We were dressed in as little clothing as possible coming from Fiji, because more clothing means more oppressive heat there. When we touched down in New Zealand, we were immediately aware of the change. The airport wasn't ragged and busy and people looked like they could live modest but prosperous lives. We had seen a few pools that dotted the Auckland suburban areas, but since we had come from a country we had felt persistently overheated in with bathwater oceans and humidity you couldn't escape, the wind and mild weather were a little shocking.
But before we could even get out into the weather, there were customs. We declared the things we had (leaving out my medications, as I know better than to subject myself to the process of proving they were mine and prescribed to me), which included some walking shoes and a tent that we had used in Fiji once. I've always heard New Zealand customs can be a pain, but honestly, I didn't find it too bad. Sure, if you were a frequent international business traveler, it would be annoying, but I have all the time in the world, and a two hour process really isn't that big of a deal.
While in line (we were moving by a matter of inches only), we met a couple from the U.K. who seemed like they might have been a little drunk, high or both. Or at least chatty Kathys if nothing else. They talked our faces off, but were very nice.
When we finally got through the line, we only had to give them the tent and a pair of Joe's shoes for inspection and washing. The shoes took only moments, and ten minutes later after waiting on the other side of the arrivals door, they brought the tent out without problems.
New Zealand is a world star for their Lord of the Rings landscapes and the airport had a giant clay sculpture of Gimili right out in the arrival area. Welcome to the youngest country in the world.
The weather was a little shocking once we were out in the wind waiting for someone we didn't know. We knew to look for a grey Nissan Cube, but we didn't know the woman driving it, nor even what she looked like. She was our Help Exchange hostess, and we only knew her through a couple of email exchanges.
We were relieved when the Cube pulled up and Jutta stepped to the curb. We shook hands, loaded bags, and took off. 50-year-old Jutta had a pixie cut, a printed layered clothing look, and a strong German accent. She took us to her home where we met her partner Rudi, who wore round spectacles and board shorts and had a braided white rat tail on the back of his neck. I also got to meet Mouncy and Mr. No Name, the sweet kitty cats.
We ate dinner and talked, and got instructions for the next day's work that we would be doing in the house while they went to work. Jutta and Rudi were very generous with their food, telling us where everything was and saying we could help ourselves at any time. Apparently hosts through Help Exchange can sometimes leave the helpers hungry, so we were thankful for their generosity.
The next morning we started work in the bathroom. Joe was removing tile and then the cupboard that holds the sink, while I was scraping and sanding a window. We started in on removing the linoleum, but after the first few scrapes with the shovel, it got very difficult to remove without spending all day on it, so we decided to leave that job until we could ask Rudi about it.
Next we moved a woodpile from up against a fence to up against their garage. Joe told me that Rudi had said he was planning to build a woodshed, so we would be moving the woodpile back to its original location after the woodshed was built there. I'ts hard to feel good about your work when you know its just going to have to be re-done soon anyway. Boy were we only just starting in on that.
That evening, We left a note for Jutta and Rudi and Joe dragged me into the downtown from Papatoetoe, which was nice, but exhausting. I don't know where the dude gets his energy.
Then a funny thing started happening. We came upon a building on the water in the main harbor that had ping-pong tables and giant chess and bean bags scattered around in it. We would later find out that this was called "The Cloud," and it is just a public building that they do events or games or just about anything in. We walked out to the harbor to find fancy lounge benches available for the public to use, and everything was so clean. Granted, we had just come from Fiji where you aren't a local until you walk around a garbage can to throw your trash on the street. (Okay, that's a little harsh, but the litter got to me.)
We kept finding all these cool little nooks everywhere we walked. A sculpture and fountain here, a clean children's playground there, an outdoor basketball court where adults jumped for the hoops, a sky walk with two floors and an elevator, open to the harbor and providing an artistic view of the city. Everything was so clean and so artsy. There were trash cans that were well-maintained everywhere, there was no litter, no dirt or grime, and very few people enjoying all this!
I kept saying to Joe, they must tax the hell out of their citizens to pay for all this public art and facilities. We would come upon a new piece of public work and I would say, this is a dream, no public space can be this nice.
Needless to say, we were impressed and in awe. We rode back to our new home on the cleanest subway I'd ever seen.
We talked to our hosts and decided that since they wanted to work long hours with us on the weekends, we would take the next day (Friday) off so we could see the city more. So Friday we got up, had breakfast, and went to the city, starting at the famous One Tree Hill, which ironically has no trees. To get to the top, we had to cross acre after acre of beautiful public parks where people were strolling and walking their dogs. We even cut through a sheep pasture.
Once we had seen One Tree Hill, we went down to a small windbreak and sat in the shade to write our memories before we lost them. If you've read any of the Fiji stuff before this post, you'll understand entirely how easy it was to forget things--there was so much to try to remember! So we sat on the grass and only got a portion of what we were hoping to do done.
Mt. Eden looked close as we were headed home, so we went in that direction. Before long, we stopped at a coffee shop so I could get a beloved Chai latte. The first one we stopped in had Chai lattes for $4.90 for the smallest they made, so we decided to keep looking and were grateful we did. The second place had smalls for $4.20, which also included a free muffin. Such a deal!
We stayed there for a while and wrote again, but were eventually kicked out when they closed... at 3:30! This is the first time we realized EVERYTHING in New Zealand--even in the big cities like Auckland, closes pretty early. The New Zealanders were like, yeah, but you can't drink coffee after 4:00pm anyway because you'll be up all night. True, but there is such a thing as decaf, and it's not just the coffee shops that close eerily early. Restaurants close at 8:00 or 9:00, clothes stores close promptly at 5:00, and even grocery stores are usually closed by 8:00. There have been several times we've stopped to get gas (there are no pay-at-the-pump card swipers), and the person inside the convenience store shakes their head that they are closed. It feels a little like communism might sometimes end up feeling--like everyone gets paid anyway, so what is the initiative to make that last sale or provide customer service?
We eventually made it up Mt. Eden, on top of which we found the woman we had met in the customs line. She cracked me up. She was the kind of woman who had too much energy, so the energy just came out of her eyes and her shifting feet. She would look around at the view of the city, shift the weight from one flip-flopped foot to the other, and say, the view is just SO fanTAStic! with emphasis stuck in the middle.
We thought we were probably close enough to the Britomart subway station that we could walk, so we set off. By the time we got to the station, our feet were hurting. When Joe put the money into the machine for subway tickets, I joked as the coins made a clinking sound that it was like winning the lottery. Once we got down to a bench where our train would arrive, Joe said, no, I really think we won the lottery. To pay for two tickets worth $11.20, he had put in a $20 bill and received more than $28 in change. We had ridden the train for free that day! Woohoo!
The next day we set to work with our hosts on cutting down trees, cleaning the wood from those trees, and stacking the leaves and brush behind the trees still standing in Rudi and Jutta's backyard. We felt good about our work and Jutta was surprised that we were able to cut, clean, and sort all of the wood and brush by the end of the day. We were sore and tired, both from our non-stop walking the day before, and our first full, hard day of work in a while.
The cleaning and sorting of the new wood brought up an issue I learned about Help Exchange. Joe said that the exchange had a similar effect on hosts in Italy. It made hosts think that just because it could be done, it should be done. Our sorting and piling and meticulous attention to all the wood was a waste of time and effort (in the sense of efficiency of output/input), though a nice thought and a great ideal to aspire to. They maybe should have rented a wood chipper, chipped anything that was too small to be firewood, and cut firewood from the big stuff. Dreamers, and especially hippie dreamers (and I say hippie as a nice thing, not derogatory) like Jutta and Rudi, think that their ideals of using and re-using everything in an environmentally-friendly way are of such high importance that they should trump everything else, including efficiency. Chipping would still make use of all the wood and brush (they could use it as compost, to line trails, or to put between rows of the garden), rather than wasting human labor to save every scrap.
But honestly, good on them for sticking to something, like making a use for everything. It's definitely an ideal that the world could use a lot more of.
The next morning we hit the Sunday morning car fair in one of Auckland's suburbs. We didn't know what to expect and we weren't planning to buy anything, but did think we should have a look around. The car fair is set up for people like us--travelers who come to work. Travelers who had been here a while and were about to leave were there selling and travelers like us who were just arriving were there to buy a car.
We saw a lot of cars and immediately noticed a difference in the attitudes of the people selling. Half of the people there--usually men in their thirties maybe from Pakistan or India or places like that--felt a little sleazy, like they were there every weekend selling cars trying to take advantage of travelers. The other half were travelers who were still trying to make a good sale, but at least had been in our shoes.
There were a lot of camper-vans and those were really cool, but they seemed a little too cool, hip, and convenient for an authentic experience. Finally we found two Israeli girls (Danit and Tamara) selling an old Subaru Legacy for pretty cheap. We test-drove it a couple of times and decided it was what we wanted. Before we could even barter, Joe just came out and said, "Okay, we want it!" He realized his mistake a little later and felt awful and tried to make up for it by admitting his mistake to the girls and asking for $100 off. They smiled and agreed. We drove to an ATM to withdraw. Four debit cards later, we switched the title over and drove off in our new car!
I love it because it's a piece of junk, which I appreciate for two reasons. First, it deters theft. Who would want to steal from people who don't have a pot to piss in? And second, it's humble and versatile. It's not trendy like the camper-vans with all their bells and whistles, but the back seats fold down into a flat surface for sleeping. The girls gave us all the goodies they didn't want to take home--a tent, a backpacking sleeping pad, two mattress rolls for inside the car, a butane gas canister, cooking oil, a pot, a pan, plates, utensils, cups, a camelbak reservoir, dish soap, and a couple of kitchen towels. It was perfect!
And don't get me wrong, camper-vans are super cool and I would have loved having one. But I love all the things about our new Suby as well.
The next day we started planting trees, which were to go in right where we had moved a four foot deep pile of leaves and brush. Joe and I nodded politely as Rudi told us to now move everything we had put there two days earlier so we could plant the trees. Once that was finished, we were to move all the leaves and brush back.
Here is when I really started thinking about Americans. I'm torn between thinking that Americans should take more time off from work like citizens of almost all other countries, but on the other hand, I love how productive Americans are. It made Joe and I stressed on the inside that we were re-doing something a day later than we did it in the first place and it was irritating because it felt like such a misuse of our time. Which is a silly notion because our agreement with our hosts was for hours, not tasks. If it took us an hour to do something, an hour to undo it, and an hour to redo it, that was three full hours we could count, regardless of the tasks that were being done. It is funny and kinda cool that it bothered us. I feel like that might be an American trait.
Poor Joe was hurting his back and had to bring Rudi over to make sure that the spot he had mostly dug was exactly where Rudi wanted it, because Joe's back couldn't handle digging more than one hole. He was digging for the biggest tree, so I got two or three done in the time it took to finish digging his one. And then Rudi wanted him to help with the shed, so the poor boy didn't even get to actually plant the tree.
I started to get very frustrated with Joe and Rudi by now, thanks to old and deep feelings I have about being a girl rather than a boy. I'm not going to say those feelings are right or just, but that also does not mean I should or shouldn't have those feelings. As the middle child and an only girl, I felt left out of my brothers' world. I had my big brother as a playmate long enough that when Calv started to get old enough to play, I felt abandoned. Once when my brothers were playing Legos and I joined them, their hand movements lessened slowly and they looked at me and said, it's not the same when you play, effectively uninviting me from their playtime.
I hated that when there were green, blue, and pink things in a store, I was automatically given pink. I resented the color and I resented anyone who tried to put me in any sort of feminine box. I tried going to Boy Scouts once and was told basically the same thing as my brothers told me: you're not welcome to the boy world. It wasn't ever that I didn't like women, just that I disliked the idea of being confined to one gender definition box.
Obviously I have my issues, and I'm definitely aware of them. But I still hated it when Rudi chose Joe to build with. And when we were all at the table, he talked to Joe about how to design the shed. I was in the bathroom all day sanding a window, but at the end of the day, Rudi took Joe into the bathroom to discuss how to remove the linoleum. As if I were neither competent, nor even really capable.
Joe tried to explain it to me that it was a game of biggest dicks that men play with each other. He also said the dynamics with men change when women are around. Which, in my opinion, is crap. I've been one of the boys and I hold my own on most things. The fact that Rudi doesn't involve me in things is not a dynamics thing--it's a freaking boys' club. And I hate it.
Not that I have feelings on the subject or anything.
So the next few days I avoided being involved in anything that Rudi and Joe were involved in, but we got plenty done. Thankfully my unnecessary anger subsided a little and I hope I wasn't noticeably a jerk. Total we built a woodshed, organized the shop, picked plums, planted trees, removed tile and built-in counter from bathroom, removed linoleum, cut firewood, stacked firewood in the woodshed, fed chickens, watered trees, stacked and re-stacked brush, and pitted plums.
We worked really hard, which was nice because it felt like I was earning my calories again. We won't talk about calories though, as it only brings up cravings and reminds me that there is a slight jiggle in my tummy when I walk.
Somewhere in this big time frame we took care of some business items here and there. We bought car insurance, got a free SIM card from the car insurance people, bought money to put on the phone (what I would call "saldo," though what we call it in English I have no idea), and put in for and received our IRD number (I don't know what that stands for, but basically it is like a tax identification number that all people working in New Zealand need to have in order to work). For those interested in calling either of us, the number you would dial would be something like this:
+64.22.420.6967. If you are in New Zealand and not calling internationally, it would be
022.420.6967. It is going to cost you an arm and a leg probably, so if you'd rather Skype for free, let either of us know by email and we can set up a time and exchange information. But be warned: internet availability is ridiculously limited while traveling.
Our last day we tried to go out to Devonport, but we ended up giving up (parking prices made us gasp incredulously) and driving north instead for a while until we got to a beach that looked pleasant enough. We walked for a long time on the pathways that were set up for walkers. We reached a second beach after a little ways, with a pier and some swimmers. Beyond the pier there were cliffs with some exposed rocks and trees that grew right over us on top of the cliffs, with their roots hanging down and over so it looked like a second tree, upside-down and without leaves.
Joe got into the frigid water once we were close again to where we had parked. I sat in the sunshine and enjoyed myself. We returned to Jutta and Rudi's for our last night with them, but they were in bed by the time we got there. I think they must have been tired because we were home probably by 8:00pm.
The next morning we got up, had our final (or so we thought) breakfast with Jutta and Rudi and headed off. We ran a couple of errands (I just HAD to have a world map poster from a kid's store) and then headed out of town towards the north.
The weather was perfect- just a tinge of cold. I've never been to England, but it is the type of weather I imagine England would have. Moist, mild temperatures.
We stopped at the Kauri Museum by Jutta's suggestion, but when we found out it was $25... per person... we decided to just have a look at the front area, the store, and a couple of churches before moving on. Far too steep for our blood. In one of the churches, Joe and I started singing How Great Thou Art in silly voices, listening to the sounds hit the antique walls and bounce back at us. It was a silly-happy moment, but had to be cut short when we heard other people approaching.
Kauri trees are gigantic, majestic, and extremely trunk-heavy. They were used for fine furniture and gum from the sap, but now they are protected since they have been exploited. They grow to be massive, but their root system is shallow, meaning that they are susceptible to diseases that spread on the ground.
When we got back on the road and close to Bayly's Beach where we were planning on staying for the night, Joe saw a sign for sweet corn and just HAD to stop to get some. That boy loves his sweet corn. I asked him to inquire about a good place to camp, to which he grumbled and objected a little, but I pushed him to do it. Turned out to be the best thing to happen to us on this segment of our travels.
Joe asked the woman who was running the corn stall if she knew of a place to camp and true to the New Zealand way, she answered, you could just stay with us. She said she wasn't going to be done for another 45 minutes or so, but immediately offered Joe the keys to their batch (a word used to indicate a beach house or just a spare, basic, small house). Joe was blown away at the kindness, but declined the keys and told her we would wait for her. He came back to the car beaming, and we laughed at how amazingly friendly the Kiwi are.
The address she had given Joe was located in what I would call a "holler," which opened out onto the beach. The batch was three houses from the beach and looked out onto the sand and the water. When we drove up the little road, we saw a bed and breakfast and thought suddenly, what if we just got scammed? Luckily, it wasn't the right number, though the one that belonged to the right number did not look as described either.
We waited a while and Joe, as is his modus operandum decided to run up this little mountain for a good view. I sorted through pamphlets in the car and enjoyed the sunshine while he did this running.
When he came back and there was still no sign of the owners, we decided it felt a little creepy to sit outside of someone's house waiting for someone we didn't know. So we took the last few meters of the road down to the sand on the beach.
We parked, went out for a look, and then came back to the car for some corn. I pulled out the JetBoil, courtesy of my big brother Dave, whose sense of what to give people for Christmas is impeccable. It had been a couple of years since he had given it to me and I had never really used it, so this was its maiden voyage, if I'm not mistaken. And it did not disappoint. It boils water so fast and so easily that it feels like cheating. Plus, they thought of everything. All the pieces are small enough that they fit inside the pot. You pull them out, screw the attachment right onto the canister of 80% butane/20% propane, put the pot on the fire, turn on the gas and push the button that makes a spark, and that's it!
My favorite thing about Joe is that he values the same things that I value. His excitement and enthusiasm for the JetBoil was just as high as it needed to be. We oo-ed and ah-ed together. And I think Joe had been nervous about not eating very well, so this sleek little machine of ours made him feel more secure about our food position.
When we looked up, we saw the woman Joe had met, cleaning out a box over the edge from her house. We waved at each other and Joe and I got back into the car and headed up.
She had told us the wrong address (its only their little home away from home), so we found them now and parked the car. We met Colleen's husband Peter and started to get to know them. The batch was a little tiny house with very basic stuff in it (it reminded me of a matchbox version of our cabin before we finished it off and made it livable). They had all the things they needed, but nothing fancy. The couches were old but comfy, the washing machine was dinky but functional, and the walls were thin but protective. The view was perfect, right out onto the beach.
They invited us into their home, fed us smoked mackerel and gave us a beer, and chatted with us easily, giving us their full attention. When dinner time rolled around, they fed us (lamb), and then took us out for a walk on the beach. It was a great beach, laid out straight and long in all directions. The sun was just beginning to set, but there was a little cloud cover. We headed up a hill (Peter and Colleen both barefoot) and when we got to the top, the sun was burning off the clouds and the sunset was perfect. We stood and enjoyed, took pictures, and marveled at the beauty of life.
They took us back to their batch and showed us where we were sleeping. It was a little dirty and odd, but so nice to have a place to sleep. It was a converted garage with a sliding glass door out the front and a bunk bed with a larger bottom bed.
We put out our sleeping bags and went back into the batch, where Colleen and Peter were getting ready to put together the mail for the next day. As a way to have a source of income in their later years, they had purchased a mail route and delivered mail most days of the week. We were going to help them put together advertisements, newspapers, and announcements for the residents and businesses of their routes.
Around and around the table we went, putting together the packs. We joked and laughed, and got fingers blackened with ink. It was a joy to help them. Colleen at one point told us how she had lit his rugby shoes on fire. She said it so nonchalantly that we almost missed it. When we asked more, she just said, yeah, I thought that by the time we had kids who were old enough to play rugby, it should probably be time he quit. So she lit them on fire. And his response when we asked if he was mad or sad was, yeah, but I was getting three meals a day, so I was happy. And that was that. No argument, no resentment.
We went to bed shortly after and thanked them for such a nice connection.
The next morning when we got up and after we went for a run on the beach (a run that left me limping for days), Colleen had gone to do the mail route, but Peter was still there. He offered us breakfast. Peter is a very sweet human being, and the combination of the two of them is just beautiful. Peter has a speech impediment, something like a stutter, but not on single syllables. He seems to get stuck more on full words or phrases, repeat some, and go on. It's just enough of an impediment to notice, but not enough to bar people from understanding him. After many years of being together, Colleen and Peter were patient with one another and it was obvious they were as comfortable and happy as could be. Colleen never tried to take over the reins when he stuttered, and they both just carried the conversation as easy as could be.
We mentioned that morning that we were afraid our car was having problems, so after Peter took us to the corn field to pick us some more corn to take for free (he downright refused to let us pay for them), he took us to his mechanic Tony. Tony thought he knew what the problem was and took a look under the hood, test-drove it and then put it up so he could see underneath. He chatted easily with us, but Joe and I were distraught because we were counting up the amount of work that needed done on the car. $400-500 for registration, $600 for a new timing belt (there was no record of it ever having been replaced, despite there being 200,000 km on it), and $500-600 for CV joints. We were so upset.
Before we left, Tony gave us an oil change, shot some grease into the CV joints, and tested it again. The CV joint issue was a little better with the grease and he told us it was not a fatal problem that would hurt us or the car if they were to suddenly to go out on us. Then he wouldn't let us pay him for the oil change, no matter what we said. And to top it all off, he took a look at a book he had lying around and found that the timing belt was not going to destroy us or the engine should it go out sometime.
We thanked him for everything, at which point he invited us to come to Taupo to watch his son drift race. We walked away looking at each other with huge grins on our faces. We are the luckiest people in the whole world! We made the most beautiful connection with Peter and Colleen, got free car advice, free corn, and a free oil change. We drove away smiling, deciding that this is the positive energy coming back to us since we were so punished on our last couple of days in Idaho Falls (see my earlier posts for the gory details).
We stopped at a lake, as advised by Peter. The beaches were perfectly white sand, the water was fresh and blue, and the sun was bright and warm. The water was cold, but we swam anyway (and Joe just ran up that hill for the good view while I cooked some lunch). We ate corn and coconut cream rice. It was a beautiful morning.
We continued north towards Opononi, where Jutta and Rudi had said we should stop. On the way we went to a Kauri forest, where we met a lovely woman from Michigan, who gave us her contact information so we could see about getting jobs in China. A while later we stopped at Tane Mahuta, the world's oldest tree. It was majestic. Sure, you could be cynical about it and just be like, what, it's just an old piece of wood, but damnit, the thing was magical. It went up so high and the trunk was so big that it seemed like its own ecosystem. The trunk is 45 feet wide, just one solid, ginormous piece of wood. The tree is 168 feet tall! It's insane! It's somewhere around 2000 to 2500 years old.
After Tane Mahuta, we picked up some German hitchhikers, and to be quite honest, they weren't super cool. It was two males, maybe a little younger than us, and they were "Scouts," which they explained ad nauseam. For whatever reason, a German scout is cooler because they go to new countries and just live as cheaply as possible. These two had two camp stoves, a sheepskin to sleep on, a canvas and steel pole tent that relied on huge stakes being pounded into the ground with the back side of a hatchet, and an attitude that all fields should be open to camping, whether private or not. They were like, we camp here, no we don't need to ask. We had a hell of a time convincing them that we needed to ask permission (we did ask permission and like most Kiwis, the man said, of course! just camp! in fact, any signs you see that say no camping you take down and stomp on!). The Germans camped with us the first night and even though their English was quite good, they were uninterested in our conversations, asked nothing about us besides name and origin, and spoke almost exclusively to one another in German. I didn't hate them, but they certainly were not the spirit of most open-minded backpackers we meet. We were glad we got rid of them the next morning. I definitely don't wish them any ill-will, but they were just a bit boring for my taste. It was, however, comforting to have them in the tent beside us when at dawn a car drove past and stopped for a little while, lights on and loud music playing.
Some of us also had a shittier night than others.
We continued on to Waitangi, where the Waitangi Day celebrations were happening. We drove into a car park that was $5 and had a free shuttle. We parked on a big rugby field (which we eyed for camping later) and got on the bus and out of the drizzly rain.
We got to look through the museum once we arrived at the Treaty Grounds where the Maori and the English signed a treaty, but we were confused when we didn't see as many people as we were expecting. We ate mussel fritters and mussel burgers in the rain and watched some sort of ceremony in the long-ship house, but the acoustics were not great and we couldn't hear much. The rain made everything wet and sticky. We walked around plenty, but the gathering felt like the town of Ashton. It was surprisingly small and we wondered what all the hype was about.
Finally Joe heard someone talk about the boat races and we tried to find them, asked someone and they pointed us down a road where some people were going. Turns out we had only seen a tenth of the event. There were rows and rows of food and crafts, there was a fire department demonstration about grease fires, and there was a Green Peace demonstration. At the other end of the booths was a long bridge. Once we crossed it, there were twice as many people and booths. The wind was blowing so hard that we were almost knocked over, and the rain was still permeating everything.
We did our best to see what we could, but eventually we just hit a wall, felt strung out and had to find a half-full tent where we could lay down and doze off without offending anyone. I'm not sure how much dozing we got done, as the conversation was too interesting to sleep through. We quickly were surprised at the content. This was a meeting of Maori people and the subject ranged from gang rapes to culture preservation.
The whole culture preservation thing is a touchy subject. I'd like to talk about it now, but even with this mostly one-way communication thing that is my private blog, I feel risky sharing my opinions. But my opinions are this: cultures evolve just like organisms and languages evolve. And that is not always a bad thing. One man stood up and said, "We used to think gang rape was normal, but when our women stood up and challenged that, we were forced to examine the practice and work on curbing it." Just because something such as gang rape is considered a normal part of a culture does not mean that ALL parts of the culture should be saved and cherished. Some things will change with time, as evolution goes, and societies morph.
Another interesting topic that they covered was obesity. It was very interesting to be in on this part of the conversation, because in the United States this topic is now tiptoed around. And while I'm at it, I'd like to say that I do not discriminate based on size, and I definitely see people for who they are as a person rather than the width of shadows that they make. But it was very interesting to hear the Maoris use the word fat left and right. We don't do that in the USA. Fat is a very sensitive word.
The Maori argument was about whether obesity caused family discontent. Now, don't get me wrong or get angry when I say this, but I tend to agree. I'm not saying that I am an expert, and I'm not saying that discontent never occurs in slender families. But as I have said to Joe before: I would probably not be with you if you were obese. Obesity causes health problems, as well as problems with self-esteem. Both the health problems and problems with the mind can leak into all parts of life and disturb even the happiest of relationships. Obesity begets stagnancy begets obesity. It's a tough cycle and anyone that can get out of it has got to be tough as nails. But I lead an active enough lifestyle that I want to be able to share that lifestyle with my beloved. Luckily, my beloved keeps up with me very nicely.
So we sat and listened to the music, the speeches, the questions, and the tiny insights into the modern Maori psyche. A little two year old boy whose ice cream was running down his face and front stole an orange from Joe while we sat and listened. It was the funniest thing because he saw Joe pull it out of the bag and so he went over and grabbed it out of Joe's hand and went back to his family's blanket. So funny and cute.
We decided to get some little doughnuts (places were closing up and we almost couldn't find any, but finally did!), and we ate them on the way back to the shuttle bus. We had had enough of the constant drizzle.
When we got on the bus, I thought I would sit where I could see the other side of the road from what we saw on the way there, but as soon as I sat down I realized the window was mudded completely over and I could not see out! That ought to tell you what kind of day it was.
Once we got back to the car park, we asked around a little more about potentially staying at the end of the field where there were some other tents. Most Kiwis are like, yeah, camp anywhere as long as you're clean and non-disruptive anyway, so when everyone kept telling us we probably could stay but didn't know who we should ask for sure, we just took that as a yes and set up camp! Everyone was pointing to everyone else, but no one really seemed like the chief.
Since we had called it a day pretty early, we had a few hours of light before we could sleep. We spent them reading, writing, and trying to stay dry in the tent. It was a pleasant rainy day with rainy day activity.
The next morning we packed up camp and headed out. We were headed to 90 Mile Beach, which is the long beach at the top of New Zealand. We stopped in Kerikeri for supplies. While at the grocery store, we spotted Elliott, the biker boy from Colorado who was the first backpacker we met in Fiji! Such a small world. He was working at a HelpX house for a few more days and then flying down to the south island to start working for the biking company.
We also left our names and number on the grocery store bulletin board, just to see if we could get any hits for work. Surprisingly, we got a call from a man to do some work in Auckland a few days later thanks to the bulletin board. We turned him down, but it was very cool that we actually got a hit.
We also bought a real map in Taradale, which has been super helpful.
We had not gone very far when we turned off to go to the Water Gardens, where we found a little shed with the door partially open. We knocked and heard some scuffling and this old man came out, shaking with pale age. He told us he was the keeper of the garden, but hadn't been able to keep it up and running due to a heart attack and subsequent hospital stay. We asked him what the weather was like and he told us it would rain for the next couple of days at least. He called us tourists as if we were befuddled and innocent, which was a little funny because of his age and sweetness.
We decided to head back to see Peter and Colleen. Our campsites if we continued north were going to be exposed and super rainy, as they were both out on small peninsulas where the weather would have hit us the hardest. We couldn't see more than five car lengths ahead of us, which meant that any sightseeing that we SHOULD do up there was going to be impossible.
But we were so happy to go spend more time with Peter and Colleen. We were headed to our New Zealand home. When we got there, they were all smiles, happy to see their little adopted tourists. We watched the Rugby 7s match, which is like a big tournament with teams of 7. Normally there are more players on the field in regular rugby, but the tournament has less players and the games go fast. At 20 minutes per game and a double elimination rule, the players were really giving their all and it was fun to watch. They gave us a ticket to the "A & P Show," which was an event we were told not to miss.
We went to bed and in the morning showered and started laundry, and then headed off to meet Peter so he could show us their house. We passed him on his mail route and beat him only by a few minutes. He showed us the place and offered us coffee and cookies, which were just delicious. Somehow it came up that he felt like our dad, taking care of us the way he did. I called him dad (our NZ dad) when we left, to which he beamed.
The A and P in "A & P Show" stand for Agriculture and Pastoral, respectively, and it's basically like a county fair. They had steers over in the livestock shed, an arena where horses were being walked, trotted, and cantered around the ring with their riders in English saddles and outfits, and the most interesting thing--a sheep shearing contest. Sheep shearing was alarming at first. I'm a pansy, so I don't like it when animals get hurt or look distressed, so when the men were wrangling the sheep and buzzing with clippers, I got nervous. But after watching for a while I realized the sheep knew the drill and may have been a bit stressed out, but were probably mostly thankful to get out of the hot wool in the middle of the summer.
While we watched, Joe got hassled by a man with his mustache curled at the ends, who turned out to be one of the contestants in the senior section of the sheep shearing contest. He could wrangle a sheep alright.
After we had had enough of the A & P Show, we headed back to the batch to get our computers, which we took to a cafe to get internet. I sat down and was stupidly efficient with emails, getting them all taken care of quickly. When I went to take a restroom break, the door was a crack open and I knocked and then went in, but only to walk in on an old man standing in front of the toilet peeing. I said, Oops, sorry! and backed out, but I'm not sure the man even heard that. He must have been a little hard of hearing. I laughed about it later.
We went back to the batch for meat patties and chips (french fries) with our NZ parents and watched more of the Rugby 7's tournament. In the morning Peter would have a lawn bowling tournament that we planned to attend and cheer him on.
The next morning when we got up, I went into the house and caught Colleen lost in thought. She sweetly said, oh, I was watching that man down there walk up and down the beach every day and thought he must be in great shape and good for him for walking so much. It was such a polite thing to ponder and tell.
Joe went for a run on the beach while Colleen and I walked down the beach. There were parasailers as we walked out in the crisp breeze.
When we got back, Colleen got a call from Peter, who said they had forgotten to write him down for the lawn bowling tournament. He had even gotten dressed up in the team's all white outfit. When Colleen hung up, she said to us, "Poor chap. He's so disappointed. He'll probably wear his angel suit all day." Cutest thing.
Once Peter came home, we said a very warm goodbye, secretly leaving a bottle of wine and a thank you card on the front seat of their mail truck.
We were on our way to Hawke's Bay, but we were to stop in Auckland for a night to pick up our new bank cards and mail! We arrived at Jutta and Rudi's in time for dinner, which Rudi was preparing for us in his lazy day clothing, perfect for a Sunday. In exchange for dinner, we agreed to be guinea pigs for a presentation Jutta had to give the next day. It was very good, even a little hypnotic. It was fun to return to Jutta and Rudi as friends, rather than indebted house guests. I really enjoyed them.
The next morning it took us a while to get out of town, since we needed to buy a few things before we took off. But once those were taken care of, we were off to Hawke's Bay and in search of jobs! Our next adventure was waiting for us, and this time with all the insecurity that a job search brings. Oh joy.
