Entering part two.

The weather report says it "feels like 45-degrees F" at home in NJ.

Winter...you mock me.

It got me.

Today is my last day in Samoa, my last day in the Southern Hemisphere, my last day before flying home.

I've been so careful about not drinking the water: no ice cubes (but so tempted), no water...the only mistake I've made was a bit of a salad I had for lunch three days ago. And whatever it is, whatever is lurking ominously in the water has got me. Somehow.

Instead of going on my day-tour around the eastern side of the island (Upolu) , I've got stomach cramps and the whole shebang. I've cancelled my tour (goodbye beautiful waterfalls, rainforest-covered mountains, ocean grottos and stunning beaches) and booked an extra day so I can limp around the inn feeling like death on a too-warm day.

If I feel slightly more alive I'm going to venture into the city again, perhaps if I have a sudden amazing recovery I will even walk to the Marine Reserve five minutes away and have a swim.

My pathetic palagi insides got done in.

Samoa!

Hello! I'm here! I've arrived! Finally!

I spent an hour writing up a post, but when I tried to insert my USB drive to upload it I was swooped on by two of the hotel ladies. Oops.

Anyway, it's very warm and muggy and I haven't been outside of the hotel yet. We arrived at 3:30 and even though I woke up for an amazing free breakfast at 8:30, my travel comanion is still sleeping at nearly 11. I can see the ocean from the front door and I have a strong urge to make a bolt for it.

I'm alive, not quite melting (yet), not that rested, but well fed and relaxed. When I can, I will upload my already written post.

Preparing.

And tonight was my Last Last Night.

I'm Back

I've grown so comfortable in Christchurch and my current situation that --except for last night when goodbyes to some of the good friends I've made here choked me up-- I hardly believed that I was leaving. Just time and ease of the familiar made this morning's taxi ride to the airport disjunctured, unreal. I half-believed that I would be returning: more, I really couldn't comprehend the situation...that this was over and I was out.

I did, however, kind of expect to get to Samoa.

What Happened:
This morning was quite foggy and by 7 in the morning most of the morning's planes had been canceled, leaving me unable to get to Auckland to transfer to Apia, Samoa. The man behind the check-in desk gave me a slip of paper with the number to a flight with a different airline and told me to take it to the International Tickets & Sales desk, which I did. The man behind that desk, however, only half paid attention to me, looked at the flights and told me across the board that they were canceled. He told me I couldn't leave until tomorrow at 5:00pm.

I crawled outside, hailed a cab and headed back to Ilam.

What Happened Next:
The fog lifted -- it's now a brilliant bright beautiful day with not a cloud anywhere to be seen. I hop online and check the Christchurch Airport website...just in time to see the second flight (the one written on my slip of paper) finish boarding and depart while I watch. My travel companion decided last minute not to take a taxi and have a friend drive her to the airport so she could say goodbye -- and thus we were separated and having gotten rid of our New Zealand cellphones, totally unable to communicate. I haven't heard from her since so I assume that she's happily flying across the South Pacific on the flight that wasn't really canceled.

What This Means:
$45 on cab fare
The possibility that I might lose $64 on the hotel in Samoa for two nights
Arriving in Samoa at 1:40 AM instead of 2:40PM
Reduction from 5 days in Samoa to 3
Extreme frustration and irritation
An extra day-and-a-half with friends in Christchurch
Having to unpack my tightly-packed bags for PJ's and more clothes

The weirdest part is this feels so normal: it's become my home and so being back here doesn't at all feel unreal. It's played into that side of my head that feels like tomorrow and the next day and the next day and the next day will still be New Zealand. I simply cannot wrap my mind around the fact that I'm leaving.

I can, however, wrap my mind around the fact that I'm missing out on two days in the tropics.

Update:
Though I still haven't heard directly from my travel companion, I heard through the grapevine that she was also grounded and could not make it to Samoa. Today I spent relaxing, soaking up some more of Christchurch and some more friendship, and tonight I'm feeling the impact of expecting the jarring disconnect, and then returning --suddenly-- to normality.

...

Today is my last day in New Zealand. When did that happen?

Roses

Yesterday I was at the Botanical Garden:

Adventuring in Middle Earth

As I've mentioned before, New Zealand has embraced their Lord of the Rings legacy: when the movies were being filmed the NZ army was enlisted to build a road to the set at Hobbiton and a no-fly-zone up to 5,000 feet was enacted over the area, a Minister of Parliament was named Minister of Lord of the Rings, the crowd at an All-Blacks Game (rugby) was recorded yelling like orcs and which was tweaked for the battle scenes, and Viggo Mortenson was almost arrested for tromping around Wellington in full regalia with armor and sword.

And the line, of course, blurs in funny ways, calling New Zealand "Middle Earth" or making some special claim on Tolkein.

In this vein, I'm going to dedicate a post to all of the Lord of the Rings territory I've visited while roaming through New Zealand.


Matamata -- Hobbiton and the Shire

Matamata (on the North Island, about 2hrs from Rotorua) is notable as having the only remaining set from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. It was a result of advantageous misfortune which presented half of the Hobbit holes from being torn down, and after several years of bitter fighting with New Line Cinemas, the farmer who owns the land won the right to keep and show off what was remaining.

Gollum was there to greet us in downtown Matamata.

The Party Tree! Apparently this was the biggest reason why Peter Jackson chose this location: a huge, perfectly round tree.

Here am I, giving a speech for Bilbo's Eleventy-First Birthday Party.

Looking directly across the water, where The Green Dragon Tavern near Hobbiton once stood. The spit of land to the right was where the bridge used to stand.

Along the back, near the fence, marks the furthest Sam Gamgee had been out of the Shire.


Bag End and other Hobbit holes.


Bag End is definitely the best Hobbit hole in the shire!


Some of the other Hobbit holes in the Shire.


I'm inside Bag End!


Looking out from the door of Bag End.


Living like a Hobbit!


Looking down across the Shire from above Bag End.

Franz Joseph Glacier -- The Lighting of the Beacons

There are Lord of the Rings sites scattered all across New Zealand, it's hard to miss them. This is really an incidental location that I visited as only afterthought. These peaks that surround Franz Joseph Glacier were used in the lighting of the beacons, when Pippin climbs up the tower in Minas Tirith to light the first beacon. The beacons are then lit from peak to peak across this area. The shot in the film is taken high above the top of the peaks, while this photo was taken by my lowly position as a mortal on the ground.

Franz Joseph Glacier and the peaks that surround it.

Tarras -- The Great East Road

The only compilation of information about the sites of many of the Lord of the Rings location is terribly written, disorganized, vague, and astonishingly useless. (After days of trudging around, hunting for locations with Kelsey on our South Island Road Trip and muttering "Oh, he's getting a bad review!" to eachother, I finally got my thoughts out.)

Somewhere near Tarras, some kilometers down a dusty unpaved road, we were supposed to come across the pine forest where the flight to the ford along the Great East Road (when Arwen is transporting a sick Frodo and fleeing from the Ringwraiths to escape towards the river) was filmed. As our directions were unclear and our divining rod was out of commission, I'm not entirely sure if this is the correct batch of pines, though clearly we were very close.

One possible candidate for the pine forest with the path transfomred into the Great East Road.

A more likely candidate for the location of the Great East Road.

Kawaru River, Queenstown -- River Anduin

Amazingly, the directions to this site were some of the clearest (with only one false start) though it involved one of the scariest roads I've ever driven: a terrifyingly narrow gravel road going uphill along the edge of a cliff.

This is the Kawaru River, which was used to film the River Anduin. Particularly, the Pillars of Argonath, the giant statues of Kings which the Fellowship passed as they boated down the river were computer-graphicked into the area.

Looking down on the River Anduin from on high.


In Tourism Theory, this photo is called "a Certificate of Presence." So there you go: I was there.

Middle of Nowhere, near Mavora Lakes -- The Edge of Fangorn Forest

To get here, we drove 40 minutes down an unpaved dirt road: we left a dust trail that stretched far behind us and everything inside and outside of the car was coated with find brown dust. The whole way down the road through farmland, the lambs fled in a panic at the sound of our hefty beast of a car approaching on the gravel.

When we located the site, it was a bit of a triumph! It was exciting to see that it is so recognizable. This is the edge of Fangorn Forest where the Rohirrim's ambush on the Orcs takes place and where Merry and Pippin crawl into the forest to escape.

The field at the edge of Fangorn Forest.

Standing on the battlefield, at the edge of Fangorn Forest.


At the edge of Fangorn, where the Rohirrim burned the orc bodies. (I'm a dead orc, obviously.)

Mavora Lakes -- Silverlode River

This was one of the prettiest places I got an opportunity to visit while traveling around the South Island, but the directions were, again, absolutely terrible. (Perhaps it did not occur to the author that "lone bathrooms" and "park benches" are not permanent landmarks and that looking for "the log in the forest" might not be a unique marker.) However, we did far better than we realized and happened to be right on the correct shores which we found by memory.

The end of the River Anduin spills into the Silverlode River, and it's near here where the Fellowship camps out and where Sam and Frodo take off on their own, after their scuffle mid-water.

A view of the South Mavora Lake, the Silverlode River and a shot only in the extended edition of the first film.


North Mavora Lake and on the beach where the Fellowship made camp. On the other side is the far shore to which Frodo and Sam crossed in their boat.

Twelve Mile Delta -- The Hobbits Lunch with Gollum & Oliphants

This is a park and campground about a half-hour drive outside of Queenstown towards Glenorchy (which really isn't a bad drive, but extraordinarily daunting at night -- a feat which also involved a slow drive down a gravel hill with our lumbering vehicle and peeing behind a bush in the pitch black darkness which we later discovered was no more than 150 yards from a bathroom in the light of morning.) It was really quite nice to wake up and spend the morning right in the area, exploring.

At this point in the trilogy, Sam and Gollum are arguing over the coney which Sam insists on cooking. This is the area where they stop and have lunch.

The guidebook suggested that this area was supposed to look like it was being run down from the evil influences of Sauron as the Hobbits and Gollum got closer to Mordor: scrubby and hard-packed dried dirt and pebbles.


This ledge was where Sam and Frodo lay and watched the movement of soldiers below them and Sam saw his Oliphants!

Somewhere I read a quote of Peter Jackson describing what he loves about New Zealand: that the landscape is so varied and so beautiful that it is simultaneously familiar and fantastical. It's a statement that has really struck home for me and is the closest way I have of adequately describing the impact the country has had on me.

The land is so beautiful it hardly seems believable.

Anxious

I'm so anxious about leaving that I've given myself a pretty exciting migraine. I wasn't quite expecting that.

Spring in Christchurch: Guy Fawkes Night and the Seafarer's Service

I'm pretty beat. It's why I've been remiss about writing, apart from the occasional marginally topical brain-spurt. Exam season has been something else: when 50% of your overall grade is at stake, it makes you buckle down and focus. Not all of Ilam Village, however, may have received the memo as there were also some notably disruptive spectacular parties (despite the all-out ban) which have involved drunken screaming, celebratory car-honking and erupting fireworks until at least 4:00 in the morning. Lack of sleep and intense study = wiped out Geca.

Since I finished my last exam (yesterday) I've been doing my solid share of sleeping/lounging/lazing. Even so, my sleeping self hasn't yet caught on and I regularly jolt myself awake, panicking that I've missed an exam. (This morning at 6:30AM: "LIGHT THROUGH THE WINDOW! RED ALERT! RED ALERT!") I'm nursing myself back to sanity and have even returned to home-cooked food! How wonderful! Tonight I made totally amazing salmon, with a glaze of wild plum stirfry sauce and balsamic vinegar. (Though I failed at couscous, again, drastically.) This is a vast improvement over my previous instant-noodles-easy-mac-and-burgers-from-the-dirt-cheap-and-slightly-sketchtastic-fish-&-chips-shop-at-the-corner diet.

In this spirit of returning to normality, I'm trying to observe and absorb as much as I can of New Zealand. A large component of this includes writing about it and taking pictures. That said, as long as I can keep my energy up, expect the blog posts to come fast and furious.

__________________________________

In preparing to depart, I'm trying to come to terms with Christchurch. While it's not a very thrilling or happening sort of place, it's where I've actually lived for the past 5 months. It's a very new kind of relationship for me. I've never lived in a city --as much of a city as Christchurch is-- and have never been part of the mundane and practical relationship that it entails. I ride the bus (or walk) everywhere I need to go and know the first and last busses in and out of the city, I buy my groceries and carry them down the street or run quick errands for milk or cheese or bread when I'm out, I stand in line at the post office and the bank, and I've become such a weekly regular at the souvlaki stand in the market on Sundays (don't laugh!) that the man has come to recognize me. I've never had this independance before, or this independance in a city, and the two are vitally connected. Having to leave this place is going to be a very strange experience simply because I'm severing the accepted network of my daily routine -- this is for-good leaving, maybe-never-coming-back leaving, not-going-to-be-there-anymore leaving, something very hard to wrap my mind around.

And so to make my peace, I've been making a conscious effort to explore and enjoy Christchurch.

Last Wednesday afternoon, as a break amid exams, LaRae and I went downtown for a wander. Though we embarked with specific intentions, it transformed into a really pleasant aimless stroll. We stopped and admired the Cathedral, and ambled over to Victoria Square, passed a tall statue of Queen Victoria, looking like a mean and ugly bulldog glowering down on all who enter. Victoria Square is a pretty little garden area with several fountains, small bridge-covered waterways, a Maori carved wooden post that drones "tena kotou, tena kotou, tena kotou" formally at the press 0f a button, and a floral clock with a large electrically-powered mechanism and enormous hands stuck in a bank of flowers...and running about a 1/2hr late.

Another angle on the ChristChurch Cathedral

Daisies in Victoria Square

Upside-down Tiki in Victoria Square

We made our way, head-on into shockingly cold wind, which later became rain, hail, snow, and rain again in succession, into the northeast corner of Christchurch where we'd never been before. The roads got bigger, the architecture got frillier, and an old man on a bike struck up conversation with us, telling us "This is Eric Clapton in disguise," pointing to a stranger on the sidewalk, "and I'm Batman!" before pedalling away. We stopped at the fancy "Cupcake Parlour" that I've plotted to visit for months, and, picking from a selection of pastel-colored cupcakes, sat to eat them with small forks off floral-patterned china plates. It was cute, yummy, a warm refuge from the cold walk, and a bit of a 50's flashback: wildflowers in glass milk bottles, waitresses in lacy aprons, baby blue wallpaper with a pink country rose pattern, and little girls in school uniforms and hats with their mothers.


We returned to Ilam Village --but not before having rain, hail, snow, and more rain dumped on our heads-- just in time to see Barak Obama win the US elections and hear the small fragment of his acceptance speech that was played on NZ television! (And how's about that! I'm amazed that the US actually has a drive to health, that something like idealism and optimism actually won out in politics!) Still giddy with the political excitement, we ran to the bus stop and rode an hour on a packed bus to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night at New Brighton Beach. As a part of the British Commonwealth and in the tradition of settler societies honoring the history of their mother countries, New Zealand makes a pretty big deal of the festivities. New Brighton is a gorgeous beach with a really long elegant pier, lit with a shifting rainbow of colors. The rest of the beach was transfomered into a carnival with rides, food stalls, and most importantly cotton candy! It was a great night -- spectacular fireworks shot off the pier and reflecting over the ocean, and the bright loud carnival atmosphere which always makes me exhuberantly happy.

The group before sunset at New Brighton Beach: six Americans, one Aussie and two Kiwis.

Carnival! (Yay!)

Fireworks!

New Zealand-colored fireworks! (And Obama-colored fireworks! Yay!)

It was fitting for us and suitably celebratory, too, in light of our own political triumphs. The funny thing is --and this may be telling of my own political leanings-- I've never really understood Guy Fawkes Night as a celebration of the overthrowing of the "gunpowder treason and plot," (yes, despite the traditional burning of "guy" effigies) but the sparks, the fire, and the explosion of fireworks seem instead to reclaim the event and recall or even replace the failed explosion. In that sense, I find it an exciting reminder and celebration of the role of the people, and the power and duty they have to effect their government.

Interlude: enter some days of frantic studying, stressed sleeplessness, and a brutally creul exam.

Today I woke up early (after two or three neurotic false starts) and went with two friends, LaRae and Sam, to the ChristChurch Cathedral. I wanted to experience the Cathedral alive, as more then an empty Neo-Gothic husk. It was really quite touching as it happened to be the annual Seafarer's Service, to bless and remember all those who live or play on the water. There were sailors in all sorts of uniforms (commercial sailors, sailors currently enlisted in the New Zealand Navy and little old men who formerly served and wore their Sunday suits decorated with medals) and the prayers for those lost at sea gave me wave after wave of goosebumps. In addition to the church choir (gorgeous) the church's brass band was there and played beautifully haunting music before switching to both "Tuxedo Junction" and another circus-like song...an interesting juxtaposition. After the visit to the Cathedral the day was far more low-key: my last visit to the Art Center Market (and my last gyro from the souvlaki stand), errands and quick groceries and a glorious nap. In the evening I went for a long walk with my flatmate, Number 1, around the Ilam area and it was really friendly and nice to be out with the nights beginning to warm up.

Newsflash:

NEWSFLASH:

I AM DONE WITH EXAMS. HURRAH. HURRAH. HALLELUJAH.


(That last one was akin to getting my nails ripped out, for a survey course on literature it was surprisingly nasty. )

Conceptualizing the Ocean

Studying Pacific Island literature, and Oceanic literature as a whole, is really fascinating because of the very different understandings of the relationship of land and water. Particularly, indigenous Pacifica perspectives understand water not as the limit and boundary of the land but as vital extension of their accessible universe, at least as primary as the land they live on. Paraphrasing one Pacifica critic, Epeli Hau'ofa, instead of the Western colonial understanding of Oceania as a collection of small isolated spits of land scattered across a vast ocean, indigenous Oceanic peoples conceive of their world as necessarily watery, a "sea of islands" rather than "islands at sea."

This made me also realize that all of the places where I've ever lived or traveled have been under an hour from the shore and had an immediate and fundamental connection to the sea. (Greece, Nova Scotia, Ireland, New Zealand, Samoa.) Coincidence?

Racism.

I'm in the push to study for my last and final exam, for NZ Literature. I'm less panicked, largely because I'm more apathetic.

I've mentioned that I've had a few issues with the lecturer, but by picking and shuffling through a lot of verbosity, there are some good things. This gave me a bit of a wry chuckle, since the subtext is so clearly "WHAT is GOING ON in New Zealand?!":

"How do we like our biculturalism served: "either/or" or "both/and"?"

Not having been here long enough to be able to decree much of anything, I can say that I don't usually encounter so much (passive, or not) racism.

If I hear "some of my best friends are Maori" (I kid you not) or "the problem is their attitude!" again I'm going to come out with a tongue lashing.

Similarly so with:

• "I like hearing about ancient Maori societies, but now they just complain about trying to claim their land!"
• "That part of town is full of Maori! I don't go there and lock my doors when I drive through!"
• Some reference to Maori people as a lost cause because "they're not educated/don't get jobs/join gangs."

I'm agog at the self-centered ignorance, the lack of reflectiveness, the narrow-mindedness. Usually, these are haphazard remarks (and sometimes alternating quickly with an explanatory "I come from a place with lots of Maori") and when I hear these sorts of comments they take me so aback I do nothing but choke, silently.

(Chalk "racism" on the list of Things That Make Me Uncomfortable About My Flatmates.)

Impending.

In a week and a half I leave New Zealand.

The horror of that is beginning to sink in.

Learning Curve

Apparently kumara come in a rainbow of colors. I bought the wrong one.

I wanted orange, but my choices were between red and yellow, which was unhelpful.

Just in time!

Dear Brain,

Gee, thanks. You knew exactly what I needed to prep for this exam: a migraine. Spectacular. And here I go, off to wander through the Engineering building, with a seriously skewed sense of perspective.

Ever yours,
Me

Spring Lilacs

After years of living next to the world's most stupidly exuberant lilac bush --which yearly invades the house as The Mother tries to find places to stash the stuff...it even penetrates the bathroom in pretty little vases perched on the toilet tank-- my nosedar has become highly attuned to the scent.

After two days of being holed up in my room, studying frantically (or alternately crying myself sick over my kitten) I stepped out into a really nice cool spring night and was almost literally smacked in the face by a powerful whiff of lilac.

I sniffed my way across the street, and down the row of shrubs until, lo and behold the discovery of the source. What a ridiculously excitable plant, a flower totally unable to contain itself -- which is to me an eternal source of bemusement.

Such is Life

Million dollar question:
How do you study for an exam when you have just found out that your kitten (whom you adore) is dying of cancer in his kidneys while you are across the world?

Irrelevant but important.

There are three foods I love above all else:

Chocolate
Cheese
Avocados

Rarely do they go together.

I would like to announce that I am about to have the most amazing lunch ever: toast, cheese, and avocado slices with lemon juice and pepper...finished off with a chocolate cupcake for desert!

Such a combination of foods and ecstasies, I fear, may end me like the end of Like Water for Chocolate: all my soul's matches will be lit up at once and I will spontaneously be set ablaze combust. At least you know I went happily.

That's all. Go about your lives, citizens.

Happy Halloween

This is a sore point.

Halloween is one of my favorite Holidays, ranking just below Christmas Eve -- what I enjoy are holidays full of magic, color and curiosity. And Fall is my favorite season (I get laughed at. Here it's universally called "Autumn.") To me, Halloween is the crystallizing nodal point of Fall, the high point, the zenith.

This year, I will have had half a Summer, two Winters and two Springs, but not at all a Fall. There is no way of describing adequately how much that upsets me (the leaves simply don't turn colors unless I get to see them. I don't believe it!) Thank you, thank you, world, for consigning me to two cold and dismal Winters without the last brilliant blowout that is Fall.

So, as you might imagine, in a country where they've only begun Halloween in the very smallest ways (with very small children in dress up, though most houses don't give out candy, and there are also celebrations at clubs and bars -- similar to the Cinco de Mayo phenomenon in the US) the American kids are all very much wounded by the lack of Halloween.

Last night, we had a Halloween party, which three Kiwis and one Saudi Arabian also attended. Otherwise, it was typically American, and typically full of candy: there was an extraordinary amount of chocolate, and I made chocolate cream cheese cupcakes (so yummy!) There were even two jack-o'-lanterns carved out of real pumpkins (but different than the bright orange large round pumpkins you'd expect.) The jack-o'-lanterns were wonderfully soothing -- the smell of warm pumpkin and the orange glow really like nothing else.

__________________________

(This said, we interrupt this broadcast for an announcement to the people who love Geca: now would be a great time to fulfill the Geca's need for Halloween vestiges!

--> Cheap post-Halloween candy that she would definitely appreciate:

• candy corn
• Three Musketeers
• Butterfingers
• Kit Kats

--> Pumpkins, and pumpkin-carving! (Hint: this would certainly be one of the world's coolest dates. Just sayin'. If anyone wants to take me on a date. Ya know.) Trasmission over.)

__________________________

Other very Ammurikan things we did included bobbing for doughnuts, not something I've ever done before, or ever heard of, but definitely a tradition worth repeating! Wow, is it silly! Doughnuts, covered in whip cream, are dangled over somebody's face while somebody else stands on a chair, manipulating the doughnut. It's the kind of activity that ends with messy whip cream all over face, chest, hands, and floor, and lots of wonderfully awkward photos. (And in this I excelled: cream all over myself --including cream which slipped down my shirt, surprising!-- and then my dash for the bathroom to mop sticky melted whip cream off of my face was followed closely by two papparazzi-like friends. So funny!)

Bottom-line: the party, though it was a bit awkward --no parties during Exam Period meant that when we got caught by one of the RAs, he didn't make us leave but did ask us to kill the music, which then meant the party degenerated into one of those awkward but thoughtful moments of sitting around together in a circle in the dark-- was really sweet. It's nice to know that for the most part (despite some strained relationships and some warring egos) we've pulled together as a genuinely warm and comfortable group. It's going to be strange and sad leaving this group, though at least I am one of the first to go and leaving with another friend which eases the separation somewhat. The flight from LAX to JFK will be genuinely weird, not having spent much time alone in the past 5 months. But, anyway, this is a conversation for a different time.

Have some photos:

First ever pumkin carved by one of our Kiwi friends.


The flatties hosting the party: (L to R) Night sky, Giraffe, "Sunburnt Zebra"


(L to R) Fairy, Penguin, Dirty Cop


The carving pumpkin [edit: clearly I had a brain synapse misfire: "pumpkin-carving"] Kiwi himself! Look, a brilliant example of cross cultural contact: the story of Sleepy Hollow and the Headless Horseman is a distinctly American tale and yet it's instantly recognizable on the other side of the globe!


The aftermath of the doughnut bobbing. (No adequate picture of the process, sorry.)

The above is a photo which provides no evidence of my costume. Why? Because a crucial bit was removed:

The Bearded Lady!

I was rather proud of this costume, since, the only thing I didn't previvously own was the $2 beard which I trimed to a rather flattering point (don't you think?) A costume idea sparked, in the dorkiest of ways, from our discussion of Carnival Freak Shows in my seminar English class ("The Exotic.")

I am, in fact, The Exotic:

And besides the fact that as a passionate Gender Studies Geek and appreciated the greater implications of the outfit (GENDER BINARY, YOU DONE BEEN BROKEN), clearly, I am also my father's daughter.

This means that some several very strong themes surfaced at the party.

The First:

Facial Hair! In pretty abundant, ridiculous fashions

The Second:

Particularly ladies with facial hair! Spontaneous gender-bending! How deliciously progressive!

And, of course, a group picture of the core of the girls that remained at the end of the party:

(L to R) Back: Fairy, Night Sky, Giraffe, Pirate Wench
Middle: Bearded Lady, Football Player, Dirty Cop
Front: Dead Bungee Jumper

Anchor

What's getting me through this rough period of stress, panic, and studying for exams is the determination that I will spend my first day back in the US playing cello.



(and apparently flaring up my carpal tunnel in one fell swoop...)

Woes of the Greek-American Kid

This is really for the benefit of my family and anyone else who happens to know Greek, but there's a restuarant in Christchurch named "Santorini Greek Ouzeri & Restaurant," complete with the fake columns, the bouzouki band, and the Greek dancing. I haven't gone simply because it's expensive, but a friend went today for a celebration and got me intrigued to go reunite with my people.

(From recent studies of Diaspora Theory: common characteristics of diaspora -- 1) the migrant's children are equally affected and feel strong about being "displaced" between cultures, 2) the creation of a really strong separate ethnic identity within the host community is vital to cultures in diaspora, and finally, 3) this diasporic ethnic identity trasncends different host communities so that it links people in different nations. See! Diaspora Theory saved me years and money on psychotherapy.)

But with renewed interest in reveling in Greekness, I looked up the menu again, and found, to my amusement, this traditional of traditional Greek desserts:

"Pagoto and fruita: Prime New Zealand vanilla ice cream served with chocolate sauce."

Ah, nothing like Pagoto and Fruita. Particularly good with New Zealand pagoto. And no fruita.

Return to Uni

Exciting things that have happened since I've returned to Canterbury Uni:

1) On my way to grab the vacuum to clean my room yesterday, I uncovered an ENORMOUS SPIDER with about A BILLION LEGS. I froze and hollered for Flatmate Number 6, who, as the resident Kiwi identified it as the DREADED WHITE TAILED BEASTIE. We made a formidable killing team and Number 6, armed with a cutting board (....it's what we had readily available) smashed the monster, and I quickly turned the vacuum on its remnants. We are cold-hearted mercenaries, foot soldiers in the front line, defenders of Flat 26 from the horrors of the invading spiders and their white bottoms.

2) After a late night, this morning I was awakened at 6:00am by a vicious torrent of hail, hitting the full-length window behind my head where I sleep. Very strange. This comes from a country where thunderstorms are a rarity. (So much so that they prompted one of my truly stupid compatriots to ask a Kiwi at a party, "Do you have thunderstorms in New Zealand?" In fact, weather is a specifically American phenomenon.) Even so, this morning's weather turned out to be both bizarre and vindictive as during a stroll downtown, the weather having cleared and turned into brilliant blue sky, was suddenly overtaken by marauding storm clouds which again dumped a fresh volley of hail down upon us. Is it unhealthy if I believe that perhaps the weather is out to get me?

3)I just forgot my kumara (a NZ sweet potato) in the oven for two hours. When I finally clued in that I was still hungry, I suddenly remembered that I was in the process of burning down the building. I tore down the hall and into the kitchen to discover that, while the room was slightly smoky, the kumara was hardly singed. Verily, sweet potatoes are brilliantly delicious things: when the [insert Creator Being] thought them up, [He/She/It] knew what was up. Also, clearly, contemplation of the spiritual origins of the sweet potato engenders in me a theological crisis.

4) I have exams. I don't like exams. As an English major, it is my firm stance that it makes little sense. (In very few cases does a pressured exam prove that you can analyze and synthesize theory and literature, and produce a well-written, well-thought essay.)

Previous to my exposure to the exam-heavy culture of countries in the Commonwealth, I have only ever had one English exam. (And it was pretty awesome: for a Contemporary American Poetry class, we had to identify the poets --from a selection of about 10 poets-- that had written each of 20 poems we had not previously studied in class, and argue for our choice. It was brilliant, since it forced me to become keenly aware of each poet's tendencies -- the tendency to endstop or enjamb, the tendency to rely on "--" or ";" or "?!", the tendency to make up words or to drill the poem home with monosyllables. Really exciting sort of exam.) However these exams are going to prove far less exciting: for each, to write three essays, in three hours (by hand, with carpal tunnel, when your sister stole your expensive, fat, round, physical-therapist-approved pen, before you left for New Zealand...) Over the course of the next few weeks I have an exam this Tuesday, Oct. 28th at 9:30AM (The Exotic), next Monday, Nov. 3rd at 2:30PM (Heroines in History) and next Saturday, Nov. 8th at 2:30PM (New Zealand Literature).

While I have never previously panicked for exams, the mood on campus is heart-stopping. All the Kiwi students are in a state of sheer panic and are engaging in prolonged study with deadly ferocity. This is making me wonder if perhaps I am taking the exams too lightly and am becoming infected with a similar sense of dread and absolute terror. If I do not surface much for the next two weeks, you will understand why. (Perhaps between exams, for a break, I will find time to update this blog per my huge, enormous, really cool, South Island Road Trip.)

For Future Reference: Road Trip Map

Queenstown Towards Otago

Written 10.21.08:

"Yesterday was a pretty quiet (boring?) day in QUeenstown. I was determined to have one day without driving and so we did what one does when visiting a new city: eat and shop.

We wandred through shops (souvenir and not, interesting and kisch). We had a $10 lunch special at a Thai restuarant where my food was so spicy I guzzled down an entire pitcher of water by myself (and startled myslf by running to the bathroom to pee five times in the next hour.) After lunch we went o a chocalatier where I bought two scoops of gelato -- white chocolate and hazlenut, fruit-of-the-forest and mascapone cheese. Truly luscious and completely decadent."

"We spet a long time wandering through the city: it's an attractive city, cute, snappy, fun and built for skiing/snowboarding culture. Iti is in a valley, built into the side of the ills (steep) and built to show off and adire the Remarkable. (Aptly named mountains, and probably more so with snow.) ...by the ninth hour we spent klooking at soucenir kitsch I was in a foul moood and exhaustd from standing on my feet. I went back to the campervan for a nap and with the windows open --and a cool breeze -- it was the most glorious and refreshing thing. Sadly, though, during the rest of the day the wind was bitterly cold making my inclinaion to find creative ways of exploring Queenstown slim-to-none. We passed flocks and flocks of geese huddled in on themselves from the cold. "

"When I woke up I spent several hours alone, lounging and reading some more of the bone people by Keri Hulme. I could not think of a more fitting novel to read on this adventure: a beautiful, fascinating book written about a quirky fiercely independent Maori woman, trying to reclaim her spirituality and form a relationship with the physical environment. ...I keep returning to it voraciously on this trip -- both because I enjoy the novel itself and also the mindset and the content really suit me on this trip."

"I think if I had written about yesterday yesterday, it would have sounded very differen. I was incredibly sad, an emotional wreck. Thinking about it know, I can understand some of what through me. I am already fragile: the stress (extreme) from the end of the semester, the further stress worrying about my kitten. ...Additionally Queenstown (fun and small) reminded me of home, and places I would explore with friends. ...Since we've been on the move I've been much happier."

Written later, 10.21.08

"We hit the road out of Queenstown at about 11am today to make our way further south down this southernmost cornder of the globe. After taking the wrong turn, we made a circular loop outside the city, abnout an hour's lost time but it was pretty. It reminds me of the stylized English countriside in landscapes from the 19th c. So ey green in may different hues, with the requisite pastures of sheep and hilly, tree-scattered backdrops. Ultimately verdant, b ut almost manicured, a sunny-eyed depiction of orchards, vineyards and farmland framed by mountains whose beauty downplay how extraordinarily inaccessable they actually are.

As Queenstown is surrounded by Lake Wakatipu, and is nestled in the crook of one of its several zig-zag elbow points, it wasn't long until we were tracing the edge of the water along a narrow, etraordinarily curvy spit of road. It is really astounding how blue the waters in som many of the NZ lakes and riers are: either a brilliant saphire or a turquoise typically reserced for the Caribbean. However, that we went so slow in a van that is reluctant to go uphill meant that we collected rows of cars behind us like magnets on a string.

From Queenstown we made it to Otago, flat, sunny, sheep-and-cow land. ...We stopped ,after a few small towns that interrupted the long empty (but nonetheless scenic) drive, and took a turn off for the Mavora Lakes. It was 39km down an unpaved dir road, kicking up a long dust trail in our wake. As we drove past pastures full of sheep, it was funny to see all the tiny lambs turn and flee at the sight (and sound, no doubt) of the approach van."

"Partway along the road we stopped for a brilliant view of the edge of Fangorn Forest, where Merry and Pippin scuttled into the forest and the exact shot where the Rohirrim (yes? it was them wasn't it?) burned the dead orc bodies. We climbed delicately through some barbed wire (a first, for my generally law-abiding self) and ran over dried tufted golden grass, lumpy mounds that crunched under out feet. We peeked into the forest (no Ents) and posed on the ground for photos as dead orcs. (Yes, it was weird. And I got dried gras down my pants.) It was a brilliant stop, not only because it was a distinctive shot for several pivotal scenes, but because it is a stark deliniation: inside of Fangorn and out, a line between golden grass and dark tangled woods.

After Fangorn we drove several more kilometers towards the Mavora Lakes which are some of the most beautiful places I've seen in New Zealand. A large, dark, flat, and reflective lake, ringed with snow topped mountains that seemed to anchor the slippery shining thing."

Mt. Cook and Queenstown

I hate homesickness. I hate it with a deep abiding disgust. It's been my firm belief that homesickness is for the weak. Homesickness orients you the wrong way and obscures the possibility for new and interesting adventures.

At the moment, I'm in Queenstown and I'm desperately homesick. Really. It's thrown me for a major loop -- usually when I'm busy traveling I don't get mopey, I don't wish I was home, I'm never ten seconds away from fleeing for home with my tail between my legs.

And yet, right now I'm so distressed and homesick I feel like vomiting.

And so, to ignore this, I'm going to type up the neat, cute, trim little pieces of travel-type writing I've collected in my own paper journal thus far on my travels:


Written 10.18.08:

"It was really hard to get the trip started this morning, I didn't have the heart to pack, plan or preare, I spent so much of my mental and emotional ennergy worrying about my kitty. When we went to pick up the campervan too, we arrived a half-hour late, and at 12:01pm. The lady dismissively told us that they close at 12:00pm on Saturdays and that we would not be able to pick up the van until Monday. We argued...and suddwenly she melted into sweetness. An hour later--after an excessive run-through of the car (the engines are under the seats!)-- we left, but not before getting lost in Christchurch (twice), furiously packing and washing dishes, and a nervous hunt for gas."

"The drive up was somewhat unexciting and not that pretty on a straight-shot road through flat (grey and rainy) Canterbury. When we hit Mackenzie, there were beautiful green hills everywhere, rises and dips which looked as if they'd been draped and covered with green fondant. We stopped to take pictures of one field completely filled with yellow flowers. The clouds, farmhouse and trees on the horizon and the sheer yellow glow of the field made it look like a Van Gogh painting.

In about 3hrs from Christchurch we arrived at Lake Tekapo which is a large clear blue lake, framed by the Southern Alps. Its main attraction (besides the view) is the Church of the Good Shepherd, tiny and built in 1935 right by the lake. There was also a monument dedicated to the collie dogs who helped sheep farmers settle the land.

We stopped for dinner at a sushi restaurant and had warm miso soup, rice and the most beautiful juicy tender teriyaki salmon. I believe the salmon was local (Mt. Cook Salmon) which made it all the more flavorful.

After dinner (it had goten dark while we were eating and from the restaurant's picture window we could watch the white mountains turn pink berfore the sky faded) we left for Mt. Cook, about 1.5hrs away. The drive wasn't bad until we hit a long grassy stretch completely teeming with rabbits. They darted everywhere, across the road, to the right side, to the wrong side, everywhere just moving rabbit bodies.

And then I hit one.

Between its poor decision and my inability to break fast enough, I smacked into it with a heavy thud. I really really hope that it was an instantaneous death. It realy upset me: I felt weak and shook all over and said my apologies, pointedly noting the loss of one rabbit among hundreds. It is the first animal I've ever hit, and the first animal I've ever killed and not eaten.

Not too long later we arrived at Mt. Cook, located and parked at the campgrounds without too much hassle. There are no lights here, so the night sky was cleare, like splattered milk drops on velvet. We watched them for a while and I saw a shooting star fall across the sky.

Then we had our second altercation with wildlife: from somewhere in the dark, I heard an I-don't-know-what growl. Eerie, low, almost like a whisper. I froze and tried to think what in New Zealand would do that. As I was thinking I heard it again and launched myself bodily into the van. I was explaining why to Kelsey, who dismissed it and also questioned the growl -- until it growled a third time and she frantically scrambled into van as wwel.. My only guess was that it was a mustelid of sorts (stoat, weasel, ferret?), but we spent the evening hiding in the car."

Written 10.20.08

"Yesterday we woke up at the foot of Mt. Cook and at dawn I glimsed out of the campervan to see one of the surrounding snow-covered mountains purely orange with the light. We hiked a bit, visited an Alpine Memorial to those who had been lost climbing in the area. It was so beautiful and sad -- families who could onl;y commemorate their lost loved ones with a plaque because their bodies had been claimed by the mountains. One in particular caught my eye: a man whose plaque had the quote, "For Solitude Sometimes is best society" -- Milton. How immeasureably sad, wise and loving -- a man who is forever in his element, a family who understands and let him go.

We continued hiking up some steep and treacherously rocky hills forst to one of the "blue lakes" (which was really very green) and up to an amazing look-out, bare and at the mercy of the wind. From one side was a view of the mountains, Mt. Cook et al, and the blue lakes inset like gems in the land below them. From the otherside was a view of the Tasman Glacier and its terminal lake, white milky water with enormous icebergs anchored in the lake. We stayed looking out on the view for a short while (expansive and regal!) but didn't otherwise stay in the area long: it was vast, empty and barren; rocks, dust and scrub like a foreign world.

From Mt. Cook we drove to Lake Pukaki, which was the prettiest big blue lake -- azure in the purest sense. The Mt. Cook mountain range is perched delicately at the far end, white like cold mountainous trim of lace. On our drive past Lake Pukaki we came upon a very typically New Zealand scene: two shepherds, with 10 border collies between them were attempting to corall hundreds of sheep down the road and across the one-lane bridge. A major road block. It was exciting to watch them work -- the men with their walking sticks and hiking boots shouting to the dogs, the dogs running around everywhere at once and gradually moving the sheep forward. Very rugged, very Kiwi.

From Lake Pukaki we drove several hours and aimed for Twizel (which given that it was a Sunday in the tiniest town imaginable was a mistake.) We got back in the car and continued ever onward. We drove through Lindis Pass, which was hilly and mainly empty brown landscape. Driving through Lindis Pass, we stopped at another tiny town called Tarras, in search of The Great East Raod -- or rather where "the flight to the Ford" was shot, when QArwen takes Frodo across the river to escape the Nazgul. (But not the actual river, just the road through the Pine forest.) We drove up and down unmarked, unpaved dirt roads through farmland and while the scenerey was amazing, we didn't find the exact location of the filming. We got quite cdlose though, and were in the vincinity of several possible pine groves.

After Tarras, still more driving. Several hours more (1 or 2) and the landscape changed again -- the hills became green and luysh, lined with blooming plants, fruit orchards and beautiful neat rows of vineyards. By the time we finally reached Queenstown, wineries completely spoted the landscape and the cliffs got higher and more craggy.

Several times down the length of the Kawaeru River we stopped to look at ruickety old bridges or deep gorges. No surprise that it was gold mining country, or that the Chinese were once again exploited in search of the stuff. Finally we got to a tiny spit of land where a road snaked along the mountain towards yet another winery. Partway along we stopped for an amazing fview down on the the River Andquin, or where the Pillars of the Kings were graphicked in during the movie.

That evening we arrived in QUeenstown and parked ourselves at a Holiday Parked, filled to bursting with campers in asphalt grids: so retro, so kitsch, so disgusting. I was way happier wamking to the mountains and the wilderness, even though we don't have unknown animals to growl at us and fairly nice toilets."

Departure

In about an hour, I will be off for a week-long road trip with my friend, Kelsey, around the South Island.

We meant to leave a lot earlier today but for a number of reasons (that are out of my control...) we're leaving at about 2:30 this afternoon.

I'll be gone until about the 24th (unless we extend the trip) and will travel around to Mt. Cook, Tekapo, Queenstown, Wanaka, Te Anau, and Milford Sound, but maybe not in that order. This is --for many reasons-- one of the least-planned trips we're taking. It's something that always makes me nervous, but we have resources and time so I'm going to try to let it go and see what fun we can come up with.

Though we tried to get a pretty quiet campervan, about the quietest they could provide was one with the entire Osbourne family painted on to it. It's pretty funny.


Also, I found out today that one of my kitties is sick with kidney problems that haven't been figured out yet. That makes me a nervous wreck who's been crying for hours this morning and isn't in the mindset to do much but ache worry.

Bottom line: I should be pretty out of reach but may make an occasional (brief) post. I am, however, readily reachable by cellphone if you're one of the lucky few who's got it.

My Absentee Ballot Making Its Way!

This is an announcement to witness that Angelica has just voted in her first general election for the President of the United States. From this point forward, if the country goes to hell in a handbasket it is not her fault.

Actually, I'm positively terrified of Republican fear mongering, overt racism and appeals to "Joe Six-Pack." Me, and Joe Six pack: nothing like super-average booze-induced machismo to warm my heart. Here's to "pitbulls-with-lipstick" upholding the patriarchy!

Last Paper: Final Push

This is going to be my last all-nighter for a paper while I'm in New Zealand...sure I have finals that need intense study, but no more all-nighters to do homework.

With that said, I have to get through this one. A 1500-word history paper due in 15 hours, interrupted by 2 one hour classes, and about 1.5hrs worth of apointments. Meaning this is much more like 11hrs, and in light of the stressful few weeks I've had and the crummy weather I've been running at very low energy levels.

Here's hoping that sheer force of will and my stash of caffeine are enough to get me through this next day.

What's really worrying me, though, is that the stakes are up: papers are 25% of my grade each, and my last one for this class I (in no uncertain terms) bombed.

More Duckies

I was walking back from the library when I saw a Momma Duck and about a bazillion (ok, maybe 8) baby ducklings on the lawn in my apartment complex . Momma was standing over them and shepherding them forward, and they combed over the grass, necks down grazing the whole way like an army of tiny (voracious) lawn mowers.

They're so funny lookin'.

Realizations

Tomorrow is the last day of class.

I have less than a month left in New Zealand -- on the 13th I leave for Samoa.

Wow.

Spring

Quick update from the library:

On the way to class I cross over a footbridge over the Avon river, which runs all the way through the center of Christchurch and becomes a small stream here in the center of the University campus. All the ducks have had their baby duckies, and it's been fun watching them grow.

Today as I was crossing the bridge, I looked down and saw three little baby ducklings, trying desperately to swim against the current. Their tiny ducky feet were pumping away, but they couldn't get anywhere, occasionally veering off in this direction or that with the strain of the effort. Poor Momma Duck was upstream looking back at her babies, who were simply not coming any closer during the 5 minutes I sat watching.

Success!

I would like to announce:

I got an A+ on my English paper!

It came with a note that said "utterly compelling" (ok, in addition to a critique of one of my arguments -- legitimate) and comments down the length of the margin, "terrific!" "fantastic!" "very good!" "well put!"

I'm really pleased and excited, but I can't help but think that if I hadn't been so tired, if I wasn't down to the wire with the deadline and had a bit of extra time to review it I could have cleaned it up still further. Still, what an ego boost, especially since it came from my hard English class.

...oh, and not a mention of the fact that I was about 800 words over the limit. That's good.

Spectacular Recipe

The interesting thing about having my own apartment and having to fend for food is learning to cook, especially learning to cook when I'm worn down and exhausted.

I just came back from the West Coast and the glaciers a few hours ago, after almost 6hrs of driving and I was ravenous. I will talk about the trip soon, when I have my pictures pulled together (in short: it was fantastic!)

I've been using RecipeZaar for ages, which is a pretty nifty site since you can search ingredients you have around (in my case "spinach" and "pasta") and then organize by category (in my case "simple") and then sort by rating. In addition, people rate and add comments, usually suggestions and ways in which to tweak it. At the top of the list was a recipe that inspired some further changes on my part (originally: cream cheese + spinach = pasta sauce)

Therefore, here is my unbelievably tasty and dead simple from-here-on-out fall-back recipe:


Cheese, Garlic & Spinach Pasta

1) Put pasta on to boil.
2) Heat olive oil in pan, add 1 clove garlic (2 only if you're Greek), basil, oregano, pepper.
3) Add a good helping of spinach and wilt.
4) When spinach is wilted add 1 or 2 tbsp of cream cheese, and stir until melted.
5) Play with the proportions of spinach:cream cheese until it's pretty mushy spinach with cream cheese. (The proportions I can't really describe, I eyeballed it, and it was the hardest part to determine.)
6) Add feta cheese, melt, stir.
7) It takes all of 15-min to prepare the spinach sauce, at which point my pasta was already ready.

Yummy yummy yummy yummy!

I'm forever keeping spinach in my fridge from now on.

Trip to the West Coast

I forgot to mention:

Plans for this Weekend Include:

Not one, but TWO Glaciers
Pancake Rocks and Blowholes
Long Winding Roads
Glowworms
Swing Bridges
Intrepid Adventure

There will, of course, be photos. I plan to be home Sunday evening. Catch you then!

World, Hold On!

I am, again, in the midst of writing a paper while feeling the pressure of an intense time crunch. Currently, on Albert Wendt and Pacific literature as literature of "deracination and diaspora." He's a fun writer and it's an easy topic, so it shouldn't be as hard as it seems.

However, some particularly colorful explosions of disgruntled flatmate interactions have significantly distracted me (and I've been wanting to hide in my closet for a while) neither of which are a conducive state of mind for paper-writing.

This Albert Wendt paper is due on Tuesday, while by Friday I have another paper (on the influence of her husban Pierre on Marie Curie's achievements -- a prompt in a feminist history course which I assume is eliciting something like: "while Pierre significantly influenced Marie Curie, she worked hard independently and used her connection with a prominent, though loving and just male figure, to advance her position in a male-dominated world") for which I haven't begun researching.

A mild antidote to the current feeling of drowning in stress has been this photo a friend took at the Wikipedia party:

Yes, I am a superhero! Papers, research, mounds of homework, and flatmate drama fall before my glory!

Oh, and as per the title, this music helps too:


The music video is pretty awesome too!

Apartment # Fed Up

I have made a promise to myself that I will never ever again share an apartment with people I don't know. If it wasn't only a few more weeks left of this [horrible] living situation, I'd have moved out of here by now.

The South Pacific

"Polynesians also believe that when we die we become the stars that help to guide the living across that huge body of water [the Pacific.]" -- Albert Wendt

Spring and Transcendentalism in the Garden City

Today I had an absolutely spectacular day!

I haven't spent any time by myself lately, adventuring alone. When I traveled through Ireland (when I wasn't staying in Connemara) I was mostly alone and there is really something to be said for traveling only in the company of yourself.

(Yes, when I was in Ireland, alone, I was first almost deported --when the nice man at customs asks you "how much money you have on you," he does not mean the contents of your pocket, an answer which goes over very badly-- and a few hours later was almost run over by a crazy Dublin bus.)

I've found that when I only have myself for company (what the Transcendentalists called Solitude, with a capital "S") I really get to see: it's a seamless process between seeing, exploring, adventuring and learning. It took me a long time to really understand but it is the spirit of Emerson's roving "transparent eyeball," that is, losing yourself in your experiences, taking in everything as pure observation and understanding -- "Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight, does not reside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both." Really do read the article, "Nature" is short and painfully beautiful. I really wish I had more wherewithal to stick with my class on 19th c. American Literature, but I was too sick and lost to glean enough from it. Thankfully, though, the Transcendentalists made an impression on me. I painted a line from "Walden" on the wall of my sophomore-year dorm room, in red script between the bed and the window where the sun flooded in in the morning:

We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. ...Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would directly inform us how this might be done.
-- Thoreau, Walden, or Life in the Woods

The bolded words were the ones emblazoned on my wall and it did a lot for my spirit (or Spirit, as them Transcendentalists would say.) As much as I otherwise dislike Thoreau (I find him to be an arrogant grouch, who is sometimes totally full of it. As, case in point: Henry David finds a badger rooting through his garden, kills it and then decides to eat it in order to --something like-- "imbibe his wild and manly energy." OH YEAH RIGHT, HENRY DAVID, WE TOTALLY BELIEVE YOU. Far more likely that Mister Independence found an easy source of meat and did what any hungry isolated vagrant in the wilderness would do. Guh! It's a characteristic my professor called being "crunchier than thou." Right, this wasn't meant to be an English lecture, sorry.) I think he might be onto something. (Another fascinating tidbit: while living all granola in the woods, Thoreau brought his dirty laundry home to his mother. At 28 years old, do your own laundry! Now I swear I'm done ragging on the guy.)

Roving transparent Trancendantal eyeball: today, as this aforementioned eyeball, I took to exploring Christchurch.

It's called the Garden city -- alas! from Garden State to Garden City! such is my burden!-- and it's becomes glaringly obvious why. Now that it's turned to spring I'm really enjoying New Zealand so much more. In the winter, we dread the southerly wind which blows up from Antarctica and is absolutely bone chilling. One evening, on the ten minute walk back from the library at night, the south wind kicked up and when I finally arrived back in my room, my face was read and puffy and my eyes were streaming tears. I felt as if eye cubes had flayed the flesh off my skull. Now that the wind from the south has eased up it's gorgeous. Every day when I wander around I get the most intoxicating whiffs of flowers since the place is overflowing with them. It's an exciting reminder that I really am in the South Pacific. Today in addition to the flowers we had a hot breeze; nature seemed positively drunk on spring.

In the morning I went and got a badly needed haircut, which happily turned into the best haircut I've ever had. As a girl who was called "Puff Daddy" through elementary school, my extroardinarily thick hair attracts attention like a sick antelope attracts lions. After having it short for six years and very short for four, it's a bold move for me to try and grow it out. Finally, today, I had a haircut that has made my mane less bulky, more manageable, and dare I say, even shapely. The stylist told me that the magic words are "thinned out from the roots with blended layers." While I'm sure my haircut make fascinating reading material, it really made my day!

I wandered back over to the Saturday Arts Center Market and per usual had a fantastic gyro from a blue and white stand called "Dimitri's." (Ahha! Supsiciously Greek!) I lunched, sitting in the grass while listening to the gorgeous music of a one-legged Maori man on the guitar with a voice like Israel Kamakawiwo'ole singing the blues. Perfect combination: unbelievable weather, a gyro and sad, gritty blues. I wandered around the several markets in town, grabbed a few more gifts for folks back home (I'm trying to get birthday and Christmas presents out of the way) and an additional few postcards. I strolled over to Honeypot Cafe (my Christchurch coffeeshop of choice) basked, had an iced mocha --which to my surprise means less "ice" and more "ice cream"-- and enjoyed writing postcards.

Written down my day doesn't look so exciting: it's the joy in the simple things, the simple-but-deliciously-enjoyable-things, that really made my day so great. Since I've been back in my flat, I've been blasting Cat Stevens: another contributing factor to my mood. Man, I love me some Cat Stevens, at the moment particularly "Sad Lisa" and "Wild World."

Very occasionally I will take photos that suit my mood and I think mine today had a bit of my excitement in them: