Kawai Purapura

So for around two months I lived in a commune. It was situated in the far north of Auckland, a piece of wild bush amidst the sprawl of suburbia that has been plaguing the area like cultural kudzu. It is the former site of a cult known as Centrepoint. It is now known as Kawai Purapura.

There were around ninety residents and twenty WWOOFers; a combination of burned out hippies, artists, travelers, and the incurably weird. I lived in a small room that I shared with a friend, cramped conditions full of dirty laundry and empty jars of peanut butter. The bathrooms were communal outdoor affairs, and (as with most things there) highly reminiscent of summer camp. There was a large kitchen with four cooking areas, including one for cooking meat and one “elite” kitchen (which I was initially invited to and then later kicked out of for the heinous crime of ‘hanging out). The whole affair was surround with thick bush, bits of forest quite easy to get lost in. There was an area full of glowworms near a small stream. There was an open lot known as the Glade, which I was informed was the home to a number of fairies and the site of three different alien landings. I was supposed to mow the grass there at one point.

There were people from all over the world living there, all bringing interesting stories and personalities. Tucker, a cheerful Japanese man who competes in Air Guitar championships; Marie, an Irish folk singer who was one of my favorite people there (and one the only people I’ve met that can do justice to a Janis Joplin song); Kyang (no clue to spell his name), from China, who taught me both yoga and how to make Chai from scratch. He loved American “black” movies and food, and asked several times for me to teach him to make biscuits.

One of the downsides to communal living is that it tends to attract people who can’t normally find community on their own, and seek out places where people are obligated to be friendly to them. This leaded to some seriously annoying people sharing space, and the personalities clash. Borderline Personality Disorder is much in effect. The commune itself is run as a profit venture from Wellpark (seriously, a fucking profit driven eco village is a terrible idea). Note- never put hippies in charge of a business; they are karmically destined to fuck up the finances. I was charged four different amounts of rent at various instances, and then given a bill for the difference upon my departure. The personalities of some management combined with those of certain residents lent themselves to some interesting prejudices, particularly ageism. The residents were hidden from the people coming there on retreats, and the WWOOFers are essentially instructed to stay hidden from everyone. Little care is actually given to make it the community that so many people there are looking for; there is only a façade of sharing and openness from most (I found that the louder people talked about “community,” the less they actually did to create such an atmosphere).

There is a fair bit of controversy surrounding the place’s existence due to the Centrepoint cult that flourished there previously. There are a handful of people that have been living there since that time, and a few (such as my neighbor from one side) that seem to want to start a cult of their own. Having lived there, I can definitely say that there is a strange energy to the place, be it from the tragedies of the past or the weirdness of the present., I can’t say.

So I still like the idea of communal living, although that is a place I’d never recommend to try it. The world outside has no bearing in Kawai Purapura; it can be fun to escape for a time, but I don’t think anything there lends itself to any sort of personal development. More it is a place to go for arrested development; the high school antics are perfect for anyone who enjoyed the drama they generally grew out of at age fourteen.

No one likes a fake hippie. It has all of the opinions and stink, with none of the love or compassion.

So now I am back in the city, surrounded by something like the real world. Jobs (generally unheard of out there), rent, and meeting new people. A harsh adjustment, but quite a good. I am the sort of person that like progression. I'm looking forward to whatever the hell I end up doing next. Traveling is strange. The best thing I've learned so far is just to relax and enjoy the weirdness.

Two months in, three blogs out

So it’s been almost two months since I arrived in New Zealand. I have been meeting the locals, learning about how people on the bottom of the world take life. It’s been an interesting time so far, to say the least.

After being in Auckland on my own for two weeks, I took a trip down to Wellington. I had some concern about my ability to wake up in time to catch the bus, I stayed up the entire night before I left. Unfortunately, I learned that it is nigh impossible to sleep on a bus. I was, however treated to a 13- hour tour through the countryside of the North Island. It is just a beautiful (and full of sheep) as I had been led to believe. Mother Earth took her time with this country; I don’t know whom she made it for, but I am happy to be reaping the benefits.

Wellington is a great city. It is a young town, with all the art and music that comes with a strong university culture. It may also be home to the only decent coffeehouse in the country (I.E., art on the walls, open late, and vegan food options).

After returning to Auckland, my friend Nikos (at whose flat I have been living) returned from America, giving me a partner in my various adventures. Taking some time to remember how to be friends again after seeing one another in person for the first time in almost two years, we promptly fell into old routines. We attended a family dinner (see previous blog), started making friends in town, and spending excessive amounts of money in restaurants. We took to finding any gym that gave free 7 day passes (there are a lot of them), and rotating through them to avoid the ridiculous fees that are charged for such here.

I share American culture as I can (primarily in the form of southern slang and rap music), and take what I can from Kiwi culture. I am shortly scheduled to move into an eco village in the northern part of Auckland, a sustainable living community of about 90 people from various places. I am quite looking forward to it; after two months on couches, having a whole room to myself will be luxurious indeed. I shall also be on the hunt for a job; the savings has dwindled rapidly, and pretty soon I’ll be sneaking into gardens to find sustenance. I’ll be taking the first job that doesn’t require a haircut

A Family Dinner

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.

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.