Spring! Today anyway.

 
It's that time again...  When the days are getting longer, the sun has a bit more warmth and the wood burning fire in our house is getting a rest (some days, and much to the cat's chagrin).  Soon, the clocks will Spring forward and after-work walks will be longer and dinner will be later. My favorite thing about this time in Dunedin?  Magnolia trees.  They are magnificent. Especially against the oldest buildings at the university. The rhododendrons aren't too shabby either. Ah yes, and the daffodils.

Of course it is also the still the time when we'll have at least one more multi-day session of bone-chilling temperatures accompanied with sideways rain and a snippet of hail.  And it is also the time when the wind decides to exhibit its true force, blowing all those gorgeous blossoms right off their branches and making you pull your coat tighter around you, cursing the fact that the next major landmass south of here is Antarctica.

So I must be quick and get out and have a look!  I'll walk the long way to work today.  Spring time relief is still early and fleeting, we're not outta the woods yet.

 

The View From Here

The view from Signal Hill in north Dunedin.  James and I spent about 1 hour walking up here on a crisp winter day.

I just spent the last three weeks completing my field research away from Dunedin.  It was, as fieldwork always is, totally exhausting.  It was also productive and successful (hooray!) and I can now move on with my research, analysis, writing and more in pursuit of that seemingly elusive PhD dissertation.  I have a long road ahead still, but I'm thrilled the chapter of away-from-home fieldwork is complete. 

Rather than talk about those weeks away, tonight I felt like just sharing a few photos of old Dunedin town, because... I'm so glad to be back.  It really is beginning to feel a bit more like home here.  Traveling for travel's sake is fun; traveling for work or research is overrated.  It's hard to eat well and evenings, when the work is done, are boring.  Back in Dunedin, I must say the weather's been wonderful this winter, our house is warm, our kitchen in stocked with yummy things to cook, the neighbor's cat is great company, and my husband was all smiles picking me up at the airport.

The view looking across the harbour and over to the Otago Peninsula.

Dunedin is a quirky little place, with its pros and cons like anywhere. I spend a lot of time immersed in musings about those pros and cons - both are significant for a migrant far from home.

But today, I think I'll just enjoy the view. 

Looking down and over town.  Those tall buildings in the foreground are the hospital and university.

Carry a thermos of hot chocolate and a packet of 'biscuits' and it's just that much better.

A Twist On Be-Longing

Several weeks ago I went to a play at the University of Otago entitled, Be-Longing.  It was a lovely, innovative play about immigrants in Dunedin.  Upon entering the small theatre, the usher approached me and asked if I would please first head over to a map on display and put a pin where I feel I belong.  I immediately just about stopped short in my tracks.  I thought I was going to cry, standing there in front of that map with a little pin in my hand!  I was stunned to realize that I was tempted to put the little pin on Dunedin. 

   

The events that have lead to this new grounding in Dunedin are not events that I ever could have predicted.  Several months ago I was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder called Primary Myelofibrosis.  It all started with a routine blood test. Then I was called back into Student Health. The next day I was in the Haematology/Oncology department of the Dunedin Public Hospital. And the day after that I was having a bone marrow biopsy which, when the test results came back some time later, confirmed the diagnosis.  I’ll post more about the disorder some time. For now, it’s enough to say it is serious and will require some management for the rest of my life.  The prognosis is pretty unknown, the only cure is a bone marrow transplant, but that is not deemed necessary at this time as I am a best-case scenario patient for long-term management.  

Ever since the diagnosis, I’ve been wondering whether or not to mention it in my blog.  But the more I think about it, the more I realize it would be really hard for me to blog WITHOUT mentioning it because this is now a large and important piece of who I am, pervading even my migrant experiences.  Though the two may seem unrelated – being a migrant and now having a chronic condition to manage – they are, actually, very related.  I realized this when I wanted to put the pin of my belonging, for the first time, in Dunedin. 

See, this huge and unexpected medical experience has basically changed everything.  I can’t do a comprehensive description of what the last months have been like, but we’ve have been on a wild ride of tests, research, copious information, treatment plans and medications.  I have also sought out a naturopath, a meditation guide, changed my diet and implemented an exercise regime all to help me cope physically and mentally.  I have cut back to part-time studies.  And this is only the beginning of the changes we’ve been handling.  My husband has been on this wild ride with me at every turn.  The doctors have been amazing and my care here has been exceptionally high quality.  We have a long road ahead of us, managing this situation, but we’ll get there. I’m determined. 

All of this has made me feel immensely grounded right here, right now, right where I am.  Five months ago, I didn’t know I had any health problems, now I know I need medical intervention to stay healthy and alive and that intervention is based right here, in little old Dunedin, the town at the end of the earth -- with a medical teaching hospital I can see from my kitchen window! My care has been free, my prescriptions are $3, my doctor takes a good amount of time with me at every appointment.  We have a lovely new house, in which I can rest and recuperate between the ups and downs.  We even have a lovely neighborhood cat that keeps us company (when she pleases, of course!)  I have a valuable handful of concerned, supportive people here for me. I even have a hair dresser who is basically an unrecognized health and mental health practitioner herself!!  I am right here. I am, actually, precisely where I am supposed to be.  I may have come to feel this way eventually anyway, but this situation has really sped matters up!

My ties to my friends and family overseas have also been strengthened because of all of this.  I am connected to them intimately on a daily basis and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  It’s hard not to be closer to some of the most important people in my life, especially with my new-found appreciation for the preciousness of loved ones. But I have a new odd peace about my situation. 

As I stood in the dimly lit theatre, having a mini internal crisis, the usher sort whispered and said, “You can mark two places if you’d like.”  Whew! I had to laugh a little. She was probably afraid I was having a breakdown. Crisis averted. I put a pin on Alaska, I’m not ready to give that place up. And I put a pin on Dunedin, still surprised that for the first time, I do feel a sense of belonging here.  And then I mentally put a little pin on every other place where I have a dear friend or family member supporting and thinking of me. 

House into Home

My sister brought my childhood teddy bear over to me last week.  "Sunshine Bear" enjoys the view from his new digs in Dunedin.

For most of my 20’s, everything I owned fit in my car.  When I moved to Alaska, without my car, all my possessions fit in my backpack.  My first year in New Zealand, I lived in my boyfriend’s (now husband’s) old work van for several months while I worked on fruit orchards.  I had a long and sincere conversation with a fellow van-dwelling orchard-worker about how living in a van is good for your soul.  It’s freedom itself. Whether a backpack or a van, living as a self-contained little unit keeps you mobile and unencumbered.  

For years and years I lugged around a small, tattered, plastic folder with some of my favorite photos – snapshots of friends and family as well as artistic, decorative shots.  I also carried a small ball of twine and some clothes pins.  I’d stretch the twine out, pinning it to a bare wall, and then hang photos from it like you hang socks from a clothing line.  It looked great and when it was time to move, the pictures went back in the folder and the ball of twine was wound up again.  At the next place of residence, it took just 5 minutes to hang it all up again.  In this way, 'home' really was quite portable for a while; I created it by hanging a few photos on the wall.   

During these years of nomadic living, however, I daydreamed about someday having framed photographs hanging on the wall of a possibly-more-permanent dwelling. These days, though I will always have another 'home' too, I am trying to create something more permanent here in NZ – to Settle In. My sister was just here for a short visit and she brought two 50-pound suitcases with most of my family treasures that have been patiently waiting in my mom’s closet. Now I have my dad’s old baseball glove, my teddy bear and blankie, my baby book, my grandfather’s camera, my great-grandmother’s Christmas ornaments and more.  It’s so special and significant to have these things here that I almost can’t talk about it!!
 

And – I also have photos, in frames, on the walls of a home that my husband and I recently bought together.  It has character, great energy and an AMAZING view.  We count our blessings with this place daily.  When my friends Nick and Kelly from Alaska were here, they helped us move into our new house.  Kelly walked right in, picked up a framed photo, and hung it on the wall, proclaiming, “There. It’s your home now.”  I have left that photo right where she put it.

A framed photo of a friend and myself about to jump in a cold, Yukon lake.

I’m keeping the twine, clothes pins and a folder of photos ready should the North American horizon or some other location call us back into another adventure…  But in little steady ways, this house is also turning into a home.

More FRAMED photos. My dad's baseball glove and more.

Heaven's Called Okarito

I wanted to do a second little posting about just 2 days of my West Coast trip - just about a little place called Okarito.  It's about 20 km off the main West Coast road. 

I can't remember where I first heard or read about it, maybe I just saw it on the map and headed that way.  But I knew there was a campground - and a beach - so I decided to check it out.  Before seeing it, I just had a feeling it'd be the kind of place I'd stay for 2 days, rather than 2 hours. 

I was right. 

Okarito allowed me the space to think through a lot of things that have been going on in my life.  It was small, quiet and safe.  The community-run campground had just the kind of vibe you might imagine a community-run campground to have.  Cycle touring families, hippies in vans, locals just passing through, tourists who got off the beaten path a bit - we all shared this nice little patch of grass by the sea with a small shelter covered in painted murals.  Fresh herbs were offered for sale to spice up your camping cooking. 

The old wharf.

I walked a lot, I had a quick cold swim and I even rented a kayak on the spur of the moment and paddled around a gorgeous protected estuary and up a small river for several hours.

I read, skipped stones, chatted with a little Swiss boy about the lion on his T-shirt.  I drank coffee and got out my new watercolor paint set.  And I mulled some things over.  At some point I found myself thinking, wouldn't it be nice if there could be some sort of sign to let you know that everything in life is going to work out alright?  Not to say there won't be challenges and hardship, but you know, just something to offer that vague reassurance?  Then I looked around myself and chuckled -- what more of a sign could I want? 

Inevitable Comparisons



A bit of West Coast 'highway'.

I think it's natural, even unavoidable, for a migrant with two or more countries to compare 'here' to 'there'. I try not to do it TOO much, at least not out loud, because I know it gets old for people to hear.  But I believe it's a necessary and common way for many migrants to create links between what are otherwise often disparate 'lives.'  

And yet, while I value this comparison, and believe it will (and should) continue (to some degree) for many migrants throughout their migrant existance, I also find myself not needing to do quite as much of it lately. And I recognize that to be significant too.  In some ways, I am more able to let here be here.  This place, any place, just is what it is.  And lately, in many ways, I've been able to live a bit more in just this time and place.  This year, my 5th in New Zealand, I have been feeling - at best - more enjoyment and comfort in life here, or - at worst - simply resigned to life here.  (Hey, being "resigned" to something may not sound as nice but it is still a form of acceptance that I will embrace!)

Last week I had a chance to do a bit of comparison -- between 'here' and 'there' (Alaska and New Zealand) and between 'now' and 'then.'  "Now," is January 2012 and "then" is 8 years ago, January 2004 when I first arrived in New Zealand. Within weeks of showing up at the Dunedin Airport with a suitcase and a backpack, I had bought a $700 car and started driving around the South Island by myself.

This road trip included some time on the West Coast of the South Island - known for its wild terrain and narrow, windy roads where 2nd gear is common.

Its notorious for its heavy rainfall and dense temperate rainforest. 

It's famous for magnificent mountains rising from the sea, with glaciers pulsing down the valleys.

 It is remote and sparsely populated.  Sound and look familiar?  Hm, just like Southeast Alaska.

I have not been back to the West Coast much at all since 2004. Until last week. In 2004, I was a bit homesick.  I was a little bit nonchallant and unattached in relation to the staggering beauty of the West Coast.  Afterall, I'd come from, dare I say it, a place where the glaciers flowed even grander, the forest grew even more densely, the weather was even worse, the population was even smaller and quirkier, and many things could eat you.  Maybe.  I suppose, in hindsight, I had a bit of trouble just enjoying what I was seeing on the West Coast because I was so freshly removed from Alaska -- and, I knew I'd be going back.

Now I have been away from Alaska for 18 months - this time - and perhaps more significantly, I don't know when I'll return, either to visit or to live. So last week I visited the West Coast with less-biased, less divided eyes.  And what I found was SO wonderful.  I found that the West Coast is strikingly beautiful.  It's wet and wild and remote.  It's covered in native New Zealand bush with kea flying overhead and fantails buzzing you.  I found that driving my little car along the only bit of space between the sea and peaks was breath-taking.

I walked to hidden lakes and remote beaches.

Koru, or a fern frond and a NZ icon, with lake. 

I watched sunsets and hung out under the full moon. 

This time, I was just a little bit more "here." 

But I'd be lying if I didn't mention that along with my new-found appreciation for enjoying the West Coast for just exactly what it is, I love that it just feels so... Familiar.

This could be SE Alaska or West Coast, New Zealand!!

Out East

Last week, James, Nick, Kelly and I all headed up to the North Island. After some urban adventures, including the World Wearable Arts show, we headed a bit off the beaten path to the East Cape, an area that none of us had ever been to before.  It's in the middle of the length of the North Island, on a piece of land that juts East out into the Pacific Ocean.  It's famous for beautiful carved Whare Nui on Maori marae. (Taking photos of these can be considered disrespectful, but there are plenty of on-line images and I'd highly recommend checking out these gorgeous, meaningful meeting houses). The East Cape is known as a centre of Maori pride, tradition and activism.  It's also known for it's surf, beaches and remote lifestyle. It's where two well-known movies were filmed, Whale Rider and Boy.

It was, indeed, a place with a remote, laid back feel where the beauty and strength of Maori culture thrives and rural communities seem tightly knit.  Everyone we met along the way was friendly, every corner we turned was stunning.

We picked up a tourism brochure that seemed a bit different than all the others. With minimal marketing, it had just the kind of information you might want - what to see in each little town, where to find ice cream, which beach is known for surfing and which for snorkeling. And it started off with a poem.  Here's a bit of the poem and I'll let my photos say the rest!

"Set your mind and compass East, traveller.
Point your brow into the morning sun,
take your watch off,
recycle your cell phone
and
let go.
Out East."

Finally, Some White Stuff Falling from the Sky!

Dunedin finally got some white stuff last weekend.  Snow!  Snow is a rarity here with the temperate seaside climate (read this – cold and damp and never quite cold enough to be dry). My first winter in Dunedin, back in 2004, I lived up on a hill with 2 New Zealand flatmates.  One wonderful morning I gleefully woke up to about 6 or 7 inches of snow.  The three of us went outside in the street and built a snowman, took some photos, and basked in the brightness that a sunny, snowy morning can bring. Then I packed my bag for the day and started to head off down the hill to Uni. My flatmates gasped. “Where are you going?” “Uh, to school,” I replied. “But it’s snowy!”  “I know, it’ll be such a lovely walk!”  Only when I got to Uni did their inquiry and concern make sense. No one was there. Everything was shut. While I found the snow-covered morning to be exciting, it had literally never occurred to me that it would change the course of my day. Silly girl from snowy climates - Dunedin doesn’t function in the snow!

Last weekend, the snow amounted to only about 1 inch, but Dunedin didn’t let me down. Dunedin confirmed what I had learned to be true 7 years ago: It completely ceases to function when it snows. Even 1 inch of snow. As the ground became barely blanketed, people rushed to ask me (in anxious, expectant tones!) – “Doesn’t this remind you of Alaska?”  Ummmmm.  My mind raced to find an answer that would be truthful but not crush their enthusiasm for the ‘storm’ that was practically the event of the decade. Eloquence eluded me and, “Uhhhmm, soorrrt of” was my best answer.  Except that in Alaska or Utah or Colorado, you are still expected to show up at school and work when it snows. Banks don’t close, the highway stays open and events aren’t cancelled. A general sense of armagedon does not hang thick in the air.  The next day’s newspaper headline, when the amazing 1 inch of snow has melted, does not read, in big, bold, serious letters: “Now the fear is Black Ice!”

Kids sledding! Look at them having the time of their lives! (You could hear the sled scraping along the asphalt under the 1 inch of snow, but I won't begrudge them their fun!)

Auckland

 

I’m about 2.5 weeks into a 3 week stay in Auckland.  I came up to do my fieldwork for the research associated with my PhD dissertation.  My research has to do with multicultural interactions in New Zealand and Auckland is indeed a “super-diverse” city!  I’ve been pounding the pavement all over Auckland and many of its suburbs.  By the time my 3 week stay is up, I’ll know this city pretty well.  I’ll have another stay in Auckland for a month in summer – all in all totaling about 2 months in Auckland.  It’s nice to be getting to know a different side of New Zealand. We're not in Dunedin or the South Island anymore, Toto. 

I'm spending a lot of time on buses.  Most are crowded - this one was not, and the view was nice too!

 

The bus map of Auckland and its central suburbs. (I have 4 more maps of outer suburbs - it's an incredibly spread out city!)  The pink arrow is a sticker I move around to reflect where I'm trying to get to at a glance.

I was awarded some research funding by my uni dept, but I have to stretch it a long way. I’m keeping it simple.  I’m staying in a private room at a backpackers in a central city location – it’s basic, no frills here, but clean, safe and friendly.  So I’m living a little bit like a budget traveler – peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and city maps in my backpack, and a lot like an anthropologist – observing and taking notes everywhere I go, doing interviews, talking to lots of strangers, meeting other researchers and connecting with some key-informants!   

The Front Door of Freeman's Lodge.

My tiny room is all I need! There's a kitchen, bathroom, lounge and laundry facilities too.

 

It’s great to be in a bigger city with some energy, variety, novelty and things open past 6pm!! I love some good city life and I can jump right into it when chance or necessity dictates. I’ve been to some markets, had some great food, taken countless buses, trains and ferries. Downtown Auckland is full of life, thanks largely to its immigrant population. And many suburbs boast active centres of their own with plenty of cafes, shops, museums and parks. I haven’t had much time to be a tourist, work has kept me more than busy. It seems to take me about an hour every night mapping out my route for the next day with a combination of the internet, a good map and a bus schedule.  Then it seems to take me about an hour to get between meetings and interviews, especially during busy traffic times and in the pouring rain (which both seem to happen a lot in Auckland).   During the rest of my day, I like to find a place with good coffee and atmosphere so I can caffeinate myself, watch people, write up my notes, do some reading and research, and send the countless emails that will set up the next days' activities.  Without James around or other errands to do, I’m getting a ton of reading and writing done too.  

A market in the Sandringham suburb. It's been my favourite market so far.

Set up to study at Cezanne's Cafe in Ponsonby. This had been my favourite cafe so far.  It's neighbors are quite fancy places with rushing, urban types.  Here, however, I feel I can set up amidst the other non-fancy types and study for a while without being in anyone's way.

I’m also pleasantly surprised to realize that Auckland is also making me appreciate Dunedin more.  I don’t feel like the restaurants, cafes or even shops are necessarily better here than down in little old Dunners (though there is a bigger variety and they are actually open more often!)  And Dunners has a lot less traffic and a lot more cyclists – I think I’d take my life in my hands biking around here the way I do in Dunedin.  By the end of three weeks, I’ll be more than ready to go ‘home’ to Dunedin.  And seeing that Dunedin and I have hardly been an example of “Love at first sight,” this is a very nice feeling.

Wherever You Go, There You Are

My mom once gave me a small card that said, "Wherever you go, there you are."  I don't remember who said it originally but what a great quote!  A lot of my posts have been about missing the places I've lived or come from most recently (Juneau, Alaska) as I now live here in New Zealand.  I blog about my reality of being a migrant, and well, missing my 'home' of Alaska and America and all that those places entail is a huge part of my existence in New Zealand. Like it or not, it just is.  And I think that's ok - it doesn't overshadow the fact that I'm also living a full life here, pouring myself into it, growing everyday.  My two realities exist side by side - and while that inherently creates a lot of bittersweetness, I wouldn't really have it any other way. I'm a little bit divided in two and I'm not willing to give up either half. So there you go.

They Really Need Some Mega-Fauna Here




Near Lake Pukaki en route from Mt. Cook National Park

 I struggle a little bit with reading retension at times.  If I'm not careful and deliberate, all the reading that I do just doesn't stick in my brain. This can be a problem for a PhD student.  So I have all sorts of tricks. I highlight, take notes in the margins, type up notes, and periodically summarize readings on a particular topic. It's incredibly time-consuming; but I seem to get there in the end. After a bit of internet research several months ago, I added a few new tricks to my routine. When approaching a new reading, I write down 5 terms I know will be in the reading. I read the title, all subtitles and then the conclusion first. Prior to reading the article, I write 3 sentences reflecting what I already know on this topic.

This last one is based on the idea that, as humans, we remember and make sense of new information by comparing it or adjoining it to something we already know. We all do this all the time. But, migrants in particular, vigorously engage in this process, especially in the early months or years in a new country. We've all done it and certainly heard others do it - for example, chipping in to a conversation with the phrase, "Well, where I come from, it's common to..."  Migrant research shows that a continual, subtle comparison between 2 places lasts for an immigrant's entire life. It's how migrants create continuity - across oceans, over time and between what would otherwise feel like disparate lives and selves.

The Catlins

My first trip to The Catlins - with James in 2004.

This weekend we (James, Nick, Kelly and myself) headed down to The Catlins.  It was Nick's idea, as the surf at Purakanui Bay was supposed to be perfect.  I don't surf -- but any reason is a good one to head down to The Catlins.

Nick and Kelly's tent at our camp site.

Kelly walking at Purakanui Bay.

The Catlins is the name of a region south of Dunedin. Hills covered in dense temperate rainforest roll right down to the edge of stunning, seemingly untouched beaches. Until very recently, the only main road through the region was gravel. Most of the smaller roads are still narrow and gravel, undulating and curving with the landscape. Travel along these roads, from a scenic waterfall, to ocean side caves, to an inland walk, is slow.  And gorgeous.