In The Shadow of Mount Doom

I cross the Green Mountain

I sit by the stream

Heaven blazing in my head

I dreamed a monstrous dream

Something came up

Out of the sea

Swept through the land

Of the rich and the free

- Bob Dylan

For this post, Kari did most of the writing. Like a good sports-casting team, she provides the colour commentary to my play-by-play. Enjoy the ride (it's a long one) ...

Mt Ruapehu

I've always been drawn to the mountains. That's a little odd ... I grew up around water, spending my days swimming, canoeing, kayaking. At 9 or 10 years-old, my first taste of freedom was being allowed to take the fishing boat, then the ski-boat, out on the lake by myself. I first saw the Rocky Mountains when I was about 16 or 17 and I have been running to the highlands ever since. The grandeur, the solitude, and an environment beautiful yet harsh and unforgiving to mistakes, lures me. I finally saw the desert when I was 23. In its ruthless landscape, I saw the same stark beauty. One of the most amazing nights I ever spent was out in the open under a clear desert sky. I had walked alone into the Mojave Desert to watch the sunset against the walls of Death Valley and decided to stay the night (#ThingsINeverToldMyMother"). I have spent most of my adult life living near water and tramping/climbing through mountains and deserts.

Minus the solitude, our day spent on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing was the perfect combination of mountains and desert. Taking 7-9 hours, the crossing is New Zealand's most popular 1-day tramp. In 2015 there were over 109 thousand hikers who made the crossing. DOC states that the trail has a capacity of about 600 people per day, beyond which the experience suffers. In 2015, 55% of the days had 600+ visitors, and each of the 3 busiest days saw >2000 hikers. It's a rugged and challenging hike, but for better or worse you are never alone. One of the photography websites I frequent said to get over trying to get a picture without people ... get used to it, incorporate them, and move on.

 

  

The trail was busy but not particularly crowded

Kari ...

I have spent most of my life "outdoors", whether it was water or land based, my late father and mother made sure my brother and I experienced and appreciated nature. Naturally, when Grant and I met, I was excited to continue the adventure with him and Little H, although my overall experience with hiking and camping was not as extensive as what Grant has accomplished. We had decided that our time in New Zealand was to be used to continue our outdoor adventures and experience all that this wonderful country has to offer.

Grant began researching the Crossing and organized what we needed, especially items necessary in sudden changes in weather. I did what I do ... found a place to stay and somewhere to eat. After speaking with several people in Palmy that have completed the Crossing, a common theme was evolving; long, hard, tough, bitch, Devil's Staircase, suffering, crippled, out of breath, plenty of water, windy, and so on. The best indicators were the facial expressions and moments of silence during each person's recollection of their journey on the Crossing.

Gifted to New Zealand by Te Heuheu Tukino IV in 1887, Tongariro (est 1894) was New Zealand's first national park. It was only the 4th national park in the world at the time, and the first to be gifted to a nation by its indigenous people. The park covers 796 sqkm (307 sqmi) and encompasses the massifs of the North Island's three active volcanoes: Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe, and Tongariro. At 2797m, Ruapehu is the North Island's highest point, and while Ngauruhoe is technically taller than Tongariro, it's actually one of Tongariro's vents. It's important to note that these are active volcanoes. Ngauruhoe most recently erupted in 1974 with increased activity (though no eruption) in 2006 and again in 2015. The Te Mari craters on Tongariro erupted in 2012, sending blocks as large as 1 metre up to 2 km from the vent. The ash cloud reached 6 km and travelled 250 km in four hours.

Even though we were climbing Tongariro, and the park is named after this mountain, Ngauruhoe was the visually dominating feature. It was used as the inspiration for Mt Doom in the Lord of The Rings movies and portions were filmed on its slopes. The Maori hold the mountain to be tapu (sacred) so the summit itself was not filmed.

 

Ngauruhoe / Mt Doom

The typical route for hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing starts at Mangatepopo car park and finishes at Ketetahi car park. This route starts at 1150 m, ascends from 1400 m to 1600 m up the Devil's Staircase, crosses the Southern Crater, and peaks at the Red Crater summit (1886 m). At that point, you have only made it 8 km and have another 11 km to go. Fortunately, you are about half-way by time. The rest of the hike is primarily downhill but includes the most treacherous section.

  

 

Climbing the Devil's Staircase

Kari ...

The morning of the hike we were on time and had a few minutes to spare waiting for the one-way shuttle to drop us at the trail-head. This was a huge feat, given the early start and the fact that we are almost always late. I had prepared breakfast sandwiches to eat en route so that we were well prepared to start this journey. We would later find out that Little H had not eaten her sandwich and her hangriness tormented us for the first few hours. The level at which she was being unreasonable should have alerted us long before she confessed.

By the time we arrived to the Devil's Staircase, we were way behind schedule. Well, what we thought should have been our schedule. Yes, we were behind in time, but in retrospect there is no way we would have been able to complete the hike in our predicted 7-hour goal. You could follow the line of "ants" up the side of the mountain until they disappeared. I was a bit deflated mentally before we even started this section of the hike, so I took it in strides and stopped when I became winded, only resting long enough to get my heart rate down. I wasn't alone in this approach. As I looked around in front and behind me, our good friend and landlord's words kept echoing in my tired mind, "It's okay. When you are on the Devil's Staircase, at least you can look around and see everyone else suffering with you." The cruel fact about the Devil's Staircase is that you never really see the "end" due to the ascent; but once you reach the summit, you can put that bitch behind you, absorb your accomplishment and let those endorphins ramp you up for the next beast. And, remember, a scant tear shed is strictly a happy tear.

On a clear day, you can see Taranaki 136 km / 85 mi to the West

Kari ...

The flat, desert-like expanse of the South crater was my new BFF. We had conquered the Staircase, Little Highstead had eaten and shed her demon personality, and my thighs were praising Jesus. We were all smiles, soaking in the terrain and Mt. Doom, and laughing at all the crazies who decided to take the side hike up to Ngauruhoe summit. You could see them scaling the mountain. The ascent is 1 1/2 hours, with a 30 min descent. Um, yeah, because you are basically sliding or rolling down. No thanks. No need for me to attempt that side trip. As we approached the ridge between South Crater and Red Crater, it was easy to see the terrain was going to be the next bitch. In stark contrast to the much appreciated flat land under my feet, the ridge was scattered with volcanic rock and lacked the steps that the Staircase graciously awarded. I walked, crawled (yes, on all fours at some spots), and jumped my way to the top of the ridge. It was freakishly windy on the ridge; so much so that I could understand how someone, having ventured too close to the edge, could have been blown off the side of the ridge. I had already accepted that one must be creative in their conquering of this hike, seeing how the terrain is schizo and keeps you on your toes, or knees, or butt ...

Looking back across the South Crater

Rim of Red Crater with Red Crater summit in background

Red Crater

Kari ... 

At the top of the ridge I rejoiced and even had someone take a picture of me. Yes, some stranger took the pic since I was literally in Grant and Little Highstead's dust most of the hike. No worries, this was about my completion of the journey. This area was a popular site for lunch and snacks, or to catch your breath. There were easily 100 people scattered about, with double that amount passing by and on to the summit of the Red Crater ridge. To reach the summit, you walk, crawl, or run up a steep but narrow path. At the summit I caught my breath and did a 360 to soak in this beautiful landscape. Is it just me, or does the Red Crater look like labia?!? I digress ... At 1886 metres, this was the highest section of the hike. Another challenge tackled ... and then I looked down at the scree field leading to the Emerald Lakes.

I admit it, I was angry at Grant for some of the photos he took. I mean, damn, how much less photogenic can you get breathless, sweaty, tachycardic and carrying a loaded pack nearly zip tied to your torso? I am ever so grateful he did not pull out the "real camera" and chronicle my descent down the scree field. Several groups around me had decided it would be a wise decision to hold hands, in some sort of supportive gesture, as they attempted to tackle this sketchy descent to beloved flat ground. No disrespect, but the only word that I kept uttering to myself was "Fools! If one of you dominoes goes down, it's all over but the crying." I conquered the descent with a cocktail of smooth moves that were a marriage of hops, steps, slides, sashays, and stances you would assume on a surfboard, because the terrain moved like water under foot. Let's just say I used muscles that have been dormant since birth. Nevertheless, I made it to the bottom without falling and quickly found my resting spot with Grant and Little H.

Lunch stop was at the Emerald Lakes. This is supposed to the the halfway point, timewise. I sat there and just let that sink in. I removed my hiking boots and socks, poured the kilo of scree out of the boots, and gazed delightfully at my blisters and dirt rings. Lunch was our typical hiking fare of salami, hard cheese, tortilla and fruit; however, my appetite was satiated at the moment from a combo of heat, dehydration, fatigue, and those celebratory endorphins. Oh hell, let's just be positive and blame it on the endorphins.

Descending from the Red Crater summit to the Emerald Lakes involves a slip-slide down a narrow ridge of scree. The dirt is loose, carpeted in sharp rocks, and has a steep drop-off on either side. When the scree field is crowded, it can be quite disconcerting. The views from the bottom, however, are unrivaled.

The Emerald Lakes are water-filled explosion craters. Blue Lake is a 16 m deep lava vent. The lakes are acidic (pH 3-5) and get their colour from dissolved minerals; green from colloidal sulphur and ferrous salts, orange from antimony, purple from manganese oxide, yellow from sulphur, and red from iron oxide. They are considered tapu ... touching the waters, dipping your feet, swimming, or even throwing rocks are all forbidden.

 

 

Blue Lake, Emerald Lakes, and the scree descent

Kari ...

While proud and thankful we had accomplished the first half of the Crossing, Mt Doom wouldn't take his eyes off me. Knowing that, I too was feeling a bit of doom. After our lunch break, the next hour or so was pretty much uneventful in terms of the real struggle. The scenery was anything but uneventful and the relatively flat terrain was a welcomed ally, sans a few shady volcanic rocks just large enough to roll an ankle. 

We crossed the Central Crater with Tongariro to our left and Blue Lake in front of us. We had a short ascent to the shores of Blue Lake and circled to the north. Looking back across the Central Crater, clouds were starting to form on the mountain peaks but we had one last view of Ngauruhoe framed by Ruapehu and the Red Crater. As we stood on the northeast flank of Tongariro, our route ahead was a thin tan line zig-zagging down the mountainside and culminating in front of Lake Rotairo far below.

Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe, and the Red Crater. The broad grey line descending from the peak on the right is the scree field.

 

The little white squiggle down in the valley is where our car was parked

Kari ..

We reached a lookout point that shamelessly teased us with the sight of the very road our car was parked on.  So close, yet so damned far ... and I would learn just how far over the next 3 1/2 to 4 hours. A quick glance over my shoulder and Mt. Doom was sneering at me, knowing he got the last laugh. I would later learn just what a cruel and ruthless giant he is.

As we made the descent to the car park, it felt as if we were chasing a mirage. I admit it, I became bitchy and snippy. I was mentally and physically spent. My knees, toes, quads and thighs were begging for mercy. Surprisingly, I looked forward to the few, random ascents during the walk down. I remarked to Grant that I was concerned about injuring myself due to how fatigued my legs were. I guess this is when walking poles would've come in handy. Damn! Should have taken our neighbor up on her loaner pair. I made a conscious effort to slow down. The last thing I wanted was to injure myself and hobble down in an even more crippled state than I already was.

"Where is the end of this damned track!" This became my silent and vocal mantra. I didn't care who heard me. I didn't care about much except finishing the walk. Along the way, there are general track signs with length and times posted to either encourage or deflate you, the choice is up to you I guess. Regardless, whoever estimates the time to complete the stated length of the trail have to be superhuman or drunk to come up with the times.

The end of the trail was so close I could taste it. I felt like a selfish child, thinking only of myself and putting a nail in the coffin of this journey. So much so that the last couple of hours I didn't pay Nature her due respect. I just wanted to be done ... a finish line that my mind and body had crossed hours prior. I was walking alone at this point, thankful Grant and Little H didn't have to witness my foul nature, but embarrassed that the passers-by and Mother Nature had to absorb my moment of weakness. I could hear faint cheering in the distance, but couldn't make out the words. As I neared the last few metres of the trail, I was the proud recipient of finish line kudos by strangers that had completed that same journey. I have to say, this brought a smile to my face, something that had been a ghost over the last several hours. Anyone who knows me well could attest to my outlook, personality and general mood. I am a smiler. I was grateful to have one back on my sweaty, grimy, beet red face. The cheerleaders were just waiting on their transfer bus, so a temporary celebratory squad, but I believe this should be a permanent fixture at the end of the Tongariro Crossing. Each individual deserves it.

Once in the car, I didn't take off my hiking boots. I already envisioned a ground meat appearance of what used to be my feet and toes. Besides, I needed my shoes on to collect my celebratory Coca-Cola at the first gas station or dairy we came to. I don't drink many sodas (called "fizzies" here), but I had decided that if I survived the Crossing, then that was my dirty little reward.

That evening, we drove into Taupo, had an incredible dinner at a bistro, and after wine and beer, I slept like a baby. In the morning, I was thankful I didn't have my usual nocturnal trip to the toilet. That would have guaranteed a face-plant.

So, the dramatization and sarcasm that are part of my daily life are reflected in my memories of the Crossing. Would I do it again? Probably ... don't tell Grant. Would I do things differently? Hell yeah. A few tips that I shamelessly will keep using are to covertly disguise air hunger and fatigue by:

1) tying shoes, doesn't matter who's ... mine, Little Highstead's, fellow trail mates, whatever ...

2) Take a picture ... or tons of pictures. Don't even pretend you don't know how many pictures I took and posted to Facebook. 

3) Adjustments - straps, bra, underwear, hat, anything that potentially could be adjusted. Don't be too proud to help others, too. 

4) Converse with other trail mates. Again, everyone knows what a talker I am and that I never meet a stranger. Now, these conversations may only consist of a "Hiya" (Kiwi for 'Hi, how are ya?' Sandwiched into one word) because you are so short of breath that is all you can muster.

5) Last resort is to say "Screw it" (or what every expletive you prefer. I often use a different four-lettered word to start the phrase) and tell your loving husband and daughter that you have eaten enough of their dust and damn it, you are stopping to catch your breath.

I am so thankful and proud to have completed the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. Next up, the Queen Charlotte Track. It truly is amazing to push yourself and complete those things that seem impossible. Cheers!

Good as gold!

What's In A Name?

He drinks a Whiskey drink, he drinks a Vodka drink

He drinks a Lager drink, he drinks a Cider drink

He sings the songs that remind him of the good times

He sings the songs that remind him of the best times

O Danny Boy, Danny Boy, Danny Boy

 - Tubthumping

Danny Boy

I've never been one to name my cars. I don't know if my cars didn't have any personality, or if maybe it was me without personality. That isn't meant to imply that my cars never had names, just that someone else did the naming.

I bought my first car from my brother, essentially for the cost of the wheels. A 1980 Pontiac Grand Prix, it had a 4.3L V8 engine with 125 hp and room enough to fit 8 for road trips. The 8 didn't fit comfortably, but I always had a seat to myself, so what did I care?

Looks just like mine, but not mine ... pic ripped from the web! 

Leaning against the Grand Prix. It didn't have a name but who cares when the driver is so flash! 

My first car with a name was a 1978 MG-B. I bought it because it was cheap and it was a convertible. I was living in Hawaii and it seemed perfect. An old, cheap, British car ... yep, totally practical for a college student on a budget. I spent as much time tinkering with it as I did driving it. My girlfriend named it Cameron, probably because she thought it was a quintessentially British name, or maybe because she was a fan of John Hughes films. I'm not sure.

Cameron 

My next car, also bought in Hawaii, was named by the same girlfriend and it really pissed me off. I was so angry every time she called it Flipper. In the 1990's there was a spate of reports about SUV roll-overs. First of all, those were SUVs ... Jeep Cherokee type vehicles, not Wranglers. Second of all, it was actually Ford Explorers that were recalled, not Jeep products at all. Third of all, mine was a 1985 Jeep CJ-7, an older and completely different kind of car. Yet Flipper the car remained ... I suspect the name stuck because it pissed me off so much.

I loved this Jeep and wish I had never gotten rid of it.

I lived another 23 years and drove a number of vehicles that were never given names. Shocking, I know! Moving to New Zealand, my contract included the use of a leased car. Prior to my arrival, I had asked for a wagon or an SUV, preferably something with 4-wheel drive; a car that would fit our active gear-laden lifestyle. What we got was a Suzuki Swift.

The Swift is a perfectly serviceable vehicle. It's easy to drive, easy to park, sips petrol, and barely has any blind spots. Unfortunately, it can barely fit the three of us and groceries, let alone the three of us and bags when we are travelling. There isn't enough room in the back seat for Little H's long gangly limbs, and Taylor really struggles going up hills. She looks nice, and seems to be able to do the job, but there's no there there. I'm sure she will write a break-up song about me when we get rid of her in 6 months. I think Little H wants to hate her too, but I occasionally catch her singing along.

Taylor, our Suzuki Swift.

We finally got around to buying a car that fits our needs. One of those needs, though, is the ability to unload it and not take too much of a financial hit when we leave New Zealand in 6 months. I had a limited budget and got exactly what I paid for; a beat up 1996 Nissan Terrano. There are dents and welds, and it looks like the front left quarter-panel has been dented then beaten out to something approximating its original shape. Plastic bits and pieces are missing from the inside, and it smells like old musty carpet. Little H is so embarrassed to be seen in it she makes me drop her off for school a block away. Perfect!

We recently took a trip to the South Island, driving from Palmerston North to Wellington and catching the InterIslander across the Cook Strait. My brother and sister-in-law were with us and we were meeting Dan, my college room-mate, during his tour of the South Island. We loaded up the truck and off we went. After a great 4 days on the Queen Charlotte Track, the subject of a future post, we were up for a day of brewery and winery tours in Blenheim. Along the way, Dan asked if I had given the car a name. I had not. We laughed and joked about Taylor, and I told him about a hire-car on our last South Island trip that I ended up naming Squishy because of the loose steering. I remarked about the Terrano's sordid past, dings and dents, but that it runs great. It got knocked down but it got up again ... I'm sure I sang the lyrics. Dan immediately dubbed it Chumbawamba and the name has stuck.

Meet Chumbawamba

We've had quite a few adventures with friends and family in town over the past couple of weeks and we are working on those posts. Kari has been adding some colour commentary to my play-by-play, adding her perspective to my dry narrative. And I think our photography skills are growing by leaps and bounds. I'm excited to get some more posts out soon.

Are you not entertained?

Festivus

On we march

With a midnight song

We will light our way

With our lanterns on

- Birds Of Tokyo

Giant rooster lantern leading the parade

This weekend was the Festival of Cultures here in Palmy. It celebrates the art, culture, and lifestyles that connect all of us here in New Zealand. The festival features 60+ cultural stalls, 30 craft stalls, and 20 performers with events spread out over 3 days.

The festival kicked off with a Lantern Parade acknowledging the Year of the Rooster. Prior to the parade, several performers played music of varying genres on-stage. The parade then left the stage area, circling the Square, and ending back where it started. Participants were encouraged to bring their own lanterns and several lantern-making workshops were held in the weeks leading up to it.

Little H made a turtle lantern, working on it over the course of a couple of weeks. The frame is made from willow branches and it is overlaid with tissue paper. An LED light suspended in the turtles body provides the distinctive glow.

The evening gave me an opportunity to work on my night-time photography skills.

  

  

Turtle Lantern

 

 

 

 

  

Lanterns on Parade

Last weekend we completed the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, a section of one of the Great Walks, and that will be the subject of our next post.

That's all, Folks ...

New Wheels and New Opportunities

Somewhere, somehow, somebody must have kicked you around some

Tell me why you want to lay there, revel in your abandon

Honey, it don't make no difference to me baby

Everybody has to fight to be free, you see

- Tom Petty

We bought a new car! Okay, we bought a used car. Yeah, yeah ... in reality, we bought a car shaped collection of dented metal with a motor in it. Still, it's a car.

1996 Nissan Terrano, Diesel

Seems a bit extravagant, maybe. After all, my contract provided us with a perfectly functional new car. The problem is, the one they provided doesn't really fit our lifestyle. We do a lot of camping, tramping, and nursery runs/gardening. We like to haul our bikes around and go to the beach. Every now and then, we find that we need to catch a quick nap in our vehicle so we prefer a little extra room to stretch out in. When I signed my contract, I asked for a wagon or an SUV, preferably a 4x4 ... something that would allow us to get out and around with our adventures. What we got was a Suzuki Swift. Don't get me wrong, it's a great city car. It sips petrol - we went from Palmy to Cape Palliser, on to Wellington and back on less than one full tank. And it's really easy to park; in a pinch, we might be able to squeeze it into a dumpster unseen!

But I keep cruising

Can't stop, won't stop moving

-----

I never miss a beat,

I'm lightning on my feet

- Taylor Swift

Lightning on her feet she is not. Sadly, with the three of us and a couple of bags, Taylor just doesn't have what it takes. She tries, she really does, but going up the mountain passes I can't help but chant "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can." and on the downside, "I knew I could! I knew I could! I knew I could! I knew I could!"

She don't mind. She's short and skinny, but she's strong.

Buying a car in New Zealand was a really interesting process. Like anywhere else, there are used car lots, car auction sites, and private listings in the paper and online. In Palmerston North there is also a city parking lot where private sellers can park their cars with a listing. As we were preparing to buy, we kept cruising the lot looking to see what was on offer. In the end, I almost bought something from an auction site unseen and without a test drive. Just before I did, Kari cruised the lot one last time and sent me photos of a car that had just shown up.

It's a 1996 Nissan Terrano (Pathfinder in the U.S. and Canada) with a standard transmission and a lot of km's on the odometer, but it's a 4x4 diesel and had just recently passed a Warrant Of Fitness. I spoke with the mechanics who service the hospital motor-pool and for a nominal fee they agreed to take a look at it for me. Despite the dents, dings, scrapes, and re-welds, the car is surprisingly mechanically sound. It's not pretty and lots of plastic bits and pieces are broken or missing. I got it cheap for a reason (4 new tyres weren't much less than what I paid for the vehicle itself), and that suits us just fine. When we leave here in 8 months, I'm not going to be upset if we can't re-sell it for much.

This story isn't really about buying a car, though; it's about who we bought the car from and the society we live in.

New Zealand has led the rest of the world in establishing the rights of its citizens in several important ways. In 1893, New Zealand was the first country to establish universal suffrage, and in 1899 was the first country to establish the 8-hour work day. The Old Age Pension Act was signed in 1898 and was only the second such act in the world behind Germany (1889). Unfortunately, like many countries, New Zealand doesn't always live up to its highest ideals.

The Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1840 by representatives of the British Crown and Maori chiefs, is the founding document for relations between Maori and the Crown. It gave the British sovereignty over New Zealand and recognised Maori ownership of their lands and other properties, in addition to giving Maori the rights of British subjects. It was written in two languages and the two versions differ in significant ways. As a result, there has been disagreement surrounding what the Treaty actually entails. The Waitangi Tribunal, a permanent commission of inquiry, was formed in 1975 to research breaches of the Treaty and suggest resolutions.

New Zealand has an annual refugee quota of 750 people and they have been under public pressure, both at home and abroad, to expand this.

Caveat - I am unable to source raw data to confirm the validity of this information

We bought our car from an Afghan refugee. No, really ...

I didn't know he was a refugee when we first met. I called the number posted for the car and spoke with a very pleasant man. We agreed on a time to meet and take the car for a test drive. The car seemed to drive well and the price was right, so I was definitely interested. My knowledge of internal combustion engines and the machinery surrounding them is limited at best, so I wanted to have the car inspected by a mechanic before I bought it. We arranged to drop the car off at the shop and I offered to buy him a coffee. Sitting in the coffee shop, he told me his story.

He fled Afghanistan, making the dangerous journey through South Asia and eventually settling in Indonesia. From Indonesia, he registered for refugee status in Australia. It took a few years, but he was eventually accepted to apply as a refugee in Australia. Unfortunately, as part of a background check, it was found that he was friends with an illegal money launderer, scuttling his chances. In desperation, he attempted a dangerous boat crossing to Australia hoping to land there and claim asylum. He was caught and returned to Indonesia. This essentially ended any hope of ever making it to Australia legally.

He put his head down and went to work as a baker in Indonesia where he met his future wife, eventually got married and had a child. Along the way, he applied to New Zealand but was told that since he was married to an Indonesian he would need to remain there. He continued to work hard in Indonesia and became an advocate for refugees there. His case was featured in a documentary, bringing his situation to the attention of an advocate who went to bat for him. After almost 10 years in Indonesia, he and his family were awarded a spot in New Zealand. In New Zealand, he has taken whatever work he can get. At one point, he was collecting feral sheep and cattle from the bush, hard and dangerous work. His talent and passion is as a "panel beater" (auto body-shop) and he is currently looking for employment in that field. He also continues to advocate for other refugees.

I have always taken pride in my resilience in the face of adversity, but the reality is that my life has been pretty charmed without any real hardship. I sat in amazement listening to this man's story and I couldn't imagine the devastation he fled and the fear he must have experienced. We talk a lot about "heroes" and "bravery" in our culture. The quiet, soft-spoken, humble man with whom I was sharing a coffee was bravery personified.

Kari ...

During my childhood, a priority for my parents was to expose my brother and me to different cultures This came with some ease, since we grew up in Houston, Texas, a sprawling metropolis with never ending culture and diverse ethnic groups. To supplement exposure at home, we traveled. It wasn't always international travel, as you can travel from one region to the next domestically and have a vastly different experience of the culture of that region. This exposure is very important and imperative to me as we raise Little H. Those who know us well know that we value traveling outside of our "bubble" and seeking unique opportunities within our "bubble".

One of the more important reasons driving our adventure in New Zealand is our desire for that exposure, not only for Little H, but for Grant and me, as we continue to learn and grow. Little did I know that Palmerston North would be a banquet for diversity; not just with the mix of Maori and European Kiwis, but with the influx of numerous ethnic groups drawn to the city for Massey University and the pockets of refugees that New Zealand has graciously taken under wing.

Since I am not working during this year abroad, I have sought out opportunities to meet and learn from the seemingly unlimited, and most times free, community events and workshops sponsored and supported by the city. On one such outing, Little H and I went on a field trip to a local environmental centre. With the exception of about ten others, the chartered bus was full of refugees from Bhutan, Syria, and Afghanistan. Most of them didn't speak English, and I also didn't speak their language. The glorious and uplifting thing about this is that it didn't matter. Laughter, smiling and experiencing a day together doesn't need verbal communication. It was one of the best experiences I have had here.

Via Facebook, which those who know me would attest to my constant communication, dare I say addiction, I have kept in contact with the environmental centre's organizer and some of the local organizations that support refugee resettlement. This is how I learned about the Valentine's Day dinner to support the Afghanistan refugee community here. We are not ones to celebrate this overly commercialized day anyway, so I thought it was a great way to support the community and expose Little H to even more diversity.  I couldn't have been more proud of her. She didn't hesitate to try the various courses offered that evening and continually commented and asked questions about the dress, food, and overall culture of the Afghans who planned, prepared, cooked and served our meal. We even saw and spoke to familiar faces and friends who we have met during other social interactions around the city.

Travel and exposure to those who are different from you is imperative. I believe it develops altruism and helps fend off egocentrism. Understanding and acknowledging the differences that make up this beautiful, and sometimes ugly world, helps cultivate an open mind. This is what I want for Little H. Always seek out those who are different and discover ways to integrate and accept those differences, all the while forming stronger bonds with your brothers and sisters of this world.

We had a "Meet The Teacher" pool party and sausage sizzle at Little Highstead's school the same night as the dinner (I guess Valentine's Day isn't that big of a deal here), so we were a little late to the church. Most of the tables were pretty full but we spotted some empty seats and wound our way over to them. As we sat down and I turned to say "hello" to everyone else at the table, I found myself face to face with the man from whom I had just purchased a car. He has continued his work advocating for and helping refugees here in Palmy, and he was invited to provide some of the evening's entertainment. While we were eating, he was up on stage playing an ektara and singing.

Ultimately, this was a fundraiser for the Manawatu Reuniting Refugee Family Trust. It's an organization that provides money for former refugees already resettled in our area and helps them bring immediate family members to New Zealand. At the end of the night, we didn't go home empty handed; we bid on, and won, a tasty bottle of New Zealand wine that we plan to share with my brother and SIL when they come to visit in a few weeks.

Ka kite ano ...

Time Away

After putting out 28 posts in 24 weeks, I am taking a much-needed break from writing; however, I am continuing to generate ideas and researching other aspects of life here in New Zealand.

If you haven't been following from the beginning, please visit some of the older posts. As always, your thoughts, ideas, suggestions and input are welcome and appreciated.

Back in a few weeks ...