Feb 2007

This simple life has not only humbled me, but made me that much more appreciative of the sounds and sights of everyday life that commonly go overlooked because we are so focused on the next song to play on our ipod or not getting hit by a car as we cross the crowded streets of suburbia.
The other day we got a chance to explore our 'backyard' a bit by setting out on a hike to Mt. Tararu. Trekking there was like walking through an undiscovered, strange moss-covered rainforest with so much vegetation overgrowth that walking in any sort of logical upward path was damn near impossible. Vines covered the forest floors making each step a calculated chess move as one maneuvered their way through this untouched land of magestic beauty.
It's funny to think that right behind our volunteer cottage lies a world of history, where many miners dwelled, toiling away at the land in hopes of making it rich, but now the old growth forest has shrouded any last lurking remnants of these pioneers in moss and mystery. The view at the top of the mountain gave a clear overlook of the sea, table mountain, the pinnacles and some other unidentified mountains in the distance, but it was really the calming sounds of nature in it's most pristine state that struck a cord with me. Between the squish of mud under our hiking boots, the faint and at times jarring buzz of tropical insects or the rustle of a bush or twigs breaking conjuring up images of some wild boar or goat just around the bend that left an imprint on my mind.
The last couple of days I have spent a fair amount of time whippersnippering away at the weeds and plants that threaten to take over the mile long driveway up to the cottage. Who would have thought a metal rod with a shard blade whizzing around at top speeds could bring so much satisfaction. When I'm in the "zone" as I like to call it, whippersnippering away I feel like nothing can get in my way as I once again assume my role as 'thistlebuster" not to be confused with the popular movie series "ghostbusters' although I must admit that I too have a theme song "vaguely" resembling the one in the movie.
Most of my project work recently has been spent with Rachel, my roommate and fellow Jewish American. Now, I'm trying to think of a nice way to describe Rachel...she is not only the most optimistic person I have ever met, but she is a wide eyed and grinning 6 year old trapped in a 19yr old body. Rachel is the type of girl who would not only volunteer to shovel goose poop, but would be happily humming along to disney theme songs in the process. Point in case, the other day while working she decided we should play a game where we weave a children's story out of three different words suggested to us by the other person. Rachel's choice of words were bumble bee, light switch and princess...mine were shit, ass and crap...for some strange reason I don't think we are thinking on the same wavelength. It's funny though the more I talked to Rachel the more I realized thank god I'm not a Pollyanna. She told me how for the first 16 years of her life she thought she didn't have emotions and that if her own mom and dad died she didn't know if she would even cry. So, I ask myself what's better, a life of numbed contentment or a life full of real vivid color evoking passion, fury, anger, hurt, sadness, joy--emotions in their rawest and truest form? No contest, I'd relive my teenage angst all over again any day.
So, I got my first real taste of Thames nightlife on Monday and Tuesday--we're talking badmitton and yoga with the locals. Owen, Rachel and myself opted to checkout the free weekly badmitton practices at the high school only to discover we were way out of our league. Dressed in some running pants and a t-shirt I felt ready to relive my high school gym class glory days as queen of the shuttlecock, but alas I was in for a shocker. Our 'competition' was in the 50-70yr old age range and fully equipped in the latest badmitton protective gear--we're talking elbow and knee pads as well as protective eyewear and personally monogrammed badmitton racquet cases...I had a scrunchy...the game was on. Rosie, my partner in the first round of matches had glasses that were thicker than they were wide, a lazy eye and a serve that would give Andy Roddick a run for his money and I, well I had the scrunchy don't forget...needless to say we were massacred, but not before I got a chance to whiff the shuttlecock so many times that I had to actually feign a deadly attack of mosquitoes as to not look like a complete fool.
On Tuesday night a few of us made our way down to the local high school yet again, but this time for a rousing session of yoga. I didn't have a yoga mat so I brought my sleeping mat--somehow the 4 inch wide thickness and ridges didn't seem to scream novice or anything. Between the sexual moans of older women trying to get into positions that their bodies had long given up on getting into and the release of the body's natural gases...I was hooked.
Today is a free day which will be spent planning my adventures in the South Island seeing as I have gotten the greenlight from Dagmar and Jon to take the whole month of April if need be and explore the South. Tomorrow we will be off to the Coromandel Penninsula to have a leisurely day on the beach at Cathedral Cove. Till next time...
P.S. I am officially hooked to the English cult classic television show "Black Adder"

Nothing makes you think more about your own mortality than watching a poor helpless duckling get near pecked to death by a swarm of hungry chickens. As I pulled thistle weed after thistle weed--just grubbing along with my grubber, the "pecking of the duckling," was already fast underway. I started to panic and before I could even process what was going on Owen, or my very own superman as I like to think of him (minus the whole cape, chiseled abs, spandex and widows peak,) swooped down from the upper chicken coop and in one fluid motion rescued the now shaking, ruffled feather black duckling. I am happy to report the little guy is back to his normal mischevious self which entails regularly getting caught sneaking into the hand dug sewers and proudly romping around in the new duck pond.
The mornings here bring mixed emotions for me--the barking of the new zealand cattle dogs at the signs of first light begin my slow wake from my nightly slumber. At around 7, the first sound of volunteer alarms go off, followed by a continual pushing of the snooze button, doors creaking open and the scamper or more like thud of hiking boots against the wooden floors as one after another books it to the bathroom and finally the opening and closing of cabinets and the soft morning mumblings of hellos all around. Now the mixed emotion comes from the fact that with the excitement of what new task each day will bring also comes the dread of what new muscle in my body I will discover for the first time as daily ache and pain have become a typical part of the experience.
I forgot to mention somehow I have been pegged with the nickname Jen of Hope, light and joy whereas the other Jen, a 25 year old self proclaimed asexual hermit, anime enthusiast is Jen of Doom and Darkness. SO you can imagine my surprise when I was first greeted at the bus depot some two weeks ago by that title and yes the first thing that came to my head was dear god what hippie retreat have I accidentally gotten myself into and second boy are these people in for a shocker if they actually think I am to live up to this title.
Another random anecdote took place yesterday while driving back from Hamilton in the Little Miss Sunshine van, sandwiched between Dagmar, the crazy german driver and Jen, the trekie. So, began a discussion of what this whole hush hush pest control project looming in the near future would entail. What I found out can only be described as not so dreamy. The whole setting up traps to catch stoads, rats,possums, etc. I get because these invasive species are causing more damage on the land than good, but what I don't get was Dagmar's response to my followup question of what do you do if while collecting/setting up traps you stumble upon a wild boar. To this she replied the typical make yourself as big as you can--put your hands in the air and start barking like a dog response--but then was quick to say how her last two dogs had been killed and eaten by the pigs--so somehow I don't think I will be howling into the moonlight if I come face to face with miss piggy and all her friends. The last bit of advice this sage of a woman imparted upon me was to run like hell and climb a tree, but most likely there wouldn't be any trees I could climb--so basically long story short not only will I not be having bacon for the next 6 months, but I will be more than likely eaten by a pig--oh joy! stay tuned...

These last three days were spent rockclimbing in Castlerock, a quilted, hilly, landscape of farmland that is rumored to be the best place for rockclimbing in all of new zealand. Driving up the winding roads to Castlerock with cows and sheep on either side,one finds themselves caught completely offguard when out of nowhere interesting volcanic rock formations appear out of the otherwise what can only be described as typical English farmland scenery--although a bit hillier from what I hear. Upon arrival our "lodging" for the night was temporarily unavailable...why you might ask? Well, two words alrighty make that four words--shearing of the sheep. So, the posh place we would be staying for the night was nothing more than a barn...nothing says 4 star accomodations like maggots and random bits of wool. Now, personally the only climbing I have done was in 7th grade at Acadia National Park and even then it was only chimney climbing and nothing "serious." So, to say I was a bit out of my league with the climbing we encountered here would be an understatement--the "easy" climbs of the day were on the American scale 5'10s which are hard moderate to easy difficult--and I have the bloodied blistered hands to prove that they more than lived up to their grades. On the second day of climbing I opted out a little early to go for a walk to Lake Atamaturi and by walk I mean a 30 km stroll. Unlike the rest of my group, something about being in this country makes me never want to sit still--I just constantly want to be on teh go exploring every inch I can by foot--I don't want to just drive by the scenery--I want to know what the grass feels like between my toes, the smellof the fresh wildflowers blowing in the wind, or what it feels like to look eye to eye with a herd of cows and try my best to reclaim the road from them with my fierce intimidation skills. It's funny everytime I asked for directions along my walk I was constantly bombarded with the are you hitchiking question...as outdoorsy of a place New Zealand is I guess walking is unheard of. With the sweltering heat of the summer sun beating down my neck and now overly freckled face taking a swim in the lake was beyond refreshing. Swimming in that lake, without a soul in sight was indescribable. Between finding myself swimming through heaps of seaweed,almost quicksand like dirt lining the lake bottom and the distant sounds of cows in heat echoing off the mountainside I felt completely at peace. Today was spent climbing and further exploring the countryside. It's funny what a couple of days can do for changing one's perspective--if you had asked me to describe the other volunteers I would have probably said it's like living in a bad brady bunch episode where everyone is so overly optimistic and wholesome you might just want to shoot yourself--but then again a climbing trip and being holed up in a barn can make for some interesting stories and people's real personalities start to surface. I've probably bonded the most with this 18 year old girl named Pippa...not to be confused with pepper...which I had made the mistake of calling her for the first week or so. She is taking a year off before Uni and is pretty damn passionate about nature and politics--but not in that free-love, dreadlocks, armpit hair kind of way. Tonight we will be spending a couple of hours in Hamilton to get some real grub and than back to the valley where farmlife resumes...till then all the best!

Unlike the rest of the volunteers I made the "smart" decision to walk down the mountain into town...in other words a good 2 hour walk where the steepness of the trail left my brain rattling against my skull, but the views of the stream cutting the canyon walls, the exotic rainforest plants of every shape and color green imaginable lining my walk and the blistering sun beating down on my neck made the trek worthwhile. I got into downtown Thames around 10am and was greeted by the usual hustle and bustle of the saturday morning market place where vendors were selling anything from organic, hippie, tree-hugging soaps, lotions and spices and your typical antique dealers, to your meat pies, lamp chops and mounds of sweets. Inside I was beaming at the thought that as I mindlessly strolled down the colorful awning lined streets that I was blending in with the locals--a real kiwi, yet only to have that dream cut short when I realized the huge LAX to AUCK airport tag I had on my backpack was freely flowing in the wind for all to see. Let me back track a little...I have had two full days of working out in the field. The last couple of days have been filled with "releasing the trees" in other words it's a nice way of tricking innocent volunteers into thinking you are about to engage in some sort of religious rebirthing experience, setting the little trees back into the wild...well, not quite it was more like a bunch of weeding and mulching, but you do have to admit calling it "releasing" does have a nice ring to it, eh? So between weeding and mulching a good hundred chestnut trees in the morning we headed back to the bunkhouse for lunch. Let me just say never in my life have I cooked like I'm cooking here...we're talking two hour meal prep time for both lunch and dinner. Cooking here is a real ordeal...without an oven and only solar power and wind power running the kitchen you have to be rather resourceful and creative when concocting different recipes...and making them completely vegetarian and able to meet the different dietary requirements of 7 other people as well, doesn't help make the job any easier. In the afternoons so far we have been working in the orchards picking fresh zucchini, carrots, cucumbers, apples, oranges, tomatoes, etc. and gathering up eggs from the chickens and clipping their wings, as well as tiding up the general area. Being in the orchards has brought back memories of my days working on the organic farms in Ohio...although these orchards are on a much smaller scale in size, yet somehow manage to have more chicken, geese and duck poop than thought humanely possible. Somehow all of the other volunteers remain fairly clean all things considered yet I continue to come back night after night caked in mud, crap and with random bits of twigs and leaves in my hair and thistle galore all over my clothes--what a gift I have, I know...thanks mom and dad. The supposed gossip or backstory behind the valley is that Jon (the 6'8 bearded founder) and Dagma (Miss Frazzle, the german cofounder) had been a serious item for a good 8 years while they started up the Tararu valley sanctuary only for them to breakup, Jon to start dating a young 20 something volunteer (although Jon's off the market he wasn't jewish anyways, so don't be too sad mom.) While Dagma spent a year travelling met some local kiwi a couple of months ago aka Mike (the buff asian man) who quit his job as a high paying architecht and came to live at the sanctuary...talk about quite the interesting love triangle. After I finish a couple more errands around town I'll be headed back to the valley for dinner. Later this evening we will head back in to Thames where I will get my first real taste of kiwi nightlife, wish me luck or at least a "cheers!"

It's around 7 am and I find myself awake alone in the living room of the shared bunkhouse all the volunteers reside in. Normally we would all be up by now, scarfing down some breakfast and getting ready to head out into the rainforest for two 4 hour shifts of work, but alas after not getting into the valley until a little after 11 last night they have afforded us the rare opportunity of getting to sleep in. It was amazing to wakeup this morning and get my first real glimpse of the valley and where I will be spending the next 5 months seeing as it was too dark out last night to get any real sense of what the valley looked like. Last night as our van drove up the steep, ever-winding, bumpy "road" to the valley inbetween thoughts of 'i hope our van loaded with kayaks (filled with seaweed nonetheless) and about 1000 pounds of gear and people doesn't topple over' all I could think was I've arrived...this is it and I couldn't have felt anymore at ease at the notion of the direction my life would be taking for the next 6 months. It's funny how many people told me how easy my transition would be considering it is an English speaking country--apparently they didn't realize English through the mouths of the British, Germans and New Zealanders sounds a heck of a lot more foreign to me than Spanish..between all the knickers, blokes, cheers, watles and sippers I find myself nodding my head, smiling and relishing in the fact that for once I'm not the only one who appears to make no sense. I can't get over just how friendly New Zealanders are and how if you show the least bit of acknowledgement of them, a nod of the head, a smile you are most definitely guarenteeing yourself an hour long conversation consisting of their life story, some random anecdote about America and 'the hood' and ending with both of you feeling a bit more connected and the world a friendlier place (and yes just like Miss America, I too want world peace.) The volunteers range in age from 18 to 25, three from England and two from the U.S. (myself included.) There are also the three leaders which consist of Jon, Dagma (a red-haired German woman who reminds me of a younger Miss Frazzle or whatever her name was from the popculture 'classic' "The Magic School Bus,") and Mike (an overly muscle inflated short asian man who continues to whine about a jaw ache, but refuses painkillers on principle alone.) The hardest thing thus far about being here is that there is nobody who shares my same passion for trashy American popculture--to think these people actually want to talk about politics, the future of the environment and how they can make a difference. Personally, I'd much rather kick back and watch the latest Paris Hilton drama unfold. Till next time, cheers, chip chap cheerio, groovey, and all that other mumbo jumbo!