Putting my money where my mouth is

So: I spoke about changes to this blog. When I started out in January I wrote about my goals. I wanted to write shorter posts more often, posts that were not just about what I did where, but were also reflections. essays, musings, jokes. Obviously, traveling the way I have has gotten in the way of that, but it doesn't mean the ideal has disappeared.

Thence come these changes, which I hope will put me back on the road to that blogging ideal. What changes, you ask? Here's what I have in mind:

I think we can all agree that catch-up has bogged me down and has to take a backseat to current action. At this point I am more than 5 countries--countries full of amazing adventures, crazy obstacles, and lots of new friends--behind. Thus, from this point on I will blog mostly in the present tense, as things happen, and add catch-up entries as often as I can. Those entries will have titles that include the header "FLASHBACK." It will make chronology on this blog a little bit more difficult to follow, but I will do my best to include dates in order to help everyone along. 

I don't know how easy the next goal will be, given that in my current location (India) internet access is often hard to find. But: I'm also hoping to include more short, casual entries, in the vein of the quick notes I posted in January from Australia. If possible I will also include a regular "FLASH FORWARD" feature-- a picture from the coming entries, one of the lamost 5000 pictures I've taken in the last five months. I have some beautiful things to show you.

The Wonder of Wellington

Following my "breather" in Nelson, I hopped a bus-and-ferry combo across the choppy but stunning channel separating New Zealand's north and south islands, landing in Wellington. As an Anthropology major and avid traveler, I had several reasons to be excited by this next step in my time in NZ. I had visited once before with my parents, but at that point we had focused largely on seeing the gorgeous sights of the south island. We had spent only a few days on the north island, had seen very little of the Maori culture that permeates it or anything outside the typical Auckland-Rotorua tourist trail. I was excited to take a longer chunk of time to experience north island life and learn more about Maori culture in the bargain. On the ferry I took photos and read some travel notes, struggling to decide between two equally exciting routes through the island. One would take me around the remote East Cape region; the other would involve crossing the famous Tongariro national park (also known as Mount Doom from the Lord of the Rings movies), possibly by horseback.

All aboard the Inter-island ferry in Picton

The northernmost point of the south island, as seen from the ferry

As my first north island stop, I stayed with Moira, my mother's friend and colleague; her husband, Dave; and her adult son, Rob. They made me a temporary part of their family for the next week: I had my own little room in their house, which was located in heavily Polynesian suburb of Wellington called Naenae. Dave was what I would call a sort of "old school" Kiwi, constantly saying jocular and mildly offensive things, chain smoking, ribbing his wife (or "taking the piss," as he would say.) It seemed a comfortable marriage-- it was Moira's third-- and there was a constant march of their many, many grandkids through the ramshackle house.

I had "tea" (dinner), complete with "pudding" (dessert, usually not actually pudding) with the family most nights; I watched how they related to each other as a Kiwi family; I participated in the genial "piss taking." In the morning I listened to the national talk radio call-in show with Dave, discussing topics of the day. In the evening I caught up on TV, especially appreciating the Maori language/Maori-centric programming-- my favorite was Mr. Ed dubbed into Maori. And during the day I would walk through Naenae, filled with unfamiliar Rarotongan/Samoan signs, and take the commuter train into Wellington to explore.

A free clinic in Naenae
I spent a couple afternoons wandering around the quay area of Wellington harbor to Te Papa ("the Nation") which is arguably New Zealand's foremost museum, although there are certainly some Aucklanders would have something to say about that. (Wellington and Auckland have a long running and mildly silly rivalry-- a Wellington newspaper article I read claimed that "Wellington has streets full of arts and theater, Auckland has the cast of Shortland Street [a Kiwi soap opera]")

Te Papa was like every kind of museum rolled into one. One floor had an engrossing, informative exhibit about volcanoes/earthquakes, including an earthquake simulation. The building also housed a natural history museum, featuring stuffed versions of most of NZ native animals including a giant squid (!); a cultural museum with fully reconstructed Maori marae and interesting exhibits about other Pacific Islanders; and an art museum with modern displays and a really well-curated show of Maori and Pakeha art, showing how the two interacted as the groups did as well, from 1800s up through today. And the best part: it was free! Which meant I did not have to feel obligated to take it all in in one day--and, indeed, I spent parts of three days exploring the monstrous fantasticness of it all.

I took some time after my first visit to Te Papa to wander Cuba Street, and alternative heart of Wellington. Unfortunately, due to an ill-timed but totally worthwhile visit to the Cubita coffee house, a Cuba-themed cafe with fantastic coffee and an Iraqi owner, the stores on Cuba St had just closed when I arrived. But still I wandered, seeing a street filled with things I love-- old clothing and record shops, antiques, coffee houses, cafes. The best part was the random street art everywhere, something I came to love about Wellington. I ate crepes at a little stand and got lost on the winding streets that head up hill to the ancient volcano's peak, but didn't mind. The late afternoon sun felt wonderful and there was so much to see.

Wellington Waterfront
Cuba St, Wellington
Some choice street art





In my opinion, one of the peak experiences available to a traveler is the chance to meet a familiar face in a far-flung location (and it's even better when that face belongs to a dear friend!) A few days later I had just that pleasure, meeting my good friend Rania, who was in NZ with her boyfriend WWOOFing for several months, in downtown Wellington. The day was sunny and busy, everything tinged with the mild miracle of the two of us meeting so far from home. In the morning, we took a cable car up to one of highest points in the city, to see all over Wellington. We walked back down through a beautiful botanical garden to the NZ legislative building (which locals call "The Hive") and had a lovely outdoor lunch before going to see a "question session," in which MPs (representatives in the parliamentary system) field political questions from their peers and constituents.

"The Hive"

Rania and I thought it would be very interesting to see how parliament functions, but we had an ulterior motive: these sessions were famous for becoming, shall we say... "spirited."

And we were not disappointed! Often after an answer half of the gallery could be heard grumbling, clapping, or yelling "hear hear!", like some sort of deranged Greek chorus. And sometimes they descended into insults. My favorite of these involved one MP accusing another of becoming "the Marie Antoinette of education." Another time, in regards to a contentious bill to repeal a law requiring schools to promote healthy food, one representative fired off this gem: "So what you're saying is, our kids can smoke as much dope as they like but they can't eat a cake once in awhile." Rania and I loved it.

To cap off the day, we took a cheap ferry across Wellington's sheltered harbor to to Days Bay. Or at least that's what we tried to do, but we accidentally got off one stop too early at Seatoun, a sleepy and adorable but not particularly happening town. Moira's husband had told me that Eastborne, the settlement at Days Bay, would have cafes and arts/crafts-- but Seatoun had a dairy, a book shop, a closed cafe, and two hours until the next ferry. So we walked and chatted, eventually making our way to the next village over, where we found a bakery to stop in and pass the time. Back at the ferry, we convinced the ticket man to let us stop in Days Bay after all. It was also beautiful, although we didn't get to spend much time there.

At the end of a long, great day, aww

A few days late, knowing my interest in Maori culture, Moira took me to a Maori immersion school, where students learn Maori language and culture before they learn to read English-- a contraversial but very successful model. As a sweet, very shy young Maori girl led us from classroom to classroom I felt suddenly nervous, suddenly very aware of my white skin and my privilege in being allowed to just barge into the day to day workings of the school. Nonetheless, they were very welcoming as I toured around an art class where they painted traditional symbols, a kindergarten where little Maori kids learned about traffic lights-- what they do, what you call them, the name of the colors. We didn't stay very long, and I felt fascinated, intrigued, let down by the surface nature of the experience. It would not be the last time I experienced such frustration.

At the school- a Maori language poster about nutrition
In the last few days of my week in Wellington, after a long period of agonizing decision making, I decided to take the risky path and join a complete stranger (well, almost-- I'll explain later) for a tour around the North Island's remote East Cape region. I spent the last days planning, relaxing, and going up to the blueberry farm where Rania and Colin were working to see them. That day was warm and sunny, and we picked blueberries to eat with ice cream and explored the charming farm, complete with a huge rooster named Dumbledore and an enormous, gorgeous old German Shepherd called Bilbo Barkins (awesome.)

On the Blueberry Farm

At the end of the day at the farm I sat on the benches (pictured above) and talked with Rania and Colin while they worked on a painting project. We were discussing travel decision making, the necessity of taking risks, and Colin said something that would inform both the next week I spent in New Zealand and the next several months of my travel.

"No good stories come from things that go as planned," he remarked. "'I went to the Caribbean on vacation and came back.' is not a good story. 'I went to the Caribbean on vacation and got eaten by an ENORMOUS KILLER OCTOPUS' is totally a good story."

I thought about that-- I thought about it a lot, and the more I thought the more I knew he was right. So the next day I jumped into the mouth of the octopus, as it were, and got on a bus to meet Heikki, a Finnish ex-pat who goes by the name Henry, for a four-day camper van tour around the East Cape. It was a decision I would not regret.

Turn and face the strain

Well, I think we can all agree that although I am trying my best (and occasionally succeeding) to turn out a good quality blog, this is not a sustainable model. My parents left a few days ago after their 1/3-mark trip with me through Yunnan and Vietnam (yes, I am THAT behind) and this seems like as good a time as any to turn over a new leaf. I've started trying to journal again, and blogging comes along with that, of course. I have lots of exciting ideas, although we'll see what I can implement in the fact of the internet craziness of India.

In any case I am recovering for a succession of early-and-late days, including trying scuba diving for the first time and seeing some ancient ruins today. I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone blog. But, as a certain president once said, let it be known that

CHANGE IS COMING

Taking a Breather in Nelson

When you're a long-distance marathon traveler putting weekly/monthly notches on your belt and watching a succession of stranger's bedrooms slip by, any modicum of familiarity is welcome. Especially welcome are the comforts of family friends, an almost-home away from home.

Nearly 2 months after I'd left the US, I arrived in Nelson and heaved a sigh of relief. I'd been there once before with my family to see the G's, long-time friends. We'd done lots of sightseeing and marveled over the town's laid back nature. And now that I was back, the pressure was off. I didn't have any plans or feel I had to see anything and everything. I could borrow a bike to tool around town and peek into bookstores and bakeries, sleep late, read on the shady back deck facing the Mai Tai river, and plan my text move.

And so, for the next week, that's exactly what I did. I visited with the various members of the G family, in town from the US and other parts of New Zealand; went to the remnants of the Busker's Festival (which I'd first seen in Christchurch) when they came through one evening; explored the city. One day I walked down the river to swim at the swimming hole with 15 adolescent boys who dared each other to jump off higher and higher trees into the cool water. Another day I biked all over the flower-lined town, to art galleries, a little museum, and a highly recommended coffee shop painted bright colors. I discovered a calligraphy school run by a British man and his Japanese wife, who was from the same town in Japan that I would later visit with JJ. I marveled at the WOW fashion/classic car museum, which featured fantastical outfits and gorgeous cars. And, as a special treat to myself, I splurged on a day trip to Abel Tasman park, where I tried sea kayaking for the first time and loved it.

Nelson, lined with flowers


The Mai Tai swimming hole


The Nelson Japanese calligraphy school

From the WOW Classic Car and Wearable Fashion Museum-- some of my favorites:

I want this car one day


Did somebody say "Bingo"?

This is a flapper dress made entirely of cotton swabs! (Look closely!)
Abel Tasman

The morning rain made it seem like it would be a disappointing day, but in the end the weather cleared.

And we saw seals...

Peeked into hidden, eroded coves in the coast...



And kayak sailed back into port.



On the day before my departure I got up early and visited the Nelson Sunday market, a fantastic specimin featuring everything from homespun wool sweaters to artisan cheese to woven baskets to pet rocks. An hour browsing the merchandise, chatting with the salespeople, and having fresh coffee and crepes for breakfast, got me prepared to leave the comfortably relaxing weigh station that Nelson had been for me and ready to make the leap to the next stop-- all the way to the north island and my last weeks in New Zealand.

The perils of Chinese internet

Boy, it has been a really, really long time since I've had internet access in any significant way. And today the trend continues! However, I am heading to Hanoi, Vietnam on a night plane tonight (along with my intrepid parents!) and we will have a computer wired to the internet in our room. So: fingers crossed! If all goes well there should be a lot of photo-rich entries coming your way.

Sweet tweet

Yes, I'll admit it. I have indeed jumped on the bandwagon (or fallen off it, depending on your feelings) and joined Twitter. What began as a personal do-whatever-write-whatever account has transformed into an almost-live short-version of this blog. I know that entries here can be few and far between (although I'm certainly working on that and hoping I can change for the better), so if you're hankering for more you can always head over to http://twitter.com/alissalee and keep track of me hour-by-hour. Wondering what country I'm in now (by the way, the answer is: China, near the Tibetan border)? Twitter can tell you! And I'm going to start posting when there's a new blog entry up, so it should all work together fabulously.

Sealed with a Kiss: 36 hours in Kaikoura

In the march of "active vacation destinations," there are those that set Gold Standard-- offering cheap and plentiful activities-- and then there are that group's lesser brethren, either offering only a smattering of cheap adventures or an abundance of expensive ones. Kaikoura, two hours up the coast from Christchurch, fell into the last category. Almost everything to do in the town was way above my price range. So when, the morning after Waitangi Day, I hopped a bus 2 hours up the (stunning) New Zealand coast to Kaikoura, I knew I couldn't spend very much time there. I had already decided that I would only take advantage of one of the panoply of exciting opportunities available, from kayaking trips to dolphin swimming to whale watching, and I knew that if I stayed longer than a night or two I would be tempted to keep spending.

View from the bus en route to Kaikoura

If the above activity roster didn't give it away, Kaikoura is famous for its marine life-- I had the tectonic complexities spelled out for me a couple of times, but suffice it to say that the way the mountains plunge directly into the sea creates an incredibly rich and diverse ecosystem. Out of all the expensive ways to experience this diversity I had chosen seal swimming. Although it has been something of a dream of mine to swim with dolphins, I figured there would be many other places and opportunities for this dream to come true. Swimming with seals, on the other hand, struck me as less common, especially outside New Zealand. So to Kaikoura I came, ready to shell out for a magical experience and maybe bumble over another adventure in the meantime.

I arrived at my hostel mid-morning and just had time to cram down a "Salisbury steak sandwich" (i.e. new Zealand hamburger) at a flea market happening nearby before heading for the seals. At the company's headquarters in little downtown Kaikoura, we were provided with wet suits and snorkels and advised on basic seal behavior, a briefing that basically boiled down to: don't challenge their territory, don't touch unless they touch you, don't get between a mother and her pup.

At the swim point we were motored out about 1000 meters from shore to a large rock where a colony of seals lived. The deep green water was still a little choppy from the morning's wind but calming by the second. This was where it occurred to me that I should have bought an underwater camera in Australia and used in on the Great Barrier Reef and then here. But alas, it was not to be.

Unfortunately this is the best seal shot I can offer you. After this I jumped into the water...

The bay was so cold it left me gasping for breath in my wet suit. After the bathwater temperatures of Australian Ocean, I wasn't expecting such cold water. But after a few minutes my body adjusted and I started to admire my surroundings. We were swimming above a thick forest of kelp, a view almost exactly like an IMAX movie I saw once, the fronds swaying languidly in the current. Although they were nothing but playful and curious, being at such close proximity to so many seals was scary at first. I remembered the guide saying that seals are extremely adept in the water, and I couldn't help but think how un-adept I was in comparison. And all the time the waves were constantly pushing me toward the large rock, which we had been warned not to approach to closely in order not to infringe on the bull seals' territory.

After awhile I was able to maintain a constant position against most of the waves, and that's when I realized that the seals swimming around, under, across me were just curious, just playing. Several of them seemed to like to shoot at incredible speed through the kelp several feet below me, breaking rapidly to change directions and nose to the surface. Another watched me upside down from not far away, hanging in the water with it's tail just breaking the surface. And then there was a family around me, a bull and a mother and a pup, and they were surrounding me on all sides swimming and twisting, their big liquid eyes searching me out. The pup put its tail in its mouth and started propelling itself around in circles in a little ball, bubbles fizzing to the surface, looking at me as if to say "Can you do that?" Of course I couldn't, and it wasn't until I almost opened my mouth to say so that I realized, with shear joy, that they weren't just playing. They were playing WITH me. I swam in a circle; the pup swam in a circle. I did a somersault, the pup dove backwards, and then with a splash they were gone.

The entire experience was exhilarating.

After showering and changing clothes at my hostel, I spent the night wandering the little main street, which mostly featured overpriced meals angled at tour groups. I looked into a few stores full of tacky souvenirs, then went into a"trash fashion" show in an art gallery, featuring clothing made from found/recycled items. My favorite:

A dress made out of a waiter's apron and menus
I finally found a reasonable fish and chips joint (which is where I drank the Lemon & Paeroa featured in the last entry) and had taken my food outside to eat in the waning light when I heard singing. The sounds were foreign but slightly familiar, and at length I was able to identify where I had heard it before--the day before at the Waitangi celebration.

Night had fallen and I was cold, so I bought a cup of tea at the restaurant next door and settled in to enjoy a kapahaka or traditional Maori song/dance performance, this one also celebrating Waitangi Day. There were something like 10 or 15 performers, mostly female, swaying their hips and arms and singing strong and plain melodies interwoven with surprisingly sweet harmony. At one point they pulled out their poi, pairs of soft balls attached by string and swung in intricate patterns that those of you familiar with fire twirling practices will recognize.

From one of the tacky souvenir shops: the exoticized Maori, sold to promote tourism and make money

Real Maori, practicing their own traditions in their own ways

The night was only getting colder, so I moved farther inside the open cafe and ended up sharing a table with Tiffany, an exchange student from Georgia Tech. We shared our admiration and curiousity about the performance. Tiffany was not as shy or self conscious as I was, and before long she was at the head table asking the performers all sorts of questions about Maori culture. Some part of me, the part that is a trained anthropologist, was embarassed, feeling that she was crossing some sort of invisible line. But in the end we were sitting at that table with the leader of the kapahaka and her parents, talking about America and New Zealand, Maori life and traditions, the things we had in common.

Tiffany and our two new Maori friends

The night wore on and we all got more comfortable with each other, chatting and laughing, the akwardness of before erased by time and cold beer. Instead, there was a wonderfully horrible Maori karaoke session with a singer from Christchurch performing over prerecorded tracks, there was dancing, and then somehow I found myself teaching a good 5 or 6 Maori to do the electric slide. Not a bad way to finish of my Kaikoura adventure-- the next morning I caught a bus to Blenheim, and then on to Nelson, for fear that if I stayed any longer either the whales or dolphins would have won me over to another day in the ocean.

The scenery heading out of town was just as good as coming in