Departure Day - Auckland

Auckland is the largest city I’ve been in for over five months.  As I sit in Auckland Public Library just hours before I grab my bags from Frienz Backpackers to catch a shuttle to the airport, I’m surprised at how relaxed and prepared I am to complete this spectacular journey. Maybe It’s because my trip ended when I sold my bike, or when I walked out of my final lecture, or when Kelly left, or when I said goodbye to Christchurch for the second time after missing my first flight, or after my last adventure deep sea fishing with a crazy old kiwi on his home-made, wooden, and continuously leaking fishing boat.  Most likely it was when I dropped off the DePauw girls at the airport to begin their journey – the same place I had landed and the first thing I had experienced here.  The new AustraLearn students were wide-eyed and ready, cheerful and outgoing, full of aspiration, hope, confusion, mystery, and wonder.  I had gone full circle. 

 

Leaving Christchurch, I made my rounds, shed some tears, shared some memorable moments from the semester, sulked over the ‘finals’ – my final NZ beer, final view from my room, final $3 fish/chips from Captain Ben’s, final walk to campus, final trip to town, final shower, final penis drawn on my roommate’s door…  It’s hard to accept that this is the first and last experience of its kind for me.  As I flew up and out of my five-month home, the sun crawled over the pacific and I thought it to be an interesting paradox as the sun was setting on my experience.  I’ve been out of Christchurch for over a week now, cramped up in a van with two girls or sharing a room of eight beds with seven strangers, and the luxury and privacy of a single room sounds glorious. 

 

My legs are quite sore, having walked up and down every street in Auckland twice with nowhere to be – visiting parks, watching people, taking myself out on dates, reading, following my nose, seeing sights, finding views, following blood trails, acquainting myself with my own mind.  I’m a bum with a bed.  The vastness of this world, the complexity and the intricacies are something I’ll never be able to grasp – the cultures, the mentalities, the lifestyles, the ambitions (or lack there-of).  I’m on an island thousands of miles from anywhere else, in a city overlooking two major endless bodies of water (Pacific Ocean and Tasman Sea), yet I still feel like I am in the heart of the world. 

 

To the three of you that actually follow my blog, I should probably apologize for not having any posts for the last three months or so… Once I returned to Christchurch from the three-week mid-semester extravaganza, I felt as though it would take me another three weeks to write about it, and there aren’t words in the English language to describe the sights and feelings.  Also, after a break like that, I figured I should take it easy and not stress myself too much.  The weekends preceding the break were the most interesting anyway… I know the three of you fairly well, so I’ll show you pictures and tell you stories if you’d like.

 

They say you’re supposed to ‘find yourself’ while studying abroad.  Physically? I’m all there, though I’ve found I have a nasty bald spot on my upper right neck – should clear up in a few years. Socially? I’m a little quirky, but I know how to bend toward specific needs.  Financially? S.O.S. Mentally...? I may be more aware, more cultured, more independent, more confident, more experienced, but as I look retrospectively on how I’ve changed here, it seems as though it’s not quite how I had expected.

 

• I’ve become extremely fond of biology, and sometimes secretly wish I’d studied it instead.  Geology is my first love, however, and the basis for all biology.
• I’ve become agnostic on the topic of man-made global warming.
• Despite what my mother thinks, I’ve actually begun to appreciate where I grew up, (especially the system of learning! Go to hell British system!!) and the endless diversity and opportunities the US has for me.
• Being carefree and easy, beautiful views, and a blank schedule have become almost tiresome, but always welcomed.
• If I don’t eat Cadbury chocolate after every meal, I get queasy. 
• I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll never be the best at anything, but I retain hope in the possibility of being second best at multiple things. 

 

As it goes, the more I learn and experience, the more inferior and ignorant I seem to become.  When I ponder my future, I drown in possibilities.  The pieces of my life puzzle are still spewed sporadically on the coffee table, many of which still show the cardboard underside, and I can’t quite seem to find all the border pieces, as if it might need room to expand. 

 

In response to the comments about my blog title, “A Boy’s Adventure,” I don’t really ever plan on losing the status of ‘boy’.

 

“So we are drawn to the natural world, aware that it contains structure and complexity and length of history as well, at orders of magnitude greater than anything yet conceived in human imagination.  Mysteries solved within it merely uncover more mysteries beyond.  For the naturalist every entrance into a wild environment rekindles an excitement that is childlike in spontaneity, often tinged with apprehension – in short, the way life ought to be lived, all the time.” – Edward O. Wilson, The Future of Life

 

Thank you New Zealand, 2009!

Castle Hill, The Spiritual Center of the Universe, and New Party Tricks

This is Rose (from Springfield, IL!) climbing the '100 times slab', meaning that one can rarely make it to the top without trying at least 100 times.  Surprisingly, she made it in about 8.  Gravity doesn't act on her like it does others... 

The 'Wriggler', as we named it.  Fun party game. 

Well, Blogger is being a pain in the ass and not letting me upload all the photos I want, but these two almost sum up my weekend - minus the pictures of me... and since it's all about me, I'll keep trying to post them. 

This weekend was the annual Cass Trip for the university climbing club, which entails climbing rocks and staying at the university field station located near Castle Hill.  Either I don't have a whole lot to say about it, or I'm not at all driven to write about it because I have a buttload of schoolwork clouding my motivation, ("School work? Tommy does school work?" Yes. Maybe I'll humor you and write about it sometime) or the weekend could be summed up as; driving to castle hill, climbing, driving to the field station, eating, drinking, climbing (tables, structural supports... chairs...), sleeping, eating, driving climbing, driving.

I should, I suppose, clear up my title a bit.  

CASTLE HILL

I've mentioned this place multiple times in previous blogs, but basically it is a formation of limestone boulders.  I'd tell you too look it up on Wikipedia, but the article is really lacking... When I have an hour I'm going to do my part in this innovative www phenomenon and put something worth reading in there.  Such as:

THE SPIRITUAL CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE

There is a ring of stones in the middle of the Castle Hill formations marking the location of "The Spiritual Center of the Universe", as termed by some Tibetan Buddhist chump named Dalai Lama.  There were a bunch of hippie freaks chanting and seeking 'inner peace' or trying to 'break through to the other side' or whatever other rubbish they were doing.  Regardless of their motives, they were humiliating themselves, as they put on a free show communicating to nothing but the surrounding boulders and the steady on-look of giggling climbers.  

NEW PARTY TRICKS

You can see in the bottom picture a climber who had both big intentions and a bigger pelvis.  This is a box built specifically for maneuvering through it in many different ways, ranging from easy to difficult.  Quite a unique idea and design, with one flaw: when you're stuck, you're stuck.  This poor guy was in there for over a half hour sweating, stressing, straining, shouting, squeezing... a whole bunch of "S's".  He had at least 20 people watching him at any given time, with about half of them laughing.  Maybe it was just me... I'm an ass, plus, what was he gonna do about it?  He was a good sport about the whole thing, it took another 10 minutes trying to figure out how to tip the whole contraption in a way that the guy could wriggle out.  He eventually made it, and was soon after climbing around tables (another fun party climbing trick) trying not to touch the floor.  I found comfort on the sidelines. 

That concludes another amazing weekend in the land of hobbits.   Nothing too extreme, no injuries, no big surprises, not hot chicks, just GOOD ol' fashioned fun, in BETTER weather in the BEST place in the world. 

Next Weekend: Kaikora

The West Coast is the Best Host!

Another day, another dream in Ol' Royale.  This weekend: The west coast towards New Zealand's biggest Wild Foods Festival located in Hokitika.  For this trip the body count amounted to four, but quickly jumped to six after picking up a couple of kiwi hitchhikers who, coincidentally, were students from our university heading to, you guessed it, Hokitika.  They had a sparkle in their eyes and a few cases of beer, so we let them in.  We were in good company heading west, as it seemed the whole of New Zealand was heading in that particular direction.  Those who didn't quite make it were also in good company, as I couldn't count on both hands how many stranded, broken down cars couldn't quite handle the slopes and turns of the mountain roads.  The cars behind us seemed to snake around the curves behind us like an army of ants toward a food source - Ol' Royale slowing the hungry heathens back on the two-lane highway, or, leading the way as we prefer to put it. 

We spent the night in a campsite with just about everyone we know thus far so it seemed.  We boiled our brats in some beer and washed them down with the rest next to our makeshift parking lot fire.  A few of us decided to rest under the stars for the night, and after some incessant 'moo-ing' on my part we were soon the object of unbroken attention for the neighboring cows and bulls.  It's a bit disturbing, looking back, how easily we were able to catch any shut-eye with ten wide-eyed 1100 lb. beasts staring at us. 

After last week's shenanigans, and Ryan still a hand short, we decided to take it easy this weekend and head up the coast rather than hang around what would be more appropriately called "Wild Drunks Festival".  So we did, we took the relaxing drive north up to Punakaiki where there are some really fascinating 'blowholes' at high tide and limestone formations.  For those geologists out there, the picture above is of Punakaiki's 'Pancake Rocks', which is a single band of Oligocene limestone roughly 50 meters thick.  This layering of limestone is separated by softer, thin, mud-rich layers.  Because the mud-rich layer is weaker, it erodes more quickly due to wind, rain, and salt spray which gives the limestone this 'pancake' formation.  This type of layering is called Stylobedding and is still debated among experts, although it is agreed that it is a secondary feature caused by compaction.  (Would be great destination on a Winter Term trip, Dr. Mills!) In any case, cool rocks, great scenery!

We continued north and took a small, unmapped road to the ocean, and stumbled upon a large, seemingly private beach.  After moping around on the rocks for a bit and picking out a couple of cool book-stops, we decided to camp on the bank that overlooked this secluded and indescribably beautiful beach that seemed to extend forever into the ocean mist.  The pictures capture what we did there, and some of the beauty;  I pranced around in my underwear for a while, took numerous pictures of boys just being boys, built a fire and found some old tires up near the farm for seating, heated up some ravioli for dinner, and let the night consume us until we couldn't keep our eyes open any longer.  The white noise of the surf sang us to sleep like a lullaby to exhausted children, and we awoke to the sunrise.  We fried up some taters and eggs next to the water, constantly having to move further up-shore to escape the rising tide, cleaned up our mess, went for a quick dip and hit the road toward Christchurch.  

We picked up another couple of hitchhikers along the way, and luckily our worldly German knew how to speak French because this loving Swiss couple couldn't speak a lick of English.  Like any good ride home, stops were many and close between, including another beach stop in Westport and a short waterfall hike in some random park.  We pulled in at sunset.  

They say that the study abroad experience is what YOU make of it, but NZ is really doing its part to take some of the weight off of my shoulders...

Mt. Cook and the Defeat of Amateurs

And so it began, the end of a week and the beginning of another adventure - this weekend, Mt. Cook, the tallest peak on the South Island.  With ambitions soaring and intentions unknown, we packed Ol' Royale with a weekend's worth of grub and five excited bodies.  We traveled down Highway 1 until heading inward toward the Alps where the sun was blinding and the roads were winding, dancing and moving to the rhythm of our favorite tunes until sunset, constantly reminding each other that there was really no other place we'd rather be.  When finally close, we could see a faint turquoise glimmer of a glacier-melt lake by the glow of the moon and decided it was time to start looking for a flat, dry place to set up camp until... rain.  Wind.  A storm decided to blow our way.  Well?  Keep driving  I suppose.  We drove until we found a sign pointing right with the words "Lodge" and "Hut".  Surrounded by mountains and darkness, we somehow managed to make our way to a little shelter-like place with a few vans parked out front.  "I'll go in and check it out".  I approached what looked like someone's private mountain lodge, and as I raised my fist to knock a man opened the door.  He looked like a typical mountain man; mid 50's, tall, thin, a smoke ring around his long, scraggly, greying beard.  He had a cigarette in his hand and looked at me with his gentle yet inquisitive eyes.  "Hey there, " I said, "sorry for startling you.  I don't know if this is the right place or not, but my friends and I are looking for a dry place with walls and a roof for the night."  He directed me to a younger, more clean-cut gentleman whom we later found out is a biology grad student from Germany studying local birds.  I explained my situation.  He took his left index finger, wiped it on the bathroom door and after examining it said, "Looks pretty dry to me.  We've got some beds for ya.  A shower, kitchen, and some bunk beds.  Just twenty bucks per person, per night.  Welcome."

We woke up to sun beams through the dry, crusty window in our bedroom, and our spirits were raised once more after a night of pouring rain and hurling winds.  In the main room of the lodge was a larger window facing the mountains blanketed by a large, white glacier.  "We couldn't have been luckier," as Carsten (my German flat-mate) kept reminding us all.  We cooked up some porridge, packed up our things, stuck our $100 total into the 'honesty box', and headed toward the Department Of Conservation (DOC), where you can get information on the area and register tramps (just in case they have to send out a search-and-rescue team).  We spoke with what seemed to be a qualified and experienced DOC representative (and quite attractive she was, might I add) who gave us advice on overnight tramps.  We agreed on a tramp to a small, free and public hut called 'Sefton Bivvy'.  She also informed us that the glacial melt water was 100% potable - one of the last remaining places on planet earth where you can still drink directly from a stream.  We headed out, crossing long and wobbly extension bridges, and after taking a wrong turn, we backtracked until finding the place where we were supposed to take a "vague game track to the left", as our written directions claimed.  They were right, 'vague' it was.  We really just made our own path through vegetated, rough and rocky terrain with a 'vague' idea of where we were headed.  The weather was not ideal this entire time, despite waking up to a seemingly perfect morning, as it was spitting rain and nearly blowing us over with the winds bouncing between the surrounding mountains.  We visually located the hut we were supposed to get to on top of a steep peak under a melting glacier - a mere orange dot in the distance.  We continued making our own path through rough, and sometimes sharp, vegetation, across dangerous streams, and up a detritus boulder field from the eroding limestone, greywacke, and schists from the Alps.  The detritus ranged from fist-sized stones to boulders the size of a small room.  It got to the point where we should've come to our senses and turned back because of the instability and slippery texture of the sharp and vast boulder field around us.  In fact, the women of the group refused to go on (Women.  Just when I thought they were all completely senseless and lacked any rationale), and we sent back the German to go feed them and find them a place to sleep for the night while Ryan and I continued toward the small, humble prize awaiting us atop the cliff.  Once we pushed our doubts asided, we began heading up an even steeper and less stable field of boulders.  The views were breathtaking, as you can see from the pictures above. 

Still unsure of any direction (hut long out of sight) and unable to see any 'obvious bright orange trail markers', we continued upwards, grabbing at anything that looked stable, and barely making our way upwards in the rainy, windy mountainside.  We watched as we kicked rocks downwards, bouncing and rolling down the slope and eventually falling off a 100-meter drop to a cold and rocky glacier (sorry mom, remember: I do survive).  We continued our ascent, becoming even more doubtful and watching as the sky became ever so dim.  We discussed the prospect of turning back, but were too consumed with the thought of actually reaching this physically attractive and dangerously tempting little shelter.  We actually heard it shouting our names, "Ryan! Tommy! Come on you couple of pusses!  I'm not that far away you damn amateurs!  Suck it up and keep on chuggin'!"  So we did - until I watched a thin boulder break and slip beneath Ryan's feet, as he fell on his stomach, arms and legs outstretched, gliding down the mountainside until his feet caught some sturdy ground.  'Sh**', I thought.  I watched as his hand was quickly painted red.  'Seriously, Sh**.  Stay calm.  Don't get him excited with an outrageous reaction.  First-aid kit? Of course not.  Sh**.'  My mind racing with unattractive outcomes.  "Rinse it out with water," I calmly told him, with which he responded, "Sh**, I definitely need stitches.  I feel like I'm gonna pass out," as he picked at tissue and skin.  Four letter words became a thick filler in our conversation.  I conjured up a couple pairs of socks, tied them together, and wrapped them tightly around his wound while watching him wince in pain and sweat in fear. 

The walk back down was worse than the crawl up - mainly because we were constantly reminded with a visual of the cliff toward which we were gravitating, it was getting dark, and well, Ryan was a working-limb short.  By the time we found the nice tourist trail, we could see stars piercing the darkness.  There wasn't much of a conversation on the way down other than, "Doin' alright?" "Yeah, fine" "How's the hand?" "Hurts.  What the hell is that? Thunder?" "No, that's a debris avalanche on the neighboring mountain!" "Sh**!! Keep moving!!"  

Despite the circumstances, it was still a beautiful walk down.  I'll never forget the moment I looked up and saw the peak of Mt. Cook for the first time (covered by cloud on the way up) shining in all its brilliance and majesty by the remaining light of the tired sun; a gluttonous moon hovering above (top picture).  The walk across the long, wavering bridges over the roaring white-water river lit by the now monopolizing light of the moon and buried in the valley of the surrounding ominously dark but white-rimmed mountains are visuals forever etched in my memory.  In an attempt to comfort my beaten friend, I reminded him, "Remember when I told you on the bus on the way to Rotorua that if I didn't end up in the hospital in my time spent in New Zealand I'd be disappointed in myself because, well, I wasn't extreme enough? Well, you've succeeded in my book.  Enough for the both of us."  I think he squeezed out a chuckle.  

We made our way to the nearest (and only?) hotel in the area, got some free medical attention along with hot chocolate, constantly running into people claiming, "Sefton Bivvy? Yeah, what a great hike huh?" or, "Oh yeah, Sefton Bivvy! My husband does that hike all the time.  He loves it!" Hmm.  We went back to the cabin where we had stayed the night before and woke to the same sun beams through the same dry, crusted window.  After conversing with the locals we heard a series of bone-chilling stories, such as, "Yeah, an American died on that trail last year" and, "I knew some girl that took that hike alone, fell, and broke her neck.  She had to crawl out." (again, sorry mom)

The drive home was the most relaxing ride I've ever had.  We stopped at random places; we ate lunch on a turquoise lake, took a break in a secluded valley,  jumping out and lying in the sun for a while before heading to the next random stop.  I know, what a bunch of hippies. 

As for the tramp, we were given the wrong directions and deceiving comfort from the hot DOC lady, as was confirmed by locals.  Our luck, go figure.  Ryan got six stitches in his hand free of charge from Christchurch Hospital.  As for me? Well, I'm done being invincible for a while.  It took me a while to fall asleep that night on the top bunk, going over every possible outcome with which the day could've concluded.  In the end, I decided, it was probably better that Ryan slit his hand open - we needed that slap in the face to hurl us back to reality.  Plus, we got a sweet tour of the the South Island's Search-and-Rescue building while waiting for the paramedic to clean up Ryan's wound. 

Beauty is in the EYE of the beholder, not the BODY.  

Mystery Man

As I was strolling home from my philosophy tutorial on Monday, my head swirling with new ideas and questions, my thoughts were interrupted by what looked like a student - unshaven, tall, dark, and handsome (I'm not gay, shut up.  Strictly descriptive.) He had a large pack on his back and a guitar in his left hand.  I thought, "looks like someone probably had an exciting weekend tramp." I turned my head the other way to walk past (the typical American way) when I heard him speak out, "Excuse me, can you tell me where Dunedin is?"

I was a bit dumb-stricken, because Dunedin is another city, easily a seven hour drive from Christchurch.  After a few seconds of confusion and bewilderment accompanied by a blank stare on my part, I gathered my directional sense, chuckled a little and said, "Umm... yeah.  That way." as I pointed over what mid-westerners would call mountains, but are just big hills.  Naturally intrigued, I was about to question him and ask if he needed anything else, but before I could say anything he flashed a gentle grin, said "Sweet. Thanks.", and took off.  I watched him as he strolled away - he looked like a little boy walking home from his first day of summer camp with his oversized backpack, his guitar, and a little skip in his step. 

I began to analyze this mysterious man.  I was too befuddled at the time to notice any strange accent, so I'm not quite sure where his origins lie.  He must not be a native, considering the circumstances.  He was companionless, easy going and carefree.  I couldn't quite tell if this was the beginning, middle, or end of a journey for him, because the genuine content in his face could have suggested any of the three.  He carried what I assumed are bare life necessities on his back (e.g., clothes, food, sleeping bag, etc...), but also an unnecessary, but a great time-passer and one of mankind's most pleasurable tools - a guitar.

I admired the freedom this man possessed: freedom from standards, freedom from convention, freedom from schedules, freedom from direction.  I began to wonder why more people, including myself, aren't like this.? I'd burn my calendar, but then  I wouldn't know what's going to happen.  I'd sell my computer, but then I couldn't check my email.  I'd toss out my phone, but then I couldn't make all those important calls.  I'd pack up my ipod, but then I couldn't drown out unwanted surroundings.  I'd give away my suits, but then I couldn't appear socially acceptable for formal occasions.  

I'd put bare essentials in a bag and take to the hills, but then... then... then what...?

Like in anything in life, I believe there is a lesson to be had here.  In a world where more and more is explained daily by science, there is a dwindling amount of natural wonders.  Where did all those stars come from?  How did that mountain get there? How deep is the ocean, how high the sky? Why do I have senses at all, and how do they work? Most big questions can be answered, and if not now, will most likely be in the future closer to the present than not.  What is there left to be curious about? What this man was doing, and what should be noted as the premise for this blog, is creating uncertainty for himself.  No one can be certain about the future, and if you don't go to great lengths (which we're all guilty of) to plan, prepare, and map it out, there's an uncertainty there - the natural attraction that man has with curiosity.  Curiosity is what drives us. 

I'll end with a quote by Graham swift in his novel "Waterland". 

"Children, be curious.  Nothing is worse (I know it) than when curiosity stops.  Nothing is more repressive than the repression of curiosity.  Curiosity begets love.  It weds us to the world.  It's part of our perverse, madcap love for this impossible planet we inhabit.  People die when curiosity goes.  People have to find out, people have to know.  How can there be any true revolution till we know what we're made of?"

Banks Peninsula

- The peninsula adjacent to and just southeast of Christchurch - formed originally as islands by two separate shield volcanoes between 11 and 8 million years ago, and eventually connecting with the Canterbury Plains due to the erosion from both the Southern Alps and the shield volcanoes to form the peninsula, and the shield to unwanted winds to the city of Christchurch.  Currently, this peninsula also serves as geologic wonderland and an aesthetic attraction to residents and tourists, as I found out on a little outing last weekend...

After purchasing a Toyota Royal Lounge shaggin' wagon van with a couple other friends last weekend (see above), we were showing it off to anyone that would ogle at our baby late Saturday night, until we couldn't take it anymore and had to take Ol' Royale out for an adventure... at midnight.  We packed up our tents, some clothes, and some PB&J's and hit the road with no real destination in mind.  We came across some very steep and hilly gravel roads, and knew we were on the right path.  After getting out a few times to view the stars, search for some flat, soft grass, and to check on the health of a hedgehog (which became roadkill, sorry buddy) we found a path called "Lighthouse Road".  Like any insect in the dark, we were captivated.  We made our way down this slippery and steep slope of a road past a Department of Conservation (DOC) sign warning us not to go any further... stupid kids, we should've listened.  We spent the next half hour around 3am digging and pushing Ol' Royale out of the mud, and like always (so far), she prevailed.  We decided to walk to the lighthouse.  Everything but the stars and the crescent moon were pitch black, so we hadn't a clue of our surroundings, and judging by the beam from the lighthouse and the crash of the waves against some sort of rock, we still had no idea what to expect in the morning.  We spent the next hour or so taking bets on how far away the ocean was, setting up camp, dining on PB&J's, and simply just wondering about a lot of things.  After being awaken by some prevailing oceanic winds, we woke up to the following:

Not Pictured: A family of wild seals.

Thanks for the warm welcome, New Zealand!

First Week In Christchurch

New Zealand is chill.

I've been in Christchurch for over a week now with no courses or many responsibilities besides familiarizing and feeding myself.  This in and of itself is quite the task!  

First there is the slang.  Kiwis apparently like to keep things simple and call things how they see them.  A couple of my favorites are:

Fizzy Drink - Soda

Foot Path - Sidewalk

There are also a few others that take some getting used to:

Knackered - Tired (but sounds suspiciously like 'Naked', which makes for some funny situations)

Pissed - Drunk (also very confusing)

Rubbage - Garbage

Ta - Thanks

Lolly - Candy

Petrol - Gas

Tea - Dinner (Weird)

Their vowels are a little skewed as well, so that Tommy sounds like 'Tummy', Beach sounds like 'Bitch', Like sounds like 'lock', Well sounds like 'Wheel', so on and so forth.  It takes some time to adjust, but at least it's still english! 

Overall, Kiwis are very friendly.  I've had multiple times where people would just come up to me and strike a conversation with me just for the heck of it!  This may just be a beginning-of-the-year trait, a time when people like to meet new people, but either way it is a very friendly atmosphere not present in the states.  Even when checking out at the grocery store, the clerks will ask how your day is going, or where you're from, or what you're making for dinner.  A majority of the Kiwis I have come in contact with, coincidentally, have been younger female ones, so maybe my sense of the social atmosphere is a little warped, due to the fact that Kiwi women enjoy the company of American men...

This past week I have already had fantastic opportunities to explore the unique countryside.  It's not very difficult to find someone with similar interests and prospects of wanting to do as much as possible in the short available time we have in this beautiful country.  A few friends and I met up with another group who had a van, and after a few minutes of conversation decided to go on a bouldering (climbing) adventure to Castle Hill - a geologic wonder.  The weather was unbeatable, and we ended up spending the night somewhere at the end of a long dirt road down a steep grassy hill in a small flat valley by a rocky creek.  Here are a couple pictures of our first drive out of Christchurch and our climbing experience:

I seem to be having a bit of trouble uploading pictures into Blogger, so if you're really interested you can check out http://s430.photobucket.com/albums/qq26/Tommygood where i've been dumping pictures off my camera.