Open up the Earth

As part of Jason’s birthday present we took off this past weekend to a little cabin in the middle of nowhere. I really owed him this weekend after I fell dead asleep on the couch on his birthday night, requiring him to light his own birthday candles on the cake and sing himself “Happy Birthday”. It was quite a pathetic display of celebration on my part. To repay my penance, I took him to Warm Earth Cottages for the weekend. It is touted as a romantic retreat where couples can go to relax and reconnect with only candlelight to guide their way (as there is no power) and a fire-heated outside bath to soak in. It was a place Jason had wanted to visit for a long time, but without power and only a shared outhouse for facilities, I had been reluctant to attend. Somehow such rustic accommodation did not appeal to me. However, I was pleasantly surprised and wished we had gone much sooner. Starting with a host’s welcome of home-brewed liquors, we knew we were in for a special time. It only escalated when we got the choice of two cottages, each adorned with high quality bedding, a pot-belly stove, and antique furnishings. Just a few feet from our door was a full barbeque and a high-backed soaking tub, lit each night by the owners. And the infamous “outhouse” turned out to have a beautifully handmade vanity and pull chain flushing toilet. Even the adjacent shower with saloon style doors was quite refreshing. Each morning the hosts treated us with a full brunch of fruits, breads, cheeses and meats, adding farm fresh eggs for Sunday, and the obligatory morning cocktail, of course. There was nothing rustic about this place. Aside from a short trip into the local town on Saturday for a look around some antique shops and to gather provisions for a barbeque dinner, we spent all weekend relaxing with good books, good wine, and fabulous food, soaking up the sun as much as we could between bursts of cold wind and warming up by the fire. I think my penance has been paid.

Where the world dawns anew

This past Monday was Labor Day, affording a three day weekend, so we took the opportunity to visit yet another uncharted area on our list, the East Cape. With its claim of being the first place in the world to see the sun rise (due to the international date line), it is the most easterly area of New Zealand, located in the Bay of Plenty, situated between the major cities of Whakatane and Gisborne. A total of 330 kilometers long, the road is winding, following the coastline closely on the western side and traversing the Raukumara range and farmland on the eastern side. It was worth making the trip over two days so that we could enjoy the views. It is an area rich in Maori history, dotted with red-roofed Marae (traditional Maori meeting houses) in each bay and township, making carving exploration an easy task. With minimal population and a laid-back attitude to living, little was open or available in the way of cafes or groceries, making us more then thankful we had taken provisions on the trip.

After spending Friday night in Whakatane, we left populous civilization on the way around the western side of the East Cape. The sun came out in pockets throughout the day as we stopped to purchase handmade tiles from an old converted Cheddar Valley Cheese Factory, take pictures of the major landmarks and enjoy some homemade macadamia ice cream from Pacific Coast Macadamias. We made it to our Saturday night accommodation, Hicks Bay Motel Lodge, at the tip of the East Cape in time to decline a dinner reservation at their establishment. We instead made a 40 kilometer round-trip drive out along gravel road to the East Cape lighthouse. The most easterly lighthouse in New Zealand, it was originally built on a small island just off the coast, but due to rough conditions it was moved to its present location in 1922. Realizing the lateness of the hour, we hiked up the 900 steps across private farmland to reach the structure at lightening speed, then drove the 20 kilometers back to Te Aroroa just in time to order our fish and chips before the only takeaway shop for miles closed at 6:30pm. Enjoying our bounty on the deck of our cabin at the motel, we listened to the waves crash against the shore below until the chilly wind drove us inside.

Leaving our curtains open, we attempted to witness the sun crest the horizon for a new day, but the foliage unfortunately obscured our view. Having already arisen, we took the opportunity to get on the road early. After making a quick stop to the East Cape Manuka Visitors Centre to purchase some much coveted honey products, we detoured back in Te Aroroa to take a picture of the largest pohutukawa tree in the world, Te Waha O Rerekohu. Then we were off down the eastern side of the cape. Traversing the lavish farmland, towns were fewer and farther between then on the western side. With much of the old trading company buildings now going to ruin, you could see how this area was once a thriving part of New Zealand. Jason even managed to find and old bank building he thought would make a fine B&B or backpackers, with a boutique knitting store on the ground level for me. As the day progressed, the weather turned sour, although we still managed to brave the wind to walk out the longest wharf in New Zealand (660 meters) in Tolaga Bay and then take a quick 1.5 hour tramp across farmland to see Cook’s Cove, were Captain Cook landed to get supplies. Spurts of torrential rain followed us as we drove the remainder of the way into Gisborne in time to take a warming spa bath at our last night’s accommodation, Torrington B&B. Once an old doctor’s surgery for about 50 years, many in the community still remember coming to the house to receive medical attention. We enjoyed a lovely dinner on the wharf in Gisborne, entertained by all the intoxicated participants of the day’s Gisborne Food and Wine Festival who were being dropped off at the wharf for the after parties and seemed unaffected by the chilly wind as they walked along in their mini skirts and t-shirts.

Sunday we arose to beautiful sunny weather just in time to make the five hour drive back to Hamilton, having succeeded in our discovery of another part of New Zealand.

Into a Cave, Darkly

As our time in New Zealand comes to a close, we recently compiled a list of all the activities we wanted to do, places we wanted to see, and friends and family we wanted to visit before we left. First on the list, Waitomo Caves. A hot tourist spot just an hour south of Hamilton, it was one that both Jason and I had passed multiple times in our trips back and forth between Hamilton and Hawera. So, we finally took the “plunge” this past weekend and went down for a chilly three hour cave tour through the dark. After a short detour to the angora knit shop in which we watched the daily rabbit shearing and I purchased some more wool that will eventually get made into a knitted garment, we found our way to the Black Water Rafting shop. Our 1:30pm tour was a compilation of six teenagers all on school holiday, the supervising mother, a Londoner over on holiday, another tourist who was limited in words, and the two of us. A rather jovial mix, we met up with our tour guide who has been leading tours for the last year through the dark caves. After a fitting of wetsuits (which fashionably hung 8 inches below my crouch), jackets, wool thermals, rubber boots, and helmets, we headed out for the cave. First task was a training jump over the “waterfall”. Gathering our inner tubes, we lined up to jump off backwards from a platform some 4-5 feet above the water. After that initial exposure to the cold and wet (learning quickly that closure of my contact-fitted eyes was a must), we tramped down to the cave entrance and adjusted to the dark. Within minutes we were walking and floating under low level stalactites through chillier water admiring the multitude of glow worms adorning the caves ceiling. Interrupted along the way with a few more waterfall jumps and a “lights off” chain float through the most glow worm laden area, which coincided with the location of the tourist ramp for the walking cave inspectors, it was a fabulous trip. However, by the end of the 1 kilometer, one hour float, both Jason and I were happy to leave the chilly waters and unwrap ourselves from the wet water gear. Unfortunately, while the showers weren’t the warmest, the hot tomato soup and toasted bagel at the end were a welcome find.

Check out our pictures on the left.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

One of the requirements when we rented our place in Hamilton was proximity to a gym. Needing my daily endorphin fix to work out the stresses of the day, I was pleased to find a YMCA just a seven minute walk and one bus stop away from our place. While not the flashest of gyms, it has plenty of bikes, treadmills, cross-trainers, and rowing ergometers, plus more weight machines then I can shake a stick at. While usually avoiding the rowing machines (too many years of utilizing them has turned me off a bit), I was forced to partake in this activity when I found all my usual cardio equipment occupied by the busy Monday night rush. Upon sitting down, I noticed a forty-something year old man/father standing next to his presumed teenage son who was playing around on the ergometer. The teenager had the handle bar and chain stretched to it’s absolute limit over and above his head while he cranked on the handles seemingly attempting to accomplish some low split rate on the monitor. Culminating in his success, his father gave him a congratulatory slap on the back at which point I felt compelled to speak up and inform them that playing around on the ergometer in such a manner could potentially ruin the machine and break the chain and buggy that provides its spring. The father's prompt reply was, “Oh, the bungee? That can be replaced.” I couldn’t believe my ears. It’s not as if the YMCA has endless funds to be replacing equipment that members destroy while horsing around, evidenced by the fact that two current pieces of equipment have been out of commission for the last month awaiting technicians to come repair them. I was really infuriated by the scenario. I’m not sure which bothered me more: his nonchalant manner towards borrowed equipment, or that he was modeling an attitude of disrespect for his teenage son. And we wonder by there’s so much trouble in the world.

Coming to America

It’s official! After nine long months of waiting, Jason had his immigration interview with the US Consulate in Auckland on Monday. True to form, he was guided through a metal detector, and then made to wait until he was called to a selected window and “interviewed” by two separate individuals. The first was a New Zealander who was there simply to collect his documentation and instill some fear when she curtly informed Jason he had applied too early and would need to get an extension on the fiancé visa petition so as not to arrive in the United States too early. The second was an American, who clearly had been doing this job for some time longer then the first, who held a very casual conversation with him about how we met and served to alleviate his fears when she said everything looked in order and issuing a visa should be no problem. She also confirmed that we were in fact not too early as the visa granted him six months to get into the country, however, he was free to wait to get the visa if he wished, no extension of petition required. He declined the offer of extension and sure enough the following day a courier package arrived at our front door with his “visaed” passport inside. Looks like all systems go.

Changing of the Guard

This past weekend we had a lovely visit from the young GP who took over my position at Ruanui Health Centre a year ago. We had a great time commiserating about the trials and joys of working for a Maori Health Provider and discussing joint patients we had taken care of over the last two and a half years in succession. As expected, there have been many deaths of favorite patients, but also some great successes. Being a young female, similar to myself, I’m sure the transition was easy for the patients and Kristi has a wonderful attitude that the patients would have enjoyed. She has now finished her time and is spending six weeks exploring the country before she heads back to the high speed pace of America. So, to kick off her travels, we drove out to Raglan on the west coast, about an hour from Hamilton. The day started out rather dubious with clouds and rain hanging overhead, but turned into a brilliant sunny day on the coast. After some shopping, during which Kristi contributed nicely to Raglan’s commerce, we had lunch and then drove out to watch the surfers attempt standing in the world-famous left-hand break. The physics of left-handed surfing slightly beyond the scope of our never-having-surfed comprehension, we still delighted in commenting on how they could improve their skills. The wind eventually chilling us down, we drove back to Hamilton, stopping for a brief moment to visit Bridal Veil Falls, a 55 meter plume of water cascading over the edge from a seemingly small creek. It generated a great discussion of weather eels ever fell over the waterfall and if an experiment could be constructed to test this theory. After deciding it would likely be against any animal rights act, we drove on home to enjoy some dinner and a few cosmopolitans, watching the locals get ready for the Aussie-New Zealand rugby match that night. Sunday was a lazy day soaking up the sun that has all winter evaded us, walking through the Hamilton Botanical Gardens and along the overflowing Waikato River. We gave Kristi some tips on places to visit on her trip over a plate of local and French cheeses. It was hard not to be jealous of her six week holiday, although I can say I’m not sorry to live out of a car and short-stay hotels for that length of time. Her visit also generated another realization; I will soon be making this same journey home in three short months, making the transition to fast-paced American life and the US health system. Guess I better enjoy the lackadaisical days I have left.

Another step on the path to America

Saturday Jason received an awaited piece of mail from the US Consulate. It was a letter confirming his interview date for application of his Fiancé Visa. Come next Monday, he will be making the ninety minute drive to Auckland to meet with his interviewer at a small window within the Consulate office. (This latter description confirmed by an American-born patient who recently had to make the same journey with her New Zealand husband to confirm that he wouldn’t jump ship when they went on their two week vacation in America.) According to the letter, he will receive his passport back within four days, hopefully “visaed” and ready to go. Okay, so the US Consulate may not have the best grasp of verbs within the English language, but hopefully they will have the kindness to grant us the final step in our attempts to start a new life together in the States.