The next full-length post will be coming soon, but until then, here's another excerpt from my travel diary. This was the first thing I wrote after a couple weeks of being in Levin and too preoccupied to journal:
I don't know what day it is (I think it may be the twelfth) and I know I haven't written at all about Carolyn's place, but I just have to say something.
I wish for everything that I could capture an image of the stars here for you. On the clearest of nights, they are a sweeping arch that begins at the treeline on one side of the barn, stretching overhead and becoming more expansive as it goes, to then sprinkle down to the tops of the mountains across the fields. At the highest point, they are so numerous that they seem to blur together into a magnificent cloud of stars, and then become less frequent but brighter as they descend to the peaks.
The only thing I can compare it to is when I was a young child and my family spent a couple weeks in the village of Nueva Vida, Bolivia, on a missions trip. Every single night, due to the lack of electricity, the Milky Way filled the night sky as we walked across the field to our temporary home.
Yet somehow, the New Zealand sky looks even wider, even more, so that I cannot help but gaze up at it in open-mouthed wonder when I tend to the horses after dark. All I could think as I walked back in tonight was that I must live in a place where I can see these stars. Where they are not crowded by trees or dimmed by city lights. Where they can be mine to look at whenever I wish, and I will never again forget their glorious majesty.
To quote Anne Shirley: "The world looks like something God just imagined for His own pleasure."
I'm wonder-struck and grateful to know that He chose to share His imaginings with us.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Foothills Farmstead: Part One
I KNOW.
I'm so behind, it's not even laughable anymore--it's just sad.
My excuse is that I've been too busy living it to write about it. Well, here goes.
But first, I thought I'd give you a visual of my trip so far, not counting the flights across the US and the Pacific, of course. Three cheers for Microsoft Paint.
I'm pretty sure Hamilton was where we stopped on the bus and I had my first meat pie, then over to New Plymouth, and finally the tip of the red bubble, Levin (luh-VIN), is where I am now. Tomorrow, I'm leaving for Sydney, Australia, and then I'll be back here for the better part of June. I'm hoping to get down to Wellington at some point, and then on my roundabout way back up to Auckland to fly out, I'll be hitting Matamata and Cathedral Cove, both of which I'm SO excited about. I don't know if I said this before, but I'm not going to even attempt the South Island this time around. There's too many things I want to see in the North Island alone.
Sunday, the 26th of April (yes, almost a month ago) was when I arrived in the tiny town of Levin on the InterCity bus. I spent some time at the Te Takere library/community center, and then finally got to meet Carolyn. She hugged me on sight.
Carolyn is essentially living in a secret paradise. You're driving in Levin and then you cross the rails and go down a road that looks like it dead ends, but it doesn't. You turn left, go a little deeper into the farmland, and then you're surrounded by mountains and foothills all the way around, with just one road leading out--only ten minutes from town, but you might as well be 100k away.
This is where I've been for the last month. Just opening the curtains in my bedroom every morning is a thrill, because I get to look straight out at the sun rising over the eastern mountains. There are horses, sheep, cattle, and ducks all around, and nothing but varying shades of green for as far as the eye can see.
Carolyn gave me the tour and I met all the animals:
And here's Dannii, staying nice and dry.
And Rosie, the oldest and cutest of them all.
Here's Kyra, looking all sweet and calm. In reality, she will explode into ecstatic leaps and bounds as soon as I take another step.
And apparently I was too busy photographing the animals to think of getting a snap of Carolyn. Maybe in another post.
My first night, some of Carolyn's oldest and closest friends (Judy, Neville, and their son, Jamie) joined us for the rugby match--Wellington Hurricanes vs. Brisbane Reds. I should just tell you right now that Kiwis care a little bit about their rugby. As Nev put it, "It's only our life."
We had chicken burgers, which were amazing, and Judy brought hot fruit crepes with plenty of fresh cream for dessert. I had only seen rugby in one or two movies and never on television, so I was in awe of how fast-paced it is, and rough. The stamina of the players is incredible. The sport is just as nonstop as soccer/European football, but has all the tackles and none of the helmets or padding of American football. Yet somehow their hair/beards stay perfect. I won't go into the finer details of how the game is played, but it was incredibly fascinating and impressive to watch. Suffice it to say that those men are more manly than you and their thighs are bigger, too.
Then it was Monday, my first day of work in New Zealand. I had watched Carolyn give the horses a feed Sunday evening, so Monday I started learning to care for them on my own. Carolyn is gone from around 11:45AM until after 9PM four days each week, and all the animals are my responsibility during that time. I learned pretty quickly that there are no "days off" on a farm.
Most of the mornings here either look like this:
Or like this:
They both hold their own beauty and magic. When I see the mist like that, my mind instantly begins singing, "Far over the misty mountains cold" and it makes me happy.
And here we see in the distance my dream author abode:
The first week was definitely an adventure, because all three horses knew I was new and tried to pull tricks on me daily--a bit like every kid I've ever babysat. ("Oh yeah, we always sleep with the lights on," and "No, we don't go to bed until 10".) The tricks are much less frequent now, though, so I guess we're progressing into an actual, functional relationship.
I've learned that working with horses requires a lot of thought, as well as patience. You have to think through and be aware of possible scenarios, and when something goes wrong, you figure out a way to prevent it from ever happening again.
For example, since Logan is a full-on stallion, he's never allowed near the girls. He's also not allowed to have less than two fences or gates between him and the girls at any given time, because if he is close enough to touch them, he will very likely hurt himself or them or break the fence/gate in trying to get to them. You have to be aware of this fact in everything that you do with and around them. At feeding times, the girls have to go into the barn first, because his path to the barn leads right past their paddock. Then, he has to be the first back out every time.
And when you're, say, bringing a wheelbarrow full of weeds out through the gate to his paddock, you have to make sure that there is zero chance of him getting through and getting next to the girls, because he is absolutely incapable of keeping it in his pants. And you can't count on the gate to remain at the small amount that you opened it, because it WILL blow open all the way, and he WILL go cantering right past you, and the girls WILL be standing there waiting for him. You will get no help from the girls. Ever.
That (totally hypothetical) scenario leaves you dropping your wheelbarrow and sprinting around the perimeter of the barn, your heart pounding as you jump multiple fences to get to the girls and get them away without having to go near him while he's rearing up in full stallion mode. All while you're the only human on the farm. All in your first week.
So next time, you stand fast at the gate in the pouring rain, with your plastic baseball bat pointed at a restless and defiant Logan, saying, "Back!" and "Stand!" until he listens. No matter how long it takes. Because if you let a horse get away with something, you are training it to do whatever it pleases. So you stick it out and you finish what you started, and you feel absolutely triumphant when you are finally successful.
A quick note on the aforementioned plastic baseball bat: It is not a weapon. It is an extension of your arm for those times when you don't want to put a bare arm or hand within biting reach of a stallion. Stallions are also unpredictable and sometimes aggressive, so we always carry it with us when we're handling him, just in case. But it is not a weapon.
On an entirely unrelated note, I have developed quite a love for crumpets, especially when lightly toasted with butter and NZ honey (which is so thick that it looks like beeswax) or strawberry jam. Thankfully, six-packs of them are often on special at the Countdown. And what else is sometimes on special at the Countdown? FRESH CREAM DOUGHNUTS. Oh my goodness. America seriously needs to catch onto the less-sugar-more-cream mindset.
A part of me feels like I'm supposed to be jumping all around the whole country, seeing more things and meeting more people, but this is what I wanted and I like it--a chance to really settle into a way of life over here, to unload my suitcase and stay a while. I can simply stand outside and look at the mountains or lean up against Dannii's stall door with my hand caressing her face and be perfectly content.
I've settled into a routine here with Carolyn. Get up somewhere between 6:30 and 9, with varying amounts of snooze bar presses; tea, breakfast, and morning feed for the horses; four hours of work out in the pastures or inside cleaning; late lunch and settle down to write/Facebook/Youtube/blog for a few hours; dinner for me and all the animals; write more until time to scramble and clean up the piles of dishes before Carolyn gets home (heh). Then we settle down in front of the telly for a couple hours, usually with some kind of cake or ice cream, and generally lose track of how many episodes of Banshee we've watched. Then it's rugby on the weekends and I go to church with Devany, Carolyn's nine-year-old-and-better-singer-than-me granddaughter. We get along capitally.
I do occasionally start to feel a little weary when I've been pulling poisonous ragwort and brambles out of the horses paddocks for hours, and the sun/rain (depending on the day) is beating down, and the sand flies are ignoring the fly spray I so faithfully applied. It's in those moments that I stand up and think, "Hang on. I am on a FARM in NEW ZEALAND," and everything else fades out.
I'm so behind, it's not even laughable anymore--it's just sad.
My excuse is that I've been too busy living it to write about it. Well, here goes.
But first, I thought I'd give you a visual of my trip so far, not counting the flights across the US and the Pacific, of course. Three cheers for Microsoft Paint.
 |
| Image from Google Maps |
Sunday, the 26th of April (yes, almost a month ago) was when I arrived in the tiny town of Levin on the InterCity bus. I spent some time at the Te Takere library/community center, and then finally got to meet Carolyn. She hugged me on sight.
Carolyn is essentially living in a secret paradise. You're driving in Levin and then you cross the rails and go down a road that looks like it dead ends, but it doesn't. You turn left, go a little deeper into the farmland, and then you're surrounded by mountains and foothills all the way around, with just one road leading out--only ten minutes from town, but you might as well be 100k away.
This is where I've been for the last month. Just opening the curtains in my bedroom every morning is a thrill, because I get to look straight out at the sun rising over the eastern mountains. There are horses, sheep, cattle, and ducks all around, and nothing but varying shades of green for as far as the eye can see.
Carolyn gave me the tour and I met all the animals:
- Logan, the black stallion
- Rosie, the bay mare
- Dannii ("as in Dannii Minogue"), Rosie's chestnut offspring
- Two sheep whose names I can't remember
- Kyra, the boxer
- Three cats: Poppy, Quentin, and Carly
And here's Dannii, staying nice and dry.
And Rosie, the oldest and cutest of them all.
Here's Kyra, looking all sweet and calm. In reality, she will explode into ecstatic leaps and bounds as soon as I take another step.
And apparently I was too busy photographing the animals to think of getting a snap of Carolyn. Maybe in another post.
My first night, some of Carolyn's oldest and closest friends (Judy, Neville, and their son, Jamie) joined us for the rugby match--Wellington Hurricanes vs. Brisbane Reds. I should just tell you right now that Kiwis care a little bit about their rugby. As Nev put it, "It's only our life."
We had chicken burgers, which were amazing, and Judy brought hot fruit crepes with plenty of fresh cream for dessert. I had only seen rugby in one or two movies and never on television, so I was in awe of how fast-paced it is, and rough. The stamina of the players is incredible. The sport is just as nonstop as soccer/European football, but has all the tackles and none of the helmets or padding of American football. Yet somehow their hair/beards stay perfect. I won't go into the finer details of how the game is played, but it was incredibly fascinating and impressive to watch. Suffice it to say that those men are more manly than you and their thighs are bigger, too.
Then it was Monday, my first day of work in New Zealand. I had watched Carolyn give the horses a feed Sunday evening, so Monday I started learning to care for them on my own. Carolyn is gone from around 11:45AM until after 9PM four days each week, and all the animals are my responsibility during that time. I learned pretty quickly that there are no "days off" on a farm.
 |
| Every morning. <3 |
Most of the mornings here either look like this:
Or like this:
They both hold their own beauty and magic. When I see the mist like that, my mind instantly begins singing, "Far over the misty mountains cold" and it makes me happy.
And here we see in the distance my dream author abode:
The first week was definitely an adventure, because all three horses knew I was new and tried to pull tricks on me daily--a bit like every kid I've ever babysat. ("Oh yeah, we always sleep with the lights on," and "No, we don't go to bed until 10".) The tricks are much less frequent now, though, so I guess we're progressing into an actual, functional relationship.
I've learned that working with horses requires a lot of thought, as well as patience. You have to think through and be aware of possible scenarios, and when something goes wrong, you figure out a way to prevent it from ever happening again.
For example, since Logan is a full-on stallion, he's never allowed near the girls. He's also not allowed to have less than two fences or gates between him and the girls at any given time, because if he is close enough to touch them, he will very likely hurt himself or them or break the fence/gate in trying to get to them. You have to be aware of this fact in everything that you do with and around them. At feeding times, the girls have to go into the barn first, because his path to the barn leads right past their paddock. Then, he has to be the first back out every time.
And when you're, say, bringing a wheelbarrow full of weeds out through the gate to his paddock, you have to make sure that there is zero chance of him getting through and getting next to the girls, because he is absolutely incapable of keeping it in his pants. And you can't count on the gate to remain at the small amount that you opened it, because it WILL blow open all the way, and he WILL go cantering right past you, and the girls WILL be standing there waiting for him. You will get no help from the girls. Ever.
That (totally hypothetical) scenario leaves you dropping your wheelbarrow and sprinting around the perimeter of the barn, your heart pounding as you jump multiple fences to get to the girls and get them away without having to go near him while he's rearing up in full stallion mode. All while you're the only human on the farm. All in your first week.
So next time, you stand fast at the gate in the pouring rain, with your plastic baseball bat pointed at a restless and defiant Logan, saying, "Back!" and "Stand!" until he listens. No matter how long it takes. Because if you let a horse get away with something, you are training it to do whatever it pleases. So you stick it out and you finish what you started, and you feel absolutely triumphant when you are finally successful.
A quick note on the aforementioned plastic baseball bat: It is not a weapon. It is an extension of your arm for those times when you don't want to put a bare arm or hand within biting reach of a stallion. Stallions are also unpredictable and sometimes aggressive, so we always carry it with us when we're handling him, just in case. But it is not a weapon.
On an entirely unrelated note, I have developed quite a love for crumpets, especially when lightly toasted with butter and NZ honey (which is so thick that it looks like beeswax) or strawberry jam. Thankfully, six-packs of them are often on special at the Countdown. And what else is sometimes on special at the Countdown? FRESH CREAM DOUGHNUTS. Oh my goodness. America seriously needs to catch onto the less-sugar-more-cream mindset.
A part of me feels like I'm supposed to be jumping all around the whole country, seeing more things and meeting more people, but this is what I wanted and I like it--a chance to really settle into a way of life over here, to unload my suitcase and stay a while. I can simply stand outside and look at the mountains or lean up against Dannii's stall door with my hand caressing her face and be perfectly content.
 |
| Dirty boots are happy boots. |
I do occasionally start to feel a little weary when I've been pulling poisonous ragwort and brambles out of the horses paddocks for hours, and the sun/rain (depending on the day) is beating down, and the sand flies are ignoring the fly spray I so faithfully applied. It's in those moments that I stand up and think, "Hang on. I am on a FARM in NEW ZEALAND," and everything else fades out.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Days 4 & 5: New Plymouth
Leaving Auckland was an adventure in itself. I spent too long using the uncluttered, early-morning WiFi at the hostel to upload the pictures for my blog post and was almost late for my bus. I didn't even eat a proper breakfast because I had about $4 in coins in my pocket and no cooked food. I stopped at the little Asian supermarket near the hostel and bought some weird-looking snacks that actually lasted me a good two and a half days. My diet for the first week was essentially Ramen, cafés, mac'n'cheese, more Ramen, random snacks, and the occasional piece of fruit.
Also, on a side note, I'm 100% convinced that at least 93% of NZ place and road names end with a vowel. It's kind of unbelievable.
Matamata, Paekakariki, Kapiti, Rotorua, Tongariro, Taranaki, Waiheke, Hahei, Taupo, Te Takere--this is just off the top of my head.
I was planning to get so much writing done on the bus from Auckland to New Plymouth, but the landscapes were so breathtaking that I didn't take my eyes off the window for more than a short nap and a couple pages of reading. On a five hour ride. Yeah.
Partway through, we stopped for lunch (not breakfast, sadly) at Tiffany's and I had my first steak and mushroom pie. It was delicious, not too expensive, and very filling. There was an elderly couple in front of me in the rather long line, and they turned around and said, "Are you traveling on the bus?" I said that I was. "Oh, you go in front of us, then. We're traveling by car." It was so kind and unexpected. Later, I saw them sitting having tea, and they just looked so sweet and picturesque. I liked them.
Another side note: especially in the hostels, but even in the cities and towns, people don't really seem to care what you look like. Less make-up, fewer high heels, more messy hair...just a significantly more natural lifestyle. These are my people.
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| Mt. Taranaki |
New Plymouth was wonderful. It has Mount Taranaki to the South and the Tasman Sea to the North, and you can often see both at the same time on a clear day. The YHA backpacker, the Sunflower Lodge, was quite a walk from the iSITE, but worth it. Just the view out the back is mind-blowing--overlooking a rainforest valley, and then across the valley are green hills with farmland. Plus, you can't beat sub-$30 nights. Seriously. Hostels are your best friends.
Everyone pretty much kept to themselves or their group in the Auckland hostel, so the first night in NP, I mostly listened to other people bond, besides chatting with Rachel, the owner, while we made our dinners. She introduced me to NZ feijoas and I have never looked back.
The second night, however, I took my dinner and asked if I could join the two Canadians who I'd heard talking a lot, even though they'd just met the day before. They were Ellen, from Nova Scotia, and Jean-François (or JF), from Quebec.
They very happily allowed me to sit with them, and I asked if they were both Canadian. They said yes, and that all the hockey talk gave it away. We talked for probably several hours, long after we'd all finished eating, and I gained a lot of knowledge from the stories they told. They were both wrapping up their two (or more) months in NZ, while I was just beginning. Ellen, as much as she raved about places that I wouldn't get to go or that even she hadn't planned to go, told me multiple times throughout the evening that a lot of backpackers see it all as a competition over who has been to the most envious places. She said many will check off all the big sights, but only spend a night in each place and therefore never get to know any of them. She said everyone will ask me if I've done or will do the Tongariro Crossing/Mt. Doom, which lots of them come to NZ exclusively to hike. But she said, ultimately, "It's your trip, not theirs." Basically, go where you want, stay as long or short as you feel like, and don't worry about what everyone else says you must see.
But I've gotten slightly ahead of myself.
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| Sunrise behind the lodge |
On my first morning in NP, I found out that all the big stores and supermarkets were closed till noon because it was ANZAC Day (in memory of the NZ and AU soldiers who went to fight in WWI). Having no food to eat, I borrowed a bike and popped up the road to a little dairy, where I bought half a dozen eggs, some cheese, a loaf of bread, and some "yoghurt".
A word to the wise: when riding an unfamiliar bike, check the brakes before you venture down a very steep hill carrying eggs. The absence of broken shells/asphalt-eating was a small miracle.
I finally made myself food that didn't consist mainly of noodles, and I am not lying in telling you that it made my entire week when I found a jar of blueberry jam in the pantry which hadn't been labeled. Fair game, and I milked it for all it was worth.
Oh, and the tea was free there, too. I drank so much tea.
Ellen was playing piano and singing in a soft, indie rocker voice when I came back out from brushing my teeth. I harmonized with her on "Riptide". She asked if I play, and I said I do a little bit, but was just enjoying listening to her.
Quick note on Ellen. Her speaking voice sounds exactly like Jennifer Lawrence. I am not exaggerating. Same inflections, same very slight rasp, even the same way of phrasing things and lack of a filter. AND the exact same accent, which makes absolutely no sense seeing as Ellen's from Nova Scotia and J-Law hails from Louisville, Kentucky. But yeah, it was basically like I was in the room with J-Law all the time. I'm just gonna start telling people that I met Jennifer Lawrence in a backpacker in New Zealand. Yep. That's what happened.
After probably an hour of trying desperately to figure out a way to get to the Goblin Forest Track without biking 50km, I decided it wasn't meant to be this time. It was simply farther away than I had realized. This was probably the roughest day for me so far, because the Goblin Forest held the highest spot on my list of places I wanted to spend time in (besides the obvious Hobbiton). It took a couple of days for me to reach a point of having peace about it.
Excerpt from my travel diary, 10:12 AM on the twenty-sixth of April, 2015:
"The most important thing I've learned so far: you can only plan so much. You HAVE to be able to go with the flow. Because sometimes your plans don't work out, and you can't let it get you down. It just means God has a different adventure in store.
I'm learning to be more reliant on Him, and a particular line of dialogue from The Fellowship of the Ring keeps going through my head: "Trust me, as you once did. Let it go." It's when Gandalf is lovingly urging Bilbo to give up the Ring, something very important to him which he is clinging to blindly, unaware of the bigger picture. The thought of those words encouraged me, and brought me back."
As it turns out, that different adventure in store was the famous New Plymouth Coastal Walkway. Seven miles of pathway right next to the sea, open to walkers, runners, and non-motorized wheels of any sort.
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| A lookout point on the Walkway where I spent some time writing and rock-hopping |
So that was how I spent my full day in New Plymouth: on the coast. And I can't possibly oversell it. Every inch was beautiful, and no mile the same as the one before it. That's the thing about New Zealand coasts--none of them are the same. In the coastline of only one town, it went from high cliffs, to thick trees leading to scattered rocks, to a rocky fishing pier, to black sand, to a quiet river inlet, and finally to rolling farmland.
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| The black sand of the western coasts of New Zealand |
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| There were lots of nice little places to stop off and rest along the path |
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| Overlooking the river as it meets the sea |
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| Look how tiny the people are |
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| At the end of the line |
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| (I'd like to point out that no editing was done on any of these photos. NZ is just that beautiful.) |
But I did play again, after I'd washed my dishes. I had just finished playing "People Help the People" and "Home" when I was genuinely startled by applause. All the French people at the tables, and even the others in the lounge, were looking my way, smiling, and clapping.
A bit later, the Frenchman was playing again, truly beautifully, and I came closer to listen and watch his hands. He stopped and asked if I wanted to play again, to which I responded that I liked listening to him and just wanted to see his hands. He finished the song, then rose and said it was my turn again.
"I don't know what else to play."
"What is in your heart?"
So I improvised. It was remarkably fun and freeing. When I finished, I went to collect my things from the lounge, saying something about getting my junk out of their way. A lady with a thick accent responded, smiling: "You can leave it here and keep playing."
When Ellen and I were turning in, she wanted to show me a picture or two and ended up showing me a lot of the places she'd been so that I could sort of experience them through her eyes--and add them to my list for next time. We also found out that we were heading in the same direction on the bus in the morning, and she let me in on the fact that you can tell the bus to pick you up at the All-Boys School instead of the iSITE. So I changed my ticket and only had to drag my suitcase half a mile instead of about two. Cannot tell you how happy that made me.
I'm still struck by how different the whole atmosphere in the Sunflower Lodge was from Auckland International. It felt like fellow travelers became family in that one evening.
So that was New Plymouth, and the people I met there. I miss it already.
Sunday, May 3, 2015
Days 2 & 3: Auckland
It's time to tell you about Auckland.
On the morning of the 22nd of April, my arrival day, I missed my bus stop and so I walked back a little way to a Starbucks that I'd seen as we passed, where I got some tea and a muffin and plugged in my dying phone. What I really needed was the WiFi, though--I had no idea where I was, due to missing my stop, and only a vague idea of where I needed to go. It was pretty exciting, come to think of it. Turns out I wasn't too far off from the hostel, but I was enjoying the familiarity and security of the Starbucks, so I stayed for a while.
A quick note on NZ electrical outlets: you have to flip the switch for power. It isn't your adapter or your power cord. Switching out devices and jiggling cords repeatedly won't help. Neither will relocating to a different outlet while everyone stares at you. Flip. The. Switch. You're welcome.
Right, so it took me a while to decide that I was ready to step outside the door onto Queen Street and face this entirely new city, but once I did, I cannot tell you how lovely it was. First thing, I ran into a student from Denmark named Frederich, who was with a group campaigning against deep sea oil drilling off the NZ coast. He noticed my ukulele sticking out of the top of my backpack, and a minute later he was playing the intro to "Sweet Child of Mine" on it.
I don't remember what my plan for the first day was, besides get to the hostel and of course skydiving, but I ended up in Albert Park pretty quickly. It had just been a green patch on the map that I figured I might kill some time in, but almost as soon as I laid eyes on it, I knew it was much more. Spread out on a steep hill overlooking Victoria Street, it is a wonderland of enormous, twisting trees, spaced far apart but still blocking out the sky due simply to the massive reach of their branches. It took me a full walk round the path to get up the courage to venture among the trees themselves--they seemed too sacred for me to be allowed to go near them. I sat in the ivy that covered the ground, letting my feet finally breathe among the leaves and taking occasional photos when I wasn't playing my uke. When I left, it was more because it was check-in time at the hostel than because I really wanted to go.
And then it was time. Time to jump off the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere: the Sky Tower. The original plan was to jump out of a plane, but the runway was closed for repairs, so 630 feet would have to do (sarcasm). I grew very nervous as the moment of truth approached, and even more so when there was conspicuous mention of "death by falling" in the waiver that I signed upon arrival. The entire staff was incredibly friendly, though, and I asked the girl who suited me up if she jumps off for fun all the time, half out of curiosity and half to reassure myself. She said she does, and between that knowledge and how chill yet methodical the guys at the top were, I decided I would love it. The process and verbal commands/responses at the top reminded me a lot of rock climbing, so I felt secure.
Plus the British lady in front of me had just jumped and was back for seconds. She went off backwards.
So, with my Converse laced extra tight and a GoPro strapped to my wrist, I held the poles on either side of the walkway, leaned out over the edge, and let go.
I FLEW. The rush was immense, and I fell long enough that I actually had time to adjust to the stomach-lifting sensation and enjoy the view.
I had the mother of all wedgies when I landed, but I remembered to bend my knees. And I didn't die, so that was good. I was so disoriented, though. I guess falling over fifty stories'll do that to you.
From there, I found my way to the harbor in an attempt to beat the sunset at the Harbour Bridge.
I found, however, that the view was better from the Heritage Landing, which was much closer and had no noisy car traffic. Bonus: yachts that probably cost more than most houses (of which I, for some reason, didn't take any photos).
After sunset, I walked back along the harbor and Quay Street, bought some Hokey Pokey ice cream that's apparently an NZ favorite and that I have already developed a devastating addiction to, and then walked back up to the Sky Tower to redeem my free Sky Deck voucher (for not dying?). The view of the city at night, so alive with countless lights winking up at me, was remarkable. There is a peace that exists up there. I walked on 32mm-thick glass, through which you can see the streets fifty-three floors below, and somehow felt as if I was cheating death.
I laid low for a lot of the second day because I was fairly tired, but I did end up in Albert Park again, with my breakfast.
After eating and climbing around a little bit, I pulled out my big, beautiful, green notebook for the first time (I bought it months ago in anticipation of that moment) and wrote the foreword to my trilogy, followed by the first page of the prologue. It felt wonderful to just sit and write, away from distractions or any inkling of what time it was.
After dinner, I went down Queen Street to Event Cinemas to see Age of Ultron, which did not disappoint. I may have rubbed it in a little bit to my friends back home, who had to wait another week to see it.
The experience of going to an NZ theatre was as different and interesting as I hoped it would be. For one, the cinema had self-serve kiosks where you could buy your tickets and select your seat. And yeah, all the seats were assigned.
Secondly, we went up two escalators to get to the actual theatres. American theaters are all spread out, with long hallways, but this one was laid out vertically.
Finally, Kiwi audiences just laugh more. I don't know if it's because they're more laid back, but they laugh long and loud where Americans would probably just chuckle. The sheer volume of the laughter made the audience sound even larger than it was. Each bout of audible joy that I released was less restrained than the last, until I felt that I was finally reacting honestly rather than making any attempt to stifle myself. Being in there somehow made me feel free.
And last but not least, one of my favorite and most unexpected moments in Auckland:
On the morning of the 22nd of April, my arrival day, I missed my bus stop and so I walked back a little way to a Starbucks that I'd seen as we passed, where I got some tea and a muffin and plugged in my dying phone. What I really needed was the WiFi, though--I had no idea where I was, due to missing my stop, and only a vague idea of where I needed to go. It was pretty exciting, come to think of it. Turns out I wasn't too far off from the hostel, but I was enjoying the familiarity and security of the Starbucks, so I stayed for a while.
A quick note on NZ electrical outlets: you have to flip the switch for power. It isn't your adapter or your power cord. Switching out devices and jiggling cords repeatedly won't help. Neither will relocating to a different outlet while everyone stares at you. Flip. The. Switch. You're welcome.
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| Aotea Square: waiting for me right around the corner from Starbucks |
I don't remember what my plan for the first day was, besides get to the hostel and of course skydiving, but I ended up in Albert Park pretty quickly. It had just been a green patch on the map that I figured I might kill some time in, but almost as soon as I laid eyes on it, I knew it was much more. Spread out on a steep hill overlooking Victoria Street, it is a wonderland of enormous, twisting trees, spaced far apart but still blocking out the sky due simply to the massive reach of their branches. It took me a full walk round the path to get up the courage to venture among the trees themselves--they seemed too sacred for me to be allowed to go near them. I sat in the ivy that covered the ground, letting my feet finally breathe among the leaves and taking occasional photos when I wasn't playing my uke. When I left, it was more because it was check-in time at the hostel than because I really wanted to go.
And then it was time. Time to jump off the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere: the Sky Tower. The original plan was to jump out of a plane, but the runway was closed for repairs, so 630 feet would have to do (sarcasm). I grew very nervous as the moment of truth approached, and even more so when there was conspicuous mention of "death by falling" in the waiver that I signed upon arrival. The entire staff was incredibly friendly, though, and I asked the girl who suited me up if she jumps off for fun all the time, half out of curiosity and half to reassure myself. She said she does, and between that knowledge and how chill yet methodical the guys at the top were, I decided I would love it. The process and verbal commands/responses at the top reminded me a lot of rock climbing, so I felt secure.
Plus the British lady in front of me had just jumped and was back for seconds. She went off backwards.
So, with my Converse laced extra tight and a GoPro strapped to my wrist, I held the poles on either side of the walkway, leaned out over the edge, and let go.
I FLEW. The rush was immense, and I fell long enough that I actually had time to adjust to the stomach-lifting sensation and enjoy the view.
I had the mother of all wedgies when I landed, but I remembered to bend my knees. And I didn't die, so that was good. I was so disoriented, though. I guess falling over fifty stories'll do that to you.
From there, I found my way to the harbor in an attempt to beat the sunset at the Harbour Bridge.
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| A quick snap along the way that turned out to be one of my favorites so far |
After dinner, I went down Queen Street to Event Cinemas to see Age of Ultron, which did not disappoint. I may have rubbed it in a little bit to my friends back home, who had to wait another week to see it.
The experience of going to an NZ theatre was as different and interesting as I hoped it would be. For one, the cinema had self-serve kiosks where you could buy your tickets and select your seat. And yeah, all the seats were assigned.
Secondly, we went up two escalators to get to the actual theatres. American theaters are all spread out, with long hallways, but this one was laid out vertically.
Finally, Kiwi audiences just laugh more. I don't know if it's because they're more laid back, but they laugh long and loud where Americans would probably just chuckle. The sheer volume of the laughter made the audience sound even larger than it was. Each bout of audible joy that I released was less restrained than the last, until I felt that I was finally reacting honestly rather than making any attempt to stifle myself. Being in there somehow made me feel free.
And last but not least, one of my favorite and most unexpected moments in Auckland:
I was walking by on the street with my camera resting in my hand and they said, "Take a picture of us!"
So I did.
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