Wow. Bye New Zealand!

My bags are packed. My bank account is closed. My bike's been sold off to a happy new Kiwi home. And I saw my last takahe.

This evening I'm flying from Wellington to Auckland. Then I have a quick 6500 miles to California, a teeny 9-hour layover in LA (where hopefully my Los Angeleno friend Alyssa will take me to the beach and feed me ice cream), and then another cool six hour flight across the country back to Pittsburgh, land of french fry salads.

I've already started my pre-travel routine: stress-eating, crying, drinking bad wine, and not sleeping. It's a very centering process for multi-day airport expeditions.

Exams are finally over (how many people forgot I was in school? I know I did. And then I had to take two exams over the weekend). All the exchange students are running out of time on their visas, and people are trickling away. We all tried to make our last week in New Zealand a good one, savoring our last cups of coffee and visiting zoos. But mostly it's been a week full of loaded goodbyes and repetitive conversations about flight schedules and airline food.

Like everyone else, I'm struggling to create significance with my last day (hence the goofy bird in the header photo instead of a dramatic Wellington sunset). Don't get me wrong - I've absolutely loved my time here. I've learned a lot, met heaps of amazing people, and seen some spectacular landscapes. It's been a wonderful break from reality. But my real life is still hanging suspended in the USA. Now I'm ready to start it again - to reconnect with my friends and family, do some real schoolwork, finish off my degree, and get serious about running again. I won't be cutting ties with New Zealand. I know I'm going to miss it as soon as I get home, so I'm definitely coming back here in the future. But right now I've got some unfinished business in Pennsylvania and Ohio.

So that's all I've got for now.

Peace out friends!




PS - Happy America Day! You should probably all go see the new Spiderman, because what's more patriotic than a cute guy in a red, white, and blue bodysuit? But really, it's awesome.

wellington half marathon

I have a knack for running half marathons when I'm in bad shape. My first was the Deckers Creek Half Marathon, a rail trail race with a slight downhill grade the whole way. To train before the race, I took 2 weeks off and then did a couple 7 mile runs. I came through the first 5k under 21 minutes and then felt like I was going to have a massive organ failure. I stumbled into the finish at 1:39. Walking was almost impossible for three days after that. 

Running hasn't necessarily been a priority here in New Zealand. Eating cake and taking walks have been more a lot more appealing than training. So naturally I signed up for the Wellington half marathon.

The morning was gray, and my sinuses were clogged. This wouldn't be a fast day. I shoved through the start I saw a pacer with a white flag stuck in her hydration belt. She was leading the 1:45 group. I attached myself to her as the 1500 runners shuffled out of the start line. We dodged in and out of the crowd, struggling to get into a rhythm. As the course wound past the museum and toward the waterfront, the pacer's watch screeched. At the next kilometer it screeched again. This was unbearable. I ran ahead to the guy pacing the 1:40 group. His watch was really loud too. I moved up to run with an old lady with an aggressive arm-swing.

"Twenty three thirty," grunted a tattooed guy in a pink fairy costume at the 5k. Is that too fast? Most of the mucus had drained out of my nose. My legs felt fine. And I couldn't let myself get trounced by a sparkly Dahn Powers. I went on ahead. 

I ran through the aid station at the 10k and caught up to another group. Too fast. The wind picked up, so I tucked in behind some big guys in short shorts. The Kenyan in the lead blew past us in the opposite direction. 

At the turn-around point I was pretty sure I'd gone out too hard. Only 6.5 more miles. Oof. That has to be the worst consolation I've ever given myself. 

I tucked in behind another group of three runners. Just chill here for the rest of the race. Then a bald guy in a blue singlet peeled away. I went with him. 

He turned to look back at me. "How're you going?" he puffed. I grunted. Just pull me in, please. 

Back along the waterfront, weaving in and out of walkers and 10k runners. Past a woman in a red Boston Marathon Jacket. My brain started congratulating itself loudly. Rain dripped down, fogging up my glasses. I held onto the guy's blue singlet with my eyes and tried to wheeze more quietly. 

In the last kilometer, I tried a jerky sprint to the finish. 1:37:11. Bald guy was doubled over. He grinned at me. Another dude pounded through the line and held out his hand. It was covered in sticky blue and green slime. "Awww my gummies, man! I squeezed 'em too hard!" Gross. 

I walked toward the people handing out bananas and Powerade with Tin-Man legs. But considering I'd just run a half marathon with negative splits without proper training, I didn't feel too bad.

"Hey!" It was the lady in the Boston jacket. "You know, you should try the marathon. You could be really good." I smiled and thanked her. Maybe after next cross country season.

That race affirmed how much I shouldn't be running the 5k. I can't wait to be done with college so I can start training for distances I'm good at running.

Later I rewarded myself with a burger and a Pixar movie about Scottish bears.

 I was still emotionally raw, so I cried a lot at the end. Then I went to bed and slept for 11 hours. 

21

Does this even need words? Probably one of the best birthdays ever. 

feeling beachy

Even though people keep talking about how it's winter here, I don't believe them. Besides the chilly wind, I'm in full-on summer mode. Classes are over, the sun's out, and I've been hanging out at beaches. 

I spent the past couple weekends on the Wellington's rocky coast. It's not such a great spot for tea parties, because the wind blows the lettuce off your sandwiches and makes the tea go cold really quickly.

(Thank goodness chocolate's too heavy to blow away)

But it is a terrific spot for taking pictures...

and going on hikes to see the Red Rocks again...

saying hello to the South Island...

eating at nautical-themed cafés...

and climbing around on rocks.

If you take a short ferry trip across Wellington's harbor, you can even go hang out on a tiny island for the day.

 Provided you agree to some manual labor

and bring along a pair of fuzzy glittens.

But tomorrow I'm off to see some real beaches (by myself - eep! - because everybody else is busy taking finals or going to Australia with their parents).

I've booked a few bus tickets to go around the Northernmost tip of New Zealand - creatively dubbed Northland and supposedly the warmest, driest part of the country. I'm flying in to Auckland tomorrow and heading to Paihia, Raglan, and the Coromandel from there. My bag's all packed and ready to go - with a raincoat and a fuzzy hat shoved inside just in case.

5 more weeks.

The past couple weeks haven't been terribly eventful. 

I've been taking walks by the waterfront, watching sunsets and hanging out at hipster cafés. I met some sweet new Kiwi friends who told me I stick out like an American flag in my running shoes and purple fleece jacket. I bought a pair of cute boots so people will stop staring at me.

I finally got around to taking pictures of these sweet city sculptures.

And I've put all my shorts back into my suitcase for storage. They say it's getting on to be winter here. There's a nip in the air and my flat doesn't have central heating. But check out that sunshine. This is the most pleasant transition into winter I've ever seen.

I just realized a couple days ago that my semester is almost over. We only have two more weeks of class until exams start. I'm having a hard time coming to terms with that. After a couple months, we're just settling in, making friends, finding our favorite restaurants. And then we're yanked away back to the States. It's such a conflicting experience. First Wellington felt foreign, all the way across the world from my home. I was homesick, thrilled, and lost. Then I got used to it and life got dull. I scampered down to the South Island and found myself missing the city's bays and cafés. When I came back Wellington felt like home.

Soon it won't be home anymore. In just five weeks I'll be on a plane back to Pennsylvania. I'll be displaced again, to a new semester and a new house in Ohio. After that I'll be transient again, looking for a place to live after college to start a real life with bills to pay and no essays to write.

Thank goodness for study abroad. None of that seems scary anymore. I could live anywhere and do whatever I want, as long as I have some money for food.

But I am going to miss Wellington quite a lot.

(This weekend I'm headed to a yoga retreat in Otaki! We'll be cooking vegan food and chanting a whole bunch. I hope there's lots of incense.)

sweet as.

On Friday night, I headed towards the bars on Courtney Place. I walked past the bars and climbed the steps to a yoga studio above a bagel shop. Hot Yoga NZ wasn’t much compared to Wade’s class at home. I’ve honestly never found a class as good as Wade’s. I'm gonna go ahead and say it might just be the best in the world. But it was cheap, I did a lot of restorative breathing, and I probably lost at least 10 pounds in sweat. Overall a good time.

Early Saturday morning I ran 15 miles along Wellington’s waterfront. Waves caught the sunlight and sprayed up onto the sidewalk. A light breeze sent clouds scuttling away across the sky. Everything was easy and bright. It only took about two hours. Not too shabby.

After the run I gallantly set off to erase every health benefit I’d accumulated in the past 12 hours.

Our lovely Arcadia program staff had another awesome activity for us: a pavlova-making lesson. (Remember how excited I was about pavlova? It's probably one of my favorite things about New Zealand.)

A Wellingtonian named Matt graciously opened up his home to introduce us to the sugary side of Kiwi culture. 

He even had balloons to celebrate Trevor's birthday and a full table spread of Kiwi snack food: marshmallows, gummy Eskimos, mini sausages, fairy bread (what Kiwis feed their children: bread with butter and sprinkles), and some kind of mysterious cream-filled sponge cake called a lamington (pink thing in the back right corner). Everything was deliciously processed and full of white sugar.

Matt walked us through how to make a good, fluffy meringue. Good God. It's labor intensive. We used a hand mixer, because I assume electric mixers make food taste worse.We took turns beating the egg whites and sugar together and taking breaks to nibble on candy. After about half an hour of whipping (Matt: Beat the hell out of it!), pavlova bakes in a barely-warm oven for hours and hours before it's the proper crumbly consistency. A whole lot of love has to go into a good merengue. Matt chuckled and pulled out two a couple he'd prepared the night before. We split into two teams to decorate, and the claws came out. Lemon curd and tangerine slices were flying.

Our team went for a classic Kiwi motif with subtle hints of accent color.

The birthday boy's team got creative with sprinkles and letter-candles. They came up with "Happy Dr. T" and a lemon curd face.

 A striking resemblance.

Silly decorations aside, Matt's pav was delicious. We sat around the living room eating and chatting and playing with balloons.

Since lamingtons, fairy bread, and sausages have gluten I opted for a second serving of pavlova. I had a fantastic sugar buzz vibrating in the back of my head as we left that afternoon.

On Sunday I woke up with a sugar hangover. My friend Loren's birthday party to go to that afternoon. It was supposedly going to be a tea party, and there were rumors of a cupcake decorating contest. The thought of sugary treats made my teeth hurt. I'd only have a couple nibbles.

My resolve fell apart immediately.  First Loren had a selection of terrific tea, along with fruit kebabs and hummus and more fairy bread. She even walked me through all the foods so I knew which ones were gluten-free.

Then the cupcakes came out.

Another sweet contest ensued, this time with lots of frosting-nibbling and sugar-sprinkling.

I went a little overboard this time. My theme was "everything." I even had candy dinosaurs.

But my sprinkle explosion didn't stand up to the beach scene or the giant marshmallow tower.

Or the cupcake of death.

Thank goodness Loren had ice cream and more cupcakes to console those of us who didn't win the final vote.

I walked home from Loren's with a deep desire to brush my teeth. It was absolutely delightful.

So friends, you might want to rethink going out to the bars for your birthday parties. Explore the possibilities of tea and cupcakes.

shake it out

Wellington has a Sunday morning fruit and veggie market on the waterfront every week. It's one of my favorite weekend activities. Half the town comes down for a stroll by the water and slammin deals on free range eggs. Asian guys with machetes hack heads of lettuce in half and toss them into sale bins. Giggling Kiwi kids and their dads zoom around on scooters. When it's not raining, there are usually a few guys playing bongos and accordions in between the crêpe booth and the taco stand. 

I love the community energy. Even on the loneliest of homesick Sundays, a walk through the market makes me feel connected to something. I can buy an apple and a coffee, chat with the barista, and go away much happier. 

This morning was sunny and cool. I went to the market for some spinach and zucchini and then stumbled upon a gluten-free bakery stand. I was at peace with the world. I came home to drop off my apples and zucchini. I shoved them in the fridge and sat down at my desk to read. 

The flat shuddered. 

I jumped up and looked around. Did the fridge just fall over? I ran into the kitchen. Nope. I looked outside to see if someone had dropped something on the roof. 

My brain digested the situation. So that's an earthquake.

Since the horrible earthquake in Christchurch last year, New Zealand is full of public service announcements about earthquake preparation. But I wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do in case of a real quake. The ground in Ohio or Pennsylvania never moves. I suppose I should've secured my chandeliers and crawled under my desk instead of shrugging and doing nothing. 

It was bizarre. Even when I'm feeling most well-adjusted to living here, something inevitably butts in to remind me that I'm not at home. If you'll excuse the horrid metaphor, I feel like the earthquake was trying to shake me up. I was definitely unsettled for a moment. Then I pulled out an apple and walked back outside to finish my reading in the botanic gardens. 

Shaky or not, it's still a terrific country. 

down the rabbit hole and what we found there

Another Wellington weekend's come and gone.

This one started out on a low note. After a month of falling in love with the (mostly) beautiful city, I think Wellington was testing the power of our relationship. Last Monday the rain started. I got soaked walking to class. The southerlies blew. My skirt was ripped from my legs a la Marilyn Monroe on multiple occasions. Luckily, houses in Wellington are built with poor insulation and no central heating - so I didn't have any incentive to sit at home and feel sorry for myself. I trudged out the door every day for runs and attempted to enjoy myself.

I didn't take any pictures. I was too depressed.

On Friday morning, my friend and I tried to get tickets for Flight of the Conchords. They sold out in five minutes. So we went to get coffee instead. Holding a steaming cup of espresso, while delightful, doesn't quite feel the same as gripping a crisp new ticket voucher. We were a little sad. Later my friend Lauren and I tried to drag ourselves out of the funk. It was raining. We didn't care. A dingy one-room sushi bar in town sells their rolls for half price every day after 4:00. It wasn't glamorous. But it was delicious.

 OM-NOM picture. Note the rain jacket.

Then we decided to do one of the most popular Kiwi activities: go out drinking. Wellington is full of tiny, cool bars hidden in back alleys. We wandered down one of them and found a rabbit hole.

Alice is the coolest bar I've been to yet. It's a small, dim place crammed with stuff from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The book's original illustrations are displayed on the walls underneath an array of funky clocks and blown-glass lamps. On one side of the room, the furniture is slightly too small and the ceiling is a little too low. On the other, the stools are tall and the ceiling is high. The bar itself is cluttered with teacups and teapots and books. And you can order drinks for two served in your own personal teapot. I believe they also have a few kinds of cake on the menu.

 There's just something inherently awesome about sipping an absinthe cocktail from a teacup.

Saturday rolled around cloudy and rainy. The climbing trip we'd planned was cancelled. I took it as a sign that I should go meet up with the local running club instead. I'm glad I did - I finally connected with some runners in Wellington (no more lonely long runs!). I even managed to get a ride to a race the next day. I walked back into the wind with my skirt whipping around my legs, feeling almost content.

On Sunday morning, one of the club captains picked me up for the Mt. Lowry Challenge, a 12 km trail race. I squinted into the sunrise. The weather had finally broken.

"It's a flat 4k on the road before the trail starts," a runner said as I was waiting in line to register. "The trail might be a little messy and it kind of undulates when you reach the ridge trail. The descent's a bit steep after that."

I nodded. I've done some trail races before. It couldn't be too bad.

The race started flat and fast, winding around the road by the bay. I tucked in behind a group of five girls and blazed along as well as I could. Then we turned up a gravel road and crunched uphill for a while. People started walking. Ha! I don't walk. I run cross country. I surged past, feeling smug. And then we turned onto the real trail. I don't have pictures from it yet, but here's a preview from the event website:

See those people? Do any of them look like they're running? No. Because it was nearly impossible. "Kind of technical" was a gigantic understatement.

The term "trail" only loosely applies to the ridge trail. It was steep and technical, covered in slimy, muddy roots and rocks. I lost sight of the leaders immediately. The climbs were endless. I stopped caring about running fast and started caring about keeping my ankles in one piece. As I picked my way down the descents, little kids bombed past me. Whatever. The last bit of the trail was basically a cliff face covered in roots and gravelly dirt. At least twenty people passed me going down.

I managed a shaky sprint to the finish line and staggered to the water station. I won zero prizes. Eight miles has never felt so long.

Wellington rewarded me for sticking with it in the bad times. The day was still beautiful and sunny. After I washed the mud off my legs and shoes, I went to town to watch the National NZ Barista Competition. The passion for coffee was palpable - you could actually taste the freshly ground espresso in the air.

Wellington's baristas nearly swept the competition. I've made a resolution to visit their cafes. And finals are in Vienna, Italy. If only I could go.

Then I meandered down to the harbor and took some touristy pictures. 

This guy is called "Solace in the Wind." He stands alone every day, facing into the wind at the waterfront. Sometimes I think he looks like he needs a friend.

Then I sat in the grass for a while and read a book. After an atrocious week, it was a perfectly delightful weekend.

a sign from the gods of hilarity.

Everyone I meet seems to be asking one question: Why did you come to New Zealand?

Here are my top five answers:

1. Great stock of wool products
2. A childhood Lord of the Rings fetish
3. Reading lots of travel articles
4. It's not France
5. Flight of the Conchords' deadpan Kiwi humor

Something magical happened today. Flight of the Conchords announced that they'll be going on a tour around New Zealand this year. It's less than a month long, since NZ isn't really that big. This is stupendous news. But I have news that's even better.

Bret and Jemaine will be spending two days in their hometown, Wellington. On June 19th and 20th. THIS IS WHERE I LIVE, PEOPLE. AND JUNE 19 IS MY BIRTHDAY. THIS IS A GIFT FROM THE HEAVENS. I'M ABSOLUTELY GOING.

Please excuse my capital letters. I'm terribly excited. I just might be dancing around my living room.

fish and chips... not a fan

Last night the folks at Victoria University's res life program had a free fish and chip dinner for the apartments on my block. If you're from the Land of the Free, fish and chips = battered fried fish and french fries wrapped in a paper bag.

I chose the gluten-free option, which was veggie pizza. But I stole a bunch chips because I'm undernourished. They were overwhelmingly greasy and - to my American palate - quite under-salted. I used lots of ketchup. The other kids picked at their greasy whitefish, which might have been cod. It looked a little limp. I wasn't upset that I missed out.

I walked away from the dinner feeling oily and heavy. My run this morning was extra hilly to make up for all the saturated fat squishing around in my system.

weekend: mountain bikes and Mt. Victoria

My camera was hibernating in my desk drawer all weekend. All these photos are poached from friends.


Nobody felt like summiting a windy mountain or camping out in the rain this weekend. So I took my friends Kate and Eliza on a bike ride.

They'd never been mountain biking before, but Eliza has a roadie sister in Maine who takes her on rides sometimes. Kate had been mountain biking in Arizona once, but they had to stop a lot to check for snakes along the trail.

The day was bright and sunny. We went to Dirt Merchants, a bike shop down the street from my flat. It's my favorite kind of shop: a tiny one-room deal crammed with bikes and old bike magazines and a couple pieces of merchandise. There's cool music piping through the speakers, and it's right across the street from two great cafés.

The shop manager's a really cool guy named James. He gave Eliza a free upgrade to a full suspension, adjusted my sideways stem, gave us trail advice (brakes in NZ are set up moto-style), made sure we'd packed plenty of snacks and water, and sent us off with a friendly Kiwi wave and a map.

We rode around in the field at the bottom of the trail head. Then we headed up the first hill. After three seconds, I heard hysterical screaming behind me. I turned around.

Kate was deep in a hole. Oh dear.

It got better after that. The trails were smooth, clean, and tight - unlike the craggy, slippery Pennsylvania and Ohio trails I usually ride. It was like riding in Colorado with greenery. Eliza and Kate's badassery started to show through in a mile or so. They cranked out the rest of the ride like champs and made it all the way to the top of the trail at the base of a windmill.

We'd been riding uphill for over an hour. Everyone was happy to be done.

I had a rough time posing for the triumphant bike picture, since Montana insists on selling the light wheels I used last summer.

And we got to enjoy one of the best views of Wellington in the universe.

Then the brake cables started popping off my bike, so we had to go back down on the road for safety reasons. There weren't any resounding complaints. It took five minutes to fly back down to the shop, where James was waiting to applaud our accomplishment and replace my brake cable.

I spent the rest of the day wandering downtown Wellington. I took a hike up to Mt. Victoria, the site where Peter Jackson filmed this scene:

It turns out those tree roots weren't quite real. 

Still, it was a nice enough hike without any freezing alpine blasts or Nazgul. 

Then one of the girls had a flatwarming party. Some people experienced beer-related culture shock.

Besides that picture, it was a lovely time.