NZ Election vs. US election

A few days after the American election, there was an election New Zealand, too. Clark vs. Key didn't get as much worldwide media attention as Obama vs. McCain. Go figure.

It was a beautiful, sunny spring day to go to the polling booth at a local church. And it seemed sensible to hold an election on a Saturday instead of a Tuesday. The polling place was well-organised and efficient but not high-tech: paper ballots to be marked with a pen, cardboard private voting booth and cardboard ballot boxes. Surprisingly, the poll workers were not all octogenarians like they seem to be in US polling places. My favourite part in both countries is getting the sticker that says "I voted."

That evening, we went to our neighbour's house for dinner and results, which was a lovely way to spend my first NZ election coverage ... even if our hosts supported the 'wrong' party.

The NZ election only covered two things: which person you want to represent your local electorate, and which party you want to control Parliament. Two ticks. In comparison, my American ballot had over 30 different offices to vote for, from President, Senator, and Governor, all the way to local judges. And there are no primaries in NZ; each party has already chosen their favourite from within.

Voter turnout in NZ this year was 78%, a bit lower than the usual 80%. The US voter turnout was a record-breaking 68%.

In both countries, the populated urban areas voted more liberal (Democrat or Labour) while the rural areas voted more conservative (Republicans or National) Although the colours are reversed (conservative National is blue), both the US and NZ election maps looked the same: all one (conservative) colour in the heartland with pockets of the other (liberal) colour in the cities.

Obviously, I was not as elated with the New Zealand election results as I was with the US results. In New Zealand, the conservative National Party took power from the liberal Labour Party who had been in control for the last 9 years. Fortunately, the conservative party in NZ is not as far right as the Republican party in the US. But I was still a bit sad that my friend Helen was no longer Prime Minister. I felt smug being able to say I lived in a country with a female Prime Minister.

Since the US swung left and NZ swung right in the same week, many people have asked if it makes us want to move back to America. The answer is not yet. I think it's going to take a long time for America to recover from the Bush years. But it feels good that moving back to America is at least an option now.

the morning after

Here is the front page of the New Zealand Herald on the day after the American election:


PS - I wonder if the headline and photo will be just as big after New Zealand's own election, which is happening the day after tomorrow.

Tears for Rosa, Martin and Obama

I dreamt last night that Obama came to my house to remind me to vote. I'd already mailed in my ballot with great satisfaction a few weeks ago, so I don't know why I was dreaming about that, other than the obvious reason that I have been bombarded with US election news for the last 2 years ... and remember, I live in NEW ZEALAND! Yes, there has been a front-page story in the New Zealand Herald nearly every day. (Coincidentally, there is also an election in New Zealand happening on November 8th. Do you think US papers have been running front-page stories about the NZ election day after day? Nah, me neither.)

But I have been consumed by this election, even from 8,000 miles away. First of all, I love politics. I have doorbelled for candidates, served as a page at the state capitol, and attended presidential campaign rallies for candidates from Hubert Humphrey to Al Gore. I became a history teacher, so I taught students about the Declaration of Independence and the Electoral College. I can even sing the Preamble to the Constitution. Yes, I love politics.

So that explains a bit why we were so crushed by the direction that America had been going. In 2004, when George W. Bush was elected for the SECOND time, - I could forgive America for making a mistake by electing him the first time, but to RE-elect him was beyond comprehension - we couldn't take it any more and we left the country.

Many people questioned our decision to emigrate: "He'll be gone in 4 years," they would say.
But it wasn't just the President that we were fleeing. We were fleeing the millions of Americans who think like Bush. The ones who think it's okay to invade other countries. The ones who are against gay marriage. The ones who want to teach creationism but not evolution. The ones who were deluded enough to vote for a man who gives tax cuts to the rich, and the ones who didn't bother voting at all. And they would all still be there. We felt that we were just too liberal to fit in any more.

Today, I was still nervous that McCain would somehow steal the election (like Bush) so I couldn't allow myself to really believe Obama would win. All day at work, I was so excited that I felt like a teenager in love. Couldn't concentrate. Butterflies in my stomach. Election results started coming in at about 1:00 p.m. NZ time, so I had my computer set to NPR (similar to BBC) and listened to the live feed while I half-heartedly marked papers.
Luckliy, I didn't have a class 6th period. Students and staff alike would see me and ask how the election was going. Everyone knows I'm American because a)I talk 'funny' and b)I've been wearing my Obama pin every day for weeks. Last week I even wore a shirt covered with dozens of old campaign pins from McGovern, Carter, Dukakis, Clinton Gore, Kerry, and Obama. I even have a (Bobby) Kennedy bumper sticker. All those pins and stickers would have looked best on my Jesse Jackson '88 T-shirt, but I couldn't find it amid the boxes. Puckishly, I have fond memories of wearing my Jesse Jackson shirt just to make my dad mad.

After school, I went running on the treadmill, but I didn't want to miss any of the returns so I brought my computer to the gym (thankfully my school is wireless, including the gym), plugged it in, balanced it on the treadmill, and ran 5k while listening to NPR. Pretty pathetic, huh. Then I arrived home just in time to hear John McCain's concession speech. I found Curt was already home (indeed, he'd come home at 2:00 just to watch election results) and I found him with tears in his eyes. I was similarly moved. Obama's win gave me hope that maybe America has finally woken up.

Our neighbour arrived with a bottle of champagne and we all toasted the new chapter for America. There are even fireworks going off outside tonight in New Zealand. Not because of the American election, but because it's Guy Fawkes Day. But I can pretend they are celebrations for Obama instead.

How does it feel?
It feels too good to be true.
It feels like pride, something I haven't felt about America in ages.
It gives me goosebumps.
I am so overwhelmingly relieved that in this election, the other America spoke.
Tonight ... tonight brought tears to my eyes.

Rosa sat so Martin could walk.
Martin walked so Obama could run.
Obama ran so children could soar.
author unknown

Signing out

Hello all! Boone here again. Sadly, it's my final night here in New Zealand so I'm writing my recap of the whole trip.

I left off my last entry right before our trip to Rotorua which was pretty awesome, I learned how to perform a haka. It was Father's Day in New Zealand but that didn't stop me from beating Dad mercilessly at Scrabble later that night. I'm a great son. The following day I took off for the Coromandel Peninsula where I found a hostel and met my flatmates, Eric and Johannes. The three of us drove to Hot Water Beach despite there being a terrible storm. Hot Water Beach has loads of geothermal activity underground so if you dig a hole at the beach during low tide it will fill up with hot water, hence the extra clever name, Hot Water Beach. We were hoping that sitting in a natural hot tub would somewhat counteract the cold from the storm, but that didn't end up being the case.

Eric and Johannes had to catch a bus early in the morning so I was on my own for the following day. I went to Hahei and hiked to Cathedral Cove, got my feet wet. There were two little dogs that were walking the trail with me, I think they lived in the area. They followed me all the way back to Hahei Beach, but when I walked up to the car I heard barking down on the beach. I could see one dog and he was barking at the waves. I couldn't see the other dog in the water but the barking dog continued to bark as he went down the beach, seeming to follow something he could see in the water. I sprinted down the beach, ready for a dramatic rescue, only to find that it was a different little dog and he was barking at the waves because he was just a dumb dog. The two dogs I had been walking with were down at the other end of the beach.

Yesterday we flew down to Wellington and explored the Beehive and Parliament building.
Outside the Parliament building is a statue of New Zealand's longest serving prime minister, Richard Seddon, 1893-1906. He was an avid opponent of women's suffrage. I found it pretty funny that the statue faces the recently-built Kate Sheppard Hotel, named after New Zealand's most prominent member of the suffrage movement (she's on the New Zealand ten dollar bill, he's not on anything). We went to a rugby game between Wellington and Waikato, I loved it, I wish rugby was bigger back in the states. Later I went out to a couple of sports bars with my flatmates, three German girls, and we watched more rugby, the All Blacks beat the Wallabies 28-24. After the game we went dancing at this pub that had a live band. Didn't get back to the hostel until 2:30.

This morning we flew back to Auckland and Mom asked me for all my 'bests and worsts' of the trip, here's a few...

Best memory - Paihia hostel
Best volcano (of the 7 I summitted) - Rangitoto
Best kiwi food - meat pies
Best Maori word - Whakarewarewatangaoteopetauaawahiao (I'm not making it up)
Worst part about driving in NZ - the 'give way' rule for lefts turns, absolutely ridiculous
Worst scare - thinking there was a puppy drowning at Hahei Beach :(

New Zealand is pretty amazing, and is completely and utterly different from America. I feel like everybody here has a generally nicer attitude towards foreigners than we do in America. There's far more unprompted help offered everywhere. Everybody is far more trusting here. You can accidentally leave a bag of groceries in the cart at the store and go back and they'll simply tell you to grab everything that was in the bag, someone will return the misplaced one. You can go to the library and check out books even though you have late fees to pay. If you don't have the money on you, no worries, bring it next time. That wouldn't happen in America. And I know these are just small examples but they build up.

The politics are completely different as well. In the US, presidential candidates campaign for about 2 years, but here in New Zealand they do it in 5 weeks. Why does it take two years for us?
The US is a completely politically divided nation, divided for the most part into two parties, Democrats and Repulblicans. Here in New Zealand there are 8 political parties. EIGHT! In the US, hypothetically every Democratic candidate for any office in Congress can lose an election 49% to 51%. Congress would be entirely Republican despite the fact that 49% of the country voted Democratic. New Zealand has a system so that every party is represented proportional to the votes nationwide, so everyone has an equal voice.

The media is completely different. They actually report on things going on throughout the whole world, whereas in America practically all I hear about is what's going on in America. There's far more positive stories than negative ones; in America I feel like all we hear about are the latest local crimes, or the next thing they're adding to the endless list of things that cause cancer. It imposes this fear in us that there's danger lurking around every corner; New Zealand doesn't have that fear. And tying this back in with politics, in the US if you're liberal you watch liberally biased news and if you're conservative you watch conservatively biased news, it's just how it goes. But here in New Zealand I don't see a lot of bias in any of the news.

The food is healthier. I know that sounds strange, but what I mean by that is (for example) a McDonald's double cheeseburger in America is literally dripping with grease, but when I order one here, it's almost dry. It's the same company, and supposedly the same product, but you can literally taste the difference. I'm pretty confident they actually add straight grease to the burgers back in the US to make them tastier. No wonder 64% of our population is overweight.

And while I love all these - what I would consider - improvements over American society, I have grown so accustomed to our rude American behavior, our biased media, our greasy food, and our imperfect democracy, that I don't think I could ever leave it. I doubt my mom will ever stop trying to persuade me to move to New Zealand, and that's all fine and well, but I'm pretty happy with my stars and stripes. Cheers, mate.

Kia ora! Boone here, I've been in New Zealand for a couple weeks now and Mom asked me to make a contribution to the blog so I'll let you all know some of the highlights of my 4-week trip thus far.

I left Vancouver, BC at 1pm on August 19th and landed in Auckland, NZ at 5am on August 21st. August 20th did not happen, I flew into the future. I started off my trip with lots of touristy stuff; I hit up the aquarium, the natural history museum, the zoo,



SkyTower,

and fed a lamb at SheepWorld.

On Tuesday I caught a train into town and then a ferry out to Rangitoto Island, a dormant volcano. I hiked to the top of the volcano and down into the crater, then explored some lava caves on the east side of the island (had to use the flash on the camera to see where I was going).



On Wednesday Mom and I drove out to Piha and climbed to the top of Lion Rock. She wasn't too keen on climbing but I talked her into it. You only live once.


On Thursday I drove 4 hours north to Paihia and found a hostel. I went for a quick afternoon kayak trip down the shore and back and came back to meet my flatmate, a rather talkative Kiwi named David and his lady friend, a Chilean girl named Katie. They introduced me to a few other people at the hostel including Elena from Germany and Fernanda from Brazil. We all went out to the pub and it just so happened to be karaoke night, my favorite. I met a few nice Kiwi lads and a couple of girls from Iowa. After a few beers I ended up singing 'Born in the USA' with the two other Americans which I'm sure was an overly intoxicated performance and obnoxious to the rest of the bar patrons, but it was lots of fun on my end.

The following day David and I woke up
and went on a kayaking adventure in search of Haruru Falls. However, due to a less than helpful map, we never ended up finding them and paddled back home after 4 hours of the most intense upper body workout I've ever had. But alas, so as not to feel entirely defeated, David, Elena and I hiked to the falls (another 4 hour workout) and were victorious. When we got back David and I made some pumpkin masks for the masquerade ball at the pub (his idea). The prize for wearing a mask was a free drink, not sure if it was totally worth the effort.

I've been joining Mom and Dad at church and singing in the choir with them. Last Sunday we sang 8 or 9 songs in a concert after the worship service. Learning 8 or 9 songs from one choir practice was a bit of a stretch for me, but thankfully Dad was singing tenor as well and drowned me out on any of the notes I missed.

Later that Sunday I finally got to experience a "driveway party" that I had heard so much about. This particular driveway party was planned ahead of time, but Mom says if you stand out in the driveway on a nice day with a drink in hand, no fail, people come out and start to accumulate.
We ate sausages (which New Zealanders eat on buttered bread, not hot dog buns), pavlova, bread pudding, meatballs, and drank lots of beer.

Last night I caught a bus downtown and met up with David (from Paihia) for some drinks. We hit up a few clubs, danced a lot, drank a bit, and I ended up crashing at his place as the buses don't run that late and I had no way to get home till the morning.

Tomorrow we're all going to Rotorua for a solid dose of Maori culture and geothermal geysers, and next weekend we're flying down to Wellington for a couple days where I'll get to attend my very first rugby match.

More to come ...

Reports are to be written in passive voice

It's report (report cards) time at my school, which usually means long hours and major headaches. Besides writing 100 paragraphs about my own 100 students, I was unanimously selected to be the chief proofreader for the rest of the Social Studies department because I am the only English geek in the bunch who has eagle eyes to search out typos wherever they lurk. So I read about 1,000 more paragraphs. Apologies for being such a grammarian, but in the course of reading all those comments, I couldn't help noticing the Kiwi predilection to write in passive voice.

First, an example of passive voice: The hamburger was eaten by me.
and an example of active voice: I ate the hamburger.
Seemingly, both sentences convey the same information, but there is a different tone to the first one. It's as if the hamburger went out and got itself eaten; as if it was somehow the hamburger's fault. As you can see, the passive voice can be used to shed blame.

What I noticed on reports is a tendency to write things such as: She is to be commended for her effort or It is pleasing for me to see her improvement. Why can't they just say I was pleased with her improvement!?!?

I was wise enough NOT to put red marks all over my fellow teachers' reports every time I saw passive voice. I reserved my red pen for their instead of there, run-on sentences and typos. But I mentioned the preponderance of passive writing to them, who were absolutely shocked to hear that the passive voice is frowned upon in America.

In fact, most American university professors believe that the passive voice signals sloppy, lazy thinking; that the writer has not fully thought through what they are discussing. Automatic grammar-checkers on word processing programs also point out passive construction, as if it needs to be changed.

But in New Zealand, it is accepted and even preferred. The Auckland newspaper is full of sentences like It is understood that the man was from Hamilton. In America, the reporter would have written Unidentified witnesses said... instead.

My colleagues and I agreed that this is a partly due to the British penchant for understatement. Likewise, there is a custom of not wanting to take credit for something for fear of looking like a braggart. Therefore, a NZ company report would say clients were well-served. American culture, however, values directness and speaking plainly. Americans aren't afraid to take credit and a US company report would say: our staff served clients well.

And yet, an American made perhaps one of the more memorable passive statement, used to shed blame: Ronald Reagan said "mistakes were made" when referring to the Iran-Contra scandal.

Still getting olderer

I forgot to wear my glasses to church today. As a consequence, I had a bit of trouble reading the choir music. Thankfully, I knew the tune pretty well, but occassionaly had to guess at the words ... and wasn't entirely successful. Let's hope the congregation didn't notice.

It was even harder to read the order of service which was in a smaller font, bordering on microscopic. My arms simply weren't long enough. The most pathetic part was that I didn't get the Lord's Prayer right. Let it be known that I do know it by heart, but I know the American version and without being able to see the words, I can't remember which bits are different in the New Zealand version we do here.

I also forgot to wear shoes to choir practice a few weeks ago, and walked out the door wearing slippers. More alarmingly, this was not the first time I'd gone to choir wearing slippers. And don't forget the time I embarked on a 10-day road trip to the South Island wearing slippers.

Do you think there's a pattern here?

ANZAC Day, 2008

The choir from Mt. Albert Methodist Church (that's us) sang at the ANZAC service held at Mt. Albert Memorial Hall. We sing there every year. Prime Minister Helen Clark was the main speaker. She gives the speech there every year. It still amazes me how little fanfare there is when the leader of the nation is present at this dinky little community centre: anyone can attend, there's no metal detectors or bag checks or anything, no advance team of bomb-sniffing dogs, no motorcade. She simply arrived in a car with no entourage except 2 secret-service-type guys (who later sang along during the service) and sat in a folding chair, just like everyone else. It's all refreshingly low-key. As it is every year.

At last year's ANZAC service, we wrangled an introduction to Helen, and got to shake her hand and chat with her for a bit. This year, I elected not to impose myself on her, but if I had, I would have asked her about the recent Hillary Clinton gaffe concerning Helen. In an interview with a US magazine, Senator Clinton was telling a joke about the "Former Prime Minister, Helen Clark" ... but in fact Helen Clark is still the CURRENT Prime Minister. There have been plenty of laughs over here in New Zealand about Hillary's mistake, but I doubt if the American press has even realised that she misspoke.

After the service, we went back to the church for more choir practice, but not without a feed. Someone brought homemade ANZAC biscuits (cookies) which were softer and - naturally - better than the storebought ones. ANZAC biscuits, an oatmeal coconut recipe, became the biscuit of choice to mail to the troops during WWI because of their apparent unperishability, hence their name. They are really quite tasty, and an appropriate snack after the service.

Bowling, New Zealand style

I went bowling today for the first time. Not the American kind of bowling where you go to a smoky building, wear ghastly shoes, and use your brute strength to wallop the living daylight out of 10 white pins. No, this is a more civilised kind of bowling with less walloping. More finesse. This is English bowls. Think old people in white suits drinking tea between turns. Well, that's what English bowls was supposed to be like. That's what the pros do. (Yes, there are pros!) We didn't actually wear white. Or drink tea.

But we did attempt to stand on a little mat and to hit the jack (the little white target ball) with our balls. And we tried not to bowl our balls into the ditch (the gutter at the far end where it'll go if you overshoot it). Basically, I think English bowls is the same as Italian bocci or French boules, although I'm not an expert on any of those versions either.

There might have been a more skilled but less humorous game if someone in our group had bowled before, but we were 2 newbies playing against 2 newbies. At least we were all equally clueless. The first thing one discovers is that the ball itself is weighted on one side so it's not meant to roll straight, which caused endless frustration for me. I suppose with practice, you'd master the behavior of the ball, but since this was our virgin bowling experience, it was just plain maddening. Still, I managed to hit the jack once and I think that scored us a point although I'm not entirely sure of the scoring system. In the end, my pathetic team lost to the still-pathetic-but-not-as-bad-as-us team. But now I know all about jacks and skips and rinks and touchers, and I can chalk up another Kiwi cultural experience.

Prizegiving vs. Graduation

I went to my first prizegiving ceremony at Diocesan. It was the end of the school year and 200 of our Year 13 girls had completed their secondary studies. In American tradition, there would be a ceremony marking this occasion, called Graduation. But In New Zealand, there is no such ceremony for secondary schools. Instead, there is Prizegiving.

The basic purpose of Prizegiving is to announce all the students who had won scholarships or awards of any sort. At Diocesan's Prizegiving, girls who achieved 95% or above in all their classes earned awards, as well as 90% awards and 85% awards. Usually, they received certificates, but sometimes there was a gift included with the more specialised awards like Best Art Student. Actually, those specialised awards were not called Best Art Student - they were called The (insert wealthy family's name here) Memorial Cup for Excellence in Art, funded by an endowment from a Dio donor.

The most alien part to me was that in NZ, there was no recognition for every Year 13 girl who had completed her studies. In contrast, during an American graduation ceremony (see photo on the left), the principal would read all 200 names one by one, and each student would come up to the stage to receive their diploma and a handshake. In the U.S., winning a university scholarship or a prize for the best science project would be announced in the school newspaper, or maybe the local newspaper, but not at the graduation ceremony.

On this day at Diocesan's Prizegiving, all the teachers processed into the gym, wearing gowns and collars signifying their degrees. We wore full academic regalia, including different colour hoods or collars to represent different departments (minus the mortarboard hats). But the graduating Kiwi students did not wear gowns, unlike the U.S. where the students would've been the ones parading in, wearing gowns and mortarboards with tassels.

At Diocesan, like every NZ college (=high school), the most anticipated moment is finding out which girl has been named Dux, the top scholar of the school. There is also a second-place title, called Proxime Accessit. In America, the top scholar would be called Valedictorian, but she would know ahead of time that she won, and she would have to give a speech at the graduation ceremony.

Besides prizes for the Y13 girls, there are even prizes awarded to the Year 12 and Year 11 girls. While their prizes are not university scholarships, they were awarded things like 95%, etc., and also a few specialised subject awards.  

Diocesan's prizegiving was held during the school day, so every student from Y11, 12 and 13 attended in uniform. whereas American graduation ceremonies are usually held in the evening or on the weekend, so the younger students' attendance is not compulsory.

There are some similarities, however.
• In both countries, there are "inspirational" speeches about how you have your whole future ahead of you, yadda, yadda, yadda.
• Both countries play Pomp and Circumstance during the processional.
• Both versions are held in large venues with lots of parents present, taking lots of pictures.

In America, graduating from high school is an important rite of passage;  it's seen as the beginning of one's adult life.  On the other hand, in NZ - since some students leave school at age 16 with a Level 1 certificate, others leave at 17 with Level 2, and the final group leaves at age 18 with Level 3 - being 18 and finishing a Level 3 certificate isn't the same benchmark in life that it is in the US.  

American teenagers also look forward to a big graduation party after the graduation ceremony. This is usually sponsored by a parent organisation and may involve going to a few different activities (like disco/go karts/video arcade) lasting all night. In theory, the parent group ensures that it is an alcohol-free event, but in reality some may get smuggled in. There did not seem to be a similar all-school party after Dioesan's Prizegiving - it was 3:00 p.m, after all.

I can't really say if either system is better than the other. At first, I felt a little sorry for the Y13 girls because they didn't have a special ceremony marking their completion. But they have other traditions instead: a Leaver's Dinner and a formal Ball (to which their parents were invited!), and they seem to be content with that.

One other similarity I found - both Graduations and Prizegivings are basically pretty boring to sit through.

Connectionz

Meeting the Prime Minister reminded me of one of the differences between New Zealand and America: New Zealand is such a small country that meeting someone famous is entirely possible. I've noticed two consequences of this: Kiwis think that a typical American knows famous people (they don't). And Americans don't think a typical Kiwi would know any famous people (they do). Here's some examples:

On my first day teaching in New Zealand, the students asked me:
1. Do you know 50 Cent? (no.)
2. Do you know the guys from American Chopper? (no.)
3. Do you know any wrestlers from WWF? (no.)
As you can see, I was disappointing to them right from the start.
But they honestly thought that because I'm American, it's entirely possible that I would know someone famous in America. I don't. (It's quite disturbing to discover who they think is famous in America, or which famous Americans they hoped I knew - but that's a different issue)

New Zealand is so small that when there's a national disaster that affects a few hundred people - like the ferry Wahine that sunk on its way to Wellington - odds are good that the average Kiwi knew someone who was involved. A neighbour's son, a colleague, or a relative, for example. Since I rode the Wellington ferry a few weeks ago, wrote about it in the blog, and read a book about it, I have been bringing up the Wahine disaster in conversations and have discovered that my colleague's husband was on the same ferry boat a few weeks before it sank AND a science teacher at my school was on the ferry as it sank and helped save people. As an American, I find it amazing to find connections so close! But it's not amazing to Kiwis.

I recently went to hear an author speak about a biography she'd written of Sir Edmund Hilary, the New Zealander who was the first man to conquer Mt. Everest, more than 50 years ago. She explained the difficulties she encountered because her subject was a national icon, practically a saint, and still very much alive. She asked how many people in the audience had met "Ed." Out of 150 people in the room, about 25 raised their hands. I was astounded! If you were at an author event in America and asked how many people had ever met Muhammed Ali, I can't imagine you'd get a single hand.

Well, now that I'm living in this small country, I think I should go out and meet some more famous people. I've already met the Prime Minister. Who else should I seek out? An All-Black Rugby star? (Hmm. They're quite good-looking) The latest winner in New Zealand's Dancing With the Stars? (No. Too tabloid) How about Sir Ed? He lives in Auckland. His wife and daughter both attended my school, and he gave a painting of Mount Everest to the school in their honour after they were killed in a plane crash. That painting hangs in the library. Yes, I think I'd like to meet Edmund Hillary next. After all, it's not impossible to meet a national treasure in this country.

ANZAC Day

The Mt Albert Methodist Church choir (that's us) sang at the ANZAC service at the Mt Albert Memorial this morning. There were dawn services all over New Zealand on ANZAC Day, including the largest one in front of the Auckland War Memorial Museum, but Mt Albert's began at a more reasonable time, 9:30 a.m. Since this was one of scores of smaller, local services, I wasn't expecting much. I was wrong.

ANZAC Day is a national holiday to commemorate New Zealand soldiers. The date of April 25 was chosen because that was the day in 1915 when the ANZAC (Australian & New Zealand Army Corps) forces landed on the beach at dawn to begin their campaign to take the Gallipoli peninsula from the Turkish army. (See the red circle in the upper left corner) The invasion was ill-advised and after 9 months of fighting, little ground gained, and over 10,000 men lost, the troops pulled out without a victory.

It feels strange to me for a national holiday to be on the day their army got slaughtered. I'm more accustomed to the rah-rah patriotism of America where we celebrate, magnify, and treasure only victories, and secretly wish our defeats would disappear. On ANZAC Day, however, people don't celebrate the lost battle; they honour the men who bravely went into battle even though everyone knew it was a suicide mission. They honour the way the tiny little country on the other side of the world sent their boys to help the British Empire. They honour the way those boys distinguished themselves and earned respect from Australian and British troops. April 25, 1915 was the day New Zealand was admitted to the Big League, and they proved themselves worthy. ANZAC Day is a solemn day, deserving a solemn service that always ends with the bugler playing Last Post.

In Mt Albert's little Memorial Hall, I was astounded at how many people were in attendance! There were 250-300 people trying to fit into a venue that seats about 150. Luckily, the choir was positioned on the stage so we were assured a seat. Before the service, we had been forced to scrounge a few chairs; we grabbed all the strays we could find, including 3 we took from the podium. Once the service began, the place was packed, and the audience was standing all along the back - 4 rows deep - and more standing outside. There was an abundance of strollers, toddlers, and school children alongside the veterans and older generation. All sorts of local groups were represented: Mt Albert creche (pre-school), 2 local high schools, Girl Guides (Girl Scouts), Mt Albert churches, Mt Albert Senior Centre, Mt Albert Bowling Club, NZ Navy, NZ Air Force, NZ Coast Guard, RSA (the NZ veterans' group is called Returned Services Assoc.) ... and on and on. Each group laid a wreath at the memorial.

The main speaker for the service was none other than Prime Minister Helen Clark, because the Mt Albert neighbourhood is her home electorate. She gave her speech without notes, citing battles and relating history to the New Zealand experience. She's probably given a fair number of ANZAC speeches before. Overall, she's a polished speaker, with an unusually deep voice that carries well and commands attention. There were 3 security men discreetly but obviously lurking about, wearing earpieces and looking shifty. During the service, she sat by the podium, on a chair that someone had fortunately replaced because a certain choir had snatched hers. I can't believe we stole the Prime Minister's chair! It's a wonder we didn't get arrested by the guys in suits.

After the service, everyone got a cup of tea, including Helen Clark. She was chatting with various people while her security hovered nearby. At one point, Officer #1 spoke into his sleeve to tell something to Officer #2, who looked back at #1 from across the hall with a puzzled look, a shrug, and some pointing at his ear, indicating that his earpiece wasn't working and he couldn't hear a single word that Officer #1 had said. Ha.

Shamelessly - utterly shamelessly! - I asked one of our choir friends to introduce us to Helen Clark, since I knew that they were long-time acquaintances. He readily agreed, and ushered us over and introduced us as his American friends who moved to NZ. She shook our hands and asked where we were from in America, so we described our locations in Washington State & Oregon. We mentioned that Auckland looks a lot like Seattle - waterfront, ferries, Sky Tower. She agreed, but said she'd just been in Seattle in March and it was dreadful, rainy weather. We all agreed that the weather was much better here in NZ! After a bit more chit chat, we moved along and let others talk to her.

Next, we headed back to the church for a pancake breakfast put on annually by 2 members of the church. Brian, the choir accompanist, played old war songs like A Long Way to Tipperary while we all sang along, even though I hadn't heard of any of the other songs. But it was a fun way to spend the morning. And yummy.

Well, that was my brush with fame here in NZ. My choir friends kept asking if I had a good talk with my friend Helen, and were teasing me about never washing my hand again, now that I had shaken hands with the Prime Minister. I know it was brazen of me to ask Merv to introduce us, but I thought it was pretty cool to meet her nonetheless.

Road Trip, Day 3 - Easter Sunday

We spent Easter morning swimming with dolphins, which seemed appropriate somehow.

First, we were issued a wetsuit. The young man who was distributing them handed me a size 10. I was flattered that he thought I was size 10, but I haven't worn that size for decades! I tried to put it on. I tugged and yanked, but it was simply too tight. Obviously there was not going to be an Easter miracle for me this morning. I faced reality and exchanged my wetsuit for a bigger one. After a short film on dolphins and how to behave around them, a short boat ride to find the pod, and a quick snorkelling lesson for beginners like me, we jumped in. Curt had elected to stay on the boat and take pictures while Nolan, Erica and I wanted to swim. (Only 13 people are allowed in the water, out of respect for the dolphins. But more can come along and watch.)

The water was C O L D! We had been told to keep our hands at our sides (to try to look more like a dolphin), and to hum! Apparently, the dolphins are attracted to noises. Sure enough, they were all around us, whizzing by and circling around. It was pretty spectacular to have them beside me and under me. Weirdly, there were also millions of translucent jelly creatures all over, which was probably why the dolphins like this harbour so much, but I found it a little creepy. I also tended to breathe so hard that I was nearly hyperventilating, which is apparently quite common when learning to snorkel. Overall, it wore me out. I was exhausted after about 5-10 minutes.

Meanwhile, the dolphins had raced away; it was time to get all the swimmers back on the boat so we could reposition and swim again. I appreciated having a little time to rest on the boat while it sped after the dolphins. Then we were back in the water again. We repeated this process a number of times. Nolan and Erica had been having good success. Erica said one of the dolphins was circling around and playing with her. The dolphins are so fast, however, that it's impossible for any of us keep up with them! I sat out the last few swims due to exhaustion. I was definitely knackered (as they say in NZ). But it was still fun to stand on the boat and watch the dolphins splashing around with the other swimmers. Once everyone got back on board for the last time, the boat continued to follow the dolphins so we could take lots of pictures, and they served hot chocolate. Meanwhile, we all got dressed in our dry clothes, which felt really good. If only I had some warm shoes for my frozen feet. Alas, all I had was sandals. (Remember, my shoes were still sitting by the kitchen door at my house, 500 km away)

By this time I was starting to feel a little queasy - as were a few others - which may have been partly why I quit swimming early. I even decided to skip the hot chocolate. Imagine me saying no to chocolate! As time went on, the queasy factor kept growing, and I decided to position myself near a bucket ... just in case. Nolan and Erica were starting to feel queasy, too, but not as bad as me. Sure enough, about 10 minutes before we got back to the dock, I chundered in the bucket. It was not my finest moment.

Once we got back on land, I felt much better. But the thought of getting in the car and going on a winding coastal road for the next 3.5 hours didn't sound too pleasant. I decided I'd be better off driving than being a passenger. I drove real sloooww and real smooooth. It was scenic but it seemed to take a looong time. It must have been boooring, too, for Curt and Nolan promptly fell asleep.We got to Christchurch about 3:30 - see #3 on the map - and we didn't get lost on the way to the hotel (that's twice in a row). The B&B we stayed at was ideal - central location, friendly hosts, free internet, tasty breakfast, tea & cookies every evening, and a fat little dachshund who begged for scraps from the table. They even had a dumbwaiter that took all the luggage to the 2nd floor. We loved this place.

Curt went running in the nearby park while Nolan and Erica and I went to the Arts Centre complex. We walked through the market and some workshops and galleries, including one that had some black pottery just like our bomb collection! (see the 30 Dec. blog "Sydney - Day 6" for an explanation of our non-explosive bomb collection) Fortuitously, we ran into Curt who had finished running and was now walking towards us with a crappuccino in hand. I immediately escorted him back to the pottery shop and we selected a chalice-shaped piece. Excellent.

Next, Curt and I walked downtown to the cathedral and sat down for their Evensong service. This is Easter, after all. They had a wonderful boys' choir performing. But Curt still feels uncomfortable with all the bells and smells that the Anglican Church has. We like our little Methodist congregation back in Auckland better.
Then we met Nolan and Erica at a brewpub for dinner and we all ate too much again. During dinner, we discussed our ambitious travel plans for the next 7 days and we all agreed that we didn't want to drive 9 hours to the next city (#4 on the map). We'd rather skip that destination (Queenstown), slow our pace a bit and relax more. I think the relatively short drive today along narrow windy roads - not to mention the queasiness from the dolphin experience - showed us how unpleasant a long drive would be.

I'd never truly appreciated America's highway infrastructure until now. In truth, I'd seen it listed as one of America's greatest achievements of the 20th century and dismissed it as a strange, obscure selection for a list of what makes America great. Now, I'm a believer. I can't begin to imagine how much America's highway system has contributed to the growth of the economy. Quick, easy distribution of goods equals lower prices and America is exceptionally good at that. Besides the economic impact, the highway system allowed Americans to be a more mobile population. I always loved road trips and even admit I have a certain appreciation for low-brow highway culture - the crowded rest areas, the sleazy gas station, the tacky tourist sights. I also found great satisfaction in the orderliness of the the numbering system of the mile markers and the exits, in addition to the numbering system for naming the highways themselves: interstate highways that run north-south are odd numbers (starting on the west coast), highways that run east-west are even numbered (starting on the southern border). Yup, I'm a road trip junkie.

But what we discovered over the last 3 days was that road trips in New Zealand would be fundamentally different. We wanted less road and more trip. After making the decision to eliminate Queenstown from our itinerary, we finished off the evening by playing another game of Hearts back at the B&B. Curt won again. Nolan and Erica aren't going to want to play with him much longer if he keeps whooping their sorry butts.

PS - There were NO Adventures today. We were quite pleased with ourselves.

PPS - I called Austin on his birthday tonight. It was 2:00 a.m. in Bellingham, but he was still up. We had a long talk. I miss him.