Saving, Shooting, and Sleeping Away

The past month and a half have seen several staff changes at work and two especially busy weekends - Easter and the Wild Foods Festival in Hokitika, which some may recall I attended last year. It brings plenty of business through Arthur's Pass, as we are directly on the way from Christchurch to Hokitika and the Wild Foods Festival draws tons of people. I've been picking up plenty of extra hours for various reasons, and when I leave New Zealand in two months, I will have a significant amount of money saved.

There have also been several adventures of note lately. Although Arthur's Pass has a squash court which doubles as a basketball court, there is rarely anyone else with whom to shoot around, and I haven't played on a full team since 2011. As soon as I realized that I would be in Arthur's Pass for a while, I sent an email to the Greymouth Basketball Club to see about playing with them. Almost a year after I sent that first email, and several aborted attempts to participate, I finally did it. I took the bus down from the mountains, stayed the night at a hostel, and played basketball for two hours. Despite being either a league or a club (or maybe both), it really felt like a big pickup session. I played in two games, and as usual, found myself in the middle of the pack in terms of talent. Teams are required to be mixed, and plenty of people clearly played very casually, but there were several formidable talents as well. I think I saw more mullets on a basketball court than I've ever seen before (two), and several people used rugby-style passes - a reversal of when I learned to play rugby and adapted my basketball skills for the same purpose. It's unlikely I'll be able to return because of my work schedule and the hassle of spending a night in Greymouth for a couple hours of basketball, but it was gratifying to follow through on an idea I'd had for a long time.

It also took me a long time to spend a night in one of the many tramping huts in this area, which are a frequent topic of conversation that I bluff my way through. A friend from the Department of Conservation was heading off on a 4-night walk, and the first leg happened to be the beginning of a one-night walk that I'd been hoping to do. So the two of us hopped the bus down to Kelly's Creek and walked up to Carroll Hut. We rested for lunch, then continued over the Kelly Range and down into the Taipo River valley to Dillons Hut for the night. Hiking is a way of life in Arthur's Pass village, but my work schedule and limited transportation options mean I rarely get beyond day hikes. Furthermore, longer hikes require equipment that I don't have and am unwilling to buy, and my lack of experience means I have to rely on other people's advice to plan. So it was serendipitous that I could go along with someone who knew what she was doing to get my feet wet (which literally happened on top of the Kelly Range). Much more so than playing basketball in Greymouth, I needed to spend at least a night out in the wilderness that surrounds me here. Check.

I am now in my last month of work here, and it is flying by. Plans are beginning to develop for the next two months, five months, and two years of my life, but they deserve at least a post to themselves.

The best view I've ever seen from a toilet seat.

Looking down at the Taipo river.

Looking along the Taipo.

Hitching back to Arthur's Pass through Monteith's country.

Do You Wanna Dance?

If you've been reading this blog, you already know a fair bit about the All Blacks, New Zealand's national rugby team. If you've heard of the All Blacks, you've probably heard of the haka (I mentioned it here). The haka, in a word, is awesome.

The haka is a traditional dance of the Māori and other Polynesian peoples. After the national anthems are played at international rugby games, teams are given the chance to perform haka as if preparing for war. It's been argued that this gives Polynesian teams an unfair advantage, which may be true. There really isn't an equivalent with which non-Polynesian nations can respond. But I love it. It creates an atmosphere unlike any other. The All Blacks yell, stomp, and glare at their opponents, and then the TV broadcast shows replays, giving every extended tongue its due. The pregame leadup keeps your mind buzzing; the national anthems might stir your heart or even your tear glands; but the haka makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck and forcefully tells you IT IS ON.

But here's what really gets me. Like any "new world" country, New Zealand has a history marked with conflict between European colonists and native peoples. The Treaty of Waitangi, an agreement between the Māori and settlers that was signed over 150 years ago, remains a hotly-debated topic. The same issues of apology, reconciliation, and restitution that are debated in Canada, the US (less often), and Australia (even less often, from what I've heard), are hot topics in New Zealand. But in spite of that familiar divide, every time the All Blacks play a match, pasty white farmer's sons stand up next to dreadlocked Polynesians and scream a challenge to their opponents in Māori.

There is no equivalent to this in North America. The traditions of native peoples are much less visible to us for a variety of reasons, and our emphasis on sportsmanship and broad participation would discourage war dances. But more broadly, the haka of the All Blacks is a symbol that unites multiple pieces of New Zealand's identity and makes something altogether unique. And awesome.

The video below is of the haka that the All Blacks performed before playing Australia in last year's world cup semifinal. Watch it through, then look back at 0:06 to 0:10. On the left of the screen is Ali Williams, a long-tenured All Black of English and Scottish descent. He's warming up by sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes back, the facial expression that is key to the haka itself. At the same time, by being the big white guy that he is, he's neatly summarizing my point about how this dance is uniquely New Zealand. Thanks, Ali.

   

Rugby for Beginners

Recalling previous posts, such as this and this, it is apparent that I have not written about rugby in far too long!

Athletic seasons in the southern hemisphere obviously differ from those to which I'm accustomed because the seasons here are reversed. The World Cup that I so thoroughly enjoyed in Wellington brought an end to rugby for 2011, right as summer was beginning. Now that the leaves are starting to fall and the days are getting shorter (and I'm once again mixed up by the seasons changing at the opposite time), rugby season is in full swing.

Rugby season in New Zealand includes multiple consecutive competitions, and the first is the Super 15. Originally the Super 12, this competition includes teams from South Africa, New Zealand, and Australia. It essentially operates like any North American sports league, but the travel distances involved are staggering. I used to hate it when the Red Sox played on the West coast because it started three hours later...but when New Zealand teams play in South Africa, the game starts at 3 AM in New Zealand!

To further complicate the logistics, Christchurch's stadium was rendered unusable by last year's earthquakes. Their team played "home" games all over the world, and somehow still made the final. This year, however, they have a temporary new home in Christchurch, and my flatmate Austen and I decided to take advantage of the low ticket prices and the relative proximity to Arthur's Pass to take in a live game.

Rugby fans need not read the following: the team from Christchurch (and the Canterbury region as a whole) is called the Crusaders, and they're in red. The opposition is the Stormers, who represent Cape Town, and they're in blue.

Before the Crusaders appeared.

The opposite stand had flamethrowers mounted on it for key moments.

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!

The Giddy Good Week That Was

Those of you who read this blog regularly may have noticed that I tend to publish less frequently after I've been in one place for a while. Things that were new and exciting become normal, and it becomes difficult to discern what is and is not interesting to people back home. I've gone over a week without writing anything, but this time it's not because of the onset of normalcy - in fact, it's exactly the opposite. The past week has been so full of new and exciting events that I haven't had time to tell you about them.

Last Monday was my day off, and I used it to go for a hike in some of the further reaches of Wellington's Town Belt, a series of nature reserves that surround the original city of Wellington. I walked south from my flat in Aro Valley to the suburb of Brooklyn along Ohiro and Happy Valley Roads. At Landfill Road - guess where it got its name - I turned off the road and took a footpath up to Hawkins Hill, one of the highest points in the area. The walk took me back to my time on the West Highland Way and the Kerry Way, and I kept marveling at the fact that this was all effectively in my backyard. At one point I looked east and realized that the next significant land mass in that direction was South America (apologies to the Pacific Islands). But none of the early parts of the walk prepared me for the sudden appearance of an ostrich less than ten feet from me. Fortunately, it was behind a fence (the path followed the boundary between the reserve and a private farm), but it was quite a shock. Ostriches don't look friendly, and they're gigantic. This one kept following me along the fence until it ran out of space, and then made the oddest call I've ever heard a bird make - some sort of barking sound in its throat. Needless to say, I was shaken out of the almost meditative state I'd been in as I walked by myself. The rest of my route took me past the Brooklyn wind turbine and down through some really dense forest before almost dropping me on my doorstep.

The rest of the week included some extra hours at work and my first trivia night victory after four tries. But the real highlight was Sunday night, when I happened to be in the same bar as the Welsh rugby team. While chatting with a group of friends, I looked up to see Andy Powell - one of my favorite rugby players - getting a tour of the pub, the only Welsh bar in the southern hemisphere. As with my sighting of Orlando Bloom, it took me a minute to convince myself that seeing Andy Powell was even a possibility. I knew that the Welsh had arrived in Wellington, and that their first match is here on Sunday, and when Powell's teammate Mike Phillips came in to join him, I was absolutely certain. I was starstruck, but the rest of the patrons hardly seemed to notice until the players left, when they received a hearty goodbye and best wishes. It was just another reminder of the fact that Wellington is the largest city I've ever lived in - not only was I in the same bar as the Welsh rugby team, but no one made a big deal out of it. It's a good thing I managed to recognize them, or this small-town boy would have missed out on quite a thrill!

Now that I've calmed down from that encounter, I can look forward to six weeks of world-class rugby. The world cup begins on Friday, and I've managed to obtain tickets via my flatmate Marcus - so when my fellow bar patrons take on South Africa on Sunday at Westpac Stadium, I'll be there. I'll try to keep you updated, but if I don't, you'll know why.

P.S. My camera battery died as I tried to take a picture of the ostrich, and I didn't have it when I saw Andy Powell, so...sorry.

The Beehive, New Zealand's Parliament Building. I walk past it every day.

In the hills above Wellington - the city is behind me, but you might not guess that.

Looking South over Cook Strait.

I'm pretty sure the next landmass in that direction is South America. You can't quite see it, but it's cloudy.

Bicycle polo in Aro Valley. Or hipsters on fixies, if you're jaded.

Black and New

In my experience, the first few days in a new place always feel very long. As there is no established routine and even basic things are new and different, it is that much more interesting and challenging to navigate through a full day. So, naturally, I have spent my first few days doing the things that will allow me to establish a routine and become familiar with my new surroundings.

After arriving in Auckland early on Thursday morning, I spent the day riding the bus from Auckland airport to Wellington. Although I was worn out, I was excited to take the opportunity to see the North Island from the ground. The ride passed by plenty of green hillsides, the absolute beauty of Lake Taupo, and sheep. Lots of sheep. I passed the time by reading, enjoying the bus driver's accent, and talking to the Samoan-Maori woman sitting next to me about all things New Zealand.

Friday was my first full day in this country, and I quickly set about making myself at home in Wellington, where I plan to spend the next few months. After successfully setting up a cell phone (say that with a lisp), I started a bank account with ANZ bank. The good news is the staff were as friendly as Kiwis are famous for being and I now have a bank account here; the bad news is that my money order is not going to be accessible for a month while my check clears. That obviously puts severe constraints on my activity, and the teller was considerate enough to ask me if I'd be able to last that long without it. I was being completely serious when I told her yes. I was already planning to look for a job here; now it's just a little more urgent.

One major difficulty was spending a weekend here so soon after arriving, as job hunting is better done during the business week. But thanks to the free internet connection at McDonald's – the only place that has one here – I was able to do plenty of research on housing and jobs in Wellington. I've since moved into a hostel that rents by the week to avoid the extra costs of deposit and bills that would come with renting a room in an apartment, and sent in numerous job applications via the internet. Monday was my first day of job hunting in earnest, and it was certainly more encouraging than similar hunts I've done in North America.

But I didn't just come to New Zealand for its friendly job market. The challenges of being in a new place are what make it interesting, and although I've been kept busy making myself at home here, I have been able to notice the things that make this place different from Canada and the United States. One unavoidable topic of interest here is the Rugby World Cup, which begins on September 9^th. Rugby in general is always in the news, as I expected. Here's a brief anecdote to help explain just how rugby-mad this country is:

Prior to the World Cup, New Zealand's rugby team is competing in the Tri-Nations, an annual competition between the three major rugby nations of the southern hemisphere (South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand). They played their first match of that tournament here in Wellington on Saturday night, but that wasn't the only first on Saturday. As stores all over town had been advertising, the team revealed their highly-anticipated World Cup jersey in that match. The new design was the subject of a major ad campaign and much speculation. That amount of fanfare for a jersey is common in sports, but the nickname of the New Zealand rugby team is the All Blacks. I wondered to myself how much one could modify a jersey that fit the specifications “all” and “black”. The major topic of discussion in Sunday's newspapers? The white collar on the new jersey.

Leaving, Arriving, and Leaving Again

My last week in Logroño passed in an odd haze of goodbyes. It was my first week in Logroño without a schedule, which allowed me to focus my energies on saying the multitude of goodbyes that needed to be said. I think somebody said once that "parting is such sweet sorrow" or something like that...which is absolutely true. On the one hand, saying goodbye forces you to appreciate what you've had with the people you're leaving; on the other, it reminds you of what you're leaving behind. I've discovered that the best way to prevent this draining sensation is to have something exciting planned for the future, such as my upcoming trip to New Zealand.

Regular readers of this blog will remember this post about my plan for reaching New Zealand without flying and spending a year on a working holiday there. Because of difficulties with scheduling and obvious better alternatives, I will not be completing my journey to New Zealand by ship. The plan remains relatively similar to the one I posted previously, however: my dad and I are leaving for Chicago this Sunday, with a one-night stopover in Goderich, ON, before catching the train to San Francisco. After a weekend in the Bay area, I will fly from San Francisco to Auckland, where my year-long visa will begin ticking away. Dad and I will be making a variety of family visits on the way, as well as visiting Nebraska, the only of the fifty American states he has yet to see.

I'm planning to spend the first few months of my time in New Zealand in Wellington (the capital). My preliminary research indicates that Wellington has a pretty lively job and rental market, and I will be arriving in the middle of winter, which is when agricultural jobs are least available. Furthermore, being in Wellington will allow me to soak up the energy of the Rugby World Cup more than being in a smaller town would. After the tournament finishes, I only have ideas, but I know I want to spend a fair amount of time on the South Island, particularly in Otago and Southland.

But what have I been doing since I got back from Logroño? I've been at my parents' house in North Bay, ON. I don't have the best relationship with this place, but this has been a particularly nice visit. With the excitement of preparing for New Zealand, I have been particularly able to appreciate the good things North Bay has to offer. As usual, I have raided the public library's massive collection of music and movies, and fully enjoyed the proximity of Lake Nipissing - at one point I had showered only twice in seven days, bathing in the lake instead. I was also here for shad fly season, one of North Bay's most unique occurrences. It's also pretty gross. I didn't take any pictures, but this guy did a couple years ago.

My preparations are nearly finished, with a new Netbook on my lap right now, a new backpack waiting to be filled up, and a new iPod on its way. I've also been contacting potential flatmates in Wellington and doing some long-distance job-hunting, while reading any historical text I can find about New Zealand, one area in which the public library is sadly deficient. I'll find out how well-prepared I actually am in less than a week, when my eleven-day trip begins.

Back in the UK

This past weekend was a long one in Spain - holidays on Monday and Wednesday mean Tuesday is free as well. I'm still not entirely clear as to which holidays they were, but all of us enjoyed the five-day weekend (six in my case). I used the extra time to pay a visit to my brother Jesse in Cambridge, where he is wrapping up a term on exchange from Yale.

Logroño is reasonably well-connected by bus and train to the rest of Spain, but getting out of the Iberian peninsula is a bit of a challenge. That's why I left it until this long weekend to go visit Jesse. My journey to London took the better part of a day. I began at 1.30 AM on Friday, hoping to sleep on the bus to the airport. After some confusion over my seat (each ticket has a bus number and a seat number, even though there was only one bus), I was heartily entertained by the one stop we made in snowy Soria. Our bus was visibly full, yet upwards of ten new ticket holders rushed onboard before realizing there was nowhere to sit. They all checked their tickets for the bus number, as we had done in Logroño, and found they were on number 8, the correct one. After some grumbling from the new arrivals in the aisle, we heard the driver's voice shout from outside: "Bueno, ¡hay otro ocho!" (Okay, there's another number 8!) Being 3 AM, the sheer insanity of this disorganization was entertaining rather than frustrating.

Upon reaching Madrid-Barajas Airport, I checked in and lined up to board my Ryanair flight to London Gatwick. At the exact time it was meant to depart, it was announced that it had been delayed for two hours. Gatwick airport had been closed due to weather for two days, so a two-hour delay was not unexpected. Once we finally took off, the pilot announced that he still didn't know if we'd be landing at Gatwick or Stansted because of the snow at Gatwick. As it turned out, we landed at Stansted, but I avoided the fate of many other travelers from Barajas that day - the Spanish air traffic controllers went on strike later that afternoon. I just made it out of the country.

While in London, I used a tube day pass to visit some places that I remembered, and some I hadn't seen - Abbey Road Studios, London Bridge, Harrod's, Southwark - and also had the misfortune of encountering bed bugs at my hostel. Rest assured, they have been dealt with mercilessly.
                                
A tourist taking a picture of the crosswalk on the cover of Abbey Road.

Jesse and I met at Embankment station on Saturday to head to Twickenham to watch Barbarian FC play South Africa (rugby, if you're confused). On the way, I had my first celebrity sighting - British TV personality Dara O'Briain was walking by Waterloo station. I guess that's one advantage of living in a big city.

The rugby game was fantastic. Barbarian FC (also called Baa-Baas) is an invitational team made up of players from all over the world. In rugby, that basically means tons of players from Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, a few Europeans, and one Pacific Islander. The Barbarians traditionally face one of the southern hemisphere sides that come to tour Europe in November, and this year, it was defending world champions South Africa (the Springboks). Barbarians won 26-20, and much of the action was in our end, which was a treat. It was a fantastic atmosphere, with plenty of South African expats in the stands screaming "Go Bokke!" in their unique accents. Although not as crowded or as competitive as an international match, it was a privilege to watch the Barbarians play their exciting brand of running rugby. The crowd loudly voiced its disapproval every time either team chose to kick a penalty rather than run it.

 Ma'a Nonu: All Black, Barbarian, and all-around awesome rugby player.

Jesse and I met up with Jeff, a friend from the ISC who is now there as a staff member, and headed up to Cambridge later that evening. After church the following morning, Jesse gave me a tour of several Cambridge colleges. Later, I visited my friend Renad, who is currently doing his Masters at the university. I was continually struck by the amount of history, money, and power that Cambridge possesses. One of Renad's professors used to be Richard Nixon's chief of staff, and one of the students at his college counts Facebook's Eduardo Saverin among his friends. Few of the colleges have not produced a world-famous graduate - Newton, Darwin, Keynes, Sacha Baron Cohen, and Monty Python being just a few examples. Cambridge has produced more Nobel prize winners than any other educational institution, though its 800-year existence does give it a distinct advantage.

Isaac Newton.

Jesse Zink (and Charles Darwin).

One of the simplest pleasures of being in the UK was being immersed in my native language again. Jesse and I went to two movies while I was in Cambridge, neither of which I could see in English in Logroño. It was also quite a treat to watch Spanish people try to negotiate the fallout of our flight being diverted in English. Part of me pitied them, but part of me was enjoying seeing the shoe on the other foot. None of them seemed to have real trouble, anyway.

The return trip was uneventful and went exactly as planned. The only surprise was the change in weather - Madrid was 15°C upon my arrival, and Logroño is about the same. It is not often that I get the privilege of wearing sandals in December, but I do enjoy it.