NEW BLOG!

Wannabe Kiwi was a project a started while studying abroad in New Zealand. It is a thing of the past, but my first blog and it holds many great memories.

But now, follow me at…  Route Words.

Route Words is a travel and lifestyle blog where I document my thoughts, ideas, tips/tricks and memories. My love for travel was discovered in New Zealand, but has continued on since then.

Check it out to read about my expat life from New Zealand to South America and Europe!

The Traveler's Goodbye.

Goodbyes always seem so dramatic in the movies. Eyes are filled with tears, men tend to run along the side of trains and the weather just happens to be dreary just like that foggy night in Casablanca with trench coats and the ever famous farewell line: “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

These scenes are never tearjerkers for me. I wouldn’t necessarily classify myself as “movie crier” at all, but the whole concept of saying goodbye is often overly portrayed as melodramatic.

I’ve been confident about my opinion on this sappy subject for years until, unfortunately, a few weeks ago.

I wiped away tears while taking the elevator down to the lobby of my apartment building. I needed to throw bags of trash into the dumpster, bags filled with a pair of my worn converse, disregarded scribbles of class notes and maps that had been pinned to my walls for months – basically anything I could trash in order to lighten my luggage.

I was focused on moving out of my flat in time to catch a flight to the South Island of New Zealand where I would be traveling for the following weeks.

As I walked into the lobby, I saw the tear-stained faces of the people I spent the last five months getting to know. The people from countries scattered around the world and all across America that were so different from me, but quickly became my best friends.

I didn’t decide to study abroad to make new friends or meet people, I wanted to see the world and become familiar with the country.

I am satisfied with my relationship with New Zealand, I immersed myself into the culture and traveled more within the country in five months than I have around the U.S. my entire life, but during the last days, it wasn’t the relationship with the country that concerned me, it was ending the relationships with the people I shared the time.

So I walked to and from the dumpster without acknowledging my emotional friends and headed back up to my flat to grab my bags, along with my composure.

It’s not easy accepting the fact that the world is a large place and you may never see these people ever again.

Yes, the Internet allows us to Skype, email and easily keep in touch, but the understanding sits in the back of our minds that the bond will never be same.

Once I was able to get my emotions under control, I joined my group of friends in the lobby for the final farewells.

Most goodbyes are awkward. No one ever knows the right words to say, but I’ve realized now that most things are better left unsaid.

That unsatisfied, incomplete feeling will always exist after a sincere goodbye and I recognize that there is nothing one can say or do to fulfill it.

So we all cried and hugged and sometimes didn’t say a word while onlookers stared at us, most not able to comprehend the situation as it is something that the majority of people have never experienced and may never will.

Leaving and losing such valuable relationships is not an experience I would recommend to others, but it is a part of traveling that one cannot avoid.

After returning home to my family and friends, I still feel a bit of emptiness and I’m only now realizing that it will never go away, but only be ignored, as the memories are more important. So far it seems easier to remember than to miss.

I was reading a book during the end of my time abroad and posted a quote from it on my wall for inspiration and would now recommend it to any other traveler who inevitably faces the final goodbye.

“So many people enter and leave your life. Hundreds of thousands of people! You have to keep the door open so they can come in, but it also means you have to let them go.”

-Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

A late Halloween recap

The month of October was gone before I knew it. The semester was quickly coming to an end, which meant exams were fast approaching and although we weren’t speaking about it, we all knew in the back of our minds that we would soon be saying our goodbyes.

Back home, the excitement for Halloween builds up weeks before the final night. Decorations are displayed across the aisles in grocery stores, battery-powered singing bats appear on porches along with mock cobwebs on the bushes and of course costume ideas are discussed daily. Halloween may even be the biggest holiday for university students, it’s right up there with St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco de Mayo – basically just another excuse to celebrate alcohol.

This year, I was sitting with friends on a blanket in Albert Park enjoying the sunshine when it was brought up that it was the 31^st of October. We planned on going to town that evening, but hadn’t necessarily prepared any costumes. A few ideas floated around until we decided to dress up as our guy friends. We have a close group of unique friends each with very distinguishable characteristics, so it wouldn’t be difficult to imitate them.

That night, we snuck into rooms to steal their clothes and supplies for our costumes. We got ready in secret and revealed ourselves altogether – it was obvious to everyone who we were impersonating.

Roberta dressed as our Maori friend Barry. She wore his signature hat and vest combo with a stain down the front of his white shirt and didn’t put down the Diesel (Burbon and Coke) can all night.

Audrey had crazy hair held in place with a red bandana and plaid button down shirt. She wore a thick hemp necklace and enthusiastically babbled about the environment all night, perfectly imitating Mason from Seattle.

Kristen successfully stole our Fijian friend Tim’s “Bula skirt” and brown vest. She even carried around a laundry basket to represent his frequent trips to “do laundry.”

Annie perfectly portrayed Mark with basic khakis and a full beard. She even chewed on hard spaghetti noodles for the full effect.

I dressed as my Norwegian friend Mads. I stole one of his signature cardigans and wore it with a beanie and bright wayfarer sunglasses. I changed my pants three different times to find the right pair, and each time they got brighter and tighter, ending with a skinny cut turquoise pair.

"O for awesome!"

“O for awesome!” is a common phrase used to express a deeper feeling of “Sweet As” and when your response toward the happening is greater than just plain awesome.

Surprisingly, kiwi’s are generally intelligent people. They may jump off of tall towers with rubber bands strapped to their feet and drive on the wrong side of the road, but they know that awesome is not spelled with an “o”.

So, where did this popular expression originate?

On October 10, 1992, Olympic heavyweight boxing champion David Tua appeared on a celebrity version of New Zealand’s Wheel of Fortune.

When his turn arrived, he aggressively spun the wheel and proudly asked for an “O… for awesome!”

Ever since the show aired, the phrase has stuck and its popularity continues to grow across the land of the long white cloud.

And now, thanks to Tua, I have my favorite New Zealand souvenir that will not make sense to most, if not all, Americans who see it.

Reuniting.

Skyped with my best friends the other day and it felt so relieving to finally be able to speak altogether face-to-face once again. They are a main factor that helps me to realize why leaving New Zealand and returning home will be okay.

The first goodbye.

My Kiwi flatmates (Anna, Jess and Lynelle) all move out tomorrow. It is going to be strange not having them here during these last weeks and I am not looking forward to it. I have become so used to being around them while they make fun of my accent or the things I eat or basically anything American thing I do. I am not ready to live in a quiet apartment and face the reality that I may never see them again.

Last night, to celebrate the end of their year in Auckland, we went out for dinner and got Magnum ice cream bars for dessert. This was my first Magnum even after hearing much praise from international students and kiwi's alike. I was not disappointed, but glad I did not discover this calorie-filled delicacy until the end of my time here.

When I returned to my room that night, I found a nice farewell gift from my flatties:

The Summit of Mt. Doom

After arriving in Wellington, Mark and I drove to Whakapapa Village with plans to hike the Tongariro Crossing. The weather forecast didn't sound too good, but we decided to attempt the tramp anyway the next morning.

We cooked dinner and then watched Into the Wild on the laptop while drinking hot chocolate and eating gingernuts --- my new favorite treat. After a cold night sleeping in the car at a campsite, we woke up early the next morning to start our hike.

The Tongariro Crossing is a world-renowned 18.5 kilometer trek from one side to the other. Because of the poor weather forecast, we planned on hiking a small portion and turning around once the clouds rolled in.

As we were hiking closer to Mt. Ngauruhoe ("Mt. Doom"), Mark made the comment that it really didn't look that big.

"We could summit that," he said.

"Yeah, definitely," I replied with obvious sarcasm.

Once we reached the bottom of the mountain, he turned and said "Alright, you ready?"

Ready for what? I had no idea he was serious about climbing this mountain, but I couldn't back out now. So, I hesitantly followed in his steps up the snowy ridge.

A few times after some nerve-racking slips on the ice, I became extremely uncomfortable and just wanted to turn around, but I tried to stay composed and continued to follow Mark up.

When we finally reached the top, it was all worth it. The clouds had covered the majority of the peak at this point, but we were able to see over them for a short period of time and view the boundless National Park below us.

It's funny how familiar I thought I had become with this country, before even standing on its other half.

Nov. 16th - 20th:

After receiving an invite from a friend that was too good to refuse, I booked a flight to Christchurch and made my way, for the first time, to the South Island.

I packed the necessities into my backpack and made my way to the airport for the cheap flight I booked as a "carry-on only" passenger. The man at the desk took one look at my bag and requested $80 without explanation. Apparently it was too big to fit in the overhead compartment which I understood after attempting to squeeze it in the imitation box at the check-in line.

I desperately pleaded for him to let me go because I could not possibly throw away $80 to an apathetic airline. He continued to refuse so I desperately rearranged my pack, pulling on every strap possible to shrink it down in size, and comfortably tucked my sleeping bag under my arm. After holding up the line behind me and causing the man much annoyance, he waved me on free of charge.

When I arrived in Christchurch, Mark had already been traveling for three days and he picked me up in our rental car. He had found a deal to rent a car for $1 a day as long as you picked it up in Christchurch and returned it in Auckland. We now had the next six days to explore New Zealand before getting me back to my 2 o'clock class on Thursday afternoon.

We immediately made our way to the west coast, breaking to sleep once at a pull-off point on the side of the road. Once we arrived, we headed North, frequently stopping to see anything and everything we desired.

Mark drove the whole way. We decided not to purchase the car insurance, so I was perfectly happy letting him stay behind the wheel. Along the trip, our glove box became the storage unit for the variety of brochures, pamphlets, maps and guidebooks we collected. Since the remote areas of New Zealand (basically the entirety of the South Island) don't have radio stations, I read aloud from the booklets while he drove.

We camped wherever we were when night fell and Mark cooked some great pasta dinners on the camping stove. We woke up early each morning, drank a warm drink, ate some muesli and headed on to our next destination.

Kia birds are one of few alpine parrots in the world and it can only be found on the South Island. We met this guy at a look out point on my second day on the island. He was not the slightest bit shy.

Fox Glacier

After visiting Fox and Franz Joseph Glaciers, we drove to Gillespies Beach to camp for the night. When we got there, the rain cleared and we arrived just in time to catch the sunset. We sat next to the fire, ate dinner and drank wine while watching the sun go down over the water.

We arrived at Lake Matheson early the next morning to catch the reflection of Mt. Cook and Mt. Tasman in the calm water.

Then we ventured on and saw the pancake rocks in Punakaiki and hiked the Truman Track down to the beach.

We continued north to the Abel Tasman, stopping along the way to cross New Zealand's longest swing bridge at 110 meters long suspending over the Buller Gorge.

After hiking a little of the Abel Tasman track and relaxing on the golden sand at Kaiteriteri Bay, we drove east into rain to sleep in Nelson for the night before catching the interisland ferry the next morning. Because of the bad weather, we splurged and payed $12 to sleep in huts at the Pelorus Outdoor Center campground. There were six two-person huts that shared showers (with warm water!), bathrooms, a kitchen, and common area with a fireplace.

The main room was an old school house so it had a large open area with old couches and chairs. The whole place may sound luxurious, but there was no heating in the huts where we slept on thin mattresses on top of wood planks, mice ran freely around the old kitchen, and the cobwebs on the ceilings paralleled the dirt on the floor. At the time, it was a refreshing sanctuary and I would return in a heartbeat.

While we were there, one of the other huts was shared by two Australian fisherman. Neville and Steve were visiting New Zealand to fish for trout. We drank tea and they entertained us late into the night with hilarious stories about their lives in Australia. 72-year-old Neville bounced around and told us about living all over the world. I would have never imagined a man so old to have that much energy and enthusiasm. He explained to us that over the past decade, each time he celebrates a birthday he takes a year off of his life instead of adding one on. This idea is one I do not want to forget as I get older. 

Steve was quite a bit younger and in his 50s. He told us he even has trouble keeping up with Neville. He explained that Neville has taught him to laugh more and as he gets older he has learned to take life less seriously.

It was great talking to these old fisherman and I can't say I've ever experienced anything like it. One thing Neville said while talking about his travels around the world is a thought that I want keep in mind while my time here is New Zealand is slowly coming to an end:

"It is the hopeful journey that is more important than the arrival home."

So, the next morning our journey "home" (to Auckland) continued and we hopped on the Interisland ferry to return to the North Island.

More to come about adventures in the North Island on the last day of the trip...

"My mate, Marmite!"

A travel column for The Appalachian, App State's student newspaper:

http://theapp.appstate.edu/content/view/5602/56/

Vagabond and Beyond

Monday, 26 October 2009

Beer sludge for the open-minded traveler  by KELSEY OHLEGER I think it is safe to presume that college students love beer. They love drinking it: in plastic red cups, out of holes on the side of the can and through homemade funnels. They love playing with it: beer pong tournaments, endless card games and chugging contests. They love promoting it: neon signs hung in cluttered apartments, logos on worn-out t-shirts and embroidered on sweat-stained ball caps. I have recently learned of a way to take this passion a step further by eating it. Well, not necessarily eating beer, but more of byproduct of the drink that is popular here in the South Pacific. It can be purchased at any supermarket and most convenience stores and comes in a variety of sizes of plastic jars with red caps. This New Zealand delicacy is known as Marmite. After beer is brewed, concentrated yeast sludge is left coating the bottom of the barrel. This thick, dark, tar-like substance is then processed and packed with salt, vitamins and extra ingredients before pressed into a jar and sold to kiwis and other daring individuals. My native New Zealand flatmates can’t seem to describe the flavor other than just plain “tasty.” Generously buttered toast with a thin layer of Marmite spread on top is an enjoyable snack that they’ve been eating since they were old enough to chew solid food. But for Americans, it’s not as appetizing and is repeatedly described as “salty” and “bitter.” “It tastes like salty dirt,” Boston native Kristen Keaney said. Keaney has been living and studying in New Zealand for four months and refuses to eat Marmite. “If I need to coax myself into to eating something, I’m not meant to eat it,” she said. I tried the spread within the first few days I arrived here. After smearing about half a teaspoon on a piece of toast with butter, I took a small bite while keeping an open mind. It has a sharp, unusual taste with a slight meaty flavor, although it’s 100% vegetarian. I have continued to eat it this way while remembering the fact that there is some aspect of it that kiwi’s adore. Now, four months later, my thin layer has turned into a solid, gooey coating across a piece of multigrain toast. Like my flatmates, I can’t tell you why I enjoy the spread and or why it is such a satisfying snack, but I like it. I’m just glad I was able to keep an open mind and try it. I think this mind-set is one that every traveler should maintain while in a foreign environment. You do not have to like every entity of that culture, but you will be more apt to enjoy it if you approach an experience without negative expectations.