Khao Satan Road

Only 19 hours left in Thailand. Thank god.

I'm only here for one night so Khao San Road is the easiest and cheapest place to sleep but by god it's horrible. I'd forgotten how much I hate this street, chocker with hideously drunk and rowdy westerners paying way too much for bad quality food, booze and souvenirs. So I lie here in my silk sleeping bag liner, ear plugs in, in my nasty room the width of a single bed and a door, heart wrenching for the river lodge and everyone there.

Mile high ponderings

As I sit in my window seat on Air Asia flight 884 KL - Bangkok, waiting to take off, I'm still recovering from a feeling that's been overwhelming me since I checked in for the flight. It's a feeling including confusion, sadness and nostalgia. Nostalgia is my worst enemy, but I'm also learning not to assume that everything I feel can be simply assigned to it either.

I'm supposedly on my way back to a home-like country - NZ. To all appearances it's more like my home than anywhere in Asia. So why do I feel like I'm leaving somewhere that's starting to feel like home?
I'm returning to NZ because my mum is visiting me there in two weeks and I just can't wait to see her. Kathy's then coming out in March. There's the possibility of festival-esque work in between. If I'm honest though, if it weren't for the wonderful family visits, I'd not be going back yet.

Dad put it quite simply over Christmas: "NZ doesn't seem to be very exciting for you, Jo." He's right, and that actually gives me a bit of a guilt feeling. It's a beautiful country, but it's not challenging or exciting me or teaching me anything. That's actually the main attraction for so many people, but for me, at the moment, it's not what I'm looking for. I feel like I'm going through all the motions in NZ because I've got the visa so I might as well see stuff while I'm here. What I look forward to the most is the idea of living and working in Wellington for a while. Main reason for that is probably because it's the closest I'll find to my life in Glasgow and Edinburgh over here. In which case, I might as well have stayed at home.

Maybe it's time for a rethink. Maybe I'm riding on too much nostalgia full stop. Maybe I need to go home for a reality check. Maybe my brief return to Malaysia has reminded me of what I want to be doing and where I want to be at the moment. Maybe I have no idea.

New faces in the river lodge family

Jay: Nelson's little brother, excellent chef and guitarist, shy - complete opposite of the older sibling, big heart and big laugh









Woh/Rina: Jay's girlfriend, housekeeping, trained as a jungle ranger, sharp-tongued and a great laugh, loves anything blue









Bibi: Woh's little sister, one of the hardest workers on the lodge (kitchen help), permanently attached to her mobile phone, engaged at 18, very pretty








Zahari: Operations manager at Sepilok Jungle Resort, Nelson's brother in law, extremely intelligent and insightful, friendliest face around









Lan: Aloi's brother in law, driver, big cheeky grin and heart of gold, he was the driver who took me to the lodge the very first time I visited back in January







Media: other kitchen help, older lady, moans a lot with a cutting sense of humour







Kalo: builder, young and gangly Philippino, youngest on the lodge so sent on all the errands (including fetching cigarettes, rice wine and ping pong balls), shy exterior but hidden, dirty depths






Sulaiman: builder who loves a laugh, the builders' 'dad'









Fik: builder, heavy drinker with a habit of throwing up on the walkway then falling asleep in the kitchen








Ata: carpenter and lodge granddad with a young streak still going strong, loves to dance and watch soft porn








Richard & Joanne: English, living in Kota Kinabalu (KK), they run a photography and diving company (http://www.downbelow.co.uk/) and come to the lodge every couple of months to relax and take photos, had christmas eve dinner with them in KK





Gert & Jason: Gert is from Belgium, not far from where I grew up, Jason is Chinese Malay from KL; the two of them are building a beautiful lodge in the hills opposite our lodge

Cinta Malaysia

This country and its people are slowly growing on me. As I learn more and more Malay and grow more accustomed to and gain more understanding of their culture and habits, I find I'm getting fonder and fonder of Malaysian life. There will always be clashes, differences and frustrations for me here but I'm discovering new things to balance them out.

I leave the river lodge in 2 days and depart Malaysia in 9. The lodge is too small a world for me to survive in months on end, but then that's similar to how I was feeling on Mt Ruapehu. With more time here, that time wouldn't feel quite so precious and I'd be more inclined to take time away from the river to explore more of Borneo. I've seen appallingly little of this island relative to the amount of time I've spent here.

Put it this way: when I leave, I'm not expecting it to be a permanent farewell.

Orange babies

The silver langur (or silver leaf monkey) is in my eyes the most attractive primate on this river. A relatively large monkey, it has a beautiful silvery/grey coat and a darker face. They sport a quiff and a mass of hair out of each cheek creating the impression of a triangular head. In the middle of that triangle bright, inquisitive eyes look down at you from the trees.

Curiously, their babies are born bright orange and are extremely cute.

A group we see regularly also has an albino - an adult that hasn't turned silver in maturity but whose orange coat has just slightly lightened. Albi's a female and she has become a favourite of mine. So imagine my delight when we discovered that strawberry-blonde Albi has just had her very own orange baby. It's a very rare sight too.

Itchy scratchy

OK, I swear that if one more mosquito or ant bites me I'm going to SCREAM! They are so persistent and I can't keep slapping on the DEET. AAaagh!!

RTM

Malaysian TV is something else. Malaysia's a multi-cultural country - a melting pot of Malays, Chinese, Indians, Indonesians, Philippinos and smatterings of all sorts. The UK is fairly similar. However here, on RTM (Malaysia's BBC equivalent), there are programmes such as the news and children's TV in all of the languages and not always subtitles in Malay. It rankles with the Malays: this is Malaysia, not China or India.

Then there are the soaps. I thought you couldn't get much worse than Emmerdale or Coronation Street...
The overuse of slow-mo zoom0in face shots at 'dramatic' moments, the awful soundtrack, the generally appalling acting, and lots and lots of crying. Always crying. That's before you get into the incredible plot-lines.
A favourite here on the lodge is Bakekang (Philippino). General summary: Bakekang (B) ('ugly' lady) lives in the slums and has illegitimate twins Kristal (K) and Charming (C). K is beautiful, C is 'ugly'. To deal with financial crisis B sells C to an evil lady who treats her like a slave. K on the other hand gets into the TV industry where she competes with Lorraine and her bitch mother Valeria. This is the setting for the drama... It's frustratingly addictive.
In Philippino TV they only employ beautiful actors so if they need to cast someone as 'ugly', they slap on a big nose and false teeth!

Another TV oddity: It's completely normal on a primetime music show for not only the band and backing vocalists, but also the star singer to sing from sheet music on a music stand.

My personal favourite: shampoo ads featuring fully veiled muslim girls as the stars...

Modern Malaysia?

There are so many things in Malaysia right up there on a par with the western world. And then there are many others that are worlds apart. It both baffles and amuses me when I have the chance to observe some of the more evident clashes:

Toilets. A standard traveller's gripe and one I don't have too many issues with. But when out in a swanky nightclub or a brand new cinema complex, the last thing you expect when you push open the gleaming toilet doors is to be confronted by putrid bogs with broken bowls, doors that don't lock and no sinks.

Meals. You accept quite fast that the relaxed social meal - a favourite pasttime of mine - is not understood here. You eat out of necessity, with fork and spoon or with your hands, no one gets served at the same time and if you're finished or want seconds, you just get up. By far the most amusing evening meal I've had here was dinner in a swish city centre hotel with the top people from the company I volunteer with. The setting was like any semi-posh restaurant at home with both western and Malay food on the menu and knives and forks on the table. But I'm still in Malaysia. No one drinks wine, so only I was served a ridiculously expensive glass of shit, refrigerated red wine with ice in it. Everyone had ordered in advance so they wouldn't have to wait for the food and it was served in completely random order, none of it together. Most of my companions struggled with the knives, swiftly reverting to cutting up steak with spoons. Once chap didn't eat his salmon fillet because he doesn't trust fish with no bones in it. Another looked at his lamb shank and mashed potato in bemusement for a while before ordering some rice to make it make sense to him.

And of course, when I went to use the toilet...

Falling

I'd almost forgotten how quick and easy it is to fall for someone, almost before you've realised it yourself. I'd also forgotten how complex it can be to convert those feelings into the reality of commitment of any kind. I can't actually believe I'm even letting myself imagine it as a possibility.

Whilst pondering the situation in the ladies room tonight, I also learnt that Suzuki makes toilet door locks. So there you go.

Sial

That's a good Malay swearword.

Some bastard has stolen my camera. I guess I must have got just that bit too trusting of everyone here. All it takes is one bad egg...

Gutted.

Conservation

How distressing to be in the middle of a stunning piece of jungle and to regularly see the carcasses of literally hundreds of trees float past in a train behind a tug boat.
How heartbreaking to watch everyone, even my lodge, throw all the rubbish straight into the river with no comprehension of potential consequences.
How disappointing to learn about the underlying politics, tension and corruption in the seemingly idyllic village.

Culture clash

Once again I'm almost painfully reminded that, no matter how much you like a place or a set of people, a cultural difference will always create a certain barrier to full understanding and acceptance of each other. I can do everything in my power to learn Malay and adopt as many local practices as are comfortable to me, but my skin will always be the wrong colour, I'll always be ridiculously tall, there's always be stumbling blocks and things I find hard to accept here or miss about home. Equally, unless I can transport everyone here to my culture and show them even just a little bit of what my life at home is like, there's no way they'll ever fully understand me.

It's a wonderful challenge, an incredible way to learn more about yourself. Sadly I don't know if it's a challenge I could live permanently. Inevitably if the cultures are as far apart as my UK one and their Malay one, home eventually calls.

The people we meet

One of my favourite things about travelling (and life in general, really) is the sheer number and vaiety of weird, wonderful, colourful and beautiful people you meet along the way. Some are simply company for a short bus trip or quick comment in the toilet queue; others stick arond for longer, a very few becoming friends for life.

Sometimes while travelling it's great to sit still and let others pass through for a while. That's possibly the thing I appreciate most aout spending time on the river lodge - sitting back and meeting whoever happens to come along.

Airport Hotel

It would never be my first choice of accommodation, but sleeping in Bangkok Airport is nowhere near as uncomfortable or impossible as I expected. It helps to have a 'borrowed' Thai Airways blanket and pillow. It's straightforward - stake out the comfiest row of seats you can find, use your blanket (or fancy blindfold if you've remembered it, I didn't, the one time I've needed it!) to block out the 24hour bright fluorescent lighting and conk out. Occasionally the mini earthquakes caused by a bus going by wake you up, but a few minutes of piped 'Amazing Grace', 'Greensleeves' or even the odd bit of Copland lulls you back to snooze. On your own and wake up needing the loo? No worries, a trustworthy-looking couple in your Airport Bench Hotel community are more than happy to keep an eye on your bags while you nip off.

Time for check-in!

Sawatdee kah

I'm people-watching in Bangkok Airport. I can't quite believe I'm here. It's so so different from last time. Or more correctly, I'm so diffrent. I've watched numerous young travellers go through with the wide-eyed excitement at the prospect of months of travel in the unknown of SE Asia, just how I felt when I first came here 13 months ago. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to be here too, but it's different. There's still lots of adventure and discovery to be done, but it's not all shiny and new. I've more of an idea of what to expect, I'm going back to places I've been before and now know reasonably well. And that's a nice feeling too.

Not so nice a feeling is my stomach that's been knotted up by a Thai Airways inflight meal combined with the 12-hour non-stop longhaul (note to self: stick with Emirates, they rock). My ankles are swollen like an overweight granny's, and I'm sleeping in an airport for the first time.

Yep, loving it.

Recurring dream come true

Crowded House were excellent. It was just so exciting to see them on the first night of their 'home' tour. They played for hours, all the hits, and were joined by Tim Finn (the brother who's not touring) for a one-off for some of the real favourites. Bloody marvellous!

The only thing that let it down a tad was the venue - the brand new Vector Arena in Auckland. It always infuriates me that, with all the knowledge and engineering ability now out there, millions are still spent building flawed venues.

Scot in Wellington

I don't want to go back to the mountain. I've only been in this city 24 hours and already I feel the tug of just wanting to stay. A stab of homesickness struck me when I visited Te Papa's wee 'Scots in NZ' exhibition. I consider myself one of those, and it was interesting to explore the history of the migrations and to hear testimonies from Scots who've moved here at various points.

I still can't see myself living in NZ longterm. All the Brits who've immigrated here make me feel like that's something wrong. I don't know how much of it is my subconsciously not letting myself get too attached to the country, because I'm not sure how I'd deal with the concept of settling so far from home, family and friends. However, I've been slowly learning to accept gut feeling and not to try and over-analyse things to the point of ridicule.

I do love Wellington though, and I don't want to go back to the mountain. But leave I must. For now...

The wheels on the bus...

I'm halfway to Wellington - a spontaneous bus trip down to pick up a car for the big boss and drive it back up. I'm reminded of how much I love travelling on public transport. It really is unfortunate that it's almost impossible to satisfactorily travel NZ without your own car. Well, you can do it on one of the backpacker tour buses such as Stray or Kiwi Experience, but I'd rather stick my finger in a mangle than travel on one of those horrendous touristy booze vehicles.

I've discovered a new item to complete my 'top 3 pet peeves on public transport'. The existing two are (obviously) loud mobile phone conversations, and personal stereos set to a volume level where we all get to enjoy their taste in music. The latest entry is: portable DVD players. It seems they either don't come equipped with a headphone jack or, if they do, it spoils the cinematic bus experience if you were to suggest they use it.

New photos from Ruapehu

Here are four new batches of photos for you to enjoy:

Claire's Photos, 27 May - 5 July: http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157602331176623/

Fun on the Mountain, 20 July - 8 August:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157602331320045/

Parties, 25 July - 9 August:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157602331662503/

Miscellaneous Ruapehu, 10 August - 6 October:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157602331831413/

Lahar, lahar, lahardeedar (group email)

Only 4 weeks to go on the mountain... And it was almost over much sooner last Tuesday! One of the disadvantages of working on a live volcano is that that volcano might decide to go off and in doing so wipe out a lot of your workplace. Last Tuesday night, Mt Ruapehu erupted. Only a little one - 2.8/2.9 Richter - but it was still an eruption.

So, what's it like being on an erupting volcano? Well, this wasn't a huge explosive fireworks display - although some pretty big rocks were thrown around (one crushing a mountaineer's leg, and so that rock now dominates most of the news reports) and 2 fairly mean lahars (volcanic mudslides) came down the mountain. One of the lahars went through our ski area and missed a snow groomer by metres. That snow groomer went on to become a local hero, because the crushed mountaineer's friend came running down the mountain to find help, and Shane's grooming cat was that help.

All fairly dramatic. But is wasn't so dramatic further down. Bex woke me up yelling 'get up, get up, get up', the news told us the mountain had erupted and, well, that was about it. We couldn't see, hear or feel anything, so we went back to bed. In the morning it was a bit more obvious - a large area on the top of the mountain is black with ash and the lahar forms a horrible black gash through the far west of our ski area. There are even white ski tracks through the ash where some keen (or crazy?) skier made his mark early in the morning. There's still snow on the mountain, so at night it looks really weird, as though someone's eaten a chunk out of the top of it.

All the staff gathered the next morning to be told we were closed for the day, not to speak to the media, and to come back up in the evening for an eruption barbeque party (very appropriate). We all cheered on the news report at the party, watched colleagues streak in front of the cameras outside, and the next day we were back to business as usual. Very odd.What did I do with the extra day off? Well, myself and 10 pals decided we wanted a different perspective on our newly erupted home, and figured the appropriate response was to strap ourselves to a stranger and throw ourselves out of a plane at 15,000ft. Skydiving. Wicked!

Apart from the dramas of eruptions and skydiving, mountain life continues relatively unchanged. The staff ball was a lot of fun and my twenties dress was AMAZING! We have our department Amazing Race on Thursday which should be good, if all goes as planned. And I've just ordered our department souvenir T-shirts.We're in the middle of school holidays at the moment, and in a week's time about 2/3 of the workforce finish and leave. It's going to be very quiet next week! I'm here for another 3 weeks after that and then it's offski!

Eruption? What eruption?

People are so keen to get back to skiing, you would think the mountain never erupted. But there are still plenty of signs (other than the ash all over the top and the bloody great lahar over the far west): one lift is still closed as it's in the immediate danger zone, the snow report includes a well-phrased paragraph with warnings and soothing words, a lahar viewing point has been set up, and the groomer that was caught in it all (and, incidentally, was key in saving the crushed mountaineer's life) continues to be hounded by the media, but has also been given loads of freebies by the makers of the grooming cats, cashing in on his new hero status.

But are people concerned they're skiing on a mountain that only 72 hours ago was spewing out rocks and volcanic mud, registering 2.9 Richter? No. They're back to being more concerned about having lost their black glove, complaining about queue lengths and wondering about the price of rentals and lift passes.

See, natural disasters need only be another small blip in an otherwise lovely skibreak.

This is a lahar emergency

My workplace erupted last night. It's always a possibility when you work on a volcano, but you never REALLY expect it to happen.

And what's it like? Well, this wasn't a huge explosive fireworks display - although some pretty big rocks were thrown around (one crushing a mountaineer's leg, and so that rock now dominates most of the news reports) and 2 fairly mean lahars (volcanic mudslides) came down the mountain. One of the lahars went through our ski area and missed a snow groomer by metres. But when Bex yelled out for me to 'get up, get up, get up' at 10.30pm, the news told us the mountain had gone up, but, well, that was about it. You couldn't see, hear or feel anything, so we just went back to bed.

In the morning it was a bit more obvious - a large area on the top of the mountain is black with ash and the lahar forms a horrible black gash through the far west of our ski area. There are even white ski tracks through the ash where some keen (or crazy?) skier made his mark early in the morning. There's still snow on the mountain, so at night it looks really weird, as though someone's eaten a chunk out of the top of it.

All the staff gathered this morning to be told by our Operations Manager we were closed for the day, not to speak to the media, and to come back up in the evening for an eruption barbeque party (very appropriate). The media is everywhere, along with the usual hordes of rubberneckers. We all cheered on the news report at the party earlier this evening and we've been told tomorrow we'll be back to business as usual.

Oh, and what did I do with the extra day off? Well, myself and 10 pals decided we wanted a different perspective on our newly erupted home, and figured the appropriate response was to strap ourselves to a stranger and throw ourselves out of a plane at 15,000ft. Skydiving. Wicked!

Over it

I'm getting a wee bit tired of this view, this weather, this job. I think the worst is that I'm getting bored of the lack of variety of activities, people and places. Also, the weather's slowly getting warmer, but all it's bringing is more mist and rain. I can't wait to be able to walk round barefoot again, to no longer need to wear thermals, to not have to spend at least half an hour a day trying to get the fire started.

Lost property

K comes in to Customer Services this morning to report the keys to his expensive car missing. When he comes back a couple of hours later, they've been brought in by someone. He asks us to hold on to them for him to pick up at the end of the day, because he's more than likely just to lose them again otherwise.

Later that afternoon he returns.

J: "Hi there, how are you?"
K: "My name's K, I've lost my car keys."
J: "Oh, that's right, yes, we've got them here for you."
K: "No, no, I know about them. I've lost the other set too."
J: "Ah, ok, well if you leave us your mobile number, we can get in touch if they turn up."
K: "I'd love to, but I actually lost my phone up here last month. If you look in your folder the form's in there. I'll just pop in in a wee bit to see if they've been handed in."

When he comes back later, the second set of keys, incredibly, has turned up. K is not as overjoyed as might be expected - his car is almost out of petrol and he's now also lost his only bank card, so has no money to fill up his tank.

Anniversary

I made it. I've been away from home a year. It's the same feeling I always get: It seems impossible that it could have been that long already, while at the same time, I feel like I've been away forever.

This is the longest I've ever been away from home in one stretch, and it's also the furthest away from home I've ever been. Yet it doesn't bother me. Admittedly it's a bit crazy to think how long I've still got to go, but in an exciting way, not scary.

Innige deelneming

At the best of times, I find myself pretty stumped as to what to say to a friend who's lost a loved one. Other than the obvious 'I'm so sorry', it's a case of haul out my most sensitive, careful English and hope I don't put my foot in it.

A dear Belgian friend is mourning the loss of a very close family member who died unexpectedly. What do I say to her when our main language of communication is her mother tongue, but to me has become rusty enough for me to no longer be sure I possess sufficient tactful and delicate vocabulary?

It's becoming slowly tougher for me to fully convey my emotions in Dutch, and it scares and frustrates me.

Legend

My housemate rocks. She really does. Next week is the Whakapapa Ball, 1920s theme and we're both going. I don't have any dresses or anything else suitable to wear here in New Zealand, so we'd discussed ideas, bought nasty dresses and fabric from 'Opshops' (kiwi for 'charity shop'). I came from work today and Bex has made me my very own Charleston flapper dress, complete with lace, sequins and flowers. Handy to live with a trained fashion designer...

My housemate ROCKS!

Senseless stress

I was so proud of myself 6 months ago. I'd lightened up, I'd let plans become spontaneous decisions, I'd taken or left people without taking anything too personally, I'd de-stressed.

I'm back in the workplace, albeit temporarily, and it's almost as though none of it happened. I've become uptight, frustrated, paranoid and, quite frankly, probably a pain in the arse to be around and to work with. I'm possibly worse than I ever was at home because I'm out of my comfort zone.
So here's my fresh challenge: to lighten up, to loosen up at work, and quit worrying so much about what everyone else is doing or thinking. I'll hopefully make my own and everyone else's life so much easier!

Location, location, location

Mt Ruapehu is an active volcano, surrounded by three other active volcanoes.

Mt Ruapehu is situated in Tongariro National Park, meaning there are all sorts of restrictions on what can and can't be built here - such as newer, more reliable ski lifts, sufficient cafe and toilet facilities, better medical facilities etc.

Mt Ruapehu is extremely craggy and rocky, meaning you need a snow base of at least 1.5m to allow for safe and adequate ski runs.

What an obviously brilliant place to build a ski resort.

September already?! (group email)

September already. In a couple of weeks I'll have been away from home a year and in NZ 6 months. Two thirds of the mountain staff finish in a month. I'm here until 28 th October. Then it's up to Auckland for Crowded House. I've made a decision too. I miss Asia, I've got the flexibility, so I'm going back there for the month of November. Back to NZ for Christmas before, well, no idea what next.

It's going to be tough to leave the mountain. I've made good friends, I enjoy the stability in many ways, and it's so beautiful. At the same time, it's so isolated here. In the midst of my horizon-broadening adventure, my world feels like it has shrunk to the smallest it has ever been. I'm looking forward to seeing more of what the rest of the North Island has to offer.

We've continued to enjoy ourselves here in the meantime as well as work. One pal, Matt Ham, is a local and took us on a wee tour of his old stomping grounds and important places in relation to his (maori) ancestry. Our side of the mountain (Whakapapa) competed with the other side (Turoa) in a huge tug of war competition. Each department had at least one team that pulled against its counterpart from the other side. We had a proper official tug of war table and everything! It was a brilliant night, despite the fact we lost (but only just). Last night at a ski club house thank you do for mountain staff, I got a guy's number! OK, so he's 75 and it came with the offer of free Auckland accommodation with him and his wife, but I can't complain!

Americana Kiwiana

I don't think I'd expected there to be quite such a prolific influence of the American use (or abuse?) of the English language in New Zealand. Yoh-gurt instead of yoghurt I was aware of, and I was prepared for chips instead of crisps. But I never thought I would rent out so many pairs of ski 'pants' and get to the stage of asking mates if they want to watch a 'movie' without flinching or even realising what I've said. I can't bring myself to fill my car up with 'gas' yet though.

I just don't understand why the influence is so huge on a country that in so many other aspects almost eschews any comparison with North America.

Stilletoes, veggie and poultry

Only in New Zealand could you buy a pair of shoes then to discover that, for the same money, you could have bought a portion of Chicken McNuggets or a cucumber.

Photos: Mount Ruapehu, Round 1

Here's a first batch of my photos of times on Mt Ruapehu. There's be plenty more, rest assured, and also some add ons from other people. Enjoy!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157601129566116/

Photos: Dunedin to Picton

Dunedin and up:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600958314577/

Akaroa to Kaikoura:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157601131827505/

Christchurch to Picton:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157601129042518/

A little less accent

It’s an odd thing, but I’m somewhat aware of my losing the power of accent. Not my own accent, which has always been a bit of a mish mash anyway, but my ability to distinguish accents. Between staff and customers, I’m being exposed to so many Kiwis, Ozzie, Brits, Kiwi Brits, British Kiwis, Ozzie Kiwis, Kiwi Ozzies, Ozzie Brits, British Ozzies, and goodness knows what other combinations, I’m no longer immediately able to tell them all apart. It’s just become the clearly foreigners, the people I understand, and those whose accents are so thick I’ve no idea what they’re saying (always those damn vowel sounds).

Welcome to another level of globalisation!

Refreshing

In this job with these managers there’s a certain amount of flexibility and discretion in how you deal with customers. For example, it was far from a sackable offence when I responded to a guy’s “what should I do if I’ve dropped my only car keys in the snow” with “put your head in your hands and cry?!”. Our supervisor Mairi specialises in wit and sarcasm. Confronted by bolshy punters demanding a refund on their lesson package (an already heavily discounted combination of lift pass, rentals and lesson), she offered to put them down for the bits they had used (lift pass and rentals) and refund the difference. She happily told them they now owed us $15 each.

Don’t get me wrong, we don’t take the piss out of customers (too much) and we’re actually a damn good Customer Services department. But it is just so refreshing to be allowed and even expected to be ourselves when dealing with members of the public, and to treat them like human beings as opposed to statistics and walking wallets.

Photos: Fox Glacier - Papatowai

Some more South Island photos:

Fox Glacier Heli-hike:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600316324694/




Lake Matheson:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600315874947/




Wanaka and Queenstown:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600317024670/






Milford Sound:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600316675505/

The normal life (group email)

Well, here I am, settling in. It sneaks up on you and before you know it, you’re in a comfortable wee routine, making new friends and once again worrying about things like insurance, rent and doing the dishes. Oh, and what’s going to happy next in Shortland Street and Grey’s Anatomy. The excitement of today was getting Sky TV installed – no more trying to distinguish between Joey and Chandler through a haze of static.

I lie, there WAS more excitement to today – I went and had an afternoon skiing on the ‘dark side’. Mount Ruapehu runs two skifields (same company): Whakapapa (my side, pronounced ‘fukapapa’) and Turoa (the ‘dark side’). They’re about an hour’s drive from each other and very different. They have different weather, different atmospheres, different styles of runs etc. So it was definitely interesting to take my season rental skis round their to suss it out on a day off.

The job’s going well. It’s still just about varied enough to keep me interested. Yes, there’re the usual politics that come with any company, but the Customer Services team is brilliant. My manager, Jane, ranks in my top 3 All Time Best Bosses (alongside Christie Assembly and Dave SAC) and my supervisor, Mairi, is an inspiration too. As anyone in a job will know, good management makes a world of difference. As a team we’re also settling in around each other and functioning pretty well.

I’ll be here until the end of October when I head up to Auckland to see Crowded House (woohoo!). After that, who knows?! In the meantime, I plan to save money, ski and enjoy a bit of the normal life. I’m also still taking the opportunity to catch up with people when possible. Roz and Frank came down for a visit a few weeks ago and last week I met up with Lincoln, one of the kiwi boys we hooked up with in Laos for a while. He trounced me at mini golf, we walked, we talked. It’s just so nice to see people again and some different faces.

I’ve been thinking of home a lot too. I missed my sister’s graduation, and thoughtful friends (thank you Sean and Linds) have sent me postcards of home. I miss you all and love hearing your news – even wee messages on facebook or bebo or snippets of emails are so important to me. Thank you everyone! I’m not homesick, just thinking of home and smiling.

Uptown Girl?

I think I'm coming to yet another realisation about myself. Much as I love the countryside, open spaces, peace and quiet, hills and rivers and lakes and views, fresh air etc, there's actually more of a (small) city girl in me than I ever realised. I miss so many things that come hand in hand with a 'proper' city: art, culture, history, variety of shops, bustle, vibrancy and a whole glut of other things that I just can't quite put my finger on. Wellington's pretty good, but it still doesn't quite hack it by my standards for some reason. There's still a small town, small world feel to it for me that I'm not sure I could ever fully express in words.

There's certainly not a city or anything that fully satisfies me within relatively easy reach of my current location. I'm guess I'm not cut out to be a fullblown country bumpkin just yet.

High wind carnage

We'd closed all the lifts, sent all the customers hom and put out a 'strong wind' warning, but it wasn't until we saw part of the chipboard cladding from the outside of our building fly past, swiftly followed by the insulation and (involuntarily) by one of our lift operators, that we knew it was getting serious yesterday. The five metre walk from building to bus was hairy to say the least.

It was even worse this morning when only the few necessary staff, including me, edged our way up the mountain this morning past many a partially torn apart ski club house. Our sister ski field on the other side of Mt Ruapehu had had their phone lines destroyed and the mid-morning reading showed wind speeds in excess of 160km/hour at our top café (2020m, 400m above us). It wasn't until we started to head gingerly back to lower ground this afternoon that we saw the wind had not only wrecked buildings, but also thrown rocks across the skifield car parks, leaving only a very few vehicles with windows intact.

And it's still going strong. Our litle farmhouse is shaking and we're just hoping we don't wake up to a starlit sky above our beds or to find the cars in the next field over. Or maybe we'll wake up in Oz.

Ruapehu

There are so many things I hadn't realised went in to running a ski resort. The sheer numbers of staff involved for a start. The fact that they top up natural snow with manmade stuff is another surprise. Yet another the vast number of people who will come up to slide down slopes even in the most disgusting weather.

It's a pretty amazing thing to be in the thick of. And in my job, we get to deal with a bit of it all - ticket sales, lost property and lost people, enquiries, information, complaints and compliments, cake recipients, switchboard, weather and avalanche reporting, PA announcements, group hosting, errand running, message taking and relaying, mail opening, queue control, ticket checking..... It's pretty varied and we meet an unbelievable range of people, from the lovely to the unpleasant to the plain odd. A lot of my blog is now likely to be spent telling you some of my favourite Mt Ruapehu stories.

One of my favourite jobs is looking after kids who've lost their parents (or usually parents who've left their young'ns alone while they go off skiing/snowboarding). We've had a fair number already and they never cease to amaze me. 8-year-olds with the family's entire phone book in their heads. And the one lad who was able to tell us the make, colour and registration plate of his dad's car and the carpark number it was parked in. They really pull themselves together to help us find their parents. And then they dissolve into blubbering messes when mum or dad finally turns up.

That Small World

Mt Ruapehu has almost 800 employees during the winter season. Eight of them work in Customer Services. Three of us lived within a 5 minute walk of each other in Edinburgh before coming here, although this is the first time we've met.

Claire had a flat behind Dalry Somerfield, my local supermarket, 5 minutes walk from the Gibson Street flat. Although Mairi now owns a flat by Gorgie Co-op (ooh, all of 10-15 minutes walk away), she used to live opposite the St Bride's Centre. Halfway between Claire and me.

Small small world.

Crowded House

I may have missed the Take That reunion tour but there was NO WAY I was missing this one. Crowded House in Auckland at the end of October. Just bought tickets and I am so excited! Can't wait.

Technology drowning

A fair few of you will remember my spate about 5 years ago of dropping mobile phones down the toilet. My beloved family, particularly my long-suffering parents, will have fond memories of my old habit of rolling cameras along the beach, dropping Mini-disc players from a great height, and, at my youngest, taking car keys to the grand piano.

Now, apart from the last misdemeanor (which was simply my early attempts at artistic expression), I have never abused technology on purpose. And I have become so so so much better with it. In fact, it's become almost worrying how little damage I've caused to electronic items in the past few years.

But it seems I've not lost the knack after all. This morning, I managed to drop my mobile phone in a glass of water. And yes, it was by accident. All is well in the universe.

A new home

Decision made: I moved in with Bex a couple of nights ago and I now have a 'home' again. I have my own room. I can put some photos and bits and pieces on the wall. I can keep my toothbrush and toothpaste and soap and shampoo in the bathroom. I can cook myself dinner from a well-stocked cupboard and have dinner parties. Very strange. It's not that I haven't had any of this at all in the past 9 months, I have. It's more that this is the longest I'll have been in one place for a while. And it's nice.

Although very very very cold. A lot of buildings in New Zealand, including those at high altitude that get extremely cold winters, do not have proper insulation or central heating of any description. This is one of them. The log fire gets a good blaze going, but bedtime is nippy.

A new thing for me is looking after a car in sub-zero temperatures. I've managed to twist a car key in a frozen lock already. My morning routine now has 'boil kettle to pour around door to get car running and heating up' in there right after 'get dressed as FAST AS YOU POSSIBLY CAN'. You can't say this travel malarkey isn't a learning experience!

Catastrophe Cut

One of my more interesting hairdresser experiences was in Sandakan, Borneo. The lovely, friendly, smily hairdresser didn't really seem to grasp that I wanted her to take more than a cm off the bottom. That time I left looking not a huge amount different from how I'd gone in, but my hair was a bit sleeker, washed and blow-dried nicely, all for 5 quid, AND I'd had good chat thrown in for good measure.

You would think a haircut in NZ would be more productive at least. But no, not at the place we went to in Taupo. Oh no.
My hair was wetted, but not washed, in the sink, and the keen but shaky girl took huge clumps of hair to cut at a time. She didn't cut it very evenly and her attempt at blow-drying was extremely half-hearted. I'm no diva, but this was way below even my travel-worn standards.
I fared better than Claire, who merely had her hair dampened with a water spray and her fringe duly butchered by the kind lady who added that it was ok if it went wrong, it would always grow back...
The chat wasn't much better either. I was forced to keep a straight face and answer politely to comments such as 'Scotland, that's where the McLeod's are, eh?'. When we'd progressed to the gripping topic of William Wallace (Rob Roy and Braveheart being their sole source of knowledge on bonnie Alba), I was stuck as to how to respond to my lady's 'So is it still like that over there, with all those spirits still flying around all over the place and all that?'.

Our main regret was having told everyone back at staff quarters that we were going on this brilliant haircut mission and having to deal with the consequences.

Kids on a mountain

At the moment, I'm living in my employer's official staff quarters. It's a privileged position - the rooms are highly sought after, it's the accommodation the closest to work (another 10 min drive up the mountain), it's catered and the food is excellent, I've got a ready-made social life and I'm never alone. So why am I considering moving out?!

For starters, it's expensive relative to the quality of room I'm in, plus I'm sharing a room and I'm not sure I can do that for a 4-month stretch. The meal times aren't really ideal and besides, I enjoy cooking for myself and I miss is. Most importantly, it's like being back in first year halls at university seven years ago. A lot of younger kids getting drunk and/or stoned, partying all the time, copping off with each other and the ensuing crises, being messy and disrespectful and noisy. Etc etc. It makes it nigh impossible to have a full night's sleep. And I feel old.

Other options? Sharing a wee farmhouse with a girl my age from a different department, a 10 min drive away from where I currently am (I'm currently in Whakapapa Village on Mt Ruapehu). It'd work out cheaper, she's got wireless on her laptop, a cat, a kitchen, Sky TV, and a cast iron bath. I'd actually have a home where I can get my own space. But to meet up with other people would be less easy, especially if they don't have to make any effort because they're surrounded by each other up here.

Why am I always so indecisive?!

Damn rich tourists

I got news from the river lodge in Borneo that the 16 new air-conditioned rooms with hot water were officially opened yesterday. Another example of Chinese entrepreneurs seeing nothing but $ signs with no regard for the further-reaching impact of their acts.
The new rooms have been built specifically to attract rich Japanese and coach tour tourists. The whole beauty of the lodge was its laid-back atmosphere with a primary target group of backpackers. I imagine that's all going to tighten up and commercialise a lot more now. It's a huge change for a place that is very dear to me, and I can only hope that it'll turn out to be a positive change - even if only for the guys who work there.

Mount Doom (group email)

Another leg of my New Zealand adventure begins...

The much awaited and looked forward to holiday with Linds has now finished, goodbyes said and only a couple of tears shed (I'm getting better!). I'm now settling in in the snow and ice of Mt Ruapehu (right next to Mt Ngauruhoe, better known as Mt Doom). I've met my new ski resort colleagues, got my fancy uniform and all ready to go!

Only a few days ago, I was cruising through the beautiful sounds of the top of the South Island, heading back to Wellington and my job here. Charlie was safely parked in the belly of the Interislander Ferry, carrying her brand new clutch and a lighter load. After years of family easter ferry trips to the UK, this was the first time I'd ever driven my own vehicle on to one, personally rather exciting. And I didn't drive it off the ramp into the water as I used to think could happen.

The past couple of weeks have totally flown by. It's been one heck of a journey. We covered 3,612 km and saw so much.

Following on from the previous email:
A glorious day on the Milford Sound (yep, we got INCREDIBLE weather) was followed by a trundle along the Southern Scenic Route, leaving behind the jaggy Southern Alps for more rolling hilly farmy scenery. In Papatowai we found our favourite backpacker hostel - a gorgeous comfy country cottage, middle of nowhere at backpacker rates. And we were the only ones staying there. Brill!
Dunedin was quite a contrast, but a visit to Cadbury World, Speights Brewery and Pirates of the Caribbean 3 soon made up for that. Dunedin's actually a pretty city too: some buildings that look more than 50 years old, a pretty railway station and lovely university with a main building modelled on, and a wee version of, our own alma mater's main building. Good ol' Glesgae. Most importantly in Dunedin (yes, more important than chocolate and albatrosses), I rediscovered the elder of my 2 American cousins. He's doing a semester over there. The last time we saw each other was at least 8 years ago. He's now 20, taller than me (by a long way) and basically a dead nice bloke.
East Coast of the South Island was less enthralling, but we still had a fab time swimming with dolphins, playing crazy golf, lounging in thermal pools, sleeping in old train wagons, going on long walks, exploring museums, hunting albatross, playing scrabble, and consuming moderate to vast amounts of good wine, chocolate and seafood.
Our final outing was an attempted circular walk of the Kaikoura peninsula. We aborted and went to a 'there and back' walk when not the raging tides and rock clambering turned us back, but instead the large colonies of fur seals lying all over the beach and rocks. Instead we barged through a herd of young cows.

It's been great. There are just too many stories to tell. The journey's been more than just distance covered. We've both got to know each other and ourselves in a whole new way - something I never expected. I'll miss you Linds, but I'll be back before you know it.

So now it's a case of settling in here for 4 months. The job's looking like it'll be interesting - with some bits that are exactly like my old job at the SAC, and others that will be completely new.

Very exciting!

Dusky Dolphins

Earlier today I swam with dolphins. Dusky dolphins. For 45 minutes.

It is one of the most amazing experiences I've ever had and there's no way I can fully express it in words. I serenaded them with a whole range of my favourite songs (they have taste - they didn't like Take That or Phil Collins), they swam circles around me to test if I could keep up, holding eye contact with you the whole time, when the buoyant wet suit would let me sink enough to duck and dive with them, I could hear their dolphin chattering, and one even got so comfortable around me he took a dump right in front of me. Lovely.

Once out of the water, we were given time to watch the dolphins swim at the prow of the boat and do their acrobatics - jumps, somersaults, backflips, etc - and see their watermates such as sperm whale, fur seal and the royal albatross (which we hadn't been able to see flying in its 3m-wingspan glory on the Otago Peninsula).

Just out of this world.

Photos: Wellington to Punakaiki

3 new sets of photos:

Wellington

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600307573711/

Picton to Castle Hill

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600307856604/

Punakaiki

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600308042922/

M what?!

Wide road, one lane each direction, hilly, bendy, side roads, concealed entrances, the odd slow vehical lane or passing lane. No, it's not the Whinlatter Pass or the road along Loch Lomond. It's the 'motorway' leaving Dunedin. The biggest joke on the South Island.

Charlie III

Another Charlie introduction. However, this Charlie is not a dog. Like the previous two, this Charlie (short for Charlize) promises to be obedient, reliable and good-natured.

Born in 1997 in the land of Subaru, Charlie is already a Legacy. Dark blue, with a 2.2L stomach and station wagon capacity, she can carry me and all my stuff (incl. friends) over the back roads of New Zealand with little fuss, especially with her (as yet unused) 4x4 function. She's not without blemishes. I inherited her with a slightly wonky passenger door, a wee dent in the bumper and - something I didn't discover until later - reverse lights that don't work. These don't seem to have detracted from her retro beauty though, as, soon after coming under my ownership, a beast of a 4x4 tried to take her from behind. She fended him off very well, however, and emerged from the ordeal with only her pride dented and boot(y) decoration smashed. Otherwise no other physical damage.

1,297km later and we've started to know each other and our odd quirks better and all bodes well for a lasting friendship.

South with the doctor (group email)

Comfy sofa in a living room, good music, log fire, cup of liquorice tea before heading to bed with a hot water bottle. Nope, not home prematurely. This is the South Island winter backpacker standard. Excellent!

Dr Mizen and I have been on the road on the South Island in Charlie the car for just over a week and all is going well apart from the weather. Unfortunately, low clouds and driving rain have meant at times we've had to simply take everyone's word for it regards the gorgeous views. Other than making us feel more at home, the weather HAS, however, made the west coast beaches even wilder and more beautiful than they are normally. Luckily we've had clear days for crucial things like glacier hikes and hopefully it will be good tomorrow for the Milford Sound.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Christchurch provided me with my first couchsurfing experience, which was great. Fred looked after us brilliantly and we're looking forward to seeing her again when we pass back through. After buying my car and picking up Lindsay, we headed to Arthur's Pass via the Castle Hill giant boulders, which I'm reliably informed had a bit-part in the Narnia film. Literally washed out of Arthur's Pass, we abandoned a hillwalking attempt and took a cold shower in the streets of Hokitika. Which we're assured is lovely in nice weather. A grump and a half later and we trundled up to Barrytown to carve our own NZ-design necklaces from a cow's shin and took a tour of the incredible pancake rocks and blowholes. Finally we were starting to get an idea of the South Island we'd heard about!

South to Fox Glacier. I tell you, driving with fingers crossed for the weather is not that easy. But it paid off, and we had a glorious day up on the glacier. A helicopter dropped us off 7km up it. We then crampon-ed around for a couple of hours, enjoyed the ice caves, crevasses, mulans (not Disney characters but plug holes in the ice) and blue blue ice. The glacier's actually growing and is one of the fastest-moving in the world. We made the most of the clear day and also took in Lake Matheson, one of the most famous reflections in the world because it's so flat.

Haast Pass and more great west coast beaches brought us to Wanaka, where my old pal Philippa kindly put us up and put up with us for a couple of nights. Yesterday we hit Queenstown and depleted our bank accounts for a total of 33 minutes of madness. Half an hour on a jet boat careening through the Shotover canyon and doing 360 degree turns and then 2 canyon swings. For a canyon swing, you basically throw yourself into a gorge at the end of a wire, freefall 60m at 150km/hour then it goes into a huge swing when you hit the bottom (of the wire, not the gorge).

And now we're in Te Anau. We've tasted some of the fine Pinot Noirs of the Otago Valley along the way and tomorrow head along the road to Milford Sound.

While I'm still mixed on how I feel about NZ, the South Island is truly stunning to travel around and I can't wait to come back and see more after my stint working on the North Island.

No inspiration

I've not written anything for this blog in almost 2 weeks and I wouldn't have realised had my sister not pointed it out. I still don't really feel like I have much to write about, and I feel like any time I pick up pen and paper, it comes out as a rant or moan.

It's not that I've not been doing anything. I've bought a car, I've been joined by a good friend from home, I've driven over 800km halfway around South Island, I've carved a necklace from bone, I've walked on a glacier, I've been rear-ended by a 4x4, I've been offered a job at a ski resort, I've seen many stunning views and NOT seen many more because of godawful weather...

Thing is, I'm not feeling either inspired or interesting and I can't quite put my finger on why. Part of it is definitely that New Zealand, which although beautiful and friendly, seems to me to suffer a bit from wee-man's complex and is not as personally inspiring as Asia just now. But I don't think it's quite that simple. I'm being a grumpy guts. And being somewhere so similar to home has triggered old habits I thought and hoped I'd at least improved if not got rid of - trying to plan too far ahead, overanalysing everything, etc etc.

Come on New Zealand, inspire me!

South for the winter (group email)

Well, Wellington is amazing. I can definitely see myself heading back there to temporarily 'settle' for a while. It's got a great vibe, green stuff within easy walking distance, lots going on etc etc. I saw prettymuch all the touristy stuff there is in and around the city, as well ass eeing a LOT of shows - 2 in the comedy festival, a NZ-made maori 'musical', and the cinema 3 times (the human rights film festival was on).

I also caught up with some Edinburgh friends who are now back home in Wellington. One of those friends played in the Edinburgh Samba Schoolwith me, and she invited me along to a party held by the Wellingtonversion. And then I ended up joining them for a rehearsal too. Ooooh, that felt good.

A couple of days ago I stalked Magde, the poor girl I lived in the caravan with on the orchard, on to a big ferry and sailed to the South Island. It's a world apart. It's beautiful. I am SO excited to be here, I can't describe it. All these hills, mountains, glaciers and green places just waiting for me to tramp through and over them. I went for an 8-hour walk around Picton yesterday and it felt so good. I learnt a lot about the different NZ birds in Wellington, and it's so nice recognising the different pretty songs and knowing how to get close to them. It's a whole new dimension added to my walking experience.

Now I'm in Christchurch. I've started 'couchsurfing' to get a New Zealander's view on NZ and to save some money. Tomorrow I'll buy a car,my guitar, and pick up Linds from the airport to start our 3-week South Island adventure. Hurrah!

Extended samba family (written for TESS newsletter)

After eight months travelling, I'd started to feel a serious drumming twitch. Perfectly timed, a series of events (set in motion by the lovely Emily 'Kiwi surdo' Efford') led me to be standing earlier today with a caixa at the hip, sticks in hand, waiting for Wellington Batucada (WB)'s weekly rehearsal to start. Just like remounting a bike, all it took was the opening 'Dah-grrr, dah-grrr, dah-grrr, dah-grrr' from the leader and... well, let's just say the swing is definitely still there.

My first proper samba venture outside the secure embrace of Edinburgh Samba School (TESS)-landwas just what I needed. Just as with TESS, WB welcomed and accepted me, no questions asked. The whole vibe is so similar to TESS. I found myself closing my eyes and on opening them being very confused to see silver drums instead of the familiar red/orange/yellow ones.

I was going to write a long and tedious list of comparisons, but for once decided to restrain myself.

Instead:

I've been told about the 'samba family' effect by veterans, but this is the first time I've experienced it myself. I went to two hours of a WB party, a 2-hour rehearsal and an hour in the pub. Those 5 hours have strengthened my view that Wellington could become a definite candidate for temporary home for me (and presented me with at least 3 projects I had to resist getting involved in and a personal challenge to lighten up the WB caixa/snare section, and find a decent Brazilian DJ for them).

When I picked TESS over the university choir a year and a half ago, little did I know that, not only had I joined something that would give me so much enjoyment and great friends, but that, more than almost anything else I've been involved in, I'd found something that enables potentially any city in the world to so quickly feel like a home from home.

If I've now gone too soppy on you, well, tough. I wasn't wearing earplugs so my head's probably gone a bit weirder than usual. Oh, and if anyone's interested, they play samba way too fast too. Just as it should be!

Photos: Hawkes Bay

For my shenanigans in and around apple picking, look here (or click on the photo):

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600199291995/

Wee comment

I really like Wellington. It's not brilliant like Glasgow or Edinburgh, but it definitely can be classed a 'great'. I like it here.

There are second hand bookshops open late, gift shops that sell interesting things that are not made from greenstone or paua, theatres, a proper range of CD and DVD shops, nice wee cafés, lovely botanical gardens, some buildings with a sense of real history to them, the excellent Te Papa museum.

To me it doesn't have quite the character (yet) of my favourite cities - it feels a wee bit like a chunk of London lifted up and shipped over to New Zealand.

It's good, I like it.

Back to the arts

See, this is why I need to have access to the performing arts. When I see a show, it always leaves me ITCHING to talk and talk and talk about it until I fall asleep.

Tonight's been a double whammy, so let me give you the Odds version review of my first real exposure to kiwi-created arts.

1. Hunting the Snark

I went to see this at a little studio theatre called BATS (NOT the shit theatre society I was in when I was 9). A nice small world experience was bumping in to one of the box office guys from St George's West there and catching up. Anyway, the show, it's based on Lewis Carroll texts, references to the Jaberwocky and Jub Jub bird etc. Described as a 'black theatrical comedy', it tells the story of a hotchpotch of characters who go on a hunt for the 'snark'.

There were some giggle-inducing moments but most of it was a bit too random and obvious, although members of the audience who were clearly cast members' mates seemed to find it the funniest thing they'd ever seen. It was a production by a group of actors my age and had more of a drama school feel about it than a pro production. A nice show though, no complaints.

2. Maui

Imagine Andrew Lloyd Webber meets Michael Flatly, but with less proficient dancing and a maori spin on it. Kind of Phantom of the Lord of the Haka. That might give you an idea of this show. It's a huge production by NZ standards, PR'd to the hilt, glitzy, commercial. And a bit of a let-down for me. The last thing I saw that I'd put in the same box is Matthew Bourne's Edward Scissorhands, but Maui is only about half as technically proficient. And doesn't have dancing topiaries.

Maui is very important in maori culture - he's the legendary character who fished the north island of NZ out of the sea (the south island is his boat), and there's a whole bunch of stories about him. This show tells his life story using maori chants, song, rap (yes, as in hip hop), maori-inspired dances and aerial acrobatics.

The combining of ALW style songs with maori chants was actually quite inspired, if a little painful on the classical musical ear at times. The people flying through the air was not very well done and highly repetitive, unfortunately, and for cheapskate Odds up in the gods, partly invisible.

The end result is a series of fairly disjointed scenes with random songs and dances, but pretty costumes.

The locals seemed to love it though, which is the most important thing, although I suspect the male lead is some kind of maori celebrity, which would explain a lot of the female whooping and shrieking throughout.

Windy Welly (group email)

I've ditched the apple bucket, said goodbye to my new friends in Hawkes Bay and departed hicksville having picked almost 50 bins of apples in 3 1/2 weeks. That's almost 20 tons of braeburn, fuji, pacific queen and pacific rose. Blimey...
I was staying in a cosy caravan with a lovely French girl, and there were a total of 6 of us living on the orchard forming our own orchard family. 12 of us worked together picking the apples and there were some great characters amongst them. Although it was one of the hardest and horriblest jobs I've ever had, it was very good for me, if not so great for my back. Photos will hopefully follow soon.

Being there also gave me the chance to see art deco Napier, Cape Kidnappers' gannet colony, and other pretty sights in the Hawkes Bay area. On our last night, we all drove up to Te Mata Peak overlooking Hastings and Havelock North and got some incredible views and sunset.

During one of our quiet evenings on the orchard after a hard day's work, I got a text from one of my longest-standing friends Philippa asking me where I was. When I replied 'Hawkes Bay, apple-picking', her response was 'me too!'. It was the biggest treat ever to be able to spend two good chunks of time catching up with her. It's the most we've seen of each other in one go in almost 7 years!

Now I've just arrived in Wellington and I'm having my first experience of an antipodean backpackers. It's a world of difference from the SE Asian guesthouses is all I can say at the moment. I need to try out a few more to be able to 'generalise'. It's the NZ international comedy festival and NZ music month at the moment, and Wellington is culture capital of NZ, apparently, so I'm very excited about topping up on culture and arty farty stuff, which I have been missing very much. I should also be catching up with a couple of mates here before hopping on the ferry south to begin my South Island adventure. It'll be good to talk to someone without apples, picking yields, packhouses,... being mentioned once.

Right, dinner time. Pasta, pesto and sausages. I'm back to the old faithfuls.

Unidentified fruit

At the orchard where I was picking apples there was a plant (bush) growing through the fence from the neighbours' property. On this plant was a yellow coloured fruit, about the size of a mango and with a waxy peel. We couldn't for the life of us figure out what it was. Can anyone help us out? We don't think it was ripe when we picked one, because it was very hard. Check out the photos and if anyone can shed any light on the mystery fruit's identity, a team of apple pickers would be very grateful!

A night out in Hawkes Bay

A night out in Havelock North is quite an experience. They have no nightclubs, simply 5 bars/pubs/places to dance combined. So in all 5, the music is at nightclub levels, rendering a quite night drinking and chatting with pals impossible. But there's no real dancefloor either - just tables pushed aside and, if you're dead lucky, a disco light or two. The DJs in all 5 are shit, each playing different kinds of music, but none really knowing even the basics of mixing or good ordering of tunes. One of them is of the most despicable variety: the DJ who loves the sound of his own voice over a mic more than the music he's playing.

There're not actually enough people in 'the village' to fill all 5 pubs/bars/etc and provide any kind of atmosphere (except, I've been assured, when the students are home for the holidays). Those who do come out are mostly either young and green around the ears trying to look old and cool, or crumblies trying to look young and cool. All of them, without exception, are dancing only to make sure everyone is watching them. My pet hate. They're betrayed by the 'subtle' glances around the room to check their well-rehearsed Michael Jackson/Beyoncé routine didn't go unnoticed.

The result is always feeling as though you're at the party that's never quite got going because everyone's somewhere else. I tell you, these people would be in for one hell of a shock if they ever made it to a jumping nightclub in the city.

Which generation?

A rant.

Telecommunications cost a fortune here.
Public transport is thin on the ground. I tried to book a bus to a major tourist destination, only to discover no buses go there on weekends.
Watching TV is excruciating, almost as bad as the USA at peak times with 5 minutes of programme alternated with 5 minutes of adverts.
On Saturdays, many shops close for the afternoon.
CDs and DVDs cost a lot, there is no Fopp equivalent.
Newspapers dedicate very little space to world news. The world news covered includes important stories such as a Cambodian man being kicked to death by a cow he was trying to shag.
The last two points could arguably be addressed by the internet. Except internet access in many places is fairly dismal.

In a few weeks I reckon these could be things I find charming about New Zealand. At the moment I simply find them frustrating and irritating.

Now I've got that off my chest, I can move on to learning to enjoy NZ whilst still missing home and SE Asia.

Pride

As usual when anything comes to an end in my life, nostalgia is kicking in early. Only 2 days of apple picking left and, while I'm looking forward to moving on, I feel a bit sad to leave this orchard and the lovely people I've spent the past 3 weeks with.

The biggest thing for me with this apple picking job is that it is the first time in a long while that I've done something that I'm not particularly good at. I'm not a terrible picker, but I'm very slow and I find it one heck of a challenge. That has been so good for me.

So far...

... New Zealand has not yet made me go 'wow'. And it needs to. Soon. So far, I just feel like I'm at home, but without family, my friends, all the people, places and things I know and love, or a decent alternative.

I know I've not given it enough of a chance yet, and a lot of it may be down to having sort of but not really stopped 'travelling' and not knowing what I AM doing. But right now, I'm wondering why I was so excited about coming here. Still plenty to see though.

Me-time

It's the big problem with this job - it's so focused on individual work as opposed to teamwork, that you end up spending the majority of the 10-hour working day alone. Whilst for some people that's a lovely break, I'm not coping well with so much me-time. In fact, I've spent most of the past 6 months with just me and I'm pretty bored of me now.

Even worse, as a result of my overdose of me and my finding me dull and boring, making new friends to get away from me has become even harder.

Easy money?

For anyone under the impression that fruit picking is a bit of easy money whilst backpacking, I'd like to set the record straight. Temping doing data entry is easy money. Fruit picking is not.

The working day runs roughly 7am - 5.30pm. You can take as many breaks as you want for as long as you want, but as you're paid by the 'bin-full', time really is money. The bins have to be good too: the apples have to be red enough, with minimal bruising or other damage and defects. Considering that even too much finger pressure while picking an apple can bruise it, the picking is not just a case of yanking the things off the trees. Nope, it involves a particular, careful technique, combined with patience with trees that attack you, and a head for heights when up a ladder in gale force winds and, if you're really lucky, driving rain.

The ladder, one of the major bains of the apple picker's life. Once you've got the darn thing into a suitable position - quite an undertaking in itself - you haul yourself and your picking bucket, which holds 15kg of apples when full, up to the top only to discover that a mere two of the 25 pieces of fruit - that looked great from below - are not too small, red enough, out of reach , bruised or sunburnt (yes, apples get sunburn).

I'm keeping myself convinced that I'd rather be working outside than in an office temp job (which on an hourly rate with shorter working days and a shorter working week would probably earn me more). At least I'm developing new transferable skills and the shoulders of a rugby player.

Hm.

Oranges and lemons (group email)

Well, no, actually, apples. The scourge of fruit juice in this country (you buy 'orange and mango with an apple base' and it's actually 69% apple juice). And what's that got to do with me? Well, it's gonna be my first paying job in over 6 months, my first job in New Zealand, and the first thing that is properly stirring me from my comfy hidey hole in Pukekohe back onto the travelling track. Trusty Osprey rucksack is feeling much less neglected now and I'm raring to go.

I will be apple picking near Hastings (Hawkes Bay, North Island) for four weeks, starting Wednesday. I'll be living in a caravan with another harvester girl for the duration, which'll be fun. Other than that, I have no idea what to expect. I'm just loving the idea of being knackered after full days and feeling useful for a while. Plus a positive cashflow for a while as opposed to constant outgoings will do my brain some good.

I've been to what is rated as one of the biggest and best markets on the north island (pathetic, if I'm honest, by European and Asian standards), Auckland Museum, restored 1830s wooden cottages, black sand beaches, and fishing again, amongst other bits and pieces. All is well down here.

Photos: Last week in Auckland

Here's another wee set of titbits for you:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oddballproductions/sets/72157600058417574/

Charlie

I'd like you all to meet the new love of my life: Charlie.

He was rescued as a puppy from a drainpipe in a rainstorm by Frank, plonked in the front passenger seat of the car and adopted. They've raised him to be the fine, friendly specimen of a mongrel (rottweiler and some other things, no one's quite sure) that he is today. Charlie is obedient and good-natured, a bit naughty, and likes most things any good dog would, oh, and sheds hair everywhere.

What stands out is his car obsession. Dearest Barney back home, whose car fetish reduces him either to a barking, straining lunatic when one goes past, or to a shaking, drooling, hyperventilating wreck when travelling in one. Charlie, on the other hand, partly due to his early car-based rescue, means he simply adores being in a car, even when the vehicle's not going anywhere. If he's nowhere to be found around the house, just check the cars. And there's nothing more endearing than driving along with him either sticking his nose out the window in exhilaration or slouched fast asleep with his head in your lap (which is perfectly safe when you're driving an automatic).

I'd take him with me on my travels if they'd let me.

Pace of life

I don't know if your pace of life and overall attitude is reflected in walking speed, but I noticed today that I'm walking slower. And I know that I've relaxed more in so many ways since leaving Scotland. I'll probably always walk faster than average, but friends will be relieved to hear no longer shoot along like my bum is on fire.

NZ so far

So, how IS New Zealand now I’ve been here a while?

In some ways it’s a disappointment. But then I’ve not got my arse in gear to venture far enough (i.e. South Island, from what I hear) to see the bits that aren’t just like home with parochial but friendlier people. And that’s also in comparison to colourful, incredibly challenging SE Asia. Something I’ve still not quite got over.

For the same reasons it’s almost a relief. It’s like home. It’s not challenging. It’s friendly.

What I’m not clear on is which of the two I want, but then who is?

What I do know is that a lot has changed between leaving home and getting here. I’ve been to SE Asia. I’m single. I’ve been unemployed for six months (dual result – lazy as shit and with less cashflow). I’ve become very used to being alone and doing my own thing (but equally long to be with people who I know and who know me). I’m less uptight.

I could continue that list for a long time, but that captures most of it. Right now, I’m not sure where to turn. I’m pretty much in the same position as a month ago when I first left SE Asia. Except I’m concocting my get-out-of-Auckland plan. Oh, and due to a combination of late night phonecalls, books, parties and random chats with childhood friends’ parents, my body clock is so completely buggered up there’s no reasoning with it.

So far: I’ve bashed away at a national drum workshop day (incl. taiko and samba, raaaaaargh), I’ve been fishing and caught huge things like hammerhead sharks, I’ve met up with old friends, I’ve been to the Coromandels and lost myself on deserted beaches, I’ve given talks to primary school kids about my Borneo exploits, I’ve watched a LOT of TV.

I like New Zealand. I really do. I’m meeting some great people and laying excellent foundations for when I do venture out of my cushtie hidie-hole south of Auckland and go see more of it. They are so hospitable, the nurse at the doctor’s surgery has even said she’ll put me up when I’m over her way. Brilliant!
Plan next? Well, I’m applying to ski season jobs (June-Oct), possibly fruit-picking for most of April, then good ol’ L joins me out here for a month of South Island frolics. Can’t wait! After October? Well, that’s a lifetime away