'Tis the Season

Sales flyers announce the rapidly approaching holidays, the streets are decorated with garland and wreaths, miniature Christmas trees adore the halls of the shopping mall...and it just feels so odd. It would seem my brain has been programmed to reconcile chilly temperatures and snow with Christmas, twenty-seven degrees and flip-flops do not compute. Oddest of all, the image of Santa Claus remains the same, full red suit with hat and boots. Shouldn't he be in a speedo? I'm certainly glad he isn't, but it would make more sense.

Coast to Coast

Since arriving in Auckland, I've been harassing my husband to undertake the Coast to Coast Walkway. This 16 kilometer urban hike begins overlooking the Waitemata Harbour and the Pacific Ocean, traverses ancient volcanoes and beautiful parks, to finish at the Manukau Harbour and Tasman Sea. As this past Saturday dawned with blue skies, my Aunt Anne & Uncle Larry committed to the trek so we hopped the bus down to the CBD (Central Business District). Dave & Mikaela were seated in the prime bus seats, as the rest of us shuffled further back. Shortly after we pulled away from the curb, I noticed Dave struggling to force Mikaela to stand. It would seem the excitement of the bus had caused her to poop her pants, and Dave was trying desperately to stop her from squishing it :-)

Once disembarking, we made one quick stop at the public toilets, before collecting our map and heading out. The Waitemata Harbour was sparkling as we left it behind and worked our way across downtown to the University of Auckland Campus; it was here that I realized the provided map was vague at best. Where exactly are these arrows I was supposed to see en route? And why are most of the streets on the map unnamed? Oh well, my cohorts soldiered on without question as I wondered if I was leading us astray. Perhaps Dave sensed my hesitation, or perhaps he truly was thinking of Mikaela's patience, but he took the opportunity to veer homeward as we crossed the Auckland Domain.

Anne, Larry & I continued onward and upward, approaching our first true volcanic climb - Maungawhau - or Mt. Eden for those of us unable to pronounce Maori names. It was on this climb, that I truly lost the trail and wandered aimlessly. Were we really supposed to end up in a cow pasture? In retrospect, yes. The only other way to reach the top is via the road, a good tramp through cow country is definitely preferable. Although I had previously climbed Mt. Eden with Dave & Mikaela, the warm sunshine and lack of a small child made it even more enjoyable. There was ample time to truly appreciate the view; both Harbours are visible and there are no less than seven volcanoes towering over their surrounding areas.

A few more missed turns and extended routes, and we arrived at Cornwall Park, the entryway to Maungakiekie - or One Tree Hill. With mature trees and wide open fields, stone fences and sheep grazing on the hillside, you can almost picture the affluent families of yesterday picnicking on the grounds, parasols in hand. Given our earlier trek through the cow pasture, I shouldn't have been surprised to find us soon making our way through the sheep pasture. I believe I still have proof of that on the bottom on my sneaker. Again, we were rewarded with beautiful views and as a bonus the sense of accomplishment was starting to bubble to the surface; the SkyTower in the distance represented our starting point while we could see the Manukau Harbour only a short distance away. In less than six hours, we'd ridden a bus, changed a poopy pants, and walked literally across the city - what a fabulous day.

Barely Adequate +

Last year, shortly after I returned to full-time employment, my husband informed me that I was a barely adequate mother. Apparently, by his standards, any mother who returns to work is barely adequate. It is the stay at home moms, like my sister Natalie and my girlfriend Carmen, who are great moms. It should also be noted that Dave told me last week it was his birthright to not cook supper, as the male he should come home to a warm home cooked meal every night. He's full of such crazy ideas, but I digress. With the move to New Zealand, Dave suggested I could be upgraded to a good mom. Yet, it was his humble opinion that since I was still working part-time, the elusive great mom label was still unattainable. Almost three months into this adventure, I can honestly say...we'll see about that :-)

Auckland Half-Marathon

Prior to leaving Canada, I boasted to my running buddies that I would be doing the Auckland Half-Marathon. Therefore, I was disappointed to discover that registration was full before I even landed on kiwi soil! With this news, I admit, I let my training begin to slide...sure, I still ran. I even still ran my long slow distances, but speed intervals - who needs them? Hill repeats? Nope, only Teresa could ever motivate me to do those. And yet three weeks ago, in a moment of insanity, I purchased a registration off TradeMe (the New Zealand version of eBay). I knew there would be no personal bests on race day, but I felt it wasn't everyday you get to run across the Auckland Harbour Bridge!

Race day started at 4:18 am today; although my alarm was set to go off two mintues later, it was the sound of Mikaela heaving that woke me up. As any good mother, I stripped off her soiled cloths and bedding and promptly threw her in bed with her father so I could focus on me. I quickly ate, dressed, and crept out of the house. The overnight rain had all but stopped, I made my way through the remaining misty darkness to catch the ferry. The ride across the harbour was a bumpy one complete with several parking attempts, but I soon disembarked at Devonport on the North Shore of Auckland. Tourism propoganda claims Devonport is scenic, but I'm afraid I didn't give it much of a look; my focus was securing my spot in the port-a-loo line-up. In retrospect, I should have atleast watched the sunrise over the harbour as I waited. There's always next time...

At 6:22 am, I joined the runners at the start. As with every race, there was a nervous energy in the air; People shuffling, adjusting iPods, and fixing their gear just right as we awaited the gun. At exactly 6:30 am, 7500 race participants commenced the 2008 edition of the Auckland Half-Marathon & Marathon. It would appear Auckland's characters were out in form, I saw the local Borat, Dorothy & the Wizard of Oz crew, plus Luke Skywalker and his nemesis Darth Vader. In fact, the image of a practically naked man with Sorry Mum written across his bottom is most likely permanently burned into my brain.

Part of the mental game of every race is the identification of people you can catch and reeling them in, at 3k I chose this little wisp of a woman. Through the rolling hills of the next several kilometers, I had her in my sights and then she was gone. When that happens, you always hope you overtook them without noticing, but deep down you know they are most likely pulling away from you. Perhaps she got away while I was taking in the scenery, it was no Bermuda, but Auckland has its moments ;-) At 16k, I relocated my target and reeled her in. As I caught her, I explained that I'd been chasing her for over and hour and asked if she'd pull away again so I'd need to chase her down again. She graciously declined my offer but ran along with me for a couple kilometers and then sent me on my way. Somehow what little wind was in my sails seemed to desert me only a kilometer or so down the road. I stopped to walk. Within thirty seconds, I felt the push on my back and 'Come-on'. She had rejoined me and escorted me until the paths for the Half & Full Marathons diverged. I am extremely thankful for her intervention and words of encouragement. I crossed the line with a personal worst of 2:18:40. Am I disappointed? Nope. It was the toughest run of my life, no Teresa, no Dave, just me and 7499 other people I'd never met.

Rotorua

Bubbling mud pools, chanting warriors, and the whirl of helicopters are all pare for the course in Rotorua. This tourist destination claims to be like no other place in the world and they might just be right.


In celebration of our first long weekend in New Zealand, we headed south to Rotorua. The moms in my playgroups seemed to think this was a less than ideal choice; they warned of the city's sulphuric odour and cough inducing air. These women had obviously never driven through Thurso on the way to Tremblant, or Saint John when the wind blows the wrong way. Yes, it had a sulphur scent but it was subtle with no respiratory distress.

As we made our way across the pedestrian-friendly downtown core on Saturday morning, we made a strategic decision to cater to Mikaela first in hopes of some grown-up activity later. On this day, we would be rewarded. The volcanic playground on the shores of Lake Rotorua is a two-year old's dream, she swung and climbed, teetered and tootered. Daddy took it to the next level in allowing her to wear a life jacket and go in the paddle boat; Dora frequently wears a life jacket so she can be safe. At the lakefront, you had your pick of scenic activity - floatplane, helicopter, traditional waka (canoe), and so forth. Dave nagged for a helicopter ride, but I said no. On the recommendation of a friend, we then made our way over to Kuirau Park. In retrospect, I consider this wonderful free park as a geothermal teaser. As Mikaela napped, we took in our first bubbling mud pools, hot springs, and steam upflows. Additionally, the gardens were beautiful, a playground was available for the little miss, and Dave & I were able to enjoy some delights at the local market - fresh local strawberries for me ;-) After a brief return to the hotel to recharge Dave, we took a drive out to view the famous Blue & Green lakes and, of course, visit our third playground of the day.

Although I'd enjoyed my first glimpse of geothermal activity, Sunday, I awoke determined to see a geyser. Te Puia is located on the outskirts of Rotorua, it is home to seven geysers, sulphuric pools, hot rocks, and lots of goo - Mikaela's very adept description of bubbling mud pools. It is owned by the Maori, the Polynesian indigenous people of NZ, and provides a glimpse into their past lives and even current ones. We naively opted to purchase tickets to the 10:15 am cultural performance in hopes that Mikaela would be enchanted; instead, I found myself vacating the meeting house within the first two minutes with a protesting toddler tucked under my arm. Later, Dave rejoined us, and reported the performance was good and the Haka, a war dance, quite chilling. We enjoyed the geysers, but alas, we were not treated to one of its fabled 30m spurts. Perhaps if Mikaela could work on her patience so we could wait longer, on the naturally heated stone bleachers, for it next time. On the way out, we again passed by a helicopter scenic ride location but again, I denied Dave's request to take to the skies. We finished the day off with a trip to the Rotorua Aquatic Centre; it was one of those rare moments that I was noticably a minority - not because of my gender, but my pastey white skin. I found it a very odd sensation and wondered if my visible minority friends continue to feel it.

On Monday, Dave took in some of Rotorua's world-renowned Mountain Bikes trails. In his words, it was some sweet single-track, the best he's ever ridden. We capped off the weekend with a trip to a trout farm. Ironically, it was Kate, mother of two, who suggested this child-friendly activity to me - I scoffed at her. I certainly didn't want to see a trout farm. Paradise Valley Farms is more than a trout farm, they have beautiful trails throughout their property and several farm animals, as well as other more exotic animals. The highlight for Dave & I was the daily lion feeding; these magnificant cats are housed in a large chain link enclosure. Silly men and naive children alike can tempt fate by putting their fingers through the fence, Mikaela herself gave it a try. I don't think she understand the dangerous speech I gave her, but she did lose interest and wandered off to quote Dora episodes on a patch of grass. The keeper gave a running commentary on their lions as he tossed chunks of meat into the cage. It was fascinating to watch them leap, roll, and posture for their bits. Terrifying and beautiful at the same time, if ever in the area with a small child, the trout farm is a must-see - and don't forget to purchase the food to feed the little fishies.

All in all, I loved Rotorua. I can't wait to go back. Dave too, we didn't make it to any of the heart-stopping, vomit-inducing activities he wants to try - bungy jumping, zorbing, luging...

Behind the Wheel

As a teenager, Dad took me out to learn how to drive. He taught all the lead-footed MacLeod daughters, one by one. As I recalled those driving lessons today, there was no sense of fear or hesitation, only excitement, adrenaline and my father's exasperation. Today, a decade and a half later, I was the very definition of the white-knuckled driver.

In an earlier post, I described the narrow, winding, up and down road to Piha. As circumstances would have it, it would be on this road that I begin my kiwi driving experience. It was unnatural, I was trying to reprogram my brain while negotiating tight turns, steep climbs, and following the GPS. On one hand I was thankful I was heading into Auckland. This meant the steep, certain death drop-offs were on the other side of the road. I was merely terrified of the non-existent shoulder and deep ditch on my side. And why was that guy trying to crawl up my ass? Fine, I'll find a spot to pull over and let him pass. Yikes! I just left part of our car in that rut. And so it went for the first ten kilometers, and then I began to relax. I was doing it, I was driving on the wrong side of the road!

It was a false sense of security; soon I entered the confusing land of blinkers, wipers, and roundabouts. Why did they have to switch the location of the blinkers and wipers? And why can't that guy behind me understand that fast wiper speed means I'm turning left? Slow wipers=right. What did Dave say about the roundabouts? Am I in the right lane? Crap, I think I'm in the wrong one. Oh well, I made it through...I'm sure I'll do better next time. And I did.

Driving in New Zealand - check.

American? Me? No.

With Halloween approaching, it was time to locate and acquire the perfect novelty tee-shirt. It would have to be adorable, most likely sporting witches, pumpkins, or ghosts, in my wildest dreams - perhaps all three! The height of New Zealand's children's fashion seems to be the appropriately named Pumpkin Patch, so we headed there. The store was a maze or cute summer outfits, swim suits, and sun hats. There was not a pumpkin in the place; was I missing something? As a mom on a mission, I headed directly to the cash to inquire if said novelty tee-shirts existed in New Zealand. I was informed "We don't celebrate Halloween like Americans in New Zealand".

In a knee-jerk reaction, I wanted to correct her; didn't she know I wasn't American? And then, why did it matter if this one sales associate, who I would never see again, thought I was an American? I should note that every American I have every had prolonged contact with has been extremely pleasant and accommodating...yet, I feel that America is perceived as the Big Bully and wish to distance myself from it. In the end, I let it slide and wander away preoccupied with my thoughts. How does the Land of Opportunity become the Big Bully? And is it really perceived as such? If so, why are there still waves of immigrants applying each and every year to live in America? Or is it merely better to be part of the Big Bully in the World's Playground?

This morning at the market, I would again be called an American. This time there was no hesitation - I gently corrected with Canadian. It was not a wish to distance myself from America this time, merely a desire to make my heritage known. With this in mind, I made my way to the Crepe counter et j'ai commandé un crepe d'oeufs et de fromage. C'était magnifique :-)