Saturday, March 10, 2007
Down Under a breath of fresh air
Libba Wolfe
Libba Wolfe's column appears twice monthly in Extra.
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Before we left for New Zealand last month, I tried to figure out the time difference. But, because it’s so far away — it’s even a different day — I gave up and decided to just be where I was, when I was. Turns out, late summer Down Under is a fine place to be. I wasn’t sorry to miss the ice and cold in Roanoke.
Russel, our guide for the two-week trip, met us as we stumbled, wrinkled and blinking, into a beautiful Kiwi summer day. Our group numbered 15, all complete strangers.
New Zealand is a country where the sheep outnumber the people 17-to-1. Russel must have trained with the collies that manage the sheep. He herded us through customs, introductions, shared meals, early morning outings. In no time we found we were a most congenial group. With a little rest we were ready to see the sights.
New Zealand is full of dramatic sights. Glaciers that wind into rain forests, volcanic craters, thermal mud fields, snow-capped mountains enclosing valleys of icy braided rivers, rocky beaches full of playful seals. We explored them all.
We learned about the Maori and colonial history. About the same time I gave up converting the metric measurements of the deepest lakes and longest rivers, my husband gave up trying to get the Maori place names straight. He called everything “pa-wu-ta-ki.” We decided we didn’t have to remember everything.
What we’ll never forget is how clean the country is. We were startled every day by the clarity of the air. By sparkling rivers so clear you could see the rocky bottoms. By cities and towns proud of their tidy streets and public gardens.
Dramatic sights are a must. But it’s the small things that make a trip unforgettable. One night we had fish ’n chips at the Auckland home of Russel’s friend Rosie. A rock collector and a gardener, Rosie and I had lots to talk about. Her house was full of interesting art and one side was completely open to the garden. What would it be like to live with no bugs and no need for screens?
What would it be like to live someplace with fish ’n chips on every menu? I forgot about broiled and healthy and rediscovered my North Carolina taste for fried fish. Crispy fish and potatoes followed with hokey pokey ice cream, another specialty down under.
I had to draw the line at baked beans for breakfast and nude bungee jumping, though.
“Turning to custard” is a phrase that has nothing to do with a recipe. That’s what Kiwis say when a situation gets complicated or “thick with issues.”
It took Russel awhile to explain the insult “a bit of a dag.” He told us the dag, the rear of the sheep, presents a problem at wool-shearing time. He looked into the puzzled eyes of 15 non-sheep shearers and went on delicately about the matted, “rather Rastafarian” condition of the dag. We began to understand. Calling someone “a bit of a dag” means they are rough around the edges.
I could hardly wait to slip those two phrases into a conversation. I got a chance sooner than I expected.
As soon as we landed in Los Angeles on the way home our trip turned to custard. We had minutes to make our connection. The lines were long, our piles of bags were heavy with dirty clothes and rocks and we had no idea where to go.
When I stopped a man in a United Airlines uniform and asked for directions, he said, “I’m on break” and walked on. He probably didn’t understand me when I huffed up and called him a bit of a dag. He surely understood my husband’s very plain USA translation, though.
Yard work is the fun way to work off those fried fish calories. It looks like the weather is getting better and I’m ready to get started. My goal this spring is to experiment with a wide variety of seeds. I have lots to learn.
