I made my way to Oamaru, a small town in the state of Otago, where a long-time family friend (what's up Sophie!) now lives. I didn't see much of Oamaru right away, because as soon as my bus arrived in town I was repacking bags: Sophie had planned an incredible getaway for me and her friends to go bushwalking in the Catlins.
Fun fact: I thought bushwalks were a uniquely "down under" thing requiring specific vegetation/bushes. It's actually just their word for "hiking."
Anyway, Sophie had rented a "bach," or little summer cabin, for us to stay in. I quickly picked up on the lingo and would provide poignant commentary like, "Party at the bach!" Alas, this was yet another word I was pronouncing incorrectly. It's supposed to be "batch" (rhymes with catch), whereas I was pronouncing it like the name of the 18th century German composer (bok), known for such hits as Toccata and Fugue in D minor and Party at the Bach. We ended up being a group of 7 people and 1 rambunctious dog (what's up Figo!) going on a 4 day mini-trip, and we traveled in true NZ style - an ancient van which at times had to be pulled via rope by a very sturdy SUV down careening cliffs and gravel roads.
With road prep complete, we had only one last stop left before the bach - pick up our final traveler! Serendipitously, a friend from Boston (what's up Mei!) was in New Zealand at the same time as me and hitchhiked to meet us on our way to the Catlins. Hitchhiking is reeeeeally common, and we picked up a hitcher here and there. No, mom, don't worry, I didn't do it myself (this time!).
We made it to the bach and set out for our first day of bushwalking: a loooooong (6 hour) trek through thick forest with hardly a path to speak of. I thought I was pretty amazing for doing this, and then Sophie casually mentioned that her 98 year-old granny had just done it last month. What a boss!
That night, we came back starving and had an awesome dinner made mostly from the veggies from one of Sophie's many projects: a community garden. Here I'll introduce the other campers, since they are about to have a musical role: Sophie's boyfriend, Mark, aka Marky Mark, who beat me so swiftly at the card game I had just taught him (Egyptian Rat Screw) that my head is still spinning; Sophie's roommate Alessandro, aka Ale, an Italian who was always polite and drove like a bat out of hell down narrow gravel roads; Ale's friend from Italy named, of course, Fabio, who was on vacation visiting NZ just like us; and their friend Mauro, an Italian cook working in Dunedin with stunning green eyes and a man bun, who could pick up a guitar and strum along to even my most tone-deaf warbling. Plus me, Sophie and Mei.
After dinner each night at the bach, the group would follow a strict schedule of
1) smoking hand-rolled cigarettes (dammit, Italians)
2) ignoring the game that I tried to get everyone to play (brutal flashback to teaching high school) and
3) singing songs with the ukelele and guitar going strong
We sang lots of folky style songs (you are my sunshine, riptide, etc), but the main event came about every 30 minutes, when Mei and I could no longer resist belting out the Cranberries "Dreams." I started out on guitar with Mei on Ukelele, and when Mauro finished his cigarettes he would mercifully grab the guitar and leave me both hands free for my air microphone. These campers were treated to the Deluxe Version of this song, complete with my (*cough* spot on *cough*) Irish brogue imitation of Dolores O'Riordan. If you are verrrrrrrrrry kind to me and I have a guitar, I will sing this for you, IF I can fit it into my busy schedule. If no one is there to sing harmony we can video conference Mei in there. Does Tuesday work for you? How about 3pm? I'll bring the guitar. You can just sit there. No, really, I don't mind. SIT DOWN AND LISTEN.
Anyway, at the end of that song, there is a yodeling section which always got pretty out of hand. Our best version featured Mei and me doing the standard harmonies at glass-shattering volume, climaxing to Sophie and Mark bleating like sheep and Ale screeching a falsetto and mooing. It was magic.
We did a few more days of hiking.
One of my favorite parts of the entire trip happened when we were tramping through the bush to the beat of Sophie singing her own version "Down by the bay." In case you don't know this diddy, the general gist is that you add an absurd rhyme to each verse. The bulk of our song was:
Down by the bay
Where the little ferns grow
We're off to tramp
But before we go
My mother would say...
Have you ever seen a ___[noun]____, __[verb] ing a _[noun]_, down by the bay!
So as we're walking we're each adding silly stuff to it, like:
Have you ever seen Elvis, shaking his pelvis! or
Have you ever seen a bear, wearing underwear! etc.
And after most of us had had a go, Fabio still hadn't contributed anything. We would egg him on and he would just be silent or say "no you guys do it." And then we started the song again and out of the blue Fabio belted out joyfully:
"Have you ever seen a shark! Eat a little kid!?"
And he sang the "down by the bay" by himself because we were all shocked into silence. Even more disturbing is the fact that he happens to be a scuba diving coach by trade. I'm shaking with laughter remembering it.
Here's a pic of the gents. By the way, there is a "not blog friendly" portion of this trip, I can tell you in person or privately if you're curious.
We finally left the lovely bach and came back to Oamaru. Most people had to go back to work, but Fabio and Mei and I had some more exploring time, so we took a day trip to Lake Tepako and to see the Maori rock drawings.
Don't you hate when tourists do that? Like, does anyone care that you "wuz here 2009"??? It's like, "Man, I wonder who was here. Omg! Look! STEVEN! He was totally here... but WHEN? That is the question. Will we ever know? Oh, look! He really thought of everything. 2009. Mystery solved. Thanks Steven!"
To wit: You can see penguins coming back to nest after fishing if you come to a certain part of Oamaru at the right time. As we were on our way to see this sight, Ale warned us that we might see a "crazy lady" there, screaming at visitors to stay "5 METERS BACK" from the penguins. It turns out that penguins are pretty skittish and if you get close to them, or shine lights on them, or stand in their path to their nesting young, they might bail and go back into the water for safety. This is really really bad since their babies will die if they don't get fed.
So we went there, trying to be as respectful as possible. First, the good news: we saw penguins! You can watch what I saw here.
Then we saw the tourists. People in cars who would deliberately shine their lights on the penguins to get a better look (it was past dusk and pretty dark). People who would bumble right up to the penguins and crouch in their faces to take a picture. People who would stand right in front of the penguins as they (the penguins) looked anxiously toward their nesting rocks. The first 5 minutes of this was understandable: "Ah, they must not have heard, you're actually not supposed to do that." But after 30 minutes my blood was boiling and I was calling out to people to get away. I had basically become the crazy "5 meters back" lady within the scope of a mere half hour. Imagine if you were there, seeing that every day!?
A few more tidbits: Mei and I tried to ride a bicycle built for two. Obviously, we named the bicycle Daisy. It was really hard and we didn't last more than a few blocks. You can bet we sang the heck out of that song though.
Little known fact: Oamaru is known worldwide for... you guessed it... steam punk! So regular buildings and even playgrounds (yes, playgrounds) had this somewhat eerie theme of Victorian-Space-Locomotive vibes. You could tell that every shop in the neighborhood eventually got on board since many people came from all over the world to the steam punk festivals that seemed to be quite common (there's one coming up in June).
It started with the understandable (a second hand clothing shop had major steam punk style clothes like corsets, top hats and monocles) and eventually devolved into the senseless (a handmade soap shop also sold jarring Victorian brooches and helmets with goggles on them). It's nuts!
------ DEPRESSING ART PORTION --------
Fun fact: I thought bushwalks were a uniquely "down under" thing requiring specific vegetation/bushes. It's actually just their word for "hiking."
Anyway, Sophie had rented a "bach," or little summer cabin, for us to stay in. I quickly picked up on the lingo and would provide poignant commentary like, "Party at the bach!" Alas, this was yet another word I was pronouncing incorrectly. It's supposed to be "batch" (rhymes with catch), whereas I was pronouncing it like the name of the 18th century German composer (bok), known for such hits as Toccata and Fugue in D minor and Party at the Bach. We ended up being a group of 7 people and 1 rambunctious dog (what's up Figo!) going on a 4 day mini-trip, and we traveled in true NZ style - an ancient van which at times had to be pulled via rope by a very sturdy SUV down careening cliffs and gravel roads.
That guitar would be put to very good use.
 |
| The van would later be named "Sassy Shanay" because during certain points in our driving conversations, the horn would beep without anyone touching it. This was considered to be Shanay voicing either agreement or displeasure, based upon individual interpretation. |
 |
| Sassy Shanay taking a break. |
Some sweet little runaway sheep.
 |
| Glamorous: Unfiltered photo of a quick stop on the winding roads of the South Island. Less glamorous: we were probably stopped so one of the boys could pee. |
 |
| Figo, the faithful pup, could always be counted on for snuggles and sudden fits of biting (he's teething). He would also lovingly hump his pillow at night before bedtime like clockwork. If he also did this during the day (which he did, usually in front of small children who had come to pet him), Sophie would quip, "Figo! That's for the late night showing of your parlor tricks!" and at least get a chuckle out of the concerned parents. |
With road prep complete, we had only one last stop left before the bach - pick up our final traveler! Serendipitously, a friend from Boston (what's up Mei!) was in New Zealand at the same time as me and hitchhiked to meet us on our way to the Catlins. Hitchhiking is reeeeeally common, and we picked up a hitcher here and there. No, mom, don't worry, I didn't do it myself (this time!).
We made it to the bach and set out for our first day of bushwalking: a loooooong (6 hour) trek through thick forest with hardly a path to speak of. I thought I was pretty amazing for doing this, and then Sophie casually mentioned that her 98 year-old granny had just done it last month. What a boss!
 |
| Ukelele Mei and Me hiking: Bad Bitches from Boston to the Bach. I'll tell you where her nickname comes from later since it's impossible to guess. |
 |
| Sophie crossing the treacherous bridge. |
 |
| Picture taken from the bridge |
 |
| Sophie and Mark, tree nymphs |
That night, we came back starving and had an awesome dinner made mostly from the veggies from one of Sophie's many projects: a community garden. Here I'll introduce the other campers, since they are about to have a musical role: Sophie's boyfriend, Mark, aka Marky Mark, who beat me so swiftly at the card game I had just taught him (Egyptian Rat Screw) that my head is still spinning; Sophie's roommate Alessandro, aka Ale, an Italian who was always polite and drove like a bat out of hell down narrow gravel roads; Ale's friend from Italy named, of course, Fabio, who was on vacation visiting NZ just like us; and their friend Mauro, an Italian cook working in Dunedin with stunning green eyes and a man bun, who could pick up a guitar and strum along to even my most tone-deaf warbling. Plus me, Sophie and Mei.
After dinner each night at the bach, the group would follow a strict schedule of
1) smoking hand-rolled cigarettes (dammit, Italians)
2) ignoring the game that I tried to get everyone to play (brutal flashback to teaching high school) and
3) singing songs with the ukelele and guitar going strong
We sang lots of folky style songs (you are my sunshine, riptide, etc), but the main event came about every 30 minutes, when Mei and I could no longer resist belting out the Cranberries "Dreams." I started out on guitar with Mei on Ukelele, and when Mauro finished his cigarettes he would mercifully grab the guitar and leave me both hands free for my air microphone. These campers were treated to the Deluxe Version of this song, complete with my (*cough* spot on *cough*) Irish brogue imitation of Dolores O'Riordan. If you are verrrrrrrrrry kind to me and I have a guitar, I will sing this for you, IF I can fit it into my busy schedule. If no one is there to sing harmony we can video conference Mei in there. Does Tuesday work for you? How about 3pm? I'll bring the guitar. You can just sit there. No, really, I don't mind. SIT DOWN AND LISTEN.
Anyway, at the end of that song, there is a yodeling section which always got pretty out of hand. Our best version featured Mei and me doing the standard harmonies at glass-shattering volume, climaxing to Sophie and Mark bleating like sheep and Ale screeching a falsetto and mooing. It was magic.
We did a few more days of hiking.
 |
| For a more profesh version of this pic, see here. |
 |
| At the southern-most point in NZ, the wind is so strong that the trees grew like this. |
 |
| Fabio spots some vivid fungi en route. |
Down by the bay
Where the little ferns grow
We're off to tramp
But before we go
My mother would say...
Have you ever seen a ___[noun]____, __[verb] ing a _[noun]_, down by the bay!
So as we're walking we're each adding silly stuff to it, like:
Have you ever seen Elvis, shaking his pelvis! or
Have you ever seen a bear, wearing underwear! etc.
And after most of us had had a go, Fabio still hadn't contributed anything. We would egg him on and he would just be silent or say "no you guys do it." And then we started the song again and out of the blue Fabio belted out joyfully:
"Have you ever seen a shark! Eat a little kid!?"
And he sang the "down by the bay" by himself because we were all shocked into silence. Even more disturbing is the fact that he happens to be a scuba diving coach by trade. I'm shaking with laughter remembering it.
********
Here's a pic of the gents. By the way, there is a "not blog friendly" portion of this trip, I can tell you in person or privately if you're curious.
 |
| Mauro, Fabio, Ale, Mark ready for adventure, Figo looking like he didn't sign up for this. |
We finally left the lovely bach and came back to Oamaru. Most people had to go back to work, but Fabio and Mei and I had some more exploring time, so we took a day trip to Lake Tepako and to see the Maori rock drawings.
 |
| Maori rock drawings. Tourists had carved their names over everything. đŸ˜¡ |
To wit: You can see penguins coming back to nest after fishing if you come to a certain part of Oamaru at the right time. As we were on our way to see this sight, Ale warned us that we might see a "crazy lady" there, screaming at visitors to stay "5 METERS BACK" from the penguins. It turns out that penguins are pretty skittish and if you get close to them, or shine lights on them, or stand in their path to their nesting young, they might bail and go back into the water for safety. This is really really bad since their babies will die if they don't get fed.
So we went there, trying to be as respectful as possible. First, the good news: we saw penguins! You can watch what I saw here.
Then we saw the tourists. People in cars who would deliberately shine their lights on the penguins to get a better look (it was past dusk and pretty dark). People who would bumble right up to the penguins and crouch in their faces to take a picture. People who would stand right in front of the penguins as they (the penguins) looked anxiously toward their nesting rocks. The first 5 minutes of this was understandable: "Ah, they must not have heard, you're actually not supposed to do that." But after 30 minutes my blood was boiling and I was calling out to people to get away. I had basically become the crazy "5 meters back" lady within the scope of a mere half hour. Imagine if you were there, seeing that every day!?
 |
| Penguins stopped cold when this tourist group got all up in their face. |
 |
| On the day we left Oamaru, Mei provided this addition to some sidewalk art in front of a cafe. |
A few more tidbits: Mei and I tried to ride a bicycle built for two. Obviously, we named the bicycle Daisy. It was really hard and we didn't last more than a few blocks. You can bet we sang the heck out of that song though.
 |
| Daisy was soon traded in for Moa, a single seater. |
 |
| I didn't even know this was a thing. |
 |
| Looks pretty fun, huh? |
It started with the understandable (a second hand clothing shop had major steam punk style clothes like corsets, top hats and monocles) and eventually devolved into the senseless (a handmade soap shop also sold jarring Victorian brooches and helmets with goggles on them). It's nuts!
 |
| Pic from http://steampunkoamaru.co.nz/blog/ |
------ DEPRESSING ART PORTION --------
We went to a small museum in Oamaru and I saw one of my favorite art pieces to date. The main exhibit was one of metal works, which were all really impressive; but one artist focused on "medals of dishonor" and really hit it out of the park. One huge medal (taller than me), hung from the ceiling. Along the ribbon part of the medal, which looked like a bandage, was printed "a drill chant used in the preparation of US Navy personnel for the invasion of Iraq (Quoted from 'The Ground Truth’: The Cruel Fate of Iraq War Veterans,” http://www.wsws. org/articles/2006/oct2006/grou-o25.shtml):
Bomb the village, kill the people, throw some napalm in the square.
--------- END OF DEPRESSION ----------
In case the Southern Island hadn't already enchanted me enough, Sophie introduced me to what is now my lifelong unrequited love: Hokey Pokey ice cream. It's kind of like a mix of birthday cake/cotton candy flavors... maybe with a bit of honey? I don't know, it's just crazy good. You can't get it in the US though. Because the world is a terrible place.
------- ACTUAL END OF DEPRESSION ----------
Sadly, it rained most of the time I was in Otago, except for our last day, on which of course I got a wretched farmer's tan and sunburn. But it was worth it.
Not too much drama going on in Otago, as judged by a penguin molting by the pool being front page news. This is the kind of world I want to live in.
I was scheduled to spend the rest of my trip in this rainy little town, but I just couldn't sit with the idea of going back to Boston without some significant time in the sun. When I complained to people about this, they all had a common refrain: "If you want sun, you need to go to the North Island!" Little ol' me thought that NZ was such a tiny place that it would mostly have one climate. I was so, so wrong. NZ has everything from Antarctic tundra to rainforest to geothermal springs to tropical beaches, all with a 1st world standard of living. But I digress. It was time to change my plane ticket and make a last ditch effort at sitting in the sun: the North Island. Now, if only I knew some people there...
TBC in part 5!
Book for this part of the trip: La chica del tren by Paula Hawkins
Do it on a Sunday morning, kill them on their way to prayer.
Ring the bell inside the schoolhouse, watch those kiddies gather round.
Lock and load with your 240, mow them little motherfuckers down!"
In case the Southern Island hadn't already enchanted me enough, Sophie introduced me to what is now my lifelong unrequited love: Hokey Pokey ice cream. It's kind of like a mix of birthday cake/cotton candy flavors... maybe with a bit of honey? I don't know, it's just crazy good. You can't get it in the US though. Because the world is a terrible place.
 |
| Come back, my love! |
Sadly, it rained most of the time I was in Otago, except for our last day, on which of course I got a wretched farmer's tan and sunburn. But it was worth it.
 |
| Southern Isles, baby |
Not too much drama going on in Otago, as judged by a penguin molting by the pool being front page news. This is the kind of world I want to live in.
I was scheduled to spend the rest of my trip in this rainy little town, but I just couldn't sit with the idea of going back to Boston without some significant time in the sun. When I complained to people about this, they all had a common refrain: "If you want sun, you need to go to the North Island!" Little ol' me thought that NZ was such a tiny place that it would mostly have one climate. I was so, so wrong. NZ has everything from Antarctic tundra to rainforest to geothermal springs to tropical beaches, all with a 1st world standard of living. But I digress. It was time to change my plane ticket and make a last ditch effort at sitting in the sun: the North Island. Now, if only I knew some people there...
TBC in part 5!
Book for this part of the trip: La chica del tren by Paula Hawkins
