The Journey Home

Date: Saturday August 13, 2011

Time: 5:35 pm

Location: Auckland, NZ, Auckland Airport

Well, here I am again; sitting in an airport. The circumstances are significantly different though. I don’t (as much as I would like to) plan to miss my flight this time. Not that I actually planned that, but it’s about an hour out of boarding time and I’m already sitting at the gate.

Instead of hours of Canada and a Sydney airport travel, I have spent the last couple hours on various buses. After breakfast at Dixie Brown’s with Ken, he dropped me off at the Naked Bus. Thankfully, everyone inside was fully clothed with the only reference to nudity coming from the catchphrase of the bus company; “Stripping the cost of travel!”

I was enjoying having two seats to myself and the quiet of the bus and at the same time listening to Adele and Taylor Swift. It wasn’t until the bus stopped to pick up passengers in Waikato that I had to share my seat.

“sithere?” mumbled a girl with dark hair and big earrings as she sat on my purse.

As if I had a choice. I regretted her sudden presence for two reasons; one, the fact that she took the seat without waiting for my answer and sat on my purse. And two; because I had to pee and she had just blocked me in.

She immediately pulled her hood over her sunglasses (???), crossed her arms and shut her eyes. There was no squeezing past this broad. She had bags on her lap. And to give you a picture of her size, her pockets were untucked because there was just no room in her pants. Do I dare rouse the rude sleeping girl? I thought as I looked longingly back at the on-board lavatory, a teasing two seats behind.

Luckily, we stopped in Hamilton just then to change bus drivers and were given a 10 minute bathroom break.

Once I arrived at the airport and checked in I set out on a mission to get my money back from Air New Zealand. I was promised 100 dollars of clothing reimbursed after they lost my bag and I sure as heck wasn’t gonna miss out on it! Unfortunately, since it was to be reimbursed in New Zealand dollars (which were of no use to me at this point) I only got 71 U.S. dollars back after fees and currency differences were incurred.

After all that was said and done I walked over to security and unloaded the 30 pounds of bags I was carrying on my person. I got to the other side of the metal detector and was asked to follow a man to an inspection point where he carried my red backpack. He did a quick search and found the jar of Nutella I was bringing home. Rats!

“You can’t take this, it’s over 400 milliliters.”

“Ok.” I said, shattered.

“Would you like a spoon?” he laughed.

YES!

“No, that’s alright.” I laughed back and left in search of sustenance before I got on the 12 hour flight.

When I got on the plane, I realized I was given an aisle seat. Oh, joy. At least I was sitting next to a harmless elderly couple.

Yeah, right.

I put on Water for Elephants and settled myself in to the uncomfortable coach seat the best I could when I noticed the lady was struggling with her remote and TV. I offered my assistance and showed her how to push the arrows and select button (so hard!). I thought she understood until she called the flight attendant over not half an hour later.

 I finished my movie and the chicken dinner I was given then I decided to try and sleep. I reclined my chair, which the guy behind me was not too happy about. Sorry mister, I’m not too happy about my sleeping situation either.

I didn’t even recline it fully, which I discovered after I was drifting to sleep and elderly woman pressed my recline button instead of hers. Whoa! Good morning!

After that, sleep was just wishful thinking. The seat was extraordinarily uncomfortable and my poor bottom was getting sore no matter how much I shifted cheeks. Also, instead of going to sleep, elderly woman decided to read some romance novel and her darn overhead light was shining in my eyes.

Looks like I’m having a Big Bang Theory marathon.

I finally arrived in L.A. and had to run around the airport like a chicken with my head cut off to customs and ticketing and security in under an hour to make my next flight.

But I made it! So here I am in Seattle, spending a few days with my sister before I return to Colorado.  I’m already missing New Zealand and all my friends. The New Zealand smell Febreeze (I kid you not) my sister bought is just not the same.

Black, Blue and Bruised

Date: Wednesday,  August 4, 2011

Time: 4:05 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, The Fox’s sun room

This past Saturday I took my first ever trek up a mountain with the intention of taking advantage of the slippery quality of snow and the ability to ride gracefully through the meanders of a path down to the bottom.

If only.

I was wary of snowboarding to begin with for two reasons; one, your feet are bound together by a very hard board. People were given two feet for a reason; it’s easier to balance that way.  Plus they are bound together in a very unnatural way, in a permanent war-like stance, with your feet spread far apart. As if you’re preparing for battle or something.

Two, how the heck do you stop?! There aren’t any brakes on that thing. It’s smooth on the bottom! And what if you’re flying down a mountain with a cliff to your left and you’re trying to avoid other skiers and snowboarders AND it’s a very steep decline?!? There’s only one answer to that question for the inexperienced, first-time snowboarder; you don’t.

Not gracefully at least. As I was finding it very difficult to master the correct way to stop, I took to just plopping my butt down whenever I was going too fast or needed a sudden stop. This technique would often cause a fantastic spray of snow on anyone nearby and would often times involve a great deal of pain to my backside, but it was better than going off the side of the mountain or mowing down the unsuspecting skier/snowboarder. People get quite cranky when you knock them over!

“Thanks for that!” Said a particularly humorless Kiwi woman I knocked from standing position.

As if I enjoy getting jabbed in the gut by your ski poles, lady! It’s not like this isn’t the one millionth time I’ve done this today either. You think you’re tired of falling over?!

Despite the good hour I spent learning what to do on the bunny hill; that was the gist of my entire day. It wasn’t a particularly nice day either, it was overcast and sunless. By the end of the day my hair was drenched from the on-off snow showers and my “water-proof” ski gear, soaked through.

On day two, I elected to attempt to ski instead. This was also for two reasons; one, your feet aren’t connected. And two, you get poles to help you stop. (So I thought)

Sunday was nicer weather-wise times 1 million. The sun was shining and the mountain looked absolutely majestic and inviting. Special thanks go out to my extremely patient ski/snowboarding instructor, Bevan.  To stop, your ski’s should look like a “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” To go they should look like “French Fries! French Fries! French Fries!”

So I learned how to ski to the tune of; “French fries, French fr- PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA! Ok, French fries, French fries, Fr-pizza, pizza, PIZZA!!!!”

I actually was doing quite well with skiing and enjoying it a great deal more than snowboarding. Then I decided to go down the mountain.

When you fall while skiing, it makes for a much funnier wipe-out. Your ski’s go every which way and poles go flying through the air. There was even a time I slid right into a snow bank. By doing so I knocked the air out of myself, however, I remained upright!

Unfortunately, because of the exhaustion and havoc I put my body through the day before, I was unable to really get a good grasp on skiing. So, muscles spent and energy used up, I took the chair lift down to the café and enjoyed a beer on the patio in the sun.

Thank the Lord for hot tubs at Ruapehu Christian Camp. The only time I could move a limb without serious aching pain was when I was relaxing in the pools that Sunday evening.

While I can’t claim to be a prodigy at snowboarding and I was too tired to put real effort into skiing, I greatly enjoyed that weekend. And I can say something a lot of American’s can’t; my first time skiing/snowboarding was on a mountain in New Zealand. J

The Little Things

Date: Wednesday July 27^th, 2011

Time: 12:55 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, The Fox’s living room

I’ve recently discovered that I am a relatively simple human being. I don’t live extravagantly, I will often have the same thing for lunch multiple days in a row, and I require very little from people.

As I sat reading my second Kathy Reichs novel since moving to the Fox’s, I suddenly felt inspired to log my time of relaxation. My legs were thrown over the side of a plush green La-Z-Boy and I had just put another log on the cozy fire. My stomach was recently satiated with two pieces of toast covered with Nutella and the last of the 2 liter of Coke Mrs. Fox had bought for me.

As I prepared my lunch, my mind switched to a novel-like narrative as it often does after I’ve spent long amounts of time reading.

I reluctantly got up from the comfortable sprawl I had accustomed myself to and walked into the kitchen…

I smeared Nutella on my toast considering that the jar was already half-empty and wondering if that was all my doing…

This Saturday will mark two weeks until I return to real life. The pace of my life will quicken as I prepare for my last semester in College and I work extra hours to rebuild my depleting supply of money.

So at this moment, I feel completely content and completely relaxed. And I am so grateful to have this time of simply doing nothing.

Discovering My Inner Legolas

Date: Saturday July 23, 2011

Time: 4:40 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, My bedroom at the Fox’s

This past week was spent supervising nineteen 13 to 15 year-old girls at a kids camp at Lake Taupo Christian Camp. The girls were LIT’s or Leaders in training, so they would assist the junior and senior leaders with their group of younger campers.

Oh, to be 13 at a week-long camp. Your life revolves around whether you get to strategically sit next to the boy you like during meals, wear his hoodie or hat during camp, or maybe even kiss him on the cheek with your friends giggling beside you and wondering if any of the leaders saw (Oh, and help with campers). This was a true story for one of my girls who started “dating” the camp manager’s son during camp. Sexual politics start so young, don’t they?

I did not sleep very well the entire week of camp. Either I was freezing (under my 5 blankets), I was worried about missing my 5:30 alarm, one or both of the girls I was rooming with were snoring, or one of them was periodically yelling in her sleep.

When I wasn’t hearing about the dating drama of my girls, I was downing my second or third cappuccino (thank God for that instant Nescafe machine), leading a game of “ships and sailors,” at a rehearsal for that night’s worship, or teaching kids archery.

“Are we ready to discover our inner Legolas’s?” I’d say. I tell you what, nothing teaches you patience like trying to teach archery. I would demonstrate how to do it, which the kids weren’t listening to and would forget by the time it was their turn to shoot 5 arrows, and have to explain it again once they got up there. They would hold the bow the wrong way, the arrow would fall out of place a billion times, and other similarly frustrating scenarios. Deep breath.

I was keeping track of points for each cabin because whichever one got the most points by the end of the week was named best cabin or team, and I told one of the junior leaders of a group of boys that if he beat me at a shoot-off I would award his team 50 points. I got 5 out of 5 bulls eyes, he got 3. I don’t care if I’m bragging, that’s pretty impressive for someone who hasn’t shot archery since high school.

On Thursday night, as a teaching session was about to start, a helicopter emergency landed on the camps field. Apparently something on the helicopter had broken down with a patient on board. An ambulance had to meet the helicopter at the camp and pick up the patient. This was very dramatic and exciting. Oh, and the kids were very excited by the helicopter being there as well.

Despite the frustration and lack of sleep, this was probably one of the most rewarding weeks of my life. Little lives were changed and I got to spend the week surrounded by awesome and amazing people. Definitely something I would do again.

Moving and Mischief

Date: Friday July 15, 2011

Time: 11:03 am

Location: Taupo, NZ, The Fox’s Living room

The Kiwi’s call it “shifting” but in America we call it moving. This week I moved from my flat at the Short’s, to a bedroom at the Fox’s. The deal was I would spend a month at the Short’s and a month at the Fox’s. That’s right; it’s already been a month!

On Wednesday, I packed my growing number of belongings and cleaned then headed to the Fox’s. My room is awesomely purple and has a matching bedspread decorated with birds and flowers. The duvet is incredibly light but also, incredibly warm.  It’s filled with some sort of feathers.

Since “shifting” here, I’ve found it much more difficult to get out of bed in the morning. When I had my own  flat, I could turn my little gas heater on a reasonably warm temperature and close the bedroom door to trap the heat. I also had the water heater in my closet, which I think helped the heating situation.

Now that my room is part of the main house, it gets just as chilly as everywhere else. I have an electric blanket again, but I don’t use it because the blankets make it warm enough. It’s when I climb out of bed that’s the problem. I pull my blankets up to my chin and contemplate throwing off the covers for about 20 minutes each day; the tip of my nose being the only cold part of my body. “Alright, get out of bed NOW…Now….Now….” I keep losing the battle in convincing my toes to emerge first. The piggies are reluctant to get out of the blankets!

My years in Girl Scouts have done nothing for my ability to build a fire, which I had to do today. As I sat watching Tyra and Skyping, I began to get chilly. Mr. Fox was home earlier for a few minutes to have lunch and he told me where to retrieve wood and how to build the fire. He came home as Tyra was talking about periods, which was a smidge awkward. WHOA! Where’s the mute on this fancy remote?!

I was trying unsuccessfully to start the fire for a few minutes when Jessica IMed me on Facebook, we decided to Skype and she even tried to help me get it going via webcam. It was beginning to come together; I managed to get a few pieces of kindling to catch on fire. But it didn’t really start to roar until Mrs. Fox came home for lunch and opened the vent. Go figure. I tell ya, if I ever end up in the middle of the woods somewhere and my survival depends on my ability to start a fire, I am in for a pathetic end.

If at this moment, someone were to cut me, I’m pretty sure I would bleed Nutella. Today alone, I have had 6 pieces of toast smeared with the stuff.  Two for breakfast, two for lunch when Mrs. Fox came home and two after she left. I think it stems from my laziness. I’m too darn lazy to attempt to make myself something real for lunch. Plus, I wouldn’t even know what to make! I’m a sad excuse for a woman. Aren’t women supposed to be good a cooking? I blame you, America. It’s all those chicken fingers and frozen pizza’s I eat when I’m at home. So easy. Never forcing me to be creative.

Well, whaddaya know? It’s raining again. I swear, Taupo is the New Zealand equivalent to Seattle. I don’t mind actually, because that means my new friend Mischief will come inside. Mischief is the Fox’s orange-striped 10-year-old cat. We made friends last night when he hopped up onto my lap and sat there purring as I watched TV. When the Fox’s went to a church event he and I had a good conversation. I’d get up to get a glass of water and he would follow me. “Meeeeeeeooow!” he’d say. Which either means, “I love you, let’s be friends!” or “You’re up! Does this mean food??” I choose to believe that he loves me and wants to be my friend.

"This is going to taste delirious"

Date: Friday July 8, 2011

Time: 10:33 am

Location: Taupo, NZ, The Short’s Kitchen

In a movie I watched the other day with Lizzy called “Paulie,” there is a scene where one of the main character’s Misha, tries to coax a parrot called Paulie to talk.  He had heard him talk before and was attempting to make him talk again by bribing him with mango. He started to cut the mango and was talking about how juicy and delicious it looked. He cut a large slice and said; “This is going to taste delirious.”

Being from Russia, Misha had a rather strong accent and would sometimes use words in the wrong way. If you couldn’t tell, he was trying to say “delicious.” This week I tried a food that can be described as anything BUT delirious. Marmite.

I figured that I should keep my promise to Lizzy, however, she punished me and took it a step further by making me try it in front of the whole youth group on Wednesday night. Her sister, Katie, was only too happy to team up with her and even brought the sample of Marmite to youth group in a thick spread between two crackers.

I sat in front of the kids and told them the story of why I was tasting Marmite, and then surrounded by their chants, I took a bite. It was like gooey salty chicken broth in brown sticky form smeared between two helpless, unknowing crackers. They weren’t happy with this though, and decided it would be a good idea for me to open the cracker and lick it, like you would an open-face Oreo. The similarity ends there though.

“Alright,” I thought “May as well do this right.” After all, I was raised in a house where my Father said to never “half-ass” anything. So, I opened the cracker and licked the sticky Marmite. Gross. Immediate regret.

Another interesting thing I ate this week was pizza with spaghetti on it instead of sauce. These Kiwi’s just like to put strange things on their pizza! First with the pizza from Domino’s with the big potato wedges as a topping (This, by the way, was titled “Mr. Wedgies”), and then using canned spaghetti in tomato sauce as a replacement for regular sauce in a pizza. I have to admit, it wasn’t that bad.

Other out-of-the(my)-ordinary foods I’ve tried:

-Banana-Chocolate Muffin= Delicious

-Parsnip= Good

-Lamb with mint sauce=Amazing

-Mango with custard and ice cream=Fantastic

-Tuna sushi=Could’ve done without

-Mince pie= Incredible

See how brave I am? Trying all these strange foods. Most of which were… delirious. So far, the only ones I truly disliked were the Marmite and the Sushi. Only one of which, is truly a New Zealand cuisine. So overall, I'm liking the food choices here.

My Lack of Fourth of July

Date: Monday July 4, 2011

Time: 5:06 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, My Flat

There’s something to be said for familiarity. People get comfortable; they have their “things.” Things they like, things they enjoy doing, specific foods that they eat at certain restaurants, certain clothes that are their favorite, etc. I myself have an orange shirt I wear to bed. It’s my favorite and I can’t even tell you why, maybe because it’s the softest. It’s from middle school and it’s says “24 Hour Run” in faded purple letters. At one time it had a bunch of signatures on the back but they’ve faded as well. It’s kind of hideous really. That shade of orange looks good on no one and there are the beginnings of holes in the armpits. Bottom line: it’s familiar.

For the first time in my life I actually am missing the Fourth of July. Yes, I know it’s still the fourth of July in New Zealand. But in no way is it the same. Today I worked, which never happens in the States because the Fourth is a National holiday. And my clothing had no trace of red, white, or blue. In fact, I’m wearing my Star Wars shirt.

Yesterday I brought up that today was the Fourth of July to the Short’s during lunch time. I was asked what we usually do on the Fourth, which was strange because I’ve never had to describe it before. “Well, there’s Hot Dogs and Cheeseburgers and people Barbeque and there’s swimming and fireworks and sparklers…” I listed.

I then began to feel a little homesick for the land of red, white, and blue. “Well, if you think about it, it’ll be the 3^rd in the states during most of your fourth and then you’ll wake up and it’ll be the fifth!” Mary-Anne offered. That’s true.

However, there will still be all these “Happy Fourth of July!!” statuses on Facebook. Maybe I’ll just avoid Facebook altogether tomorrow. That way, people can’t rub in my face that their watching beautiful fireworks or having corn on the cob or watching a baseball game. In your face! You All-American, Independence day loving, Fourth of July celebrators!!!

Oh, the familiar…

EPILOGUE

Date: Tuesday July 5^th, 2011

Time : 9:19 am

Location: Taupo, NZ, My borrowed office at Taupo Baptist Church

 So, not an hour later as I was sitting in front of the fire, watching TV, Kevin came into the lounge and said; “There’s a box downstairs for you to bring to home group tonight, Mary-Anne’s worked it out with Nicola.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Just something for you to bring with you to home group.”

“Is it for home group?”

“Yes.”

“Is it for Nicola?”

“No, it’s just for you to bring with you to home group, you ask so many questions!” he laughed.

I dropped it at that, but when my ride came to pick me up and I went down to get the mysterious box I noticed it said “The Big Boom Box” in big orange letters. They got me fireworks!!!!!!!

That night after home group my friends and I went down to Whakaipo Bay where there was no one around. In New Zealand there aren’t a whole lot of extraneous street lights or lamps anywhere. And thank God for that. You could clearly see the Milky Way and about a billion stars in the sky. It was so dark that you had to watch where you stepped so as not to accidently step into the lake.

For the next hour we set off fireworks with names like “lava flow” and “gamma ray.” All the while eating beef jerky and Doritos that my friends had bought for the occasion.  And then to finish off the night, Joel had bought Chinese lanterns for us to light and send off to float over the lake. If you’ve seen Tangled, they’re exactly like the lanterns in that movie.

Not a bad fourth, as it turns out. J

Driving On The Wrong Side of The Road

Date: Friday July 1, 2011

Time: 4:46 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, My Flat

Who gets to decide what is right and what is wrong? There’s the obvious answers; God, the government, your own moral code…

This week I drove on the wrong side of the street, in the wrong side of the car, with the turn signal on the wrong side of the wheel. While that’s wrong to me, it’s right to the over 4 million people living in New Zealand (as well as any other countries that drive on the opposite side of the road).

Ken was kind (or perhaps cruel) enough to let me drive his van from where we had lunch at Burgerfuel back to the Short’s home. I climbed into what is to me, the passenger side of the car, already feeling awkward. As I reached to the left to grab for the seatbelt that wasn’t there (wrong side again), I knew I was off to an interesting start.

Ken told me that the best way to remember what side of the road to be on you have to think about giving the driver coming from the other direction a high-five. It’s true no matter what country you’re in. If you can give the driver coming towards you an imaginary high-five with the hand closest to them, you’re probably ok.

I now had a few thoughts I was trying to keep up with; stay on the correct side of the road, try to find the way home, oh, and navigate the foreign boat-like vehicle you’re driving. I managed to get us back to the Short’s in one piece, even with the wipers going off every time I tried to signal.

I forgot to mention, the speed limit is posted in kilometers rather than miles. So, it’s not uncommon to see the speed limit posted as 100. Wow. I’m not up on my conversions so I’m not exactly sure what it is in miles. But when you’re riding along on roads that curve like an “s” and there are no street lights, it feels pretty dang fast. Or maybe it’s just that I’m not used to seeing the speed limit in three digits.

On Wednesday during youth group I was sitting on a counter just hanging out till we started things up when one of the girls, Annie-Rose came up to me.

“If I sit on here with you will it break?” She asked, testing the stability of the counter by pushing on it.

“Probably. Cuz of your fat butt!” I teased.

“I love the way you said that! “Fat butt.” I don’t think it could’ve sounded cooler with any other accent!” She said.

Well, alright then. I guess for people to ignore a burn you have to say it in a foreign accent. Ha.

The Ohope Weekend

Date: Monday June 27, 2011

Time: 4:16 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, The Short’s kitchen

New Zealand is a land full of towns and cities with strange names. This is because a lot of its culture and heritage is based around their indigenous native group of people called the Maori. So far, I’ve run into many unpronounceable names. For example, Rotorua, Tauranga, and Whakatane. Now, in the Maori language, when a word has “wh” it makes an “f” sound. So with that knowledge, I invite you to say “Whakatane” aloud…

Haha.

We also passed through a town called Matata. Someone had painted “hakuna” on the sign for the town. I kid you not. But I’m sure when the residents of the town saw that they just said, “No worries!” (Ba dum bum)

This weekend I went to a place called Ohope. When you say the name make sure you pronounce the “e” so that it sounds more like “Ohopey.”  Ohope is in the Bay of Plenty on the Beach. It is paradise. The ride to Ohope was interesting to say the least. The weather varied from light drizzle to torrential downpour with shocking and sudden strikes of lightening.

We stopped in Rotorua to have dinner at McDonalds, which is something more of a treat to Kiwi’s than it is to me. I was dissatisfied with my experience at McDonald’s for two reasons:

One, because I found a McDonald’s gift card on the floor of the Vancouver airport and I wanted to see if it had any money on it. Turns out, the card can only be used in Canada. Also, McDonald’s‘in New Zealand have no dollar menu!!! I had to buy an 8 dollar combo to save myself any sort of money if I wanted a full meal. Keep in mind, one New Zealand dollar is equal to 75 cents of the U.S. dollar, but still!

Two, because they wouldn’t give me a free refill on my coke! It would’ve cost me another $2.60 to get my coke refilled. Dumb.

On Saturday we spent a lazy morning sitting around reading magazines and laying in the sunshine that streamed through the window. By that afternoon we split up to do different outdoorsy things. Nicola and I went for a walk along the beach. I couldn’t help myself and I took off my boots so I could walk in the ocean water (which I later regretted because I was having trouble getting my feet dry and free of sand so I could put them back on).

Saturday evening we all got dressed up and went out in search of somewhere to eat. We settled on a restaurant called Cobb and Co. where I ordered a Mac’s Gold and a delicious plate of Cheese Tortellini. It’s strange to go to a restaurant and not recognize any of the beer or drink selection. The only name I recognized was Corona. But there was no Budweiser, Coor’s and certainly no Blue Moon (my favorite). So I asked the server for a light colored beer (which almost got lost in translation because she thought I meant diet) and what I received was actually quite nice (to use a word in the Kiwi vernacular).

 Sunday was a shopping day. We went to a mall in Tauranga where I spent too much money. But I figured, what the hey! What better excuse is there to spend money on clothes than being in a foreign country and having the ability to say “Oh, you like it? I actually bought it in New Zealand!” Also, I found a black jacket that I’ve been wanting for ages for only $29.95! Score!

I’ve recently discovered that I quite enjoy Nutella (Sorry Emy for doubting you). Nutella is a chocolatey spread made of hazelnuts. It’s pretty much an excuse to put frosting on toast. Today I thought it would be a fantastic idea to combine peanut butter and Nutella on my toast to make my own Reese’s (of sorts). It was. Lizzy thought this was a disgusting idea and went on to say that peanut butter cups, and by extension Reese’s, were disgusting. I was shocked! Everyone loves Reese’s!

I refused to accept this and made Lizzy taste my delicious treat. I made a deal with her that if she tasted my treat I would taste Marmite. I believe I got the short end of the stick on that one because, from what I understand, Marmite is a salty tasting yeast spread. It’s brown and looks yucky. I still have yet to deliver on my promise. Perhaps I’ll find a way out of it…

The Kiwi Translation

Date: Friday June 24, 2011

Time: 3:20 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, My “Flat”

As most of you have never been to New Zealand, I figure it would be beneficial for you to learn some American translations of Kiwi phrases. Supposedly, both our nations speak English, but there are some subtle differences in the way Kiwi’s talk in a conversation and the way American’s do.

Kiwi Phrase/Word           American Translation    

“I reckon”                            “I guess” or “I suppose” E.g. “We should have gone for groceries last night, I reckon.”

“Ay?”                                    Usually at the end of sentences, in question form. Similar to putting “huh?” at the end of a sentence. E.g. “There used to be monkey’s at that zoo, ay?”

“Nice”                                   Equivalent to “good.” E.g. “That tea is nice, ay?” or “This pie tastes quite nice.”

“Lollies”                                Candy

“Jelly”                                   Jell-O

“Biscuits”                             Cookies

“Muffins”                            Muffins. But also, cupcakes.

“Hot drink”                         Coffee, tea, Milo (Hot chocolate)

“Flat”                                     Apartment

“University”                       College. In NZ higher education is always called University. Never college.

“Fizzy drink”                       Soda Pop

“Zed”                                    Z. E.g. if you’re watching TV in New Zealand and there’s a commercial for a product and they have a website, let’s say it’s www.tv3.co.nz. The announcer would say; “Please visit dub dub dub dot tv3 dot co dot N Zed.

These may seem like miniscule differences, however, they are very important in understanding and translating Kiwi to American. And keep in mind, I’ve only been here a week and a half. There are many more that I’m sure I’m not even aware of yet.

Also, it is common practice for a New Zealander’s homes to have two things. One, a fireplace and heaters in place of a heating system that heats the whole house. This is due to the high cost of heat in New Zealand. This fact has also introduced me to something I have come to love. Electric blankets. I turn on my electric blanket while I’m getting ready for bed and by the time I climb in, it’s warm and cozy already.

Secondly, another product of the high cost of heat is the use of clothes lines rather than dryers. The houses generally have a small dryer but it is not usually used unless the situation is dire. For example, when I first got here and my luggage was missing, I only had one pair of jeans. I washed them and hung them on the clothes line to dry. But, being jeans, they weren’t dry by the time I needed them in the morning. So, they went in the dryer for a couple minutes.

That’s only a week and a half’s worth of knowledge people. Imagine what I can do with 7 more!

I am not Canadian.

Date: Monday, June 20th

Time: 6:00 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, The Short's Kitchen

Men have designed my sink.  What other explanation is there for a sink with two faucets? One spigot for hot, one for cold. WHHHYYY?? It’s become a treat to wash my face at night. My choice is either; scald my face or freeze it.  So each night I clean my face with a handful of Antarctica-like cold water. I know what you’re thinking, “why not put the drain stopper in and have the sink fill up with both hot and cold water?” I’ve considered this, and the answer is; laziness.

So we haven’t discussed this weekend yet, have we?

So, on Saturday I experienced my first Netball game. Netball is a popular sport in New Zealand. Girls play it in jerseys and skirts… in the winter. That’s right, it’s considered a winter sport. And girls are running around in skirts. I have trouble understanding most American sports without having to try and understand a new Kiwi sport, but I’ll try my best to describe it to you. The Kiwi’s would get mad at me for saying this, but it’s most similar to Basketball. There’s a net, but no backboard. Each player has two letters on their jersey indicating what position their playing. Those letters also determine where on the court their allowed to go. Also, the ball cannot be bounced and once a player receives the ball they aren’t allowed to move.

That’s the best I can do to describe this foreign game because I was distracted by two things. One, the cute Kiwi boy (don’t worry Dad, I didn’t even catch his name hehe).  And also, the referee.

The referee was not cute. He was a Maori man with a black bun on top of his head, a tribal tattoo running down the side of his neck, red shoes, super long finger nails, and a homosexual air to him. He was on a power trip and would blow his whistle at everything. And he was also prancing up and down the court with a sort of jaunt that gave him that homosexual air.

Sunday was exhausting. I went to church. Usually that’s not exhausting. I’ll tell you why it was, it was because I had to meet so many people. I was introduced to the whole congregation by going up on stage and answering questions about myself. And then I had to hang around afterwards to meet people. And after that I went to a newcomer’s lunch where I met MORE people. No one likes being stared at. And no one likes having to repeat their name and the exact same things over and over again. I am constantly asked where I’m from. I thought it was quite obvious but I guess the American accent can also be confused for the Canadian accent.

Sunday afternoon I enjoyed a walk around beautiful Lake Taupo with the Short’s and then we went to DeBrett’s Hot Pools. This was fantastic. DeBrett’s has cashed in on the natural geothermic hot water that flows through Taupo. They have done this by letting it gather in a pool to form a humongous Jacuzzi. The pool is over 100 degrees and has seating around the edges and bubbly spots where the residents and visitors of Taupo can relax. One interesting rule they have is that you can’t stick your head under the water because it’s not chlorinated. But there are lots of minerals in the water that make it good for your skin (supposedly). Also, the pool is only really open in the winter because of how hot it is. No one wants to go soak in an over 100 degree pool when it’s nearly 100 degree weather. Understandably.

This morning was my first day working at the church. Since the receptionist was out sick today, I filled in for her and sat at the desk and answered phones. I divided my time between doing the job the senior pastor Keith had given me, and chatting with my Dad on Facebook. Don’t judge. It was Father’s Day and I hadn’t gotten to talk to him in about a week.

As I am currently sitting at the Short’s kitchen table with the girls as their doing their homework, I was privy to this exchange:

“I want an Australian accent.” Susanna stated.

“Why would you want an Australian accent? They speak through their noses.” Lizzy laughed.

I guess I won’t say that Kiwis sound similar to Australians when people ask anymore… They sound exactly the same to me. Apparently, I’m wrong.

Daddy Long Legs, Pie, and "Dancing on Ice"

Date: June 18^th 2011

Time: 8:00 am

Location: Taupo, NZ, My Bed

Alright. What is with all the dang Daddy Long Legs’ around here??? Every time I turn around there’s a new one glaring at me from the corner. They know I hate them so they’ve come flocking. Too bad for them, I have a secret weapon. That’s right, you come into my flat, you get smothered and killed by the broom and dustpan. Warn your little creepy friends.

If you notice, the time above says 8:00 am. I have not been able to sleep past 7:30 for the life of me; which is interesting because at the end of the day I’m usually so wiped out! For example, last night I passed out while watching New Zealand’s Next Top Model, and the night before I passed out watching The Fellowship of the Ring.

So yesterday, my Mother will be happy to know, I earned some money. A new friend of mine, Alicia, invited me to help her clean a house and we split the earnings. It was actually kind of fun. Cleaning is pretty universal. There’s generally only one way to vacuum and usually only one way to put a fresh pillow case on a pillow.

Alicia then took me out to lunch and I got to experience my first pie (meat pie). Which are very big deals around here. I got the standard steak and cheese, which was fantastic. I’m thinking that the creators of Hot Pocket have tried a meat pie and perhaps decided to sully its name and Americanize it by throwing some pizza flavorings and questionable meats into them.

Alicia said that to be a true Kiwi I would have to put tomato sauce on it. I wasn’t so bold. I was enjoying it very much and I was also very hungry so I decided against trying to be Kiwi.

Alicia also took me on some touristy things. I got to “ooo” and “ahh” over Huka Falls, we went and got some coffee downtown and she also took me to the Honey Hive, where I got to taste different honeys and smother myself in different scented lotions and balms.

The end of the day was when I felt right at home. After dinner I watched “Dancing on Ice” with the women of the house. Together we made our own judgments of the British on-ice version of “Dancing with the Stars.” We considered their outfits and hair and decided whether or not their ice dancing was up to par or it was a total bore.

Interestingly, the only celebrity I recognized was Vanilla Ice. He did a lot better than some of the other contestants… the man must really be hurting for money.

Pizza crust and Cola flavors

Date: June 16^th, 2011

Time: 7:40pm

Location: Taupo, New Zealand, My “Flat”

Living in another country can be a very scary thing. I’ve never felt that I had no idea what I was doing so many times in one day.

Let’s start with last night; I went to the youth group at the church where I will be working. I was immediately involved in a game of soccer, which I’m uncomfortable with playing at home. I did my best to not trip over the ball and embarrass myself, but I probably looked as daunted as I felt. We played a few more games, one of which I led, and then went upstairs to the youth room.

They played another game called “Lollies or the Bag.” For this game a student is chosen and they can either choose to partake in a handful of candy, or “lollies,” that gets larger with each time the student refuses it. Or they can take a chance at a prize that they didn’t know what it was until it was taken out of an envelope.

Earlier in the day Ken asked me to tell the kids a little bit about myself. I seem to be a bit of a novelty to them, what with my weird accent and all. I started by saying; “First of all, I’m not the one with the accent. You all are!” I then proceeded to tell them about who I was and what I do and like, etc. I then let them ask me questions, nothing out of the ordinary; what my favorite color is, how old I am, if I like Glee, etc.

This morning I decided to walk into town to see about getting myself a cell phone for people to contact me on while I’m here. Last night I was given a map of Taupo so that I might navigate my way around. Being good with directions, I looked up the street The Warehouse (NZ’s Wal-Mart or Target) was on and then pointed myself towards it.

No one takes walks in Taupo, apparently.  A lot of cars passed me but I felt like I was the only person walking the streets. It might just be my self-consciousness but I felt like the subject of a lot of stares.

It took me about 25 minutes to walk all the way there.  It probably also took me a good 3 hours to get a phone (the cheapest possible one), walk back home with it, set up an account with Vodafone online, and “top up” or put minutes on the phone.

Kiwi’s certainly are fans of Coca-Cola. I don’t think I’ve even seen any Pepsi.  But it’s not just that Coke is sold in the stores and in vending machines everywhere. No, they also are big on “cola flavored” treats.  Ken offered me cola flavored Mentos, I was given a muffin (cupcake) that was made with lollies, flour, sugar, and Coca-Cola, and finally, while at the grocery store today I found cola flavored jelly (Jell-O). I was surprised by this and showed it to Mary-anne, my host, and she bought it for us to try.  It was similar to leaving a can of Coke out and letting it go flat and then cool and congeal into a jiggly mass.

Among other cultural differences I’ve come across today, including my lack of knowledge on Rugby and the All Blacks (New Zealand’s Rugby team), I also found a question that the youngest of the Short’s girls, Susanna, asked me:

“Do you eat the crust of your pizza?”

“Hmm… it depends where it’s from.” I replied.

“Oh, cuz they never eat the crust in American movies. It annoys me.” She laughed.

What is with us wasteful American’s and our inability to eat the hard crust of a pizza? Laziness? Or do we just fill up on the actual good part of the pizza? You know, the one that’s covered in sauce and cheese. Yum!

It is now 8:14 pm and I’m already so tired. I think I’m going to lie in my bed and turn on the electric blanket that warms the whole bed and watch Lord of the Rings. J

Post from Wednesday

Date: June 15^th 2011

Time: 5:16 pm

Location: Taupo, New Zealand, My “Flat”

I have arrived at last. I am currently sitting at the desk in the bedroom of my own “flat.” It’s possibly the cutest thing ever. In the other room I have my own mini kitchen and living room. I have a queen sized bed and a bathroom all my own. I even have a washing machine to myself! Interestingly, there’s no dryer… but I noticed they have a clothes line outside, so I may have to hang dry my clothing (once it arrives from being lost by Air New Zealand).

Everyone in New Zealand is very welcoming and interested in learning all about me; where I’m from, what I like to do, how my flight was, etc. I’m staying with the Short’s (Kevin, Mary-anne and 3 of their 6 children) right now in the apartment they have connected to the bottom floor of their house. I have my own entrance and everything. When I walked into my apartment to look around and inspect where I would be living I was taken by surprise by an unwanted visitor. I closed my front door and looked to my left at the tv in my living room and saw an ENORMOUS spider-like bug. I say “spider-like” because it was huge and brown and disgusting. However, it only had 6 legs and spiders have 8 (according to my elementary school knowledge).  I stood frozen in place for a minute and wondered if it was fake and the Short’s were playing a trick on me or if it saw me too and was waiting to pounce.

We stared at each other for about 30 long seconds and then I slowly inched away. It hadn’t moved. It occurred to me that the thing very well may be dead but I wasn’t risking it. What to do? I couldn’t have it sitting there for ages dead or alive! So, like the coward I am, I ventured upstairs to ask my hosts for help.

 “Hi, sorry to bother you, but there’s a HUGE bug thing downstairs!” I said.

“Oh, the (insert the name of some New Zealand native insect here)? Yes, isn’t it great?? It’s not poisonous. And it’s very dead, it won’t hurt you.” Said Mary-anne.

“Yes, it’s on top of the T.V. isn’t it? It was so perfectly preserved that we didn’t want to move it.” Said Kevin.

“Does it freak you out? Jayden, can you go rescue Molly?” Mary-anne said.

I sheepishly said that yes, it DID freak me out, and the Short’s youngest son Jayden happily ran downstairs, grabbed it by its leg and removed it from my domicile. Since then I have been unpacking the few things I have and getting accustomed to my living space.

Post from Tuesday

Date: June 14^th 2011

Time: 12:04 pm

Location: Sydney, Australia

Well my first international traveling experience is off to a horrifying start. I arrived to SeaTac about 4 hours early for my flight to Vancouver and spent a lot of time looking through magazines and wandering around the airport with my shoulders killing me from carrying around my two heavy carry-on bags.

I called my friends to say goodbye while I was still in the States and I even walked my newlywed sister and her husband to their gate to Vegas for their honeymoon. I was feeling pretty good about my trip overall until I talked to the gate agent before boarding for Vancouver. Apparently my flight was almost considered an “illegal connection” because there was only 55 minutes between my flights and I had to make it through customs.

At that point I began to feel very nervous. I not only had my own doubts about making the connection and then the blonde gate agent added her own which was not helpful.  On top of that, it was 7:30 and my flight was supposed to depart at 7:45. And shocker; the plane hadn’t even arrived at the gate yet.

I eventually found my seat on the puddle jumper from Seattle to Vancouver which was next to this woman with a pixie cut and glasses who was sitting reading a book. She took out a form and began filling it out, I noticed her name was Hannah. I asked if she flew internationally a lot, to which she responded that she had and that I was supposed to fill out that form as well since they would ask for it in Canada when I went through customs.

I told her about my situation and how nervous I was about making my flight to Auckland. She too added her own doubts. At this, I began to get butterflies and became single-minded in my anxious thoughts. Luckily the flight attendant was kind enough to let me off the 20 minute plane ride first. And as I power-walked, calves burning to customs I became very aware of how unsure of what exactly I was supposed to do. What do I do at customs? Was I supposed to pick up my checked bag… or not? Why hadn’t they issued me a boarding pass for this flight? Did I have to check in again in Vancouver? I asked every airport person I came in contact with if they could contact the airline and let them know I was coming. They could not.

At this point I was becoming frantic. When I turned on my phone when we landed it said 7:56 pm and my flight was supposed to leave at 8:30! After talking to a security person in the baggage claim for a couple minutes and leaving her still being unsure of whether or not I was supposed to pick up my bag, I ran upstairs to ticketing.

There was no representative at the Air New Zealand booth. I knew I had missed my flight. The frantic feeling was replaced by one of utter panic. What now!? I was in CANADA all by myself and I had missed a flight across the WORLD! I at last found someone to help me at the Air Canada desk.

I truly feel bad for her because I could tell she was just about to leave and then here I come rushing up red-faced, sweating and fighting back tears. I choked out that I had missed my flight and I needed to be rebooked. Thank God that for some reason I was able to send and receive texts. Because I was able to text my parents and tell them the situation and they let Ken know that I wouldn’t be in Auckland the following morning at 5:30 am.

For the next hour the representative and I went back and forth with the airline and such figuring out what went wrong. Not only was my flight delayed from Seattle, but also, the flight for Auckland left EARLY! I had two options; one, I stay the night in a Canadian hotel (supposedly to be reimbursed by the airline) and fly out of L.A. the next day or I could get on a flight going to Sydney then on to Auckland that night.

From there she sent me downstairs to locate my still missing bag. When I returned without it to the counter she told me that she booked me on the flight to Sydney. SYDNEY!!! At that point I was considerably more calm and actually kind of excited at the prospect of spending few hours in Sydney.

I thanked her profusely for dealing with all my crazyness and helping me out and then I set about on my way to find my gate for my flight to Sydney. I found my gate and was immediately delighted by all the Australian accents I was surrounded by. I was also immediately aware of how exhausted I was. The flight for Sydney didn’t leave till 11:40! So I ventured over to the little souvenir shop, considered buying myself a shot glass that said Canada on it to commemorate my horrific Canadian adventure, but reconsidered and bought a Vitamin water instead.

For the next 15 hours I drifted between sleeping uncomfortably and watching two and a half movies on my personal T.V.  I was also served some sort of pasta dinner, a questionable sandwich and some delicious pancakes in the morning.

So here I am, Sydney, Australia. I have wandered through this airport so many times that I’m sure the Aussies probably think I have a mental handicap. I have bought some wet wipes, deodorant and face wash in an attempt to clean myself a bit. I even bought shampoo and conditioner because I also found a shower. I reconsidered this option though because I have no towel, no make-up and would have to walk around with wet hair. Reconfirming my mental  handicap status. If people didn’t talk kind of funny (and by funny I mean awesome) this airport could pass for any old airport in the States.

I even positioned myself in front of a window so that I might be able to take in some of Australia. However, that quest has proved fruitless as well. There aren’t any  kangaroo’s hopping about, no one dressed like crocodile Dundee, and I certainly don’t have a view of the Sydney Opera House. Nope. It looks green and rainy and completely generic outside.

Now I think I’ll pack up all my stuff for the millionth time and see if I can find out what gate my plane is leaving from.