Keeping in Mind

If you're gonna get wet, you might as well jump in

2010-09-29T15:27:00.000-07:00

Arrived evening of Monday, September 20th after spending a day walking the streets of Seoul, Republic of Korea. First mistake: not bribing the customs official at the Viet visa office. Waited for him to process all of the women and non-white male applications before realizing I was well ahead of most of the people getting through. Got on his case and he finally did his job (hitting the print button on a machine from 1987... remember that connected paper that has those perforated edges with all the holes in them? Yea, that old). Third time that day I was hassled about my juvenile, spiky-hair and half-opened-eyes passport picture. He laughed, I pretended to. I readjusted my calipers for the constant gawking and hard-time givings i'm to receive from these people for being a giant, white abomination.

Hopped on the back of Vince's bike and had my first street meal on toddler-sized plastic furniture: Quail eggs and miniature pork sausages wrapped in banana leaves with chili salt. Tiger beers served on the side in mugs with giant bricks of cubed ice... cool.

Considering my limited amount of time in this country, I decided not to wait around until I got comfortable to rent a motorbike and get into the madness this city's traffic. A new black Honda Wave was delivered to my door the second day, $45 for one month. Dreams of a war-era BMW or Royal Enfield are set aside for more practical hardware. I'm a little too tall for it, but these streets require a lot of quick braking and maneuvering, so low-weight and plastic is a plus... for a change.

People make much better use of their horns out here. It's less about "I'm very upset at the fact that you just cut me off," and more about, "HEY, I am approaching up on your side at a higher speed than you, if you move left or right or you will die."

I used to think driving around in a car in NYC was nerve-wracking. Had to reset my standards again for a more globalized model that includes the fluid chaos of overpopulated 3rd-world city traffic. Rush hour is far from gridlocked here, though. I haven't quite figured out how things keep moving, but further inquiry and Bike-mounted video analysis to come soon...

The Crown and Two Chairmen

2010-09-24T19:09:00.000-07:00

Here's a summary of what I put most of my energy into since the last time I posted.

2009-12-05T20:40:00.000-08:00

What have you done

full moon

2009-07-12T12:29:00.000-07:00

Exceloo

2009-07-11T23:58:00.000-07:00

I thought everyone should have an Idea what it is like to use one of New Zealand's many fine auto-toilets...

Mirror Lake Series (1)

2009-07-05T16:27:00.001-07:00

I Feel Free

2009-06-29T23:22:00.000-07:00

I've finally finished the CELTA course. I am officially certified to teach English as a Second Language anywhere in the world. I feel like I've discovered some secret treasure that enables me limitless freedom.

2009-06-29T01:24:00.000-07:00

2009-06-27T19:26:00.000-07:00

almost there

2009-06-21T23:51:00.001-07:00

For those of you who don't know, I have been on a 4-week intensive C.E.L.T.A. course to be Cambridge certified to teach English as a second language. It has been three long weeks of waking up at 6am and going to bed at midnight with only a couple of hours free during the day to consume massive amounts of food. For the time being my blog has become "one-a-day" format because I spend about 11 hours a day at Canterbury University most days of the week. It's been an incredible growing experience and certainly has cultivated one of my passions. I am 4 days away from certification now eagerly awaiting the right of passage to an amazingly fulfilling career. June 26th, 2009 will mark a great new chapter in my life.

I'm almost there.

they are watching you, wave

2009-06-21T14:04:00.000-07:00

a penny further is a cent closer

2009-06-20T00:04:00.000-07:00

when we sleep they dance

2009-06-19T03:54:00.000-07:00

2009-06-18T21:54:00.000-07:00

2009-06-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease. Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling like harp strings, while incense is ever flowing from the balsam bells and leaves.
~John Muir

who are they

2009-06-12T00:04:00.000-07:00

why are you here

2009-06-11T02:24:00.000-07:00

2009-06-10T02:43:00.000-07:00

Night in New Plymouth

2009-06-09T00:45:00.000-07:00

Rotoiti

2009-06-08T00:07:00.000-07:00

Embrace the Dark

2009-06-07T01:27:00.000-07:00

Biking Matakana

2009-06-05T19:41:00.000-07:00

Biking the beach in Matakana. January 2009

The First Home I've Ever Owned

2009-05-31T02:13:00.000-07:00

On March 20th, 2009, Sarah and I purchased Gertrude Buttercup. "Gert," as we came to know her.Born in the year 1988 to the royal Toyota Hiace family, Gertrude was destined for a life of hard work and exploration. At the ripe old age of 21 (92 1/2 in car-years), Gert has a delicate, steady momentum, a strong perseverance... and awful smelling gas. Her eyes are the most beautiful shade of yellow and she keeps a constant crooked smile. Her voice cracks, she's deaf, and never showers. She's perfect.

Retired from working 15+ years in the house-painting business, Gert was ready for the adventure of her lifetime. She came to us well-equipped for cooking and shelter, as most good mothers do for their beloved. With a brand new muffler, two new tires and a new carpet, she was about to engage in the greatest adventure she would ever have. She would finally be set free to see the country she was sent to as an infant.

All of it...

Impermanence, Balance.

2009-05-22T19:51:00.000-07:00

Today I experienced life.
A re-experience of its gratification, its delight.
Life itself.

Removing myself from my normal presets and daily understanding, taking a step back and fully appreciating what is. Not with images and words in my mind of all the things that are nice and wonderful in the world, but mentally in terms of the possibility of existence itself and all of the forms in which it manifests.

The weather may have had something to do with it. Nature was strongly expressive today. Gray, cloudy overcast, high and random gusts of powerful wind.

I looked up at the silhouette of a dead tree against a bright white background. The back lighting provided a white canvas for the organic form that all of a sudden appeared to be only a black armature or possibly a crack in the space. I stood on top of the stump of a cut-down tree. I felt the energy it once had, looking around to see exactly what it might have seen its entire life if it had the gift of human eyesight. I was taken to a place of remarkable peace. A place where thoughts couldn't confuse me and stress couldn't age me. A place where life ripened naturally and all things appeared fine without analysis.

Later on that day I was taken to a beautiful waterfall and desolate beach. The wind and mist, strong and without yield, made a forceful impression against my body. I walked against its relentless, consistent course. It made me feel like only a tiny component in the midst of a beautiful, massive force. It cooled my bones thoroughly very quick. I was soaked within minutes by a vast amount of minuscule droplets flying through the air. I resisted, tightening my cheeks and tensing my muscles, teeth chattering and limbs shivering to keep warm.

I looked up at the sun through the grayish lens of the thin clouds below it. I saw birds letting the strong streams of air carry them effortlessly to the growing tide. They dove in for a chance at catching a good fish. I decided to relax the tension in my muscles and to accept the moisture just the same as if it were normal air. My cheeks lowered, teeth stilled, and limbs relaxed. I felt cold no longer. I closed my eyes and let the constant force pull all of my clothes and hair back. I surrendered myself to the confidence that I knew I would be alright, even if this turned into a hurricane. I walked back without strain through the pellets of water and constant wind.

It wasn't until later while observing a tree that I came to understand what had happened then.

A simple pleasing experience can open the window to an odd but natural mode of appreciation that the mind occasionally enters. It's sort of a temporary re-learning of the mind's associational definition of what is seen with the eye. A lot is understood by the natural feelings that transpire when the removal of the everyday understanding of reality occurs. Different things at different times serve as a catalyst for it, but this time it was a combination of sensory experiences in synchronization with one another.

I was listening to an intensely climaxing Sigur Ros song as huge gusts of thick wind blew through a massive Totara tree. The thick swells of wind pushed accordingly with the vibrating strings in the music. The gusts changed the orientation of the leaves and branches of the trees to make completely different forms out of them. The manifested image of the song in my head evolved and changed as the wind and strings progressed in tension and relief. Eventually the wind would subtly reduce and release its force, easing the trees back to their comfortable state. At the same time the dissonance in the music would escalate to an extremely high point of tension and then subtly reduce, revealing the single solitary note and voice that formed the songs base. This is balance in the chaos of nature.

The tree serves as symbolic for a human being. The wind, external forces or the events affecting her. The tension from these events and forces outside of its control would eventually release their influence, so long as the tree accepted its reality whilst being stretched into a temporary form. The wind exfoliates the ripened leaves and seeds, spreading it's essence and existence while refining the tree itself. External experiences shape our lives and well-being, molding our character the same way. Naturally. The tree simply only has to accept the stress as a reality, ceasing to resist the inevitable, unknown future. A tree may not have the conscious choice to do so, but say that it did. If it chose to resist with counter force, the added tension might crack it's limbs.

This balance is key in many aspects of life. What seems chaotic usually ends up alright, so long as we don't exercise the hubris in artificial opposition. There is an inherent goodness in the impermanence and natural balance found in nearly everything. All matter is in constant flux and exists unerringly so, as long as unnatural resistance doesn't adjourn it. Chaos is a natural state that can balance itself out. Some economic theorists might conceptualize the function of an unregulated free market the same way. I prefer to use nature as an example.

In a given amount of time, Harmony is the net result of the natural state of Chaos, as observed by countless examples: The food chain, seasons, climate, tide, evolution, precipitation cycle, digestive and immune systems. Nature cannot be controlled by one of its progeny. The attempt at doing so can only result in ruination.

[March 14th, 2009]

Buddhist Philosophy + March for Tibet [Early March]

2009-05-17T09:12:00.000-07:00

To DCI

After our travels with Andy Waterman we said our goodbyes and hitchhiked back to Auckland. I found my feet toeing off dirty hiking shoes at the doors of the Dorje Chang Institute, a community residence center and Tibetan Buddhist Monastery of two monks and two nuns. They hold daily classes, Pujas and discussions that are open to everyone (DCI).

There was definitely a peace to the place. I noticed immediately that everyone spoke with a calmness that would seem foreign to any American. Delicate attention was given to everything said and the self-conscious seemed simply absent from their actions. I envisioned a cartoon with a bubble coming out of my head containing the word "Stress?" The next frame, a close up of one of the monks or nuns faces, completely bewildered and confused.

Most of the work I did to earn my accommodation was domestic and at my own scheduling. You might think it cliche for a monks prescription, recalling the infamous Karate Kid's "Wax on...Wax off" scene... I scrubbed floors repeatedly, tidied already clean surfaces, painted in bright colors and tended to the garden, all of which encouraged me to think and reflect for long periods of time in silence. It was "menial" work, as my mother calls it, but I really enjoyed the personal time. It was nearly meditation. The greatest challenge came in trying to clean cobwebs in outside areas without harming life. In practicing the Bodhidharma, even the smallest ant or spider must be peacefully relocated, spared with compassion. Buddhists believe that sentient beings are reincarnated to build more positive karma towards their own enlightenment. Life, in any form, is sacred and should be respected. Keeping in mind that a worm could have been a relative in a past life, Buddhists practice "everything is our mother" in an effort towards Bodhichitta, on the path to enlightenment.

New Years/50th Anniversary of Chinese Occupation

Our arrival at DCI was a week or two prior to the Tibetan New Years celebration. This particular year, New Years was not celebrated.

In observation of the fallen Tibetans that have resisted Chinese force, Tibetans around the world were asked by His Holiness the 14 Dalai Lama to observe the otherwise passionately celebrated holiday in silence and peaceful protest. Chinese authorities forced Tibetans still in Tibet to celebrate so as not to cause a disruption.

There's an article about it here:
http://www.boingboing.net/2009/02/25/tibetan-new-year-pro.html

I was first introduced to the issue when I saw the film Seven Years in Tibe t a few years ago. Brad Pitt acts out the real life story of Heinrich Harrer, an Austrian mountain climber that stumbles upon Lhasa and befriends the child Dalai Lama during the beginning of the Chinese takeover. When I found out that the story was true, I did a little research into the issue and began to feel sorry for Tibetans, questioning the legitimacy of Chinese imperial intentions. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the issue had slipped from my mind. Matters of import such as this are often forgotten about when headlines in the American Media focus on real issues like: "Russel Crowe throws telephone," "Robert Redford buys Red Ford..." "Brittany Spears Arrested," "Hugo Chavez Loves Crackers."

In 2007, I traveled to China with a political science group from my University conscious of the conflict, but hopeless as an actor as we toured three and a half million square miles in four weeks. The issue was then permanently placed in my conscious, but put on a backburner until just recently. When March 10th came around pretty quickly, I found myself finally more involved.

It was a beautiful, clear and sunny day with the wind picking up off the piers of Auckland. There was just enough gust for a good game of Ultimate Frisbee but not quite enough to fly in a glider. I let it push me towards the square downtown where a sea of Tibetan flags flapped through its breeze. Fifty headbands were being handed out, one for each year since the oppression began. I found myself ironically wrapping my birth-year around my head, ruminating on the fact that every year since has been no different for Tibetan freedom.

Monks prayed peacefully, dedicating their actions for the benefit of all sentient beings. Among them were my new found friends and teachers: Venerable Gyalten Wangmo, Rinchin Dhondup, Geshe Wangchen and Venerable Lobsang Konchog (Pictured above with me). We marched the streets together, bound by a white cloth banner in simple black paint that read, "Tibet: 50 years under Chinese Oppression." Nobody shouted or yelled negatively. This was a different kind of protest. People walked by seemingly baffled by the lack of aggression, likely expecting thrusting fists and angry shouting. It's possible that we made a more profound statement in our approach.

After the march, we gathered at a memorial erected for those who have fallen. A rainbow rose behind an array of Tibetan national flags as the monks and participants observed silence for those killed as a result of this event, Tibetan and Chinese alike. News and an update from the Dalai Lama himself was read aloud.

An Introduction to Buddhist Philosophy

Buddhist ideas I strongly agree with or respond to:

The Buddha is not some type of super-man or extraterrestrial alien that just appeared on this earth endowed with super-human qualities. -Chokyi Dragpa

In Buddhist thought, we all possess the same potential the Buddha did before he reached enlightenment. Faith only need be applied in the self and the mind, not in the supernatural. In developing ourselves and practicing compassion and wisdom, we can create a better life and world. Buddhism conflicts with Christianity here. The Christian tradition advocates service to others, especially for the oppressed, as Jesus Christ did in his time. This is usually manifested in group actions or other collective Christian missions/endeavors. Without regard to preliminary work on the self you are expected as a Christian to be of service to the less fortunate without question. In Buddhism, the work must first come from within. You aren't fully capable of really helping others until you've at least begun to understand yourself. In fact by doing so, and if everyone did so, the collective is enriched and healed from the bottom up. Your acts of compassion then have more meaningful potential and application. You answer the "why" before you ask it. In Buddhist thought, we can alleviate suffering by individually becoming free of the things that create it: Attachment, anger, jealousy, etc.

What I enjoyed most about the Buddhist teachers I encountered was their sense of ease and peace. In a recording of a discussion, Venerable Rene Feusi lectured to a gathering of pupils and said, "Life is FUNNY! We act too serious!" He points out that we are goofy "animals playing awkward roles," especially in the west (he is western). He taught, "Awkward situations are funny, not awkward! Laugh at them, stop being so conscious of your social self." He's hinting at the understanding of emptiness, the potential we all possess to acquire a mind clear of dissatisfaction.

We all have the ability to live more purely and promote satisfaction universally. Unfortunately, we succumb to habits and desires that blur our sense of natural, potential purity. But it's never too late to realize that the mind is fundamentally pure with some deep work and self-realization, the purpose of meditation. One of the best analogies I heard regarding the potential to acquire a clear mind was later stated by Feusi when he said, "Clouds in the sky don't affect the naturally pure state of the sky." The sky is always purely there. The nature of space itself is awareness. The enlightenment qualities are always there within us and we always have the potential to develop and exercise them.

This one's for Brad [Mid March- Auckland Zoo]

2009-05-06T19:29:00.000-07:00

Dorje Chang Institute [From early March]

2009-04-20T17:32:00.000-07:00

Meet Rinchen Dhondup

Rinchin was born during the 50's at the beginning of the Chinese occupation of Tibet. Since the age of twelve he hasn’t seen a single member of his family. In the early 60's, Rinchin's parents used their savings to risk smuggling him out of the country. They were offering him an escape from oppression. Refuge from the extermination of their culture and religious tradition.

Rinchin escaped successfully, leading him to an education in India and eventually his current occupation in New Zealand as the resident translator at the Dorje Chang Buddhist Institute.

Rinchin can't go home.

The Chinese occupation of Tibet is one of the greatest civil rights violations since the Holocost. Tibetans are being denied of their rights to freedom of speech, assembly, movement, expression, and travel that the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states are entitled inherently to all human beings. And for what? So China can increase its economy and global autonomy?

If you care about matters of human rights, specifically about the independence and preservation of Tibetan culture please visit: http://www.friendsoftibet.org/ or read a bit about it elsewhere.

Chicago specifically:
http://www.tibetan-alliance.org/index.html

More soon...

Flightless of the Blue Bumblebee Rondo a La Turk

2009-04-16T10:04:00.000-07:00

On the Road with Andy [From late February]

2009-04-14T11:31:00.000-07:00

Road tripping with Andy Waterman and co.

Andy’s niece flew in from England and before we knew it, Sarah and I were invited along for their road tour of the Northland region. Melanie, 30-years old, was very serious in declaring her preference of Marmite over Vegemite. I suppose this stuff is popular in Europe and elsewhere, but I had never heard of it before Fiji:

Starving after a long flight on the way out here I turned to airport cafeteria food with high hopes. It was some form of morning, I think. Or at least it felt like it. I was just getting over a bad head cold and really wanted some eggs and toast, maybe some tea. I ordered the special "brekky" option from a bar roofed with a fluorescent awning serving everything from Chinese take-away and pudding to kebabs and fruit smoothies. That was my first mistake. The second? ...ordering a side of "bacon" with my dish. Slimy, discolored, marbled slices of elderly-body-odor flesh came out resting next to my eggs and wonderfluff "toast." The ham made me sick, so I thought I would reward myself with a sure failsafe: Peanut-butter on toast.

I looked around the basket of jellies and tomato sauce for a small packet of peanut butter to spread on my toasty wondersponge. None. But I came across something unique: "Vegimite." Naturally I wondered, "What is this?" and proceeded to open and smell it. It's always on the agenda to try new things whilst traveling, so I thought it'd be a good start. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of loading it onto the piece of wondertoast the way I normally like my peanut butter.

It was like a mouth-full of grandmas old socks soaked in soy sauce...

Thankfully the food has been better and better since then...
Along Andy's road tour I was well equipped with a jar of PB for rampant consumption. Thank God. Breakfast, lunch and dinner often involved peanut butter spread on something- bananas, apples, bread, sausages, my face. Eating with our little surrogate family was a just like home.

Father Andy hated noodles, doesn’t eat fish and dislikes sausages or wurst of any form, but he usually gobbled up any of it if you presented it to him. Eating was not the highlight, though, I think i'm just hungry right now...

What we got to see (for free and without hitch-hiking I might add) was amazing. He took us to beach after beach, each one more infinite, colorful and impeccably desolate than the last. Major landmarks, loads of environmental biology and odd encounters with strange people and places were a daily experience. A handful of waterfalls, small towns with “Wild West” carnivals, and tons of sarcastic moments and witty banter also flavored the trip nicely...

[I'm up there]

Sarah and I slept in the tent we acquired for free from an English couple we met near the beginning of our trip.
Thanks, English couple from the Bunkdown Lodge.
A rainy night or two left us sleeping among puddles, but we were usually tired enough at the end of the day to care less.

[Beached Jelly Fish]

A few brief off-shoots from the mini-vacation (They call vacation time "Holiday" outside of the States):

Puzzle World
While visiting Andy’s old friend/ex-wife, Barbara, we went to a little place called puzzle world in the middle of nowhere. The owner, who's name escapes me, greeted us with gigantic hands full of traditional puzzles and mind-toys. ...You know, those little metal puzzles where you have to pull apart the shapes... It looked like he had just placed a handful of little steel bars in his hand and mashed it up into individual forms. He might have been a wizard, but was an oaf for sure. The good kind, of course.

While looking around the shop, he invited a few volunteers to do a trick on. I sat in a chair, while four people attempted to lift me using only their index fingers…two people poking me in the armpits, two others in my leg-pits. ...No luck. They proceded to put their hands on top of my head and counted down from 20. I felt the weight on my spine and my lungs filled more fully with air. They tried again and lifted me a few feet off the chair, effortlessly.

Magic.

We also attempted the backyard hedge labirynth. It was a maze/puzzle combination where the objective was to find all 15 letters that would make a three 5-letter word solution. The answer ended up being “Dying Brain Cells” which was one letter off from what I thought would have been a better riddle: “Leave Candy Lines.”

Ancient Kauri Forest
In our travels with Andy, we visited an ancient Kauri forest where Tane Mahuta, "God of the Forest" lived. This Tane (man) is also the worlds largest known Kauri Tree, at least 2000 years old. That puts him reaching up for sun on the same earth, at the same time, that Jesus walked it. The life-force and presence of Tane Mahuta was so massive and vibrant you could feel it in your bones, similar to the bass spectrum in your chest at a good concert. The eerie, rainy day only added to the ambiance of the super-massive tree, girth measuring in at at least 45 feet. Can you imagine that?

[That's us down there]

More on: Tane Mahuta.

We paid for a one-day bus tour up to the most northern point of New Zealand, Cape Reinga. Here, the lighthouse marks a point where the Tasman sea meets the Pacific Ocean. It was a pretty misty day, so we couldn’t see much, but the weather offered us a more peaceful, tourist-less experience of a highly popular area. The lack of sunshine and consistent gray misting sky made for a peaceful, contemplative experience looking out at the point. One solitary Manuka tea-tree stood erect in an epic thrust sky-bound, determined to fight the crashing tides and rocks below for just a bit of sweet sunshine and eroding soil.

On the way we up “dune boarded.” It was reassuring seeing a few 60/70-year-olds flying down the side of a sand dune headfirst, yelping and sometimes wiping out, but always finishing with a big smile on their face.

This was all only a taste of the freedom we were about to earn...

Chasing Chooks

2009-04-03T16:38:00.000-07:00

This one's for you Brandon and JJ (+Johnny and Aimee), and everyone else...

Turn your speakers up!

A Starry Night [From 2-18-09]

2009-03-19T20:37:00.000-07:00

The next morning we woke up early to go fishing with Andy.

He took us to the nearby harbor, and we caught some little red snapper for supper. I let two of them go (That must be where the saying “off the hook” came from), but Andy caught one substantial enough for Sarah and I to eat that night... Andy doesn’t like fish.

In between fishing and eating fish, I test drove a manual compact car for the first time on the left side of the road, steering wheel on the right side of the vehicle, gear-shift on my left. Weird. Really weird. It was an old Mitsubishi Galant with nearly 400 thousand Kilometers on it. That’s about 250,000 miles. We got back up the hill to Andy’s after I learned how to do an uphill start, but decided against buying the car even though it was the equivalent of about $400 USD. We had our eye on another prize…

But more on that later…

What was really special about this day was the evening.

Remember that little Dr. Suess house at the top of the world?

Sarah and I went up there for the night to play some cards and have some freshly picked chamomile tea with cinnamon. Sitting comfortably with knit blankets on an old couch I put my headlamp on (thanks Amy Paris) and read my book. We drank the tea with high expectations, but it turned out not being so great... it was surprisingly weak for fresh flowers. After reading for a while and writing for longer I felt slightly restless inside the humid room, so I stepped outside with my headphones to just cool off. I laid down on my back flat on the small section of bare deck just outside the only door, put on some tunes and looked straight up at the glorious infinite sky. It seemed to be much closer to my face than ever before. “With Rainy Eyes” came on my headphones, a tune by The Emancipator--an artist just recently put into my constant rotation (Thanks Vince Haddad). Chills ran up and down my spine, goose bumps spotted my arms and legs. These aren’t the kind you get from a sudden gust of wind, though I felt the cool breeze against my entire body coming from all directions, shifting from one side to another in constant chaos. Nature was strong that night and she was demonstrating for me.

The coast was just behind me, rolling hills in front of me, and what seemed like a perfect 180 degrees of Milky Way hovered directly above me. I could see it all as the cones and rods in my eyes adjusted, tuning to the key of brilliance. I breathed a chest full of fresh air, feeling every inch of my lungs absorbing the crisp oxygen coming off the ocean and filtering through the bush. A natural high made my senses extra keen. The only lights present were the few tea-light candles flickering from within the tiny cabin. I could see the stars and sky more perfectly than ever before, save one previous occasion in the middle of Dunhuang, China. Orion’s belt was straight above and the Southern Cross just down the way, though you could hardly focus on any constellation for long as so many of the stars all around were so bright the entire sky seemed like a surreal scene from The Fountain or maybe Astronomy picture of the day. I saw four shooting stars within the small period of time I was out there alone… the perfect number for the perfect night. I made the same wish on all of them.

The song became forever burned into my memory along with the image and the associating feelings that had me repeating in my head, "I am actually out here, experiencing this right now. Because I chose to do so. This is what I want right now and I have it.”

I own my life.

At the same time, I recognize and appreciate what a privilege this has been for me. In light of this, I won’t take one moment for granted and I will put as much effort back into my experiences and wisdom as this trip has afforded me.

“Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.”

-Eskimo Proverb

As you must understand, the naked eye sees far more than my camera could record. But I've attempted to recreate the experience anyways. Turn your speakers up:

Forestry with Paul [From 2-16-09]

2009-03-15T02:51:00.001-07:00

We spent a day with Paul (Andy’s neighbor) and his dog, Jay, doing some forestry in one of Northland’s many indigenous bushes.

It was quite an adventure and definitely a learning experience. Sacada's whizzed by like bullets fired from behind as we hopped streams, traversed swampy cow pasture (often running face to face with the bush dwellers!), climbed steep inclines and scaled the declines of the bush. For a moment I let the juvenile in me imagine it as an escape from a prison camp in the Vietnam jungle. Sometimes only complete invested faith in my grasping of a tiny, flimsy, dying branch was the only hope of not tumbling down some of the steep ridges, but some might say my imagination is just being dramatic. In any case, thank you hiking shoes for helping me fight the battle against the forces of gravity. In reality, we must have looked like neurotic apes that just learned how to use a tape measure, leaping through the forest frequently stopping in our tracks to take measurements Totara and Puriri trees (native species).

Sacada's come every year here, and in some parts of the bush their party is so dense and roughty that after passing them it feels similar to having been to a metal concert. Ears ringing, lungs panting, and pupils widening, we moved on to take a sample plot of the forest's species composition. We hammered a post deep into the ground, set a circumference parameter of 8 meters and measured trees within the circle for their distance from plot center, height, circumference, apropriate angles and compass notch, numbering them with a can of orange spray-paint. Trigonometry, geometry and algebra + trees= neat. Years from now, another forester could come and re-measure the same plot, comparing our archived measurements for growth-rates and diversity changes.

[Now you know what those neon numbers are]

In between working and working out, Paul and I got to chatting quite a bit. Paul offered insight to his perspective on the current political-ecological climate in NZ. He comes from a very conservative but radical opinion that holds position against Greenpeace and other large "green" organizations, believe it or not. He maintains that large all-encompassing organizations like Greenpeace are relatively il-informed in their approach and goal towards sustainability. Organizations like Greenpeace have good intentions but are ultimately failing in catering to the specific needs in unique environments. They preach against logging of indigenous forests in efforts to preserve native species and re-growth of unique forest life for the land, but this fails to attend to vital details. Paul's general position maintains that it would be more beneficial and fruitful to have the forest regenerate and for it to be logged in proper intervals, allowing it to regrow more densely and consistently. This provides a more sustainable model, enabling the bush to thrive with many layers of age, naturally self-sustaining on its own fallen vegetation. A "no-logging-at-all" policy ultimately fails as a model because it allows non-native species that are already prevalent in otherwise indigenous forests to dominate in cases where the native species are a step behind due to consumer demand. ...You'll just have to pick apart that sentence.

...If consumers are purchasing more timber from pine trees that aren’t native to New Zealand (because they grow extremely fast and straight in large quantities), of course those trying to survive and thrive financially follow suit, plowing down huge sections of native bush and planting huge plots of non-native pine trees. It’s simple, quick and profitable. What they don’t know is that with a bit of education and effort, they could be making easily as much or more money off indigenous timbers if their environment is properly cared for, and can likewise take part in preserving forests and lanscapes that are unique to the country.

Needless to say, it was quite a learning experience and definitely good insight into another skill-set, career and lifestyle.

After an entire days-worth of making the forest our personal jungle-gym, Paul and Katarina treated us to an excellent dinner back at their place. Kebabs, sausages, colourful salad, rice, beans, olives and feta, wine, beer and a variety show medley of local potatoes. Among the spuds was the the widely popular Kumera. In New Zealand they use it just about anything and like to pretend its something really special, but in reality it's just a funny looking sweet potato. Desert was more wine and beer, dark chocolate, "Hokey Pokey" ice-cream (butterscotch) and hot drinks. We went to bed back with the spiders in one of Andy's 60's caravans, stomachs full. A good day and night for sure. But I have never had an evening experience like did the next night...

Meet Andy Waterman [From 2-11-09]

2009-03-10T21:10:00.000-07:00

The last week or so we've spent at an abode that rests on the side of "Piddling Mountain." This is a polite translation from it's traditional Maori name, which I'll leave for your imagination to figure out. Andy Waterman was our host, a fifty-something year-old sarcastic and extremely proud Brit. With no reservations, Andy's witty remarks and vulgarities replaced normal small-talk, always accompanied by a subtle smile stretched across his carcinogen-creased face. He hand-rolled his tobacco cigarettes nearly every 6 minutes, resting them very loosely in the corner of his mouth. The gravity-defying cigarettes left just enough room for a cheap can of beer, 4% Abv. only. And he always, always wore a camouflage hat. Him and I got along quite well...We had frequent chats and the occasional debate on topics ranging from over-population and environmental biology to Polynesian gardening rituals and war ethics, always over-toned with traces of cynicism and non-politically-correct humor. He loved to criticize Americans for messing up the land "given to us by The Empire," and constantly joked about our "improper" customs and use of the English language donated to us by the British Empire. I won't soon forget something he said during a conversation about the American Revolution in regards to our defeating the Red Coats...

Bitterly he complained,

"The English march around properly, in lines... in uniform. Gentlemen with straight collars and proper muskets, awaiting orders. Now how the hell do you shoot something jumping around in the woods, hiding behind trees wearing GREEN!? You see... the English only lost because of their chivalry...honor."

Splitting his time between the UK and his simplistic escape on Piddling Mountain, Andy has managed to escape every form of Winter for 10 years. When Winter comes in England, he rents out his space to fund his life in Kaeo, NZ, where Summer begins. Once the rain comes in Kaeo, he flies back to England and begins gardening work. His all-volunteer-built home includes a garden shower, compost toilet, pond, pine forest with stream and paths in the back and an Adobe built at the top of his mountain property. Exotic trees, grasses and plants spot the area, with a large pond accompanying the all-volunteer-built octagonal cabin... boat and paddle included. We joked frequently about how he's managed to acquire a nearly self-sustainable retirement community all for himself, built completely by volunteers...

Andy left for a 6 day trip in Auckland while we watched over his property. We lived in one of two outside 60's-era caravans he owned. Our simple task was to feed the "chooks" (Half-beak, Light-twin, Dark-twin, Granny and Two) and cat (Goggles), water plants and trees on dry days, gather eggs and pick veggies from the organic garden (A.k.a.--Great salads every day.) Rainy days were spent quietly in the outdoor-but-roofed kitchen/common area reading, painting, writing, cooking and playing cards. Perfect time to recover the mind and reflect on the swiftly-accelerating experiences thus far.

We also got to know the neighbors across the way quite well. Paul and Katarina were there names. Katarina had us over for dinner frequently, probably feeling sympathetic for our living situation... I should have mentioned that Andy has no electricity, refrigerator, oven, or much else beyond the technology of the 18th century.

Paul and Katarina have a tiny one-room cabin overlooking all of the town atop the tallest nearby point, the equivalent of a block away from Andy's in the direction of UP. It looked a lot like something out of a Dr. Suess book, sans the deformed cats and discolored breakfast foods...

Waterfall #4

2009-03-09T02:15:00.000-07:00

After the second adrenaline rush here (rock-hopping) I debated back and forth before deciding I was too exhausted and bloodied to check "waterfall jumping" off of my list. So we headed back for The Welcome Swallow. After getting chased and bullied by cows and bulls twice momentarily running for our lives each time, we realized we were lost. Two hours of roaming (cerebral-gps battery died) brought us right back to the waterfall. I figured it was a sign or subtle second chance at a rare opportunity. That's when I decided to have my third adrenaline rush in NZ.

I gathered what little energy I had left, looked down at my shin, looked a bit further to the bottom of the waterfall, took my clothes off and went for it. No description or image necessary, you can imagine the gratification...

Real Men Rock Machete's with Lavendar Shirts and Bandanas [From Feb. 8th, 2009]

2009-03-05T02:32:00.000-08:00

[Aphro Warrior/Gimme a break, I haven't seen a shower in days]

We managed to hitch-hike our way further north into a small town called Kaeo, placing us only a bus ride's distance from Cape Reinga, the northern most point of NZ. From The Welcome Swallow (the backpackers we stayed in) we hiked in search of a hidden treasure not known to many in the vicinity: A local waterfall, concealed by native bush.

The journey there was a test of our skills in many unpracticed arts: Cow-Evasion (they are aggressive here!), Electrical-Fence-Hopping, Cerebral-GPS Navigation (aka following the river), and the best part--Machete-Slashing paths through jungles of gorse and bush.

This was one of my fantasies as a child (and I'm sure this is the case with many little boys). I was slashing through wild hanging branches and bush with a massive blade to reveal a path, on a mission. I had a girl following behind me too... but it's not like that.

The final hurl of the giant blade lent to me by the owners of the Welcome Swallow revealed delicate rapids and small rushes of water at the fore. It was as if I was looking at a nature program through a lens contoured with leaf shapes and branches hanging on either side, accept this was real life. These were my eyes. The sounds were real, and I was completely surrounded by it all. My brain narrated in place of David Attenborough and my face was numbed with a semi-permanent smile.

[Gorse-Battle]

The stream was spotted and broken up by small boulders and large moon-rocks (they looked like moon-rocks, at least) that would soon become a life-size game of connect the dots. Rather than a pencil, I used my feet to draw complex lines that created patterns and shapes that would soon reveal the path to the waterfall. We inched closer and closer to the top of it. I could sense it coming closer and closer, each step eventually revealing bits more of the fall's horizon and the depth of its plunge. You can imagine the anticipation.

Once approached in full, we had a good look down, marveling at the sounds and sights before us. The isolation was incredible. I relaxed on the few rocks that were tall enough to keep me dry and reflected on our little journey to the waterfall for a moment, rejoicing our survival. It wasn't too long before we climbed down the side of it for a swim in the natural pool, enjoying the sun and privacy of a completely-secluded, unaffected marvel.

I waded around soaking in the cool natural water knowing there was a wild eel enjoying the same. I swam underneath the waterfall to feel its force. I felt the weight of the water impacting my head, depressing and soaking every one of my hairs to full saturation. I looked up for a moment, but the force was too hard for my eyes. I looked back down and started to float away, allowing the fall to push me back outward into its pool.

It was still early/midday and the sky was clear, the sun working to make the atmosphere a perfect 80 degrees or so. Fatigued from the swim and its preceding journey, I perched on a large rock that was still hot from the sun's rays. This rock, well-smoothed from the constant water, was eroded to perfectly contour my body. Here I stayed for hours reading, contemplating, napping and practicing yoga, fully calmed. As cliche as it may seem, it was a completely surreal realization of nature and its role in harmonizing the body and mind. As I read through Richard Woods' book, I came across a passage incredibly suitable for the circumstances. He wrote, "It is now a mainstay even of scientific medicine that true healing arises primarily from 'within.' Medical arts remove obstacles and create optimal conditions for recuperation. In themselves, they do not heal. Nature heals."

Perfect.

I looked around, re-appreciated the subtle, almost still pools of water that were slowly being funneled into a gradual stream that would eventually gain the speed to become a rapid. I set a leaf in the small pool to my right, watching it slowly spin and accelerate towards the choke point where the pool spilled out. Eventually it would take off, navigating its way through the moguls of moss-covered earth-stones and boulders ahead. I remembered something from the one time we have seen a t.v. this entire trip...

Back in Hellensville, during dinner with the people we were sharing the accommodation with, we watched a special program that documented the "Free Runners" of New Zealand- a group of younger athletic/acrobatic types that run the streets of the slums, hopping across roofs and maneuvering their way around various urban obstacles, barriers and otherwise common architectural scenarios. They don't stop to assess the terrain much, they simply keep a forward momentum. There was an interview of one of the more conscientious in the group. He described the mental preparation they have to execute prior to engaging the environment. He talked of it as a meditation to keep the rational mind from getting in the way of the actions that were ahead. Because these actions were otherwise naturally contradictory to human instinct, the reasonable mind would cause some hesitation to the body before letting it leap across high roofs and climb walls 4 stories high with nothing to grab onto. This mental prep was the key to keep them from dying. He spoke of it in terms of unifying the mind with the body while simultaneously removing the doubt and hesitation that reason produces... This was a turn of mindset for someone who just finished a degree in Analytical Philosophy.

Disregarding the last 4 years of my education, I attempted to put this mindset to practice, accelerating my way through the rocks of the river, downstream. I hopped, skipped, jumped, and leaped with only forward momentum. I found this foreword thrust to be key in situations where there were only tiny, intermediary rocks with tips only exposed enough to serve as a quick transition between two larger landing points. I had to shift my weight quickly, only delicately pushing off some of these tiny rocks before they moved as a result of my force. I would kick off sometimes 3 or 4 in a row with just enough momentum to reach the landing rock. Jackie Chan, I mean... Bruce Lee style. A worthy exercise, I made it all the way to the bend where the rocks end without a scratch or even the slightest slip. The total course was about 20 minutes of non-stop hopping while quickly sketching the path in front of me and keeping my mind calm. My mind must have been equating distances, risk-fators, moisture levels of each rock, my energy levels, inseam, ankle reflex etcetc. and translated it all into immediate non-thought-action. Shortly after my success, this caused exhaustion to set in. Not to mention I started to get a little cocky.

On the way back, I let my mind interrupt. I thought "well, what would happen if I DO fall? I could seriously hurt myself! What if I do permanent damage?!" The moment that thought entered my mind-- the same very second my mind conceived it-- I knew I was screwed.

I couldn't slow down. My muscles hesitated and I finally collapsed in the middle of a jump between one small rock and a mossy boulder. I landed only half-way in-between.

My shins and knees met the sharp rocks under the water as if they were uninvited guests disrupting a japanese cutlery party. I didn't do any permanent damage, but I swelled and gnarled up my right leg.

A realization that there is mental and physical work to be done here.

I've realized that the last few years of my life I have spent growing so much rationally and intellectually that I have seemed to leave a sense of balance behind. I worked the yin up so high that I left the yang almost too far for sight. It had become fundamentally difficult for me to remove reason from even the most mundane daily exercises.

A new goal was born that day.

Ultimately, I have realized I can do anything. But new grounds require new preparations and hard work. But even preceding that... it begins here, with Will.

[cheeseball]

[The quotation in this update is from a book I did research for as an Undergraduate. The author, my mentor, Richard Woods has a blog here: http://richardwoodsop.net/ and the book is titled Wellness: Life, Health and Spirituality.]

Chapter 3: Piahia and Russell

2009-03-02T19:28:00.001-08:00

Paul and Toni Harris dropped us off in town the morning of my birthday and we walked to the end of the page, pressing it firmly back to start the new chapter. Spending most of the day hitch-hiking, we ended up in a small, coffee-book-picturesque, coastal (tourist) community called Piahia. Waitangi day was approaching fast, so we had a difficult time finding accommodation for the night. Thankfully we found solace in the last remaining room at The Pickled Parrot (See: "The Island of the Long White Cloud [from 1/5/09]," a few posts down). Funny how those things have seemed to just work out. Waitangi Day comes once every year on February 6th to celebrate the signing of the founding document of New Zealand. The Waitangi Treaty established New Zealand as a British colony in 1840, also (supposedly) guaranteeing the Maori people (Indigenous New Zealanders) the rights to their land and all of the civil liberties maintained by the British. Waitangi day is similar to American Independence day, though I suppose the document signifies the exact opposite effect in terms of the state's relationship to Great Britain. Much like The United States Constitution, there has been a lot of debate over The Treaty of Waitangi and its constituent elements. Rather than attempting to summarize it here, if you are interested you can read more about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waitangi_Day

Piahia (pronounced "Pie-Heya") is essentially composed of hotels, backpackers, a central grocery store and a long, multi-beach coast. We happened to be out on the beach as groups of Maori were rehearsing for the celebration, making laps around the coast. Groups of 10 or 20 paddled away in traditional war-canoes (called "Wakas"), chanting in their traditional tongue. The largest war canoe in the world is a Waka called "Ngatokimatawhaorua" (good luck pronouncing that one properly), and it resides in Waitangi about 5 minutes from Piahia.

We rented a couple of kayaks from a shed on the beach for 10NZD (for 2-hours, about $5) and paddled our way out away from the beach madness. We must have looked like fleeing white people, but many might have just thought we were playing a role in part of the Maori's Waitangi celebration rehearsal.

We launched away after a 5-minute instruction in rudder-steering and proper paddle technique. In all directions there were tiny little islands, sometimes smaller in size than an American Wal-mart. We made our way to a drowning rock that was more like the size of a Starbucks. It included a tiny 20-foot wide beach salted by rocks about 40-feet high and peppered with piles of seashells. We pulled our kayaks up, had our inevitable 10-20 minutes of beach-combing and shell collecting, and spent the rest of the two hours laying out in the sun on our tiny little isolated paradise. Nobody, save for the one crab skeleton, could see us... Not only because we accidentally camouflaged ourselves with sand, but because that's just the way it was. A busy beach in New Zealand is about 10 miles long of the most perfect beach you could think of with approximately 4 to 6 people on it.

Not kidding.

We ended up going over our allotted time, but the Canadian fellow that was running the shed didn't charge us extra. He likely was entertained by my less-than graceful entry and exit to and from the kayak, capsizing only a total of three times...

After our one-night with my friend The Pickled Parrot (thankfully he ended up being as much of a sloth as I at night), we avoided most of the Waitangi celebration (not entirely intentionally), by taking the ferry across the peninsula to another small coastal community called Russell. We stayed at the backpackers there for one night, as Piahia was completely booked. It was there we arranged our next route north...

Some views from Russell:
[You'll just have to imagine these photographs larger until I get back]

[Also, the current image at the top of this blog was taken in Russell, Northland]

[The chronology of this blog is all out of whack now, so I apologize for any confusion. This post brings us up to the moment I was writing the update on February 12, titled "The Island of the Long White Cloud [from 1/5/09]." I am going to attempt to finish catching up to present in the next 4 days. Then updates will occur in real-time. Thanks for your patience!]

Later, Harris Family [Feb. 4th, 2009]

2009-03-01T21:37:00.001-08:00

Goodbye, Harris family. Thank you.

Listen.

2009-02-27T01:09:00.000-08:00

"When you tug at a single thing in nature, you find it attached to the rest of the world"
-John Muir

The Tree at the Top of the World [Written Feb 6th, 2009]

2009-02-25T02:35:00.000-08:00

The first major "overcoming-fear-and-affirming-self-confidence" experience I had in New Zealand was a feat to climb. More literally: a climb with my feet.

Up a tree.
A very tall tree.

This particular tree reached for the sky at the top of Paul's property, the highest point of all the surrounding hills.

Let me begin with a little background story...
One or two of you might remember a time when I was

conquered by a certain tree. This tree was a solitary-standing thorn-tree that planted its roots right in front of the River Forest Library, right next to Roosevelt Middle School (my junior-high). We were playing football, per our usual after-school routine, all of us 15 year-olds delaying the inevitable going home to the parents. I was on the defending team, chasing down my friend who was about to receive a pass. As a proper d-back following protocol, I kept my eyes on the ball, feeling out in front of me for the receiver in order to follow him (just kidding, I knew nothing about football at this point). Well, without making it seem unnecessarily heroic, I basically chased down the thorn-tree instead of the receiver. I'm pretty sure I knocked down the ball, but it cost me 9 stitches in the forehead.

The tree won, needless to say.

But it wouldn't be long before I would have my revenge.

The day before leaving the Harris family, I had the sudden urge to climb as high as possible, bound by no safety equipment. Aka-free climb tallest nearby tree. I packed my camera up, threw the bag on my back and started up...

I went up...and UP. I never looked down.

[Except for this picture, past the first part of the tree]

[The upper part of the three-limbed tree. Not three separate trees!]

[I'm in there]

I reached for the last few twigs at the canopy of pine-needles above my head. It was extremely dense with young branch networks, all fighting there way to the top for the glorious sun...

I didn't come this far not to see what it was like above the tree...

[Not sure what possessed me to throw out the heavy-metal sign at that particular moment, but this one's for you, Johnny]

I burst through the pine needles, wiped the webs and bark-dust from my eyes and experienced the first rush of spine-tingling chills I've had since first discovering the band The Mercury Program. The chills resonated throughout my limbs, tickling my cerebral cortex and rapidly focusing my pupils in and out. It lasted for quite an extended period of time. I took in the biggest breath I could, and absorbed as much of the 360 degrees of landscape as I could. I was holding on to a tiny stick with all my strength as the wind blew the tree back and forth, knocking me around. Eventually, I found myself numbed, completely in awe. I released some of the tension in my shoulder and arm muscles, feeling suddenly confident that I wouldn't fall. I lightened my weight and balanced myself using just the palms of my feet. All of a sudden, my body started shifting naturally with the tree, as opposed to a foreign object latched on. The tree accepted me, and I invested my trust in it. This agreement allowed me to perch up there for a full 40-minutes, observing all that was below. I saw miles and miles of rolling hills, dense with the tea-tree, clearings for pasture and regenerating bush. I saw the coast to the north and the east, the pine forest to the west and the native bush to the south. I looked as far as I could in every direction, appreciating every depth of field between my feet and the furthest tree I could make out.

[There's Sarah, somewhere down there at the top of the hill]

Eventually, my eyes began to focus on the networks of spider-webs that have likely never been seen or affected by human presence before. These nets of silky fresh webs were constructed much like that of the volleyball variety, posted inbetween two of the highest little branches at the top of this section of the tree. It caught and launched balls of air much like a sling shot, if you could imagine it going back and forth. This was prime real estate for the little eight-legged mutants at the top of the world.

As I suspect will be the case for many of my experiences here, no picture could ever depict the visual stimulation I had in the tree.

It wasn't until I heard the call for my final dinner here I started my rapid descent...

Paul and Antonia (and Ruby) Harris [written Feb. 5, 2009]

2009-02-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

The Postman took us to Ngunguru, just west of Whangarei, where we met the Harris family. Paul-37, Antonia-40, and Ruby-4 years old, live on a small home-made cob/earth-house perched atop one of the tallest of the nearby rolling hills. The bush is thick with young, regenerating tea-tree and the view from the dinner table stretches all the way out to the nearby coastal beaches. A bit of a closer look informs you that there aren't people for miles. The isolation gives them what they believe to be the most freedom possible. Lifestyle= Green planet + Liberty, in all senses of both terms.

Half of the area they live in isn't even mapped on Google Earth.

This statement should invoke shock in at least two different directions...

[Note: The following pictures in no way depict the vibrancy of this place. They were last minute documentations I snapped shortly before leaving.]

[Paul and Toni's bedroom, Ruby's trampoline]

Paul and Toni live a beautiful, natural life farming their land, nearly self-sustained in terms of vegetables and fruit. They collect rainwater, use solar power and a self-composting toilet.

[Composting bathroom, inside there is a view out over the bush from the toilet!]

Among other things, they grow tomatoes, citrus and banana trees, allowing them to become basically disconnected from the dependency of civilization. This is not seen as a negative and voluntary exile or expatriation, but simply an effort towards what they consider a necessity for the sustainability of a finite planet they so delicately cherish (Earth).

[Paul's jewelry-making studio.]

Their sun-shower, a floating wooden platform, resides down just a few stone steps from the main house, outside, in a small bush quarry.

[Bathe in the sun with the birds]

The area is spotted with banana trees and various entertaining wild birds, not far off from certain birds of paradise that star in the BBC's Planet Earth series. Their deck is roofed with snaking grape vines that hang down from naked wood-panels, spotted and full with "stick-insects" that are curiously approachable and friendly.

[Can you spot them?]

Extremely slow movers, these little 4-6 inch creatures wobbled back and forth as sticks might in the wind in attempt to climb forward. It was as if they were struggling through a wind tunnel with only suction-cup grips to plop onto slick walls, one at a time. But they were only moving forward an inch or two in the grass. There were two varieties, which I seemed only to be able to distinguish as "brown stick insect" and "green stick insect," female always a third larger than the male, both of which seemed to enjoy a frequent amount of sex. Lots of puns and play on words are coming to mind, but I will spare you. Paul and Toni's place was certainly romantic...

Well... the house part was at least. Sarah and I stayed in an old, spider infested camper-van down the driveway. This was called "overcoming-the-hygiene-standards-of-home-for-the-sake-of-adventure-experience" Number 1. The first few nights, I stayed up hunting mosquitoes and torching spiders near the bed-side. The city boy in me was coming out for the first time. Eventually, I got used to the friendly little bumps on my thighs and arms and would sleep side by side with the 8-legged ceiling bungee-jumpers.

[Home-sweet-home]

Antonia (and Ruby) taught me some new yoga poses. Toni is really into new age spirituality and various contemporary conspiracy theories. A lover of Louise Haye (a contemporary motivational speaker and writer that seems to be quite popular in NZ), she maintains an extremely positive outlook on life, despite her awareness and seeming cynicism. She maintains a wide array of knowledge and interests covering several theories and truth movements that are character of various American underground networks. She shares a concern for the future of humanity and has many ideas regarding light and energy and the prophecies of 2012. Aside all the negative truths she is aware of, she remains happy, understanding that her own future is dependent and shaped solely on the principle of positive thinking. She, in the shadow of Louis Haye, believes our future realities are shaped based on the thoughts and mental efforts of the present. Daily affirmations and imagining the future the way you want it to be only seemed rational to me. It was excellent observing her life-philosophy, however "out-there" some might think it was.

Paul, a surfer from South Africa, works hard on the land every day. Lately he's constructing a cabin for guests and hopes to rent it out at some point. Surprisingly, Paul had heard of and listened to The Sea and the Cake and Tortoise, two not-widely known local Chicago bands that happen to be favorites of mine. He let me play his gut-string guitar on the porch in the evenings, enabling me to hash out my first composition in New Zealand. His land and lifestyle inspired me to write in a MAJOR key, without conscious effort, for the first time in years. For non-music-theorists, more simply stated: I wrote happy music.

Ruby was the purest child I have ever encountered. She skipped through the orchards singing familiar songs, often running around free and naked, fearlessly playing with various bugs and instincively picking the ripened berries off the plants she passed by.

[Ruby + Cockroach #1 + 2]

She had several pet ducks, whom she loved to feed and let nibble on her fingers and toes, and she had the imagination of 10 children twice her age. She often asked to be pulled around in an old wheel barrel (wheels detached, rope tied to it) that she imagined was her boat. She would sail to shops while making phone calls and dressing her stuffed animals in different uniforms (hand sewn by grandmother) appropriate for school, work, play or bed, accordingly. I would soon miss Ruby most of all. But of course I could't leave her without giving a back-hand Frisbee lesson...

During my stay with the Harris family, my birthday creeped up on me. My only wish before leaving the states was to be on top of a mountain for my birthday. While their tall hill wasn't quite a mountain, I simply felt on top of a mountain being at this point in my life. I was climbing mountains I had never thought I would see this early in my life. This birthday, for the first time, represented no turning points for me. Rather, it simply serves as a marker for onward thrust into a path I feel so confidently happy about.

Antonia (Toni) made me French crepes with chocolate sauce, berries, marscapone and other delights on the morning of 24. Little Ruby triggered the inevitable birthday song, and I sat awkwardly at the close-quarters breakfast table thinking about the situation. There I was, turning 24 in front of crepes-suzette, a beautiful family looking me straight in the eye, singing in a country as far away as possible from home. I know 24 will be an extremely important year for me and this was definitely a good start. I am so fortunate to be able to have this experience and I plan on taking full advantage of it.

I took bits and pieces of this place and family with me, taking note of their alternative lifestyle. Bags packed and thumbs pulling outward on heavy shoulder straps, I moved onward.

[High five. Later, Rubes]

But that didn't happen until I had my first Adrenaline rush in NZ, surely a moment of self-symbolism and conquering...

Postmen in the mountains

2009-02-18T22:51:00.000-08:00

We spent two days at Daniel's Point of View before moving onward, eyes set towards a town called Warkworth. Taking advantage of a free ride, we ended up going 4 times the distance north of Warkworth, ending up in a town called Whangarei, now in the Northland region. The "Wh" in New Zealand is pronounced as an english "F," so you would say "Fangahray." I learned this pretty quickly after several awkward looks at me trying to pronounce it incorrectly as "um..Wang-ear-ee?."

It was then we had our first hitch-hiking experience.

Let me tell you a little something about hitch-hiking in New Zealand: It's pretty amazing. We haven't had to wait more than 10 minutes before a willing Kiwi pulls over, often willing to over-accomodate us and many times insisting on giving a tour of their locale. One of our early hitches serves as testament to the mentality of the people out here. The local postman, on the clock and en route, gave us a small tour of the beach and surrounding town on our way to Ngunguru, right outside of Whangarei. I feel everyone should have the experience of hitching on the back of a mail-truck at a bajillion-miles an hour (Kilometers per hour, here) in the middle of New Zealand, so have a look here:

We spent two days in the town of Whangarei, one to explore and the other to make arrangements for our next Wwoofing experience. On exploring Whangarei, we found that there was a nearby falls that included an hour or two hike. This is FREE amusement, no tickets or vendors or postcards or little furry kiwi bird bobble-heads and waterfall keychains at the top. Just "a toilets" (I'll get to that later).

Perfect.

I'll give you one guess as to what the falls were called.

..."Whangarei Falls." Likely because there are waterfalls all over NZ, this title exemplifies simplicity and straightforwardness, unlike the directions that Kiwi's give. I swear there was a time a Kiwi instructed, "at your first right there's no left, so don't make a right, then you'll have a second right where you'll make the left and on up. There's a hotel on your left at the first right and a signpost on the way." ...

Anyways, we took about 4 or 5 hours on the supposedly 1-hour hike to the falls, often going off trail into the lush bush and stopping for scenic photographs on the way. If you hiked it in an hour, you clearly have not seen anything on the way.

The victory that awaited us atop the waterfall was well worth the two layers of blisters I earned on the bottom of my feet. To be more specific, these blisters were located precisely between where my big toes meet the palm of my feet. This experience was called "overcoming-physical-pain-in-exchange-for amazement, natural wonder and experience" Number 1.

Okay, here's a picture of the falls:

Hello I'm a tourist #1.

We sat atop the falls for a good 20 or 30 minutes just resting and contemplating. When I say atop, I mean right damned there where the water falls off the rocks, looking 82 feet down. It was... beautiful. You might hear me say that a lot. But it was relatively nothing compared to what was ahead...

The Island of the Long White Cloud [from 1/5/09]

2009-02-12T14:47:00.000-08:00

New Zealand is amazing. Is that a surprise to you? No, I didn't think so. The people are incredibly hospitable, courteous and non-judgemental....at all. There are no signs of vanity, over-materialism or anything but genuine concern and contentment. People don't always pay at the grocery store, composting is a "what? why the hell wouldn't you?" thought, the public restrooms (conveniently marked by street signs everywhere that say "toilets-->") display class and comfort equal to Chicago's finer hotels, and the children run around naked and happy on the beaches playing with bugs, fish, seaweed and other typically "gross" things. This is the land of the free-- in a different sense than that of the states-- a more realized environment. You can live completely isolated from civilization, or in the middle of a lively city. In either case, the government will pay for your child's education...at home if you choose, mailing "kindy packs" and funding child-teacher correspondence. A lot of folks seem to do that out here, considering their mud-brick and hand-made cod-house homes are in the middle of the bush, address-less and unallocated by Google Earth. The coolest part is, the parents get to keep the left-over paints.

We first arrived right outside of Auckland, bussing in to stay at a cheap hotel/hostel right in the heart of town. The place was oddly named "Formule1." This title made no sense to me. Surprising, considering they speak the same language as you and I, but you'll notice a lot of that kind of thing out here. The Kiwi's (English New Zealanders) call chickens "chooks," say "lovely" sometimes in place of thank you, and have a way better pronunciation for the words "oregano" and "aluminum".

Currently, we've stopped in a small tourist coastal community called Piahia. I'm sitting atop a bunk bed in a backpackers called The Pickled Parrot, steps away from miles of beaches with stretching views of small islands and the surrounding bay area. I enjoy this name, The Pickled Parrot, and am also enjoying the accompanying real-life bird that imitates a variety of unsuspecting sounds. He/She can meow like a cat, chirp like a chicken and speak a few words of proper English with a U.K accent. Unfortunately, the Pickled Parrot also has the talent of frequently yelping in the style of my mother at the stove or within view of a successful mousetrap. This fittingly pickle-green parrot lives outside my room, basically in the open air, free to fly away if it chooses. It is loud and entertaining during the day, but we'll see what I think after my attempt at sleeping.

In-between Auckland and the Pickled Parrot, a lot has happened. There won't be time to share all of my experiences, obviously, so I will limit to some of the highlights. Because of my lag with the posts so far, I'm going to play a bit of ketchup (thank god they have Heinz out here).

After a night in Auckland, the once capital of New Zealand (I suppose the South Island got upset about how far away it was), we got on the number 4 train to our first Wwoof house. We were off to a small town called Hellensville. I had images of horses, folk music and good wine. You know, the kind of Helen that might come from Troy. While those images would be realized soon enough, this Hellensville resembled my old German grandmother Helen-- shriveled, small, and in love with weird vegetables-- much more than it did Helen of Troy. A quaint little town, hilly Hellensville has one strip of shops and cafes about 2 blocks long. And yes, it is home to some of the freshest veggies I've ever tasted.

Manned by a gentlemen named Daniel, our accommodation served dually as a backpackers called "Point of View." As you might suspect from the title, Point of View perched us atop a hill that overlooked the entire town. We worked a bit, weeding in the olive orchard and putting together a studio for Daniel's "partner" (that's how Kiwi's refer to spouses in heterosexual relationships and marriages alike.... English seems to make much more sense out here). Point of View was an excellent transition from urban to rural, warming us up for what was to come...

Allow Me To Introduce You...

2009-02-12T14:10:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don't already know...this is my travelling partner,

Sarah Herold.

Sarah Herold comes from a small town in Minnesota.
She likes meat loaf, but not olives.

Here's me:

(80's/epic?)

I don't like meat loaf, and I like olives.

Here's us together, in NZ.

It's hard to make these pictures happen, so this is probably the only one you will see of us simultaneously.

Lag

2009-02-10T18:24:00.001-08:00

Hello everyone-

Okay, Okay, I promised I wouldn't be one of those people who would start a blog and never post anything...

I have every intention of keeping this thing updated, but internet and communications have been hard to come by. I've been keeping a physical journal, so I will pick some things out of there to bring things up to speed, and then promise to keep things more regular from here on out!

Updates will follow shortly...

Today is Time for Transition, Tyson.

2009-01-05T15:54:00.000-08:00

Today, I retired my favorite black leather loafers, stretched and broken-in from laps up and down the galleries and offices of the River East Art Center. "I'll miss this place," I thought, after saying my goodbyes. I probably wont be fortunate enough to have a contemporary art gallery as my office again any time soon. I slid the loafers, still soiled with a bit of salt residue from the wintery downtown streets, under the lowest level on my shoe rack. I reached for a dust rag and began cleaning my hiking shoes...

Two weeks.

Today, this blog was created

2008-12-28T13:27:00.000-08:00

New Zealand, here I come!

This blog was created to document my experiences abroad.

Subscribe here to keep in touch or observe!

Departing: January 20th, 2009