Pictures are up! Click the link to see them all (there are 4 albums). I suppose it was time to come back to my fake home, seeing as I'd completely filled up two memory cards for my camera!

Road Trip: SM3!

That's Sydney to Melbourne, and in 3 days! On Monday morning, very early, I left my hostel (thankfully!) to wait for the OzExperience bus on a nearby corner. Soon, the bus pulled around the corner, and the driver yelled out the window, "Hellooo, Annie!" I met Luke, a Steve Irwinesque tour guide, and hopped on the bus. I was the first one on, so Luke and I had a little chat on our way to pick up the others. I quickly learned that it was going to be a small tour - only three other travelers! To my surprise, we ended up getting along well, and the trip wasn't awkward at all. We first picked up Jess, a 19 year-old English girl who is traveling around Australia for several months and is determined to wear her bikini all the time, just because she's in Oz. Then, we met Martin, a recent university graduate from Holland, and Sukenya, an English IT worker taking a break from her career to travel.

We left Sydney, heading south to Canberra, the capital city of Australia. With a population of 340,000, it's an unlikely city to have the honour of serving as it's nation's capital. Well, there's a funny story: Back in the early 1900's, Sydney thought it should be the capital. But, Melbourne did, too. And the rest of Australia couldn't agree. So, they decided to make a new city for their capital, in a deserted place called Canberra between the two cities. As a result, Canberra seems empty, looks sterile, and isn't really worth visiting, with the exception of Parliament, that is.

Luke gave us his own tour of the Parliament building, complete with commentary on the current political situation here. The Australian crest, with the kangaroo and emu, were all over the building. Those two animals form the crest because . . . they can't walk backward! In other words, they represent a forward-moving Australia! We also learned that Canberra has some different laws from the rest of the country. Consequently, according to Luke, because marijuana, porn, and firecrackers are legal, the people there "smoke pot, watch porn, blow things up, and then go make decisions that affect the whole country!"

After spending a couple hours in Canberra, we headed on to Jindabyne, a small ski town, for the night. The four of us stayed together in the motel, and the room was delightful compared to my previous hostel! The next morning, we rose early to head up to Mt. Kosiusko National Park for a "walk." It was rather chilly up in the mountains, and I wasn't too keen to do the planned walk. Unfortunately for my legs, lungs, and extremities, we all set off on the hilly 10km return hike because Martin wanted to go. Eventually, the girls and I managed to get the bus key from Luke, and we headed back to the warm bus a little before the end.

That night, after much more driving along windy, rail-less, dirt roads, we arrived at our destination, Lakes Entrance, which is near 90-mile beach. Along the road, Luke waved to everyone he passed, even cows. I'm not sure if he did this because of inner enthusiasm or if drivers in remote areas wave to each other to ward off the loneliness of long drives. We stopped often, ostensibly to use the loo, but, also for Luke to take a smoke break! It was fine with me though, as loo stops provided a break from the roads, in addition to the loo.

Yesterday, we rose before the sun to get an early start. And to do martial arts on 90-mile beach with Luke. At least it woke us up . . . We headed on to Wilson's Promontory National Park, a huge isthmus off the southern coast of the continent. There, we did another little "walk" and had a picnic on a overlook. My favorite part, however, came after the walk when we walked around a plain in the park to search for native wildlife. We saw several wombats, some emus, and heaps of kangaroos!! I think kangaroos have superceded sheep as my current favorite animal. I fear a large stuffed animal kangaroo may be coming back home with me . . .

We pulled into Melbourne last night, and I was absolutely worn out, but ready for some city life. I switched hostels at Luke's advice; I'd made a reservation in St. Kilda, the part of town where ladies of the night are too abundant for my taste. While in Sydney, I stayed in King's Cross, a neighboorhood I preferred to avoid after dark. So, I was grateful for Luke's suggestion because I certainly didn't want that experience again. I'm staying in a huge hostel called 'Nomads Industry,' which lives up to its name - it is definitely an industry for nomads! I'm getting a little irritated with the whole hostel scene-especially with roommates who turn on lights in the early morning and with towels that smell like dirty feet. I have learned some tricks about hostel-staying though: Buy milk with a screw-on top. Fold-in tops result in spilled milk.

Today, I explored "Melbourne-town, the world's best town," according to Luke. I took a free tram around the City Centre to Federation Square, a big open area near the Yarra River, which runs through the center of town. I checked out the NGV (National Gallery of Victoria), and I found the Indigenous Art collection absolutely amazing. After that, walked up to the Melbourne Gaol, the oldest Gaol in all of Victoria. It was a bit spooky, and the tales of executed criminals made me cringe. I looked at as much as I could stomach, but I really wondered why I had thought the place sounded cool at all. After riding the tourist shuttle - also free - around some of the suburbs, I ended up back in Federation Square, where I went to St. Paul's Anglican Cathedral for an evensong service. It's one of the few places outside the U.K. where there actually are Anglican evensong services, so I felt lucky to have found the place!

Tomorrow, I'm headed to Phillip Island to see a parade of tiny penguins, and on Saturday I'm flying back to Christchurch. I've enjoyed Aussieland, where they really do say, "G'day, Mate!" and "no worries," instead of "you're welcome." They speak more slowly, and in a more chill way than do Kiwis, and I'm going to miss that. I'm also going to miss kangaroos and koalas - but I guess sheep in huge quantities are cool, too.

Visas, Crosswords, Kangaroos, and other aspects of Ozzie!

On Wednesday morning at approximately 5:55am (remember my plane was leaving at 6:40am), at the AirNZ check-in, I learned that Australia requires visitors to have a visa to enter the country. What an interesting and useful piece of information that would have been a week, or even a day, before. I was able to purchase a visa at the customer service desk, but, unfortunately, the man working there typed in my passport number incorrectly, which did not exactly help the process. After several minutes of waiting and a near panic attack, my visa cleared, and I was able to make the flight after an AirNZ worker rushed me through the departure tax counter (who knew you had to pay $25 to leave the country?) and security, where an official-looking man examined my bag because of my empty water bottle.

Thankfully, I made the flight, and the last twenty or so minutes of it almost made up for the pre-departure almost-disaster. I'd been doing crosswords for about three or so hours, but then decided to check out my travel book and plan my day. The man sitting on my row asked me if I was visiting, and we had a pleasant conversation for the remainder of the flight. I learned that Neal was headed to Sydney for business and that he works for Shell. After he told me he was from Wales (his accent was a bit thick, I will admit; but smiling and nodding worked just fine) and had spent a year in Africa traveling and doing volunteer work, I was intrigued. Then, he complimented my crossword skills!! And, sadly, he then threw in a gilfriend reference.

After arriving in Sydney and checking in at my hostel, I headed to the zoo with all the other tourists and probably half the schoolchildren of Sydney. I took a ferry across Sydney Harbour to get to the zoo, and I made sure to get my cliche picture in front of the Opera House! The Zoo was fun, and it was especially cool to see the koalas and red pandas. But I headed back to King's Cross, where my hostel is located, after a short time because I was so exhausted from getting up early for the flight. So much for my plan of not wasting any time!

Yesterday, I saw kangaroos in the wild! When European explorers landed in Ozzie in the late 1700's, they asked the native Aboriginal people the name of what is now the kangaroo. The Aboriginals responded, "Kangaroo," which means "I don't know." And the name stuck. The miscommunication reminds me of how the Maori people got their name. According to legend, a European asked a native who he was, and he said, "Maori," which means "ordinary bloke." So, really, Maori just means "ordinary person."

Anyway, the kangaroo sighting happened during my tour of the Blue Mountains, a mountain range the size of Holland just an hour and a half outside of Sydney. I took a group tour of the area with OzExperience, the same company I'm taking on my bus tour to Melbourne on Monday. After seeing the kangaroos up close and learning all about them (a female can carry three baby roos at different ages all at once!), we moved on to explore the mountains up close. It was an interesting group, with people of different ages and ethnicities, though most of them were from Europe. (Tons of Europeans spend months or even a year on what they call a "working holiday" - and lots come to Australia to travel.) I had some awkward and somewhat forced conversations with some of the other passengers, but the tour guide was enthusiastic enough to make up for the lack of friendliness of the other tourists. She drew Aboriginal
designs on our faces (I'll put up pictures soon), and wasn't afraid to demonstrate how the Aboriginal people stuck rolled Eucalpytus leaves us their noses for medicinal purposes.

Today, I explored some of the cultural (and free) parts of Sydney with Claire, an English girl from my hostel. We took a tour of the Botanical Gardens and the Government House, which the governor of New South Wales (a woman, by the way) still uses for meetings and other events. We also explored the Art Gallery of NSW, which was a bit disappointing. But, it did serve fantastic flat whites (a coffee) so it wasn't a total waste of time! It was also very pleasant to have a traveling companion, if only for a day.

Now I'm headed back to my hostel to relax with other travelers. I'm staying in an eight-bed female dorm room that is an adventure just in itself. The other girls there are from Switzerland, Denmark, and England, and they're traveling around Ozzie for various lengths of time. Sleeping has been a bit of a challenge, partly because of the constant movement around the room and partly because of the slantedness of my bed. The toilets are scarce, and old, and the shower water is either burning hot or freezing cold. The company and conversations are fun, though, and learning about anything from the different words for "toilet"(their word for bathroom; includes, sink, shower, and actual toilet) to the differences in educational systems in various countries makes the experience worthwhile. I'm glad I'm only spending two more nights there because the hecticness of it all is quite overwhelming. I'm excited to head for Melbourne, but I am also looking forward to returning to Christchurch and Flat 42, which seems calm in comparison.

Windy in Welly

I set off from my hostel this morning wearing sneads, ready to explore the windy city of Wellington. I arrived yesterday, after a five and a half hour train ride up the east coast and a three and half hour ferry ride across Cook Strait. It has been quite an exhausting two days!

I left for the train at 6am, worried about getting to the Christchurch Railway Station in time for my 7am train. Well, I was the first one there. No worries, though, I ended up with an excellent seat for viewing the scenery along the way--a forward-facing window seat. The conductor provided some history and random information about some of places we passed through, including info about the construction of a nearby bridge for the train. He calmly explained the reason for the new bridge: People were concerned about the train falling off the track on the current bridge. How reassuring . . .

After arriving in Picton (the top of the South Island), I made my way to the Ferry port. There, I boarded and tried to find a satisfactory seat - far away from screaming children but close to a window. The ride was windy and tipsy, and at points I felt dizzy trying to read. After three or so hours, we pulled in Wellington Harbour, and I happened to see a girl I'd met in my hostel in Wanaka! We caught each other up on our adventures since our meeting last Wednesday. She's from Norway and is studying architecture in Welly, so she was able to give me some helpful hints about the city.

At my hostel, base backpackers, I found found my bunk in the "sanctuary," the girls' only floor of the building, and unpacked a bit. While the room isn't quite a sanctuary, it is quite nice for a hostel and I feel safe on the floor, far away from male randoms. (Kiwis call strangers "randoms.")

This morning, I hopped on a bus to go to the Katherine Mansfield Birthplace, which is just out of the city centre. The bus system, or driver, proved difficult. I didn't know how much to pay, and he didn't know how much to charge me when I told him I was going to the K.M. house because he didn't know what it was. Sadness! He ended up treating me as if I were an idiot, and I became that stupid tourist who holds up the whole bus because of cluelessness. Anyhow, I got there eventually, and it was superb! I arrived just in time for the 10am opening, so I had the place to myself for a few minutes. I haven't read much of Mansfield's work, but I can tell by the quotes from her letters and journals around the house that I'm going to be a fan!

For example . . . "Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face the truth."

Then, I made my way down to the Beehive (http://www.beehive.govt.nz/index.aspx) and the other government buildings. I took a fascinating tour there, where I learned about the eccentricities of the NZ goverment.

Some fun facts from the tour:

1. NZ was the first country to grant women suffrage (1893). And, currently about a third of the members of parliament are women. (There is also one Rastafarian, whatever that is, who has dreadlocks down to his ankles.)

2. NZ has the most direct personal democracy in the world. (Before bills become Acts, they are advertised for the public. Anyone who wants to comment can request an oral hearing before a committee, and they are actually heard! And, they have complete freedom of speech - meaning that they can't be punished or mocked for what they say. A nice example of NZ egalitarianism!)

3. The daily papers from all the major (a relative term) newspapers in the country are stored every day in the basement of the Parliamentary Library. According to the tour guide, it's so "politicians can remember what they said yesterday!"

4. After elections, the voting sheets come to the parliament where they are stored for a while. Then, they become insulation!

I enjoyed the whole tour, but my favourite part was when the tour guide decided that I should stand in the place where the Queen's throne sits when she visits!! He asked me my name, and since there was already a Queen Anne, he said I could be Queen Anne II - and that I should sign my name A II R for the rest of the day!

Tomorrow morning, very early (6:40am), I fly to Sydney! I think I may have been a bit too ambitious about not wasting time when I planned this trip. Alas, I must quit writing and get on with things so I can sleep!

A wee note about a proper holiday in the bush

Well, so much to say. After travelling with the Weakley family and a somewhat random assortment of their other adopted children for the week, I learned quite a bit more about Kiwi mores. First, apparently I have been breaking a key Kiwi fashion rule by wearing sneakers with blue jeans. This fashion faux-pas is called “sneads”— a combination of sneakers and jeans. Also, I learned that I stand out as an American by my spiral notebooks, straight teeth, and white socks. Kiwis use a certain brand of stapled notebook (spirals are a luxury), don’t have dental insurance (the reason for crooked teeth), and wear dark socks.

Last Sunday, I left Christchurch with Hannah, the oldest Weakley sibling, and headed south toward Dunedin. On the way, we stopped in Timaru to pick up Hannah’s “friend,” Johnny. I felt slightly awkward around them, but I wasn’t sure quite why. Then, mid-way through the week, I realized they were a couple, and that I had been an oblivious third wheel. Anyhow, we then passed through Oamaru, where one of New Zealand’s most famous writers, Janet Frame, lived. Finally, we reached Dunedin, where we met up with Hannah’s brother Dan at his flat. (A quick note about “flats”: flats are run-down houses without heating and in various conditions of disrepair occupied by groups of students.)

On Monday, all of us departed for Queenstown, passing the town of Waihola along the way. Waihola welcomes visitors with a sign at its city limits that reads:

Waihola:

No Doctor

No Hospital

One Cemetery

I suppose that is New Zealand humour. We spent Monday getting “all sorted” (organized) with gear and food and other tramp preparations. Murray (Mr. Weakley) checked the weather for the track and warned us that there might be a bit of snow on the second day, which would also be the hardest day. Tuesday came quickly, and we departed early for the Routeburn Track.

Once there, I put on my pack, heavy with clothes, food, and everything else one might need for three days of primitiveness. We took a group picture and headed up the track. Brigid, Hannah, and Johnny decided to walk in because the weather was good. After fifteen or so minutes of tramping, my pack got heavy. After another half hour I couldn’t keep up with the group’s quick pace. And then the track got steeper. My pack got heavier still. I suppose my lack of tramping strength became obvious, because Brigid soon hinted that it might be good, actually necessary, for me to keep up with the group. When I couldn’t do that, Murray told me a bit more bluntly that I’d have to move quickly, especially when it would get cold, or else I would get hypothermia. If I slowed down, he said, the whole group would slow down, and then it followed that we’d all get hypothermia. So, I realized that I ought to head back out with Brigid and crew instead of pushing on—a disappointing but probably sound decision.

(Later, Murray described the Routeburn to one of Dan’s flatmates as a “lovely walk” that was “quite nice.” It didn’t seem to bother him to much that it rained the entire second day and that they walked through snow on the third. I guess I just don’t have tramping blood in me . . .)

I spent the following day in Wanaka by myself, as Brigid needed to visit a sick friend there and Hannah and Johnny wanted some time together. On Thursday, we regrouped and drove the five hours to the other end of the Routeburn. After picking up the trampers, we drove to Milford Sound, another hour or so, through a huge tunnel. Milford Sound ranks among the most popular places to visit on the South Island, but it takes a bit of effort to get there. I must admit I couldn’t exactly find the excitement in driving for two extra hours to see a foggy fiord, but, alas, we got to our next motel in Te Anau soon enough.

On Friday, we drove as a big group to Invercargill, the southernmost city on the island, to see the water tower there. Yes, the water tower. Laura, Dan’s girlfriend and a native of Invercargill, jokingly recommended that we spend our extra day there. So to Invercargill we went. After several hours in the car, we arrived, took a picture with the glorious water tower (actually listed as an attraction in my Eyewitness Travel book; it’s worth checking out the album to see it), and walked around the city centre for a few minutes. And then, we left. After another couple of hours of rainy scenery, we arrived back in Te Anau. I have seen quite a lot of scenery and sheep this week, but I was getting weary of “oohing” and “ahhing” by this point.

In Te Anau, all nine of us ate dinner and some enjoyed German beer. (Christoff, a German student who lived with the Weakleys several years ago, was there, and the German beer was in honour of him). That night, like others, Brigid and Murray enjoyed “a nice cup of tea” with their German beers. Tea and beer—a perfect New Zealand combination!

A few quick notes:

1. 9-11 is “12-9” here: it was the 12^th of September here when the attacks happened, and New Zealanders write the date in day/month/year order.
2. There are arrows on the roads pointing in the direction cars are supposed to drive. Murray told me this was the case because often tourists forget which side of the road on which to drive and cause head-on collisions.
3. Children call their parents by their first names instead of “Mum” and “Dad.”

Tonight we returned to Christchurch, and tomorrow I leave again for more travels.

Because Kiwis like to abbreviate just about everything, tomorrow I’m off to Welly and Ozzie!

"It's a bit primitive, what we do."

“Uh Oh,” I thought to myself when Murray told me what tramping would be like. He and his wife Brigid came over to my flat yesterday to inspect my gear and let me fill me in on the itinerary for our upcoming travels. (They’re the family that Kate put me in touch with before I came over here.) Anyway, Murray approved most of my gear and advised me to make sure I pack enough clothes for all sorts of weather conditions. Unlike the weather in the States, the weather here is unpredictable, and it changes quickly. There is no Birmingham here in New Zealand to look to for tomorrow’s weather. So Murray told me that if I was comfortable clothes-wise, I’d love the tramp. Otherwise, he said me casually, “You’ll hate it.”

He did say that the views would be spectacular if the weather is good, so I’ll take my camera and hope for the best. I’ll be wearing my tramping boots around the flat until I leave, seeing as I have only worn them twice before—and gotten blisters both times. Besides the whole boot-and-blister problem, there is the issue of the actual tramping. I have this little rosy memory problem about the tramps I do. While I’m climbing uphill, I wonder how I became deluded into thinking that particular tramp was a good idea. Then, after I get to the top of the hill or finish the tramp, I instantly forget the pain and effort it took to get there and think tramping is a wonderful thing. I think I was in one of those enthusiastic and delusional moods when I committed to this tramp . . . I hope the enthusiasm will return by the time we reach the base of the track!

**We’re doing the Routeburn Track, which is located in the
southwest corner of the South Island near Milford Sound. Its 32km total, and we’ll do it in three days and two nights. It is considered one of the “Great Walks” of New Zealand and is supposed to be “easy.” But, “easy,” here means that, most likely, you will survive. At least this tramp is not “moderate,” which indicates that survival is not a given. Assuming I survive the tramp, I’ll be back next Sunday and will head up to Wellington via train and ferry on Monday.

I am carrying all of this on my back for 3 days?

Back in Flat 42, drama continues. The sign I posted in the kitchen about cleaning dishes has not yet had an effect on the cleanliness of the kitchen. Mia turned 24 yesterday, and I woke up Thursday morning to find two random girls in the toilets. I never saw them after I left for bike volunteering that morning. There is some good news to report though: German Maria and her boyfriend Stefan made noodles from scratch and invited me to have lunch with them yesterday. They even let me help scrape the noodles into the boiling water! After the noodles cooked, they combined them with cheese and sauteed onions to make more sophisticated version of macaroni and cheese that is traditionally German. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch and compared the geography and culture of our home countries. It was delightful!

Click to see the album!

In Flat 47, however, I somehow managed to start a debate among the Kiwis there about the culture and identity of New Zealand. I was working on my Religion essay there, and I asked my friend Moana to read a bit because I was curious about her opinion. From the books I’d read in my research, I had learned about New Zealand’s lack of national identity and their related lack of art and literature. In lectures, Mike (the lecturer) emphasizes frequently that the only culture that New Zealand has is that of the Maori; he insists that the Pakeha (the white people here) have no culture of their own. After reading about this point in my essay, Moana vehemently disagreed; from her perspective, the Maori and Pakeha are a blended, dual culture and together produce plenty of so-called “culture.” Richard, another member of Flat 47 and a Kiwi, felt that New Zealand Pakeha have no culture of their own. He and Moana did agree, however, that New Zealand literature has little worth in itself and that they prefer books from other countries to those written here.

Moana also got angry when she read I wrote about the relationship of many New Zealanders to the land. From what I’d read and heard from Mike, New Zealanders market their landscape as “100% Pure” to foreigners, find their identity in nature, and sometimes practice a kind of pagan land-worship. Mike claims that New Zealanders who find their identity in the land but don’t actually go out in nature—which he says is the case for most Kiwis—are hypocritical. Moana, on the other hand, sees nature as an integral and true part of New Zealand identity for each New Zealander, whether or not he or she spends time in nature.

The next day, Thursday, I went to my Religion lecture a bit more confused than usual. To further complicate matters, Mike moved on to the topic of Lloyd Geering, a “prophet” of New Zealand who has been central to religious life here. He talked about Geering’s life and especially his trial for doctrinal error in 1967; Geering, head of a theological college, had denied the existence of the immortal soul and the resurrection of Jesus. Mike, a supporter of Geering, presented a biased view of the trial, and then he criticized Christians for opposing Geering. His lecture about Geering grew into a rant about Christians, and his tone became increasingly condescending as explained that Christians are deeply anti-Semitic and heretical. Most of the class laughed mockingly and in agreement at his conclusions—despite the fact that they didn’t understand some of the core tenets of Christianity. Some of my classmates had earlier made sweeping generalizations about Christians and false assumptions about Christian theology.

In this mostly secular country, the general attitude toward religion is this: God is illogical. Therefore, if you believe in God, you are illogical. I’m still surprised that my classmates, mostly religious studies majors, don’t see the need to respect religion—not only because it’s sacred for many people, but because it’s the subject to which they’re devoting three years of study. This course, called “Pakeha Prophets: New Zealand Christianity and Pakeha Identity” ignores, for the most part, the theology of the Pakeha here; instead, it focuses on the cultural and historical aspects of Christianity here and examines the ways that religion has shaped life—not how the religion is important in itself. Many students consider religion fascinating, yet silly. I’m still wondering how to engage in a dialogue about religion or defend my views in class if they consider me illogical before we even begin to talk.

After this confusing and frustrating week, I’m ready to get away from Christchurch for a bit. I’ve been here almost two months, but it seems like much longer. Last night, I said goodbye for three weeks to my friend here; it’s strange, not seeing them for three weeks, when we’ve only known each other for seven. Tomorrow morning I’m heading out with the Simmons family, still frustrated about my religion course, curious about New Zealand culture, but ready to be happily deluded in the mountains . . . the time has come to be primitive!

Helmet Hair, Etc.

Helmet Hair has become a part of my life . . . because I have a bike! After quite a bit of effort and stress monitoring bike auctions on trademe.com (an online auction site just for kiwis), I finally won a bike! My friend Genevieve (a Caniwian – half Canadian, half kiwi) told me she was very impressed that I managed to use trademe.com! I’ve had the bike for about a week now, and I am immensely enjoying my new freedom – almost as much as I enjoyed getting my driver’s license! After I picked up the bike from the seller’s house, I rode back to Ilam Village and tried to figure out how to coexist on the roads with cars. I guess my squeaky brakes alerted drivers of my presence, because I made it back to campus safely.

This Wednesday, I woke up early to go with my friend Len to do some ‘bike volunteering’. I’d heard from him about a group that bikes to the city centre, picks up leftover food from cafes, and takes it to the City Mission. Now that I had a bike, I could go with him. We met up with the group leader, Tessa, at an intersection near campus and biked down busy Riccarton Road to the Botanical Garden, where we stopped to meet up with other volunteers. After splitting up the routes, we headed out to the cafes. Len and I went with Tessa to learn one of the routes. After we’d gone to all the café’s on the route, we met up with everyone else in Cathedral Square and headed to the City Mission to drop off all the food. By this point, we all had bags of baked goods hanging off our handlebars, so cycling was a bit difficult. On the way back, it started raining, and my wet glasses created an extra challenge. I was already attempting to carry on a conversation with Tessa; she seemed to want to talk about our futures as we peddled through the rain, tried to stay in the bike lanes, and navigate the roundabouts. Needless to say, she is considerably more confident of her cycling than I am of mine!

On Saturday, I awoke early again to go off on a little tramp with some ICF (International Christian Fellowship) folks. (All of the Tramping Club Tramps were cancelled; alas, the crossword puzzle trick will have to wait.) We headed out to the Barnett Park Track, near Sumner Beach. ICF is the international affiliate of InterVarsity, the Christian group I belong to back at Wake; but, here, apparently, anyone—not just students—can join. Out of the six of us, I was the only undergraduate. Genevieve, the president, is working on her Ph.D. in something to do with Biology that is beyond my comprehension. Jennifer, Genevieve’s flatmate, is studying for her master’s in clinical psychology. Audrey just graduated from law school (an undergraduate program here) and is taking a final class to earn her certification. Yani, a Belgian-Australian-Kiwi, is an electrical engineer. And Omar, a Muslim from Egypt, is studying Chinese language and other things at the university. Anyhow, we tramped up to a cave, took pictures, learned that many foods originated in China from Omar, discussed differences in various Asian foods, and walked back down the mountain. Quite an adventure!

I spent the rest of Saturday in Flat 47, my adopted flat, working on a religion essay and hanging out with my friend Rachel. Later on, I made a cookie-cake with Rachel because she had never had one before! We decorated it with a variety of m&m’s to form the shape of the South Island (see my web albums for a picture). When our friend Adam came over, he refused to believe that we were actually working! We shared the cookie-cake with the other flatmates, Richard and Moana, both kiwis; they had never had cookie-cake before either. We had trouble convincing Richard to call it cookie-cake because here cookies are “biscuits.” I told him “biscuit-cake” just wasn’t acceptable!

Today, I biked to St. James Anglican Church to meet up with Genevieve for the Palm Sunday service. The church was quite small, with only 25 or so people in attendance. There’s no choir or organ music, and one man plays the guitar—and this was a good day! (When I went last Sunday, the priest played a CD of the hymn music!) Afterwards, Genevieve and I rode to an outdoor market, where people sell all sorts of things: artistic treasures, new clothes, old kitchen items, used appliances, anti-wrinkle lotion, and just about anything else they can find in their attics.

I’m still a “wee bit” in shock at all of the freedom I have here—freedom to go wherever I want, freedom from peoples’ expectations, freedom to be whoever I feel like being, freedom from school stress, and freedom to sleep! I actually might be getting a tad sick, which I believe is a result of my short night of sleep on Tuesday night—I have been so spoiled by being able to sleep eight hours a night that I can’t handle any less than that! It’s strange, though, knowing that I’ll be here for only three more months yet trying to create meaningful friendships. I can’t be too picky about friends, mostly because friends are vital, but also because there just aren’t that many people here! It’s fun learning about German eating and study habit from Maria, and it’s exciting to discover kiwi life firsthand from my kiwi friends; it’s also cool to find out about different regions and cultures of America from friends from other parts of the country. But, sometimes, the constant learning and the looming ‘temporariness’ of it all wears me down; as much as I try to live in it and enjoy it all, it’s tough to abandon a ‘cultural anthropologist’ attitude. As I write about New Zealand’s identity, religion, and culture for my religion class, I am forced to think about my own. And as much as I cherish the conversations and relationships I have with people here, I long for the people who really know me and for permanence, for days that don’t feel like a dreams—days that aren’t all jumbled up, scattered, quick, and confusing.