Caving and the Coast to Coast

February was a busy month. Less than two weeks after I returned from Brisbane, we said goodbye to four of our summer staff and brought on two new ones. Four people leaving meant several goodbye dinners and special events, one of which was particularly memorable - the walk through Cave Stream Scenic Reserve.

Cave Stream is a unique spot less than an hour from Arthur's Pass that my erstwhile coworker Simon had been desperate to visit. Underneath a parking lot with a spectacular view of the mountains, its name reveals exactly what it is: a stream that runs through a cave. Despite - or perhaps because of - the constantly flowing water and several pools up to a meter deep, Cave Stream is a popular trail. I haven't spent much time underground, but Simon has, and he made a great leader. Caving is a nice alternative to hiking, as it allows everyone to make their own path - I spent much of the walk finding creative ways to keep myself out of the water by bouldering along the walls. We all got thoroughly soaked nonetheless, as we expected. Simon and Lili have moved on from Arthur's Pass now, but they are keeping a travel blog as well if you'd care for another perspective on New Zealand.

A few days later, Arthur's Pass played host to a musical performance for the first time since I've been here. Mihirangi, a recent contestant on New Zealand's Got Talent, is making her way around the country. She performed at the Bealey Hotel, about 10 minutes down the road from Arthur's Pass village. She builds her music with a loop machine, which allows her to record sounds, have the machine repeat them, and sing or add more samples over that. My interest in songwriting and composition has developed quite a bit in my spare time here, so I was intrigued by Mihirangi's unique show. You can see one of her performances here.

Early February also saw the running of the annual Coast to Coast race, a special triathlon that passes through the mountains near Arthur's Pass. The cycling portion begins at Kumara, on the west coast, and participants then run up over Goat Pass and kayak down the Waimakariri River to Christchurch. Hence the name Coast to Coast - there is a two-day and a one-day race, but all the participants travel from the Tasman to the Pacific. The nearest road to the race is Highway 73, and the nearest village to the overnight rest point is Arthur's Pass, so our shop was absolutely packed. We didn't actually see any of the race, but each racer had at least 3 or 4 support crew, and those folks love their coffee in the morning. In the first hour of Coast to Coast Saturday, we used over 20 liters of milk. If there were units for sanity, we probably went through plenty of them too.

In Cave Stream with Shine, Yanina, Phoebe, and Lili.

Before entering the cave.

   

Another Land Down Under

As usual, I apologize for the delay between posts. Christmas Day saw two barbecues that brought the entire village together between them, and New Year's Eve saw the most casual countdown I've ever seen - people just checked their watches occasionally and started hugging around 12.

The first half of January was busy at work, as school holidays continue well past New Year's here - it's the Kiwi equivalent of summer vacation, after all. Being that my friend Chris was planning to be back in his hometown of Brisbane, Australia around then, I figured it was about time I used some of the paid holidays I'd accrued. So just as business was beginning to slow down, I "hopped over the ditch" and spent 8 days in the merry old land of Aus.

Despite never having been to Australia before, I have now met so many of its citizens and heard so much about its culture that I experienced almost no culture shock upon arrival in Brisbane. The greatest difficulty was adapting to the subtropical climate which makes 80% humidity a regular occurrence in Brisbane. Ironically, the "Sunshine State" was having some of its worst weather in two years and the heat was rarely an issue (though it was very sticky).

Before the floods, however, we managed a nice afternoon at the Gold Coast, which is a massive strip of sandy beach southeast of Brisbane - "like Miami in Australia," said Chris. After dodging some harmless dead jellyfish on the beach, I met the Australian surf. Bear in mind, reader, that my most recent swims had been 10-second dips in mountain streams and my ideal beach is a rocky ledge in Northern Ontario. The Gold Coast had two things that I am poorly accustomed to - waves and saltwater. I had forgotten that this is what people mean when they refer to "the beach." Although it was far less relaxing than I anticipated, what with the frequent mouthfuls of saltwater and the rips steadily tugging at my swim trunks, I enjoyed the chance to practice bodysurfing and experience the powerful Queensland sun.

Good thing, too, because the sun went away for the next five days. I was frankly relieved at the rain, because it meant I wouldn't have to tolerate 40°C heat in Brisbane's humidity. And we made the best of it - Chris was reacquainting himself with his hometown, and introducing me to it. Brisbane is in the midst of a boom resulting primarily from mining exploration in the Queensland Outback, and the city is changing rapidly. My curiosity for urban planning went wild as I noted the number of times Chris pointed out areas that had been decrepit five years prior and were now buzzing with life. Based on what I know, Brisbane would share certain similarities with Calgary and other cities of the Canadian west that are booming as well.

But alas, all good things come to an end. As a tropical storm made its way down the Queensland coast, the power went out and we spent my last couple days in the dark. But Chris and his family were excellent hosts and even a power outage didn't detract from that.

Looking downtown from Mt. Coot-tha.

A closer view of downtown.

Inside the Powerhouse, an old power station converted into an performing arts centre.

The Gold Coast - it's more built up behind me.

A ring-tailed possum out in daylight because of the rain.

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.

 

 

Practice Makes Photos

My situation in Arthur's Pass is, I dare say, pretty unique. Having begun my time here as a temporary worker, it's always been simpler for me to socialize with other working holidaymakers. However, I've now been here 10 months. When the locals started to realize that I wasn't running off just yet - and most of them began by asking "how long are you here for?" - social opportunities began to open up on that front as well. 10 months is the longest I've spent in any one place since I left university, and by January, I will have stayed here longer than any one place since I finished high school. Naturally, I'm a bit rusty at settling in and becoming part of a community, even if it's only for a little over a year. But I've been practicing, and everything seems to lead to something else.

Back when I first moved here, I mentioned that despite my love for the outdoors, I do not consider myself much of an outdoorsman. Apart from day hikes, most outdoor activities require expensive equipment, transportation, or training that I don't have. The good news is that I'm now surrounded by people who DO have those things. For instance, I think I am now better friends with hunters than I have ever been. I haven't yet taken up any offers to go out and fire a gun myself, but I have always had a fondness for eating wild meat, even before this year's Wild Foods Festival. So I recently came into possession of a goat's forequarter and turned it into stew, curry, and stock. Despite no butchering skills and a few ingredient hiccups, I had good reviews. (Thanks for the goat, Dave)

 

I've also been making more of an effort to get myself out walking the tracks around the village and further afield when I can. My work schedule had been hectic for much of September and October (by my own choice), and needing to take a 1.5-hour bus ride to buy groceries means weekends are not just free time. So opportunities to wander and discover are limited to one full day per week and the time before and after work. I recently managed to take my first swim of the season. As I dried off, I looked up to see the snow-capped mountain that fed the river I'd just been in. Not too shabby for an after-work dip. 

I also recently had the opportunity to learn how to use an ice axe for the first time in my life. Having grown up near the comparatively gentle Appalachian mountains, ice axes and crampons have always been for more ambitious hikers than myself. Up here, they're useful to have for almost any hike longer than a day. So last week, my flatmate Emily and I walked up to the local ski field with someone who knew what he was doing - thanks Geoff - and spent a day learning to self-arrest in the snow. We also spent some time bouldering and just generally used the ski area as our playground. There are videos of this, but here's a few of Emily's photos to tide you over.

Bouldering - the scenery here lends itself to dramatic photos.

Somehow, the first thing I saw in this photo was my neck beard.

Laying in the sun to dry off after ice axe practice...and getting sunburnt in the process.

This week's adventure was to the top of Avalanche Peak, which I climbed once before in January. This time there was snow on the track, but the view was still worth it. And this time, I was able to get photos with me in them (thanks Emily). 

Me looking at Mt. Rolleston, the peak I call "the postcard."

Look who showed up in time for lunch!

And as if all this wasn't enough, I have also been putting my brain to use writing quizzes for one of the two local pubs. Participation has grown every week and I'm enjoying the challenge of writing questions that are interesting but not impossible for a largely Kiwi audience. (From what I've heard, I may be guilty of keeping them a bit more interesting than possible)

So if it's another month before my next blog post, rest assured that it will have been a busy one.

 

     

How I Spent my 25th Birthday (and more)

It's been a while since my last blog post, so here's a few recent highlights:

October 2 was my birthday, and the first time I've spent two consecutive birthdays in the same country since I turned 18. My coworkers and I had a pot luck dinner before heading on to one of the two bars in Arthur's Pass. I've spent several birthdays around people I'd only just met, so it was nice to have a group of people who actually know me. I accidentally scorched a surprise cake by preheating the oven for someone else, but the cake was still delicious. And they even bought me a present - a fern carved out of greenstone from the West Coast, which is around my neck right now. I don't usually wear accessories, but I like this one (although I still forget to put it on in the morning).

The weekend after my birthday was Canadian Thanksgiving. I briefly mentioned it to a few of my coworkers, and before long the entire village was involved. We had dinner on Saturday night, and most of the people I've met here attended. I managed to make a pumpkin pie from scratch for the first time, something I will definitely do again. And after dinner, I played "Alice's Restaurant" through the speakers. That might have been mixing American and Canadian traditions, but my Thanksgiving traditions have always been confusing.

This past week has seen two snowstorms that have closed the highway, turning this village into a bit of a ghost town. Despite it being October, which is well into spring here, a few friends and I had a long walk through what might be the last big snowfall for a while. We made snowmen and snow angels, threw snowballs, went snowboarding, ate snow candy, and invented the snowjito (a mojito with snow instead of soda water). It hasn't been a very normal winter here, but we certainly made of the most of a very wintry day.

On my birthday - look at me, accessorizing. (Thanks to my flatmate Emily for this one).

Snowjitos.

The day after the big dump.

Several days after the snowfall, it's still hanging on in the distance.

The Otira viaduct, just over the mountains from the village.

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.

   

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.