Wanderings: Down Under
Here is the photo version of Wanderings: Down Under. A photo book with stories and narration of my travels in Australia and New Zealand is in the works. To read the text from the upcoming book, visit SaintProse.com.
View and purchase Wanderings: Down Under below.
Sheep, Eels and Pancakes
This morning started as most mornings do…the blaring annoying-ness of my phone’s alarm waking me up about 6 hours earlier than it should. I hit snooze a couple of times, then joined the parents for a wonderful breakfast with Alastair and Shirley, our hosts at the Oak Lodge Homestay. To do the experience of the Oak Lodge Homestay justice, the hosts must be explained. Shirley is a wonderfully warm, generous, and hospitable woman; the kind of person who comforts you even if you’ve never met her before. I spoke about this in the last post, but she had an extra room open and allowed me to take it, free of charge, so I could have some privacy. Most places wouldn’t even bring up the option of another room, much less offer it for free.
And Alastair, what a wonderful, salt-of-the-earth man. When you picture a New Zealand sheep farmer, you picture Alastair. Worn Levi’s tucked into rubber boots, with a gray raw wool sweater hanging off his muscular frame. Large, calloused hands and a weathered face, with many stories to tell. He mentioned that a year prior he had sold his sheep farm, which had been in the family for three generations and over one hundred years, and bought the bed and breakfast with his wife Shirley. He now has only 80 sheep on the bed and breakfast’s campus, a far cry from the three thousand he cared for on the farm. Three thousand! And he didn’t have any help, it was only him. (He spoke of hiring a few extra hands at peak months, but still!) He showed us a magazine of ”a New Zealand sheep farmer”, which was him on the cover. The article read of his story and his sheep-raising methods; it was fascinating to read about him and his previous vocation. It was truly the authentic, real New Zealand experience. And they’re not even paying me to say this!
Oak Lodge Homestay
It was engrossing for me to be on the pseudo-farm at the bed and breakfast, with a real, live, legitamate sheep farmer. If there were classes of sheep farmers, Alastair would be considered world class. I’ve been studying Animal Sciences for the past 1+ years, and we’ve covered sheep and sheep production; to experience it in the flesh made it all come alive.
After breakfast Alastair took us outside to show us around and give us a bit of a tour. It had been dark when we rolled in the previous night and we hadn’t seen much. He took us to a bridge under which a river flew, and we fed the eels! It was so ridiculous, and man were they big. Some were as big as two metres, which is HUGE! And they were thick! We threw white bread down and one swam towards it, then another, and by the end we had maybe fifteen or twenty eels fighting over the bread and stirring up the river.
He then took us to the sheep and let us help him feed them. Working at VMAIL (Veterinary Medicine Animal Isolation Lab-shout out to y’all!) I had seen sheep before, so I wasn’t a total newbie. Something about New Zealand sheep is special though, they’re iconic. Almost like celebrities. Australia has the Opera House; New Zealand has sheep. It was so picturesque and wonderful, feeding the sheep with the paddock in front of us, the green hills and mountains as a backdrop.
Then (and my favorite part) Alastair took us to his dogs. They were wonderful! And sheep-herding dogs at that! He had two border collies who were highly trained, and highly energized. We loved on them for a while. Then he had this other dog, a large black-and-tan boy, which he informed us was a Huntaway. He gave us a quick demo of how they were commanded by whistles,
and had the Huntaway jump over the fence on command a couple times. It was a bittersweet experience (more sweet than bitter) because it reminded me of Beau, my brother and my family’s dog who passed away this summer at the age of fourteen. He was an Australian Shepherd/Border Collie mix, straight sheep-herding in his blood. Alastair hadn’t heard of Australian Shepherds, which I found interesting. We loved on the dogs a bit, then pushed off to our next stop-Hanmer Springs.
Entry to the garden. So beautiful!
Alastair gave us an alternate route to Hamner Springs, which went through the small coastal village of Punakaiki. According to Alastair, it was supposed to show us the most beautiful scenery NZ had to offer. Again we went through mountains on incredibly windy roads, seeing pastures of sheep and cattle, mountains, hills, rivers, and waterfalls. We stopped off at the small visitors center/tourist trap in Punakaiki, situated right on the coast. Dad and I came upon a woman selling beautiful New Zealand jade, called greenstone, and she pulled us in and didn’t let go. It was probably the combination of beautiful stones and masterful sales(wo)manship, but before it was all done we walked away with three stones between us. I also picked up a beautiful bowl made out of the core of a fern tree-it’s just stunning. I’ll put a picture of it below…
Treefern Bowl
The real attraction of Punakaiki is its ‘Pancake Rocks’ rock formation, which look exactly how they sound. Discs upon discs of rock, but all solid. Quite a beautiful freak of nature. It also had blowholes and places where the water carved paths through the rocks. The water would rush in and crash against the walls, making a spectacular sight.
Near the coast was the tropical fauna; the further you got away from it the less tropical it became, i.e. no tree ferns or palm trees. Deep green and lush bushes and trees were abundant, and carpeted the sides of the mountains.
I got a few good shots in Punakaiki, but we decided we should push on, as usual, to try to beat the cover of darkness.
Regret is truly one of the most terrible feelings. It gnaws away at you and ruins everything in its path until you either compromise with it or accept defeat. When making a purchase of something that I will not have the chance to purchase again I am many times overcome by the tuggings of regret. Not regret at the moment, but possible regret in the future. For instance, when I was at Adidas looking at the All-Blacks gear, I lusted after a jersey AND a track-suit top. I didn’t have enough money to buy both, so it was one or the other. And I couldn’t make up my mind. It took literally a half-hour for me to reason through the decision, force away the pangs of possible-regret, and make the actual purchase.
The same thing happened today with the New Zealand jade. I saw a stone that I wanted, and it was different from the rest. I thought maybe I should get a smooth one rather than a jagged one, but decided on the jagged stone. And now I’m afraid that I will regret not getting a smooth one. WHAT THE HELL! Why is it that these trivial things, things that don’t matter in the slightest in the future, take up so much of my mental space? It’s the memories that matter, not the things. And I KNOW this! Ugh.
And I’ve had it forever, this preoccupation with regret. One of my earliest memories is being at the Enchanted Forest, a wonderful (well, used to be) theme park nestled in a hillside forest along I-5. I remember a tunnel-like attraction that went below the path, and I was really intrigued but too nervous to try it. Dad decided to go for it and check it out, without me, and I regretted not doing it for the rest of the day. I know it’s dumb, but man has it’s stuck with me. Burned into my brain like a red-hot iron pressed to a calves rump. Weird, eh?
Anyways, after Punakaiki we drove on towards Hanmer Springs, finally arriving in, you guessed it, darkness. Our lodging was to be at the Cheltenham House. It was a grand old house that was converted into a bed and breakfast, with a wonderful common area complete with a fire and another snookers table, one of the largest I’ve ever seen. Dad was even blown away! We went out into the little town of Hanmer Springs to get some grub, and I ended up ordering pheasant and sharing a jug of New Zealand beer with dad.
Pheasant
After dinner dad and I had a go at snookers, and I came oh-so-close to beating him. Legitimately close! Close as in I had one ball left on the table when it was all over. Ugh…next time!
That table was HUGE! With tiny pockets...
After being at so many bed and breakfasts you begin to notice patterns. For one, they don’t have heating in New Zealand. At all. Every night and evey morning the rooms would be absolutely freezing. (It didn’t help that in Greymouth I discovered right before we left that my windows were wide open…) Space heaters were supplied, but still! Also, the towel racks are all heated. I thought this was cool at first, but it really only heated the part of the towel which was in contact with it, which was like 1/50th of the blanket. Seemed like a bit of a waste.
All in all, another wonderful day in the land of NZ!
I’ve asked for feedback from a friend and she told me that I’ve been describing the fauna too much in these NZ posts, and there’s a reason for that. The thing about New Zealand is nature is pretty much all it has-beautiful and luscious nature. Everything is built around it, and that is why one goes to New Zealand-for the wildness and non-development of it. The point is taken though, and I’m gonna back off of it. Just know that the scenery is amazing and mind-blowing. Wholly serene.
A Perpetual Photographic Orgasm
I understand that the mention of the world ‘orgasm’ will make some people squirm and uncomfortable, but I brainstormed for another word and could not come up with one that fit what I was trying to say. Also, I kinda enjoy being a bit controversial and pushing people…
I found myself standing on the top of a ridge, a cold wind howling about me. 360° views of variably green rolling hills encircled me, with pastures cordoned off alongside the slopes of each ridge for sheep and cattle. The hills were smooth with grass, save for random patches of trees and small farm houses. The cold air stung my nose, but the sweet smells of pastures along with the fresh ocean air was redeeming. Below me was the quaint New Zealand town of Akaroa, perched on the edge of Banks Peninsula, with a beautiful harbor stretching through the mountains and off into the mist. The descriptor of the day: A Perpetual Photographic Orgasm.
That morning we awoke (late…I was supposed to wake my parents, but didn’t turn up the volume on my phone, sleeping through it…) to an incredible breakfast made by our host Glenda. Two different types of kiwis (served by a Kiwi!), pineapple, watermellon, granola, wonderful tropical fruit yogarts, plum compote, eggs benedict and bacon. WOW!
This cat showed up at my parents door the night before, and chilled with us for a bit. It was wonderful!
I chilled in my room a little bit, worked on internet stuff, then got ready for our trip to Akaroa. It was supposed to be a beatiful trip, and I was pumped! The excitement quickly faded, however, after we took what felt like wrong turn after wrong turn; it felt like we would NEVER get out of the city. I was really getting frustrated. It didn’t seem that difficult, and I didn’t know what the problem was. I am only gonna be in NZ for 6 days, so I was starting to get pissed that the day was slipping away.
The parents did, however, succeed in getting us out into the city, and we drove past sheep pastures upon sheep pastures at the base of beautiful hills, all colored differently due to the changing leaves. It is, you see, autumn. Snow-capped jagged mountains were ahead of us; it was just spectacular. It really does feel like Middle Earth!
After a while we arrived at a little community and stopped at the information center, which also doubled as a craft co-op. I found a blue beanie hand-knit from New Zealand wool for $20 New Zealand dollars, which translates to about $14 USD, mom found a sweater for herself made from New Zealand wool and possum, and dad found a beanie as well. I overheard a man asking the shopkeeper if there were any less-curvy roads-his passenger was feeling sick. She said no, and he went on his way. I thought, “Oh man, it looks like I made it through the windy-ness without throwing up!” I had no idea of the roads to come, and this was probably a good thing.
We drove on towards Akaroa, climbing quickly through the hills on switchbacks. I started to feel dizzy, so I switched with mom, taking the front seat. In about two minutes we had climbed 500 or so feet and looked down upon the valley, mountains, and hill-side sheep pastures that surrounded us, with their rickety old wood and wire fences, reminicent of Hobbiton.
We kept on winding through the hills/mountains (it’s really hard to define it…they were rolling hills, but there were also snow-capped mountains. Pictures will come…you decide) and came to a fork-the left was Tourist Road, an incredibly twisty but stunning route along the tops of the hills/mountains, or the shorter but less stunning route to Akaroa. I had my camera, and it was roughly 2 pm, so we took Tourist Road.
At this point we were above the harbour, driving around towards the far end. The harbour was spectacular, with the mountains behind it, and its watery fingers clawing into the peninsula. It was a misty and cold day, which didn’t yield the best photographic situations. I did, however, continue shooting, falling back on HDR to try to get me through the tough circumstances. I think I got a few good ones.
The roads just kept on getting windier and windier, following the exact curvature of the mountains. In and out of the ridges we went, up and down-these roads were probably built to have the least amount of impact on the land; good for nature, bad for stomaches. I started to get dizzy, and the dizzy feeling migrated south into my stomache. I prayed and prayed, breathed deeply, and thought logically about throwing up. As we got closer to Akaroa, and started to quickly descent, cautious pangs of jubilance overtook me. Overcoming such stressful obstacles as these, even with supernatural help, is an incredibly freeing and joyous experience. It was so great to drive along the beach, out of the mountains, and on less-windy roads.
The town of Akaroa was so cute! It was settled by the French (before they realized that the British actually colonized New Zealand before them) so there was a strong likeness to European villages. Very tidy, many cute little pubs and shops, and the layout of the streets all reminded me of Germany. It’s hard to explain it, but the atmosphere was just very European.
We had skipped lunch, which is never a good thing, and at this point I was light-headed with hunger. We stumbled into a restaraunt that overlooked the harbour and ordered some grub. The server was a Maori woman, which was quite exciting. I don’t want to objectify the Maori people, but you just hear so much about the Maori, and to meet one was quite cool. First came mussels for the appetizer (or entre, as they call it here), then I had glazed duck for a main. Dad had a seafood platter that was just incredible. Oh, and we had a bowl of fries. So good! (Forgot what mom had…some kind of seafood I think…) We were just talking today about how we haven’t had a bad meal here; they all have been nothing less than gourmet (minus McDonalds, of course). They really know how to eat and cook food down under!
We piled back into the car and sped out af Akaroa, trying to make it out of the mountians before darkness hit. This time we took the shorter, less scenic route, which caused me great relief. We got back on to level ground in about half an hour, which was surprising quick after taking Tourist Road. It felt like that took three hours! I nodded off on the way home, exhausted from the adventure and stress.
After hearing about New Zealand and its beauty time and time again I started to think that it was more talk than reality. I also speculated that most of the beauty was in non-accessible places. This is not the case. New Zealand is more beautiful than you can imagine-unless you have a freakin’ awesome imagination. And much of the beauty is seen straight from the road. It doesn’t seem as though colonization or settlement or humans have degradated the beauty, it seems pure and thriving to me. But hey, what do I know. I’ve only been here three days.
The following day, which is today as I’m writing it, (but I will probably finish this post tomorrow…I’m on a string of HUGE posts-I’ve got a lot to relay back to friends and family) we awoke to another wonderful breakfast, and this time I woke up on time! Breakfast was similar to the previous morning, except we had a tree tomato compote, which was like sweet tomatoes, with the addition of pancakes with apple syrup and chocolate croissants. Glenda sure knows how to do it!
(Oh, and I meant New Zealand dollars, not Australian dollars…)
We said our goodbyes and drove off towards Greymouth, taking Arthur’s Pass directly through the mountains. It was stunning. The road wound up the side of a mountain, giving us views of the valley below. Then we descended on the others side, and came back to the flats. We pulled off at a gorgeous blue lake to stretch our legs and take pictures, and a guy in a car rolled down his window and said, “Icha tekken tha picturrrrez?” I could barely understand this thick NZ accent, but we spoke a bit. He lived near Greymouth, and invited me out to his place to see horses and Indians (didn’t really know there were Indians here…). I said something about being in the land of Lord of the Rings, and he mumbled something about rocks ahead. He also asked where I was from, and then offered me a lolly (candy). I went against all common sense and obliged. It was so tasty, a raspberry hard candy!!
We continued on our way, snaking around the bases of mountains, through valleys, with grey mountains, jagged, snow-covered mountains, rolling green hills, and waterfalls spurting from the hillsides. We came upon some strange-looking rocks jutting out from a lazy rolling hill, and pulled over. It was quite apparent that this was the place that my lolly-friendly amigo was speaking of.
I’m really having trouble figuring out how to explain what it looked like. I’ll post pics at some time. Let’s see…Imagine having a large rock and dropping a 500lb weight on it, breaking it all up. Then sprinkle the rocks over a mound of dirt. And most of the rocks are smooth…ok, that didn’t really work. Well, hm…I’ll put up some pictures. Just, rocks by themselves, formations of rocks, natural shelters of rocks, it was cool. And by a working farm, which was also kinda cool.
We got back on the road and pushed towards Greymouth. Dad again wanted to get out of the mountains before dark, so we had to hurry. It was very interesting how the scenery changed. The changes were subtle, but not lacking in profundity. The views went from pastures with rolling hills to rolling hills with a backdrop of large, snow-capped mountains. Non-tropical flora to tropical-palm trees and fern trees, and other tropical plants-the closer we got to the coast. It was as if we were driving from Alaska to Hawai’i-it’s the only way I can describe it.
There must be some law in New Zealand that forbiddens more than 500m of straight road. I have never experienced such an abundance of windy roads in my life. The road to Akaroa was the worst, but nearly every road that we have taken was ridiculous. And I’m not just throwing the world ridiculous around. RIDICULOUS.
On this day-trip I experienced one of the most stunning stretches of road that I have ever seen. It took me by surprise, so I most regrettably have no pictures. We crossed a bridge that was above a river bustling over white rocks, much in the same fashion as the Little Su that runs through Hatcher Pass in AK. The rode then hugged the side of a mountain and curled around it, with the river on the left, and a wall shooting straight up from that which formed a mountain. In front of us this strange concrete chute was erected; its purpose to divert a waterfall and carry it above the road, shooting it out into the air, landing in the river hundreds of feet below. The chute was about thirty feet tall or so, and was a strikingly ingenious and intriguing installation.
As I write these NZ posts I feel as though it is my duty to attempt to convey the beauty of the land here, but it’s nearly impossible. Many times I feel as though I’m a babbling idiot, repeating ‘stunning’, ‘beautiful’, ‘gorgeous’, and other adjectives. It’s frustrating! I’ll have pictures coming soon, and I’ll insert them into the posts as well, so…keep an eye out.
We stopped at a little town and had a bite to eat, then ventured on. I was feeling a bit dizzy from the roads at this point, so I switched with mom and took the front seat. It felt like a bit of a defeat, as I would really like to kill this vomiting phobia of mine. Afternoon turned in to night, and we were all exhausted- completely wrung out. At long last we saw a grouping of lights in the distance, and as we neared we discovered that it was the town of Greymouth. Finally!
We neared the bed and breakfast, a place called Oak Lodge Homestay. As we turned into the driveway we were greeted by 80 sheep in a paddock- is there anything more New Zealand than that?! Our hosts came out to greet us and introduced themselves as Alastair and Shirley, two warm and wonderfully hospitable souls. It was around 7:30pm, and like I said before, we were dead. Shirley showed us our rooms (originally it was going to be ‘room’, but Shirley gave me a room of my own. I owe her!!! ) and booked us a place at the best restaurant in town (it is only a town of 13,000, but still…!). It was dark outside so we couldn’t really see our surroundings, but we could tell by the inside of the place that we were someplace special.
To your right upon entrance was a wonderful sitting room, thick with an antique, old-world atmosphere. Wooden walls, a grand fireplace, extraordinary paintings, and cosy couches and chairs. To the left of the sitting room was a billiard room, complete with a pool table, or more accurately to this specific table, snookers. Dad and I played some, and I got creamed. (Technically I won both games ’cause he scratched on the 8-ball, but we’ll gloss over that…)
The restaurant was again exquisite. And, again, we were served by a beautiful female New Zealander. Ahhhhhhh… Anyways, I had wonderful glazed pork with a nice glass of New Zealand Pinot Gris.
After the meal we strolled about the small town of Greymouth, peering in the stores, and headed back to our little oasis. It was a perfect end to a stunning, stressful, tiring and eventful day.
Waratahs and Kiwis
I awoke this morning to the ringing of a phone, bleary-eyed and confused. I spent the night on the floor of my parents hotel, The Grace, in downtown Sydney, and it was the disgusing hour of 6:00 am. I writhed around for twenty minutes, feeling sorry for myself, and stumbled into the shower. Ugh, I hate early mornings, especially when airplane flights are to follow. Even the knowledge that we soon would be in Middle Earth didn’t brighten the morning.
I stayed with my parents in their hotel room Saturday night because we were to fly out to New Zealand the following morning, and we were already going to have a late night together. I had bought tickets for us to see the New South Wales Waratahs play the West Coast Force, a rugby union game at Sydney Football Stadium. (The Waratah is the state flower of New South Wales.) Dad and I were both pumped as we had been watching rugby league all week, marvelling over the huge hits sans pads.
Waratah
I had figured out all the transportation, packed all my bags and jumped on the train to the city. We took a bus to Oxford Street, a cool and charmingly dirty row of shops and restaraunts, and found ourselves a pizza place. We were served by a stunningly beautiful Brazilian girl who seemed near my age. She was so sweet, and had that doe-eyed apperance-overwhelmingly cute. It was at this point that I started to quietly resent the company of my parents; it’s quite hard to flirt with someone accompanied by your charming dad and lovely mother. I talked with her a tad and silently vowed to return the following week. We’ll see how I feel on Saturday after flying out of Wellington at 6:00am. I also need to get a haircut.
Anyway, we finished our Rocket (Arugala) pizza and made our way to Sydney Football Stadium. As we neared the venue the throngs of Waratah supporters increased consistently. It always reminds me of nearing an ant hill-you see one ant, then as you get closer it turns into 5, then 30, then 100, and by the time you reach the ant hill, or stadium, they are swarming on top of one another. These ants were wearing powder-blue rugby jerseys and scarves, partially marinated in alcohol, and ready for bone-crushing and blood-spurting fun.
The stadium was laid out in a very interesting fashion. As you can see from the pictures, from the street it looks like it is just the top of the stadium coming out of the earth, without a base of any sort. In the states most of our stadiums are built from the ground up. This stadium, intriguingly, was built below ground level. We took stairs down from the street, entered the stadium, then the concourse, then walked down to our seats. It was quite cool!
Sydney Football Stadium
Inside the stadium. It later filled up.
We looked for our section and presented our tickets to the usher and she directed us, “All the way to the bottom and on the right.” We started down the steps, and I excitedly whispered to mom, “Did you hear that?! All the way down!” She wasn’t kidding either, we were in the very first row, near ground level. (Well, technically the second row, but the second row started about 3 metres to the right of us. I’m calling it first row!)
Dad and I
I was bent on arriving early, so we had about forty-five minutes until …I want to say kick-off…I think thats what is is. I visited the ATM for a few bucks (as did everybody else, took me 20 minutes or so) and bought myself a sweet white- and powder blue-striped supporter scarf, as well as a Waratah rugby ball. I was set!
It was my hope to sit next to some cordial Waratah fans, as I was hoping to get explanations of the game. It seemed as though I was out of luck, my neighbor to the right was a broad-shouldered jersey-wearing intense supporter. Somehow throughout the course of the first-half I broke the ice (I believe I was wondering about rules aloud to my father, in the hopes of being corrected by him…). Throughout the rest of the game we talked football and the differences between rugby and American football. He explained how much the players made (the good ones make an upwards of $600,000, close to a million with sponsors), what certain calls meant, and other rules. It was fantastic having him next to me; turns out he played for a rugby club a few years ago. I learned so much about the game!
He left to get some grub and I talked to his dad/uncle/friend who took him to the game, and he revealed that his wife was from Delaware. We spoke about America a bit, other sports, my studies at Macquarie, etc. These truly are the nicest people, Australians! I was peppering them both with questions and they were more than happy to oblige. I think it excited them that it was my first rugby game.
We were so close that we could hear the grunts and the smash of the scrums. Take your fists, ball them up, and smash them directly into each other. Now imagine your each knuckle as a player’s head, with each fist being a team. This is a scrum. The team with posession then slips the ball through the middle of the scrum towards their side, and the men in the scrum can only use their feet to move the ball backwards.
SCRUM!
Another scrum shot.
There are no forward passes; you can kick the ball forward or lateral it backwards. And once the player is tackled he/she must release the ball backwards on the ground to his/her team mate. Running into the opponent’s end zone and touching the ball to the ground equals five points, and a extra-point-like kick follows, which equals two points. Also, if there is a penalty, a team can either choose to retain posession of the ball or attempt to kick it through the goal posts for three points.
Gameplay was amazing. We were about 5 metres from the actual players when they advanced the ball to our side, and to see the hits was incredible. As I mentioned before, we could hear the grunts and the smash of the scrum, and players breathing hard as they came past us. The throw-ins were interesting as well. One team has a player throwing in the ball, as in soccer, and both teams hoist a player up to their shoulders to try to grab the ball. It was so unique!
Apparently blood isn’t a big deal. There were a few guys with blood seeping down their faces, cuts under their eyes, jerseys dirtied by blood, and they played on. The hits were massive, and they kept getting up. I can understand why they think American football is a sissy sport; these guys have no pads, there is much less stoppage of play, they play both offense and defense, and, again, they have no pads. It just felt like a pure, carnal sport; the same way that chess feels more pure than checkers, this felt more like war.
The ‘Tas lead at the half, but the Force ended up beating them. It was sad to see my beloved Waratahs lose, but so great to see a legitimate rugby game. It was so exciting, so passionate, so real, and it was such a rich cultural experience. The Aussies react in much the same way as we do to our American football, just with badass Australian accents.
The night was great, another new and unique Aussie experience. And I got to bring my parents to something that they had never witnessed before. I’m hoping to see the Wallabies in June, which is the Aussie rugby national team. They’ll be playing France. Anybody interested?
After our wonderful breakfast the next morning, which included fresh fruits, pastries, hash browns, juices, eggs benedict, etc., we headed towards the Wynyard train station. As we left the hotel it started to sprinkle rain, and was as gray as a January morning in Eugene. It was so ironic because it had been threatening rain all week, but had, for the most part, held off. And when we left Sydney it starts to rain. And its been raining since then, pretty constantly. It’s so essential that it stayed dry while they were here; it greatly cuts down on what you can do if it rains in Sydney.
We caught the 8:05 train to the airport and headed towards the airport. What a great way to end my parents tour of Sydney! The train snaked underground, then came out above Circular Quay, the harbour right in front of us. It was drab and rainy, with the Harbour Bridge on the left and the Opera House to the right. It was absolutely stunning! I had never seen the Quay rainy, and as it was early there wasn’t anybody out; it was like the beauty was reserved for us and our few fellow passengers.
We arrived at the airport and made it through to our gate without any disturbances. My system was a bit off, and I was feeling kinda crappy. I ALWAYS feel like crap when I fly early, and the breakfast was so rich, I was nervous about the plane, etc. I got over it though. But it did suck…ugh.
We flew Air New Zealand, which was the most comfortable I’d ever been on a plane. Each seat had a screen in the back of it, loaded with movies, tv shows, everything. I know many people have experienced that before, but it was a first for me. (Even though I’ve flown a bunch…) And it was only a 2 hour 40 minute flight, which was pretty convenient.
Dad and I watched Frost/Nixon, an incredibly intriguing movie on the English talk show host David Frost interviewing Richard Nixon after Watergate. It lasted about 2 hours, so it was perfect! I followed that up with an episode of Flight of the Concords. Is there anything more perfect than watching Flight of the Concords on a flight to New Zealand? The correct answer is NO.
The console in the seat...pretty sweet.
Somewhere above the Pacific.
We landed relatively smoothly into Christchurch, NZ, and trudged through security/customs/quarentine. Mom got attacked by a beagle. Ha, it was pretty funny. We were walking towards quarentine and a customs officer with a beagle came walking by, and the dog made a beeline towards mom’s bag and wouldn’t stop pestering it. Turned out he smelled a bananna that mom had thrown out minutes before, as well as some seeds from the Botanical Gardens. It slowed us down, but I was so delighted to have contact with a canine! It’s been so long, and with living in the city, and my brother’s departure, I really haven’t had that much contact with dogs. And it’s killing me! The bed and breakfast we’re at now has a dog; I’m super-psyched to see him!
The beagle found the seeds!
We headed out to our rental car and it started to hit me; I’m gonna die in New Zealand. My dad has been driving on the left side of cars for roughly 40 years, and this would be the first time that he would be driving on the right side. First we started driving with the arrow pointing towards us in the middle of the road, which is generally not a good sign (pun not intended). After making a wrong turn we pulled off into a parking lot, regrouped, and dad prepared to turn right to go back. He turned, but turned into the right lane, straight into oncoming traffic. I yelled, “Left, Left, LEFT-LEFT-LEFT” and at first he froze, then slightly swerved right (which is instinct [and a terrible instinct to have in OZ/NZ/UK]) then swerved to the left and into the proper lane. One of the freakiest things I had ever experienced. MAN! Also, the turn signal switch is on the opposite side, so we kept on having the wiper blades going as we were turning. He turned into the wrong side maybe 3 other times, but towards the end he figured it out.
Daddio Drivin'
Minutes after the near-collision...
Our woes did not end there. We found the general area of our bed and breakfast, which was on the side of a hill with a tree-like road heading up it. Tree-like in that it started out as one road, then forked off and forked off, and wound itself up the hillside. Incredibly confusing. And it took us half an hour to finally come to our destination. We got lost so many times, asked a few Kiwis for directions, and the post boxes kept jumping 11, which is the address we were looking for. It was so frustrating because we were all at our wits end for having almost died numerous times-we just wanted to reach our destination and depart the danger that is misguided instinct!
But we did finally arrive, and the place is just beautiful. It overlooks one of the inlets here, and when the fog isn’t out the mountains are directly in front of the dining room (or so we were told). There is a beautiful garden that mom of course loves, and comfortable and clean rooms, along with nice hosts.
The miracle of Google Earth.
Zoomed in a bit.
Today is dad’s birthday, so we went out for dinner in his honor. We drove to a small little town and ate at a little hole-in-the-wall Indian restaraunt, with literally six tables. It was so amazingly good. I had lamb (yes, NZ lamb!) with coconut and mustard seed sauce. It was so creamy, and the meat so tender. It was a delicious dinner!
The Thai Restaraunt. Love that place! The guy was so happy we loved our meals. SO good.
It really has surprised me how different New Zealand is from Australia. When we arrived it was around 62° with mist hanging in the air. It actually reminded me a lot of Eugene and comforted me, the wet and moist air. Nearly everything other than the roads and buildings are green, and there are very few densley-populated areas, but most of NZ is farm land. We came across a few swamplands and houses nestled up on hills nearly hidden by the fog. It’s quite obvious why Peter Jackson picked this oasis to be Middle Earth. Everything is so natural, dense, and wild, green and luscious. It is as if humans are an addition, not a parasite. I’ve barely been here 8 hours, and I love it here. I can’t wait to see more of the island! The only problem is, we’re driving!!!
Below are Rugby videos. If you don’t think its hardcore, check ‘em out. It’s ridiculous…
Here’s the New Zealand national team gettin’ revved up for their match…
