When I was staying in New Plymouth with one of my aunt's former students (or the sister thereof), I was told that I am on a "pass the parcel" tour. I would be the parcel, being shipped from person to person. With one sister in New Plymouth (which supposedly has a beautiful Fuji-esque volcano near it, but I sure didn't see it with all the clouds), a night at a hostel in Waitomo Caves (where I got to see glowworms galore, which were pretty cool), another sister in Hamilton, and she dropped me off today with the brother of one of the parents from the school where I teach. Taught. I wish I could say that I had a lovely collection of stamps on my forehead (or my backpack) from all the passing of the parcel, but alas not. The only thing you might be able to see is the result of all the meals I've been fed. (THREE a day! I don't eat that at home.)
New Plymouth, despite the fact that the mountain was hiding, was lovely. We went for a walk through the lush city park one day, and the next day we headed out of town a bit to the Rhododendron gardens. I do like plants and walking, so I was quite happy.
The Waitomo Caves experience threatened to be pretty beastly at first. It was one of those days where I awoke with a black cloud hovering over my head, and things didn't seem to be going my way all day. The bus dropped me off miles from anywhere. The cafe where I was told I could call for a pick-up was closed. The hostel that I'd booked at was no longer a YHA, so I got no discount. The kitchen of the hostel didn't even have glasses in it. (You had to put down a $10 deposit for cutlery. Bugger that, I have a water bottle.) But the next day I awoke, and, despite the fact that it was absolutely peeing with rain outside, the black cloud had disappeared and all was well. I walked down to the glowworm cave, handed over ridiculous amounts of money for a 45 minute tour of the cave (the only way you could get in), and I got to experience the magical place. (Glowworms are the larva of some fly, which glow to dupe other bugs--quite possibly their cousins-- into flying into their snares and eaten.) The glowworm cavern was like looking at the stars in the sky from a Phantom-of-the-Opera type boat ride. Loved it!
I am now in Hamilton, the fourth largest city in NZ. It's not an overwhelmingly exciting city, but that's okay. Probably like visiting Des Moines. It has it's charm if you look for it. (No, I've not been to Des Moines. Or Iowa. Too many republicans there. (That's for you, Eric.)) There's a river I may go wander along, and this evening I'll be going to see The Taming of the Shrew in the park. Again. I saw it with my hostess last night, but the parcel has been passed today and my new hosts have that on their agenda for tonight, so I told a little fib and said No, I'd not been to anything at the festival, and off we will go. Unless it rains. Although today looks like the first day that it is NOT going to rain! Of course.
Tomorrow I get passed along again to points East.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
It Isn't Easy Being Green
After all the brainwashing that I have tried to do to my students over the years about recycling and being environmentally conscious, after walking or riding to work for 10 years (many days, not all), after volunteering for environmental organizations, I have seriously fallen off the wagon this year, and my carbon footprint is about as bad as it can get. In a 10 day period I will be on 8 different flights. Add four more days, and then it is 10 flights.
Good lord, I am never going to want to see another airplane or airport again!
Good lord, I am never going to want to see another airplane or airport again!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wellington
In this year of staying with random contacts, I find that I win some and I lose some. In Wellington, I was supposed to stay with a friend of my aunt, who is a renowned NZ actress (the friend, not my aunt, although she's pretty cool too). After receiving an initial email from this Dame (in the OBE sense, not the Bogart sense) in October saying she looked forward to welcoming me, I got no further responses from her. So I figured that my Wellington experience, which had promised to be a winner, might turn into a loser.
Luckily, not too long ago, a family friend from home said that one of her old college friends lived in Wellington, so I sent off a quick email, and invited myself there. Like all Kiwis (that I have experienced), these people said they would be delighted to have me.
Let me tell you, these few days were seriously in the "I win" column. I was a bit disgruntled initially that they told me to get taxi from the ferry (are there no buses?). I had to shell out $25, and we couldn't even find the house. Her directions gave me the street number of the house opposite, but not theirs. It turns out that the block of flats that we kept driving by in the taxi was actually their house. The first thing I noticed (once out of the rain and inside) was that they had an amazing art collection to go along with their amazing house. The second thing I noticed was that my host (probably about 60) was really, really interesting. I loved that the 30 year old daughter lived in a flat in the basement with her husband, and the 23 year old son was coming in and out. It felt just like home.
In talking with him, Ian, the father, would mention things like, "When I was the head of TV NZ... When I ran the NZ division for Expo 92..." I nodded and smiled and listened to the interesting stories. But on my final day there, when I noticed all of the large framed political cartoons featuring my host, I finally asked him, "Who ARE you???" He said he had thought about it, and that he was NZ's version of Ted Koppel. That would have explained the photographs of him shaking hands with Nelson Mandela and Prince Charles (not at the same time). Huh, go figure. And here I am imposing myself upon them. (No, I'm not going to give out their contact information, for I'm going to keep it all to myself so I can invite myself there again and again!) I had just as much fun with them in Wellington as I had with the lovely little old lady in Sydney! (But they had a puppy to boot, so maybe they win.)
Wellington itself was great. A very liveable city, if a bit steep. (That would be putting it mildly. My calves actually became numb one day walking up the hill to their house.) I had a nice wander around the city for a few days, once getting a bit lost and ending up actually standing in front of the American Embassy, where I was quickly met by a guard who hastened to guide me on my way... away. (Stupid paranoid Americans. The other embassies had no guards running out to meet me as I passed, and Cuba even had their gate standing wide open!)
I went to various museums, including Te Papa, which is their national museum. One of the exhibits was a set of videos of New Zealanders talking about their favorite places. There was one Maori (which is pronounced kind of like 'moldy' here) who talked about his 'fakapapa'. (I eventually found the word written, "whakapapa"-- but remember the /wh/ sounds like /f/-- and it means 'genealogy' or 'family story'.) In the movie, someone said, "When he whakapapas..." I spent the rest of the afternoon (and actually many successive days) saying to myself "fakapapa", for it is just so much fun to say, especially quickly as they do. (If you are feeling blue sometime after I get home, give me a call, and I will just say the word to you a few times, and I'm sure we'll both feel much better.)
I was very sorry to leave Wellington, but I figured if I didn't force myself to leave, I might not ever do so, and I would turn into one of the house guests my family has had who was meant to stay for three weeks and stayed for two months, 8 months, and in one case, about 7 years! (If you haven't seen the film "You Can't Take It With You", you should. I'm pretty sure it is written about my family. I'm the one in the tutu.)
Luckily, not too long ago, a family friend from home said that one of her old college friends lived in Wellington, so I sent off a quick email, and invited myself there. Like all Kiwis (that I have experienced), these people said they would be delighted to have me.
Let me tell you, these few days were seriously in the "I win" column. I was a bit disgruntled initially that they told me to get taxi from the ferry (are there no buses?). I had to shell out $25, and we couldn't even find the house. Her directions gave me the street number of the house opposite, but not theirs. It turns out that the block of flats that we kept driving by in the taxi was actually their house. The first thing I noticed (once out of the rain and inside) was that they had an amazing art collection to go along with their amazing house. The second thing I noticed was that my host (probably about 60) was really, really interesting. I loved that the 30 year old daughter lived in a flat in the basement with her husband, and the 23 year old son was coming in and out. It felt just like home.
In talking with him, Ian, the father, would mention things like, "When I was the head of TV NZ... When I ran the NZ division for Expo 92..." I nodded and smiled and listened to the interesting stories. But on my final day there, when I noticed all of the large framed political cartoons featuring my host, I finally asked him, "Who ARE you???" He said he had thought about it, and that he was NZ's version of Ted Koppel. That would have explained the photographs of him shaking hands with Nelson Mandela and Prince Charles (not at the same time). Huh, go figure. And here I am imposing myself upon them. (No, I'm not going to give out their contact information, for I'm going to keep it all to myself so I can invite myself there again and again!) I had just as much fun with them in Wellington as I had with the lovely little old lady in Sydney! (But they had a puppy to boot, so maybe they win.)
Wellington itself was great. A very liveable city, if a bit steep. (That would be putting it mildly. My calves actually became numb one day walking up the hill to their house.) I had a nice wander around the city for a few days, once getting a bit lost and ending up actually standing in front of the American Embassy, where I was quickly met by a guard who hastened to guide me on my way... away. (Stupid paranoid Americans. The other embassies had no guards running out to meet me as I passed, and Cuba even had their gate standing wide open!)
I went to various museums, including Te Papa, which is their national museum. One of the exhibits was a set of videos of New Zealanders talking about their favorite places. There was one Maori (which is pronounced kind of like 'moldy' here) who talked about his 'fakapapa'. (I eventually found the word written, "whakapapa"-- but remember the /wh/ sounds like /f/-- and it means 'genealogy' or 'family story'.) In the movie, someone said, "When he whakapapas..." I spent the rest of the afternoon (and actually many successive days) saying to myself "fakapapa", for it is just so much fun to say, especially quickly as they do. (If you are feeling blue sometime after I get home, give me a call, and I will just say the word to you a few times, and I'm sure we'll both feel much better.)
I was very sorry to leave Wellington, but I figured if I didn't force myself to leave, I might not ever do so, and I would turn into one of the house guests my family has had who was meant to stay for three weeks and stayed for two months, 8 months, and in one case, about 7 years! (If you haven't seen the film "You Can't Take It With You", you should. I'm pretty sure it is written about my family. I'm the one in the tutu.)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
pix up
I have managed to get pictures up--and even a little video-- for The Best Place in the World if you want to go back and check it out. But for some reason the video whacked out the spacing, and when I go back to correct it, it seems to take about 45 minutes to think about processing, so you're on your own for the moment in deciphering where paragraphs should begin and end. Sorry!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Kayaking
Over the weekend I spent three days kayaking on the Tasman Sea in the Abel Tasman Park, at the top of the South Island. At some point during the three days (okay, many times during the three days), I thought that maybe it was a good thing that my two week Outward Bound sea kayaking trip in Costa Rica was canceled.
The day we headed out was a bit blustery. The eight of us were taken in a water taxi (translation: speed boat with all of our kayaks strapped to the back) about an hour up the coast. I apparently had gotten into the booby seat, for everyone else was sitting under a plastic cover, and I was getting thoroughly sprayed as we crashed over every wave. So before we even got into our kayaks, I was soaked. Nothing I could do but laugh, knowing that they would be just as wet as I soon.
We were all in double kayaks, I paired with a retired gentleman (of course) from Sacramento. I was not sure about the fact that he had control of the rudder, and I could do nothing but paddle (which I did, often attempting to steer us as he had us zig-zagging around the sea). (I became quite worried about my partner at camp that evening when he, sounding surprised, said he had met a New Zealander who did NOT like George W. Bush. Wait, you found only one?? Apparently I was saddled with a conservative. Luckily we were too busy wrestling with the elements to be able to talk much.)
We paddled about in a lagoon at first, getting used to the boats, and then headed out through the breaking waves into the high seas and headwind. I don't know if it was raining or not, because there was so much spray. I asked the guide how high these big swells were that we were in, and she estimated, "Um, one and a half or two." That would be meters. Yes, I was out there in a kayak (sitting about two feet out of the water) in seven foot swells. It actually wasn't scary or bad... until about an hour later when it was slightly less rough but still very wavy, and we were going up and down, up and down, up and down. After about three minutes of deep breathing I decided it wasn't worth it to try to fight it off, and I turned to my partner and said "There's a good chance I'm going to be sick in a minute." And I was.
I've only thrown up twice since I was a kid. Once was the one and only evening when I was drunk (four Bloody Marys and a Jaegermeister and Coke-- followed by 12 hours of being ill and swearing that I would NEVER get drunk again, and I haven't, much to the chagrin of many friends over the years. But they always have a designated driver!), and once on a whale watching trip. Apparently I am prone to sea sickness. But, I am happy to say that after I divested myself of my lunch, I felt much better, and got right back to paddling. (I just wish I had brought some Tic Tacs with me!)
Eventually we made it into camp (I'm sure the guide was way more relieved than we were). After putting on all the dry clothes I had (I got to use that long underwear that didn't get used on the Milford Track), I got about the task of setting up my tent. One of the guys on the trip, a self-professed former Boy Scout from England, offered to help me with my tent ("Because it is so much easier and more fun with two," as my grandmother would always say when asking me to help her make beds). Needless to say, it took twice as long to get my tent set up as if I'd done it on my own, and it looked ridiculous. Stupid Boy Scouts.
On the second day the headwind had died down a bit, it was just cloudy rather than rainy, and the swells were only about two feet. And I took the offered Dramamine. Much better. Plus, I got to be in charge of the rudder. Alas, that meant that I had no one to blame but myself as we zig-zagged across the ocean. (I decided that I would rather have a scape goat than control.) The problem was that every time I put my paddle in, I would push down on that foot. Right paddle, right foot. Left paddle, left foot. I guess I was using it as resistance for the mighty stroke I was taking or something. (Luckily the left paddle pushes you right, so the rudder and the stroke were sort of counteracting each other.) Steering must have been taking a lot of concentration, for I realized at one point that I was sitting there with my tongue sticking out of the side of my mouth, which, alas, is what I do when I think really hard. Maybe when I grow up I'll stop doing that....
The final day of the trip was gorgeous, and what we had all signed up for. (Too bad that only three of the eight of us actually had signed up to do all three days. Bummer for those other five.) It was sunny, almost flat seas, and we even had a tailwind to boot. We got to see a seal having breakfast out in the seas (squid, the guide thought), and a little Blue Penguin just bobbing along, looking an awful lot like a black and white (or blue and white, I guess) football with a beak.
I was a little sore in my shoulders yesterday, but nothing too bad, so I've decided to continue to look into sea kayaking trips in Costa Rica after all.
The day we headed out was a bit blustery. The eight of us were taken in a water taxi (translation: speed boat with all of our kayaks strapped to the back) about an hour up the coast. I apparently had gotten into the booby seat, for everyone else was sitting under a plastic cover, and I was getting thoroughly sprayed as we crashed over every wave. So before we even got into our kayaks, I was soaked. Nothing I could do but laugh, knowing that they would be just as wet as I soon.
We were all in double kayaks, I paired with a retired gentleman (of course) from Sacramento. I was not sure about the fact that he had control of the rudder, and I could do nothing but paddle (which I did, often attempting to steer us as he had us zig-zagging around the sea). (I became quite worried about my partner at camp that evening when he, sounding surprised, said he had met a New Zealander who did NOT like George W. Bush. Wait, you found only one?? Apparently I was saddled with a conservative. Luckily we were too busy wrestling with the elements to be able to talk much.)
We paddled about in a lagoon at first, getting used to the boats, and then headed out through the breaking waves into the high seas and headwind. I don't know if it was raining or not, because there was so much spray. I asked the guide how high these big swells were that we were in, and she estimated, "Um, one and a half or two." That would be meters. Yes, I was out there in a kayak (sitting about two feet out of the water) in seven foot swells. It actually wasn't scary or bad... until about an hour later when it was slightly less rough but still very wavy, and we were going up and down, up and down, up and down. After about three minutes of deep breathing I decided it wasn't worth it to try to fight it off, and I turned to my partner and said "There's a good chance I'm going to be sick in a minute." And I was.
I've only thrown up twice since I was a kid. Once was the one and only evening when I was drunk (four Bloody Marys and a Jaegermeister and Coke-- followed by 12 hours of being ill and swearing that I would NEVER get drunk again, and I haven't, much to the chagrin of many friends over the years. But they always have a designated driver!), and once on a whale watching trip. Apparently I am prone to sea sickness. But, I am happy to say that after I divested myself of my lunch, I felt much better, and got right back to paddling. (I just wish I had brought some Tic Tacs with me!)
Eventually we made it into camp (I'm sure the guide was way more relieved than we were). After putting on all the dry clothes I had (I got to use that long underwear that didn't get used on the Milford Track), I got about the task of setting up my tent. One of the guys on the trip, a self-professed former Boy Scout from England, offered to help me with my tent ("Because it is so much easier and more fun with two," as my grandmother would always say when asking me to help her make beds). Needless to say, it took twice as long to get my tent set up as if I'd done it on my own, and it looked ridiculous. Stupid Boy Scouts.
On the second day the headwind had died down a bit, it was just cloudy rather than rainy, and the swells were only about two feet. And I took the offered Dramamine. Much better. Plus, I got to be in charge of the rudder. Alas, that meant that I had no one to blame but myself as we zig-zagged across the ocean. (I decided that I would rather have a scape goat than control.) The problem was that every time I put my paddle in, I would push down on that foot. Right paddle, right foot. Left paddle, left foot. I guess I was using it as resistance for the mighty stroke I was taking or something. (Luckily the left paddle pushes you right, so the rudder and the stroke were sort of counteracting each other.) Steering must have been taking a lot of concentration, for I realized at one point that I was sitting there with my tongue sticking out of the side of my mouth, which, alas, is what I do when I think really hard. Maybe when I grow up I'll stop doing that....
The final day of the trip was gorgeous, and what we had all signed up for. (Too bad that only three of the eight of us actually had signed up to do all three days. Bummer for those other five.) It was sunny, almost flat seas, and we even had a tailwind to boot. We got to see a seal having breakfast out in the seas (squid, the guide thought), and a little Blue Penguin just bobbing along, looking an awful lot like a black and white (or blue and white, I guess) football with a beak.I was a little sore in my shoulders yesterday, but nothing too bad, so I've decided to continue to look into sea kayaking trips in Costa Rica after all.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Updated Agenda
We'll see whether I return to the classroom after this year (I hope so), but I can tell you for sure one thing I won't be doing with my life, and that is becoming a travel agent. All this planning has my head completely spinning!!!!!
Just so everyone (mostly my family, but adoring fans as well who like to gaze at maps and think what I must be doing at that moment) has some idea what I'll be doing when, here is the update to my agenda (god help me!):
Tomorrow: Sea Kayak in Abel Tasman for 3 days
16th Feb: Ferry to Wellington. Proceed to impose myself on my North Island contacts
3-8 March: Hike around the far north of NZ
9 March: Fly Aukland to Fiji, Fiji to LA, arrive before I left, hope my friends on the West Coast want to see me for 8 days
17 March: Fly LA to Miami
18 March: Fly Miami to Grand Cayman to meet some teacher friends for Spring Break (WOO HOO, Girls gone wild! Or something.)
22 March: Fly to Miami, then to Guatemala City (don't mention my carbon footprint, please. I will never drive my car again) for a week of volunteering with alums from my college
29 March: Hopefully do a week of Spanish Language school in Antigua, Guatemala (because my Spanish needs some help, for all I can ask for is a kiss and a beer-- and I don't like beer)
4 April: Possibly do a four day sea kayak trip in Costa Rica. Or maybe two weeks of volunteer housebuilding in Costa Rica. (Notice how I switched countries all of a sudden? No, I don't have a plane ticket for that yet.)
AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGG!!!!! I know it probably all seems pretty great to the armchair traveller, but to she who is living it.... AAAARG!!!
By mid May (funds and patience probably both running low) I think I'll be ready to come home. Possibly via Key West.....
And then comes the process of figuring out next year.
I think I need to go lie down for a while.
Just so everyone (mostly my family, but adoring fans as well who like to gaze at maps and think what I must be doing at that moment) has some idea what I'll be doing when, here is the update to my agenda (god help me!):
Tomorrow: Sea Kayak in Abel Tasman for 3 days
16th Feb: Ferry to Wellington. Proceed to impose myself on my North Island contacts
3-8 March: Hike around the far north of NZ
9 March: Fly Aukland to Fiji, Fiji to LA, arrive before I left, hope my friends on the West Coast want to see me for 8 days
17 March: Fly LA to Miami
18 March: Fly Miami to Grand Cayman to meet some teacher friends for Spring Break (WOO HOO, Girls gone wild! Or something.)
22 March: Fly to Miami, then to Guatemala City (don't mention my carbon footprint, please. I will never drive my car again) for a week of volunteering with alums from my college
29 March: Hopefully do a week of Spanish Language school in Antigua, Guatemala (because my Spanish needs some help, for all I can ask for is a kiss and a beer-- and I don't like beer)
4 April: Possibly do a four day sea kayak trip in Costa Rica. Or maybe two weeks of volunteer housebuilding in Costa Rica. (Notice how I switched countries all of a sudden? No, I don't have a plane ticket for that yet.)
AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGG!!!!! I know it probably all seems pretty great to the armchair traveller, but to she who is living it.... AAAARG!!!
By mid May (funds and patience probably both running low) I think I'll be ready to come home. Possibly via Key West.....
And then comes the process of figuring out next year.
I think I need to go lie down for a while.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Best Place, part 2
As if life weren't great enough already here at the Te Nikau Resort, last night there were only two of us in my lodge. I had the downstairs, and Pat (or Jan, or some other cvc name), a 50-something English woman over here to do some WWOOFing (look it up if you don't know what it is), had the upstairs. I put two dunas (alternate spellings: dyne or doona, also known as a duvet or comforter) on the bed, for there was a slight nip in the air, and happily crawled in. The only sound I could hear last night was the ocean.
I was going to get a lift in to the bus at 12:15 today (my bus isn't until 3), and wander about seeing the Pancake Rocks again and maybe walk on a little trail. But when James, the guy who works here and drives people back and forth, suggested not going until 2:30, I agreed heartily.
I bought myself some fresh-baked (still warm) multi-grain bread, took a book (which remained unread), and the rest of the bottle of wine (which, me being me, was still mostly full), and headed down to the beach to have a little picnic and watch the tide come in and go back out again. (Never mind that the sun wasn't yet over the yard arm... I'm on holiday.)
All the while, I kept saying to myself (sometimes out loud), "Life is very, very good."
(This is the first place that I have said to myself that I will DEFINITELY come back to some day. Let me know if you want to join me on the return voyage!)
I was going to get a lift in to the bus at 12:15 today (my bus isn't until 3), and wander about seeing the Pancake Rocks again and maybe walk on a little trail. But when James, the guy who works here and drives people back and forth, suggested not going until 2:30, I agreed heartily.
I bought myself some fresh-baked (still warm) multi-grain bread, took a book (which remained unread), and the rest of the bottle of wine (which, me being me, was still mostly full), and headed down to the beach to have a little picnic and watch the tide come in and go back out again. (Never mind that the sun wasn't yet over the yard arm... I'm on holiday.)All the while, I kept saying to myself (sometimes out loud), "Life is very, very good."
(This is the first place that I have said to myself that I will DEFINITELY come back to some day. Let me know if you want to join me on the return voyage!)
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