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!