Hello October

It’s been brought to my attention that my writing here has made it seem like life is just one big party. My reaction goes like this: So? What’s wrong with that? I was asked, “Shouldn’t you mention that you do homework? That you go to class? That you aren’t just partying all the time?”

“But why?” I replied. “Who wants to read about what I learned in class today? Who wants to know that I even had to go to class today?” I know that the whole point of this little jump over the sea is to study in another country. I have four classes that will all transfer back. I’m in class four days per week for a few hours each day. Wednesday is my long day, with three classes totaling four hours. This week I attended eight out of nine class meetings. That was an exciting story, eh? Yes, I came here to be in school, and maybe making it look like all I do is party is making people at home jealous and/or worried. But another big goal of mine was to experience what it’s like to live in another country. I always felt that I would enjoy living in another country. I love meeting people and learning new cultures. I love becoming acculturated and starting to understand the way people raised in an entirely different way than I was view the world. Sure you get used to the accents and the colloquialisms quickly, but understanding how a culture so different from my own moves and works and thinks takes more time. So yeah, I’m going to school, but I’m also reveling in this chance to live out a dream I always had.

My little brother studied abroad in undergrad, and he’s started mentioning how hard it was for him to come home. He says that studying abroad, even though you know it has a definite end, provides this sense of freedom, this feeling of possibility that is extinguished when you go home to your normal life. And I know those feelings are coming. I fear that I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to get back the level of happiness and carefree fun that I’ve been so fortunate to roll around in here. But for now? There’s a sparrow dive-bombing a big black cat outside my window in the space between my building and the building next to me. The shades of blue on its back are like a painting, stark against the cream stucco exterior of the next building. Tonight I’m going to a kiwi friend’s 30^th birthday party at our favorite bar. Jess and I are starting to plan our south island trip for when the semester ends. For now I’m living like life is just one big party. Last weekend the party was on Waiheke Island, a quick 40-minute ferry ride from Auckland.

The view of Auckland and Rangitoto Island from Waiheke:

home!

Day 9: heading home.

Do you like visual aids? I like visual aids. Here is a map of the route.

The downside of the way Stray designs the route is that the last actual stop is Wellington, which is at the bottom of the north island. Auckland is near the top of the north island. You can see the problem here. That means the last day of your tour, you’re on the bus from 6:45am to 5:30pm. This is a less-than-desirable situation. However, we were just ready to get home, so we stocked up on snacks to grin and bear it.

Our first two buses had been smaller tour buses, but the home bus was a great big 45-person coach bus. And there were only about 15 or 20 of us. So we had plenty of room to stretch out and take naps and catch some scenery as we drove up the whole north island. Even if you don’t like your bus mates, as long as you don’t have to sit too close to them, it’s not a problem. So the trip home wasn’t too bad. The worst part about it was that the driver let one of the 18-year-old girls who was batting her eyelashes at him be the DJ for the day. So we were stuck listening to a playlist that can only be titled as Your Most Clichéd Hits From The 80s, 90s, and Today. It was not enjoyable. Nonetheless, we made it home safe and sound with a raft of new photos and stories, miles of adventure under our belts. Next up: planning the south island!

welly welly

Day eight: Wellington.

First of all, let me just go on a brief tangent. I love Auckland. Auckland is home. I know the city. I have a fabulous time here. Most people turn their noses up at Auckland, call it “just another big city,” and blow it off. I like to make a music analogy when it comes to Auckland. You know how you get introduced to a band on one particular album, and you love that album wholeheartedly, and eventually you branch out to the band’s other albums, but that one album was the one that made you fall in love with them. And then someone goes and says, “OH NO that album is crap! This other album is SO much better!” But you’re like, “Yeah, whatever, I guess that other album could be objectively “better,” but this album here is the one that made me fall in love with the band, and it’ll always hold a special place in my heart.” Auckland is that first album. Yes there are many, many other cities in New Zealand with more unique sights and interesting natural phenomena and adventure sports. But it turns out that city life suits me pretty well. So I had a feeling I’d like Wellington.

Wellington is the capital and third-largest city in NZ. There’s a lot to do, so we planned to stay an extra night and catch the next bus. That way we’d also get to kiss the sucky bus goodbye. We’d gotten a tip that the hostel that the bus drivers are supposed to recommend as the “preferred” hostel by the company is actually kind of gross, so we picked another hostel. And this one featured free dinner every night. What?!? Cheap room, clean bathrooms, AND free dinner? Over our stay we had curry, veggie lasagna, and pizza. FOR FREE. And to top it all off, we were in a six-bed dorm, and we never had any roommates. I guess that’s the beauty of travelling in winter.

Wellington was the last city on the circuit, and we were feeling pretty tired. We’d had tons of fun and spent way plenty of money, and we were winding down into home mode. But we managed to have a couple of nice walks, ride the Wellington cable car, visit the Botanical Gardens, and get a couple of piercings. Wellington is darling.

every adventure has to have a low point

Day seven: National Park.

One of the activities that we were looking most forward to on the trip was the Tongariro Crossing. An epic hike that takes 6-8 hours, the Crossing is weather dependent. Tongariro National Park is a dream for outdoorsy people, but this time of year, the Crossing can be dangerous if you get stuck in bad weather. Unfortunately, it poured buckets all day the only day we were there, so the Crossing was closed. We could have stayed longer in Natty Park to see if better weather would come, but it had already been announced that it would be closed the next day. Even though the hostel was very cool, there was absolutely nothing else to do if the weather was shit. So we had a relaxing day and moved on with the bus.

Speaking of the bus, our second bus was a great disappointment compared to our first bus. There were a few people on the first bus that we found annoying, but for the most part we had some extremely fun partners in crime (both the boozey and the adventuresome types of crime). When we joined the second bus in Rotorua, we knew within five minutes that we were not going to love these people. There was a clutch of Asian girls playing annoying music and singing along loudly. There were a couple of know-it-all Canadians who made jokes about how they wouldn’t hold the fact that we were American against us.

Then there were some other Americans from our first bus who had coincidentally stayed in Rotorua as well. Two of them were a couple, and they were the extremely-in-love-and-unabashed-about-fervent-PDA variety. We later heard a report that they had found the marae situation at Uncle Boy's where all 20 of us slept in the same room ...well...*ahem*... thrilling.

The other two Americans from our first bus were so extremely boring that we felt guilty about the raucous amount of fun we had. They were so quiet that they didn’t even seem to like each other, even though they were roommates back in Auckland. They did very few of the scheduled activities and barely socialized at all. Boooooooring. We had a few laughs with the people we went skydiving with, but damn did we miss that first bus. Add to that the fact that my sore throat had followed usual course and developed into a phlegmy cough and runny nose, and I was in a foul mood about the whole situation. Get me to Wellington so I can get off of this sucky inferior bus.

We watched a little tv, split an hour of expensive internet time, shared a delicious platter of vegetables and fries for dinner, and called it a night. We each popped a melatonin and slept like logs, eager to wake up refreshed and ready for the next day. I'm still doing research to try and find out why melatonin is easily available over-the-counter in the states but only available by prescription in most other countries, including New Zealand. Bummer.

the fun continues

What do you get when you go kayaking, hiking, caving, rafting, dancing, and drinking for four days straight? You get hungover. And sore. And sick.

Day five: Rotorua. Still.

Our first bus had moved on down the line, and we were stalled in Rotorua with sore throats and sore bodies. But we were quite happy to have two mornings to sleep in and one and a half days to take it easy and recharge before getting on the next bus. We took naps and shopped and went to bed early for once. Rotorua is known for its sulfuric smell due to geothermal activity in abundance. Every once in a while I’d get a big whiff of the eggy treat Rotorua offers, but it never really bothered me too much.

Day six: finally leaving Rotorua and heading to Taupo, skydiving capital of the world.

Lake Taupo is NZ’s biggest lake with a perimeter of 100 miles, and the skydiving center is right next to it. I was a little worried about skydiving because of how terrifying I found bungee jumping to be, but I honestly thought I might like skydiving better. When you bungee, you’re all trussed up like a turkey, standing on a concrete ledge with your toes peeking over the edge with nothing to hold on to besides the bungee staff who won’t even let you hold on to them for very long. Trust me. I tried.

Still, the idea of falling out of a plane at 15,000 feet was enough to make my heart pound. On the way, the bus stopped for a little scenic view of Huka Falls, which famously pumps enough water every three seconds to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

A limo from the skydive company came to pick up the four of us who were diving.

Our bus driver pulled us aside right before we left and said, “Listen, you guys should know that the instructors over at the skydiving place might not be as enthusiastic as they normally are. There was an accident over at Fox Glacier yesterday. The skydive plane blew up just after take off. You shouldn’t be worried about your plane or anything, but I just wanted to warn you guys that they might be a little more somber than they normally are because some of their friends died yesterday.”

GULP

Jess and I exchanged slightly worried looks. And then we got in the limo. Hi, mom! Oh I didn't tell you about that little tidbit? Oops! We're safe and sound!

I hear that some skydive companies spend a bit of time giving instructions to the jumpers, but at Skydive Taupo, your tandem partner points to a photograph on the wall of an instructor and a jumper mid-air, says “Look like that. Feet close together, arms out, back arched. Like a banana. Can you be a banana?” And that’s the end of your lesson.

Heading out to the little pink plane, they took lots of photos of us, obviously available for purchase later. We loaded up, and then I realized that my tandem partner and I were the last people to get in the plane. Which meant that I would be first out. Eep. I began to worry about whether or not first out would have been my preference, and then I told myself to shut up because regardless of when I fell out of the plane, I was still going to be FALLING OUT OF A FREAKING PLANE.

The little plane climbs climbs climbs; the view is breathtaking; my heart is a kick drum.

I warned my instructor down on the ground that I was going to be scared. “I really want to do this,” I said. “But I’m going to be really scared. I won’t freak out, but I’m going to be scared. Just take control.” He nodded and said, “Not a problem.”

The orders are simple. Hold onto your harness. Tip your head back so it’s on the instructor’s shoulder. After you’re out of the plane and situated, put your arms out when the instructor taps you on the shoulder. I repeat the directions in my head. I’m strapped to my instructor, facing forward on the plane, sitting on the floor, waiting to reach altitude. Everyone else faces us. He says, “Your friend keeps looking at you. She’s giving you the thumbs up.”

“Oh. Ha. That’s because she thinks I’m going to freak out,” I reply. “But I’m not going to freak out.”

He jokes with a mostly-gone German accent, “You can freak out if you want to. It doesn’t really matter either way to me.”

And then the pilot yells something. And then the other instructors throw up gang signs which must mean it’s time. My instructor rolls up the accordion door. He’s twice as big as me and I’m strapped tightly to him, so when he spins me around, scooting me toward the open door, my little legs dangle out over the edge of the door and my sneakers blow in the wind. FUCK OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THIS IS HAPPENINNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGG

And then we’re out. I’m falling. He flips me up so we’re looking at the plane, bright pink and growing smaller. Then he turns us head down, dive-bombing toward the clouds. The noise is incredible in both volume and texture. My ears begin to hurt. The wind lashes at my face and hands. Even in gloves I feel my fingers getting cold, losing feeling. We were promised over 60 seconds of free fall time. It definitely feels like it to me as I start to wonder just when he’ll pull the parachute. And then he does, and my legs fly up in front of me like I'm a rag doll. My ears are killing me. “How was that?” he asks.

“My ears are fucked up!” I yell back, unable to control my volume because I can barely hear anything.

“Just hold your nose and blow to equalize the pressure,” he suggests. Oh. Duh. Altitude. I blow and blow and blow, and it’s a little better, not quite as painful, but my ears would be screwed up for about three days.

Once the parachute is out, he loosens a couple of harnesses, adjusts the loops around my thighs, and gets me in a sitting position for sightseeing. The lake is just breathtaking. It’s a partly cloudy day, which is nice because it’s not blindingly bright, and the scenery is just gorgeous as sunlight peeks through over the lake and hills. This, I keep thinking, is why people skydive here. He narrates what he’s doing and points out some sights. “I’m going to do some turns now, if that's okay with you,” he warns me. And then we’re spinning, my body nearly horizontal as he steers. We do turns in the wind, and I giggle wildly. The other three divers, including Jesse, are up above me, coasting and spinning with multicolored chutes.

Then it was over, and we were all on the ground, laughing and high fiving. They try to sell us our photos and show us the videos they took of two of the other divers. Jess and I both elected not to have a video taken of us. After seeing the videos they took of the others, I don’t regret that decision. Especially since it was a decision that saved me $150 worth of embarrassing video footage of me looking unattractive. One of the divers did buy the photos, and I acquired these from his facebook page.

Then we were off to the hostel to clean up for a dinner date. Back in the states before I left for study abroad, my good friend from college, Gretchen, mentioned that her ex-boss’s son lives in a city called Taupo and that I should try to visit him if I was ever nearby. As soon as I got a look at the bus map and saw that Taupo was a stop, I got Seth’s contact info from Gretchen and we started emailing. I gave him our tentative dates, and we exchanged phone numbers. Gretchen went on and on about what a sweet guy Seth was and how amazing it would be if we actually got to meet up in NZ. And then we did!

He works at a restaurant in Taupo and happened to have the night off that we were there. Seth and his coworker were having a farewell dinner at their restaurant since she was off to her next adventure, and Jess and I joined right in. Delicious food and great company. After a nice long dinner, we went to meet up with a bunch of our bus people and some of the skydive staff at a local Irish pub. You know how I love a good Irish pub, you guys. Seth was amped to get to play foosball with other Americans and turned out to be just as darling as Gretchen had promised. Sweet, sweet night.

rafting and dancing

Day four: Rotorua.

The first order of the day was rafting. I’ve been rafting on the Arizona River in Buena Vista, Colorado, which was amazing, but I knew that the Rotorua rafting trip was much shorter than my Colorado trip. I figured that $45 was a fine price for a short trip if you’ve never been rafting, but I could skip it and save the money for something else. Then Jesse reminded me that she had a free rafting trip voucher and that we could just split the cost of one trip. A raft trip for 20 bucks? Done. We’ve been splitting our good fortune this whole trip, and we’ve both had more fun because of it. Nearly the whole bus signed up for this activity. Like many tourism activities in New Zealand, Kaitiaki Rafting Co. is a well-oiled machine. They quickly herd you around, fitting you with wet suits and booties and life jackets, and then you’re off for a quick bus ride to the entry point.

Though the actual water time was short, we got to raft a couple of good waterfalls, including the highest commercially-rafted waterfall IN THE WORLD.

It was pretty thrilling. We all know that if you ever get dumped out of your raft in a rapid or at the bottom of a waterfall that you’re supposed to ball up as small as you can in order to get spat out of the churning water faster. But sitting at the top of that waterfall as we’re about to nosedive seven meters into frothy water, you just know that if the raft capsizes you’ll forget every lesson you learned. Luckily we remained upright and I didn’t have to demonstrate my clumsiness in water.

The way many bus companies here work is that you can hop off in any city the bus stops and spend more time there, and then you just catch the next bus a couple of days later as long as there are open seats. We’d already planned to stay in Rotorua because some of our Auckland friends were meeting us there to see a famous New Zealand band, Salmonella Dub. Stupid name, I know. But I recommend a listen. We actually timed our whole trip so that we would end up in Rotorua on Friday for the band. We were so sad to leave our fun travel companions on our original bus, but Salmonella Dub did not disappoint. It’s like a reggae singer with a techno beats DJ guy plus a couple of horns. It was musically interesting and seeing our friends from home was sweet, not to mention that all of the rafting guides from earlier in the day were there and recognized us. We were so far from home base Auckland, and yet we probably knew 25 people at the show. Everyone drank and danced with abandon, and it’s probably one of our best memories of New Zealand so far.

caving and culture

Day three: Waitomo Caves and Maketu.

So far each day had started with an early wake up to get the bus moving by 8am. I’d been told that caving was one of the more unique activities I’d get the opportunity to do here, since maneuverable wild caves rigged for tourism aren’t all that common. We’d had beautiful weather for kayaking and hiking, so we weren’t at all fussed when it was steadily raining on the day we’d be underground, cold and wet in the caves anyway. Only 6 of our bus of 21 elected to go caving, but 6 turned out to be plenty in one group. You’re all harnessed up, abseiling one at a time through crevices and down holes, and then you’re waiting in knee-high cold water down below while the rest of your crew navigates the way through the tunnels and down the rappel lines. I didn’t fork over the money for the touristy shots the guides took of us down in the caves, but this before shot conveys about enough goofiness for you to get the point.

Caving was much more physical than I expected with a great deal of slinking across ledges, scaling up rocky walls, and hoisting yourself over boulder obstacles. Though I’m not in any kind of triathlon shape, I’m relatively fit, and some of the physical requirements of caving were a challenge for me. I wonder how the company can gently tell someone that they don’t look capable of the physical work that will be required once you’re down in a cave, wet and cold and exhausted, needing to shimmy your way across a little ledge three feet away from the ladder you’re at the top of with hands that feel less than useful after an hour in cold water.

But I don’t want to make the experience sound unenjoyable because it was absolutely cool. The rock formations were stunning, and we got to spend a little time with the famous glowworms. The two guides were funny and easygoing and experienced, and they definitely spent a little time showing off for us. One would abseil down a waterfall, get all rigged up to help us down one-by-one, and the other would stay at the top to give instructions. Then whichever one was at the top would come flying down the ropes, Spiderman-like, with a great splash into the pool at the bottom.

After caving we headed out to Uncle Boy’s, which is a Maori center for backpackers. The staff at Uncle Boy’s have the evening all planned out for you: dinner, Maori cultural performance, and then the guys learn the haka and the ladies learn the poi.

Here’s a funny bit: my new Irish friend Rob says to me, “I took some great videos with your camera while you guys were doing the poi!” Oh cool, I thought. I turned my camera to review mode and started watching the first video. We laughed and laughed for about an hour about this.

After the show was finished, we were left to our own devices, whether that was having a drink and hanging out or reading a book in bed. Bed, by the way, was all of us in the marae on hostel mattresses that we’d spread around the room. There was some concern about the difficulty of sleeping in a room with 20 other people, but I popped my earplugs in and slept soundly.

In the morning we were instructed to pile the mattresses back up in one corner, pile our sheets up in the center of the room, and put our pillows back in a stack. I do not know how not washing pillowcases is acceptable, but apparently it is. “No worries” is taken quite literally sometimes. Oh well. On to the next adventure!

north island tour, day two

After watching the Hahei sunrise, we packed up and headed out toward Raglan. Raglan proper features a quaint little town with secluded surf beaches, but we were headed out to an amazing hostel built right in the bush. The day’s optional activity was surfing, but Jess and I elected to have a hike instead. We checked a map and headed down toward a beach, figuring we’d catch up with the rest of our group later in the day far down the beach where they were all headed. We got down to the beach, but it turned out that the beach didn’t actually begin for a kilometer or two. Instead, we were greeted with a couple of kilometers of this:

Jess slipped her sneakers right off, trying to convince me that the bouldering would be easier barefooted. Yeah right, girl. The bottom of my feet are like tender marshmallows because I don’t really like being barefooted anywhere other than in my house. And only then when the floors are clean. It took us probably an hour to trek across all of the rocks, and then we hiked through a bit of the bush to get to a proper beach.

A few of our buds had rented the surf gear and we caught up to them after a couple of hours of good hard hiking. After our adventure we climbed the hill up to inspiration point to wait for the Raglan sunset.

Sunrise on the east coast of the island and sunset on the west coast, all in the same day.

Shooting stars and sunrise

Tuesday 31 August was the first day of our epic north island trip. Jess and I were in rough shape because the day before was her birthday. We’d gone bungee jumping and then out to dinner, then finished the night by chilling at her apartment. We had to be on the bus at 7:45am, and we made it just in the nick of time after a packing frenzy. After picking up all of the other passengers, we headed toward Hahei for our first stop of the trip. We’d decided to do the bus tour route because that way we didn’t have to worry about driving or directions.

We arrived in the adorable tiny town of Hahei, dropped our stuff off at the hostel, and headed to the beach for a kayaking trip. The day was cool and comfortable, and we hopped into our kayaks with a couple of fun kiwi guides and about 8 other bus passengers. Jess and I shared a kayak and got the hang of rowing together pretty quickly. We were feeling better and the exercise was awesome, and after a while we pulled into a little cove where sting rays darted around us in the shallow water. Then we steered to a beach and parked the kayaks for a bit while the guides fixed us coffees. As part of the experience, the guides have a little shack where they can boil some water and stash supplies, and they fix you whatever you like, latte, cappuccino, flat white, or tea, right there on the beach. Adorable.

After the coffee break we headed out to sea, paddling around a giant rock where seal pups napped on a rocky outcropping. We looped around the rock while the wind picked up, and when we came back around, the pups popped into the water, swimming around us and showing us their bellies as they played and dove. The guides smacked the surface of the water, and the pups darted around us, peeking out and making eyes at us as we sat and watched.

But soon it was time to head back to shore and hop on a bus to meet up with the rest of our bus people that had elected not to go kayaking. We took a quick trip over to Hot Water Beach, aptly named for the hot springs under the beach. You grab a shovel, dig yourself a hole, and you’ve got a cheap hot tub. It’s a bit tricky though because one square foot of beach might be above a scalding hot spring, while three feet away the water’s ice cold. It takes a little work to get a pool that’s just right. Luckily we arrived just after sunset, and the beach was already filled with holes dug by previous visitors.

Back at the hostel we showered up while a great barbecue was prepared, and dinner consisted of steak, sausages, sautéed onions, salad, grilled bread, kumara, and veggies. I could tell that it would be a beautiful clear night for stargazing, and since I’d been dying to get out of the city to get a better view of the stars on this side of the world, I talked a handful of people into venturing back to the beach late after dinner. We clanked our way back to the beach armed with bottles of beer and wine and camped out. Everyone saw this giant shooting star right after we arrived, and as people broke off into conversations and drinking, I kept my eyes upward. The shooting stars were streaking in every direction. I counted ten before the crick in my neck was enough to make me stop craning upward.

Our bus driver had alerted us to the fact that this was a particularly good beach to watch the sunrise from if the weather was decent, so we set our alarms. Not only was the weather decent in the morning, but the sunrise was spectacular. Hahei will always hold a special place in my heart.