From the East Side to the West Side

I left Opotiki a week ago, after a month's of work without a day's rest. From kiwi picking to working at a packhouse grading, sorting and packing, I have seen everything there is regarding those fuzzy little fruits. It was time to move on.

 

My journey around the East Cape took four days, across remote countryside between coastal waves, crop fields and cattle. The farmland here has passed through Maori families for hundreds of years. Every few kilometers, you would see a red wooden structure, ornately carved with Maori designs. These were places of worship, remembrance, or spiritual significance.

 

On the third day, I could not go on, as the rain was too heavy. But I happened upon a Swiss girl, who kept me company for the day. She was going to Te Urewera National Park the next day, and I decided to follow her there. After a hectic month working, I missed the wilderness and peacefulness of nature. So I wandered around Lake Waikaremoana, experiencing this spiritual place for the Maori. Two days later, I found my way to Napier, a bright coastal city, with architecture and atmosphere that brought you back to the 1920s.

 

From the East Side to the West Side, here you find me now in small town Inglewood, beneath a towering volcano on the West Coast. It is certainly winter now. The weather has turned to frequent cold, wet, and windy days. Rain pours down in waterfalls. And disappointment falls.

 

I had planned since October to come here, the Taranaki Environment Center, to work on some sustainability projects. But for the last week, my contact person seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Without anywhere else to go, I showed up at the Taranaki Environment Center steps, with my large backpack and without a place to stay. To my relief, the couple running the place gave me a roof over my head for the next few days. It's another one of those nonstop rainy days, and who knows where the traveling bee will take me tomorrow…

an update?? of sorts

oh dear, it must certainly have seemed that i disappeared from the face of this earth. where shall i begin...how bout february?

february: i left crazy new age lady's place in takaka as i didn't like her very much, and her hospitality was awful. i mean, who puts a sign on the toilet that says 'don't flush for wees, piss in the garden if you can'? if you are afraid of running out of water, at least tell us nicely. We’re not even working for money.

next i went to the King's home also in takaka hoping for a better Wwoof experience. their property was right on the beach, with a few sheep, goats, and funny chickens that roamed around the bushes. a young german couple, Jochen and Ute, lived there as well. they first came as Wwoofers a few years ago, and now they are staying on the forever! they were Chemistry PhDs in academia back in Germany, and now Jochen is simply the local piano/music teacher, and Ute works at the organic shop. what a change of lifestyle. I worked for the Kings everyday, mostly in the garden, but also helped with building projects on the property, such as a wooden shed and an adobe outdoor shower. As the Kings were very musical people, I joined them every week at their World Music Choir, learning songs from Africa, Europe, and Asia.

march: went back to Nelson to hit the Flat Out Ultimate frisbee beach tournament. not terribly surprised to find tons of Americans there. played the first day in POURING cold rain, and covered in sand from head to toe. our team (go red cannons!) placed 4th overall. then i was finally ready to start my journey of discovering New Zealand's wilderness. For the next month and a half, it was just me, my tent, and the vast New Zealand landscape.

from the top...Kahurangi National Park - sweeping river valleys and lush green range; Abel Tasman National Park - sandy beaches, pirate coves

down the west coast...Paparoa National Park - crashing waves, magnificent coastline, towering limestone cliffs, palm forests, dense jungles

up into the Southern Alps...Arthurs Pass National Park - alpine mountains extending beyond the horizon topped with gray shale

further down the west coast...glacier country and Mt. Aspiring National Park - farmland stretched far and wide with snow capped mountain backdrops, bright turqoise waters flowing out in waterfalls, rivers, and lakes

the South...Fiordland National Park - winding through valleys so deep and surreal, a fantasy land where you are surrounded by castles, fortresses, sparkling fountains, and magical forests

Land of the Rising Sun

After a long hiatus, a short passage.

 

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A glimpse of light peeked out from the clouded horizon. The coastline flooded with light. The ocean, the green blades of grass, and the small hills awoke. This was the first light of Sunday June 15.

 

I sat in the middle of the deserted farmland, looking past the soft waves, and out into the rising sun. I fell deep into thought, of all that destiny has brought to me, and all that destiny has in store for me to come. There was a longing for the past and worries about the uncertain future. I left Opotiki behind, as well as all the Malaysians that had become my brothers and sisters in the past month. We are settling down in our lives, growing older and it is almost certain we will never enjoy each other's company in the same way again.

 

But looking out at the ocean panorama again, I felt better. I was at the East Cape, the first place in the world to see sunrise. There was the big wide world—the world that keeps on turning, the world that brings me to new people and adventures. And there was the bright rising sun that overwhelmed the dark cloud patches that covered it. And there was the sky decorated in a palette of clouds. There I was surrounded by broad green countryside. I let the last month run through my head one last time—lost things, broken things, anger, the sky is falling down, sadness, laughter, leaning on shoulders, sharing difficulties, mouthfuls of kiwifruit, and knowing smiles. The sun was up now. I stood up and turned to put my tent away.

moving onwards

Nothing very exciting has happened since I left Cape Jackson at the
beginning of January. The wwoof hosts at my last few places were nice,
but there was always something missing.

When I first arrived in Takaka, I wwoofed with a woman named Alex. I
worked in the cafe that she owns, washing dishes. Glamorous, I know.
(wwoofing doesn't necessarily mean working on an organic farm). On my
first day, I noticed the setup was like wilg--I had to wash the dishes
before sticking them in the sanitizer. But how different it is!! The
stick everything in the sanitizer, including pots, pans, baking trays,
tupperware, plastic! I kept handwashing all these things, while Yvonne
(Alex's daughter) kept giving me dirty looks and reminding me I have
to run them all through the sanitizer. I wanted to say, 'Well, miss,
do you know that the heat melts the plastic, and releases bad
chemicals? Not to mention the tops and tupperware are all warped. And
the baking trays and cast iron pans have non-stick layers that are
ruined in the sanitizer!' But of course, I didn't say all that. I
nodded my head quietly and stuck everything in the sanitizer. Although
secretly, I continued to handwash lots of things.

I committed to work with her a week, so I did that. In the meantime, I
found another Wwoofing place also in Golden Bay. Takaka and Golden Bay
is where new age and the 70s meet--surrounded by hippies and the
alternative lifestyle. Most of the shops sell organic and natural
products; they smell of incense and decorated with pictures of Buddha
and other art promoting natural healing. There are also signs such as
'Make tea, not war'...

I was attracted to Golden Bay because of its close knit community.
Most people living here are farmers (organic), and everyone knows
each other. They are generally nice, relaxed people, who are actively
involved in community groups and activities that promote a healthy
lifestyle. The region sits between two national parks. Hence, the
landscape is painted by mountains, rivers and ocean, as well as cows,
sheep, horses, and old rusty machinery.

More adventures in Golden Bay to come...

The tourist and the Mexican fisherman

As many of you are starting your new semesters, I wanted to share this story with you. Ron and Gerry shared this story with me and I've been thinking a lot about it since. Good luck with the new term!

 

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An American tourist was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked.

Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The tourist complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied, "Only a little while."

The tourist then asked, "Why didn't you stay out longer and catch more fish?"

The Mexican said, "With this I have more than enough to support my family's needs."

The tourist then asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"

The Mexican fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life."

The tourist said, " I can help you. You should spend more time fishing; and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat: With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats. Eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor; eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You could leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles and eventually New York where you could run your ever-expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked, "But, how long will this all take?"

The tourist replied, "15 to 20 years."

"But what then?" asked the Mexican.

The tourist laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right you would sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions."

"Millions?...Then what?"

The American said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos."

A Lost World

"The genius of man may make various inventions, encompassing with various instruments one and the same end; But it will never discover a more beautiful, a more economical or a more direct one than nature's, since in her inventions nothing is wanting and nothing is superfluous." –Leonardo DaVinci

I waved goodbye, as our motor boat pushed away from the wharf. I waved and waved, and cried and cried. My host parents, Ron and Gerry, and my good friends Chizuko, Fuji, and Houdimi, waved back from the dock. I wanted to run back and hug them tightly again, but I was not on land. I wanted to jump into the water and swim back—just so I could hold them one more time—but I was lurched back by the boat's forward jerk. I could not stop waving. As much as I waved, it was not enough to say goodbye.

I would never see the world in the same way again. At Cape Jackson, I had rediscovered what was lost in the real world.

When I snorkeled, I could see clearly down to the ocean floor, while swaying with the seaweed trees that were big enough to eat me. The sea was enchanted: rainbows of various colored fish, anemones, shells, rocks and sea plants. Many sea urchin lay in the shallow waters and I often dived down to grab some. While I stood in the water, I cut them open and examined their organs before slipping its yellow spongy parts onto my tongue. No washing, no additives, no supplements. With every chew there was a new taste…slimy, salty, raw, sweet, sticky, juicy. As I took another look, its prickles were still slowly moving. The spirit and design of the sea urchin was exquisite. I gave it another poke, and assured it that not a single part had gone to waste.

Sometimes, Ron took us on his boat to catch fish and crayfish from the ocean—after we begged him like schoolchildren to come along. When we took the traps in, we first used a pole to catch the rope, then we pulled, pulled, and pulled with all our might until the trap untangled from the seaweed. Sometimes it took all five of us to bring the net in. Finally, to see the things that ended up in the trap! Big fish, small fish, eels and more than one crayfish that was bigger than my head. But Ron warned us, "We only take the big fish, and let's check that the crayfish aren't pregnant."

I arrived at the lighthouse one other afternoon, at the very tip of the peninsula, atop a vertical cliff. To the north were the vague distant mountains of the North Island. To the northeast was the vast ocean, where you were thousands of miles away. I peered over the cliff, as I sat eating lunch, when suddenly, my eyes caught a movement down below. There, a seal waddled onto the exposed rock with its shiny black flippers. And look! Not just one--another! Shaking his head feverishly, somehow frustrated with the fish he's caught. And another--snorting gleefully, as he plopped his blubbery mass into the waves. And yet another, exposing his round belly to the sun. Seals in their natural habitat!

But there were not just seals. There were orcas swimming out to the open sea, blue penguins floating like ducks in a pond, sea birds hiding in shallow caves on the cliffs, and pukekos wandering out of the bush. Whereever I was, there was something extraordinary to see. But more, everything was always changing--every second, every breath, every step, I was in one place and a hundred places at the same time. Everything was alive. And it all made me feel alive.

I can still hear Ron's voice before he left us every night: 'Good night, kids!' I can still see the stars shining brighter than the moon at night. I experienced the world simply as it was: sharing space and respect with a family, animals and nature. Life was plain, yet it was extraordinary. I cried for this lost world. I cried because when something is lost, the future will know what was lost. I cried, as Cape Jackson vanished out of sight.

But in the end, Cape Jackson gave me a renewed sense of the world. And with that I have renewed hope and vision for how I can help the future.

The Miracle of Life

Fifteen years ago. Fifteen hundred acres. Old Toki stepped onto this land. The mountainous peninsula laid gently on the water and looked out into the vast ocean. It curved like a long snake, concealing many bays where the sea breathed softly against the rocky shores. Above the cliffs spread five thousand sheep and cattle grazing on brown rye grass.

 

Koku was sick. They moved from the city to this land for Koku. On this land, the whole family could to stay close to Koku during her last months.

 

When he finished his work, Old Toki climbed up to the top of the hill and rested under the tree at the edge of the forest. He listened to birdsongs, breathed subtle aromas that insects carried about, and absorbed the constant wind that blew his wet hair from his eyes. Every night before Koku went to sleep, Old Toki would tell her what he saw in the forest: there was a zip zip bird that zipped through the forest making zip zip sounds like her coat zipper; there was a ring ring bird that rang in the forest, making Pa believe his phone was always ring ringing; there were also caterpillars that loved to climb along Pa's calves for a ride, colorful critters that crept curiously up his shoes, and kauri trees that carved paths in the forest.  

 

One day, as Old Toki went up the hill again, an unusual bird flew from the tree at the edge of the forest over Old Toki's land and past the tip of the peninsula. Old Toki could not believe his eyes—it was the first and only bird he ever saw flying over his land. He followed the path of the bird across his land. There was hardly a sound, hardly a movement, hardly a tree. With every step was the same dry brown color of genetically engineered imported rye grass. The sheep and cows stared blindly at him. That day he went home and had nothing to tell Koku.

 

From that day, Old Toki sold all his sheep and cattle. Old Toki became the first farmer in New Zealand to transform his farmland into a regenerating forest, and his shores into protected marine wilderness. He created the Queen Charlotte Wilderness Park. From the top of the hill to the tip of the peninsula, now green shrubs poke out of the tall brown grass. Like a growing child, the regenerating forest is full of vivid energy and hope. His park has become a place that celebrates life, and inspires visitors to help re-establish the delicate balance between all life—a balance that will either produce raw beauty that possesses infinite layers of biodiversity, or nothing at all. It is a place that celebrates life, without suits, polished shoes, and five minute Powerpoint presentations about why the environment should be saved.

 

Koku gradually recovered and had three wonderful children. Old Toki smiled as he saw them swimming at the beach. His grandchildren will know what the ocean looks like—not a body of water, but a body of life. They will know how seals play on the rocks, how schools of fish dash carelessly in front of snorkels, and how abalone shells float in seaweed trees to make the water shimmer like twilight at night. And when they run out to the tip of the peninsula, they will be dancing among kauri trees to the endless music of native animals.

 

Today, when Old Toki stood at the tip of the peninsula, he heard it. He heard a new life. He heard a peeping he had never heard before. And he knows that tomorrow, he will hear another. And the day after that, another.