What a weekend!
The past weekend was a long-weekend as it included Waitangi Day on Friday. Waitangi Day celebrates the day when the Maori chiefs signed a treaty making the maori people British subjects and giving them the privileges of British subjects. Odd, then, that on the holiday we should spend our evening enjoying a Chinese Lantern Festival instead of some type of Waitangi Celebration. Nonetheless, we enjoyed an evening downtown at Albert Park sampling asian food (including herbed egg, plum juice, coconut rolls and oil sticks) and surveying the numerous lantern displays.
Saturday was spent mainly in our neighborhood. I woke up early and painted for a few hours on our porch. (I’ve decided to try acrylic painting as a way to relax and express the beautiful sights here in NZ. My first painting was quite laughable, but the second is better.) Brandon and I prepared a BBQ of homemade burgers and roasted vegetables to share with our friends, Dale and Amber, who brought along the ginger-beer and fair-trade chocolate. We then spent a couple of hours at our local beach, Pt. Chevalier Beach, swimming in the warm water and soaking up some sun. We decided to leave when, somehow, Brandon and Dale managed to attract all the toddlers in the area. The two men were swarmed by pudgy little arms and legs of children wanting to play. It made me a bit uncomfortable, actually. In Canada, it’s unlikely that a parent would allow their four year-old daughter play in the ocean with complete strangers. But here, children are very friendly and not afraid of strangers, and parents have no qualms about leaving their children to play on their own.
Sunday was the highlight of the weekend, by far! We woke up “early” (around 7) and headed out of the city with Dale and Amber. Destination: Goat Island. It’s not actually an island, but an ocean wildlife reserve. We borrowed snorkel gear, donned our masks, snorkels and fins, and headed into the deep! At first, I was panicky and hyperventilated a bit, but it didn’t take long to get into the rhythm of swimming and breathing with my face under the water. Besides, I was distracted by the seaweed and abundance of snapper. We all got over our inhibitions and were soon diving below to get a closer view of the sea floor. In total, we spent a few hours floating around hoping our backs weren’t burning. On our second excursion, after a short snack break, we went out into choppier water where less people were snorkeling as well. There, we found much bigger fish, and realized that although the waves look threatening from the shore, they’re quite harmless when you’re face-down in the water. Also, we were worried about the boulders that line the shore, but found that they were the most interesting areas to explore, as they provided many hiding places for creatures of all kinds. You may wonder, were there any sharks? Probably. Somewhere. But the night before we watched a documentary called “Sharkwater” which dispelled many rumors about sharks, and even I, who fears even the smallest fish might nibble my toes, was able to swim about without worries.
We left Goat Island around 2PM and set out for Pakiri Beach, an incredible white-sand beach just opposite the shores of Goat Island. Pakiri Beach is also a marine reserve, and well-known surf beach. When we arrived, the tide was coming in, and we spent a lot of time body-surfing. The conditions were perfect, as the ocean floor is packed sand, so no slimy things to worry about, and the water was so clear that even in deep water you could see your feet. That is, if the waves didn’t crash around you creating a beautiful white froth.
It seems we keep having to pinch ourselves. Do we really live here? Because it seems we’re just on some extended exotic vacation. Is it truly possible that we can visit beaches like these every weekend, even every day? It all seems too good to be true and we truly wish you were here!
Monday, February 9, 2009
5 February 2009
Well, my sincerest apologies to those who check our blog frequently, it’s been too long since my last post.
As you can imagine, a lot has happened in the last two weeks. We made another trip out to Tirau to pick up the jandals (sandals) we left out there, we discovered the world’s greatest fish and chips in Howick (a suburb of Auckland), Brandon has experienced the ups and downs of labouring out of doors in NZ, I have learned the scary and painful truth about UV rays, and we discovered the world’s longest beach – Muriwai.
I also started school this week. I was quite apprehensive as I wasn’t really prepared in any way, shape, or form. I basically showed up a few days before classes started, cleaned and decorated my room, and waited for the students to arrive. When they did, I wasn’t prepared for this breed of pupil.
Here’s an anecdote to explain what I mean:
The morning of the first day, I was sitting at my desk working, and greeting the students who were wandering in early. One student, I’ll call him Bobby, approached me and said, “Good morning, Miss, my name is Bobby, how were your holidays?” I told him they were wonderful. He proceeded to say, “Well, welcome to Pasadena, Miss.” I said, “Thank you.” Then, a small boy in year 7 arrived with his mother. When his mother had left, Bobby approached him and introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Bobby, what’s your name?” “Chris,” he replied. “Welcome to Pasadena, Chris. How were your holidays?”
Any of you who are teachers, or come into close contact with pre-teens on a daily basis, will know that this behaviour is highly unlikely in a Canadian classroom. To be honest, I thought Bobby was just really good at being facetious and I wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown at him.
Then, when my students had all arrived, I said, “Good morning, class” and was about to continue speaking when, in unison, they replied, “Good morning, Miss.” I was momentarily stunned, but managed to continue.
Of course, it’s not all gum drops and “lollies,” there are a few clowns and trouble-makers, as well as a 6-foot, 300lb, 11 year-old samoan boy who constantly asks, “Miss, can I go toilet?” (Yes, “go toilet.” Some students just make the time-out symbol which apparently means “toilet.” So weird!)
Also, I sometimes have a hard time understanding my students, as well as fellow staff, thanks to the accent. I’m continuously saying, “Pardon me?”
Still, it seems I have a lot to look forward to. In the next few weeks I get to accompany my students on a sailing trip in the harbour, and their outdoor ed. week consists of kayaking, rock-climbing, sail-boarding, and numerous other activities that could be considered “extreme sports.”
In the meantime, I’m the quiet new teacher who spends all her time in her classroom. I probably won’t emerge for a few months – that’s just the way it goes. Besides, I miss my friends from school terribly and am not ready to make other school friends.
And if this school-related post sounds quite positive, let’s hope that’s the trend. We’ll see in a few weeks, I guess. Until later…
As you can imagine, a lot has happened in the last two weeks. We made another trip out to Tirau to pick up the jandals (sandals) we left out there, we discovered the world’s greatest fish and chips in Howick (a suburb of Auckland), Brandon has experienced the ups and downs of labouring out of doors in NZ, I have learned the scary and painful truth about UV rays, and we discovered the world’s longest beach – Muriwai.
I also started school this week. I was quite apprehensive as I wasn’t really prepared in any way, shape, or form. I basically showed up a few days before classes started, cleaned and decorated my room, and waited for the students to arrive. When they did, I wasn’t prepared for this breed of pupil.
Here’s an anecdote to explain what I mean:
The morning of the first day, I was sitting at my desk working, and greeting the students who were wandering in early. One student, I’ll call him Bobby, approached me and said, “Good morning, Miss, my name is Bobby, how were your holidays?” I told him they were wonderful. He proceeded to say, “Well, welcome to Pasadena, Miss.” I said, “Thank you.” Then, a small boy in year 7 arrived with his mother. When his mother had left, Bobby approached him and introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Bobby, what’s your name?” “Chris,” he replied. “Welcome to Pasadena, Chris. How were your holidays?”
Any of you who are teachers, or come into close contact with pre-teens on a daily basis, will know that this behaviour is highly unlikely in a Canadian classroom. To be honest, I thought Bobby was just really good at being facetious and I wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown at him.
Then, when my students had all arrived, I said, “Good morning, class” and was about to continue speaking when, in unison, they replied, “Good morning, Miss.” I was momentarily stunned, but managed to continue.
Of course, it’s not all gum drops and “lollies,” there are a few clowns and trouble-makers, as well as a 6-foot, 300lb, 11 year-old samoan boy who constantly asks, “Miss, can I go toilet?” (Yes, “go toilet.” Some students just make the time-out symbol which apparently means “toilet.” So weird!)
Also, I sometimes have a hard time understanding my students, as well as fellow staff, thanks to the accent. I’m continuously saying, “Pardon me?”
Still, it seems I have a lot to look forward to. In the next few weeks I get to accompany my students on a sailing trip in the harbour, and their outdoor ed. week consists of kayaking, rock-climbing, sail-boarding, and numerous other activities that could be considered “extreme sports.”
In the meantime, I’m the quiet new teacher who spends all her time in her classroom. I probably won’t emerge for a few months – that’s just the way it goes. Besides, I miss my friends from school terribly and am not ready to make other school friends.
And if this school-related post sounds quite positive, let’s hope that’s the trend. We’ll see in a few weeks, I guess. Until later…
14 January 2009
Today was an adventure indeed. After waking up and checking out of what was our home for the week, we picked up my new bike (an Electra Townie, 21spd, white) loaded it in our car, and drove to our new home. There, we quickly ditched the bike and went to meet our friends Dale and Amber at their house before heading off to the beach. Unfortunately, my navigating skills took us to Nevis Place instead of Ben Nevis Place, so we were about half an hour late. From their place, we drove through winding country roads covered in sheep, cows, and horses before arriving at the beach. We feasted on roasted chicken an veggies while waiting for the tide to recede enough to expose a path between the mainland and an island about a kilometer out to sea. When we finally set out, we were all well-fed, lathered in sunscreen, and excited by the prospect of the sand-dollars which are said to hide in the warm sand.
However, the trek wasn’t as simple as expected. We had to cross long stretches of lichen-covered rock which were very slippery. I fell twice, each time letting out a loud “WHOOP!” Dale thought the beach should be re-named “Whoop Beach” because of my antics.
Once we reached the uninhabited island, we followed a set of stairs to the plateau. There, instead of lush greenery and a great view, we found thick, sharp grasses, thistle bushes and spider webs. Nonetheless, we braved the jungle in an attempt to cross to the other side. We were disappointed to be halted by a dead-end, and in our bathing suits and flip-flops, there was no possibility of bush-whacking.
On the way back to the beach, we checked out a marooned and abandoned boat named “Orca,” and picked up half a dozen sand-dollars. I opted to walk closer to the water to avoid the deadly lichen, and it occurred to me that the waves, the sun, the sand, it all reminded me of one of the happiest times of my life: my honeymoon. I always speak of it as a magical time where Brandon and I did nothing but enjoy ourselves. Of course, this is no honeymoon. But the fact that such a beautiful place is so close to what is now our home makes me so grateful to be here. I hope that ocean views and sandy beaches never become commonplace in my life. If they do, I guess it’ll be time to move on.
Wish you were here!
However, the trek wasn’t as simple as expected. We had to cross long stretches of lichen-covered rock which were very slippery. I fell twice, each time letting out a loud “WHOOP!” Dale thought the beach should be re-named “Whoop Beach” because of my antics.
Once we reached the uninhabited island, we followed a set of stairs to the plateau. There, instead of lush greenery and a great view, we found thick, sharp grasses, thistle bushes and spider webs. Nonetheless, we braved the jungle in an attempt to cross to the other side. We were disappointed to be halted by a dead-end, and in our bathing suits and flip-flops, there was no possibility of bush-whacking.
On the way back to the beach, we checked out a marooned and abandoned boat named “Orca,” and picked up half a dozen sand-dollars. I opted to walk closer to the water to avoid the deadly lichen, and it occurred to me that the waves, the sun, the sand, it all reminded me of one of the happiest times of my life: my honeymoon. I always speak of it as a magical time where Brandon and I did nothing but enjoy ourselves. Of course, this is no honeymoon. But the fact that such a beautiful place is so close to what is now our home makes me so grateful to be here. I hope that ocean views and sandy beaches never become commonplace in my life. If they do, I guess it’ll be time to move on.
Wish you were here!
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