Monday, September 22nd – Monday, September 29th
This weekend’s trip took us to the west coast area known as the Waikato region. We’re trying to do some short trips on the weekends and plan our longer trips for some vacation time. So I spent Friday poring over guide books mapping out possible stops as we headed cross-country.
Cory’s colleagues have been great at giving suggestions and offering opinions on “places to see.” Many of them have lived in several locations around the country during medical school and residency training. They also seem to be a pretty active group – kayakers, skiers, riders, hunters – so they can offer advice on activities, too.
My colleagues seem to have traveled less extensively. Several have noted they’ve not been to places I’ve mentioned or not ever been to the South Island, which is, even by New Zealanders, known for its beauty. I’m not sure why this difference is present – if it is a different financial lifestyle or the lack of travel required by training or what.
But Cory’s well-traveled colleagues had some specific opinions when Cory told them I was planning a trip to Hamilton for our weekend. Now, what I meant by “Hamilton” was Hamilton proper and the geographic area around Hamilton. I’m still not good enough at my NZ geography to identify areas by their regional terms (ie, Waikato). For the most part, I need a larger city that I can locate on a map to know where we are referring. However, Cory’s co-workers took me at my word and, as one, bashed Hamilton.
Hamilton is about the same size as Tauranga and I sense, perhaps, a small mite of competitiveness between Taurangians and Hamiltonians. (I just made those labels up; no one else actually says that, by the way.) Otherwise, I can’t figure out why they would slam Hamilton. The Waikato river runs through it, with attractive walkways alongside the banks. There was a large city garden, with several themed gardens. The museum was great, with an excellent exhibit on the local Maori culture, completed with a refurbished waka (war canoe) that was used extensively in the area. So, I’m not sure what is so terrible about Hamilton.
But let’s back up… Cory and I took off Saturday morning after he rounded. He rounds in jeans here, which continues to boggle his mind. So he didn’t have to change when he got home; we just hopped in the car. The car, by the way, has been doing really well for us. There is a small “poing”-ing noise sometimes and I have to reattach part of the armrest cover frequently, but, now with an upgrade to a full-size spare in the trunk, Cory feels comfortable, and I am just happy it runs.
We headed west through the low-lying Kaimai mountain range. As we entered the region, Cory had a lightbulb moment… When the guys at worked referred to the Car-my-z, they were talking about the Kaimais (kai-my-z). The accent still gets us sometimes!
Continuing west, we entered Cambridge. The farmers market was in full-swing and the local arts festival was set up in the town hall. We hit both, after cruising through a local art and gift shop. (My new guideline: If, on the sign it says “gifs”, it is probably mostly souvenirs and we should skip it. I’m not sure this will actually work, but I’m hoping it will at least narrow our field.)
We drove on to Hamilton as the rain settled in. I’d hoped to go to the afore-mentioned parks and walk along the river, but we limited ourselves to a visit to the museum and a gallery.
Raglan was next on our list and where we planned to spend the night. Raglan is a small town on the coast and is known for its beaches and bays, where there is great surfing. If you’ve seen Endless Summer, some of it was shot at nearby Manu Bay (featured in Cory’s pics).
As we passed two antique cars on our way into town, Cory jokingly said, “I hope it’s not Raglan’s Oyster Fest weekend or something,” recalling our short trip through Whitianga during it’s fest. We pulled in to a hotel and found they were booked. At the second hotel, we got the same info. Remember, there are about 3 choices in Raglan in terms of accommodations, so we were now down to our last option. Why do we always do this? So we headed to the Harbor View Hotel and luckily got their last room. We had a bunk bed, a sink, and a small cupboard, in a room about half the size of my college dorm room. The rooms at the Harbor View are not en suite, which I’m not sure exists in the US. It didn’t really matter, as we didn’t anticipate spending much time there and were grateful not to have to drive back to Hamilton.
We wandered the town, dining at Vinnie’s, but leaving just before DJ Antonio started up. (Bummer.) The next morning, after adjusting our watches for Daylight Savings Time (were off Iowa time by 18 hours now), we had breakfast at the café across the street and then headed off. We’d planned to take some back roads down to Kawhia; the trip was scenic, according to the guide book, but on unsealed roads.
Living in Iowa, both Cory and I have done a reasonable amount of driving on unsealed roads, a.k.a. gravel. But, of course, these roads were a little different…single lane, often along the edge of steep hillside, sharply curving, with ruts and potholes to dodge. (Remember that “poing”ing noise the car makes?) An additional delight are the single-lane bridges; conveniently a sign indicates which direction is to yield.
We took a break after about an hour in to check out Bridal Veil Falls. They fall 55 meters and were pretty awesome. After stretching our legs, we headed on to Kawhia, where we grabbed lunch and then went in search of Ocean Beach. Ocean Beach is a blank sand beach with natural hot springs under the sections of the beach. During low tide, if you dig in the right spot, you can make yourself a little hot tub. It was pretty unbelievable. Our first attempt yielded nothing, but we moved on and found a better spot. The sand is actually warmer in these areas, which is a good indicator. You don’t have to dig far before the water is almost too hot. Several other folks were doing the same thing, and the smart ones had a shovel. Cory and I dug by hand (with him doing most of the digging, really; once I had a warm spot, I was satisfied) and made a pool that was probably 10 inches deep in the middle. Past that and the water burned your hands!
After lounging for a while, we mournfully gave up our hot tub and headed back to the car. Before we had even made the climb up the large dune, though, our little hole had been claimed by another family.
We headed back east towards home. The drive seemed much shorter and more relaxing as we finally found some straight, sealed roads and made our way to the Mount. It’s good to have a place to call home.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Ahh, the thrill of the ride...
Wednesday, September 17th – Sunday, September 21st
So we went mountain biking today. We drove down to an area just outside Rotorua, a redwood forest that is part of a logging company. Year ago, the logging company collected trees from around the world and planted them in this area, essentially creating a test plot for possible re-growth plantings. Now, there are a large network of trails throughout the redwood forest that are maintained as mountain bike trails. The trails are graded from level 2 – level 5. There are, disappointingly for me, no level 1 tracks. There was a “kids loop” which sounded more like my speed, but Cory said I couldn’t go.
Now, I should probably review my biking history for you so that you can better understand how events occurred… My first bike without training wheels, to my memory, was a lavender banana-seated kids bike. It was a single gear traditional bike; you braked by pushing backwards on the pedals. Now, the neighborhood we lived in didn’t have sidewalks, but there were some rules about how far from the curb we could stray, and kids followed these rules. There were also rules about safety equipment – no sandals on the bike. Helmets weren’t really part of the gear back then and it appears my brain survived unscathed. On this bike, while showing off for my cousin Lynette, I once ran into a parked car. (Clearly, folks, this is foreshadowing.)
In middle school, my parents bought me another bike, which became a mode of transportation to/from work at the Y and the country club. This bike, however, was quite an upgrade, as it had gears and I could pedal backwards, as I had hand brakes.
Now in college, a boyfriend bought me a Huffy from Wal-Mart. (He didn’t last, obviously.) I stored it outside our summer apartment, which meant that the gears quickly rusted and the bike became a single gear. I rode that Huffy to and from work in the summers, until it was stolen. Really, who steals a Huffy?
Cindy loaned me a road bike a year or two ago, and I’d ridden it a little, but as I’ve aged, I’ve gotten a little more hesitant about bikes and road safety. And, really, all those parked cars seemed dangerous…
So this new bike is my first that I’ve ridden in quite a while. In addition to having gears that actually do shift, the handbrakes are reversed from other bikes I’ve ridden. My balance and steering are also a little shaky, I should point out.
As you can see, all of this screams “YOU CAN’T MOUNTAIN BIKE!” I know. I know. But I have a pretty big ego and, perhaps, an over-inflated competitive spirit. And, hey, who doesn’t like a challenge?
So we pulled into the car park at the head of the trail system. There were a lot of cars and a lot of bikers, ranging from 4 year-old to senior citizen and from clear novice (me) to apparent expert. The 4 year-olds and the senior citizens buoyed my spirits. I dismissed the apparent experts by telling myself we’d be sticking to the grade 2 trails, while they defied death on the grade 4-5 trails.
Our plan was to ride three grade 2 trails; it sounded simple enough and the trails were pretty well-marked to help discriminate between the different grades. The first trail went well enough – I found I loved pumping up hills. I concentrated on practicing shifting gears and focused on braking with the rear (reversed hands, remember). From ahead, Cory would call out little things to look out for on the trail – a rutted out muddy patch; a bermed corner; whoops (a series of small up and downs); tree roots or rocks that made for rough going. Sure, there were some eye-boggling moments, but that was to be expected.
Then, shortly after we turned onto our second trail, disaster struck. Okay, family members, don’t panic, it wasn’t really disaster. I was heading down a short, steep hill and caught my front tire on a partially buried log. I tumbled off the bike, over the handle bars. I wasn’t really injured, but was a little shook up. I assured Cory I was okay, which took some doing, and hopped back on my bike. We started back on the trail, and for awhile I was fine. But then we came to another hill. I headed down, and made it safely, but found myself holding my breath. After that, any little downhill situation got my heart pounding and had me nearly hyperventilating.
Back at the car, bikes safely on the rack, Cory checked over my bruises. I think I’ll have a couple of good ones; the best being a handle bar-shaped bruise on my thigh and a strawberry/bruise combo on my hip. My ego, though, may be permanently damaged.
But I’ll be back for more – don’t you worry. I may just stick to the kids’ loop next time, though.
So we went mountain biking today. We drove down to an area just outside Rotorua, a redwood forest that is part of a logging company. Year ago, the logging company collected trees from around the world and planted them in this area, essentially creating a test plot for possible re-growth plantings. Now, there are a large network of trails throughout the redwood forest that are maintained as mountain bike trails. The trails are graded from level 2 – level 5. There are, disappointingly for me, no level 1 tracks. There was a “kids loop” which sounded more like my speed, but Cory said I couldn’t go.
Now, I should probably review my biking history for you so that you can better understand how events occurred… My first bike without training wheels, to my memory, was a lavender banana-seated kids bike. It was a single gear traditional bike; you braked by pushing backwards on the pedals. Now, the neighborhood we lived in didn’t have sidewalks, but there were some rules about how far from the curb we could stray, and kids followed these rules. There were also rules about safety equipment – no sandals on the bike. Helmets weren’t really part of the gear back then and it appears my brain survived unscathed. On this bike, while showing off for my cousin Lynette, I once ran into a parked car. (Clearly, folks, this is foreshadowing.)
In middle school, my parents bought me another bike, which became a mode of transportation to/from work at the Y and the country club. This bike, however, was quite an upgrade, as it had gears and I could pedal backwards, as I had hand brakes.
Now in college, a boyfriend bought me a Huffy from Wal-Mart. (He didn’t last, obviously.) I stored it outside our summer apartment, which meant that the gears quickly rusted and the bike became a single gear. I rode that Huffy to and from work in the summers, until it was stolen. Really, who steals a Huffy?
Cindy loaned me a road bike a year or two ago, and I’d ridden it a little, but as I’ve aged, I’ve gotten a little more hesitant about bikes and road safety. And, really, all those parked cars seemed dangerous…
So this new bike is my first that I’ve ridden in quite a while. In addition to having gears that actually do shift, the handbrakes are reversed from other bikes I’ve ridden. My balance and steering are also a little shaky, I should point out.
As you can see, all of this screams “YOU CAN’T MOUNTAIN BIKE!” I know. I know. But I have a pretty big ego and, perhaps, an over-inflated competitive spirit. And, hey, who doesn’t like a challenge?
So we pulled into the car park at the head of the trail system. There were a lot of cars and a lot of bikers, ranging from 4 year-old to senior citizen and from clear novice (me) to apparent expert. The 4 year-olds and the senior citizens buoyed my spirits. I dismissed the apparent experts by telling myself we’d be sticking to the grade 2 trails, while they defied death on the grade 4-5 trails.
Our plan was to ride three grade 2 trails; it sounded simple enough and the trails were pretty well-marked to help discriminate between the different grades. The first trail went well enough – I found I loved pumping up hills. I concentrated on practicing shifting gears and focused on braking with the rear (reversed hands, remember). From ahead, Cory would call out little things to look out for on the trail – a rutted out muddy patch; a bermed corner; whoops (a series of small up and downs); tree roots or rocks that made for rough going. Sure, there were some eye-boggling moments, but that was to be expected.
Then, shortly after we turned onto our second trail, disaster struck. Okay, family members, don’t panic, it wasn’t really disaster. I was heading down a short, steep hill and caught my front tire on a partially buried log. I tumbled off the bike, over the handle bars. I wasn’t really injured, but was a little shook up. I assured Cory I was okay, which took some doing, and hopped back on my bike. We started back on the trail, and for awhile I was fine. But then we came to another hill. I headed down, and made it safely, but found myself holding my breath. After that, any little downhill situation got my heart pounding and had me nearly hyperventilating.
Back at the car, bikes safely on the rack, Cory checked over my bruises. I think I’ll have a couple of good ones; the best being a handle bar-shaped bruise on my thigh and a strawberry/bruise combo on my hip. My ego, though, may be permanently damaged.
But I’ll be back for more – don’t you worry. I may just stick to the kids’ loop next time, though.
Hiking to the Pinnacle
We left for our big hike about 12:30 on Saturday. Cory has done some hiking, or “tramping”, as they say in NZ, but I’ve never done anything other than a walk in the woods, certainly nothing that required me carrying a pack. And, really, carrying the weight of my body is just about enough these days.
We’d been to the Coromandel Penninsula just a few weeks ago; it is a very beautiful area. One of Cory’s co-workers recommended this tramp through Kaueranga, which is a regenerating kauri forest. Apparently, kauris are the second largest tree, and had been heavily forested up until about 1920, when they’d pretty much taken what they could. But the area was still very wooded, with several small streams throughout the area, as well as many cliffs and peaks. The Kaueranga is also in the Coromandel Mountain Range, one peak of which is the Pinnacles. The Pinnacles was our destination; we hoped to hike to the hut that is just below the Pinnacles, stay the night, hike the Pinnacles Sunday morning, and then hike down before heading home. All total, we were looking at about 9 hours of hiking, my first trip of that length and my first trip with a pack. Of course, I hadn’t really done the math in my head or that probably would’ve scared me off. I’ve a weak mind, what can I say?
The first afternoon’s hike was okay; quite a bit of uphill, which I guess was to be expected. As many of the areas we hiked through had once been part of the forestry operation, there were sign posted points of interest. Also, and quite conveniently, along the tramp were stone steps that had been created for the horses carrying supplies to trek up. So that made much of our upward climb easier. I think it was easier at least. There were some pretty steep steps, and no shortage of them. I kept telling myself that if a horse could do this, so could I. I’m not sure it’s a favorable comparison, but, well, whatever works…
We made it up to the hut that evening, just before nightfall. The hut was surprisingly large, built to bunk 80 people. While it wasn’t full, there were about 45 other people up there all ready; 21 one of them were 14-year-old girls. Take that in for just a moment. These 21 girls had come up with 4 adults (yeah, take that in) as part of a school program. They really did pretty well, considering they were 21 14-year-old girls.
We used the gas grill to cook hamburgers and veggies that night, and then warmed s’mores (I will only go on campouts that involve s’mores). With no open flame, I had to do some improvising, but it worked. You really can’t mess up chocolate. After a somewhat chilly night’s sleep, we awoke early to climb the Pinnacles.
The climb up was pretty rugged, but with some serious clambering over rocks and the help of some rungs drilled into the rock face, we made it to the top. (Again, I told myself that if a 14-year old girl could do it, so could I. Also, not necessarily a favorable comparison, but shame seems to help motivate me.)
After we came down from the peak, we hoisted our packs onto our backs and headed down. Now I know that uphill should be harder, but the downhill was pretty grueling at times. We took a somewhat different, and longer, trail down, which I sort of thought would offer a less vigorous downhill. I’m not sure it did, but the scenery was worth it – I think. Cory’s posted several pictures to help illustrate, as you know that words fail me here.
Anyway, we made it down. I’ve never been so glad to have a long car ride ahead of us; the bliss of sitting for an extended period was wonderful. And other than some sore calves and perhaps a bruise on my collarbone from the weight of the pack, we seem to have recuperated well. We’re even bravely talking about a mountain bike trail ride this weekend. Wish me luck!
We’d been to the Coromandel Penninsula just a few weeks ago; it is a very beautiful area. One of Cory’s co-workers recommended this tramp through Kaueranga, which is a regenerating kauri forest. Apparently, kauris are the second largest tree, and had been heavily forested up until about 1920, when they’d pretty much taken what they could. But the area was still very wooded, with several small streams throughout the area, as well as many cliffs and peaks. The Kaueranga is also in the Coromandel Mountain Range, one peak of which is the Pinnacles. The Pinnacles was our destination; we hoped to hike to the hut that is just below the Pinnacles, stay the night, hike the Pinnacles Sunday morning, and then hike down before heading home. All total, we were looking at about 9 hours of hiking, my first trip of that length and my first trip with a pack. Of course, I hadn’t really done the math in my head or that probably would’ve scared me off. I’ve a weak mind, what can I say?
The first afternoon’s hike was okay; quite a bit of uphill, which I guess was to be expected. As many of the areas we hiked through had once been part of the forestry operation, there were sign posted points of interest. Also, and quite conveniently, along the tramp were stone steps that had been created for the horses carrying supplies to trek up. So that made much of our upward climb easier. I think it was easier at least. There were some pretty steep steps, and no shortage of them. I kept telling myself that if a horse could do this, so could I. I’m not sure it’s a favorable comparison, but, well, whatever works…
We made it up to the hut that evening, just before nightfall. The hut was surprisingly large, built to bunk 80 people. While it wasn’t full, there were about 45 other people up there all ready; 21 one of them were 14-year-old girls. Take that in for just a moment. These 21 girls had come up with 4 adults (yeah, take that in) as part of a school program. They really did pretty well, considering they were 21 14-year-old girls.
We used the gas grill to cook hamburgers and veggies that night, and then warmed s’mores (I will only go on campouts that involve s’mores). With no open flame, I had to do some improvising, but it worked. You really can’t mess up chocolate. After a somewhat chilly night’s sleep, we awoke early to climb the Pinnacles.
The climb up was pretty rugged, but with some serious clambering over rocks and the help of some rungs drilled into the rock face, we made it to the top. (Again, I told myself that if a 14-year old girl could do it, so could I. Also, not necessarily a favorable comparison, but shame seems to help motivate me.)
After we came down from the peak, we hoisted our packs onto our backs and headed down. Now I know that uphill should be harder, but the downhill was pretty grueling at times. We took a somewhat different, and longer, trail down, which I sort of thought would offer a less vigorous downhill. I’m not sure it did, but the scenery was worth it – I think. Cory’s posted several pictures to help illustrate, as you know that words fail me here.
Anyway, we made it down. I’ve never been so glad to have a long car ride ahead of us; the bliss of sitting for an extended period was wonderful. And other than some sore calves and perhaps a bruise on my collarbone from the weight of the pack, we seem to have recuperated well. We’re even bravely talking about a mountain bike trail ride this weekend. Wish me luck!
Be alert...
I’ve been driving, biking, bus-riding, and walking all over the Tauranga area for several weeks now and I keep thinking I will get the hang of things soon. Some of my struggles are related to the fact that I’m not from New Zealand, while others stem from my small town lifestyle. There may also be a few struggles related to the fact that I may not be very bright, but I’ll let you decide for yourself. (No need to comment on that, by the way…)
Here’s one I attribute mainly to the fact that I’m not from New Zealand, though maybe it has something to do with my small town background… I struggle with zebra crossings. For those of you unfamiliar with this term, these are simply crosswalks (indicated by the traditional white markings on the black asphalt and by poles painted in white and black stripes, hence the name). At these crossings, vehicles yield to pedestrians. “How tough can that be? She only has to cross the street,” you say. Right. Well, I keep forgetting that the cars are definitely (theoretically) going to stop. So I wait on the sidewalk, as opposed to simply looking and crossing, thus forcing the driver not only to slow down and yield to me, but to come to a complete stop and, often, wave me across, so that they can continue on their way. Surprisingly, not one driver has done more than look slightly exasperated.
Another little struggle of mine involves crossing a busy street near the school where I volunteer. To get to Kaka Street School, I ride a bus from the Mount and get off at Cameron Street, right by the hospital Cory works at, actually. I then walk maybe 8 blocks to school. However, I have to cross Fraser Street, which is a pretty busy road. The intersection I cross at is also pretty highly trafficked and sits atop a hill, so visibility from one direction is pretty poor. There is no magical zebra crossing here, nor is there a stoplight to provide some definite break in movement. (Please remember, I’m from a smallish town.) I am fine at judging traffic crossing in front of me, but I keep forgetting what lane the turning traffic is turning in to – I forget about that whole driving in the left lane thing! This has actually led to a few close calls. But, I’ve got a new plan now…If I time things just right, I can arrive at the intersection with a few students from the nearly intermediate school - then I just cross when they do! They are very good guides.
I’ll relate just one other little struggle, lest I lead you to believe I’m a hazard to myself and society with my ineptness… Today I was biking back from getting groceries and stopped to cross the street at a stoplight. (I have to get off to do this; I can’t bounce around and balance while waiting.) When you are at a crossing with a stoplight, you push a button on the light pole to tell the system there is someone there waiting to cross – and, yes, I’ve done this before. Here, though, there is also a cool little “blip, blip, blip” sound that indicates you are to wait. When it is time to cross, the sound changes to indicate so. Fascinating. It works well, especially in those times when you can’t see the little indicator light-up person. So today, I approached and the “blip, blip, blip” sound was all ready going. I think it is set so that you don’t even have to push the button at some busy intersections. So I waited for the sound to change. And I waited. I do pay attention to the flow of traffic, and, after awhile, I was thinking that there had probably been several opportunities for me to cross that I had missed while listening for my magic sound. But then, you know, there is that whole turning traffic thing that befuddles me so and this was a busy intersection. So I waited. I wondered if maybe I should just push the button anyway, even though it was “blipping” and leaned over to look at the pole. Well, fancy that, there was a sign that said to stand on the yellow spot, which activates the crossing signal. That was certainly the missing element; I was able, after only a slight wait, to cross the street. Seriously, I could’ve been there for days.
Which leads me to a quick plea… Cory and I are planning an overnight camping trip this weekend. The plan is to hike to the Pinnacles outside Thames, stay over night in a “hut” and then hike back down. Should I not post on the blog by, say, late Monday, please contact someone. Anyone. I’ll probably be dead from exhaustion next to a trail or waiting patiently by a street crossing, hoping the light will change.
Here’s one I attribute mainly to the fact that I’m not from New Zealand, though maybe it has something to do with my small town background… I struggle with zebra crossings. For those of you unfamiliar with this term, these are simply crosswalks (indicated by the traditional white markings on the black asphalt and by poles painted in white and black stripes, hence the name). At these crossings, vehicles yield to pedestrians. “How tough can that be? She only has to cross the street,” you say. Right. Well, I keep forgetting that the cars are definitely (theoretically) going to stop. So I wait on the sidewalk, as opposed to simply looking and crossing, thus forcing the driver not only to slow down and yield to me, but to come to a complete stop and, often, wave me across, so that they can continue on their way. Surprisingly, not one driver has done more than look slightly exasperated.
Another little struggle of mine involves crossing a busy street near the school where I volunteer. To get to Kaka Street School, I ride a bus from the Mount and get off at Cameron Street, right by the hospital Cory works at, actually. I then walk maybe 8 blocks to school. However, I have to cross Fraser Street, which is a pretty busy road. The intersection I cross at is also pretty highly trafficked and sits atop a hill, so visibility from one direction is pretty poor. There is no magical zebra crossing here, nor is there a stoplight to provide some definite break in movement. (Please remember, I’m from a smallish town.) I am fine at judging traffic crossing in front of me, but I keep forgetting what lane the turning traffic is turning in to – I forget about that whole driving in the left lane thing! This has actually led to a few close calls. But, I’ve got a new plan now…If I time things just right, I can arrive at the intersection with a few students from the nearly intermediate school - then I just cross when they do! They are very good guides.
I’ll relate just one other little struggle, lest I lead you to believe I’m a hazard to myself and society with my ineptness… Today I was biking back from getting groceries and stopped to cross the street at a stoplight. (I have to get off to do this; I can’t bounce around and balance while waiting.) When you are at a crossing with a stoplight, you push a button on the light pole to tell the system there is someone there waiting to cross – and, yes, I’ve done this before. Here, though, there is also a cool little “blip, blip, blip” sound that indicates you are to wait. When it is time to cross, the sound changes to indicate so. Fascinating. It works well, especially in those times when you can’t see the little indicator light-up person. So today, I approached and the “blip, blip, blip” sound was all ready going. I think it is set so that you don’t even have to push the button at some busy intersections. So I waited for the sound to change. And I waited. I do pay attention to the flow of traffic, and, after awhile, I was thinking that there had probably been several opportunities for me to cross that I had missed while listening for my magic sound. But then, you know, there is that whole turning traffic thing that befuddles me so and this was a busy intersection. So I waited. I wondered if maybe I should just push the button anyway, even though it was “blipping” and leaned over to look at the pole. Well, fancy that, there was a sign that said to stand on the yellow spot, which activates the crossing signal. That was certainly the missing element; I was able, after only a slight wait, to cross the street. Seriously, I could’ve been there for days.
Which leads me to a quick plea… Cory and I are planning an overnight camping trip this weekend. The plan is to hike to the Pinnacles outside Thames, stay over night in a “hut” and then hike back down. Should I not post on the blog by, say, late Monday, please contact someone. Anyone. I’ll probably be dead from exhaustion next to a trail or waiting patiently by a street crossing, hoping the light will change.
Cory breaks his silence...
Cory here… Just thought it was time to break the silence and make a contribution to the literary portion of this blog. Don’t expect anything earth shattering. I will begin, however, with a bit of advice: don’t collect things that previously housed a live animal. From the time I was a child I have loved shells, in fact, I have a large box of shells that I have been toting around for the last ten years as I have moved from place to place. Living on a peninsula makes the temptation to pick up shells from the beach too hard to resist. As Erin and I were strolling along the beach the other night to get an ice cream con,e I ran across 3 small conch shells – fine specimens. I washed them out in the ocean water, carried them until they were dry, and then stuffed them into my pocket. As we approached the ice cream shop I realized that my hands and person reeked of dead mollusk. The doctor in me got the best of me so I jogged down the street to a public restroom and washed up prior to grabbing a cone. Despite the smell, I kept the shells figuring a good soak overnight would do the trick. Several days of soaking and soaping, as well as a dishwasher cycle managed to decrease the odor of the shells to a mild stench. Have I learned my lesson? I’m not sure, but I will definitely think twice before picking up my next shell.
While some things we can avoid, other things we cannot. Today was a prime example. I was scheduled to do a total hip with one of the consultants (staff doctors) today. I really had little information on the patient other than her name and a few brief clinic notes. (Their electronic medical record is not quite the same as back home.) As the patient walked down the hall I realized it was going to be a long day. She walked with her arms folded, resting on what appeared to be an armrest on either side but later turned out to be her rear end. Needless to say the operation was a bit of a struggle. I could hear Dr. Callaghan in the back of my mind and was reminded of the “good times” back at Iowa. To make matters worse, I still tend to call out for surgical instruments with names that are entirely foreign to the nursing staff here. While it must be amusing to them to hear me say “Army/Navy” or “Hemostat”, the blank stares that I receive in return do not make for an efficient OR experience. In addition, many of the instruments that we normally use don’t exist, at least, not at this hospital. Today when I was up to my elbows in adipose and I asked for an anterior acetabular retractor, I received a straight homan; it was kind of like shoveling your driveway with a spoon. Nevertheless, we made it through the operation just fine and the patient has a nice new ceramic on ceramic hip (that’s right – no worries about the squeak, mate).
Overall, things are going well. My coworkers here are great. The orthopaedic residents are top notch. They have a breadth of experience and really know their stuff. They are always in a good mood, never sleep in conference, lack dark circles around their eyes, look at you funny if you show up to work before 7 AM, and take time to enjoy themselves. This seems to stem from the fact that things here move at a different pace. Being part of this system has allowed my to do some things that I haven’t done in some time such as sleep 8 hours, eat sensibly, work out on a regular basis, and bike to work. The last one has been more of a challenge than I originally thought. Initially 10 kilometers seemed like just a short jaunt, but as I have discovered over the last two weeks, I am really out of shape. Regardless, I am continuing to bike but have scaled back my goals from 3 days a week from the original seven. One of my colleagues likes to tell me a story about a friend of his who rode a brand new bike to work, didn’t bother biking home that night, and left it in the office for the remainder of the year (thanks, Allen, for those inspirational words).
Finally, we purchased some tomato plants for our balcony in hopes of having some fresh ones this summer. I am convinced that no home is complete without a garden. While this garden won’t be the 10x20 spread we had in Coralville, it will probably get us by. The tomatoes should be bearing in about 80 days so for those of you making the trip, we should have some fresh tomatoes for you when you arrive. Hope everyone is enjoying the blog, thanks for your comments and make sure you add yourself to the fans of christiansensinnz!
While some things we can avoid, other things we cannot. Today was a prime example. I was scheduled to do a total hip with one of the consultants (staff doctors) today. I really had little information on the patient other than her name and a few brief clinic notes. (Their electronic medical record is not quite the same as back home.) As the patient walked down the hall I realized it was going to be a long day. She walked with her arms folded, resting on what appeared to be an armrest on either side but later turned out to be her rear end. Needless to say the operation was a bit of a struggle. I could hear Dr. Callaghan in the back of my mind and was reminded of the “good times” back at Iowa. To make matters worse, I still tend to call out for surgical instruments with names that are entirely foreign to the nursing staff here. While it must be amusing to them to hear me say “Army/Navy” or “Hemostat”, the blank stares that I receive in return do not make for an efficient OR experience. In addition, many of the instruments that we normally use don’t exist, at least, not at this hospital. Today when I was up to my elbows in adipose and I asked for an anterior acetabular retractor, I received a straight homan; it was kind of like shoveling your driveway with a spoon. Nevertheless, we made it through the operation just fine and the patient has a nice new ceramic on ceramic hip (that’s right – no worries about the squeak, mate).
Overall, things are going well. My coworkers here are great. The orthopaedic residents are top notch. They have a breadth of experience and really know their stuff. They are always in a good mood, never sleep in conference, lack dark circles around their eyes, look at you funny if you show up to work before 7 AM, and take time to enjoy themselves. This seems to stem from the fact that things here move at a different pace. Being part of this system has allowed my to do some things that I haven’t done in some time such as sleep 8 hours, eat sensibly, work out on a regular basis, and bike to work. The last one has been more of a challenge than I originally thought. Initially 10 kilometers seemed like just a short jaunt, but as I have discovered over the last two weeks, I am really out of shape. Regardless, I am continuing to bike but have scaled back my goals from 3 days a week from the original seven. One of my colleagues likes to tell me a story about a friend of his who rode a brand new bike to work, didn’t bother biking home that night, and left it in the office for the remainder of the year (thanks, Allen, for those inspirational words).
Finally, we purchased some tomato plants for our balcony in hopes of having some fresh ones this summer. I am convinced that no home is complete without a garden. While this garden won’t be the 10x20 spread we had in Coralville, it will probably get us by. The tomatoes should be bearing in about 80 days so for those of you making the trip, we should have some fresh tomatoes for you when you arrive. Hope everyone is enjoying the blog, thanks for your comments and make sure you add yourself to the fans of christiansensinnz!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Monday, Sept 1st – Sunday, September 7th
In addition to my two days at Kaka Street Special School this week, I spent this Tuesday traveling with their itinerant special ed teacher. She serves students out in the regular ed schools. She currently has three students, all at Tahatai Coast School. Tahatai Coast is a year 1 – year 8 school and is located just south of Mount Maunganui in Papamoa. Papamoa is another “suburb” of Tauranga, and like many other small towns in the area, has melded into the city, it’s boundaries indistinguishable.
It was an interesting day, observing the three students, their numerous aides, and their regular ed teachers and classmates. I haven’t spent much time around younger kids recently and continue to be amazed by them. Adding to my awe was the 10:00 assembly where the recently crowned “Best Kiwi Boy Band” performed. If somehow you haven’t heard of them, they are a group of students of Tahatai Coast School who won NZ Nickelodeon’s Best Kiwi Boy Band Challenge, performing a song they had written themselves. On Thursday they were going to Auckland to record it and film a music video. The young men displayed quite a bit of stage presence, which can be tough when you are barely three inches taller than your electric guitars.
In addition to collecting Kiwi boy band hits, Cory and I have been sampling other local music. He’s been picking the brains of co-workers and I’ve been reading newspaper reviews and scouring the library. We also bought a compilation of local bands that had some good songs. We’ll keep you posted, but so far we’ve become fans of the Black Seeds and Evermore.
We have not, as so many Kiwis apparently have, become fans of Phil Collins. I was surprised to find that the music we listen to on the radio in Iowa sounds a lot like the music we listen to on the radio in New Zealand. There is however, on many stations, a scattering from across several decades, as opposed to a “Top 40s” station. Which means we get to hear a lot of older favorites that wouldn’t get much radio play in the US, unless on a themed station (ie, hits from the 80s, etc). It also means you get to hear some older not-so-favorites. While Phil Collins has his place in music history (you are singing Pseu-Pseu-Pseudeo to yourself right now), it is a small place. However, apparently in New Zealand, the guy is big time. Frightening.
Kylie Minogue has also apparently deigned to cross “the ditch” for the first time ever and folks here are thrilled. I was appalled she’d not been able to make it here before, being from Australia, but no one else is as vindictive as I. That or they are just blinded by their Kylie-lust, which has clearly not affected me...yet.
It was an interesting day, observing the three students, their numerous aides, and their regular ed teachers and classmates. I haven’t spent much time around younger kids recently and continue to be amazed by them. Adding to my awe was the 10:00 assembly where the recently crowned “Best Kiwi Boy Band” performed. If somehow you haven’t heard of them, they are a group of students of Tahatai Coast School who won NZ Nickelodeon’s Best Kiwi Boy Band Challenge, performing a song they had written themselves. On Thursday they were going to Auckland to record it and film a music video. The young men displayed quite a bit of stage presence, which can be tough when you are barely three inches taller than your electric guitars.
In addition to collecting Kiwi boy band hits, Cory and I have been sampling other local music. He’s been picking the brains of co-workers and I’ve been reading newspaper reviews and scouring the library. We also bought a compilation of local bands that had some good songs. We’ll keep you posted, but so far we’ve become fans of the Black Seeds and Evermore.
We have not, as so many Kiwis apparently have, become fans of Phil Collins. I was surprised to find that the music we listen to on the radio in Iowa sounds a lot like the music we listen to on the radio in New Zealand. There is however, on many stations, a scattering from across several decades, as opposed to a “Top 40s” station. Which means we get to hear a lot of older favorites that wouldn’t get much radio play in the US, unless on a themed station (ie, hits from the 80s, etc). It also means you get to hear some older not-so-favorites. While Phil Collins has his place in music history (you are singing Pseu-Pseu-Pseudeo to yourself right now), it is a small place. However, apparently in New Zealand, the guy is big time. Frightening.
Kylie Minogue has also apparently deigned to cross “the ditch” for the first time ever and folks here are thrilled. I was appalled she’d not been able to make it here before, being from Australia, but no one else is as vindictive as I. That or they are just blinded by their Kylie-lust, which has clearly not affected me...yet.
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