Incognito

We Americans are odd creatures. It seems over the past few years we've almost been scared into blending to point of getting annoyed when we are discovered. Sure, you get the occasional girl or guy that all too happy to share their entire life story in one breath with anyone who'll listen, but on the whole, especially when traveling, we shrink from being discovered as a red, white and blue kid. I met one such dude yesterday. I was coming up to a cross-walk, anxious to catch up to Paul who was already in the student lounge talking to his parents on Skype. Already waiting for the walk signal was a guy wearing Chacos and an REI messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Call-out time! (hehe heh.) I came up on his left.

"Where in the States are you from?"
Startled that anyone was even talking to him, "I'm from the United S..." realizing a second into his answer what i had asked him. "Uh, Virginia" "How did you know?" He scowled.
"Your chacos." and then i added, "and your REI bag."
He still looked perturbed. The little green walk man lit up. We started to cross.
"Where are you from?" Now realizing he could actually start a conversation.
"Colorado" i paused, "Denver" (to solidify my rights to know all things Chaco and REIish)
He headed straight as i turned left to cross over the next street to get to Paul. He paused for a second.
"They don't have Chacos here?" He had shock in his voice, not sure if it was because he suddenly faced with the prospect of never finding a second pair here or because he'd been clearly type-casted.
"Nope, I figured you were either Canadian or American, then your bag sealed the deal."
He slowly walked straight ahead, bewildered.
"Have a nice day."
"Uh, same, uh, to you."

I think he ran back to his room to switch his shoes and bag. Who knows though, maybe the comfort of his sandals and his sturdy bag won out over his embarrassment.

Was that mean of me? I was getting bored and needed a bit of amusement, but c'mon, at least it wasn't as embarrassing as my tramping bit.

Guess what?! New additions

No, not kids. Get your mind out of the gutter.

In addition to our mattress, which we so proudly prosed about in a previous post, and a most fantastic lovingly shared Antarctica mug that Lucas bequeathed to us (that i drink from on days that end in "y" and Paul uses the other times), we've added a few more items to Apartment 133. We now own a small pot, 2 bowls and 2 plates. While it was fun to create ways to eat using the packaging that our food came in it didn't always work to our benefit (carpet fuzz in food is not the ideal condiment) and we deemed some more dishes would be useful. Pictured here:

Ode to the Bed

match set of mattress and boxspring
oh soft one, we have so longed for.

you brought us joy when we pushed
pulled heaved you through our door.

for four long weeks we have dreamt of you
while we yet slept on the rock hard floor.

paul voiced, "the carpet's not so bad"
but it got harder as the nights onward wore.

we love you dear soft feathery bed
right down to your fluff-a-lumptious core.

you were named well, oh, sleepyhead
serenity vitality; the label you bore.

the dusty flannel sheets that wrap you
were crap from the time they left the store.

oh bed, you are worthy of only legend
mythical fairytale; mystical lore.

bed, we adore your quilted soul
with a love that increases evermore.

and thanks to you oh wondrous bed
our backs, our spines are no longer sore.

Sail away...

As our consolation prize for not being able to afford 2 train tickets we went for a spin with Eric-a, Bullfrog, Tonka, and Geezer the People Pleaser. By spin i mean a sail around the Auckland Harbor and the Bay of Islands in an America Cup Race Boat. IT WAS AMAZING! (please read the last line in a high-pitch monotone robot voice to get the full effect.)

Say what?!

Now that we are starting to venture out into actual conversations with people other than ourselves we are beginning to learn a bit more about pronunciations and idioms of the kiwi language. Its been awkward. We live off Quay Street. Even though our address is Dockside Lane, our actual building faces Quay Street. We went to a church yesterday. It took us an hour and twenty minutes to walk there but we made it in time for the service. After the service was meet and greet/tea and biscuit time. The parishioners were really friendly and not the least bit hesitant at correcting our pronunciations of things. They asked where we lived. We told them Quay Street. They looked at us blankly. We said down by the docks. They corrected us by saying, "Oh, the ports, (uh, yeah, the ports...what's the difference??) Quay Street." We pronounced it Quay, rhymes with Ray. They pronounced it Key, rhymes with Knee. The worst part about this was that i didn't pick up on it, because of their accents until we had actually left the church to hike home. As we were scaling down a hill-side field desperate to find a short-cut Paul said, "Did you realize they pronounce Quay Street, Key Street?" No, i hadn't. As Paul was talking to an older gentlemen, i overheard the conversation. They were talking about hiking down on the south island. The older gentleman used the word tramping instead of hiking. I knew what he meant and desperate to fit in, being a former REI employee and avid hiker, i burst in "Tramping is my life!" The older gentleman was delighted. Paul had to choke back the snickers and keep from spewing tea all over the place. And so continued my awkward moment pregnant with awkward moments. Good grief.