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

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...