Transcending Borders With Seeds in Our Hands

Alright, so I guess you could sense from the lack of recent entries that I’ve either died of a sting ray attack somewhere on the eastern cape of New Zealand or I’ve finally stopped traveling.  I’m hoping to save up and go again really soon, so it won’t be too long before you can follow me again! : D  I’ve enjoyed writing about my travels in Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji and I hope you enjoyed reading.
I’ll leave you with this quote:”Very many people spend money in ways quite different from those that their natural tastes would enjoin, merely because the respect of their neighbors depends upon their possession of a good car and their ability to give good dinners.  As a matter of fact, any man who can obviously afford a car but genuinely prefers travels or a good library will in the end be much more respected than if he behaved exactly like everyone else.”-Bertrand Russell, The Conquest of Happiness

Today I went on the Tongariro Crossing which, by all accounts, is the best dayhike (as it says in my guidebook which, by the way, I’m tempted to throw in the next campfire as its many typos and grammatical errors, not mentioning all the places it has recommended that no longer exist, are driving me nuts). I left Taupo at 6 am to be on the trek by 8 am. The bus driver kept assuring us that the forecast says that it will be misty with light rain only for the morning but will clear up soon. I hit the trail and I walked through interesting looking native bush plants and trickling streams but I couldn’t see much beyond that because of the fog. I got to the section called the Devil’s Staircase and let’s just say that it is aptly named. I must have climbed over a thousand steps to get to the top of the red crater! I kept thinking at the top of every set of stairs, “this MUST be to top.” Nope. Onward and upward.

When I came over the side of the mountain I could at last see the stunning Emerald Lakes that stand in sharp contrast with the dark rock and snow surrounding them. After slipping and sliding, and falling down the loose gravel trail down to them I took lots of pictures and admired the moody, volcanic environment. Huge plumes of sulfuric steam were rising from various places and there was a huge lunar-looking valley below which could easily have been a setting for Lord of the Rings. Indeed, parts of Tongariro National Park were used for Lord of the Rings…I’m just not sure which (since I’m not a big fan).

Aside from the Emerald Lakes and the lake that was covered in broken ice (see the picture on Facebook), there weren’t too many jaw-dropping sights. If I had to do the trail over again, I’d start at the “end” of the trail and only go to see those parts thereby avoiding the Devil’s Staircase. At the end of the day, I had hiked for 7 1/2 hours and was feeling it!

Everyone walks at an awkward slant in Wellington thanks to the infamous, overbearing winds that whip through the city streets. The air comes off the Pacific and bursts through the downtown buildings, creating a wind tunnel effect. Yesterday was nice and sunny, so I had a hard time believing that the city was the windiest in the southern hemisphere, earning it the knickname “Windy Wellie.” But today! It is raining, but it’s not just any old rain. This rain must be blown into millions of particles by the gusts of wind before they reach the street level, refusing to fall straight down in normal droplets.

As I walk down the street the wind strikes over and over, covering my face in a fine mist of cold water. Garbage from the street floats upwards, almost hitting me in the face while an A-frame advertisment for a Morrocan restaurant seems to gain a life of its own as it skids across the pavement. I got a haircut today and the guy styled it really nicely but it didn’t stand a chance in the face of this weather!I stood at the corner of a street waiting to cross, desperately hitting the crossing button hundreds of times, and having to hold onto a pole so that I didn’t get knocked over into the street and run over by a truck.

I’m very serious about all of this. I felt like I should be giving a weather report to a tottering camera man while holding an umbrella, if only so that it could be flipped inside out to show how strong the hurricane has grown.The city is the capital of New Zealand and it has the most dense population of cafes anywhere in the southern hemisphere. In fact, that has been what my day has been reduced to–ducking into cafe after cafe to recharge my batteries with some espresso in order to press on towards the blasts like the Energizer bunny.

It is a fact: Americans are notoriously awful travelers. It is confirmed by many a hotel manager, tour guide, gas station attendant, and bus driver from here to Casablanca. Loud, greedy, deficient of geographical knowledge, and murderers of the local tongue, we tramp around with a video camera affixed to one eye socket and the other eye scanning for a better angle, looking past the history and the people of the place we are so fortunate to be seeing.

The more I’ve traveled, the more I’ve realized that, while there are exceptions (such as the older American women who sat in front of us watching the sunset at Ayer’s rock with their mouths going, their butts sagging over their foldout stools, and a glass of cheap champagne wedged between their stubby fingers), this is perhaps an outdated perception; young Americans are shaking things up. Our numbers are shockingly low abroad–I’ve met as many Americans as I can count on my hand, whereas I would require the fingers and toes of at least twenty obliging helpers to recount the number of Germans I’ve met in the past two months–but we are part of a shrinking-world phenomenon, perhaps attributed to the internet, television, etc. We have had to strive to adapt and see beyond our American insular bubble and question the ideas fed to us by the media and the older generations. In most cases, the youth of other countries seem to grant us a chance to redeem ourselves. Maybe they wait for us to prove that we are not those people portrayed in American T.V. programs and movies, of which they are all familiar. A few negative encounters feed a general perspective that takes generations to repair.

I honestly have to say that the Aussies are ridiculously friendly; you cannot sit next to one without them starting a conversation with you within the first ten seconds (and that’s a really good thing). Germans are also among the most friendly and hospitable. Here is the shocker though: so are the French!! I’ve had such great conversations with French travelers about the rift between our countries and, more light heartedly, our love of French cheese, wine, and baked goods! I find that my knowledge of French arises from somewhere unknown and an “aprez vous” and “merci” find their way out of my mouth.

The French never miss out on an opportunity to harrass me (to which I respond with a half-whispered “Michael Phelps, Lance Armstrong,” as if it’s some kind of spell) but when all is said and done, I am almost always lucky enough to have a genuine invitation to stay with them in France and be shown around “non-touriste” France. In fact, next to Germany, France is the country in which I have the most standing invitations. This is one of the most pleasant suprises of traveling. I never expected to be met with such graciousness from almost complete strangers, but then again, I think that Americans just have much to learn about opening our minds–and homes–to those who may be so different from us. That’s the biggest challenge but I think the reward is surprising: we aren’t all that different after all. And if we close our mouths for just a few minutes, that may be enough time for us to change the injured reputation of Americans.

Funny enough, the most hostility I’ve met has been via a bitter Canadian girl (and no, she was not a French Canadian) who verbally assaulted me like I was residing in the very same body as George W. Bush. And although I tire of having EVERYONE ask me who I want to win the election, I treasure the chance to meet a cross-section of the world’s people every day, and to have my notions of how things are thrown out of whatever vehicle we are traveling in.

Faint yells could be heard in the background as we pulled into the world famous A.J. Hackett Kawarau Bungy Jump Center just outside of Queenstown. We went into the center to watch a video on the history and secrets of bungy jumping. It was neat to be in the place where commercial bungy jumping, as we know it today, started. I didn’t realize that the Maori had been doing bungy jumping as a rite of passage for over a thousand years. They showed video of a Maori man jumping off a huge wooden tower with some sort of vines attached to his feet. Let’s just say that the vines are not as bouncy as a bungy cord is. It was painful for me to watch it. They showed clips of A.J. Hackett jumping off numerous heights, including the famous jump from the Eiffel Tower (for which he got arrested). By the time the film finished I literally had a bit of nervousness just from watching all the bungy jumping up close.

There were only two people who wanted to do the Kawarau bungy jump but after the first two went about six more ended up going. Two of the girls did a tandem bungy jump with our bus driver Philipa. We all stood on a viewing platform, cheering them on because they were standing up to their fears. Like A.J. Hackett said in the video, bungy poses no threat to the body from the neck down; it’s just allowing your neck up to go through with it.

So I did it.

…Just kidding. Love you, mom!

I let my mind get the better of me and was content to watch the others jump. They could choose to either just reach the end and bounce back up or actually dunk their head in the river as they came down. I walked up on the bridge near the platform where they were jumping to watch them strap the people in and get them psyched about the jump. I looked down at the river from the bridge and it actually didn’t look like it was that far. However, I knew that when you are on the edge of a platform it’s a looooooong way down. The Kawarau jump is 43 meters compared to the Nevis, the tallest bungy jump in the world, which is 143 meters high. I wish I could watch the people do that jump tomorrow but I won’t be in town. They take you out to the jump platform in a small trolley that is suspended above a gorge. The Nevis is an 8 second freefall. When you watch a video of it, it looks like the person is falling for an eternity.

There are tons of ways to get your fix in Queenstown, the self-proclaimed “Adrenaline Capital of the World.” Philipa told us that you can spend over $22,000 New Zealand Dollars in 2 months and still have more adventure and extreme sports to try in Queenstown.

On the way to Wanaka we stopped at a little museum in the middle of nowhere called the Bushman’s Center. We paid our 4 bucks and went inside to watch a film on the deer farming industry of New Zealand. Our host in the museum, a colorful character with a big, graying beard, told us that we were going to watch a homemade film about the way they used to capture deer “Back in the good old days when men were men and the sheep were scared.” He warned us that if there are any “Bambi-lovers” there would be shooting and general deer violence throughout the film.

He started to play it and it actually turned out to be a well-made film. When venison hit the over a dollar a pound mark, the New Zealanders had the idea of starting farms to make a large profit. They had to capture the deer to fill the farms so they hired all the helicopters that were available, rode them right in close to a running deer, and then jumped onto the deer’s back and wrestled it to the ground. It was one of the most insane things I’ve ever seen. I was totally intrigued. They literally jumped and rode the thing to the ground and then hogtied it and attached it to the helicopter. They would have over ten deer hanging from the helicopter at a time as they passed the ironically beautiful, tranquil countryside of New Zealand. When the movie finished we got to meet the wild pig that lives at the Bushman’s Center. The guide told one of the German guys that he was in charge of feeding a piece of bread to the pig and that he should be really careful because he is a live, wild pig that can literally rip him apart. Our bus driver Philipa opened the gate and after some whistling and coaxing the most enormous black pig wandered on in. Rolfe, the German guy, said “Sit!” and the pig did!! It munched on the bread, reminding me the whole time of the puppet Alf.

A few of the people on the bus tried some of the “delicacies” that the Bushman cafe had to offer, like possum pie. Two of the guys actually ate two pies each, saying that it tasted like “chicken with coriander.” I had an orange juice.

We rode into Wanaka after passing over 27 one-lane bridges and driving through numerous mountain valleys. As we reached town Philipa told us some of the history of the lake and the Maori legend of how it came into existence. She also told us that we could feed the dolphins if we went down to the edge of the lake with white bread and peanut butter. “They can smell it a mile away,” she said. I was skeptical (and it turns out that she was kidding–she told us the next morning). Wanaka was a great little ski town. Stunning mountains are constantly framing every building in the town and there were lots of great cafes and organic smoothie and food stores. Some of our group went to see some comedians in the evening but I opted for going to the famous Cinema Paradiso on the edge of town. I made a stop at the Red Star Gourmet Burger place and had the most delicious burger, fries, and shake since I’ve been away from the U.S. They even baked the buns fresh and used aioli instead of bland mayonnaise. I got to the theatre and went in to grab a seat. They had a yellow volkswagen IN the theatre with actual seats in it. Since I was by myself I didn’t want to take the seats in the car. The movie (The Bank Job) started and halfway through they stopped the movie and everyone went out into the lobby to buy the fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. It was such a strange, “local” experience. The cookie was absolutely incredible–thicker and puffier than the traditional American variety. I really enjoyed the movie and the whole experience with the famous “cookie intermission”. I think the U.S. could learn a thing or two about how to do movie concessions!

I arrived in Franz Josef to climb the glacier just like all the other people who were in town. The snow-capped mountains loom above the town with the glacier hidden in the mountain valley. I got up early to get a latte and a big breakfast before my full-day glacier climb. When I had gotten all my gear and had my ice spikes in hand I boarded the bus with all my fellow Kiwi Experiencers and we were dropped off at the base of the glacier. We actually had to walk for about an hour to get to the glacier, crossing rivers and jumping from boulder to boulder as we went. The distance between the drop-off point and the glacier is an optical illusion: the glacier was 2-3 km away although it looked as though I could walk to it in 20 minutes. The height of the glacier is also an illusion. It is 12 km long and it is really high.

We were divided into four groups, with the first two teams being for the fit and active people who would go ahead of the others and cut steps into the ice as they went, and the second two teams being for the ones who wanted to take it a bit slower. I went with group two, so it wasn’t the fastest group but fast enough to keep things interesting. We were taught how to do the Franz Josef Shuffle, which was like doing a grapevine down stairs; you had to go down the freshly-cut ice steps with your one foot going behind the other to reach the next step. I marveled at the blue color of the ice where the water had flowed through the outer white layer and formed a crevasse or drainage hole. We continued up the glacier, stopping to take pictures occasionally, and reached a place to eat lunch about 3 hours into the hike. I had the Swedish girl take a photo of me, ice ax in hand, in front of an ice cave (you can check the Facebook photo).

We reached the point where we were to head back down but then the guides saw that there was a long crevasse that we could pass through. We sat down and waited as they went up above the crevasse and knocked piece of ice into it to fill it enough for us to walk through. Our guide asked, “Is anyone claustrophobic?” followed by, “you will be after this.” The first few people went into the crevasse and I entered the first part and waited for the line to move. But we waited and waited, shouting “hurry up,” because the ice was melting and running like waterfalls right onto our heads. Finally a few people made it out and I started to inch along as the walls got closer and closer. I got to the middle of the crevasse and figured out what had been holding everyone up. The path had too much ice packed up in one part so you had to lift your non-dominant foot to climb up and out of the crevasse (because there was only room for the width of one foot in the crevasse). I went to step up but I couldn’t get enough momentum to pull myself up and there was no place for my hand to grab hold. I went to step up and tripped, falling awkwardly (as anyone would in a crevasse that is a foot wide) and cutting my knee on the ice wall which acted as a cheese grater. I yelled in pain and had to back up toward the start of the crevasse so that I could alter my footing. I turned my right foot around and was able to make it out of the crevasse.

I looked down at my knee and there was blood all over it and a big swelling knob right next to the kneecap. I showed one of the guides and I cleaned it with some of the glacial water and put some ice on it. Come to think of it, that was the perfect place to get injured; plenty of clean ice and water! The only downside (no pun intended) was that I had to climb all the way back down with a sore knee. I made it down alright and the climb down seemed much shorter than the ascent. I got back to the hostel and I was super tired. I managed to walk to the grocery store to buy some stuff for dinner. I bought a big porterhouse steak for 10 bucks and a bag of instant microwaveable rice. I cooked everything and sat down to eat it in front of the T.V. Just as I was zoning out a Korean girl sat down in the lounge near me and out of the blue asked me, “Where are you from?”. Thus is the life of a traveler, I thought.

I had seen Les’ face plastered all over the Kiwi Experience brochures. He is 84 years old, has a white scraggly beard, and is always being kissed on the cheek by some face-painted twenty-something girl or he is flipping rump steaks on a grill. We kept hearing about the West Coast icon, “Good Ole Les,” all the way down to Lake Mahinapua. I knew that there is always a costume contest at the Lake Mahinapua Hotel which is a stop on the Kiwi Experience trip. We were told by our driver that the theme was to be “Anything that starts with the letter ‘P'”. I thought for a bit and came up with either Pinocchio or Peter Pan. We stoped in Greymouth to get the gear to make our costumes for the party later that evening. I went into a two-dollar store and wasn’t able to find anything except some stuff for wrapping gifts and some cheap cowboy, pirate, and princess accessories (which I knew a bunch of people would snatch up). So I opted for the wrapping paper and bows, thinking that I would be a “pretty present.” We loaded back into the bus and squirmed down the narrow, cliff-hugging road of the west coast and made it down to the famous Hotel and pub.

When we pulled in, Les slowly climbed onto the bus to welcome us. He kept calling our driver Philipa “Pamela” over and over again. Each time she would just shrug from behind him or extend her arms like she’s saying “that’s me!”. It was quite hilarious. He gives the same speech to each of the Kiwi Experience bus groups, telling us what is for dinner and some information about staying at the Hotel. We unloaded all of our stuff and I started to make my costume since it was going to take some work. I had to cut a ton of gold ribbon at different lengths to make a wig of sorts and attached all of the ends to a big gold bow. I cut a dress out of wrapping paper and had to tape the heck out of it. I was in a room with a young Swedish couple and Martin, the guy, had to tape the paper on me, thereby rendering me unable to sit, move my arms, or go to the bathroom while in the costume. We all gathered in the pub, which had a fireplace blazing and tons of stuff plastered all over the walls and ceiling. The entire ceiling was filled with people’s hats and other bizarre head-coverings. We took lots of pictures of everyone and then we started to play some games like charades. I was fine until we played a game where you had to pass a ball over your head. I passed the ball about two times and on the second time my wrapping paper dress ripped completely across the front and fell off. We all had a pretty good laugh about it and I was glad to be out of the thing because I couldn’t move!

I made my way up to the northern tip of the South Island and, after dropping off the people who were taking the ferry to the North Island, we headed to the town of Nelson. Nelson was a surprisingly large town that serves as a base for exploring nearby Abel Tasman National Park. I only had one evening to spend in town so I took the chance to lounge around the hostel and watch some authentic New Zealand T.V. programming: Extreme Home Makeover Home Edition and CSI Miami.

The next day we set out for Westport and on the way we stopped and took pictures by a gorgeous lake. Some jumped into the lake to get a great photo and were promptly faced with ice-cube-making conditions. The view was too good but we had to leave to get to our jet boating activity in the Buller River Gorge. I got to the jetboating place and got all suited up and ready. We rode in the boat, which was on a trailer that was attached to a tractor. Stu, our boat driver, backed us into the water and hopped in and we were humming down the river in no time. The boat is fitted with two super-powered jets in the back of the boat which don’t actually touch the water but instead shoot it at incredible speeds to propel the boat over 10-12 centimeters of water. We did a few exhilarating fishtails and spins and then Stu headed straight for a couple of rock outcrops and then cut it at the absolute last moment. We had a great time and it was a bit of an adrenaline rush. I recommend it.

I spent three long days in the largest city on the South Island of New Zealand, Christchurch, because there are only three days when the Kiwi Experience bus pulls through. It is a relatively small city with beautiful botanical gardens and a buzzing cafe and restaurant scene. It is known as the Garden City and the “Most English” city in New Zealand. There is a river called Avon, of course, which runs under old stone bridges that the punt drivers have to duck under (punts are like canoes but for shallow water). I was getting a bit stir crazy on about the second day but it was refreshing to not be relocating somewhere for once! I got on the bus early in the morning and our driver, Smiley, took us up to Kaikoura. We passed gorgeous mountains that were covered in bright yellow flowers. The mountains led down to bright green pastures where countless sheep grazed with their newly-born lambs.

After many switchbacks we reached the marine capital of New Zealand, Kaikoura. The name, a Maori one, means to eat crayfish. The town is known its abundance of crayfish (lobster) and they get quite a bit of money for them, at least $60 a piece. I went on a fishing excursion, opting for it instead of dolphin swimming and whale watching which were both quite expensive. It was $60 NZD and I got to eat all the fish I could catch and whatever crayfish we could find in the pots. We left the shore and bounced along on the choppy waters until we came to several buoys. Smiley pulled the pots up using an automated crank and as soon as the pot was out of the water the crayfish started flopping around and seemingly gasping for air. The driver of the boat, a man with missing fingers and a missing leg (no joke), just stood there with a cigarette dangling from his lips and watch Smiley do all the work. We, and by we I mean Smiley, emptied about 6 pots and we got 7 crayfish in total. We turned the boat toward the horizon and went a bit further until we saw a seal that was throwing around a humongous octopus. It was tearing pieces off as it threw it onto the water’s surface with loud “thwops”. The octopus sank and the seal had to dive a couple of times to recover his meal. We got to the place where we were to catch fish and we dropped our lines and within less than 10 seconds we would get a fish to bite and we’d pull them up and throw them into a bucket. I can’t remember exactly what kind of fish they were but they were pretty big, orange…and tasty.

Oh, and about the title of this entry: the New Zealanders say “Get amongst it” when they are encouraging people to try things in their country. Smiley told our bus group, “You’re only young once and you’ve come to the other side of the world…Get amongst it!!!”