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.