Nikos and I received an invitation from an old family friend of his, a woman named Jocye that knew him as a boy. As I have been living on Nikos’s couch, I was given the invite to come as his friend. They would be having a dinner with their family, and that of a neighbor’s. Arriving to Joyce’s home, I was welcomed first by the scent of flowers from the garden, then by the cooking of several curries. We chatted together for a bit, and were informed that the site of the party had been moved to another house a few doors down.
I’m an American in New Zealand. I only know one person here, and a sense of nervousness pervades as we walk to the house. What I was greeted with was a combined gathering of around fourteen people from two different families, talking and cooking, all with warm smiles. It seemed to be taken as a given by everyone that I belonged there. They treated me warmly, as if I was an old friend, and not the stranger I was. Here lies a key facet of Kiwi culture; in speaking with people, they were open and honest in a way that shook me. Friendship did not have to be earned; they trusted me openly and without reservation.
I had not realized how much I am used to expecting duplicity in others. Realizing that I am conditioned to know that most of the people I am talking to have a hidden agenda of some kind, dealing with people that I could detect no such lie in was disturbing to me. I began to feel as though I am detoxifying from poisons I did not know I was taking. The old New Zealand culture is an impressive thing; this is a kind and open land.
I received numerous invitations to other gatherings, and even an offer to come stay at a house in Melbourne, Australia. It made me realize that I am only an outsider here is my own perception; everyone else knows I belong.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Day one in Auckland.
When we get to the airport in Dallas, I’m just ready to get on the plane; I’ve been looking forward to this trip for a year. I just spent a month saying goodbyes, and had a week of frantic packing, storing, giving out, and throwing away everything I owned. I’ve over packed mightily; knew it, as I was packing, and definitely know it now that I’m lugging it all through the airport.
Waving goodbye to Dad and Amy, standing in the line sans shoes, belt, and jacket, awaiting inspection. Now at the gate, being approached by a teenager with a shaved head, who asks me about my Macintosh, and whether or not I smoke pot. Having spent some years working in psyc, I can’t help but notice that he fits the bill for borderline intellect functioning (in normal speak that usually means an IQ in the mid 70s. Not retarded, but has a good running start at it). Looking forward as I was to a quiet flight, I became excited at being rescued from conversation by the boarding call. Turns out, the kid and myself were sitting next to each other. As we were about to take off, he showed me his collection of matchbooks that he had snuck through security. I gave him a pirated copy of Boondock Saints 2 to watch on the flight. Awkward conversation, then God bless headphones.
Landing in LA, I met up with my friend Jackie, who drove up from San Diego just to see me off. As we’re checking in my bags, I became introduced to a mild discrepancy between New Zealand law and New Zealand Airline policy. Legally, you can enter the country if you just have enough money to purchase an out ticket. In practice, they tell you to screw that, you have to have a ticket (I’ve since spoken to several foreigners who had the same issue). This led to; arguing, misunderstanding, sitting in the line buying a ticket to Sydney off my laptop, going to the employee-only area to print off my exit ticket, apologies, lunch. Jackie took me to a vegan restaurant on Santa Monica right next to an REI and a Goodwill. My kind of place.
For the record, Air New Zealand is pretty plush compared to the domestic flights I’m used to taking. Variety of movies on your own little screen, and they make a fine cup of tea.
Got about two hours of sleep on the plane; at this point I’ve been traveling for about twenty-four. I walk off feeling lightheaded, giddy. Did I just do this? Did I just fly to New Zealand? I’ve only crossed the Mason-Dixon four times before; I can’t be in another country. I walk and see all the signs, I run into a hallway amidst the passengers coming in from Osaka. The realization begins that I am indeed somewhere far away from what I’m used to, and a grin settles in. Customs; being securitized, checking the papers, tearing through my camping gear looking for seeds, washing my boots off. Meeting people at the airport that I only spoken with briefly online. Lacking conversational skills at this point, I sit in quietly, astounded by the tiniest things (still happening). Steering wheel on the wrong side of the car. Hills and ocean in the distance. Kilometers. Love-A-Duck Barbeque. Back at the flat, I unload my bags, catch a shower, and two hours of sleep.
Venturing forth into Auckland, I promptly proceed to get lost on my way to the restaurant (I googled ‘Auckland vegan’ and headed for the first place that came up). After spending some hours walking around, I finally find my way to what turns out to be a Hari Krishna restaurant that serves some pretty tasty concoctions for us veggie-minded people. When I went to leave, I ended up being approached by a middle-aged woman that simply came up and started small talk about her day. She offered me a ride to Mt. Eden, a volcanic crater in the middle of central Auckland. I end up at her house, as she talks to me about new age spirituality and the life stories of her various children. Met two of them at one point, very nice people that fed me green tea and macadamia nuts. We did eventually make it to Mt. Eden, where I went my own way for a bit. Forty-eight hours, four hours of sleep, the sun setting, with all of Auckland below me, I began to remember the sense of joy and freedom that I started this journey with.
Waving goodbye to Dad and Amy, standing in the line sans shoes, belt, and jacket, awaiting inspection. Now at the gate, being approached by a teenager with a shaved head, who asks me about my Macintosh, and whether or not I smoke pot. Having spent some years working in psyc, I can’t help but notice that he fits the bill for borderline intellect functioning (in normal speak that usually means an IQ in the mid 70s. Not retarded, but has a good running start at it). Looking forward as I was to a quiet flight, I became excited at being rescued from conversation by the boarding call. Turns out, the kid and myself were sitting next to each other. As we were about to take off, he showed me his collection of matchbooks that he had snuck through security. I gave him a pirated copy of Boondock Saints 2 to watch on the flight. Awkward conversation, then God bless headphones.
Landing in LA, I met up with my friend Jackie, who drove up from San Diego just to see me off. As we’re checking in my bags, I became introduced to a mild discrepancy between New Zealand law and New Zealand Airline policy. Legally, you can enter the country if you just have enough money to purchase an out ticket. In practice, they tell you to screw that, you have to have a ticket (I’ve since spoken to several foreigners who had the same issue). This led to; arguing, misunderstanding, sitting in the line buying a ticket to Sydney off my laptop, going to the employee-only area to print off my exit ticket, apologies, lunch. Jackie took me to a vegan restaurant on Santa Monica right next to an REI and a Goodwill. My kind of place.
For the record, Air New Zealand is pretty plush compared to the domestic flights I’m used to taking. Variety of movies on your own little screen, and they make a fine cup of tea.
Got about two hours of sleep on the plane; at this point I’ve been traveling for about twenty-four. I walk off feeling lightheaded, giddy. Did I just do this? Did I just fly to New Zealand? I’ve only crossed the Mason-Dixon four times before; I can’t be in another country. I walk and see all the signs, I run into a hallway amidst the passengers coming in from Osaka. The realization begins that I am indeed somewhere far away from what I’m used to, and a grin settles in. Customs; being securitized, checking the papers, tearing through my camping gear looking for seeds, washing my boots off. Meeting people at the airport that I only spoken with briefly online. Lacking conversational skills at this point, I sit in quietly, astounded by the tiniest things (still happening). Steering wheel on the wrong side of the car. Hills and ocean in the distance. Kilometers. Love-A-Duck Barbeque. Back at the flat, I unload my bags, catch a shower, and two hours of sleep.
Venturing forth into Auckland, I promptly proceed to get lost on my way to the restaurant (I googled ‘Auckland vegan’ and headed for the first place that came up). After spending some hours walking around, I finally find my way to what turns out to be a Hari Krishna restaurant that serves some pretty tasty concoctions for us veggie-minded people. When I went to leave, I ended up being approached by a middle-aged woman that simply came up and started small talk about her day. She offered me a ride to Mt. Eden, a volcanic crater in the middle of central Auckland. I end up at her house, as she talks to me about new age spirituality and the life stories of her various children. Met two of them at one point, very nice people that fed me green tea and macadamia nuts. We did eventually make it to Mt. Eden, where I went my own way for a bit. Forty-eight hours, four hours of sleep, the sun setting, with all of Auckland below me, I began to remember the sense of joy and freedom that I started this journey with.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
