Heart of Wonder

I am battling my first kiwi cold. It is about as lame as Canadian ones. I have 5 more hours to get better. Early tomorrow morning we board the bus for Mount Aspiring. I am really looking forward to a scenery change. We (Scotty, Brian and I) will be accompanying a group of a few dozen boys on their week-long outdoor ed. trip to the school's lodge. There we'll take the boys out tramping, river kayaking, fishing, climbing and abseiling. The setting is supposed to be seriously picturesque and very remote. We will be without phone or internet for the week. I'm not even supposed to bring my ipod, but I will probably smuggle mine in. Music and nature go so well together.

Way up North, on the West Coast of the Southern Island lies Karamea: a remote farming settlement which lies between steep green mountains and deep turquoise surf. Cows feed on pastures set amongst palm trees and adorable little surf shacks line the narrow streets. Smiles crept across our faces as the relaxed, easy-going vibe came over us.

"Drive to the end of the road"


Maybe we should have listened a little better to his directions. We exchanged glances and shrugs as the pavement gave way to a narrow gravel road boardered by fields of cattle.

We kept going. Dead end. No road to get out except the one we came in on.

And here lies the world's most gorgeous campground. 

We pulled in at dinner time. Our car (that's a whole 'nother story) decided to stop in the middle of the driveway and would not restart for the life of us. I grumpily carried the tent to our site on my own and got swarmed by those blasted sandflies which made me even more grumpy. And then we realized we had no way to cook dinner (no communal kitchen way out here).  

I was ready to throw in the towel. I'm going to bed, I sighed.

It was so close.

But I listened to that little voice urging me to stop being a grump- all is not lost. 

Getting over a bad mood is so HARD. Some ugly little stubborn bitch (well, she is) inside of me self-righteously clutches that sour mood like a loaf of bread in famine. She's not my friend, and she wins far too often. When I don't let her win, her ugly sister, reluctance, is usually the best I get.

So me and reluctance rolled our eyes as we agreed to go see the beach. 

We popped out of the tree line onto this golden slab of sand that stretched southward as far as the eye could see. To the north, it ended abruptly in a towering rockface.

Reluctance made it about 10 meters on to the beach.

That little voice was right.

ALL IS NOT LOST. IT SO IS NOT.

We didn't have hot food, but we had wine, cheese, bell peppers and crackers.

And...this...view.

I really can't explain how beautiful this sunset in Karemea was. I can't describe the lightness I felt as I played in the foam. There was this little girl in me that came out. 

WONDER.

Do you remember the last time you were filled with wonder? The last time you just sat and watched something and just felt like you were watching magic unfold?

That's the little girl part of me that came out. That's what she brought. She was far more fun than those two ugly sisters.

And I was this close to throwing in the towel and heading to bed! 

I am hesitant to label something as my favourite place we've been to, but this spot- at the very end of the west coast roadways (no joke, we had to loop back a few hours to get to the top end of the island)- felt like our own little slice of paradise.

I have no clue how Jim and Sarah Badke (they visited the Satake's in January on a little 3 month Kiwi road trip of their own) discovered this place, but they assured us it was worth driving the twisty road, so far out of the way, only to have to drive out just the way we came.

There could be some life metaphors here.

Stuff your eyes with wonder ... live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. 

-- Ray Bradbury 

(source: Tentmaker)

Pish. Gaffaw.

Only 2 sports matter at Otago Boy's Hostel: Rugby and Cricket.

And the boys are very defensive about it. We (mostly Scotty) became quite the target. You wouldn't believe how many conversations start with "I don't get grid-iron [their word for American football], why do you need all those pads?" or "baseball doesn't make any sense, it's so boring" and then it is followed with all the reasons why either rugby or cricket is far superior.

Really?

I am not a sports girl. I enjoy going to a game here and there, but I don't get all the rules, my day is not really any different if my home team wins or not, and I lose interest even before the game has started if it's on TV. This goes for all sports.

I married a sport nut. He will watch anything. He is fascinated by the most mundane-looking sports (dart throwing). That passion has never passed on to me. Not even slightly. I don't hate sports either. I'll band-wagon jump, but even then, I don't get as swept up in them as I wish I could.

So I really believe I don't have any sort of bias. How can someone sit all day long watching cricket say that baseball is boring? They both are. Painfully. Or how can a Rugby player say that football is for wusses? Both are contact sports. I wouldn't go near either field. In fact, when I have watched Scotty's rugby games (when he played for Trinity Western), or when I have watched the high school football team he coaches- I stand way back. I feel so exposed standing right on the side line.

I realize they are different sports, but whether or not you play/watch one or the other is more a question of geography. North America has professional football and baseball. New Zealand has professional rugby and cricket leagues.

All this to say that Scotty has his first rugby match tomorrow. He had a practice game last Saturday. I was on duty so I couldn't go, but while I was having lunch, the other house masters started to grill me about Scotty. Everyone here believes that there is no way a Canadian could ever possibly play rugby. "Oh you wait til you get on the field, you're gonna get laid out." 

It's a mission. These Kiwi hostel boys (and house masters) need to prove they are bred tougher. They have a vendetta against North American sport (I think it's more about the massive funding US sport receives). You can't like both- you gotta pick a side (don't even ask about soccer- they say it's for fags).

(I must emphasize that this is the general mentality at the hostel only. Soccer is huge in other areas of NZ. These are prideful teenage farm boys who are a little more cookie-cutter than most).

But then he came back in one piece. He played center (which is like the running-back of rugby), and the housemaster who played with him was really impressed. He said that Scotty was actually really fast, and that be had a couple of good hits too. The disbelieving smirks turned to shocked wide-eyes.

He's left on the team bus this morning to play in his first official match in Balclutha. Hopefully he gets some field time (as some of the guys have played for the team for a few years), and can show them that a Canadian boy raised on football is actually cut from the same cloth as a kiwi boy raised on rugby. There's nothing to debate- there's room for everyone and their different size and shaped balls.

soccerballs cricketballs footballs basketballs rugbyballs poolballs baseballs softballs tennisballs netballs 

Meanwhile, On The Underbelly...

A lesson learned. If you see a petrol station in New Zealand, always stop. Top up your tank. Never assume there will be another station in the next 100 kms. There won't. Unlike Canada and the US- petrol isn't on every corner. Even in Dunedin. We drive down the hill and around the corner to the one gas station that I know of (no joke, a population of 120,000 and there is only a very modest handful... but again, I can only recall one station). 

We were in the process of learning this lesson en route to Invercargill. Our tank was dangerously low and the one station we came across was closed (because Sunday is still considered pretty sacred in NZ- lots of businesses are closed for the day, and the ones that are open- close by 2 or 3pm). Pay at the pump doesn't yet exist. 

WATER TOWER BUILT IN 1889.

We crawled into the station in Invercargill. Had it been much further into town, we would have had to rely on some of that legendary Kiwi kindness after walking 20 kms down a dirt road to the nearest farmhouse.

But we made it. 

Along the way, we spotted a few farm dogs whizzing through the fields on the back of their owners' quads. We were held up (much to both of our delight) by signs with pictures of sheep (or the word "sheep" scrawled across a scrap of wood), and witnessed a team of sheep herding dogs move hundreds of sheep from one field to another along the road (seeing those dogs work just makes my heart leap- such heroes). We even came up on a herd of cattle trotting down the road in front of a pick-up truck. The driver waved us past. The cows picked up their pace as we crept up on their side. It felt so funny (and yet I worried that we were scaring them at our rapid speed of 20 kms/hr). Scotty literally could have reached out the his window and smacked a couple of them on the rear.

SOUTHERNMOST "MACCA'S" IN THE WORLD... COMPLETE WITH A LONELY LITTLE PUBIC HAIR ON THE TABLE.

We looped the city and made our list of to-do/to-see for the following day before settling into our campground for the evening. I believe I mentioned the communal kitchens at the campgrounds here, but again, I emphasize my love for them. Not having to worry about a camping stove, dishes and a cooler. Brilliant. Plus, it makes camping a real community experience (for better or for worse). If germs scare you, there's dish soap and hot water- you can prewash your dishes before using them, but having worked in the restaurant industry- you really don't have to worry, the germs didn't kill you in that dish of food you paid $20 for, so they won't hurt you at the campground.

FURTHEST SOUTH STARBUCKS. I LOOKED FOR A MUG, BUT THERE WAS NOTHING SPECIAL- JUST A CHALKBOARD SIGN THAT URGED CUSTOMERS TO TASTE THEIR "DELICHUS STRAWBERRY FRAPPS"

We woke up late (thanks to the strategic placement of the tent by a tall, dense tree), and then headed into town for Macca's, coffee and a browse in the shops. I went a little mad at all the pretty things in this Turkish shop (Turkish cafes and coffee shops seem to be fairly common down here)- they even had this glass counter filled with fancy Turkish delights (I have developed a liking for these fragrant, rose-flavoured treats).

ONE OF BURT MUNRO'S HIGHLY MODIFIED INDIAN SCOUT MOTORCYCLES. IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN "WORLD'S FASTEST INDIAN"- IT'S WORTH A VIEW. IT'S PRETTY INSPIRING. YOU CAN NEVER GO WRONG WITH ANTHONY HOPKINS.

We tracked down one of the famous Indians in which Burt Munro broke numerous land speed records for a bike of that power. Then we found ourselves in a department store, the toy section specifically, dreaming about all the things we would buy for our precious little nephews and nieces if money wasn't an issue.

YOU CAN ONLY GUESS HOW BADLY I WANTED TO BRING THESE BACK FOR ALL MY FRIENDS.

THIS KIND OF "JUNK ART" IS ALL OVER NEW ZEALAND. I LOVE IT.

THE GATEWAY TO THE QUEEN'S PARK VIA THE TREE-LINED CORONATION AVENUE. EIGHT- ONE HECTARES OF BEAUTIFUL PICNIC SPOTS, ROSE GARDENS, A BIRD AVIARY, GOLF COURSE, CRICKET PITCH, ANIMAL ENCLOSURES, ART GALLERY, MUSEUM, JAPANESE GARDENS, DUCK PONDS, FOUNTAINS.... AND ON AND ON AND ON. 

 We blew the entire afternoon at Queen's Park. So much to look at. So many animals to delight in. And all for free? This hardly happens anymore.

"YOU CAN LEARN A LOT OF THINGS FROM THE FLOWERS, FOR ESPECIALLY IN THE MONTH OF JUNE. THERE'S A WEALTH OF HAPPINESS AND ROMANCE, ALL IN THE GOLDEN AFTERNOON" I AM ALICE IN WONDERLAND- AND I HAVE STUMBLED INTO THE FLOWER BED.

THE ROSE GARDEN FEATURED OVER 600 FLORABUNDA AND HYBRID ROSES. ALL HAVE DELIGHTFUL NAMES LIKE GARDEN PARTY, PRETTY LADY, LIVING EASY, SEXY REXY, AND GYPSY MOTH. 

Shortly after entering I sighed over how perfect the park would be for a picnic. If I lived here, I would make picnics my number one hobby. I might even start a club. There would be themes. It would be dreamy.

THIS IS SIMPLY WONDERFUL. I ADORE BOTH GLASS GREENHOUSES AND SUCCULENTS. 

A STUNNING LITTLE LORI IN THE AVIARY

THE BIRDS HAVE THEIR OWN SPIRAL STAIRCASE! THIS IS THE GREATEST NEWS! THEY LOVED PLAYING ON IT TOO.

Wandering through the aviary, we saw the cutest little flightless bird (slightly bigger than a humming bird) and it's teeny tiny chicksKakapo, or owl parrot- the world's only flightless parrot) make up a huge proportion of New Zealand's bird fauna.

And then there were deer, and pigs and ducks and chickens. Oh my.

I HAVE A THING FOR FAT PIGS

ONLY A TRUE ANIMAL LOVER SEES HOW DELIGHTFUL THIS FACE IS. HIS NAME IS WILBUR SMITH. HE WAS GIVEN UP BY A LOCAL DAIRY FARMER BECAUSE WILL LOVES HIS MILK AND HE CONTINUALLY BROKE IN TO THE MILK VATS TO FILL HIS BELLY WITH THE CREAMY STUFF. THEY COULDN'T KEEP HIM OUT BECAUSE HE WAS TOO SMART. NOW HE SPENDS HIS TIME FLATTERING THE VISITORS WHO REWARD HIS FRIENDLINESS (HE IS SAID TO BE MORE DOG THAN PIG) WITH FOOD (EVEN THOUGH IT IS FORBIDDEN).

After a few leisurely hours exploring the park, we spent the rest of the afternoon in the museum. After seeing the Tuatara, we found ourselves engrossed in the Ann Frank exhibition. We nearly got locked in the museum at closing time, and regrettably, we never even got to see the entire display, let alone the rest of the museum.

THE MUSEUM HAD THE ANNE FRANK TRAVELLING EXHIBITION. VERY MOVING. I WAS PARTICULARLY MOVED BY THE ABOVE PHOTOGRAPH. HER EXPRESSION. THE BODY LANGUAGE. SOPHIE SCHOLL WAS BEHEADED AT THE AGE OF 21 FOR TREASON. AS SHE WALKED TO HER EXECUTION, HER FINAL WORDS WERE "HOW CAN WE EXPECT RIGHTEOUSNESS TO PREVAIL WHEN THERE IS HARDLY ANYONE WILLING TO GIVE HIMSELF UP INDIVIDUALLY TO A RIGHTEOUS CAUSE. SUCH A FINE, SUNNY DAY, AND I HAVE TO GO, BUT WHAT DOES MY DEATH MATTER, IF THROUGH US THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE ARE AWAKENED AND STIRRED TO ACTION?" 

THE TUATARA. ENDEMIC TO NEW ZEALAND AND NOT A LIZARD, BUT RATHER, A DINOSAUR. THE TWO SPECIES OF TUATARA ARE THE LAST SURVIVING MEMBERS OF THEIR ORDER (WHICH FLOURISHED 200 MILLION YEARS AGO). HENRY HAS RECENTLY BECOME A FATHER AT 111 YEARS OLD (YES HE'S BEEN LIVING AT THE MUSEUM SINCE 1900). 

A MIGHTY FINE MASK

After the museum closed, we tracked down some Chinese takeaway and came back to the park for a picnic. JOYOUS!

We grabbed a spot by the emu and alpaca enclosure.

THE EMU WANTED SOME OF OUR CHINESE FOOD. WHO CAN SAY NO TO AN EMU?

CHINESE FOOD PICNIC IN THE PARK. THE FOOD WASN'T SO FLASH, BUT IT'S EVENINGS LIKE THIS THAT THE FOOD DOESN'T REALLY MATTER.

WE FED HIM OUR MUSHROOMS. THAT CAN'T BE THAT BAD RIGHT?

After our picnic, we spent the last few hours of daylight on Oreti Beach (just down the street from our campground). Other than a few small islands, the only thing standing across the expanse of water in front of us was Antarctica. Technically, there is a spot accessible down a dirt road and across a farmer's field that it the southernmost spot in New Zealand, but Oreti was close enough to the bottom of New Zealand for us.  Backed by sand dunes covered in soft yellow grass and endless stretches of flat wet sand that acted as a mirror to the blue skies and white puffy clouds above us- this beach was so stunning. I couldn't help but feel the vastness of it. I felt so tiny. Sometimes it's nice to feel tiny.

ORETI BEACH. 

BURT MUNRO'S RACETRACK. 26 KMS OF PERFECTLY FLAT SAND.

It is this beach where the man behind the world's fastest Indian tested his bike that broke numerous records. People still drive on this insanely flat beach, but people also get stuck (we happened upon a stuck car just as we arrived). I don't need to drive on a beach. I like feeling the sand on my feet, but I am sure it's fun.

AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CIVILIZED WORLD. 

DON'T YOU MISS HIM?

FORGET NOT THAT THE EARTH DELIGHTS TO FEEL YOUR BARE FEET AND THE WIND LONGS TO PLAY WITH YOUR HAIR.
Kahlil Gibran

I LOVE THE PETITE KIWI SEAGULLS AND THEIR WHITE EYES.

WE WERE THERE. ON THE BOTTOM END OF THE WORLD. I HOPE I DON'T FORGET HOW THE SUN FELT, THE SMELL OF THE OCEAN OR THE RUSH OF THE WIND AGAINST MY SKIN. 

HE IS MY HANDSOME. 

COULD THIS EVENING GET ANY MORE IDEAL?

I LOVE THE CHILD INSIDE OF HIM. HE FIGURED OUT THAT IF HE THREW HANDFULS OF SAND OUT IN FRONT OF HIM, THE HEAD WIND WOULD ALLOW THEM TO MOVE FORWARD FOR ONLY A MOMENT BEFORE GRABBING THEM, PAUSING FOR A SPLIT SECOND, AND THEN FORCING THEM BACK, UP OVER THE SAND DUNE. HE PRETENDED HE WAS CONTROLLING THE MOVEMENT LIKE A WARLOCK. 

We soaked in the last rays of light before heading back to our tent. The moon rose big and bright in the sky casting huge shadows from the trees surrounding the camp ground. A week after be left, a 5.7 magnitude earthquake hit just west of Stewart Island (a 15 min flight from Invercargill), and two more quakes rocked the southern most part of New Zealand that week (although no damage was reported). Is it strange that we felt a little ripped off? Because if you're gonna feel an earthquake, what better place than inside a tent in the middle of a field?

FULL MOON BEHIND THE TREES AT OUR CAMPGOUND. THE CLOUDS WERE MOVING SO QUICKLY ACROSS THE SKY THAT THEY LOOK BLURRED IN MY LONG EXPOSURE.

ABSOLEM? IS THAT YOU?