Life, Travels

Vocabulary 101

kevin — Sun, 15 Mar 2015 20:27:00 GMT

Kiwis talk funny, we all know that. While their language is basically 'Murican they have confused the sound of their Es and Is and they tend to swallow their Ls. Seems a little goofy at first but I've come to find it rather endearing, especially when they're angry.* But it's not only the pronunciation that is different, there are some key variations in vocabulary as well that range from adorable to downright confusing to oddly logical. In no particular order:

sweet as: Apparently this phrase is so defining that advertisers see fit to paste huge garishly colored banners of it everywhere in an attempt to sell their equally garish products. Of course the question is, dear reader, sweet as what? Sweet as money? Sweet as honey? Sweet as a moneyed honey? No, it turns out this simply means "sweet". Less commonly but equally sweet as-ily this wording is used with any ol' adjective the speaker deems fit. "Keen as", "knackered as", "munted as".

flash: boss, dope, moist, rad, sick. Have heard this used to describe everything from a slick car to linseed-sunflower seed-almond-peanut butter. You could get really crazy and say "flash as".

how ya goin'?: adorable combo of "how's it going?" and "how ya doin'?"

y'alright?: When I first heard this in a store I thought I must look pale and the salesperson was asking me if I needed an ambulance. Turns out it's more like "can I help you?"

that's all right: you're welcome.

knackered: how you feel after staying up till 5:30 in the morning and then being awoken by the sun and greenhouse effect raising the temperature in your van to an unbearable level by 9.

munted: screwed up, effed.

capsicum: pepper! The green or red or yellow (or orange or purple) type. This is one of those words that sometimes reveals the identity crisis within the Kiwi psyche. If you ask anyone the name of the vegetable (culinarily speaking) in question they will insist on capsicum, if you go to the store to buy one it will be labeled capsicum as well. But if you go to New World's self-checkout aisle and want to actually pay for it you will search through the Cs and the Rs before you finally decide to check the Ps, where lo-and-behold you see "peppers, red".

courgette: what we in the States would call zucchini. Apparently we've sided with the Italians, the Kiwis with the French.

togs: swimwear. It took a while but I've decided I really like this word. Short and sweet, gender neutral, equally applied to your bikini or boardies.

jandals: flip-flops. I'm sorry but I just don't like this word.

carpark: this is where you take your car to play with the other cars and have a poo. Or so I thought. Actually it means "parking lot".

panel beater: body shop, like for your ride. The prevalence of these businesses may or may not give you some indication of the quality of Kiwi driving schools.

chilly bin: cooler. I prefer the Aussie term "esky", though I admit the Kiwi expression is totes adorbs.

torch: flashlight. The first time someone asked me if I had one I seriously had visions of Indiana Jones. What I would call torch the Kiwis call torch.

cuppa: a cup of...something. Usually hot, probably tea or coffee. As in, "time for a cuppa".

take the piss: I admit to being rather confused when I first heard this one, but it means, more-or-less, "make fun of" or "ridicule" or something along those lines. (Right?)

yeah nah: no. Like many of these expressions it really only sounds right in a Kiwi accent.

* sorry if I sound like a patronizing prick

The Squeeze

kevin — Fri, 9 Jan 2015 15:21:00 GMT

Monday started fairly inauspiciously. I woke up in a hostel after deciding I needed to take a proper shower and do some proper laundry after hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing the previous day. Although I no longer stunk I was feeling the aches and pains from my advice-defying sandal-clad ascent of Mt. Ngauruhoe, made worse by the fact that the summit had been completely socked in during my brief visit while Monday was shaping up to be a lovely sunny day with great views from the crater. I spent some time restocking my dwindling supply of dried fruit and hiding from the summer's heat in the shade along Lake Taupo. I tarried longer than usual since I had no destination picked out for the night, but finally decided to have an adventure and try my luck at finding "The Squeeze".

It began as my trek of the TAC ended the previous day. I needed to catch a ride back to the other end of the track where I had left my van. The first vehicle leaving the carpark (parking lot) wasn't about to stop for me but I held out my thumb to the second. The driver was American and happened to be heading to the same spot, having left his friends there while hitching in the opposite direction as me after walking the track in the opposite direction as well. It was fun talking to an American for a change; we reminisced about Boulder where we both had lived and made fun of the Kiwis for driving on the left. At some point I asked him a question I like to ask: "do you have a favorite spot in New Zealand so far?" Now mostly I ask this question out of sheer curiosity, expecting an answer about a spot I've been to or heard about. Cathedral Cove is popular, as are more general answers lacking in conviction. But every once in a while I get taken by surprise.

We rolled into the carpark at the track's beginning (or more likely the end) where we met the driver's friends. One of them gave me vague but slightly less vague directions to find The Squeeze than the driver had been able to. I was intrigued, no doubt, but the imprecision of the directions and the question of whose land I might be trespassing left me uncertain as to whether I'd try to find it. Fast-forward to the next afternoon.

The first set of directions were easy to follow and I soon found myself on an unsealed (gravel) road about 30km north of Taupo. From there there had been some disagreement on how far I needed to go, but after a minimum of 7km I'd find an open wooden gate. At 7.2 there was a fenced driveway, but it didn't really have a gate. At 8.6 there was a closed metal gate in a wooden fence. Hmm... After driving another few clicks up the road and considering abandoning this adventure altogether, I decided the metal gate had to be the one. The guys had apparently ran into some tour guides that said they (the Americans) weren't supposed to be able to get to that spot without paying for a tour, so it seemed reasonable that the gate had been locked in response. As to the construction material, well, close enough? I parked the van, climbed the fence, and started to walk alone the dirt road. The Americans had logged 1km in the van, so I figured 12 minutes of walking should be about right. The landmarks here were a bit unclear as well, but finally I passed a track that beckoned to me. A short way in I crossed some wooden planks and there was the stream. I still wasn't sure I believed their description of this place, but I took off my sandals and stepped in. And just like they promised the water was warm.

The stream at this point was about an armspan wide and ankle deep. Native bush crowded each edge. Still surprised that I had found this place, I headed upstream noting with joy the complete absence of biting insects. A few minutes later I found the source of the ever-increasing roar of water: a water fall maybe 4 meters high on the other end of a 10 meter section of slot canyon. And it was hot, gloriously hot. A little track led up above the falls and to an excavated section of stream which formed a beautiful hot pool. A wooden staircase let into it, so clearly someone used it with some regularity. I pushed thoughts of who that might be out of my head as I enjoyed the perfect solitude of this magical place.

I didn't stay super long as the hot water was making me woozy and I still had some exploring to do. Going back to my sandals and leaving the rest of my gear I headed further downstream. Finally the ground began to rise up on both sides of me and suddenly the stream disappeared into a canyon. The Squeeze. Six meters high and barely shoulder-width, this was a slot canyon to rival any in Arizona. As it undulated along the stream went abruptly from ankle- to hip-deep. I had to twist and contort myself to pass between the walls. Then I was up to my shoulders in the warm murky brew. And just like that I came out the other side, just 50 or so meters from the Waikato River. I stood there in awe of the narrow canyon, the hot stream, the clear river in front of me.

I couldn't help but reflect on how the most amazing experiences are often the most unexpected. And with glee I headed back into the canyon.

Fiji Time

kevin — Thu, 6 Nov 2014 09:16:00 GMT

Fiji Time. To the arriving tourist it's a term that promises everything she'd want in her tropical vacation: relaxation, an easy pace, going with the flow. To the local it's a mantra, an excuse, steeped in the history of a kava bowl, to abide by the schedule of the clock or the schedule of the gut or no schedule at all. It's the key to the way of life in this small Pacific country, the charms and frustrations all wrapped into one.

Kava is the national drink of Fiji and many of its people enjoy it on a regular -- often daily -- basis. Also known as grog, it is a tea made from the dried and pounded roots of Piper methysticum. In the novice drinker it produces a numb feeling in the tongue and perhaps a slight feeling of sleepiness. As the kavalactones build up in the liver of the habitual user a quicker and stronger effect can occur which renders the individual indifferent to the buzz of jokes and guitars or even further coconut shells of the bitter drink as they are passed around the circle. The next day's lethargy which results from such a session is the supposed origin of Fiji Time. While in practice it's rare to see someone in such a state, the kava-over has been melded into the Fijian national identity. Thus the bus is just as likely to arrive five minutes early as five minutes late, the shopkeeper might be back in fifteen minutes or maybe tomorrow, the restaurant will be open for someone's idea of lunchtime.

This opens up many opportunities for even the most staid tourist to become a flexible and resourceful traveler. If you paid three figures for a tour it probably won't be more than twenty minutes late. Maybe thirty. But otherwise all bets are off. So if that cute cafe still hasn't opened try one of the food carts with their unfamiliar fare. If the bus hasn't shown up after an hour walk, because it's not coming. Or even better, catch a ride with one of the friendly locals. You may even get an invitation to visit a traditional village where you'll get a sense of what Fiji Time is really about. And if all else fails, you can always not do much of anything at all. With beautiful beaches, warm water, and tropical fruit it's hard to imagine a better place kick back and enjoy a slower pace of life. Because you won't find stress here, just Fiji Time.