New Zealand Snippets

I've been in the land of the Kiwis for about a week now and, with the exception of where I stayed last night (details in "A Hostel Environment," coming to a screen near you soon), have been enjoying myself very much.

The most amazing piece of information I can pass onto you is that according to my guide book, there are no snakes in New Zealand!!! Many of you are aware of my intense fears of snakes, so this may be reason enough not to leave this country (although Chantale and Susan in Manila are convinced that the reason I don't leave will be because of a different species -- although come to think of it, they are somewhat related.) Long have I seen snakes where they aren't -- stick snakes, vine snakes, rope snakes, and the dreaded hose snakes. I have this constant underlying fear of snakes dropping out of trees down my shirt and have yet to formulate a contingency plan that alleviates this worry. So now I can hike without looking at my feet every two seconds, I can pause under any tree, and I can rest assured that what I see are in fact sticks, vines, ropes, and hoses.

The New Zealand accent is distinct and I fancy that I can distinguish it from an Aussie one. But it does take some getting used to -- a woman at one of the tourism centers, also named Deborah, confided she hated to be called Debbie, but when she said it, it came out "Deeebie," which I gotta tell you I wouldn't want to be called either. The potential for misunderstanding does exist, such as when a tour guide telling me about a particular sea bird was discussing its "maiden flight" to Australia. I was particularly interested in learning more about the "mate in flight" option!

This is a land of constant under-earth rumbling. Volcanoes, active and dormant, are everywhere, as are many other thermal wonders, in the Rotorua area especially. A new entry in the category of Missing Things by One Week (Philippine President Estrada's ouster being the first), is a mud geyser , which blew -- first time in about 50 years such an event occurred in the area -- spattering trees and road all around and spewing rocks 200 meters high.

I toured another thermal area, where a world famous geyser -- Puhutu -- sputtered constantly leaving me to wonder if it was beginning, ending, or just plain fed up.

The original inhabitants of this land are called the Maori. For those of you who all had theories on how this is pronounced, I can tell you that it's like saying ma-ore-eee, with the "a" barely perceptible and a slight trill on the "r," so it kind sounds like you're saying the name of the guy who used to be on Dick Van Dyke -- wasn't it Morey Amsterdam? -- with a hint of a Spanish accent. I had several wonderful conversations with former Kennedy School classmate, Whai Dewes, about his people and culture and learned much not in the tour book. The pic below is of me and Whai, which is pronounced Fi -- something that confused me for years until I learned a few days ago that "wh" is pronounced "f," which is perfectly reasonable considering we equally as arbitrarily decided "ph" is pronounced "f", something which caused me a bit of embarrasment in ordering Phuket Shrimp one time.

We are in his backyard where there is an incredible view of Lake Rotorua and in the way background is Tarawera, the mountain that erupted with a vengence in 1886 and that is the mountain of Whai's iwi (tribe). I attended a Maori concert and hangi (special type of dinner) and hoped for that moment you all know I live for -- the coming up on stage to learn the dance -- but no such offer was made. I also toured a couple of sites where I watched wood and jade (also called greenstone) carvers. In this other picture you can see (I hope you can see!) the intricate carving that adorns any Maori edifice. The building in the picture below is a meetinghouse in Rotorua.

The Maori people are incredibly beautiful -- as are most Polynesians, I think -- and if Whai and his family are any indication, incredibly generous in spirit. I enjoyed their hospitality for 3 days (yay! a room to myself -- see A Hostel Environment) and got a ride to Wellington (where I am now) with Whai.

Wellington is a nice enough town, reminiscent of San Francisco with plenty of "painted lady" houses and hills. In fact, many of the buildings are quite colorful. I took a tour of the Parliament (see pic) and I am sure I was annoying to the rest of the tour group with all my questions ("How many staff do your MPs have?" "Why isn't there an upper house?" "Doesn't anybody have veto power?" "So, what's the deal with you and the Queen, anyway?")

The landscape in the North Island is constantly changing. Incredible seashores (below), lava rocks, bubbling geysers, muontains, scrubby desertlike plateaus, rolling hills dotted with cows and sheep. The trees are very interesting, too. There is one tree called a rimu that looks like its branches are really dreadlocks and another that is so incredibly symetrical and phony looking, you'd swear it was stolen from an architect's modeling office and given steroids.

Deborah Turns 18 -- at least that's how I felt dancing away to constant thumpa thumpa music in Rotorua's Lava Bar. (Hey Tag, now I know what trance music is!) Black lights, disco balls, and strobes apparently are back. And everyone dances -- no partner needed, men out there on there own, everyone contorting and bouncing and thumpa thumpaing. Lots of fun. But the real teenaged moment came when I realized I had lost the keys to the house at which I was staying (can you imagine that call at 1 a.m.?!) and had to grope in the strobe-lit dark to find them, which I did. But the compact was lost forever. Hence, the youthing of Deborah continues.