I'll bet you weren't expecting a new blog from me. My gap year is over, I'm in America quietly studying for finals.
To be honest, I didn't think I'd ever post here again. I thought this blog would serve as a relic, something for me to look back at years later, to reference in conversations, to show off to those who do not know what I did last year. I've comfortably fallen back into "regular" life. I go to class, I do homework, I eat regular American food, and I don't often think about last year's experiences. The only times I mention my gap year is when I explain why I am 20 and a Freshman, and I do not go into the details of where I've been and what I did.
I've been so comfy. I have a perfect routine, there's no adventure or surprise. I just wake up, get ready, and go.
But last week, something happened. Something re-lit that long, ropey wick that made me leave last August. It was the roll down physical map of the world in my Comparative Politics class. I hadn't seen a map in a while, since high school, probably, and looking at it reminded me of all the places I had been. I traced my journey from London to South Africa, and then to Nepal, Thailand, New Zealand, Australia. I'd gone so far and I hadn't even realized it. I smiled smugly to myself, knowing that I could put more pins on that map than anyone else in that class, but I wiped it off quickly when I realized that there was so much I hadn't seen yet. I felt distressed. My eyes scanned the map, picking which places I needed to see next. I raced from one continent to the next, trying to decide which one would be most important to me. As I passed the places I had been I was reminded of my experiences there. I remembered the monks in the monastery and how much I miss them. I remembered the ancient temples in Thailand and the shacks in the South African township. I remembered falling asleep to movies on airplanes and tasting foods that I couldn't pronounce. I remembered that Maya means love and the time that I trekked through a jungle while it rained.
The whole experience was overwhelming, and I couldn't focus on anti-colonialism anymore. I was busy calculating the hours I'd need to work for a flight to Turkey, or how much I'd need to save for a road trip to Mexico. I listed the places I wanted to go, but had to stop when the list became too long. I want to go everywhere. My comfort here has vanished. I feel the way I felt in high school, albeit a bit more mature. I want to leave again.
With any luck, this blog will go back to it's glory days of travel posts. And dad, this is my Christmas appeal. Forget about the wish-lists, I want a round trip ticket to anywhere but here.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Some Pictures...
I made a slideshow of some of the pictures from my trip so far. Uploading all of them would take up too much of my bandwidth to do here, so I'll do it when I get home.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The City Of Broken Glass
Before today, I can't recall a sunny AND warm day in New Zealand, as it's been raining for about a week now, and even when it's not rainy it's colder and windier than you could ever imagine. Today was shockingly nice though, so we went down to the Oriental Parade beach. Little did I know this was an artificial beach that was created when they decided to dumb 22,000 metric tonnes of sand from Golden Bay into Wellington. It turns out that artificial beaches are actually a really terrible idea because the land was clearly not designed for a beach. Oriental Parade was cramped, dingy, and full of algae. Not exactly what I'd call paradise, but really you can't complain when the sun is actually shining in Wellington, so I embraced what little beach space we had and made the best of it. (I did not, however, touch the water because algae is so gross!) Honestly, the beach reminded me a bit more of a lake resort than anything else. Out about 20 yards were several platforms for playing on and a fountain, which seemed rather out of place on the ocean-front, but Wellington is certainly not known for it's choice in fountains (see below for more on this). I had the feeling I was back in Missouri, laying around Lake of the Ozarks, but the smell of salt and fish reminded me I was near an ocean.
On Cuba St, one of the main shopping and dining neighborhoods, there's perhaps the worst fountain I've ever seen in my life. It's basically a jungle gym of scoops in varying sizes, at the top there's 4 nozzles that fill up 4 scoops which dump into larger scoops below and those into larger and so on. The idea seems cool, but it was terribly designed, so the vast majority of the water is splashed into the sidewalk, making it very slippery. The amount of water that is wasted is mind-boggling considering how "green" this country is supposed to be. Not to mention the fact that the slippery sidewalk is quite dangerous. Just the other day I was nearly run over by a biker who slipped on the water.
Anyway, if I had to pick one defining feature of Wellington, I'd say it would be its expansive collection of broken glass strewn about the streets and the naked feet that trod upon it. New Zealanders have this strange aversion to footwear, which probably wouldn't be an issue in most other places, but the dirty streets and jagged glass pieces suggest that shoes are not optional. We even found glass in the sand at the beach today, and I'm surprised none of the children there were cut by any of it. I'm actually always surprised that no one has complained about the glass everywhere. I've never seen a news report about someone bleeding out on the stree because they stepped on glass and sliced their foot open, even though this scenario seems more than likely. More surprising though, is the stageringly large consumption of alcohol that causes the broken glass in the first place. I'm pretty sure I've said that alcohol is a cornerstone of the New Zealand culture, but it is just so true. Every single night there's a huge group of way-too-drunk people wandering around the streets. At first it was kind of funny, but now it's become a combination of tragic and annoying. Fortunately, my stay in Wellington is coming to an end and soon I'll be living in Hawkes Bay either working in an apple packhouse or picking apples in an orchard. If you're trying to picture me performing actual manual labor, please stop laughing so hard, it's not a joke.
Since I'm leaving New Zealand in a few months, I've been researching places to go and volunteer before I have to return home. Since the recent disaster in Haiti, I've been searching hard for volunteer oppertunities there, and I think I've found one that I can work with in April. I'm really looking forward to doing some hands-on disaster relief there, especially since I've been wanting to work in Haiti ever since I read Mountains Beyond Mountains in my 12th grade English class. All the details haven't quite been worked out yet, but after Haiti, I'll probably go to the Galapagos Islands for some more volunteer work, and then I'll be heading home sometime in mid to late May. Part of me is really looking forward to the comfort of my own bed in my own home, but I know I'm going to miss the traveling a lot.
On Cuba St, one of the main shopping and dining neighborhoods, there's perhaps the worst fountain I've ever seen in my life. It's basically a jungle gym of scoops in varying sizes, at the top there's 4 nozzles that fill up 4 scoops which dump into larger scoops below and those into larger and so on. The idea seems cool, but it was terribly designed, so the vast majority of the water is splashed into the sidewalk, making it very slippery. The amount of water that is wasted is mind-boggling considering how "green" this country is supposed to be. Not to mention the fact that the slippery sidewalk is quite dangerous. Just the other day I was nearly run over by a biker who slipped on the water.
Anyway, if I had to pick one defining feature of Wellington, I'd say it would be its expansive collection of broken glass strewn about the streets and the naked feet that trod upon it. New Zealanders have this strange aversion to footwear, which probably wouldn't be an issue in most other places, but the dirty streets and jagged glass pieces suggest that shoes are not optional. We even found glass in the sand at the beach today, and I'm surprised none of the children there were cut by any of it. I'm actually always surprised that no one has complained about the glass everywhere. I've never seen a news report about someone bleeding out on the stree because they stepped on glass and sliced their foot open, even though this scenario seems more than likely. More surprising though, is the stageringly large consumption of alcohol that causes the broken glass in the first place. I'm pretty sure I've said that alcohol is a cornerstone of the New Zealand culture, but it is just so true. Every single night there's a huge group of way-too-drunk people wandering around the streets. At first it was kind of funny, but now it's become a combination of tragic and annoying. Fortunately, my stay in Wellington is coming to an end and soon I'll be living in Hawkes Bay either working in an apple packhouse or picking apples in an orchard. If you're trying to picture me performing actual manual labor, please stop laughing so hard, it's not a joke.
Since I'm leaving New Zealand in a few months, I've been researching places to go and volunteer before I have to return home. Since the recent disaster in Haiti, I've been searching hard for volunteer oppertunities there, and I think I've found one that I can work with in April. I'm really looking forward to doing some hands-on disaster relief there, especially since I've been wanting to work in Haiti ever since I read Mountains Beyond Mountains in my 12th grade English class. All the details haven't quite been worked out yet, but after Haiti, I'll probably go to the Galapagos Islands for some more volunteer work, and then I'll be heading home sometime in mid to late May. Part of me is really looking forward to the comfort of my own bed in my own home, but I know I'm going to miss the traveling a lot.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Chocolate and Peanut Butter
I would do terrible, disgraceful things for a Reces Peanut Butter cup right now.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Quiet Americans
Traveling around for the last 5 months has allowed me to meet a lot of non-Americans, which afforded me the privilege of hearing (and dismantling) a lot of stereotypes about Americans. No, we're not all fat, no, not everyone in America voted for Bush, not all of us like apple pie and baseball, we're not any more irritable than any other culture, we CAN handle our alcohol (we just don't need to drink as much as our other English-speaking cohorts), and for the love of God, all of us are not loud. I can't even keep track of how many people asked me why I was so quiet compared to other Americans. Perhaps I should've asked them how many Americans they've ever met, because relative to the people I've met, we are rather quiet.
The loud Americans stereotype hadn't bothered me until I moved into my flat in Wellington (New Zealand's capital city). My 9 other flatmates are perhaps the loudest people I have ever encountered. Every morning I wake up to the rather unpleasant sounds of them stampeding down the stairs, rummaging around the kitchen, and watching the ridiculously obnoxious MTV "reality" shows they are so tragically addicted to. Ugh. I can't help but wonder how Americans got the reputation for being loud and obnoxious, when it appears that New Zealanders are exponentially more loud and obnoxious. I'm not just making generalizations about an entire nation based on my flat mates, no, since I'm still unemployed, I've had a very large amount of free time to walk around the city and people watch with my boyfriend. Here's a few things we'd see on a typical walk home in the evening: several cars racing by with a drunk guy yelling out the window at us, countless drunk girls stumbling and yelling down the streets, broken glass strewn all over the streets and sidewalks, and a girl (or two) vomiting in a fountain. Let's compare this to a typical night in, say, San Francisco. There would likely be drunk girls stumbling about the streets, but I know they wouldn't be shrieking at the same volume as the Kiwi girls do, there is rarely broken glass on the streets, I have never been yelled at by a drunk guy hanging out of a car window, and I've also never witnessed public vomiting. America: 1, New Zealand: 0.
But New Zealand has to have some redeming factors, right? Sure, it's pretty, I guess. That is, if you don't factor in the hurricane speed winds, arctic temps (in summer, no less!), and the generally dismal sky. Rumor has it that, far, far away from Wellington, there's some pretty beautiful scenery, but unfortunately, I am not far, far away from Wellington. I never thought I'd say this, but I would rather being camping than living here.
I'd say most of this is due to the epic battle over internet usage between my flatmates and me. In New Zealand, internet is charged per GB used, each household has a certain limit they pay for each month (ours is 20), and if they go over that a fee of less than NZ$4/GB is charged. I was unaware of this, and used a bit too much internet one particular day. One of the girls told me about the limits and how our house was quickly approaching the limit. Most importantly, she mentioned that this had never happened before. No problem. I cut down on internet usage. Weeks later, just before college applications are due, the internet is suddenly cut off with no explanation. I found out that one of the girls had unplugged the router just before leaving on a 3 week vacation and has not retuned the cord. Since I desperately need internet access I go out and buy a new cord and contribute an extra $10 to our expenses fund to cover any overages. All is well until the internet is unplugged again. And again. And again. Basically, here's how the rest of the story goes: I use my well-developed skills in what I like to call "fact gathering" (skills I developed spying on Chip) and find out that every single month this flat goes over the monthly allotment, but there has never been a month that they unplug the router to stop internet use, and that I am using less than my fair share of internet, and that the money that I contributed earlier this month actually covers for almost the entire overage fee. So, in conclusion, I was manipulated into feeling guilty about using too much internet and paid for extra internet usage that I really had nothing to do with. Not to worry though, in typical Maya fashion I confronted them about it and the internet has been turned back on, and I have vowed to "cut the next beezie that messes with the internet." Maya: 1, Flatmates: 0. Better luck next time.
On the bright side, my lease here ends soon, and rather than prolonging my torture in this city, I'm going to move to a more rural area and pick fruit until I leave in April.
And I'll post more.
Promise.
The loud Americans stereotype hadn't bothered me until I moved into my flat in Wellington (New Zealand's capital city). My 9 other flatmates are perhaps the loudest people I have ever encountered. Every morning I wake up to the rather unpleasant sounds of them stampeding down the stairs, rummaging around the kitchen, and watching the ridiculously obnoxious MTV "reality" shows they are so tragically addicted to. Ugh. I can't help but wonder how Americans got the reputation for being loud and obnoxious, when it appears that New Zealanders are exponentially more loud and obnoxious. I'm not just making generalizations about an entire nation based on my flat mates, no, since I'm still unemployed, I've had a very large amount of free time to walk around the city and people watch with my boyfriend. Here's a few things we'd see on a typical walk home in the evening: several cars racing by with a drunk guy yelling out the window at us, countless drunk girls stumbling and yelling down the streets, broken glass strewn all over the streets and sidewalks, and a girl (or two) vomiting in a fountain. Let's compare this to a typical night in, say, San Francisco. There would likely be drunk girls stumbling about the streets, but I know they wouldn't be shrieking at the same volume as the Kiwi girls do, there is rarely broken glass on the streets, I have never been yelled at by a drunk guy hanging out of a car window, and I've also never witnessed public vomiting. America: 1, New Zealand: 0.
But New Zealand has to have some redeming factors, right? Sure, it's pretty, I guess. That is, if you don't factor in the hurricane speed winds, arctic temps (in summer, no less!), and the generally dismal sky. Rumor has it that, far, far away from Wellington, there's some pretty beautiful scenery, but unfortunately, I am not far, far away from Wellington. I never thought I'd say this, but I would rather being camping than living here.
I'd say most of this is due to the epic battle over internet usage between my flatmates and me. In New Zealand, internet is charged per GB used, each household has a certain limit they pay for each month (ours is 20), and if they go over that a fee of less than NZ$4/GB is charged. I was unaware of this, and used a bit too much internet one particular day. One of the girls told me about the limits and how our house was quickly approaching the limit. Most importantly, she mentioned that this had never happened before. No problem. I cut down on internet usage. Weeks later, just before college applications are due, the internet is suddenly cut off with no explanation. I found out that one of the girls had unplugged the router just before leaving on a 3 week vacation and has not retuned the cord. Since I desperately need internet access I go out and buy a new cord and contribute an extra $10 to our expenses fund to cover any overages. All is well until the internet is unplugged again. And again. And again. Basically, here's how the rest of the story goes: I use my well-developed skills in what I like to call "fact gathering" (skills I developed spying on Chip) and find out that every single month this flat goes over the monthly allotment, but there has never been a month that they unplug the router to stop internet use, and that I am using less than my fair share of internet, and that the money that I contributed earlier this month actually covers for almost the entire overage fee. So, in conclusion, I was manipulated into feeling guilty about using too much internet and paid for extra internet usage that I really had nothing to do with. Not to worry though, in typical Maya fashion I confronted them about it and the internet has been turned back on, and I have vowed to "cut the next beezie that messes with the internet." Maya: 1, Flatmates: 0. Better luck next time.
On the bright side, my lease here ends soon, and rather than prolonging my torture in this city, I'm going to move to a more rural area and pick fruit until I leave in April.
And I'll post more.
Promise.
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