Non sequitur

I was strolling along in search of some fibres for my vitamin-deprived body, when I happened upon a good Multiple Serving Friend sipping coffee in a little cafe. I am now in the mood for posting a non-blog and simply mentioning that I am totally in an "I was smoking with the Ghost" (by Tegan and Sara) mindset.

I am chomping on my fibres as we speak. More sensible blogs will follow.

Stencils - Ct´d

Santiago is an absolute gem in terms of wall-stencils. I have now collected over 500 fisheye-images of stencils in this city alone and I have yet to venture out to the larger suburbs. The presence of these stencils is a very good reflection of the mindset of the local twenty-something generation. They grew up in the aftermath of the Pinochet regime, coming of age in a backdrop of a re-emerging democracy. And the views of our peers here are fascinating and challenging, to say the least.

The group I have been spending most of my time with these last two weeks, consists of a haphazard mix of local chilean students, a French-Brazilian professor of Physics and several American and European backpackers. While the group is generally up for a whole lot of fun and mischief, some days, our outings turn into very heated debates that are never quite settled when we head back to our respective "homes" in the wee hours of the morning.

It is challenging. I realise that while I am fairly well read and educated, my opinions and thoughts are very much set against a sheltered european upbringing. And suddenly I find myself in a country that is still very much dealing with a very brutal recent past. Where 20,000 people were slaughtered in the national sports stadium just a little over 20 years ago. Due to lack of funding, the city has not been able to tear down the stadium or re-build a new one, so all the big sport events are played in the very same spot where many lost fathers, sons, sisters... It´s that violent schizophrenic clash between a rapid evolution towards regained freedom & normality and an unprocessed & unvindicated past.

- Stencil of Pinochet: "¿No me acuerdo?" (I don´t remember)-

Friday night, after several hours of silliness and dancing at a club, we were suddenly all desperately trying to put the world to rights. My American friends gave a stunning proof of insight into their own situation and a rather grim account of how their own beliefs and ideals are gradually shattered to pieces. My chilean friends and I discussed at length the mal-alignment between socialist ideals and socialist practice and we basically concluded that perhaps there no longer is such a thing as a socialist concept, for it´s pretty much fragmented and bastardized. While we´ve all had such nights, the nights I´m having are different for one reason only. We no longer stop at criticisms. We try to move beyond it. For criticism in itself solves nothing. It´s those elusive alternatives we need to pin down. And for the first time in my life, I´m transgressing the line of negatives into a more pro-active way of thinking. These people here are teaching me. Noam Chomsky once said that while he gives talks all over the world, it is only those in the western world that have the ordacity to ask him: "But what can WE do?". Indeed here, that question is simply ridiculed.

On a slightly different note. While off out stencil-hunting yesterday, I bumped into a guy who was doing the same. We got chatting and I am now invited to his exposition of Santiago Street Art next Friday. And because I gave him a few tips as to where to find the more political stencils, I will get in for free. I´ll be seriously jealous if his collection turns out much bigger than mine ;)

What We Don't Look For.

Perception of time is quite a strange thing. I've been in Santiago for almost two weeks now, yet it feels like I have been here for an eternity flown by in an iota of a second. I've explored pretty much every nook of this city of millions and I have reached the stage where some local people have started greeting me in recognition upon my passing by.

<-- The cafe where I study and read when I have the need to be on my own

I absolutely love it here and while it's hard to discern whether that's due to the location or the people I happen upon, it's perhaps not necessary to break the experience down any further than simply what it is. The series of fortunate coincidences that strings together the last 2 weeks, is really rather humbling. Each of us compiles "to do" lists in their heads, whether we're conciously aware of doing so or not. Things we effectively would like to do, aspects of ourselves that we would like to reconsider or possibilities and concepts we are eager to explore. On a larger scale, the events of the last 2 weeks have led to a chaotic series of "strike-offs". I seem to be inadvertently making my way down my own lists and in doing so... everything is gradually illuminated.

I feel different. In exploring the life that's within reach, I can feel myself breaking down and redefining my own boundaries. I am re-writing my self-definition. And it's not until this week that I realised that the perception we have of ourselves, does not necessarily correspond with everything that we are capable of being. Quite to the contrary. How we define and perceive ourselves probably curtails our true nature, more often than not. I suspect I may have found at least part of the cause of the restlessness within me that so many of you are undoubtedly familiar with. That feeling of being mal-aligned with myself is gradually but steadily fading.

- CC & Sam, Mercado Central -

I feel very strongely now that what we do and what we send out into the world, defines what comes our way. Our mindset inevitably guides where we end up, for it defines the things we open ourselves up to. After the initial low upon my arrival, I very conciously decided to throw myself fully onto everything that came my way. I accepted invites even when I was tired or did not much feel like company. I engaged in conversations with people I would normally not necessarily show an interest in. And I found out that all those "lesser" initial contacts, led me onto things that were very much where I wanted to be. Perhaps we conduct our searches for the "right stuff", the wrong way. We have eyes only for the things that immediately resemble that which we want and instantly discard that which doesn't. I think few of us ever consider the possibility that perhaps the thing we don't look for, might actually be the necessary step-stone that leads us to that which we DO look for.

The more I let go, the more things go my way. I suspect it is important to define in your head what you want. But once you know what that is, you need to let go. Instead of desperately trying to create our circumstances, we should probably just go along with the ride that presents itself. You will recognize the thing you wanted and be ready to seize it, when it passes by.

I realize that few of this will make sense to you, without me providing the details of the events gone by. But for now, those events are mine to ponder.

- Sampling Pisco Sours in Mercado Central -

"I have climbed the highest mountain, sailed across the sea. I have wrestled with my demons and woke up with only me." - M.Etheridge

Mystery Farce

A little over a week ago, I received an e-mail from a certain Clotho Moirae, stating the following:

Le Pew,

The Fates decree that you explore Auckland's nooks and crannies by embarking upon a most difficult and arduous quest to seek out Auckland's Poste Restante and, upon successfully finding said, enter and demand a message from the gods as your due. Beware though! Hermes has been somewhat tardy lately and the journey from Mount Olympus increasingly difficult; your missive may not be ready until on (or indeed after) the XIVth.

May the stars shine upon your endeavour,
Clotho

Needless to say, this email got me a little spooked. Who on earth was this? How did they know where I was heading and what on earth was the point she was trying to get arcoss? I discussed this e-mail at length with a scottish SSF over a few beers down the local backpackers. He assured me it was probably some pot-head trying to spam whoever they could with their weirdness. I figured he was probably right, but me being me, I replied to the mail (Hey! I'm a scorpio! We don't do curious.We figure stuff out whatever the cost!). While I didn't save my reply, it was rather eloquent and it went something like this:

"What the ?! Who are you?! What are you on about?!?"

The reply that bounced back to me seriously pissed me off, for it made me none the wiser:

That would be telling! Just glad I wasn't mistaken for spam again (although perhaps a close call? Must work on my alter-egos...) Have some coffee and put on your sleuthing head.You need to go to the Post Shop on Wellesley Street, Auckland and ask for some mail, c/o Post Restante. I usually find post offices (or Sub-Worlds as I like to call them) are in interesting places where you wouldn't usually go, although I've no idea what Auckland's is like... It's not hugely interesting mail anyway, so if Wellesley St turns out to be the opposite of where you need to be then don't worry!

Again, an accurate record of my reply is missing from my mailbox, but I am fairly confident that true to my general expert penmanship, it went something like this:

Are you one of those people trying to spread leaflets to random strangers or something?! I mean, it's all very intriguing and stuff, but really... even if I was curious, don't you think it'd be a little stupid, if not to say, dangerous, for me to just follow some random stranger's directions to a place in a city I'm not familiar with... to pick up a "parcel"?!?

Pretty soon a very amusing, appologetic reply bounced back to me, signed by someone most regular readers of this blog will be familiar with as my friend Disco:

Okay, okay, okay... I'll fess up; 'tis I (I was going to put Disco on the other email address, but I can feel suspicion waves emanating from NZ all the way over here and you might suspect a Disco claimer to be some weirdo (okay, some weirdo you don't know :-)) reading your blog and claiming a persona). Pleased to see you are taking personal safety seriously! Seriously. I guess you didn't need the skid pants after all.Looks like I'm going to have to drop my mythical Greek alter-ego now after it's dismal first outing, or maybe take a trip to Greece sometime and work on it properly in the sun...As for the letter, I figured you'd have longer in Auckland than your change of plans have allowed for and that a traipse to the Post Office might offer a momentary diversion (although knowing my luck it's probably in the most difficult place in the world to get to, inolving a huge drudge-trek with heavy backpack, you'll get mugged on the way and the Royal Mail won't even have delivered my puny letter. Then I will feel guilty...)

I have to say I was literally wetting myself. This was by far the most entertaining bit of mail from the homefront so far and I was thoroughly excited at the prospect of a physical letter/parcel from a friend. Frankly, if someone had decided to send me a shoelace in the mail, I would still be over the moon... that's how much I enjoy random surprises like this. So, first thing Monday morning, I was knocking on the post-office door to be let in. But... the package hadn't arrived yet.

My theory is that the big fat royal mail pigeon got eaten by a vietnamese cat on the way over because it didn't have enough lift what with all its squidge. The cat then spat out the letter because it realised the letter was already dead and as such took away much of the fun of killing for sheer pleasure. The letter, now covered in poisonous saliva, got swallowed up in the vietnamese sewer system which, as we all know, connects directly to the big australasian ocean. What most people don't know is that there is an almost-but-not-quite-extinct species of whale out in that ocean which is highly allergic to the saliva of vietnamese cats. And that the last remaining specimen of this almost-but-not-quite-extinct species of whale has just swallowed Disco's letter. Which is why I will never see said letter and why tomorrow morning, Disco can expect to be bombed by toiletpaper on her way to work, as part of the first line of revenge orchestrated by a bunch of angry OAPs who read about the now-quite-extinct species of whale in this months' reader's digest.

Anyway. Disco was kind enough to set up a mock website with a reproduction of the missing letter, and as a Douglas Adams enthousiast and Disco-fan, I cannot withhold this little gem from you: LETTER.

I suddenly feel a lot cheerier! Massive thanks for all the effort Disco! I shall put the physical touch panel in my pocket from now on ;)

Kia Ora and Goodbye

Well folks, it seems this is about all the time we have for blogs from New Zealand. By 6pm tomorrow, I will be boarding a plane to Santiago, Chile and if all goes well, my next blogpost should reach you from a far more confusing, exotic location ;) Bring on the anxiolithicums and pray for a nicely sedated flight!

A Night Out With Woody

- Urban Fisheye Shots from Auckland, taken 15/10/06 -

I managed to hunt down a new gay club in town and despite my better judgement, decided to spend my Saturday night there. Not accustomed to going to clubs on my lonesome, I felt a little out of place at first. It's a pretty strange feeling to aimlessly stand around with a vodka-tonic in your hand, watching other people have fun. You just know how bystanders must perceive you. It was one of those rare moments where I felt immensely grateful for my aptitude at engaging just about anybody in random conversation and thankfully I found myself adopted by a gang of very cheerful lesbians, within the space of an hour.

Despite their cheeriness, it was a horrifyingly stereotypical encounter and about an hour later I started feeling thoroughly depressed. Each of them looked exactly like their girlfriend's mirror-image, all-but-one wore studded belts in low-hanging jeans and while all had relationships only a mere few months young, they were all cohabiting and owned the stereotypical 1.2 pets. I tried to skew my own cheeriness levels with ample supplies of vodka, but to no avail. So, just after midnight, I decided to venture further into town and find myself some new company and higher spirits.

Strolling down the busy nightlife-district, I located some funky tunes and strolled into what looked like a friendly little club. On my way to the bar, I noticed a pile of wrapped gifts on a table next to the DJ-stand and it started to dawn on me that I must have strolled into a private function. Everyone was properly dressed up, yet there I was in what backpackers like to pass off as their "fancy outfit": least-crinkled T-shirt of the pile, jeans and the pair of trainers we wear just about everywhere. Needless to say I stood out like a redhead in Italy. I decided I better come up with a solid story in case anyone enquired about my reasons for being there.

As I made my way to the dancefloor for a bit of dancing, I spotted someone distinctly like myself: an obvious outsider. I strolled up to him to introduce myself and by luck of the draw, he turned out to be a European backpacker staying in the very same hostel. My new friend was incredibly likeable, being a junior version of the genius Woody Allen both in appearance and neuroticisms. I happen to have a very strange penchant for just about anything Woody-related, so my seratonin levels reached a comfortable high.

Over the course of the evening, I was repeatedly asked whether I was friends with the bride or the groom and the more people I got to know, the more elaborate my story became. By the end of the night, everyone believed me to be the Swedish relative of D. who just so happened to be J.'s boyfriend, who in turn was the best friend of the bride's sister. I think everyone was sufficiently drunk to miss the effective link of that trail and so I spent a wonderful night amidst a recently acquired long-term circle of friends and relatives.

Woody and I made a sport out of scoring free drinks for one another, reasoning that our status as poor backpackers entitled us to setting aside all ethics. And let me tell you... it's amazing what a pair of boobs can achieve. Being gay, it's much harder to impress potential partners with those assets as they more often than not have a decent pair themselves, but the straight male specimens... well, they represent an untapped source of freebees to a person like myself.

A cute bartender politely asked me whether it'd be OK for him to hit on me. Stunned by his politeness, but drunk enough to ignore the ethical implications involved with his question, I swiftly brokered myself a deal: Yes he could hit on me, IF I got to drink for free for the rest of the night. In my opinion, that tied me into nothing substantial. And so it was that I got served Vodka-Red Bull's and White Russians at the high cost of being paid sweet compliments all night. I may have to reconsider my sexuality, as this is far more lucrative than bartering with lesbians. In my experience, lesbians simply want to steal your clothes ;-)

By the time I got home, I was very drunk indeed. Not a major achievement seeing as I'm pretty much a lightweight T-Total, but very drunk nonetheless. I managed to catch a full hour's sleep before being kicked out of my room at the ungodly hour of 10am. This, however, fades into nothingness compared to Woody's ordeal, as he fell asleep on a bench in the neighbouring park and was rudely awoken by a bird shitting on his head.



Being made bedless, I decided to take my hangover to the only place I could think off that would provide me sufficient survival chances on such a brutal Sunday morning: the matinee movies. For reasons beyond me, I decided to see the much acclaimed "Brick" and while I'm sure it was a fantastic film, I simply didn't get any of it. Although, I did manage to suss out that it was dark comedy: People seemed to keep laughing despite the fact that plenty of people were being killed-off on screen.

Because my next dormbed wouldn't be ready for a nap till the afternoon, I had no choice but to kill some time downtown once the movie was finished. And as I'm wandering around, I happen upon the following:

FREE STRESS TEST!!! So I'm thinking: This should be fun right?! I'm on a 6-month holiday and my biggest stress these days is deciding whether I should buy a fresh bottle of water or top my old one up for free in the hostel. I mean... how much more relaxed can a person possibly get?!?

Very amused with myself to start with, I let the guy hook me up to his machine. It is only then that it dawns on me that the words on the guy's shirt spell out: DIANETICS. This simply made my day: What better form of entertainment for a hungover physicist, than an argument with quantum-abusers?!? We all love playing the pedantic facetious prick every now and then.

Guy: "So I'm just going to hook you up to our little machine here and what it does, basically, is that it measures your thoughts. I will spare you the details..."
Me: "No go ahead. I'm a physicist with another 4 months of spare time on her hands. Indulge me."

At this point, the guy turns bright red and starts stuttering:

Guy: "Oh... OK. Erm... well, the man who invented this is actually a physicist himself, you see. So OK, you want the details I suppose?"
Me: "Yes. Please." *wide excited pre-battle grin*
Guy: "Ok... well... we're all electric energy you see, like our neurons? The man who invented this managed to prove that there are simply not enough braincells to store all of our memories and impressions, so he reasoned they must be stored outside our body and around us in some form of energy. We've proven that if you weigh a person with his painful memories, he actually weighs more than if you weigh him without his painful memories. Thoughts are matter you see. Now, if you would hold onto this machine, it works on the basis of a Wheatstone bridge, which being a physicist, you're undoubtedly familiar with. I will ask you some questions and we'll see what the machine picks up."
Me: "Hang on. Question. If my thoughts and memories are stored in an energy form outside my body... then why exactly am I asked to hold these two metal bars? Surely you should be simply placing them somewhere around me, you know, to pick up all that outer body energy?"

I shall spare you the rest of the conversation, but suffice it to say the guy became quite flustered and frustrated and I had a great deal of fun. By the end of the conversation, the guy decides to have a go at selling me a book, which I refuse to buy, thereby aggravating his frustration.

Guy: "Well, at least check out our website and then maybe buy it later... it's www.scientolo... *he stops abruptly, turns even redder and corrects himself* ... I mean www.dianetics.org"
Me: "Man, Tom Cruise really fucked that line up for you guys didn't he?"

It's sad to say how content I felt when I sat down for lunch an hour later, despite the hangover. Some weekends are just perfect ;-)

Not So Clever After All

Ain't Karma a bitch...

Just days after I posted a blog about some staggeringly stupid people, it seems I am running low on cleverness myself. I'm not sure why really, as I'm perfectly capable of analysing the situations post-occurence and never fail to recognize the inherent stupidity of my actions. Just wish I could do so BEFORE the events actually occur.

I was waiting for my bus this morning and urgently had to pee. With only a few shifty types about, I didn't feel safe leaving my backpack and valuables under their temporary supervision, so decided to take the lot with me to the loo. If you care to picture the scene: Wee Pew with a kick-ass backpack strapped to her back, an overspilling daypack strapped to her front, and a carrierbag with food in the left hand.

For reasons beyond me, I decide to walk into the toiletbooth with the entire carry-on and get trapped between the toiletdoor and the wall. Seriously. Stuck. I could move forwards nor backwards and any attempt to wriggle myself free in side-way movements just seemed to aggravate an already very embarassing situation. So there I am squooshed in the loo with no way to get out.


I eventually forfaited my last ounce of pride and gave a feeble squeak for help. Seconds later, a fragile old granny is pushing the back of my backpack to try and squeeze me through the door.

I cannot recall when I last managed to embarass myself to such degree.
*hangs head in shame*

PS: I am currently in Auckland and have located a very nice lesbian DJ night tonight, just a few minutes away from my hostel. I'm not sure whether it's karmically safe to go along to it tonight, but I will nonetheless try. Let's just hope I don't have to come back to this blog with stories of how I managed to knock the cutest lesbian unconcious with my spastic dance-moves.

Geothermal Wonderland

I'm in Rotorua (Wai-o-Tapu) at the moment which means that while you guys are sat on a comfortable 30 kms of earthcrust, my own bum is a mere 7 kms away from a whirlpool of magma. Because the Earth's crust is so much thinner here than in the rest of the inhabited world, the whole area is rather unstable. Rotorua experiences around 900 light earthquakes a year and is drenched is the unmistakable smell of sulphur. Everywhere you go it's pretty much as if you've stuck your nose in a box of rotting eggs. On the streets, rain-drains and sewerholes are continuosly steaming due to the natural hot springs that are doted around the town.

It does make for some stunning scenery though:

Rare Moments

Last Night.

In she walked and all that I am came to a standstill. Someone read my dream last night and stole her from it. As she moves about me, she sends me a cheeky smile. I flash her my biggest grin in return hello. And this is how we will communicate: sideway glances and a vocabulary of smiles.

She's struggling with a can-opener. The mundaness of the moment never springs into existence. In silence, I take over and rescue her. She starts blushing as her coyest of smiles conveys a "thank you". There's a spark in the air amidst which we keep up pretences of going about our own respective bussiness.

Later on, huddled over a cup of tea, I will lock her eyes onto mine for a moment & decide not to break the spell by mundaneness of speech. I will walk away unscathed, with the illusion of possibility locked in an untouchable freeze.


This Morning.

She slips onto the sofa next to me, as I'm sipping a coffee in wait of my bus. Her morning smile scatters about my intentions and before I know it, I've broken our routine of silence. When I surface from our conversation to look up at the clock, it dawns on me: It's an hour later and I've missed my bus. Rarely has a smile engaged me so much.

As I stand up in a rush, she stops me for details. When I walk out the door, she will have my number in hand, scribbled in haste on this morning's paper. In my confusion and hurry, I forget to ask for hers. The course of possibility now in the hands of an intimate stranger.

Not So Fiery Pits

After a week's wait, we finally got the go-ahead for the Tongariro Crossing. We were warned that snow would be knee-deep at times and with predicted 70kph winds, we knew it wasn't going to be an easy, summery stroll. But, doing the crossing was what drew me to New Zealand in the first place and I wasn't about to be put off by a few snowy gales. When we set off at 6am, the sun was just about making its way up and thanks to a nifty self-made filter system, I managed to capture an early morning shot of Mt.Ngauruhoe, better known as Mt.Doom of the fiery pits of Mordor. It looks surprisingly meek doesn't it? :-)


While I started the climb with my Single Serving Friends R&S, I had to forfait their company fairly quickly, what with them being long gangly lads and me being not much taller than a short-arse. I simply could not keep up with their long-legged strides. Fortunately, I managed to hook up with an equally short-arsed weegie lass, who just so happened to be a Physicist as well. Geeks united.

The views were stunning. I can genuinely say I've rarely been as awed by anything in my life. The sheer magnitude of the craters. The brightness of colours. Sides of the crater so hot that snow simply could not settle on it. Smells alternating between sulpher and fresh mountainsnow. And then the rumbling. We had not been given any information on how to recognize activity dangers, so when the volcano started sounding off deep loud grumbles accompanied by slight tremors, quite a few people on the track got spooked.

Here's where I find out that I am a faulty specimen in terms of the fight-or-flight response: As soon as the crater started rumbling, I got excited beyond the ridiculous. Adrenaline racing through my veins and rather than thinking about safety, I was hoping for some magma action. Several people actually made a U-turn at this point and forfaited the remainder of the walk. I, however, simply could not stop myself (sorry mum&dad, it was just TOO exciting!!!). Thankfully, it never actually went beyond rumbling.

I could ramble on about the experience for hours, but I doubt anything could convey the experience better than a few of my pictures, so I shall simply shut up and let you see for yourselves:

World Gone Mad

It's only Tuesday and the world's gone mad already. I am currently on my 8th painkiller, so you'll be treated to a sedate dose of Pew today, which is probably for the best, considering the sorry state of affairs the world finds itself in at the moment. The human race seems hell-bent on repeating history.

Since I have the luxury of hiding behind the excuse of severe sedation, let me risk a wild theory. Survival of the fittest. It is well know that "intelligent" people generally produce less offspring. So they end up forming a negligible niche of society and the world is populated predominantly by the Other Kind. While Evil Genii sadly tend to fall in the "intelligent" category, they need not procreate, for they have the power to make the Other Kind follow their every whim, whether voluntarily by persuasion/manipulation or involuntarily by brutal oppression. Nevertheless, they often seem capable of accumulating a substantial following. And, more often than not, Evil Genii lead the world of Other Kinds into destruction. So... coming back to that whole "Survival of the Fittest" concept. I am strongly in favour of renaming it: "Temporary Survival of the Dumbest & Evil-est, Eventual Extinction of All".

Did I mention I was in a bad mood? And severely sedated? Good. Just for your information then, I've just stuffed my face with an entire Toblerone bar, so the sugar rush will soon start adding to the fun.

To continue then:

Kim Jong-il in all his divine wisdom decided to go ahead with his muscle-building exercises, thereby ignoring a globe of opposition. Which, if we're all serious about this for a moment... is something that was to be expected. It's not hard to see that threats and sanctions by an international community led by the biggest nuclear superpower in the world, would fail to hit their target. Excuse the pun. Threat breeds threat. And when has an attempt at negotiation with an evil genius manipulator ever turned out OK? I had a whole sensible analysis in mind for a different approach to the matter, but it seems to be buried somewhere underneath the sugar rush that's kicking in, so I will have to come back on that in a later post.

Russia's managed to silence one of their most effective political critics Anna Politkovskaya by resorting to the trusted Mafiosi method of liquidation.

And Flanders has managed to make headlines in New Zealand's otherwise unworldly media, by proving once again it is one of the most delusional communities in the EU. Flanders can pride itself of having one of the world's best education systems (source:PISA), a social security system that most countries would be envious of, a health system that is working well enough to process deferred British patients as well as its own, a crime rate that is still lower than in most of its neighbouring countries and an unemployment rate well within acceptable limits. Yet SOMEHOW, Flemish people are growing malcontent with their lot. I say it's plain greed, boredom and stupidity. Go live in another country for a while and you'll realise how nicely cushioned our community really is.

That 20% of voters have chosen Vlaams Belang, a blatantly extreme right-wing party, as their choice selection makes me feel that Flanders too, is inundated by Other Kinds. In the paper this morning, Van Hecke states: "Our recent gain in Flanders is to be attributed to our ability and efforts to tap into concerns over a perceived rise in crime, degradation of inner-city neighbourhoods and increase in asylum-seekers." I am sure none of you will have missed the poignant use of the word "PERCEIVED". Not "ACTUAL". To tap into a perception. If even the party itself recognizes that it is a matter of people's perception then I have to say, they are by far more intelligent than their voters. And that is a very sorry state of affairs indeed.

-what we choose to see-

(Disclaimer: The reason I chose not to live in Flanders is NOT because of discontent with life there. It's mainly to do with the staggering flatness of the place not lending itself to forms of entertainment such as hiking, bouldering, wild games of hide-&-seek and general outdoorsiness.)

Mp3- repeats (a One Off)

The sounds of my travelling: my current abbreviated Mp3-repeat list (which, granted, seems to have reverted to some long-standing favorites, rather than my new faves... but tis what it is)

Muse - Supermassive Black Hole

Soulwax - Beatles vs. Kraftwerk

Aqualung - Strange & Beautiful

Bloc Party - This Modern Love

Athlete - Wires

Frou Frou - Must Be Dreaming

Guster - Fa Fa

Ivy - Worry About You

Jose Gonzalez - Stay in the Shade

Mylo - Paris Four Hundred

Nancy Wilson - I Wish You Love

Rusted Root - Send Me On My Way

Jose Gonzalez - Crosses

Sarah McLachlan - Possession

Train - Mississippi

Coldplay - Don't Panic

Dusty Springfield - Son of a Preacherman

Bonobo - Kota

Arsenal - Switch

Ben Folds Five - The Ascent of Stan

Catlow - Kiss the World

The Killers - On Top

The Kooks - Ooh La

Roisin Murphy - Ruby Blue

Seratonin

I had planned to write a blogpost about my annoyence with the instability of my seratonin levels, but the levels happen to be at a high again following a recent phone conversation with a cheery British Airways agent and I have now decided that said post would merely (1) bore you all and (2) lead you to correctly conclude that I am a rather unstable individual.

So let's not.

On a funnier note, the local New Age shop in town displayed this rather amusing note in the doorway:



It must have worked cuz I was in Wellington that day and felt no Quake ;) As far as the volcano experience is concerned, this is as close as I have gotten to Mt.Ruapehu:



On the upside, I've been told the Volcanic crossing looks set to re-open on Wednesday, so fingers crossed I will get up close and personal with some magma before too long. Meanwhile, I've kept busy strolling around stuff like this:



I have changed my ticket out of New Zealand and am now leaving for Chile on October 17th instead of November 5th. I am quite saturated with Kiwi-land for the time being (especially since high season has now properly kicked in and all the gapyear teenagers have arrived). I want to inroll in an intensive spanish course in Santiago for a few weeks and hopefully stretch my budget a little.

Managed to take this rather pretty Stencil/Grafiti Fisheye on my way today:



I shall hopefully return with more meaningfull posts once my PMT and seratonin-high have fought their battles. But right now, I'm off in search of a decent fry-up and a strong cup of coffee.

Staggering Stupidity & Striking Stereotypes

CONVERSATION #1:

Yorkshire Lass: "So where you lot from?"

Us: "Belgium, France and Denmark."

Yorkshire Lass: "Oh right. So where are they on the map then, with respect to like England?"

Us: " ... "

Yorkshire Lass: "I'm not dumb like, but I'm just no good at that geomography stuff."

*Note: Yorkshire Lass, 24, BA in communications from Leeds Uni

CONVERSATION #2:

Mis-en-scene: Two 18-year old blondes are sunbathing on the hostel terrace, while I'm having a conversation with a Kiwi and a Scot nearby.

Scot: "Girls, you really ought to put on some sunscreen lotion."

Blondes: "Why?"

Kiwi: "Because there's a massive hole in the ozonlayer right above NZ and we've got the second highest incidence rate of skin cancer in the world."

Blonde#1: "But it's not hot, I'm not sweating like."

Blonde#2: "What's an ozonlayer?"

CONVERSATION#3:

Mis-en-scene: Guy sat next to me with a cigarette in his hand and an american flag on his T-shirt. So, for a joke I say:

Me: "An American who smokes and is still proud to flaunt his nationality. You MUST be Texan."

Guy: "Yeah, I'm from Austin!! Is it THAT obvious?!"

Volcano Country

I have at last arrived at the highlight and sole reason for my visit to New Zealand: Volcanic Country. It seems like I will have to bide my time a bit though. The crossing through the Vulcanic National Park is closed due to:

(1) an unexpected snowstorm last week
(2) small earthquake yesterday
(3) signs of onset of vulcanic activity the last two days



So, for the time being I am in Taupo, where I will wait until the route opens up again. Taupo itself is a village that lies at the top of a caldera volcano (a volcano which has collapsed in on itself and filled with water over time). While it is now a huge lake, it is not inactive. Caldera volcanos erupt less frequently but violently when they do so. There are several hot water streams and waterfalls around the area, and I intend to take a bike out to track a few of them down.

I'm staying at a lovely hostel and there's plenty of other "waiters" around to occupy myself with. And just to show how small the world is, yet again... I stayed up late chatting and at one point the conversation focussed on food. I mentioned that I have a penchant for sushi and mexican and the guy (who's not from Zurich) gets all excited and says: "Ooooh ooooh, the BEST mexican I've ever been to..." and I finished his sentence for him: "... is in Zurich!". To which he says: "YES YES YES".

How random is this life? That two foreigners should meet over coffee half way across the globe and discuss their favorite mexican restaurant somewhere random in Europe and have it be the same one?!?

Light my fire

I was in a shitty mood today so decided to treat myself to a cinema ticket. I feel much happier now. Go see Thank You For Smoking.

Random Jibberings

I'm worried. I think I may have flees. Seriously. I crossed over to the North Island yesterday and am currently in Wellington, which is just about as far removed from the outdoors as one can get in New Zealand, yet I'm still being bitten. I asked a pharmacist whether Wellington had any sandflies and he looked at me as if I was a dumb blonde. Maybe I am. But SOMETHING's biting me.

I used to know what flee-bites look like, as my ex-dog had a major infestation one hot summer in Lisbon, but the experience was so enjoyable I removed all trace of it from my memory and now I simply can't be sure. And it's not like I can just walk up to people and ask them to validate my potential flee bites. Anyway... I'm throwing all my clothes in the laundry tonight in the hope of drowning whatever creature it is that is besieging me.

On a different note entirely, I saw this sign up in the hostel's kitchen this morning:

And then this is what my current room looks like:

I think most of us tread the room as we would a bombshell site: with utmost care. You never quite know what might be lurking in the mess. Actually that's not true... I do know what's lurking in this mess. It's a korean guy called Chang. He's on my top bunk and he's managed to seriously confuse me about global etiquette. I always assumed that when you notice someone changing out of their dayclothes and into their jimmy-jams, you discretely turn away to let them get on with the undressing in peace, even if conversation is still ongoing. But, yesterday as I was getting undressed, Mr.Chang's head suddenly popped down from the top-bunk and stared right at me while I was taking off my bra. And it stayed there for an unnessecarily long time, eventually making me leave the room to get undressed outside. Is that the Asian way of doing things?!?

An even weirder thing happened to me at the Te Papa museum this morning, when a complete stranger suddenly grabbed my arm and announced that she was going to hold onto it for the duration of her visit, as she was afraid of heights and quite a few exhibits were on suspended platforms. So, my intended solitary visit to the museum turned out to be reluctantly spent in the company of a nervous addendum. I really should become more assertive, but I think I can be forgiven for having been baffled into complacency by her move.

Off on yet another tangent, it seems my accent is sliding rapidly. I keep being mistaken for Irish. Even by Irish natives. I'm not sure why that is, as I've not conciously altered my intonation or speech. A while ago, I was making a heartfelt complaint at the dinnertable that I had yet to meet someone from my own country, to which an American-sounding girl replied: "What on Earth are you talking about, you Irish are everywhere?! I'm the one that should be complaining!! I've met no one from back home!!" To which I replied: "I'm not Irish and besides what are YOU on about, there's tons of yanks around!!"

To cut a long story short, we eventually sussed out, much to the hilarity of the other guests, that we were both Belgian and that our hometowns are literally 5 minutes apart from each other. The story appears to have become the hostel legend, for when I returned to the same hostel after doing the Abel Tasman track, I overhead a conversation between two new guests: "I heard a funny story the other day about two Belgians meeting in this hostel...". Ahhh... part of NZ legend at last ;)

- A girlie night dying hair at the hostel -

Well... the post WAS titled Random Jibberings. I think that's what you got. Catch you all laters ;)