Time is slipping away

Time is quickly slipping away….days are down on one hand and things are coming to a close. I am beginning to have dreams of home in my sleep and that’s always a sure sign that I have accomplished my goals and have no feeling of incompletion on this trip. The last thing to be done is to travel to Rotorua today. New Zealand’s version of Yellowstone…bubbling mud pots, the smell of sulfur and geysers spurting into the air. But the real attraction of Rotorua is that it is the center of Maori culture in NZ. Carol and I were talking last night and we were glad that we had saved this for last…It wasn’t really planned, but it just worked out that way, as itineraries often do, it seems….We’ve seen much and learned much, and this will be our opportunity to put it all together and complete the picture of NZ that has developed in our minds. We’ve been ensconced in a wonderful Servas family. Rodney and Sarah have a beautiful home which they designed with the help of an architect. Rodney ran a “farm” of 5,000 sheep and 500 beef cattle roaming over 1,600 acres (600 hectares) of steep hills and flat bottom land. Stock graze the grass on the hills, while orange, corn, grass for grazing and other cash crops occupy the bottom land. They graze both sheep and cattle on the same ground since they actually work together. The sheep will eat one type of grass while the beef cattle will eat another and so they keep the pasture from being overgrazed. They have contracted with corn farmers to have their husks and stalks dumped here and are mixed with other material to fill in the dips and curvatures of the land to create even more flat land for increasing their arable land. It was an enormous operation and he has sold the land to his four children who now become the 5th generation to run the family farm. What a great tribute to one’s life to have your children want to carry on the way of life in which you raised them. We spent the day on the farm with them showing us the operation…the large sheep shearing shed which is eerily quiet after seeing the one in operation a couple of weeks ago. My mind did one of those slow fades you see in movies where it changes from one to the other, and I could hear the shearing shed noise like someone was slowly turning up the volume knob…the hum of the sheep shears, the bleating of the sheep in the pen, the ratchet of the wool press as it tamped down the wool into the bales to be shipped across the world…it was all very real.

But the real mind blower was when we took the truck to a high ridge where we could see the ocean beyond and the fertile valley below. The vastness of 1,600 acres is hard to imagine until you can look down upon it from high…the hills, the valleys, the ocean and the stock animals in every direction was immense. Down below in one of the fields used for growing different crops for stock feed, one son could be seen driving his pick-up and catching up to a tractor driven by a son-in-law, who was tilling the land in preparation for another planting. The tractor stopped and the drivers exchanged positions…Rodney smiled and said they are sharing the work load. It was music to his heart to see his work carried on and the tradition of real family farming continuing. He said that one son was in charge of every part of the farm that had a wheel in all four corners while the son-in-law had control over anything that had a foot on all four corners. We took the truck up steep hills and Rodney got out and locked the wheels in 4-wheel traction as we bumped and jostled our way up higher and higher, with Carol and Sarah hanging on for dear life on the flat bed of the truck while I jumped in and out of the cab opening and closing the many gates that took us to our picnic spot. We stopped on a rise that gave a lovely view of the farm. Below us was a pond where Rodney said he used to fish for eels as a boy and the pointed out the trees where he would hunt possums with bow and arrow, rocks and slingshots. The dogs would chase the possums up the trees and the boys would take over from there. Possums are a very real problem to farmers since they spread TB to cattle and sheep….there is a HUGE debate in NZ over the use of a poison ‘1080’ which is used to kill possums but also drastically effects the entire ecosystem…80% of the world’s usage of this poison is in NZ. Two paradise pigeons flew in formation with wings seemingly unmoving and swooped down over the pond in graceful precision and then in unison climbed up to catch another thermal. A sheep which had gotten separated from the flock was making her unhappy situation plain to all within hearing distance and Carol and I looked at each other because we remembered our small plot of ground with sheep and this sound which we heard often in our “old life.” I’m embarrassed when Kiwis say we had a sheep farm. It seems so ludicrous in view of the enormous operations here in NZ. On the way back after our picnic, Rodney pointed out a picnic table beside a creek. Here, he said, on hot summer evenings, they would pack all the children and grandchildren (they had 8 under 5 years of age at one point) into the truck and head out with food and drink where the kids would play in the creek while the adults “had a few beers and told a few lies.”

More than anyone I’ve met on this trip, Rodney and Sarah epitomize New Zealand to me…they are tough, self-reliant, kind and generous and confident in their lives. Rodney did a very similar trip as I did when we drove the taxi from London to India, only he did it by himself and on a motorcycle and just one year after my trip. Sarah, like so many Kiwi girls I met in London came to London as a nurse and traveled across Europe before returning to NZ and getting down to the business of marrying and raising her family. They still travel extensively and independently. Rodney is 75 and Sarah71, but they venture into the highlands of Burma (Myanmar) and Laos and obscure areas of China without guides or established transportation…letting the road take them where it will…They travel with a small backpack each and don’t worry about having a different set of clothes for each day of the week nor any of the little bells and whistles that make up travelers suitcases today. They continue the spirit of independent, simple, and adventurous travel that I respect and admire so very much. Last night a daughter stopped by with two granddaughters and had dinner with “mum and dad.”…she too embodies the self-confidence of Kiwis and the lives life to the fullest spirit that Rodney and Sarah stowed in her DNA. While working in London she received word that a friend of a friend was driving a truck from London to Azerbaijan…did she want to go with him…with a typical “Why not?” attitude they made the round trip and eventually married and now run the farm with other family members…tales of the truck being stalled on Hungarian train tracks and border difficulties highlighted dinner conversation while the daughters aged 13 and 11 took it all in. Their traveling days began when they were 9 and 7 when the family went to Indonesia together and traveled as Rodney and Sarah and instilled in them. Now they are off for 13 weeks to show the girls Europe. Such is the spirit of the Kiwi, a flightless, nocturnal bird in the avian world, but the homo sapien variety is a high flying, live life to the fullest, being which I truly admire. Sign of the day: “freshly showered.” A cardboard sign held by two female hitch-hikers.

The last place on earth

The Last place on earth New Zealanders are proud to be the last inhabited place in the world. Nobody was here prior to 1200, and no settlements occurred until the 1600’s…Maoris didn’t migrate here until those dates, and Europeans didn’t show up until 1634. It may be the last place on earth, but it is truly a glorious one. As we start to wind down the trip, I’ve been reflecting on what we’ve seen and I can’t think of a single thing I saw or place that I went that was blah…it’s just a continuation of beautiful scenery…everything you could want, you want coastline?…you’ve got it in spades; big city?.... done; rural country tranquility?....all over the place, and the list just goes on. And it’s all positive. Added to those physical attributes, there is a spirit to New Zealanders…they know they’ve got a great place to live, and they don’t get all gnarly just because others don’t know it….they kind of think they’re getting over in life. They’re a friendly lot, as I’ve mentioned before, just go about their business. We pass through small towns of a few thousand inhabitants, but the place is spotlessly clean, has flower baskets lining the one street on which all the city businesses are located, and it just sort of invites you to stop by the image they project. We did this often in our time here. The coast is never far away it is a never ending random pattern of rocky shorelines where water spouts and waves crash, to just around the corner where you can see the calmest white sand beach you could imagine. Our latest little surprise was Napier…it’s sort of “New Zealand meets Miami beach art deco via San Francisco earthquake.” A devastating earthquake in Napier in 1931 resulted in a San Francisco type meltdown when what the earthquake didn’t destroy, fire did. What happened next is an example of why I like this country so much. They didn’t look back, they looked forward…they widened streets, made promenades in town and along the waterfront, they laid all cables underground, and they decided that they wanted to go with the popular Art Deco style. The result is a charming place that seems so natural because it all feels like it fits together. It’s full of artsy stores and fine fashion, there is a really big vegetarian grocery store right in the middle of downtown, and the local hamburger place sells alpaca burgers…The owner told me they were the best possible…she wouldn’t lie, I’m sure. All around town there are photos which show what the spot you are standing at looked like following the quake. It’s sort of like their saying: “Look at where we were in 1931, and now at what we’ve made of our city. This is who we are.” They have grown to a city and huge port of major importance in commerce and it still remains true to its identity. It’s a really cool place Just prior to reaching Napier we pulled into a fiber store…what a surprise, and as we entered the store, the lady with eyes bulging asked: “Did you feel it?” It didn’t take a whole lot of insight to know she had just experienced another earthquake….It had happened just moments before we got out of the car. The building had shaken and she looked at the website readily available on her computer to see that it was a 5.3 quiver…not a huge one, but from our California days, my daughter and I always figured that anything above 5.0 is worth noting while below that is kind of a shrug of the shoulders moment. Our host family in Christchurch has a set of plastic, magnetic acrobats that she arranges in various forms and which she bought in Seattle. She says if it’s above 5.0 they stay on the shelf, above that they fall to the floor. They are her own personal Richter Scale. In the following days several people asked us if we had felt it and related their experience…a lady who owns a shop where necklaces are suspended noted that they moved back and forth, another mentioned that she felt the floor move beneath her feet…no great alarm or fear, but an awareness of where they live and the potential of what might be. Things seem to be moving quickly to the end of the trip now…We’re heading back to Auckland in a slow, leisurely manner and have just one more thing on our list of “to do’s,” and that would be Rotorua, the large Yellowstonesque boiling pots of mud and sulpher which dot the area. Other than that, we’ve seen/done/experienced the country as we had hoped and as I have noted before, not a single day or experience was a throwaway…it’s been great. The warmth and friendliness of the people continue to be a highlight and the trip has met and exceeded our preplanning thoughts. Laundry has been done for the last time, just two more days of driving and in a week my world will once again be as it was. And ready for the next adventure that awaits my extraordinary life….life is good.

A Saner World

A Saner world One question which has come up several times with our Servas hosts is about American gun laws…I’m asked to explain them and I can do so in an academic way, but when the conversation turns to the “why” part of the equation, I’m lost to explain something I don’t understand myself. New Zealanders just shake their heads at the lax laws and prevalence of individuals who seem to feel the necessity to arm themselves as if an armed invasion from Canada or Mexico was just around the corner. In NZ, for example, people don’t own hand guns…None, nada, can’t be done. No pistols are in private homes, period. End of conversation. Rifles and shotguns can be owned but under strict rules. Guns must be in a locked cabinet with firing mechanisms or bolts removed and ammunition stored in a separate compartment. Police have the right to, and do, make periodic unannounced checks to make sure those rules are adhered to. There are no automatic weapons allowed in the country, and semi-automatic rifles have a limit of rounds which can be held in a given clip. Police interviews neighbors, wives, and/or children of the applicant for a gun permit to make sure that the person is sane and responsible, which would rule out many of the hand gun owners I’ve come across in the States. This interview is done without the presence or knowledge of the applicant. The young brother of my daughter’s best friend in elementary school accidently killed a school friend by showing dad’s pistol which was loaded and as happens far too many times in our society tragedy was avoidable but wasn’t. Carol had a nephew who was murdered by a jealous ex-boyfriend who killed him and the girlfriend. Columbine, Sandy Hook and a myriad of other events which horrify our nation occur so often that it no longer shocks us…saddens us to be sure…we shake our heads ask “Why,” and then go about our business waiting for the other shoe to drop. This insanity just in unfathomable to New Zealanders. Our timing in the South Island couldn’t have been more perfect. We had to book our ferry passage back to the North Island before we left Auckland three weeks ago and we just had to make our best guess. We decided on the 30th to return. Our guesstimation seemed a little off when we had two days in Blenheim where people told us there was nothing to do. But we contacted a Servas host who was a fiber artist and they graciously took us in. Christine is a “felter,” and does incredible work…creative and innovative (is that the same thing?) she and Carol spent the day making projects and Carol was delighted to have such an up close and very personal experience with a fellow fiber nut. We arrived on the evening of the 28th and were told that they had to be out for the evening. Bob is a Rotarian, and to raise money for the various projects that Rotary does in the area they had volunteered to help take inventory at a local version of Target/Walmart complex and wouldn’t be home until 3:30 the following morning. We told them that we would be happy to come along and help which would mean that they didn’t have to work into the dead of then night. We started at 8:00 in the evening and counted baby clothes, containers of clothes pins, garden pots and all kinds of assorted junk that is to be found in these places..it was both comforting and discomforting to know that New Zealanders are no better than we are at buying cheap crap and gadgets. We finished about midnight and with the four of us working, they made the same amount for rotary that they would have if we hadn’t shown up. It was a way that we could give back a little for their generosity. A cup of tea/hot chocolate upon return led to more conversation before we all went to bed quite “knackered” as Christine put it The next day while the Two “C’s” felted their way through the morning, Bob took me to the air museum which has an excellent collection of WWI aircraft, both original and reproduced. They are displayed in realistic settings with actual photographs to lend the air of authenticity. They even have some actual plane parts from the “Red Baron’s” plane which was shot down by Australian troops.

After lunch we decided to take a “walk” to overlook the valley. Walk indeed, we climbed and climbed to the top of a very high ridge. The view was indeed lovely, but I huffed and puffed my way up the long climb which took close to two hours to achieve. The way down was easier on the heart and lungs but not on the knees. Jim arrived back at the house quite knackered for the second day in a row. I told Christine that if I had known how far it was, I wouldn’t have done it, but now that we were back, I was glad I had. Our time in Blenheim was anything but wasted. We were busy and they were wonderful people and we found no end of things to talk about from society to our individual histories to life itself. I can’t think of a single Servas host/hostess with whom conversation flowed so easily and intelligently. It was a perfect visit and way to end our South Island experience. So we leave the South Island and are crossing the Cook Strait as I write this letter. My count is now up to about 41 million of the 60 million sheep, about 1 million of the possums dead on the highways, and one hubcap back on the car without anybody knowing the difference. We have nine days left and while I know we have adventures ahead of us, it’s hard to believe they could be any better than our time in the South. Sign of the day: “Beware of seals parked on the highway at night.” WHAT?

It seems during very high tides and large storms the seals come up off the rocky beach and “park” themselves for the night on the highway…Talk about speed bumps !