My apologies to the Jayhawk faithful out there if I may have misspelled the famed KU motto; I am not sure if it is “Rock Chock” or “Rock Chalk”.
I made a deposit at BNZ this morning, only to discover in conversation with the teller that her husband grew up in Kansas, and is KU alum. Go figure. Small world. She mentioned that he worked around the corner at “The Naked Grape”, so I wandered over. I wasn’t sure which one he was, but it didn’t end up mattering. Tim came walking out from behind the bar as soon as he saw my “Kansas” shirt. We congratulated one another on last year’s Jayhawk sporting successes. He had to get back to work, but told me to stop by to chat. Maybe a fellow Jayhawk can give me a job?
Yes, I’m still looking for work. Betsy is toiling away at the Oceanside Café, a job she wishes she hadn’t found, and I’m waiting for the Bay of Plenty Times to hit the newsstands so I can comb through the “Situations Vacant” section one more time. Luigi, at an Italian restaurant named Volare, was ready to hire me, but a fulltime job working nights wasn’t what the doctor ordered. Now I’ve got my fingers crossed that I’ll hear from Video Ezy; or Woolworths, our grocery store of choice; or Bay City Cinemas, where we saw Doubt; or Gusto’s, a local café I’ve been hounding for a job.
Fletcher is the cook at Gusto’s, and JZ is a waitress. Fletcher isn’t a very good chess player, but knows the area pretty well. He was born and raised in Te Puke, a very nearby town, just like his parents. He has worked at Gusto’s for two years, and was waiting for his girlfriend to get off work when we played a game of chess. JZ’s real name is Jazzman, but “she likes to be called JZ”, according to Fletcher. Alicia is one of the managers, and she has my CV, but doesn’t seem to keen on hiring me. I asked JZ to put in a good word for me.
Patricia at the trailer park continues to feed Betsy and me. Last night it was homemade cornbread, and watermelon & avocado ice cream. The night before it was vegetable frittata. A few nights before that it was beef and potato pie. Yum! Alex and Tioriori (T for short) have fallen in love with having us design and time races for them. It works out pretty well for us; we just sit there and tire the little buggers out! Ron is still my favorite neighbor. He’s just a hell of a nice guy, very friendly, plays with his grandkids, asks how we’re doing, how the job is going (when speaking to Betsy of course), how our day was. I like that guy. I think I might pack him up and bring him back with us.
Perhaps my favorite moment of the last week or so was the skateboarder I had the pleasure of watching on the boardwalk, outside Betsy’s place of work. I was killing a few minutes, waiting for Betsy to get off work, when my attention was drawn to a young boy eating an ice cream cone. He was a bit of an awkward kid, 10 years old or so, wearing pretty thick glasses, all arms and legs. He was outfitted in the coolest skateboard gear, tie-dye hat and all, from the local Walmart (or equivalent) back home, in the size they had that was closest to his own -not a perfect fit, but close enough. He won me over when he broke off bits of his cone and fed them to the pigeons (which are much more attractive here than back home, by the way). It was all the more endearing when some of these pieces ended up stuck to his own shirt. But the show was just beginning. It was time to get in some skateboard practice. Some things became apparent rather quickly. One, this kid meant business. Two, he had definitely watched some skateboarders on TV, or maybe at the local skate park, or maybe he even read a book from the local library (or perhaps that’s just what I would do if I wanted to learn to skateboard), and he had been practicing the moves. Three, he unfortunately wasn’t blessed with heaps of natural athleticism. Four, number three wasn’t going to stop him.
He had a few favorite moves. He knew how to hold the board at his side, and in one semi-fluid motion drop the board and hop on with a running start. We’re off. He also knew how to change direction, by lifting the front wheels off the ground and twirling as much as 180 degrees. This maneuver was a bit less ingrained in his muscle memory. Every few twirls he would wobble a bit on his way around, carefully regaining his balance while pointing roughly in the intended direction. He was cool though, smooth, confident. He could also stop, and stomp the back of the board, coolly propelling the front up into his waiting hands. It’s important to be able to execute this process, as the boardwalk is a busy place. Off again, he’d scope out some space to practice his specialty; the jump. “Dad. Dad! Watch. Dad watch!” He knew that you’re supposed to position your feet toward the back of the board, your weight on the balls of your feet, heels hanging off. Crouch low. Steady... This could be good… jump! Not quite. He’s still practicing. This is a new move. The jump is complicated. You’re got to get both feet on the board when you come down. Sometimes you only get one on there, or one and the wrong part of the other. If you don’t, sometimes you end up doing the splits, with the inevitable slow motion landing on your bum. That’s okay, this kid was tough. He would get right back up, brush himself off, and execute the running start maneuver. There’s room. “Dad, watch me again. Dad!” Feet back, crouch. Steady. Go. Almost. You’ve also have to get the skateboard to cooperate. Sometimes the darn thing has a mind of its own and speeds off just when it’s go-time and you achieve liftoff. When that happens your feet tend to chase the board and you end up on your belly. This can include a bump on the elbow, which isn’t equipped with the same padding as the bum. Retrieve the board, nurse the elbow. “Dad. My elbow. I think it’s okay.” We’re off… Dad’s already watching this time. Feet back, steady. Crouch. Steady. Jump! Liftoff! The front of the board soars, a foot in the air. The back of the board, well not exactly a foot in the air. Let’s say closer to… the thickness of the ruler. But we’re airborne! The board is still in position, beneath the skater. Touchdown! Both feet. Smooth as silk. A quick glance toward dad. He saw. A quick glance at a passerby. They saw too! Chest out, arms hovering further from his side than normal. Standing tall. The superhero pose. 180 degree spin! Seamless. Did the passerby see that!? If not, it’s okay. He’s focused again. The look on his face? Through his thick glasses, “Yeah, that was my jump. I make that jump all the time.” Just another day at the office. For a superhero.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Feeling Right at Home
We remain in Tauranga. Actually, we’re closer to Mt. Manganui. Although we may be living in Papamoa. However you slice it, we’re living out of our car in the increasingly friendly trailer/camper park we’ve been staying at. Increasingly? you ask, if you’ve been following along. Yes, increasingly.
Ray introduced himself yesterday. He a nice fellow, in his 60’s, with a great big barrel chest. Side note coming… I just had to mention his chest, because it’s ridiculously large for a man his age. It must be genetic, or he’s on steroids and it’s all going to his chest. Moving on… Ray is a friendly guy. And he’s interesting, for reasons that go beyond his chest. He holds two patents in NZ, and he’s got the knowledge of New Zealand Patent Law to back it up (Note to “cult” members: I don’t think he’s a Daryl Turner). He’s attempted other patents, but has been thwarted in one way or another. He’s quite a happy guy, and seemed pleased to have someone to talk to about his "ideas". Some of them he couldn’t reveal, because he’s learned you have to keep your ideas close to the chest. However, he did reel off a couple of ways Betsy and I could make money from Colorado, after having been to NZ. He’s got “an entrepreneurial mind”, and a really “good imagination.” He’s got an engineering background, is pretty good with computers, and owned an automotive business in the 80’s. He’s gonna take a look at our radiator a bit later. He also offered his shed, which has a lock on it, if we need a place to put some things while we’re here. My instinct is to be suspicious of the guy, but I’m learning that things work a bit differently here. He’s lived in the Beach Grove Park for a couple of years now. Most of the time he's sitting on his porch, or drinking tea, or feeding his cat. After our initial conversation yesterday, he returned later in the day with some information on aspects of fruit picking we had discussed. He had printed out some sheets with phone numbers and information we might find useful.
Patricia lives across the way. She’s from America, and her son lives in Boulder, CO; small world. She’s the one who is always cooking, and it turns out she’s not so crazy. She just likes to cook, and gives most of the food away to other residents. Yesterday evening she brought us some soup she had made. Later she took some over to a Japanese cyclist that was passing through, and brought him a sandwich to go with the soup. She left America because she was burnt out after a few decades as a nurse, and wanted to get away from the constant stress. I wonder whether she was talking about nursing, or being an American? Now she cooks because it’s relaxing, and she can stop to take a break whenever she feels like it. She told Betsy most of this during a kitchen chat.
Rochelle runs the grounds at Beach Grove. She approached us yesterday with a suggestion. “Why keep paying for a site when Trev and Angie offered yous their bach?” We looked at her, stunned. “Yous might as well park up front, or next to their bach, and quit paying” for an expensive parking spot. “Parking isn’t even that expensive in Auckland!” she left us with. Gob smacked was the phrase Betsy used to describe our reaction. Did the manager of this place just come up and suggest we stop paying? By golly, I believe she did. We’ll ring Trev and Angie to make sure they’re comfortable with the arrangement, and then start living for a bit less.
We’re still looking for work, and beginning to have a bit of success. Betsy has a trial today, and possibly another later today. A trial? Why bother with a job interview when you can just give an applicant a trial run; another example of New Zealand’s practical thinking. I have a few applications pending, and am feeling okay about my chances.
Suffice to say, we’re feeling pretty good about things.
Ray introduced himself yesterday. He a nice fellow, in his 60’s, with a great big barrel chest. Side note coming… I just had to mention his chest, because it’s ridiculously large for a man his age. It must be genetic, or he’s on steroids and it’s all going to his chest. Moving on… Ray is a friendly guy. And he’s interesting, for reasons that go beyond his chest. He holds two patents in NZ, and he’s got the knowledge of New Zealand Patent Law to back it up (Note to “cult” members: I don’t think he’s a Daryl Turner). He’s attempted other patents, but has been thwarted in one way or another. He’s quite a happy guy, and seemed pleased to have someone to talk to about his "ideas". Some of them he couldn’t reveal, because he’s learned you have to keep your ideas close to the chest. However, he did reel off a couple of ways Betsy and I could make money from Colorado, after having been to NZ. He’s got “an entrepreneurial mind”, and a really “good imagination.” He’s got an engineering background, is pretty good with computers, and owned an automotive business in the 80’s. He’s gonna take a look at our radiator a bit later. He also offered his shed, which has a lock on it, if we need a place to put some things while we’re here. My instinct is to be suspicious of the guy, but I’m learning that things work a bit differently here. He’s lived in the Beach Grove Park for a couple of years now. Most of the time he's sitting on his porch, or drinking tea, or feeding his cat. After our initial conversation yesterday, he returned later in the day with some information on aspects of fruit picking we had discussed. He had printed out some sheets with phone numbers and information we might find useful.
Patricia lives across the way. She’s from America, and her son lives in Boulder, CO; small world. She’s the one who is always cooking, and it turns out she’s not so crazy. She just likes to cook, and gives most of the food away to other residents. Yesterday evening she brought us some soup she had made. Later she took some over to a Japanese cyclist that was passing through, and brought him a sandwich to go with the soup. She left America because she was burnt out after a few decades as a nurse, and wanted to get away from the constant stress. I wonder whether she was talking about nursing, or being an American? Now she cooks because it’s relaxing, and she can stop to take a break whenever she feels like it. She told Betsy most of this during a kitchen chat.
Rochelle runs the grounds at Beach Grove. She approached us yesterday with a suggestion. “Why keep paying for a site when Trev and Angie offered yous their bach?” We looked at her, stunned. “Yous might as well park up front, or next to their bach, and quit paying” for an expensive parking spot. “Parking isn’t even that expensive in Auckland!” she left us with. Gob smacked was the phrase Betsy used to describe our reaction. Did the manager of this place just come up and suggest we stop paying? By golly, I believe she did. We’ll ring Trev and Angie to make sure they’re comfortable with the arrangement, and then start living for a bit less.
We’re still looking for work, and beginning to have a bit of success. Betsy has a trial today, and possibly another later today. A trial? Why bother with a job interview when you can just give an applicant a trial run; another example of New Zealand’s practical thinking. I have a few applications pending, and am feeling okay about my chances.
Suffice to say, we’re feeling pretty good about things.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Betsy's Blog
For those interested, here is the address of Betsy's blog:
http://www.clematisaddisonii.blogspot.com/
She's a good writer; enjoy!
http://www.clematisaddisonii.blogspot.com/
She's a good writer; enjoy!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Humanity Has a Chance
The rest of the world could learn a thing or two from the Kiwis.
We're liking our new campsite. A lot. It would probably be a bit more accurate to call it a trailer park. Or perhaps a holiday (Kiwi for vacation) trailer park. Then again, it's not exactly a holiday for everyone there; one tenant is going on 17 years. They're not alone, as many of our neighbors call this park home. Nevertheless, most of the tenants, part time and otherwise, are Kiwis. And they are making a believer out of me.
When strangers are nice to me, I'm a bit suspicious; "What do you want? What are you after?" So when "Dan the Man" chatted with us two nights ago, I thought he may have been hitting on Betsy. "What are you after?" In the end, he wanted nothing from us, and even offered us a place to stay should we ever make our way to Rotorua. Hmm. I'm still an American though, humanity is not getting off that easy. I also found it strange when a guy two trailers down, named Paul, brought us two lawn chairs to sit on. He said sitting on the dirt would give us piles, so we should just keep these chairs that he didn't need anyway. Who are these people? Then he brought us a little rolling table. "You can set your chips on this!" he joked. I was eating salsa flavored chips at the time (yum!). Does he want something from us too? Hmm. I'm starting to believe; I'm starting to take Kiwis at their word. I'm starting to think they are this strange breed of homo sapien that thinks it is their duty to be kind to perfect strangers. Time will tell. I need more data. Later that evening Betsy and I had dinner in our new chairs. Toward the end of dinner, a car pulled by our site and stopped. A man inside waved me over. "Where do you sleep?" Oh, we've got this great station wagon see, and this mattress in the back makes a great bed... "We've got a spare bed in the trailer. There's no point in you two sleeping out here." This was how we met Treav, as in Treavor. "You're welcome to use the place whenever you like." Huh? Use your place? What do you want? Is this where you say you just need my credit card number? Treav turned off the engine and got out to explain. Meanwhile, Angie went inside to get us a pair of keys to the place. "Just come in whenever you like. Actually, come on in right now. We'll show you the spare bed. There's also a DVD player you can use..." Goodness gracious. Betsy and I laughed with humility, embarassment, disbelief. "You'll have to excuse us," I said, "we're not used to this kind of raw generosity." Sure enough, they were just being that generous. Today when they left, to head back to their home, they instructed us that it made no sense for their trailer to "just sit there." We are to keep the key, and use their "bach" (holiday home). We are to sleep in the spare bed, use the DVD player, or "just get out of the sun." To be clear: they left us a key to their vacation home, to use at our discretion, when we're not sitting in our lawn chairs, or at Dan's house in Rotorua.
I'm humbled by these people. Maybe humanity has a chance after all. We're thinking of staying in Tauranga, at the Beachgrove Holiday Park, for awhile. If we stay long enough, I'm thinking maybe someone will give us a boat.
We're liking our new campsite. A lot. It would probably be a bit more accurate to call it a trailer park. Or perhaps a holiday (Kiwi for vacation) trailer park. Then again, it's not exactly a holiday for everyone there; one tenant is going on 17 years. They're not alone, as many of our neighbors call this park home. Nevertheless, most of the tenants, part time and otherwise, are Kiwis. And they are making a believer out of me.
When strangers are nice to me, I'm a bit suspicious; "What do you want? What are you after?" So when "Dan the Man" chatted with us two nights ago, I thought he may have been hitting on Betsy. "What are you after?" In the end, he wanted nothing from us, and even offered us a place to stay should we ever make our way to Rotorua. Hmm. I'm still an American though, humanity is not getting off that easy. I also found it strange when a guy two trailers down, named Paul, brought us two lawn chairs to sit on. He said sitting on the dirt would give us piles, so we should just keep these chairs that he didn't need anyway. Who are these people? Then he brought us a little rolling table. "You can set your chips on this!" he joked. I was eating salsa flavored chips at the time (yum!). Does he want something from us too? Hmm. I'm starting to believe; I'm starting to take Kiwis at their word. I'm starting to think they are this strange breed of homo sapien that thinks it is their duty to be kind to perfect strangers. Time will tell. I need more data. Later that evening Betsy and I had dinner in our new chairs. Toward the end of dinner, a car pulled by our site and stopped. A man inside waved me over. "Where do you sleep?" Oh, we've got this great station wagon see, and this mattress in the back makes a great bed... "We've got a spare bed in the trailer. There's no point in you two sleeping out here." This was how we met Treav, as in Treavor. "You're welcome to use the place whenever you like." Huh? Use your place? What do you want? Is this where you say you just need my credit card number? Treav turned off the engine and got out to explain. Meanwhile, Angie went inside to get us a pair of keys to the place. "Just come in whenever you like. Actually, come on in right now. We'll show you the spare bed. There's also a DVD player you can use..." Goodness gracious. Betsy and I laughed with humility, embarassment, disbelief. "You'll have to excuse us," I said, "we're not used to this kind of raw generosity." Sure enough, they were just being that generous. Today when they left, to head back to their home, they instructed us that it made no sense for their trailer to "just sit there." We are to keep the key, and use their "bach" (holiday home). We are to sleep in the spare bed, use the DVD player, or "just get out of the sun." To be clear: they left us a key to their vacation home, to use at our discretion, when we're not sitting in our lawn chairs, or at Dan's house in Rotorua.
I'm humbled by these people. Maybe humanity has a chance after all. We're thinking of staying in Tauranga, at the Beachgrove Holiday Park, for awhile. If we stay long enough, I'm thinking maybe someone will give us a boat.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
A Broken Record
Hello again. Today finds us in a nice little town called Tauranga, after a semi-long day of driving. Yes, still driving on the left side of the road. It's getting to be much more natural, although I'm still getting used to the speeds. I cannot shake the feeling, when I see the speed limit is 100, that it is really fast! Of course it's not, because 100 is 100 kilometers per hour (100 km/hr), which is much slower than 100 m/h. I'm not sure what the conversion is, and I don't feel like looking it up. I think it would be something around 65 m/h. Eric, a little help here?
The driving continues to be interesting in other ways too. For starters, it's beautiful here! Simply driving from one town to the next often takes you through a forest, then rolling hills of lush green life, then a flat rural scene that could be Ohio, then a beautiful coastal view, then to a massive hilltop "scenic stop" that looks back, stunningly, across all 4 landscapes. It becomes like a broken record inside our Capella; "Wow, that is just so beautiful." Of course, the beauty is a welcome distraction from the ridiculously winding roads. It often seems as if the road we're on was planned by a child scribbling on a map. Or, perhaps a theme park artist drew them up. Either way, I've been a tad queasy more than once.
Our campsites have been gorgeous! Our first site was about 30 yards from the water. The ocean! Our second faced a wall plant life that could have been pulled straight from the Congo, or some junge in South America. Of course, this site too was close enough to the ocean that we could hear that waves as we went to bed. Our latest site was perhaps the most beautiful yet. The water (yes, the ocean!) was 30 yeads in front of us, while behind us was another wall of plant life. In this case it was a nature preserve, a forest on the Coromandel Peninsula. In the evening Betsy and I went for a walk on a trail in this forest, during which we repeatedly remarked how this walk alone was worth the price of admission at the site. We saw the a massive tree, the biggest I have seen in my life.
This country is truly spectacular, and we've only just begun. Oh yeah, and we went to Cathederal Cove, my favorite place from my first visit to NZ! I'm wiped out after a long day of driving, so I'll have to cover that another day! Don't let me forget, because it was awe inspiring; the most beautiful place I've ever seen on this planet.
The driving continues to be interesting in other ways too. For starters, it's beautiful here! Simply driving from one town to the next often takes you through a forest, then rolling hills of lush green life, then a flat rural scene that could be Ohio, then a beautiful coastal view, then to a massive hilltop "scenic stop" that looks back, stunningly, across all 4 landscapes. It becomes like a broken record inside our Capella; "Wow, that is just so beautiful." Of course, the beauty is a welcome distraction from the ridiculously winding roads. It often seems as if the road we're on was planned by a child scribbling on a map. Or, perhaps a theme park artist drew them up. Either way, I've been a tad queasy more than once.
Our campsites have been gorgeous! Our first site was about 30 yards from the water. The ocean! Our second faced a wall plant life that could have been pulled straight from the Congo, or some junge in South America. Of course, this site too was close enough to the ocean that we could hear that waves as we went to bed. Our latest site was perhaps the most beautiful yet. The water (yes, the ocean!) was 30 yeads in front of us, while behind us was another wall of plant life. In this case it was a nature preserve, a forest on the Coromandel Peninsula. In the evening Betsy and I went for a walk on a trail in this forest, during which we repeatedly remarked how this walk alone was worth the price of admission at the site. We saw the a massive tree, the biggest I have seen in my life.
This country is truly spectacular, and we've only just begun. Oh yeah, and we went to Cathederal Cove, my favorite place from my first visit to NZ! I'm wiped out after a long day of driving, so I'll have to cover that another day! Don't let me forget, because it was awe inspiring; the most beautiful place I've ever seen on this planet.
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