Backpacker Pidgin

Keep on truckin'

2011-02-10T21:40:00.002-06:00

"You have to be passionately interested in everything. You have to want to learn about frogs or cancer or assassins, everything there is to know. You have to know five times as much as you're ever going to use in the story. The only really essential quality of a writer is crazed curiosity."

- Cynthia Gorney,

The Washington Post

Stuck

2011-02-02T07:44:00.039-06:00

Chicago. Bob has been stuck out here since 7 pm, Rafael since 9 pm. No one got on the radios and told these CTA bus drivers to stay away from Sheridan Road. Then just after midnight, a couple more buses, two cars and a cab joined them, stranded in the street. When the cab driver ran out of gas, he climbed aboard the nearest bus and waited. Some people simply abandoned their cars and walked.
I couldn't sleep last night: the wind was rocking my building and giving me vertigo nightmares. So when my alarm went off this morning around 6 am, I pressed my face against the window to see what the traffic was up to. At first, I thought they had sent buses of city workers to clear the streets of snow. Then I took a closer look at the skewed tire tracks and the 4-foot snow bank against the bus on the corner.

Like ship captains, the drivers simply could not abandon their vehicles. It was alright for the men because they can pee anywhere, one driver said. But when the supervisor came through around 3:30 am, they put the last couple of female passengers in his car and took them home. It's after 8 am now and the tractors, snow-blowers and giant shovels are out here-and-there clearing driveways; as if anyone was going to get out of here.

Some are even trying.

Other than a bit bored, the CTA drivers are in good spirits. I brought around hot tea and scrounged together some PBJ and salami sandwiches for the mired, and there was another lady bringing coffee. But the drivers understand there are a lot of them stranded throughout the city, including private vehicles, and there's no saying when the rescue teams are swooping in.

msnbc.msn.com reports on windows breaking.

Poltergeists: the blizzard of 2011

2011-02-01T17:02:00.023-06:00

Chicago. The internet is still up. There's only one thing on TV tonight: the massive storm pummeling Chicago and the wider Midwest on its way to the East Coast. They're talking about the storms of '67 and '79, gearing up for what could be the worst storm in over 20 years. Occasional lake-waves up to 25 feet, gusts up to 60 mph. The news is calling it life-threatening.

As the glow of sunlight retreats behind a wall of white storm, I can see the indoor lights reflecting the vibrations of an angry wind at my windows. The double-paned glass is bowing and thrumming like a drum. I've taped down the main window facing the lake with a big X, like dad did when Hurricane Iniki hit in '92. In case the wind shatters the glass. Outside in the hallway of my twelfth-floor apartment, the eerie sound of a poltergeist wind rattles and whistles. And it's getting worse.

Our editing professor let us out of classes an hour and a half early in anticipation of the brewing gales; I watched the snow thicken through the windows of Fisk Hall, my classmates with cars staring anxiously over my shoulder. I trudged through the streets from the subway to my apartment, turning a corner where the Lake Michigan wind assaulted me. I couldn't move--stuck in the middle of the street, and that damn car was just going to have to wait for me because I'm only two blocks from home with no where else to go.

I have no desire to be a TV reporter tonight: in the empty halls of O'Hare Airport, standing with sandbags against a plastic-wrapped camera in Daley Plaza or locked in traffic waiting for those enormous waves to flood Lake Shore Drive. The whine of emergency vehicles is muted, and the cars creep along below with their hazard lights nodding patiently.
What was excitement over my first snow-day and a possible sledding expedition has turned into anxiety as a drip catches my eye--the snow is melting down the inside of my east-facing window.

Wow.

2009-06-30T02:06:00.002-05:00

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

2009-06-30T01:17:00.005-05:00

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

2009-05-22T03:32:00.002-05:00

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

2009-04-01T00:34:00.014-05:00

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

2009-04-01T00:33:00.005-05:00

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

2009-02-23T13:40:00.005-06:00

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

2009-02-11T14:46:00.005-06:00

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.

Four Peppermint Hippopotami

2009-01-23T00:07:00.006-06:00

The Ellerslie men's division of their football club already began training this week, and I admit I feel left out. The women's team is scheduled for a social BBQ this weekend, and tentative training dates are not until March. Boo. But as a fun way to strength train, Tom and I learned to indoor rock climb. Not to mention we went to work on the bach last weekend, spending a couple days trimming the trees with the neighbors. I'm certainly feeling those 5 years since I last trained with a proper team.

Between Tuesday and Thursday training sessions, Tom's "social" 7-a-side men's team plays on the Ellerslie grounds. I've watched a few games; several of their club players have played starting positions at the international level, leading to a lot of testosterone-flinging. Tom's team has been suffering for numbers since before Christmas when their regular keeper hopped a plane for Europe and injury recovery kept several off the pitch. This week, they couldn't even make the minimum 7, so Tom threw my name in the pot-- although some of the Ellerslie women have asked to play in the league before and been turned away. They cleared it with the organizers and the ref, and the other team agreed none too soon, because a mix up with the scheduling left our team, the Peppermint Hippopotamus Football Club, with only 4 field players for the majority of the first half.

We sank into a defensive formation near our net that left us vulnerable to two long goals before a 5th player showed up. Tom had a crazy break away that pulled us up from absolute defeat, and two more players showed up just after the half to give us a full squad and a sub.

By the end of the game, we were up 2 more screaming headers and another long goal: 4-2. Perhaps the other team should have declined to let the only girl in 12 teams play, as we found out afterwards they needed to beat us in order to progress into the top 6 for playoffs.

Holiday Montage

2009-01-10T13:15:00.026-06:00

Hats

Auckland. The view from Tom's room overlooks the Ellerslie Race Course, and you can hear the announcer's monotone creeping in through the windows on race days. I haven't been to a race since about 5 years old, when My Little Ponies were style and trifecta was a foreign language.

For this year's Boxing Day Races I had delusions of My Fair Lady as Tom decided to enter Fashion in the Field, the runway fashion contest in between races. Even without the sparse male entrants, Tom had a good chance just on age and charm; the men's competition included a checked purple suit, a drunk and a top hat with coattails. He made the final 5 with a New Zealand-themed getup: a black cowboy hat complete with pohutukawa lei (furnished by yours truly) and a matching red Maori-patterned koru tie. To our disappointment, the dude in the purple checked suit who brought his under aged sons to the catwalk ended up winning the $3,200 prize. I smell cheating!

All in all, I had a fantastic time wandering around the stands and the infield, champagne and beer all around and occasionally throwing money at the horses.

Shapeshifter

Waihi. On the 28th we made our way down the northeast coast to Waihi Beach for a concert by drum and bass artists Shapeshifter with Tiki Tane opening. We set up a tent in the yard of a friend's bach with about 40 other people and proceeded to the beach for some well earned relaxation. While at the local dairy, Tom gets a text from his brother telling him to pick up a newspaper. We open it to find a collage of photos from the races, with Tom and two of his better-dressed competitors in color print.

Later that evening the house teenager shuttled us down to the Waihi Hotel where we danced the night away to a fantastic concert. I was very impressed by Tiki's presence and local rhythms, and Shapeshifter kept us on our feet well through midnight. It was over a mile walk back to the bach, but we slept well and had an early start the next day thanks to the downpour that chased us out of tent city before 8 am.

Sand Dunes

Opononi. Our companions from Shapeshifter organized a week at a vacation house on the northwest coast at a little beach town called Opononi. We arrive to a dozen cars outside a huge 3 story house and 21 other new years revelers. Over the next 4 days I would get accustomed to the routine of early walks on the beach, mid morning excursions, afternoon naps, communal dinners and late nights.

Most impressive was our trip to the sand dunes, a huge landmass directly across the inlet and a stunning view from our front porch. A costly ferry drops you with a few body boards at the base of a slope that drops steeply into the clear water. After a few thrilling rides, we loaded up with a bit of water and a few snacks and climbed directly over the summit of the dunes to check out the other side. The sand melted our footsteps, but it was a lively climb as Joe designated members of our party as biblical prophets and shook his stick at disbelievers. On the other side, the sand solidified into honeycombed limestone and dropped steeply into chasms and cliffs. The pacific waves bit into the coast without forgiveness, lifting a dense sea spray and finally condensing into clouds that raced patterns in the sand with the same fervor.

Comin' 'Round the Mountain

Rawhiti, Bay of Islands. We left Opononi a day early in order to make it up to Tom's bach in the Bay of Islands. After lunch in Russell with friends we picked up our papers for the Cape Brett Track, a 20 km hike out to the lighthouse hut where we would spend the night before trekking back. The first day we ambitiously took a longer trail, picking our way through the dense forest before meeting up with our designated track. The entire 20 km trail marched straight up or straight down, and at every lookout we would peer out and speculate where the trail would lead next: "We couldn't possible go up that peak, the trail probably goes around..." But the breathtaking views and the satisfaction of having done it far outweighed the temporary punishment to my hips, knees and feet.

But the thing I wanted most was a bath. We stopped at Deep Water Cove on the way in, thinking we could get a nice swim in before the final and roughest 2 hours of the trail. But as Tom put his ankles into the water, a local boater called out, "I wouldn't get in much deeper than that. There's a 12 foot shark in the water." The hut where we stayed smelled of rancid bait and fish in a couple of rooms, and faucets trickled catchment water that we boiled before reloading into our bottles. Between the catchment water and the rough seas, I went to bed fantasizing of the pristine waters in Oke Bay at the end of our trip. Seven more hours of hiking and we march thirstily down to glimpse the ocean, along with about 50 large black jellyfish washing into Oke Bay.

Speaking of which, I also had the great pleasure of introducing Tom to peanut butter and jelly as a delectable lunch option.

The Last Stand

Cooks Beach, Coromandel. After a night in Auckland, we drove south to the Coromandel to our camping ground at Cooks Beach. By now, many of the younger summer holiday crowd had vacated the popular getaways to go back to their jobs, and the campsite was crowded with families with young children. We spent another day at the beach before taking a $2 ferry to Whitianga to watch cricket at the local pub and find some dinner. We should have stayed at the pub, as we had an uncomfortable experience at the Thai restaurant we went to thanks to the prejudice of our waiter against Aucklanders! (My restaurant review) Unbelievable... It only added to our exhaustion from the sun, driving and camping, and in the end we packed up our tent a night early and, after a quick jaunt to Hot Water Beach and Cathedral Cove, headed back to Auckland for a real shower and a familiar bed.

Bollywood

2008-12-16T12:31:00.006-06:00

In the quaint little corner of Mt. Roskill Grammar, the grounds quiet for summer vacation, a few cars congregated in the car park. Aunties carrying their bright scarves in grocery bags and families laden with tin-foiled potluck platters made their way to the gym. Among the free weights and posing in the giant mirror, most of us couldn't dress ourselves. My sari was tucked into a leather belt and safety-pinned in 4 different places in a way that I may never replicate unless I commit to another session of dancing...

When her friends learned that our instructor was teaching Bollywood dance to the community, they came to her with old saris and outfits for her students. I am now the proud owner of a cerulean sparkler perfect for playing dress-up, practicing my sari-folding technique, Halloween or possibly even an encore act.

Her little girl heard my accent and was captivated by America stories for the rest of the evening. Before I went up to dance, she asked me if I was scared. I told her, "Nah, dancing is fun." It wasn't a flawless performance, and I danced Saiyaan Re twice; having skipped classes when they learned Aaja Nachle in order to meet the women's football coaches at Ellerslie. But no one seemed to have the choreography perfectly, so I jumped up and down and faked it with the best of them. In the end, the little one wanted to dance too, and so performed her version of Saiyaan Re that took second place at the Diwali festivals this year. She's nine and cute and predetermined to put us to shame.

Here Comes Santa in a Red Canoe

2008-12-13T12:42:00.008-06:00

Christmas in the park is hosted every year in the Auckland Domain by Coca Cola. The iconic Coca Cola Santa presides on all the marketing with his classic coke bottle: posters, banners, web pages, programs, stage décor, etc. I began to wonder about the consequences of the Santa make-believe: an undeniable sign of encroaching age (sad). A host of Christmas lore such as Miracle on 42nd Street tell us that not believing is the biggest tragedy of childhood; that it is the possibility of make-believe that allows us to be children.

Not that you could escape December's complicated social web of Santa if you tried. Nor could you escape the inherent materialism associated with it—a Pavlovian "response and reward" reflex of toys in exchange for good behaviour.

But really, our natural instinct for reward can't be so bad. Get an A? Here's a cookie. All you need is a little faith in the progeny to tell the difference between cause and effect when they're ready.

Recently the New Zealand Herald ran an article about someone posting an ad for wife beaters on a popular online sales community called trademe.co.nz (think ebay). The community was outraged that they could advertise singlets with such an abominable name and the organization was forced to block the seller from its site because the name encourages spouses to beat their wives.

Little ol' American me doesn't know what a singlet is, but I know that a wife beater is a thin white tank worn underneath men's shirts. I don't think I'm more willing to let a man hit me for calling his undershirt a "wife beater."

So let the kids live a little. Every Christmas my family serves up shortbread and veggie sticks for Santa and his reindeer. The kids get Santa, the adults get cookies. Everybody gets a little Christmas spirit.

The Beautiful Game

2008-12-06T15:21:00.019-06:00

Went to see the LA Galaxy play the Oceania All Stars. Let's start with current events shall we? The Auckland City Council is now investigating the behind-doors arrangements that brought the LA Galaxy to New Zealand for wasting tax-payer money. They needed at least 19,000 paying seats filled in order to pay back their money, and after a host of free tickets and a 2-for-1 deal, they only had 16,600 in the stadium (New Zealand Herald Article). When the Galaxy visited to play the local Wellington team last year, let's just say the deal was a bit sweeter.

The whole event was so trumped up it was a joke. Even the media were mocking the death of Beckham mania and consequent poor sales before the game. At $85 a pop, Tom and I didn't decide to go until the day before when that 2-for-1 deal came up as a last ditch sales ploy.

It didn't seem like the marketing was done by or for anyone in the football community, and therefore it only wooed the pop celebrity crowd to fill the stadium with Beckham-drooling paparazzi and soccer mums.

We skipped the pre-game festivities where they had non-soccer celebs playing soccer (insert raspberry here). But we did make it in time for: a haka by a local college, the game ball being flown onto the field by helicopter, a girl in a purple spandex suit and orange cape chasing a dude in a chicken suit across the field to get the game ball, some little kid juggling the game ball, cheerleaders and fireworks. This is not football. This is a live-action, voyeuristic, celebrity magazine.

Gotta hand it to Beckham though. He played to the crowed kicking every set piece, played a conservative game and spent as much time on the field as he had to. The idiot announcer shamed the scant number of footballers in the stadium commenting on Beckham's "limbering up before the match," and calling on the crowd, "Let's hear it for Beckham's LA Galaxy!" Small wonder Donovon didn't show. And Becks must have asked himself several times, "Is this what my life has come to?"

If I had to pick an MLS team I'd call myself a Chicago Fire fan, so all this press on the LA Galaxy makes me giggle. Even now few Americans follow soccer. And although LA played like a cohesive team (as well they should in the post-season), they did live up to my expectations and received a red card before the end of a match they would clearly win.

But the poor Oceania team... Shunned by marketing, fans and officials, the team became the butt of a bad joke mocking Australasian football. The eclectic roster was listed obscurely on the Oceania football website, so we knew almost nothing of the team before game day. They played as one may have expected, as talented individuals who had (I can only guess) a week at most to train as a team. And as the officials made many a terrible call to put Beckham on the free kick (without fans to set those jerks right), mounting frustrations from the Oceania side came out as more penalties and ultimately demoralization. The team sat back and watched the onslaught come at them, never pushing to win the 50/50 ball, botched trapping and passing; sweeper Ivan Vicelich let through three 1-on-1 opportunities for LA with the keeper, though LA could only put one of those away.

My match hero: Edgar Davids. For him I will sing Inner Circle's rendition of "Sunglasses at Night" for pulling out some fantastic moves and single-handedly making the evening worthwhile.

You have some twink? No I'm clean thanks.

2008-11-25T19:49:00.004-06:00

I received verbal notice last week, so only three more weeks working for Whitireia. The big boss cringed as she said it, but I tried not to smile as she told me the news. I've got quite the new years travel set up and anyway I'm not interested in adjusting my plans to fit a work schedule.

As a result, I didn't take off Thursday to celebrate Thanksgiving, but I did feel justified in taking Friday off for my birthday. And what would my birthday be without a bit of turkey? So we prepared Thanksgiving dinner for Friday night, and with the time difference it worked out splendidly. Tom did most of the cooking and we had a few friends over to polish off the huge meal.

Auckland is a great boating harbor, but fairly slim on beaches. The weekend forecast was for perfect weather and we took the opportunity to get out of the city and go to the beach. Twice. The heat here is unique. The wind and the air stay relatively cool, chilly in the shade or the breeze. But once you step out into the sun, it's a direct burn that makes you deliriously desirous of entering into the sub-tropical ocean without a wetsuit.

Piha. Saturday we drove west over the Waitakere Ranges to Piha Beach. All of the west coast beaches are a beautiful black sand both on the North and South Islands. As you coast down the mountainside, the beach reaches out on either side from Lion Rock, a jutting bit of land that looks like a lion reclining on the sand. Everyone runs from their towels to the ocean, burning their feet as they go, only to spend the first ten minutes in the numbing water without any feeling in their extremities.

Tawharanui. Sunday we picked up some snorkeling gear and made our way Northeast to Tawharanui park. It's a stunning white sand beach situated in a bird sancuary, with perfect little waves to learn to surf. I find it strange that no one goes to the beach until after lunch, because Hawaiian beaches are packed at 8 am. Tom surmises that this may be due to the ocean temperature, and quickly put down my idea to surf or body board at 7 am without owning a wetsuit.

This area has many beaches, including a few marine sanctuaries. And in the middle is Matakana town, a well-kept beach town with a few pubs and stores, and the best little ice cream shop called Blue. Definitely planning on repeating this trip a few more times before the summer is out.

Cultured

2008-11-19T15:01:00.006-06:00

I told my boss yesterday that we need more hanging files when she does the next stationery order. She stared at me and shook her head, "Hanging files? What is that?" I raised my eyebrows and started drawing squares in the air, "You know, hanging files..." I pointed to my desk drawer. "Oh!" She exclaimed, "You mean suspension files," she shook her head again and smiled at me like I'm just retarded enough to be funny.

Two Indian students approached me at the front desk, but were distracted by a Chinese student speaking loudly into his mobile as he walked by. They started to snicker and asked me, "Do you understand anything he's saying?!" I looked them in the eyes and told them, "I don't understand what you're saying half the time."

Movember. November in New Zealand is men's health awareness month. Men are sponsored to spend the month cultivating all possible styles of scraggly mustaches (mo's) in order to raise money for charities. About 2 weeks into Movember, my Chinese coworker runs into my South Indian coworker in the hallway. "What is that dirty thing?" She exclaims, pointing to her upper lip and staring at the day or two old scruff he had nurtured. "Oh! You must be participating in Movember," She concludes. "Actually," he looked at her blankly, "I'm not."

Two things annoy me about Auckland. First, if traffic drives in the left lane, it is natural to assume that pedestrians should also move down the left side of the walkway. No? Somehow the locals move in a great chaotic sifting mass, many people simply putting their heads down and ignoring you until you move out of their way. Second, the low toilet water levels are meant to conserve water, but this only creates more splashing. Yuck.

Birds and Worms

2008-11-15T03:37:00.024-06:00

Another action packed weekend in Kiwiland. We had an early start driving Southwest of Auckland with a plan to stop at the Otorohanga Kiwi House before making our way to the Waitomo Caves. Of course, it isn't an adventure for us without a little car trouble. We a nice 20 minute visit at the Pirongia public toilets until we figured out that all we needed to do was tighten the cables to the battery.
Otorohanga. I was like a 5 year old watching a live dinosaur. I can't even explain to you how extatic I was standing with my nose pressed against the glass of the kiwi exhibit for half an hour. The Otorohanga Kiwi House has a large population native birds, and we happened in on feeding time for the Keas and Kakas. Something to look forward to: evidently Keas, large green parrots, will attack your car's windshield wipers on South Island, and there's not much you can do but wait for them to get bored and fly away. Also loved the tuataras as they lazily cuddled along the branches. Tuataras are the last remaining species of a lizard that's basically stayed the same for 220 million years.

We had a good Kiwi lunch of chips and a double cheese burger, complete with beets and coleslaw at a hole in the wall where the locals sat. We must have walked into 4 different lunch places before picking the least-touristy place, where a little girl in a purple dress stared at us from the doorway while eating her scoop of ice cream.

Waitomo. Stomachs full, we made our way over to Waitomo to the Blackwater Rafting Co. Joining us on the our 1pm appointment for the 5 hour Black Abyss tour, was a random assortment of 6 people from Tom's old engineering firm and a guy from Chicago. No wonder it's a 5 hour tour-- it took us an hour just to wiggle and squirm our way into our wetsuits. It was well worth it. There was absailing, flying foxing, innertubing, cave wading, stalagtiting, stalagmiting, cannibalistic-promiscuous-glow-maggoting...

As we linked our tubes feet to arms in a long line, our guide Bridgett told us to turn off our head lights and banged loudly on a tub to wake the glowworms. We drifted slowly, staring up at the the only visual stimulus, a snaking ceiling of blue stars. Through the darkness, Bridgett suggests "Does anyone know a song? The cave gets great accoustics." Out of the black comes the voice of an Englishman: "Yogi, Yogi bear!" Sung to the tune of Camptown races with choruses of "He's a cheesey bear: he's a camembert," "His girlfriend likes it on the fridge, she's a polar bear," I'm afraid I can't go into detail without getting booted from my blog.

I tried to crawl under a waterfall and was washed away 3 times, but nonetheless enjoyed rock climbing back up. On our way out of the caves, we ran into Cecil the fresh water eel. Some of the caving guides bring him sausages, so he's attracted to the lights and white gumboots.

After pulling and wincing our way out of our wetsuits, we made our way to the local pub for a pint before dinner. This pub offers an "Around the World" deal where you drink one each of 11 beers and get the last one free, along with your name up on the chalkboard. The pub was mainly empty; an underaged kid wiped tables and Whitney sang "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" on the screen.

Change

2008-11-05T14:19:00.013-06:00

I spent most of my day at work on Wednesday on my seat's edge as the American election results began to pour in after lunch. Our Kenyan student from Kogelo tipped his Obama hat to me as always and asked how we were doing. Even now, post-election, my Kiwi coworkers trickle by my desk to ask impartially if I voted or if I was satisfied with the results of the election-- as if to say they are unsure if I am a representative of the Bush America or the upcoming Obama America. But I do feel the tangible, global sigh of relief not only from those countries like New Zealand invested in American politics (and more so in American economics), but from people overseas like myself who no longer have to vigorously shake their heads and lie "Canadian!"

I missed the presidential-elect acceptance speech for a game of futsal, but can hardly regret it for fear of that lurking homesickness for a city I still call my own. And for all the facebook messages of friends who attended Grant park that evening! But it is always inspiring to see an event have such far-reaching effects. A local teacher told me about a group of Kiwi kids who recently won a school business competition by selling pictures of their clients digitally superimposed onto a background with Obama: Obama with his arm around you on the Gold Coast of Australia, Obama looking lovingly into your eyes as the sun sets behind Auckland.

Video Killed the Radio Star

2008-11-02T17:03:00.005-06:00

Auckland. There are songs that should never be resurrected let alone used as radio filler. I honestly reconsider my ability to fit in here when I hear Butterfly by Crazy Town and Mambo Number 5 by Lou Bega on a regular basis.
However I am not embarrassed to say that I enjoyed my first class in Bollywood dancing. Oh yes, you knew it was coming. Our teacher is a Gujarati-Kiwi aerobics instructor, who doesn't bother so much with the hand and eye positioning as she does with the workout. Understandably. Picture me with 25 Kiwi women around my mother's generation, and a couple Indian aunties singing along to the soundtrack. She offers alternate sitting positions for those who have a hard time sitting and standing in different poses. I haven't taken a dance class since I quit my hula halau around the age of 11, and I'm afraid I've forgotten all of the Bollywood choreography past the first 4 8-counts. If nothing else, this should make for some classic photos. Stay tuned.
I've also been keeping up with the U-17 Girls Soccer World Cup that is being hosted here in New Zealand. After watching some fantastic football at home on Sky sports, a few of the guys and I decided to check out a game. We made it in time for the second half of the New Zealand v. Denmark game, and after some exciting chances in stoppage time, the Kiwis are unfortunately out of the tournament. I'm looking forward to the final that will be held here in Auckland in a couple weeks.

Bloody Sky

2008-10-27T15:20:00.010-05:00

Rangitoto. Labor day weekend means big shopping, queuing cars and $1 scoops of Tip Top ice cream. We waited out the Saturday and Sunday rain to take a sunny trip to Rangitoto island in Auckland Bay first thing on Monday. A 25 minute ferry takes you to the young volcanic island whose name means "Bloody Sky": a nickname after a Maori canoe captain who was badly wounded there in battle. It last erupted about 600 years ago, and the scenery strongly reminded me of Volcanoes National Park in Hawaii with its expanse of a'a lava and red cinder with forests of pohutukawa (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pohutukawa) and tree ferns.

A handful of old baches fortified with heavy locks dot the coast as the ferry approached. There are only three ferries a day to the island, with nowhere to purchase food or drink. The occasional stranded tourist is known to break into the baches, void of electricity, heat or running water, to wait out the evening for the morning ferry. But none of the homes seemed to be in very good condition: the government banned construction in the late 1930s after 20 years of scant building. This was followed in the 1960s with a decree that property could not be passed to inheritants, and that any structures would be demolished following their passing.

What's left is a few fishermen's dingys tied up at low tide amongst the clams and a gaggle of tourists walking the pathways around the island perimeter to the summit. Tom and I hiked to the summit for lunch. Fathers cajoled their little ones up the lasts of peak, "Almost there Bub!" and mothers carried white-blond offspring wiping the crankiness from their eyes. But as soon as the parents sat down for lunch, the entire look out was turned into a playground. There were children crawling on the handrails, running barefoot beneath the platform and swinging sticks.

But my favorite was watching them run across the cinder clearing to the shelter, as you couldn't go 5 minutes without little feet skidding and wiping out. It was a field of tragedy. One boy chased a beach ball while his little brother came up to join him. The boy mis-timed his kick and stepped on the ball, the arch of his foot well over his head as he came crashing down again. He picks himself up, and limps over to his parents sobbing that his brother had tripped him.
The view was a breathtaking panorama from Auckland to the other islands and back again. After lunch the tui bird whistled invisibly through the trees as we hiked down towards the lava caves. When we arrived, there are a couple of people strapping lights to their heads and making their way into a small, rocky crawlspace. More were gathered outside, and we looked around at each other thinking, "Is this it?" I leaned over to Tom: "I'm not going in there without a flashlight." He hands me a key chain flashlight that my parents gave him last Christmas. I pressed the button and the blue beam sputtered...and went out. We ended up finding larger caves just down the path, and had just enough cell phone light to make it to the other side. I'm rugged, I know.
By 4 pm we were pulling away from the dock, smugly looking at the long queue still on the island. However, we were disappointed by the approach of a second ferry arriving to pick up the stragglers.

Intro to Kiwi Music

2008-10-18T02:32:00.005-05:00

Well who'd have thought. I found a music video channel that shows music videos instead of reality TV! Check out some of the hits :

Always on My Mind, Tiki Taane

http://nz.youtube.com/watch?v=3euc9pmst4M

Everything, P Money feat. Vince Harder

http://nz.youtube.com/watch?v=axgkWd-dHu0

Useless

2008-10-16T00:00:00.009-05:00

The job roller coaster has been a bit much recently. One minute I have two possible alternative jobs that vanish into smoke the next like bad magic. My temping agency gave me a call about a job that was canceled the next day because the company decided to hire someone on the inside. At the same time, my current employers tried to find a way to upgrade my responsibilities, but were denied by HR on the basis of my temporary work visa.

With New Zealand hitching a ride on the American economy plunge, I'm wondering if I shouldn't simply count my blessings: that I am a foreigner with a job. Many countries have elections this year, and New Zealand will be up just a few days after the Americans in November. I read an article today from a delegate in the New Zealand First party promising that jobs will go foremost to New Zealanders with a slogan of "No Job, No Immigration"; meaning that unless you have secured a job offer, immigration will be short of impossible.

So for now, I've joined the library and borrowed Atlas Shrugged, one of the longest single novels ever written. And if anyone has any online articles (pc for the workplace), please send them my way...

And your highlight for the evening: 911. On Monday, about 10 minutes before pauhana time, I start to hear all manner of profanities coming from the street outside. There's a shirtless man threatening someone I can't see past the corner of the building, sending our students running inside. A couple of my coworkers come out from their desks to gawk with me, and we decide to call the cops. I look at my coworkers, 3 Chinese women and ask, "What's the local number for emergencies?" They stare back at me blankly. Someone finally says "911!" Emergency services put me through to the police. After 20 long rings, I finally explain to the lady that we need some help, though by then the cops were already on the scene.

Work Blues

2008-10-06T00:12:00.012-05:00

What is it about the first day of work that burgeons germs? Maybe it's the frantic rush to contact as many employers as possible, or the stress of putting a positive spin on your life: summarized into two run-on sentences. I'm working the front desk of a government-run tertiary institute called Whitireia Polytechnic (http://www.whitireia.ac.nz/) -- try saying that ten times fast and you'll get what it's like working the phone switchboards all day. I've finished about 200 pages in two different books, cleaned the desk, read the Treaty of Waitangi... I suppose I am getting paid for it.

I called in sick yesterday, so today, Thursday, is day 3. Turns out that yesterday, someone off the street walked in the front door and into a classroom and taught class for a while before walking into the administrative offices, stealing money from purse in a desk, and walking back out the front door. They didn't tell me when I was hired that I was expected to be a bouncer too. I'd like to add that I just discovered a thong on the windowsil and a fire in the trashcan outside the front entrance.

It could be worse. I was offered a job last Friday night at the bar by a South Indian pediatrician/business enthusiast looking for an executive assistant to help with his start-up internet buisness. He told me that I'd be organizing his vodofone branches and his appointment books, and traveling with him to India, Dubai, and the States to help him close buisness deals. I guess he was impressed that I knew the existance of malayalam, and that it is the longest singular palindrome (thanks Jason). I was playing along until he drunkenly added that I'd probably have to share a room with him when I travel.

Oh well. The last three months have been the best vacation since grade school summer, and now it's back to the hard reality of having no local job experience. The whole thing is chicken or egg: you need a good visa to land a good job, and a good job to land a good visa.

Your highlight of the day: Sugar. In the past, I've introduced myself as "Chelsea, like the English football team." But here, football means rugby, and they call what I play soccer to differentiate. Luckily they also have a famous national sugar company called Chelsea, so now I have the pleasure of introducing myself as "Chelsea, like the sugar."

Kumara House

2008-09-29T21:36:00.025-05:00

This evening officially kicks off Chelsea's Flatting

Adventure: Auckland Edition. Last night didn't count. Mostly because I forgot to buy hot sauce for my grilled cheese sandwiches, and it's not home without the Sriracha rooster. As recorded earlier, I had to unleash the dirty taekwando moves I learned in Korea to eliminate my competition for this particular room. And with good reason too: the room came complete with purple walls and a Jagermeister poster above the door. It reminds me to Just Chill. My addition to the house sounds like the opening to a bad bar joke: A Hawaii girl moves in with an Aussie skiier, an Indian doctor, a German chemist, and a Kiwi bar manager...

The afternoon winds carry the smell of hops from the Lion Brewery across the street, past the fruiting lemon tree and a sticker of Jack Skellington on my window pane. I'm finally here. It was about this time last year I was playing a double header with my co-ed soccer team: we had just won the semi-final and were waiting one game for the championship round. My teammate Bridget and I were cooling down around the field, discovering a mutual desire to travel the world. "I wish I could just pick up and move somewhere crazy," she paused, "like... New Zealand!" "Really?" I couldn't think why she'd said New Zealand of all places. Then, realizing it was just crazy enough to work I added: "I know some people... We could actually do that. Do you want to move to Auckland and be roommates?" That evening we tied the championship game in full time, but lost in penalties. And I had a new roommate for April 2008.

I subleased my apartment and registered for a visa. By January, I was mentally checked out of Chicago, and Bridget was in love-- with the man she would eventually agree to marry. In the end, things worked out pretty well for both of us!

Look- Sheep!

2008-09-28T14:50:00.019-05:00

Ok I'm a-slackin. It's been a lot of busy work trying to get legal in this country: flat, job, drivers license, library card... By the way, that open house I saw? I edged out the competition and am moving in today. (Chelsea flexes muscles) That's right ESL girl!

This weekend Tom and I visited the family bach up north. We packed early on Friday and were on our way just after lunch. All of you who know me also know that as I run out of clean clothing, I start to dress up a little more. So I've got on this cute turquoise top that cuts low in the front, and of course, surprise! Grandma just happened to be at the grocery store that we stop at. I'm sure I made a fantastic first impression with my cleavage.

It takes about 3 hours to drive north to the Bay of Islands, and you really get a feel for a country when you see its rural side. They weren't kidding when they said livestock-- hours and hours of driving through acres of milk and wool grazing the hills; with some beautiful interludes of thick-trunked palms, tree ferns and kauri forests. Two hours into the drive, we stop off at Whangarei for some chips when we realize that the car is over heating. After a few calls to home, it's about 6 pm and the car's fan is completely shot. So instead of driving the last hour into the boonies where there's no one to help us, we decide to drive back to Auckland, switch cars, and try again in the morning. Twelve hours later we're back on the same road. This time we make it to the Bay of Islands, and finally get a chance to kick up our heels and enjoy the view with a Steinlager Pure and some garlic sausage.

Bay of Islands, NZ. Later that evening we drove 30 minutes into Russell, the nearest town, to watch the Rugby League semi-final between the New Zealand Warriors and the Manly Sea Eagles (no not kidding). You know your town is small when you can name the bakery "The Bakery" and the pub "The Pub." That being said, it was probably bigger than Kapa'au... Ah well. Let's just say the game didn't go our way.

Sunday morning I learned how to kick a rugby ball on an empty grass parking lot for a pitch. The only sounds you could hear above the native honeycreepers was the echo of our boots on the football, and the occasional splash as I kicked it into the storm drain. It was a balmy morning, maybe 70 F, so we waded into the bay for a swim. It took me about 10 minutes to get in, as I was having nasty flashbacks about the cold-water whirlpool back in my college injury days. However, you do adjust. Not only was it refreshing, but it finally toughened my thin Hawaii blood and bad circulation.

We took the long way back to Auckland, detouring past the West coast through the Waipoua forest to see Tane Mahuta, an estimated 2,000 year old giant Kauri. We were fairly certain that there would be a sign on the road to tell us where to pull off, and sure enough around the corner came a sign that read: BIG KAURI TREE. I've been getting some driving in, and feeling more confident about this whole "left is right" thing. And notwithstanding a close call with a pukeko (below), I have an immaculate New Zealand driving record. So far so good.

City of Sails

2008-09-19T16:28:00.014-05:00

After my disappointment with the zoo's local fauna-- both the kiwi birds and the tuatara (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuatara) are nocturnal and ill-suited for zoo viewing hours-- it was time to rally and enjoy the Warriors in some Rugby League playoffs. I got into the spirit early on Friday when I went to check out a flat, only to find out that it was an open house and 4 or 5 girls--out of 16 that responded to the ad--were already passing through the house. I elbowed one Japanese ESL student out of my way as I made for the current roommate and didn't let anyone else have a word in before I left. They haven't called me back.

Later that evening, the Grammar boys took me to a house party where all the guys drank beer and all the girls toasted wine out of long-fluked glasses. We were relegated to Smirnoff Ice, since the store had sold out of beer for the game. Nikita turned to me in the second half as the Warriors finally pull from behind: "This is more exciting than American football I reckon!" At one point during the final minutes of the game, I giggled at my reflection in a Smirnoff Ice and pondered why everyone was talking funny.

After an exciting win by the home team, we jumped into a cab and made for Ponsonby and some live music. Kiwis must have some crazy Miracle Grow in their diets (could be the marmite http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marmite), as I spent most of the evening greeting people's stomachs from my slippers.

Your zen for the day: more toilets. Unlike the Korean bidet, Kiwi toilets have only two buttons, one with a full circle and one with a half moon. The full circle is for those of you who dislike skid marks, as this is an aggressive flush for more sticky situations.

Nocturnal=Not Zoo Hours

2008-09-18T01:37:00.006-05:00

Sorry guys, I got nothing. Enjoy some zoo pictures.

Kiaora!

2008-09-13T20:05:00.011-05:00

Honolulu, HI. I realized as I passed through security on my 9/11 flight to Honolulu that I was wearing my old Chelsea Football Club jersey: FLY EMIRATES. Whoops. The only comment I had was from the flight steward:

FS: "Do you work for the Emirates airlines?"

C: "No, it's actually a soccer jersey."

FS: "Oh, do you play for them?"

C: "...No, I'm not good enough."

Another trip too short, but I did manage to squeeze in a visit to Ala Moana Shopping Center... Big shout out to guitar hero, finding shrimp in your pork cabbage, and my boy who helped me skip the entire check-in line and carried my bags for me. Big thumbs down to the 5 minutes I thought I had lost my ticket in the gate area. Two things became obvious to me on the plane: first, that Kiwis are laid-back and kind, and second, that I'm too short to access the overhead compartments on Air New Zealand. I carried on a large piece of framed art courtesy of Keith's Photography to my Kiwi hosts, an awkward piece of luggage to rival the time I brought a microwave stuffed with all my clothes from Chicago to Tom in California. One of the stewards joked that if I forgot it on the plane, I could find it on www.trademe.co.nz in a couple days. Except he made the announcement to the entire plane over the loud speaker.

Auckland, NZ. I arrived on a crisp spring morning and spent a good part of the day driving around the city to get a mental map of my new home town. I've adopted the motto Walk Left, Look Right. As a small town girl, I've always had trouble crossing a busy intersection. This handicap has been augmented by the fact that now cars are coming in the opposite direction, and I second- and triple-guess myself as to where I should look first. There are no handy street directions telling visitors where to look, like in London.

On the way to uni yesterday, Pete's friend asked if this was my first time in NZ, and if I liked it. I gave him a resounding yes, to which he replied "I suppose you wouldn't tell me if you didn't like it!" I guess I can't really judge a whole country based on one drive through Auckland. But I'm predisposed to love it. I spent my second day in the Auckland Domain reading near the duck ponds, and then went to the museum. Kiwi birds are larger than I had imagined, and I also enjoyed the Moa skeleton. Pacific island history is familiar to me, a part of me, and it's as if Hawaii is just a little less isolated now when I see it in terms of Polynesia, than when I saw it in terms of the States.

Fear of Flying

2008-09-11T02:12:00.027-05:00

Kahului, Maui. It's been a sordid family-outing past for my mother. When we went ATV riding in Kohala, she tried to kill me: she forgot how to stop her vehicle and rammed herself into the back of my ATV, nearly ejecting me from my seat. We took her horse back riding and her horse farted the entire ride through Waikoloa. No one wanted to be behind her, so she rode at the very rear. But most infamously... We took mom to Volcanoes National Park one wet night, when the weather forced us out of our tents and in search of other shelter. It seemed that everyone had the same idea-- there were no rooms available anywhere. Taking pity on us, one bed and breakfast offered to let us stay in a room that wasn't quite constructed yet, meaning that all manner of critters had access to the room. My mother woke up in the middle of the night with a pain in her forehead, and reached up to touch something slimy protruding from her face. She screamed, flying rigidly upright and the something slimy went flying from her forehead. Frightened, we turned on the lights, and were horrified to find the walls covered in slugs. The acid in the foot of the slug had eaten away at the top layer of mom's skin, leaving a slug-shaped scar for months afterward.

So this was mom's surprise family outing day, something fun that she really pushed for us to do: Maui Ziplines (http://www.skylinehawaii.com/) in Kula.

When I realized at 5 am I’d be riding a tiny 9-seat commuter plane to Maui, I felt the anxiety rise from deep in my stomach. Back before my 10^th birthday, we rode commuter planes regularly out of Kamuela airport to visit my grandparents in Honolulu. The adventure always began with dead birds. I would count the little dead bodies outside the very clean wall-to-wall windows that invited the birds to their deaths. This was followed by a 1 hour roller coaster of white-knuckled, stomach-dropping air sickness. My father once had to land in stormy weather, and in order to get the plane on the ground the pilot had to circle in like a vulture in order to drop the plane onto the runway. On another occasion, the pilot left Honolulu only to turn around over Moloka'i because they forgot to fill gas. And they wonder why I don't like theme parks.

This morning our pilot Kyle was also our ticket-taker, luggage loader and stewardess. He wore visor cut bangs and sideburns in his bright blond hair, which matched the matted fur of his arms. Coupled with a quick wit and a dry sense of humor, Captain Kyle reminded me of Arizona. I don't know, I’ve never been to Arizona. We taxied out to the runway only to turn around and come back for someone to run out with a screw gun for a quick fix. "Sixty seconds folks," said Captain Kyle. The little girl sitting behind me whispered a full count to sixty before her mother shooed her quiet. Then we were off.

The flight was flawless: no monstrous plane-eating clouds, no rogue gusts off of Haleakala, not even trade winds to greet us. The landing wouldn't have made a kitten cry. Ok, it wasn't so bad this time. Maybe they've improved technology over the last 15 years since I've flown with them. However, the conspicuous airsickness bags and pointed introduction to them may suggest I was simply lucky.

Ziplining was a dusty fun-filled event, where your excitement factor really depends on the group you’re signed up with. There were 3 honeymooning couples, a retired couple, my folks and me (odd man out). And I enjoyed watching the conservative couple squirm when Joe, one of our guides, pointed out that the gentleman’s red, flag-waving “God Bless America” shirt, contrary to his firm assertion that it was USA made, was actually produced in Panama.

The staff does a phenomenal job earning their tips by making fun of their customers, by small-talking and by educating visitors about endemic bird species. These guys make six runs a day and you can tell they delight each group with the same punch lines every time. Why does a mermaid wear seashells? Because the B-shells were too small and the D-shells were too big. For more punchy fun and a few tequila stories, you’ll have to visit them yourselves.

A bit of shopping, a bit of eating, and a lot of napping later, we were back at the Kahului airport where we run into Captain Kyle again: “Weren’t you guys on my first flight in this morning?” As he’s leading us out to the plane, we explain to him that we went ziplining for the day. “Oh wow, that sounds exciting, but I don’t know if I could do it. I’m afraid of heights.” I laughed openly, and I think he was a bit hurt by my reaction. I quickly added that it wasn’t what I expected, to hear that a man of his occupation is afraid of heights. “Why, because I’m a pilot? That at least has a nice leather seat,” he nodded to the little plane.

He never found out, but he absolved a lot of my small-plane anxiety with that statement. I found ziplining easy and second nature—jumping from a platform when you know you’re strapped to something; but piloting or riding in these little planes terrified me. Here was a man who felt just the opposite.

Me and Roi

2008-09-06T17:22:00.022-05:00

I've been milking the jet lag excuse: too much sleep, too much email checking, too much TV; the Dog Whisperer in particular (http://channel.nationalgeographic.com/series/dog-whisperer). I was walking through downtown Kapa'au when I found a dog lost in the street. I called the number on the tag and the owners were in Kona for the day, so I took it to their friend down at the local golf course in Kamehameha park. It gave me a chance to see all the things my sleepy little town manages to get done on a Saturday morning: kiddie soccer, little league baseball, and 20 people in beginners taiko drumming. There was even a splash contest going on at the local pool complete with local grinds and DJ.

That evening I went out with the gang to Luke's, the only local watering hole. There was a country band playing, so Christina and I kicked up our boots and left our shame at the bottom of about 6 shot glasses... Now, the thing you have to know about Kohala is that no one line dances. All we know is reggae skankin', so here we were, 20 locals skankin' to the hoe-down. At one point between sets, the lead guitarist leans over to the boys and says, "You don't do country much, do you?" We laugh, and he adds reassuringly, "You're doin' good brah."

I was in amazingly good shape for shore fishing with dad the next morning. Mauna Kea turned us away for continued tiger shark warnings: http://www.westhawaiitoday.com/articles/2008/09/05/local/local02.txt

Folks, this is a rarity: closing the beaches was a precaution rather than a reaction. So we went to Spencer Beach Park next door instead. We tried to catch some live bait, but I came away with a hinalea (top left) and a mamo (top right). We ended up just using some frozen bait down at Upolu point; the one fish all day was my Roi, with a mouth that could have swallowed my arm whole. Sigh. You know the local girl has been Chicago too long when she has to ask dad to take the hook out the mouth.

Take Me Back To My Little Grass Shack

2008-09-02T02:56:00.007-05:00

Kapa'au, Hawaii. Yes, I survived my 7.5 hour layover in the Narita international airport in Tokyo. Erin left me with some TV shows and a movie to watch, so with that and 500 yen for internet, I was all set. It was another empty flight coming in from Tokyo-- At least I had the legroom for a few hours of sleep.

I spent another hour and a half in Honolulu for my commuter flight to Kona. I'm sitting in the holding area, and aunty puts her free newspaper down next to me, just saying "I'm coming back," (aka watch this for me please). So she comes back and we start chatting... I'm on my computer organizing photos for my folks so we start talking about Korean food and Korean soap operas. Reminded me of my Nana.

Home is about the same as it was 6 weeks ago; I haven't bothered to unpack, and I'm happily not stressing about New Zealand yet. Though the thought of house and job are looming. Dad went fishing today for Labor Day holiday, and we had fresh uku (da fish not da itchies) for dinner with Roselani Mud Pie ice cream. We have new neighbors who lure the pigs around because they want to take pictures, and I can hear the animals screeching down the road as I lie in bed tonight.

From Korea With Love

2008-08-30T00:23:00.010-05:00

Changwon, Korea. In conclusion, I really enjoy the bond between friends that is not openly expressed in western society. I received a lot of love notes from friends and students unashamed to proclaim their friendship. On the other hand, perhaps it is because traditional heterosexual love is the only acknowledged union that makes this friendship possible. I lost it at the podium trying to wrap up the camp, and bust crying in front of 4o kids, parents, coworkers... Hilary and Juan will be back here in a matter of weeks, but I have no immediate plans to return to Korea.

I spent most of my last day in Korea catching up on sleep and staying out of the revived heat. In the early evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim took Junhee and I to an amateur soccer match: Changwon FC versus Gimhae FC. Changwon had much better players and took the game 2-0 in the second half, despite the incompetency of the ref (who was unable to simply give players 10 yards for their diving antics). Then off to my favorite Korean meal of pork on a grill with some soju to wash it down. We stopped at the park to watch the light/water show across the lake, where I saw horses and Michael Bolton projected onto a screen of sprayed water. Inspired, we finished the evening with an hour in the Melon Norae Bang's teddy bear room, the Korean version of Karaoke.

I can't think of any better way to spend my last day in Changwon.

Tea Time

2008-08-25T04:31:00.007-05:00

Directly after classes on Monday I was invited to tea by one of the Changwon mothers from our first session. I was expecting a group of Changwon mommies and their kids and a few attempts at broken English, along with my minimal Korean.

Instead I found a very intimate and traditional setting that was more gift than social time. Our host answered the door in traditional Korean dress and ushered us out to the adjacent room where a low table was set neatly with various white ceramic cups, bowls and teapots. She explained to us how beginners were taught with white ceramics so that they can see and taste the difference between the teas.

She poured hot water into the serving bowl and tea cups to warm them before introducing the tea leaves to the pot. She then put the hot water into a cooling bowl before adding it to the teapot, which steeped for no more than a couple of minutes: red tea, green tea, and chrysanthemum/barley tea.

Korean tea leaves are much smaller than Chinese, and take a lot of work to make just one cup. Our host told us that red tea and green tea are the same leaf, aged differently (where green is the more complicated to make). A perfect tea is one that tastes the same no matter how many cups you pour, but is optimal after 2 or 3 uses.

Odds and Ends, One More Week

2008-08-25T04:27:00.009-05:00

So Erin is back in the house of Shin for the last week of classes to act as translator, as middle school started Monday and Mrs. Kim had to leave us to teach. The Shin's house feels very empty tonight, as Juan and Hilary have moved into new home-stays, and Erin and I are the only two remaining in the Shin's house. I'm sure Jun Hee is looking forward to having his bunk bed and his room back after 6 weeks!

On the way to work last Friday Mr. Hwang jokingly asked for the email address of my beau to tell him what a beautiful, diligent, hard working young lady I am. Except he said delicious instead of diligent, which made me giggle a little when I told him perhaps that wasn't the right word.

Just before lunch my entire class was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a cockroach scuttling across the floor. It was moving pretty slow-- I thought it was almost dead so I kicked it and it started running franticly through the chairs, sending my students screaming through the room. The only way to restore order was to raise my slipper and... squish. They kept screaming "Dirty! Dirty!" As I'm telling this story to Erin, she says "Oh my God you didn't step on it did you? You know if you step on it the eggs will come out and hatch??" I ended up asking one of the other staff members for tissue so he would clean it up for me.

This afternoon we had the challenge of keeping the kids quiet as their peers competed in a speech contest. The fidgets, gigglers, whisperers, and throwers were put out in the hallway so that the contest could continue. I stood with them outside until they looked bored and then asked them if they understood what they did wrong. My last little one needed Erin to translate for me, so she asked him again in Korean, "Do you know why you're here?" To which he replied, "To improve my English." Such a darling, but not the response I was looking for...

Did you have fun with your Seoul?

2008-08-25T04:21:00.022-05:00

Seoul, Korea. Ten Million people and the standard of a language, Seoul is a city you cannot see in two days. We caught the Friday evening train from Changwon 3 and a half hours to Seoul where we disembarked into a blur of good times and good company.

Erin went above and beyond to plan our stay, so well that I can't even begin to tell you where I've been in the city. And mixing old friends with new places reminds you how little your friendships fade and how little it takes to age. Not to say that anyone has aged poorly, but that being together reminds me of something fundamentally me that perhaps had slipped into the subconscious. I reminisced about Oberlin with Joo and Alex over soju, and caught Ling Yi up on HPA gossip over tea and ice cream. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Not to mention how thankful I am to have fluent local friends to take the guesswork out of transportation and dining.

And coming in a close second to my shoe shopping, your zen for the day: an introduction to K-Pop 2008:

Wonder Girls: So Hot

http://kr.youtube.com/watch?v=4VBLImiFTFM

Davichi: Love and War

http://kr.youtube.com/watch?v=91GV-EA5yRg

Seo In Young: Cinderella

http://kr.youtube.com/watch?v=WJh2oh6vcTs

VOS: Beautiful Life

http://kr.youtube.com/watch?v=jUnL1GuyUO8

Soundtrack

2008-08-20T03:53:00.008-05:00

I honestly love how people here want so badly for foreigners to be unworldly and different so they can teach us something. It's almost disappointing to tell them, yes, I grew up with a Kalbi place in town, yes I can use chopsticks, yes I eat raw fish. We often get into the car and our hosts will turn off their Korean radio and put on an English music CD to make us feel more comfortable. Some of the music we've heard is fabulous like classic American rock, and some of it is tear-jerking love mush or funeral soundtracks about living a full life. Actually my favorite driving audio is Mrs. Kim's English tapes, where the instructor is a flowery, nasaly Brit of some sort, and we get to predict his quiz answers.

I've started playing music from my laptop for the kids during group work time, and they unconsciously sing along with Yellow Submarine and We Will Rock You. I had the great pleasure of introducing the kids to The Cat Came Back this week and was way too happy to find out today that it's their favorite song. Most other songs that were given with the curriculum are difficult for us to listen to, not to mention painful to teach while faking gusto. Did I mention that they get stuck in my head right when I'm trying to find some peace?

http://kr.youtube.com/watch?v=8wacMgB-gKs&feature=related

Sung to the Battle Hymn of the Republic:

She waded in the water and she got her thighs all wet,

But she didn't get her (clap clap) wet (clap) yet (clap).

The picture in the book is of a cat in a polka-dotted swim suit putting its paws in the water, so I'm not the only one with a terrible sense of humor.

Field Trip Part 2 of 2

2008-08-18T04:06:00.009-05:00

We spent the night at the Namhae Sports Park Hotel, complete with baseball fields, soccer fields, bike trails, basketball courts... The kids liked this a lot better. Sunday morning, we piled back into Reading Town around 11 am and hit up a local temple. Yongmunsa was built around 1000 AD, and is preserved by the government because it was the only place where the resident Buddhist monks took up arms against the Japanese back in the 16th century.

A quick kal bi lunch and we were off to Sangju Beach. I had hoped the kids were into playing soccer, but they all wanted to swim... So I stayed on the beach with the little one, and caught sand crabs instead.

Biggest setback for the weekend: holiday traffic. It was Korean Independence day the previous Friday, so everyone was on the road coming home from the long weekend. It took us about 20 minutes to drive through a single traffic light, and 4 hours to get home. And it was no fun to elbow through the aunties in the squat-stall lines at the rest stop. In the end we did our best to thank Jeong Min and the mommies, but they were convinced that we didn’t have a good time because the bus rides put us to sleep and we never ate enough.

Field Trip part 1 of 2

2008-08-18T02:53:00.017-05:00

The Southern Korean countryside in the Gyong Sang Nam Do Province rests on the slopes and valleys of endless mountain peaks that dive directly from the mist into the ocean. It’s little wonder that Koreans put so much effort into minimizing their waste production; recycling is more habit and socially motivated in the middle and upper classes, as you are required to separate all waste products into plastic, glass, food, paper, and other immediately after use. Trash cans are a fraction of the size and there are fewer of them, so you know what it’s like to carry your waste around. There’s still trash on the ground, but comparatively less than if you took trash cans away from Americans.

We woke on Saturday to an unusually cool 68 degrees and a rainy forecast. We set out from Changwon-Si at 9:30 am in a little green bus called Reading Town with 6 mommies and 10 kids wearing motion-sickness patches. The drive was an estimated 2 hours, but the road soon turned from California’s route 1 into the spawn of the Kohala Mountain road and Waipi’o, if there were only one lane and several hundred more cars. I’ve never seen the road to Hana, but I’m willing to bet this could rival it. Our little engine that could cranked down into second gear and willed itself and 20 people about 3 hours through the downpour and up into the mountains to our first stop, Chechampandaek.

The historical site preserves the house and rice farm of landowner Che, complete with chickens, cows, and a working market. You get the idea that not many foreigners come out to these sites, and although Juan claims to have seen a few Europeans this weekend, I’m still at a big fat zero for our wei gook in game.

Bus driving takes serious skill since the locals use the lines as guidelines rather than rules. There is no signaling to change lanes, and being able to drive in reverse is as important as driving forward. Lanes only wide enough for one car are still two-way streets, and you have to be able to reverse up hills and around corners in order for cars to pass in the other direction. Luckily cars are much smaller and lower to the ground, and let’s just say that most Americans couldn’t park a car in these little spaces and still be able to get out the door.

However, they seem to have fewer instances of road rage, and the driving rules are much more considerate: turning on your flashers to signal a slow car in front to any cars in back; honking is usually a friendly warning, or a cab asking the foreigners if they need a ride. I have a new found respect for professional drivers today, as Jeong Min, captain of the Reading Town, proved himself a hero on more than one occasion.

The first occasion was at our next stop, in Cheonghakdong at an old school. We followed the road up as far as we could until we became stuck at a stone bridge; the Reading Town became wedged between the cars parked against the cliff face on one side, and the roped-off drop to the river on the other. He calmly asked the 5 kids sitting in the back to look out the fogged rear windows to tell us if we’re too close to the cliff...

The Cheonghakdong facility was used to discipline children to respect their elders, and some still come here to study in the old way with traditional scholars, living in the mountains without electricity. The kids hated it here. In the gift shop they had discipline sticks made from bamboo split down the center for a nice crack on the hands or legs for a wrong answer.

Higher still into the mountains, we continued to our next stop at Samsongkung. This is an old fortress where locals fled to the mountains for shelter and defense when the Japanese invaded in the 16th century AD. The trails aren’t made for weather, and the mud was so slick I was sure that my slippers would turn the hike into a slip n’ slide before the day was over. The only thing to rival the stone architecture was the several women who were walking the trail in their 3 inch heels and full dresses.

Highlights of the day:

Tae Jun “Teacher do you like play swim?”

Chelsea “Yes I like swimming, but I like soccer better.”

Tae Jun “But soccer is man’s sport!”

Dinner: squid. Take that Bourdain. But I have to say that even the Korean kids thought I was nuts when I showed them the leg wriggling on a spoon before I put it in my mouth.

Did You Eat?

2008-08-13T06:49:00.007-05:00

On our way to Korean classes last night, Hilary and I stopped for dinner at a restaurant in Sangnamdong (downtown Changwon) called Hog: New Zealand's Barbeque and Hof. I couldn't resist. We ordered a big plate of meat and a bottle of soju to pass the time, and then meandered over to the batting cages, where we met friends-of-friends to find our classes.

Changwon's Korean classes are run by local volunteers, and all of them are helping English teachers adjust to living here. We learned the basics of the alphabet and simple pronunciation. In addition, our teacher, Sunny, helped us make sense of some Korean culture. We are frequently greeted by people asking us about our last meal. "How was breakfast? Did you eat enough? Did you eat lunch?" Way back in the day, the phrase in Korean developed into an informal hello, because people weren't always sure where their next meal was coming from.

Everyone here carries an umbrella or parasol, including the men. After seeing so many black ones in Chicago, I was quickly infatuated with the idea of having a fruity-looking umbrella. It was the first thing I purchased with my won, and I proudly take it out as often as possible. During classes it began to rain, and none of the other Americans had umbrellas. When the other girls stepped out into the rain, our teacher Sunny flipped out: "You're getting wet!" We laughed... until he explained that Korea gets acid rain from China that makes your hair turn orange and fall out.

Wei Gook In

2008-08-12T02:18:00.010-05:00

Our classes for this session are held at the local high school. The floors there are very slippery, and it is assumed that you will take off your tennis shoes and put on slippers before entering the building. Luckily, like a good island girl, I wear my slippers everywhere. On the first day we were happy to learn that we were not the only ones uninformed about this rule, since the kid in the previous post had to borrow a shoe from a friend. Just one shoe.

Today in our big group, we challenged the kids to guess who was the oldest teacher. Hands down the vote was for Hilary, who is the loudest and has the most camp experience. Guesses ranged everywhere from 22 to 55. I came in second with an age range of 22 to 32, and they pretty much had Juan pegged at 24. Of course, by the end of the day they forgot all about it. I have a hard enough time trying to guess the ages of the locals, and I'm sure with Hilary's serious wei gook in features, that the kids aren't sure what they're looking at either.

She got me back by telling the kids that the character in their coloring book was me, and that they needed to color me. Some of my girls were sweet-- they remembered that my favorite color is red, and gave the girl in the book a red dress or a red headband. But I told the boys to make me a mustache. As I walked around the room I was excited to find that one kid had given me a beard, although I was hoping for a Fu Manchu.

Juan, Hilary and I have begun a new game. The game is called wei gook in which means "foreigner" in Korean. All three of us have to be together and you get points for every foreigner that you point at and shout WEI GOOK IN! The person with the most points at the end of our stay wins. Call it therapy.

Distractions

2008-08-11T06:03:00.006-05:00

One more to go. We began our second session today in Gimhae city and were definitely more prepared this time. Hilary and Juan are really getting into this session, where I feel myself falling out. New Zealand is more and more prevalent as well as the looming thought of returning to the real world. Being in Korea has been hard work, but really it's been a long vacation from the rest of life.

I'm also having a great time watching the Olympics here, as they specialize in sports I've never seen, and get really excited about their reps doing well. We could hear the entire condo complex cheering for Park winning the 200 meter swimming, and for the men's and women's archery teams. I'd never seen handball, and I'd love to try it!

Chopsticks

2008-08-07T06:01:00.012-05:00

It's hard to think that the time is passing so quickly, and that yesterday was our last day with this group of kids. It doesn't take a lot to get attached to them, to see their personalities, to be engulfed in their world. It's also a fine line to walk between friend and authority figure-- to find yourself trusted and at times powerless.

I had to scold my sand-eater with the bad temper again on Thursday. He started to get angry at one of his classmates and broke his pencil in half. I told him he needed to cool down and go outside. He refused, so I brought out my mothers frightening voice and told him that he would go outside. The entire class dropped into silence, but still he refused. So I grabbed the local staff to cajole him outside in his own language. And yes it took a lot of physical and verbal cajoling. When I had a moment from my students, I went outside and kneeled down next to the kid, his face red with tears. He has phenomenal English, so I told him that he's a good kid, and I told him why I was mad at him. One of the local staff members came out and barked at me not to talk to him (presumably part of his punishment). Piss off! He's my student and needs to know that I am a teacher and not a judge and executioner.

That same day, we asked our students to write invitations to their families to attend closing ceremonies. I wrote a short note up on the board, but also invited the students to write their own note and to add pictures. I walked around to check spelling, and noticed that one kid's invitation said "mom and Dad thank you but father please don't sleep any mom please hit me." When I came back around again, there was a section about dad not drinking too much alcohol, and a picture of a stoic family. Hilary and I considered our options-- and the two copy cat letters that had sprung up next to this kid-- and decided that they would all start over by copying my note from the board verbatim.

On Friday, one of Hilary's girls brought us each a gift. In Korea, kids bring their own metal chopsticks and spoon to school for lunch every day in something that looks like a pencil case. She asked Hilary where her chopsticks were, and realized that neither of us had our own. So she helped her mother sew a case for us, and she gave us each our own Korean chopsticks and spoon. I also received a few thank you notes from the girls who like to braid my hair; one of them had a traditional Korean dress folded out of paper and the other had drawn traditional clothing on the card and labeled each piece in Hangul and in English.

I know they'll probably forget the short part of their summer they spent with those silly Americans, though I left them my email and tried to offer what lasting help I can. We're here to influence their fresh minds, to teach them about the greater world, but as a teacher I get the feeling that the kids left a much more lasting impression on me.

She Waded in the Water

2008-08-05T03:15:00.003-05:00

We've been getting some local press to promote the sessions, and Hilary got her picture in the paper!

http://www.gnnews.co.kr/index.html?section=KNCB&flag=detail&code=196451&cate1=KNC&cate2=KNCB

Can I Try This On?

2008-08-01T09:34:00.008-05:00

Hilary and I enjoy our pastimes people-watching, as the local kids inevitably enjoy proclaiming "foreigner!" and staring at our unfamiliar features. We're kinda in the country here. People stop us in stores and say hello on the street just to practice their conversation. English comprehension increases by generation here-- the signs are in English not just for the tourists, but as a blaring symbol of local consumerism. Western language is a powerful fad and a pop phenomenon.

The kids here know how to read the western alphabet very well, while many people my age have about as much English as I have Spanish: leftover words I lost confidence in years ago. It's a struggle between the miraculous acquisition of language we have as children, and the time since then. Our host parents have a good deal of residual vocabulary, but struggle through tenses and grammar. They asked me whether they thought the course was good for their son, and I told them that continuous exposure to the language will only benefit him. It's spectacular to see him and his sister improve so much in just a few short days.

I love T-shirts and stationery here. In Hawaii I would buy a poorly translated pencil case or food item and laugh, thinking that the product was originally printed in an Asian language and then someone translated it incorrectly on the box before they sent it over. This is not the case. They are truly printed in English and sold this way in South Korea-- incorrect grammar, nonsense sentences, and all. They end up sounding like the stories our kids hand in, using an electronic dictionary/translator to come up with words like "mistress" for "a strong woman" (When I am 30 years old, i want to be a mistress...). Printed English is the hottest thing to wear on the streets. For example:

Black History (Does he know what that is?)

Diva in the Shock

Big the Smile

Why men prefer always the black?

Stop the war! I want peace... and a blowjob.

I'm still looking for the winner that I can purchase and wear on the flight home.

Eh, Aunty!

2008-07-30T05:54:00.013-05:00

The kids make me feel old when I have to organize and scold them. Maybe that's another reason why people don't like kids, they never want to differentiate themselves and claim adulthood; taking care of yourself is enough responsibility. Don't call me mister, that's my father. Gone are the days when being a grown up means earning respect, a test and a party to initiate you into society.

I walk around all day with my pockets full of weapons and projectiles: forks, rubber bands, bits of eraser, paper clips, confiscated cell phones, crumpled paper, pens. I've started to think in terms of prevention: if I don't scold that kid for throwing his eraser, the other kid will be throwing fists next. Early this week during break we had a kid shooting a water gun at his classmate, so the classmate gives him a black eye and a fat lip. On particularly bad afternoons I close my eyes and see kids running in every direction trying to pull my last bit of patience apart.

And then the kids pull me into their games and I swear I feel younger. The girls play with my hair on breaks, giving me headbands with big floppy bows and rhinestones or practicing their braiding. The boys shoot me and cut off my head and I die dramatically several times a day. Yesterday we played role change in class, so the kids became the teachers and I became the student. They gave me a Korean name, Lee Yun Jung, and taught me the Korean alphabet and numbers 1-10. I'm 25 and hoping I don't become one of those adults that forgets what it's like to imagine.

Also spatially confusing is that our host mom is only 10 years older (around the same as my cousins or sister), meaning she had her first kid when she was two years younger than I am. She's a housewife, driving 6 kids--including the neighbor, Juan, Hilary and me-- to different activities throughout the day. Jun Hui has alternating math and English classes at night, Hae Won has piano and swimming. Our host mom cooks a different meal of at least 3 dishes every time we sit down to the table, where I can only cook about a week's worth of recipes... for maybe 2 people if I stretch it. I keep thinking I live at my limits and then I remember to identify with someone new.

Your Face is Red Like Drunk

2008-07-27T06:11:00.019-05:00

Today was game day. We've more or less caught up on sleep, and our host family took us to the local rec center for a round of bowling. It was a short wait until the lanes opened up, so I brought out the set of Hwatu cards I bought the day before. We've been playing nightly games of Hwatu, the Korean version of Hanafuda with the same deck, like four little old aunties: the kids, Hilary and me. Except no beer or gambling. Nana would be proud to know that my Hanafuda came back to me fairly quickly, and I'll be bringing my new deck to Honolulu before I fly out to Auckland!

Our host mom is an excellent bowler. It was sheer luck that I beat her by one point, my best bowling game in years with a 131. They started asking me how often I bowl and what my average score is, and Hilary, with the low score of the afternoon, may be challenging me to beiruit later in hopes of beating me there...

We made a pit stop at the local Lotte-Ria burger joint for some ice cream and french fries (by the way, Lotte owns, makes and sells EVERYTHING here; from media and gum to department stores and umbrellas). I'd been asking to go outside for a long time, and our family is hesitant to leave us on our own because of the heat and our inability to communicate in the local language. They dropped us off at their church, where there is a path leading into the mountains, and we hiked straight up into the forest fairly quickly. We didn't get far because of the humidity and the two young'uns with us, but Hilary and I agree that this is a good place to unwind after a long day.

As we head back, my eyes light up when I see people wearing cleats and carrying soccer balls as they pass, so I ask Jun Hee, our host family's son and our translator, if we can make a detour. It's a small field, but it's turf rather than the sand I see at most school playgrounds. I tell them I am going home to change and then coming back to the field, and Hilary and Jun Hee came with me and brought their books.

I get out on the field and start taking shots-- all going way high, but it was enough to get the ball passed to me a bit once the game started. It was nice to score the first goal of the game, a quick cut to my left in between defenders and an open shot!

It felt really good to get outside and let some stress go, though I've got a red face from the workout and will need to stretch again before bed. A cold shower and some cucumber slices administered by Hae Won and I'm ready for bed.

Barriers and Bridges

2008-07-24T04:57:00.011-05:00

I feel grounded here, and I'm wondering how much it has to do with age and experience versus the very natural rhythm of South Korea. The land feels somehow erudite the way that it did in Paris, like the people have their niche figured out. But unlike Paris, I think I am more prepared to be responsible about my existence-- to be a part of the mutual exchange of cultural knowledge, rather than just an invisible passer-through.

I couldn't tell you what is more amazing: how much you can say without spoken language, or what a miracle it is to be able to simply ask and comprehend. Besides the essential "Hello," "Thank you" and "Where is the bathroom," a couple of Korean phrases I've caught on to are "What is it" and "I don't know," partially because I hear those a lot from the kids. I will say something and they involuntarily repeat the phrase, and Hilary and I find ourselves doing the same when we hear something familiar in Korean-- to everyone's amusement. However these are rare moments, as we are expected to help everyone practice their English, leaving little opportunity to practice our Korean.

The first day of classes we were asked to introduce ourselves to an auditorium of 40 kids and their parents on the fly. Age before beauty, so I went first. My first word into the mic was "Hello" in Korean, to which I received unexpected laughter and applause from the room. Ok that wasn't so bad. Then the translator then tells us we need to tell a story about ourselves from elementary school... I blanked. Hilary was a cowboy and went first, telling a story about school uniforms. So I told the kids about how I liked to get dirty at school playing in mud, sand, and dirt, and then wipe my hands on the front of my shorts. Mom got so mad she said I couldn't wipe my hands on the front of my shorts any more. So the next day I came home and my mom was so proud of me for not having any hand prints on the front of my shorts... until I turned around and had hand prints on my butt. It turned out to be a good assessment of who could understand based on who laughed.

In the mornings I can hear our host father playing guitar. He's a dentist by day and the lead guitarist for a local band by night. On one of our long car rides he pulled out a CD and asked us if Lynard Skynard was ok, which made Hilary and me smile. We are to the point with our host family that we feel at home together and have given up the initial formalities, and I want to communicate with them on a mutual level about expectations here and what it's like having a family... However it's virtually impossible without the subtleties of either language. Erin's last night with us our host dad bought us Hite beer, and Erin helped our host family ask more in depth about us-- our families, our boyfriends, our opinion of classes. Our host dad laughed and said that they were worried Hilary and I were overly conservative, because we had (up to that point) declined any alcohol, and we fall asleep at 10 pm every night.

Lost in Translation

2008-07-23T05:52:00.009-05:00

Hilary keeps telling me I need to cowboy-up (suck it up), usually in situations where we are giggling uncontrollably. I can tell you that being an American trying a bidet was kind of like eating the little dried fish and walnuts with lunch: surprising, strange, but maybe something I could get used to. The experience is that much better for not being able to read any of the many functions on the toilet.

Um... I was convinced that there was a 'perfume' button on the toilet. I was trying to find said mythical button and decided to press the purple one with the wavy lines. This is the air drier. There are three additional colored buttons on the top without pictures. I don't know which one I pressed, but the little bidet sensor came out in slow motion and started to spray a thin arch of water out of the toilet, across the tiled floor and up onto the wall. A frantic button-pressing ensued, causing the arch of water to swivel across the wall before, by some magical button combination, I finally got it slowly retract back into the toilet.

When asked, Erin, our temp third teacher and native of Seoul, which button on the toilet was the 'perfume' button, she gave me the why on earth would you think that look, which only made me laugh harder.

Erin, Hilary, please do not use the hand towel I put on the floor in the corner. I'll do laundry tomorrow.

Have to Admit it's Getting Better

2008-07-23T04:50:00.016-05:00

Tom I apologize, this was meant to be a private email to you, but Hilary thought it was too good not to post. And it's true, she has been outdoing me with the blogging. So here it is, day three.

So I survived another day at the office. Things went smoothly before lunch, and we seem to be getting the hang of things. After lunch my students played a game where they had to make a doll and say who it was for. One of my two groups said the doll was for me. When I asked what it was, they held it up by a green string and told me: It's a flying chucky doll to scare away the bad things," as the tin foil knife bobbed at the end of a pipe-cleaner hand.

Later, two of my kids had a physical altercation during a coloring exercise, throwing a pen and then fists. Now, I don't know what the kids were saying, but I sure understood the exorcist look in both their eyes as they cried and tried to get close enough for a few more hits. I was lucky the translator was there to step in and talk to them both, however the episode took some time to resolve itself. At one point, the one kid who looked possessed tried to get by me at the other kid. He was pushing me and not looking at me, so I picked him up, pinning his arms to his sides, and carried him out of the room of saws (my classroom). Both mothers came to me later and apologized, bowing profusely, and the big boss said I did a good job, so I guess it was ok to do it. I'm just happy the kid hasn't hit puberty yet!

Of course, one hour later all was forgotten and they were chasing each other around the room during last period. The same kid was so bored he started asking me if we could make cotton candy. I don't know what the hell he's talking about so I'm concentrating on teaching the lesson. Then I get one of my girls screaming 'He's eating sugar! He's eating it!'

Ok wtf. So I get over there and the kid has granuals stuck to his chin. There's a little trail of finger prints in a pile of some grainy substance sitting in one of the shop machines, one that somehow resembles a cotton candy machine. My first thought is, this is not sugar. I get to the office and no one speaks much English. So I say something like: "Help? Kid eat something... Not sugar." Both of them come in and the guy starts yelling at the kid. I ask the woman what it is that he ate, and got a shrug "sand?"

A major cultural difference here is the way that children spend their free time. In restaurants and in classes, kids run wild and do anything they please. Play time means that everything is a game, regardless of where you are or what you're doing. On the flipside, they spend time in classes of all types throughout then day (English camp, math class, piano class, studying with friends); less time in front of the TV, more time playing educational games online or reading by themselves. Hilary and I are taking turns reading to Hae Won, our host daughter, out of James and the Giant Peach. A chapter takes about 10 minutes, and although she must only understand every other word, she sits still and listens the entire time, still asks for us to read more.

Chaos Theory

2008-07-21T16:46:00.007-05:00

This is more or less how I feel:

This is how I'm going to act today:

Yesterday at our first day of classes I was put in a room with 12 jigsaws, 5 drills, some clamps, and other shop machinery and 12 10-13 year olds who need a translator to understand what I said for the last 20 minutes.

I had pencils sawed in half, penis jokes, and a lot of kids speaking to me in earnest in Korean. Y'all betta watch out because I'm going to come back one badass tittah!

The Clintons

2008-07-18T02:01:00.017-05:00

Changwon, South Korea. For breakfast this morning, our host mom made special meal for us: scrambled eggs and cereal (her first attempt at making scrambled eggs and my first attempt at eating them with thin metal chopsticks). And at every meal, a couple of forks always seem to end up in front of us, though Hilary and I are both fairly capable of using said chopsticks. All in all, everyone has really gone out of their way to make us feel at home and comfortable.

After I made the devastating discovery that my camera's LCD screen was completely busted on the trip over, I was happy to get out of the house. We went to a spring rose garden, and really only ended up playing in the playground. Here are some old school don't-see-them-til-you-print-them photos.

Next, off to school! We had our first meeting about classes on site, and were introduced to a plethora of staff. Out of a blur of Korean conversation while Hilary and I are meeting the president of the school, I catch, "Hilary? Oh! Like Clinton!" So yes, Hilary and Chelsea are now representing in South Korea. Just don't ask me about cows.

The troupe then took us out for a huge buffet lunch where I was happy to try sea cucumber for the first time. Totally screwed up my "I'm sorry I don't speak Korean" when little old aunty started asking me about the mound of rambutan I was putting on my plate. I think my placemat was predicting something about my trip...

Last but not least, Hilary's dream car seen below. Having spent the last four years in Chicago, I admit that I am a bit spoiled when it comes to architecture--you can also see in this picture that local architects are more concerned with the interior rather than the exterior originality of their residential structures (block 101 on the left, and 102 on the right, etc). To give you an idea, I can see block 108 and 109 from the window of our host family's condo.

Highlight of the day would have to be teaching my host family's daughter how to 1-2-3-4 let's have a thumb war!

An nyong hee kaseyo!

Ahn nyong haseyo!

2008-07-17T15:45:00.009-05:00

Kona, Hawaii. Ok so I was a little ambitious about getting to the airport on time having had bad experiences with flying out of Chicago. So dad and I hung out at the Ellison Onizuka Air and Space Museum. Helped to calm my anxiety-- flying alone, to a country they don't speak my language, to meet some people I've never met. Must have been nice traveling by boat so you could make connections over the week or so it took to get somewhere. Highlight of the morning was seeing two little Japanese girls, sisters maybe 4 and 6 get into a hair-pulling, slapping, crying fight, and watching their dad laugh.

Honolulu, Hawaii. Good thing I packed leftovers from home because there was no turn around time in between flights. Sad to come into the airport on Hawaiian and still see the signs for Aloha Airlines up here and there. Remembered that I need to call my cousin about a ride to the airport when I travel to Auckland.

Aunty driving the wiki bus was really nice and made a special stop at my gate for me. Not too many people on the flight to Tokyo. Sat in the center aisle and had my row and the next 4 rows in front free. Fewer people visiting Hawaii, or fewer people leaving? International flights rock my world, this might be the most comfortable flight I've ever been on.

Tokyo, Japan. Glad I remembered they drive on the left! Almost got run over by some locals using the walking strips rushing to my next flight. You men are all the same. Had 3 Filipino guys in line with me a the next xray machine going to Manila and they were asking me all these questions about what race I am and were all impressed when I told them I have family from there.

Had a moment with the toilet at the airport. It's super high tech with the bidet button and the "toilet music flushing" button?? I was so distracted by the buttons that I couldn't find the flusher. I was getting flustered about being late for boarding when I realized they have a standard lever in the back. What a dumb tourist! My new goal is to use every button on this toilet before my 6 weeks are up.

I'm kinda sad I won't get the chance to explore Japan, but loved catching a small glimpse of Mt. Fuji. I sit down on the plane and this girl in a brown hat and green Colorodo State football jersey comes up and sits next to me. I'm thinking to myself, this has got to be Hilary-- one of the girls I'm going to be teaching with for the next 6 weeks. I was plotting how to be smooth about asking her when they brought the customs forms around and so I was going to just going to cheat and look at her name on the forms, but I think she beat me to it ;)

Um, we're going to have a damn good time.

Busan, South Korea. After we clear customs and grab our luggage (totally painless, thought they might drill us coming into the country or something-- it was rougher coming back into the states from Mexico with a US passport!) we exit into the waiting area and very quickly find Mr. Hwang. He and his assistant were so sweet-- took us for kalbi and good grief the freshness of the kimchee, I was more than happy to have my 6th (yes I'm not losing weight on this trip) meal of the day.

Mr. Hwang is... an eccentric driver. The road from Busan to where we are in the 'burbs (will update you later) is like a dumbed down version of the road between Santa Cruz and San Jose: double lanes, going through hills, throw some tunnels in there. Not that they stay in the lanes...

Our host family is so sweet. We were dying by now, the heat and humidity are something rough, and both of us had been up over 24 hours, but we did our best to smile and answer questions.

Didn't get much sleep from the heat, but can't wait to explore more.

Helms to the Lee

2008-07-05T21:13:00.027-05:00

Hilo, Hawaii. Fireworks are shiny and I like barbecues, but I have tinge of mixed feelings about the 4th of July. Something underlying and not always apparent, kind of the way I have mixed feelings about my American versus Hawaii identity-- feelings less and less internally divisive as I see the world through a wider lens. I grew up listening to songs like Living in a Sovereign Land,* and know that there are people rightly upset that we celebrate the independence of a nation that usurped the Hawaiian throne in 1893.* Look out Puerto Rico, American Samoa, and Guam!

I didn't know it was a big deal to NOT define myself as Hawaiian until I found myself in college in the mainland. In fact, the cultures are so different, it was hard to define myself as American either. Oberlin College even treated me to all the cushiness of being an international student (a plant, a free ticket to Great America, food, school councilors, etc.). The labels "Hawaiian" and "American" evoked much different definitions for me than they did for the people I encountered; to me, Hawaiian was a direct descendant of Polynesians native to Hawaii, while American was a tourist with thick leather sandals/flip flops and sunscreen striped across his nose, asking where he can find why-po valley or high-low.*

I joke. It's not often we find someone that bad. But I do find myself drawn to international communities because the first question they ask is not "Do you surf?" but "How long since you've been home?"

This was my first 4th of July at home in Hawaii in years. With my renewed pledge to say yes to all things un-attempted, I accompanied my parents with a couple of old family friends out into Hilo Bay on my first sailboat, a 19 foot sloop named Cheers! We barely made it out of the harbor when mom needed to go back, so we spent most of the afternoon sailing within the break wall. We attempted a couple of man overboard drills, where I used the hook to pick a life vest named Ron out of the water; and I even had a turn at the helm where I learned to tack, weaving the boat to fill the sails on one side or the other. The purple rain clouds edged down the mountainside over Hilo, the sunset behind giving off an orange glow, but the rain held until after the fireworks were over. Highlights of the evening included:

1. Being so jet lagged I fell asleep before the end of the fireworks show.

2. Using the head, which consisted of a small blue bucket that needed to be emptied over the side of the boat.

and last but not least,

3. My mother handing me the boat hook at the end of the evening to catch the mooring, and telling me "Chelsea, you're such a great hooker."

*Hawaiian Style Band

*Liliuokalani, last Hawaiian Monarch http://enwkipedia.org/wiki/Liliuokalani

*Waipi'o Valley, Hilo

For Homesickness

2008-07-02T22:21:00.015-05:00

Kapa'au, Hawaii. The things I miss most about home are the things that make me homesick. Thinking that they are going on without me, growing farther from me. It's the birdsong in the morning: the mynahs chatter, the doves coo-cooing, the cardinals and the finches. It's the way you can see the weather move like sentient beings from the mountains, sweeping rain into the ocean. It's the feel of the salt like a second skin when you've spent all day at the beach or the mud in your slippers when you walked home through the downpour. It's the bouquet of kahili, white, and yellow ginger drifting into my bedroom window, or the pop of lychee meat beneath your thumb as you tear the flesh trying to remove the skin.

It's impossible to explain away homesickness, the way it's impossible to explain falling in love if your audience has never felt it.

Grey Eyes

This is one of those vain attempts we sometimes make to fix each other--

to try to be the person that makes another happy.

It's the broken clasp I spent three twenty-six on

to fix the chain around my wrist that you gave me for Christmas that year

or the way I endlessly ruffle my nails across your back because your pleasure is my pleasure;

The things I give myself to make you happy.

When you're 3298.189 kilometers away

I imagine the homesick in your eyes to be like concrete

beneath a child's green chalk scrawl

as you do something mundane like take a whistling tea pot from the burner.

You would laugh in insult that I could claim your eyes to be so dull.

I want to give you the time before you. Instead you get

a moment I buried myself in an old sweatshirt and tried to ease the winter from beneath my nails

with the smell of mold and ginger, and the deafening beat of rain on a shallow roof;

when I melted into that used to be, and lifted my head with that's a part of me.

Because silly pastimes like picking all the green M&Ms from the bag isn't sufficient

so many kilometers away to make the flux of your eyes bright enough for me to imagine, to bury myself in,

to selfishly claim that's a part of me. But I'll do it again, another one more time,

and maybe this time you can find diversion in the way I squint and grin to myself,

trying to discover the colour of your eyes in chocolate.

And in saying this, I realize it's not homesick to me anymore. The things that I miss are merely triggers for moments that exist now only as memories. So instead, I'll take a page out of Magdalen's book and make the effort to say hello and start a conversation with the people I see often. Rather than shying away and feigning invisibility, I will 1. make friends, 2. not look back and 3. attempt something new on a regular basis.

Soul Train!

2008-06-29T23:14:00.018-05:00

Chicago, Illinois. My last weekend in the city, I decided to buckle down and brave the Taste of Chicago. Leave your agoraphobia at home folks, because the week long eat-fest coupled with free entertainment brings Chicagoans and Suburbanites into the city like itchmites in August (trust me-- it's ugly). I had the great privilege of attending the Taste four years ago when I first moved to the city, and it went something like this:

Spiced rum and Coke on a picnic blanket. I couldn't tell you who was performing. I was badgered in all my post-college, small-town innocence by two bums, one on the way in, and one on the way out. The first talked me into give him a dollar (although all I had was a five) and was horrified when he took out a fat roll of bills and tried to convince me I should give him the whole note. The second hassled my cousin's drunk friend, a guy I'd met just an hour before, for not being man enough to sleep with me. I do remember that our subsequent ride down the Brown Line made my new friend sick, and he threw up into his backpack. After he tossed the backpack out of the train onto the platform, I did not volunteer to go back with him to get his keys out of the bag.

So it would have to take something pretty spectacular to bring me back to the Taste. And then there was Stevie. What better way to bid adios to my city than to celebrate with Stevie Wonder? The man did not disappoint.

I'm glad the passing thunderstorms didn't deter me, because they sure didn't deter anyone else. I've never been around so many people. Ever. You could tell people had pitched those tents first thing in the morning just to see Stevie. I wound my way through the throngs and found myself against a barricade of metal bars. The CPD set up an alley through which they could pull out the sick and the misfits. And if you leaned just over the bars, you had a clear shot of the screen where they were projecting the entire concert to the crowd.

Although the sound wasn't very good in the back of the park where I was stationed, I found ample company to sing along and make up the difference. Superstitious, I Just Called to Say I Love You, Isn't She Lovely? We belted them all for over two hours.

And near the end, the cops started to use the blockaded area to relieve some of the congestion as mobs of people filed into the center of the arena with nowhere to go. As the people paraded down the isle, the ladies behind me started to shout "Soul train! Soul train! Go work it! Bust a move now!" And the gentlemen on the other side of the barricade did the same, all of us chanting "Soul train!"

People felt it! The kids sprang down the line like a gauntlet, coming back several times; the drunk people getting kicked out did a little two step, while the ladies egged on the cops "Mr. Friendly! Mr. Friendly, soul train!" and they glowered back at us.

The sun began to set behind the city, and as it lit the buildings like golden torches I thought to myself, I've come full circle. I'm just a tourist now. It's not my city any more-- I've renounced her and she calls me stranger. I take meaningless cliche photos of the skyline trying to remember how she cradled me from the vast midwestern flat that spans out frighteningly like a future unknown.

Great Expectations Down Under

2008-06-29T09:40:00.024-05:00

Chicago, Illinois. When I tell people I'm moving, I get various fill-in-the-blank answers where they assume I am moving to.

I started telling a minimal number of people about 6 months ago, when I needed to make life changes in order to afford an international move. Reactions then were passively optimistic: "Are you moving to the suburbs?" or "What neighborhood are you looking at?" And when I told them I was moving to New Zealand, I was suprised by the general reaction to my news: "That sounds great, what am I waiting for?"

I'm a regular failure at keeping secrets about myself, but about two months ago I officially broke the news to the people at work. When things were generally out in the open, people started telling me stories of anything they knew about New Zealand, usually second- or third-hand cocktail stories: "I hear it's beautiful there," "My friend married a Kiwi so he could have a green card," "My friend married a Kiwi and she misses driers," "Be careful of Koalas." What?

But who can blame our poor geography when our maps are egocentric to America and Europe? When the division of the world is always through the Pacific Ocean? The expanse is, after all, accurately portrayed as sparse of land and nearly void of population.

And what of our other general knowledges? Kiwis bring to mind a bird and a fruit, hairy hobbit feet, and Flight of the Conchords.* Maybe I even know a few wayward references to Sir Edmund Hillary or the history of bungee jumping. But beyond that, I'm preconditioned to believe New Zealand will be some perfect amalgamation of the Polynesian paradise I found growing up in Hawai'i and the cosmopolitan mainland I've come to know over the last 8 years; maybe even a bit of the Europe I never had the opportunity to explore. I know it's never what you imagine, but perhaps my desire to see something in common will help me create someplace that is home. Even if it's just for a little while.

I understand you in terms of me. Is that prejudiced of me?--that comparison of lives, that... qualification. Is it abnormal? to think of you... like me?

Kiwi Humor: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdVHZwI8pcA

Hawaii Humor: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZTqXWVfQ8I

*Flight of the Conchords: http://youtube.com/watch?v=WGOohBytKTU

Sir Edmond Hillary: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edmond_hillary

For New Zealand history, loved reading Michael King's Penguin History of New Zealand http://www.amazon.com/Penguin-History-New-Zealand/dp/0143018671/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1214858639&sr=8-1

Sweet Home Chicago: A Prequel

2008-06-24T19:50:00.031-05:00

The alcohol the alcohol the numbness in my teeth the smile in my forehead. I've got jazz and candlelight in my stomach and I might be full. Being an adult means wanting to lose it, but knowing it does you no good. I just wander here a while.

Chicago, Illinois. The Green Mill* on Lawrence and Broadway: the Uptown Poetry Slam. Aaron and I are going blind and numb sitting next to his friend Luke. The three of us are signed up for the slam competition, and, with the exception of Luke who read the week before, we are all slam virgins. I refuse to drink anything but shirley temples until after I make it safely down from the stage. My first (and only) poem that night is a cheesy heart-break bleeder, but it gets some points for a few Hawaiian words I quote from a favorite song:

Poliahu, by Frank Kawaikapuolani Hewett http://www.huapala.org/Po/Poliahu.html

Between

I left you on the train somewhere between

my wrist and my elbow

as I rested my cheek staring out of scratched windows

past the artificial rancor of leaves

and into the blinking of the moon.

I put the smell of your cologne along with my stray hair

from here and there off the hardwood floor--

holiday leftovers

of the look in your dark eyes of intense trust and sleepy passion

when words of any language were not enough

to say I love you--

into the filtered air conditioning of the car

circulating like a pulse over the jerks of the tracks

up between the window and the cold metal walls

until everyone had caught a germ of our secret,

until everyone knew.

And you're still there

every morning every evening

reminding me

that love travels farther than the space between

my wrist and my elbow

because in order to find my way to the city

to make it home every night

I stand pressed awkwardly close to you,

whispering only to the inconstant shell

e ho'i mai ku'u ipo--

I take you with me as I leave you behind.

Chicago has been what no other place in the world has for me: a place where a twenty-something could start roots and think of where to next. A place to decide that my fairy tale didn't end in marriage and happily ever after, as perhaps it did when I was ten. A place to accept that delusions of grandeur are not delusions until you give them up.

I always knew I wouldn't stay in Chicago. So here we are, on the verge of adventure. An experiment in cultural adaptation as I consciously attempt to live as the locals, and hopefully to find some funny stories along the way.

*Check out the Green Mill at http://www.greenmilljazz.com/poetryslam.html