Why Am I Here?

After three and a half months of living on this little island, I still don’t really know why I came here. People (friends here included) sometimes ask me why I picked New Zealand, and I don’t have an answer. It’s a mystery, really. I’m not “outdoorsy” in any sense of the word, and am rarely what people here would call “adventurous.” I enjoy sunlight and history, both of which are only here in small quantities: The sun rises at 7:30am and sets by 5:00pm; the short history of this place is not considered important by the people who live here. Sadly—and I should have known this before I made this island my destination for five months—there are no ancient ruins, much less anything “old.”

Without my eccentric group of friends here, I don’t know how I would have survived this long in a land where people revere the landscape above all else. (I am somewhat weary of scenery, and of admiring it.) Tonight after dinner in Flat 47, well, it was one of the times that made me glad to be a in a foreign place. Over tea, my friend Rachel asked us for input on her essay about the relationship between travelling, identity, culture, and “the other.” We discussed the ways we see other cultures, and how they help us make sense of our own culture and identity. We all agreed that we analyze everything here in terms of how it relates to what is normal for us. For example, we view Kiwis as laid-back and inefficient because we are comparing their society to our (fast-paced and busy) society back in America.

It seemed that we all have essays due in the coming days, so we decided to discuss everyone’s essay topics. We debated the characteristics of classic literature (Hayley’s essay), the merits of a multi-party system of government (Adam’s essay), the attitudes toward the environment as they relate to Christian thought (Tori’s essay), and the interpretation of violence in sacred texts (Chris’ essay). I’m currently writing about the manners and sensibility of the ideal men in Sense and Sensibility. There isn’t much up for debate on that topic . . . it’s hard to beat Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrars!

It’s already Monday night, and I leave Wednesday morning for my trip to Tauranga with Moana (the token Kiwi), Rachel, Hayley, and Tori. Until then, I’ll be working hard on my essay and trying not to get too distracted talking to people! I’ll definitely miss tea times that stretch for hours!

In preparation for our trip, we’ve been emailing a bit. An excerpt from Moana’s email gives you a wee glimpse into Kiwi culture and the spectrum of beliefs held by our various friends, as well as her lovely sense of humour:

“Mum's keen to make Pavlova*. :D Prepare to be amazed.

I however, am coming down with something. (sore throat and general yukkiness). Send me your [insert religious and/or secular comment here] to help me get better for the trip, okay?”

* “Pavlova is a meringue dessert named after the ballet dancer, Anna Pavlova. It is crispy on the outside but light and fluffy inside. Some sources claim the recipe originated in New Zealand, while others claim it was invented in Australia. However, like the Anzac biscuit, the earliest known books containing the recipe were published in New Zealand.”

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pavlova_(food))

Art, etc.

In my religion class, we're looking a different "prophets" who speak criticism into New Zealand society. Most of them aren't Christians but have some religious leanings or are preoccupied with spirituality. This week, we're studying Colin McCahon, New Zealand's most famous painter worldwide. He said he could never quite profess to be a Christian, but he incorporates Christian themes in much of his art. According to Mike, he's one of the few Kiwi painters who depicts the landscape as more than a commodity or merely the picturesque; instead, he tries to find meaning in the landscape through religious traditions. I found him fascinating . . .




This one is one of my favourites, and I posted a few of his other paintings if you're interested. (http://picasaweb.google.com/anniemurphy85/ArtEtc)

Pavlova and Jabs

Sadly to report, the past week hasn't been too terribly exciting. With the exception of tea with the Simmons-Weakleys and a visit to the doctor, I've been mostly studying and writing. By "mostly," I mean more than usual, which is still not a significant amount. In fact, my friend Audrey today told me she thought I was a bit hard-out (intense) about school here; then I had to inform her of my plans to skip three days of lectures next week for a road trip.

As for the doctor visit, well, it was a bit of a culture shock. I thought I was used to this place, but, no I am not. I went to the Student Health Centre last Friday to ask about getting shots for traveling, and the receptionist asked me to come back in an hour to talk to a nurse. When I did, she informed me that I actually had to talk to a doctor. She was nice enough to print out some information about Malaria and some other horrible disease, and she pointed me to the CDC website. (A bit ironic, I thought, considering that I grew up in the city where the CDC is located.) Anyway, I returned on Monday for an appointment with the actual doctor, and he started my asking about my itinerary. I told him where Dad and I are going, and for how long, and then he proceeded to talk to me about every possible disease I could possibly contract while in those countries.

I learned some fascinating statistics about rabid dogs in Bangkok and the percentages of people who encounter them. He also made me aware about the very high probability of drinking bad water and the subsequent very unpleasant consequences. As for the more deadly diseases, he told me about the vaccinations at the same time as he judged their relative costs. He specifically told me which medicines were less expensive than others, and he seemed excessively concerned that I pick the least costly ones. After we'd discussed all the possibilities and decided on the shots I'd need, he told me that it was time to get jabbed. "Just go back to the waiting room and the nurse will call you for jabs," he told me. Somehow getting "jabbed" seemed worse than getting a shot. I survived the multiple jabs surprisingly well, but one arm is quite swollen still from what I think was a tetanus shot.

On Sunday night, the Simmons-Weakleys invited me over for tea with their family and Lindsay, the other American who spent the first week of holiday with the family. Brigid cooked spanikopita and baked bread; we also had a salad with mayonnaise-which is considered dressing here. After dinner, we had Pavlova for dessert. It's a fluffy cake-looking sweet thing with cream on top. Brigid even made fresh cream-which prompted a discussion about making things by hand and the fact that we do not do that in America. Apparently, New Zealanders and Australians fight over who created Pavlova. No matter where it originated, it was delightful. Then, we had tea. Of course.

In other news, my friend Genevieve is leaving for Canada tomorrow to take a break from her PhD and to visit her family. I went over to her flat tonight to say goodbye because she is going away for two months, and I'll be back in the states before she returns to Kiwiland. Today, I succeeded in making bread from scratch in my questionably sanitary kitchen. I didn't even need to take a picture of it - cooking something that's actually edible isn't a novelty anymore.

Well, it's time for bed. I have my bike route in the morning, so tomorrow will be a long day. But, in only a week's time, I'll be in Tauranga at my friend Moana's house. Then, I'll be in Christchurch for just under a week. Then, I leave to travel with Dad. Then we come back to Christchurch so I can take a final exam. And, finally, I come home - July 1!

biscuits and grits!

Biscuits and grits night with Ashley and Genevieve! I made buttermilk biscuits from scratch and instant grits (thanks to Mom), and Ashley made American pancakes. Ashley and Genevieve hadn't had grits before, and Genevieve had never eaten a biscuit! I had to exlplain that because I don't cook (or eat) meat, that this meal was greatly lacking in grease and was thus not truly Southern. But it was close enough, and Genevieve went away feeling quite full. So Southern Breakfast food for dinner was a success!

Tempus fugit.* Three whole months!

Well, I’ve been here three whole months plus a day! (I intended to write yesterday but got distracted by tea with a German.) Although I’ve been on this strange island a while now, I still haven’t adjusted to certain aspects of Kiwi life. I sometimes forget that I’m not supposed to look people in the eye, much less smile, when I pass them; when I forget, I often get a confused scowl in return. And dreadlocks, well, I still don’t understand the attraction. They are quite the ‘do here, at least on the Canterbury campus.

At the same time, there are some daily activities that remind me just how long I’ve been away. For instance, I’ve memorized the PIN for my phone card without even trying. I actually see people I recognize around campus. I’ve found shortcuts to class and figured out the maze that is the library. My selection of clothes has grown boring, and my hair is reaching unmanageable lengths.

My lectures are starting to get a bit dull, and the excitement of studying with Kiwis has worn off a bit. I’m tired of Latin pronouns, 18^th Century novels—with the exception of Jane Austen’s, of course—and the confusions of religion in New Zealand. I actually have to do a bit of work these days (surprise, surprise!), but I’m focusing my essays on things of interest to me, such as Sense and Sensibility and modernist Christianity.

In two weeks, I’m headed up to the North Island for a plane-road-ferry-road trip with some friends. We’re going to fly up to visit Moana’s parents in Tauranga, a town in the Bay of Plenty (top of the North Island) and explore the surrounding area. We’ll hire a car to Wellington, take the ferry across Cook Strait, and hire a car back to Christchurch. And, I’m going to drive! I’m not too worried because I’ve been riding my bike so much around the city that I don’t even think about staying on the left side of the road. We’re leaving on a Wednesday, so I’m working hard to get the rest of my essays written before I leave. When we come back, there will be only four days of school left!

This past Saturday, I left with the other Butler folks early Saturday morning for Hamner Springs, a typical tiny New Zealand town with the added attraction of hot sulfur pools. First, though, we biked in the mountains around the area for a couple hours. For the first hour or so, the ride was exhilarating. Then, I got tired and the trails got narrow. Really narrow. I managed to make it back to town, and then we all headed to the hot pools to relax for a bit. It was a classic tourist trap, but fun nonetheless.

Then, we boarded the bus again for Kaikoura, our destination. We pulled into the marae late in the afternoon, and the Maori people there greeted us with a short version of their welcoming songs and chants. We participated in a hongi (yes, the nose-touching ritual), and then it was time for afternoon tea with them. After that, the chairman of the tribe described the history of the artwork inside the marae and gave us his opinions on the current state of Maori affairs in New Zealand. He knows his whakapapa (genealogy, pronounced “faa-ka-pa-pa”) back for many generations. The Maoris really emphasize the importance of remembering their ancestors, and they identify themselves by their families, as well as by the mountains and rivers that mark their places of birth. (Pictures aren’t allowed inside the marae because the ancestors inscribed in it are sacred.) Janyne, our Butler student liaison and a Maori, told us that to be welcomed into this tribe she’d just have to tell them her whakapapa back to her grandmother because her grandmother is so well known. According to custom, when one Maori comes to the marae of another tribe, he or she will recite their whakapapa backwards in history until they find common ancestry.

The next day, we rose early to eat breakfast on the marae and to get ready for whale watching. We headed down into town to Whale Watch Kaikoura, the boat company owned entirely by Maoris because of a settlement with the government ten or so years ago. We set out on the boat with a bunch of other tourists and headed out to the deep part of the Pacific Ocean to watch for sperm whales. We’d approach the whales slowly while they were breathing, watch them—though they looked more like floating logs than whales—and then snap as many pictures as possible as they flipped their tails up and dove back under the water. Finally, after two hours and three whale sightings, it was time to go back to shore. Then, we drove to the lookout at the end of the Peninsula and headed back to our fake homes in Christchurch.

In Flat 42 news, the male randoms inhabiting the common room just departed today. German Maria was brave enough to ask them to clean up their mess, and they actually removed most of their rubbish from the past five days. So we’re back to the usual five flatmates instead of eight!

Kiwi Vocabulary Word:

Hoover – verb, meaning “to vacuum” or “to sweep up.”

Example : A certain flamate ought to hoover the mess his friends made.

*Time flies. (My apologies for the Latin, but I feel the need to get some use out of it!)

floating logs, etc.

Pictures from the weekend are up! I survived mountain biking despite some perilous trails and came away realizing the extent of my ineptness at outdoor activites. Whale-watching was quite a touristy adventure, but we saw three HUGE whales. Hayley and I thought they looked more like logs in water than exotic animals, but I suppose they were cool nonetheless. More later - Latina me vocat.

drama, drama, and more drama

Just when I thought that I had nothing to report because life was normal, or almost normal . . . the drama began.

Sometimes my friends and I start looking for the hidden cameras in our flats. (A note on friends: Ever since I returned from the break, I’ve been hanging out with some cool friends on a consistent basis. We have dinner together almost every night and discuss and over-analyze everything that could possibly be interesting or controversial or exciting in our lives. It’s fantastic-we’re like a little family!) Anyway, we suspect we might be on a reality TV show because of all the drama that's been happening. With the wide variety of people in flats 42 (my real flat) and 47 (my adopted flat), we fit the profile for a reality show. Up in 47, there’s an adventurous American guy, a creepy Kiwi who smokes Cuban cigars (the cigars aren’t what makes him creepy), a Kiwi lacking social skills, a Jewish American girl, a Christian Kiwi girl, and a stereotypically bubbly American girl. Here in 42, well, the personalities aren’t as big, but the messes are certainly bigger.

Over the past week, I’ve been a witness to too much drama: boy drama (in two very different ways), family drama, class drama, and flat drama. About the boy drama, Tori’s been semi-panicking because of difficulties communicating by text (the primary mode of communication here) with Volker, her special friend who happens to be from Germany. We’ve certainly analyzed every aspect of the past week of their relationship, but I don’t think we’ve come to any conclusions yet. I’ll have to wait until tonight to get the latest update. Moana, my genuine Kiwi friend, has decided to move out of 47 because of the creepiness of Richard. I’ll leave it at that. But we’re going to relocate some of our dinners to her new flat. As for the family drama, Rachel’s parents and grandmother were in town last weekend for a visit. They took us out to a nice, but highly awkward, curry dinner. Apparently it was a lot of family packed into a little time.

The class drama relates to my religion class, again. Mike continues to put forth his views in a completely biased way. After his bashing last Friday of Christianity as highly idolatrous and pre-modern as well as his promotion of Lloyd Geering, a controversial figure of “modern Christianity”, as a Christian and an astute critic of traditional Christianity, I don’t even want to go to the class anymore. Geering doesn't believe in the physical resurrection of Jesus Christ, nor does he think the soul human soul immortal. Yet, Geering calls himself a Christian and still preaches in Auckland. Mike holds up Geering as an example of how Christianity should adapt to the modern world and ignores the fact that Geering denies two of the foundational beliefs of Christianity.

And, the flat drama. Yesterday, I awoke to find three mysterious and dodgy (sketchy) male randoms sleeping in the common room. The extent to which they were clothed was unclear. I later discovered they were friends of Jon. This morning I found them again, still asleep, as I tried to make my way safely through the room without falling over relocated couches or heaps of empty beer bottles in the dark. Meanwhile, Jon had been occupying the washer and dryer for over 24 hours. Needless to say, he is not on my list of favorite people at the moment.

In other news, I’m back into bike volunteering, and I did the Globe (a route, named for the Globe Cafe) by myself this morning. I got a bit lost, missed a cafe or two, and even asked one for food that isn't on our list. (Sidenote: out of the 10-15 people who participate in the volunteering, four are Americans . . . kind of funny, I thought. And yet they still don't like us.) When I headed out at 7:00am this morning, the sun hadn’t come up, and I was excited that I’d get to see the sunrise. Alas, I was too busy focusing on not getting lost and avoiding getting hit by cars to notice. (The hours of daylight are decreasing rapidly now – with sunrise around 7:30am and the sun beginning to set around 5:00pm.) But I succeed at least in avoiding other moving vehicles.

This weekend, I’m headed to Kaikoura, a small coastal town about two hours north of Christchurch, with the Butler group. We’re going mountain-biking, hot-pool dipping, and whale-watching (it’s the best spot in New Zealand for that) and staying at a marae (a Maori meeting house).

I’ll leave you with a quote from the waiver: “Although all outdoor physical activities in New Zealand can be considered dangerous . . .”

P.S. Don’t worry! If I can navigate the city centre streets of Christchurch on a bike, I can certainly mountain-bike! Without the challenge of the left side and roundabouts, it won’t be a problem at all!

switchboards and biscuits

I’m quite fond of tea these days. And biscuits. But the best part of tea and biscuits, is, of course, dipping the biscuit in the tea. Ahh, biscuits and tea . . .one of the highlights of life on this strange little island.

I’m getting settled back in to life at fake home, trying to readjust to life as a “student.” After tomorrow, I have lectures for a mere five weeks more, and I return to real home exactly two months from today (US time). With the end still seemingly far away, I’m trying to enjoy the fun parts of Christchurch . . . like tea, my adopted flat, biking everywhere, mini tramps, and lovely autumn trees. (It’s clearly autumn here now, and all the trees are turning stunning shades of reds and oranges. Sadly, though, the temperatures are dropping. I can’t say exactly how much, because I have yet to master Celsius. But it’s seriously chilly. Seriously.)

It's good to be back in Flat 42, despite the chaos. I rather like my bed, my room, a (relatively) big kitchen, stable water temperature, and not living out of a pack. I'm glad I didn't decide to go with my friends over the break-they were tramping and camping for the better part of the three weeks, which is not my cup of tea, so to speak.

On the other hand, I’m a bit tired of my lectures, my lecturers, my flatmates, constant adventure, instant coffee, and standing out in pink amid a sea of black. (According to my Latin lecturer, New Zealanders wear the most black in the world, second only to Sicily, home of World War II widows who are still wearing black in mourning. I think she was just joking, but they do wear a lot of black. At least it seems that way to me, but of course, when I do laundry, I do a pink load.) Mike, the lecturer of the earlier controversy, continues to make sweeping claims that I find offensive. He speaks with a kind of intellectual arrogance that’s insulting to religion. I might stop by during his office hours sometime soon to try to have a real discussion.

In other news, my adoptee flatmates are ordering flat t-shirts with their nicknames on the backs. I get to be number seven, and my name is “SWITCHBOARD.”

Sweet as! (The photo is of the sign I made for the switchboard. It's bascially my name tag for my mini door. The rest of the flatties have nametags for their real doors.)

I discovered something truly shocking last night: Some of my friends do not know what real biscuits are. Biscuits in the American sense of the word, that is. They thought they were similar to scones, or dinner rolls. Crisis! I’m going to rectify this predicament soon by making them all a true Southern breakfast, complete with grits and eggs. (Beth, you would be proud.) And I had no idea biscuits were a “Southern thing”!!

P.S. Courtesy of Dad, and in the spirit of sheep: http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=263297