Day 104: Guy Fawkes Day!

It's a little after midnight, and I am just filled with a sense of satisfaction from a day well lived. I'll rewrite this blog entry to put it in a bit more detail, but basically, I was productive during the day and then had a surprisingly awesome evening.

I met up with Claire to go to what we anticipated might be a slightly awkward workplace barbecue at Te Papa, only to find that it was actually a full-on Event. Given that I was expecting a rained-out barbecue and maybe a free can of Coke, I was completely astonished to find ushers at the door insisting that everyone have tickets because Te Papa was closed for a private function. When we special ticket-holders were weeded from the less worthy, we were admitted into an alternate universe, where women all wore wearing dresses and men wore ties. and everyone was drinking free wine and eating tiny gourmet burgers. (Plebes, like me, also ate hotdogs.) It was such a pleasant surprise!

After a few hours of schmoozing, we were ushered to another place, which, Claire realized, was actually a hallway that we had seen from the outside and, for the past three months, had wondered how to access. It turns out that the mysterious hallway leads to a little balcony from which you get an amazing view of the waterfront and, if it happens to be Guy Fawkes Day, the fireworks display.

The fireworks were really wonderful. The display wasn't as ostentatious as some I've seen (and Claire harkens from a city that hosts an international fireworks festival and could watch half-hour displays twice a week if she so desired), but it was possibly the most fun I've ever had. Everyone was super into the display, and some older ladies next to me were genuinely cheering the fireworks, saying appreciative little comments like, "Ooh, that was quite a nice one, eh?" or "That's a lovely sight." There were also children pressed up against the balcony edge, just bouncing with excitement. After a sufficient amount of ooh-ing and aah-ing (and some on-off hijinks with the music speakers blaring Queen), the fireworks display finished and we reconvened with the rest of our little group.

We chatted with our friends, and somehow it devolved into an impromptu swing dancing lesson. I can now say with some authority that there are few places more suited to learn the twenties Charleston than in the lobby of a national museum. Try it out, kids, you won't regret it.

As it was pushing ten, we then split up, because L has work tomorrow, and I wanted to cast my eye on the festivities along the waterfront. Claire and I seriously considered going on some rides, but we ended up not doing it because tickets turned out to be a bit more than we were anticipating. Nonetheless, it was a lot of fun seeing everyone really into the spirit of the evening. It felt a lot like the Fourth of July, except that there weren't actual barbecues and I didn't see a single beer can. (A part of me kept being surprised that no one had sung the national anthem and that people weren't waving little flags. Yes, yes, ethno- and egocentric. What can I say? I am American.)

Then off we went to the Watusi for Gangbusters Night. Full Swing was hosting an evening of dancing, and it was just a ton of fun. They had cleared out a little dance space, which was small enough to be comfortable but large enough to fit everyone who wanted to dance, and most people were familiar faces. I was filled with a pleasant amount of wine and tiny gourmet burgers, and I spent the rest of the evening being twirled around by ridiculously adept dancers. My version of swing dancing is to basically fumble around until someone stops me, and I didn't stop fumbling for about two hours. I was literally the least experienced dancer in the room, but the calibre of the leads was such that I could be my fumble-footed self and they would just roll with it. Swing dancing, you guys! It is so great!

Once we had our fill of good times, Claire and I walked back to our car in the light drizzle and made our way back to our humble abode. Tomorrow, we are going to the Porirua Early Morning Market (which apparently isn't kidding about being early morning as it starts at midnight and ends at 10 am) and then we are adventuring to Napier.

And now, sleep beckons, my friends. Good night!

PS. And look at that! We have made it to over a hundred days in New Zealand!

Day 90: Back to Auckland

Today, I took Nakedbus up from Wellington to Auckland, and I spent probably a disproportionate amount of time marveling at how much has changed since Claire and I took the reverse ride down.

Due to some bad planning on my part (by which I mean "misplacing my wallet" and "running back to the house after realizing another place I could check" and "ultimately not finding it"), I ran late and had to wake Libby to drive me to the bus stop across from BP, and I spent an overly anxious fifteen minutes absolutely convinced that I had somehow messed up and missed the bus. (The things fill me with doubt, I cannot help it!)

As the minutes ticked past 8:32, my natural tendency to fret began to kick into gear and I was starting to wonder how prepared I was to drive to Auckland and where I could buy a suitable atlas or if I could look up flights to Auckland and how much it would be and the logistics of getting to the airport and -- luckily, the bus arrived before I started to consider how long it would take for me to walk the distance.

(If you're curious, Google Maps says it is 635 kilometers and it would take 5 days and 8 hours. Watch out, though, it also cautions that the route might be missing sidewalks or pedestrian paths.)

When I got on the bus, I realized that this was the very same place where I had nudged Claire eighty-three days ago and whispered in a voice heavy with meaning, "Hey, this is Johnsonville!" At the time, we were twelve hours into our trip to Wellington and Johnsonville meant nothing to us but the possibility of a flat. We knew only what we could glean from Wikipedia and Google Maps ("It has seven thousand people?" I had asked incredulously, "and it's the biggest commuter suburb?" And, later, distracted: "Ooh, let's live in Kelburn. Commuters ride a cable car!"). We had stared out the window and looked optimistically at the passing Countdown, the Toy World, the patch of the world we hoped would be our new place.

For the next several hours, I texted Claire periodically to alleviate my boredom, and I'm sure it was a deluge of astonishingly interesting messages. As we drove inexorably north and I'd write her stupid messages like, "WE HAVE ACHIEVED GUMBOOT." The Gumboot Manor, in case anyone takes the twelve-hour trip between Auckland and Wellington, is a few hours from Wellington and, more notably, where the bus stops for a meal. It boasts a menu that includes a hot lamb sandwich that has lodged in Claire and my collective brain as the most literal meal to be purchased at a restaurant. The hot lamb sandwich is exactly a piece of lamb (hot, if you're feeling generous) with a dab of mint sauce between two untoasted slices of bread and not a single thing more. While the place has its charms (your order number is given to you in the form of a child size six gumboot), Claire and I were a tad nonplussed and we ate our meals with no small degree of amusement. I'm not quite sure what we expected, but I think it was a sandwich that was perhaps a bit hotter and perhaps a bit less... bald. True to form, Claire texted me back asking how people many bought said hot lamb sandwich. Unfortunately, I couldn't observe, as I was outside, busy eating the sandwich she was kind enough to pack me.

Later, we arrived at Rotorua, and I had such a vivid recollection of sitting at the tables by the little corner of a cafe, watching birds hop around and eye prospective providers of food. Claire had bought a Moro Bar from the vending machine with change she had to read to confirm the value of, and we had a discussion about Moro Bars versus Milky Ways versus Three Musketeers. Today, I just sat outside in the much nicer weather, enjoyed the sun and the shade, and watched tourists take pictures and hug each other.

I'm necessarily truncating a thirteen-hour bus ride, but the entire thing was suffused with a sense of familiarity. We eventually arrived in Auckland at 9:20 p.m., almost an hour and a half behind schedule, and I was strangely unworried given the time and the darkness. Rather than ending the journey on an uncertain route dragging a fifty pound suitcase behind me, I had a light backpack and I knew where I was. (Eighty-three days ago, we walked for several kilometers around downtown Wellington with fifty pounds of luggage each in search of a hostel before bumping - so fortuitously - into Derek and Lauren. What a different time.)

I'm not sure how effective this entry is, but I think the key word is "familiar." I was surprised to note how much more aware I am of New Zealand as a cohesive place and how I have a much better awareness of how the pieces fit together. It's not as mysterious, and the distance from Auckland and Wellington is not as overwhelmingly far as it used to seem.

That being said, I also managed to travel to Auckland without my wallet (cash, EFTPOS card, or debit card), without keys, and with a phone with two bars of battery sans charger. On the other hand, I did have my passport, a giant GRE prep book, all of my necessary paperwork, and a bag of food that Claire packed me, so I figured it was a net win.

Day 85: Driving in TERRIBLE RAIN [FILLER]

This is an entry on:

+ HORRIBLE WELLINGTON RAIN! In which we had planned to get up early and take a day trip to Cape Palliser, but woke up to a grey, grey sky and decided against it.

+ WET WET FARMER'S MARKET! But we drove there in our trusty ZIGFROND and possibly overpaid parking, but figured it was worth it to avoid the above bulletpoint. Except for the part where we still got soaked.

+ Driving to Newtown! I'm not positive if the town's name is pronounced "Newton" as in Isaac (someone may have said this to be at some point?) or if it's pronounced "New Town," but we decided to drive somewhere and got as far as Newtown before getting disoriented and heading back. I have full confidence that Newtown is not very far from Wellington at all, but given that it was raining buckets, we had no idea where we were, and our clothes were still freezing and wet, it didn't seem like a bad idea to head back.

Day 84: Double Happy (Feet)

We recently started swing dancing lessons (an indepth review for Claire, a learning experience for me) at Full Swing, and tonight was a swing social! Claire and I did a light meal at Fidel's before heading down to meet up with our lovely Australian friend and her husband for some swing dancing good times.

I am far from proficient at dancing but it was a ton of breathless fun anyway. Many friends were met and made, and it was an evening of good times and good cheer. I briefly tried to learn to lead and found that it requires altogether too much thinking and planning for my skill level. (I am totally going to figure it out, though! I am resolute!)

Only somewhat relatedly, this is also the longest time I've been without access to instruments, and I am starting to seriously consider buying a cheapo ukulele. (A few weeks ago, we went to the Spring Festival at the Botanic Gardens and they had a Ukulele Fest at the soundshell. It was really fun in a cute, stressfree sort of way, and it really appealed to me. Also, as far as instruments go, they are portable and - in my range anyway - pretty cheap.) After the social, the four of us stood outside the window of Alistair's Music and contemplated what color ukulele I should get. I forgot how it came up, but I think it was H who said that if I get one, I should get a green one and paint it like a kiwifruit.

I am waiting for another job assignment to come through, and then I am totally going to get one. Kiwifruit ukulele, you will be mine!

Day 82: ZIGFROND! [FILLER]

This is a filler entry on:

+ PICKING UP OUR CAR! In which Claire is more daring than I am and takes the wheel, masterfully leading us through the streets of Wellington and triumphantly back to J'ville.

Day 73: In which I am melancholy

NB (23/10): I seriously considered not posting this, but I figure that the occasional bits of glumness is a part of the experience. So, why not?

One thing about this blog -- and part of the reason I haven't been writing much recently -- is that I did not want this blog to be about me, so much as a blog about me and Claire in New Zealand. It might be a superficial distinction, given that any personal blog is about the writer, but it's one that I think is important. If I let myself talk about myself, then this whole exercise will devolve into more introspection that I am comfortable putting in a public place with my name attached.

That being said, I am currently feeling glum enough that today will be an exception. Tomorrow, I will pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again -- and, for maximum effect, imagine that in a classic Fred Astaire warble -- but today I am going to allow myself to write out my melancholy.

I am at the Wellington library, again, and unlike the many other entries I've written here, I am not bemoaning my lack of internet and I am not worried about jobhunting. After I am done here (done writing this, done moping), I am going to take the train down to Johnsonville with my Peace Train card, walk the familiar path up the hills to our house, make dinner in our kitchen with our farmer's market groceries, and log onto our internet and post this. I'm going to walk along streets that I've gotten familiar with to a place I am comfortable living in. I'm going to swoop down and pick up the cat, she will yowl her displeasure, and then I will scritch the patch between her shoulderblades that makes her reluctantly, reliably purr.

I mentioned over a month ago that things were beginning to feel routine, and now I realize that they are. It's not actually as comforting as one might imagine. Now that Claire and I have put down roots, I'm starting to remember that we are going to be picking up and moving on and it's going to happen sooner than I'm ready for. My sister is visiting in December, and maybe my brother, and we are going to do a whirlwind tour of New Zealand. Claire and I have theoretical, hazy plans from the new year on, and they are exciting and I am excited, but they are moving.

Everytime we pick up and go, Claire and I are leaving things behind. We will leave behind our grumpy little cat and our lovely little house and this wonderful city. We have a whole cast of characters in our Wellington lives (and, if I am honest, an embarrassing portion is populated by the neighborhood cats), and I am pre-emptively sad about leaving them.

I know that this is all a part of travel, and that these are all wonderful, rich experiences that will contribute to the person I will become, but that does not make it any less sad in the now. Tomorrow will be another grand adventure, and I will have new experiences and make new friends, but today is a melancholy day.

(And to be perfectly, terribly honest, I am still pulling myself back together from what may have been one of the most disappointing birthdays I have ever had. Not to do with anyone I was with, but purely due to an exquisite cocktail of external factors. It was a perfectly botched day, where everything went wrong, including the weather -- can you believe it, on my horrible day, it had the gall to be sunny?-- and I'm still smarting from all the disappointed hope I poured into the day. Everything will be fine, and I know it, but the mental space that holds yesterday's memories still aches a bit.)

It's also distinctly possible that I am all the sadder because I haven't really eaten much today, so I should start my trek homeward. (In a moment of weakness yesterday, I stopped by Burger King, and I learned that BK fries in New Zealand are not the same as BK fries in the States, and that, too, was another fine dusting of disappointment on the day's sundae of awful. Will nothing stop the tragedy!)

So, my friends, family and whoever else, I will bid you good night, good day, whatever it is in your time zone. May your day be better than mine, but let it be as sunny and as full of potential.

Day 69: October!

In which the GST goes up, I bum around, and I backdate a lot of filler entries (and maybe write something here, too).

I am rather out of the writing groove, so bear with me as I get my sea legs back.