This weekend was the Noho Marae, a weekend at the marae on the AUT campus especially for international students.
I had absolutely no idea what to expect, and even after it, I can't really explain it. Basically, I made a ton of new international friends, ate my weight in delicious food from around the world, lost my voice because of singing so much, and had an incredible time. Experiencing the culture is really the only way to learn about it; a weekend at the marae was more valuable than the three weeks of my Maori studies class.
Twelve of us watched the Olympic Opening Ceremony on Friday night (Saturday morning... it was streamed live here, so it started at midnight). Let me just say that watching such an epic world event with representatives of eight different countries was possibly one of the coolest experiences ever.
Photos from the marae are here.
The BU kids didn't stay on the marae Saturday night because our "bus tour of Auckland" was rescheduled for August 10. Like most things about my BU Intern Abroad Program, I really had no idea what the vague field trip entailed because itineraries are essentially nonexistent. I just knew the trip ended in a wine tasting, and that's fine. I also knew Joe was taking us, and he's a fantastic tour guide, so I knew I wanted to experience it.
Joe driving most of us in the famous nui tea waka and Kevin bringing two girls in his car, we traveled ten minutes to Mission Bay, a popular little beach that I had yet to visit. It was 9:30 in the morning and some twentysomethings were bumpin' some tunes from their sedan and drinking beers on the sand... Perfect.
From the beach, we drove toward Mount Eden via the most expensive street in Auckland. Mount Eden, the highest point in the Auckland area at 196 metres above sea level, is actually a volcano. Burning tires really makes it look like it's erupting, just in case you're looking for a good prank to pull.
From there, we drove through West Auckland, where my new favorite guilty pleasure Outrageous Fortune is set. The show centers on a family of Westies, people from this relatively lower-class suburb, and propones some fantastic stereotypes: teenage mothers, deadbeat dads, stoners with mullets who like to fix up old cars while listening to Metallica...
We stopped at my favorite place in NZ so far, Lake Wainamu, a fantastic freshwater lake surrounded completely by black sand. In the peripheries, green mountains frame this weird natural beauty. The BU kids, with as much energy as scarily small dogs, spent the afternoon throwing themselves as far as they could off a 70-degreeish slope, landing softly in sand. I partook, though I'm less extreme. Still fun, though. Rush of adrenalin for sure. Sand in my underwear is uncomfortable, though.
We walked through an ankle-deep river to Bethells Beach, a saltwater body with a huge riptide and some cool caves to explore.
Completely soaked, cold and sandy-- appropriate for a wine tasting-- we caravaned to Coopers Creek Winery in Kumeu and sampled 12 New Zealand wines. Though the tasting was the only thing I knew about the trip going in, it wasn't the highlight. The entire day was enjoyable; the wine was merely icing on the cake.
Link to photos...
We were back at UniLodge by 5:30, and Bonnie, a Jersey girl from the BU group, contacted our mutual friend Allison, a Jersey girl I know because she goes to UVM. Allison was part of a traveling study abroad program in Australia this summer and had a stopover in Auckland before heading back to New Jersey, so the three of us had dinner at a superb fast(ish) food restaurant, and caught up with one another. It was definitely an interesting outing; Bonnie and Allison are friends from a summer high school program and hadn't seen one another in three years, I know Allison as a friend of a friend, and Bonnie and I only met three weeks ago. We all have traveling in the Southern hemisphere and living in the northeastern United States in common, though, so it was a nice evening full of nice conversation.
Today I started at Rip it Up; in fact, I'm at my desk right now. I got here at 9:30, set up my computer on Satellite Media's network, and then "got to work." My main job for now is the maintain the news for the mag's website, and the morning news was already posted by the time I got here. I snooped around on some major music websites looking for something newsworthy for this afternoon when my boss emailed me a press release about an upcoming Kiwi Christian rock festival, so I blurbed that up and emailed it to the web maintainer. Now I'm just waiting for it to be posted, sometime around 3 pm.
I made delicious curry chicken salad last night, sort of by experimentation, with plain yogurt, raisins, apples, dried apricots and cashews. Brought that to eat here, so I took a long lunch in the delightfully mod kitchen in the office, and now... I'm updating my blog.
I would feel guilty if I were being paid.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Today has been delicious.
I got a package from my parents yesterday, which included not only five skeins of yarn and ALL my knitting needles, but also my dad's FRENCH PRESS COFFEE POT!!! I can be sufficiently caffeinated once again!!
You see, this country doesn't do coffee the way I do. Don't get me wrong-- Kiwis do coffee very well. Almost too well. I get sneered at for ordering an "Americano," a cup of filter-drip coffee, in any given cafe (even Esquires, almost Dunkonian in its ubiquitousness in Auckland). (I should mention there is at least one Dunkin' Donuts and at least two Starbuks in this city; I am proud to say I haven't entered either franchise.)
Because I tend to avoid overtly expressing my American-ness as often as possible, I have embraced the espresso Kiwis love so very, very much. Frankly, I see the attraction. A steaming flat white definitely makes my morning. But I can't keep dropping $3.50 NZD every time I want some coffee, and in all honesty, the small, one-shot cup isn't nearly as satisfying as the bottomless cups of black liquid that have been constant in my life since I was 16.
I would buy a percolator if I could find one over here, but like I said, the New Zealanders don't approve. And therefore, they don't sell them.
I mentioned my coffee qualms to my dear parents in passing, early in my arrival here, but I was hardly expecting them to help me out in any way other than providing a sympathetic ear. But those generous souls plopped that French press in a box and shipped it across to Pacific. So gracious!
Before I brewed my first delicious pot, though, I had to go to the ridiculously named Foodtown to get some ground coffee. I was planning on making this trip today anyway; I'm going to bake cookies! After class and a relatively productive hour in the AUT library (it's no Durick, that's for sure), I entered my apartment, yelling to my roommates about baking supplies before I was fully inside.
"I don't think we have a cookie sheet... but I'm goin' to Foodtown if you want me to pick one up!" offered Jennifer, in the Georgian accent I've actually become quite fond of.
"I'm going to Foodtown too!" I was actually really excited about the prospect of food shopping with my roommate. Though we get along incredibly well, she and I don't hang out very much.
So, I waited for her to finish plucking her eyebrows and applying her facial bronzer (I really think it's because we don't have that much in common), and then Jennifer and I grabbed all four reusable grocery bags (I got them to recycle, too!!!) and headed out the door.
I wasn't going to buy any produce, because I prefer giving business to the Tai Ping Trading Co. Ltd., but I broke down and bought some voluptuous New Zealand tomatoes, thinking mouth-wateringly of the jar of pesto I bought during my last Foodtown excursion.
After a really adorable hour of sharing a cart with my blond roommate, we walked back to "the place to live while you study,"and I made a delicious, easy version of Randy Long's famous summer salad with pasta, basil pesto, tomatoes and fresh Parmesan. SO GOOD!
Now it's time to whip up those vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies, of which my mother is The Queen. A little taste of home for the Noho Marae weekend!
You see, this country doesn't do coffee the way I do. Don't get me wrong-- Kiwis do coffee very well. Almost too well. I get sneered at for ordering an "Americano," a cup of filter-drip coffee, in any given cafe (even Esquires, almost Dunkonian in its ubiquitousness in Auckland). (I should mention there is at least one Dunkin' Donuts and at least two Starbuks in this city; I am proud to say I haven't entered either franchise.)
Because I tend to avoid overtly expressing my American-ness as often as possible, I have embraced the espresso Kiwis love so very, very much. Frankly, I see the attraction. A steaming flat white definitely makes my morning. But I can't keep dropping $3.50 NZD every time I want some coffee, and in all honesty, the small, one-shot cup isn't nearly as satisfying as the bottomless cups of black liquid that have been constant in my life since I was 16.
I would buy a percolator if I could find one over here, but like I said, the New Zealanders don't approve. And therefore, they don't sell them.
I mentioned my coffee qualms to my dear parents in passing, early in my arrival here, but I was hardly expecting them to help me out in any way other than providing a sympathetic ear. But those generous souls plopped that French press in a box and shipped it across to Pacific. So gracious!
Before I brewed my first delicious pot, though, I had to go to the ridiculously named Foodtown to get some ground coffee. I was planning on making this trip today anyway; I'm going to bake cookies! After class and a relatively productive hour in the AUT library (it's no Durick, that's for sure), I entered my apartment, yelling to my roommates about baking supplies before I was fully inside.
"I don't think we have a cookie sheet... but I'm goin' to Foodtown if you want me to pick one up!" offered Jennifer, in the Georgian accent I've actually become quite fond of.
"I'm going to Foodtown too!" I was actually really excited about the prospect of food shopping with my roommate. Though we get along incredibly well, she and I don't hang out very much.
So, I waited for her to finish plucking her eyebrows and applying her facial bronzer (I really think it's because we don't have that much in common), and then Jennifer and I grabbed all four reusable grocery bags (I got them to recycle, too!!!) and headed out the door.
I wasn't going to buy any produce, because I prefer giving business to the Tai Ping Trading Co. Ltd., but I broke down and bought some voluptuous New Zealand tomatoes, thinking mouth-wateringly of the jar of pesto I bought during my last Foodtown excursion.
After a really adorable hour of sharing a cart with my blond roommate, we walked back to "the place to live while you study,"and I made a delicious, easy version of Randy Long's famous summer salad with pasta, basil pesto, tomatoes and fresh Parmesan. SO GOOD!
Now it's time to whip up those vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies, of which my mother is The Queen. A little taste of home for the Noho Marae weekend!
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
What should we call that land to the north? ...How 'bout the Northland?
My study abroad group traveled to the Northland last weekend with Tracey, our Maori studies professor, and Joe, who co-founded the travel company GOOT.
We left the UniLodge around 11:30 and 11 of us (plus Joe) piled into te nui tea waka, the 12-passenger van that was our main vehicle for the weekend. The two other girls and Kevin and Tracey took Kevin's car and followed us up North, probably thinking Joe was an awful driver because he kept making the car "dance."
Matt was sitting shotgun (on the left, of course, because this country is backward), playing DJ with everyone's iPods (only not mine, because I don't have one). The music was very well-selected indeed and made for a fantastic ride. Joe also had a microphone attached to his visor that he brought down and used to tell us stories as we passed through the northern suburbs of Auckland. Both Tracey and Joe are experts on like, everything New Zealand, so that was really cool. We definitely learned a lot; it was almost like Matthew and his guidebooks were right there with me <3
We stopped at a beach called Smugglers' Cove, which I loved for purely Vermont reasons. It was incredibly beautiful, and secluded; in fact, it's called Smugglers' Cove because that's where whiskey was smuggled into the country during times of prohibition.
It is winter, yes, but it's still beautiful. We charged it. Mike jumped in. I touched the Pacific Ocean for the first time! Just absolutely gorgeous.
After about an hour of shell-collecting, dipping of toes, throwing the Frisbee, and generally being amazed at the beauty this world has to offer, we headed back toward the van for another beach.
Ocean Beach, just five minutes from Smuggs, is famous for its surf. We got there about dusk, and there were maybe seven people catching waves. It was really fun to watch! There was huge sand dune at the beach that the BU kids reveled in scaling and racing down... something I'd rather just watch. I collected more shells, including a St. Mike's-colored one :o)
When the sun really started sinking, we headed back to the van to drive the last hour to Paihia. If traveled straight, Paihia's about four hours North of Auckland. It's a small town, but it's made its mark being the gateway to the Bay of Islands. We would be lodging there both nights.
Upon arriving at the Saltwater Lodge, we were welcomed with a huge barbie of steak, chicken sausage, homefries, chips, salads... So good! Even if they didn't cook us a veritable feast, the Saltwater Lodge is the nicest hostel I've ever stayed in. Highly recommended to anyone who travels to Paihia. We ate as a group then headed upstairs to play some games before hitting up one of the many bars within walking distance. Really, a backpacker's haven.
Amanda taught us Psychiatrist, a game where the entire group shares one ailment and the psychiatrist has to diagnose us by asking us questions about ourselves. It took Matt a long time to figure out we were all the person to our left-- mostly because he had no idea how to play the game and we unfairly threw him into the position of psychiatrist. He's a good sport, though. I was the psychiatrist next and it took me awhile to figure out that everyone hated me when Amanda's legs were crossed, but they loved me when she uncrossed them. It also necessitated a thick skin... Kevin called me a bitch! I (perhaps unfairly) taught everyone The Game, and now we're game players for life. Aaaand you all just lost the Game.
Around 9:30, we headed out to the Salty Bar, which is part of the same building as our hostel (though, unfortunately, we did have to go outside...). The bad weather never came; in fact, the sky was as clear as I've ever seen it. It was actually more beautiful than I've ever seen a sky before. More stars than I could fathom. So gorgeous in this Southern hemisphere.
The bar was fun; mingling with each other and some locals. I met a Kiwi boy who I spent the rest of my evening with... :o) We left the bar and stayed out on the beach until 3 in the morning, under that beautiful southern sky. He pointed out the Southern Cross! So perfect. I'll probably never see him again, but it was a perfect night, so that's alright.
Photos of Day one here, for your viewing pleasure.
On Saturday we awoke and had breakfast in a fantastic cafe and then headed over to the Maritime Building in Paihia, to get ready for our first taste of NZ Adventure Tourism! We donned the provided wet-weather gear (rubber pants and a jacket that smelled like it could give us MRSA), and the provided adventure glasses. Luckily, I brought my aviators... We looked cool. Believe you me.
The Excitor goes a maximum of 45 knots, and thrives on ocean swells. Friday's bad weather was coming on Saturday, so we had those swells it needed. I'm not prone to motion sickness, but the Excitor seemed determined to test that. Thankfully, I didn't actually vom, but it was almost uncomfortable. Also, despite the sweet rubber suits, salt water managed to sneak in and awkwardly dampen my clothes (my lap? Really?). And next time I see the Bay of Islands, I might want a more informative/calm tour... I feel like the Excitor didn't provide for much in that department. But, it was definitely worth it, though, for the experience alone.
We got off in Russel, the town that used to be called "the Hellhole of the Pacific," because of the reputation of whalers, sailors and traders coming into the country. Drink and loose women were their favorite things, and Russel provided those for them. Since those colonial days, though, Russel has turned itself around and is now a cute oceanside town that's probably more hoppin' in the summer, but was still a nice place to visit. We toured the Pompallier House, New Zealand's oldest Catholic building. At one point, it was a mission house, a tannery, printshop and bindery to spread the Catholic Word to help native Maori bypass the heathen Church of England. It's now run as a museum, though the tannery, printshop and bindery still function, they're for tourism and educational purposes. We got to see how it's all done, which was kind of creepy, because I've never really thought about leather being actual animal skins. Ew.
We headed back to the Saltwater via ferry and I cooked pasta with pesto for Matt, Mike and myself. I wrote 16 pages in my personal journal, and then we went out as a group to another bar 12 steps away from the hostel to watch the All Blacks annihilate Australia. Joe wanted us all to get into the game-- even those who couldn't otherwise care less-- so he put every player (Blacks and Oz) into his hat and had us all choose two. If one of our players scored one of the first four tries, he'd buy us a drink. Needless to say, we all cared a lot about what was happening on the big screen. Unfortunately for the BU kids but fortunately in the grand scheme of things, Woodcock scored two of the first four tries, so Mike scored the first two free drinks. Typical.
It was a really fun night of group bonding, though, and that's all that really matters.
Sunday we went to the Waitangi treaty grounds, which was cool, because it put a little perspective and clarity on all Tracey has been teaching us in class. No doubt it will help for tonight's test...
The drive home was broken up along the west coast at Haruru Falls and in the Waipoua Kauri Forest. The kauri tree was prominent all over New Zealand until people discovered it was strong and sturdy, perfect for building waka (what a piece of work is man). It also has incredibly delicate roots, which is weird considering they're the most dominating tree in the forest, growing meters taller and wider than anything even close to it, so even stepping on ground around the trees weakens and even kills them. When the board of conservation discovered that all the kauri were being killed, they sectioned off this bit of forest and allowed for regrowth. Now, the Waipoua Kauri Forest is a hugely dense piece of land that's almost like a rainforest in climate. It houses Tane Mahuta, the largest (they say.) tree in NZ, which is overwhelmingly massive, but is actually not the largest tree in the country. There exists a larger kauri somewhere in the reserve, but it's not as famous as Tane, so Tourism NZ just says Tane is. We wanted to go looking for the bigger one, but Tracey said we'd get lost. She was probably right.
We stopped in Opononi for lunch and were going to go sandboarding, but the guy refused to take his boat out (something about bad weather again), so we just ate delicious fish & chips on the edge of the ocean.
Driving down the west coast of the North island was quite different than our ride up. The west coast is overwhelmingly Maori, and overwhelmingly poor. It was full of natural, physical beauty, juxtaposed against small, run-down shacks that probably house families of seven or eight. Dead cars are a prominent lawn decoration because car farming is a main source of income-- in the undeveloped west, there aren't many places that will tow a broken-down vehicle, so you can pay to leave your car in someone's yard. Quite different than any life I see in Auckland, that's for sure.
See the rest of the weekend's photos here.
As we descended the country, Auckland slowly began welcoming us back. We crossed the Harbour Bridge as the sky darkened, and the Sky Tower really is a beautiful city landmark, I must admit. After a fantastic weekend, I guess it was nice to be back.
We left the UniLodge around 11:30 and 11 of us (plus Joe) piled into te nui tea waka, the 12-passenger van that was our main vehicle for the weekend. The two other girls and Kevin and Tracey took Kevin's car and followed us up North, probably thinking Joe was an awful driver because he kept making the car "dance."
Matt was sitting shotgun (on the left, of course, because this country is backward), playing DJ with everyone's iPods (only not mine, because I don't have one). The music was very well-selected indeed and made for a fantastic ride. Joe also had a microphone attached to his visor that he brought down and used to tell us stories as we passed through the northern suburbs of Auckland. Both Tracey and Joe are experts on like, everything New Zealand, so that was really cool. We definitely learned a lot; it was almost like Matthew and his guidebooks were right there with me <3
We stopped at a beach called Smugglers' Cove, which I loved for purely Vermont reasons. It was incredibly beautiful, and secluded; in fact, it's called Smugglers' Cove because that's where whiskey was smuggled into the country during times of prohibition.
It is winter, yes, but it's still beautiful. We charged it. Mike jumped in. I touched the Pacific Ocean for the first time! Just absolutely gorgeous.
After about an hour of shell-collecting, dipping of toes, throwing the Frisbee, and generally being amazed at the beauty this world has to offer, we headed back toward the van for another beach.
Ocean Beach, just five minutes from Smuggs, is famous for its surf. We got there about dusk, and there were maybe seven people catching waves. It was really fun to watch! There was huge sand dune at the beach that the BU kids reveled in scaling and racing down... something I'd rather just watch. I collected more shells, including a St. Mike's-colored one :o)
When the sun really started sinking, we headed back to the van to drive the last hour to Paihia. If traveled straight, Paihia's about four hours North of Auckland. It's a small town, but it's made its mark being the gateway to the Bay of Islands. We would be lodging there both nights.
Upon arriving at the Saltwater Lodge, we were welcomed with a huge barbie of steak, chicken sausage, homefries, chips, salads... So good! Even if they didn't cook us a veritable feast, the Saltwater Lodge is the nicest hostel I've ever stayed in. Highly recommended to anyone who travels to Paihia. We ate as a group then headed upstairs to play some games before hitting up one of the many bars within walking distance. Really, a backpacker's haven.
Amanda taught us Psychiatrist, a game where the entire group shares one ailment and the psychiatrist has to diagnose us by asking us questions about ourselves. It took Matt a long time to figure out we were all the person to our left-- mostly because he had no idea how to play the game and we unfairly threw him into the position of psychiatrist. He's a good sport, though. I was the psychiatrist next and it took me awhile to figure out that everyone hated me when Amanda's legs were crossed, but they loved me when she uncrossed them. It also necessitated a thick skin... Kevin called me a bitch! I (perhaps unfairly) taught everyone The Game, and now we're game players for life. Aaaand you all just lost the Game.
Around 9:30, we headed out to the Salty Bar, which is part of the same building as our hostel (though, unfortunately, we did have to go outside...). The bad weather never came; in fact, the sky was as clear as I've ever seen it. It was actually more beautiful than I've ever seen a sky before. More stars than I could fathom. So gorgeous in this Southern hemisphere.
The bar was fun; mingling with each other and some locals. I met a Kiwi boy who I spent the rest of my evening with... :o) We left the bar and stayed out on the beach until 3 in the morning, under that beautiful southern sky. He pointed out the Southern Cross! So perfect. I'll probably never see him again, but it was a perfect night, so that's alright.
Photos of Day one here, for your viewing pleasure.
On Saturday we awoke and had breakfast in a fantastic cafe and then headed over to the Maritime Building in Paihia, to get ready for our first taste of NZ Adventure Tourism! We donned the provided wet-weather gear (rubber pants and a jacket that smelled like it could give us MRSA), and the provided adventure glasses. Luckily, I brought my aviators... We looked cool. Believe you me.
The Excitor goes a maximum of 45 knots, and thrives on ocean swells. Friday's bad weather was coming on Saturday, so we had those swells it needed. I'm not prone to motion sickness, but the Excitor seemed determined to test that. Thankfully, I didn't actually vom, but it was almost uncomfortable. Also, despite the sweet rubber suits, salt water managed to sneak in and awkwardly dampen my clothes (my lap? Really?). And next time I see the Bay of Islands, I might want a more informative/calm tour... I feel like the Excitor didn't provide for much in that department. But, it was definitely worth it, though, for the experience alone.
We got off in Russel, the town that used to be called "the Hellhole of the Pacific," because of the reputation of whalers, sailors and traders coming into the country. Drink and loose women were their favorite things, and Russel provided those for them. Since those colonial days, though, Russel has turned itself around and is now a cute oceanside town that's probably more hoppin' in the summer, but was still a nice place to visit. We toured the Pompallier House, New Zealand's oldest Catholic building. At one point, it was a mission house, a tannery, printshop and bindery to spread the Catholic Word to help native Maori bypass the heathen Church of England. It's now run as a museum, though the tannery, printshop and bindery still function, they're for tourism and educational purposes. We got to see how it's all done, which was kind of creepy, because I've never really thought about leather being actual animal skins. Ew.
We headed back to the Saltwater via ferry and I cooked pasta with pesto for Matt, Mike and myself. I wrote 16 pages in my personal journal, and then we went out as a group to another bar 12 steps away from the hostel to watch the All Blacks annihilate Australia. Joe wanted us all to get into the game-- even those who couldn't otherwise care less-- so he put every player (Blacks and Oz) into his hat and had us all choose two. If one of our players scored one of the first four tries, he'd buy us a drink. Needless to say, we all cared a lot about what was happening on the big screen. Unfortunately for the BU kids but fortunately in the grand scheme of things, Woodcock scored two of the first four tries, so Mike scored the first two free drinks. Typical.
It was a really fun night of group bonding, though, and that's all that really matters.
Sunday we went to the Waitangi treaty grounds, which was cool, because it put a little perspective and clarity on all Tracey has been teaching us in class. No doubt it will help for tonight's test...
The drive home was broken up along the west coast at Haruru Falls and in the Waipoua Kauri Forest. The kauri tree was prominent all over New Zealand until people discovered it was strong and sturdy, perfect for building waka (what a piece of work is man). It also has incredibly delicate roots, which is weird considering they're the most dominating tree in the forest, growing meters taller and wider than anything even close to it, so even stepping on ground around the trees weakens and even kills them. When the board of conservation discovered that all the kauri were being killed, they sectioned off this bit of forest and allowed for regrowth. Now, the Waipoua Kauri Forest is a hugely dense piece of land that's almost like a rainforest in climate. It houses Tane Mahuta, the largest (they say.) tree in NZ, which is overwhelmingly massive, but is actually not the largest tree in the country. There exists a larger kauri somewhere in the reserve, but it's not as famous as Tane, so Tourism NZ just says Tane is. We wanted to go looking for the bigger one, but Tracey said we'd get lost. She was probably right.
We stopped in Opononi for lunch and were going to go sandboarding, but the guy refused to take his boat out (something about bad weather again), so we just ate delicious fish & chips on the edge of the ocean.
Driving down the west coast of the North island was quite different than our ride up. The west coast is overwhelmingly Maori, and overwhelmingly poor. It was full of natural, physical beauty, juxtaposed against small, run-down shacks that probably house families of seven or eight. Dead cars are a prominent lawn decoration because car farming is a main source of income-- in the undeveloped west, there aren't many places that will tow a broken-down vehicle, so you can pay to leave your car in someone's yard. Quite different than any life I see in Auckland, that's for sure.
See the rest of the weekend's photos here.
As we descended the country, Auckland slowly began welcoming us back. We crossed the Harbour Bridge as the sky darkened, and the Sky Tower really is a beautiful city landmark, I must admit. After a fantastic weekend, I guess it was nice to be back.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Women of Auckland, TELL ME YOUR SECRETS
For the 13th day in a row, it is raining in Auckland. (I exaggerate; it didn't rain last Friday.)
I decided to wear cute (though still comfortably sensible) shoes today instead of my usual nerdy rubber boots. Though very practical, the boots make me feel like a touristy dork. They are also a hand-me-down from my brother six years ago, if that's any indicator on their level of style.
I'm usually okay with looking like a touristy dork, but I wanted to make a good impression in my first Magazine Journalism class today. Most of my journalism classes have been predominantly female, but magazine journalism is especially so: 3 men and 21 women, not including my professor. Even the men make me feel like I should consider wearing make-up to class (not to impress them but to compete with their beauty). And of course, they're all Kiwi, and tall, and sassy, and skinny, and beautiful, and apparently, water resistant!
You see, even after 13 days, I still don't have a knack for not entering class looking like I just got sunk in a dunk tank. I always arrive just on time, huffing and puffing, shoes squeaking (even the cute ones), jacket dripping. After I remove my fogged-up glasses and awkwardly dry them on my undershirt-- the only garment I'm wearing that's not soaked--while making a lot of noise, I can see people trying to ignore me as I effectively take up three desk spaces with all the stuff I find necessary to carry with me all day, not to mention my two sopping jackets. Once I'm finally settled in, the lecturer has inevitably began speaking and I realize I don't have a pen in hand, so I spend a few more minutes making noise before I actually get to take any notes.
What is the secret, you beautiful non-Americans? I suppose I could gain a few inches by adopting your style of wearing heels to class, but I can't even fathom that. How do you do it? Walking in heels is a necessary evil-- I understand that beauty is pain and it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for special occasions (New Year's in Munich, hurricane rains for Prom). But to class? I commend you. I admire you. I want to know how it's done.
Women in this city have individual styles for certain, but most girls favor short dresses over leggings or tights with towering Maryjanes, Victorian-chic, kitten-heeled ankle boots or flat-yet-clicky, knee-high leather boots. Very few of them wear raincoats, donning instead slouchy sweaters or cropped blazers. Though most of them carry umbrellas, they honestly seem to repel the precipitation. But with AUT situated on a hill, and rain 20 hours a day, I can't imagine not breaking an ankle or even just putting a run in my tights on a daily basis.
I wear the same jeans every day, some boring and scrubby t-shirt, my brother's old boots, a fleece or a hoodie, and my lifesaving rainjacket that shines constantly form rainwater. Even if I did carry an umbrella, I would be identifiably streets away as a small-town American girl.
Good thing they can't see very well though the sheeting rain.
Or have they overcome that, too?
I decided to wear cute (though still comfortably sensible) shoes today instead of my usual nerdy rubber boots. Though very practical, the boots make me feel like a touristy dork. They are also a hand-me-down from my brother six years ago, if that's any indicator on their level of style.
I'm usually okay with looking like a touristy dork, but I wanted to make a good impression in my first Magazine Journalism class today. Most of my journalism classes have been predominantly female, but magazine journalism is especially so: 3 men and 21 women, not including my professor. Even the men make me feel like I should consider wearing make-up to class (not to impress them but to compete with their beauty). And of course, they're all Kiwi, and tall, and sassy, and skinny, and beautiful, and apparently, water resistant!
You see, even after 13 days, I still don't have a knack for not entering class looking like I just got sunk in a dunk tank. I always arrive just on time, huffing and puffing, shoes squeaking (even the cute ones), jacket dripping. After I remove my fogged-up glasses and awkwardly dry them on my undershirt-- the only garment I'm wearing that's not soaked--while making a lot of noise, I can see people trying to ignore me as I effectively take up three desk spaces with all the stuff I find necessary to carry with me all day, not to mention my two sopping jackets. Once I'm finally settled in, the lecturer has inevitably began speaking and I realize I don't have a pen in hand, so I spend a few more minutes making noise before I actually get to take any notes.
What is the secret, you beautiful non-Americans? I suppose I could gain a few inches by adopting your style of wearing heels to class, but I can't even fathom that. How do you do it? Walking in heels is a necessary evil-- I understand that beauty is pain and it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for special occasions (New Year's in Munich, hurricane rains for Prom). But to class? I commend you. I admire you. I want to know how it's done.
Women in this city have individual styles for certain, but most girls favor short dresses over leggings or tights with towering Maryjanes, Victorian-chic, kitten-heeled ankle boots or flat-yet-clicky, knee-high leather boots. Very few of them wear raincoats, donning instead slouchy sweaters or cropped blazers. Though most of them carry umbrellas, they honestly seem to repel the precipitation. But with AUT situated on a hill, and rain 20 hours a day, I can't imagine not breaking an ankle or even just putting a run in my tights on a daily basis.
I wear the same jeans every day, some boring and scrubby t-shirt, my brother's old boots, a fleece or a hoodie, and my lifesaving rainjacket that shines constantly form rainwater. Even if I did carry an umbrella, I would be identifiably streets away as a small-town American girl.
Good thing they can't see very well though the sheeting rain.
Or have they overcome that, too?
Monday, July 28, 2008
Photographs, round 1
I finally bought batteries for my camera, so photos are available for any and all to have a gander!
Most are toolishly of my apartment, but there are some nice ones of things I walk by everyday.
Enjoy!
Most are toolishly of my apartment, but there are some nice ones of things I walk by everyday.
Enjoy!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The Loft
This yoga studio is literally 30 steps from my apartment building and I want to go to classes soooo baaaadly, but the required class for BU kids runs Monday-Thursday evenings, 5-8 pm.
What did I do to deserve such bad karma?
Thankfully, the class ends August 14, so I'm definitely going to yoga after that.
What did I do to deserve such bad karma?
Thankfully, the class ends August 14, so I'm definitely going to yoga after that.
Bibliophile? Me?
So, I finally made my Auckland City Libraries account yesterday.
I discovered the Central City Library a few days ago and went in, but couldn't open an account because I had no proof of address. I finally got my electricity bill (joy), so I finally can prove I'm not just taking a day trip.
On that first day, I immediately fell in love with the library. It's about 12 steps from my school, so that's convenient, and it features three floors of beauty. The entrance floor includes fiction, children's, and other such collections, as well as a cafe, many magazine racks (of course they have Time), and a huge DVD collection. Venture upstairs for nonfiction, including self-help books, cookbooks, language books... etc., a vast CD collection, and SHEET MUSIC FOR BORROW. Also, computers line both floors and internet use is free (though to bring your own laptop and use their wifi is $10 NZD/hour!!! Which is out of control!). The top floor is the reference floor, which is chock-a-block full of Maori collections, local history, genealogy (whakapapa, in Maori) resources, etc. SO COOL. I was gushing to Jane Cain and she told me most good libraries have such a floor, but I haven't experienced it, and I think it's pretty damn cool.
So anyway, I scoped out the building when I first came upon it, so yesterday I went for the sole purpose of utilizing it.
I presented the volunteer with my passport, photo ID and proof of address.
"Are you studying here for a year, then?" He asked, in his Kiwi accent.
"No, only a semester."
"Oh..." he said, in a disheartening way. He asked to see my student visa, so I flipped to that holographic page in my passport.
"January, then?" He asked.
"Uh, yes," I said, even though I'm only here until November.
"That's good; an account just has to be for a six-month minimum." He passed me the paperwork, I filled it out, and he handed me my shiny new library card. I got to choose which design I wanted, the old library building or the Sky Tower. I chose the Sky Tower, so I guess I'm not that irrationally obsessed with libraries.
Thank God my visa extends past the time I leave, and thank God I came in as early as I did in my visit here. I would be lost and weird without the public library.
Then, the librarian gave me a spiel on how to use the resources the library has to offer and I must admit, I'm a little miffed.
For one, they charge a 30c/day overdue fee per overdue material. Perhaps I'm spoiled with my home connections to libraries and that's why I never pay fees, but neither the C/W MARS system nor Durick charge fees for books unless they're lost. But, I can deal with that. I'll just have to return things on time. I don't see that as being too problematic, anyway; I plan to use the library a lot.
But moreover, it's $5/week to borrow DVDs! Isn't the nature of a library that you BORROW things, for FREE? CDs are $2/week, audiobooks are $3 for four weeks, and the What's Hot collection, which includes bestsellers, new material, etc. ranges from $2-$5 to borrow for a week. Hmph.
Also, if you have a librarian renew a book, there's a $1 charge. If you request some material someone has out already, there's a $1 charge. If you request a material from another Auckland City Library, there's a $1 charge.
So, humbug! I'm obviously still going to use their services. But... again I'm feeling nickeled and dimed in this country, and again I'm that much more grateful for everything I take for granted at home.
Something I don't have at home, though, is a huge collection of New Zealand fiction. I borrowed this book yesterday called A Short History of Paradise by Kiwi author Norman Bilbrough, which I chose based entirely on its cover art. That it's about tramping hippies in NZ starting a commune and growing a dope forest is just an added bonus.
I discovered the Central City Library a few days ago and went in, but couldn't open an account because I had no proof of address. I finally got my electricity bill (joy), so I finally can prove I'm not just taking a day trip.
On that first day, I immediately fell in love with the library. It's about 12 steps from my school, so that's convenient, and it features three floors of beauty. The entrance floor includes fiction, children's, and other such collections, as well as a cafe, many magazine racks (of course they have Time), and a huge DVD collection. Venture upstairs for nonfiction, including self-help books, cookbooks, language books... etc., a vast CD collection, and SHEET MUSIC FOR BORROW. Also, computers line both floors and internet use is free (though to bring your own laptop and use their wifi is $10 NZD/hour!!! Which is out of control!). The top floor is the reference floor, which is chock-a-block full of Maori collections, local history, genealogy (whakapapa, in Maori) resources, etc. SO COOL. I was gushing to Jane Cain and she told me most good libraries have such a floor, but I haven't experienced it, and I think it's pretty damn cool.
So anyway, I scoped out the building when I first came upon it, so yesterday I went for the sole purpose of utilizing it.
I presented the volunteer with my passport, photo ID and proof of address.
"Are you studying here for a year, then?" He asked, in his Kiwi accent.
"No, only a semester."
"Oh..." he said, in a disheartening way. He asked to see my student visa, so I flipped to that holographic page in my passport.
"January, then?" He asked.
"Uh, yes," I said, even though I'm only here until November.
"That's good; an account just has to be for a six-month minimum." He passed me the paperwork, I filled it out, and he handed me my shiny new library card. I got to choose which design I wanted, the old library building or the Sky Tower. I chose the Sky Tower, so I guess I'm not that irrationally obsessed with libraries.
Thank God my visa extends past the time I leave, and thank God I came in as early as I did in my visit here. I would be lost and weird without the public library.
Then, the librarian gave me a spiel on how to use the resources the library has to offer and I must admit, I'm a little miffed.
For one, they charge a 30c/day overdue fee per overdue material. Perhaps I'm spoiled with my home connections to libraries and that's why I never pay fees, but neither the C/W MARS system nor Durick charge fees for books unless they're lost. But, I can deal with that. I'll just have to return things on time. I don't see that as being too problematic, anyway; I plan to use the library a lot.
But moreover, it's $5/week to borrow DVDs! Isn't the nature of a library that you BORROW things, for FREE? CDs are $2/week, audiobooks are $3 for four weeks, and the What's Hot collection, which includes bestsellers, new material, etc. ranges from $2-$5 to borrow for a week. Hmph.
Also, if you have a librarian renew a book, there's a $1 charge. If you request some material someone has out already, there's a $1 charge. If you request a material from another Auckland City Library, there's a $1 charge.
So, humbug! I'm obviously still going to use their services. But... again I'm feeling nickeled and dimed in this country, and again I'm that much more grateful for everything I take for granted at home.
Something I don't have at home, though, is a huge collection of New Zealand fiction. I borrowed this book yesterday called A Short History of Paradise by Kiwi author Norman Bilbrough, which I chose based entirely on its cover art. That it's about tramping hippies in NZ starting a commune and growing a dope forest is just an added bonus.
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