me like the little queen that I know I am (or would like to become), so I had a lovely stay there.

Random Kiwi thoughts, part 1

Random thoughts and observations from New Zealand, of which I have plenty, so I'll probably do this in two goes.

No, I have seen no Kiwi (birds), although I did hear one one evening (they are nocturnal). Yes, I have eaten Kiwi (fruit), which actually comes from China. I've even had a golden kiwi.

Every single Kiwi (person) feels that it is their responsibility to give you a little history of the area/country. Given how many different Kiwis I've met, I feel that I might be able to recite the Treaty of Waitangi (the agreement between the Maoris and Europeans in 1840).

When Aussies and Kiwis talk about "the bush" they really just mean the woods. Let's for a moment imagine that Robert Frost was from Down Under. "Whose bush this is I think I know..."

In small NZ towns, one shop will act as the post office, information center, local museum, gift shop, Internet center, and, if you're lucky, cafe and general store as well.

At a restaurant the other day I heard, in succession, I Will Survive, Lady (by Lionel Richie), and The Gambler. Flash back to elementary school and a sing-along-o-rama!

New Zealand money is actually printed in Australia.

I misread "AERO CLUB" as "AFRO CLUB". Common mistake, I'm sure. (I actually saw a couple people of African descent the other day. Not a lot of African blacks here, although the Maori refer to themselves as blacks.)

I still don't know about the water flushing down the toilet in reverse, but I can tell you that the hot and cold taps are often reversed. But not always. Someone please explain that to me.

Maybe they have this in new buildings at home (which I have apparently not been in), but I was surprised the other day when I went to get on an elevator, and instead of pushing an up or down call button, you pushed the number of the floor. Once inside the elevator, there were no numbers. (Yes, it was confusing to me.)

I saw a guy throwing bread to the pigeons.... but he was throwing it into the street. Trying to keep the bird population down?

The Wellington Museum tells the history of the city, and the first exhibit is a little replica of the old wharves, complete with rat scurrying along the bags of grain.

I saw four women walking down a pedestrian mall in Wellington (a couple older women, a younger one whose face was painted like a vampire) carrying a bathtub. (Not clawfoot.)

From a distance, alpaca look like giant roosters. Shorn alpaca look like giant poodles. (Not sure what I'd eaten or drunk that day....)

There are no superhighways here. In and out of the really big cities you might get two or three lanes, but in between cities and towns, the roads are two lanes-- one in each direction-- and many of the bridges are only one lane. So when looking at distances, don't think you'll be doing 60mph (or even kph!).

I saw a guy at a restaurant in Christchurch shooing away the gulls with a Super Soaker.

In the Cantebury Museum they have the Paua Shell House. This is the reconstructed living room of Fred and Myrtle Somebody. The display started with a little video. I was a bit worried when the door to the screening room closed with an ominous click. Had we just been locked in so we couldn't escape the movie about NZ kitsch?

On the way to Queenstown the bus was driving alongside a creek. I saw someone all togged up in scuba gear standing in it.

Have you noticed road signs with lots of little dents in them? I always assumed it was kids shooting the signs with BB guns or something. I saw one down here which had a hole the size of a golf ball blown through it. No idea what made that.

I didn't get to go to the Hokitika Sock Machine Museum. Bummer.

I officially turned into my grandmother when I wrapped up my extra bun-- and the free butter-- and put it into my bag for later.

They talk about pies here a lot, but theirs are made of possum, rabbit, deer, venison, goat...

I saw a sign that said "Sandflies arrive on mass."

Old bathtubs are scattered throughout fields here as drinking troughs for the animals. Where do the farmers get so many old tubs from?

Dogs like to eat crap (literally) sometimes. Dogs like to rub their muzzles against your leg sometimes. Sometimes dogs leave crap on your leg.

I was drinking water that tasted a bit funny. I asked my hostess if she'd put some herb in it (sage?). No, just lemon. A few minutes later I did see a leaf in my glass. No, wait, those are wings. And the legs are floating over here...

In Tauranga, I stayed at a house around the corner from the oldest Kiwi vines in NZ.

The people over here don't wear shoes much either. One day my barefoot host took me to a cafe, a Target-like store, the grocery... Apparently these people missed the day in biology class where they talked about all the diseases and worms that you could get through your feet. (I'm not usually one to worry about hygiene, but that always stayed with me.)

That's it for now. More later.

School Visit

To pretend that my year of playing has some professionalism to it, and to remind myself what classrooms look like, I've tried to visit schools in the countries I've been in. Today I had two quick tours of some West Auckland public elementary schools. It was Friday afternoon when I visited the schools, so I didn't expect to see a whole lot of serious teaching or learning going on, but that's fine with. One can get a pretty good idea of a school just by looking at the walls.

At the first school the main impression that I got was that the staff was ridiculously young. I like to pretend that I am still one of the young teachers, but in reality I've moved into the older bracket. Such is life. But at this school I didn't see anyone who looked over 30, and I don't think it is just that Kiwis age well. It made me wonder about teacher turnover. (Which at times is non-existent at my school. They know a good thing when they see it!)

The second school, which has a huge emphasis on technology so there were a dozen computers and laptops in every room, is only 7 years old, in a new building that has water issues. Serious water issues... like many of the classrooms had huge poles in the middle of them supporting the ceiling so it wouldn't collapse. Bummer! I noticed that the dress code at that school was pretty lax. More lax than my school used to be before Dress Code Drucilla came into existence. One guy (a sub) was wearing a black t-shirt and shorts, a camo hat, and had a mohawk/mullet hairdo peeking out from underneath. Wow. That's about all I could say. Wow.

I was chatting with the deputy principal and asking various questions. I asked about how often the teacher teams got to meet. (At my school we are required to have one team meeting a week, but on my team it was more like two or three formal ones, and myriad informal ones.) The woman proudly said that the teams had one whole day per TERM that the teachers had to meet and plan, and then pointed to the staff room behind me as an example. In it were four teachers, all sitting at separate tables, all working independently on their laptops. Good teaming! (I am hoping that the one day per term that they had to meet was just when they were released from class for the day, and not the ONLY time that these teachers met.)

It was fun to visit the schools though, to remind myself that there is a reason that people from all over the world visited our school.

Vagabond Days

Ah, the best laid plans of mice and rats...

Traveling around the North Island was supposed to be easy breezy, being passed from person to person. Alas those people have lives and schedules and aren't on holiday as well!

After a nice (albeit a bit wet-- 4 inches of rain on Saturday!) weekend with some lovely people in Tauranga, I was dropped in town this morning at 7am. (I am NOT a morning person.) No onward bus yet booked, and not able to reach the person I am hoping to stay with this evening in Taupo, I went to Starbucks to pass the time. I don't make a habit of going to Starbucks, but not much else was open at that hour, especially where I could settle in and read my book for an hour and a half.

The bus is now booked for Taupo, but I still haven't been able to talk to the woman in Taupo, so she has no idea that I'm coming. Last I spoke to her, a week ago, I had said that I didn't think I'd be able to make it down there, but would let her know if I could. The day after that call she left town for a week and I found that my hiking trip up north was canceled, so I could stay come visit. Considering how many times during the call she said I sounded beautiful, I am assuming I will be welcomed. That is if she got the email or phone message I left.

Adventures in traveling. It wouldn't be so bad wandering around homelessly if I didn't have this huge pack on my back and looked like a vagabond. (I can't wait to get to the States next week, however briefly, so I can get rid of a bunch of stuff and not walk doubled over. I've tried changing my posture so that I walk a bit more erectly, and work on my abs at the same time, for my six pack has been diminished to about two.)