Once were Warriors

I've been trying to find a free second to write on this blog, but most of them have been spent sleeping. Well I finally got some good sleep last night (after a lovely meal made by my own personal French cook - thank you Catfish) and am ready to write what will quite possibly turn into a longer post than anyone would be willing to read. Well here goes: My first week in New Zealand.

I had three planes to catch on my 33 hour trip overseas. The first was from JFK on Virgin America. I can't quite call it a flight though. Upon boarding your eye must immediately adjust to the opaque purple plexi glass and neon blue and purple lighting. Patent leather seats were each equipped with a Mac-white screen on the back of each and a remote control that has a game comptroller on the reverse. I suppressed my visions of Night at the Roxbury.
Little did I know that EACH flight I'd be on had such a screen (though not the leather seats or the lighting). As a result I cannot count the amount of movies and TV series I saw. Who has time to read when Fantastic Mr. Fox is on call?

My arrival to the country proceeded relatively uneventfully. My room at the Ilam dorms is hugs, and a single. As soon as I start unpacking my things, my flatmate walks in and introduces himself. His name is Catfish, from France. There are other people that live in the dorm (3 others) including an RA, but I never really see them… ever.

The next day was the semi-final between Netherlands and Uruguay in the World Cup and I watched it at 6 am local time. A bit later was the international orientation. They went through the usual stuff: safety, local slang, class stuff, opportunities. Unlike the usual stuff, though, every single presenter let us know how much of a drinking culture New Zealand. [For my observations of this culture, please refer to Facebook.] The policeman who spoke – the only one on the entire campus btw – was probably the funniest. He was the perfect frame of a policeman: giant rugby player with the best English accent saying things like “It’s fine if you drink, just don’t be an idiot.”

Lunch at orientation was catered… seriously catered. They had a full buffet including huge slabs of lamb and beef and about 8 vegetarian options. Then they went around and collected everyone’s ceramic dishes – no paper plates here. I met lots of people during lunch, including a pair of German friends, both named Felix.

The next morning, another semi, this time Germany and Spain. A couple of guys – Brian from Philly and Mo, a local – and I head down to a bar to watch the second half. The bar is called the Holy Grail and it is soo cool. It has a huge screen and the whole bar is three floors, partially in stadium seating. It probably used to be a cinema, but anyway it is the perfect place to watch a game. There are people that are definitely there from the night before. I guess it is a drinking culture. We’re going back to this place for the final.

Brian was also the guy responsible for my first lovely weekend in New Zealand. He told me about a bit of a ski trip in the mountains headed by the SnowSports club of UC. Well, this was just crazy. At 7:30 am we all pile into cars and a van and head out to the mountain, Temple Basin. The club has their own cabin up there. About four hours later, we get out of the van and load all the stuff in it in a basket attached to a lift that carts our stuff up to the cabin. For us it is about a 40 minute hike up the mountain with commanding views of bare snow-capped mountains.

There isn’t much snow to ski on, as you can see from the photos, but some people do anyway. It’s another 30 minute hike from the cabin to the only open slope that people were doing with equipment. And this wasn’t a skip and jump kind of trail either. After that it’s a perpetually broken t-bar lift (no chairlifts here).Anyway, I decided not to go skiing. Brian, another American Luke (or Jake the Mus as it turned into later), and I went for a hike instead. We joined a group of five Kiwi girls on our way up. So we all went over one ridge, then another, then a third, found a lake, and decided to turn around and go down. Except the way we came now looked boring, but that valley down there looks like fun. We can sit on our butts and ride our way down!

Yea… so that’s what we did. And it was a blast! Clambering over rocks, sliding down like penguins, searching for our next step, hoping that the cabin will eventually appear in our line of view. Well we did so for a bit, but then stumbled across a valley… a very deep and steep valley. It was possible to climb down, but the sun was setting kind of quick and it may not be such a great idea. So up we go over another ridge and one more after that, doing some nice clambering to do so and eventually find a relatively easier way down with the cabin in our view. I was soaked and tired and thrilled to be alive (as in the loving life way, not the almost died way).

As soon as people got back off the slopes they started drinking. It was quite funny to watch. I am not a huge drinker, so that’s mostly what I did: watch. I met quite a bit of people including Archie, Cam, Joanne, Nina, Julie, Mark, and others. Drinking games galore, boarding down the stairs (not a smart endeavor), and 65 year old men doing funnels (no freaking joke). It’s enough to say that I woke up at 9 and there were people still drinking. Luke was drinking for an entire 24 hours: 3pm to 3pm the next day. *Slapping the goon= hitting the sack from a box of wine before taking a sip* By 11am, Luke was being called Jake the Mus, a reference to a popular NZ movie Once were Warriors that’s akin to a Tarantino flick: family violence and, hell, violence in general. Luke is the exact opposite of Jake, skinny, wouldn’t hurt a fly. Thus the name stuck.

The rest of this week was a series of parties. On Monday I did my first spin class and then we went out for a beer at the Foundry, the bar on campus. It turned into a bit of a late night, but it was so worth it. On Tuesday I got worked out by GI Joe in class called circuit express and my personal French cook made us a steak dinner. Wednesday was Big Gary’s Palooza, a huge party (a couple of hundred people) endemic to one house next to Big Gary’s Fish and Chips, inherited by whoever moves into it. Four huge buckets of drink were in the middle of their front lawn. They are sold as detergent because it’s illegal to sell alcohol in quantities that big. And I witnessed my first couchfire, a popular pastime in this part of the world. After the party, we headed over to the Foundry once again and had a big dance party. Finally, home.

I may stay forever.

ps - check fb for pictures; the blogs not letting me post any