not every day is sunshine

We had to search a bit for a place to stay when the rain stopped us hard. We were a good hour from Lakes Entrance where there'd be shops and hotels. Orbost was a tiny town with barely a supermarket open. We bought instant noodles and a can of soup, dancing to stay warm in the freezing aisles. The little motel we found didn't have microwaves, and the newly installed free wi-fi (a real rarity in Australia) must have been weakened by the rain. We couldn't pick it up at all.

It absolutely poured down all night. I dreamt strong and realistic of driving out the next morning and getting caught in a nearby town by flooded streets. In my dream a local family took us in and we became embroiled (and indebted) in a day of their lives. They owned a small store that sold stockings and hosiery.

This morning was not sunny, but it had stopped raining. Also, I finished a poem that I had started back in June (in my tiny little apartment in the city, with Chloe, the gorgeous Garfield cat).

One Attitude to Have

(started June 3, 2011 - finished December 13, 2011)

Another cockroach scuttles across the tiles and

the cat's sprawled lolling on her back - legs flung out

in two directions. I send her a look. Just now, though

she watched the thing for a whole long minute

even took two slow steps toward it, as if hunting,

before stopping, turning, meowing back at me like,

Now what do I do? the question we all ask, sooner

or later in a cold brick and cement apartment when

it's just us, the spiders, and a few fifteen watt bulbs.

Replace the light bulbs. Scrub hard at the dirty floors

when it's day, and bright. Spray the hell out of the corners

at night sit, knees drawn, in the center of the bed.

Learn to ignore dark corners and jump less often. Let them

crawl on certain walls. Then, remove a slipper from one foot

and cooly smash the ones that come too close. Or

Vow to do no harm. Like another American teacher

friends once whispered, his house was full of bugs. They

were horrified because he refused to kill the spiders. Though

he was no Buddhist. Teacher Li tells us the rat running

up along the shelves in her tea shop usually appears

about this time in the afternoon and once in the morning.

She pours wine-colored tea into our tiny, rounded glass

cups. We watch, wait, drink, listen,

hoping to learn something of her grace.

the long coastal route

On our second day driving South there are still 600 kilometers to Melbourne. It's still overcast and the car proves to be too much for me; I keep insisting we stop. I summon up dreams, aided by glossy travel magazines and the shops that line the two-lane road, of the little side-tracks that will make the trip.

In Tilba, we buy apple box smoked cheese at the ABC Cheese factory, and talk to a cat with a big round face. Tilba is a Trust Village. That means the government helps to keep it cute, we decide. It was one of the gold-mining towns that stayed around, mainly because of the cheese industry.

It's Noomora, however, with the slogan, “The Way Life Should Be”. We find it a little presumptuous and drive on.

In Cobargo we have coffees and scones, which are what I would call biscuits. These are not at all shabby, but melt in your mouth, with whipped cream and strawberry jam. The cafe is part old train car, and run by straight-forward, big-boned women both abrupt and enthusiastic about their service and their food. Grudgingly, they draped colored tinsel garlands across a doorway here, and an electrical box there, joking about being merry hos.

We also buy books there. Christmas presents some, and poetry by an Australian woman poet.

here are a few of my favorite

New Zealand things. Apart from mountains of course, and sheep! and my beautiful friend Catherine.

There are hot water dispensers! 

Just like in China, where every home, every hotel and petrol station, and every workplace provides hot water for drinking, New Zealanders love their hot drinks.

This is teacher's lounge in Catherine's workplace. She's making a cup of tea. Waiting in the lounge for Catherine, I was invited to have a cup of tea by teachers that I hadn't met. I was offered a cup of tea in every house that I visited. A "cuppa" . . . anything really. They show you the pile of choices. Teas, Milo, Coffee. This is part of the reason that for Justin and I, New Zealand, like Australia, feels very British. Much more so than Canada, Justin assures me.

Also, coffee in Australia and New Zealand is rarely drip. It's either espresso based (an Americano is a "short black" while a "flat white" is like a latte. If you want skim milk you ask for a "skinny") if you're out. At home, it's either instant or French press (plunger in New Zealand). Yeah, hot water!

Catherine's flat mate Cynthia has a cat named Ivan. He's the kind of cat that manages both independence and affection without compromising either. He follows Cynthia outside when she goes to garden. He wiggles belly-up in your arms. He disappears for long periods of time on his own adventures.

But as soon as I entered the house for the first time, and every time after, he ran to nose at my knee and demand attention. He slept on the foot of my bed. I loved him.

I was also impressed with his little cat-sized door. Justin claims that North America has them too. I'll believe it when I see it.

Every house also seemed to have these spinning square clotheslines. I'm sure they exist in North America, but not like this. They have lots of sun, so they mostly don't have dryers. A lot of the houses I was in also did not overheat . . . so we wore sweaters inside. I loved it. And the most genius thing of all . . .

the bathroom's heated towel rack. I could live in this country.

scotland for a day

We borrowed the smaller of the McKinlay cars and drove out onto the peninsula. At Catherine's suggestion we took the tiny winding coastal road out and a tiny winding high road (through steep hills with stone fences which, in Catherine's words, is “the closest thing to Scottish highlands outside of Scotland”) back. It was beautiful. I enjoyed driving the little car - my first experience of a manual transmission on the left - and pulled off the road at every patch of gravel I saw so we could take pictures in the wind.

We drove to visit a little ceramics shop that Jen wanted to visit. I had no idea how much I liked ceramics. I cursed baggage weight limits (only 20 kg on the Sydney-Guangzhou leg of my journey) and bought a little apron instead of the plates and pitchers and salt and pepper shakers and tea sets I wanted to buy. I can't wait to have a place of my own to fill with things!

we did not go white water rafting

At the last minute, Justin and I decided not to go on to Queenstown, the hub of tourism in the South Island. We did not go kayaking. We did not go bungee jumping. We didn't even hike to a glacier. We did see a lot of sheep. We did have “hokey pokey” - the icecream flavor that seems to be a national favorite. We did wind through a lot of small towns and villages.

We spent our last two New Zealand days (very happily) in Dunedin, at the McKinlay house with its mismatched gift-hangings evidence of their family's love spread over oceans and races.

Primary-school Catherine didn't understand what her friends' parents meant when they talked about the Asian Invasion. She was excited about the new classmates who would become her friends.

We experienced well the hospitality they've practiced 'til it's part of their family culture.

Come in, it's soooo good to see you again. Would you like a cup of something hot? Biscuits? Where are you staying tonight? (We thought we'd just find a hotel downtown somewhere). Well, why don't you just stay here? We've got plenty of beds. I'll just go make up the beds now. (And when I did go to bed later, a sign on my pillow that read, “Welcome Holly. We're glad you're here.”)

look how pretty

All the serious trampers wear waterproof boots. Catherine and I do it in tennis shoes. Here's the footwear lined up outside the hut.

We are somewhat refreshed in the morning at the Iris Burn Hut, ready for our third day of tramping. 

Justin and I do the extra jaunt into the forest to see the waterfall.

The ferns were literally blanketing the forest floor, and huge. I love how they curl into this nautilus shape. We never saw a silver fern, which is the official symbol for the All Blacks. 

The last hut looked out over this lake. Some of our fellow trampers made a bonfire and we swatted sand flies into the night, enjoying each others' stories.

the second day is always harder

On the second day, there is snow . . .

. . . and gorgeous landscapes sweeping away from us.

The path follows the ridge for hours.

We try not to fall into metaphors about “the path” or “the journey.”

There is lunch on the top of the world.

and Keas, the cheeky birds of the high places.

I attempt handstands somewhere high.

And eventually we descend into this temperate rainforest, and keep descending . . . and descending . . . and descending. At a low point, we thought we'd missed the turnoff for the cabin, we'd been at it so long. It was our least favorite part of the climb. That night we slept well.

on the Kepler Track!

Our first day on the Kepler.

My intrepid climbing companions Catherine and Justin.

The weather is perfect. We take our time. We arrive at the cabin in the golden light of the hours before sunset.

my kind of time

With Catherine, travel has been rich in time. We sleep until we wake up. We stop for the coffees I need, and to visit the aunties and friends of hers we're passing by. Both of us struggle in other parts of our lives with feeling slow and disorganized. Together, it's relaxing to be ourselves, to go about the day without worrying about efficiency.

Church of the Good Shepherd on Lake Tepako

When I flew into Christchurch, Catherine picked me up at the airport and we made our way slowly through the center of the South Island and around to Dunedin on the Southern part of the East Coast. We covered a total of perhaps 600 kilometers. It took us three days. I made this list of why it was so good.

we accepted hospitality 

we changed our plans

we made space for food

we did not overeat

we let time get away from us

we talked with strangers

we stopped the car to take walks

 This morning we finished our packing for the hike and, on our way out of town, dropped off Cynthia's cat Ivan at the cattery as a favor to Cynthia (Catherine's flatmate) who was leaving for the weekend before the cattery opened at nine. She mentioned that we should be there before 10:30, but not being time-oriented people, we forgot. We showed up around 11:30. We pulled up the gravel lane into a circular drive with a large house to the right, a long shed (which we assumed was the cattery) in front of us up a little hill, and an open larger shed to the left. Three small dogs flew from the house and bounced alongside the car, barking furiously. A strange welcome to a cattery, we remarked. We were in fine spirits, as the day was beautiful, and we were off on a drive to the mountains. Just the cat to drop off and we'd be on our way. But we weren't quite sure what to do. There were no signs, and no one but the dogs about. Catherine tried pulling up the little lane that led to the long shed, but stopped just in front of it when she realized that it was not wide enough for a car.

Then suddenly a woman came from the house, screaming obscenities at us. She hadn't lost a bit of her fury or indignation when she'd rounded up the dogs and marched over to our car. By this time we'd gotten out of the car and were waiting awkwardly with the cat.

Our humility-filled apologies did nothing to dissuade her anger. “I have to lay some ground rules! Those are the hours and people have to respect them! And then coming in here and trying to drive over my footbridge! I have to lay some ground rules!” She repeated these key points (we were dumbfounded and silent) over and over as she took Ivan and then marched him up the hill, ignoring us completely. We stood awkwardly for another minute, not sure if we were done, before climbing in the car and driving away. We were both a bit shaken, but for me disdain weighed stronger. Some businesswoman. We figured there must have been previous incidents that had built to a breaking point for this poor woman. We shook our heads, reminded ourselves we'd never see her again, and drove on.

preparation day

We leave in the morning for Te Anau, where the Kepler Track begins. We'll be hiking Sunday to Wednesday, carrying all our stuff. I will "blog" in my notebook until we get out to internet again next week.

My last day in Dunedin was full. I visited the art gallery, witnessed a parade of primary kids learning about traffic safety which was led by a Scottish marching band, met Catherine's students, had lunch in the botanical garden cafe with Catherine and friends, did tons of food prep for our tramp, helped Catherine's flatmate carry a wardrobe upstairs, hiked at Tunnel Beach, and visited one last time with Catherine's parents. I would post pictures, but I'm fighting with the automatic password generating software I've recently installed. Can't get to my pictures.

Anyway, here are some of the things I've learned today.

1. The "fanbake" setting in a New Zealand oven (is that like convection in terms I'm familiar with?) cooks way faster than the regular "bake" (or the time given on the recipe, for that matter).

Granola bars for the hike are a bit dark, but still tasty.

2. When the Salvation Army thrift store volunteer is clearly over seventy, hair in a tight white perm, lips creased inward from years of sternness . . .  maybe suggesting as a solution to the many-shoppers-one-changing-room problem, "Hey, I'm not shy. Any place back in the back where I could try these on?" not the best approach.

I still had to wait for the woman ahead of me to try on her gazillion items of clothing . . . while growing surer by the minute that volunteer lady, who I had to brush past, apologizing, every two minutes in the ridiculously cramped shop, thought I was a complete skank.

3. The regular supermarket does not sell dehydrated mushrooms. The Asian supermarket just across the street does. They both sell lots of cheap ramen packets.

4. Choosing a sharp curve halfway up the hill home to set down heavy shopping bags and shake out aching arms might convince some sucker to stop and give you a lift home!

It was not as calculated as it sounded. She was very nice. Her car was filled with bales of hay. Literally filled. She lifted her bags off the seat so I could get in with mine, then put her bags on my lap and drove me home. I was very grateful. My arms hurt.

sarah kay and ten things I know

This morning Seth Godin introduced me to Sarah Kay. She is my age, feisty, warm, and wise, and performs spoken word poetry with nice winding metaphors. It's heart-warming kind of stuff. Here's (the short version) the poem "B" (or "If I should have a daughter . . .")

Here's (the long version), a Ted Talk that ends up just under 20 minutes. She talks about her own journey to spoken word poetry, about teaching it, about connection, and shares another poem at the end called Hiroshima.

 She talks about using lists to teach poetry and asks the audience to make a list of ten things they know to be true. Here's mine:

Ten Things I Know to be True

My mother loves me.

Procrastination of one big thing sometimes helps little important things get done.

Kneading bread is therapeutic.

Melted butter and lots of brown sugar make chewy chocolate chip cookies.

Cynicism is easy; belief takes courage.

It's sometimes possible to speak an idea into existence.

Appearance (and aesthetics in general) matter . . . alot.

As children, almost everyone has dreams of flying.

We all ought to be singing together a lot more.

Tomato, basil, and mozzarella make a delicious pie.

What are ten things you know?