from here to there, funny things are everywhere

Finally, A Real Beginning

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 04:24:00 +0000

OK. Alright. I've thought about all this blogging strategy (read from how to's)...all this 'I want to blog'...and 'I just need to do it' but it never amounts to anything. How, just how can I get myself to start blogging? And not just blogging to rant, or complain when I'm depressed, but to create something regularly that others can relate to?

So I asked my friend Rashi, 'If you needed advice, info, or just needed to talk, what would you come to me about?' She smiled like she knew just what to say. 'People,' she said. 'I would ask you about what people were like in different parts of the world that you've seen.'

Thinking over what she said, I finally settled that she was right. In my travels, in my urban explorations of New York, in my unemployment, I was out discovering everyday stories of people and how they came to be. I--think it's my constant quest towards humanity, to find struggle, tension, triumph, agony, happiness, defeat, and exhilaration in all its different forms in all our lives.

Afterall, Subwayland, a collection of stories of people who meander through the NYC subway system, is one of my favorite books. And today, I did wonder about the homeless woman sitting across from me in the subway. She was lying across two seats, with a big black jacket wrapping wher baby tight to her bosom, huddling her face and baby behind the depths of her fur lined hood. What was her story? Where did she come from?

I have a lot of questions unanswered. And I would like your help. Maybe you could tell me whether most of the homeless guys on the subway grew up autistic, or with mental disabilities, or just had neglectful parents. Or whether my perceptions about our world and it's environmental problems are wrong. Or how it's possible that people in third world countries don't need to brush their teeth.

My hope is that you might put in your two cents, provide your insight and knowledge. Educate me. Spare me from being the most clueless person ever.

New Directions

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 19:30:00 +0000

'How we react to and handle events is determined not by the events themselves but by how we view the events, often through the prism of our deeply held irrational beliefs.'

I've finally come to terms with not finding a job soon--not that I've given up, or stopped looking--just that I am no longer waiting to 'settle down' and 'settle back into the US' in order to start on the tasks I've been thinking about for the past two and a half years.

I've figured out that my main problem in 'settling back into the US' is communicating. You ask: Why? Aren't you always meeting new people and talking to them?' Yes, when I'm traveling, I have to talk to people, different people: farmers, herders, hippies, young Europeans out for an adventure. But it's not the type of lingo that goes into trying to find yourself a job, or talking about your professional interests. Being where I am now (graduating, traveling for 2 years, and having no concrete work experience), that question of professional interest BURNS in everyone's mind. To go from a world with no money at all, to a world where money governs everything...is where my communication has gotten stuck.

So here is to my new goals, new directions.

1) BLOGGING
I've decided I need to start writing for an audience again. If I want to work in policy, I need to learn to speak 'USA style' again, speaking so that people here care and listen to what I say. I need to rebuild this blog to share the projects I'm working on, my 'irrational beliefs' (aka my philosophical discoveries), and knowledge related to environmental sustainability, local foods and bikes! And I will be sharing African experiences on bikesinafrica again.

2) Local Foods and Urban Farming
Stemming from my WWOOF experiences in New Zealand and Australia--the newfound awareness that I gained of the importance of food on human health and the environment--I am going to work with local community (wherever that may end up being) groups to address food health and environmental issues. In essence, I want to find a way to apply that awareness at home.

3) Fixing Bikes
Have to find some way to nurse the bike touring withdrawal, right? Besides, I want to become better at bike mechanics

3) Reading about the History of Africa: African leaders, the land, modern development, culture. Maybe even finding African communities. Any suggestions?

4) Learn Arabic

The Road to Failure? or Success?

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 17:36:00 +0000

trying, trying...fail

trying, trying...fail

trying, trying...fail

at what point do you stop continuing to pick yourself back up?...and drop the subject all together? the first time there are a few that reluctant souls that help you, then they go on with the better things they have to do with their lives. by the third or fourth time, there's no one there to help you up. you're all on your own.

so, at what point do you stop continuing to pick yourself back up?...and drop the subject all together?

my biked-across-africa soul says, never! never ever stop trying! how could you betray yourself? goddammit, you die trying!

and my cynical mind says, you can't keep going on like this, unless you don't want to ever land a job. you're wasting your time. getting nowhere. no results. nothing to show for.

out of all the odds, will it ever be:
trying, trying.....(1 billion times), SUCCESS?!

ah, one of the biggest questions of life. i think i just realized the fine line between failure and success.

maybe i'm thinking too much---about writing cover letters

free spirit

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 14:50:00 +0000

Roaming through Peach's Outward Bound: Book of Readings, a few favorites:

'I think', said Christopher Robin, 'that we ought to eat all our provisions now, so we won't have so much to carry.' -A.A. Milne

'We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.' - E.E.Cummings

'When angry, count four; when very angry, swear' -Mark Twain

'"Look here!", said the water rat. "If you've really nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river together, and have a long day of it?" The mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his chest with a sigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully into the soft cushions. "What a day I'm having!", he said. "Let us start at once!" -Kenneth Grahame (The Wind in the Willows)

'The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely, or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature, and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As long as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be.' -Anne Frank (The Diary of Anne Frank)

'For everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time for war, and a time for peace.'
- Ecclesiastes: 3

'When you're no longer thinking ahead, each footstep is...a unique event in itself. This leaf has jagged edges. This rock looks loose. These are things you should notice anyway. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It's the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top. Here's where things grow.' -Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

published?!

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 20:45:00 +0000

Apparently my name appears in Nuclear Technology!! For my thesis work on making transport fuels from carbon dioxide emissions and nuclear hydrogen!

http://www.new.ans.org/pubs/journals/nt/v_166:1

No one told me about this, but i guess it's just one of those crazy things you find out when you randomly google your name.

REVELATION!

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 21:57:00 +0000

Composting toilets are just like those cute air fresheners in asian people's cars, where the plastic character poops out used pellets.

What's so fascinating?

First, the poop. pellets. see the relation yet?

Second, the smell. in successful composting toilets, the bottom layers that are extracted to be used as fertilizer don't smell! (the poop has been broken down by microorganisms and becomes as good as good ol' dirt) in air fresheners, the small pellets that are pooped out don't smell! (they've released all their fresh smell)

Third, the poop/pellets break down over time (through some chemical process) in both cases, and the fresh poop/pellets push the old stuff out to some place for 'collection'. composting toilet: poop becomes compost. air freshener: the small pellets are scattered around the car.

Isn't that GREAT? This inspires me to build a composting toilet in the form of a cute asian animal character. any suggestions?

totoro? pikachu?

Flash. Back. Track.

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 17:05:00 +0000

June 22, 2008 Taranaki Environment Center. New Plymouth. New Zealand

In order to learn a community, it would take a lifetime to understand its complexities; but it doesn't mean I'm not going to try. How do you bridge the gap between intellectuals and those who just want to make a living?

Everyone has their place in society. In the world there are too many misunderstandings. And I want to help bridge some of those misunderstandings.

When I was with the Malaysians, they saw me as someone special, a unique resource. I noticed that everyone looked at me with a funny eye: many people, even travelers, have never seen an Asian American before. Someone at Central Oasis backpackers recognized me from 8 months before, because I was an Asian who spoke perfect English.

Now what use would all these open minded people in the States be, if they don't go out and spread the knowledge, or bridge gaps between people in remote places? It's like Jim O'Bourgman saying he wants to teach wwoofers because then they go out and spread the knowledge. People like Jim are stuck to the land.

Thing is, once you become part of the intellectual community and lifestyle, it is almost impossible to come out, so this knowledge never gets transmitted to the people who really need it. A bit like money, once you have it, it's very hard to distribute that money and go back to living poor. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and the money that the rich get never trickle down to the poor.

Lucky for me, I have MIT on my side. MIT is like an American passport. I can go anywhere. Even if I go to the dumps, I can always return. If I had a North Korean passport, I'm sure I would have gone through many security restrictions, and have to prove myself much more. Let's just hope this gets me far enough in the world

-------------------------------

June 23, 2008 Taranaki Environment Center

I am feeling much better today. A few day's time always helps. Although there were times today when I was absolutely bored, and didn't know what to do with myself, (i wanted to sleep but didn't want to be anti-social because I'm here to talk to people and learn as much as I can), I'm discovering more purpose in being here. It's really nice that I can be by myself, in my own world, have the time to myself, not having to worry about where I'm going tomorrow, whether I have a bed to sleep in , and getting low on money. Sometimes you just need that time to stop and reflect, give myself that time and space to just breathe.

Outside was thundering and lightning, how grateful I am to be inside, with a roof over my head, with no grave danger. Remember that bike guy at Cornell who got hit by a drunk driver in Arizona? it's a big, scary, dangerous world out there. And right now things are ok; I'm in a safe place.

Sometimes I'm afraid, knowing that I'm alone. I know people back home think of me. But they lead such busy lives, and I feel so forgotten, because I was almost like the runaway child. I know I'm not, but it still feels that way. I'm carrying this backpack with everything. I haven't changed clothes in the past two weeks because it's too cold to take off, wash, and wait to dry.

And yet, I don't know what keeps me going.

Maybe it's that spark of light I have inside, that never ending flame inside, resistant to blow out, that little flame that shouts 'I can do it!' It's a small flame so overwhelmed by my insecurities, emotions, and lack of sureness in speech. People put me down, situations throw me down, another few punches in the face, but I know something is inside, something that maybe people can't appreciate. I am just going to keep trekking, not going to let anyone or anything overcome me, because this is my calling, this is my path.

I hear an echo in my ears: 'what are you doing? that's useless!' i bet that's what artists hear all the time. but they just follow their hearts, because there's something there that hints a faith, a passion that makes you feel like a completely different person, in a different world, a comforting one, that speaks to you in a special way. Watching my professor Junot Diaz's talk:

'If your book doesn't do well with the literary community, it doesn't mean much, because it just means you fit a profile of what critics need right now. I write for the readers, the people who just love to read; they are much more unincumbered, free, because they don't have any considerations. It's not that I'm against academia, but if you work for the intellectual community, there is so much at stake: tenure, relationship with professor, critical climate, publications...'

Bicycling in Africa

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 09:57:00 +0000

Hello friends!

As many of you know (but some of you don't), I am embarking on an epic adventure soon. I am cycling across Africa with four friends, from South Africa to Egypt over eight months.

We are keeping a blog which we hope to update through internet cafes along the way, so our friends and family can make sure we are safe:

bikesinafrica.blogspot.com

If you want to automatically receive the blog updates in your email, click on the 'subscription via email' link on the left side. Feel free to comment or ask me/us questions. I love hearing from all of you! It keeps me inspired and pedaling!

I flew to Wisconsin to meet with Karen, Orian, and Nate and have spent the last few days preparing my new bike. It has leopard spots on it, and the story is that it was painted by a hippie in the 80s when he had nothing to do for 3 months. Funny enough, when we were buying extra parts at the bike shop, the hippie was one of the workers there. He looked at my bike and said: 'That was my first mountain bike!' Now it is my very first mountain bike. Orian's family had a good bye party for us with Nate's family and other neighbors, which I was surprised and very happy about.

We will begin our journey on Friday, as we sit on a long flight to Capetown, South Africa. We hope you enjoy our stories and pictures!

Much love,

Minwah

running my butt around the northeast: random notes

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 22:42:00 +0000

i love bike culture. i'm super excited about my new schwalbe marathon tires. the bike shop guy was incredibly nice. and all these things make me happy.

new york. washington dc. new york. vermont. new york. boston. new york. wisconsin. africa

that's a lot of places to go in 3 weeks, huh? especially after not being back for 14 months. the crisp winter air keeps me refreshed though.

it feels nice to be in boston again. it feels more like home than new york. i have lots of new york pride, but new york is depressing to me when i'm there. my parents' home in queens is too far away. i can stay in chinatown with my aunt, but all my stuff isn't there. it's like i can't be settled.

boston is nice because there's not many people on the streets. the buildings are red brick and cute. central square has that alternative feel. the bike shop is a nice walk. mit is down the street. toscanini's is a warm, safe haven. the charles river is right there for a run or walk. boston has a lot of open space to breathe. that is, if you're not studying at mit. boston just seems personable and friendly and community-like.

now that i'm no longer a student at mit, i feel motivated on mit campus. how ironic! all these amazing people here-not just in technology, but also public service. being on campus inspires me to get involved, be ambitious, and make a change.

but it's a bit different now. after 14 months on the road i've grown. i know what i need to do now. and i'm relieved to see that MIT will always be my home.

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Wild West

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 07:00:00 +0000

The adventures of me continues...

-------------------------

"Don't DO that! You never hitchhike on your own, especially a young woman. It's so dangerous. Very, very dangerous. Have you seen the movie Wolfe Creek? You don't even know how many people go missing every year." As I stood there with my thumb out, I could feel volunteer firefighter lady's scolding eyes upon me; her words echoeing on repeat through my ears. I watched the cars pass by, and my thoughts were filled with all the terrible things that could happen to me. One horrific situation after another flickered before my eyes, when finally, my mind was so muddled with terrifying visions. I put my thumb away. I stood there looking really pointless on the side of the road outside of Broome.

Over 1500 miles (2500 kms) from Broome to Perth, down the west coast of Australia. That's like going halfway across the United States, from Boston to Iowa. It was a long way to hitchhike. Many things could happen to me in 1500 miles. The thought was daunting.

But the road was calling me. It felt right. I just knew I could do it. And Good Judgement [my trusty buddy] was going to be right beside me all the way. So I stuck my thumb out again. Loud and proud. And I started singing: 'I'm headed down south to the land of the pines, thumbin' my way to North Caroline…[I mean, Perth]' The cars passed by and I smiled to each of them. A Greyhound bus rushed passed, and I chuckled at how boring traveling on Greyhound must be. I couldn't contain my excitement for my very own newest adventure! Down on the corner, out in the streets! Willie and the Poorboys are playing, bring a nickel tap your feet! Classic Creedence Clearwater Revival had kicked in.

A few minutes later, I turn around to see the Greyhound bus blocking up the entire highway. What in the world is it doing? It was making a U-turn. Not an easy task for a big big bus on a small small road. Silly bus driver, must've forgot something in Broome. The bus gets back on the road and makes a right turn—again, creating a minor traffic jam because I remind you, it was a big big bus on a small small road. Nope, silly bus driver just missed the turn. A few moments later, the bus emerges from behind the bushes, and was charging towards me again. To my utter surprise, the bus screeched to a halt in front of me. The driver and his Greyhound supervisor opened the door and made a friendly wave: Come on!

My heart stopped. What?! No Way! Greyhound picking up hitchhikers! And that gigantic traffic-blocking 360-turn…all that was just to pick me up! So I hopped on. From that moment, I knew, that nothing is ever impossible. And Greyhound, is so not boring.

------------------------

The bus left me at the roadhouse, where they turned off to head North. I swung my backpack on, and skipped along to the road junction. Rollin' rollin' rollin' on the river… Except there were no rivers; only me and my backpack in the hot, dry, red outback. But I was so free…If only I could do cartwheels! I would do cartwheels under the big arrow to Port Hedland!

In the distance a vehicle emerged; the first car in awhile. It was an old Wicked Campervan. I rolled my eyes: just another group of party backpackers. I was sure they would just carry on…

But, they stopped! I was greeted by three bright young smiles. 'Where are you going?' 'South. Where are you going?'

'Perth. We can take you!'

Just my second ride out of Broome, and I had a ride all the way to Perth! This hitchhiking thing was far easier than I expected. Too easy, mate!

In fact, they weren't 'just another group of backpackers.' They were three PhD students on a study break. Two Czech guys (Tom & Jerry) and a Mexican girl (Ikerne). Studying computer science, international relations, and human migration, respectively. I was more than impressed.

'You know, I would never have the patience to do a PhD,' I confessed. I thought about how long ago it was since I finished the studying thing. It seemed so far away.

Tom laughed. 'Patience? We're not actually patient. Really, we're just procrastinating from the real world. You know, a real job, a house, a family.'

Then Tom asked, 'So America. What's a very American saying?' I thought for a moment. These questions about culture are hard sometimes.

'Like totally awesome dude!' We all laughed for a long time. Night eventually fell upon us, so we stopped at a rest area. The sky was clear, the wind was breezy, and the kangaroos were hopping about. As we laid out the tarp, mattresses and pillows under the starry sky, Ikerne smiled at me and said, 'It's nice to have another girl around.' Jerry pulled out his guitar and serenaded us with Czech folk songs. And with a deep sigh, I fell asleep between the stars, sweet dreams, and my new friends.

'This world is like SO totally awesome!'

----------------------

It seemed too simple to go all 1500 miles to Perth in just two rides. I wanted to meet more people on this epic adventure. So as heartbreaking as it was to leave my PhD friends, I left them after four days.

----------------------

I walked up to the rest area with my backpack. There were two guys already sitting at the table. I nodded to greet them, and strolled away to find a good tent site. I walked around for a long time, as there were ants everywhere, and these ants are no good: they chew through your gear and bite you. But I must've looked quite lost.

'Are you alright?' A voice startled me from behind. A young guy [English, from his accent] was standing there with a beer in his hand. 'Hey, yeah, I'm just looking for a good spot,' I replied.

'Where did you come from? Because you just, like, popped out of nowhere. I mean, one minute there's just a road, and the next, there's this random girl walking with big bags. I've heard of people biking or roadtripping around Australia, but walking? Like, what the hell? You must be superwoman or something.'

I burst into laughter. 'No no no. I've been hitchhiking, and the guy dropped me off at the Roadhouse across the road.'

'So you're not like, a witch or something. You're real. You didn't perform some crazy magic. Because the closest town is more than 60 miles (100 kms) away.'

'No, I swear I'm real. I'm sorry I scared you.'

'Nah, we were just making sure you're alright. We were just like, what's going on? You look one way down the road: nothing. You look the other way down the road: nothing. But you are here. Weird.'

That's how I met Ben. In the end, Ben and Stefan took me all the way from the Minilya rest area to Perth. Almost the whole time, they just smoked and drank beer. There was a simplicity in their lifestyle that I admired and enjoyed. Just beer and cigarettes, and everything was all good.

---------------------------

And so I made it to Perth. Nearly 3000 kms in 14 days. A brand new hitchhiking-on-my-own record for myself. One that will be hard to beat. Who knows if I'll ever go that distance again? All I know is, this time: Mission accomplished!

"Find out what you want; find something you really care about. When you know what you want, the rest follows. But don't just drift into something because it offers security. Security is never worth a damn. We're meant to live, and to live, means to live dangerously, half on the edge of trouble, half on the edge of achievement." –Hammond Innes

Bama Ngappi Ngappi

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 08:23:00 +0000

Greetings friends!

I will be returning to the USA (New York) on Wednesday December 18, via Los Angeles. If you are around Los Angeles, I have a 7 hour layover there, so I would love some company! Let me know if you are around. I can't wait to see you all!! Big giant smiles!!
------------------

Burri Koman: One fire. Bama: the Aboriginal people. Ngappi Ngappi: coming together. Burri Koman Bama Ngappi Ngappi, they say.

The red and orange flickers within the concrete bricks. Smoke dances away into the palm trees above. Fish, crab, damper, and a large pot of hot water sit atop the one crackling fire. Their home is a mere shelter; a washed up piece of corrugated iron supported by four timber poles. Four ripped mattresses lie on the floor beyond the fire, where the uncles are lounging. 'Coo-wee!' I suddenly hear. Uncle is calling me. 'Coo-wee!' He shouts again. 'Ya have a feed yet, Minna?'
'No, not yet Earl.'
'Come, Minna, Uncle Palo say we need ta take care of ya. Ya have a good feed.' His fingers make an eating gesture.

'Our people. We cook over de fire, ya know? Ya cook over a fire before? A wood fire. Id get der flavor, you know?' He places a whole footlong fish in front of me. I sit quietly, waiting for the others to join in. Uncle looks at me curiously: 'Have a feed, Minna.'
'Please, I can't eat this all by myself!'
'Na na na, yar our guest. Dat what Uncle Palo say. Say look afta Minna. You know we de mob. We all broders and sisders. We goddo wut Broder say.' All the uncles urge me to eat the gigantic fish.
'Thank you,' I reply and reluctantly take my first bite. 'Please eat,' I plead as all the uncles stare at me eating alone. 'It's happier when everyone eats together.'
'You 'right, Minna. This is our Law. Guests always first' Uncle smiles. 'My-ee Boo-gan. Means good feed.'

Poot…poot. An engine sputters into sight. Aunties pull up in an old car. It must be low tide. Dem aunties come to crack oysters. As I follow them over the oyster covered rocks,
the eldest auntie looks at me, 'Where you sleep?'
'Over there in my tent Elder Auntie.'
'Over dere?! Why you over dere? Dem crocodiles come here. You look out fer dem crocodiles.' Crocodiles in the ocean? Never heard of that before. Thought crocodiles were only in rivers and swamps.
'You move your tent, so dem uncles see you. You over dere, dem crocs get you.'
I walk over to the other aunties, eager to learn their cracking technique. Auntie Carey tells me carefully, 'You listen to dem old people. Dem old people know.'
'Dem crocodiles! Dem crocs!' Elder Auntie repeatedly echoes, her hands flaring at the shoreline, where the crocodiles live, but do not make their appearance today. 'Dem crocs!'
Auntie Carey continues, 'Our people live off the land. And dis how our mothers and grandmothers taught us. Dis our Law. It's different from white man law. We listen to our elders and dey teach us. Dey tell der stories and sing songs. Like my father. He taught me how to look at the sun.' Clunk, clunk, crack; clunk clunk crack; there reveals a white oyster only as big as a thumb. 'Only take the white ones, the clear ones aren't ready yet,' and Auntie places the oyster into her jar.

For the next two days, the Uncles drive me around the community. The first thing seen: the police station. At the school, children are chasing each other during recess. At the gardens, elder aunties and uncles are passing on knowledge of plants and trees. The community hall is decorated with xray paintings, didgeridoos, and turtle shells; the voices echoing are the legends that surround the hills and shorelines, where dem old people were. They take me to the hills and shorelines to visit their ancestors, the rocks that lay atop.

I look curiously at the uncles who have taken time to share their community, 'And what do you do when I am not here?'
'We making a building over there. You know, so when de mob come we can sit down. But the council don' want approve it. We waiting for few weeks now.' Uncle Earl stares intently at the stack of building materials, and tips a tin of beer into his mouth. His eyes move slowly across to the shoreline. 'You know, dem white men wanted to build a resort over dere, and the council approved it in couple o' days.'
'You can teach others many things. You have taught me many things.'
'Dat mean we havedo leave. We cand leave. We da mob. We goddo look after dem brodas and sisdas, and de land dat our grandfaders gave us.' He takes another mouthful of beer.
---------------

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. There is so much to learn. The fruits, the trees, the land, the stories, the songs, the old ways. It doesn't have to be this way. My heart burns as I search frantically for something to say that would stop their drugged and drunken state. Fists, dope inhales, smashes, screams, shoves, shouts, bottle shatters, louder louder louder…and shrieks! shrieks of fear, violence rattling through my veins; ringing out through my ears, fingers, intestines, toes, stronger stronger stronger…and smash! Into my brain, and tearing my body into rips of anguish. I slam my eyes shut and let out a giant scream. Except no one can hear it. The tears stream down, but no one can see them. I dare not let them see it.

It's just a nightmare! I open my eyes but it is not a dream. The uncles and aunties stagger in limps of lifelessness; marijuana smoke hovers in and out between their dazed, half open eyes. The alcohol, the drugs have poisoned them. Even they know that. But while everything around them falls apart, at least they have each other—the mob.

Burri Koman Bama Ngappi Ngappi. This is the fire that gives them hope. The fire that wakes them up every morning to gather wood. Some of the uncles are half breeds and some full breeds. But they are all indigenous peoples. And we are all one fire.

On the Road Again

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 07:58:00 +0000

I never seem to stumble across the right times and places to write thoughtful emails anymore, so I am now resorting to a brief summary of my travels. I hope this will fill some of the void that I have left you all with.

After picking and packing kiwifruits for a month to earn some money, my travels led me to the Taranaki Environment Center. I hoped to learn about building self sufficient technologies, such as recycling wastewater and simple food processing. But when I arrived, I found my direction completely changed.

July 3 Lifting my head, Mt. Taranaki towered before me. I continued along through town. Even when I could not see the grand volcano, it engulfed me with its majestic presence. Mt. Taranaki: Ruler of the North Island's western cape. The surrounding region is Taranaki, and the people here live by this mountain. This is their mountain. They are governed by this mountain, and come together by this mountain. This: is what I have come to know as community.

My time in Taranaki was about community—people setting aside differences to build relationships. Relationships between people, food, and nature. Sharing resources, skills, and knowledge to help each other. Organizing community initiatives: youth conservation groups, carpooling networks, seed saving networks, abuse helplines, growing community gardens and orchards. Ever since then, I have been on a mission: a mission to discover how ordinary people (including convicts, handicapped, teenagers) can come together to live self-sufficiently. This mission led me to Waiheke Island, a Transition Town (www.transitiontowns.org). Here, even the old granny who didn't think could do anything about the future, seems to be involved in becoming more self-sufficient. My discoveries? Well, we might just have to have a cup of coffee when I get home in December.

After a week on Waiheke Island, I bade my farewells to New Zealand, and went off to the Land of Oz (Aus). Aussie Aussie Aussie! Hoy Hoy Hoy! This is the infamous chant that brings together every Australian. I stayed three days in Sydney to visit my wonderful friend Susannah (How I met Susannah…that'll be another cup of coffee). Then to Cairns I flew, spotting the mesmerizing wonder of the Great Barrier Reef from above. There, I went Wwoofing on a cattle farm for two weeks.

Indeed, talking to cattle for a whole day proved to be a new challenge. But besides extended conversations with cattle, I was captivated by the spiritual manner in which my host worked. Whether we were in the forest, vegetable garden, or the paddock, there was a deep, thoughtful air of respect and finesse in everything he handled and did. The deep breath of air, the rush of smells, and the floating wind elucidated: The World is not Hard Science. It is also governed by a spiritual essence. Otherwise, how do you explain: Why do people sing? And meditate?

My travels next led me to Yarabah, an Aboriginal community where I stayed for a week (Sorry, details next time). Since then I have made my merry way to the Red Center of Australia, Alice Springs.

So that's two months in a nutshell.

Until next time from the Outback.

Truly, Sincerely, now Down Under

MinWah

PS for those who don't know about my pictures and blog: miniwahwah.shutterfly.com and miniwahwah.blogspot.com

A Big Sappy Thank You

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 08:02:00 +0000

With my nine and a half month journey in New Zealand at its end, I cannot leave without dedicating a post to all those who have helped me along the way. Though, ‘helped’ is an understatement. Like an oasis in the desert, these people provided a head over my roof—I mean, a roof over my head, gave me lifts, fed me well, and donated things that I needed to continue my travels. All of that came simply from the kindness of their hearts, and often when I needed it the most…despite my lousy hair, clothes worn way-too-many times, really really wet and muddy boots, short notice, etc…

When I wasn’t working for money, or wandering through the wilderness (‘tramping in the bush’ as kiwis say), I was Wwoofing. I can hardly express my gratitude for the absolute awesomeness of the Wwoof program. If you can believe me, my Wwoof book became my bible. I left it behind once for a week, during which I was very very sad, and since have never let it leave my side. All my Wwoof hosts and the Wwoof NZ Festival gifted me with memorable experiences and improved knowledge of food production, engineering, and life. There’s no doubt that I will be Wwoofing for years to come, wherever I may be.

And of course, thanks to everyone I met along the way. It’s hard to express the impact that everyone had on me. Even those I only met for a few minutes had an effect on my thoughts, like someone making small adjustments to a sculpture, carving out who I am. When I felt lost, they kept me company, gave me faith, and reassured me that I would find my way. There’s nothing like that feeling when someone appears to help you out. There are great great people in this world.

oh the irony

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Thu, 31 Jul 2008 06:03:00 +0000

everywhere i go, i can't help but laugh at the irony that life brings...

i lost my USB stick. i left it at the apple store yesterday, because i simply can't stop losing things. and yet, while i was walking away from the apple store this morning all distraught, this guy on the street was handing out pamphlets for free USB sticks. Dicks Smith Electronics had a grand opening store, and were giving away free USB sticks to the first 1000 ppl who wanted them. yeah, it's a bit sad that i lost all the random crap on my beloved memory stick, but i must admit getting a new one for free was pretty awesome. What are the odds???

the other thing is that the principles surrounding working on organic farms is completely opposite to nuclear engineering. organic farming is all about small scale, local, everything produced is returned to the natural cycle. with nuclear energy, it's always gotta be BIG...the bigger the more efficient. somehow i think there is a middle ground between the two. in our world now, we won't be able to be all out relocalization, or all out large scale, because being too local means you miss the bigger picture, and being too large scale means you miss the beauty of invidualism and diversity. maybe i'll find the answer as i continue along my journeys. (i've been telling ppl that i'm a mechanical engineer for all this time on the road...because a lot of ppl get all rattled up just hearing the world nuclear. and once they're rattled up, there's no end to their condemnations (is that a word?)).

one of these days i'll write a real post. i keep saying that, but really, it'll happen.

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 03:25:00 +0000

My last days in New Zealand are passing by...one by one. I don't even quite know what to do with myself. I'll be heading up to Northland soon for my last week, once I figure out my Aussie visa...

Man, traveling is really poop sometimes when you have access to like absolutely nothing. And you only have like 1 1/2 sets of clothes. And you're standing around like an absolute bum, not quite sure what to do...

From the East Side to the West Side

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 00:38:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 04:12:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 04:11:00 +0000

After a long hiatus, a short passage.

-----------

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

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 02:27:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 22:52:00 +0000

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!

----------------------------------

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

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 03:45:00 +0000

"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

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 10:59:00 +0000

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.

The World of Hokey Pokey

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Wed, 28 Nov 2007 08:57:00 +0000

For most of you, Hokey Pokey is a dance that you learned before you
knew the alphabet and a dance that you are embarrassed to still know.
For most Kiwis, Hokey Pokey is the only true New Zealand invention: an
ice cream flavor. Well, soon after followed an infamous edible line of
Hokey Pokey products: cookies, cakes, candies, and all things
wonderfully crisp and sweet.

At Koanui Backpackers in Blenheim, Hokey Pokey is not simply that; it
is an obsession, a world of utopia, a name that conjures hours of
conversation. It is a superhero, an inspiration, a savior.

When there seems to be no way out of the forest, Hokey Pokey comes to
the rescue. See this: Andre, Stuart, Nancy and I tramping hours…and
hours….and hours through the mountains, then reaching a sudden dead
end in the trail. Behind is the deep, dark, mossy forest. In front is
a devastated logging area with the sun relentlessly firing scorching
rays. Where are we on the map? What are we to do? Tonight, stuck in
the dense dark forest…cold, wet, starving. Sick images running through
our heads…

Then a voice emerges, whispering 'Hokey Pokey…Hokey Pokey!' That
delicious, light, fresh, crispy taste tingles our tastebuds. That
creamy subtle caramel flavor melting down the tongue, then biting
down, the hokey pokey bits crunch through, dissolving into a sweet
trickle to finish the taste. Our eyes perk up; our steps become
lighter, quicker; and somehow, we find our way down to the main road
as the sun sets.

And when life is hard and mind numbingly boring, Hokey Pokey keeps us
alive. Some days at the vineyard bake like an oven. Some days pass by
unbearably slow. And still others combine the above to drain every
lingering strain of energy. Doing the same thing over…and over…and
over again; Monotony overcomes your mind, causing repetitive thoughts
syndrome: 'Hokey Pokey, Hokey Pokey; Bloody hell, I could really use
some Hokey Pokey Ice Cream. Hokey Pokey, Hokey Pokey, Bloody hell…'

And when arguments turn into bets, Hokey Pokey is the shining trophy.
'Dare you to eat a spoonful of wasabi without water!' Now any normal,
sane homo sapien with a brain would say 'No' to such a silly dare. But
when Hokey Pokey enters the picture, all logical reasoning is clouded.
And hence, the original 'No' becomes 'I'll do it if you will give me a
bag of Hokey Pokey Cookies'. Even the most absurd arguments such as
"'Bet you the next new person at the hostel will be
German!''Definitely Japanese!' 'Dumbass, you KNOW he will be Canadian"
will balloon into a battle where a 2 L tub of Hokey Pokey is the
hostage.

And finally, there is the battle within thyself. To you, eating
contests are about the fastest eaters. But with a 2 L tub of Hokey
Pokey ice cream, it is about how long your tub can last. Poor: <2
hours; Fair: 2-4 hours; Good: 6 hours; EXCEPTIONAL: >10 hours. How
could you though? It's here. It's yours. You bought it. You love it.
You know you love it. You don't have to resist the urge. Really, you
don't.

You and me
and Hokey Pokey
we were meant to be. ☺ ☺ ☺

I Heard it Through the Grapevine

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 05:21:00 +0000

Time 6:00 am. Beep Beep Beep. I sit up sleepily. Must get up. 5
minutes to get out of bed. I stumble to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl of
cornflakes and milk. Ten minutes to eat. Ten minutes to change, put in
contacts, brush teeth and pee. 5 minutes to grab lunch, water, and
warm clothes. 6:30 out the door. I meet up with Annika (German), Kevin
(American), and Garrell (black Parisian) outside the hostel and we
wait together for Linda to drive us to the vineyard. Work at the
vineyard starts promptly at 7 am. Today we are vine thinning.

'Dontcha know that I heard it through the grapevine; Not much longer
would you be mine; Oh I heard it through the grapevine; Oh I'm just
about to lose my mind; Honey honey yeah…'

As I pick the leaves off the vines, Marvin Gaye is singing through my
head. I look up: at the edge of the vineyard is a stretching landscape
of mountains. Half the hill is filled with grazing sheep, slowly
moving about. The other half is shrubby wild vegetation. I turn
around: beyond the stretch of vineyards is another scenery of hazy
blue mountains. These are covered in dense pine forest. Farther beyond
on the horizon, mountains are capped with a blanket of white.

I take a deep breath. The cool wind fills my lungs, sending a shiver
through my body. But I feel cleansed, and refreshed. I finish my row,
and join Garrell on the next. We stand opposite, removing excess
leaves to help the vines breathe, and the grapes grow. Garrell tells
me about his travels through the North Island in his campervan. Even
though his English is broken, I can understand him, and he likes
practicing his English.

We are luckier than most other backpackers working on vineyards. We do
not do budrubbing as often. Budrubbing! Just the sound of the job is
treacherous. Our supervisors work with us, not above us. And most
important of all, they give us a good amount of break time. We have
tea time at 10 am, lunch at 12:30, and we finish at 3:15. All in a
days work.

Back at the hostel, everyone is just getting back from the vineyards
and fighting for the showers. Most of them are complaining about
budrubbing for 8 hours. After spending a day bending down and standing
up every few seconds, anyone's back and knees would be hurting: truly
the devil's work.

My roommates Mogdeh (Persian German), Misaki (Japan), Lim (Korea), and
I discuss the day and what to eat for dinner. Mmm…beans (muscles
hurting = need protein), corn, fresh tomatoes, and pasta sounds
wonderful! After cooking and eating together, some evening TV,
socializing, and winding down sounds good. I'm tired now…early to bed!

------
where am i? read my next email.

zealand hoppin'

noreply@blogger.com (minimousetrap) — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 10:08:00 +0000

in the last week, i traveled many places. partly because i'm so indecisive. i hate when i spend so much time thinking and thinking about the best decision, when really i should just DO.

since i have arrived in New Zealand, i stayed in and around Auckland (the big city) for 2 weeks. for the last 4 days that i was in Auckland, I went WWOOFing in a little town called Titirangi. The best thing i love about WWOOFing is that in exchange for some hours of work, you have everything that you need (food, accomodation, someone to drive you places). the food part is a special bonus. one day for lunch we had only salad. the salad was crisp, fresh, and organic. it had nuts, sunflower seeds, tomatoes, sugarbeet, lettuce, lemon juice, carrots, feta cheese, avocado, balsamic vinegar...all fresh from his garden...truly heaven.

you also learn a lot from the host family just from living and talking to them. i still can't believe i ended up in a Thai meditation center, feeling completely foolish in jeans and a bright orange patterned white shirt (while everyone else was in all white) and not being able to speak Thai. but it was an experience that i could keep in my story list. david also told me some things about organic farming...how to farm so that you don't need chemicals and still keep the bugs off. i find myself becoming more interested in how things are produced and made without the use of crazy chemicals after reading 'cradle to cradle' (a d-lab book).

The major downside to WWOOFing is that you don't make any money. it seems to me that for any activity or experience, the more learning that is involved, the less pay that it gives. i've been here for 2 weeks and i haven't made any money, just spending. So i decided to go on a quest for a job.

I first headed to Wellington, the capital city of New Zealand. I was hoping to get in touch with Charlotte (a kiwi i met when i volunteered in ecuador a few years back), but no reply. I then hoped to get an interview from an mri company that an MIT alum hooked me up with, but no reply. well then, there was nothing keeping me in Wellington. I hopped onto the ferry to cross from the North Island to the South Island the next day.

i just want to say here that the interisland ferry ride was the most beautiful,stunning ferry ride in the whole world. my favorite part was passing through the narrow Queen Charlotte Sound. you really feel as if you're in a part of the lord of the rings; amongst secluded islands, mountains, green wilderness, turquoise blue waters, and a bright blue sky. it's like an endless postcard stretched before your eyes.

i hopped on my tour bus and headed for Nelson. along the way, we stopped by a vineyard and did some free wine tasting. i wish i could've done some wine tasting, but i knew that going through those windy roads with alcohol wasn't good. luckily, next to the wine shop was an olive oil shop, and there was free olive oil tasting as well. mmm...the garlic olive oil...and lemon olive oil...

the trip to the vineyard inspired me to work on one. most backpackers in New Zealand end up in the harvesting industry because it's seasonal, and suitable for making money in a short time. depending on the season, you'll pick different fruit! the season right now is for grapes, so the vineyards are dying to find people. I took the bus from Nelson to Blenheim, and here I am! in Koanui Backpackers, where they said they would help arrange vineyard work for me. now i just have to wait for Monday to come. in the meantime, I'm going to make some extra money housekeeping at the backpackers.

the backpackers environment here in Blenheim is a bit new for me. i feel a bit secluded because most people who are here have been here awhile (they are working), and have formed their groups. this is the first time i've encountered this in NZ. usually it is really easy to meet people in backpacker hostels because everyone is new to the place, and trying to figure out their situations, so there is a lot to talk about. but i'm sure after some time here, i will figure this place out too.

cheers!
mw