Day the Third

Not only did I get up in time this morning, but I got up in time to have breakfast, and to make myself a bag lunch for the day. My mom would be proud. If I can turn that into a habit, then I’ll be proud of myself. Then I gathered the things I would need for the day: sunscreen, sunglasses, a jacket just in case. I joined the rest of the group, and we walked to today’s destination: a ferry that would take us across the harbor to an island.

I love being on the water. It is full of so much power, so much energy, and I know full well what damage waves can do, yet when I feel them rocking a boat that I’m on, all I sense is peace. Some people fear the water. I respect it, yes, but I do not fear it. 

The ferry:

The view from the ferry:

The island:

The ferry ride was shorter than I’d have liked, but the island was interesting enough to make up for it. It has two names: Somes, the English name for it, and Matiu, the Maori name. The Maori are the indigenous people of New Zealand. I want to say they account for about 10% of the population, and have their own language and rich culture which they work hard to preserve. This island is in many ways part of that preservation effort. It is jointly owned by a Maori Iwi (tribe) and some New Zealand conservation group which I believe is government-related.  But the island is also a historical/natural reserve, home to many native New Zealand species, as well as a flock of sheep. There are no predatory mammals and minimal foreign plants there, and they work hard to keep it that way. When we arrived, we had to check our bags for stowaway rodents and our shoes for dirt.

The botanic garden yesterday was awe-inspiring. This island was even more so. We wandered along trails covering the whole island, taking in the scenic views of the harbor with the mountainous mainland as a backdrop, finding native species to observe, learning about the historic landmarks. Apparently, the island was used in the early 1900’s as a quarantine location for smallpox victims. Later, in World Wars I and II, it was used to contain prisoners of war and any who were deemed potential threats to New Zealand (namely, those with German-sounding names or accents). I don’t know why, but I found it surprising that that sort of thing happened in New Zealand just as it did in America. You don’t think of New Zealand as having participated in the World Wars, even though the very name of those wars indicates that it should have. You don’t hear about New Zealand’s participation. Not in America, anyway.

There was group of people at the summit of the island, practicing what appeared to be a form of martial art similar to Kendo. (By that I mean they were using sticks. Kendo is the one where they use sticks, right?) One elderly man led the group, most of whom appeared to be preteen and teenage boys. I was impressed; the wind on the summit was strong enough that at times it felt like it would knock me over. (That’s not, in fact, an exaggeration.) I guessed, and later had confirmed, that they were a group of Maori. Apparently, they were learning the use of a club, which is some sort of rite of passage for men. I didn’t take any pictures because it didn’t seem appropriate. But I’m glad I got to see it, and it’s not something I want to forget. As for everything else on the island, I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Fuzzy brown seal (no idea what the actual name of it is):

The first plant I noticed was a red clover. The same kind we have back home. The same kind that is the state flower of Vermont. I thought the dandelions yesterday were a reminder of home. This was even more so.

Various scenic views: (These are only a handful of the many, many pictures I took. I went a little camera-happy.)

The sheep:

We ate a picnic lunch on the island, then got back on the ferry, which took us to a beach near to a small town called Eastbourne. The beach was lovely, covered with purple shells. All the shells were purple, it seems; I’m not sure why. Much more exciting was the playground we discovered on the edge of town. It had swings, and a giant slide, and a carousel-type thing called the Rocktopus. 

The Rocktopus:

 But the best part by far was the hampster wheel named the Mouse House. I don't even know how long we spent taking turns playing on that thing. You have no idea how hard it actually is to run in one of those; every one of us took a turn falling head over heels, quite literally, and laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. There were some close calls, but no one was injured. I loved it. (Again, pretend the picture below is rotated, until I figure out how to fix it.)

We joked of making a playground the Class of 2014 gift, and I wish we could. Unsafe as it may have been, the Mouse House was brilliant. It was good to just act like a kid for a little while—a kid who’s actually big enough to use all the playground toys.

We left the playground after a while and stopped to get gelato before heading back to the ferry, which brought us back to Wellington. We returned to the apartments to relax for the rest of the evening. I, of course, picked up my computer and set off for Te Papa.

I found a single electrical outlet, but someone was already using it. So it was just battery power again. I stayed until the museum closed and once again relocated to outside. This time, though, I was delayed—by a crazy Dutch-turned-New-Zealander who spoke more than half a dozen languages. He was talking to a woman from Germany as I passed, and he complimented me on my shirt, then asked where I was from. Next thing I knew, he was telling me about the time he had visited America, and how small a world it was, that Americans and Germans and Dutch can all come together in Wellington. Everything he said he translated to German for the other woman, and everything he said to her he translated to me. He told a story of a girl he’d met from Pennsylvania, and launched into a history of New York. Soon he called over a man who was listening and asked where he was from—Burma. And then he saw a woman passing with her husband who wore colorful trousers (they are trousers here, not pants, because pants means underwear) and asked where she was from—the Netherlands—and insisted she come over and join us. And then he had a picture taken of all of us.

I call him crazy, and that sort of crazy that’s either awesome or creepy, depending on your perspective. He wore shorts and a somewhat ratty button-up shirt. His beard was full but grey, his skin brown and leathery and wrinkled, his teeth crooked and yellow, but he was so friendly you couldn’t help but laugh. He carried a bag that contained, among other things, a piece of cardboard from an Old Pennsylvania Dutch Style Eggnog case, or something like that, from when he visited America. He also had a bright yellow hardhat which he used to weigh down a stack of newspaper clippings. He was fluent at least in English and Dutch, and also partially spoke Maori, German, Spanish, French, and at least one or two others. He spoke rapidly and endlessly, and would easily get distracted mid-sentence and start on another thought, making it difficult at best to follow what he was saying. Some things he repeated many times over. He made really, really bad jokes, so bad that they were funny anyway. And I didn’t bring my camera with me, so I wasn’t able to get any pictures.

I think his goal was to bring different people together, and he did—though we were all glancing at each other, wondering what the heck this guy was about, and whether we would ever be able to get away from him. He certainly made it hard to leave. At least half an hour must have passed before I managed to continue on my way, and I’m not sure how gracefully I did so.

I am pleased to say that when it came time, I made it back to the apartment without getting lost. I had dinner (leftover spaghetti) and relaxed for a while before joining a group that was headed out to explore some more. We simply walked around, with the vague intention of maybe finding a bar or something, but instead we sort of went in circles. But it was a fun time. We shared scattered knowledge of American Sign Language, people took turns leading the group and pretending to know where they were going, and we located some restaurants that may be worth trying in the future. And I looked up and saw stars in the sky, brigher and more numerous than we can see in Worcester, though not so much as we can see in Vermont. And I saw Orion, a little crooked, but definitely Orion. And that made me smile.