New Zealand

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AUKLAND, NEW ZEALAND: Date: Sat, 02 Feb 2002 21:47:26

 Kia Ora from Kiwiland!

Hello fellow travelers-in-spirit,

We finally left the armpit of Asia (Bangkok) on January 29 and headed off to Singapore, not knowing if we'd be able to get on the flight to Auckland, NZ.  We expected to beg, plead, cry, and otherwise prostrate ourselves on the mercy of eighteen year-old ticket agents who couldn't care less.  To our pleasant surprise, we were already booked on the Auckland flight as a direct result of earlier such actions carried out over four days in Bangkok.  The main office must received something like three urgent telexes about getting us on the flight, and one must have come through.  At the last minute, as our boarding passes were handed to us, the agent looked at his computer and said, "Wait, are you booked on this flight?"  Hagar paused, Michael whispered, "Run" and we nodded, smiled, ignored him and boarded the plane.  Go us. Some poor soul is probably still stuck in Singapore waiting for an empty flight to Auckland.  Good luck.

Our first impression upon arrival was that our language difficulties are not over.  In fact, they are sometimes worse, since no one seems ready to admit that we can't understand each other.  You try to figure out what a chili bin is... actually, it's a chilly bin... a cooler to us civilized folks.  We picked up a hitchhiker named Bin.  Bin?  "As in Bin-jamin."  Not a foreign name, just a thick accented Benjamin.  So it goes.  The strangest part is that we don't have a phrase book because we supposedly speak the same language.  Often we just stare at people and they stare back.  We tried to buy ice once, and finally someone came up to us and said, "Oh, you mean those little cold things?" and we said, "Yes, ice."  And she said, "Awce."

We have rented a car for our stay here, at the remarkable price of cheap.  There is a little sign on the instrument display that says "Keep Left."  We were told by the shuttle driver who dropped us off at the rental car place to always remember, "Mind over matter."  Michael's mind is not fit to defeat matter.  Upon his first try, he hit someone's mirror.  She came chasing after us, causing fright in Michael's little head, and resulting in us pulling into the right lane to make a right turn.  She pulled up beside us and cussed and swore, something to the effect of: "Do you know how to 'bleepin'** drive?  Do you?  You hit my  'bleepin' mirror!  And now you're on the wrong 'bleepin' side of the 'bleepin' road.  Do you know how to 'bleepin' drive? Are you 'bleepin' sure?"

 **for the sensitive ears in the crowd

We're still alive, no damage has been done, and we've laughed nervously over this story a few times.  Ha.  Ahem.

We are quickly realizing that this is a different type of travel.  For one thing, no one is touching us anymore.  And no one is pointing and laughing and telling us how wealthy we are.  Instead of paying US$4 for a luxury suite with bathroom (and mosquitoes, cockroaches, rats, etc.) we pay US$20 for a reasonably comfortable bed.  Instead of being the center of attention, no one cares about us.  We didn't realize how much our egos had been inflated until we arrived in Auckland and thousands of friendly faces failed to materialize in front of us, begging us to come to their guesthouses, take their taxis, all for the wonderful price of "very cheap for you." Instead, we found a neat line of shuttle buses with the following sign in front: "Shuttle drivers are by law not allowed to tout."  We like touts.  We were tired of Bangkok, tired of fried water convolulus, tired of rats on our pillows.  Most of all, we are tired of one thing: the overwhelming sense of guilt that we felt in Asia for being American.  Other than that, we now feel strange traveling in luxury.  We have a car, we cook our own food, we take frequent and hot showers.  What more is there to luxury travel?

We do miss Asia very much, though, and we will someday write an e-mail about all the crazy things we really loved.  Hee.  Like barbecue chicken in the windows.  Hee.  More later.

Now we are amusing ourselves with lots of sheep.  We are in a place called Rotorua, and there are a lot of geysers and hot springs, etc., here.  We saw some of those.  And then we went to a sheep farm to see this absolutely ridiculous sheep show.  Busloads of tourists from around the world flock (ha!) to see all nineteen different breeds of sheep.  The show host has such a thick accent and talks so fast that nobody understands a thing other than that the NZ Romney (with dreadlocks in his eyes) is VERY hungry and is willing to muscle aside the other sheep on stage to eat their treats as well as his own. One angry sheep stomped its feet with passion upon discovering that the Romney had eaten his food before he even got there.  We giggled while a Taiwanese woman in front of us struggled to figure out how to work the Chinese translator-headphone-thing.  We were jealous that no English translation of the Kiwiman's talk was provided.  And Hagar got to milk a cow.  The udder was slimy.

Before Rotorua we spent a day in Auckland where we saw a few sites and got very tired from walking up and down hills.  And we went to the supermarket. We didn't buy so much, but we walked around happily for 3 hours, pointing and giggling at all the familiar foods, and we were quite proud that we were finally able to identify most groceries.  Sure, they say that granola is "mueslix" here, but that's better than seeing "Omelette" and not knowing which of five possibilities you're going to get.  In Cambodia, Hagar got a boiled duck egg.  Didn't taste so great.  On top of all this happiness, the tap water is drinkable!  No more pouring bottled water over our toothbrushes!  It's sink-a-licious time!

We went also to Waitomo caves where we saw glowworms, and discovered the truth about Kiwis.  People here must be bored out of their mind, because they invented the craziest sports.  We personally went abseiling, rock climbing and tubing in the caves.  But we do have the option of doing much more.  Here are some examples of the craziest things people do here:

·         Zorbing: they put you in a big plastic ball and roll you down a hill (with a few buckets of water thrown in it's called the "wash cycle")

·         Swooping: bungee jumping crossed with a swing Tandem skydiving  (bungee jumping was invented here, by the way)

·         Agrojet: ten minutes in a boat... at 145 km/h with a licensed driver and a roll bar

·         Something or other that says it goes to 135 km/h and a G-force of 3 within four seconds

·         4x4 jeeps that are sent over a 10m drop ("we've been operating for three years completely safely! corporate events available")

·         Anything that involves risking your life at high speeds at high and/or underwater altitudes.

We'll keep you up to date on what we're doing, how we're feeling, and when we begin to understand people.

Kia Ora!

PS:  We suspect "Toilet Updates" are over.  Except for the fact that we are thoroughly disappointed that the days of peeing behind bushes are over, western toilets abound out here.

WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND: Date: Tue, 12 Feb 2002 00:41:56

    Subject: We came, we saw (we took a picture), we left

In this email you will find that in the past couple of weeks we almost stepped on dog poop on our way to the toilet, we threw up on a boat, we fell on our bums on a glacier, and we ate breakfast with a man who thinks he's Beethoven reincarnated.  When we say "we" we mean Hagar.

Well, Michael ate breakfast.  But no bum-falling for him!  Oh no, only knee-falling!  Ouch.

We last left you in Rotorua, days after we rented our automobile and started driving on the left.  We are still driving on the left, except early in the morning until we casually glance down at our odometer, shake ourselves, and see the huge "KEEP LEFT" sign pasted on our car for idiots like ourselves.

It all started when we woke up early in the morning one day and thought we were going to take one of the most "amazing" walks in NZ, but after one look at the rain decided to get on the road to Wellington.  Perhaps this was the beginning of our downfall because we haven't stopped driving since.

In Wellington, we did our best to tour the town, seeing a museum, some "historic old buildings" (run!  run while you can!), and a lot of beautiful hey-you-pretty-ocean type of scenery.  It really was beautiful but it was so windy that Hagar switched her earlier "air con" whimpers to "Give me heat!  Please!  Give me heat!" and Michael for his part decided this would be the perfect opportunity to save 2 dollars and NOT rent a warm fuzzy blanket.  That's two New Zealand dollars, by the way.  Michael is quite the cheapie.

Our next mistake was to consider favorably the following Lonely Planet description of a youth hostel (called backpackers out here): "Many people stay just for the company of the eccentric owner Alan. ... Alan is helpful but straight-talking which some find hard to take. ... Room rates include the now-famous breakfast heralded by a wake-up call of classical music."  We have since translated this sentence into Truth-English to read: "Many people stay because there are no other rooms available in town. ... Alan is a psycho who scares most guests into silent submission.  Don't ask too many questions--you will regret it later.  The reason breakfast is free is because you would never pay for such a meal."  When we arrived and asked for a room, he said, "Hmmm... yeees."  He seemed to forget that we were there.  And then he got on the phone and made us ferry reservations for the next night at 2 a.m. (only way to get across the Cook Straight from the North Island to the South Island with a car).  Allrighty then.  So we had ferry reservations but still no room.  Alan tried to convince us that New Zealand was destroying itself by not caning juvenile delinquents, but we calmly stuck to the issue at hand -- our room availability. 

We cruelly deflected his conversation onto two Israelis that just walked in to look for a room, ignorant of the weirdness that was Alan.  Hagar whispered in Hebrew, "Don't ask any questions.  If you don't want a room here, run."  They tried, but Alan nonetheless engaged them for about twenty minutes in a monologue about how he hates Israelis because a few of them once stayed at his hostel once and wanted to pay a few dollars less and get no breakfast.  We think they were wise to try to reject his food.  It was odd (we'll only mention the heart-shaped toast cut-outs and how we were lectured to think of our mothers in honor of this heart... and the weird sausage ... and the compost-scented tea ... and the bowl of porridge-mush ... and the super-stale bread that had been microwaved to soften it up for cutting ... okay we told all).  Finally, he was convinced that we had to stay there, so he decided to put us in a room with fellow Americans.  Turns out that was because no one else wanted to stay with them.  They were bizarre.  One guy was silent through entire conversations, including questions directed at him.  The other lady warned us about the dog poop.

Ahh, the dog poop.  She said that she got up to pee in the middle of the night and almost stepped on dog poop in the bathroom hallway.  Warned, Hagar cautiously entered the bathroom at 2 a.m., scanning the floor diligently.  She even made sure that she went after the lady, just to ensure that no poop would be on her dainty foot.  But alas.  The moment the toilet door was closed, the scrambling feet of the dog were heard throughout.  He ran in, and five seconds later ran out.  He sounded a bit too determined and focused on his task for this to be an accident.  Hagar kneeled, cleaned, washed, and went to sleep.  The next morning she told Alan about the dog poop, to which he responded with no surprise, "Ah, thanks for cleaning that up."  We think the dog was trained.

The next morning we woke up to a bit of Beethoven softly creeping onto the speakers.  Nice so far.  We ran downstairs for breakfast, more because we were afraid of Alan than because of hunger.  The breakfast was described above, but his morning message was not.  Over the loudspeakers, rigged up all over the hostel, inside and out, Alan announced, "Breakfast! Now. Downstairs. For twenty minutes, you may get your breakfast. It's free."  We thought that was it, but he continued, "Breakfast! Free, but only if you come now. Good morning."  And then, "Breakfaaaast is Seeeeeerved."  It was more than we could take.  We packed our stuff and tried to leave.  Hagar was one step behind Michael.  Michael managed to escape, but for the second time that day Alan managed to capture Hagar in a riveting, if not frightening conversation about the un-safety of New Zealand.  This is how it started.

A: do you know where you're going?

H: Just... driving around

A: This is what you have to do. Whenever you think of parking your car to take a walk, don't do it. Turn around from the car park, clear your odometer, drive exactly a kilometer back up the road. Hide your bags under bushes and MAKE SURE no one is looking or following you.

H: (to herself) Help me, Michael.

M: Hagar? Oh god, I've lost her.

A: (five minutes later) ... everyone thinks New Zealanders are angels but I'm the one who has to break the news that their lax discipline has created a monster.  We should learn from our Asian neighbors, and hit these sick criminals on the bum with bamboo to teach them a lesson. (He really said these things).

The ferry was cancelled due to nine-meter swells, but we didn't find out till that night that one of the craziest storms in the Cook Straits in twelve years was going on under our noses.  We had to stay at Downtown backpackers which was not a nice place.  First of all, our room smelled like a pile of mossy, wet socks, balanced by the overpowering smell of lemon-fresh pine scent covering up smoking butts someone threw into the air-conditioner.  Next, we are too trusting.  How could we not listen to Alan?  Ach, we are ashamed.  We should have hidden our food a kilometer up the road under some bushes.  Here is what was stolen (we have been progressively finding more things missing, so this list is a work in progress):

1. half-eaten bag of rice

2. half-eaten box of cereal

3. three cans of beans

4. can of soup

We've calculated the total value of these items at about seven New Zealand dollars.  That's US$3.50.  That's even without the discount factor applied to half-eaten food.  What kind of travelers save money by stealing other people's half-eaten food?  We suspect it's Alan's dog.  He ate from the compost pile.  Our cereal should be good enough for him.  He followed us all the way to the youth hostel, found our box of food among the hundreds in the kitchen, and placed them all in a shopping bag provided by Alan.  We are guessing that as we speak, Alan is munching on our "Light and tasty" Sanitarium-brand, fruity cereal with baked beans.

The next day, we couldn't take any more of Wellington and drove two hours away from Alan, saw some sheep, slept, and came back.  There was one highlight: kebabs.

If you've been to Kiwiland, you'll know about kebabs.  They're everywhere.  But here's what we found from a scientific interview conducted by ourselves with the kebab shop owner in Masterton, New Zealand.  There are about 150 Turks in NZ and about the same number of kebab shops.  Why?  "Because all us Turks own kebab shops."  He actually claimed that Turks in NZ don't do anything else but run kebab takeaway places.  He even invited his brother to come to Masterton and take over his Kebab shop.  He's a tricky fella; what his brother doesn't know is that there are more sheep than people in Masterton.  Not by a ratio of five to one, either.  We personally counted 5,482 sheep and 38 people, which, even accounting for a 58% margin of error in our study, gives a ratio of a lot to a little.  Ok, seriously, Masterton is a one-horse, one-street town, and everything closes at 4:45 promptly, except the kebab shop which closes at the late hour of 7 p.m., "or whenever people stop coming." 

Enough about kebabs.  We took the ferry the next day.  Hagar threw up (she was the only one, too.  everyone else fell silent and read their books.  Incredible resilience to high waves...), and we arrived at Picton that afternoon.  We drove to Nelson, slept there.  We left the next morning without our three-quarters-eaten peanut butter.  Another casualty to the horror that is untrustworthy fellow travelers.  That wily dog.  Must be a good swimmer. 

From Nelson we drove to Abel Tasman National Park, but didn't actually drive in as we only realized later.  Farewell Spit at the northernmost tip was beautiful, but what was more beautiful was the "wearable art" we ran into while asking for directions to a hostel that a couple of hitch-hikers we picked up couldn't find after all.  The wearable art was scary.  Imagine huge gourds.  Painted blue.  That supposedly fit on your arms and head.  Yikes.  We were told by the artist that people don't actually WEAR the wearable art, but that it is wearable.  Next time you see us walking around with an original Picasso as a hat, you'll know why.

We did find the hostel by the way, which was a shack.  None of us believed that we found it, but the next-door neighbor insisted that was it.  We took one look at the broken shopping cart among the garbage heap of the front yard and were thankful that we had no time to stay.  Our hitch-hiking friends had time, and we had to drive away turning our cold hearts from their plaintive whimpers as the dust from the car covered those who labor with no hope of a shower.  We went to the beach.

It was cold on the beach, and we had 6 more hours of driving.  We talked to a local about fishing, and shillings and pence and kilograms vs. pounds.  Then we chased some sheep, took a picture, and screeched away.  We ended up in Westport in the absolute last room available, thanks to a truly last-minute cancellation.  We found out upon arrival that that weekend was the annual Westport Marathon where 2,160 runners and their families came to try their luck.  The TV room was full of sleeping bags, the yard was full of tents, families were sent from the door crying, and we had a cute double bed with potpourri on the nightstand.  We suspect that Westport hired some marketing genius who thought to himself, "How can I get thousands of people to a place where there is nothing to see?  MARATHON!!!"  Really.  There is nothing there!  We went to a pub and watched five men embarrass their wives by singing along with "Free Falling" at the top of their lungs.  Hee.  Michael tried a handle of Red Dog (a mug of beer).  Hagar had a coke.  We quickly realized everyone was having fun and we were once again in the quiet corner.  We left and watched the Olympics Opening Ceremonies instead.

From Westport we drove down the coast to Franz Josef (the glacier town, not the man).  On the way we took pictures of rocks ("amazing limestone formations" which were actually pretty amazing) and some beautiful coastal scenery lined with rainforests.  We picked up two hitchhikers, chatted about fruit picking, dropped them off, and picked up another girl seconds later.  We have taken about six or seven hitch-hikers so far in New Zealand in our pint-sized Toyota Starlet (have you ever heard of the Starlet? We hadn't either, although a guy at the booking desk today laughed at us when we told him what car we had -- you can run up a hill faster than it can drive up. We know.  We tried.).  We're thinking of operating a shuttle service to compete with the major bus lines.  "H & M Bus Co: A Cozy Ride." 

We climbed the glacier yesterday and it was really great!  We got to crawl through a couple of clear-blue caves, Hagar slipped on her bum twice, Michael stumbled, and the guide laughed.  It was really fun, and we kept making the same joke over and over again.  "Hey Hagar! It's icy there, watch your step."  "Hey Michael! It's cold up here. ICE cold."  Ha.  Not so much.

Today we drove.  Well, Michael drove and Hagar slept, and we stopped on the way and took some pictures of animals and forests and huge enormous ferns they call "widow makers" because the ferns kill the tree they grow around and the dead trees used to frequently fall on married men.  Go figure.  We love it here, and the scenery is truly beautiful.  We're going to Norway tomorrow.  Well, actually, we're going to Milford Sound, but when we hear "fjords" we think Norway.  We'll let you know how it goes.

1. Travel tip of the week:  Discount tickets are really cheap as long as everything is going smoothly and world peace prevails.  If world peace ends, well, go with the safe around-the-world ticket.  Hard lessons in life.  We have to buy more tickets.

2. Travel tip #2: Bring your own can opener.  One of Michael's shirts is covered in tomato sauce. Don't ask.

3. Travel tip #3:  When its cold out, rent a blanket.

4. Travel Tip #4: Always save money, even if Hagar... I mean... wait, we mean, um.... yeah.

5. You will hear from us too soon!