Kiwi'd

Travel to New Zealand

Internet access is hard to get to here at the university, so I'm attempting to go through and backdate a few of my experiences.
I have a private journal, where I can record my private fears and whatnot, so this journal will service as a more public, ethnographic blog. So if it sounds like I'm speaking fairly formally, it's only because I have no idea who might be reading this particular blog. But even in an ethnography, you can't keep the person writing out of the picture.
So this is how my journey to Kiwiland began.

I couldn’t sleep in the day of my flight. I woke up at least two hours before the alarm was set to go off, after having gone to bed later than I should have. I figured that I'd make up the sleep on the flight (or one of them, at least) and that it wouldn’t be a big deal. In fact, I kept on congratulating myself mentally because, if I timed it right on the trip over the Pacific, I would manage to fall asleep and get closer to in step with local New Zealand time.
But I was awake, so I showered, finished packing, dealt with my nervous parents, got traveler’s checks, kissed my dog goodbye and went to the airport.
Checking in was relatively uneventful, except that I had over packed by five pounds in each suitcase. It was a surprise, because I thought (and still think) I hadn’t packed anything excessive. In my checked luggage, there were two weeks worth of shirts and one weeks worth of pants, a sleeping bag for all the tramping I planned to do (I intend to ship it back when I head home), towels and tolietries, two rolls of toliet paper (I didn't know how much we'd have to fend for ourselves in the flat I was going to be staying in), an external hardrive, electrical converters, two cd cases, my tablet, a roll of duct tape, shoes, and an alarm clock. For carrying on, I brought my laptop computer and the necessary accessories, three books on New Zealand, a book of sudoku, a jacket, my camera and plenty of medication to keep me pain free and sleepy.
But mostly I was confused because I had been told that the luggage could be 70lbs, but not that you had to pay extra if it was above 50lbs. Thank you United Airlines.
Moving along, I dwadled around before going through security in an effort to spend some extra time with my parents. However, it's the custom of my parents to make me more nervous than necessary. My father was acting nonchalant, not putting on so much as a tough veneer so much as trying to behave in a levelheaded manner. He took pictures of my mother and I, and myself and him, on his new camera cellphone. My mother was doing her best not to act nervous, and only ended up coming across as even more apprehensive than if she had been pulling out her hair. I finally bit the bullet and went on through security.

Airports
Most people complain about going through security in this post-911 world, saying it's hell. I disagree. The only thing that post-911 has given us is the occasional random selection, better x-ray machines and the need to take off our shoes. Now, I completely believe that going through airport security after the advent of mobile electronics is hell. I can remember the day when all you had to do was put your backpack on the belt, take your change out of your pockets and troddle through. Now you have to unpack your laptop and camera, put all of your items into little plastic bins. You have to wait while people remember to pull out their cellphones, blackberries and other personal electronics out of their pockets. Then you have to reassemble everything.
To compound this, there is always these feeling that you need to rush. You could be one of three people trying go through security, but there is always this pressing need for you to try to hurry otherwise Something Bad Will Happen. Maybe the very act of going through security, of having yourself picked apart is what gives this mentality.
While taking the shuttle over to the other terminal (since I was flying out of Dulles, the old terminal now only really serves as a check in point, and you have to shuffle yourself off to the other side of the airport to where the -real- terminals are), I noticed myself being watched by the two people who had small children while I vainly tried to reassemble myself after being turned inside out by security. One was a mother with a pre-teen girl, the other was a woman with a small boy. The pre-teen child seemed vaguely curious about me when I took out one of the New Zealand books, but beyond that, I assume they were watching me because I wasn’t a business traveler and thus it was not intrinsically obvious as to where I was going and who I was.
Which brings me to something else. For my traveling attire, I was wearing the Swarthmore Academics t-shirt. I wore it because it was comfortable. But I also wanted to identify myself as a college student to any who looked at me, or at least a student of some variety, while at the same time preserving my actual identity as a Bryn Mawr student. I was also wearing my big baggy boy cargo pants, because I wanted something loose with big pockets. The overall image was crunchy, or comfortable, but definitely not ‘sexy' or 'woman'. Perhaps that’s why the women stared. But I don't understand the mentality of going on a long plane flight dressed to the nines. Who expects you to get off the plane looking your best? I have no problem advertising my intellect on my sleeve, but not my sexuality.
I twiddled my thumbs in the terminal, since I had about two hours before my flight was due to leave. I really should have gone to the gate first thing to get my seat assignment, but instead I wandered around, like a packed mule since my backpack was so heavy. While eating some Wendy’s, I tried some of that new ‘airborne’ defense supplement, and worked on some suduko. I came to the conclusion that the airborne is nothing more than a fizzy vitamin (you dissolve it in water), and I fail at suduko.
On the plane, I sat next to a fellow from the Army. I didn’t talk to him very much, but I made the attempt to start conversation when I noticed he was reading ‘Dragon’s Winter’, which is in my humble opinion a fairly nice book. It was a weak effort, met with a weak response. He slept for most of the flight, in any case, as did the fellow next to him. When I had just about given up and had turned on my iPod, he and the other fellow woke up and began chatting. It was interesting, because I could have told you without having to ask him that the fellow was in the Army. He had the same pride in himself, the same airs, that everyone I have ever met from a military organization has. He was Important. I gathered he was a parachuter of some variety, and he had been in Iraq when they had stormed Saddam’s castle. When he was telling the other guy about this historic event, what I found most remarkable was that the other guy didn’t seem at all interested. Instead, he turned the subject over to what Army Boy had gone to school, or how he had proposed to his fiancé. I was sitting here trying to pretend like I wasn’t eavesdropping on their conversation, and wanting to smack the other fellow for not being interested in history in the making.
Otherwise the trip was a dull six hour flight. There was a strong head wind, which made it a little shakey and a little longer than it should have been. Makes me sick just thinking about how rattely that flight was.
Until I got to Auckland, I thought that LAX was the worst airport in the world. I hate it. I hate it with a fiery burning passion. I got off of my plane, and went to the departure schedule. It instructed me to get to Terminal 2. Okay, but how? I wandered around, found a currency exchange place (none of the places in DC, and I had gone to -five- exchange stations, had NZ dollars). I asked for NZ dollars, and the person behind the counter gave me not only that but, without me having to ask, told me how to get to my gate. She even wrote it down on the back of a piece of paper, to make sure I got there alright. To that person, you made my day. Thank you.
In order to get to my terminal, I had to jump on a bus and trolley over there. On this bus, I met a group of ladies (some elderly, some around 40’s) going on the Holland Cruise. Which just happened to mean that they were on the same flight as I was. This turned out to be an insanely Good Thing. For one thing, the ladies, because they were going on a cruise, not only wanted to get to their gate -now-, but also wanted to have a good spirit about it. They took me under their wing as we ran around trying to figure out where the New Zealand check in counter was, then figured out whether we needed to stand in that line or this line (and it turned out we didn’t need to stand in any line and the snarky LAX fellow told us to beat it). We flounced through security (again) and then up to our gate. I was *this* close to getting food and using the restroom, but decided against it since we barely made it at the terminal by 7:00pm and our flight was supposed to leave at 7:40pm.
It ended up boarding at 7:40pm. For that, LAX, I hate you.
While boarding the plane, I ended up chatting with some girl in front of me in line who I mistook as a study abroad student. She ended up not only not being a student, but being a married mother with two children who was going to go backpacking around New Zealand with her father. I hope she was flattered that I mistook her for someone my age.
For the 13 hours of Hell, aka the flight from LAX to Auckland, I was seated between two delightful women. At first I was a little upset since I thought I had gotten an aisle seat, and instead I not only had a middle seat but had no room for my backpack at my feet (and consequently easy access to my entertainment). This mood didn’t last for too long, however, because the lady to my right (who I shall call MotherHen) would simply not allow it. She was another one of these people traveling for the cruise, and she was in an incredibly good mood. Her husband was seated across the aisle (we were in the middle section), and he was quiet most of the time, although he occasionally piped in something or other. In any event, MotherHen was a delight to sit next to. She told me all about her previous visit to New Zealand, recommended which wine I should consume, and also allowed me to show her how to use the in flight entertainment. MotherHen was also convinced that we were going to get sprayed down when we landed in New Zealand, to that we didn’t contaminate the country. She was definitely a bit of a conspiracy theorist. We talked a lot about things I can't remember now, and she was a pleasure.
The lady to my left was also as interesting. Around the same age (meaning, 60 or 70 -- it’s hard for me to guess ages), and spry, she had been on the same plane since boarding in London. She was from Scotland, and was also traveling with her husband, but for her it was just a chance to see New Zealand for a month or so. She didn’t talk nearly as much as MotherHen, but she was very witty and goodnatured about my clumsy nature (I accidentally landed a hiking boot on her foot, for instance). Her husband never spoke to me at all.
I didn’t get to spend my time on the plane as I had wanted. I didn’t sleep at all coming over from D.C., so I thought now would be a marvelous time to catch up on some sleep. The plane thought otherwise. Our section was hot. And when I say hot, I mean that while in other parts of the plane they needed the blankets the airline supplied, we needed someone to give us a pair of shorts.
To make this worse, I cannot sleep in the heat, it doesn’t matter how much I want to. I need to be cold. I had almost gotten over this little issue however with the help of Mr. White Wine (times 2! A cup of rizon and a cup of chardonnay), and I think I dozed off for thirty minutes. Then the little kid sitting behind me decided I was a pinatta. I ended up smacking the back of my chair (probably when she had been reaching up to hit it again), and she stopped. I think her parents wanted to kill me however. In any case, I had sobered up but I didn’t want to risk mixing sleepy drugs with alcohol so I was doomed to an existence of wandering around the plane.
I discovered that our section of the plane was the only one that was hot. Everywhere else was deliciously cold. I was jealous, so I spent much time in the back of the plane ’stretching my legs’ and listening to my iPod. I made casual conversation with ladies in the back who were actually stretching their legs.
Casual conversation is the travelers best friend. It gets you human contact without the necessary privacy baggage. You don’t have to worry about whether you’re pushing the envelope as you bond with fellow passengers over your shared misery. Occasionally, you’ll give out information about yourself, such as how many times you’ve flown to such and such a place or something about your favorite movie or your opinion on the inflight entertainment. You will talk about what you are (a student, anthro major who goes to Bryn Mawr), if it’s relevant to the casual conversation topic. But overall, you are simply bonding in your misery.
The in-flight entertainment of New Zealand Air, by the way, beats United. You can choose whatever movie you want to watch (as opposed to the movies operating like a TV station, with a set schedule). You can play games. Shanghai and me got very comfortable with each other. I just wish the AC hadn’t been so bad.
All total, I was awake for 11.5 out of 13 of those hours. I managed to catch a few winks before they served breakfast, mostly because I walked myself to exhaustion and stuffed some instrumental radio station over my ears to force me to sleep. It was not what one could call a restful sleep.
And then we got to New Zealand.
New Zealand’s customs is the most stringent customs program I have ever gone through. Not the form itself, but the actual process. The line was not nearly as efficient as Tokyo airport’s was. Where the Japanese thrive on effeciency and this impression is given to you the moment you step off of the plane, the first impression I got of the Kiwis was that they didn't want me through their door and weren't to be bothered about making my time in their airport any easier than they had to. They were obsessed with ensuring that you did not bring food into the country, or any foreign soil (such as you might pick up hiking around in the woods).
This was much to my misfortune because, after having stood in line for 30 minutes, which left me about an hour to get to my flight, I was confronted by the drug detecting dog. Except in New Zealand, this is not just a drug detecting dog. This dog is also specially trained to sniff out food.
I had to stop waiting for my luggage on the carol (why yes, in New Zealand, they do not automatically send your bags off to your next flight -- you have to get them yourself so they can be inspected, and then recheck them), and let the security guard go through my luggage. She continually asked me whether or not I had brought food. I explained that no, I had not brought food, because I knew that food was not permitted in the country. I wanted to point out that I had a dog, and her dog was probably smelling my dog, but I didn’t want to get snarky. I was depending on this person to just go away and leave me alone, so I could get to my gate. Instead, I had to explain that I had had an orange in there about three weeks ago (which had gotten squashed), and I oftened -had- carried food in the backpack, but none for this trip. I had cleaned out the bag.
She didn’t find any food, but she wrote on my arrival pass that she had inspected my bags and they had been okay’d.
Then I had to spend another 10 minutes getting my bags and figuring out where I needed to go, only to be confronted by the next line of security.
I had to hand over my arrival pass once more to the customs people, and this is where I wanted to scream. On the pass, it asked you to declare if you had any camping equipment with you. One of the items that was specifically mentioned was hiking boots. Since I was wearing hiking boots, I figured it would only be to my advantage to say ‘yes’, I did -indeed- having hiking boots. I just hadn’t gone hiking in them for over a year.
The customs person was aghast. She had to inspect my boots, and quiz me on my activities. Wouldn’t it have sucked if I was an avid hiker, and had come specifically to New Zealand with my trusty equipment to partake in their muchly advertised high adventure sports and amazing hiking trails? Fortunately there was not a lick of soil on my shoes, so she got to move on to my other issue. The canine cop.
Did I have fruit? No. Was I sure? Yes, I knew the rules, I had not brought -any- food with me. Was I sure? Did I have fruit? When was the last time I had fruit? Okay, well, if I was suuuuuuuuuuure, then I could go on to yet another x-ray machine. Which took up even more time.
Then I had to dash off to get checked in, only to be told I did not have enough time to check my luggage, that I had to -run- to catch the bus that was going to take me to the terminal for domestic flights, which was of course not in the same terminal I was standing in. I was assured that I could take my bags straight to the plane.
The bus ended up having no more room, but assured us that it was going to be back in a 10 minutes. I had 35 minutes to get to my gate. It showed up with just enough time for me to have 25 mintues to get to my gate.
I get there, and stand in line for security...only to be yelled at that I had to go check my bags before going through security. Yes, I realize that that is only purely logical, but I had been told that I just needed to take my bags to the gate. Meanwhile, I am panicking because over the loud speaker they are announcing that my plane is leaving.
I run over to the Air New Zealand counter and go straight to the desk. Do not stand in line, do not catch your breath. The lady checked me in (complaining about how heavy my suitcases were), gave me my boarding pass (after some confusion on what ticket she was asking me to give her), and I ran off to security. Well, since I had cut the other long line, I did my -best- Dumb American accent and, like, begged and like pleaded for people to pllllllease let me through because my flight was being called. I got through, ran up the steps, and got through my gate. There was one last bit of panic when I couldn’t find my passport (which ended up being in one deep boy pocket)…but in the end, I vowed to hate Auckland Airport more than LAX from now on.
On the flight from Auckland to Dunedin was a splendidly scenic 2 hours. This country is -gorgeous-. I saw an actual volancoe! And I got to sit next to some nice Otago student (Raymond, who was traveling with his friend Syndney, who was very sick the entire flight over) who was gracious enough to listen to my sleep-deprived babbling. I tend to get really talkative in that condition.

Dunedin

The shuttle was there to pick me and a few other people up, and we had to wait for another flight to come in. In the meantime, we had time to get food, in which case I experienced my first Kiwi-made food. The sammich was perfectly normal, except for the roasted tomatoes (instead of fresh) and, instead of mayo, they liberally apply butter to all forms of bread. The bubbly juice is quite delicious, however.
The shuttle took us on a trip through Dunedin to get to Cumberland Hall, our first stop and my last stop. On the way over there, we passed multiple farms. I am used to seeing farmland, but the farmland here is different. I think it's because, what I saw of it, the farmland is not as diverse as it is in the parts of the US I'm used to seeing. What I mean to say is, that instead of passing some cornfields, cows, horses, all we passed were sheep. I think there was the occasional horse field, and maybe some cows, but no crops. 90% of the farmland was for sheep.
This is just describing the area around the airport. You see, Dunedin airport is fairly small airport located out in the middle of the farmlands. But it's not exactly a great distance away from town. I would say that we were at Cumberland Hall within 30 to 40 minutes. I had several first impressions.
For one thing, I realized that no matter how many times I go to a country where they drive on the 'wrong side' of the road, it will always strike me as odd and take some getting used to. I wonder if this would be the case if I didn't drive. But it's more than that. The street signs are different, the roads are lined with a different thickness of paint, and the cars are not in the style I'm used to seeing. The millions of little visual stimulus that I am used to overlooking because they're all 'the same', from the liscence plates to the road signs, are definitely off when you first get into any country.
More specifically, my first impression of Dunedin was 'not what I was expecting', although I was rather expecting that. I had pictured it as having...well, more of a city feel. But it felt like the outskirts of a city. There are no skyscrappers, there is not distinctive 'business' district in the way I'm used to seeing it. It felt like a little town, an old, slightly rundown town. A seaside town -- the beach is within easy distance of the University of Otago, where I'm studying. Instead of pigeons they have seagulls. The flora is some weird combination of temperate and tropical. This could be typical of seaside towns, I have no way of knowing, but it was definitely something I was going to have to take my time getting my mind wrapped around.
There are definitely some things I'm going to have to investigate further. Like, how close is the beach -really-? When can I get into the Cadbury factory? And is that a brewery I smell?

posted by Hoot @ 9:06 PM