Jenny's Trek Down Under

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!

I was greeted by a 6'8 bearded man claiming to be Jon, the lovely bloke who was incharge of the whole program. Now, in describing Jon I see it is only fit to describe the "vehicle" he picked me up in...the van was straight out of Little Miss Sunshine except it was white splattered in dirt and adorned with more tree-hugging stickers than known to man. Now back to Jon...a late 30's beanpole of a man with the attention span of a 6 year old and the hyperactivity of the dog from 'there's something about mary' tripping on speed...in other words he definitely makes things interesting. Within the first five minutes of knowing him he grabbed my hand and started running madly through the downtown of auckland hiding behind street corners and than breaking out into random bursts of skipping...and yes this is the man my life will be entrusted in for the next 5 months. Anyways after being picked up we headed to Circus Du Solei (or however you spell it) which I either was way too jetlagged or just not bright enough to understand what was going on...basically all I can remember was men in tights, some sort of jesus resurrection thing going on...oh and some tumbling. After the circus myself and the other 7 volunteers headed to dinner and a bar because we were trying to waste time before we headed to the campsite (where we would be illegally staying for the night.) The next morning we woke up at around 5 am in an attempt to leave the site before we were ticketed (and to think some of you thought this whole program wouldn't be legitimate? ha!) We ended up kayaking across the open sea to the Tiritiri island, a bird sanctuary where we would end up spending the next 4 days or so relaxing, hiking throughout the uninhabited island and swimming. There are no words to describe sitting atop of a rugged mountain surrounded by trees, all different sorts of exotic birds calling in the background, water surrounding you and the beautiful coastline of Auckland and some remote islands in the distance.
...to be continued...

Admist a constant stream of backpackers and friendly faces my almost lack of culture shock astounds me. After a seemingless quick flight on a journey that seems to have taken a lifetime to get to--I find myself unable to fully process the fact that I am finally here in New Zealand. The differences between NZ and the US are very apparent right off the bat, whether it's the "give way" signs instead of "yield" or the one dimensional storefronts that lack the sleek and modern day sophistication of most US Cities. But what really seems strikingly different to me is that at 8 am there is an almost surreal sereness that seems to permeate the morning city streets with only the occasional tetris, almost gameboy like noise signaling pedestrians to walk/not walk that jars the silence. I don't know exactly where I am in the scope of the city, but from where I sit the infamous sky tower sits behind me, a calm waterfront ahead and an earie, yet captivating coast line of jagged cliffs, exotic greens and occasional skyscrapers lies ahead. I feel like I'm sitting in tourist central with the sounds of luggage being wheeled over littered sidewalks and hoards of senior citizens toting fannypacks and adorned in wannabe outdoorsy attire that to the real outdoor enthusiast appears just a little too camoflauge and a little too overly pocketed. I am nervous about what's to come--I almost have to laugh when I think about just hw little I know about what I'm getting myself into--constantly finding myself spewing the overly vague "environmental conservation" answer in response to my constnat bombardment about what a young 21 year old girl is doing alone in New Zealand for 6 months. The smell of throwup wafting in the air--not so attractive, time to move spots! After perusing the storefronts along Queen St. I have found myself sitting on a bench in a quiet park tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city--where seagulls flock, unidentifiable birds aimlessly hop around and a cool breeze whips through the intricately bent branches. But alas, let me digress--yesterday or January 31, I spetn the night in what my mom described as the lap of luxury hotel--or at least that's what the oevrly staged picture online of the Hacienda hotel would have you believe. Between the 1970s vending machines, the 12 channel television selection and air conditioning that must have been stuck at 50 degrees--it was definitely a night to remember. The next day after a marathon of quality daytime television I booked it to the airport and with a backpack totaling near 60 pounds and twoc arryons a good 20pounds each--let's just say I gave new meaning to the idea of taking one's time. After going to the wrong Qantas terminal and having to wait until 5pm before I could check my bads--I was pretty beat. I'm not sure what it is abotu me, but old people tend to flock to me--in the chaos of going to the wrong terminal I somehow managed to become fast friensd with a group of 15 deserted Wichita, Kansas senior citizens (who had missed their earlier flight and wouldn't be taking off until the next day.) In between mindless chatter about past travels about why Africa isn't the slight bit appealing to a born again Southern Woman--I made a friend out of Ruby--or at elast that's what her tag said--she alter allerted me to the fact that her real name was Lucinda--talk about starting a friendship off on the right foot--honesty my ass! Then there was the late 20s something kiwi I befriended while waiting for the plane. She singlehandedly make me fall in love with the NZ accent--and although we spent a good 4.5 hours hanging out I can't remember her name, but I do know we both had ungodly awful passport photos and shared a common love and deep admiration for "intouch" "star" and "us weekly." On the flight I sat next to a middleaged English couple whose constant doting on one another and playful demeanors got me to thinking would I ever find a guy who could love me and actually enjoy spending 15+ hours on a plane next to me and act like there was nowhere else he'd rather be? Oh and side note--sitting in the aidle seat blows if you havea solid bladder--6 times count it 6 times, I was awaken from my blissful slumbers by the two bloked squirming to use the bathroom--and to that I say pure rubbish! Thankfully there was quality reality tv to sooth my irritations and distract me from the fact that for the next 6 months I will be sans the hills, eral world and girls next door. Already, off to go kill 4.5 hours before I meet up with my group and go to Circus Olay?