The Other Side of the World

Yesterday Mike and I drove from our home, 20 minutes from the ocean on the West coast, to the East coast of New Zealand. It took under two hours. For a Canadian, this feat is surreal.
A few minutes out of town we drove along nail-biting roads through lovely green hills with a gorge running below us. I was quite proud of my efforts at sticking my hand out of the window and taking photos:

When we got to Hawkes Bay we went to his parents’ house, were fed massive amounts of good plain Kiwi food (read: barbeque), entertained by his little neice & nephew and given extensive tours of his mother’s native plant sanctuary. Then we drove up to Te Mata peak with stunning views of the coast. The Maori legend of Te Mata is that two giants were fighting over a beautiful woman, and one giant ripped the other’s throat out. Lying down to die, he became Te Mata, which, when viewed from above, is the shape of a person, with a gap for the missing throat. After that we drove 10 minutes down to the ocean at Napier – beautiful turquoise blue water, but it has one of the most dangerous undertows in the world, so no-one goes swimming there (there are beaches a little further north – to the right of this photo – that are great though). We left at about eight at night, loaded with veggies from the garden and apples from a local orchard – Hawke’s Bay is The Fruit Bowl of New Zealand. Nobody, unfortunately, informed me that the apples were addictive. I think I’ve eaten 4 in the past 8 hours. . . .

For those that expressed interest in ‘seeing’ who I was living with, this is my house mate Mike. The other two are getting back from the South Island next week. Mike teaches at the poncy boy’s high school down the street (but before that he taught Maori kids in the middle of nowhere and lived in a tiny cottage on the beach). This is him before changing out of his work clothes, but after taking off his tie. In fact, he was saying “Let me just unbutton the collar so I don’t look like a yob”. Unfortunately, I am not a kind or patient photographer.

Please note out dirty dishes in the background: I couldn’t get the hot water tap to work today (he fixed it when he got home).

I have laundry and cleaning and library-book-returning (and fine-paying, oops!) and student-handbook reading to do this morning . . . so I stayed a few extra minutes in bed with the little blanket my mother made me tucked around my shoulders. Someone was trying to show me snow on their web cam last night . . . ah, that put a little lump in my throat!

Today was my orientation day at school and I admit I spent most of the day delirious with contentment. I actually couldn’t breathe a couple of times, I was so caught up in it all. There is a distinct feeling that things here are special and different. Every single thing I heard affirmed the choice I made about this particular school and these teachers and this location. Such a wonderful feeling when you have taken such a crazy leap from the places and people you are so attached to. I really am still buzzing with it all!
I also got my placement, which was handpicked for me, and I must say, handpicked exceptionally well. I have Mondays off and then one day a week on a PM shift at the local hospital (2:30 to 11 p.m. – my Holiday Inn working hours!). This is great because it delays having to buy a car, and it means I’m not on call so I can work part time on the weekends. It’s hilarious how quickly I became nervous not having a cash flow. That money-in-the-pocket thing turns out to be quite addictive. . . hmmm
Anyway, the main part of my placement is for 4 weeks in June/July in the beautiful Hawke’s Bay region on the East coast of New Zealand. I’ll stay with the midwife there (in her house! that’s how eager she is to have a student with her) and accompany her to all her clients – home birthing and in rural birth centers. One other student (one I’ve already ‘ear-marked’ as a person I’ll like) will be in the area at the same time with another midwife. I’m so excited that I get to see the country and get an education at the same time. . . . good stuff, that.
And the other great part about this arrangement for my placement is that I’ll be done as soon as my last exam lets out in mid-November, so I can jet straight home for a good long chunk of feeding up (and I mean soul as well as body there).
In the meantime there are 2 weeks off at Easter, and another 2 in Sept (i.e. ‘reading week’) so plenty of oppotunity to be visited. . . hint hint hint. .. .HINT . .
We also put in our order for our student kits today (stethescope, pinard stethescope – for baby’s hearst in-uterp, etc). When they come in next week, I promise I’ll do a big post of all my “school supplies” for a certain sweet reader who has requested this:)

In other news, this weekend my housemate and I are planning a giant pillage of the market, and then a trip up to his parents in Hawke’s Bay (Havelock North is the village) which now is so much more meaningful given today’s news. Scoping out is on the agenda. . . .

Anyway, I have a massive pile of handouts to read before my first real day of lab/lectures on Wednesday, and I really think my happy day needs to end with a curling up in bed with this and some nettle tea and maybe some nice Arnott’s biscuits.

Forgive the poor quality writing. . . I am tired. But very very very happy.
(and about school too. . . . who would have thought?)

I’ll let you in on something – the real reason my room gets messy. Instead of tossing and turning in bed at night, I toss and turn the contents of the room in an attempt to find just the right thing to lull me off. Here we see the aftermath: Three books, a magazine (sent to me from England – thank you Claire!), my iPod, the DVD of Amelie, notebooks full of To-Do and To-Buy lists, some hemp-knitting experiments, a map of the area, signs of various stages of disrobement and some things that are now ready to pop into the mailbox. Thankfully, this sort of night only happens once in awhile, or I’d be doing chaos-management every morning. And I don’t think I can be that productive.

By the way, if anyone was wondering what I’m reading – the books are: Nourishing Traditions: The Cookbook that Challenges Politically Correct Nutrition, Home Birth Bound: Mending the Broken Weave and Testimony of an Irish Slave Girl by Kate McCafferty.

When I moved into this house, I had no idea what was really around it, bar the fact that it was 5 minutes from the town centre (or as the kiwis would insist the ‘city centre’ but who are they kidding??). Imagine my delight when I discovered that the hospital I have a morning of labs at every Wednesday is situated – right. there. *photo taken from the front door of my house. Without zoom lens, thank you very much!

By the way, the shed on the left isn’t it, the sign is at the entrance and there is a short driveway to the actual hospital which appears to be a cluster of small brick buildings. I’ll report further after next Wednesday. . .

According to the NZ road code, this is a hazard sign for “Greasy Surface”. Firstly, we all know that is the “Icy Road” sign. Secondly why do the roads here have cause to be greasy? Are rogue sheep smearing their lanolin-filled coats on the road as they sun-bathe?
Tsk tsk. The transport authority here is winning no favours from me! [side note: this may also have something to do with the fact that they have been *the only* people in authority to be exasperating to deal with here].

Edited to add: Wait, I take some of the animosity back – because! look at this – !!!
“Doctors and midwives on urgent business may use a roof-mounted green flashing light. This means you must pull over and allow the vehicle to pass. ”
Ha! That is way too exciting for me to contemplate! I’m speechless! flashing lights . . me . . . drool . . .

Alright, I will be the first to admit that I am not overly, er, useful in the a.m.. Perhaps though, all this traveling has scrambled my internal clock into some semblance of ‘normal’? I urge you all to hold your collective breaths. . . .
Anyway, I woke up this morning at 8:00, leapt out of bed, grabbed an apple and headed off to find this mystical farmer’s market that my course administrator has told me about. Mystical because she didn’t sound overly confident about its whereabouts, and I was basically wandering around semi-comatose in the windy, quiet morning trying to find it.
And then suddenly in a burst of music and the lazy/frantic bustle that hallmarks Saturday markets – there she was.

Those are tiny purple Maori potatoes just in front of the daikon radishes. Of course, I bought some!
I thought my little sleepy heart would burst with happiness when I discovered these leafy greens there. The one in the foreground is my favourite rau mung - tender with crunchy, hollow stems. Predictably, I have no idea what the other one is. Good thing you can stir fry anything with garlic and it will come out ok . . .(please do not burst my bubble – this is one of my true cornerstones of culinary faith).
Then I nearly broke my arms carrying it all home ($18 of sweet potatoes, onions, garlic, celery, cukes, broccoli, maori potatoes, advocado, free-range eggs and greens).
I picked up the car dealer magazine for my flatmate and I to browse through
I did the dishes from yesterday.
I put away the groceries.
I washed and cut up the celery and cucumber so I can snack on them later.
I made my bed.
I put on a load of laundry.
I made/ate a cucumber/advocado salad with olive oil, apple cider vinegar, salt and pepper.
And all this before 10:30 a.m.!
hip . . . hip . . .

Safely back in NZ having smuggled in my grandfather’s homemade vinegar, (in a shampoo bottle – can’t wait to make my flatmates salad . . . haha) an assortment of middle eastern spices and possibly an onion or two that my cousins threw in my bag (their usual last ditch don’t-leave-us effort). Hey! My soul isn’t really black! In fact, compare me to someone who shall not be named, but who has a good chunk of me-like DNA who once smuggled a live gecko home in a glasses case.
I think my work here is done.

I am writing this to express my heartfelt anguish at being apart from you. I miss you! I think fondly back to all the moments four years ago that filled my heart with great joy and intense sadness. I remember the tears I shed in good times (oh, that women’s hockey final) and bad (oh, that slip at the end of the figure skating pairs). It pains me that no-one in this ridiculously warm side of the world seems to give the time of day to cold weather sporting. I suppose it is difficult to love watching the powder fly under the alpine skiiers if you don’t know what it’s like to feel it shoved down the back of your jacket in the middle of february. Even still, you think they could devote a hint of a whisper of a newscast to inform me of the progress of my beloved, eh? Sadly, this is not the case. I have resigned myself to an era of darkness and futile longing. Sometimes I hear about you from friends and the familiar thrill is ignited in me once more. Often though, I am like flotsam on a sea of medal-count uncertainty. Anyway, I hope you are well and thriving, even without my obsessive rapt attention. It is certainly my deepest desire that we will be reunited one day – after all four years is not so long to wait when there is so much to experience together. Take good care of your dazzling, spectacular, brilliant self – and I promise to think of you every single time I get heat stroke.
With much affection,
M