The Adventures of a Wandering Kiwi

Homeland Adventures part 4: A trip to the final frontier?

Kiwi is now back to wandering about in the sweet streets of Catalunya. Leaving this time was not as difficult as the first. After a year and a half living here, the great unknown that is the antipodes has now become strangely familiar. Still, goodbyes (or see you laters as she prefers to think of them) are difficult. And if there is one goodbye which breaks kiwi’s staunch gangster heart it is the one to this wee thing…

Aunty kiwi would totally take mini-kiwi with her if she could!

And as hard as it is to say goodbye, it is even harder to explain to a three year old that her aunty has gone to another country, hours and hours away and cannot come to visit. 

Mini-kiwi has had some trouble understanding the concept of ‘Spain’. This became especially evident one cool summer’s night when Papa-kiwi and Mini-kiwi were outside, looking up at the stars. Mini-kiwi pointed at the starry sky and exclaimed, “I wanna go see aunty-kiwi.” Papa-kiwi told mini-kiwi that it was too far and asked her why she wanted to go see aunty kiwi, to which Mini-kiwi replied, “I want to go see aunty-kiwi in space.”

It seems that upon hearing explanations that aunty kiwi was in ‘Spain’, sweet innocent Mini-kiwi had heard ‘space’ and understood aunty kiwi to be hanging out somewhere among the stars. 

It has been explained to wee mini that aunty kiwi is not in space, but in Spain (although being a space exploring aunty would have been pretty cool), though kiwi doubts that all is very clear in Mini-kiwi’s three year old mind.

Kiwi had a great time in New Zealand hanging with family, friends and most of all her favourite niece. She hopes to be able to visit again sometime soon(ish). In the meantime she’ll continue her adventures on earth taking a moment every now and then to look up at the moon and stars and imagine the adventures she might be having if the imaginings of a three year old could be turned into reality.

Chur!!

Homeland Adventures part 3: An ode to Auckland public transport

Kiwi is one talented mofo. 

She can rap along to the Fresh Prince theme song like a pro, make a lasagne that’s even better than yo’ mama’s and she even pulls off a pretty mean headstand.

One talent which seems to have evaded her, however, is the talent to drive.

Now that’s not to say that kiwi can’t drive, coz boy can kiwi drive. Drive she can. But what is missing from her otherwise impressive repertoire of talents are the complementary activities. You know, those vaguely important things like parking and reversing.

It leaves her vulnerable in the transportation world. A poor soul, without a full drivers license that has to turn to…dare she say it…

The public transport system! 

It’s a frightening world of last minute delays, confusing ticketing systems and strangers. Strange strangers. This last part kiwi knows only too well.

Between drunks, sleazy old men, random glue sniffing mutterers and crazy kids far too close to getting their freak on, kiwi was pretty sure she had seen it all in the public transport world.

That is until her last trip to New Zealand when the fates got scheming and provided her with a little experience to remind her that no matter where she travels, there aint no experience like the Auckland public transport experience!

It was all rather dramatic and while kiwi would love to give you the full story, that would leave you reading this post for an hour. So instead she’ll give you the bare bones…

It all started with a bus. 

Yup, just like this one.

Only it wasn’t night time…it was morning. It wasn’t parked outside a strip club…it was parked outside a supermarket. It wasn’t heading from Auckland to the South…It was heading from the South to Auckland. And finally…it wasn’t a 472, it was a Railbus. 

That should make the possibility of drunks and shenanigans on the bus less likely…

right!??

Well it all started off innocently enough as you will see from this first snippet of the film script for Tales from the Auckland Public Transport System, the screenplay which will bring kiwi her fame and fortune…

SCENE: SOUTH AUCKLAND BUS- MORNING

KIWI, a young adventurer with a guitar on her back runs towards the rail bus, barely making it in time. She greets the driver and plants herself on the back seat, leaning her guitar against the window. She forages through her bag. Something is missing: her book.

Three scruffy young adults jump onto the bus, BENSON, the cool guy with an oldschool hard guitar case, TIMMY, a pakeha guy with an out there hairdo and HAYLEY a pretty pakeha girl who is half asleep. BENSON and TIMMY sit next to kiwi then notice her. 

BENSON: Oh, there’s a girl here. 

…

***Due to a combination of copyright issues, laziness on kiwi’s and consideration of the fact that most blog readers don’t want 10,000 word long blogposts you cannot access the rest of this script. Please send kiwi one packet of squiggles, a box of pizza shapes and a self addressed prepaid envelope for your personal copy. ***

Now in the hour and a half which it took the bus to arrive to it’s final destination where the bus driver had security ready and waiting to give Benson and Timmy a talking to (yes, really), quite a lot of events unfolded. These included but were not limited to…

An guitar case packed with one bottle of wine, three bottles of beer and no guitar. Foul language. Drunk people. Kiwi attempting to juggle ‘not being rude’ with ‘not making conversation’ in a natural manner. Shared love of Jeff Buckley. More foul language. A beer bottle being used as a portaloo. Looks of disdain. Guitar playing. Expletives galore. Spilt beer. Looks of frustration. A philosophical Benson saying: “You need to move to Wellington man. If there’s one thing you have to do in your life. You need to move to Wellington. It’s good for your soul” AND “You know man, I just try to leave people with something you know. I try to give them something to think about, something that will change their life. So that when we part ways I can say ‘fly free my friend, fly free’”. An even more philosophical Timmy saying: “You know, if I had kids I would totally give them heaps of drugs and money you know. All the fucking drugs they want.” A rather sweet Hayley saying, “you guys should leave the girl (kiwi) alone”. A pissed off mother with three young children saying: “I have had it up to here with your language. There are children on the bus and we do not have to put up with such irrespectful behaviour”. A pissed off bus driver saying: “If you don’t behave you’ll have to leave the bus” A pissed off Benson raving: “You gotta say Fuck you to the man, you know. Fuck you. I’m no fucking slave to this fucked up society based around greed and corruption and money. The man’s not gonna shut me up. The man’s not gonna kick me off no fucking bus” And the exchange of a guitar pick for a bottle cap. 

Yup.

So a typical South Auckland bus experience then. 

It’s probably rather sad to say this. Maybe even a little bit pathetic. And likely a blow to tourism NZ too, but that bus trip was a real defining moment for kiwi. The moment when she sat in stunned realisation thinking, I am back, back in Auckland, back in New Zealand. 

It’s what she loves about Auckland the most. The weirdos. The freaks. The drunks. The meetings of strangers. The real life street drama (or bus drama) and the way that there is never a dull moment, even when you’ve forgotten your book for an hour and a half journey on the bus. It’s not photogenic, breathtaking or green, but it is real. 

She would like to thank Benson, Timmy and Hayley (whose names may or not be real and whose quoted speech may or may not be accurate and who will most likely never see this blog) for her true Auckland experience.

Benson, you strange philosophical foulmouthed creature, kiwi hopes you’re making good use of that guitar pick…because to be quite frank with you that bottle cap is pretty useless.

Chur!!

Homeland Adventures part 2: On the joys of a kiwi summer

Kiwi’s trip back to New Zealand was scheduled for Christmas, which meant she would escape the Catalan winter and much to the shock of her northern hemisphere students, celebrate Christmas and new years in summer. It was to be a time of basking in the neverending sunshine which her homeland  provides 365 days of the year…

Yeah right!

For any of you foreign to the land of the long white cloud here’s something you should know: New Zealand weather is indecisive, inconsistent and seemingly in cahoots with good ol’ Mr Murphy and his mischievous law.

What this meant for kiwi was the intrusion of rainclouds on her summer holiday forcing her to trade in her “I-just-had-three-weeks-of-summer” bragging rights for “bloody rain” complaining rights.

But never fear, kiwi is of a feisty nature and a little rain would never get in the way of her right to a kiwi summer. And if truth be told, it wouldn’t be a kiwi summer without rain. So equipped with her waterproof jandals and a hoody in her handbag (just in case) she went in search of the real kiwi summer.

And here’s what she rediscovered…

Fish and chips on the beach: A true kiwi classic. Kiwi was a bit of a hungus and ate it all before thinking to take a photo, but you can see the evidence: bundles of grease stained paper ready to be popped into the litter bin. Coz you gotta be a tidy kiwi, yo!

Icecream:  Kiwi can take or leave the sun, but it’s just not summer without icecream. Oh, if she could go back in time and eat that scoop of passionfruit icecream again… 

A Trip to the beach, rain or shine: It was cold, windy and cloudy. But that didn’t stop these kiwis from taking in the sun that there was. A brave few even sucked it up enough to jump in the water! (Note: photo artfully stolen from Cat)

A Lesson in the importance of sunscreen: The real irony in New Zealand weather is in the fact that it can be cloudy, windy and cold, and you can still burn to a crisp due to the hole in the ozone layer. On the above beach day kiwi underestimated the importance of the slip, slop, slap and wrap rule, burning her lily white legs, even though as you can see, they were covered up at least some of the time.

Barbecue (preferably with a handy chef such as the one below): You’ve failed at New Zealand summer if you don’t have one.  But here’s a tip for any foreigners out there, don’t get confused and try the ‘slap another shrimp on the barbie’ line in your foe aussie accent. Or it might be you that gets your face slapped here in kiwi land.  

Strawberries: Seriously. Their sweet deliciousness is incomparable with anything else on the planet. You can eat them however the hell you want. Kiwi could eat strawberries every day of the summer. And that’s pretty much what she did. She’s just gonna assume you know what they look like, afterall there’s not time for pics when you’re stuffing your face.

Rainy Day Alternatives: It’s all about being prepared. And who doesn’t love reminiscing with games like skip bo, scrabble and jenga?

And the most important?

Amazing friends! Summer is a time for getting together with the awesome people in your life. And sharing all the above with them, even if it means having to split the last strawberry. And the rain sure as hell aint gonna stop kiwi from hangin’ with her home-kiwis: 

It was a true kiwi summer condensed into three weeks. A bit of rain, a lot of jandal wearing and a whole lotta awesome!

Kiwi hopes that she will be able to repeat the experience sometime soon(ish)! In the meantime keep following her overseas adventures. 

Kia ora New Zealand, thanks for the summer!

Chur! 

Homeland Adventures: An introduction

Kiwi has a case of the itchy feet. Don’t worry it’s nothing serious. It simply means that she can’t sit still and let the world spin around her. She itches for different cultures and different lands and these itches have taken her to her new base camp, Catalunya, and an ever-increasing list of European countries.

And boy does she love the foreign adventures she´s having!

But, every now and then she feels an aching in her heels, an aching which some of you kiwis out there might be familiar with. It’s an aching for  mince and cheese pies, for waking up to the sound of birds chirping, cicadas and the neighbours´ lawnmower, for the sheer simplicity of saying ‘jandals’ and not being laughed at and/or misunderstood. It’s an aching for home. Aotearoa. New Zealand.

For a year and a half she has soothed any such aches with careful rationing of pizza shapes, visits from fellow wandering kiwis and semi-regular skype dates with the whanau. That was, until December of last year (sorryyyyy too many adventures and not enough blogging!) when she jumped on a plane headed directly for New Zealand!

And by directly she means by first catching two trains, sleeping in the airport then catching a series of five flights including four stopovers, one of which she wasn’t even aware would happen and landing back in the homeland after over 48 hours travel ready to entertain a two year old who doesn’t quite grasp the concept of jetlag.

Was it worth it for the less than three weeks which she would spend in the country? Damn straight!

Don’t get your notebooks and pencils ready just yet, for any of you out there wanting to visit New Zealand this is no comprehensive guide. Kiwi spent most of her time straight thuggin with her two year old niece in the hood which is her hometown.

Nevertheless, beauty abounds in that country called home. Kiwi always took Mission Bay for granted, but returning she couldn’t help but think ‘wow’.  She hopes you enjoy these homeland adventures as much as she did.

Chur!

Adventures Part 18: The Cameraless Chronicles Continued.

Welcome to part two, of the cameraless chronicles! This will be the second and final part of these infamous chronicles. And kiwi thought it would be fitting to end the chronicles (which started with a fatal combination of alcohol, fiesta and photographic equipment) with another cautionary tale of alcohol, fiesta and (thankfully) a lack of photographic equipment!

It goes a bit like this…

In Girona (kiwi’s new hood) there is a special fiesta (party for those of you that are English, or Partay for those of you that like to speak in an affected accent) called Les Barraques. It involves various festive activities such as fire displays, concerts, a fun fair for the kiddies and…the name sake of the party, various stalls or barraques with music, food and you guessed it, alcohol.

Now these barraques, set up in la devessa (a tree filled park), are actually a fundraising effort for clubs and organisations across the city. Something which pretty much everyone who has ever spoken to kiwi about les barraques has forgotten to mention…besides those involved in said clubs and organisations. For everyone else it seems, it is just a bit of a piss up, and a final farewell to the summer season as it becomes too cold to party it up in the great outdoors. 

Now there’s nothing wrong with a drink or two, but as kiwi has warned you, this, my friends, is a cautionary tale. 

It all started rather innocently. Kiwi and some friends headed to les barraques. Kiwi took those friends to meet her flatmate, who happened to be at one of the barraques for her club, els xoriguers. Her flatmate had said to them that they should all try something called a cullerot. Kiwi had no idea what a cullerot was, but thought she may as well give it a go. 

As an experienced adventurer, kiwi should have seen the warning signs…

For one thing, her flatmate was a xoriguer, and this was a xoriguer-specific drink of some sort. For those of you who don’t know the xoriguers are castellers (human tower makers) aka, they climb on top of each other for fun, sometimes even walk around while in formations three or four people high. It’s pretty extreme AND they’re university students so with past times like that imagine what their drinking habits might be like…

Secondly, cullerot, literally means big spoon…or ladle. Everyone besides poor wee naive kiwis know that the stranger the serving tool, the stranger the beverage. T

But the third and final warning sign should have surely been a giveaway. This motherfucker was blue. And not a cool, calm, sing you to sleep blue, but a glowing, fluorescent, 1970s discoteca lighting sort of blue. The kind of blue that would tell any normal human being, no, no step away from the blue drink of doom.

But no, not kiwi. Not sweet, innocent, naive, trusting kiwi. She said yes. 

To one cullerot.

The taste was indescribeable and she’s still not sure what was in it.

But it was not disgusting enough for her to say no to her second cullerot. Or the third. Although it was disgusting enough by that stage that when kiwi’s flatmate asked if she would like a cubata (mixer) she said yes, dreaming of drink ingredients she could name and taste with a certainty. That’s not what she got. Instead she got a full cup of the glowing blue beverage from the cullerot. 

Now, kiwi won’t go into the full details of the night except to say that she spent a good part of it tricking friends into drinking her unidentified blue drink. Just like she’d been tricked herself. 

It’s in the next morning that the cautionary tale lies.

Kiwi’s not sure if she’s ever told you this. But she has magical powers. The powers of never getting a hangover. Ever. She swears. Not since she could still call herself a teenager. But somewhere hidden within the many unidentifiable ingredients of that blue drink was kiwi’s kryptonite. And she swears that for the first two hours of being awake, she had a bit of a headache.

Now don’t be dissing this cautionary tale. ‘Oooh…a bit of a headache, big deal’. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. Kiwi NEVER has hangovers. This means that mere mortals like yourselves must stay away from the blue drink…if it can harm kiwi…just imagine what it could do to you…

You’ve been warned. 

And now comes the good news! The end of the cameraless chronicles! Yes, that’s right the end of ridiculous paint drawings and way too long descriptions about some drink. Kiwi will now have photos! And more exciting adventures coming up soon! So stay tuned followers. And in the meantime, heed kiwi’s advice. Afterall, blue just isn’t the appropriate colour for a beverage being slurped out of a ladle. 

Chur!