Having recently visited Milford Sound (New Zealand’s iconic geological feature) and Queenstown to bungy jump, jetboat a canyon, and fly-by-wire (A wingless, fan powered personal jet suspended by a wire in the middle of a small valley.  The Facebook inclined can see a video on my profile), I now believe I’ve done everything I set out to do while in New Zealand.  Yes, I have tramped the majesty that is the Southern Alps and I have braved the mighty Marmite.  I have witnessed the elusive penguin and biked the ostentatious Otago Central Rail Trail.  I have imbibed in the scrumptiousness that composes the south island’s prideful elixir known as Speight’s and have done a bunch of other stuff that warrants liberal overuse of adjectives.

And it’s a good thing, too, ‘cause I’m making like Eddie Murphy when he was still funny and coming to America.  Yes, ‘tis but a few final exams before I head home.  This, of course, leads to the final travel log in which I summarize and generalize an entire nation in a few short paragraphs.  So, without further adieu, let loose the stereotypes. 

The Queen:  I have a hard enough time accepting that England still has a queen.  I mean, how bass-backwards a country are you when you still have a monarchy?  Yes, yes, I know she doesn’t have any real power and basically sits around all day scratching her royal bum with a gold sceptre but I think I still have a point.  God save the Queen?  Shoot, she’s old enough to be God’s mother (Granted it’d been a teenage pregnancy).  Anyway, that said, why does New Zealand care about the Queen?  She’s on the coins and her birthday is a national holiday.  What the hey, New Zealand?  The same goes for you, too, Australia and Canada.  The way I see it, England is the mother country and most of her children grew up to be doctors, lawyers, and other assorted, well-rounded countries.  But then she also had a rebel of a child who grew up to be a rockstar and didn’t give a rat’s butt what mum or the other siblings said.  I’m talking, of course, of the British Virgin Islands.  Next topic.

No matter how much you tell ’em otherwise, Kiwis (and the rest of the world) will think you’re a “yank” even if you’re not from NYC:  Gad!  I can’t begin to describe my annoyance with the kiwi tendency to generalize a country that is multitudes times multitudes larger than their own when here I am already able to detect the subtle differences between people in a Colorado-sized country after only a few months.  I think the proof’s in the pudding: Americans use the term “Yankee” as well…but it’s directed towards a specific area of the country (Or a baseball team).  Tsk, tsk, New Zealand.  I thought better of you.

                As though it weren’t enough having Kiwis call me a Yank, I got this neighbour, Howell, from Atlanta who’s calling me one, too.  It all started out with the Kiwis calling Howell a Yank; this upset him.  I, being a fellow countryman, took his side.  He foolishly broke the alliance and started calling me a Yankee. 

                First off, the South calling the North “Yankees” is an uber-overgeneralization.  This is akin to much of the rest of the world calling the U.S. “Yankees”; also an overgeneralization.  Funny, I thought that was the point Howell was trying to make to the Kiwis.  Hmm, almost as if he’s saying one thing and doing another.  Huh.  How about that. 

                Secondly, Georgia is more a “Yankee” state than either Indiana or Colorado.  Why?  Because Georgia was one of the original 13 colonies, that’s why.  You know, one of the 13 colonies that declared the Revolutionary War on Britain?  I believe it was the Brits who originated the word “Yankee” in reference to their enemy: America.  And, since Georgia was a part of America at the time and because neither Indiana nor Colorado was, Georgia is a Yankee state and Hoosiers and Coloradoans are not.  I did not hesitate to let Howell know this.  So, for all you non-Yanks out there: if a Georgian ever calls you a Yank, you can tell ‘em to stick it in their peach-hole.

The Haka:  A haka is a Maori posture dance of varying kinds (Thank you, MAOR101 textbook glossary!).  It’s not always a war-dance as many people assume.  Anyway, the All-Blacks, The NZ national rugby team, performs a peruperu (war-dance) style haka before each bout as the opposing team looks on. 

                So, that’s pretty interesting for awhile.  I mean, it looks pretty tough and all but it’s kind of a gimmick.  They’ve been doing this haka for years and only after a few months I’m already tired of it.  I mean, we get upset when NFL players excessively celebrate in the end-zone and here the All-Blacks are doing a big, elaborate show before each game.  I guess if you showboat enough times it turns from “tacky” to “tradition”. 

                Recently, the All-Blacks played Ireland.  NZ won but, before the game, an Irish player was quoted as saying the haka had lost its appeal.  Well, some Kiwis got upset about this but, hey, that’s the way the cookie crumbled.  Some went to that old standby response: “Yeah, I bet you’d be sacred if you had to face the haka!”  No.  If I were an opposing rugby player the haka would not be intimidating.  I mean, would I really believe the All-Blacks were going to kill me?  If I were the first European to set foot on New Zealand and I saw a band of Maori do a peruperu in my direction then, yes, I would likely soil myself because they actually would intend to kill me.  But the All-Blacks?  A bunch of jocks who took dance lessons?  Not scary.

                On a side note, every once and awhile I hear a dig about America’s rugby team and their shoddy showing on the world stage.  The first thing I say is, “We have a rugby team?”  The second response is, “You might as well beat us at Boggle.  We feel the same way about both games.”  And then I think: our rugby team is probably composed of players not good enough for the NFL and there are a lot of cruddy NFL players as it is.  One year, we ought to get our best footballers and assign them to the rugby team.  Just one year.  In that year, we can go ahead and dominate basically everybody because football is a game that requires more precision while rugby is more sloppy; footballers would actually have to take a step back to be on the same level as most rugby teams.  Yep, so let’s go ahead and organize the best footballers America has to offer.  It shouldn’t be hard; one flight to Indianapolis ought to do it.  Boo ya! 

Kiwi TV:  I know, I know, I’m in a foreign land and shouldn’t waste my time with television but, hey, gimme a break; I can’t be travelling 24/7, you know.   

                New Zealand television is a mixed blessing.  On the down side, most of the original New Zealand shows are cruddier versions of our cruddy shows.  They have Home and Away which is a crappier, Australian The OC and Shortland Street which is pretty much a medical soap opera but it’s popular with the kids for some reason.  They have versions of So You Think You Can Dance and they have an American Idol type show and, if you didn’t think the “stars” on Dancing with the Stars weren’t obscure enough, you should take a look at what constitutes a star in New Zealand.  If it’s not an original show then it’s probably an American show that’s been cancelled for four years.  That doesn’t stop the commercials from billing them as “America’s favourite Comedy (or drama, or whatever)”, though.

                On the plus side, On Christmas Day, Good Friday, and Easter, there are no commercials!  Let me tell you something, there’s nothing quite like watching Beethoven and Beethoven’s 2^nd back to back on regular television without commercial interruption.

Alright, it’s taken me 3 weeks to write this entry so I’m gonna go ahead and cap it here.

Peace out.

Chris     

Gooooood morning, Vietnam U.S.

Time for another of Uncle Chris’ Crazy Updates from the land down undah.  Yes, Australia and New Zealand are both considered the “land down undah”.  Makes sense, really.  Quick bit of trivia, you know how you can see the Aurora Borealis in Alaska?  You can see the Aurora Australis in New Zealand: the southern lights.  I’ve never seen ‘em but I hear they’re quite lovely this time of year.    

But enough of that crap, on to the updates.

When I first arrived here in Aotearoa (use my old updates you’ve surely archived if you are confused as to what Aotearoa is), I went to a club/org. fair that was set-up explicitly for international students.   There I found a booth with the organization that goes by the name “Operation Friendship”.  Now, this may sound like the sugar-coated name for America’s next international conflict but I assure you you’re dumb for thinking so.  OF is, in fact, an organization that sets up international students with a kiwi family: not to live with or anything, just to hang out with every once and a while.  It’s a pretty good opportunity to get home-cooked meals and see stuff you wouldn’t normally see.  So I signed up to see what it was all about.

This past Saturday marked the first time I did anything with my adopted family which consists of Kat and Gary and their kids Arihanna, Mackenzie, and Zach (16, 14, 10).  The mom is a local artist so the whole family has a slight hippie vibe.  Nothing overbearing, they just eat organic and the kids are super into music and arts.  They live on the peninsula which is pretty much where you’d want to live in the Dunedin area.  After spending an afternoon with the Taiaroas (you guessed it: their surname), I have concluded that peninsula life is just as laid-back as island life.  Well, almost as laid-back.  It’s about ¼ not as cool as island life.  Use your math and geographic skills.  Of course, the Otago Peninsula is on an island so it’s really got both worlds in one.

I did a bit of peninsulatic exploring with them:  Zach demonstrated how you could make two male crabs fight to the death.  I went to some spectacular sheer cliff faces that overlooked the Pacific as well.  The coolest place was Sandfly Bay.  It takes a shortish hike to get there but it’s a fun hike.  You go down an enormous sand dune which is fun to run down because you can jump and fly forever.  Of course, coming back up is a pain.  Anyway, the bay is cool because it’s a marine sanctuary.  I got to see a big mother of a seal with her pup basking on the beach which was nice but, hey, I’ve seen seals in the wild.  No biggie.  What was really cool was seeing a yellow-eyed penguin in the wild, which is one of the rarest species of penguin.  We saw it in the distance walking towards the bush so me and Zach ran after it and followed its foot prints though the dune grass.  We turned a corner and there it was.  It pretty much flipped out and waddled as fast as it could away from us.  Unfortunately for him, he ran right off a foot-high sand cliff and did a somersault.  He’s okay, but it was really funny to see a penguin spazz out like that.  Then I grabbed the penguin by the neck and punched.  I yelled,”You a black-eyed penguin now, fool!”  I made that up.  I didn’t say anything after I punched it. 

All in all, it was a pretty nice day.

Sweet as, mates.

Chris

p.s. I also tried a white bait patty.  Basically, minnows and pancake batter fried up and put on bread.  Dee-lish.        

Greetings, yanks.

I don’t know why other countries refer to all Americans as “yanks”. Yankees are only from the North-Eastern seaboard! Why isn’t anybody listening to me? Anyway…

So, my birthday was a few weeks ago. To celebrate, we headed out to a BYO restaurant. BYO is the same as BYOB except, for some reason, the last “B” is left off. I guess it’s because you’re not really allowed to bring beer, only wine. Of course, “B” can also refer to booze but I’m not sure if they use that slang term down here or not. But, I digress.

The restaurant we went to was Little India and, as the name suggests (nay, outright tells you), it served Indian food. I’ve found that most BYO restaurants serve Asian food and are quite shabby in appearance. Little India, though it technically served Asian food, was actually quite fancy. And the food? Well, this was the first time I’ve had Indian food. To put it shortly, the experience further confirmed my belief that I love all spicy foods.

After that little foray into exotic cuisine, me and the flatties headed back home for some non-regulation beer pong. Good times. The flatties wisely decided to get me a shirt with a NZ beer brand on it, knowing I love both beer and free shirts. Good on ya, mates.

So, that was awhile ago. Lets scootch up more to the present i.e. last Friday. Last Friday was the day I embarked on a remarkable journey to the end of the Otago Peninsula (17-18 miles from the Octagon, Dunedin’s center). Luckily, I found a bike rental shop because that would have been a bit of a day’s work if I walked (especially considering I had to walk back as well). Of course, it still took me a good long time to complete the trip.

The Otago Peninsula, while very much near Dunedin, is a world apart. Dunedin is an urban center, rife with the good and bad impacts of human activity. The peninsula, on the other hand, is very rural and hilly. Once I got on the peninsula, the traffic ceased, the air cleared, and I could actually hear sounds of nature. The trip also marked the closest I’ve been to the ocean since arriving in this country, even though I’ve yet to actually touch the ocean. While there are beaches on the peninsula, my route did not take me near them. By the time I reached Taiaroa Head (the end of the peninsula), the shore had turned to craggy cliffs. Nonetheless, the views were spectacular. I recommend taking the Highcliffe Rd going out as you’ll need more energy negotiating the hills. The views are great, though. Plus, coming down the hills is a thrill. Then, take the Portobello Road back because it’s flat. While I’ve never been to Ireland, the Otago Peninsula really reminded me of the Irish landscape what with the rolling, green hills, stone walls, and, of course, sheep.

The peninsula is also haven for wildlife such as seals, albatross, and the rarest penguin species, the Yellow-Eyed Penguin. I didn’t see any of these. Just sheep.

All in all, a bike trip to Taiaroa Head is a trip I’d recommend. Just be sure you know simple bike repairs. You see, just as I was approaching the end, the point where I was furthest from the mainland, my rear tire started going flat. I pumped it back up but that lasted exactly 20 seconds. I’d never done anything more complex to a bike but oil its gears and inflate its tires, mind you. So, hesitantly, I pulled back the tread a little to see if I could find a hole in the inner tube. I found it and, with the kit the bike rental place included, I patched the little hole up. This lasted about 40 seconds. I was so close to the end that I decided to just walk my bike to the end and deal with it there. After perusing the terminus of the peninsula, I decided to try and patch the tire again. I did so after turning down a ride from a kind elderly couple in a RV. I was pretty sure I had patched it up for good this time. I did a pretty good job, it lasted for 5 minutes. Frustrated as all hell that I turned don that ride, I pulled off to the side of the road, pulled out the spare inner tube and certain other tools that were supplied to me, and began a bike operation that was completely out of my league. I must say, I am very proud of myself for being able to pull a tire off the gears, strip off the tread, remove the old inner tube, place a new one on, replace the tread, and stick the tire back on the bike. For any of you who are hardcore bikers, this may seem simple. Keep in mind I had no idea how to do any of this and had to use logic and good-guesses to figure out what these tools were and how to use them. Ah, self reliance.

That’s it for now, folks. I’ll continue the updates as I see fit.

Chris

I thought this update would be good for when things slowed down a little. Since nothing is a’happenin’ at the moment, heeeeeeeere’s

STUFF YOU PROBABLY DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT NEW ZEALAND
1: The mullet is not unique to the States. Take comfort in the fact that we’re not the only one’s with horrid hair fads. True, here in NZ they don’t usually have the full-on Kentucky Mudflap (usually) but there’s definitely some “business up front, party in the back” action goin’ on here. And its uni (university, college) kids that have it, too. And, unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for somebody to be sporting a faux-hawk/mullet combo with bleached tips, either. It seems to be bigger with the Māori students but Pākehās (European New Zealanders) got ‘em as well; think Mel Gibson in the earlier Lethal Weapon films.

2: If you go to see a professional sports team in New Zealand, wear black. Pretty much every team has the word black in its name. Rugby=All Blacks, cricket=Black Caps, field hockey=Black Sticks, ice hockey=Ice Blacks (Wouldn’t Black Ice be so much cooler?), badminton=Black Cocks (yes, you read that right), basketball=Tall Blacks, wheelchair rugby=Wheel Blacks, men’s softball=Black Socks, and men’s gridiron=Iron Blacks. Pretty much the only sport without “black” in its name is the Silver Ferns which is the netball team; netball being a female sport similar to basketball except there is no backboard and you cannot run when you have the ball. On that note…

3: Kiwis love their ferns. The Silver Ferns may be the only team on the list that has “fern” in their name but all the teams have the silver fern emblem on their uniforms. And not just there, either. It’s on beer bottles, gas station logos, local news logos, and just about everywhere else. It’s like their bald eagle, I guess. And still on the previous note…

4: Soccer is lame in America and its lame in New Zealand. That’s right folks. If you’re like me and went to a high school where soccer players though they were the stuff because “the rest of the world does it, why doesn’t America?” Well guess what?!?! The rest of the world does not like soccer…just most of the rest of the world. New Zealand is on our side when it comes to this issue. It’s boring! And guess what else? They call it soccer as it should be called! None of this “football” jazz. That’s our word.

5: If you’re goin’ to uni, don’t cause a contro if you miss your brekky. Just grab your gat and be sure to abbreviate all words over two syllables. (That’s university, controversy, breakfast, and guitar, just so you know). I don’t know what the deal is but they shorten the weirdest words here. Even professionals do it. I was watching New Zealand news and they referred to The Salvation Army as The Sally Army. Is it that hard to spit out the whole word? Sheesh.

6: Want tomato sauce (ketchup)? Pay up. Yep, you gotta pay for ketchup at fast food joints and takeaways. I guess it’s expensive to import or something.
So, it’s pretty common to see people in New Zealand wearing a stylized fish-hook design around their necks. I have one from my brother but he doesn’t seem to remember what it’s all about. Lucky me I’m taking a Māori history class and I think I’ve figured it out. Settle down children for a legendary tale:
So there’s this guy Māui (yeah, like that place in Hawaii) who is believed to be the first man to land on Aotearoa, the land of the long white cloud. You may know it as New Zealand. Anyway, he’s chuggin’ along in his waka (canoe) when he hits a reef and breaks off the tip. “Bummer,” he thinks. So he tries to stand up a little but tips the boat a little to the side. This waka is the south Island of New Zealand. The north tip is jagged because Māui busted it up on the reef. The Southern Alps mountains are on the western coast because that’s the side that upended when he tipped his boat. “Well, might as well do some fishing while I’m in this predicament,” thinks Māui. So he throws over his anchor (Stewart Island) and fashions himself a hook. It doesn’t take long before he catches a fish: a stingray to be precise. This ray is the North Island. The Auckland area is the tail and stinger part, Cape Egmont on the western shore and East Cape on the eastern shore are its wings, and its head swoops down into the Wellington area. It takes some imagination. Anyway, look to between East Cape and Wellington. Do you see Hawke’s Bay? Look at the shape of the bay and the Mahia Peninsula. That is the hook that Māui used to snag the fish and pull the two islands together. And that, my friends, is why the fish-hook design is popular in Aotearoa.
Peace,

Chris Bruns

I just got back from my Otago University Tramping Club (OUTC) trip to Fiordland National Park and didn’t see one damn fiord.  No worries, though.  Just as the geysers are the main attraction at Yellowstone they aren’t the only attractions.  Same with Fiordland.  So, no fiords but I did get to see heaps of other cool stuff.

It all began Friday evening when the numerous OUTC members met their leaders and piled into their respective vans.  I was lucky enough to be in Stewart’s group.  He’s the worm-wrestling Brit I mentioned in an earlier update and he’s pretty much a barrel of monkeys.   He’s really hard to understand, though.  After all, he’s got both a British and Kiwi lexicon of words.  Plus, he’s a retired hippie with a few fried brain-cells which causes him to mumble a good bit.  But, he’s always smiling and a general joy to be around.  The trip was co-led by Chris, another Brit turned Kiwi.  The other trampers included Dimo, the Bulgarian, Moritz, the German, Beth, the Kiwi, and Allie, Jess, and Christine from the States.  We got to know each other pretty well because, unlike Paradise, we weren’t car camping.  We actually got to use some real tramping packs and gear.  Sweet as.

The van trip to the trailhead was about as long a trip as Paradise so, yeah, pretty long trip.  We didn’t get to the trail until 12am but we weren’t ready to camp just yet.  Headlamps on, we tramped for 2 hours through the pitch-black forests of an unfamiliar country.  Luckily, it was daylight when we tramped back so I got to see everything I missed in the night. 

When we finally got to our campsite I was impressed by the poshness of the site.  Seriously, those Kiwis know how to camp in style.  There was a nice, flat platform built under a huge rock overhang.  We didn’t have any rain all weekend but, if it had, we wouldn’t have needed a tent the rock was so massive.  I’ve never slept better outside.  Of course, I was tired as all get out as well so that helped.

After a too-short night, we were up and tramping towards Mt. Titaroa, our final destination.  After a quick river crossing we started on our first and certainly not last uphill.  I swear, I couldn’t even look uphill without getting tired after that tramp.  My legs are still tight.

Eventually we made it above timberline and had lunch at a very Lord of the Ringsian locale at the top of an alpine meadow.  It’s funny what those darn Kiwis call things.  The forest is called the bush…but there weren’t any bushes.  When we got to the meadow we were “out of the bush”…but the place was overrun with bushes.  WTF, mate?

After a lot more uphill, we started to near our destination…but we were tired and the weather was starting to look menacing.  Long story short, we never made it to Titaroa.  We did get to a peak that was approximately the same height, though.  So we still got sweet as views.  The wind at the top was fiercer than any I’ve ever felt before.  I was seriously close to being blown off a boulder it was so strong.

We high-tailed it back down to the meadow and found our campsite that was in a small valley along the edge of the “bush”.  It was quite nice. 

The next morning, we scurried on down to the valley floor.  But not before becoming very lost.  Stewart tried to keep his cool but we all knew he was worried.  We eventually got down but we had to negotiate roller coaster-esque steepness and dense jungle.  It was an experience for sure.   After all that, tramping on the trail was a breeze.

We got back to the van and our journey had ended.  It was the last major OUTC trip of the semester but many more minor ones are coming up.  Some are going back to Fiordland.  Maybe I’ll see a fiord then.

That’s about all for now.  Except I suppose I should mention that St. Patrick’s Day is just as big here as it is in the States.  And yes, they celebrate in much the same way.

Chris

Greetings,

I just spent a weekend in Paradise. No, seriously, that’s the name of the place. While it may have been sub-par when compared to a locale of absolute perfection as per definition of “paradise” it was still a wonderful place.

Let’s start at the beginning. Seems only natural. As a new member of the Otago University Tramping Club (OUTC), I am fortunate enough to visit such places as Paradise (Which is next door to Mt. Aspiring Nat’l Park, near Queenstown. Just take a look at a world map, will ya?). I am also fortunate enough to get transportation to said places. Unfortunately, while New Zealand isn’t the largest nation, the roads wind in and out of mountains and the going is slow. Hence, we left around 5pm and it was around midnight when we pulled into our campsite. Well, as me and another American discussed, Kiwis aren’t exactly in any rush to get anywhere. They like to dilly and sometimes dally on roadtrips. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. So I find a tent fly that was already set up, threw my bag in and fell asleep. Good thing it was set up, too. It was raining. No worries, it didn’t last too long and it wasn’t torrential.

Because it was pitch black when I arrived, I had no clue where I was or what was around me. This, of course, changed when I woke the next morning. How do I describe it? I was in a valley, yes. At the first glance you could easily mistake these mountains for the Rocky Mountains. But the Southern Alps have certain nuances that separate it from American mountains. For instance, they’re a lot greener. There is a lot of moss and semi-tropical plants in New Zealand that creates a very pastoral image. Also, the trees are different. They’re also covered in moss. And, because there were also a good number of farms in the area, the hillsides had many white dots on them. If you can’t guess what those dots were, here’s a hint: they outnumber New Zealanders 10 to 1 and you’ve probably got a by-product of them in your winter clothing dresser. Pretty good hints? Or, not baaaad?

Anyway…

But, in the end, the Rockies are taller thus better. The Southern Alps are still super sweet, though.

So, it was a pretty big group that went on this trip as it is most years, apparently. Thus, we all broke up into smaller groups and went on our separate hikes. My trip took me to the Earnslaw Burn. I’m not sure what a “burn” is but my thighs were feeling the “Earnslaw Burn” after just a few steps on this “trail”. “Trail” is in “ “ for a very good reason: it wasn’t one. There was no trail, there was but an open, unmarked, wet, grassy, steep, sheep crap covered slope. Take every one of those qualities and make it as extreme as you can imagine. That’s how it was. Often times I was grasping at chunks of grass to keep myself from tumbling or slipping back into the fecal matter of Ovis aries. It was a lot like rock climbing…but with no rocks. Just tiny, little plants to keep you on the hill. Thank you little tree, may your roots remain strong.

After a good long time blazing our own trails up this monster of a pasture, we made it to the ridge’s top to have lunch. What a fantastic view it was. There were two lakes to be seen. One was smallish while another reached miles back to Queenstown. On the drive back, we drove along the shores of this massive body of water. It reminded me of Blue Mesa Reservoir (For those who are familiar) with certain exceptions: it was a helluva lot bigger, the mountains around it were a helluva lot bigger, and the color of the water was a shade of light blue more closely associated with the Caribbean Sea. Also, it was natural rather than man-made.

After a long lunch we walked along the ridge top for a bit. We got a good view of a glacier, which was nice. But then it was time to head on down. Long story short, it was tough goin’. Good times, though. I should also mention that some scenes from Lord of the Rings were filmed in Paradise. I’m not sure exactly where in Paradise and I’m not exactly sure which scenes in the movies but, hey, there you go.

We got back to camp and each small group cooked up a little dinner which the president of OUTC tasted and judged. I haven’t heard who won. Then the fun began. Since we were just camping out of cars pretty much everybody brought beer. Before long, Stewart, the Brit-turned-Kiwi and one of many leaders in the OUTC, got a game of “Worm Wrestling” going. For the uninitiated, it’s similar to sumo wrestling except the contestants are wrapped up to their necks in sleeping bags. It was quite a sight to behold, especially when Stewart, quite drunk at this point, started undulating like a cobra, trying to psyche his opponent out.

It was a very, very clear night that night. The Milky Way and at least two other galaxies were exceptionally visible. The real treat was seeing the night sky from a different hemisphere. I’m no astronomer but even I could tell what was missing and what was added. I was quite excited to see the Southern Cross constellation, which is only visible in the Southern Hemisphere. For a diagram of this constellation, look at the New Zealand flag.

The next morning we took a quick jaunt over to Sylvan Lake. It’s a super clear alpine lake. To get to it, you have to cross the Shaky Bridge (My name for it). It’s a short and skinny suspension bridge over a river. It’s really fun to cross, like a funhouse walkway. Well, all good things must come to an end and, wouldn’t you know it, I ate the apple and got kicked out of Paradise. No worries, though. Fiordland Nat’l Park is coming up next weekend!

Cheers, mate.

Chris Bruns

Okay, time to buckle down and catch you all up to the present…hopefully.

So, as I said before, I joined the Otago University Tramping Club (OUTC) and about a week ago (the weekend before classes started) they had their first, albeit short, hike.  The hike was up Mt. Cargill, a smallish hill just outside of town.  Nonetheless, it offered fantastic views of the Otago peninsula and the Otago harbor.  The real treat came after the hike.  On a small patch of parkland at the foot of the hill the club set up a free BBQ and keg.  Sweet.  That was a nice, social place to be, just hanging outside in the sun with free beer.  Me and a few other guys thought we would do the club a service by drinking the whole keg.  You know, less to carry back.  But, we soon learned the club leaders wanted the leftovers for their personal usage.  I also learned the fundamentals of cricket there.  I didn’t get to play but I still got the gist of it. 

Since it is the tramping club we had to walk back to our respective flats from the park.  It was on this journey home that me, Garrison, some other chick from AustraLearn, and a first-year kiwi student encountered Baldwin Street: the steepest street in the world.  The San Francisco street is the most crooked but Baldwin has to be the steepest.  We read on a plaque that there is an annual race up and down the hill known as The Gutbuster.  In our impaired state, we thought we’d give it a go.  Thank God it’s also a short street. 

Still further down the road to our houses we experienced another staple of Dunedin: the take-away fish and chips restaurant owned by the elderly Asian man.  There are quite a few of these places scattered about the town and all with this same formula.  Who would have thought you could get such divine British pub food at such an establishment?  Well, you can.  

Just this last Sunday I went on another OUTC outing but this wasn’t a tramp, it was a training session.  See, we’ll be going to a lot of places with rivers and we needed to learn how to safely cross them.  Well, this little demo was in the cold rain but, hey, at least I can cross a river safely! 

The few days before school started we were graced with the presence of John and Martin, two Swedish dudes that Ange had met on the North Island some time ago.  Those dudes were a lot of fun.  I was talking with John (Yhoohn, if you want to pronounce it like a Swede) one night and he said in his accented-English “Many Americans, they talk only of themselves.  Not you.”  So if the US needs a new ambassador to Sweden…I’m your man.  I know how to get along with those guys. 

But, as much fun as it was before school started, it had to end someday.  At this point, I have been to a week and two days worth of classes.  So far so good, I’d say.  It is a bit different from home but I think that’s more of a small school vs. big school difference rather than an international difference.   I did run into a few problems with conflicting schedules but that’s all ironed out.  The biggest plus was finding out my English professor was American.  Thank God I won’t be counted off for using American English over British English (Color v. Colour, Tire v. Tyre, Organize v. Organise).  I talked to him about it, he said he doesn’t really get it either. 

Well, I guess that’s all the interesting stuff that’s happened up to this point.  From now on, you’ll be getting the new stuff ‘cause I’m done playing catch-up!  I’ll probably be going on a big hike this weekend so keep your finger on that e-mail button.   Check the pics on Facebook if you haven’t already. 

Bye now. 

Chris Bruns   

Hey folks,
Sorry for the delay but I haven’t had internet access until precisely this day. And, many of you have been inquiring about pictures and all I have to say to that is that the internet access here is slower than molasses in January and it’s even slower when trying to upload photos. I’ll keep trying but I can’t make any promises at the moment. At the moment, I’m having trouble getting internet at all so who knows when I’ll even get this message out?

Well, a good bit has happened in these past few days. Let’s just start from the beginning. Setting the scene: still in Rotorua.

Tumu Tumu Toobing was fun–don’t get me wrong–but Zorbing, though touristy, is a blast. What’s Zorbing (Jackie Chan Ball, to some)? Imagine an 8-foot tall, clear beach ball. Now imagine a smaller beach ball suspended within the center of that larger ball. Put yourself in that smaller ball along with ankle deep water. Having fun yet? Now, get pushed down a large slope. Now you’re having fun. The AustraLearn kids had a choice between this and a gravity-powered kart race down a mountain which, to tell the truth, also looked like fun. But, seriously, when can you ever do something that can be compared to Zorbing.

We also had choices as to whether we wanted a “dry” run (no water, strapped in with harnesses) or a “wet” run (water, free to roam). The choice was easy: wet. At the top, we could also choose to either do a straight-down-the-hill run with two other people in the Zorb or go alone down the zig-zag run. I wouldn’t have minded going with other people but the zig-zag was calling my name. It’s a longer ride and you get to pinball off of stuff along the way. Can’t beat that. At the top I showed off a bit for the kids. Right when the ball started rolling I pressed my hands and feet hard against the walls and managed to do a complete flip. This, of course, did not last long. The power of the Zorb overtook me and I was soon sloshing about like a lost sock in the washer. I was, however, able to stand up somewhere in the middle and start running with the ball like I was Harvey the Wonder Hamster. Again, this was short lived. All in all it was great fun. Expensive, though. Like $40. Bummer. And yes, Ant and Kel, I kept my pants on when jumping through the entrance.

As many of you probably know, New Zealand has a LOT of sheep. You didn’t? Read a freaking book, man. Anyway, we also went to the Agrodome which sounds like something you’d find Mad Max in but it has less to do with post-apocalyptic action flicks and more to do with showing, sheering, and herding sheep. That’s right folks! 19 species of sheep! All on stage! At the same time! Well, I think 19. I tried counting them but I kept falling asleep.

Actually, the MC was quite a showman and it was more fun than I’d like to admit. But, good lord, I think I know more about sheep than I’d ever need to know. I know the meat sheep from the wool sheep, where they come from, how big they get, what their favorite color is…everything. And you wouldn’t think it (because I didn’t) but you can actually tell the difference between each species. Some have cotton-like wool, others have dreads, and others have just normal hair. Some are all white, some have white wool with black faces, and there is, of course, the black sheep. Some have horns, others do not. Good God, why are there so many sheep?!?!
Then there was the on-stage sheering. He wasn’t setting any records but I think he probably had that thing bald in 2 minutes. Pretty impressive. Of course there’s always that girl who feels sorry for the sheep. It’s a freaking haircut! Oh, but now he’ll be cold. Sheesh! I think it looked worse than it was because the guy did have to man-handle the thing into submission but, c’mon, like the sheep is gonna cooperate any other way.

Then we got an on-stage duck herding demo. Yeah, that was nice. Hey, the dog was good.

But, far and above the coolest part of the show came next. So, these 19 or whatever sheep are all on stage and they’re standing on these plus-sized champion’s boxes. You know, those things you stand on after you win the gold in the Olympics. Only these ones are about 10 steps with one in front of the other with a sheep on each step. So the guy calls three dogs out and gives some signal and these dogs jump on the back of the nearest sheep and leapfrog from sheep to sheep in a big, continuous loop. It was awesome. They kept going until they were told to stop which they did…on top of a sheep. Sweet.

And then we got the full fledge sheep herding demo outside. All in all, not bad.

The next and final day in Rotorua brought us to a Maori village recreation with a traditional ‘hangi’ meal. ‘Hangi’ is a method of cooking in which the food is steamed underground. Pretty tasty.

When we first arrived at the village we had to elect a chief to represent us. Having done that, we walked to the entrance where we were greeted in the traditional Maori style. That is, you stand perfectly still and quiet as warriors get all up in your face with spears and clubs and scream at you. Then they place an offering at the chief’s feet who picks it up as a sign of peace.

After that, we went through the recreation. For those Grant County people, this was a bit like 1812…except Maori.

We saw some traditional dancing and singing and the Maori war face which is achieved by placing the tip of the tongue to the chin, bugging the eyes, and making guttural noises. It sounds stupid but it freaks you out when a 250 pound, mostly naked, Polynesian does it. APIC people, consider doing a Maori event. They are definitely Pacific Islanders and they definitely have a unique culture.

We got back to the hostel for what would be our last night. What does one do on a last night? Celebrate. Gilly rustled us up some ping-pong balls, somebody found some Solos, and a Beer Pong tournament began. Bob, a Brit turned Kiwi AustraLearn coordinator and a bunch of local kids got down on the action, too. We had to teach them the rules, of course. FYI, they don’t have Solo cups in NZ. I’m not sure where the ones we had came from but I’ve learned from locals that they simply don’t have regulation-sized plastic cups. Hence, they don’t play Pong because they don’t like it, it’s because they don’t have the proper equipment. Anyway, we totally owned those Kiwis in a game they never played before! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! Just kidding. That actually happened, though.

Well, its cliché but I haven’t even scratched the surface; there is still much to say. But, I’m tired of writing. But I am in Dunedin and classes have started. The rest I will fill in in the near future.
———–
Oh, before I go on I think I should mention that, at the Zorb, if you ask nicely you can get run-over by the Zorb…for FREE!  We had a whole line-up of about 20 kids who laid down and got mowed over.  It was great.
Anyway, back to the updates.  Setting the scene: last night in Rotorua.
So we had that big party at the hostel which was totally frat-ish and loud.  I guess we were getting all our obnoxiousness out there (Well, most of us.  A lot of these kids were just obnoxious and they were literally embarrassing the nation.  I was pretty glad to start distancing myself from some of them).
So we fly to Christchurch, hop another plane, and finally arrive at my destination city: Dunedin (doo-knee-din), the “student capital of New Zealand”.  Sweet.
After a short shuttle ride, I pulled up to my flat which is only a block from campus.  Also sweet.  I walk in and meet my flat mates (flat=apartment).  There was…
Becky, our kiwi host.  Blonde, hard to understand sometimes.  Fun to drink with.
Nial, the Irishman.  No “s” in his name.  Doesn’t drink like a stereotypical Irishman.  Could probably have any naïve American girl with that accent.
Ange, the Canadian.  Fitness buff, party girl.  Pretty nice but complains a little. 
And then there’s the flat next door with whom we share a backyard made of asphalt and with whom we cook many meals.  Over there is…
Emma, the kiwi host.  Best mates with Becky.
Sarah, a Canadian.  Doesn’t drink much.  Unfailingly nice.
Hal, from Atlanta.  Pretty much a dork but I’m learning to cope.
Marcus a kiwi.  He just moved in.  We were supposed to have another American kid but he never showed.
Anyway, that’s the 8 of us.  One big happy family.
So I head over to the school, the University of Otago (oh-tah-go), which was the first in New Zealand.  It’s fairly large with about 20,000 students and the campus is simultaneously beautiful and ugly.  There are spectacular old buildings that look like medieval castles and then there are drab, Communist-style concrete buildings next to it.  No matter, I didn’t come to look at buildings.  There is also a river known as the Water of Leith flowing through a man-made concrete canyon that divides the campus in two.  It’s nice but Otago is a party school and it always has some crap in it.  However, they are also quick on the clean-up.  A few days ago I saw an entire dumpster in the river.  Now, this is just amazing because whoever did it had to lift the dumpster over a two-foot high concrete barrier.  What’s even more amazing is that, in an hour’s time, it was gone.  This thing was 20 feet deep in a concrete ditch and somebody fished it out in an hour!  Very nice.  Kiwis keep their country clean, though.  There are very, very stiff fines for littering.  The US should adopt this practice. 
On the first day all the international students got a big welcome in one of the lecture halls.  Just to give you a picture of how funky this town is, the mayor came in, dressed like a king, and sang us all a little tune about Dunedin. 
This was also the time where we could sign up for some clubs.  I myself partook in adding my name to the Tramping Club roster.  No, the club isn’t about being or chasing a woman with loose morals.  Tramping means hiking and the OUTC goes on trips every weekend with one big one to Fiordland Nat’l Park coming up really soon.  FNP is one of the world’s largest parks and, from what I’ve seen in pictures, one of the most scenic.  I’m very excited for it.
On that first day, we also had the opportunity to ride the rails and see one of the Otago region’s many, green valleys.  It was nice but it could have been shorter.  The trains were Ye Olde European style which added a nice flavor to it.  Also, we rode over the Southern Hemisphere’s Largest Wrought-Iron Structure!  All right!
When I say Otago is a party school I don’t say that just to say that.  I believe last year 69 students were arrested for rioting.  And, if there’s one thing Otago is famous for its burning couches in the middle of the street.  I am sad to say I didn’t get to see this happen.  And I live so close to the “Party Street”, too.  I live on the corner of Dundas and Castle and Castle is the place to be if you want to drink yourself silly.  No worries, mom, I live on the campus end of Castle.  Much quieter.  But, if you have the chance to walk the length of Castle be prepared to see millions of broken bottles everywhere, 20 shirtless men sitting on mildewed couches on a packed dirt plot of 10X15 feet, and coat-racks adorned with many, many beer bongs.  It’s like any frat-row at any major American school…except maybe worse.  Quite the experience. 
Ugh, there’s still much to say.  I can’t believe how long this is taking me.  Soon, I will be caught up.  Soon.  Right now, I’m still trying to catch you up to the present.  Until next time…
Chris Bruns          

DEAR READERS.  WHAT FOLLOWS IS MERELY A COPY AND PASTE OF E-MAILS TO FRIENDS BACK HOME.  BUT GUESS WHAT?  YOU’RE MY FRIEND.  ENJOY.  ITS A FEW DAYS OLD BUT I THINK YOU’LL LIKE IT ANYWAY.

Kia ora!

They tell me that’s how you greet people down here. I’m not sure if it means “hello” or “welcome” or what but I know you’re supposed to say it back if you’re on the receiving end.

As to the title of this e-mail–that’s right. It is Sunday in New Zealand and Saturday in the USA. Oh, the knowledge I have! I can’t tell you anything because I might disrupt the space/time continuum but…oh, what the hell! 18-05-73-31-25 and PowerBall 11.

Anyway, it’s been a long and tiresome trip so far. 14 hours in a plane will do a number on ya. But, we got free movies and free meals which was choice. My legs were about to fall off by the end of it, though. Gunnison’s own Garrison Garcia sat right in front of me…in the exit row. Jerk. Needless to say, I was quite relieved to get off that plane. ‘Course, customs was no fun, either. They didn’t like the fact that my hiking boots had Indiana mud on them…so they cleaned them. So, I guess that’s a plus. Then we got on a bus at Auckland Airport and got on a bus to Rotorua…for 4 hours. Oy, there is little rest for the wicked i.e. Americans.

But, finally, we arrived at the hostel in Roto where I am currently typing this message. Nice place, really. It has a bar and a pool. ‘Course, they cram four beds into a closet and call it a room. No worries, though. It helps build friendships.

Turns out Otago, the Uni (Kiwi for University) I’m going to, is pretty much the most popular school for exchange students because almost everybody in this group of 130 kids is going there.

One of the first things the AustraLearn people did for us is teach us about Kiwi culture. While there are A LOT of similarities there are even more differences. For instance…

1-Don’ tip. The national minimum wage is around 10 dollars. They don’t need it, they don’t expect it. When they hear a person with an American accent walk into the bar or restaurant they will put out a tip jar. Don’t fall for it.

2-Don’t expect cars to stop for pedestrians. It’s a real pain in the ass trying to cross roads here.

3-New Zealanders curse like sailors in social atmospheres.

4-New Zealanders do not like “deep” talk. Keep it light.

5-Contrary to popular belief, New Zealand is not an English-speaking country. For your convenience, I have compiled a short list of Kiwi words with their English meaning:

-Togs=swimsuit
-Gridiron=football
-Sweet as=cool, awesome (not to be confused with “sweet a**”)
-Fizzy drink=soda, pop (seriously? fizzy drink? can’t think of anything more creative than that?)
-Shout=buy a round of drinks
-Dairy=convenience store

See? English-speaking my sweet a**.

Anyway, today I had the pleasure of exploring some glowworm caves. That was pretty sweet. We had to wear wetsuits because there were swimming and inner-tubing sections. Those got a little uncomfortable but they sure were worth it because that water was COLD! The glowworms were really neat, when we turned off our headlights it looked just like a starry night. Our guide, an American who has lived in NZ for just two years and talks JUST like a Kiwi, informed us that glowworms have no means of excreting their waste so they burn it through chemical processes causing the glow. Hence, tourists come from all over the world to see glowing poop.

If you want to do the Tumu Tumu Toobing (the outfitter’s name), don’t be claustrophobic.  There are many tight squeezes.

On the way back from that trip, Silly Gilly, the former New Zealand Army trooper turned bus driver, dropped us off at the Southern Hemisphere’s highest suspension bridge. There was a sign before the bridge that said “no more than 30 pedestrians” and “keep one meter apart”. Well, we had a whole bus-load clustered together in the middle suspended over a canyon. We are America’s future.

Last night Silly Gilly took a bunch of us kids out on the town in Rotorua (on a side note, Roto is the only significantly-sized city in New Zealand in which the indigenous Maori outnumber Europeans). We went as a group because, apparently, there are roving gangs of 12 year-old Maori kids who will jump you if they get the chance. Well, that’s all well and good to GO together but everybody wants to leave at a different time so what do you do when you want to come BACK? If you’re me, you get yourself hopelessly lost in a foreign city you’ve never been to. No worries, I hailed a cab. Garrison also got lost but he managed to get directions and walk back. I guess he had to come back twice to the same guy before he got his directions straight.

On a final note, I had the “privilege” of tasting New Zealand’s favorite “treat”: Marmite. If you have the opportunity to try this spread, don’t. It looks like pitch-black cake icing, it smells like black death, and it tastes like Satan spat in my mouth. DO NOT EAT MARMITE!!!

Alright folks, that’s all for now. I’ll be heading to Otago soon and I’ll try and keep you all posted.

Cheers,

Chris Bruns