Justin and I had only been in town about 20 minutes.  I decided why not go right to Fiordland Cinema. I met Karen and introduced myself to her and mentioned that I was not the typical tourist she sees everyday.  She was so excited that Justin and I were going to be working at Fiordland Lodge for the summer, she told us we would be considered locals.  We have now lived in town for 8 weeks.

Part of being a local means we have the benefit of seeing Ata Whenua the film whenever we want, for FREE.  The movie was filmed by Kim Hollows also the owner of Fiordland Helicopters.  It’s only 32 minutes in length, yet it feels like a lengthy journey through Fiordland National Park as some of the most awe-inspiring landscapes are captured.  It’s truly spectacular.  We have seen it twice now, but I am sure that Justin and I will see the exhilarating film at least once more before we leave Te Anau.    Did we mention Lord of the Rings was filmed in New Zealand.  Right here!!!  And we get to see Ata Whenua FREE whenever we want.

One Car on the Rocks

It was a semi-peaceful, semi-productive day of cleaning at Fiordland Lodge.  Cathryn and I had just finished cleaning one of the cabins.  It was time to drive back to the lodge.  As I was backing up I noticed we were really close to huge boulders that created a cliff near the driveway to the cabin.  I mentioned to Cath (aware that I was new at driving a stick) that I thought we were really close.  She assured me that we would be fine.  I felt slightly better and decided to try putting the vehicle into first gear in attempts to go up the hill away from the rocks.

Instead, Cath and I ended up straddling the rocks, with the rear of the vehicle ready to bound down the small cliff.

“No!  No!  No!”, not me.  Oh, no, I’ve got to go tell Ron the owner of the lodge and see if he can get us out of this less than optimal situation.  Cath and I walked back to the lodge towards Robynne and Ron’s home.  I knocked.  Entered confidently, until I realized I was interrupting Ron’s time of relaxing with televised golf.  After I told him what happened to the car, he smiled and asked, “Cabin 2?”.

Apparently, this happens to many guests staying in Cabin 2 and Ron was not surprised at all.  I still felt dumb for creating, One Car on the Rocks, Justin’s one of the bartenders at the lodge, not me.  But as the Kiwi’s say, “She’ll be right”.

Want a date too?

Soon after arriving to the Lodge one evening to serve dinner, I saw a delivery truck pull up.  I noticed a young guy dropping some boxes off in the hallway, and then he approached me for a signature.

I casually replied, “Sure, I’d love to sign!” in my happy cheerful way.  After signing it, and handing back the pen, I discovered I forgot to write the date at the designated place on the paper.

So, I innocently asked the guy, “Want a date too?”

He replied, “No”, then quickly changed his demeanor to a smooth talking Kiwi, “Well, now that you mention it, a date sounds pretty nice!”

Knowing I had a long night of serving tables, and enough people to deal with, I only had the heart to say, “RIGHT!  I’m not sure what the date is today.  Sorry about that!” and walk away.

In Conclusion

While living and working in New Zealand I have learned how to drive a stick sitting on the right side of the car, shifting with my left hand, while driving on the left side of the road.  If Justin and I get a rainy day during our last 9 days of living here, which will definitely occur, as some days I wonder if Noah felt like this shortly after building the ark. We should have the rainy-day excuse to see the FREE movie for a third and final time before making our departure from Te Anau.  Oh, and before we leave town, I have at least one potential date with a local.  It’s not as good as a proposal, but if it involves pizza, I’ll take the date, and even ask the nice delivery guy if my pizza-crazy husband can come along.

Belly Dancing at the Pub

On Tuesday morning while cleaning around the Pub, Nina began to discuss the possibilities of performing some night.  You see, Fanina (Nina) is a professional belly dancer.  She is one of the most talented dancers I have ever met, and I have even performed with the American Ballet Theater at the Detroit Opera House.

She decided that Wednesday had to be the night!  You see, Justin and I departed from Great Barrier Island Thursday afternoon.  She wanted to make sure she utilized Justin’s percussion abilities on the large bongo drums in the pub.  Yes, it’s strange, Irish Pub with bongo drums?  But it’s New Zealand!

Nina soon discovered my vocal abilities and asked me to sing Arabic (something new to me) and be a part of the evening entertainment.

What an awesome night!  The locals on the Barrier had never even dreamed of the cultural experience they were able to enjoy.  Justin, hit that drum!  And now I’ll sing in Arabic any time a belly dancer asks.  And Nina, girl, you shake it.

What is a Kina?  YES THIS IS WORTH READING

One day, Justin and I headed out to walk along Medlands Beach (the place where all the surfers talk about). Steve, the local who was giving us a lift suggested that it would be more enjoyable for us if he dropped us of at Kaitoke Beach. He told us that Kaitoke and Medlands are connected by an easy to find sandy path and this would allow us to spend more time walking on the beach. We were hooked. The problem started when we got to the end of Kaitoke Beach. Where was the path to Medlands? We were not able to find a nice sandy path but I did discover a number of rocky cliffs that lead out into the water and off in the direction of Medlands. I was feeling especially adventurous and I convinced Justin it would not be too dangerous. We hiked and climbed along the dangerous rock ledges that were exposed by the outgoing tide. All was going well until Justin dropped the frisbee into the ocean. I love our frisbee and I was not about to let something like crashing waves on rock stand in my way. I quickly scaled down the cliff and began trying to use my feet to gather our precious frisbee into my waiting hands. This was working well enough until I was knocked off the rock by an incoming wave. I heroically grabbed the frisbee but, in the process, I pushed my foot downward looking for a rock to support myself on. This was a mistake as I suddenly felt dozens of large needles stab upward through the bottom of my foot. I had stepped on a Sea Urchin. In New Zealand, these are called Kinas.

I was in serious pain as I scrambled back to the safety of the rock cliffs. When I reached Justin, I sat down and howled and cried. This phase lasted several minutes. Recognizing that I was not able to walk either back the way I had come or forward, I began the process of removing the most painful spikes from the bottom of my foot. This was painful and led to another series of crying sessions. Luckily, I had scooped up a sea shell on Kaitoke beach and was able to use this as a tool to remove spikes. Although I was not able to remove all of the spikes, I pulled enough of those painful little jerks out of my foot to allow me to walk (or hobble) along. Justin and I quickly realized that we would not be able to reach Medlands with my injured foot: so we started climbing up. We were able to scrambled 3/4’s of the way up the cliff but we were then forced, due to the sheerness of the cliff face, to scale the remaining quarter. No problem right. Justin and I are both experienced climbers and this did not appear to be a very difficult climb.

Ignoring Justin’s warnings about caution, I began climbing quickly up the face of the cliff: eager to remove the remaining painful spikes from my right foot. I climbed up several holds and was hanging with my body attached to the rock face. I reached my right hand upward for the next hold and pulled down firmly while kicking up with my right foot. Suddenly, my handheld gave way and a basketball sized rock fell on my head. I was not having a good day. I quickly scaled back down the cliff and, together with Justin re-examined the situation. We eventually decided on a route and carefully climbed the last quarter of the cliff. In truth, this was not all that smart as the rocks were not stable and few of our hand holds were actually solid. But eh, that is why we travel with World Nomads right?

To sum up this rambling story, we got to the top of the cliff and waded half a mile through tall grass until we found a road. Along the way, to add insult to injury, I stepped in a half petrified pile of cow crap. With my injured right foot. I was pissed. On the road, Craig (a local surfer and a regular at the pub) picked us up, took one look at my foot and told me I needed to go the Medical Center. Direct quote, “Ewww nasty kina, that’s gonna go septic, gonna have to go to the med center.”  Apparently, Kina spikes have barbs that often detach deep in the flesh of it’s unsuspecting victim. If left in, this would cause my foot to swell up to the point where I would be forced to limp everywhere. Thus, as the locals say, septic.  We made it to the Medical Center where the doctor spent 1.5 hours digging around in my foot with a blunt instrument. Eventually, he had to give me local anesthetic to get all of the barbs out of my foot.

One of the only highlights from this experience was Majtejn (pronounced Ma-Teen), another local surfer who is a regular at the pub and is dating the chef. He volunteered to take us to the Medical Center, when Craig pulled up with Justin and I to where the surfers were getting ready to hit the surf. Plus, he waited the whole 1.5 hours for us to be done and drove us back to the pub. What a nice guy.  Sarah, the chef, is now dating the local hero.

Can’t touch this!

Within one hour of removing the bandage, a Kiwi named Eliza Jones and I went swimming with the dolphins.  It was awesome!  Six of us were playing Frisbee.  I know, laugh it up!  The Frisbee was our dinner plate many evenings in Europe, I had to step on a Kina to save it and now we were playing with this ultimate Frisbee.

Suddenly, we became distracted by dolphins jumping in the water nearby.  Eliza Jones and I were the only 2 brave enough to jump in the freezing cold water.  We swam about 200 yards out to the area where the dolphins were playing.  I sang songs under the water and splashed like a Titanic survivor to attract them. It  would seem that they did not care. They seemed to be playing a game with us. The rules were simple. They let us get within 3 or 4 feet of them before swimming quickly away. They did not even let us touch them. It turns out however that the lack of touching was actually a good thing as locals told me that touching dolphins could be adverse for my health. Upon exiting the water I began to show symptoms of hypothermia immediately.  Now that I can control my fingers again and type, I feel much better, simply not to be shivering uncontrollably.

Good Dinner!
I was walking down Saint James Place (some Irish streets make you feel like you are on a Monopoly board) with a big soup pot and a spoon that I was borrowing from next door, so I could make some soup.  As I was walking, an Irishman saw me and kindly said, “Good Dinner!”, with a smile and a hearty accent.  I responded, “I hope it will be a good dinner”, only later to realize that he said, “Good Day!”  Fortunately, the butternut squash soup did turn out delicious, but it may have caused me gas, but that could be the Guinness too right?

Boston Beauty
One of three guys playing authentic Irish music in a pub one night, hmmm, that sounds like a joke.  Well, the guy meets me, finds out that I am from Detroit, and tells me it’s close to Boston and that is where I am really from.  It being midnight in an Irish Pub, I figured I shouldn’t argue with the guys relative view of geography.  I returned to my seat with a slight identity crisis as he announced and dedicated his next song, “Boston Beauty” to me.  Ironically, I saw him on the streets of Derry the next day, he recognized me and asked if I was coming to the Pub again.  I think he just wanted another excuse to sing “Boston Beauty”.

The Not So French Girls
Justin informed me that he thought four French girls were laughing at him.  In Ireland?  No way!  Okay, well girls of any nationality could laugh at Justin in any country so this did not sound all that ridiculous.  About 20 minutes later I met four girls from Italy.  I asked Justin if these were the French girls.  He cowardly lowered his head and admitted that he thought their Italian sounded French.  This was quickly forgiven as I realized we have been in both Italy and France in the last few weeks and Justin speaks neither language.  Needless to say, we took the four Italian girls to the Pub that night.  I drank my first Guinness and spoke in Italian with an ever increasing Irish accent.  The Italian girls shouted “Bravissimo” and applauded, and although each of the Italian girls were beautiful, we never did hear “Bella Italiano” that evening.

V Eggs
One evening in Galway, I was in the kitchen of our hostel cooking eggs, when a guy from Spain approached me and introduced himself.  This being a huge (200 something person) hostel, in which you could meet a new person from a new country every minute if that was your goal, I didn’t think much about meeting Carlos.  Okay, not true, I must confess that when he introduced himself as Carlos, I nearly lost it.  You see over the past month I have had a cough that comes and goes depending upon how much second hand smoke I have been exposed to.  So, my cough became know as “Carlos”, with frequent references like, “oh Carlos, not again?”, cough, cough, cough.

Carlos (the actual man, not my cough) came back a few minutes later and admired my cooking, saying, “Incredible, incredible.”  Then pausing to say, “It makes me curious”.  Carlos wanted to know where I learned how to make the eggs I was cooking.  I had cut a circle from the center of a piece of bread and I was frying an egg in the hole in the center of the bread.  I told Carlos, feeling extra American at the time, that I saw it in a movie.  He asked which film, and I replied “V for Vendetta”, in which he exclaimed, “Yes!  I saw it too!”  Carlos then wanted to know what  we would call this type of egg in America.  Sadly, I didn’t have a good answer, as I had just began calling them “V eggs” because of V for Vendetta.  He laughed and decided he would call them “V huevos”. Hooray for enculturation of the Victory Egg in Spain!