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Six weeks in and I'm just now finally unpacking. Prior to this week, I had mostly been living out of my backpack and using my closet and dresser as more of decorative pieces rather than allowing them to serve any real functional purpose. Something about moving into a room with barnyard animal curtains, a faded striped towel being used as a rug and a poster on the wall of the earth didn't exactly scream home sweet home to me. But alas, I finally made myself not only unpack, but put things in their places, organize my stuff and really settle in. For whatever reason these last 6 weeks I have been reluctant to fully unpack and make my room my own...maybe it was because I wasn't ready to fully own the direction my life was taking--okay enough psycho-babble...because let's be honest, I'm lazy and unpacking well is just not all that fun. Anyways, you'll be happy to note my room is painfully...I might go as far as say overly anally organized at the moment with even my damn q-tips having their proper place beside my toothbrush...seeing as how "t" follows "q" in the alphabet...okay, I'm not that bad...alright I lied I did spend a good hour the other day alphabeticalizing a 6 shelf spice cabinet.
Now quite a few people have asked me to describe the volunteer cottage. Well, let's just say I'm lucky enough to live in my very own salvation army/goodwill warehouse with couches in every shade and offbeat dated floral pattern, lazyboy chairs in turd colored brown that creak so violently when you shift in your seat and with cushions that have worn so badly that they could easily be mistaken for medieval torture devices seeing as how pieces of metal jut out from them. Oh and I musn't forget to describe the bookshelves loaded full of boardgames that have long been out of print and random electronics and books that you could've sworn only were publicized on late night infomercials--in other words Bethesda million dollar homes have nothing on this Chateau.
And finally little ol' Thames, the nearest town to the valley which has definitely grown to hold a special place in my heart these past few weeks. Walking down the streets of the city centre you feel like you are walking straight into an old western town with one dimensional storefronts that look like old movie sets and streets lined with stores like the christian bookshop, feed the children (who knew the infamous Larry Jones took shop up in my little town I call home) organic co-ops and the random gentlemans club and masonic stonecutters secret meeting houses. In other words I fit right at home here...more to come later.

After a week in the valley spent weeding, fixing the chicken run, taking down fences, cutting firewood, releasing trees and watering the tree nursery I was ready for a free day and our next trip. Instead of going into town like we typically do we opted to have a leisurely day full of vegging on the couch, playing scrabble (which mom will be happy to know I trounced my opponent 307 to 182,) some cranium and a round of movies I fell asleep during. Honestly, it might just be me, but the movie choices of these people are god awful...everything from 'the cubed' to 'serenity' to 'water' have all left me bored, asleep and wondering how can anyone really like science fiction. Although I shouldn't be quick to judge considering everyone has found my reading selections to be quite 'unique' to say the least. While most people can be found reading classics like '1984,' 'lord of the rings,' the 'graduate' etc. I have chosen a more specific genre called people who are disfigured, raped, abused, etc. and how they overcome all odds and live happy lives...oh and Bill Cosby's "Love and Marriage" which for some reason didn't win the pulitzer despite his laugh out loud commentary on love and you guessed it marriage. So, basically any chance of me becoming well versed in the literary classics is a lost cause.
Last Thursday we headed out to Rangitoto, a volcanic island that is the most recent and largest volcano of the 48 in the Auckland Volcanic field. The volcano is believed to have last erupted some 600 years ago and now the island remains covered in molten lava rock and sparse vegetation. We were lucky enough to spend the night on the island seeing as how only people with access to baches can stay overnight on the island. Baches are little huts/shacks that were erected in the 1930s with few if any basic ammenities. The last 10 years or so has seen many of the baches torn down in an effort by the Department of Conservation to preserve the land in its natural state...so basically only baches with living relatives of the original owners of the huts can still be used. This trip would also signify our last overnight before both Rachel and Owen departed from the group.
On the island we hiked to the summit of the volcano, but not before stopping at some amazing lava caves along the way. It would have been very easy to walk right past the caves seeing as how they so easily blended in with the other mounds of lava rock. With torches at hand we went about exploring the caves, crouching at times almost stomach to ground--crawling with the path ahead covered in rocks, pitch black exceet for the faint outline of the torch ahead. At some points the caves were tall enough to stand with stalagmite rock formations hanging from the ceilings. Crawling through the caves I felt like Indiana Jones on an exploration of the unknown in a maze of darkness and the echoes of rock crumbling underneath our flipflops and cobwebs illuminated in the light of our torches. At the summit there were breathtaking 360 degree views of all the surrounding islands--tiritiri included, the Auckland cityscape and if you squinted you could see the vague ouline of the whole coromandel peninsula, but what really made the hike memorable was being atop the summit at sunset with good friends.
The evening ended with us all sitting around a fire making twists (flour, water, jam concoctions...although mine looked more like burnt embers) and recounting traumatic childhood experiences and any poem we could remember...I like to think my beautifully delivered rendition of shel silverstein's 'sister for sale' really sealed the moment for all those involved.
Inside the bach there was a guest book where people had commented on their stays...which proved rather amusing if you were of the right frame of mind...between tales of 'george the dead, smelly, old, whaley whale,' sexual liasons and evil sticks...laughes were shared by all. The next day while everyone slept in I embarked on a trek to Wreck Bay to see shipwrecks that had amassed at the island--ranging from wwII ships, past steamers and iron hullers.
That evening we had about 4 hours to bum around Auckland. After a nice goodbye dinner we wandered over to the Lantern festival in Alfred Park in honor of the last night of the Chinese New Year. We were confronted with thousands of people predominately asians interspersed with the occasional tourist wearing a chinese bamboo hat. After a speech by the prime minister of New Zealand the festival commenced as the lights of all the different lanterns ranging from butterflies to frogs to mushrooms to spongebob squarepants lit up against the black stary night sky. It was strange walking through the hoards of people, surrounded by friends I have grown to really care about, yet all I felt was disconnected. Disconnected from myself, my surroundings and the people--maybe it was the looming goodbyes, maybe the feelings of transition in the valley to come or maybe just feeling a bit like a foreigner for the first time--whatever it was the feeling was hard to shake.

I can't say exactly when this running joke began in the valley, but somehow I have become Anna Nicole reincarnated. Anyone and everyone from Kevin the 72 year old, motorcycle riding, uncomfortably fringed jean shorts wearing local to Paul the 'hunky' retired organic farmer who has the best damn peaches and makes me look like a complete amatuer when it comes to whippersnippering...all seem to be on the valley's list of potential blokes to set me up with. Apparently, the guest list for my birthday (july 1st) is already well underway with Kevin, Paul, Carla (the crazy badmitton maori lady who thinks spandex can be dressed up or down and should be worn with everything) the old man at the ferry pier (with the cute little beret, tube socks, suspenders and a rather endearing habit of muttering to himself,) I would say Rosie my badmitton partner (but her and I seemed to have had a falling out when I let out all of my pent up rage on the shuttlecock only to hit her in the head and lose the point in the process,) oh and of course there is Cody and Maya the twin 6 year olds who spent the weekend at the valley and I somehow convinced them that there were robots in the rainforest who only came out if they were quiet, didn't move and didn't talk to me...and I am happy to report for a good 10 min. I was able to get the pesky buggers to stop throwing pingpong balls in my direction and doing ungodly things with playdoh. But enough about my love life anyways...

Cathedral Cove...for the longest time I couldn't quite place where I had seen pictures of this infamous tourist destination. Alas, it hit me...the toilet. Apparently, the poster on the door of the lieu picturing this giant white guitar-pic like shaped rock, crystal clear aquamarine water and a beautiful sandy beach was no longer going to be what bathroom daydreams were made of, but rather a leisurely Friday trip with the group.
The drive to the Cove took us along the coromandel peninsula coastline with switchbacks that caused your stomach to shoot right straight up into your throat, but the views of the water hitting the cliffs, tall kaori trees leaning over cobbled roads and what can only be described as rolling golden pastureland set the tone for the trip. My only complaint being that I got stuck with the 'bitch seat' the seat between the passenger and the driver where your bum is lodged up against the stickshift and your legs are cramped into an uncomfortable position against the dashboard...oh well, it was still worth it.
We had a picnic lunch before heading off on the 40 min. walk to the Cove. With our boogie boards in tow, my sunkissed skin and our surfer look well perfected...I felt like a real local or at least one of those chicks from 'Blue Crush."
The poster hadn't done the place enough justice--although it happened to be more touristy than many of the other destinations we have visisted to date, it was still nice to just feel normal for a bit and not so much like a dirty farmhand.
Between basking in the sun, attempts to boogie board on a waveless sea, I could not be any more content listening to the waves crash against the rocky shoreline. My reality--a hot day, gentle breeze, sun casting shadows on white/gray boulders, sun refracting off the water creating a blinding sparkle effect, cicadas and crickets breaking up the stillness of it all and me lying on the beach, fully taking in my surroundings and beaming at the notion of just how present I feel in my life for the first time in a long time.

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"