First off, let me just say that landing in LAX, especially after experiencing a stunning trip outside of America, is akin to having someone come up to you and hit you in the face with a shovel.
BAM!
Just like that. We have all been there, that smash of “shit,” and “ugh,” and “lost” that follows any vacation, especially if its one of those vacations where you allow yourself to think briefly, “Maybe I could move here and do this for a living!?”
The other amazing thing that happened to me upon arrival from New Zealand was that I raced through customs, through baggage claim, to the United Airlines front desk to check in for my flight to Denver only to find that the flight was rescheduled to leave 30 minutes EARLY. Has that ever happened to any of you? Of course I started to cry and the extraordinary thing about that was, for once, crying got me nowhere. Looking around me I noticed at least two other women crying as well. All of us confused, all of us passed along to another airline employee that held that gaze in his eyes, “Great. Another one.”
Eventually I was fine, I boarded the next available plane and landed in lovely Colorado no more than two hours late. But you know the greatest thing I think we all can do? Mind our P’s and Q’s. LAX is such a poor example of America (and keep in mind sometimes all a visitor sees), and its important to remember how far a please or a thank you will go.
The whole experience actually reminded me of the LAST TIME I have ever been to Walmart. In my defense, I was in the usual hurry and needed supplies for an oil change as well as a few groceries – yes, Walmart is the devil but it also has both! So, as I was negotiating my cart in and out of the aisles I was rammed repeatedly by over zealous mothers—the ones carting around huge heavy loads of everything along with two or three children. I kept saying, “Ah, sorry,” as if it were my fault. It took me awhile to notice that not a one said, “Its okay, no worries, excuse me.”
My horror escalated. In the grocery aisle I was moving slow and a regular Walmart shopper came careening around the corner, not looking, and smacked into the back of my heels! Holy mother! I managed to keep my composure…for one more minute…
On my way out of that hellacious aisle, limping, I was rounding the corner at the same time as an older man…in a motorized wheelchair—one of those yellow ones with the basket in front. He sat there, motionless, like a scared rabbit. Meanwhile the frustration and annoyance and unjustness of WALMART was seething and boiling in my very bones…and then…I burst.
“What are you going to do man!” I nearly screamed. “Are you going to just sit there!?”
I left minutes later, my groceries still stuck in aisle eleven. Perhaps the man stayed there too. I was so horrified by my actions that I left immediately, and vowed never to return. Walmart is a true energy thief—the place steals the good we try and suck up and absorb on the outside, and deposits it into the useless shit that lines the well stocked walls.
My experience at LAX was eerily similar. I will, of course, hope to return to LAX, if only for a brief respite before flying off to somewhere else.
Hope everyone is having a lovely Monday!
Laura
Monday, September 25, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
The things we crave.
Christchurch, NZ Sunday 9-11-06
Report from the South Island. Groggy and sore, these hostel beds creak in all the wrong places, the pillows not more than a case wrapped around a few fluffs of flat cotton. I woke today and realized, at last, that I am ready to go home.
Two days ago I left Kaikoura. Forgive me if I am not able to properly convey how that place, its people, the great mother whale and her baby, the mountains, affected me. But I think it’s because I don’t know how the experience has changed me, not yet, only knowing that it has.
Experiences. Change. These are things that I have come to accept as part of my desirous nature; things I crave in such abundance that traveling is one of the only ways to appease the hunger. I am excited to be back in Colorado, for all of the adventures awaiting this fall and winter and spring, but I am also excited to leave again…
Sitting outside, in the hostel spa on Friday night with Suzanne and another girl from London, we could feel the ache and pulse of the full moon even through the dense cloud cover; we could feel the presence of the mountains. I was thinking if I could take that moment, that simple moment of sitting in a hot tub on the east coast of New Zealand, with a few independently traveling women, women with dreams and aspirations and ambition, and share that with my own mother, father, brothers, my sister-in-law, my best friends. How I wished I could have transported you all there with me, for one moment. Maybe you would’ve felt what I did—that you would look back on that moment and think, always, “Yes,” but you would never have the words to describe it.
Every moment, of every day is like a “once in a lifetime” experience, probably because it is—these people, these places, these ideas, these memories…once in a lifetime. I realize the nature of my calling—teaching, writing—and how both of these endeavors put me more outside of myself than in. I spend a lot of my time functioning as a stranger to others, at least initially. But there is a reason it works for me, even if it becomes challenging and exhausting at times to interact with new people—those new people also bring new energy, and ideas, and hope.
I’m going to tell you one final story, I think, at least until I get back stateside and change the blog to reflect more daily adventures and ideas.
Friday morning I ran down to the beach to see, of course, if the whales were there. I took a loop through the small town that let me out onto the beach about 4km from the hostel. It was a beautifully, slightly cool morning, the waters flat as glass. An older man, with a bucket and fishing pole, was making his way up the rocky shore and I asked him if he had seen the whales. This became a common occurrence, people asking others, “Have you seen them?” He told me they were there, drifting in the bay, north. I stretched my gaze as far as I could see in that direction and sure enough I saw the baby breach once, twice. It was a fair bit of a walk to them and I thought I’d continue my run and then come back down later with a lunch and sit in the stones, watching, waiting.
John and I talked for a while. He was recently widowed and feared being alone. He moved to Kaikoura only a few months ago because he discovered that his good friend, Shirley, who he hadn’t seen or had contact with in 35 years, lived there. When he made contact with her he discovered that she was a widow as well. That sealed it. They are the best of friends, never lonely, and have one another to look after. His eyes sparkled when he talked about her. It was a very touching and thoughtful story and I appreciated John immensely for sharing it. We talked for ages about this and that. About how having friends to share tea and coffee with, and good conversation, are really the simplest most sought after things in life. I gazed out at the ocean. Just that morning Suzanne and I had had a few epiphanies about our own private lives over good conversation and good coffee (anything that isn’t instant has become like gold to me).
“I was just about to have some coffee,” John said. “You want one? Do you have to go?”
Did I have to go. I thought about this for a full minute. I actually had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nothing to do, I didn’t even bother to look at my watch but simply said, “I’d love to join you.” I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so liberated by the usual constraints of time. The only place I wanted to be was right where I was, sharing the morning and the experience with this man.
That was something that the whales did rather well: bring extraordinarily different people together. John had one of those cool camper vans (oh, how I want one!) that came rigged with a burner and sink and all the fixings needed to brew up a pot of boiling water. We leaned up against the camper, sipping coffee and munching on luscious bakery rolls (how glorious to have something other than noodles and soups!)
Others came down, asked us “Have you seen em today?” and before too long, a small groggy early morning crowd had assembled. We were mostly quiet, thinking our own thoughts, following the mist across the mountains, scanning the flat surface of the water looking for a strip of blackness. And then, suddenly, she was there. As if on cue. A Right Whale no more than one hundred feet away. I felt the shudder ripple through all of us.
I felt then that I was ready to leave New Zealand, that I could say good bye, that I could wrap myself around that morning as best I could so that I could remember how pure and easy it had come to me. Like the wind, or the moon, or the sunrise. If you wait, and listen, the subtly sweet hand of nature will show you something.
The whales fulfilled an ache in all of us, a void, and I wonder what that is. The first time I saw the whales I felt afraid—not since Alaska and a pod of frisky killer whales five years earlier, had I been that close to something so massive, a living, breathing animal. It became more than a mother and her babies playing, it was the most striking occurrence, and rare, that finally gave us all an excuse to say, “This is big, I can let everything else fall away, because this may never happen again. It’s important.” We were all given a temporary gift of timelessness.
And you all have given me a gift by sharing in this journey. I’m in the Christchurch airport as I write this, waiting for a flight up to Auckland. Tomorrow I head to LA and home and to friends and family, a cat, a job, and even a renewed faith in our country. I have met some good as gold Americans on my travels. I have also met a plethora of others that are trying to understand what goes on over there in America, I have gained a new perspective, and appreciation, for how the world sees us, and vice versa. When you strip away everything else—the colors of our flags, the resources in our soils, the intonations and accents, the various degrees of global warming in our cities and countries—we all want the same thing: to find happiness, to create it.
Stay tuned,
laura
Report from the South Island. Groggy and sore, these hostel beds creak in all the wrong places, the pillows not more than a case wrapped around a few fluffs of flat cotton. I woke today and realized, at last, that I am ready to go home.
Two days ago I left Kaikoura. Forgive me if I am not able to properly convey how that place, its people, the great mother whale and her baby, the mountains, affected me. But I think it’s because I don’t know how the experience has changed me, not yet, only knowing that it has.
Experiences. Change. These are things that I have come to accept as part of my desirous nature; things I crave in such abundance that traveling is one of the only ways to appease the hunger. I am excited to be back in Colorado, for all of the adventures awaiting this fall and winter and spring, but I am also excited to leave again…
Sitting outside, in the hostel spa on Friday night with Suzanne and another girl from London, we could feel the ache and pulse of the full moon even through the dense cloud cover; we could feel the presence of the mountains. I was thinking if I could take that moment, that simple moment of sitting in a hot tub on the east coast of New Zealand, with a few independently traveling women, women with dreams and aspirations and ambition, and share that with my own mother, father, brothers, my sister-in-law, my best friends. How I wished I could have transported you all there with me, for one moment. Maybe you would’ve felt what I did—that you would look back on that moment and think, always, “Yes,” but you would never have the words to describe it.
Every moment, of every day is like a “once in a lifetime” experience, probably because it is—these people, these places, these ideas, these memories…once in a lifetime. I realize the nature of my calling—teaching, writing—and how both of these endeavors put me more outside of myself than in. I spend a lot of my time functioning as a stranger to others, at least initially. But there is a reason it works for me, even if it becomes challenging and exhausting at times to interact with new people—those new people also bring new energy, and ideas, and hope.
I’m going to tell you one final story, I think, at least until I get back stateside and change the blog to reflect more daily adventures and ideas.
Friday morning I ran down to the beach to see, of course, if the whales were there. I took a loop through the small town that let me out onto the beach about 4km from the hostel. It was a beautifully, slightly cool morning, the waters flat as glass. An older man, with a bucket and fishing pole, was making his way up the rocky shore and I asked him if he had seen the whales. This became a common occurrence, people asking others, “Have you seen them?” He told me they were there, drifting in the bay, north. I stretched my gaze as far as I could see in that direction and sure enough I saw the baby breach once, twice. It was a fair bit of a walk to them and I thought I’d continue my run and then come back down later with a lunch and sit in the stones, watching, waiting.
John and I talked for a while. He was recently widowed and feared being alone. He moved to Kaikoura only a few months ago because he discovered that his good friend, Shirley, who he hadn’t seen or had contact with in 35 years, lived there. When he made contact with her he discovered that she was a widow as well. That sealed it. They are the best of friends, never lonely, and have one another to look after. His eyes sparkled when he talked about her. It was a very touching and thoughtful story and I appreciated John immensely for sharing it. We talked for ages about this and that. About how having friends to share tea and coffee with, and good conversation, are really the simplest most sought after things in life. I gazed out at the ocean. Just that morning Suzanne and I had had a few epiphanies about our own private lives over good conversation and good coffee (anything that isn’t instant has become like gold to me).
“I was just about to have some coffee,” John said. “You want one? Do you have to go?”
Did I have to go. I thought about this for a full minute. I actually had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nothing to do, I didn’t even bother to look at my watch but simply said, “I’d love to join you.” I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so liberated by the usual constraints of time. The only place I wanted to be was right where I was, sharing the morning and the experience with this man.
That was something that the whales did rather well: bring extraordinarily different people together. John had one of those cool camper vans (oh, how I want one!) that came rigged with a burner and sink and all the fixings needed to brew up a pot of boiling water. We leaned up against the camper, sipping coffee and munching on luscious bakery rolls (how glorious to have something other than noodles and soups!)
Others came down, asked us “Have you seen em today?” and before too long, a small groggy early morning crowd had assembled. We were mostly quiet, thinking our own thoughts, following the mist across the mountains, scanning the flat surface of the water looking for a strip of blackness. And then, suddenly, she was there. As if on cue. A Right Whale no more than one hundred feet away. I felt the shudder ripple through all of us.
I felt then that I was ready to leave New Zealand, that I could say good bye, that I could wrap myself around that morning as best I could so that I could remember how pure and easy it had come to me. Like the wind, or the moon, or the sunrise. If you wait, and listen, the subtly sweet hand of nature will show you something.
The whales fulfilled an ache in all of us, a void, and I wonder what that is. The first time I saw the whales I felt afraid—not since Alaska and a pod of frisky killer whales five years earlier, had I been that close to something so massive, a living, breathing animal. It became more than a mother and her babies playing, it was the most striking occurrence, and rare, that finally gave us all an excuse to say, “This is big, I can let everything else fall away, because this may never happen again. It’s important.” We were all given a temporary gift of timelessness.
And you all have given me a gift by sharing in this journey. I’m in the Christchurch airport as I write this, waiting for a flight up to Auckland. Tomorrow I head to LA and home and to friends and family, a cat, a job, and even a renewed faith in our country. I have met some good as gold Americans on my travels. I have also met a plethora of others that are trying to understand what goes on over there in America, I have gained a new perspective, and appreciation, for how the world sees us, and vice versa. When you strip away everything else—the colors of our flags, the resources in our soils, the intonations and accents, the various degrees of global warming in our cities and countries—we all want the same thing: to find happiness, to create it.
Stay tuned,
laura
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Died and gone to Kaikoura
Sometime yesterday—Tuesday, the 6th of September, 2006—on my way by bus from Nelson to Kaikoura, I think, but I can’t be sure, that I must have died.
After 3 hours in the 12-seat minibus, I became so car sick that I half-puked in my mouth (I’m sorry, but it’s the truth!) The experience made me think of what I used to say when my brother and I would throw parties: “It’s not a real party until someone throws up.” According to those standards, I was halfway to a party on that long and severely snaking road.
The roads had whirled straight out of Nelson, we raged up one pass, down another, until we were finally spat out onto the east coast and to the horizon I haven’t seen in almost two weeks. Only two weeks, I have to remind myself, and how LITTLE of this country I have seen. Back on the coast, I prayed for a straight highway, and some reprieve from the awful waves of nausea.
Wrong.
I kept my eyes closed the last 120 km to Kaikoura, this helped, ah, but then I couldn’t resist. There are mountains, you see, close cousins of the massive southern alps and they were right there! I have been told by my sorely missed traveling mate, Alice, that I would love Kaikoura. But I didn’t think I would die on the way there….
The reason I keep saying this, cliché intended and all, is because I found something akin to magic, yes, I mean paradise, yes! Heaven! at Kaikoura—where upon arriving I was treated with a conglomeration of uplifting, once in a lifetime (if ever) occurrences. Especially for a land locked American girl.
I arrived at my hostel, the Dolphin Lodge, to find the note: “Watching whale and her babies off the beach. Make yourself at home!” Whales? Tired and sore and still queasy from the horribly sickening drive, I gingerly placed my backpack in a side room, grabbed my camera, valuables, and took off for the beach, about 5 minutes by foot.
Maybe twenty people dotted the lip of sand as it descended down into the pebbly wavelets. I followed their gaze out to the ocean until I finally saw what they saw, a smooth blackness, resting peacefully on the surface of the water, and fading to just below.
A whale. A very large whale, no more than fifty feet away. A very very large whale that looked more like a massive floating log than anything else. Flanked on either side by a baby.
Well, that was pretty much the end of everything else I wanted to do that day as I followed those damn whales 3km down the beach. And I wasn’t alone. Half of the town, including the town’s children who had been let out of school for the occasion, and pretty much every tourist to drive through, tromped along the rough beach, exchanging disbelieving glances, pulled toward this uncommon experience of witnessing nature this close to our own tame existence.
My first thought was that one of them must be terribly sick. They are going to die, I thought, they are going to beach themselves. And then I watched as they floated closer and closer to the shoreline. Massive whales, the mother was 50 feet long, I found out later. I didn’t want to see this horrible, inevitable thing happen. I sat abruptly in the charcoal gray rocks and sand and began to write a heartbreaking poem about it, so heartbreaking in fact that I began to cry before I finished. I looked up, at everyone else taking pictures of the spectacle as the whales drifted, closer, closer. I said out loud, “I can’t take pictures of this.” And then a man, a local in his 40’s, asked me why.
There weren’t dying, he told me.
They were playing—a mother Southern Right Whale, her calf, and another calf that she had adopted. They had been playing in the bay for the last week. Right whales love to ‘surf’ and also ride the tidal currents. And I watched them, with new reverance, with new awe, as they floated in the water, less than 30ft from shore at times; their massive black fins pushing through the surface. More people came, planes and helicopters circled overhead. Kaikoura is one of the world’s hotspots for whale watching and there were plenty of people excited that day! I stayed down there as long as I could until my hunger
set in.
After a few more visits to the beach, Suzanne, an Aussie and the caretaker, let me into her flat above the hostel, where I could see as far as the eye could see. We talked, drank tea and played with the binoculars, looking at the whales so far down below, quite content, until we saw the baby jump.
Breaching it is called. When the whale propels itself through the water horizontally, at high speeds, before finally using all of that momentum for an upward thrust! Their massive and valiant bodies erupt and push through the surface, they twirl with their flippers out and then they land on their backs in a shower of sea spray. We saw this happen once and with not a moment to spare, we were off. I grabbed my boots from the back porch, where the hostel cat, Socks, had tangled herself in the laces, grabbed my camera, journal, and a Kit Kat. We tore out of the graveled lot in Suzanne’s ride, a blue car aptly named Carlito, down to the beach, toward the spectacle of observers who, by now, numbered nearly fifty and were cheering. There! Lobtailing! When the whale pushes its tail above the water and then slaps it down hard, this sound can be heard for miles in the open sea. This happened a few times and then the baby decided to breach all the way up the beach! The mother moved graciously toward it (so protective of both calves, and rightfully so, the killer whale also moves in these waters) and just as she neared, the baby would take off again and breach all the way back! The mother patiently following the little one. Please remember, when I say “baby”, that he/she is still a good 20feet long and with mass the size of a small bus.
This was rare the locals told me. Southern Rights often came into shore, but never this close and rarely to play in the surf and drift contentedly. It was something you could bet on never seeing again. A side note: the Right Whale (there are both northern and southern) was, at one point, nearly hunted to extinction. They were called the ‘right whales’ because they were the right ones to kill. They were sitting targets really, seeing as they came into shore to mate and give birth.
And then I couldn’t stop wondering at everything else that happened after. The sun began to set in that brilliant hour surrounding twilight, the glorious pink and purple madness splashed across the white peaks behind us, then a small rainbow peaked out from behind a few clouds, and then, by golly, the almost-full moon erupted over the ocean with its luminous white face! Suzanne and I, along with most of the town, sat on the beach until night fell and we were freezing. The whales still moving, though quieter now, play time dwindling, and many of the other onlookers making their way back to cars and bikes and home.
There are too many massive emotions surrounding the experience, too many metaphors and on and on, so I’ll spare you all of that mushy dribble! I will say, however, that it happened again the next day, and sealed my profound love affair with Kaikoura. This place has affected me perhaps more than anywhere else I have been in the last few months.
Until soon, all
laura
After 3 hours in the 12-seat minibus, I became so car sick that I half-puked in my mouth (I’m sorry, but it’s the truth!) The experience made me think of what I used to say when my brother and I would throw parties: “It’s not a real party until someone throws up.” According to those standards, I was halfway to a party on that long and severely snaking road.
The roads had whirled straight out of Nelson, we raged up one pass, down another, until we were finally spat out onto the east coast and to the horizon I haven’t seen in almost two weeks. Only two weeks, I have to remind myself, and how LITTLE of this country I have seen. Back on the coast, I prayed for a straight highway, and some reprieve from the awful waves of nausea.
Wrong.
I kept my eyes closed the last 120 km to Kaikoura, this helped, ah, but then I couldn’t resist. There are mountains, you see, close cousins of the massive southern alps and they were right there! I have been told by my sorely missed traveling mate, Alice, that I would love Kaikoura. But I didn’t think I would die on the way there….
The reason I keep saying this, cliché intended and all, is because I found something akin to magic, yes, I mean paradise, yes! Heaven! at Kaikoura—where upon arriving I was treated with a conglomeration of uplifting, once in a lifetime (if ever) occurrences. Especially for a land locked American girl.
I arrived at my hostel, the Dolphin Lodge, to find the note: “Watching whale and her babies off the beach. Make yourself at home!” Whales? Tired and sore and still queasy from the horribly sickening drive, I gingerly placed my backpack in a side room, grabbed my camera, valuables, and took off for the beach, about 5 minutes by foot.
Maybe twenty people dotted the lip of sand as it descended down into the pebbly wavelets. I followed their gaze out to the ocean until I finally saw what they saw, a smooth blackness, resting peacefully on the surface of the water, and fading to just below.
A whale. A very large whale, no more than fifty feet away. A very very large whale that looked more like a massive floating log than anything else. Flanked on either side by a baby.
Well, that was pretty much the end of everything else I wanted to do that day as I followed those damn whales 3km down the beach. And I wasn’t alone. Half of the town, including the town’s children who had been let out of school for the occasion, and pretty much every tourist to drive through, tromped along the rough beach, exchanging disbelieving glances, pulled toward this uncommon experience of witnessing nature this close to our own tame existence.
My first thought was that one of them must be terribly sick. They are going to die, I thought, they are going to beach themselves. And then I watched as they floated closer and closer to the shoreline. Massive whales, the mother was 50 feet long, I found out later. I didn’t want to see this horrible, inevitable thing happen. I sat abruptly in the charcoal gray rocks and sand and began to write a heartbreaking poem about it, so heartbreaking in fact that I began to cry before I finished. I looked up, at everyone else taking pictures of the spectacle as the whales drifted, closer, closer. I said out loud, “I can’t take pictures of this.” And then a man, a local in his 40’s, asked me why.
There weren’t dying, he told me.
They were playing—a mother Southern Right Whale, her calf, and another calf that she had adopted. They had been playing in the bay for the last week. Right whales love to ‘surf’ and also ride the tidal currents. And I watched them, with new reverance, with new awe, as they floated in the water, less than 30ft from shore at times; their massive black fins pushing through the surface. More people came, planes and helicopters circled overhead. Kaikoura is one of the world’s hotspots for whale watching and there were plenty of people excited that day! I stayed down there as long as I could until my hunger
set in.
After a few more visits to the beach, Suzanne, an Aussie and the caretaker, let me into her flat above the hostel, where I could see as far as the eye could see. We talked, drank tea and played with the binoculars, looking at the whales so far down below, quite content, until we saw the baby jump.
Breaching it is called. When the whale propels itself through the water horizontally, at high speeds, before finally using all of that momentum for an upward thrust! Their massive and valiant bodies erupt and push through the surface, they twirl with their flippers out and then they land on their backs in a shower of sea spray. We saw this happen once and with not a moment to spare, we were off. I grabbed my boots from the back porch, where the hostel cat, Socks, had tangled herself in the laces, grabbed my camera, journal, and a Kit Kat. We tore out of the graveled lot in Suzanne’s ride, a blue car aptly named Carlito, down to the beach, toward the spectacle of observers who, by now, numbered nearly fifty and were cheering. There! Lobtailing! When the whale pushes its tail above the water and then slaps it down hard, this sound can be heard for miles in the open sea. This happened a few times and then the baby decided to breach all the way up the beach! The mother moved graciously toward it (so protective of both calves, and rightfully so, the killer whale also moves in these waters) and just as she neared, the baby would take off again and breach all the way back! The mother patiently following the little one. Please remember, when I say “baby”, that he/she is still a good 20feet long and with mass the size of a small bus.
This was rare the locals told me. Southern Rights often came into shore, but never this close and rarely to play in the surf and drift contentedly. It was something you could bet on never seeing again. A side note: the Right Whale (there are both northern and southern) was, at one point, nearly hunted to extinction. They were called the ‘right whales’ because they were the right ones to kill. They were sitting targets really, seeing as they came into shore to mate and give birth.
And then I couldn’t stop wondering at everything else that happened after. The sun began to set in that brilliant hour surrounding twilight, the glorious pink and purple madness splashed across the white peaks behind us, then a small rainbow peaked out from behind a few clouds, and then, by golly, the almost-full moon erupted over the ocean with its luminous white face! Suzanne and I, along with most of the town, sat on the beach until night fell and we were freezing. The whales still moving, though quieter now, play time dwindling, and many of the other onlookers making their way back to cars and bikes and home.
There are too many massive emotions surrounding the experience, too many metaphors and on and on, so I’ll spare you all of that mushy dribble! I will say, however, that it happened again the next day, and sealed my profound love affair with Kaikoura. This place has affected me perhaps more than anywhere else I have been in the last few months.
Until soon, all
laura
Monday, September 04, 2006
An Imagination Stronger than Reality
Another more than magical experience driving up, from Queenstown, over Haast Pass and to the West Coast. It is only Alice and I now. Erin departed almost 4 days ago, caught a flight out of Queenstown. I talked Alice into keeping the car with me for a few more days so we could bomb over to the west coast and do a big loop around the northern part of the island.
I have to say, the most natural expression that falls from my lips these days is, simply, “Fuck Off.”
I must have told the scenery, the majestic snow-capped peaks and huge translucent and viciously windy lakes, off more than a handful of times on our way up and over Haast Pass. We would drive Gem up and over a hill and there would be some crazy spectacular horizon of scenery like I have never seen before (though parts of
Colorado certainly do come close) and then before I could even comprehend the visual beast before me I would utter, Fuck off. Not in a bad way, but more as “Come on! How much more outrageous could this place get!” NZ really is quite fitting as a postcard country. I highly recommend anyone coming to NZ to drive over this pass. You are just to the south of Mt Cook and some other monster peaks and the road is a winding, stunning, mess that makes you want to vomit (I am so unfortunately prone to road sickness*) and at the same time it makes you want to cry in gratitude that its there at all! (*Note on road sickness: the roads are so windy that I even feel extremely sick while driving!)
Ah, sigh, just the memory of it all makes me want to swoon over my pictures from that day…
On the other side of the pass was another story. Lets play a game! Ready? What falls from the sky in huge pea sized drops, sometimes falls sideways, hits you in the face, falls in a flood down the windshield, gets your ass all wet even with waterproof pants on, and really does its best to muck up your good, sunny mood?
Okay, the answer is obviously rain. Rain my friends. Rain for 2 days straight, all the way up the rugged and tremendous west coast. But, we did have small reprieves. Like when we bumbled around on the Franz Joseph Glacier (I hear the Franz and the Fox glaciers are actually growing? Two of the only glaciers in the world unaffected by global warming. Lets have a big cheer for crazy ancient ice and Mother Nature!)
We also had a splendid reprieve from the rain when we reached Hokitika, a small town famous for its NZ Greenstone, and with the most kick ass beach I have run around on since arriving in the southern hemi. The beach might have been even more kick ass because I was the only one on it as the sun went down. I didn’t have a camera and gladly, because I took great joy in sitting on a rough piece of driftwood and watching the sun fall down below the horizon. No picture, only the little imprint of that on my memory. Nice.
Now we are in Nelson, on the top end of South Island. It is beautiful here, warmer than anywhere else I’ve been in NZ, and sunny with a real nice beach that I plan on sitting on all day tomorrow. The mountains are sparse but the warmth is welcome. I’m tipping over the top of the island in a few days and heading back south to Kaikoura (where whales and seals abound!) for a few days of relaxation and writing and hiking and then, finally, to Christchurch to prepare for my big flight up to Aukland and then to LA.
It’s hard to comprehend the beauty of this country or its people in 3 short weeks, but I’m so grateful to have had such lovely traveling mates (Alice even cramped into the tiny car with me last night to save some cash.) It certainly makes things more entertaining, and less lonely, when there are familiar faces around.
One note on Alice before I forget. First, I have to say it is so wonderfully entertaining to be completely surrounded by people my age from other countries. And now I have a friend in Italy! To sum her up I’ll tell you about the day we passed the sign that read, “penguin crossing.”
Okay, I have never seen a damn penguin in the wild so while I was negotiating the outrageously windy road, in full gusty rain, I begged Alice to keep a close eye on the beach and let me know if she saw a wobbly penguin emerge from the water. Less than a few minutes later she shrieked! Grabbed hold of my arm (as if, for on absurd and terrifying moment, she forgot I was driving) and said, “Oh! Slow! I think I see penguin!”
But I had seen what she saw just a split second earlier: a floppy animal running on the beach, with a stick in its mouth. Damn dog!
I told her this, she laughed, then shook her head, wanting to believe in the penguin sighting: “My imagination is stronger than reality, if I want to see penguin, I see penguin!”
I liked her immensely after that. We used our intense imaginations in the days that followed to convert our meager pasta and cheese dinners into a glorious feast akin to a thanksgiving meal! She is a funny and supportive companion and listens to me ramble on about life and love and everything else that is important to me. Thank you Alice! After more than a week together, tomorrow we both head away from here so that means tonight we drink lots of local beer!
All right! Off to another rice and beans dinner! (In my head I imagine a huge stir fry!) I have simplified myself even more down here. Wear the same thing every day (I have discarded many of my nasty working clothes) and eating pretty meager rations. But I feel FULL, more full, the fullest maybe ever. Does that make sense?
Peace,
laura
I have to say, the most natural expression that falls from my lips these days is, simply, “Fuck Off.”
I must have told the scenery, the majestic snow-capped peaks and huge translucent and viciously windy lakes, off more than a handful of times on our way up and over Haast Pass. We would drive Gem up and over a hill and there would be some crazy spectacular horizon of scenery like I have never seen before (though parts of
Colorado certainly do come close) and then before I could even comprehend the visual beast before me I would utter, Fuck off. Not in a bad way, but more as “Come on! How much more outrageous could this place get!” NZ really is quite fitting as a postcard country. I highly recommend anyone coming to NZ to drive over this pass. You are just to the south of Mt Cook and some other monster peaks and the road is a winding, stunning, mess that makes you want to vomit (I am so unfortunately prone to road sickness*) and at the same time it makes you want to cry in gratitude that its there at all! (*Note on road sickness: the roads are so windy that I even feel extremely sick while driving!)
Ah, sigh, just the memory of it all makes me want to swoon over my pictures from that day…
On the other side of the pass was another story. Lets play a game! Ready? What falls from the sky in huge pea sized drops, sometimes falls sideways, hits you in the face, falls in a flood down the windshield, gets your ass all wet even with waterproof pants on, and really does its best to muck up your good, sunny mood?
Okay, the answer is obviously rain. Rain my friends. Rain for 2 days straight, all the way up the rugged and tremendous west coast. But, we did have small reprieves. Like when we bumbled around on the Franz Joseph Glacier (I hear the Franz and the Fox glaciers are actually growing? Two of the only glaciers in the world unaffected by global warming. Lets have a big cheer for crazy ancient ice and Mother Nature!)
We also had a splendid reprieve from the rain when we reached Hokitika, a small town famous for its NZ Greenstone, and with the most kick ass beach I have run around on since arriving in the southern hemi. The beach might have been even more kick ass because I was the only one on it as the sun went down. I didn’t have a camera and gladly, because I took great joy in sitting on a rough piece of driftwood and watching the sun fall down below the horizon. No picture, only the little imprint of that on my memory. Nice.
Now we are in Nelson, on the top end of South Island. It is beautiful here, warmer than anywhere else I’ve been in NZ, and sunny with a real nice beach that I plan on sitting on all day tomorrow. The mountains are sparse but the warmth is welcome. I’m tipping over the top of the island in a few days and heading back south to Kaikoura (where whales and seals abound!) for a few days of relaxation and writing and hiking and then, finally, to Christchurch to prepare for my big flight up to Aukland and then to LA.
It’s hard to comprehend the beauty of this country or its people in 3 short weeks, but I’m so grateful to have had such lovely traveling mates (Alice even cramped into the tiny car with me last night to save some cash.) It certainly makes things more entertaining, and less lonely, when there are familiar faces around.
One note on Alice before I forget. First, I have to say it is so wonderfully entertaining to be completely surrounded by people my age from other countries. And now I have a friend in Italy! To sum her up I’ll tell you about the day we passed the sign that read, “penguin crossing.”
Okay, I have never seen a damn penguin in the wild so while I was negotiating the outrageously windy road, in full gusty rain, I begged Alice to keep a close eye on the beach and let me know if she saw a wobbly penguin emerge from the water. Less than a few minutes later she shrieked! Grabbed hold of my arm (as if, for on absurd and terrifying moment, she forgot I was driving) and said, “Oh! Slow! I think I see penguin!”
But I had seen what she saw just a split second earlier: a floppy animal running on the beach, with a stick in its mouth. Damn dog!
I told her this, she laughed, then shook her head, wanting to believe in the penguin sighting: “My imagination is stronger than reality, if I want to see penguin, I see penguin!”
I liked her immensely after that. We used our intense imaginations in the days that followed to convert our meager pasta and cheese dinners into a glorious feast akin to a thanksgiving meal! She is a funny and supportive companion and listens to me ramble on about life and love and everything else that is important to me. Thank you Alice! After more than a week together, tomorrow we both head away from here so that means tonight we drink lots of local beer!
All right! Off to another rice and beans dinner! (In my head I imagine a huge stir fry!) I have simplified myself even more down here. Wear the same thing every day (I have discarded many of my nasty working clothes) and eating pretty meager rations. But I feel FULL, more full, the fullest maybe ever. Does that make sense?
Peace,
laura
New Zealand
How does one really explain what it’s like to experience New Zealand? I’m not even sure I want to try at this point.
To sum up: eight days ago I arrived in a fluster from Australia. Thinking I would be late to catch my connecting flight from Aukland (on the N. Island) to Christchurch (on the S. Island, where I was meeting my pal, Erin) I ran in a full, and ridiculous (mind you I was trucking along with a large backpack, smaller backpack, camera, and an unwieldy bag full of odds and ends) sprint through the international terminal, through customs, the front doors, down the road (who could be bothered waiting two minutes for the bus?!), and arrived at the domestic terminal in a sweaty mess only to be greeted by the first true Maori (indigenous people of NZ) I have ever met. He took one look at my passport, one look at my red and silent face (well, except for the gasping breaths) and said, “An American, ey? You are the quietest American I have ever met.”
My quiet didn’t last long. As soon as I made it up to the gate (a full hour EARLY) I was able to relax and begin my much anticipated crooning over finally having made it to New Zealand.
Of course, I’ve wanted to visit the legendary land for several years now. The first time I fell in love with mountains and started looking for pictures of them I discovered New Zealand – a place so far away from America that it almost seems imaginary. Mt. Cook. Mt. Tasman. Milford Sound. Franz Joseph Glacier. I knew of these places long before Lord of the Rings swept up the rest of the globe in the same jaw-dropping NZ scenery depicted in the films.
I met up with Erin, a pal with ISV, in Christchurch. After much talking, much excitement, and much beer (on my part anyway) we decided to hitchhike the next day, south 200km, to Dunedin.
I have only hitched a handful of other times, in Colorado and in Alaska. Thus, the hitching virgin that I was, I had an extremely paranoid, exciting, and at times, terrifying, day. The 6 or so rides and drivers we snagged were all, for the most part, harmless. There was only that one questionable character, the last ride of the day, Terry.
Only AFTER we got in the car, did we notice that Terry had 2 black eyes and a huge gash across his forehead. Don’t ask me how we didn’t see this earlier. I immediately began scouring the back seat for ‘signs’ of the kind of person that potentially had been in a nasty fight the night before – with another hitchhiker!? And to further fuel my growing unease, go ahead, ask me- what did I see? A pair of gloves, several disposable cameras, and a trash bag!!! I kid you not!
Later, after my paranoia abated a bit, Terry decided to pull off of the highway and ‘stop to see if his cousin was home’. There are two main rules in hitching. Always know where you are on a map. And if the driver leaves the main road, get out.
Okay, Mom and Dad, don’t freak out. If there is anywhere safe in the world to hitchhike, it is surely here! I did write this entire day into a pretty entertaining 2000 word essay but for now let me just say that Terry’s ‘cousin’ was actually a woman, in her mid 40’s, who offered Erin and I coffee and tea and enough interesting convo that I could have lived there for awhile! In the end, I never quite figured Terry out but he was a good guy, just a bit dodgy on the surface…
So, Dunedin. We stayed the night with one of my former students, Kai. And from there, we met up with an Italian, Alice (pronounced A lee chay) and rented a small kiwi-colored car and drove it clear around the bottom of the South Island until we ended up at Te Anua- the gateway to Milford Sound.
One word to describe Milford Sound, perhaps one of the most extraordinary places ever?
Moody. Want another?
I don’t have one. Trying to describe what it is like to stand in the lush haven that is Milford Sound is like trying to describe how it feels to fall in love for the first time. You can’t properly touch the experience (I tried, dipping my hands into frigid waters, water falls, rain soaked vegetation and trees), or hear it (how to describe the thunderous quiet of a place that remote? That calm?), or even smell it (again, how does mysticism and rolling fog and overhanging branches fat with green and wet travel through the air to your nose?) I took pictures, yes, but they will mean very little to anyone looking at them. You really need to stand there and take in the place. Take it into your being, experience it, let it roll around awhile inside, marinade yourself in it, maybe then you can grasp what a true spiritual and visual experience Milford is. See, it is like love. You can explain neither, but you know how they feel...
Ah, then to Queenstown! The adrenaline capital of NZ and maybe the world! anything outrageous and crazy and death defying you would ever want to do, you could do here. Instead of a wild night however, me and the girls drank wine and had an early night. At that point I had been sleeping in the car for a few days anyway, to save cash, and was all kinds of groggy once the sun set. Aside from that, lots of driving through stunning country can really tucker a girl out! I fondly named the car Gem (the other name I was fond of was puke, pronounced poookay, in Maori, this means hill). Sleeping in the car for 5 nights was not the most comfortable (the car was about the size of 2 fridges) but I somehow felt closer to nature. I do regret not having camping gear but I guess that just means ill have to come back.
Hear that Paul? Holly? Anybody?
Until soon all,
laura
To sum up: eight days ago I arrived in a fluster from Australia. Thinking I would be late to catch my connecting flight from Aukland (on the N. Island) to Christchurch (on the S. Island, where I was meeting my pal, Erin) I ran in a full, and ridiculous (mind you I was trucking along with a large backpack, smaller backpack, camera, and an unwieldy bag full of odds and ends) sprint through the international terminal, through customs, the front doors, down the road (who could be bothered waiting two minutes for the bus?!), and arrived at the domestic terminal in a sweaty mess only to be greeted by the first true Maori (indigenous people of NZ) I have ever met. He took one look at my passport, one look at my red and silent face (well, except for the gasping breaths) and said, “An American, ey? You are the quietest American I have ever met.”
My quiet didn’t last long. As soon as I made it up to the gate (a full hour EARLY) I was able to relax and begin my much anticipated crooning over finally having made it to New Zealand.
Of course, I’ve wanted to visit the legendary land for several years now. The first time I fell in love with mountains and started looking for pictures of them I discovered New Zealand – a place so far away from America that it almost seems imaginary. Mt. Cook. Mt. Tasman. Milford Sound. Franz Joseph Glacier. I knew of these places long before Lord of the Rings swept up the rest of the globe in the same jaw-dropping NZ scenery depicted in the films.
I met up with Erin, a pal with ISV, in Christchurch. After much talking, much excitement, and much beer (on my part anyway) we decided to hitchhike the next day, south 200km, to Dunedin.
I have only hitched a handful of other times, in Colorado and in Alaska. Thus, the hitching virgin that I was, I had an extremely paranoid, exciting, and at times, terrifying, day. The 6 or so rides and drivers we snagged were all, for the most part, harmless. There was only that one questionable character, the last ride of the day, Terry.
Only AFTER we got in the car, did we notice that Terry had 2 black eyes and a huge gash across his forehead. Don’t ask me how we didn’t see this earlier. I immediately began scouring the back seat for ‘signs’ of the kind of person that potentially had been in a nasty fight the night before – with another hitchhiker!? And to further fuel my growing unease, go ahead, ask me- what did I see? A pair of gloves, several disposable cameras, and a trash bag!!! I kid you not!
Later, after my paranoia abated a bit, Terry decided to pull off of the highway and ‘stop to see if his cousin was home’. There are two main rules in hitching. Always know where you are on a map. And if the driver leaves the main road, get out.
Okay, Mom and Dad, don’t freak out. If there is anywhere safe in the world to hitchhike, it is surely here! I did write this entire day into a pretty entertaining 2000 word essay but for now let me just say that Terry’s ‘cousin’ was actually a woman, in her mid 40’s, who offered Erin and I coffee and tea and enough interesting convo that I could have lived there for awhile! In the end, I never quite figured Terry out but he was a good guy, just a bit dodgy on the surface…
So, Dunedin. We stayed the night with one of my former students, Kai. And from there, we met up with an Italian, Alice (pronounced A lee chay) and rented a small kiwi-colored car and drove it clear around the bottom of the South Island until we ended up at Te Anua- the gateway to Milford Sound.
One word to describe Milford Sound, perhaps one of the most extraordinary places ever?
Moody. Want another?
I don’t have one. Trying to describe what it is like to stand in the lush haven that is Milford Sound is like trying to describe how it feels to fall in love for the first time. You can’t properly touch the experience (I tried, dipping my hands into frigid waters, water falls, rain soaked vegetation and trees), or hear it (how to describe the thunderous quiet of a place that remote? That calm?), or even smell it (again, how does mysticism and rolling fog and overhanging branches fat with green and wet travel through the air to your nose?) I took pictures, yes, but they will mean very little to anyone looking at them. You really need to stand there and take in the place. Take it into your being, experience it, let it roll around awhile inside, marinade yourself in it, maybe then you can grasp what a true spiritual and visual experience Milford is. See, it is like love. You can explain neither, but you know how they feel...
Ah, then to Queenstown! The adrenaline capital of NZ and maybe the world! anything outrageous and crazy and death defying you would ever want to do, you could do here. Instead of a wild night however, me and the girls drank wine and had an early night. At that point I had been sleeping in the car for a few days anyway, to save cash, and was all kinds of groggy once the sun set. Aside from that, lots of driving through stunning country can really tucker a girl out! I fondly named the car Gem (the other name I was fond of was puke, pronounced poookay, in Maori, this means hill). Sleeping in the car for 5 nights was not the most comfortable (the car was about the size of 2 fridges) but I somehow felt closer to nature. I do regret not having camping gear but I guess that just means ill have to come back.
Hear that Paul? Holly? Anybody?
Until soon all,
laura
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