Going Out in Style

My parents once told me that if I ended up spending two years in New Zealand, they would try to come visit. New Zealand has become another home to me, and considering that it's not a place one can easily visit from North America, I was happy to give Mom and Dad a reason to make the trip. After a couple weeks spent zipping around the North Island and catching up with friends in Wellington, I flew to Christchurch to meet my parents after their trans-Pacific flight odyssey.

We only had two weeks to spend in the country together, unfortunately, so planning an itinerary was challenging. A number of compromises had to be made, especially as Dad was limited by some pretty serious sciatica aggravated by hours spent sitting in airplanes. Having just finished a meditative solo trip around the North Island, I had to adjust quickly to travelling not just as a group, but as a family. It had been just under a year since I'd even seen my parents, and now I was partly their tour guide as well as their son. And that's not to mention that I was still in the process of moving two years' worth of belongings back to North America. I had spent the previous year establishing a comfort zone in Arthur's Pass, and now I was emphatically out of it. With all that being said (or written), our trip went fantastically.

After meeting up in Christchurch airport and “uplifting” our rental car, we made a quick stop for some lunch and I drove us up to Arthur's Pass in the rain. We spent three nights there. I did my best to tie up loose ends while showing Mom and Dad around and introducing them to the people who shaped my time in the mountains. Mom, who hikes frequently back in Northern Ontario, quickly made the adjustment to hiking in the Southern Alps. Dad's sciatica kept him off the trails, but he learned more about local history in three days than I had in a year (thanks to John Charles).

We could have easily spent more time in Arthur's Pass, but our time was limited and there was more to see. So on Monday (Mom's birthday), I left the village that had been my home for the last time. We stopped in Greymouth to go to the post office, then in Hokitika to do some gift shopping, and then at the TreetopsWalk just south of Hokitika. I had hoped for another stop at the Bushmans Centre in Pukekura – my last chance at a possum pie! - but, being the low season, it was already closed. We ended that drive in Franz Josef, where we spent two nights. In addition to hiking, we arranged some more involved medical care for Dad in Fox Glacier and had medicine delivered via InterCity bus that would suffice for the rest of the trip.

After Franz Josef, we drove to Haast, where I had my last sight of the Tasman Sea, and then through the Haast Pass to Wanaka. It's easy to like Wanaka, and Mom and Dad certainly did. I made sure to go to Cinema Paradiso one more time – Dad and I watched The Company You Keep, but the film isn't really what matters when you go to Cinema Paradiso. It's the cookies. Mom kept hiking, and I took off on my own to walk up Isthmus Peak, on the isthmus between Lakes Wanaka and Hawea. It was a greater challenge than I thought, but well worth the views.

Our next destination was Lake Tekapo, the one spot on our journey that I had not visited. The drive over Lindis Pass was beautiful, but MacKenzie Country was the real stunner. After stopping in Omarama for lunch, we drove through Twizel and made a stop at the southern end of Lake Pukaki. It was a clear day, and Mt. Cook was visible at the other end. After tearing ourselves away from the great view, we continued on to Lake Tekapo. I've said it before and it's still true: New Zealand keeps finding new ways to amaze me. The scenery along that whole stretch of road was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. We spent two nights in Tekapo, taking tons of photos, marvelling at how the view across the lake was just as good by the light of the moon, and hiking up Mt. John.

Our longest drive on the South Island was between Tekapo and Kaikoura. We took the “inland scenic route” along highway 72 to Darfield, which was still mostly farmland, and made an afternoon stop in Christchurch. The red zone cordon had recently been reduced downtown, so I had my first sight of Christchurch Cathedral. I also introduced Mom and Dad to the Re:Start Mall, which was buzzing with activity. But we had to move on to Kaikoura, and stayed there two nights. After visiting the seal colony, Mom and I walked the Kaikoura Peninsula track and met up with Dad for a picnic in South Bay. We also spent some time arranging the logistics for the rest of our trip, as we were to return the rental car to Picton.

On the drive up to Picton, we stopped at the Ohau Point seal colony. Have I mentioned how New Zealand keeps finding new ways to amaze me? Like something out of an animated children's movie, we walked up a small stream from the ocean to a waterfall, at the bottom of which was a pool teeming with seal pups. Inland from the coastal seal colony, it was essentially a “seal daycare” where the parents leave their pups while they go fishing. Dad took a video (see below). There are no words to accurately describe it – simply one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

Our ferry from Picton was delayed by rough weather on the Cook Strait, but it was sunny in Picton. I made one last visit to the Village Bakkerij with Dad, then we all enjoyed the view of the waterfront while waiting for the boat to arrive. This strait crossing was my fourth, and the roughest one yet. I spent it lying down with my hat over my eyes to spare myself the sight of waves crashing over the side and other passengers losing their lunches. That kept me shipshape, and my biggest complaint was actually that we didn't get to arrive in Wellington in daylight.

We spent three nights in Wellington being tourists, dining out, and catching up with friends. On our last day there, Mom and Dad made their own bus tour of the city using the transit network while I did the last of my packing. Then we had a Wellington evening that could have been straight out of the Lonely Planet guidebook: dinner at KK Malaysian, a theatre production at Downstage Theatre, and gelato from Kaffee Eis for dessert. I hope it wasn't my last time in Wellington, but at least that was a great way to finish if it was.

As renting a car was the cheapest way for us to get to Auckland (we left it too late to buy plane tickets), we spent our last full day in New Zealand on the road. It's a long drive, but we have a family history that includes plenty of those. And I was thrilled that Mom and Dad were able to see some of the North Island too. We followed SH1 from Wellington to Auckland through Taupo, and although we bypassed Hamilton, it was almost exactly the same route I followed on the bus my first day in the country. After finding our hotel near the airport, I spent my last night in the country watching rugby at the pub downstairs. Again, if that was my last time in New Zealand – and I hope it wasn't – it's not a bad way to go out. 

Dad walking in the treetops.

Saying goodbye to the Tasman Sea at Haast Beach.

Lake Hawea from Isthmus Peak.

That's Mt. Cook on the left.

At Lake Tekapo.

Lake Tekapo.

Christchurch Cathedral.

Mom and I at Ohau Point seal colony.

Ohau Point. See video below...

Ruapehu.

Dad and I at Lake Taupo.

The Great Green and Blue North

When I extended my stay in New Zealand, my new visa tied me to my job in Arthur's Pass. As a result, my mobility was slightly more limited than it had been under my working holiday visa. I had left most of the North Island unexplored when I ventured South, intending to revisit it later. When I stopped work at the end of April, over a month before my visa expired, I finally kept that promise to myself.

My plan was to tour the North Island in a rented campervan. It would allow me greater mobility than the bus network, and the ability to create my own itinerary as I went. Luckily, May is the beginning of the low season for tourism in New Zealand, and quite a few rental companies offer relocation deals as they prepare for the summer's onslaught of tourists. I managed to find such a deal through Spaceships Rentals, the terms of which were pretty simple: if I picked up the van in Christchurch and returned it to Auckland, I could have it for as many days as I wanted at 50% off. Not bad. I did have to pay for the ferry, which costs significantly more with a vehicle, and $30/day for insurance, simply because of some complications with my finances.

I rented the van for 16 days, and spent much of my time driving. It had been two years since I'd driven any motorized vehicle, and I was content to be behind the wheel in one of the world's most beautiful countries for hours at a stretch. My van was equipped with a gas cooker and a bed, so my only concerns were food, fuel, and finding places to park overnight. The last was the greatest challenge, not for lack of space but for the legal uncertainty surrounding overnight parking. Some New Zealanders have an extreme mistrust of “freedom campers” - tourists who attempt to travel the country while paying for as little as possible. I am not one of those, I just believe that driving around with a bed in the back of my van is pointless if I still have to pay for somewhere to sleep. But I managed to avoid paying much, either by finding free places or staying at the reasonably-priced Department of Conservation sites. And once or twice I treated myself to a night at a campground for the better facilities, location, and added security.

Blessed with good weather, I drove just over 3800 kilometres in 16 days, and have now seen pretty much every part of the North Island except Wairarapa and Wanganui. Here's a few of the highlights:

Highway 35 north of Gisborne is a series of bays with plenty of freedom camping and countless spectacular views. Whale Rider was filmed in this area. I passed through as the sun was going down, unfortunately, but what I saw was incredible. That drive also took me to the East Cape, where I was one of the first people to see the sun rise on May 4. The sunrise was blocked by cloud, but the drive back as the sun rose along the hills was a treat.

The climb to the low peak of Mt. Taranaki was short but strenuous. I think it was the first time I've stood on an active volcano. The small town of Okato on the Taranaki coast was a nice place to stop for a bite, and New Plymouth is probably the most underrated urban centre I've been to in the entire country.

Northland was surprisingly awesome. It's much bigger than I realized and I missed plenty of things. What I did see in my brief visit included the Waipoua Forest, which holds the largest trees in the country; Cape Reinga, where the Tasman meets the Pacific; Waitangi, where the treaty that began the country was signed; and Whangarei, another underrated urban centre. The biggest surprise, however, was Hokianga Harbour. I had to pull over when I got my first glimpse of it – stunning.

The whole trip was great and I would have happily continued it for the rest of the month. But I returned the van to Auckland, flew to Wellington for a three-day visit, and then flew to Christchurch to meet my parents, which is where the next phase of my departure from New Zealand began.

Pukerua Bay, home of Peter Jackson and Olivia Blaza-Forest.

Palmerston North, where the city centre needs to warn people off bringing heavy livestock vehicles in.

Lake Tutira in Hawke's Bay.

Driftwood surf shack in Hawke's Bay.

Looking back at East Cape Lighthouse after sunrise.

Mt. Ruapehu as seen from the Forgotten World Highway.

Mt. Taranaki and cows.

Hokianga Harbour.

Sunset at Cape Reinga.

Welcome to Waitangi!

What's Ahead

My time in New Zealand is coming to an end. Although it has begun to feel like home in some ways, I have avoided settling in too much because I have always known that I would be here temporarily. It has been a difficult balance. I am happy to be leaving to begin new adventures, but I will be leaving behind a unique location and group of people that have become special to me. Now, about those new adventures...

I have spent the majority of my time in New Zealand on the South Island, and the majority of that time in Arthur's Pass. My visa expires at the beginning of June, so I have arranged for May to be a month of travel. For the first two weeks, I am planning a whirlwind tour of the North Island in a rental vehicle. I haven't seen much of the North Island and having my own vehicle will allow me to see what I want quickly. In my time here, I have also enjoyed the generosity of many people willing to pick up hitchhikers, so I intend to return that favour. I haven't driven a vehicle since June 2011, and I've never driven on the left, so watch out if you're nearby!

On the 17th of May, I will fly from Wellington to Christchurch, where my parents will have arrived 30 minutes before me. When I extended my stay in this country, Mom and Dad said they would aim to come visit before I left, and now they are. Because New Zealand is so far away for most of my friends and family, it feels a bit like I've dropped off the planet. Living overseas is a difficult experience to share with someone who has never been where you have, so being able to show my parents what's so great about this country will be a privilege. We are intending to spend most of our time on the South Island before passing back through Wellington on our way out of the country.

When I finally do leave New Zealand for the foreseeable future, I will not be going home immediately. My father was once a Peace Corps volunteer on the island of Saipan in Micronesia, and has not returned for over 40 years. As the planning for my parents' visit to New Zealand developed, it became obvious that this was the best chance he would get to return, and I to see it for the first time. So when I leave Auckland, it will be for Sydney, Tokyo, or Seoul...I can't remember. I'm letting Dad organize that part of the trip. We're just hoping Kim Jong-Un's recent bluster doesn't cause any problems.

On the way back to North America, we will briefly stop in Honolulu to adjust to the time change (great excuse, isn't it?) and add Hawaii to my list of states visited, which already includes Alaska, if you were wondering. Then we will return to Toronto and from there to North Bay, where I expect the exhaustion of all this travel to keep me comfortably in bed for a while.

But wait, there's more! Once I've recovered from crossing the Pacific and North America, I am intending to make a visit to my hometown of Northampton, Massachusetts for the first time in three and a half years. Even more ambitiously, I intend to fly over to Europe to visit friends I haven't seen in almost as long. After a family reunion in August, I think I will have been able to catch up with almost anyone I've ever known. Which is good, because in September I will be upping sticks and moving again. But that's for the next post to describe.

Thanks for reading this far - here's some photos I didn't include in the last post.

 

Holidays in the Heat

As I promised at the end of my last post, another month has brought with it plenty of activity. The season has definitively shifted from spring into summer, and the accompanying staff turnover at work has been even more dramatic. More coworkers means I have to stay late less often, and more sunny days means I can jump into the Bealey River after finishing on time. It may be summer, but I can still see the snow that melts into the water I swim in.

The beginning of summer has brought plenty of new people to live in Arthur's Pass, which certainly livens the place up. But the number of local events has also begun to climb, especially as Christmas approaches: there have been two gatherings celebrating anniversaries of arrivals in the village, one for 2 years and one for 30 (the second was much larger than the first). The end of the quiz night series left a gap on Wednesdays that we filled with a single curry night, with vague intentions to create a weekly event. The Christmas season has picked up that slack lately; even in this village of less than 100, there were two Christmas parties for me to attend, and that's not including the celebrations we will have on Christmas Day and over New Year's.

Last year I mentioned that Christmas doesn't feel the same here. It makes it easier to avoid homesickness, but it is bizarre to listen to Christmas music - much of it about snow, winter, sleigh rides, etc. - when it's hot enough to wear shorts and sandals. After over a year in this country, the seasons still make me forget what month it is. Christmas has not made a difference, although luckily this year I have people with whom to celebrate it; the celebrations are primarily barbecues.

It's easy to lose track of time here as well. I recently made a quick visit to Wellington, where I spent my first four months in New Zealand. Once the plans were in place, I realized that since returning to Arthur's Pass in June, I had spent a grand total of one night out of the village. Even locals give me looks of amazement at that statistic. Needless to say, Wellington was refreshing. The weather was perfect, the company was generous and friendly (thanks for putting me up, Chris and Donna), and my small pub quiz team of three won first prize. I also caught a matinee of The Hobbit on the day it opened for public audiences in Peter Jackson's favorite cinema.

I hope everyone is doing well this holiday season. I'm not sure where I'll spend the next one, but you'll probably be able to read about it here.

P.S. Though staying one place makes my numerous new experiences seem routine, here's one that I didn't see coming when I headed for New Zealand: one of my coworkers is away over the holidays, and I have been entrusted with the care of her three chickens. And I get to keep the eggs.

A recent hitchhiking journey saw me by the side of the road, next to a sheep paddock, drinking L&P. I felt like I was in Goodbye Pork Pie.

The Embassy's new facade.

From Dr. Grordbort's Exceptional Exhibition in Wellington. More than worth the free admission.

 

 

Kiwis and Coffee

Imagine a land of immense natural beauty and wide-open spaces, where farming is still a common occupation and gumboots are common attire in restaurants. As the work day comes to a close, men and women with strong, calloused hands, dust in their hair, and dirt-stained clothes meet up to unwind over a hot drink.

Now imagine that hot drink is a cappuccino.

Does that make sense?

Not to me.

New Zealand has a robust coffee culture and of course, plenty of Kiwis aren't farmers. But this country has an odd cross-section of coffee drinkers that is one of the weirdest things about it. North Americans are well-known for their disregard for "real" coffee - we like it watery and drink it by the gallon as we walk, or more likely drive, to work. Coffee is fuel. In Europe, it's almost the opposite - they drink it sitting down or not at all, and always in reasonable quantities. Coffee is an event.

Kiwis fall in between the two. Espresso-style coffee is the norm here, and most people know the difference between the various drinks, the most common being a flat white (known as café au lait outside the Antipodes). Most coffee companies offer barista training, and that can be a highly skilled position. In Wellington particularly, getting a job as a barista is difficult without a year's experience.

Outside of New Zealand's few large population centers, the espresso machine still dominates coffee. In the farming region of Central Otago, a local café owner made me a coffee as tasty as any I had in Wellington (but I'd go back for the pancakes). The café that I work in at the moment is beside a state highway, and plenty of truckers order large takeaway espresso coffees, usually with a couple sugars. In New Zealand that makes sense, but in North America that sounds like a bizarre joke.

But the people who really intrigue me are the older Kiwis, many of whom probably remember a time before espresso coffee took over. Most of them have learned to navigate through all the Italian words on the menu and figure out what they actually want, but the ones who don't stand out. Like the man who ordered a "flat white cappuccino," a drink that doesn't exist, and said, "I only wanted one," when I brought him a flat white and a cappuccino. Or the woman who asked for "a coffee," and when I asked her to clarify, she talked about how she used to get it out of a packet. And, just today, the woman who asked for a latté, and when I asked if she wanted sugar, replied, "Yes, sugar and milk too, please."

It seems to me that most of our customers just want espresso and hot milk in a cup. Perhaps that's why being a barista is, in practice, not as abhorrent as I thought it would be - there are very few coffee snobs in Arthur's Pass. But with my North American perspective, it's frustrating to watch people who would be perfectly happy with "a cup of joe" feel obligated to order something more complex. Especially since, for most drinks, after grinding the beans, running the shot, and steaming and pouring the milk, all you've added is air. 

A flat white with a fern drawn into the milk. Bonus points for presentation.

Basic intro to espresso coffees - we don't make espresso con panna or café breve.

But Wait, There's More!

Part of the reason I've been writing less recently is that I've been in the same place since I've been in New Zealand. I figured it was about time to see the rest of this country, so yesterday was my last in Wellington. My time in Wellington ended on a day of incredible wind gusts and a light sprinkling of rain, much like the day I arrived. That wouldn't be worth mentioning except I arrived in the dead of winter and left in late spring – the weather is one thing I will not miss about New Zealand's capital city. After a rough sleep on the couch in my apartment (having sold my mattress), I awoke to clean my room and do what remained of my packing. I've left two of my three pieces of luggage in Wellington with a friend, so everything I have is now in one bag. It's a camping backpack with a removable shoulder bag, but we'll call it one, even though it weighs almost 22 kilograms. I walked through town doing my remaining errands with the weight of a four-year-old on my back, getting used to stabilizing myself when Wellington's gale-force winds tried to knock me over. Four months in the same place has softened me a little, I'm sorry to say – another month and I probably wouldn't have been so keen to leave owing to the weight of my luggage.

The errands finished, I stopped in at work for a goodbye breakfast (really a second breakfast, but who's counting). My boss gave me a ride to the ferry terminal and before long I had checked in my massive bag and begun waiting for the Interislander to take me to the South Island. The weather began clearing as we lined up to board. It had been a while since I travelled by water and if Wellington's winds are any guide, the Cook Strait must be one of the roughest commercially travelled waters on Earth. For the portion of the voyage that was on open water, I rested on the upper viewing deck, mostly keeping my eyes closed and waiting for the knot in my stomach to loosen. Almost every wave was large enough to make the ship rise and fall noticeably, and my stomach did a lot of the noticing. Fortunately, my goodbye breakfast stayed where it belonged, and I was sitting in a great place to view the oncoming scenery of Marlborough Sound. That is, until everybody else realized where we were, and gave me a great view of human posteriors.

Feeling less fragile once the strait was behind us, I realized that I should take the opportunity to the see the famously beautiful Marlborough Sound for the first time (I've seen human posteriors before). It was pretty stunning. It was like a combination of Canada's west coast, the North Channel of Lake Huron, and Iceland's fjords – although it's probably just easier to say it was like Marlborough Sound. I guess I was expecting this ferry route to be fairly straightforward because people talk about it as if it's a highway between the two islands, but it is not a route for amateur navigators. Once in the Sound, the random scattering of islands makes finding one's bearings all but impossible without practice. It was like a larger version of the islands I used to navigate between in the North Channel of Lake Huron. After an easy first hour in the harbour and a difficult second hour in the strait, the sound was an excellent reward. The approach to Picton was magnificent.

I spent last night in Picton, which could hardly be more different from Wellington. Where Wellington's streets were packed with pedestrians and cars, Picton hardly even has crosswalks because it's so easy to cross safely owing to the lack of traffic. Where Wellington's supermarket is open until midnight seven days a week, Picton's supermarket is open until 8. And where Wellington's downtown is packed with bars, cafés and nightspots, Picton seemed to have shut by the time I arrived at 6. On the other hand, where Wellington's hills were covered with houses, Picton's are almost too steep to build on safely. Where the ferry leaves Wellington surrounded by cruise ships and industry, it arrives in Picton seeming a little out of place. If I thought I had a sense of New Zealand as a whole, I was wrong. I'm glad I left Wellington when I did. 

I was surprised to find that there is actually a train service from Picton to Christchurch (my next destination). It's more expensive than the bus, but it's one of only three intercity train services in New Zealand, so I almost felt obligated to take advantage. But before I leave Picton, here's a few photos from yesterday.

From the ferry, before departing Wellington.

Approaching the South Island.

The beginning of Marlborough Sound.

Approaching Picton.

From the shore in Picton, watching this morning's ferry depart.

Politics, Kiwi Style

There's an election coming up in New Zealand, and the campaign has picked up steam since the World Cup finished. Last night there was a meet-the-candidates event at the community center in my neighborhood, which I realize I haven't mentioned much. It's called Aro Valley, and is pretty well-known as an area full of free-thinking, alternative hippie types. A few people practice Falun Dafa (don't ask me what it is) in the park on my route to work, there are yoga classes in the community center, and the basketball court is more often used for bicycle polo, popular among the fixed-gear bicycle crowd (read: hipsters).

So it's no real surprise that Aro Valley hosted its own meet-the-candidates night. Thinking myself familiar with this sort of thing after hearing the late Jack Layton speak once at Queen's and attending multiple similar events throughout my life, I decided to attend a pub quiz rather than a political discussion. I was surprised to read about what I missed in the next days' paper - water guns! You can check out the whole story here.

The End of The Beginning

As I have written previously, I tend to write less the longer I stay in one place. That's the only excuse I can offer for the gap between this post and my last. Especially with the end of the World Cup, things have started to become fairly routine here, within a broad definition.

In my view, major sporting tournaments are more fun at the beginning than at the end. There's still so much to come, and surprises can happen at any time. Furthermore, there are so many games being played that a boring game doesn't remain long in the memory. As the tournament progresses and the games become more pivotal, the remaining teams inevitably sacrifice creativity for reliability. Thus we get tight and suspenseful, but objectively unexciting play.

All this is to say that my excitement over the World Cup waned a little in the knockout stages, which began immediately after my last post. With games only on weekends, rugby had a much smaller presence in my life. That's not to say I didn't enjoy the quarterfinal weekend, which saw Wellington packed beyond belief with supporters and players from South Africa, Australia, Ireland, and Wales. Nor is it to say that France's 9-8 semifinal win over Wales didn't drive me absolutely insane with frustration. But the All Blacks' win over France in the final was, for me, more depressing for what it ended than exciting for what it achieved. It didn't help that the amount of pressure heaped on the men in black meant the win was more a source of relief than of ecstasy for Kiwis - although anyone on Wellington's Courtenay Place after the game finished might disagree.  

So now the opening act of my time in New Zealand is coming to a close, as I plan to pack up and move down to the South Island. The weeks since the close of the World Cup have been a bit of a blur - there have been a few pub quiz victories, my flatmates' final recitals (clarinet and viola), and a busy and entertaining work schedule. You can expect more frequent posting from me in the near future, as I'm heading to central Otago for the cherry harvest and should find plenty of new and exciting things to write about. But for now, here's a few photos of the past five weeks.

In the Te Kopahou reserve.

A sea lion, right along the waterfront.

People lining up for the All Blacks' victory parade. I had to work.

Genius advertising.

In Island Bay...summer's coming!

How I Spent My 24th Birthday (There's Rugby Involved)

As many of you were already aware, Sunday, October 2nd was my 24th birthday. You may remember what I did on my last one. This time, I was not in the process of moving my life overseas and already had a fairly solid group of friends with which to enjoy the day. It made it a little more exciting that this was probably the busiest weekend in Wellington since I've been here, owing to the two World Cup matches on at the stadium. Even better, one of those matches was New Zealand's final pool match against Canada. It just so happened that the game was on my birthday, and I had been keeping an eye on ticket possibilities since July. The tickets for sale were far too expensive, but my flatmate Marcus pulled off another miracle and happened to be entitled to one free ticket. Remember when I said this time in New Zealand was working out almost exactly as I wished? My expectations have been exceeded again.

I had previously told my boss that I'd like to finish work early enough to watch the game, and it just so happens that the café is right next to the stadium. So I walked to work through central Wellington with the Canadian flag wrapped around me like a cape, worked for four hours, and had a coworker stencil maple leaves onto my cheeks with a red marker. I sprinted to meet Marcus and was seated in time for the national anthems and the haka, the Māori war dance that the All Blacks do to intimidate their opponents. If you've never seen it, I suggest you check out this video.

Although Canada were soundly trounced by the All Blacks, as expected, I had a good time chatting with my neighbors in the stands, who were mostly Kiwis. I was struck by how personally they treat the All Blacks. I've mentioned before how New Zealand is a small country, and watching the game reminded me. People referred to all the players by their first names, and when they made mistakes the fans were quick to yell encouragement. Even against a comparatively weak team like Canada, the fans wanted to see their boys play well. It was particularly notable in their treatment of Colin Slade, the poor man with the responsibility of filling star #10 Dan Carter's shoes now that he's out for the tournament. Everyone in the stands treated Slade like he was their own child. (For the rugby fans reading this, I think the All Blacks should go with Piri Weepu at #10).

After Canada had been defeated and their most iconic player concussed, I stuck around for the presentation of participation medals and the lap of appreciation, in which both teams passed along the stands greeting supporters. Only three All Blacks came out - if the whole team had, people would still be there now getting autographs - but the entire Canadian team walked by. Many of them were effectively ignored, not being major stars, but I did manage to high-five one of them and congratulate Nathan Hirayama, who I think was surprised anyone knew his name. Meanwhile, the crowd was obsessed with Victor Vito, Brad Thorn, and Sam Whitelock, the All Blacks who came out to press the flesh. I must say, they carry themselves much more humbly than most professional athletes you see in the news. With the massive popularity of rugby here and the club system that supports the All Blacks, the connection between the national team and their fans is much stronger than that of at any of the North American teams I support. I think I actually saw Victor Vito talking to a friend he happened to see in the stands as he walked by.

Still buzzing over the fantastic experience of seeing the All Blacks up close, I spent the rest of the evening watching the day's other games and hanging out with friends. After the game, I passed by the ice rink that has been temporarily set up on Queen's Wharf. I noted with a small amount of pride that there were several people wrapped in the Canadian flag skating circles around groups of timid Kiwis learning how to skate for the first time. Later in the evening, a Kiwi saw the maple leaves on my face and said, "I think Canada played very well today." Always keen to keep the balance, I replied, "Thanks. I think the All Blacks played very well too." (They won 79-15)

Outside a bar on the way to work.

The haka.

I've now seen Ma'a Nonu up close twice in one year, if you're keeping track.

Victor Vito.

Adam Kleeberger, "concussion as, bro."

Brad Thorn and an admirer.

Sam Whitelock.

Go Confidently in the Direction of Your Dreams...You'll Get to Watch Rugby!

The World Cup began a little less than two weeks ago, and things have been going just as swimmingly as they were before it began. Except now there's rugby to be watched - all the time. Some of you may recall that my vague plan for my first few months in New Zealand was to be in one of the larger cities hosting World Cup matches and find work to support myself during the tournament, perhaps in a bar or café that showed rugby, and maybe, through luck or hard work, I'd be able to see a match or two. I am absolutely astounded at how close to reality that vague dream has become. Being in Wellington has allowed me to not only watch rugby on television and live at the stadium, but I've also seen the Welsh, South African, and American rugby teams around town. The Australians are here as well, but keeping a low profile (with good reason). My job does not show rugby, and indeed many of my coworkers aren't the least bit interested in it, but my schedule allows me the time to watch almost all of the matches. In my numerous overseas experiences, my expectations have never been so closely matched by my actual experience.

Being slightly superstitious as any Red Sox fan is bound to be, I can't help fearing that I'm tempting fate by having such a good time. I was recently brought down by a fairly serious cold - after my bout with pneumonia earlier this year, any illness is worrisome - which has put a bit of a damper on things, but it hasn't kept me from finding my way to a television at the start of almost every World Cup match. Although I was excited just to watch rugby's biggest tournament, I have been even more impressed with the quality of play. This version of the World Cup tends to be much more predictable than its more famous (football/soccer) cousin, but the minnow nations have been much stronger this time around. I was absolutely thrilled with Canada's 25-20 win over Tonga, a team of almost entirely amateur players beating a team of professional Pacific Islanders. Teams like Japan and Romania have also been giving the typical superpowers a run for their money, a fantastic demonstration of the spread of rugby union. Every time I watch a game, I seem to see even more of the strategy and planning behind this sport that I've really only been following for a little over two years. Even more satisfying is when my mental analysis gets repeated by commentators or newspaper columnists, which has happened several times.

I've been told many times since I began wandering that I'm living a very "exciting" period of my life. It's always been true and I've always agreed, but this is the first time I've felt it almost constantly. I have already begun planning to head to the South Island when I leave Wellington, and I recently found out that two of my new friends here are heading in the same direction at the same time. If things keep falling into place like this, I might just have to buy a lottery ticket.

Wales and South Africa line up for their national anthems.

Not the best seats, but we did get to see François Hougaard's game-winning try right in front of us.

New Zealand's version of the "God's on our side" argument.

Outside the same church...and in Māori to boot!