Jenny's Trek Down Under

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"

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!