The Long and Short of It

Here's a quick snapshot I took of the 'hood just a few minutes ago, as it was nearing 9:pm. As you can see, it's still quite light out. In fact, it almost felt like full daylight, even though the sun was actually nearly set. And twilight currently lasts until close to 9:45.

Being a native of the northern hemisphere (and especially the more northern latitudes of the northern hemisphere), it's a surreal experience to witness the days lengthening and warming as December progresses. After our year of no summer, these long days of balmy weather have been a joy and a treat. Typically, I'm not one for hot weather and endless sunny days, but this year I'm especially thankful for their arrival and particularly aware of their place in the annual cycle of things. Life seems to slow down in the summer and it becomes more easygoing. People seem more prone to linger: on porches, patios, friends' backyards, cafes. I sense a greater willingness to take the day as it comes. It feels to me like a collective unclenching; we're no longer holding ourselves taut with cold, limbs and spirits loosening with the warmth.

At our house, we start the day (early per The Squidd's rules) in shorts, sandals, and maybe a sweatshirt. Our free-time itinerary now includes things like farmers' markets, the beach, the kiddie pools at the botanic garden, blowing bubbles on the patio, etc.


Really, it feels like any other lovely, mild summer (I don't mean the sticky, smelly nastiness of the U.S. East Coast) except it started in November. We even spent Thanksgiving checking out the beautiful West Coast of NZ's South Island. Thanksgiving dinner was a meal shared with new friends on the patio of a field station.






But no matter how delighted I am with the novelty of eating cherries in December and improving my tan as January approaches, I can't help but feel that these summer days have robbed me of something dear. Let me explain:

I love the winter holidays (except here, they're the summer holidays, and by holidays I mean the actual days of celebration vs. the generic term for a vacation or day off, but that's another story). Or more accurately, I love the holidays in the winter. I love the changing colors of the leaves and the gusty, cool weather that accompanies Thanksgiving. I love how even though we typically sit down to Thanksgiving dinner on the earlier side, the darkness catches up with us, so by the time dessert is served, the dark outside just heightens the coziness of being inside surrounded by good food and good company. I love the flavors of fall that are part of the traditional meal: pumpkins and squashes, sage, cranberries, apples, potatoes, mushrooms, chestnuts, French's fried onions . . .

And Christmas. I love Christmas. Always have. I love bundling up in hats and scarves to do the holiday shopping. I love the snow and was especially enamored of the way snow melts to form real icicles on lights hung outdoors in New England. I love the lights in the trees, around windows, and draped from rooftops, twinkling in the early darkness. (I'm the girl who steadfastly cuts her tree the day after Thanksgiving and has it lit and decorated by the end of Black Friday--check out our tree from last year.)


But here, in the southern hemisphere, Thanksgiving time brings budding flowers, springtime allergies, and the first of the asparagus, strawberries, and peas. No winter-woolen bundling is needed for Christmas shopping, it being summer and all. Stockings hung above roaring hearth fires seem plain ridiculous when it's mid-70s outside. And no one hangs twinkle lights anywhere. I've decided it's because daylight lingers so long that it just doesn't seem worth the effort. Or maybe it's because all the trees have all their leaves so it's a pain in the ass to put the lights on. But whatever. No lights. Boo. On top of that, unlike U.S. retailers, retailers here seem to have retained a semblance of self-control and have only just now started putting up their modest holiday decorations. Maybe a tree. Maybe a few ornaments hung in a shop window. The rational part of me can appreciate the restrained aspect of Christmas in NZ, telling myself that perhaps the holiday is celebrated here in a more personal and sincere way. Unfortunately, the visceral part of me wants the full-blown deal. I crave seeing Christmas decorations dripping from every street corner and window, store front and homestead. I miss the 4:pm twilight so I can peer into neighborhood windows and see Christmas trees lit in all their glory. But what parent of a toddler has time (or energy) to spy on their neighbors after 10:pm, when it's summertime full dark?

These longer days have thrown me so off kilter that it actually doesn't feel as if Christmas is coming. I don't feel the urge to bake holiday cookies or undertake any holiday crafts. No sipping of hot cocoa. No glitter and sparkle of holiday parties and friends coming in from the cold dark for cocktails and sinfully decadent desserts. Instead, I want to eat salad and sip lemonade. Nap in the hammock. And take my book and kite, sand pail and towel, and bundle The Squidd off to the local beach for an afternoon of frolicking in the waves.

So my resolution this year--an early New Year's resolution, if you will--is to find a way to make new holiday traditions that embrace the culture of our new home. Who knows? In the years to come, maybe fresh Strawberry Rhubarb Pie will replace our Apple Cranberry Pie at Thanksgiving and Christmas will conjure thoughts of grilling and camping . . .

And if next year it looks like Santa threw up Christmas on my house, you'll understand why.

Modern Innovation in New Zealand: The Beer Hose

Last week we made a trip over to Westport (located on the west coast of the South Island).

One of the highlights of the trip besides the beautiful weather and scenery was West Coast Brewing (also home of Good Bastards beer). You literally walk into the center of the brewery (pipes, forklift and all) and start drinking beer.

Rather than pimp up their brewery/beer with things like atmosphere, bottles, bottle caps, labels and packaging, you essentially help yourself to one of the beer hoses (seriously there were several hoses attached to a tap connected to its Mother beer) and fill up whatever container you brought in with you.

Price of a two liter plastic bottle?
10 cents
Cost of two liters of beer?
$12
The experience of drinking beer from a hose?
Priceless

(AND for the record...they have hands down the best pale ale I have ever tasted.)

Required

I just finished a two day outdoor first aid training workshop.

Turns out that first aid training is required for most employees in New Zealand.

This has to be the safest country to either choke or have a heart attack.

The Unendearing

Where did The Squidd learn to say "NO! No! NOOO!" with a Kiwi accent?

Believe it or not, but the word "no" is the least of our worries. The word "mine" has recently entered his vocabulary. According to him, nothing belongs to us anymore. It's all his.

For He's a Jolly Good Fellow!

For the 14 years I've known Rocky, he's somehow managed to be out of town for his birthday for all but 2 or 3 years out of the bunch. This year was no different: he was away in Auckland for a work meeting (though he did get to meet up with an old friend from grad school, which was an unexpected bday treat). So, The Squidd and I wished 'ole dad a happy birthday a few days late. He did get a homemade chocolate layer cake made by yours truly, so I hope that made up for the lateness of the celebration. For his part, The Squidd really enjoyed his first experience with chocolate cake.

Rocky's parents are coming to visit next week, so we'll celebrate again with them.

Happy birthday, Rocky!

Innuendo

Just the other day while renting Conan the Barbarian, Wordy and I saw a van in the parking lot with the company's printing on the side.

The name was...

Well Hung

Any guesses on what they are trying to sell?

Busy, busy, busy

If you couldn't tell by our lack of posts, Wordy and I have been a little busy. We wish we could post more, but by the end of the day...we are just exhausted.

What's been keeping us busy you may ask? Two simple words...

The Squidd

Simply, The Squidd has a LOT of personality. Imagine my personality and Wordy's magnified by two and add a dash of allspice. He jabbers nonstop from the time he wakes up and up until bedtime. During the day, he has many important points to make to both Wordy and myself. Special/important points are sometimes emphasized with a fart (mainly due to clenching all his muscles to give us his one of kind 'I really mean it' look).

He only has a handful of words, but you can start to tell that he is getting frustrated by the communication gap.

This list will bring you up to date with some of his vocabulary when (not if) he talks to you: dog, duck, up, down, Marmite, d'oh (while slapping his head), eyes, nose, ears, mouth, brow, button, socks, shoes, and double double dog dare. Not to mention, shhshing with one finger over his mouth when he is trying to hide. For some reason he likes singing out loud the letters O P P...which may cause some problems in the months ahead.

He has figured out how to open doors, use levers and fulcrums, and he has even recognized how to count and keep track of his favorite things. This is making it even harder to dupe him out of certain items like keys, toothbrushes, and credit cards.

At the moment, he is very displeased about teeth brushing.

He is completely off the bottle and eats big person food. Likes: Roasted cauliflower, hummus, Marmite and toast, NZ mince meat pie, and anything spicy (all Indian food so far). He even enjoys blowing on his luke warm food to cool it off and feeds himself with a spoon. Last weekend he had his first ice cream at the beach (they serve soft-serve from the ice cream trucks) and he was in utter bliss.

We are having a blast, but my word(!) we are just beat at the end of the day.

Sporting Update

NZ women's hockey team: Black Sticks
NZ men's bowling team: Black Jacks

I kid you not.

Auntie Smeeches Comes for a Visit

My sister just left yesterday after a 2.5 week visit. Despite the earthquake, we had a great visit and had fun at the local parks, beaches, zoo, Franz Josef glacier, etc.

Communication Disorders

Communication disorders are apparently housed in a building not far from Rocky’s building on campus. A fairly prominent sign proclaims this to be the case. On noticing it for the first time, I wondered exactly what was in that building, what the staff people in that building do on a daily basis, and what do Kiwis consider to be a communication disorder. Because it strikes me that perhaps I ought to check it out, plagued as I have been by a number of minor yet surprising difficulties bridging the language barrier between American English and Kiwi English.

An example: Not too long ago, Rocky and I went shopping for a dresser to hold The Squidd’s burgeoning wardrobe (thank you, friends and fam). Because we are new to the area, this was an exhausting proposition. Needless to say, we stopped at many, many stores from crappy to trendy, dead cheap to astronomically expensive. Among our many stops was a department store called Ballantyne’s. While there, we saw one of The Squidd’s teachers. She’s a lovely woman and a lovely educator, but we decided not to stop her and, instead, to let her enjoy her weekend without reminders of work to intruding on her outing. However, come Monday morning, when I went to drop off The Squidd, I mentioned to her that I’d seen her at Ballantyne’s, which I pronounced bal-an-teens. She looked at me oddly and asked me to repeat where I saw her.

So I said it again: Bal-an-teens.

Blank stare.

You know, Bal-an-teens, that department store downtown.

Lightbulb clicked on. Big smile now. Oh, Bal-an-TINES (rhymes with ‘valentines’). Yes, I was there with my daughter.

Seriously? The pronunciation of Bal-an-teens is so off that it’s completely unidentifiable as a reference to the store in question? Huh.

And another: Rocky reminded me that tomorrow we are meant to attend a potluck-style party at the home of his department chair. When I asked him what time it begins, he told me he wasn't sure. And before I could roll my eyes and ask him to puh-leeez find out, he told me the evite says to show up around "midday splicing of the mainbrace." Umm . . .

Earthquake: The Saga Continues

We are still doing fine. Yesterday, we went to the Orana Wildlife Park and fed the giraffes.

After surveying the damage a little more, the places that have fallen down do not surprise me in the least. Brick construction. No to little support for the structures. Built before building standards were set forth. Poorly maintained. Or built on mud near streams.

These are the buildings they are showing on the news.

Summary so far.

After a 7.1 quake, no loss of human life. Zero.

Power was voluntarily shut down to ensure no fires for about 6 hours.

No looting and people behaving.

Volunteers helping out all over the place.

The grocery store was a little bare, but shipments have resumed today.

We are still getting aftershocks, but they last for about 5-10 seconds.

If this quake happened near Philadelphia, it would have been a very different story.

Earthquake Update

First, I am back in Christchurch and everyone is completely fine and dandy.

Second, do not believe everything the news might be telling you! There is minimal damage. The major damage is to a sewer line, some chimneys fell down, and there are a few cracks in some roads built on marshy soils. The one or two buildings in Christchurch that they keep showing on the news were gutted and structurally unsound...they were already in the process of tearing down those buildings. In essence, any Seattle blizzard is 10x more dangerous than this quake.

We have power. We have lots of food. It really is not a big deal. Hell, all the stores are open including the KFC and McDonalds down the road.

At worst, we have to go without a shower for a day to ensure that the water lines have not been contaminated.

That's it.

Earthquake in NZ

7.4 Magnitude earthquake west of Christchurch.

Power is out, but family and house are fine.

I am in Westport right now and doing fine.

NZ Sports

Every morning when I take Rocky (and sometimes The Squidd) to school, I invariably catch the sports report on my current favorite radio station. So over the weeks and months, I've picked up the names of some of the NZ national teams:

Rugby: All Blacks
Soccer: All Whites
Cricket: Black Caps
Women's Rugby: Black Ferns

Anyone noticing a (predictable) trend here? And just this week, I heard mention of the national basketball team. Wait for it. Yes, it's the Tall Blacks.

The Upswing

Now begins the part of our story where the good things of New Zealand start to emerge.

Sometimes we get lost in the details and forget exactly where we are.

I imagine that reading this blog over the past couple of weeks you may be imagining a country where everything is backwards and bizarre.

It's not.

Here is a list of some really great things about living here.

1) Daycare is VERY affordable and it is VERY good. If we still lived in Philly, we would be living in the red, even with two salaries, because of the cost of daycare.

2) I love my job. Everyday I walk into my office with a smile. Additionally, this job allows me more time to spend with Wordy and The Squidd.

3) Customer service at any electronics store is amazingly efficient and friendly. I almost fantasize about being invited to drink beer with staff in the storeroom.

4) There is a staff bar on campus in a Tudor mansion that serves local microbrews, wines, and just about any cocktail. This is the sign of a civilized university.

5) Tea time is genius. At 10:30AM and 3PM, work essentially stops and everyone has tea together.

6) The landscape here is phenomenal. Every time I go for a run up the hill, I am treated to see amazing mountains and the Pacific at the same time.

Cost of Living Dilemma

At one time (as little as 10 years ago) living in New Zealand was very affordable.

Something has apparently changed. Housing prices have really gone up. Taxes are going up another 5%. Goods are ridiculously expensive here...a jacket here costs around $(NZ)300 where as in the states I could buy the same jacket for around $(US)100.

The exchange rate does not account for these price discrepancies.

Perhaps it's because of shipping costs?

But tell me this...

Why can I buy a New Zealand apple (grown just a few miles away) in Philadelphia cheaper (accounting for the exchange rate) than I can in New Zealand?

In the know

It's always nice to be 'in the know.'

In Philly, if you asked either Wordy or myself where the best pizza was, for example, we could break it down by the type of pizza you were craving (thin crust, thick crust, etc.) and by proximity. For food it's really easy to be 'in the know' relatively quick because other people 'in the know' can help you out. Some of our 'in the know' places were:

Best falafel: Mama's
Best fries: Monk's
Best chocolate chip cookie: 4th Street Deli

But to be really 'in the know,' it takes more than just knowing where to eat. To really know a place, you need to dig a little deeper under shiny veneer of the city.

Where is the nearest post office with the least surly postal workers?

Which SEPTA ticketing person is the one I want to avoid because he/she always messes up my Zone 3 Off Peak Roundtrip ticket?

If I dropped an air conditioner on my foot, which hospitals should I avoid if I want to keep my foot?

Where can I park for as long as I want and not have to worry about being ticketed?

These are the types of questions that a person 'in the know' could answer without blinking an eye.

Yesterday, we drove into Christchurch to take The Squidd to the Adventure Aquarium (which we have a season pass to) and we parked in a spot (by design!) avoiding the meter charge. We then navigated through the city avoiding the touron attractions and we checked on the exchange rate of the US dollar. After the aquarium, we drove directly back home (and not listening to our spiritual leader...the GPS) avoiding all the potential log jams.

I am not sure if we are completely 'in the know' yet (I had a sharp reminder not knowing that there was some important rugby game at 7PM in which the stores were jacked with people buying crisps and beer at 6PM when all I wanted to buy was a can of beans), but yesterday was 'good as gold.'

Check, check, and check

Wordy applying for a job. Check.

Wordy having a phone interview for said job. Check

Wordy acing the phone interview and getting a person to person interview for said job. Check.

Go Wordy!

Road Kill Mystery

On the street in front of our condo, some little critter met its maker.

Being the scientist that I am, I took advantage of the opportunity to investigate the wildlife of New Zealand.

Small animal. Check.

Potentially a rodent of some type. Check.

Furry...not furry.

Spiny, spiky. Err...check.

Cute little face. Check...

Oh no! It's a hedgehog! A cute little hedgehog!

Wait a second. What in Akaroa is a hedgehog doing in New Zealand?!

I can understand sheep, cattle, and horse being imported into New Zealand. These animals provide some sort of benefit: wool, beef/milk, and transportation. But importing hedgehogs? Turns out on further investigations (involving asking two Kiwis at a dinner party) that English gardeners had/have an affinity for hedgehogs. New Zealand wouldn't feel like their home in the British countryside without their beloved spiky slug-eating friends.

Upon even further investigation, Kiwi children are terrified of hedgehogs, especially when camping in the backyard. There are so many hedgehogs nowadays (with no predators) that at night they 'swarm' backyards looking for food. So imagine this: You are a 6 year old sleeping outside (by yourself) for the first time and all night little hedgehogs are rubbing against your tent...trying to get inside...looking for blood...human blood...your blood.

No wonder once Kiwis get their driver's license that they take every chance to run over their nightmares...which are hedgehogs.

Red Elephant Take Me Away

Over the last couple of weeks, we have had no luck finding a good 'go to' take away (i.e., the kiwi equivalent of take out) place. For us in Philly, our 'go to' place was Ekta. The saag paneer at Ekta is simply hands down the best in the world...or at least the world as we know it.

Most of the take away places in Christchurch are mediocre at best. Believe it or not, Kentucky Fried Chicken (and yes they do spell it out here) is a big f'ing deal. I imagine kiwis would knight the Colonel if they could.

In direct contrast to the US, frying is not taboo. I would estimate that there are nearly 30 Fish and Chips shops in a 2 mile radius of our house. Most interestingly, it's Fish and Chips and Chinese. How's that for a combo! Turns out that the local custom is to go your local Fish and Chips shop on Friday and order some 'greasies.'

Tonight our long awaited miracle occurred...we found our 'go to' take away.

Let me introduce Red Elephant Thai.

The White Horseman

For the past two weeks, the White Horsemen has been staying at our house.

He's really a very nice person (lots of great stories about ye olden days), but he's overdue his stay.

In other news, The Squidd has gone bipedal.

It's Official!

The Squidd's first official word (meaning he can say it and know its context) is 'up.'

Followed closely by his second official word...'numnuts.'

The Things I See

On my ride into work, I see these three signs/billboards everyday. Giggle at your leisure.

Milo versus Vegemite

My dearest Milo,

Over the past couple of weeks, I have tried desperately to enjoy, like, even just tolerate you. The casual sipping. The mixing and stirring. Your heat on my cold hands. However, my malty Milo, we need to break up. I would like to say that it's me not you, but who am I kidding...you taste like a**...it's definitely you.


In other news, we have made a breakthrough in Kraft taste technology. Vegemite is an Australian food product made by the Kraft mega-conglomerate. It's salty, yeasty and tastes like a cross between your average cold/flu and chicken noodle soup (imagine that in your mouth if you can). It's also one of the few Australian products that Kiwis actually endorse. While enjoying one of my other fine Kraft products (Philadelphia Cream Cheese...let's give a what! what! for Philly) on some toast, I decided to marble in a little Vegemite. The results were outstanding! Overall, the experience was a fiesta in my mouth and everyone was getting along. If you decide to try this combination out, remember not to use too much Vegetite or your mouth fiesta might get a little ugly.

Bon appetit!

Jekyll & Hyde

Many people have a tendency to generalize a people or society, especially when it comes to driving.

For example:

New Yorkers are bad drivers.

Mass Holes are bad drivers.

Californians are bad drivers.

Philadelphians are bad drivers.

The list could go on and on about who has the worst drivers. Of course, the drivers in New York are bad for very different reasons than, say, the Californians. New Yorkers are aggressive in their driving style, whereas, Californians are a little more spacey (i.e., you're never quite sure when a Californian might decide to change into another lane).

Again, these are very broad generalizations, which are not truly reflective of the drivers of a particular city, state, or country.

OK. Now that we have settled on that, let's move onto the meat of this post.

Kiwis are lovely people. Very friendly. Very accommodating. Very 'Bob the Builder' yes we can!

However, there is another side of Kiwis that we have witnessed over the past couple of weeks that only occurs the second they sit in their cars and start up the engine.

This is the Dr. Jekyll transforming into Mr. Hyde phenomena that we have witnessed (and been scared Squiddless about) time and time again. Even the popular guide books explicitly warn their readers about Kiwi drivers.

New Yorkers, Californians, Philadelphians, Mass Holes...you are not even in the same league as our Kiwi hosts. For scale, you are in the T-ball league with your Big League Chew and knee pads...that one of you parents made you wear so you wouldn't scrape your knees as you pranced into home plate...but I digress.

Besides all the accidents, cutting people off, screaming inside of cars, etc., that we have witnessed on a daily basis, the one that shocks us most is that pedestrians are targets. Even if you have a pedestrian green light, you are taking your life into your own hands crossing the street.

At one of my safety meetings composed of hearty geologists who work in Antarctica, Pakistan, the Saharas, active volcanoes, etc. (really dangerous places doing dangerous things!), the most dangerous activity they said they had done in the last 2 years was commuting into work that morning. Every single one...and they were NOT joking.

So be warned, a Kiwi might be a friendly little bird most of the time, but given the right conditions it will kick you in the knee cap...as we learned at the Kiwi bird exhibit and aquarium.

It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Over the weekend, the Squidd stayed home to play with the grandparents so Rocky and I could do a little local exploring. We ended up doing some light hiking ("tramping") about 10 minutes from the house. Whatever NZ may be lacking in other areas, it certainly makes up for it in pure physical beauty.

Rocky and I didn't camp at all in Pennsylvania, mostly because the summers are utterly disgusting with the overwhelming heat and humidity, so we are very much looking forward to camping often out here.

New Zealand Headline News...yes, it involves sheep

After Jeech and Chong came back from a trip around the South Island, they were excited to tell us about Shrek the Monster Sheep.

Apparently, Shrek avoided capture for six years by hunkering down in an alpine cave. Needless to say, Shrek was a little fluffy when they eventually found him.

The Squidd Turns 1

Before

During

After

Squiddzilla

Ridikiwilous

So...not only was our modem sent to the wrong address, but it was also to delivered to the wrong city.

Our (Kiwi-willing) internet provider somehow addressed our modem to the wrong address. Then the postal service decided to deliver it to the wrong city (Auckland is not even on the same island!). THEN(!) a person named Jeremey B. signed for the modem even though it was addressed to Wordy and myself.

My only explanation is that we are being hazed by the country of New Zealand.

Alright Phi Kiwi Gamma, we get it.

You have made our lives difficult for the past couple of weeks, and you have broken our Flag Waving American spirits. Shouldn't we now celebrate with Jagermeister and togas? It's been 3 weeks since The Squidd has seen his favorite YouTube video (The Elmo Duck Song) and poor Wordy just wants to check on Patrick Rothfuss' progress.

A.I.: Almost Internet

Supposedly, our modem will arrive tomorrow and Wordy will be back in action.

This whole process has taken more than 2 weeks...I could've ridden a dolphin from Akeroa to Auckland and back again by now to pick up that modem.

One short note is that The Squidd has been chatting up (or should I say crapping up?) a storm. So far, he is not really using words. He makes a variety of sounds and sometimes they form 'unexpected' words. Turns out that the favorite sound for the week is 'sh-it.' yup...would you have expected any less from The Squidd?

Winter is coming...for a whole year

As you can probably tell by our earlier posts, it's cold here. In fact, it's winter.

Wordy, The Squidd, and I are in the middle of experiencing our year of eternal winter. We left winter in the Northern Hemisphere only to arrive in winter in the Southern Hemisphere. This provides perspective as to whether or not we actually need summer.

Do we miss the smell of Philly in the summer? No. Mind you certain corners of Philly smell like 200 year old outhouses. Around Pine and 13th, there is a smell like no others...especially with the dive bar Dirty Frank's right there.

Do we miss the muggy, shirt-sticking afternoons of the Eastern Seaboard? Hell no.

Do we miss the season of water ice? For those of you not from Philadelphia, water ice is a summer treat that is essentially a slightly hardened over-sweetened slushy. The best water ice is at John's, but for some reason I aways felt like an idiot ordering water ice. Isn't ice solid water? I might as well be ordering water water.

OK, we don't miss certain things, but there is something to be said about warming up the bones, grilling outside, and wearing shorts. Mind you, winter does not deter Kiwis from wearing shorts. Wordy and I are still amazed by the number of Kiwis we see in shorts everyday. Perhaps, The Squidd will also acquire this superpower as well as a Kiwi accent?

Both Wordy and I are interested to see 'how Kiwi' The Squidd will go in the coming years. When The Squidd gets a little older, we hope to take him back to Philly to see where he was born...return to his roots.

I can only imagine The Squidd ordering a water ice at John's and the cashier asking, "Where are you from?" puzzled by his Kiwi accent.

"13th and Rodman," he'll say. "I am a Philadelphian, mate."

Arrival of Jeech and 'Chong

Squidd's grandparents arrived in New Zealand yesterday and as you can tell by the title of this post...my Japanese is atrocious. Not because I don't try, I just hear things differently.

Japanese 101
Grandpa = ojichan (What I hear...Jeech)
Grandma = bachan (What I hear...Bachong)

Wordy will back in the saddle writing in a few days once our internet connection starts working.

Unpack Rats

On Thursday our crate from the U.S. was delivered and we have begun the arduous task of moving in and rediscovering all the little things that we haven't seen for the past two months.

Needless to say, we have been unpacking for five straight days and only now are we beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Hence, no communication to the outside world and no recent blog updates.

Wordy is most glad to have her knives again. The 'knives' at the rental house were more like crushers and only had the ability to pulverize food into submission (i.e. cheese slices became cheese mashes.)

Quick NZ culinary note, we have recently learned that 'tasty' cheese is Kiwi code for extra sharp cheddar. Yes, extra sharp cheddar is tasty, but does that really make it tasty cheese? If it were up to me, I would call brie tasty cheese and call extra sharp cheddar tangy cheese. I would also call biscuits cookies and I would call biscuits....biscuits.

The one item I am truly glad to see again is my pillow. Not too soft, not too firm. Just right. I once likened that wearing my favorite pair of shoes was like a litter of kitties licking my feet all day. For pillows, this analogy is just plain creepy. Instead, I will say that my pillow does its job and does it magically well.

Experiment Milo

Over the next two weeks, I will be subjecting myself to what appears to be a very popular drink: Milo.

The advertising around the country for Milo is relentless. Drink Milo! Milo and cricket! Milo is extreme!

So I thought I would buy in. All the Kiwis I have met so far ARE taller than me and they DO excel at extreme activities. Perhaps Milo is their secret.

For all intents and purposes, Milo looks like chocolate milk, except for the fact that it's derived from malted barley. Being from the US, I automatically equate chocolate and malt to Whoppers which are scrumptious, totally ignoring the fact that its derived from barley...malted barley...which is analogous in flavor and texture to kitty litter.

Who the heck came up with this drink and how was he/she allowed to get away with it?!

After my first sip, the challenge was on as I couldn't dump out the whole container. That would be wasteful.

Several years ago I couldn't stand scotch, but I worked hard and slowly gained a taste for it. Milo is my new scotch. If I can gain an appreciation for Milo, perhaps I can move on to durian, natto, and calves brains.

Caution: American Driver

A few days ago I took my first spin in the new car and my first spin driving on the other side of the road. I was delighted to find that although the sensation of sitting on the right side of the vehicle and driving on the left side of the road are, ahem, foreign, the experience wasn't extraordinarily unsettling. It simply called for a little additional concentration and advance planning. OK, self, at that light up ahead, you're going to turn right. That means you need to turn across a couple lanes of traffic into the lane to the left of the median. It also helps that there are generally other cars on the road from which to take your cues.

Strangely, the most difficult thing so far about driving here was a complete surprise to me. It's the turn signal indicator. In the cars here, the turn signal indicator remains on the right side of the steering wheel. But for whatever reason, my brain expects the turn signal indicator to be on the left side of the steering wheel. Never have I driven a car with a turn signal indicator on the left side of the steering wheel, so this makes absolutely no sense to me. But the upshot of this idiosyncracy is that whenever I go to change lanes or make a turn, I automatically switch on (or off) the windshield wipers.

Now, I've never been a particularly glamourous driver. And neither did I ever have any delusions that I looked especially cool while driving. The only cars I've ever owned have been modest and sensible. I kept the interiors clean, but I seldom washed the outside. I wasn't self-conscious when I knocked my side-view mirror off and drove around for a few months with a plastic baggie over the stub to prevent rain from getting into the door panel. Nor did I mind when my Honda rebelled after my first winter in New England and, come spring, started spraying windshield wiper fluid out the side of the hood onto adjacent cars. My cars got me where I needed to go and got me there safely and reliably, and that was all that I really cared about.

However, living in a foreign country, I feel a little vanity start to creep in. Maybe it's my desire to put on a good show for the sake of all Americans. I want the kiwis to think well of us as a nation; therefore, I go out of my way to be friendly, generous, helpful, and above all, imminently likeable. It's actually a little nauseating, but I can't seem to help myself. So imagine me, trying to look cool. Trying to acclimate and show that Americans, too, can adapt to other cultures. Inching down the road like a grandma, with the windshield wipers and turn signals alternating erratically. Yeah, I blend.

The Electric Cowbanue

Today we purchased our first foreign car, literally. During the test drive, the car kept warning me in Japanese (via its GPS) that I was driving the wrong direction to Hokkaido.

After being sticker shocked by Hondas in New Zealand (a new Honda Accord runs about $60,000, and a 5 year old, used Honda minivan is a whopping $27,000), we went back to our first automotive love, the Subaru.

Our first Subaru was a 2005 Outback, which we named Wallula (after the Wallula Gap in Washington).

Ever since growing up in the age of Knight Rider and The Dukes of Hazard, my family has always named our cars: Goldie, The Rabbit, Rocky (a bitchin' TransAm Firebird that my mom raced truckers with in Texas...that's another story), etc.

However, Wordy and her family really never named their cars. This was shocking to me. Truly shocking. Even when naming things, I was surprised by some of the names Wordy and her family came up with...Brown Baby, Orange Baby, D, M, J, Bad Bear, you get the idea.

Over the last 13 years that Wordy and I have been together, I can say without a doubt that one of the things I have brought to our relationship are names that do not suck.

I can't claim many things, but this is my flag and I am waving it.

-Rocky and Wordy Flashback -

Along time ago in a United States far, far away, this song came on the radio. (Be sure to click the link.)

You can imagine my surprise when Wordy started belting out...

"We're gonna rock down to Electric Cowbanue and then we drink papaya."

That's right Electric Cowbanue...

Yes, I admit I have sung songs not using the right or even accepted words, but Electric Cowbanue and drinking papaya...was pure genius. I loved it!

So with that long winded introduction, let me introduce our new (but used) Japanese-speaking 2005 Subaru Forester, The Electric Cowbanue.

Frickin' Freezing, Mr. Bigglesworth

Here's the thing. Though it is a small island nation, my initial impression is that New Zealand is more progressive than the U.S. in many ways. You can pay for your parking at any metered parking spot with your cell phone. You can recycle practically anything. And it seems based on our interaction with locals (our new landlord, our car salesman, etc.) that long-term, stable partnerships--even same-sex ones--are quite common and just as esteemed as those endorsed by the bond of marriage. These are seductive observances, and they make me that much more desirous to learn more about my new home.

But here's the big but. The Thing I Will Never Understand is how such a seemingly 21st-century place pays such little regard to the ever so modern development called home insulation. Bad enough that the majority of homes have single-paned windows and drafty doors and windows. Bad enough that walls and floors remain cold no matter how warm the internal house air might be. On top of the lack-of-insulation issue is the weird home heating issue. Central heat and thermostats are rare, and many houses (and our current abode specifically) rely heavily on space heaters to keep the inhabitants warm. Yes, the weird plug-in kind that look sort of like mini radiators, are painted that almond-y off-white color, and that can be semi-rolled and semi-dragged from room to room on crappy plastic castors. So in winter, not only is the house cold, there's no good way to warm it up. And in fact, it's often warmer outside than in.

So tonight, it's 1 degree C outside. Pretty close to freezing. Granted, we planned poorly and didn't get enough pellets for the wood pellet stove in the living room (called lounge here), but even if we had, the rest of the house outside the living room would still feel like the bathroom at a national park in the middle of winter. Cold. Clammy. Smelling slightly of mildew.

Poor little Squidd has both space heaters in his room (oh yes, we have two for the entirety of this 3-bedroom house) so he won't freeze his pert little butt off during the night. That means Rocky and I will be pinned beneath mountains of comforters, Princess and the pea style, to keep warm. The door to the bathroom will remain firmly closed in hopes of counteracting the cold air blowing through the half-inch gap (no lie) at the bottom of the bathroom window.


And the door to the third bedroom will also remain firmly shut, though that is thanks only to a bath towel wedged beneath it to prevent it from blowing in due to its own sourceless drafts. It's insane. I may as well be camping, which I would frankly love. At least then I'd have my cozy down sleeping bag.

Maybe we're just wimps. Soft Americans. Because, impossibly, the kiwis don't seem to notice the cold. Everywhere I turn, there are kiwis in shorts. School kids in their blazers and knee socks and shorts. Cyclists in blaze orange or neon yellow with gaiters and shorts. Runners, baristas, shopkeeps, you name it. Shorts all around.

Needless to say, Rocky and I can't wait to move into the townhouse we rented. It has a heat pump, which means a wall-mounted heater that actually blows warm air, and double-paned windows. Now if only we could figure out how to get electricity for our new place.

On a happier note, we managed to get mobile phones today, and we finally sealed the deal on a car. We'll be happy Subaru owners once more.

Cultural Immersion

Rugby...check.

Apparently, tennis is somewhat different here.

No Cents

One of the hardest things of adjusting to New Zealand is that they have no cents (literally).

Everything is rounded up to the neartest $0.10 based on the Swedish rounding system. What makes this even more difficult is that each business gets to decide whether to round up or round down when the price ends in $0.05. Seriously.

In other news, we saw our first sheep the other day. Strangely, in a trailer behind a truck. Seriously.

Chateau Insulation and Pizza

After searching for several grueling days, we have found a well insulated townhouse in the not-so-dodgy community of Beckenham just south of downtown.

It's close to the beach, close to the hills, and close to Hell Pizza.

Yes, Hell Pizza with pizzas including The Mordor and The Grimm.

Of interest at Hell Pizza:
The Damned is vegetarian.
Hell has eco-friendly bags available.
Apparently, terrormisu [sic] from Hell cannot be beat.

First True Love

Turns out The Squidd loves sand and surf. Here's a few pix of his first romp at the beach (New Brighton) with his dad.

Better Than a Train Station Door . . .

Four years ago, when Rocky and I were first considering the move to Philly, we made a brief trip out there to check out the surroundings and assess the general liveability of the area. As part of that trip, we rode the train from the suburb of Bryn Mawr into downtown Philadelphia. While waiting on the train platform in Philly to head back into Bryn Mawr, we noticed a little kid (maybe 3 or 4 years old) vigorously licking--yes, licking--the glass door leading from the station onto the platform. Oh gross. Oh gross. The germ-o-phobe (sp?) and anal-retentive Virgo in me was horrified. Nothing, nothing could possibly be more germ-infested than a door for public transportation in one of America's biggest cities.

Leap ahead in time to now. Rocky and I now have The Squidd (a bub as they call babies here in NZ). Since his birth, my knee-jerk reaction as said germ-o-phobe is to keep The Squidd protected from all germs and yuckies out there. That said, I also realize the futility of this and also the potential harm. Of course I don't want him to be sick, but I also know that being sick will help him to build a strong immune system that is capable of fending off the innumerable nasties he encounters every day. The result: I try to let go a little. I pretend I'm the cool, laid-back mom that takes everything in stride. And every day I make a conscious choice to let The Squidd just do what babies do. Crawl. Lick. Chew on everything he can lay his hands on.

I'll admit, this has been an especially hard thing for me over the last 6 weeks. Since leaving Philly, we've been through airports in 8 cities and 2 continents. The Squidd has touched seats, tray tables, windows, and changing tables in airplanes and airports across the country. He's crawled on airport floors and inched along rows of seats in boarding areas. He's sucked on toys that have fallen on the floor of public places. Did I hate it? Of course. But was The Squidd happier and a better traveler because of the freedom he had? Of course. And the best part of it is he came through it all beautifully. Not a sniffle or a cough or anything. Yes!

But tomorrow I face the ultimate test of the control-freak, germ phobic mom: daycare. The Temple of Doom. Tomorrow is The Squidd's first day of daycare ever. I know he'll love it. I know he'll make friends and thrive in his new learning environment. And I know with a deep and abiding certainty that he and I and Rocky will never be sicker than we will be these next few years thanks to the petri dishes he'll call his classmates.

So when Rocky and I drop The Squidd off tomorrow morning, I'll take a couple deep breaths, give him a kiss, and repeat this mantra in my head: "Better than a train station door."

The House Hunt

Everything is falling into place.

Invade the country: Check
Start a bank account and get credit with no identification: Check
Equate old words with new words (e.g. diapers=nappies): Check
House hold container avoiding capture by pirates: Check (but it would have been cool!)
Find a house/townhouse/Hobbit Hole: Big phat X

We are off to look at one more house for the day. Cross your fingers.

Apparently, the word insulation and its use in housing just began in this country.

Recap: Part 1

Our travels to New Zealand began with a 2 hour delay leaving Los Angeles due to Icelandic ash…fitting really for a geologist. The Squidd was awake for 7 hours making him extremely tired and a grump. He fell asleep quickly on the flight for roughly one hour before he woke up, and he was NOT a happy camper about being in his car seat. Let’s just summarize by saying it was a long flight and The Squidd by far was the most well rested and well fed out of the bunch. Customs in Auckland was easy, and we had a person help us (by wheeling our luggage and The Squidd) until we checked into our flight for Christchurch.

We arrived in Christchurch to beautiful fall weather; however, we could barely keep our eyes open.

Fresh off the Boat

We have finally landed in New Zealand!