The Mystery that is the Library

Dad asked about the library and its fines, so here it is:

The Library, like the toilets and their buttons, continues to confuse me on a regular basis. Not only is there no map, but books and journals can be checked out for various amounts of time. The fines vary depending on what type of item you checked and and how restricted it is-1 hour, 3 hour, 3 day, or 2 weeks (at least I think those are the amounts of time).

Here is a link, also requested by Dad: The University of Canterbury Library Summary of Borrower Privileges and Lending Policies:

http://webapps.libr.canterbury.ac.nz/webdb/circparams.php#fines

Two other people-watchings worth mentioning:
1. A fellow student using the toilets while listening to an ipod.
2. A cyclist text-messaging on her phone, while riding on the street.

Bugger! ( definition: oops, darn, etc.)

I squash my own bugs now. I must be growing up.

After an exhausting tramp on Saturday and a long night in Flat 42 (my adopted flat), I was more excited than I usually am about sleeping. I pulled back my covers only to discover a rather large black bug squirming around in my sheets! I started to panic when I realized I had to sleep in that bed because there was no other place to go and I would have to deal with it myself because there was nobody else to dispose of it for me. But I had to get over my fears quickly – Mom wasn’t there to scoop it into a Tupperware container, name it, and put it outside after a day; and my adventurous friend Anna from camp wasn’t there to smash it with gusto. After much swatting and slapping on my part, and with the involvement of three tissues, a piece of notebook paper, and one clog, I succeeded in killing the bug! I think a sheet-washing is in the near future, but, no worries, the bug is dead!

This Saturday, Tori and I boarded a bus to Sumner, a small beach town near Christchurch, to do some exploring and tramping. We’d wanted to go on the tramping club’s all day tramp on Saturday, but if filled up before we could sign up to go. This was rather unfortunate, seeing as the tramping club (CUTC) counts among its members many handsome young men, particularly Germans. (Ms. Meng, this is as much romance as there is so far!) I have found that German males (well, females too) speak English with an especially cool accent. Tori met a German when she went on a weekend hike earlier, so I was hoping for similar luck. Perhaps this coming weekend I’ll go with the CUTC . . . I might even take a crossword puzzle book!

But, back to this Saturday. Tori and I left in the morning, took two buses to Sumner beach, and explored the small town and the beach. We climbed through this cave on the beach and up on top of it (see pictures with lighthouse). Then we set off to the mountain that we later discovered divided Sumner and Taylor’s Mistake. The climb was steep, but we stopped often to take pictures – Tori is overly (sometime sickeningly!) enthusiastic about almost everything and can’t resist taking pictures of anything that has the potential to be fascinating. She’s almost six feet tall, so I was happy to take breaks from hiking at her quick pace for her to take photos. Eventually, we made it over to Taylor’s Mistake Beach, where there were lots of surfers and houses built into the cliffs. Sadly, there was no road back as I had hoped, so we turned around and headed back up the mountain after resting on the beach.

Finally, we made it back down to Sumner Beach, where I could put my blistery feet in the cool water. This tramp was my first real use of hiking boots – ever! After three or so hours of hiking, I was exhausted!

There have been some “firsts” lately that I’ll share:

1. I took my first Latin test today. No worries, she gave us lollies (see below).
2. I took my first bike ride today. I just picked up the bike, then I rode it back to Ilam Village. Cyclists use the roads here, so I had to be extra cautious to stay on the left. It is quite the challenge – and the consequences of riding on the right are rather severe.
3. I wrote the date correctly – day/month/year – for the first time.
4. As I wrote above, I killed a bug. It is somewhat of a milestone, so it bears mentioning again.
5. Again, as above, I went on my first real tramp this weekend.

Fall break is approaching quickly, and I have plans! I’m going on a driving trip and a tramp with the family that Kate’s Godmother knows here. We’re going to the Central Otago region, and we’ll be tramping the Routeburn Track. It’s a three-day, two-night tramp. After that, I’m taking a train up to Picton (the north coast of the South Island), where I’ll stay for a night before taking a ferry to Wellington (the capital city). I’ll be by myself for the rest of the trip – just about everyone else is staying on the South Island. Then, I’ll fly to Sydney, and from there I’m taking a bus tour from Sydney to Melbourne. After a few days in Melbourne, I’ll head back to Christchurch. There are only eight more days of lectures until this three-week break. Hooray!

Kiwi Vocabulary:

• Flash = showy, ostentatious, new, etc. (example: “I can’t believe they built that flash house!”)
• Fizzy = coke, soda, soft drink (example: “I went to the vending machine to get a fizzy.”)
• Rubbish = garbage, trash
• Lolly = candy of any kind, chocolate, chewing gum
• Lifestyle block = a house on significant acreage away from the city; not a working farm; looked down upon by city-dwellers and “real” farmers

A final note:

I have not yet seen all of the toilet buttons – each day I have to figure out new symbols, colours, and shapes. I have thought about taking pictures of all the different varieties, but it might be difficult to sneak a camera into the toilets without arousing suspicion or provoking kiwis to make ‘stupid American’ comments.

Tramping: Sumner and Taylor's Mistake

I went for a tramp with my friend Tori. Click the picture to see the album!

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

I would never admit to being a “southern belle,” and rarely will I call myself a “true southerner,” but, here I find myself embracing my “southernity”—if I can call it that—in reaction to kiwi culture. While not all New Zealanders thrive on vulgarity, many do appreciate crass humor, cruel jokes, and blunt statements about things I consider to be best left unsaid. Perhaps I took one of Mom’s rules too literally: “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” I think my favorite example of the rough language of kiwis happened on my way back to my flat a couple weeks ago. I heard, while walking by a school playground, one boy shout to another, “Kick the s*** out of the ball!” Back in Atlanta, that remark might warrant a certain child’s mouth being washed out with soap. I am quickly realizing how much I appreciate southern manners!

I also miss the friendliness of the South, where people greet each other with, at the very least, a “hi,” and often with a, “how are you?” There is no customary greeting here; in fact, there’s no greeting at all—and certainly no eye contact. In lectures, I’m continually shocked when students interrupt lecturers or call them by their first names. From what I’ve learned, New Zealand’s egalitarianism (at least in theory) erases all social boundaries: There are no authority figures outside of parents and the government, so students and lecturers are effectively on the same level. It’s not uncommon in a lecture to have one student interject, “shut up!” and another shout, “Mike!” (Mike is the lecturer) Going along with the egalitarian theme of the country, people often ignore gender, seeing its potential for controversy. Consequently, there is a complete absence of door-opening gentlemen in this country! Anyhow, after hearing ‘naughty’ words on a regular basis, and listening to rude jokes frequently, and trying not to smile at people I see, I am identifying more than ever before with my “southernity”— minus the “belle.”

Back in Flat 42, mild chaos continues. Flatmate Mike returned two days ago with a Mohawk. To commemorate his new do, he has created an album on facebook chronicling every stage of the cut . . . Just try and imagine spiked ginger (red; pronounced “ginga”) hair. Flatmate Jon has yet to learn that cleaning up after himself in the kitchen involves not only washing his dishes but wiping the counters as well. German Maria is disappointed that she has “to learn,” as she calls it. (see previous comments about the German University system) Sometimes I’ll see her around the flat, and she complains that classes are sooo boring and she’s frustrated that she can’t enjoy the scenery of New Zealand but instead has to go to her room “to learn.” Also, twice this week I have been a victim of thin walls. Concrete is most definitely not sound-proof. I’ll say no more on that subject!

Yesterday, I attempted to turn in an essay, but I failed. Failed to turn it in, that is. After loading money to my Canterbury Card, logging on to a public computer, and printing my essay, I discovered, upon talking to my lecturer, that I cannot actually give my essay to him. That would be too easy. Instead, I have to locate the Religion Department essay box, fill out a form, and deposit my essay with the attached form into the box. Because I hadn’t stapled my paper (a consequence of having no stapler), and because I had to move on to my next lecture, I couldn’t turn in my essay. No worries, though, it’s just an article critique and I can turn it in whenever I want to. I chose an article from the course reader (see photo on new album) about how New Zealanders’ cultural attitudes create a hostile environment for artists, poets, and writers. I found it fascinating, seeing as how I am writing quite a bit these days. Anyway, tomorrow I will persevere and turn in that essay!

In other news, the toilet button(s) remain a source of confusion. Summer is officially over—it ended Saturday. The time changed; we “fell back.” Now, the East Coast of the States is 16 hours behind New Zealand. When I went to the cinema last night (yes, on a Tuesday!), I learned that seats are assigned based on the time of purchase. This custom shows the kiwi tendency toward order and fairness, yet it forces people to sit in close proximity to each other, which is something NZers are not keen on. What a contradiction . . . and a classic example of how New Zealand works! Oh, I almost forgot—the theatre is licensed! So, not only can kiwis be assured of a good seat, albeit near to others, if they arrive early, they can enjoy their movie with a beer, or any type of drink, actually!

I have added new pictures to go with the previous post's 'daily life' theme. Click this picture to see the whole album!

Well, it’s sadly time for me “to learn.” I have a study buddy in my Latin class whom I must not disappoint tomorrow!

one day (in kiwi lingo)

Last fall, while considering where to study abroad, I made an extensive list of criteria in my mind of all the things that mattered to me. Among the most important criteria were that the place be a smaller city, with a culture distinctly different from that of the U.S., and have an English-speaking population. When I finally eliminated all countries other than New Zealand, I thought I’d made a great choice: a different culture with the same language! Perfect, right? Well, not quite.

After a month of living here in Christchurch, I’ve found some big gaps in my perfect plan. For one, Christchurch IS, as I had imagined, a small city; however, unlike the small city of Winston-Salem, North Carolina, almost every business closes at 5:00 pm. In addition, because of its location on the South Island, Christchurch attracts people who desire to spend most of their time outdoors, doing ______ (fill in the blank with a dangerous adventure sport) every weekend. This fact also means that these people are of the type that prefer tents over beds—a preference I’ve not yet begun to understand. Finally, English—the part of this adventure that wasn’t supposed to be difficult—is most definitely not the same here. To show the extent of my confusion, I’ll describe a regular day here:

Around 8:00 am, I wake up to my watch alarm clock and fix myself a cup (of instant coffee) to get energized for the day. I might fix myself some kiwi pancakes (crepes) or some muesli (uncooked granola) for breakfast. Then, I’ll dress, put on my (sun) block and runners (sneakers) and head to over to the uni (versity). At the beginning of class, the lecturer will run through the attendance, and I, like the others, will say “yes” (not “here”) when my name is called. Some of the students choose to respond to their names with a surly “yeah” as well.

After lecture (class), I might go look for some coffee, which entails standing in a queue (line) for ages (a long time; often used due to frequent inefficiencies). I’ll order a flat white (coffee with steamed milk) with trim (skim) milk for takeaway and head on to my next destination. Perhaps I’ll go to the library, where I’ll check out a book for a three-hour loan. I’ll read in the library, despite the presence of talking computers and lunching people. I’ll return the book within my time limit to avoid the steep fine of 5 cents per minute. After that, I might use the public toilets (restroom) around the uni. While there, I’ll have to make a decision about which button to press (there are usually two, with different symbols to mean different things).

Later on, I could bus (a verb) to the supermarket (grocery store). After I shop and pay, I load everything up in my backpack, so at least I don’t have to put my trolley back in the trolley bay. If I bus back, and I’m out of money, I’ll top up (add value to) my card. When I return to my flat, I’ll have to decide what to cook or prepare (a.k.a. microwave). If I do cook, I’ll have to convert grams to cups, Fahrenheit to Celsius and kilojoules to calories (divide by 4.2). On the other hand, if I’m lucky enough to go out to eat, I’ll go with mates to an ethnic restaurant, and I might see people eating chicken feet. Or, I could go to a barbeque (sausages wrapped in white bread) for some kind of event, but then I’d end up only eating potato salad (default dish for veggies).

If I’m at another flat, I might be offered some hokey pokey (an ice cream with small specs of hokey pokeys*). After tea (supper), I’ll do some work, which usually involves reading some of my course reader (rather large and expensive booklet of copied articles, the procuring of which involves a queue). After taking a shower, I’ll head to my bed and try to block out the noise from my flat mates (the people with whom I share this apartment-ish living establishment).

And that’s only one day . . .

*The hokey pokey remains a mystery.

If you like ice cream (Kristie?) and want to find out more:

http://www.nzicecream.org.nz/industry.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hokey_pokey_(ice_cream)

(Click the link to the New Zealand Herald Article - it's worth it!)

In other news, I am now the "Flat Rep" for flat 42, which means I have the duties of serving as the fire warden, calling flat meetings, and communicating with the Ilam Village office.

Sadly, my Latin lecturer informed our class today that the final exam for our paper (class) is on June 28. It must be this way, she told us, because according to this timetable (schedule, which is 2 weeks long), no exams overlap. Even though papers end June 7, I'll have to stick around for a "reading week" and the better part of the two-week exam period. Did I mention that some things in New Zealand are inefficient?

notes from a wild, wild wonderland

Well, I can now say that I’ve been carsick. It’s never happened before, but there is always a first time, right? Especially in Wonderland . . .

It happened on the return drive from the Wildfoods Festival, so I’ll get to that in a minute. First, though, the drive to the Festival. I left with friends Risa and Wei on Friday afternoon, and, following another friends’ flatmate’s mother (we were staying at their house), we drove through the Canterbury plains, the Southern Alps, and to the West Coast. The drive there was pleasant enough, and we all had our cameras out for most of the journey. (Jack, I think this was Lord of the Rings territory.) We drove all the way to Gladstone, NZ, a “suburb” of Greymouth. I should note here that at 15,000 people, Greymouth has the largest population of any “city” on the West Coast. That night, after unpacking at Chris’ house, we took a walk to the beach, went out for pizza with Chris’ mom, and settled in to our accommodations—a tarp. (see the picture below)

For my first “camping” trip ever—if I can call it that, despite the fact we did no tramping!—I had quite the adventure. While falling asleep under the stars sounds very naturey and romantic, and while the stars were prominent without any city lights, it was rather cold. I was unaware that hats, sleeping mats, wool socks, and head lamps were standard gear for sleeping outside. Without Chris’ house—and its plumbing—about 20 meters from our tarp, I might have panicked. After a long night, I finally awoke to daylight, which meant I’d survived and could go inside. About an hour and a half later, with the help of a “cup” (of tea), colour returned to my fingers. The toes took a bit longer.

A note to Aunt Cindy: While I am a lover of nature, my love is from afar; I am not, by any definition, outdoorsy. Unfortunately, I am discovering this reality about 5 months too late and am simultaneously realizing that everyone else is a lover of nature of the up-close variety.

Soon, we left for the festival in Hokitika, another of the larger towns on the coast. Over the weekend, though, the town probably tripled in population due to an influx in “uni” students and the twenty-something crowd. The food—if it warrants that label—was indeed wild. I quickly assumed the role of photographer, although I did try a gorse scone, strawberries and ice cream, and plum wine. After several hours, and a steady crowd at the beer tent (yes, there was one just for beer), the festival became a bit rowdy and vulgar, and I’ll leave it at that.

The next day I headed back to campus with Chris and his parents, as the other friends I’d come with wanted to go for a tramp near the coast. I’d had enough of the outside for one weekend—we probably spent 8 hours in the sun. Unfortunately for Chris, and for the rest of us who got to hear about it, he got badly burned all over his arms, neck, and face by the sun. Thanks to two layers of block at SPF 55, I stayed nice and pale. The ride back took about three hours, just a little longer than usual because of the queues of cars at bad turns and inclines. After an hour or so in the back of a manual pick-up truck, the jolts of the car and the curves of the road started to make me sick. The ride wasn’t all bad, and we listened to “Top New Zealand hits” such as Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” and the Dixie Chicks’ “I’m Not Ready to Make Nice.” I’m not sure how the Kiwis relate to songs like those, but I guess they are just other examples of New Zealand’s importation of everything from other places. As much as I tried to enjoy the ride as a cultural experience, I couldn’t have been more relived to get back to my industrial, ever-messy, and concrete flat.

This was our sleeping arrangement Friday night. It is also the reason I am too tired to post anything else.

Click HERE to see the album from the weekend.

Some quick thoughts from the antipodes . . .

I'm headed off to the Wildfoods Festival for the weekend with some friends. We've rented a car, and we are camping. A first!

http://www.wildfoods.co.nz/wildfoods/

A few funny things happened over the past couple of days that illustrate the eccentricities of the New Zealand culture:

1. During religion class this morning, a student (one of the “mature” or adult students) left the room for a bit. It is a two-hour class, and we were all getting a bit antsy, so I just assumed she was using the toilets (no, it’s not improper to say that!). However, when she returned in about fifteen minutes, she had with her a cup of coffee from an on-campus café.

2. After my religion class, I went on to Latin. There, the student in front of me had headphones on. And he kept them on for the entire class period. He even answered a question.

3. Also, during religion class, the lecturer was discussing New Zealand identity and how “New Zealanders” find their identity in nature even though most of them live in the city. He noted that the South Island, where I am, is almost free of people. In fact, there are fewer people on the South Island than there are in Auckland, which is home to about 1.2 million people. Then, he complained about the structure of the city of Christchurch and viciously criticized the city for becoming so suburban. Oh, suburbs! If only he could visit Atlanta!

That’s about it for now. I’ll post about all the fun food I don’t eat this weekend (see website if you’re confused) when I get back on Sunday!

Gondolas and Bikes, Or Lacks Thereof

Tonight I learned the answer to a question that’s been on my mind for quite some time now: I discovered the reasons behind my mom’s eagerness for Italian dinners. More on that later, though – I’ll give you some background to the day first.

This morning, I set out for the “Big Bike Auction” on campus to try to secure a bike. I’d like to be a bit more free to get around, considering the limits of my current modes of transportation – the metro and my feet. The bus goes some places, and infrequently. And my feet can only carry me so far. There’s a lot of Christchurch I haven’t seen yet, and I wanted to be able to explore. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived at the auction, people had already filled the area. It wasn’t just university students, though; it was real New Zealanders (although that is not the PC term – more on that later), and I didn’t have the courage to bid with, or against, them. So I left.

Later on, I met up with a few friends to head out to Lyttleton and the Port Hills to Christchurch’s gondola. I didn’t realize when we left that the others were all experienced trampers, but I figured that out soon enough. I thought we might actually ride the gondola, seeing as that was where we were heading. The group wanted to climb to the top, and then climb back down. As the only non-super-outdoors-person, I thought it would be nice to actually ride the gondola, at least one way. So, after spending about an hour on two buses to get to the site, we started to climb. The sign declared it was about an hour to the top. Despite frequent stops, the next hour and a half was rather challenging, due to the approximately 50-65% incline of the hill. Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but, after all, it’s Wonderland.

At the top, we took pictures, rested, refilled water bottles, thoroughly explored the gift shop, and parted ways. The one guy who at the beginning claimed he wanted to ride down with me decided to change his mind. No worries, though, I went down the mountain in my own private gondola. Then I rode the two buses back to Ilam Village and promptly took some Advil.

After that, I cooked. In my own kitchen – a first, because it has been so messy. I won’t elaborate, but to illustrate the depth of the griminess, I will say that the dish rack, which was white once upon a time, was most definitely not white. I cleaned it some this morning, so it’s at the least closer to its original shade of white than it was before. I chopped up some veggies and tofu, and mixed that with pasta I’d already made. It was delightful – probably just because I did all of the work myself, so I appreciated it more. But I realized that pasta—by definition straightforward, nutritious, and quick—was guaranteed to produce edible, if not highly satisfactory results. It even looks complicated, as if someone did something innovative or strenuous to create it. After all, how could anything with enough garlic not be good? And that is why my mom has a fondness for pasta. It’s all clear, now.

That’s the end of today’s news. I came away without a bike, but with a little bit of satisfaction at making it to the top of the gondola hill, even if I was the last one up. I’ll be posting some pictures from today’s tramp soon.

Two lessons of the day:

1. Everyone who comes to New Zealand has inside of him or her an endless and irritating desire to push all boundaries of normal physical exertion to a new extreme.
2. The joys of Italian cooking are also endless.

Kiwi Vocabulary:

1. tramping = hiking, walking, bushwacking, climbing, etc.

2. “top up” = add money to ___ (metro card, phone card, etc.); essential to continuing use of electronic devices

3. “New Zealander” = according to Mike, my RELS 307 lecturer, a conservative term that ignores the racial difficulties of the country by grouping all people together; NOT, an all-encompassing, collective term for the citizens of New Zealand (that term is still eluding me, and them, whoever they are, I fear)

4. Jandals = sandals; an item not required to enter classrooms, stores, etc.