Arthur's Pass National Park

Early Saturday morning, Emily, Tiffany, and I climbed into Tiffany's compact, white, Toyota Vitz and followed the signs out of town. Within just a few minutes, we emerged from suburban sprawl into farm country northwest of Christchurch. It was only after about an hour of driving that the flat, sheep-dotted farmland began to grow and spring up into hills, and then later explode into fierce mountains. While several 4x4 trucks, SUVs, and other more intrepid vehicles accelerated past the right, our wee coupe cautiously tugged up and around winding mountain-side. There, our careful, ear-popping ascent through the clouds rewarded us with sun-washed, wide, expansive views of the Waimakariri Valley, which is hidden by mountains and provides a quiet alcove for large, turquoise ponds, more sheep and dairy farms, and the Arthur's Pass National Park and Village.

After crisscrossing the valley and its narrow and gravelly riverbed, we pulled into Arthur's Pass Village and checked into our cottage at the Mountain House in the center of the mile-long town. For only $28 (NZD) for the night, we stayed in a cottage with a fully stocked kitchen, dining room, two bathrooms, a wood-burning stove (complete with freshly chopped logs and kindling), and a triple room for three to sleep with clean sheets and duvet. We shared the house with a newly married couple--she from Australia, he from Germany--and a slumbering, snoring tourist whom we never met.

After receiving a map and some counsel from the visitor's centre, we decided to start the weekend off on a leisurely climb up Bealey Spur, where we ducked in and out of beech forests and over the mountain ridge. We chose this track not only for its relative ease (which actually turned out to be a good, challenging hike up), but also for its promised views of Arthur's Pass, the Waimak River, and valley.

After recovering from our hike and being reinvigorated by reading back-copies of NZ's "Wilderness" magazine, we decided to check out a short (30 min.) walk to the Devil's Punchbowl Falls. Ignoring the red tape barring us from climbing the unfinished stairs, we crossed the stream and walked up and through the forest until we reached the height of these spectacular falls. After about a hundred or so wooden stairs, we came upon a large wooden landing hanging in front of the falls and over the resulting pool. As the sun fell behind us, we stood there for some time listening to the cacophonous rush of the water column and admiring the rainbow cast at its base (which you can see in the picture below).

At home, we shared dinner with the combined groceries we brought--I contributed the cheese, crackers, and hummus--, built a fire, showered, read, and talked with the Australian newlywed about her future in Germany and travels thus far, the most exciting of which was hiking the famous Franz Josef Glacier.

Waking early, we made a large pot of oatmeal, checked out of our cozy mountain cottage, and headed off to climb Avalanche Peak. This challenging, terrifying, exhilarating, and surreal hike took us over mountain streams, past hidden waterfalls, through greener and wetter beech forest. The steep (persistently >30 degrees) hike to an elevation of 1833 meters (=6014 ft or 1.14 miles) took us beyond the tree and bush line where sparse green, blue, purple, and orange lichens, and wild mountain flowers grow on and between the crags. Unlike the day before, the sun was blocked by gray, quickly-moving clouds that blew around us as we climbed rocky, narrow mountain ridges. Thankfully my MacPac triple layer Gortex shell kept me reasonably dry and comfortable (unsolicited product placement for NZ outdoor gear).

The physically and psychologically difficult ascent was eased by a Kea bird (NZ's alpine parrot) who appeared just at the tree line and flew with us as we climbed to the peak. These birds are endemic to NZ alpine regions of the south island, are fairly common, and easy to spot since they like humans. (While I was resting on a rock, it crept up behind me and pecked at my backpack.) As it flew around the mountain, displaying its red plumage under its wings, and bobbed among the mountain grasses, we were entertained and distracted from the steep, rocky drops below and sharp and seemingly ceaseless climb above.

As we reached the top, we were surprised by a electric blue glacier on a mountainside across the way. I had never seen one before, and although it was not extremely large or very near, its grandeur, beauty, and energy was not lost on us.

Our slow painful descent left my legs feeling like spaghetti. After the road thankfully emerged from the bush, we walked with a Kea-like wobble back to the visitors center for coffee, food, and a place to sit and rest. Feeling like we had just returned from some fantastical, untamed world, we climbed back into the Vitz and followed route 73 back over the one-lane bridges over the valley and down from the mountains. While the hay-rolls, sheep, and cows quickly turned to homes, strip malls, and convenient store, our heads remained in the clouds of Arthur's Pass and Avalanche Peak. I'll be sore for a week, but it was worth it.

Classes start on Tuesday . . . wish me luck.








Cheers,

Dana

Fulbright Orientation - Wellington - Part II

I just returned from seeing a wonderful movie at the Christchurch Arts Centre: "Gloomy Sunday" or "Ein Lied von Lieve und Tod." A restaurant, two men and their shared lover, Ilona, and a song are at the heart of this story, which takes place in a romantically depicted 1930s Budapest. I won't tell you much more, only that it's a very tightly executed film with beautiful photography, performances, and characters. Perhaps speaking for its merit, the director of the cinema at the Art Centre has been screening this melancholy film in a cozy 11 seat theater everyday for the past three years. Intrigued, two of my friends and I sought refuge from the unrelenting drizzle outside and filed into the back three seats of this dark, intimate space. It was a perfect ending to a gray, damp South Island day.

But back to Wellington . . . As I've fallen behind and have gotten caught up in the present, I'll just tell you about the most important aspect of our trip to Wellington: staying at the Marae.

The morning that we were to leave for the Marae, we practiced our Maori songs, attended a class on Maori pronunciation, and were debriefed on Maori greeting customs and Marae rules. When we arrived, the women first entered through the fence, walking forward only at the beckoning song of the Maori woman caller. The men followed behind. We were then required to remove our shoes (they are not allowed in the meeting house) and queue up behind the men to greet approximately 10 community members waiting for us. Each time, we grasped their hands as if to shake, closed our eyes, pressed our noses and foreheads together, exchanged breath between us, opened our eyes, and moved onto the next. (Imagine the Mazel Tov line leading guests to the Kiddush at a Bar Mitzvah)

After our group of 30 or so finished, we sat down in rows facing the members of the community who began the ceremony by reciting a Christian prayer. (The Maori have always been a culture very receptive to new beliefs and gods, and have found interesting and new ways of incorporating and reenacting Christian theologies and practices into their own traditions and cultural tropes). The meeting house is traditionally a place for gatherings, funerals, greeting guests, and public speaking. For the next few minutes we listened to the leader welcome us in Maori. His slow, deliberate, and thoughtful speech was followed by song, and a few reciprocating words in Maori from us. After each speech, we stood to sing the songs we had learned. Following the presentation of a monetary gift to the Marae and a few closing words, the official ceremony was concluded and we were put at ease, invited to afternoon tea, and allowed to socialize and explore the Marae.

As an important virtue of Maori culture, we enjoyed the most generous hospitality, an abundance of food--we were fed 5 times a day, including 3 meals and morning and afternoon teas--and the company and stories of an important and admirable Maori community and leader. After extensive lectures on the history and peopling of the Pacific, the leader of the Marae (and the son of its founder) sat before us to recite the history of his people, the building of his modern community, and the values and meanings inscribed into the woven and carved walls of the Marae. Sitting on the floor in front of him, I felt like we were children gathered around listening attentively to our wise, soft-spoken, and venerable grandpa.

From his explanations, the walls made of woven flax and carved native woods, peering out at us with with abalone eyes acquired a life of its own, as well as culturally and historically situated meanings. We also learned that the meeting house itself was the body of an ancestor into which we sat, slept, and were welcomed into the community: the head is at the apex of the A frame roof, the arms stretch out to form the A, the midrib of the home represents the spine, and the rafters, the ribs. As genealogies are very important in determining status in Maori culture, building ancestral bodies into the Marae allows the past and stories of origin to occupy the forefront of Maori consciousness and heritage, as reminders of where they come from and who they are.

During our second and last day at the Marae, we were given a tour of the rest of the community buildings: the social center of 400 acres of tribal land that have been reclaimed from an original 400,000 from the government. This Marae has a radio station, an art gallery and studios for weaving and carving, a recreational center and sports fields, and a home for their Waka, or their canoes (a central treasure to any Maori community). I left that day not only impressed by their craftsmanship, openness to outsiders, and accomplishments, but also by their pledge to improve their community, generate good will, and persevere with their values and customs intact. I also left that day extremely uplifted and encouraged by their efforts and spirit, and wishing that more Kiwis could have the privilege of experiencing and learning from this amazing place.

Tomorrow, I go hiking for two days in Arthur's Pass . . . I'll let you know how it goes.

For more pictures from the orientation, follow this link. The back of my head is in a few of them (look for curly dark hair), and I'm 9th from the right in the first row of our group picture at the Marae.




Cheers,

Dana

Fulbright Orientation - Wellington - Part I

Much larger, fashionable, and less provincial than Christchurch, Wellington lives up to its alternative and hip reputation. Also, upon arriving, I was immediately struck by its similarity to San Francisco: a colorful city speckled over dramatic green hills, rolling down to a scenic harbor and bay. In general, I felt closer to home in this urban environment where the lampposts were plastered with concert announcements, hipsters gather for tea and cappuccino in sidewalk cafes, and where lectures, concerts, plays, galleries, theaters, and exhibitions abound.

Our hotel was on upper Cuba Street, the St. Marks Place or South Street of Wellington, and from there we soon found the other Fulbrighters and went off to explore the city's cafes, waterfront, and footpaths leading up the residential hillsides. While these meanderings introduced me to some of the other students and the feel of the capital city, our orientation officially began at the welcome dinner at a Fulbright administrator's home in the beautiful neighborhood of Karori. Over wine and cheese, we traded stories, points of origin, and project plans with each other. Our diverse group of Fulbright Fellows and Scholars, Ian Axford Fellows, and Eisenhower Fellows consisted of animal behaviorists, marine biologists, psychologists, anthropologists, historians, geographers, sociologists, economists, and political scientists. We're just as diverse in origin as well, as we represent Colorado, Oregon, Kansas, New York, Georgia, Mississippi, California, Massachusetts, Tennessee, and North Carolina.

Amongst these accomplished, eloquent, and well-read academics with impressive resumes, I felt quite small, perhaps unqualified. Moreover, while most of my peers (especially the graduate students) are running out of stamp pages in their passports, this is one of my first forays into serious, long term travel abroad. While this feeling of inadequacy nagged me for some time, by the end of our week, I made incredible connections, developed personal relationships, and fostered lasting professional associations.

After introductions, we were taught a Maori songs that we were to sing during the welcome ceremony at the Marae (Maori community center and meeting house). At the time, we may not have appreciated the impact of and education we would receive from the Maori communities here. However, by the end of the week we would understand the immeasurable impact the Maori have made on New Zealand history and contemporary culture. While we all have very different projects occupying different fields, each one of us began to reflect on and relate these Maori lessons, histories, and heritages to our own research questions.

More later on Te Papa Museum, the Marae, Otari Preserve, and New Zealand Parliament...


Cheers,
D

Beach Day

Hoping for sun, we headed to Somner, a seaside suburb of Christchurch, which boasts wide beaches, surfers, and rock formations. The town itself stretches over the surrounding rolling hills, fills the valleys in between and extends up to the beach, which is lined by a landscaped footpath, cafes, concessions, bistros, and surf clubs. On a sunny day, the beach would be full of surfers, para-sailors, para-surfers, jet skis, and other ocean athletes and vehicles; today the clouds were unrelenting and attracted only those wishing to enjoy the sound of the waves and the feeling of the soft, yielding sand beneath their feet.

I wandered, read, and took some photos, while the bravest of us dived in. She said the water was great, but not nearly as warm as the 60 degree air outside. While she tried to suppress the chattering of her teeth, we shared how we arrived at our projects and why in New Zealand. With formulaic responses, we answered these questions that we have been asked dozens of times before. And we'll do it again tomorrow when we meet the other Fulbrights in Wellington for our orientation.

But formalities aside, we shared the exhilaration, anxiety, and trepidation that comes with being in a new country, knowing no one, and carrying a responsibility to contribute to this place in some meaningful way. I think by reciting these semi-scripted mission statements to each other we felt more reassured and reminded of our goals. Besides, it was nice to hear someone else's spiel for a change.

After some time, we left the sparse, gray beach and headed back into town. The ocean was quiet and calming, but I mostly enjoyed the ride there and back: the road wound around the coast beneath colorful homes perched on the hills and cliffs dropping off into the ocean, and I was reminded of California, where I had been just one week ago. As we drive on the opposite side of the road, on the opposite side of the world, I find comfort in these small reminders of home.





Cheers,

D

Garden City

Flying from Auckland, I arrived in a sheep-speckled Christchurch on a balmy Wednesday morning. After gathering my overweight, oversize, and excess luggage, I hailed a cab and enjoyed the moment of rest while the Ethiopian driver and I shared stories of how we ended up in this remote corner of the world. I tried to explain what America and New York were like and he told me what he liked best about Christchurch, which of course was the hiking.

As we approached the city by way of local, narrow roads lined with British-style cottages enveloped in vibrant, lush summer flowers and semi-tropical ferns, grasses and green plants, I felt like I was in some odd mixture of London, Cape Cod, and Northern California.

As we continued, I watched this suburban splendor turn to what approximated an urban landscape of Backpackers (hostels), boutiques, cafes, and street performers, yet still retaining the charm of the country. We wrapped around the River Avon, Haggley Park, and Cathedral Square--all hallmarks of a truly British city--and arrived at my new, sunflower-yellow home at 264 Gloucester at Barbadoes. Mike, my Kiwi landlord showed me to my room in the front of a one story, 100 year old cottage with a large window facing the street, bigger and perhaps brighter than any Manhattan digs I've ever had.

I live with three other Americans, a Canadian, and a Chilean. As a corner house, we share the backyard with two other homes of students and travelers from all over the world: Germany, Holland, Belgium, Ireland, and Canada. Each day, I meet a few more and learn about their various, exciting, and spontaneous lives. There are a handful of teaching students from Alberta, Canada , a couple from Austin, TX touring Australia and New Zealand before grad school, and various wanderers, artists, students, and vagabonds.

After dropping my bags, I waste no time and walk three or four blocks into the heart of the bustling little town. After arranging a bank account and investigating cell phone options, I head straight for the cafes, hoping to sample my first New Zealand meal and find my new favorite Hungarian Pastry Shop-like haunt. In one of the plazas, I take a seat in the shade out of the unexpectedly strong sun, and order a cappuccino, quiche and mixed greens. I hate to linger on this moment, but I'm obsessed with food--and with the problems and solutions to modern agriculture--and this first bite of New Zealand-made cheese from the milk of grass-fed cows, goats, and sheep was so fresh and rich and complex that I thought for a moment I could never leave this place.

Here, everything seems so pure, clean, and environmentally conscious. In addition to the meticulously kept home gardens that spill over teak fences and stone walls, every moment of the day--from the abundance of bikes, to the bio diesel-run buses, to the immaculate streets and verdant parks, right down to the cheese--is greener. New Zealand exudes life and renewal and gives me a drop of hope for our industrialized, polluted ways of life at home. It's paradise lost and maybe found again.

Today--a rainy, cool, and gray Saturday--I graduate from a pedestrian to a biker as I bought my powder blue, 3-speed, 1975 Raleigh bike, complete with basket, bell, saddle bag, and a back-peddle brake. I had contacted this bike hobbyist through the buy/sell/exchange paper, and spent a few hours at his home, which is littered with frames, wheels, chains, seats, and all sorts of bike parts (I think to his wife's dismay). He and his rusty-haired and freckled family helped me mix, match, and outfit the perfect set of wheels for my commutes to the Uni and around town. In one week, after I return from Wellington, my bike will be shined, fixed, and customized to my kitschy specifications.

Speaking of food, I had my first of many lamb at a dinner with the other Fulbrighters based in Christchurh. The three other girls--one PhD candidate and two college grads--are performing environmentally related projects--eco-tourism in the mountains, farmers' attitudes towards genetically modified crops, and using biotech to engineer medicine into foods--all of which I'm very excited to learn more about. Most importantly, we all are eager to get out and do some serious hiking. Tomorrow, since it is rumored that the sun will make an appearance, the four of us will be going to the beach. I'll start putting my cameras to use and check in again before I head off to my Fulbright orientation in New Zealand's windy capitol: Wellington.

Cheers!
D