Dun, Dunedin: Rare Wildlife and Frigid Weather

I caught a bus to Dunedin, a city a bit further south than Christchurch, which is said to have a Scottish feel to it, though I wouldn't really know.  The city itself has a lot to offer, though I failed to indulge in it all (more on that later).  I found plenty to do with my time there, though.  At the center of town is the Octagon (refrain from making Anchorman reference), where the Info Site, Library, Cathedral, Public Art Gallery, and various bars and shops can be found.  There were quite a few pieces in the art gallery that I enjoyed, though I was forbidden from capturing on camera.  I'll list the ones I can find online at the bottom of this post if you're interested in seeing them.  Later, I grabbed a drink with some backpackers I met.  When talking about traveling, the Swiss girl put it best when she said, "Life is about experience.  Traveling is such a unique experience and it should be had by all."  Agreed.

While in Dunedin, I stayed in the spare room of fellow Couch Surfers, Miguel and Sophia.  This lovely young couple enjoys interacting with their surfers, and implemented a concept called "shared dinner" where they share their dinner with the hungry backpackers in return for their service of either helping prepare/make dinner or cleaning up afterward, which I was delighted to do.  They successfully made my second Couch Surfing experience quite enjoyable, and unknowingly helped me overcome my distaste for mushrooms.  The only caveat of staying in a house as opposed to a hostel, especially somewhere as frigid as Dunedin, is the lack of a central heating system.  In lieu of said heat, I was able to experience sleeping with a hot water bottle for the first time.  Although it sufficed in keeping me quite warm throughout the night, in the end, I'd prefer to not be able to see my breath when I go to sleep at night.

I dedicated one whole day to investigating the Otago Peninsula.  With the help of a Great Walks book and a bicycle from Sophia and Miguel, I ventured off in search of rare wildlife.  On my journey, I learned of all the joys and sorrows of being a cyclist on a main road.

Positives:

• squeezing freely through traffic, getting a good workout, being environmentally friendly, downhills  

Negatives

• uphills, the elements (not these kind), side of the road treasures (broken glass, roadkill, horse poop, garbage)

After only a short three hour bike ride (half of which was uphill) I arrived at Sandfly beach, where I hoped to spot the rare Hoiho, or Yellow-Eyed Penguin.  After decending from the sand dune to the beach, I found myself face to face with a playful Pakake (sea lion).  Seemingly unphased by my presence, I crept closer for a choice photo.  I soon found that this cunning seal had been toying with me all along, as he leapt up at me, causing me to stumble back, capturing the photo above in the process.  Well played, sir.  Having learned my lesson, I managed to get even closer to the bigger pakake and even had my photo taken with them (above on the left).  Finally, at the end of the beach, crouched in one of the constructed viewing huts, my patience was awarded as a lone hoiho came out from hiding.  Even with my tiny, cheap digital camera, I was able to grab this stunning photo:

It wasn't until my last night, shopping for peanut butter cookies at Pak 'N Save, when I found out about the Dunedin I didn't see.  I overheard a girl talking about going to New York, and although I chose not to creepily approach her about it, we crossed paths a little later and I felt as if fate were demanding that I ask about it.  It was then that she (Jade) told me of all the things I could have done, like take a tour of the Speights Brewery and try all their beer, or tour the Cadbury factory to see their chocolate waterfall, or at least go to Baldwin Street for free and see why it was recorded in the Guinness Book of World Records for being one of the steepest residential streets in the world.  Oh well, maybe next time, or perhaps vicariously through Mai during her later travels.

Heather Straka (The Asian) - This link describes the exhibit, but only shows one of the 50 paintings.  It was really cool to see because in the exhibit, it doesn't identify the original image.

Taryn Simon (An American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar) - "A collection of photographs that document the inaccessible places that exist below the surface of American identity."  The first link seems like a pretty comprehensive article.  Go to this link and go to the "Photographs" link at the bottom to see all of them.

- Headcase - Anne Noble (Ruby Room Number 10)

- Madeleine Child (Sweet As) - Sweet As is a playful installation featuring Child's signature range of oversized and deliciously rococo popcorn.

- Lifting My Mother for as long as I can by Campbell Patterson

A Whole New World

“Unbelievable sites…” of ham-that’s right: HAM. Jasmin would have never fell in love with Aladdin if he had shown her the workings of a deli. 

It’s about time I write about my current occupation.  Officially, I am a “deli assistant” working at “New World”, one of the four grocery chains in New Zealand.  Unofficially, I am a ham server working for an uppidity woman who is in dire need of some sedation pills. 

New World is the largest supermarket in Kerikeri and thus we sell phenomenal amounts of ham (sadly I used the word “we” in that sentence).  Shaved ham to Kiwis is the equivalent of turkey to people in the States. Every week, the New World deli department sells approximately 56 kilograms of ham, which is 123.2 pounds of ham.  I know that you are envisioning pigs but the truth is, shaved or sliced ham is only made of 40% oinker while the majority of the delicacy is an amalgamation of products including soy protein and the dreaded unknown. I will never eat this stuff but the Kiwis gobble it up, or pig it up.

I work 40 to 50 hours a week. The shifts run from 6am to 4pm and no, the extra two hours tacked on to the general prescription of eight are not overtime, they are added FUN.

Excuse my sarcasm, this job isn’t that bad and in fact, slicing meat and using the slicer is rather therapeutic. Like everything else in my life, I try to slice brawn, veal and pork loaf, tongue among others, as creatively as possible. I pack those shaved meats in trays attempting to make them look like little rosettes or waves- waves of chicken roll or rosettes of hot beef.  I’ve even named the slicers: Calvin and Oscar. I’ve also renamed an assortment of luncheon. Luncheon is the American bologna but I’m positive that when I was little and had bologna and cheese sandwiches, the meat wasn’t this unappetizing, or maybe I was blinded by the cheese.  Savory luncheon, which I have renamed “Festive Luncheon” is bologna with speckles of green “peas” and orange “carrots” added for your vitamin delight. Get your “protein” and vegetables all in one slice. Delicious?

In addition to the joy I receive from slicing meat, I even encounter the general crazies. I’ve been yelled at 3 times by customers, all of whom I’m sure forgot their meds of the day. The first woman: was a short rotund woman who yelled at me for giving her “scraps of shaved ham”.  “Shaved” implies “scrappy” so my only response was a gentle apology, a Mary Sunshine smile and an ocean of profanity spewing in my head.  The second person was a curmudgeon.  He rolls around in his automated scooter equipped with a towering orange flag.  Every time he visits New World, he asks if we have scallops.  No sir, the deli department does not serve seafood.  He called me “rude” because I asked him what he wanted before he knew.  Sorry folks, although I try, I am not a mind-reader. 

The third episode of psycho is my personal favorite:

Man: “Are the mini pork pies nice?”

Me: “I’m not sure, I’ve never had one but I’ll ask someone who has”

Man: “No I don’t want one then, if you’ve never had one. I don’t want anything”

Man storms off.

There must be an invisible sign on my “New World” hat that says, “If you are crazy- come talk to me”.

Luckily, most people are rather enjoyable. They want their 500 grams of shaved ham and their occasional treat of a small pottle of coleslaw and then they are on their way, content. They don’t realize what they are missing out on: Boar’s Head products and deli sliced cheese. The deli doesn’t slice cheese here. Instead, it is sold pre-packaged in 4 main varieties: Tasty, Mild, Colby and Edam.

The question that plagues my mind: isn’t all cheese “tasty”?

Easter In (Fittingly) Christchurch

Through a series of hectic events, I ended up traveling back north to Picton before turning around and going back down to Christchurch.  My initial impression of Picton being a mediocre town was pretty spot on, though there were two highlights worth mentioning: (1) a car show (you would have loved it, Dad) sporting some sweet American cars, (2) my room in the hostel called "Sardina" - a large room with beds packed into it like sardines - ideal for those who prefer a chorus of snoring backpackers.

Taking the train instead of a bus proved to be an intriguing experience with the seats being assigned and facing one another.  I was fortunate enough to sit next to a backpacker from Canada and an older couple from the UK with whom I chatted with for most of the ride.  I was also fortunate enough to get a call from Amanda, who graciously allowed each one of my friends from home to say hello while they were all together for Martina's birthday.  I chatted with each of them for a few minutes, touching on topics such as playing softball this summer, golden Chivas bottles (I'm holding you too that, Big Easy), revealing the future, and of course, the "Does the toilet flush the other way?" question.  Answer: toilets here don't swirl when the flush, they just go straight down.  It's been incredibly disappointing.

After arriving and meeting the people I would be staying with, they insisted that I have some of their dinner (which they continued to do each night I was there, so nice!) before we went to the cinema to see the movie Boy, a New Zealand film by Taika Waititi.  The movie was incredibly entertaining, enticing a wide array of emotions.  Boy's exaggerated description of his own life was both charming and tragic considering the events that take place.  I absolutely recommend checking it out (if you can figure out a way to).

I took to wandering during my time in Christchurch and what I found was pretty nice: a nice park full of rugby fields (Jon, you should probably live here), botanic gardens, quite a few public art galleries, outdoor markets, churches/cathedrals, a few really funny advertisements, a giant countdown clock for the Rugby World Cup in 2011 (did I mention you should live here Jon?).  A word of advice though: just because a woman in a cool looking mask tells you a puppet show for adults is worth $10, it doesn't actually mean that it is.  Trust me.  I took a bus to check out the coast and found myself drawing in the sand with little kids, using my artwork to try and inspire those walking out on the pier.  I also got to meet up with Eric from housekeeping, sharing a few vodka colas, stories about travels and life, and the like.  It was nice to see a familiar face.

In the spirit of putting my Agnostic views to the test (and because I didn't have much else to do) I decided to go to the St. James Anglican Church on the night of Easter Sunday.  I mean, I was in CHRISTCHURCH, how could I not go to church on Easter Sunday, right?  My desire to not stick out like a sore thumb was shot to shit when I realized I was one of only 16 people in the entire church.  The messy hair, dirty jeans, and Breezefest t-shirt probably didn't help the cause.  Seeing that conversation was inevitable, I decided to stay for tea and cake after the service rather than sprinting for the door.  Both the guitar guy and the priest conversed with me about where I was from, my travels, my future plans, and of course, my religious views.  I told them honestly that I grew up Catholic but haven't practiced for quite some time, and am in the process of searching for some sort of spiritual guidance.  The priest bid me farewell and hoped that in my search I would find the Lord.  Who knows what I'll find on this crazy journey.

And The Mountains Should Crumble To The Sea

After a grueling early morning walk to the Interislander ferry, I plopped down in a seat on the sun deck of the boat and took in the sights.  The landscape around was quite beautiful, though the strong winds that cut through the channel made it difficult to document.  After a short three hours (and a well deserved nap on the lower deck) I arrived in Picton: the gateway to the South Island.  The town itself, surrounded by such majestic, beautiful mountains, seemed a bit shabby to be considered the "gateway", though I wasn't there long enough to give it a full analysis.  I hopped on the Nakedbus and was on my way to Kaikoura.  About 30km from the town center, I noticed a bright orange sign on the road advising to be wary of seals in the area.  "Seals?!?" I thought.  With a slight turn of my head and a bit of squinting for focus, I saw what I thought were just rocks transform into adorable and playful seals!  And they were so close to shore!  (Times I wished I had my own car: 1.  I'm sure this number will increase).  I'm in the process of asking NakedBus to consider adding a quick pit stop here to take pictures of the seals.

The town of Kaikoura is relatively small, with the entirety of its shops and stores on the main road along the beach.  To avoid being washed away, a moat-like channel was dug between the beach and the street, which effectively deters any flood water from destroying the town and guides it safely back to sea.  The beach itself is rocky and unpleasant, but it's the mountains in the distance that make Kaikoura so attractive.  As Vassar Alum Amy Wheeler described to us before we left for New Zealand: "Kaikoura is also really beautiful because its huge mountains drop right into the sea."  Needless to say, sunrise in this small town is simply breathtaking. 

Seeing as I am cheap, I decided to forgo Kaikoura's most famous activities (whale watching, swimming with dolphins/seals) and opted to walk around Kaikoura Peninsula for free, and I got more than my money's worth.  The limestone that makes up the peninsula is relatively young and has been formed into these random and jagged designs, which were cool in general.  Even cooler were the numerous SEALS chilling on said rocks!  There they were, scattered about, bathing in the sun.  I spent a solid two hours just walking along the coast and taking pictures of seals.  Some let me get unreasonably close to them, others hopped and plopped away before I could get near, and a few barked at me and chased me away.  I capped my day off with the Bucket List and a lovely conversation with two of my roommates from the UK.

Wellington Part 4 of 4: Well, Welly, It's Been Fun

Throughout my time in Wellington, when I was without a place to live, I had the help of a few wonderful people that were kind enough to let me crash with them.  Through a random contact, I was able to stay with a group of young adults atop of Mount Victoria in a beautiful flat with equally breathtaking views.  I also was able to crash with Earl, the man responsible for my being able to play volleyball here, and his flatmates as well.  Camille has also been incredibly generous in letting me sleep on the futon of her flat in Hataitai, overlooking Evan's Bay and with a sweet as view of the planes landing and taking off from Wellington Airport.  After completing my housekeeping duties, Ernesto and the two new housekeepers, Luciana and Marie, were gracious enough to let me crash in the apartment and aided me with sneaking past reception so they didn't know I was there.  I could never thank them enough for their kindness and hospitality, but will attempt to do so in this venue anyway.  THANK YOU!

My final days here were bitter sweet.  The night before I was set to leave for the South Island, I met with Camille for dinner at Pizza Pomodoro's (great pizza by the way, though it was still no New York pizza).  We remeniced, she gave me tips on how to cope with the overwhelming homesickness I had been feeling for the past week, and we said our goodbyes, for now at least since she will be moving back to the States in mid-April.  Afterward, I received a text from an American (Sarah) I met at the Fringe Bar.  After some delicious hot chocolate and orange vanilla almond cake (don't hate on orange, it's fabulous) from Midnight Espresso, she convinced me to stay one more night to hang out with her and her other American friends.  How could I pass up on one last day of Wellington?  Said day started with a morning hike up Mt. Victoria to watch the sun rise, then a visit to the Te Papa, and finally two cakes and a tub of Hokey Pokey shared while watching SNL youtube videos and The Carter, a documentary on the one and only Lil' Wayne.  I felt right back at home with these crazy Americans.

Overall, my experience here has been quite pleasant.  It was here in Wellington that I first felt like I lived here and wasn't just traveling, particularly when I opened my KiwiBank account.  I found a weekly 5K Fun Run to participate in, complete with a free beer at the end and the chance to win free prizes (though I didn't win).  I spent many sunny days with the locals in Frank Kitts Park laying out and reading The Da Vinci code.  Between volleyball and working at the bar, I found myself running into people and saying hello more often than not as I walked around the city.  However, there was one particular moment that made me feel like a true New Zealander, and it came while watching TV one night.  A commercial for Sky TV came on, using humorous examples to show why you should get multiple cable boxes in your home.  I laughed at said commerical, not realizing until afterward that the only reason it could be funny was if you knew who the actors were.  With no help from names or jerseys, I was able to correctly identify each individual "actor" as a member of the New Zealand Blackcaps Cricket team.

Although sometimes strange and occasionally stressful, Wellington has treated me well, as have its people.  I have learned a lot about myself while folding bed sheets and pouring beers.  Seriously though, I now know that not only am I capable of sustaining myself individually, I can do so in another country.  And for me, that is only one of the many things I have come to realize.  Another is how important my family, my friends, my girlfriend, and my life back at home are to me.  So with that, I begin the final stage of my journey; a quest to see what there is to see in the parts of New Zealand I have yet to see.  I hope to encounter lands filled with vast beauty and excitement before making my way back home to the people I love.

Wellington Part 3 of 4: Random Shenanigans

I have been blessed to have both planned and fairly random experiences while living here.  One such fairly random experience came at night when I decided to go for a stroll down to what became my favorite place to sit and reflect on life: a dock near the edge of the Lambton Harbour that offered warm (and sometimes cool) winds coming around the penninnsula along with the soothing sound of the water dancing below.  At night, it also reflected the lights of the city skyline, along with the scattered street lamps along the surrounding suburbed mountains.  Anyway, one night on my journey out there, an all day concert was just concluding, and with the conclusion came the drunken teenagers of the masses.  I embraced the opportunity to people watch as young boys relieved themselves into the ocean, friends carried their drunker friends to a taxi, and, of course, the occasional hurler (and I'm not talking about the sport, though that would have been awesome).  Ah, what it is to be young.  As I walked to my spot, I noticed a young girl on the ground, propped up against the lone dock building, texting on her phone.  Clearly intoxicated, I assumed she was texting her friends to come help her stand up, and continued on my way.  After a few minutes sitting along the water, I felt guilty not asking if she needed help, and went back to do so.  I came back to discover she was now asleep, still gripping her phone.  "Hmm, this is no good," I thought, and tried shaking her awake.  She was still breathing, but wouldn't stir.  I sat down nearby and considered my options.  There wasn't anyone nearby so finding help didn't seem possible.  I continued to try and wake her up and finally she came around.  Embarrassed, she assured me that she was okay and that friends were on their way.  I left, but along the way, I saw a group of cops were routinely checking the BAC levels of the drivers leaving the concert.  I walked up to one, gave a description and location of the girl, and asked that he check up on her.  I felt better after, however, I concluded that while I very easily could have saved her an uncomfortably cold night sleeping on a dock, it was equally possible she would have been fine without the inconvenience of a cop's prodding and interrogation.  I guess there's never a perfect solution, eh?

I went on a number of planned trips with fellow Vassar alum, Camille.  She introduced me to Malaysian food and also brought me to a cute coffee shop on Cuba Street (appropriately named Fidel's) as well as a lovely little italian cafe.  She was kind enough to drive me along the coast of the pennisula one evening, in time to see the sun set over the Kapiti Coast (see picture to the right).  We even took a night tour of Zealandia, a protected sanctuary for New Zealand wildlife to flourish and survive, in hopes of sighting a wild kiwi bird, though to no avail.  We did encounter quite a few species of birds that only nest in Zealandia as they cannot survive outside the reserve walls thanks to all the predators the humans brought over with them when they first came to New Zealand.  We also saw a Tuatara in rare form.  They are known for their molasses-like movement, capable of not moving or even breathing for up to an hour.  However, on this fateful night, said Tuatara was found in the middle of the walking path and upon our arrival, scurried away quite quickly.  Both tour guides were astonished, saying it was the most they've seen a tuatara move like that in the 10 years they've worked there.  That made up for not seeing a wild kiwi bird.

After a particularly dull couple of days, I found myself in the Wellington Botanic Garden in search of something to cheer me up.  And what did I happen upon but none other than... that's right... a Ukulele Festival!  Who could have thought that such a tiny instrument could bring so much joy!  From workshops to open mic opportunities, this event had it all.  And nothing could be better than just relaxing on a bench or on the grass taking in the sweet sounds.  Perhaps the most enjoyable moment for me came while sitting on a bench listening to a young man from Hawai'i get the crowd to sing along to a song he wrote.  To my right sat a middle aged man, enjoying a lemon flavored frozen yogurt delight that he shared with his young daughter.  To my left sat a much older man, well past his 70's, armed with a cane that he used to aide in both his slow (and what looked like difficult) walking and his eventual slow and steady lowering onto the bench.

Barely noticing them, I continued taking in the music around me and found myself tapping my right foot to the beat.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the small movement of the middle aged man's right foot also tapping to the beat.  As if out of instinct, I then turned to the older gentleman and found that he too was tapping his right foot to the beat.  So there we were, three men, three generations, three completely different lives unknowingly sharing a moment of unity thanks to the power of music.  In the same venue a week later, I found people gathering for the Latin Music Festival.  This time, armed with a camera, I captured the beautiful Sound Shell stage, occupied by a group of young lads rocking out for the crowd, who responded by expressing themselves through the art of dance.

I went on a quest to find the location at which The Battle of Helm's Deep from the movie The Lord of The Rings was filmed.  Before I go any further, let me start by saying this quest was a bust.  I didn't do nearly enough research to find out where exactly said location was.  All I knew was "Dry Creek Quarry," so I looked that up and figured out how to get there.  I knew I was in bad shape when I arrived at the Manor Park train station, which was basically a desolate piece of concrete.  I figured I'd make the most of it though.  Walking along I saw a sign for Dry Creek Quarry and thought, "Yes, I found it!"  However, "it" turned out to be a construction site of sorts run by Winstone Aggregates.  Luckily, right next to it was Belmont Regional Park, so I went there instead.  If I had taken one of the park's longer hiking trails around the quarry, I may have found what I was looking for, but with it being late in the afternoon and being by myself, I decided against it and instead went for the 45 minute hike to the waterfall (I guess I have a thing for waterfalls).  As I navigated my way along the Wet Foot Track, I felt reguvinated breathing in the crisp air that smelt of damp bark; a refreshing change from the polluted city air.  I made it to the small waterfall and eventually back to the train, taking with me two discoveries: (1) Tranz Metro, the Wellington train, is yet another image of San Francisco in that it is very similar to the BART train, (2) I should go hiking way more often, as it makes me feel healthy and alive.

Wellington Part 2 of 4: Volleyball & The Nightlife

"VOLLEYBALL"

I have been able to satiate my hunger for volleyball each Wednesday night and Sunday afternoon, at the nearby Wellington College, playing in the same league Earl had invited Mai and I to play in when we first got here.  With three courts and almost always a team in need another player, Earl found plenty of volleyball for me to play.  I played for at least two of the one hour time slots allotted for teams, and had an enjoyable time doing so, with the quality of volleyball ranging from the very basic to the highly skilled (though still social).  I was even invited to go play some higher quality volleyball one night at the Te Rauparaha Arena, a sweet as facility that has housed the Oceania World Qualifying Volleyball Championships.  The most rewarding part of it all is that I befriended many of the players, particularly a young New Zealand couple and a fellow American who is living here with her boyfriend.  What a wonderful little world that the love of volleyball provides.

"DRINKING GAMES"

Considering I worked the nightlife, I have only partaken in a handful of opportunities to indulge in it, and when I did I often ended up at my own bar singing karaoke anyway.  The pre-gaming events were probably the most entertaining.  As I've come to realize on this trip, teaching foreigners to play American drinking games is a sure fire way to (speed things up... Blue's Traveler... anyone?) spend a night.  The first weekend of housekeeping, I taught Ernesto and Erik how to play a little game called F*** The Dealer.  About halfway through the game, Ernesto and I proudly substituted the word "Dealer" for the word "German" as through a series of unfortunate (or fortunate) events, Erik did indeed suffer (drink) the most, and more so than I have ever seen in any round of F The Dealer I've played at home.  That was until the next weekend when Enno came to town.  We warned him of our newly modified name to the game and sure enough, yet another German was done in, and even worse so than Erik had been.  It was both baffling and amazing.  In our other drinking games, Ernesto and I took to reliving the Spanish-American war, charging each other with every drink we could.

Enno was kind enough to teach us a game that I am eager to bring home to the States.  A glass is placed in the center of the table.  Each person participating pours a small portion of their drink into the glass until it is full (which in this case was a mixture of beer, mixed drinks, and white wine).  Then, each person puts their pointer finger on the rim of the glass.  One by one, a player calls out a number between 0 and however many fingers are on the glass, in an attempt to guess how many fingers will be remaining on the glass.  At the very instant a number is called out, every other player must decide to leave their finger or take it off.  If you say a number and that is how many fingers are left, you win and are out of the game.  The last person must finish the mixed concoction.  Simple, yet there are many tactics you can use, such as saying your number loudly and abruptly to get the other players to raise their fingers in fright.  Sweet as game.

Although St. Patrick's Day was on a Wednesday, we felt it was our duty as a mesh of cultures to celebrate.  We invited some friends over and played some games.  I subjected my three workmates to the beauty of the Irish Car Bomb: a shot half filled with Irish Whiskey and half Bailey's Irish Cream is dropped into half a glass of Guinness and skulled (chugged) immediately.  Even though they were homemade and done with cheaper versions of each ingredient, all four of us were quite satisfied with the tastiness of the beverage, especially considering none of them had done one before.  The rest of the night was spent visiting a variety of the Irish Pubs Wellington has to offer and a good time was had by all.