Onward

Typing now from the backpackers in Wellington. Tomorrow afternoon I meet Mandi who is taking me here. Though I'm at the start of my trip and the bank account as still as full as it's ever been, it feels a little scary to be dropping dough on hostels (being raised working-class, it feels almost uncomfortable to not be working), so I'm glad to be headed to a 3-week stay (at minimum, unless its bonkers, which I'm not expecting). Here's some pix of the next stop. I'm especially excited about the charitable trust run off of the farm that teaches local children about organics and the environment. Def the kind of project I want to be involved in, and maybe even learn how to replicate elsewhere.

By the by, it's tomorrow where I am (18 hours ahead of Boston, 21 ahead of Seattle). I like being able to guarantee you that tomorrow is indeed coming.

Some of my notes from day 1 (feeling the need to go all Soc 101 w/ the field notes):
- The Auckland airport has a fresh juice stand with wheatgrass and the like (and free internet too).
- On the airplane they give you honey bikkies (biscuits, but not at all biscuits, of course) and vege chips (cassava).
- The Wellington airport has a golf course, totally beautiful and green.
- When you get a lox bagel it comes with sweet pickles.
- The dings on the bus are pleasant sounds, like bubbles popping in summer air (did I mention lately that it's summer here?)
- The city bus driver will refuse to let you load and unload your own bags, and will get off a running bus to happily give departees directions.
- In the grocery store, they will blare hi-power techno ("another day another night another something with you") and follow that up with "let the sunshine... the sunnnnnshine in." I'll never not look at grocery stores through the lens of a checker, and I was amazed by the digital tags for every item on the shelf (brilliant!)
- This country is desperately and insanely beautiful. And I haven't seen sh!t yet.


Day 3 in Plimmerton was perfect. It's a village of 1200 where it's super easy to hitchhike (grateful I'd had some practice on Vashon with Angela, so it didn't feel weird). I had dinner at an Indian restaurant where they asked if I wanted "kiwi spicy or Indian spicy" (had to do some convincing that I could handle a level between the 2, and it was perfect). The couple next to me had me sitting at their table within 5 minutes -- the kiwi hospitality is no joke. They pulled out detailed maps to show me everywhere I needed to peep. Everywhere I go, guides appear -- an old man with a cane and flowers behind his ear who knows just where my hostel is, a women who grew up Christian Scientist (all she remembers from Boston is that crazy building) and wants to drive me to the perfect spot for unloading at the railway station, a man who spent a year alone in China and met his love across a language barrier (he also pulled out a detailed map and offered a ride, joking that his lover hopefully wouldn't look out the window of the cafe -- because of course interrupting lunch to give strangers a ride is simply what you do -- to see him driving off with a young fly honey).

In Plimmerton I saw my first baby left outside a store. Just tucked between a bush and a bench, chillin alone in the stroller, napping, no one in sight. I read that it's totally safe and normal to leave kids chillin outside a store in NZ, but it was still a bit shocking. Babies everywhere, ready for the barbie (what up FD/DBI joke!)


Now this is no footnote and I report with a very heavy heart: There is no kombucha in New Zealand. Not in the beach bum haven of Kapiti, not in quaint lil Plimmerton, not in the earthiest-crunchiest organic grocery store in the capital city of Wellington (which of course I made a beeline to upon arrival). I haven't spent a day without kombucha since Christmas of 2007 (and that was just bad planning). Hopefully the people at the blueberry farm are hip to some secret culture sources. Otherwise, I might die.

On a better note, this is a great place to be on the rag. All sorts of crazy-ass candy bars that I've never tried. Granted they are all made by Cadbury or whatever and are nasty, but there's nothing so delicious as new-nasty (note to Burdick's crew: I promise I have not forgotten what real chocolate is).

I've got 2 minutes left on the timer and a town to tare up (hoping for a Tuesday house dancing night, we shall see). Pax!