Thanksgiving in Photos: Reverse Order

Lewis and Jamie, the Scottish boys, playing Jen's fork game.


Our Thanksgiving table.

Taking our seats.

My first ever attempt at a roasted turkey! Looks pretty swell, eh? Eh?

The ladies. (Us, Holly, Sky.)


Jony and his delicious empanadas.

One of the chocolate turkeys mom mailed me. :)

One of Jen's AMAZING apple pies.

Jamie, assisting to pick turkey bits up off the floor.

Dan was very amused by the pieces of apple peel.

TURKEY ON THE LOOSE!



And Jen was frustrated by the lack of a rolling pin. We completed the entire meal without measuring spoons, measuring cups, rolling pins, or turkey thermometers.

Happy Thanksgiving - From Liz!

Back at home, you're all probably settling down to dinners right about now; for us, we celebrated Thanksgiving last night. It's 9:30 Friday morning and I'm sitting outside in the sun and the warmth, drinking my hot cocoa and thinking about everyone back home. I just finished skyping with my household as a beautiful, rowdy whole: mom and dad, brother, grandma and grandpa, aunt kathy, andrew berry, the whole lot of applegates, aunt linda and uncle gino and olivia, ted, and assorted neighbors and cats. I miss you all so much. I have to admit - as we were saying our goodbyes, there were a few tears in my eyes.

Jen was right; it's difficult explaining to people from other countries just what Thanksgiving is all about. To them, it's just another excuse for Americans to stuff their faces. Admittedly, that's part of it. But trying to explain to our new friends why we missed our families so much yesterday, and how important it was that we all get together for a big dinner last night, was hard to do. I tried to put into words the beauty of having everyone come together, driving up out of the cold and bursting through the door with plates of pies and bowls of salads; the sweetness of waking up that morning in the warm, clean house that already smells like pumpkin and pecan pies, surrounded by your nearest and dearest. I tried to explain how no, nothing much HAPPENS - not unless you count braving the weather outside to throw around a football or frisbee or wrestle in the fallen leaves, or teaching your relatives new games, or sitting around for hours with slice after slice of pie and a big mug of coffee, talking about everything under the sun. They could, at least, get the joy of having everyone you most love gathered around one swollen table, all together for one giant feast - that, I think, is a universal, timeless joy.

So yesterday Jen and I planned and cooked and set tables and drew up name cards and tried to make everything perfect. We wanted to capture the feel and taste and sounds of home. Everyone at the hostel scrambled around and tried to help. There was a trio peeling potatoes in a line in the communal kitchen; a pair slicing apples for the pies; Jamie helping pick pieces of onion and garlic off the floor when the turkey literally shot out of the oven after only thirty minutes inside of it (shhh - we stuffed it back into its cozy roasting pan, shoved it back into the oven, and it tasted fine, honestly.) Everything seemed different though (Jony was downstairs making empanadas, Stefan was whining about things between "too American," and everyone kept asking if they should bring vodka or rum, like we were all going to get drunk at dinner) and Jen and I worried that Thanksgiving would be far, far too different than how we wanted it to be.

But dinner was finished (everything, remarkably, done on time and smelling delicious), and everyone (twelve of us) crowded around the table, and I read a Thanksgiving poem, and we went around the table giving thanks, and somehow it all came together. Sitting there, in Jack's warm apartment that smelled like sage and onion and turkey and empanadas and apfel strudel, with our new friends grinning widely all around us, it really felt like Thanksgiving. I missed my family and friends back home - all of you - with a tear-drawing vengeance, but being here was remarkable as well.

There's something about turkeys - even 8 lb, $50, dropped on the floor ones - that just brings people together, I guess.

But as Thanksgiving draws to a close for everyone back home, I just want you all to know that I'm so grateful to have you in my life, even when you're so far away from me. I miss you incredibly, and I love you so much. Eat some leftovers for me - we sure as heck don't have any.

I love you,
Liz

Happy Thanksgiving - from Jen

It’s Thanksgiving here!

Liz and I are up early, starting to do all of the baking for the big dinner tonight and planning. In the true spirit of Thanksgiving, our guest list keeps getting bigger and bigger. This is all nice, BUT WE’RE NOT GOING TO HAVE ENOUGH FOOD! (Well, we will. Liz and I just need to run out and get a few more cans of corn, more green beans, more potatoes, more….shoot. More everything, actually!) And as I was making the pie dough this morning (without measuring cups and measuring spoons – ah!!!), I kept thinking of everyone back home.

Here, everyone we hang out with is not from the U.S. And in the past few weeks, while inviting people to our meal, we’ve been explaining the history of Thanksgiving and the importance of sitting around the table with good family and friends.

And so, while making the pies, I kept thinking of this and the importance of friends and family and laughing and telling jokes and making jabs and doing the MOUNTAINS of dishes afterwards and watching cousins step on the scales before and after dinner and eating ridiculous amounts of food that are actually cold because by the time EVERYONE has prayed it’s about 20 minutes later and playing the fork game and trying to beat your uncles at euchre while eating your third helping of pie that you realized halfway in is shoot, probably the gluten/soybean/corn free pie and pretending to MAYBE care about the football game that's on tv that the Lions are probably losing again anyways and crap, how is Uncle Tony STILL eating, and HOW in the WORLD do we ALWAYS bring so much more regular kielbasa than smoked kielbasa, and oh man, people are still doing the dishes?! 

Oh, crap. Now I’m like, super emotional.

ANYWAYS. Back at home, you kind of take the big family for granted. 

So I hope everyone back home truly appreciates Thanksgiving (your tomorrow!). It’s super cheesy saying that you don’t really appreciate something until you don’t have it, but it’s true. It really is.

I hope you all know how much you mean to me.

GIANT HUGS – ALL AROUND,

jen

A Brief Photo Update

When rolling down the giant umbrellas at the Swiss Cafe, the handle got loose and whacked poor Jen in the chin. She now has a nasty bruise that is, awesomely enough, kind of shaped like New Zealand.

Here I am, enjoying a cider on the deck at New Zealand's oldest hotel and bar.

Jen on the shore at Russell, looking out over the Bay.

These are the falls in Whangarei that Jen and I both visited recently (albeit on separate occasions.)


And here is Jen and I with Fio, before going out on Fio's last night in New Zealand. She's now back in Peru, and we miss that happy, bubbly part of the Centabay Family very much.

Russell, Turkeys, and Immer Turmoil

I haven’t said anything about this on here yet, but I have some problems with life here in New Zealand, and a lot of days I’m not very happy. It’s very difficult for me to not have some kind of challenging, productive work, whether it’s a job or just classes I’m taking. Waitressing and cleaning don’t require any of the skills or knowledge I picked up while earning my degree, and I have little or no accomplishments here to celebrate or feel proud of. I’m not contributing or taxing myself – and without a car, and little money and free time, even simple adventures require immense planning. I just feel a bit selfish and lazy. To make it worse, most of the people I’m surrounded by are perpetual traveler types who seem to think money exists only to turn into booze; they’re all people who make fun of me if I bring up something that I find fascinating (and they find overly academic. )

It’s all pushed me into a restless, antsy, rather depressed state of mind, and I’m still considering coming back to the States early, to begin again a job or education where I’m using my brain and in some way contributing to the world. I’ve certainly learned that I’d be a horrible perpetual traveler. I still don’t know what my plans will be – if I’ll come back early or stick it out here – but of course I’ll keep our awesome readers posted. : )

None of this is to say that I don’t have some amazing times here,

or that I don’t love our “Centabay Family,” or that I’m not learning about myself and life by coming here, because of all of that is true. For example, yesterday Jen and I had an expedition to quaint and picturesque Russell, on the other side of the Bay, (the site of New Zealand’s original capital) where we explored the country’s first church and had a beer at the oldest hotel, which proudly holds liquor license numero uno.

We are also currently planning our Thanksgiving. We want everything to be perfect, as we’re inviting our entire hostel family to dinner, and none of them have ever experienced a Thanksgiving before. This, we’re discovering, is a very expensive endeavor. I don’t even want to tell you how much we spent at the supermarket today. Good news, though: our boss Kelly at the Swiss Café has found us a 10 lb turkey! Wish the two vegetarians good luck with roasting it…tips are appreciated.

Would You Rather Be Deaf or Blind?

Our housemate/coworker Jonny, the goofy and vivacious Argentian, is currently reading a Spanish novel about a world in which everyone goes blind, which provoked a debate during cleaning this morning about which sense would suck the most to lose. Specifically, Jen and Jonny went around asking everyone which they would rather be, blind or deaf, with everyone answering deaf except for Jen.*

Jonny decided an experiment was in order. One day, we’d all go blindfolded; the next day, everyone would block their ears. So today, as the last load of laundry dinged its end, when all of the beds were made, the bathrooms cleaned, the kitchen mopped, Jen gathered up a collection of scarves from our room and we all tied them around our heads. We were suddenly a room of the blind.

It lasted an hour (at least for Jen and I it did, as we were the last ones to hang on.) Folding the last load of laundry and hanging it out on the line became a fascinatingly difficult task. I felt wildly triumphant when I got my first clothespin on. Afterwards we all managed, slowly, and feeling the handrail, to make our way up the stairs and into the office for coffee time, where Jack informed us that someone needed to go for biscuits.

“I’ll go!” Jonny said.

“I’ll come,” Lewis added, “But we need a guide.”

“Yeah, Holly, you’re not blindfolded, right?” I asked. “Come with us and we’ll all go.”

So Holly, laughing, led Jonny, Lewis, and I out of the office, down the stairs, down the long driveway, and through town to the grocery store. The task was made more difficult by the fact that Holly, a Peruvian and native Spanish speaker, had her lefts and rights confused, so that she would yell, “Lewis! Left!” and he’d plow head first into the wall of a building he’d been getting close to. But eventually, slightly bruised, we made it to Four Square, the closest mini supermarket. Deciding that the clumsy train we’d been traveling in would be dangerous to the shelf displays, Holly left Jonny, Lewis, and I in a shy huddle near the door. “Stay here,” she said firmly, and we heard her footsteps walking away.

It’s amazing how timid you feel when you can’t see anything. We stayed very still, nervously waving our arms about at any nearby sound. Already things seemed louder than usual; the world had become a sea of scents and sounds. We could smell the bakery next door, the perfume of every woman in the store.

Finally Holly came back. “I have the biscuits,” she proclaimed. “Ready to go?”

“Let’s try to find our way out by ourselves,” Jonny suggested, and gamely moved away from Lewis and I. A moment later, we heard a scuffle. “Excuse me,” said a deep, old man voice. Jonny slid back to the huddle. “That’s not the way,” he whispered.

“I’ll pay,” Holly said. “Just wait for me, okay?”

We made our way back eventually, running nervously across what Holly told us was the street, feeling barefoot over the grass, gingerly walking up the stairs, finding empty chairs around the coffee table. After pouring our coffees though, and scooping biscuits from the bag, we took our scarves off one by one. Jen and I were last to give in, but finally the desire to see was too much. When we pulled them down, the sunlight, even today, which is hazy and rainy, was painful and almost as blinding as the scarves had been.

“Ahhh,” we cried, holding up our hands. “It’s horrible.”

Our eyes adjusted, though, and we felt the simple delightful convenience of being able to reach exactly to whatever we wanted and look into the eyes of who we were speaking to.

Tomorrow: we’re all deaf.



*Sight and hearing are always the senses that seem the worst to lose, and the ones everyone is most afraid of lacking, but I think it’s just because they’re the ones human tend to lose more often. They seem worse because losing them seems so scarily possible. Imagine a world without being able to feel a clean silk sheet or someone’s hand in yours, or a world where everything you put in your mouth tasted like air. It would be horrible. Curiously, our English friend here, Dan, does not have a sense of smell. He’s the one who doesn’t like showers, remember, and when we go into his room we almost puke, while he finds nothing wrong with it. He was born without being able to smell. He likes spicy food and doesn’t care if he buys girl or guy deodorant or shampoo.

It's....New Zealand.

About a week ago, I received a phone call from a schoolteacher who had found my purse! She found my purse in a toilet a few miles away from the carpark. All of the kids on the bus used the toilets and afterwards she checked the toilets and found my bag, thinking it was one of the kid's. No one claimed it and so she looked inside, found my empty prescription, called the Paihia pharmacy, got my address from the pharmacy, looked up the phone number for 27 Selwyn Rd, and then called the hostel! SO NICE! (But talk about lack of patient privacy!) She offered to drop off the purse at the Whangerei police office.

On Tuesday, I went down to Auckland for my appointment at the US Consulate Office Wednesday morning.  On the way, I stopped at Whangerei to pick up my purse….or so I thought.

First. Backtrack to my FIRST experience with the New Zealand police system. When we found the broken car window, popped trunk, and missing purse (and i-pods), we called the national police system and reported the crime. The report was given a national number and brief details were taken. We were then instructed to go into a local police office to give more details and to pick up a copy of the police report that we could show insurance companies, the American embassy, and whoever else was interested in the crime.

We stopped at a small police station on the way back to Paihia around 6:00pm. The lights in the building were on and there were two cars in the carpark, but no one answered our knocks on the door.

Ok. We decided to go to our good ol’ local police station in Paihia. Arriving around 7:15 pm, we found a notice on the door. “The police station is closed. In an emergency, please call the constable at xxx-xxxx. However, please do not disturb the constable because he may be at home.” (Side note: “may be” was actually spelled “maybe”. All of NZ sucks at grammar. No joke.)

I guess I don’t have much to compare to. I’ve never had to go into a police station in the US to report a crime. But for some reason, I have this idea that a police station is always open.  Is that true? Does anyone have any idea until what time most US police stations are open?

Fast forward to yesterday.

I walked in to the police station in Whangerei, explained the situation, and the man behind the desk apologized and said that the woman who had the keys to the lost and found was out to lunch.

I was a bit shocked that the keys to A PART OF THE POLICE OFFICE were OUT TO LUNCH.

Alright. No matter. I ended up going a bit out of town to the waterfalls Liz mentioned in a previous post and eating a picnic lunch there.  It was beautiful.

Right. So we returned to the police station after an hour, plenty of time for the lost and found keys to have enjoyed a cheeseburger at McDonalds.

I walked in and re-explained the situation, this time to a man who looked Japanese and whose first language was definitely not English.

He went back to the tiny lost and found pile of envelopes and letters. I watched from behind the glass, growing more frustrated, knowing that my, “rather large, burgundy, over the shoulder purse” (complete with hand gestures), was in NO WAY in the small pile of envelopes.

After about five minutes of searching, the man returned empty handed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not there.”

Obviously.

I RE-EXPLAINED what was missing.

“Oh!” The man exclaimed. “The lady with the keys for THAT lost and found is gone for the day. Come back tomorrow morning.”

“WHAT?!”

By this time, I was furious.  I had to be in Auckland, about 3 hours AWAY from Whangerei, in the morning. Also, there was also no physical way I could be back to Whangerei from my appointment in Auckland by the time the police office closed.

The police officer wrote down a phone number on a piece of paper and passed it under the glass. “Next time,” he said, “Call this number before you come in to make sure that she is here.”

After venting my frustrations to the man behind the glass, I stormed out of the police office, phone number in hand and trying really hard not to cry. I had SO been looking forward to getting my purse back, to getting back to having my little stones that I carry, the pictures I have with me, the blessed medals and cards in the pocket of my purse, the connections I have to everyone back home.  Plus, Whangerei is about an hour away from Paihia; it’s VERY hard to just travel to Whangerei when the bus only goes twice a day, I don’t own a car, and I have to clean practically every morning.  Grrrrrrrrr…..

But! Auckland was awesome. It’s definitely not the most beautiful, nor oldest city in the world…..but they have a great maritime museum! I was honestly expecting to be bored out of my SKULL, but I did learn a lot about Mauri’s culture and New Zealand’s water history.

And the US consulate appointment went by – no sweat! Everyone was very nice and helpful and I should be the owner of a new passport within a week.  

The Coming of Summer

Some notes from Liz:

Back home, y'all are dealing with snow flurries, changing leaves, and biting winds. In Paihia, every day is sunnier and hotter than the last. Jen and I went to the beach today, had a proper swim for the first time in the ocean (before it's been more of a dive-in-and-then-leap-out-shrieking kind of situation), and laid in the sun for what felt like hours. (Don't worry, no sun burn.)

Yesterday, in a strange return to childhood, the eight of us here at Centabay literally spent three hours racing around the hostel and yard playing kick-the-can, "man hunt" (a U.K. game similar to tag), and Sardines. I think we have now exhausted every single hiding spot in this place.

If you're not familiar with the game Sardines, it's a pretty basic concept - one person hides while the others count, and then the seekers split up and search. When a seeker find the hiding spot, he or she climbs in, which often requires contorting his or her body and getting wayyy too close for comfort. Eventually everyone is crammed into a tiny space, trying hard to be quiet. The last person to find the cluster is the new hider the next round.

Our game ended with an epic grand finale when Dan, the Englishman (he apparently hates showering, which is not exactly someone who you want to play Sardines with) decided to hide in the spa pool (hot tub.) (The hot, chlorine-y water probably did him a world of good.) The hot tub is covered with a large foam lid when not in use. Dan lay prone underneath the mat, sticking his nose out of the water like some kind of primitive sea creature. One by one, we came by and lifted the lid, half as a joke, and found underneath several of our colleagues, fully clothed, half-submerged, gulping breaths in the inch of air between the bubbles and the lid. I was fifth to find the group; we lay in the hot water perfectly still, deaf with our submerged ears, waiting.

What's really amazing is how quickly I went, "Right, get in," and clambered in, shorts and shirt and all, pulling the lid over my head like a blankie. Never did I stop and think, "Wait. What am I doing?" Sardines is a serious game.

Jen was last to find us - she said the strange lumpiness of the foam cover made it obvious. She pulled off the lid and climbed in herself, and we all sat there for a little while under the hyacinths.

Leave Us Comments!

Jen and I are interested in finding out who exactly is reading the blog and if you’re finding it interesting. We want to keep you all posted in a way that’s entertaining, educational, and perhaps inspiring to everyone back home. Do you read this? What do you like about it? What suggestions do you have? What do you want to read or see more of? Leave us a comment. We love and miss you all –

Sincerely,
Jen and Liz

The past few days...

Hey all! (This was written a few days ago)

While Liz spent her day in Whangerei, a few friends and I headed off to a bird sanctuary and beach. We took the car across the bay on the car ferry and then drove about 45 minutes or so through bright green hills dotted with white sheep. I love just driving through New Zealand. It's always ...so peaceful. Plus, I always SERIOUSLY feel that a hobbit is just going to come around the bend. 

Anyways, the bird sanctuary was amazing and completely deserted. The paths could barely even be seen and we spent most of our time forging through tall, wild grasses. We ended up on a COMPLETELY empty beach with HUGE waves that were taller than me. Everyone just ran through the water, laughing and swallowing enough salt for a whole month's consumption. We then ate lunch on the beach before heading back. One problem though: I had to be back for a doctor's appointment (another story) and we were worried about trying to find our trail back in time. So we decided to just try and walk around the ocean on the black rocks. Everything was fine and we were making great time until.......we were about 15 feet up from the ocean on the rocks and the rocks suddenly DROPPED OFF in a cliff. There was about 10 feet of open space until the rocks picked up again in another high cliff. And you couldn't just jump and swim; the waves kept slamming into the rocks, forcing up sprays as high as 15 feet. We didn't want to backtrack because we didn't really have time to do that. So what did we do?

We climbed UP the rocks. 

We climbed about 30 feet up the black cliffs to the top where the woods (and path) were. It. was. epic. We climbed, with only cracks in the rocks only big enough for our fingertips and toes to help us climb. IT WAS AWESOME. I felt like some super sick climber. (I mean, I'm sure it really wasn't that cool; I just felt it was.) So we finallllllly got to the top, hearts pounding, and feeling pretty proud of ourselves. :)

Funnily enough, now that I think about it, we only saw one kind of bird in the bird sanctuary. Hmmm.

And now - TODAY:

I managed to get a free ticket on "The Magistrate", a dolphin cruiser. So I was able to go on board and have an AWESOME day! I got to sit up in the "cockpit?" (whatever the place is called where the skipper sits) and watch him drive the boat. I got free tea and biscuits. I even got my picture taken by the "official photographer" for free. It was great. :) 

But even better?! THE VIEWS! I saw SOOOO many dolphins! None were really jumping about; they were all just fishing. Some cool dolphin facts that I learned today:

- Dolphins spend 60% of their time mating. They mate for pleasure and do not discriminate between the sexes when it comes time for having fun. 

- Female dolphins can carry sperm inside of them for 6 months, allowing them to choose EXACTLY when they want to get pregnant.

- When a baby dolphin dies, the mom will literally carry the body on her back until it disintegrates. This process takes about 2 weeks. (This fact I found the MOST interesting....a natural grieving process for dolphins...hmnmm).

The boat stopped off at Urupukapuka Island for about an hour and I was free to roam about until the boat took off again. Most of the passengers headed off to the lookout point, but I headed for a small path that took me through hills and hills and hills of sheep. AND LAMBS! AHHHHH!!!! They were absolutely ADORABLE. I must have looked like such a tourist, giggling and smiling and taking pictures of SHEEP. But it was great! I was just trudging through these fields (I guess that's the right word) around the island, surrounded by the bright blue ocean, all by myself. It was awesome! (Except for the sheep poop now covering my flip flops.) 

Then I came back and had to go to work. Blah. 

 

Enjoy the pictures! :)

Highs and Lows

This is Liz, with a tale of two days ago:

Monday afternoon (I think it was Monday), after cleaning, and lunch, and showers, and making sandwiches, we, with our housemates, drove south, through the same beautiful, green, hilly landscape that continues to wow us. After an hour and a half, we reached Mt. Manaio in Whangarei Heads. We left the little burgundy sedan in the otherwise empty car park, shouldered our backpacks, and headed up the (mini) mountain. It was an awesomely hot and sunny day.

It took us about forty-five minutes to make it to the top - forty-five long, sweaty, calf-aching minutes. For some reason, instead of sensibly building nice dirt switchbacks up the mountain, the trail builders had put in numerous giant, steep staircases. We climbed stairs for EVER. Jen and I slogged along, and Jamie and Lewis took up the rear, using their F-word-heavy vocabulary and occasionally resorting to actually crawling up the steps.


At the top, however, we all agreed that the climb had been worth it. We had a three hundred and sixty degree view of our fantastical temporary home. Mountains, rolling hills, sheep-dotted farmland, and then the sea sprawled all around us in bright greens and blues. We climbed around on the spires of bare rock at the top; long ago, Maori men used to bring their dead chiefs up here to the top of this sacred mount. We ate bananas and biscuits (oops - cookies) and lounged in the sun.

Eventually, we made our way down again, stopping at another lookout to freak ourselves out by peering over the drop-off and to take a few jumping pictures (my favorite.) Then we ran the rest of the way down, hopping down the steps and sprinting the straight-aways. It was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating. (Jen might go more for the 'terrifying,' but that's because she had three of us "rhinoceroses," as she kindly referred to us as, huffing on her tail.)


But now the story changes. When we made the bottom and rounded the last curve of trail into the car park, the sedan still the only resident, we were greeted with a nasty shock. The front driver's side window had been smashed in. There was glass everywhere. It lay in sparkly, powdery piles all over the concrete and the seats inside. We rummaged through the car's interior, and the trunk, which had been popped from the inside.

My brand-new iPod, and Jen's purse (containing her wallet, bank cards, drivers' license, passport, our cell phone, and many personal valuables) were gone.

We were all shocked. New Zealand was supposed to be the land of happy backpackers and kiwis, not the land of petty theft. When Lewis ran up to the bar at the top of the hill to use their phone, however, they told him it was the third theft in that lot in as many days. Could've put a bloody sign up. We phoned the police, made a report, and made our saddened way home.

Halfway back, we pulled into a pub. The bartender, upon hearing our sad story, hooked us up with a free pitcher of the local brew, and we sat outside in the sun by the harbor, watched the sea gulls, and had a mini beer. Jen phoned the banks to cancel her cards. We were all still reasonably cheerful, and remain upbeat about the situation. It's hard to be bummed out when you're sitting in the sun, staring at a big blue ocean, talking with your good friends and enjoying a free (quarter-) pint. Even on the drive home, when it suddenly started pouring and we all got pelted with chilly wind and raindrops from the open window, we just snuggled up to each other and turned the heat on high.

It was definitely a day of ups and downs, but we've worked things out: made a police report and an appointment to replace the passport, and bought a new cell phone. At the end of the day, it's just missing stuff - and we still have the memories of staring out over the blue-green world, and running down a mountain, top speed, flying on the tips of our toes.

Some Pictures

Jen and I out at the local cafe "Frank's," watching some live music.

We found the tiniest little oranges on a walk! They were adorable.

On a hike up Mt. Manaio. (I have no idea if that's the proper spelling or not.)

The same hike - it was a steep climb up.

Field Trip to Whangarei

Report from Liz:

The day before yesterday, we went on a field trip to Whangerei (pronounced “fahng-ah-RAY.”) Jamie, Lewis, Fio, and I piled into Jack’s large van, and he drove us all the hour or so into the “big city.” The soundtrack was a mix CD Jack had apparently created of several top 40 hits from the U.S., including some suspiciously girly ones. We drove through an endless stretch of rolling green hills, patches of jungled forest, tiny towns surrounded by an army of sheep. “I’m in New Zealand,” I kept thinking. “This is amazing.” Every second that I open my eyes it takes me by surprise.

Jack dropped Fio and I off at the Whangarei Falls; he and the boys drove into the city for a pint and some grocery shopping. Jack also had a coffee date with a woman he’d met on an internet dating site. (Sometimes he asks us for help with pick-up lines.)

Fio and I crossed a sunny, miniature bridge over a river, meandered through a lush green field, hopped down a short staircase, and suddenly, there were the falls. They were forty or fifty feet high, dropping in three straight streams into a giant green pool, clustered by ferns and vines clinging to the mossy rock. Fio and I made sounds of amazement.

“Honestly, we have ones like this in Peru,” Fio said. “In the jungle – maybe some even prettier. But these are beautiful.”

“It’s amazing,” I said, looking at the sunlight filtering through the giant fern trees, the blue water dropping dozens of feet through the light. It looked nothing like Michigan.

We made our way to the bottom of the falls and the edge of the murky green pool at its base, where Fio said, “I almost feel like jumping in.”

She should have picked someone else to mention this to. “Yeah!” I cheered. “Wanna? For real? Let’s go.” Ten minutes later we were diving into the pool head-first. It was ice-cold, shocking, breath-taking. We stayed in long enough, shrieking and waving our arms in the air, for the elderly English couple we’d enlisted to take a couple of pictures, and then we clambered out over the algal stones and logs, our clothes dripping.

It was pretty awesome.

We wandered around for awhile longer, trying to dry out in the sun and exploring a small dirt path that followed the river downstream. Eventually we turned around and started the walk back to the city centre. It was five km back to where the guys would pick us up – happily all downhill. We tried hitching for about five minutes, but quickly gave up and decided a walk in the sun was better anyway. We followed the blue signs, stayed on the sidewalk, and only needed to ask directions once. The walk was uneventful except for my discovery (and I’m sure Fio wouldn’t call this an event either) of a house with a sycamore, an oak, and a ginkgo tree in its front garden. I literally shouted with excitement when I saw them. Trees I knew the names of! It felt a little like running into old friends on an alien planet.

We made it into the city; Fio bought a wrap from McDonalds; I bought a real coffee; we learned that Whangarei lacks a single Mexican restaurant; Jack picked us up from the designated car park and we drove home. We stopped in the city of Kawakawa on the way and Jack told us to get out and look at the toilets. “They’re world-famous,” he said. “Go inside. I’ll get gas and be back in five minutes.” We hopped out obediently, he sped away, and we looked at the toilets. They were designed by artist Friedrich Hundertwasser, who died soon after their creation, and they really are beautiful. The floors and walls slope and curve and every surface is a mosaic of tiles and glass. We all had a pee and then hurried outside. Jack slowed the van and we leaped in and we were off again.

Halloween, New Zealand Style

Halloween in New Zealand was appropriately chilly, cloudy, and damp, but it had none of the other usual components. None of the grocery stores had specials on giant grab bags of tiny candy bars, or had any candy corn or pumpkins for sale at all. There was not a single porch hosting a jack-o-lantern, not a single giggling group of kids carrying pillowcases. The leaves were green and bright, the flowers were out in full force, and the air smelled like sea and honeysuckle, not like bonfires and crunchy red leaves.

At one point several of us were walking down the street in full regalia and a curious car stopped and rolled down its window.

“Wot’s this?” the man said from within. “Some sort of costume party?”

“It’s Halloween!” I cried, practically heartbroken. What kind of strange parallel universe were we in?

Despite the complete wackiness of this country that does not recognize one of the best holidays created, good ol’ Centabay managed to throw a pretty awesome Halloween party. Jen and I were fire and ice. I was fire, with a red dress, golden paper flames, and an amount of golden glitter that would have given my dad a heart attack. (“It’s going to be all over the carpet!” I can just hear him cry.) Jen was ice, with a blue dress, a string of beautiful snowflakes, and an equal dose of silver glitter. Fio and Holly were a devil and an angel; the Scotsmen were…Scotsmen (officially they were the older and younger versions of William Wallace from Braveheart, with their kilts and lots of blue paint); the neighbors were Ninja Turtles; etc.

Jen and I made a batch of mud cake with extra creepy worms (lemme tell you something – I had never before met a mud cake expert, but I have found one in Jennifer.) We all played lots of games in the hostel kitchen, with all three tables pushed together, and then paraded around town in costume. About ten percent of the people out were costumed; everyone else was a lame party pooper.

The best part of Halloween? I brought a bag of candy corn from home (thanks, mommy!) and Jen and I saved it the entire first month (revealing strengths of will that I never knew I had.) As soon as midnight struck and the day officially rolled over, we broke out the bag.




Happy Belated Halloween to everyone at home – how was your holiday? What did everyone dress up as? Leave your costume in a comment!