Kiwis being kiwis eating kiwis while worrying about the kiwi population

Samantha Russell
New Zealand Society and Culture
International Studies 381
March, 2009

What do you do when you see a Kiwi eating a Kiwi in a Kiwi reserve?: A history and potential explanation as to how New Zealanders became Kiwis.

It is possible to examine the process of the kiwi identity using Roland Barthes’s ideas on myth and signification. According to Barthes, myth operates on two levels of signification. The first level is how a society or culture assumes a common understanding of the signified of any sign. In this instance, the way kiwi signifies New Zealand. However, Barthes points out how this signification leads to another level of signification. This, for Barthes, is where myth, or, ideology, takes place. In this case, kiwi as a nation identity signifies supposed New Zealand traits such as rugged individuality, adaptability, and ingenuity. So the transition from the kiwi as a nocturnal, flightless, whiskered bird to the kiwi as a national symbol and as a synonym to the individualistic people of a nation is a process of myth-making and the unthinking adoption of this by people is an example of the creation ideology. This demonstration of the creation of a kiwi ideology is best explained and demonstrated through three categories; commercially, or how products and money have contributed; through war; or how entering the war theatre and mingling with other nations has helped to create ‘The Kiwi’; and through sport; and the uses of a mascot to form an identity.
The myth of New Zealanders as Kiwis is first and foremost best expressed through commercialization. Advertisements serve as reinforcements and for the proliferation of stereotypes, as well as to invent catchy little phrases that simply won’t leave your head. Through advertisements and products, it is easy for one to develop a sense of how the world works, why it is the way it is, and what one’s place within in the world is—whether or not these ideas put forth by advertisement are in anyway how the world actually is. New Zealanders are no exception to this, and in this portion of the essay, I will out line a few examples of how the presence of kiwis (as the bird) in advertisements and other commercial concepts may have helped to create the myth of Kiwis as kiwis—especially through shear exposure to these unfathomably charismatic little critters.
At the root of all commercial endeavors is money—and the commercial aide of transforming New Zealanders into kiwis is most certainly no exception. In 1934, when New Zealand released its very own currency for the first time, what else but a kiwi bird appeared on the two-shilling coin, the ten-shilling coin, and even the one-pound note. This made the image of the bird a part of every day New Zealand life, and while I am sure that those folk from the United States would never refer to themselves as “Washingtons,” it is not hard to see how, with this root, it may not be that far from possible. Additionally, during New Zealand’s economic upheaval in the mid and late 1980’s, when New Zealand’s currency was floated, New Zealanders further identified it as “the kiwi.”
The odd and slightly alarming thought of Kiwi Bacon also plays into the commercial evolution of the kiwi as a people (even more alarming, when re-inserted in the bacon context). Around about 1921, Mr. Thomas Fenton took on the avian kiwi as a symbol to be associated with his line of porcine cured-hams and bacon. Eventually, this peculiar association of bird and bacon grew, and became the dominate producer of New Zealand’s pig products. By the 1960’s, Fenton’s company further cemented its strange identification with the kiwi by installing gigantic fiber glass and steel birds that rotated above each of the company’s four factories. These enormous birds became land marks and even the subject of pride to local New Zealanders.
Many human kiwis of a certain age remember with fondness the “Good Night Kiwi” that signaled the end of the television broad-cast day, reminding New Zealanders to set out the milk jugs and head off to dream land. Apparently, the facts that this bird is nocturnal and, being avian, would never drink milk and the ironies associated therein are a bit lost on the population. However, this again serves as evidence of the ubiquitous nature of the bird and the ease of which it can be integrated into popular culture.
Finally, perhaps the premiere integration of a ridiculous bird into commercial consumer culture and as an aspect of New Zealanders identifying with the kiwi is that of the ever popular, omnipresent, Kiwi shoe polish. Once upon a time a nice girl from Oamaru married an Aussie bloke and moved to Melbourne. There, the Aussie bloke developed a new boot polish. In need of a short, memorable, and easy to pronounce name, Mr. Aussie bloke (William Ramsay), in a likely effort to impress his lady, struck on Kiwi. The boot polish took off and by 1917 the Kiwi Boot Polish Company had received a colossal order from the British Army. Despite being an Australian invention, this boot spiffer-upper first introduced New Zealand to the world as being a land of kiwis.
So the above examples serve as evidences and examples of how the commercial use of the kiwi as a bird has given New Zealanders a symbol with which to identify. This makes it easier for the sign that is signified by the signifier to warp and mutate from an odd bird, to the people of a nation.
Because New Zealand is a nation that is separated by massive volumes of ocean from the rest of the world, New Zealanders weren’t exactly known as being anything throughout the world. Names like Fernlanders, Maorilanders (how interesting that a nation could potentially be named by its indigenous peoples), and En Zedders were tried and didn’t stick, but it took a world war to introduce New Zealanders to the rest of the world and open them up to an array of names. This is where the world thought to change what it signified when it spoke the word, “Kiwi.”
Picking up on Kiwi boot polish, this ubiquitous image introduced international soldiers to this icon, and in the name of mateship and military camaraderie, the shoe polish allowed this name to be applied to the New Zealand soldiers. The New Zealand soldiers didn’t seem to mind this name, and during the First World War, helped to solidify their identity as kiwis by carving a giant kiwi into a chalk hill Flanders to mark the New Zealand territory of encamped troops. Also during the first world war, kiwi (the bird) started appearing in political cartoons to represent New Zealanders and the cartoons were often seen saying cheeky things like, “Seems rummy; me going to fight a Turkey.” Apparently, as with many things about the kiwi, the irony of being a kiwi was lost on young New Zealand pilots. However, the kiwi did appear prior to World War I as a military emblem. In 1886 and 1887 the kiwi appeared on the badges of the South Canterbury Battalion—a volunteer military core.
Military sport teams, especially the New Zealand Army Football Team toured the British Isles and Germany in 1945 and 1946 traveled as the Kiwis. If the war had not popularized the term, this tour certainly did.
Military identity, and being thrown into the world theatre by means of warring further helped New Zealanders to see themselves as something other than “not British” and New Zealanders. This further twisted the meaning of the sign kiwi into something larger both ideologically and physically than a bird.
As wars ended and troops returned to New Zealand, sport replaced the military as how the outside world viewed New Zealanders.
Unlike other nations that had charismatic mammals to chose as mascots like buffalo, springbok, and the lion (well, Britain never had lions, but they can pretend if they must), New Zealand had nothing. They had two species of bat, but bats aren’t exactly known for their athletic prowess—one can imagine the jeers associated with a bat mascot, “You’re blind as a bat!” “Aww, mate! You’re going batty!” New Zealand also had seals. Another animal that is not known for its sportiness. This leaves the bird world for mascot choosing. The Kaka and Kakapo are out based on name alone and Kea sounds far too girly. What’s really left that says, “New Zealand?” The Kiwi. Thus a fierce and intimidating mascot was born.
Though the kiwi lost to a plant (Oh, how fearsome that) as the symbol for the national sport of rugby, rugby league did honor to this avian friend by adopting it as their mascot. Much like United State’s citizens and their personal identification with their football team, “Oh drat! We lost the Super bowl!” New Zealanders identify a sense of self with “their” sports team.
Commercially, through war, and through sport, the transition has been made from the kiwi as a bird to represent the rugged, individualistic, self-reliant, and sometimes nocturnal people of New Zealand. As evidenced by the examples above and New Zealander’s reactions to the examples and evidences, New Zealanders have unthinkingly associated themselves, along with the rest of the world, as Kiwis. Despite an attempt on behalf of the Export Institute in 1985 to change the image of the kiwi to what amounted to be a fancy snail and a ponga frond, the kiwi remains. The sign has successfully been signified as a national identity by the signifier of the people.

Isn't that awful? That took far too much of my life to write. Never again.









Bibliography

“Kiwi-A kiwi country: 1930s-2000s.” Encyclopedia of New Zealand. March 2009. http://www.teara.govt.nz/TheBush/NativeBirdsAnd Bats/Kiwi/5/en.

“The Kiwi.” Nzs.com. 2004-2009. https://email.uwsp.edu/owa/redir.aspx?C=99d15a976a874e9aa4041586968960eb&URL=http%3a%2f%2fwww.nzs.com%2fabout-new-zealand%2fthe-kiwi%2f

Wolfe, Richard. “The People’s Bird.” New Zealand Geographic. Jan/March 2000. Vol. 45. p. 12-21.

Who are my professors?

Amy Fletcher- An American from Alabama (or something like that), a moderate republican, but justifiably so, taught our Environmental Policy class, has a passion for the biodiversity crisis, is passionate in general. If she taught at Point I would take every class she offered. I am heartbroken that her class has ended now. She worked on Capital Hill for a while.

Dr. J-Our leader from Point. I'm never sure how to spell either of his names. They seem to change. Taught our Field Bio class and is responsible for a handful of our International Studies credits. He knows plants and is highly passionate. Also had the most fun final I've ever taken--I got to draw pictures and make bulleted lists.

Jane Cooper-Ethics professor, don't know much about her yet. She's from England, lived in India for a long while. I'm unsure of how she ended up in New Zealand. She handles crisis very well, seemed like she enjoyed what she was doing. Very much a thinke (fitting, being a philosophy prof and and all), very blue if you know your personality colors.

Phillip Catton-The other Environmental Ethics professor. Has a very cool accent, Oregon and Brittish Columbia. He ended up in New Zealand with his family sometime in his teens. Very dedicated to Climate Change causes, his father was some important scientist in the early days of the Climate change movement, and his son is fixing the world through physics. Long winded, but highly passionate. I like hearing what he has to say. He started a conversation about ecosystems of bacteria in one's mouth, touched on glaciers and glaciation, and ended on riding your bike everywhere, even when it's raining, but then mentioned his philosophical crisis that caused him to buy a car.

Stephen Hardman-from the north of England, New Zealand Cultural studies professor. Repeats his stories, but they're hilarious. Studied in St. Louis for a while. Is highly sassy, very fun. Many of his stories about venturing into academia end with, "because I was nervous, I drank, and never got invited back" or "...and then we went to the pub." His wife is a prison guard and isn't impressed by his fancy talk--and he loves it all the more. Very helpful for writing that god-awful paper.

What's interesting about all of these guys? NON OF THEM ARE NEW ZEALAND CITIZENS! Maybe Phillip is, and Amy's thinking about becoming naturalized. While I like them all, I think it is absolutely fascinating that between either University's International Programs Department, they thought that it would be culturally appropriate and wise that we, as American students who are coming to this great nation to experience Kiwiana, should be separated from all other kiwi students, our schedules such that it is impossible to join any extracurricular activity, be taught by non-New Zealand professors. Where are the Kiwis? In our homestays--a bunch of old farts who are just taking on borders so they can go to Tonga on holiday. Keep in mind that I do like Sue and Gordon, and I don't really don't mean that, but I am just so surprised that this was the plan. I've managed to meet a couple of American students who are here on their own accord. Their home Uni's take the credit, the students still find all sorts of fab study tours, and they get to study what they choose--the cost is comparable to what we're paying. Maybe we got a deal on Airfare and they didn't go to Sydney...but still. UWSP IP, I've said it before and I've said it again, I am disappointed in you.

Kaikourra

<--Russell with a Hutton Shearwater Fledgling

^Dusky Dolphins

^View from Research Station

Taylor's Mistake

Our final biology field trip took place on a Saturday. We met up with Russell (a bloke who's last name escapes me) who teaches at UCant. and drove the boat around Kaikourra. He's worked with the Stevens Point crew before and is truly a man of the sea.

Bright and early we arrived at the beach to experience low-tide. People hang glided and parachuted above us while we learned about all sorts of mussels, examinded which filter feeders hang out where, how securely they're attached to their location, and what eats them. It was quite fun.

We also poked around within the actual pools and found snails, bitty crabs, and slug like things. A bigger crab scuttled out from the sand and harassed us for a bit as well. We also stopped back to Sumner Beach where I saw a man walking a Leonberger (a big, big, dog that Rehabber Mark from Minocqua rescues). A lovely day spent in the Saturday sun.

Orana: The Sequel--Son of Orana

I made it back to Orana one week after the first time and didn't go 6k out of my way this time--nor did I see any interesting road kill. It's a sad day when a hedgehog pancake doesn't make the interesting list anymore.

Instead of meeting a small group of rural school kids, I was met by 50ish city pre-teens. I smell the angst and hormones, or as I wrote in my notes, "chew the adolescent frustration." Sometimes, I'm poetic I guess. Anyhow, Toby was gone to a big ARAZA conference in Oz, so I shadowed Liz instead, and got to meet a lot of the rest of the Orana staff. It seems like it would be a really fun place to work and there is a healthy balance of screwing around and actual producitivity. It was Liz's first time teaching a program on evolution, and it was strange to her at least that it would be done with students so young. Because of concerns, many parents accompanied the kids.

The program wasn't at all what I expected it to be. It was mostly enforcement of "form follows function," which is really fun when you can point at animals and go, "Kids, think about this giraffe and where it would live in the wild. What do you know about giraffes that makes it suited to its environment?" and then going from there. By the way, I got to feed giraffes again and was thoroughly tasted myself by a giraffe. She's a saucy old biddy.

Something that I'm pretty sure would never fly in the US was a question Liz asked while we were by the big cats--"Would you rather be killed an eaten by a lion or by a cheetah?" She then used this question to talk about how large carnivores can occupy the same space without being in necessarily direct competition with eachother. By the way, Lion is the better choice. It's over before you even know it happened. Cheetah's chase, disembowl you, and then take a nap while you bleed out. Granted, if that's your thing, all the power to you.

I was late getting back to campus this time though, but didn't nearly get hit by an airplane, so it was a good day. I am very thankful for my experiences at Orana, and hope that if I find my way back to this country and need something to do, they will welcome me.

Heart of Whiteness

For the final field trip in Environmental Policy, we went to the Antarctica Center in Christchurch. Christchurch is considered one of the "Gateways to Antarctica" of the world, and is the port that the US uses (and I think a few other countries). Other Gateways are Capetown, South Africa, a city whose name escapes me in Argentina, and I believe there's an oddball in there. Perhaps not the informative sentence I've ever formed.

We were greeted and had a small lecture with Gabrielle who had the coolest accent I've ever heard. She's Chilean, has spent a whole bunch of time on The Ice, and works in the tourism sector. She had just gotten back two weeks ago. She spoke English with a strange hybrid of New Zealand and Chilean accenting. With her voice and her overwhelming passion for Antarctica, I could have listened to her all day.

Gabrielle gave us a series of funfacts (and actually elaborated on several issues, but if I explained them, you'd be here far longer than you intended to be). Because of the politics of nation sovereignty and a couple of countries are quietly (or maybe not so quietly, we live behind an information fog in the US) bickering about who deserves what, seven babies have been born in Antarctica so that a country can say that they have citizen's who trace their ancestry to The Ice. I love it. There's also a pact/regime to regulate tourism to the real down under, called IAATO, as well as issues about how wild Antarctica should remain. Some companies are letting people climb mountains that haven't even been named yet. Some tour companies are taking so many people on their boats that if the worst happens, and if all people somehow make it onto lifeboats, no science research station can house them until help arrives. Scary. There are also issues with who should get a modern day piece of the Antarctic Pie these days. It was last carved up pretty much during the Cold War. Are those claims still valid? One example of a player that wants in and why was Saudi Arabia; I guess they see Antarctica as a freshwater resource. That's kind of a big deal.

Overall though, it surprised me at how "doable" it seemed to get a job on The Ice or at least go for a visit in some capacity other than tourist, or even as a tourist. I will go there before it melts.

Other attractions about the center itself include a colony of rescued blue (faerie) penguins, and Hagland rides. The Hagland is the primary mode of transportation on the ice and the center offers rides to show how cool they are on this mock-up dirt course that includes nearly ninety degree hills (I'm only exaggerating a little) and crossing fairly wide crevasses, and even paddling across a deep puddle. I thought I was going to die--almost as fun as bungee jumping and skydiving. There was also a room where you could experience an Antarctic storm. It was really cool and filled with home made snow and had an ice slide that bordered on dangerous. The Antarctic storm was like walking to school in February when every other school in the district has cancelled school, but StePo stayed strong--pretty much no big deal. Gabrielle said that they kept it fairly warm so people didn't complain too loudly, and that people from Wisconsin, Minnesota, and the UP always say that.

Things that are a big deal

A couple things have struck me as being big deals while I've been here, and I've thought to share them with you. I invite you to email me your own, "Big Deals" in reasonably similar formatting, and I will paste and share them. Take a moment and let how much of a big deal these things are set in.


The Internet

Including Library data bases



China

wow they consume a lot of resources

Australia gives them coal

they have so much power! North Korea!



Russia

What are you doing Russia? Get that flag up off the ocean.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article5989257.ece

http://www.res.ethz.ch/news/sw/details.cfm?lng=en&id=98263

Hanmer Springs

Well, shucks you guys, this seems like forever ago. I should really keep up with this better. I'll do my best to provide an accurate account. I just fill in the blanks with made up stories--not different than usual. Also, I'm trying a new format where the text about the pictures isn't necessarily near the picture itself. Some may call it lazy, I'm calling it innovative.

Lauren, Mike, Dan and I set out in the Death Trap--Mike and Dan's new car. We were headed to Sue's childhood stomping ground,

Hanmer Spring--a smallish town best known for its thermal hotsprings. The original plan was to go camping. This was quickly dashed with the realization that not one of us had a tent nor did we have access to a tent that would sleep more than one of us--we're a tight knit group, but even we have limits. Instead we found a backpackers (what we would call a hostel) that offered us basically our own cabin for NZ$60 a night for all four of us. How could we pass that up? We even got our own private kitchenette that I made home-made "real" Mac&Cheese in. Yes, I am that good.

Prior to that, however, we decided to check out the local cuisine. We found Monteith's, a place with high-quality beer and solid desserts. I experienced a banouffle tart (or somthing like that) which was a heavenly combination of both banana and chocolate. One simply shouldn't be allowed to be without the other, as well as what amounted to shark vomit. While most sharks are welcome to puke in a bowl for me at any given time, this seafood chowder had mussels in it. I have since learned that

however badly I want to like mussels, it's just never going to happen.

Back tracking a bit, on the way from the "cabin" to town, we hiked on some pretty nifty paths through "the woods" and found some pretty baller mushrooms. I know very little about mushrooms, but I would say that these are the same kind as in the Mario games that make your character's size go up (or, if you're racing, give you a temporary speed boost). Either way, they were highly photogenic, and exciting to see. They were everywhere!

Ok, back to Saturday. Saturday we intended to sit in hotsprings and do nothing with our lives. We were incredibly sucessful in this endeavor. First, though, we found the town market, complete with traditionally dressed german folk dancing around to accordion music and banging sticks together. It was wonderful to watch and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Oh! While we're next to this picture, I managed to photograph a Tomtit--a native, and fairly rare native New Zealand bird. Kind of a like the fantail in that it sort of fills the chickadee niche,

but they're far less gregarious. Cute little guys, though, eh?

So, the Springs. There are no pictures of the Springs because I felt awkward taking pictures of the old, the foreign, the honey-mooning, and the decrepid sitting around in their swimming suits and various other states of undress. There were women walking around very nakedly in the changing rooms. Call me a prude, but really, I don't think that degree of nudity is carried out in public changing rooms in the US. Definitely and innapropriate place to be snapping photos. The Springs, too. However, they were lovely and soothing and sulfur-y stinky. The sun shone throughout the day and we found our way into pools that were only 26C and pools that were 40C. Scientists may argue that 100C is the temperature at which water boils. In my experience, I believe that it is closer to 40C. I did not stay in that pool very long.

At long last and with great reluctance, it was time to head back

to Chch. Given the less than sober state of the initial drivers, I offered to drive. It was then decided that we stop at every winery and microbrewery on the way back home--a "booze cruise" I guess the kids call it. We made it to one--Brew Moon Cafe. It was lovely and brilliantly done, very Earthy, but still warm. We ended up staying there for several hours while the boys sampled what the place had to offer, and buying Lauren and I coffees and smoothies to keep us from leaving without them. It was a good time and fun, deep, goofy conversations where had and silly songs were created and sung. The waitstaff was very tolerant, or perhaps, they even liked us. Finally, we ended our trip in Christchurch, arriving back around 10pm--only six hours later than we had intended. It was a much needed and well done excursion from the city. And we saw a pig farm.

<-- Deathtrap with all of our stuff

Bathing in the blood of Orangutangs

http://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/HL0703/S00377.htm

http://palmoilandtheenvironment.blogspot.com/2007/02/products-containing-palm-oil.html

http://www.angelfire.com/planet/palmoilproducts/

http://www.aucklandzoo.co.nz/education/default.asp?sectionID=428 <-Reputable

http://www.listener.co.nz/issue/3585/columnists/12662/the_bad_oil.html <-Reputable source, and reasonably unbiased

Run a search, you guys, this stuff is fascinating and there's tons and tons of information out there.





Friends, I have learned of a tragedy. Tim-tams, the most wholesome wonderful cookie that could possibly be mass produced in the great nation of New Zealand, are made with palm oil. "So what?" you ask, "Palm oil sounds like it's healthy for you! I'll bet it lends a tropical flair to your cookies!" Palm oil comes from palm trees (duh, Samantha). Palm trees come from palm plantations (uh-oh). Palm plantations, like all mono-crop fix-its, is leading to hardcore habitat loss (and ruining soils). In countries like Indonesia, palm plantations are replacing rainforest and habitat for great apes, sumatran tigers, and many other less charismatic animals. What can we do in New Zealand and abroad? Like with any environmental issue, vote with our money. Support alternatives, support locally produced cookies, support making your own cookies, support local farmers, support green initiatives, support social justice, support sustainable living. Many soaps, shampoos, lotions use palm oil, too. Orana park is part of promoting knowledge about palm oil. An interesting thing about New Zealand, I've heard some of the field trip moms complain about, is that companies don't have to be even close to as accurate about their ingredient labels as they do in the US and it is hard to know what one is getting.

Also, I know that many of the links I've provided aren't exactly, "Official" looking, but they aren't unnaccurate.

Lest you think I'm sitting still

Today, I trekked back to Orana Park--on my own this time.  I met again with Toby and shadowed a Zoo School tour.  It rocked!  

There was a group of 11 from an itty-bitty rural school aged 8-13ish.  I was told that it was the majority of the school.  They were very well behaved and were interested, despite it being day three of a week long trip.  There were about 7 parents and teachers with them, as well.  

The focus was on habitat, which was defined, a game was played to reinforce the concept, then students were asked to think critically and pick out elements of habitat within the enclosures we saw and compare them to "natural habitats."  

Not that it was all heady--I was allowed to allow a giraffe to strip a branch of leaves from my hand and pat its neck as well.  It was a good day.  I'll be going back next Thursday for a program on evolution. I'm really interested to see how it's presented an accepted.  Toby said that there isn't nearly as much drama with evolution here as there is in the States.  

I biked to Orana today, and only ended up going 6k out of my way.  It turns out that "first exit in the roundabout" doesn't always mean what you think it should.  I hate roundabouts.  I also saw a roadkill owl.  I was running late at this point, and didn't stop to photograph it.  Unfortunately, it had been moved by the time I headed back into town.  I did however, manage to finally get some decent shots of Australasian Harriers--they'll be posted soon enough.  I also was almost run over by an airplane taking off on the way back.  By almost, I mean it was probably a hundred feet about me.  Orana is past the airport, and as I was biking, the road barriers on either end of the road segment I was on dropped and an alarm went off.  I was in the middle of the segment and had no idea what was happening.  My guess was that an airplane was going to land, not take off, and I biked as a fast as I could while looking for a plane coming in.  It wasn't until I was nearly deafened by the roar of jets that I realized it was coming from the other direction.  A biker who was waiting outside the barrier laughed and greeted me as I went past.  Now I know better. 

Why there aren't snakes in New Zealand

St. Patrick eventually grew tired of the dreary winters in Ireland and retired to Fiji. Feeling restless and ill-used as he aged, he traveled to New Zealand one day and drove all of the snakes from here as well, and there was much rejoicing. Or not. That doesn't change that there aren't snakes in New Zealand or Ireland--here's why; http://nationalzoo.si.edu/Animals/ReptilesAmphibians/NewsEvents/irelandsnakes.cfm

Whether or not St. Patrick spent anytime down under, he is still quite popular here, or the celebration of him anyhow. There's an awful lot of pride for that catholic guy in this protestant scottish town. What an awful day to forget my camera--a reccuring theme this week.

As I arrive on campus, after first being assaulted by Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphy songs blasting from several cars, I heard more celtic music. Outside of the bookstore/Spice Traders several of UC's own staff were jaming out--there were a couple of guitars, a bass, too many bodhrans, some spoons, penny whistles, a man who made schmaltzy trumpeting fit, and even a guy playing a saw. A group of very conservative looking muslim women joined the crowd watching, and clapped, whooped, and enjoyed along with the rest of us. Everybody, it seems, is Irish on St. Patrick's Day.

Surprise Field Trip

Here's today's drama: I don't know how to remove the highligher from this text. I suppose it'll all just have to look REALLY important. Granted, it is my writing, so I suppose it is.

Mondays, as you may have figured out, are fieldtrip days for Field Bio. They're really great, I have found. Especially, when you're told where your going. That helps one to determine if one should wear shoes with backs, bring a snack, or even snag their tourist camera and bird guide. However, in the name of surprises, it is fair that we weren't told. I do like surprises.

Dr. J was allowed to drive us in a UC bus. That alone was an adventure. First, there was quite a bit of drama in figuring out how to disengage the parking break, along with the fact that Dr. J was driving a big van in a country where they drive on the wrong side of the road (and I don't think I'm being unfair with that statement). Even as we got on the bus, the only thing he would tell us is that we were going back toward Akoroa, but he wouldn't tell us where. I suppose it was just a bit more build-up than was appropriate, but I most certainly wasn't disappointed.

At last, we arrived to see all the glorious 70 square miles of Lake Ellesmere--New Zealand's largest lake. Where we saw bunches of black swans, some rails (including pukekos), a hand full of comoronts, some plovers, and maybe even a tern or two. The original plan at our first stop was to wander a bit and have a lecture. Unfortunately, we ran over a hornet's nest which, due to their unhappy rioting outside the van, made it rather unsafe to leave the safety of our metal box. We discussed Algae bloom issues within the lake, that the Department of Conservation here digs to ensure that ocean water enters in order to remove said blooms, that the lake is brackish anyhow, and that it is a major source for eels. There seem to be Maori/Pakeha drama similar to Wisconsin's sturgeon drama, too. We also learned that New Zealand's three largest cities are basically in danger of being destroyed at any second (well, geological seconds). Auckland is near many active-ish volcanoes, Wellington sits on a fault, kind of like LA, and Christchurch could be nailed by a tsunami OR be destroyed by flooding from mountain melt off--almost like New Orleans...so if you come to New Zealand, watch out for that.

Our next stop was at a beach; though deemed unsafe for swimming due to waves, and, probably some sort of radioactive runoff, it said nothing about dipping one's toes in. Lisa and I did this, and were a bit caught off guard when the ocean suddenly rose to above our knees when a wave rolled in. Not at all in an unpleasant way, of course. We spent probably near to half an hour wandering around the flat, round stone beach.

We also stopped at some dunes, near the "spit," where there was another oppurtunity to mess around in the water. We took a pause to learn about plants.

Afterwards we took about a half-hour hike at the Okuti Scenic Reserve where we saw lots of Totara, Kahikitea, and tree ferns, among other native plants. No beeches though, we weren't high enough for them. We also heard a lot of different birds, but had trouble identifying them. Dr. J is convinced that there were Tui afoot, but I am less sure.

A highway shall be there

I have learned something very important while staying here; where there is a will, there's a way. I spent Saturday with some fantastic mushers who were kind enough to pick me up from home and drop me off so that they could share the sport with me.

After a lunch of KFC--not one of the fastfood chains I would have expected to find here--they took me out and introduced me to their pony, pigs, malamutes and siberians. They also show the dogs, so they were really quite fancy. It was weird though, as they lamented the fact that they couldn't breed their best lead dog because her eyes were goofy--marbled like Riggs' or Starbuck's, if you know either of those dogs. I don't really get dog shows, I suppose.

Jess, their three year old daughter, is the most articulate anklebiter I've ever met. She even started getting the scooters hooked up for the run! Apparently, she's old enough to "race" by riding a rig with her parents, but they've decided that she has to be able to control her own scooter sans dog first.

The actual ride was fantastic! I just had one dog--Stormy--hooked to the front, and we flew down the gravel road. It did occur to me that it would be horribly painful if I feel and was dragged--much worse than being dragged in the snow, which I have perfected into a graceful artform. Fortunately, it was much easier to keep balance than I thought it would be and I did not even come close to maiming myself.

The time came to head home. Unfortunately, the road was blocked by the neighbor's cows who had escaped. I got to drive a car, and with Nathan, managed to herd them home. It was a good time.

The Paua Shell House

Jandals (flipflops), Pavlova, Busy bees, Big rubber wellies, sheep, and houses with rooms covered in Paua shells. That is Kiwiana and the label of penguin chips. Well, the house isn't on the chips, but it hints at the same sort of nostalgia.

Fred and Myrtle's Paua Palace was a world wonder back in the day and bus loads of people would come and be entertained by Myrtle's kitsch each day. According to the short documentary, she loved the people. Fred and Myrtle themselves became shining examples of "Kiwi ingenuity," and starred in commercials until their deaths in the early 2000s.

The ridiculous number of shells came to be on the wall after an argument between Myrtle and Fred, because Fred kept leaving his stuff everywhere. His stuff being the shells that he polished to sell as ashtrays. Myrtle, who was just trying to keep a clean house, began nailing the shells to the wall, and so began a roadside attraction, and, perhaps, a mental disorder.

Now, after the passing of the paua people, bits and pieces of their actual house were bought and moved into the Canterbury Museum, where one can see a short documentary every 15 minutes and see the actual paua room. I am glad to have partaken in such events, but I don't know how I feel about someone's home--not just the shells, but accompanying kitsch, carpeting, etc, being put on display in a museum. From what the doc portrays, F&M wouldn't have objected at all, and their kids don't seem to be putting up a fight--they were just going to sell the house--but something about it just doesn't set right with me. It was neat though to see a rotary flag from Marshfield, WI--that's practically StePo!!

The comment was made, "Only in New Zealand," but I beg to differ. I could easily see something similar to this happening in the US, hell, even Wisconsin. I've worked in the homes of many eccentric old people while I was doing time for HomeInstead, and I saw many things come close to this level of...enthusiasm. The moral of the story? Don't keep weird crap. Your kids don't want it.

Burger Wisconsin

There exsists in this great nation a restaraunt chain called, "Burger Wisconsin." Obviously, it was our duty to investigate.

Burger Wisconsin is decked out in Badger colors, and has histories of the Seymore Hamburger all along the wall--very much like an Erberts and Gerberts of hamburgers. Surveying the options, I realized that there was nothing "authenticaly" Wisconsin about these burgers. Lamburger?Beetroot burger? Bacon Avocado Burger? Who were these people? Had they ever been to Wisconsin? I selected the Bacon Avocado burger. As I had feared, it wasn't anything special. Just a gussied up New Zealand meat patty--don't get me started on the french fries here. Burger Wisconsin? More like Burger Illinois, that is to say, nothing special.

More interesting, however, was the Colon Hydrotherapy Center directly across the street. Though it wasn't open, I learned more about my inner workings than I ever have before.

Hinewai Reserve

For the Monday field trip this week, we headed back towards Akoroa (what a drag! You can tell I just had a dreadful time there!) to the Hinewai Reserve. There, we met a an older gentleman with bright blue eyes who had been both browned and bleached by the sun. I have yet to meet a more passionate individual. He proved to be a fountain of information and a fabulous story teller.

The Banks Peninsula is older than the Southern Alps and was formed by three big volcanoes that errupted about nine million years ago and became extinct about eight million years ago. The biggest volcano, Akoroa, was upwards of 2,000m high. However, the Banks Peninsula was an island for most of its geological history.
New Zealand wasn't permanently colonized by people until about 700 years ago--there is some debate on that, but 700 is the most likely number. It is the only place where people didn't affect the mega-fauna where we evolved. Hugh emphasized this point with, "We're all Africans, really, just with different shades of skin." In 1770, when Cook and Banks were about, they thought the Peninsula was an island, yet, and it was another 20 years before Europeans figured it out.

There are about 550 vascular plant species in New Zealand, and only 20 have become extinct since colonization (Maori or otherwise). Hugh didn't present this information with any sadness or hint of guilt, he commented on how resilent plants were, how many are still here, and how, so many on the brink are, "Just itching to get back!"

Birds, unfortunately, are less resilent. I may have said this before, but the only land-based mammals in New Zealand are two types of bats. Other than that, it's mostly birds. The Maori wiped out about one third of the original species in New Zealand--including all of the Moa (a ratite, think NZ does the Ostrich). European settlers wiped out half of that remaining two thirds. We did see one Tomtit, and heard them throughout our entire hike. You may recall that I mentioned them as a potential bird up for reintroduction in Riccarton Bush. I believe, they are NZ's smallest bird, too. That is not what you are looking to on the left though. That is a Bell bird. They have the most interesting warble-y call. I wish I had some way of sharing it.

This is one of New Zealand's many vascular plants. It is literally called a "Terrible Nettle,"
and should be avoided at all costs. Apparently, they are incredibly painful, and five stings is enough to kill a guinea pig. I'm not sure why a study like that was ever performed, or if it is just in theory, but yikes!

Some how, I've managed to get this far without discussing the history of the Hinewai Reserve! My apologies. In 1985 Hugh (a botanist) was doing a survey of the Banks Peninsula area and met up with Morris White (a bird guy) who asked Hugh to scope out the best area to set aside for preservation. White, I guess, had some money to spare to put the land away. Hugh made the point that vegetation (habitat) is ESSENTIAL in anything that one is trying to protect. In September 1987, 109 hectares were set aside. Now, Hinewai is about 1209 hectares. Hugh was quick to say that one shouldn't mess with anything unless one KNOWS that it is good. I suppose in contrast to the, "Let's just see if this works!" that has led to rabbit, fox, etc in New Zealand and Australia.
There is a Possum Genocide going on at Hinewai with foot hold traps, box traps, and even poison. Folk also shoot the possum. Possums tend to eat and or otherwise destroy good plants.

Overall, we had a good, muddy hike. I only fell twice, but I still managed to cover my pants in mud. It was lovely.

I am Poseidon

White shags, black shags, big shags spotted shags, little shags, pied shags, plain shags, red shags, blue shags. So much shagging, I should have had to show ID to get in. I had a fantastic time kayaking in Akoroa. I like birds and I got to see plenty of fantastic birds--the above mentioned comorants, white fronted terns, and at least three different kinds of gull. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day--the perfect day to be out on the ocean in my swimsuit.

The kayak rental company was a fairly neat little outfit and very well run. I was surprised when I didn't have to sign any sort of safety waiver, nor was I asked if I had ever kayaked before, or any sort of safety briefing. However, we were given a weather briefing and told how the tide would be affecting us--so that was really more useful anyhow.


Hector's Dolphin--a small dolphin endemic to New Zealand is found in the bay we were playing in. Unfortunately, due to the tides and our time constraints, we weren't able to find any, however the crew that went in the morning spent a good five minutes in the presence of two. I guess I'll just have to kayak there again before I leave. Life is hard.

After Andria, Lauren, and I had a bit of a splash fight, we had to run to catch the bus, and rode back to Christchurch a bit damp and awfully salty. Good day.

Morning hike in Akoroa

Saturday morning dawned just as bright, sunny, and wonderful as Friday. After figuring out afternoon plans, I wandered off.

I thought I found a trail to wander on, unfortunately after going up at about a 179 degree angle, I decided that it really seemed more like private property and I should probably go. I did however find and get to photograph a really big bee.

Instead, I managed to find my way to the Akoroa Light house, I think it might be called Godfrey's Light, but it is possible and very likely that I am making that up.

As a quite side note, Lucy the Scabby Tabby has just seen it fit to sit across my chest and shoulder as I lay here typing on my bed, thus immobilizing my right arm and serving to block my vision entirely. She is quite the tart like that and will be moved shortly. I am typing with my left hand, in case you were wondering.

Alright, so I'm in the vicinity of what may or may not be Godfrey's Light. It's lovely. Many of you are familliar with my fascination with lighthouses, and this was no exception. I continued walking and was lucky enough to briefly glimpse a kingfisher, unfortunately, I was not quick to draw and failed to make the shot. I eventually reached the literal end of the road and was told in Maori and English that to proceed past that point would ensure a lifetime of extra limbs sprouting, three-eyed children, and an early, cancerous death due to the waste that was being pumped into the ocean just past that point. Apparently it was fine to kayak in though--go team!

I decided to spend the rest of my morning sunning myself on the beach and maybe, just maybe, going for a swim. Shortly after I got set up, a shephard arrived with three sheep. Though I understand that there are several billions of sheep in this country, I did not expect to run into any at that particular moment, and was quite shocked. So I took pictures. I also saw a woman, who I believe to be the world's happiest pregnant woman. She glowed with happy, kissed her partner cutely and frequently, and rubbed her belly often as she wadded into the water.


Eventually, Lauren and Andria joined me, we read, we soaked up cancerous, but warm rays, and we even dipped our toes, and I the entire rest of my body, into the ocean. Friends, for a time, I was literally covered in a thin, salty, wonderful layer of Pacific Ocean.

Akoroa or; Bacon and Eggs and Elvis

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=66590&id=500764078&l=060de


Often, I outline the entries as soon as they happened and let them sit until I'm motivated enough to flesh them out. As I look over the outline for this entry, I really am tempted to just post the outline. It won't make sense unless you know what's going on, but it will make you laugh. My favorite line in the outline is "Bacon and Eggs and Elvis." It wasn't really a signifcant part of the trip, but I think the combination warranted further explotation. It is now an aspect of the title--as I hope you noticed before reading this.

We left Cathedral Square promptly on a bus destined for Akoroa--south of France. We went up into the hills surrounding Christchurch, and down them, and up them again. It provided for spectacular views of the Canterbury plains (I think, I may not be using that term correctly) as well as Wisconsin-like Dairy/Beef farms and less Wisconsin-like sheep farms.

After an hour and half, and some of my co-travelers getting a bit motion sick, we arrived at the sea-side village of Akoroa, population ~300, though we were told in the peak of the summer season, there are as many as 6,000 folk hanging out there. It is highly reminiscent of Bayfield, only it has an ocean...and dolphins...and seals...similar cormorants, though, among other things.

We stayed at The Dolphin Backpackers (hostel) which was clean, well run, and smaller than the hostels that we had been staying in. As I am usually on the top bunk, I found that the beds lacked a little bit of support and spent the night sleeping within inches of Andria's face. This has not been an uncommon occurrence. We had dinner at a French-owned Italian restaurant that was set up in a big old house. We were served in the backyard. We then enjoyed the rest of the gorgeous, warm, just slightly breezey night at a seaside bar. Good times were had by all.

Walking back to the hostel, and elderly Brittish man came out of nowhere and asked if we could help. Slightly disturbed, we opted not to punch the potential-attacker and run, but instead to stick around. He and his wife arrived at their hotel much later than expected and were trying to call the hotel. Unfortunately, they did not have an internationl SIM card, and could not. I offered my phone, they called, and the day was saved. We ran into the couple again the next day, and they were very kind.

We had an early breakfast of bacon and eggs at the Boloungerie-Patisserie just down the road from our hostel while enjoying the fine tunes of The King. The coffee wasn't even too awful, which is always pleasant. A big black lab decided to join us, and after a bit of asking around, Heidi determined that it was a stray and proceded to call the owner, who was vacationing in Akoroa. He showed up a bit later, saying that the dog had been missing overnight.

Our plans for the day were made, and we went our separate ways.

An afternoon walk through Christchurch

After Orana, I had some time to kill before my next big adventure, so I decided to spend the time walking to Cathedral Square, where I was to meet up with my companions, rather than taking a bus. It proved to be quite the exciting venture, and I was able to see a different sort of rhythm to the life in Christchurch.
All this week, I have been hearing bagpipes. While I do enjoy the seemingly endless wail and drone of that magnificient set of pipes, it is a bit alarming when you're not expecting it. I have been seeing glimpses of teenage boys standing around in fields, and today was no exception. I found a group of about five boys hanging out in a section of Hagley Park practicing their piping. I don't understand it, but I enjoyed it. In that same section of park, I stumbled across what appeared to be a granda and grandson playing golf in the park. They were very cute to listen to and seemed to just be picking random marks to hit their ball at--a sort of golf-bocci if you will.

Pretty quickly I reached a point where I didn't know where I should go. Fortunately, I found the tram tracks to guide me, and soon found myself in Cathedral Square.
Cathedral Square was bustling with activity. A number of food vendors were around, I found myself with a hotdog. Hot Dog here means lightly battered sausage on a stick, I have found out, and I am not disappointed. There was also an market from which I could have purchased anything from merino scarves to a pair of jandals, and of course, there was an oversized chess game going on. I didn't notice any woman watching the game, but I saw many men come and go and strategize. That, friends, is the success of a public commons. I also watched a lot of people, as I am wont to do, and saw this little boy chase after that particular gull (no other gull would do) for about twenty minutes. When he looked up and noticed he couldn't find his family, he became visibly concerned, though didn't panic or start crying. I looked around, too, looking for a stern looking mother or someone who had been keeping an eye on him. Instead, I found an extended family group hiding behind a statue, smiling and watching the little boy. As the boy moved around the statue, they rotated, staying out of site. Soon the little boy caught on and was all smiles. Though they didn't speak english, the smiling father figure hugged him and, I'd imagine, said something about not wandering off. Then, I was approached by the man pictured to the left. He said something schmoozy and loudly to attract attention for his magic show. I wasn't too interested, but went along with it anyway. He was kind, and had reasonably interesting slight of hand tricks with a deck of cards. I didn't find anything overly impressive except that he didn't ask for money...until the end. He went away with a gold coin--I don't know of what denomination--it's still monopoly money to me.

I still had a good forty-five minutes to kill at this point, so I decided to wander more. I found some museums that are worth checking out. One had a display of gigantic gnomes outside. Upon further investigation, I found that they were promoting the works of a woman who makes fabric flowers--less interesting. But, it might be a nice rainy day activity. There was also a sign asking us to please not touch the gnomes. I can't imagine that whomever created that sign ever imagined having to use those words strung together quite like that. Very nearby I managed to stumble across yet another market. This one was a S.O.L.E food market, I don't know what that stands for, but appeared to be full of local, slow foods and there was a singer, Anneka Thwaites, who was signing Joni Mitchell covers and then switched to one of my all time favorite songs, Blackbird. I had to sit and listen. I saw a little boy in a school uniform feel tomatoes for ripeness and another little boy walking a very big shaggy dog. The best part though, was finding an old lady with purple hair right before meeting up with my companions. Good call on her part.

Pictures later. There was drama.

Orana Wildlife Park

http://www.oranawildlifepark.co.nz/

We took a field trip for our International Environmental Policy class to Orana Wildlife Park--the local zoo. It was formerly a lion park that people drove through, but because families tended to picnic with the lions, it was decided that a change was necessary, and a more modern zoo was born.

Toby, the director of education, was happy to guide us through the park and do a fantastic education program explaining the role of zoos in modern society and inviting us to challenge any aspect of zoos. He even said that he didn't think it was a necessary part of our society. I also learned about the whole hirearchy of organizations governing the world's zoos.

WAZA-World Association of Zoological parks

--asks zoos to shift to more endangered species than common species (sun bears not brown bears)

--focus on conservation

ARAZA--the regional organization

ASMP/NZMP--Aus/New Zealand species management

--priorities focus on threatened and local species

ASMP categories to rate "value" of species in zoo

-Conservation, to support wild populations

-Population management within the park

-Husbandry-do keepers know how to take care of this animal?
-Phase out, back to sunbear v. brown bear

Toby, while discussing conservation, also noted that the New Zealand government spends upwards of NZ$25million/year on kiwi preservation and only 35 of the ~200 species in need of protection are receiving funding. "In need of protection" is kind of a loaded term though in that in theory all species are "in need of protection" to prevent becoming endangered or any sort of habitat loss.

Something a little fishy that I saw going on in the park was preparation for lemur encounters, as well as I found out that for a bit extra, you can still go out in a caged truck and have a lion encounter. Ethically, I don't know how I feel about this. Are the animals able to retain their animal-ness within a zoo when they've got people all up in their hiz-nit.

We had a meeting with the rhino keeper and where able to see white rhinos up close. I knew that their horns were made out of hair, but I didn't realize how shaggy they could look. I got to talking with the keeper, and it turns out he switched to grazing ungulates from upper level carnivores, and he likes them better. They take more effort to keep entertained, and he seemed like the sort of guy who would get off on the danger of working with apex predators.

We also saw a tiger feeding, but didn't get to chat with the keeper. This is a sumatran tiger, and there are precious few left in the wild. I forget the actual number, but it was enough to make me go, "Dang!"

We also had the oppurtunity to see a kiwi and a morepork (native owl). Incidentally, I will also be shadowing Toby a few times in order to better understand wildlife education in New Zealand. That fits in quite well with my major, doesn't it. Fancy that.

Riccarton Bush and the Botanic Gardens

In Dr. J's field bio class, we've taken two fieldtrips within Christchurch. Our primary focus, I suppose, has been to become familliar with native New Zealand plants, but in becoming familiar we have been learning even more about New Zealand's history and a lot of New Zealand environmental concerns--other than those that I recently found a bit vexing.

Riccarton Bush is about 20 acres worth of protected native forest that has never been logged. It was set aside by the Dean family (bunch of Scots), who were the first people to set up shop in the Christchurch area and is specially protected from development through an act of parliment that also provides some city money. Money however, mostly comes through donations. A ranger was appointed to manage the area in 1914, though there was a much different concept of upkeep, involving the raking and mowing of the understory. This didn't cease until 1976, when shrubby things were finally allowed to grow up.

Riccarton Bush is protected by a predator fence--kind of like a deer fence, but a little more hardcore--and is thusly one of the best places to find birds, especially natives. We were lucky enough to be followed by a Fantail--New Zealand's answer to the chickadee. It was a friendly and inquisitive little bugger who happily posed for pictures.

John the ranger happily answered a lot of management questions we had including the possible reintroduction of species. He said that he would like to see a population of Tomtits and Riflemen--more native birds--but would have to conspire with the Department of Conservation to get them in there and plenty of native birds seem to be coming back on their own. He also mentioned the Wheta--a big cricket-y thing, and the Canterbury Gecko. There has also been some talk of using Riccarton Bush as sort of an adolescent Kiwi (kiwi like the bird, not like the people) training ground--an intermediate from being born in captivity and being sent into the wild. The major concern with that, though, is that people have a tendency to muff it up. Mostly kids sneaking into the park at night and vandalizing things. They don't want to risk anything bad happening to the birds.

Other than that, main talking points included the Kahikatia--a tree and podocarp, which seems to be the buzzword surrounding trees in New Zealand, also divaricating shrubs. John the ranger also mentioned that wild populations of bees in New Zealand are ultimately going to die out because of a mite that has been destroying colonies. Interestingly enough, though, bees are introduced to New Zealand, so I don't really know how upset I should be.

Max, an old slightly deaf man from the Netherlands, toured us through the Botanic Gardens in Hagley park. I think that my new favorite accent to hear english spoken in is his hybrid of dutch and kiwi. At times, it sounded even a bit scottish.

Nothofagus--southern beeches--were the buzzword of this days exploration of New Zealand plants. Most NZ trees are coniferous, with only 6ish species of deciduous trees. Most of my notes are drawings that all look alike and less than riveting descriptions of plants. I should have probably taken pictures to go with my notes, as I have that technology. Now I know.

The most fun facts I think involved the problems concerning mallards hybridizing with native ducks, seeing native pigeons (though I'm not entirely convinced that they weren't fat rock doves), and realizing that the Maori spent a lot of time making poisionous plants edible--go them!

Kristallnacht in Christchurch and other irksome incongrueties in an eco-municipality.

Ok, so maybe Kristallnacht is a little bit too strong of a comparison, but this city is a city of broken glass, from the town center all the way out to my little suburb shards of broken bottles litter the sidewalks and street gutters. I haven't popped a tire on my bike yet, but it is truly only a matter of time. Around the university, of course, the glass intensifies. What really surprises me is that so many of the students walk around barefoot! At Northland this is completely safe to do, even at UWSP there isn't really any directly hazardous litter. But here? Honestly, they must have callouses like leather. I haven't actually witnessed this act, but I hear tell that folks, in their weekend revelry, will be walking the streets with a bottle in their hand and will simply smash it when complete. Christchurch is not filthy or scummy from what I can tell, but it is definitely not as well cared for as Sydney. I have seen people, mostly shopkeepers I think, sweeping the glass from their area, so kudos to them.

Because Christchurch is an eco-municipality--a town that has adopted holistic sustainability and community involvement into its charter--I feel that many of the things I'm seeing shouldn't be happening.

In defense of Chch, I'm sure I'm not seeing the whole picture, I know that I don't have a sense of how it was (so that I can see the improvements), and New Zealand in general is a step behind on the whole recycling, composting, bringing your own cups to the coffee shop sort of thing, as they have never, and still don't have to worry about where their garbage is going to go. They have plenty of room, and, in essence, are only coming to the "greener" side of things due to pressure from the rest of the world. Not to say that all kiwis are garbage mongering insatiable consumers, their government is far more liberal than the US's, with their conservative party being more Joe Liberman-y than Sarah Palin-y and there are plenty of sound decisions being made. Also, I'm not saying that these aren't problems in the US either, in coming here, I was lead to expect more of an Eco-topia in comparison to the US because EVERYWHERE else is better, another way-to-go International Programs.

Right though, these other problems.

Cats outside. I am new to cat fancying, but fancy them I do. With a possible exception of farm cats, I don't think letting cats run around unsupervised can even come close to being healthy for the neighborhood, the birds, the cat, other cats, or people. I understand though that cats are put outside in lieu of having a litterbox inside, putting cats outside allows the cats to evacuate in yards, not just your yard like a classy pooch, but other peoples' yards, allowing for much quicker and easier spread of disease, plus, a cat pile in the middle of one's driveway simply cannot enhance the aesthetics of the neighborhood. New Zealand developed so that there were only two land mammals--the long tailed and the short tailed bat, that means that the majority of Kiwi ecosystems rely on birds. Cats are a primary cause for the annihilation of the native bird populations of New Zealand. Fortunately, cats are also taking care of the introduced birds as well. The cats themselves, as evidenced by Lucy the scabby tabby, are prone to fighting when left out at night and Lucy came home one morning looking very pathetic, bloody, and infected (cat's mouths, I learned while at NWC, have more bacteria than dogs, and birds, bunnies, and squirrlies, that were found by cats are much more likely to die of infection than those found by dogs). Though Lucy is well on the path to recovery, she still finds it necessary to rub me with her nasty wounded area. This could have been avoided if Lucy were an inside cat. Dirty, scabby, poopy, cats are also much more likely to spread diseases to people when they come home to eat. It is simply a bad idea.

Coffee cups! It is very rare to see anyone drinking coffee shop coffee out of anything but a paper cup (as compared to the US where it is practically a sin not to bring your own travel mug to a coffee shop, or at least is a sign of some secret eco-superiority). I do not have a travel mug, and, a bit guiltily bought a flat white today to stave off exhaustion. One flat white was not enough, so instead of having a whole new paper/plastic cup, I brought the same cup up to be refilled. This is not an uncommon practice, and I do it quite often at the Bean. Instead, before I could object, my perfectly good cup was pitched and I was told, "Right love, we'll get you a fresh clean cup." I was fairly upset, and I don't see why that even happened. It's not like my remnants were going to affect the already disgusting coffee, nor did brewing the espresso shots offer any sanitation concerns as there is no contact between the machine and the cup, and, honestly, it's not like the cups are that sterile to begin with. I would have pitched the cup in the garbage can next to me if I wanted a new cup. I am now keeping my eyes out for my own travel mug--preferably from a second hand shop, as I have a hunch that more energy is required to make an actual mug than is saved by replacing the disposable cups, but at least I won't feel guilty about putting anything in the garbage, and secretly, I'll know that I'm ecologically superior to everyone else--and that's what really counts.

Though the byo shopping bag fad has caught on in New Zealand, the concept of "brown bagging it" has not. EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE is coated in cellophane, or is in some way over packaged. Though Sue doesn't pack a lunch for me every morning, other people's families do, and everything is wrapped in plastic and stuck in a plastic bag. No re-usable tupperware. No lunch sacks. One isn't expected to bring home any packaging! Food sold on campus is coated in plastic--some of it (the curries) are sold as take away in tupperware quality packaging, and are expected to be thrown away. However, in a sense of balance, I suppose, in food courts at the malls, food is served on real plates with real silverware and is reused.

The buses are fantastic and cheap here. They go places that are useful and are reasonably on time and frequent. That is a bonus of the eco-municipality. On the flip side though, the people who have cars rarely opt for the bus, so they mostly serve to shuttle teenagers, college students, eco-superior ex-pats, and the less than middle class folk around--people who don't have cars. So, the buses aren't really getting any cars off the road, but do serve to provide a bit of social justice, and they are there.

Ultimately, no where is perfect, and things could be a lot worse. I would say that I'm not complaining, but I suppose I kind of am. So it goes.

Australia Paper

Traveling briefly in Sydney and surrounding areas offered a cultural experience different than what I am comfortable and familiar with in the United States—not that Australia was uncomfortable—as well as a different experience from what I am now having in New Zealand. While there are many little things that are slightly different than in the mid-western United States; like where cars drive, the infrequency that I heard English being spoken, a connection to the Pacific Ocean, etc, there are three main things that I felt I could flesh out an essay discussing--Australian foods both in what I consumed and what was available for consumption, attitudes towards indigenous peoples, and city hygiene.
Australian food is like looking in a funhouse mirror--it's familiar and recognizable, but something is slightly off. Many foods, like spaghetti, milk, and beets, are very commonplace things in my life; however, in Australia they were presented in an entirely different context. Other things, like coffee and pre-mixed Alco-pop drinks proved to be nothing but awful. Then, there were a few items that proved to be new and unique to this neck of the woods, if not Australia itself—kangaroo and vegemite.
At Dunmore-Lang, spaghetti was served for breakfast. I like leftovers for breakfast and there isn't anything quite as wonderful as cold pizza in the morning, but spaghetti as an institutionalized breakfast proved to be a bit surprising.
Milk should be refrigerated or it will curdle and become quite nasty. This is something every little Wisconsin girl knows shortly after birth. It is ingrained into us. It is a foundational part of how our world works. Imagine, then, my shock when I was wandering around a Sydney Woolworth’s and came across a shelf of milk. This shelf was not on the edge of the store, as I am accustomed to. This shelf of milk was right in the middle, tucked in between jams and cereals. I examined the milk—who did these Aussies think they were having on?! It seemed like ordinary milk, it didn’t appear to be curdled or rotting or in any other way, shape, or form unfit for consumption. It was just room temperature. Having had this former foundation of my world shattered, I put it down and spent the rest of the day in a kind of a haze—shell-shocked. I later came to find out that the milk in Australia (and New Zealand) is all rendered into powdered milk and then reconstituted for the stores. However disgusting and abhorrent this may sound, and is, it makes sense. China and the rest of East Asia, imports a lot of its milk and powdered milk is easier and safer to transport than whole, holy, liquid milk. As a dairy-state girl, though, I still think it’s gross.
Beets were a small surprise to see in the salad bar each day at Dunmore-Lang. Beets have never before been a staple part of my diet. I’ve nibbled at them here and there at family holiday events, but they never really caught on. However, in an effort to pump myself full of vitamins to stave off jet lag, I began eating them regularly. They are a wonderful thing and go well with most every meal. Even spaghetti on toast.
I was delighted to enjoy a kangaroo burger in Katoomba, though found it strange. Even taking away all of the laws, regulations, and dangers that could be associated, I do not think that American's could take a liking to Bald Eagle breast as a meal. There is something a bit strange about eating one's national symbol, but, in the case of the kangaroo, there could be advantages. Dr. Pemberton mentioned in his lecture on Australian Environmental Issues that there was a “Kangaroos not Cows,” movement in Australia. Because Australia developed without any hoofed mammals, cows, deer, horses, pigs, and sheep are having a detrimental impact on the native flora, fauna, and land. Kangaroos, however, are native and are “meant to be there.” While the movement never really caught on as Australians are resistant to eating their national symbol on a large scale, the idea most certainly has some merit.
Though I have worked as a barista, and am familiar with the joys of fine coffee, I have found that I am not picky about my coffee. I enjoy a variety of gas station coffees and find that a burnt cuppa from South Point in the middle of the night when you know that the grounds have been used two or three times, can't be beat. I am not a snob, but Australia has awful coffee. Though I only broke down once, it seems that Starbucks was the only place that served coffee that met any reliable standard. The college provided vending machine coffee, and I may have been better off drinking fetid toilet water and unfortunately other establishments didn't seem to do much better.
I am not an alcohol drinker in the United States, nor have I truly become one while traveling abroad—bar the odd glass of wine or pint of beer. However, I was surprised to see pre-mixed Rum and Cola’s sold in twelve packs a long with a variety of other drinks sold in cans. I did a little investigating and found out these are often called Alco-pops, and are taxed differently than other alcohols. There is some controversy over this as evidenced by the advertisements that showed up on my sidebar on Facebook while visiting Australia. I learned from my co-travelers that Alco-pop does not exist in the United States, nor are they delicious.
I must admit, I was introduced to the wonders of vegemite by a friend who visited Australia during high school. I was pleased to find that Australians do in fact find Vegemite to be a staple. I enjoyed it every morning with a bit of butter on toast. I am told that it has other applications as well, but was not bold enough to explore much further.
Groceries stores and anything but fast food are not a part of the mall experience for me. In the Macquarie Center, I found at least one grocery store, a fish market, and a green grocer. I am surprised that there would be such a variety of seemingly quality fresh food in a mall. Granted, because I am from a town that is not exactly known for the quality of its mall, this may be commonplace in larger American cities. If it is not, maybe it should be. Long gone are the days of the little independent grocer, now grocery stores are big box stores with enormous parking lots that can only lead to issues with toxic runoff. At least in a mall setting, the parking lots, and other issues are centralized.
While staying at Dunmore-Lang, I met two people who I believe can represent the spectrum, or at least a decent chunk of the spectrum of the attitudes that Australians hold towards Aboriginal Folk.
Junette, a proud, well spoken, out spoken aboriginal woman joined our crew for lunch one day. She stands at one end of the before mentioned spectrum. She was with a group from Wara Wara who regularly visit Dunmore-Lang as a part of a community certification program. Junette believes that more radical action is necessary on behalf of her community and the Australian Government to rectify the injustices and social inequalities in her community.
Kate, a residential advisor, joined a few of us for dinner outside one evening about the same time that we met Junette. Kate warned us that the women from Wara Wara were dodgy, drunk, and had incredibly long armpit hair. Kate went on to talk about the injustices that she as an upper-middle class white girl because she didn't receive as much financial aide as Aboriginal students. She leans toward the other end of the spectrum. We quickly changed the topic to McDonalds and globalization--it was much less uncomfortable.
Both of these attitudes are reminiscent of what I saw when I lived in Minocqua, briefly. At the wildlife center where I worked, we had many people bring in injured hawks from the Lac Du Flambeau reservation and I learned about many injustices and inequalities there. However, many people brought in animals that they claimed were injured by tribal members and went on racist rants about how the world would be better off without them. In a sense, I am relieved to know that these issues are not localized, but are instead the same all over. In another sense, I am disappointed that these issues are the same all over.
The sweet smell of stale urine, neon glows of green, pink, and blue erasing the moon and stars, the musical crunch of glass, and the gentle rustle of potato chip bags blowing in the wind--this is the picturesque urban landscape. As it turns out, this only seems to be true of American cities. Sydney, much to my delight and surprise, was immaculately clean, free of the plethora of odors offered by human excretions, and had no obnoxiously bright and flashy advertisements! I was also impressed at how well homelessness was hidden and how efficient the public transportation was. I also noticed a difference in how water was used—though it was not at all what I had expected.
Litter is an issue that plagues most places. It seems to be a result of fast food chains and careless kids. Many of these careless kids, I am sure, grow into careless adults, and towns, cities, and roadsides end up looking neglected and ugly. However, in Sydney, there was noticeably less litter and the city seemed well looked after. This leads me to wonder why it is so clean. Have there been city initiatives to keep the place looking good? Are the people free from the chains of apathy? Or do Australians simply produce less waste and litter is obsolete? I don’t believe that the latter can possibly be true, and I don’t know abut any city initiatives, but I did see store owners sweeping their walks throughout the day and people—probably as an aspect of community service—scraping gum off of the sidewalks. I am interested to know though, how Sydney’s system has become so much more effective than say Milwaukee’s or Chicago’s.
Though I looked and looked, I only saw one person who very likely was homeless. I was not accosted by people looking for change nor was I approached by any vagabond, rapscallion street performers. I cannot imagine where homelessness and extreme poverty are not an issue, however, in Sydney it was hidden. I would like to imagine that this is because there is a wide net of soup kitchens and other support networks for those down on their luck as well as government assistance to keep people off of the streets. However I know that this may not be the case. Thankfully, the buses, trains, and ferries of Sydney did not smell like vomit and urine as did the metro of Washington D.C and the Trolleys of pre-Katrina New Orleans. The operators of all of these transport modes were friendly and helpful, and unlike in New Orleans, I was happy to not have any of my limbs shut in the door by an inattentive operator.
I most often used the bus while in Sydney, and was impressed at how courteous the other patrons were as well. All hollered a, “Thank you!” as they disembarked. Once, when our bus driver took a wrong turn off of the route, instead of shouting things like, “What are you doing moron?” as I would expect anywhere in the United States, one woman piped up and said simply, “Bus driver, you are going the wrong way,” and the situation was rectified with dignity and without humiliation. The buses, unlike those of Stevens Point, deliver people to useful locations and are quite accurate time wise.
In Australia, because it is mostly a desert nation and has limited access to fresh water, I expected much more water restrictions. Things like, “If it’s yellow leave it mellow,” water faucets that aren’t leaky at least as a matter of culture if not actual policy. This wasn’t the case, however, as I found no signs in the Dunmore-Lang facilities advising me to leave anything mellow, but I found plenty of leaky faucets and highly inefficient showerheads and toilets. Fortunately, though, I learned that there are restrictions on when a hose can be used, to prevent evaporation during the warmest parts of the day. I also learned, in Dr. Pemberton’s lectures, that rain barrels are growing in popularity as a means to water one’s lawn and the Australian government even offers subsidies to those who follow this trend. Ultimately, this leads to cleaner cities.
Despite the differences I have discussed, Australia, as a westernized former British colony isn’t all that different from the United States. The simile I used when discussing food is quite apt, Australia is a funhouse mirror reflection of the United States in a lot of ways, and as a result, I did not experience too much culture shock. That isn’t to say that Australia is not a unique and valuable place on this planet—it is. However, I am finding as I begin to explore the world, that people, places, and culture—in British colonies at the very least, may not be as different as I originally thought. There is some logic that isn’t unique to North America, but may in fact be a human trait.