You Can Only Go Up From Here, Mate

So it has recently come to my attention that I'm not nearly as fit as one might expect (myself included). From my appearance, being a bit slender in excess, one might assume that I'm in pretty decent shape. Granted, I've never really had much concern for watching my diet, and I've always been a little turned off by cardio workouts since they tend to be counter productive toward my goal of being bigger, but I never pegged myself as being much of a slouch.

This past week I joined a local gym and was given a physical assessment. This would provide my "trainer" with a better idea of where I'm at physically, regardless of my primary goal to put on weight (muscle mass). It all seemed very technical to the clueless observer (me), as I was put onto a very space-age looking bike, given a little clip to attach to my earlobe that would measure my heart rate, and watched as a little printout rapidly spewed jumbled numbers. I was told that after 10 minutes of peddling at a consistant, semi-slow pace, the machine would gauge my physical ability from 1 to 5, with 5 being the best. The trainer assured me, with said misguided assumption based on my appearance, that I should have no problem scoring fairly well. I watched as my heart rate slowly went up and the machine made the bike harder and harder to peddle. To be perfectly honest, I felt good. After the 10 minutes were over, I expected to "pass" with flying colors.

The trainer's eyes honed in on one spot of the printout as he seemed unsure what to say at first. All he could manage, God bless him, was "you can only go up from here, mate." The fact that I had scored an embarrassing "1" did not need to be clarified - an unspoken pity on his part.

A little disappointed with myself, he then wanted to see what I could do with some weights. We began with dumbbell presses, and I couldn't help but be a little put off (but understanding) when he handed me two 9kg dumbbells (roughly 20 pounds) and asked me to do 10 presses. Now, I'm not a big man by any stretch of the imagination, but on my worst day I still put up about 50lbs on each arm. I said nothing, having come face to face with humility after my poor showing on the delirium bike. Thankfully, he was fully aware after a few presses that he had assumed too little this time. After about 15 more minutes of lifting, doing several different kinds of lifts, I'm proud to say he was at least impressed with my ability to lift more than he had anticipated and said he was going to "make me his little project for the next four months." God bless him, indeed.

Since that day last week I've, somewhat ironically, had my cardio abilities put to the test on several occasions. My flat mate Will has taken me on a few incredible hikes that required many uphill battles and semi-scary downhill climbs. I've also recently become addicted to rock climbing, after Will took me to an indoor arena with dozens of walls to ascend. Finally a physical activity where my long limbs and slender build work to my advantage, rather the opposite. I've also joined Will's summer soccer team, and faired decently based on my expectations the first game. The initial 10 minutes of sprinting up and down the field was laughable, however, and I was left gasping for oxygen like a fish in a sandbox. I fell into a groove shortly, though, and managed to pull off the one assist of the game, only after having the opposing team's goalkeeper - lets call him Brutus - crush me to deathly proportions. Fingers-crossed I keep scars on my left leg to prove it.

All in all, I think it's safe to say I'll be returning to Cincinnati in much better shape than I left. Keep the that's-not-saying-much comments to yourselves, thank you very much.

Bloodied and brusied,
John

A Week's Reflection

Now that I've officially been out of Uncle Sam's reach for a week, I thought now would be a good time to lay down my initial impressions of New Zealand culture. These are likely all trivial and silly, but, in my opinion, food (mostly) for thought.

The good:

Meat pies- These may be one of the greatest culinary inventions existing today that are almost entirely absent from American eating. The moment I entered the grocery store in Auckland, I made a beeline to the cold food section and stocked up on Big Ben's Minced Meat and Cheese pies. Hardly a day has gone by since I've arrived that I haven't worked one into my daily eating regime. As the kiwis would say, "they're brilliant." And, what I can't quite figure out is why they haven't caught on to an American consumer. It's thick, chunky, unhealthy steak stuffed into a PIE filling that's easy to eat anywhere. Convenient. Tasty. Unhealthy. I just broke down three of the most important must-haves to your average American eater.

Heated Towel Racks- Little did you know, the guy who invented these won a noble peace prize. Also, there's a good chance that's entirely untrue - but he should have. Also, I have no idea if it was a guy - but it probably was. Regardless, heated towel racks strike me as being one of the most impressive inventions since those little lights you can attach anywhere for "hard to light places!" I envision that one day Billy Mays will be marketing this to an awe-struck American audience (But wait! Order in the next 12-and-a-half seconds and we'll throw in a free bottle of oxyclean! That's a $30 value, for free!). I'd take two. Really. I cannot explain the absolute bliss that comes along with stepping out of your shower and wrapping yourself up in a pre-warmed towel. Although I've been told some classy, 5-star hotels around the US do actually include these, it's a staple "appliance" in all New Zealand homes.

The bad:

Driving laws– It wasn’t even 24 hours of arriving that I decided against purchasing a vehicle for my 4-month stay. Unfortunately, my brain functions in this really annoying way that requires logic to be present before it can function properly. And, also unfortunately, there seems to be quite a bit of that missing in the New Zealand rules of the road. At several points in my adventure last weekend, my three friends debated on which car, in fact, had the right-of-way. If New Zealand natives of at least 20 years struggle to grasp the insanity, it's probably a safe assumption I certainly would as well. An example: If I was to come to a green light and wanted to turn left (in which case I'd be on the curb-side, since kiwis drive on the other side of the road), I would have to GIVE WAY to any cars coming head on that were turning right. That is, the cars CROSSING AN INTERSECTION have right-of-way before cars hugging the very curb they are attempting to turn on. Attempting to justify such nonsense will only result in the killing of valuable brain cells. So just stop.

Internet caps – Apparently in New Zealand there’s this epic marketing ploy that you can spend more of your hard earned kiwi notes (dollars) to “buy more Internet” for the month. Our household’s current plan allows for us to use 20 gigs a month. For your average Internet user, that could actually suffice. Needless to say, within four days of my arrival I’d (with the help of my flat mate Will) managed to bring our connection to a painful crawl, capping out at 20gigs barely halfway through the month. The frustration of spending 20 minutes attaching a 3MB .jpeg photo to an e-mail is up there with Friday-afternoon traffic jams. What I can’t quite seem to figure out is why an Internet cap exists in the first place. As I recently remarked to my flat mate, we’re not talking about a rare commodity or finite resource. It’s as if the online providers here want you to believe there’s going to be some sort of Internet crisis, maybe even the Americans will be invading soon to steal this poor country’s 1s and 0s (okay, that’s geek humor. So if you don’t get it, you’re not alone.)

The silly:

Terminology and pronunciations- I’ll gladly admit this is a very subjective topic, but as I’ve already pointed out before, I do find some of the kiwi terms and pronunciations to be comical at times. There seems to be this really interesting contrast of having names for things that make them sound very important, such as their pronunciation for aluminum (pronounced “Al-You-Min-E-Um” which, to me, sounds like a rare, kryptonite-esque mineral) and then also using these very childlike terms like “nibbles” (for snacks) or “lollies” (for candy). To be fair, it’s all actually very interesting to see what other things are called (and I’ll be sure to include a list in a later update) in comparison to our terms.

That concludes this update. I’ll continue to post messages a few times a week regarding what’s going on here or whatever odd little insights that I feel might be important enough to share. Of course, feel free to tell me when they’re not.

Take care,
John

A Walk To Remember

Day two began early, and I was surprised to find myself actually excited about the prospect of getting up before double-digit AM. Will planned for us to drive about an hour north to an area called Matakana and "see what we can see." We were joined by two of his opera buddies, Sam and Warren (good folk, even for kiwi standards).

It turned out to be an incredibly beautiful day (again, even for kiwi standards) so we decided we'd first check out a local farmer's market at the center of town. It was reminiscent of a county fair - little children running around with handfuls of lollies (kiwi-speak for "candy"), vendors displaying their fresh fruit & produce, and old men jamming out to polka-esque tunes (I was surprised to see a banjo in their ensemble). There was even a man painted in a shade of tarnished copper, meant to look like a statue. It was only after I was two feet away that I realized it wasn't, in fact, a statue. Drop a coin in the basket next to him and he'd perform a little jig for you (once, even, he managed a pretty impressive robot).

After we were content with having seen what the market had to offer, we hopped back in the car and headed a little further north to Tawharanui Park - pronounced "Ta-Fa-Ra-New-E." The native Maori decided "wh" should signify a "fah" sound. Admittedly, this irked me more than it should have.

We arrive at Ta-fa-ra-new-e and immediately decide on a hiking route we'd like to take. Will, our trusty guide, decides to set us up with a 7k (approx 4.3 miles) walk around the park that should give us a view of everything the area's geography has to offer. With stops (both to bask in the natural beauty, as well as swig some much needed H2O because my skinny ass gravely needs to make friends with a treadmill), it would take around three hours.

We began our hike in good spirits, full of energy from the near-perfect weather. In short, during those three hours I saw more of what New Zealand had to offer in its stunning beauty than I'd seen in the two years I'd lived here as a young teen. The geography runs the gamut of terrain, from luscious, lime-green fields to thick, hunter-green forest meshed with crystal-blue beaches and jagged, charcoal-black slopes scattered about. It's as if God couldn't make up his mind what to color New Zealand, so he used the whole Crayola box.

What surprised me the most, and I truly found fascinating, was how my three other amigos reacted to the sights of the day. Each of them seemed just as taken aback by the sights as I did. Each of them openly exclaimed exactly how I felt - how simply gorgeous everything surrounding us was. That, I believe, is what sets kiwis apart from the rest of the world that I know. They understand and appreciate all the beauty around them. They don't take it for granted or become numb to its breathtaking power. I felt like I was sharing something entirely new with these other natives, and a part of me was extremely proud to have the opportunity to be around such good people. But, also, I think I was able to fully grasp how blessed and lucky I was to be in that moment, in a place where the magic doesn’t fade.

We made it back to the car in just over three hours. We all congratulated each other; all feeling a bit accomplished having completed this mini adventure. Everyone agreed it was time to eat, so we drove about a minute down the road to a mutual friend of the three (and member of their opera group) who, conveniently, was staying at their summer batch (a term that I best understood as a beach home, or getaway that seems to be shared by several members of a family). The woman, Emma, owned a home in this fascinating gated community that lined a little beach cove. Before filling our stomachs, we all put on our togs (kiwi speak for swim trunks) and dove in. Well, to be honest, I sort of tip-toed a few feet out, trying not to look like a total wimp for being put-off by what I'd considered cold water. Sam shouted out, "All you Yanks really are a bunch of pansies, huh?" I was, apparently, the stand-in representative for all U-S-of-A for the time being. Having to save face, and make sure ole' Liberty didn't look bad, I dove in with the rest.

We ended the evening with a saliva-inducing barbecue, consisting of the spare ribs and sausages Will had bought a day earlier, and some of the tastiest bell peppers you can imagine that Warren purchased at the farmer's market. Throw in some good conversation and good wine, and you've got yourself about as complete a day as one could ever hope to have (oh, don't let me forget to mention the banana and melted chocolate over vanilla ice cream for dessert).

I originally came to New Zealand wanting to find out more about myself. I wouldn't dare imply that one must travel across the world to discover things about themselves they wouldn't discover otherwise, but I'd personally be hard spent developing such perspectives in the town that I call home. Seeing the excitement in my friend's eyes at their own green wonder, listening to the laughter and feeling the joy of these people I'd just met, and doing it all in what still feels like a foreign utopia ... it’s difficult not to feel at peace. Compete, uninterrupted, peace. I think it's almost necessary, for me at least, to step aside from the norm, the expected, and the assumed, and give myself time to discover what truly matters, what truly makes me happy.

I’d better end the over-nostalgic here, as it's getting a little late and the night tends to leave me a bit moonstruck. In summary, I'm having a blast. I hope I haven't appeared to boast or brag, but I really want to try and articulate what a genuinely good experience I've had in this short amount of time.

With Peace,
John

Life As A Postcard

My flatmate, and good friend from way back, Will, was waiting for me the second I stepped out of baggage claim. I suppose he had little trouble recognizing who I was after eight years - same fair skin, same lean (that's right, LEAN) physique, same dashing home-grown American looks.

Modesty aside, the two of us hit it off like we'd been apart for just a short while. Will, with his occasional quips about American laziness, obesity and our war-mongering nature. Me, with my relentless bashing of their silly pronunciations (most recent decisive victory in my favor: their utterance of the letter "z," which they say as "zed." After pointing out that no word with a "z" uses that sound, including their own country - New ZedLand - Will was forced to admit defeat. Chalk one up for the red, white and blue.)

We set off on a few initial errands, including a mouth-watering Swiss butcher where meat-eaters of the world could quickly empty their wallets if they weren't careful - Will practically did. We left with sausages, spare ribs and a packet of "air dried beef," a sort of beef jerky without the toughness and way more flavor. Pictures of said feast to come...

That evening we took a short walk nearby to Mt. Hobson, where I was able to get a better look at the town I'd be calling home for four months. Mt. Hobson is one of the many volcanic cones in New Zealand, part of the roughly 65 dormant and extinct volcanoes spread about the country. Little is left that points to its volcanic existence, except for some interesting terrain, including a particularly large dome near the top where the volcano once blew out the side of the mountain, forming a large crater. Side-note: there's 28 volcanoes in Auckland alone, one which occasionally releases fumes and smoke causing the locals to get a little restless. To make matters worse, a local museum put together an exhibit to demonstrate what would happen if said volcano went ka-booey. The shockwave alone would take out much of the city, and then some.

We ended the night by taking a quick trip down to one of the local beaches to watch the sun set over the horizon - something I'd never had a chance to see, at least not like this. It was absolutely gorgeous, although we had made it just in time to see what was left of big yellow's departure. Completely aware that the moment was terribly romantic, and as much as I love my kiwi friend, I couldn't help but wish my girl was there with me to share it.













When we arrived home I cracked open my first Kiwi beer, a Monteith's Radler. It's a fruity lager that's perfect for the summer heat, tasting more like a lemonade than beer. Although I still felt great, even with the copious amounts of jetlag, I crashed early for tomorrow's hike up north.

Updates coming every day or so. Thanks for reading.

Stay classy,
John

In The Beginning...

Three months of working construction, endless planning and a 38-hour flight later, I've finally reached my destination. So begins my journey in the land of kiwis, sheep and meat pies.

But ... first things first.

My flight into Auckland, New Zealand was an odd cross between the movies Final Destination and a National Lampoon's vacation. In short, it was something of a horror-comedy. My 14-hour trek from Chicago to Seoul, Korea was accompanied with a restless, young Korean child who had a "thing" for drop kicking the back of my seat. Repeatedly. A few cut-that-(excuse my French)-out glares later, the violent acts upon my backside receded. For roughly five minutes. Rinse and repeat for the majority of the trip.

Thankfully, the flight from Seoul into Auckland was slightly more pleasant. Albeit, I was situated next to two highly intoxicated Germans who were equipped with an orchestra of bodily functions. The smell of alcohol was a bit off-putting, but unlike my Korean friend, they didn't kick. Only one event worthy of note: The plane began to experience a little turbulence about halfway through the flight, then suddenly seemed to have hit what I can only describe as an air pocket, momentarily dropping into a split-second free-fall, then continuing on its merry way. The sensation, along with the knowledge that you're currently 35,000 feet in the air above the ocean, sends your heart into a frenzy. It also didn't help that a few passengers screamed, the stewardess went ghostly white (quite a feat, considering she was Korean), and the captain came swiftly over the intercom, mumbling something in a language I couldn't understand.

What I came to realize about myself in this moment of surprise was how quickly I succumb to "the end." As if my mind used the worst case scenario as a defense mechanism, I, for just a short moment, accepted that I was only seconds away from falling to my watery death. Afterward, I felt ridiculous, said a little prayer of appreciation (and had a little confession session with the Big Man, ya know, just in case), and tried my best to get some sleep, making certain my "Do Not Wake For Dinner" sign was in clear view (my father's sage advice: pack snacks if you're taking Korean Air).

The landing in Auckland was followed by cheers - honest-to-goodness applause - from an equally exhausted group of passengers. An hour through customs, met with a kiwi-accented "welcome back" from my custom's agent, and I'd finally arrived.

Thus, the first end of my beginning.

Next update will include some pictures and a little info. about what I've done so far. I just wanted to ease everyone in without letting the envy start flowing too early. Generous of me, I know ;)

I love and miss you all. Thank you, everyone, for your support and encouragement through all of this.

XOXO,
John