One last post from home...

New Zealand taught Liz and I a lot: how to travel with non-vegetarian, whiskey drinking Scotsmen (a HUGE lesson in itself!), how to drive on the left side of the road, how to properly buy a car….

We learned a lot of valuable lessons. Earlier today, I was going through some old word documents that I had written while I was in New Zealand but never posted on the blog. One entry in particular was entitled, “Lessons”. Here is a small selection from this document:

When you go out backpacking, go into the wild, leave for an epic trip, you often hope that it will bring some sort of order, some sort of inner peace and understanding to your life.

Especially if you’re 22 and trying to figure out your life.

However, this rarely happens. (Well, at least for me.)  Life’s ponderings are rarely solved by a 15 mile hike or 3 day road trip. Sometimes I come home more at peace, but still with the same problems, the same questions.

This trip was different.

It might have been because we weren’t able to be home for Christmas.

It might have been because we haven’t been able to keep in contact as much as we’ve wanted with our family and friends.

It might have been for lack of a proper measuring cup.

WHO KNOWS.

Anyways. This is a list of what I have learned:

1.)   I don’t want to go to PA school any more. I want to go back to school and get a Masters in Public Health.

2.)   I want to get back together with Colin when I get home. I love him. From our first date when he showed up with a bleach stain on his shirt and we listened to live bluegrass music while drinking cheap beer out of cans and rode our bikes and sat in trees in the dark to the day he left for Mississippi, I was happier than I’ve ever been. It’s been five months to the day that he left and I still think about him at least thirty times a day.

3.)   Even though my job will hopefully involve traveling, I will always be home for Christmas. Always.

4.)   That’s it.

5.)   I thought this list would have been bigger.

6.)   [sigh]

I never posted this entry because I found it pretty lame. It wasn’t an amusing anecdote; it wasn’t full of lessons others could apply to their own lives. How many people who read this blog would really care that much that I had switched my studies? Or care that I had decided that I for sure wanted to get back together with Colin? Adults are always thinking, “Oh. A boyfriend.” You hear all the time from people, “Yea – guys come and go. You need to think about yourself and what you want in life.” This entry just seemed…well. I don’t know. Kind of little.

But that’s wrong. There’s a lesson that I learned that can be shared. A lesson that people CAN apply to their own lives.

And it has to deal with lesson no. 2.

I almost lost someone when I got home from NZ.  While in NZ, I had let someone get away, someone who had earlier become my best friend, someone I had said made me feel “beautifully happy”, someone who was a truly good person, someone who had been there for me the entire time.

I’ve learned that you can’t just give up on something because it’s hard or because it’s easier and less painful and less scary to just try and forget.  It might be hard, SO hard, but if deep down you know it’s truly right – you can’t be scared and you’ve just got to stick with it and make it work.

Before Colin and I broke up when he moved to Mississippi and I traveled to NZ, we would read together a chapter of the children’s book, “The Little Prince” every day.  Below is an excerpt that I think sums up what I’m trying to say:

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much humbled.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.”

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

"It is the time you have spent on your rose that makes your rose so important."

"It is the time I have spent on my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.

"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."

"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

And THAT is the lesson that New Zealand really taught me: to recognize when relationships with others are truly good, when things are right, and then to work hard to keep them that way.

Back in the U.S.A.

Liz here:

Most of you know this by now, but Jen and I are back in Michigan. We got back about a week ago, after a two-hour flight from Queenstown to Auckland, a night spent sprawled on benches in the Auckland airport, a four hour flight to Melbourne (in Australia), a four-hour layover in the Melbourne airport, a fourteen hour flight to Los Angeles, a long layover in L.A., and then a five hour flight to Detroit. Whew. It takes DAYS to travel around the world.

We were supposed to come home April 5th, originally, but our money was steadily disappearing, and when good ol' Achilles' brakes spectacularly caught fire driving down the mountain into Queenstown's valley, we decided to make an end with NZ before we were entirely broke. We spent a few days exploring Queenstown (which is gorgeous), making our travel plans, searching out Mexican food, and watching some seriously top-notch street performance. And then we came home.

I gained a lot of insights from my time in New Zealand. I learned more about how other people work - and about my own mind, and desires, and needs. (I also learned how to make the shit out of a bed and carry a full tray of wineglasses.) There were some depressing, miserable lows. There were some long days where we didn't think about anything but work. There were some long days cooped up in a miniature, loud, smoking car with four other (usually gassy) people. And then there were those exuberant, joyful, perfectly beautiful highs.

I'm working on writing some essays about some experiences in NZ; I might post them here when I'm finished, so keep checking back in the next few weeks. In the meantime, I hope to see all of you and do some story-sharing in PERSON, for the first time in months.

Much love, and thanks for reading -
Liz Dengate

Hello from Windy Wellington

Liz here:

Sitting in NZ’s capital city of Wellington, at a café called Kapai on Courtenay Pl., around the corner from our hostel. We’re actually staying in a hotel, not a hostel – quite a nice place, the Cambridge Hotel, with a posh lobby and extremely high, beamed wooden ceilings – but it does have a backpackers’ wing. We’re in a six-bed dorm, so don’t think we’re forgetting our budget now.

The hotel has a pub attached: a place you might call your “local,” with thick, wooden tables, lots of old men drinking, and rugby on the television. Although when we arrived for an afternoon pint earlier, they were showing U of M vs. State basketball! I went crazy, shrieking “That’s my school!” while the guys looked on bemusedly (and a little bit impressed, I dare say.) I forgot it was March Madness time.

We’ve been camping, mostly. In the two weeks and a day since we left Paihia, tonight’s just our fifth night in a hostel. The last two nights, however, were freezing (almost literally), very wet, and almost comically windy. The guys kind of revolted (with Jen temporarily gone, the ratio of non-campers to campers has risen to 3:1) and here we are, booked into the Cambridge Hotel, with our soggy tents forgotten in the car’s boot. Anyway, it is Lewis’ 21st birthday, and I don’t think Lewis gets any happier than when he has not only a bed, but one in a building that is half pub.

I like this city. I left the guys in the aforementioned pub and have been exploring for the last two hours, wandering the streets and perusing a used bookstore. Since we never really spent any time in Auckland (NZ’s biggest city) Wellington feels huge. It’s the most culture and the most people I’ve experienced since September, basically. From my perch here, I can see two Chinese, an Irish, an Argentinian, a Jamaican, a Moroccan, and three Indian restaurants. Awesome. There are tons of people walking around, theaters, an opera house, a yacht-studded harbor, parks and statues everywhere.

The only drawback is that it’s windy as Chicago and cold. People are literally walking around in winter coats. After months of Paihia summer, this feels “Baltic,” as the guys would say.

The last few days have been a whirlwind of travel. We bop around in the tiny car (three packs securely strapped to the top), stopping occasionally for coffees, toasted sandwiches, or curry takeaways. We cook a lot of instant noodles, oatmeal, and pasta on my little stove, and the guys have gotten quite good at setting up the tents. The roads are a blur of sheep-y farmland and rolling hills, and tiny towns with the requisite bakeries selling mince pies, and fish & chip shops, and dingy gas stations. Everywhere begins to look the same, driving down the middle of the country, and that’s why I’m glad for a couple days in Wellington, which is definitely its own distinct place.

Photo update soon – stay tuned!
Liz x

Pictures - jen

The silver fern: one of the national symbols of New Zealand. The new, curling fern is a symbol of new beginnings and growth.

Waitangi Day - annual celebration of the Maori and British treaty signed February 6, 1840

 The haka - a traditional Maori dance that was originally used to intimidate the enemy before battle

Last night at Swiss. Kelly, our awesome boss.

Peini and Julian

 Liz, the best waitress

 The Swiss crew: myself, Liz, Julian (Germany), Mani (Maori), Stephan (Germany), Jana (Germany), Stephanie (Uruguay), Kelly (Kiwi), and Peini (Maori)

Our traveling companion, Steven

While eating one of the Valentine’s Peeps my mom sent, Steven gave a gangster shoutout to all his “peeps”

 Sand dunes at Cape Reinga

The Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean colliding….cool. In Maori tradition, the colliding of the seas represents the coming together of male and female and the creation of life.

Te Reinga – the leaving place for all Maori souls to the next world. Souls would climb down the roots of the kahika tree, named Te Aroha, where they would continue on to Hawaiki

 National Geographic moment as the emus started fighting over the bread Liz and I were giving them

 Liz and Jamie standing on the side of the road after the car broke down

 Emus.....scary shit.

Getting towed by Brett, our new Kaitaia friend who saved us from being ripped off by a car mechanic

The black swans of Rotorua

Maori cemetery in Rotorua

 Rotorua meeting house, the official Maori meeting house of the entire central/eastern North Island region. All of the carvings on the meeting house represent famous Maoris and Maori traditions and legends.

 Lake Taupo

Lewis, another of our traveling mates

 NZ wine collection

 King Country

It's too early.

Good morning, San Francisco!

I don’t really know why I’m saying this. I think I saw someone say it on a tv show once, or in a movie.  You know what I mean though? Gooooood morning, San Francisco! I don’t even know why that pops to mind. I don’t even think we have followers in San Francisco. If we do though, that is awesome. I think it’s just too early.

It is currently 7:00 a.m. here at the airport in Napier.  I’ve been so nervous and only slept about 2 hours last night. For today ----- my parents arrive. I have NO idea why I’m this nervous. Normally, I’m just like, “Oh yes. Parents.” I mean, I love my parents. Love them. But normally, I can sleep just fine before seeing them.

I think I’m just worried that they won’t have a good time here. Or that the weather will be horrible. Or that the airlines will lose their bags.

Here at the Napier airport, there are two gates. The “Phantom of the Opera” music is playing over the loudspeaker. There is one check in counter. There is no x-ray/security to go through. I’m all alone save one rather obese woman sitting next to me who for some reason decided that today would be an excellent day to wear her tight, obviously fake, leopard print dress.

Yes.

I fly north to Auckland and then south to Queenstown, located almost at the very south of New Zealand. My flight arrives in Queenstown at 11:30 and then my parents’ flight arrives at 2:30. Hopefully we will rendezvous at the baggage pick up.

Liz, Jamie, Lewis, and Steven plan on continuing driving south from Napier to Wellington. They’ll then take the ferry across from the North Island to the South Island. My parents and I will meet up with them in roughly about a week as we head north and they head south.

** Note: At this point, I feel as if I should apologize for the lack of recent blog posts. Liz and I have been staying at Department of Conservation campsites every night, which is AWESOME, but….there’s never cell phone service and there is obviously no wireless internet. Often, when we do get to a town or a village, we’re just passing through on our way to another National Park.

Enjoy the pictures. I’m going to go get a coffee.

Miss you all,

Jen x

From a Soft Bed...

Liz here:

I write to you all at the moment from a very soft, cozy bed, with a real pillow and a real blanket - kind of a shock to the system after our last week of camping. It's pretty nice. WE were all a shock to the system, I'm sure - the olfactory system - until yesterday afternoon, when we got our first shower, after seven days of hiking and kayaking.


I bring you a quick recap of the road trip so far. Above is a picture of New Zealand's north island. We began at the big blob north of Whangerei, near the top: Paihia, in the Bay of Island. From there we zoomed up to beautiful Cape Reinga, where we spent a couple of days.

On our way back south, the car pooped out and we were stuck in boooring Kaitaia for a day and a half - but we quickly recovered and raced down the island, for a brief stop in Auckland to pick up Lewis, and then on to smelly Rotorua, of the sulfur springs.

After Rotorua it was Taupo, for sailing, excellent espresso, morning swims in rivers, and cider drinking. Around the lake to Taumarunui, a little town lost in nowhere, where we rented five kayaks from a kind family and paddled twenty km down the gorgeous Wanganui, camping beside the same river.

After Taumarunui, we entered the expansive, haunting, and mountainous Tongariro National Park, with its simple, minimalistic beauty, for two nights more camping and some epic day hikes.

And here we are now on the East Coast, in the Hawke's Bay wine region, in the art deco city of Napier.

Jen, sadly, left us this morning - but she's off to meet her parents in Queenstown, which is pretty awesome. She flew down, and we'll meet her and her parents in the top of the south island in about a week. I wish her a very happy early birthday - it's tomorrow!!! Jen is an amazing friend, a trustworthy confidante, a cool and collected traveling companion, a funny and entertaining mate in adventure, and I want her to have the absolute best birthday she's ever had.

More details coming soon; in the meantime, I am going to enjoy the heck out of this bed.

North of the Quake

To ease our readers’ minds, we are not and have not been in Christchurch. The earthquake there was horrible; the papers are full of shocking photos and it seems like the number of fatalities just keeps rising as the days go on. This one was much closer to the surface (just 5 km below as opposed to 33) than the one right before we came to NZ, in September. The destruction has been horrible. We’re tremendously lucky, really; in two or three weeks we’d probably have been in Christchurch.

Instead, here we are in the middle of the North Island; our thoughts are with the Christchurchians (or whatever they might be called), but our bodies are far away. I’m currently sitting on the comfiest couch EVER in the Rainbow Lodge in the city of Taupo, on Lake Taupo, New Zealand’s largest lake. Last night we camped a few km outside of town at a free campground on the river, but we moved into the city today so that we can have a couple drinks tonight (we hear of a pub with Bulmer’s cider on tap!) and not have to drive anywhere.

Our tents are outside on a wee strip of grass along the fence outside the hostel itself. In here, it reminds me of a small, hippie university: lots of bright colors and wind chimes, big shade trees, the smells of incense and coffee and cooking food, chipped ceramic mugs in solid colors lining the white shelves in the big kitchen, girls walking around barefoot in embroidered dresses.

This morning Jen and I hiked to the impressively blue Huka Falls and back; then we had a chilly swim in the wide, gorgeous river and drove into town. I finally got my chance to SAIL! We rented little 16’ boats on the lake and sailed around for an hour and a half; Jen and I in one boat, Jamie and Lewis in another, and Steven trying his hand at windsurfing (they only had one windsurfer.)

I gave Jen a proper lesson (she’s a sailing expert now) while Jamie and Lewis perfected their 360’s and tried to capsize the boat. : ) It was warm and sunny, there was a decent breeze, and the mountains of Tongariro National Park are just there in the background. When we brought the boats in, we dived cheerfully off the pier.

In short, our road trip (Achilles now running smoothly) continues to be awesome. We’ve just come from Rotorua, which is a thermal hotspot and smells like sulfur – we hiked there in an actual REDWOOD forest. Apparently kiwis brought over a bunch of Seqouia sempirvirens back in the late 1800’s and started a proper forest. It was gorgeous. We also took baths in hot mineral water, visited a giant Maori meeting house, and spent our nights plaqued by exceedingly noisy pukako birds. (Like small, shiny, black and blue chickens. The babies are goofy.)

Tomorrow we head to Tongariro to check out the mountains firsthand…

Goodbye Paihia

Jen here - (This post was written a few days ago but wasn't able to be posted until today.)

We left Paihia yesterday morning.

We weren’t necessarily sad to leave the town of Paihia; we were really sad to leave our friends and co-workers. We’ll miss Jack and Ryona, the centabay owner and his daughter who first welcomed us to their family and to New Zealand. We’ll miss Holly, our fellow Centabay cleaner from Peru, who was always up for going out for a night of dancing. We’ll especially miss our Swiss “family.” We’ll miss Kelly, the owner of Swiss, who was always there to give advice and look out for us. As much as we gave here a hard time, she truly was a good boss. She was fair and treated all of her workers well. We’ll miss Peini, the Maori chef, who snuck us food and taught us about Maori culture. We’ll miss Julian and Jana, our German co-workers who were always smiling and up for…anything. We’ll miss Mani, our manager who*tried* to teach us all about being Maori gangster. :)

The day before we left, we packed up our bags, loaded up the car, said goodbye to Pam the landlady who still calls us all “Liz”, and moved out of the flat. We then checked into Centabay for one last night. We figured that we started our time in Paihia in Centabay and that we would end it in Centabay.

Liz and I had one last night working at Swiss and then after closing, Kelly had a small party for us on the deck. We put away all of the tables and chairs save a few, and sat on the deck reminiscing about the season. And as everyone parted, hugs and kisses were given and tears were shed.

We made a bunch of promises to see people again and so hopefully we’ll run into Holly in Queenstown, hopefully we’ll run into Jana and Julian along their travels in NZ…..but it’s horribly sad to think that we might never see some of these truly good people again. They were the friends who worked every day with us, went to the beach with us, drank with us, cooked with us, laughed and danced with us, shared secrets and gossiped with us, hugged us when we missed our family and friends back home……

We’ll really, really miss them. 

Road Trip 101

(Liz here)

This morning marks only the fourth day of being on the road, but the past three days have already taught us a number of valuable lessons:

1. Never Gasp for Breath While Gazing Out to Sea (Turn Your Back on the Waves)

Saturday and Sunday nights, we camped at Taputaputa Bay, just south of Cape Reinga (the northern tip of New Zealand.) Another lesson could be, “Always choose the campground with the biggest waves.” We set up our tent with a couple dozen others on a stretch of grass looking out across a swath of white beach, with bright green bluffs and cliffs on either side and a roaring surf.

These were the biggest waves I have EVER swum in, and I’ve been in some biggies. Our estimates are probably biased (when a wave is spinning you around like a small piece of driftwood, it seems impossibly huge) but they were probably somewhere between 5’ and 8’ waves; people were actually surfing on them. It’s deliciously scary to see a wall of water that’s much higher than your head moving toward you in the surf. We spent a couple hours both days happily getting pummeled. Of course, we occasionally got slammed into the sandy bottom, or swallowed a big mouthful of seawater (hence our lesson learned), but we made sure never to go out deeper than waist-high.

2. Sea Water is No Good for Making Pasta

We cooked our first dinner in a pot of fresh sea water and it tasted horrible. It was so salty it made my throat hurt. There was also the unfortunate side effect of a crunchiness that pasta salad should not possess.

Luckily, as we were forlornly trying to down it on the picnic table, next to our mini tent and my little one burner propane stove (everyone else had these behemoth tent-houses and big portable grills) a small Asian woman came over and offered us fried rice. At first we kind of thought it was a joke, or a strange sales tactic, but turns out she had a leftover pot of homemade fried rice, and we must have looked pitiful enough to warrant it. It was delicious.

3. While Sandboarding, Keep Your Arms in Tight

Sunday afternoon, we rented two sandboards from a little petrol station and spent a couple hours exploring and sandboarding down the Giant Te Paki Sand Dunes on Ninety Mile Beach. It felt like we were in an endless desert or, even more, on the set of Star Wars on some distant planet.

Zooming down the dunes was pretty awesome, but I did have a magnificent roll towards the bottom when I stuck out my arm in a misaligned theory that I might guide my board and sent myself into an impressive triple barrel roll. I’m still rubbing sand out of my ears.

I could probably come up with some lesson learned from our excursion to Cape Reinga, where we saw the meeting of the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean (you can actually see an outstretching line of waves colliding) and ate beans on bread, or from my short solo hike from Cape Reinga back to our campsite (a beautiful coastal stretch that was supposed to take 2.5 hours and took me one – haHA!) There are lessons to be learned from sitting on the beach under a full moon and watching the waves after dark - or from sleeping in a three-man tent with four people and five hundred mosquitoes.

But the most important lesson we’ve learned so far is:

4. If You’re Going on a Really Long Road Trip, Make Sure You Have a Decent Car; and for God’s Sake, Change the Coolant if it’s Brown

You can probably see where I’m going with this.

Driving away from Cape Reinga yesterday morning, our little Toyota Corona (we have named him Achilles) started to make a horrible rattling noise. It sounded painful when you turned Achilles on, like we were slowly torturing him by allowing him to run. We cringed for twenty straight minutes until we hit the first petrol station, with the idea of pouring in some more oil; we were pretty low. Naturally, they had sold out of oil, so we struck on. Unfortunately, we were in the middle of nowhere with no garage, no mechanic, and so we decided to keep on and pull over at the nearest service station.

But two km later, the car sounded so painfully, loudly BAD that we pulled over, across the road from a small emu farm (I am not making this up.) When Steven popped the hood, a cloud of smoke rose out. We discovered a river of brown coolant merrily escaping from underneath the car. Achilles had been hit by the proverbial arrow, and we were in the middle of nowhere.

Over the next couple of hours, several events occurred: We discovered we had no cell phone coverage. Steven hitched a ride back up to the petrol station, where he called AA (the Automobile Association, of course) and the nearest garage to find out about towing. Meanwhile, the guy who lived on the farm across the street from where Achilles had fallen came home and drove over to check us out. He turned out to be a friendly, elderly South African who looked under the hood and proclaimed the problem to be our water pump; after which, he allowed us to feed his emus. (Emus are some scary creatures, lemme tell you – but they love bread.)

When Steven returned, he told us the cheapest option was to join the AA ($195 for a membership) and then immediately ask for a tow. However he hadn’t been able to do this over the phone because he doesn’t have a credit card – so we crossed the road and walked up to our new South African friend’s house, where he let us use his phone – AND hand feed his adorable calves. (Seriously, at this point for me it was basically worth the hassle.)

A few card games later, an enormous flat-bed truck arrived; we winched Achilles aboard, and Steven and Jamie went in the cab with the big Maori driver, while Jen and I sat in our car on the truck’s back. It was very bumpy and illegal up there, but an exciting experience. We got dropped off at the nearest garage – forty km further south, in the depressing small town of Hohoura. The mechanic offered us a sunny patch of grass next to the highway to camp on, quoted a staggeringly high estimate, and said it MIGHT be done tomorrow. Just as we were despairing, a small man waltzed over and offered us a tow to Kaitaia, the next reasonably sized city. “This guy looks like he’s about to rip the sh!# out of you,” he said. “Anyway, there’s a couple of us traveling together, we’re all helping each other out.”

So, two minutes later, we were hooking up our Corona to a muddy Jeep with a ROPE; albeit a thick rope, but rope nonetheless. The Jeep JUMPED the car he was traveling with so we could all get on the road, and we rolled out. Steven put the car in neutral and braked and steered; the rest of us sat in the Corona around him, marveling at the situation.

We made it to Kaitaia basically problem-free, and Brett, the Jeep man, dropped us off right in front of the Toyota garage, and even walked us in, where he knew everyone behind the counter, and introduced us as his ‘new friends.’ When we offered gas money, he threatened to “tow us right back again,” and told us to go get ourselves a beer.

This is how we find ourselves at the Main Street Lodge in Kaitaia, a place described in every guide book as nowhere you want to spend any amount of time. (The cashier at the supermarket literally laughed out loud when I asked if there was anything fun to do.) In a few hours, though, we should have Achilles back, with his brand new water pump, cam belt, clean coolant, and refilled oil (total bill: $660.60* – thank god we get to divide it by five), and the road trip will carry on!

Finally, a Few Photos...

The amazing view from our place of work...

Lewis, Steven (the new one!) and Jamie, our awesome Scottish flatmates and soon-to-be traveling companions. (And check out J and L's new tats...)
A view of our super cool flat!
And...the new car!!! Pretty sleek, eh?

“Where is your mother???”

Liz here:

When I was maybe ten or eleven years old, I was out on a canoeing trip with my parents and brother and our family friends, the Applegates, making eight of us in all, on a Michigan river. It was a beautiful late summer day, pretty hot out, and as we rounded a bend we came across an old railroad bridge with a few teenagers standing atop of it. As we watched, they leaped off one at a time: Splash! Splash! Splash! They hit the deep water with yelps of glee.

They spotted our canoes and yelled out to us to come join them and take a leap off the old bridge. By the time we’d paddled up to it, they were back on top. “Come on!” they yelled. “Get up here!”

“I don’t think so,” Claudia Applegate, basically my second mom, hollered back. “Where is your mother??”

“At home, where she should be!” one of them yelled back. By then the rest of us were already laughing. Since then, the line has become sort of an inside joke with us; whenever one of us four kids does something a little rash (and we’ve done our fair share of jumping off northern Michigan cliffs, and other exciting things), our understanding moms will sigh and say, “Where is your mother?”

Well, today I jumped off a bridge of my own. Jen and I, and Jamie, Lewis, Steven, and some German guy who turned up went on over to the Waitangi road bridge this afternoon and took turns jumping off. It’s quite high; nothing crazy, but twenty-something feet I’d guess. The water below is super deep, though, and the Maori kids jump off all the time so we knew it was safe. We all climbed over the rail, stood on the trestles sticking out, and jumped off, a few times each. Man, it’s such a rush, that moment when you push off and you can see the water below you and feel the fall.

The whole time, though, I was thinking about Claudia, and what she’d be asking. Unfortunately, both my mother and my mom number two are back in Michigan, and much too far away. All I can do, for the moment, is tell them the stories - because they’re at home, where they should be.

This is a shout out to my family and the Applegates: I wish you guys were here to share in the adventures with me. I miss ‘Gate time very, very much.

New Friends and Rugby Games

The five of us were sitting around the living room Thursday night, playing “Name that Song” and laughing hysterically, when Jen suddenly shouted, “There goes the hedgehog!” She’d seen him (my under-the-window pal) scurry by just outside the big sliding glass door. Like a shot I had grabbed a dish towel (beware of spikes) and was after it. “It was a huge one,” Jen was saying as I myself scurried into the night.

He WAS huge. About three times the size of my little Pippo at home: the size of a rotund puppy or a very, very small cat. I found him sitting quietly under a spiky bush, very still, like it might make him invisible. I readied myself for a chase, but when I settled the towel over him, he didn’t even budge. I just picked him up. It was almost too easy.


It was basically, like, the coolest thing that has ever happened to me. Jeff (he was thus titled by Steven, for reasons unknown) was an extremely chill hedgehog. Within minutes, his spikes were laying flat, enabling some nice petting. I ditched the towel.

I did let him back out into the yard eventually, but it’s nice to know he’s around whenever I want a good cuddle.

In other news, last night we attended my first ever professional rugby game: The Auckland Blues vs. the Wellington Hurricanes. It was a pre-season game, but the stands were still quite packed and excitement was high. There were more people in Kerikeri than I’ve seen yet.

Watching rugby is extremely exciting, especially when it’s all taking place just a few meters away. Guys get smashed into the ground or skid along the grass for several feet. It was a fast-paced game: lots of running, some very poor kicking. The final score was 33-22 (Blues won.) And the THIGHS of these guys. Holy crap. They’re literally the size of tree trunks.

Afterwards, Jamie and Lewis (major rugby fans) got the autographs of their favorite All Blacks players (the All Blacks is New Zealand’s very, very good international team.) Also I hugged one of them. He was extremely sweaty.

We Are Not in the United States

Liz Here:

I’m currently reading a nonfiction book from the library called “Lunch in Paris,” about a young American woman who moves to Paris. For how different New Zealand is from France, it’s amazing how much many of her experiences mirror ours here.

Before coming here, I’d never appreciated the infinite conveniences that come from living in the United States: the variety of stores, the fact that you can get something to eat after ten pm, the amount of gas stations, Meijers. The ability to drive to a place that is open 24/7 and pick up some potting soil, potato chips, organic couscous, DVDs, and lingerie all in one go? That is distinctly American, it turns out. Especially if you can get all of those things without breaking the bank, or even a hundred dollar bill. (Depending on the lingerie, maybe not even a fifty.)

There’s this part of the book where the author, Elizabeth Bard, is talking about how her friends and family just don’t get the difficulties of being in this other country. Her mom is visiting, back when she’s living in England, and comments on how horrible the curtains are. “Why don’t we just go get some new ones?” she says. This is Elizabeth’s response:

I looked at my clock; it was nine pm on a Sunday. The comment made me instantly and disproportionately furious. It was as if my mother didn’t realize she’d gotten on a plane at all. There are exactly three stores in central London that sell curtains, all of them are on the other side of the city, and none of them is even close to being open at nine pm on a Sunday night. Do you see a car? Do you see a shopping mall? Is there a Bed, Bath, and Beyond between here and the tube station? No, no, and no, we CAN’T just go buy some new curtains.

I know everyone at home means well, the very best, in fact, but back in the U.S. I imagine it’s hard to grasp the realities of Paihia, or a place where we lack access to both a car and public transportation. (There is no such thing as “city buses”; the only buses are massive tour ones that run twice a day between the biggest cities.)

“How could I make [my mom] understand that just going to post office…was sometimes an all-day project?” Bard writes. “My friend Amanda asked…’So, when do you think you’ll be going back to work?’ I didn’t know how to say it any other way: ‘Honey, this IS work.’”

In the beginning, Jen and I got so many suggestions about how to make our time more fulfilling: “Why don’t you just find a clinic to volunteer at? A park to work for? Go see more places?” It sounds so easy, I know. But here, you don’t “just do.” We don’t have internet. We don’t have cars. Our phones often run out of credit, and we can’t get anywhere open to top them up for maybe a day, or longer. When you want to go somewhere, it’s probably closed, even if it’s supposed to be business hours. And there are no nature centers or clinics needing volunteers in Paihia. The biggest grocery store here doesn’t even sell coffee filters, for god’s sake.

I’ve stopped holding a grudge against this little town; at least, pretty much. I just know that I’m appreciating our big country of convenience stores, buses, and opportunities way, way more than I ever did before. Here is my homework for everybody: Drive to a Meijer this week, or a Whole Foods, or even just your local GAS station. You don’t need to buy anything. Just revel at the huge array of choices spread before you.

Wild Hogs

Liz here:

I bring to you today POSSIBLY THE MOST EXCITING NEWS YOU HAVE HEARD THIS WEEK:

THERE IS A WILD HEDGEHOG LIVING OUTSIDE OF OUR APARTMENT.

Everyone’s been saying they have wild hedgehogs here. I’ve heard tales of hog sightings outside people’s front doors, or crossing the road, or hiding in hedges. But I certainly hadn’t seen one, and frankly, I was beginning to suspect it was a fantastical myth.

(Quick note to those of you reading this who don’t know me that well: I LOVE hedgehogs. I have one, at home – a wee little guy named Pippo who is ridiculously adorable. I find their snorts and spikes nothing but endearing. So, lemme tell you – a country where they roam the streets is a country I have a fondness for.)

So just as the reality of them roaming the streets was becoming doubtful, last night as I was falling asleep I heard a familiar snuffling and snorting outside the window. Something was huffing, puffing, moving around in the shrubbery. “Oh my god, it’s a hedgehog,” I whispered in delight, and immediately got up to find my headlamp and an old, empty fuel bottle. I put on the light and leaned out the window, dropping the bottle into the middle of the bushes.

I expected the little guy to come running out, but all that happened was that the night went silent. I peered around, shining the light as far as it would reach – but nothing. Still, I KNEW. There was a hedgehog right outside.

This morning, in the bright light of day, I went on a reconnaissance mission. Sure enough, in the shrubby bushes under my window, I found him. A fat, spiky, brown and white hedgehog asleep in a handmade leafy nest. I was fantastically delighted. Within minutes I’d brought out all of my housemates to take a look. They suggested scooping him up and keeping him as a pet in a bucket, but I prefer to think of him out there in the wild, eating bugs and going exploring right outside as I sleep peacefully, just meters away.

All of a sudden I like New Zealand just a little bit more.

Mount Doom

Jen here - 

I got back from Mt. Doom yesterday morning. We were supposed to get back the night before, but because of the insane flooding, our trip (already extended by 2 hours because of flooding detours = 10 hours of driving) was stopped in Kawakawa, about 17 km away from Paihia. There are only two possible roads that one can take north from Kawakawa; one, as Liz said, was covered by a meter of water and the other was blocked with who knows how much water.

In typical NZ fashion, there was nothing on the radio which roads were closed. In fact, there was nothing to suggest that there were roads closed at all. The only thing mentioned on the radio was that there had been serious flooding and that roads HAD IN THE PAST been closed. Nice.

So, thanks to massive flooding, we spent the last night of the trip in the Kawakawa park carpark. Next to a flooded public toilet. I had a rice cake for dinner.

Anyways! The rest of the trip was awesome. 

The Tongariro Crossing is 19.4 km (excluding the two mountains) and reaches a peak trail height of 6,233 feet. Supposedly, it is rated as the best day hike in New Zealand. As I haven’t seen much of New Zealand yet, I couldn’t really tell you. I can say that although the trail wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense; with the barren and desolate landscape, there was this stark sense of beauty about it. It’s hard to describe. Hopefully the pictures below will do it a tiny bit of justice.

But the highlight of the day? Summiting MOUNT DOOM.  

When I woke up, I looked out the front room and saw Mt. Doom impressively silhouetted against the sunrise.  

My friend, who works for the Department of Conservation, then informed me that there’s no track up to the top. No track. No trail. No, “You should probably take this way.”

[Gulp.]

 The mountain (technically an inactive volcano that last erupted 36 years ago), became more impressive the closer we got. By the time we got to the base of the mountain, I was scared and excited out of my mind.  The mountain is 7500 feet and it LOOKED like we were in Mordor. The ground was covered in ash and lava rocks from the last explosion. There were no trees, no flowers, no birds, no green anything. Everything was a shade of red or black.

We watched about ten people already climbing the mountain. They had started to climb up the face of the mountain, following what kiiiiiiiind of looked like a trail leading up to the summit. All of them got about 2/3 of the way up and then had to turn back; it was too steep and dangerous to continue after that.

After watching other climbers, we headed to the left side of the mountain. 

Here was a trail of boulders and tiny rocks that looked like it continued to the summit. And so we clambered on all fours up and up the mountain, using only the rocks to pull us ahead. Often the rocks that you thought were lodged into the ash were not; you would grab one and it would dislodge and roll down the mountain, causing trouble for those below. When there was a space with no rocks, you would have to sprint up to grab the next rock, for unless you sprinted and pushed your body against the ash, you would fall backwards. Falling backwards was scary; there was nothing to stop you from rolling back down the mountain.

About ¾ of the way up we became enveloped in gusty clouds. Visibility was only 10 feet and the wind was blowing at about 35 mph. We continued to climb blindly, one hand over the other, not knowing if rocks up above were falling or how much farther it was to the summit. This was the scariest, most intense part of climbing.

After about 2 hours of climbing, we finally made it to the summit.

I was pretty happy.

Here at the summit, the wind was even stronger and it was hard to stand up without being knocked off your feet. I laid on my stomach and crawled to the edge of the volcanic crater and looked inside. Unfortunately because of the clouds, I could not see the lake at the bottom of the crater; I only saw a giant gaping hole.

After eating a sandwich, we started our descent down the mountain. This was almost scarier than climbing up. Ironically, we found that the safest, best way of getting down was by way of the steep mountain face we originally avoided. Others practically ran down part of the way (not as stupid as an idea as it sounds); I, however, found that the safest way down was on my butt. I almost scooted down the entire mountain.

At the bottom of the mountain, I celebrated. I had climbed Mt. Doom and had done probably the mentally physically hardest thing I had ever done…if that makes sense.

We finished the crossing, choosing to climb the other volcano that is not a part of the trail, Mt. Tongariro, as well. As we came off the trail to meet Laura, we both almost collapsed in mental and physical exhaustion. 

But it was a sweet exhaustion. An exhaustion that said, “Damn. That was awesome.”

The next day, we drove around the park and hiked a few less epic trails. :) We also visited a few Lord of the Rings location sites, much to my happy amusement.

The Black Gates of Mordor were here

 Mt. Ruapehu

 Mt. Doom in the distance

Stream that Gollum played in after catching a fish

This was the New Zealand I traveled thousands of miles for. Paihia is great, but it’s…..well….it’s not snow capped mountains. It’s not wide open plains of waving grass. It’s not bubbling streams and crashing waterfalls.

I can’t WAIT to start traveling.