Restless Peregrine

per·e·grine (pr-grn, -grn) adj. Foreign; alien. Roving or wandering; migratory; tending to travel and change settlements frequently.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Middlemarch


Main street, across the street from the train
platform. Middlemarch, New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.

A lot on main street, with the snow-capped
mountains in the background. Middlemarch,
New Zealand, July 25, 2009.

One of Middlemarch's two churches...
New Zealand, July 25, 2009.

The other of Middlemarch's two
churches...New Zealand, July 25, 2009.
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Taieri Gorge Train Trip


After the gorge, the train heads up onto the
Taieri Plateau. Looks a lot like Alberta's
badlands, so I felt right at home! New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.

Yes, that is snow on them thar hills! SO much
colder in Central Otago than here in Dunedin
by the coast. Brrr! New Zealand, July 25, 2009.

Our destination for the evening -
Middlemarch, population 240. Very
fun little outpost on the plateau, surrounded
by elk farms and cows. New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.

Middlemarch's only bank. New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.
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Taeri Gorge Train Ride


Before our departure, while I was busy having
my neck repaired, my intrepid travel companions
were gathering a feast at the farmer's market.
In this picture, Marieke (l) and Jason, two other
PhD candidates from the anthro department,
unwrap an assortment of cheeses. New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.

Ewa (l), a PhD in Nutrition, and Tiffany (r), another
anthro PhD, giggle about the 'Blue Sheep' cheese
(bottom right). Also on the table, amazing kumara
and pumpkin hummus - yummy! New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.

Crossing the old viaduct over the gorge. This
train has been running since Gold Rush days,
when Dunedin was the biggest city in the country.
New Zealand, July 25, 2009.

Sunset over the end of the gorge. New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.
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Taeri Gorge Train Ride


The Dunedin Train Station, at the
start of our journey. New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.

From the viewing platform between
cars overlooking the very start of
the Taeri Gorge. New Zealand,
July 25, 2009.

An old fence post at the Mt. Allen
stop. New Zealand, July 25, 2009.

The newer cars on the train, at our
Mt. Allen stop. New Zealand, July 25,
2009.
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Swine Flu Mary?

After a week of feeling not totally miserable, but not totally well, I am definitely on the mend. I can now turn my head in every direction (and two of those without pain!), walk to campus without feeling like an elephant is camped out on my chest, and sleep through the night. I'm still coughing intermittently, but not with nearly the severity of earlier in the week. I feel the spring returning (ever so slowly) to my step, and motivation for things other than endless DVDs under the covers of my bed along with it. In fact, I was feeling so much better last night that I actually washed those covers before crawling back under them, something which certainly couldn't have hurt my recovery process. There is nothing like the crispness of fresh sheets still warm from the drier (a drier! such a treat!!) to make a person feel better.

Unfortunately, now my advisor has it. He called this morning to postpone a meeting we were set to have with the university administration because he's in bed with a fever of almost 40C, coughing away. Poor man. Now it's entirely possible that, considering I never had much of a fever (about a degree and a half, for about an hour one evening), he didn't get his bug from me. There are certainly lots of people around who are sick. On the other hand, he was the only one in the department (Sue aside, and she's successfully fought off her own bug already which was much milder than mine) who was close to me on the day that I was at my worst. Knowing I'm in Dunedin alone, he came to volunteer his assistance if I needed it. That's what you get for being nice in flu season! I repeat, poor man!

Sunday, July 26, 2009

One Sick Letter

Friday was my big presentation for the Anthropology Department seminar series. It's likely that no one else thought of it in these terms, but for me it was the proving ground...the first chance for my committee to see that I do actually have enough shreds of knowledge to justify my presence in the program. Since I'm not officially enrolled yet, in my head it was the last chance for them all to say 'wait a minute...maybe
we need to rethink this...'.

I'd gotten good feedback (finally!) on a reworked edition of the draft paper I was planning to present a couple of days before, and am not a nervous public speaker in any case, so heading into the day I was feeling pretty good. And then I woke up. With a stiff neck, fever, chest congestion, and that all-over blah feeling that says 'you really oughtta just stay in bed today.' Just what I needed!

After having a shower and choking down half a bowl of oatmeal I figured I'd walk as far as my office and decide on the way whether or not to call someone to cancel the presentation. Since my committee all knew that I'd had some trouble ironing out the paper in the first place, I had some angst about this option. Didn't want anyone to think I was dodging out because I wasn't ready afterall (and I was definitely
ready!). Plus, I'm only here for a limited time and might not get another chance to do this. Walking helped clear my head. Just when I'd decided that I was definitely okay enough to present (and then go home and fall into bed worry free), it started to hail on me. Hard. Figures.

The day passed well enough. The benefit of feeling rotten was that any minute traces of nerves that may have remained after my preparations were finished vanished in my determination to remain upright for the entire hour. Despite my not following the script I'd prepared beforehand, not talking about half of what I had ready and talking about a whole lot else that I hadn't intended, the presentation went over fabulously. The 25 or so people in attendence not only stayed awake throughout and mostly interested-looking, but also managed to ask 25 minutes worth of questions at the end. I was told by another grad student afterwards that she'd never seen a presentation generate so much discussion. Comment of the day, from my main advisor, 'I can't BELIEVE
you're not even enrolled yet!' I went home to a bowl of soup and a dvd in bed, looking forward to a healthier morning.

Morning dawned, I did indeed feel better. The congestion in my chest had mostly gone away, and my fever had broken in the night as well. Yippee! I got up early, eager to shower and get myself off to the weekly farmer's market to meet some of the other students as planned. And then it happened. The most excruciating moment of my life.

Contrary to its normal pattern, rather than loosening up further in the shower, my neck got more and more stiff. I have relatively often had neck pain in the past, but usually nothing more serious than a persistant inability to look in one or the other direction. It has almost always cleared up on its own after a couple of days. Turning the water off, I leaned over to towel my hair and felt as if someone had torn the back of my head off. Followed in quick succession by the feeling that my left collar bone had suddenly snapped in two. Wow. I don't know how I managed to get my clothes back on or walk back to my room. I was sobbing when I called my classmate Sue.

Sue, bless her soul, is a 54-year old mother of 3 sons (the eldest 2, twins, just a few years younger than I am), who is a physiotherapist by profession. She has just started her PhD in medical anthropology, and is a riot to hang out with. She's been my intrepid tour guide on weekend outings, and is the mastermind behind the department's 'peer
group' coffee meetings which have injected a strong shot of social interaction into the otherwise studious group of post grads here. She drove right over and got me, stretched my neck enough on her at-home treatment table that I could stop whimpering with every breath, put some hot tea into me, and took me to her friend for proper treatment. She
thought about driving me to the hospital, but figured it would mean long waits in the ER, high expenses, lots of probably inconclusive x-rays, and possibly a shot of pain-killers before being sent home with instructions to go to bed and come back if it doesn't improve in 5 days. With something like 50 years of hands-on medical experience between the 2 of them, she figured that if there was anything really serious she or
her friend would pick it up in a hurry and could take me then, otherwise perhaps their alternative treatments could offer more relief. I was not inclined to argue.

Sue's friend Christine has been practicing oriental medicine, accupuncture, massage therapy, and a whole host of other alternative therapies for about 20 years. She studied first in Japan, and then China, and now travels all over the world doing treatments. She happened to be in town for her sister's 60th birthday party (in an odd
twist, staying at Sue's ex-husband's house, where she met with me). This is a woman who absolutely exudes both competence and sincerity. And she was magic. After more than two and a half solid hours of work, stretching, poking, prodding, nudging, twisting, pulling, rubbing, holding, I could move my head in nearly every direction with more
stiffness than pain. The knot in my stomach had let go. The relief was so intense I felt like I must be walking around afterwards surrounded by my own sunny glow. She told me right at the beginning that I shouldn't worry about money - that I could pay whatever I felt able, including nothing. And she meant it. I gave her everything I had in my wallet, which was enough not to be embarassing but certainly less than market
value. She gave me a big hug and sent me back home to Sue's for freshly made chicken soup and organic avocado spread on rice crackers. For the first time in 2 days, I was famished.

Today my neck is unsurprisingly stiff and sore, but not as bad as yesterday. I could get up without trouble, have a shower (I didn't try washing my hair), put on and take off clothes, even put a big load of laundry in the wash. I walked to my office without too much trauma, and to the grocery store (for some avocado and rice crackers to go with the vat of soup that Sue sent me home with). I also spent a long time in the pharmacy, discussing cough suppressants with the helpful pharmacist. The congestion hasn't come back, but the cough is persistent and very, very nasty today. At least thanks to Christine I can cough without immediately tearing up now. As soon as I finish this message I will head back home to bed...or at least to a DVD on top of the covers.
Thank goodness I rented a few last week that haven't come due yet. I never was one to sleep much during the day.

And if this is the swine flu, which one of my advisors on Friday guessed, since my cough apparently sounds just the same as her husbands who has it, then I hope it doesn't get any worse than this. She assures me that it has been mild and over quickly in his case, and in most of the great number of cases on campus and in town at the moment. It's winter in Dunedin afterall, at a crowded university just back from a
break long enough for travel. Flu's peak season. If you are the praying type, this would be a good time to nudge God in my direction. And if you're not, whisper a fortifying word or two in my direction please - no matter how terrific the local support (did I mention yet that Sue is my guardian angel???), it's never fun to be sick far from home.

Hoping this finds each of you in better health than I am, but in spirits just as high! Much love.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Maybe this is why my pants are all getting tight?


An assortment of chocolates from the Cadbury
chocolate factory tour. Dunedin, New Zealand,
July 9, 2009.
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Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Paradise


Delightful as it felt at the time, I have to say that
hot springs are wasted in a sunny place like Busan.
What I wouldn't give to be in one of these steamy
pools here, in the midst of New Zealand winter!
Busan, Korea, April 2009.
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Monday, July 20, 2009

View of the Mainland


Looking over at the mainland from the Otago
Peninsula, Dunedin, New Zealand, July 18, 2009.
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Sunday, July 19, 2009

Baaaaaaaad Day


This poor wee lamb somehow managed to get
her head stuck through a square of a barbed
wire fence (out of plain sight, meaning she was
there for quite a while, judging by the muddy
groove she'd managed to dig in the ground around
her). A couple of fellow anthropology students
and I found her while sight-seeing on the Otago
Peninsula. A lot of soothing, pushing, bending,
knocking on doors, and eventually wire-cutting
later and she was free. Yippee! Dunedin,
New Zealand, July 18, 2009.
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Momentary Freak-Out

It’s just a piece of writing. Why get so attached? Words pop into my head, neurons fire, keys get pushed, and voila, sentences appear on the screen. There is no miracle here, folks. It’s just a piece of writing. (This from the girl who routinely reads favourite books dozens, perhaps hundreds of times, who still turns to treasured texts at the least sign of stress, and in celebration, and ...)

I don’t know what, at 32 years of age, makes me think I can be a PhD. Honestly at this point, it all seems like much more trouble than it’s worth. I haven’t even finished one paper yet (and trust me, with the presentation date only 8 days away, the pressure is on). It’s not like I don’t have a job that I like already. And hobbies. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of stories to tell, without an expensive piece of paper to hang on my wall. Seriously, is being able to check the ‘dr’ salutation box on form letters really worth all of this?

I finally met my elusive second advisor yesterday. For the first time. She wasn’t particularly interested in what I had to say in my draft. I believe her exact words were ‘well duh, this is basic ... stuff.’ Seriously, she said ‘duh’. After my primary advisor read it, to my half panicked ‘you’re not thinking ‘what the hell is she doing here’?’ a qualified, ‘well...’. It took me a couple of hours of hyperventilating to figure out that he probably thought I was asking about the paper itself (which, I admit, may indeed lack focus) and not about my future in academia. That realization only helped a little. This is a man who practically does contortions to phrase things in a helpful and encouraging way. His were the nicest sounding criticisms I have ever had the pleasure of receiving. ‘Well...’ from him at that moment sounded like the last nail going into the coffin of my short-lived doctoral career. I think I may be in danger of hyperventilating again here...

The platitude in anthropology, apparently, is ‘you are the expert in your material – no one knows your project better than you.’ I don’t know if they say that to insecure students in every field or only mine, but let me tell you, if I hear it one more time! Perhaps it has a different effect on other people, but on me...I do not feel miraculously soothed. I am not magically transformed into a master of my material. What I feel is even more acutely aware of how little I know, but less able to express that constructively. Hence the e-mail venting (like Jay told me long, long ago...there’s no therapy like broadcast therapy). It makes me dread that moment when the mask will come off and they’ll all have to admit that I’m just not cut out for this. When everyone will get that I am NO expert.

Oh shit. There’s an earthquake.

Maori Church


Otago Peninsula, New Zealand,
July 18, 2009.
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Sunday, July 12, 2009

Penguins are People Too!


Aramoana, New Zealand, July 11, 2009.
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Saturday, July 11, 2009

Aromoana




Aromoana, New Zealand, July 11, 2009.
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Friday, July 10, 2009

On Having a Hari Krishna for a Neighbour, and Other Oddities

My neighbour is a Hare Krishna. For the first two weeks that I lived in the house I nearly never saw him. It took me a while to realize he lived in the house at all. Occasionally he would drift wraith-like around corners at the edge of view, usually early in the morning or late at night. He never spoke to me (or anyone else, as far as I could tell), and with his hunched posture, slightly greasy hair, and perpetually wrinkled black clothes, he always seemed a bit startled and uncomfortable to be confronted with other people. Since the entrance to his room is in a little hallway located at the base of the stairs, I used to refer to him as 'the creature under the stairs.' I am not the only person in the house who knew him this way.

By coincidence, last Saturday morning he and I happened to leave the house at the same time. In the driving rain. He offered to share his small umbrella with me. We walked uncomfortably side-by-side for a block or so, both of us getting wet, making small talk. His name is Young. He is from Malaysia. He goes back once a year, but doesn't miss it much. He's lived in New Zealand for a long time. 'Pleasantries' observed, late for my yoga class, I made my excuses and darted out into the rain and on with my day.

After several hours of wandering about independently of each other, by coincidence we happened to arrive at the front door of the house that evening exactly together again. By the look on his face, he must have thought I was stalking him. And yet, just as I was going into my room, he called my name. It took him a while to build up the lung capacity to get it out properly (the first time it sounded half strangled, as if uttering it was taking an enormous personal toll), but he did. And once he did he managed in quite a normal voice to invite me to join him and some friends some Sunday afternoon for the Hare Krishna gathering. 'They do yoga...and there's really good food,' he said.


After his invitation, I started hearing the chanting when I wake up in the morning, and sometimes when I go to bed at night. Whether he has turned up the volume in response to our opening dialogue or whether my ears have simply grown more attuned I am not sure. But I didn't notice it until that Saturday, and I have heard it every day since. It's not unpleasant or disruptive (I start out my daily group exercise session cross-legged on the floor, chanting 'OHM' after all, who am I to judge?). The sound comes faintly through a carved wooden air vent half-obscured behind an old mirrored wardrobe in the corner, and suits the place. With its enormously tall ceilings, elaborate crown mouldings, and drifting cobwebs much too high for anyone to reach, it seems natural for a song or two to be ghosting about.

Last night, carrying heavy grocery bags home across campus, I ran into Young again. We were in the deserted stone quadrangle between the ancient administration clock tower and the equally ancient geology building, a gigantic moon throwing uneven shadows across the cobbles as the clouds hid and revealed it. I nearly gave him a heart attack when I called his name. When he started breathing again, he said my name. And then immediately started chanting. I wasn't sure if he was simply continuing something I had interrupted, or if it was a particular response, but it seemed impolite to interrupt him. So for the next five minutes or so we walked side by side with nothing but the quiet-but-fervent '...Hare Krishna...'s between us. When he stopped them and abruptly started up a perfectly normal conversation with me a couple of minutes away from home, as if no time at all had passed between our original exchange of names and this, I was utterly gobsmacked (as they would say here). The shift from chanting wraith to mundane chit-chat was enough to give a person whip-lash. A doctor at the local hospital, where he has been practicing for the last 5 years, he was on his way home from a long shift. At the front drive of the house he noticed my bags, and gallantly offered to help me carry them.

Young is not the only thing in Dunedin (though to call him a 'thing' is hardly neighbourly) that makes me shake my head in perplexed amusement. Take, for example, the commercial on TV that reminds everyone to vote in the upcoming referendum on 'Should a smack as part of good parental correction be a criminal offence in New Zealand?' Or the flight advertising campaign plastered on every bus in town 'Bugger off for Bugger all!'


On a tour of the Cadbury chocolate factory yesterday afternoon (as my French colleague remarked over lunch 'well, it isn't Willy Wonka...'), I had to keep asking what everything coming off the assembly line was. 'Buttons' are chocolate chips. 'Pinkys' are marshmallows dipped in chocolate. 'Perky Nanas' are chewy banana stuff coated in dairy milk. 'Moros' are something akin to a Mars bar. 'Jaffas' are orange flavoured, spherical, m'n'm type candies. The 'hollow egg' production line was going, which was interesting to see. They only run it 'seasonally' from June until January of each year, in order to produce the nearly 40 million eggs that ONLY Kiwis will eat in a one week period around Easter in February (Easter is in February???). That works out to about 10 eggs per person nationwide in a 7 day span. Next Friday, as part of the annual Cadbury Winter Festival, they will take 13 000 over sized Jaffas to the top of Baldwin Street (with a 35% grade, the steepest officially recognized street in the world) and let them go. Each Jaffa is numbered, people buy tickets for $2 each (proceeds go to a local children's charity), and the first Jaffa into the bucket at the bottom wins the ticket-holder a year's supply of chocolate. Not that my waistline needs it (taste buds are loving kiwi sweets, pants not so much!), but I will be there with all the other ticket holders, cheering on my little ball.

I know there's more (there's always more!), but here it is 11 o'clock, and I haven't done any real work at all yet. Definitely time to start using my laptop for more 'productive' exploits. I hope this finds you well (salivating for a sweet?) and happy going into the weekend. Much love.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Monkeyville


Chittagargh, India, February 2005.
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Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Hide and Seek


Dunedin, New Zealand, July 7, 2009.
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New Zealand Winter Veggies


Sweet New Zealand yams, made sweeter with
the recommended addition of brown sugar and
lemon juice. Yum! Dunedin, New Zealand,
June 27, 2009.


Farmer's market brussel sprouts and mashed
blue potatoes...no food colouring here, folks!
Dunedin, New Zealand, July 6, 2009.
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Sunday, July 05, 2009

Sacred Ibis


Somehow I always thought they'd be
prettier than this! KL Bird Park,
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, June 16, 2009.
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Saturday, July 04, 2009

Notes on a rainy Saturday

Thursday evening there was a tornado warning. I couldn't have been more surprised when my fun Indian house mate told me if she'd said there wasa moa in the kitchen. Are tornados even possible in the winter?? At least up in Northland, apparently they are.

New Zealand is divided by speech into 4 distinct units. In addition to North Island and South Island, which are pretty self-explanatory, there are Northland and Southland. Those are the extreme bits at the top of North Island and the bottom of South Island. There are of course plenty of regional divisions as well, but you don't hear their names tossed about anywhere near as often. I'm told that the weather on the North Island is, though warmer in general, much worse than it is here thanks to a phenomenon called the 'roaring forties'. According to wikipedia that's 'a name given ... to the latitudes between 40°S and 50°S ... because of the boisterous and prevailing westerly winds.' The North Island, incidentally, is also on a major fault line (the Pacific 'Ring of Fire', which also includes the San Andres Fault in California and the fault beneath Japan which wreaked so much havoc in Kobe), and so is prone to frequent earthquakes.

Here on the South Island we didn't get the tornado, although the winds rattled every window in the house right through the night. I was snuggled under so many layers of heavy blankets on the bed that I barely noticed it. Lovelock House has been standing for the last 150 years - it seems unlikely that it will come down any time soon. By morning the wind had blown itself out, but it had swept the rain clouds down from the hills and all over town. For the last 2 days the deluge has not let up once, though it does occasionally shift from torrential downpour to persistent drizzle just to keep everyone guessing. It is not expected to stop until at least after the weekend. Which makes this a perfect weekend for working.

Since I arrived here two weeks ago (the time is going so fast!), I have seen very little of Dunedin outside of the narrow 3 km swathe between myroom and the yoga studio. I have been shockingly devoted to my research and writing, which is coming along. Perhaps not as quickly as I wouldlike (I am a very good procrastinator, as this message testifies!), but coming along nevertheless. I am hoping to get a first draft of this paper out of the way this weekend, and then won't feel guilty about going further afield next week if (when?) the weather clears up.

I am most eager to get out to Taiaroa Head, the tip of the Otago peninsula (technically part of Dunedin), where the albatross, sea lions and penguins all live. My excitement over penguins needs no explanation - who doesn't love those? Albatross in pictures, on the other hand, look suspiciously like seagulls and so are harder to get excited about. But imagine a seagull with a 3 meter wingspan...that must be something to see! There are also the amusingly named 'Spotted Shags', known locally as 'flying bricks' because of their ineptitude in high winds, to keep my eyes open (and my head down) for. What fun!

According to the very helpful man at the tourist information center in the Octagon, it's not difficult to get out to Taiaroa Head by city bus. Unfortunately, according to the same man, it's not so easy to get back. Busses, it seems, have a nasty habit of only going to the end of the line if there is a passenger aboard wanting to go to the end of the line. Otherwise they turn back towards the bulk of the city half way, at Portobello. And at 33 km from the heart of town, on narrow, windy, unlit roads, it is definitely not a place you want to walk back from. An adventure to look forward to!

Most of the wildlife here at the university is of the gull variety. My favorites are the 'black-backed' gulls (whose backs are in fact pale grey), with their neon orange beaks and a pair of black stabilizers that cross jauntily across their tails and are spotted with a single neat row of white diamonds. They are definitely more stylish than their counterparts in the north (though I'm told are equally persistent about stealing food when the weather is warmer)! There were precious few of them around the farmer's market this morning, so I gather that they like the rain about as much as the rest of us do.

The farmer's market is a quaint little affair in the parking lot of the railway station, that goes every Saturday morning from 8 until noon. Another grad student in my department, Sue, was kind enough to pick me up this morning not long after the start to take me down. Considering it's just starting to get light at 8am, I am impressed by the devotion of all the vendors in setting up so early (not to mention all the shoppers, who don't have the benefit of the rain-proof tents that the vendors sit under to stay dry and relatviely warm). Cheeses, cut to sample in generous wedges, so distinctive in their variety of flavours that locals could tell which flock of sheep produced the milk for them. Spicy honey gathered from bee hives set in the neighbouring fields of thyme. Fish caught here, just beyond the harbour. Every kind of smoked meat (free range, from our 'happy pigs'). An endless array of sinful looking baked goods (and the equally sinful looking young men who bake them). And, reflecting Dunedin's thriving international scene, Asian dumplings doused in fiery chili oil, French crepes filled with anything under the sun, Greek stuffed grape leaves, Otago olives marinated by an old Lebanese woman who prepares all her other many delicacies by hand. Sue has been a faithful devotee of the market for a LONG time, and knew nearly every one there. As it seemed did most of the other people wandering about. In a place where I have found it relatively difficult to meet people and make friends (something I am happy to say is starting to shift), it was especially fun to see the easy camaraderie of small-town life play out.

And now, though I haven't talked about any of the entertaining kiwi-isms that are trying hard to muddle my mind (and my accent), nor any of the entertaining characters about town, it is definitely past time for me to be getting back to work. And so I will cut this off for today and save a few notes to share on another rainy afternoon. In the meantime, I hope this finds you all well and happy and, most of all, warm. You are loved!

4897 km to the South Pole


Signpost on St. Clair beach, Dunedin, New Zealand,
June 21, 2009.
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Friday, July 03, 2009

Colour for the Cold


Chopsticks at a noodle stand,
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, June 19, 2009.
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Thursday, July 02, 2009

Hungry?


Clearly, past my dinner time! My mouth is
salivating, just looking at this photo!! These are
Malaysian noodles in a thick peanut-based broth,
with a side of sugar cane juice. Kuala Lumpur,
Malaysia, June 16, 2009.
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