Wow.

I had an English student ask me at work if I was Kiwi. I told him no, I'm from the US.  

"Oh, where is that?" he asked.  

"Um.. the United States? I'm from America." 

"Where is that?" he smiled again... 

"It's.. uh, East of here," I said.

Welly

Tom and I bought cheap fights to Wellington and it was finally time to don our puffy jackets and brave NZ's windy city.  I was also lured by rumors of bagels, which I can't seem to find in Auckland.

We were happy to find not only bagels but also that the All Blacks were playing France in international rugby over the weekend.  As a pre-game festivity, I played the frog-toss at the Green Man Bar, tossing a sticky frog toy at a target on a window to win a chocolate frog and a couple of free drinks.

My first game, I spent most of the evening smug that I knew more than the Arizona guy next to me.  The French brought their mascot to the game, three chickens smuggled beneath thick jackets and flung onto the field.  Only one brave security guard laid his rep on the line and chased down two chickens, before losing it when two chicks ran out on the field.  The best tackle of the game goes to him, a sprinting, flat-out, Wolverine-berserker-style take down, that didn't make it on tv.  She deserved it.  

I hung out with the colossal squid at the Te Papa Museum, and the giant weta at the Karori wildlife reserve.  I was a little disappointed at the museum when I showed up to a $2 craft session to  make a top (thinking it was a Maori craft event) only to find that it was a kids colouring class with a bit of paper and a stick.

one liners

I was watching rugby this evening when a commercial came on about treating sheep worms.  You know, like cats or dogs get worms, sheep worms.  The screen split to show the old way, shoving a pill down the throat of a sheep with a tube, and the advertised way, a shot behind the neck.  Only in New Zealand would prime time Friday night sports have an ad for sheep worm treatments.  Tom didn't seem to share my mirth.

A young Polynesian gentleman came to my house one evening this week looking for charitable sponsorship.  To be honest, I didn't hear what for.  Because when I opened the door he smiled at me and asked if my mum or dad were home.  And I may have laughed in his face.

South Island Romp

Auckland.  My folks only had a couple days to acclimate to the enormous 23 hour time difference between Hawai'i and New Zealand before we popped them back on a plane to the South Island.  Don't worry folks, no one over 50 was hurt during the composition of this editorial.  It's only an hour earlier in Auckland than in Honolulu.

Queenstown.  Queenstown is a goldrush town built not on gold but overnight tourism.  The population is strongly composed of snow or extreme-sport tourists and ex-tourists who ended up extreme-sporting for a living.  We didn't stay long, but managed to scramble up the gondola for a couple rides on the luge and a paragliding adventure.  

Te Anau.  By now I'm convinced that the only way to travel New Zealand is hostel to hostel.  We had nothing but excellent service, clean rooms, and good locations.  We geared up in Te Anau and checked in for our 4 day trip across the Milford Track.

Milford.  This is the wettest place in the world apart from Kaua'i.  On the second day of our hike we caught 150 mils of rain, and instead of river crossings, the trail turned into a river.  An icy mountain river.  Further on the trail, trampers caught 250 mils of rain and scored a free helicopter ride over the gushing currents.  Good: the park rangers were taking pictures of us thigh-deep in water for the next brochure.  Bad: the "most beautiful view in the world" was obscured by fog.

Christchurch.  By the time I get to Christchurch I'm sick of rain, sandflies and dehydrated food.  The weather is still dreary but we manage a few indoor activities including the art museum and Rutherford's den.  

The Junk Fairy

March is inorganic trash pickup month.  There is no need in Auckland to haul your waste to the dump, even if it's super-sized.  Just leave it on the sidewalk.

Mums wade through dad's stuff in the garage and dads dig through mom's stash in the closet for any sort of expendables they can find.  Families bicker in the driveway over who put that there, as things make several trips back inside the house before ending up just as forgotten as they were before they were pulled down from the attic.  

But most precious items never make it to the city truck.  A fleet of civilian vans prowl the streets at all hours, cutting through lanes of morning rush hour and lurking in the street lamps at night.  People drive around with three-legged chairs in their passenger seat or a stack of car tyres and scrap metal towering above the truck cab.  

You just wait for a notice in your mailbox telling you a window of time when you can put your big junk on the street, and one night (surprise!) it's gone.  

Normalizing

I've just about reached the halfway point for my working holiday visa and I'm beginning to fathom how short a year is.  Part of me wants to pack my bags and move to South Island, or move to a farm for apple picking season; to throw myself into the unknown again.  

My first couch surfer to Kumara House made my travel feet itch.  Nico and I had a week to catch up on the last seven years of Kohala gossip and mutual, twenty-something wandering.  And as much as I wished I could drop everything and continent-hop like he has, I'm really just envious that he has so much material to write about.  

Now that I've officially signed with the Three Kings Football Club and have paid out half my savings to start a journalism paper at AUT, even spontaneous weekend trips are back-burner plans.  After six months, I've bought into a routine that will carry me through to the end of my current visa.  

 Oh, I've also decided to boycott makeup here:

Mascara NZ: $45 NZD (US $23)

Mascara South Korea: 3500 Won (US $3.50)

Keeping Occupied

The clatter of the cicadas drones on into the peak of summer as we attempt to assuage the 28 C heat with Steinlager Pure and one-day cricket on Sky TV.  I tried my hand at telemarketing for a few weeks but was quickly discouraged when my quotas fell far short.  Perhaps I don't have the killer instinct, or maybe my voice implied to most Kiwis that I was an Indian with a fake accent trying to sell American services from Mumbai.  Anyway, I'm keeping myself occupied with an upcoming GRE and soccer 4 times a week, with 2 official practices at Three Kings.

Yup.  I'm a traitor.  I showed up to the first day of practice with the Ellerslie second team to find a quick tongued bunch in street shoes putting out their cigarettes.  It wasn't exactly as I had imagined and I decided that "making the most of it"-- since playing proper football was something I promised myself in coming to Kiwiland-- meant at least trying for a higher level of soccer.  Hell, if I were still in Chicago, I'd have tried out for the Red Stars just to say I did it.

I show up to the first practice at the Three Kings Club along with a handful of the New Zealand national women's team, a couple from the U-17 national team and half a dozen 16 year-olds.  I've been able to restrain myself from yelling "I saw you on TV!" and they haven't kicked me off the team yet...

In other news, we've been making way in the flat for our bar owner to move out, not long after we traded our German chemist for a Malaysian architect.  Last night we had a few guys around to see how they liked my room, as I will be upgrading to the vacant one.  While my flatmates were introducing themselves as various professionals (PhD, surgeon, architect), I simply owned up to being the resident bum.