Nerd Alert!

Doot-do, do-do-do. Matamata! Doot do-do-do! Matamata!

(If you have no idea what little song I was singing while writing the opening lines of this entry, I insist that you check out this lovely YouTube clip of the muppets singing “Mah Na Mah Na.” Your inner child will thank you.)

On March 17, Robin and I bid farewell to Rich and began our own little sojourn into Kiwi country. Our first stop? Matamata, a lovely little town, now famous for its Hobbity hamlets. That’s right folks, we let our inner nerds out to play and took the tour of the Shire set. Having both read and watched The Lord of the Rings, I instinctively recognized the rolling green mountains as Hobbiton, and delighted in having the opportunity to visit the set. It is so quaint! There are round little doors and chimneys popping out of hillsides as far as the eye can see. Across the lake, you can see the Green Dragon and the mill. Real fruit grows on the apple and pear trees! It’s so picturesque even the most Orc-like individuals would feel their blackened hearts melting. Sadly, I cannot publish any of the pictures of the Shire here. Before touring the set, Robin and I had to sign a bit of parchment that said we wouldn’t, or Peter Jackson may just gobble us up for second breakfast. Or elevensies. Or afternoon tea. So you’ll have to be satisfied with our mock-hobbit pictures from the shuttle launch in Matamata.

Yessir, I’m skipping. And for good reason. I’m apparently too tall to be a hobbit! (The new casting call for The Hobbit asked for extras 5’2” and under. At 5’4.5,” I’ve missed the cut-off.) I think my lack of hairy feet may also have put me out of the running for the casting. As you can see, Robin has attempted to make herself hobbit-height, but alas, I think she’s more elvish with those long limbs.

Our time in the Shire led us to feel a bit hobbity, so we were concerned about food immediately following our tour of the set. Luckily, Matamata complied and we didn’t have to go on much of a quest to find lunch. (Just one lunch, though. We are too tall to be hobbits, after all!) Near the cafe we visited, we came across the Manly Milk Bar. Now, we know what Milk Bars are--small convenience stores from which one can readily buy various food cupboard staples like milk, juices, crackers, and treats. It’s not a fully-stocked grocery store, but enough to help you “get by.” It also acts as a newsstand. However, I couldn’t stop giggling at the name of this Milk Bar. What made it “Manly?”

I had to investigate.

Using the best skills one could glean from The Boxcar Children, I sauntered casually into the store, saying “hello” to the elderly gentleman behind the counter of the Manly Milk Bar. On the right, a refrigerator for soda, milk, and juices. Next to the counter and spilling over onto it I saw a wide array of candies. Frozen treats were located in a freezer on the right of the counter. Shampoos, soaps, and other personal sundries were located in the back of the shop. Toys were on a shelf just beyond the cold beverages. This wasn’t feeling particularly “manly.”

And then I saw it--the “man cave.” Lurking surreptitiously behind a tall shelf was a rack of magazines with scantily clad and cleverly black-bar-censored women.

It’s a good thing this was not really a Boxcar Children mystery. I don’t think the wholesome Boxcar kiddos would have been able to make sense of the “man cave” in the back of the Manly Milk Bar. I think they might be altogether scandalized if they saw two people *gasp* holding hands. I can’t bear to think of how they’d react to scantily clad women on magazine covers!

(I, on the other hand, giggled.)

To commemorate this momentous occasion, I struck a “manly” pose, in the vein of Sears catalogue models, outside the Manly Milk Bar.

(Hey, a girl can only do so much to be “manly,” especially when wearing a ruffly purple t-shirt.)

We headed toward Raglan next, a beach community noted for its black sand beaches and surfing. While on route, we took a small detour to Bridal Veil Falls. It was a short trek to the falls, but the twisty roads to reach the track were killer. I travel fairly well to most places, and I like a good thrill from time to time. However, the one thing I simply cannot master is twisty roads (or spinning rides). I do not blame Robin’s driving in the least--again, she handled those twists and turns like a pro and kept us safe to the bitter end. I just wish my stomach would listen to my brain, which kept uttering “It’s ok, it’s ok. Don’t toss your cookies!”

The visit to the falls was worth it, though! McLaren Falls had been nice; Bridal Veil Falls was impressive in its sheer force. It was a taller fall, and we even managed to see a rainbow in the mist. (Thanks to my handy dandy 35mm “biggie” camera, I managed to capture that rainbow too! Look closely!)

(Ok, I’ll admit that the rainbow wasn’t that difficult to capture. I also snagged some shots with my digital “point-and-shoot” camera, which also came out nicely.)

(And since this entry is entitled “nerd alert,” I guess this is the appropriate time to note that I had a total of THREE cameras on the trip--the 35mm biggie, the point-and-shoot digital, and my HD Flip cam for video. Nerd alert, indeed!)

Arriving in Raglan after our day at the Shire and Bridal Veil Falls, we were in for a very different sort of visit. We stayed at the Karioi Lodge, a hostel that hosted its own surf school. Since we were just passing through for the night, we weren’t part of the school. However, we still got a taste of the surf culture. We met some very nice people at the lodge, but looking around we got the sense that a few of the travelers had been there slightly longer than the average backpacker would stay. Perhaps they’d originally intended to stay for 3 days of surf school, but liked the surf life so much that they stayed for 2 weeks instead. This is not in any way a judgment--just more of an amused observation. The lodge itself had a comfortable, relaxed vibe that permeated every inch of the property. The kitchen was clean but well-used. Our shared bunk had a slightly damp but pleasantly camp-like smell. Robin and I opted to get Indian takeaway from the city proper that evening, as part of the Kiwi culture. (I know, I know! Indian food doesn’t scream of Kiwi culture at first glimpse, but takeaway is like a whole food group unto itself! The folks of New Zealand seem crazy for their takeaway food, and based on the caliber of the Indian food we got, I can see why! It was exquisite!) We also opened our bottle of Mills Reef Shiraz and each had a glass. (Please note--we still had about half a bottle left after this. For future reference.) In plastic wine glasses, of course! I think actual glass would have defied the very nature of Karioi Lodge and felt completely out of place. Plastic? Just right for the occasion.

And perfectly suited to us at the time. Two gals off on a wild and crazy, and slightly nerdy, road trip.

Observation

On our second day in New Zealand, I awoke to the sound of birds chirping happily outside my window. (It was a bit like being in a Disney cartoon. Had I not been so delighted to be in New Zealand, I might have been forced to make a snarky comment about this. However, when you’re on holiday somewhere as amazing as New Zealand, you’ll forgive the saccharine moments and actually rejoice in them.) Bits of puffy white clouds broke up the brilliant blue of the sky, and I had to smile as I stretched my limbs in bed. After being teased by Robin and Rich’s landlord about the pallor of my skin the night before (working my Minnesota-pastiness to its best!), I was determined to get a bit of color.

Robin and I ventured off to explore McLaren Falls after breakfast. It was a lovely area that looked almost as if it could be part of the midwestern landscape to which I am accustomed. It wasn’t as piney as Copper Falls, a hiking trail and waterfall I visited several times in my youth in Wisconsin, but it had similar elements. We used our “can’t touch the ground” skills from the previous day’s rock-skipping adventure, but now with greater consequences. On the first day, slipping off meant you might touch down onto a beach of shells. Sure, it might sound like you’ve crashed through a plate of glass, and you might even get a few scrapes, but at McLaren Falls, you ran the risk of getting wet at best, or taking a nasty tumble and potentially injuring yourself as you skidded down rocky ledges, perhaps breaking a limb or cracking your skull open.

I was game!

The climbing was very successful. We didn’t have many threatening moments--there were many safe places to climb since it hadn’t rained for quite a while. (Robin tells me that when she and Rich first arrived, they drove to McLaren Falls shortly after an enormous bout of rain and couldn’t even see the rocks we were climbing.) Not long after we arrived, a cluster of young Arab men came to the falls. They were jovially taking large group pictures. Our two groups didn’t really intermingle--we all had our own agenda. However, it seems we were the subject of some observation. Robin and I were finding our way back up a pile of rocks, and she managed to just barely make a sizable grab to pull herself back up. Being somewhat shorter, I couldn’t quite hoist myself up the same route. It seems the group of gentlemen noticed, despite all their group picture-taking, and they asked in broken English if we were ok, just as I was looking for an alternate route back up. We thanked them for their kindness, but showed them that we had found another route.

Which leads us to this.

Right. So . . . This picture shows a flatter area of the falls. Naturally, Robin and I were attracted to the brightness of the sign, and the fact that it read “CAUTION” in huge letters across the top. Robin told me to pose in fear. Somehow, I came up with something that looks more like a salute. Perhaps this in homage to the great sirens that could warn us of imminent flooding danger. “Oh, great sirens, please don’t sound whilst we are here.” (Yup. That works.)

After we climbed, we went to the Mills Reef Winery. It was a winery. We sampled several wines. They were good. We bought a bottle to take home. It was a Shiraz.

(Remember this detail for future entries.)

After a brief detour to put on our “togs” (Kiwi for swimsuits) and pick up Rich at the house, we headed back to Maunganui and sampled the beach. I just about had a second layer of sunscreen on (remember the aforementioned Minnesota pastiness? I have a tendency to turn as red as a lobster without proper precautions in the sun. While I wanted some color again, red was not the goal.), when I decided to go for it and jump into the water. At about shin level, it felt quite nice. Apparently Robin and Rich were watching for that moment when you realize that it’s actually a bit chilly. They got their moment--it hit about thigh level and my jaw dropped open. However, it wasn’t enough to deter me--it was simply a little cooler than anticipated. I waded in further and eventually just dove forward. It was great! I hadn’t been in the ocean for ages! There is a different current here, and salt water adds a whole new level of fun for swimmers. (Don’t open your eyes! And for goodness sakes, don’t open your mouth! Good lessons I remembered not too long into my swim.)

We dried ourselves in the late afternoon sun and proceeded to take a little hike up a cliff to see the spout, an area where the water rushes up and spits upward like a whale spout. It was now our turn to be the observers. There was a whole pack of teenage boys jumping off the edge of a nearby cliff straight into the ocean. This was a mighty tall jump, and might have been tempting had the tide not been so strong. We watched as some miscreants who had jumped in tried to swim up through the spout. Let’s just say that was a bad idea on their part. (They were bright enough to turn around and go back another way. Thank goodness. Much as they weren’t my favorite blokes in the world, I didn’t need or want to see any particular harm come to them. I’m not much for carnage.)

“So, Gillian,” you ask, “why do you categorize these youths as miscreants? Perhaps they were just adventurous.” Indeed--some of the teens were simply thrill-seeking in their jumping. However, the two who attempted the spout were definitely deviants. After the sadness of seeing the expired little blue penguin on the shore the previous day, we were elated when Rich first spotted a live one swimming near the cliff, and positively squealed when we too caught a glimpse. (Rich has some keen vision! When Robin and I couldn’t see it, she insisted that he must have made it up just to torment us. We were absolutely giddy when he proved her wrong.) The delinquent teens earned their standing because of this little penguin. Prior to their jump, they were cheering for the penguin to get washed into the spout and crash upon the rocks. Not cool, boys. Not cool.

(No penguins or ruffians were injured during our visit.)

Kia Ora, Llama!

The sky was a brilliant blue, a fully saturated color that is usually reserved for postcards. A glowing orb of warmth radiated between the thin stretches of cloud that looked as though someone had loosely pulled a cotton ball and scattered bits of it about the sky. I stepped into the sunlight, blinking in wonder. “We’re not in Minnesota, anymore!” I thought to myself. “Hallelujah!”

Don’t get me wrong--I love Minnesota. I adore our state with it’s many Scandinavian-American quirks, and usually try to recruit everyone and their cousin to live here. Here you can be in the metro area, but a mere thirty minutes later you can be in the country looking at open expanses of field that stretch as far as the eye can see, or stumble upon one of our 10,000 lakes. I have loved Minnesota because I can be my expressive, artistic singer self, diving into our rich history of choral music, but I can also find the outdoors. For a kid who grew up canoeing with her dad, skiing and building snow forts with friends, and was generally covered in grass stains between the ages of 4 and 11 (ok, 12), Minnesota is glorious.

But as many a Minnesotan will tell you, this winter has been tougher than most. I love winter and snow as much as the next northerner, but having accumulated some 60 inches (that’s about 152 centimeters to the rest of the world), I was ready to dig out of endless winter.

And so I was more than ready to absorb myself in the warmth of New Zealand at the end of their summer and beginning of fall. Having a good friend to visit there made it all the better!

My dear friend Robin picked me up at the Auckland airport on March 15, and we were off on a Kiwi road trip! This was a feat in itself--Auckland is about two hours from Robin’s New Zealand home base in Tauranga, and required feats of bravery in the form of driving on the left side of the road. Kudos to Robin for her masterful maneuvering on tiny, twisty roads, up and down through the rolling hills and mountains of New Zealand. She did an amazing job! (Actually, Robin and I have had some, uh, interesting car adventures here in the states, and as I told her throughout our road trip in New Zealand, I think she may fare better on the left side of the road!)

For the first two days, we stayed in the Bay of Plenty area. I am thankful that Robin is a master planner. I bounded off the plane thinking I was ready to tackle just about anything. Robin knew better. One shower later (to get rid of the stink of 16 hours of plane ride), Robin, her husband Rich, and I headed to Manganui, a 10 minute jaunt down the road to a small mount and beautiful ocean view.

We proceeded to hike up this small mount, which was quite lovely. Here you can see a glimpse of the stairs we climbed. The angle is a bit off here, but it gives you an idea of what we climbed. (I now acknowledge that this is not my best camera work--I wanted, like so many of us, to believe that I am invincible and was not at all susceptible to exhaustion. I’ll be human enough to admit that I might have been wrong.) This was one short portion of the climb. There were more stairs around the corner

As we climbed, we met an interesting old codger. He was a salty man, weathered by long hours in the sun, carrying a pack and a walking stick. Meeting him, you get the feeling that he may live in a small hovel carved out by rocks and trees near the mount. He fancies himself a psychic and endeavored to tell us about the demise of the US and the northern hemisphere. I don’t think I could write every detail of his ramblings if I tried, but suffice to say, friends, if a man named Douglas Wilder wins the American presidency in 2012, you should join me in flocking to the southern hemisphere on the earliest flight or boat ride you can book. Apparently he will help incite the demise of the entire northern hemisphere and the southern hemisphere will be the only safe place left. (Anyone fancy taking a canoe through the ocean? That would be a very different kind of adventure, but exciting nonetheless!)

The rest of the afternoon is shrouded in a haze of memory. I remember playing “don’t touch the ground” with Robin and Rich, hopping from one large rock to another during low tide. It was a delightful throwback to childhood, made all the more fun by the prospect that you had to grasp at the edge of taller rocks and hope that you had something to throw your foot on to make your next move. (Being at least 4 inches--that’s 10 cm--shorter than Robin and Rich, I got a bit creative with this process.) On this rock-lined shore, I happened to see my first wild penguin. Sadly, it was an expired penguin--small and blue, we could only tell it was a penguin by its little webbed feet. Robin bemoaned our sad little feathered friend, especially since it was one of my first New Zealand wildlife sightings. Admittedly, I have approximately 37 penguins in my classroom at school that my students have gifted to me over the years, and it was a bit depressing to see a departed penguin instead of one that was happily swimming in the gorgeous aquamarine ocean. (Rich and Robin both offered to taxidermy the little blue penguin for my collection, but I opted to pass. Somehow, I just didn’t think customs would find it kosher.)

Before I knew it, I was falling asleep at Robin and Rich’s kitchen table while Robin and I were trying to map out some of the finer details of our impending road trip. They packed me off into the spare room, and blessed sleep had me immune to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow. Day 1 in New Zealand had already brought a welcome burst of sunshine and warmth, and the journey was just beginning!