New Zealand: Mom Approved

Last weekend, two of my flatmates and I were guided through a bird ecosanctuary by a real live Kiwi, the human kind.

The Jungle that was the Ecosanctuary

As we were hacking through brush with our imaginary machetes (we wandered a bit off the trail provided for those who didn't have the spirit of adventure we did) I noticed a tree with its bark scratched off. Thinking I would show off the vast extent of my Minnesota wilderness knowledge, I gasped, feigning terror that a bear must have been here.

I got a few blank stares and was promptly informed there are no bears in New Zealand--the native population in New Zealand consists of a vast and various bird population. How...uh...exciting?

Some of the birds spotted above (they are Tui, not to be confused with the Tui beer, the bird came first)

With further questioning, I soon learned that there is hardly anything dangerous in New Zealand at all: no bears, no wolves, no snakes, no poisonous spiders...nothing!! Later, I spotted a bird that looked pretty dangerous to me, the Kea, a parrot-like bird with a very long very sharp very menacing beak. However, once again I was shot down with the danger factor---these birds cared more for rubber, wood, and tearing apart people's cars than the taste of human blood.

I decided to do some google research of my own, not believing that any place could be so void of danger--this had the possibility to seriously damage my street cred. According to Portal Oceania, the only land animal in NZ with the feasibility of hurting a human is a bee, and even so the Portal had the audacity to claim that the bees aren't as mean here anyway...

Now, to be clear, the animals are not the only safe entitities in New Zealand. The country as a whole (apart from your once in awhile furniture burning on Castle Street) is quite peaceful. The everday Police here do not carry weapons. In fact, my kiwi flatmate informed me they only recently started carrying tazors, and before that it was just pepper spray. Civilians require a license to carry pepper spray. Compared to girls I knew back home who put pepper spray on their key chains to be easily accessible when walking to their cars or residences, I have no other conclusion to come to than that from animals to people--New Zealand is a pretty safe place.

So come visit me, I think even your Mom would approve!

Cheers!

Thailand and Penance

View from John's window, complete with relaxin' pet Lizard

No thank you!
I said as Pee Joe, John’s Thai friend, kept shoving some incense and gold pieces at my face in front of the biggest golden man (or non-golden man for that matter) I had ever seen—topping off at a few stories high. I shook my head, said I didn’t need one, my hands were full, I’d just embarrass myself anyway by sticking the incense who knows where-probably someplace unknowingly offensive, I was cool just watching the other Buddhists do their thang.
No thank you is apparently not an answer allowed in a Buddhist temple.
John and I laughed it off, more concerned at the time with the silliness of it all to us than what it could possibly mean. As we stood before the Buddha, we giggled as we wished for ridiculous lottery winnings and said our Our Fathers and Hail Marys. Then, it was an interesting cultural (I admit partially sac-religious) experience. Now, I think either God or Buddha put a hit on me because of it...

I’ve had, officially, the worst week since I’ve come to live in New Zealand.

My laptop broke beyond manageable repair, our road-trip car’s engine died and the whole thing needs to be replaced, my luggage was lost in Sydney, my school assignments’ due dates were moved forward to earlier this week, my dog back home (Charlie aka the happiest dog in the world) has cancer meaning he may not make it to the time I return home, I’m sure I’ve gained at least 500 overloaded stress pounds, and my bad hair day has now officially extended to a bad hair week.

Wow, this has turned into one depressing blog, right?

Despite the horrid events of the week, I’m trying to stay focused on the good, which was pretty much my entire holiday in Thailand. Let’s just stay focused on the good together, shall we?

Arrival

Although I have travelled to non-English speaking areas of the world before, I had never been shocked out of my comfort zone as much as I was upon first arrival in Thailand. The signs were not only in a different language, but the characters of words looked more like pretty squiggles than letters to me. The language was absolutely foreign to me as well; even the tones and pitches used when speaking—very soft and high—made me wonder if that was really “normal-speak” at first, or if they were doing impersonations of some children’s cartoon. I also looked much different than the people there—granted I also stand out in a crowd in New Zealand with my outfits inspired by the rainbow shining in a sea of black. But in Thailand, it wasn’t just my clothes, my skin, my hair, or my language that made me stick out—it was my awestruck half-open-mouthed expression as I stared at absolutely everything in sight. The further away from touristy spots we travelled, the more interesting I became to the Thai people as well. I was pointed and stared at in many settings, ranging from the market to the restaurant to John’s school—which took a lot of getting used to, but I just shrugged it off with a smile (assuming it was my "stunning good looks" and not the combination of sweat pouring off every surface of my body, matted hair, clumsy attempts at eating, talking, and abiding by overall cultural norms, as well as the camera glued to my hand that initiated the looks) and usually received some huge smiles in return.

Bangkok

Moving on, my first day in Thailand, we stayed in Bangkok. Prepping for our first adventure, one of John’s friends—Pee Nee—and her parents, fed us a very large Thai breakfast (I say Thai not just because of what the food was, but how much there was. I was told by John that there is only one meal in Thailand: it starts when you wake up and ends when you go to sleep. Now that is something I can get used to!!). I ate a lot of rice, fried vegetables, and (just in case I wouldn’t enjoy Thai style food) cookie-crisp cereal. It was a strange combination, but my first indication that in Thailand, strange food combinations do not exist, anything goes.

After my first Thai meal (which was delicious by the way, next time you’re in Bangkok call up Pee Nee’s mom, she is almost as good of a cook as my own mother!) we headed out to an outdoor market the size of which is not found anywhere else in Asia (it’s called the JJ market by Johnny and the locals, or the Chatuchak market by Foreigners). Although it was quite warm out and I as well as the many Farang (foreigners) were sweating profusely, it wasn’t uncomfortably warm—plus I wasn’t about to complain about tank top and shorts weather when I hadn’t taken off winter boots and jacket when I went to sleep for the last two months. The market was fabulous; there were hundreds of stalls woven like honeycombs—perfect to find a good deal on anything you could dream of, but also easy to get lost in and even worse, a big trap for pickpocketers in the crowded sea of shoppers. John and I wandered through the pet sections—admiring the cheap puppies and kittens, ran our hands through Thai silk of rich dark colors, marveled at beautiful hand woven purses, spent far too little on far too many small souvenirs and clothes, and finally called it a day with some Pad-Pak complete with shrimp with eyes still intact, watching me struggle to break its shell open as I ate it. If I hadn’t realized how much of a carnivore I was before the trip, I realized it then.

My next day in Bangkok, I had another wonderful breakfast—this time enjoying cooked squid, rice, veggies, and choco-crunch cereal combo, yummo!—then we headed out for a little sight-seeing before travelling North to Soeng Sang, John’s city. First, we spent our morning at the Floating Market of Ayutthaya, where the high levels of Farang had started to drastically thin, and John and I were becoming something of an oddity. We were lucky enough to catch a traditional Thai show put on by some of the young people in the market. They started out in a procession of small canoes paddling through the canals—dressed beautifully in traditional Thai garb, and filed onto a stage where in small groups they performed dances with swords, drums, or just their hands—the Thai music and delicate fluttering movements was something to be marveled at. After the show, we piled back into the car, driving to what’s left of the ancient palace of Ayutthaya since the invasion of Myanmar left it in ruins. There, we watched another show, this time put on by some heftier performers—elephants—and then clumsily climbed onto one for an elephant guided tour of the ruins. The jerky sway of the elephant prevented me from taking any pictures that turned out to be at a normal angle, but I still very much enjoyed the ride as I listened to John and our Thai guide joke (in Thai!!) with one another. I couldn’t have been prouder.

Floating Market

Floating Market

Thai Show


Elephant Show

Elephant ride through Ayutthaya Ruins

Soeng Sang

The drive up to Soeng Sang, (equivalent about to the drive from Owatonna to Cloquet) provided me an interesting insight into Thai driving. The rules are…there are no rules. The painted lines on the road are really more of a suggestion, and a suggestion that is often completely ignored. Cars swerve back and forth, driving more in the middle of the road on top of the lines than neatly between them. I hardly noticed that we were supposed to be driving on the left side of the road; we spent more time honking and passing motorcyclists, slow farm trucks and cars on the right side of the road than driving on the left. More than a few times I wondered if I would make it through the trip as we came dangerously close to head-on collisions while passing 18-wheelers, barely swerving back to the left in time, but my bad luck thankfully hadn’t cropped up yet so we made it safe and sound to Eiamheng, the Tapioca factory complex complete with offices, orchards, farmland, animals, factory, dining hall, guest houses, and John’s little duplex style home.

School

The next few days I accompanied John to teach classes at his school. The school was beautiful, all open air, which made it hot and muggy, but the views of the outside were easy on the eyes to say the least. I was awestruck by John’s natural abilities with the students; he had that talent to not only keep 40+ students under relative control but also have a lot of fun and learn English. I wasn’t the only one to admire his abilities, I was told on countless occasions by other teachers what a big hit he was at the school. I felt as though I was accompanying a celebrity as we toured the grounds, not only was I with one of their popular teachers who the students loved (especially the teenage girl students I noticed!) but I was new. Everywhere I went kids heads were turned to look and bow, yes bow. Whenever greeting someone in Thailand you do a “Wei” where you put your hands together, fingertips at your nose as though praying, and bow your head/shoulders. It is a sign of respect and especially essential when greeting your superiors. I have to say it’s not something I particularly enjoyed. I always felt sort of awkward when the groups of kids would do their Weis toward me, interrupting their conversations and sometimes dropping their books in order to do so. To make it worse, most of the time the Weis managed to surprise me, panic stricken I found myself doing this awkward half nod half head bob where I ended up just jerking my head as though I was having a spasm…No wonder they thought I was interesting.

I was lucky enough for John to let me help teach some of his classes—by putting me on the spot in front of 50 kids to exemplify as fast as I could tongue twisters they were practicing. Apparently I’m pretty good entertainment because every time I finished speaking the whole class would erupt in an uproar of giggles—I think maybe I’ll open my own show there: Kelsey the Farang’s Thai Tongue Twisters, its sure to fill the house.

John with one of his classes.

Beach

On one of John’s day off we visited a beach where we went jet skiing and swimming. The water was, not surprisingly, very very warm—a strange occurrence for a native Minnesotan, but I adjusted quickly. On the edge of the beach, little thatched huts sheltered small tables where we ordered and ate, of course, lots of food. I experienced another common Thai food experience where when ensured by my companions that the food was not spicy (Mai Phet! Mai Phet! Not spicy! Not Spicy!), it was inevitably spicy enough for me to be panting and gulping down Coke through coughs. I shudder to think of what they would consider spicy…

Temples and Malls

Next, John and I journeyed with Pee Joe to what John has lovingly nicknamed his second home, the mall. On the way there we stopped at the Budhdist temple where I had my penance inducing sac-religious experience. The temple itself makes me interested further in Buddhism, because to an outsider like me, it was all rather strange. Everything we did seemed to revolve around objects of value: gold and money. To Buddha we applied small gold squares, into pots we dropped coins, on the walkway to another temple, we had to ding bells with money coins to ward off bad luck (pity that didn’t work), at the adjacent temple there were more money pots where you bought a pack of coins and went around in a circle, dropping coins into each basin. All in all, it was different than anything I’d ever seen—I wonder where the money went, Pee Joe had difficulty explaining it to me.

On the way back we stopped at a large dam, and I experienced another Thai food phenomenon—orange pop…in a bag! Although sanitary and easier to dispose of after drinking, the novelty of drinking pop in a bag wore off after a few minutes of holding the plastic handles and realizing I couldn’t set it down until I finished.

The Temple

The Buddha

Pop...in a bag!

Ling

For my last full day we loaded up one of the Eiamheng SUVs with some of John’s other friends and headed to, you guessed it, another market! On the way we stopped for breakfast and iced coffee—one of the many drinks I grew to love Thai style. After the market, we drove to a sort of national park, or what John called “Jurassic Park—Thai Style.” In the park you drove up and down winding roads, never knowing what animals you could encounter. There were wild elephants, crocodiles, tigers, monkeys, and so on living in the park—all free to roam the land as they pleased uncontained by cages, but pretty much stayed to their own areas. We would drive through the roads and see a little cluster of ling (monkeys) waiting deceivingly cute and patient. Pulling over, we’d start throwing bananas to them, watching them neatly peel and devour. They weren’t quite so cute or patient after that. Soon they were jumping all over the car, seemingly even more excited by the sound of the shrieking passengers inside. I opened the window a crack to poke out a banana, only to have John hold down the button to make the window open more. Before I knew it the whole car was rocking (as we all clawed toward John, throwing off the equilibrium) as we all screamed (Pee Joe being the loudest, gee whiz can that man shriek!) for John to shut the window, closing it just in time before one gigantic (it was actually pretty small looking back) monkey (probably extremely terrified at the extent of noise we were emitting at the time) came in to eat my face off (Or more likely grab the banana from my terrified clutches).

Back to Aotearoa

Soon it was time to leave Thailand. I had a wonderful trip, and was more sad than I thought I would be to let it go, but I did. Now, back to New Zealand, where I am trucking through the bad luck in hope that some more Thai good luck will be in the horizon—especially since mid-semester tests and then break is in sight. I don’t wish my bad luck to follow me on our road trip exploring glaciers…that has potential to be disastrous…

View of the Mountains of NZ from my plane

Cheers!

"Minnesota, that's by Oklahoma, right?"

My flatmate (Arely) can make friends with a rock. It’s true. She could befriend a blind, mute, deaf person on the street if you gave her a couple minutes. It is common for us to go out on the weekends, or to the grocery store, or to a coffee shop, or to the mall, or whatever and have Arely disappear on us, only to turn up a few minutes later with a new friend in tow. Fortunately, this works out well for the rest of the flat, because we often get to meet people and do things we probably wouldn’t do otherwise. One of these such things is Monday night dinners. You see, Arely (the Texan) had randomly met a kiwi couple holidaying back in Texas one day, and of course, they are now two of her very best friends and just so happen to live in Dunedin. So, every Monday night they and some of their friends, have a group of people over for dinner. Usually, just Arely goes and comes back full, happy, and warm (they have a fireplace in their house!). Yesterday, however, Arely came into the flat before it was time to be picked up with some happy tidings—we too were invited to a wonderful warm dinner. I couldn’t be more excited.

As we sat down for dinner, I waited for the impending doom. Sure enough, as soon as the spoon went into the casserole, they all looked right at me as if in unison, and one of them asked, “So Kelsey, where are you from?” This is a question I hear a lot, and don’t get me wrong, I love telling people where I’m from—I even made my flatmates sit down as I made a slideshow of my pictures of Minnesota and my family just to show how much I love it. However, when you live with a person from California and another from Texas, you get to watch the excited glow take over people as they badger them with questions about movie stars and cowboys. On the other hand, when I say I’m from Minnesota I either get a blank stare, a you must be warm here then, or a (and this is the absolute worst) where is that? Unfortunately at dinner, I got a combination. The silence after I said I was from Minnesota was deafening, everyone seemed to have stopped eating mid bite as they blankly stared at me, trying to figure out if I had just made some weird M word up or I was telling the truth. Finally, someone had the gall to say, “hmm Minnesota, I’ve never heard of it, where is it?”

I promise, I wasn’t mean, and it’s not like I even expect anyone to know where my state is—I hardly know the regions of their country so why should they know mine. But like I said, I had the Californian and the Texan snickering on either side of me, and my state-pride was clouding my rational expectations of what they would know.

I tried to softly and calmly explain that Minnesota was a part of the Midwest; it bordered Canada and the great lakes. To my surprise, this did not help them geographically whatsoever. This time eyebrows shot up in shock and then down in confusion as they thought. Then I got, “Wait, if Minnesota is in the mid west why is it by Canada? And aren’t the great lakes in New York?”

Again, I tried to explain the Midwest region, bringing in Chicago, and all the other states immediately surrounding it. Suddenly, relief, the host laughed and pointed at me. I was so happy, they finally understood where I was from!

“Ohhhhh, so Minnesota is right next to Oklahoma!”

I hope I didn’t sigh out loud too forcefully. No, I explained, Minnesota is not by Oklahoma, Texas is by Oklahoma.

They looked at each other, the confusion bubbling up again as one of them decided this matter was important enough for a map to be found. For some reason only the pregnant lady could get the map, so I watched guiltily as she slowly pushed herself up from her chair and power walked out of the room, carrying a big map of the world with her as she came back. Me and my flatmates—who had joined the MN cause—pointed out where Minnesota was, and I’d like to think they silently oohed and ahed at its majestic shapely beauty. I felt a little proud of myself, even if they hadn’t known where Minnesota was before, at least they knew now, and I was here to tell them just how wonderful it was!

Of course, the next question after where Minnesota is, whose answer took about 15 minutes, is what is famous in Minnesota? I talked about 10,000 lakes, about winters, camping, and outdoors things. I may have over-exaggerated a bit (or a lot), but hey, I was competing against Hollywood and gun country here, I had to represent! All I can say is the tourism department of Minnesota should be mailing me a check in the mail, because I think a few kiwis will be taking their holidays to the Midwest come this summer.

After the humbling episode of dinner, we attempted to play one of my favourite games, Apples to Apples. If you’ve never played the game before, it’s rather simple. Someone reads a card with an adjective on it (clean, beautiful, philosophical, etc) and everyone puts a card from their hand down that they think matches (or funnily mismatches) that word. Cards in your hand are people, places, and things. So for example, I could have Hellen Keller, cabbage, Crazy Horse, JFK, choir boys, and pro wrestler in my hand at the same time. I may choose to lay down cabbage when the word is philosophical and hope that it is so random it makes the judge pick it for kicks and giggles. Get it? Ok, now imagine trying to play this with Kiwis, who don’t know who Hellen Keller or Crazy Horse or Cary Grant is, and who you have to explain the word “frazzled” to among other words. It added a whole new dimension to the game. I was playing and visibly watching the gaps between our cultures make themselves known—what words they knew and didn’t, what pop culture they understood or didn’t, what US events, public figures, and places they knew about and didn’t. It was quite an interesting learning experience, something I’m sure that the game hadn’t been intended for, but provided anyway. Watching their amazed expressions as we explained who Helen Keller was almost made me feel as proud as when I told them the perks of Minnesota. It was as if Helen Keller was my second cousin, and I was the one who had taught her how to say water.

After the game they gave us a ride home again, for the last time...because...we bought a car! A 1988 Toyota is now resting down the block from our flat, just waiting for its first of many adventures to ensue. New Zealand is very difficult to travel without a car, as its public transportation is neither cheap nor easily accessible. So, with careful consideration and after viewing about 100 cars on trademe (their equivalent of craigslist) we found a working one within our budget. At the end of August, we will be putting it (and ourselves—driving on the left hand side of the road isn’t as easy as it looks) to the ultimate test as we take it for a 10 day mid-semester break adventure driving from South to absolute tip of the North Island. We have been planning it out and will be resting our heads in a different city and hopefully on Arely's friends couches (told you she makes friends with everyone--she has them in almost every city we stop in and we've only been in New Zealand a month) almost every night until reaching Auckland, staying there a few days, and then driving back again. To put it in perspective, each island is about a 9-10 hour drive lengthwise, which is doable with a jug of coffee and a good mixed tape (we have a tape player in our car!!) in a few days, but we are breaking it up into lots of short drives to enjoy the absolute most we can. How amazing is it that we can travel an entire country stopping at all of the major cities in 10 days? I just hope our car will make it through it all, especially the portion of steep winding driving up through the southern alps. Hopefully we won’t be choking each other in the backseat by the end of the trip, dumping off bodies in the uninhabited mountains...

Realizing how expensive gas (or petrol as they call it) is here... oofta

My start as a car model

Finally, I feel inclined to say that this may be my last post for awhile. Kiwi Living is hopping continents! In just three days, I am flying to Thailand for a little over a week to visit my boyfriend, John, who is on scholarship teaching English there. The internet there is not state of the art, as he is staying in a small village in Northern Thailand, so I will most likely not be able to write (as I will also hopefully be out enjoying 90+ degree weather) but will make it a point to post as soon as I get back. Please say a little prayer for me that all will go well, and I won’t love the warm weather and John time so much that I "miss" my plane back.

Cheers!