I am at a place called "Windsong orchard" which I was at last year for a week and had a good time, so I got back in touch to return. They have been a fruit orchard for over 30 years here, in many ways pioneering the organic movement in this district of New Zealand. They also were instrumental in getting the local weekly farmers market established and have been hosting woofers here since like 1990, when they still had to look through the manual and write letters to inquire about possibly doing work exchange here (!)

I wrote a dear friend an email and thought- why reinvent the wheel? So here are some excerpts from it. This blog probably has like 1.7 viewers so it needn't be all wrapped up in a nice bow with a beginning, middle, and end.

I have been thinking a fair bit about the culture with migrant workers/day laborers as that is essentially what I am doing now as I am woofing here picking blueberries- minimum wage basic labor. There is an emphasis on speed and efficiency (not to an unhealthy degree- it is a friendly and warm family fruit orchard - but still) and I am working alongside a girl doing her internship from Denmark and a guy our age from New Caledonia. Who even knew what that was?! It's a close by island that is a French colony. His name is Arnaud and it's pronounced ahhh-no. He is sweet and sentimental and knows very little english so everything we have communicated has been laborious and broken. That said, he has managed to casually drop that his mom was imprisoned for protesting/being an activist against the governmental seizure of ancestral lands (?) and during that jail time his father divorced her. He was 18 at the time and has since had no contact with his father because the fact that he divorced his mom when she was in jail is "not morality" (in the words of Arnaud.) 

There are too many blueberries and not enough pickers! So we ended up with 2 extra hands in the form of  young German guys. They are very different but both needed the work and are just looking for whatever kind of day labor they can do. They have a really strong sense of life being ideal if one has a "job and a girlfriend" which will lead to getting higher in the company your job is in and then starting a family. I recognize I have resistance to that paradigm which is definitely related to the fact that I feel I missed that boat. Veiled in the openness/write your own script thing I profess.  

Here they call a bathroom a "toilet". So people sometimes say weird things like "I got lost in the toilet" or "I banged my head in the toilet". tehehe.

Also flip flops are jandals. And breaks in the middle of the workday are "smokos." 

Chanuka occurred to me to the degree that I googled when it was. But thankfully after about a decade of trying in various times and ways to make any jewish involvement feel right/good/comforting, I've all but given up on that. Like, if I happen to be offered a yummy looking latke I will not turn it down. But that is the extent of it. 

Speaking of Judaism, I had a horrific experience with a hick/NZ Navy family here last week. I was straight up in a fight/flight/freeze state. And upon reflection, I wonder if it wasn't like some genetic/ancestral trauma activations. (I can't help it - I am orienting this way now.) I can't remember if I told you about it or any snippets. But at the very beginning they said "you aren't vegetarian, are you?" in an accusatory tone. I proudly and smugly said "No!" But then I added "But I don't eat pork" (I was careful to say pork rather than pig, because I have learned that saying pig is like saying 'cow'- it is something vegans do to personify and show how uncouth and cruel it is that some people eat cows, etc). Just my luck. "Oh- well! We happen to have a fridge full of ham right now. Not sure if we have much else, actually." She then asks why I don't eat pork. I tried to give her a cavalier yet diplomatic answer: "I was raised in a really religious environment that professed to not eat pork." Keep it short and sweet, no details or identifying factors. She asked which religion, so I said "Judaism." She sneered and said "No. We don't have that here." I was kind of dumbfounded. She repeated "We don't have that here. You mean like...Jewish? No, that's not here." 

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I feel like something got switched on or off in me at that moment. I was vulnerable, at their mercy for my food and lodging, without any kind of vehicle or escape plan, and in a very rural place where there were no buses and it would take hours to walk to the nearest road I could hitchhike. Somehow I spent 2 excruciating days there in isolation, during which I was tasked with weeding and after an hour pulled my lower back. I did end up eating things that weren't pork, thankfully, but every other comment was like a snide thing about Americans, my clothing, the way I washed dishes, everything. That- and inappropriate comments about their 2-yr old daughter like "She was a total surprise. We never wanted kids." and "I would definitely not rush into this (gesturing to the little tot,rolling her eyes.) 

Now I will say that I probably took everything a bit too intensely and the way I describe it is probably a strong reading into the facts on the ground. But there was something in the air/environment that made me not feel safe and all parts of my mind and nervous system were aware of it. It's easy enough to say "oh, some uneducated and sheltered rural hicks." and Wave them away and chalk it up to a weird travel experience. But as a sensitive and feeling person, it knocked me down and out. Physically with my seized up lower back, and then when I finally arranged to get out (made contact with a random person with a campervan from a backpacker message board who said he liked meditation) and told them of my plans to leave, they accused me of being a bad communicator, reneging on my agreement, underhanded, and threatened that "it's a small town" and word gets around fast -- this in regard to the fact that I told them my next stop was to woof at this fruit orchard and they said they knew it and would basically smear my name. That was when I started to feel faint. I was standing my the wall in the living room holding my water bottle and I dropped the bottle and sank to the floor. It must have been quite a scene. The dad said "what's going on - you look totally disorientated." I wasn't that far gone to still think a little judgemental snippet about how he mispronounced that word, only to find out later that it is a British pronunciation much like 'aluminium.' Whatever. 

Boy, I'm getting all worked up just typing this out. I am so so grateful though, for the events that transpired once I got out of there. They ended up driving me into the nearest town where I agreed to meet up with this backpacker and I felt so much relief to just be in the podunk grocery store. I wandered numbly through the streets until I found a park and lay down, stretching and breathing. I think 2 hours past as I was efforting into slowing down my exhales and counting each breath, just trying to come down from the last 2 days. Or maybe it was 3 days. I realize it could have been a fool's errand to meet up with this other backpacker who's facebook profile was blank except for the name "Mi Bla." And a picture of a nice landscape. But I needed any kind of escape. And preferably one on my terms. It ended up being a wonderfully like-minded conscientious German who, despite his limited English, we were able to establish a shared resonance, respect, and fondness fairly early on. We walked around town and then drove to a nearby beach. Got in the water, stacked rocks, played in the sand, repeat. I could feel myself unfurling and knew that my back muscles were already on the mend, being around a trustworthy open-hearted peer, with freedom of movement and words. 

After a day with this timely godsend, I met up with a friend I had met last year from the states who's currently 2 years into his time in NZ and in a frustrating battle with immigration for a work visa so he can do a job he is quite qualified for and got offered. Bryce took the ferry from Wellington and I met him at the top of the South Island and we drove 4 hours up to Golden Bay, to a hostel that further uplifted me and has now far and away qualified as my favorite hostel experience. Kiwiana has a ping pong table (!) which was a big pull in me booking it. It is super small and intimate, and probably has room for 15 guests and a few long-term volunteers. The kitchen closes at 10, and everyone was so friendly, welcoming, and helpful. It was a complete 180 degree shift from the industrial hostels where everyone is just on their phones. My fingers are getting sore (actually, they were getting sore from all the blueberry picking) so I will wrap this up. Thanks for hearing me and wow I am so relieved again, to be in a safe place. A place that feels safe. What is it about safety. It is hard to say. But I do wish I weren't so porous and heavily impacted by people around me. I have spent years knowing that I am, and trying to NOT be. To cultivate all that I need to exist within. And then I had this attachment therapist back in Portland who insists that such a feat is fundamentally impossible for humans, as we are governed by our attachment systems and it is in our nature to get 'downloads' from people around us. Hmm. 

Again this is not everything, just a tidbit but I am pleased to say that at the 3-week mark I am feeling more settled than I was at the 1 week and 2 week marks. Thinking a bit more long term, feeling a bit more confident in my ability to spend money, save money, use money, and be wise about it. Also keep balance so now spend all day slaving away in the hot sun and also being engaged in some sort of purposeful routine and surrounded by a healthy and necessary degree of nice nature and quality people.

Next week I will have my first sailing experience (I hope) and also embark on my very first festival on the outskirts of Kahurangi national park, where I will be volunteering with the food prep/meals.

Monday evening

Most immediately, I became aware of the fact that an island off the North Island of NZ which is a volcano, blew this afternoon, killing some people and injuring more. I saw some videos and read some news articles. It very well could have been me, as I'm a tourist. I just happen to be in the South Island right now and I was more monitoring the floods and land/rockslides that have rendered a large chunk of the South Island impassable due to the road damage. In particular, Franz Josef area where I spent some time last year. I feel more justified in having done my advanced directives at the very least, and intend to contemplate death and dying more as I continue to practice [meditation].

I've now felt my first several senses of community and they are sweet. But quite fleeting. The hostel (locally called a "backpackers") I've been staying at here in Nelson has a few solid folks who are long-termers and I feel very safe, comfortable, appreciated, and a sense of belonging amongst them. So I stayed for 5 nights instead of 4, and will be heading out in the morning to my first workaway, a family who owns a wine tour company in a vineyard-filled sprawling area about 2 hours south of here. It's rural, and I anticipate helping out with various tasks around the house, cooking, cleaning, and childcare for a little tot- not sure how old. I am looking forward to being in a real kitchen and having access to spices, oils, and raw ingredients. I hope. I have no idea what the dynamic will be, but I'll find out. I'll also relish being around a kid again and being able to engage in home-maintaining tasks, whatever they may be.

These long termers include a very bro-y mountain biker who is camper-vanning around from Squamish, CA, a bearded twinkly smiled Yang-gangster from Cleveland who immediately pinned me as American due to my Nalgene and Osprey (yup), a charismatic Brit named Callum who has a tattoo of Thing 1 and Thing 2 prancing on the inside of his bicep, a spunky German girl who's got a job at a local Italian restaurant and a French girl who is gluten free ("not by choice") and is also a solo traveler.

Part of me wants to really get into some of the emotional underpinnings to everything that happens rather than simply report happenings and remarkable circumstances. I haven't quite figured out how to disclose with grace and skill and measured boundaries rather than an unfiltered vulnerability that is not wise to have on the internet.

The beach tournament was challenging disc-wise, as the wind was so intense the entire time, except the 2nd half of the very last game on Sunday when instead of gale-force winds, there was monsoon rains. Very hard to complete any passes. Several games went by without any break points. It was more like an homage to ultimate than anything else. Communal-energy wise it was really great and I relished in feeling again, a sense of belonging and purpose. Being a part of something, generally accepted, and able to engage. I even reconnected with a few people I had met playing pickup here last year, and got that fervent buzz of a tournament when there is just so many hours in a 48 hour period spent amongst people that it's like a crash course in getting to know random strangers. At least for me, playing in a hat tournament in another country.

There continues to be ups and downs, disappointments, moments of pause, rapture at the beautiful nature, distress and resignedness, lament and shame. Doubt and wistfulness, glee and relief and longing.

And I left my cute little mini Dr. Bronner's bottle of soap I brought at a hostel in Auckland. So now I'm soapless.

*If you are reading this and have any questions about NZ, travel, me, or otherwise, feel free to comment and/or otherwise get in touch with me and ask, and I will address it in this blog.

First few days having reached the destination

I've been struggling a bit the last few days. Upsurges of emotion have swelled and peaked from seemingly miniscule catalysts, leaving me tossed and akimbo. There have been a few of these, and I found my responses to be even clearer than in the past. The qualities of these swells are fairly familiar and definitive by now. The sense of overarching foreboding, the irrelevance of time. Concepts like relativity, perspective, and reason are remote. My recent polyvagal orientation had me orient immediately towards reaching for co-regulation opportunities with people. Thank you to those of you who met me and showed/continue to show me love and stability. Being shown attuned love and steadfast presence is something I did not get as a kid and am working on internalizing the idea that it is possible.

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The one hitchhiking attempt I've made thus far has yielded pride and humility. Phil from Tonga gave me a ride that took 15 minutes and would have taken 2 hours on buses.

---- ---- ----

Tempering assertiveness and practicing extending vocal interjections, rescinding hasty demands. The default for this body and persona is to defer, allow, assuage, quell, soften, assist, morph. Be malleable. Fill in, smooth.

Thank you Eitan for reminding me to give it a chance. I will give it a chance.

Podcasts Creeping Into My Life

Of course I've known about podcasts for years but similar to many things, I turn the other cheek and avoid the bandwagon. Sometime in the last 6 months or so, I finally got on board. I think it began in anticipation of some travel- an attempt at occupying myself on the plane. Or while I'd bike the half hour to or from the gym I had been going to in Portland. 

I had heard of a few and checked them out, to minimal yield. This American Life, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, The Moth. I will admit there is something about knowing that a podcast is widely lauded that repels me. This is in no way based in logic. These days I've been listening to a fair bit of travel podcasts (unsurprisingly) in implicit and slightly sub-but mostly conscious ways of psyching myself up for this trip. These have been Dirtbag Diaries and Zero To Travel. And the occasional geeky avian or meteorological podcast by a kiwi to 'acquaint myself with the accent.' I mainly vacillate between travel/backpacking podcasts and trauma/somatic/attachment podcasts. Peter Levine and Gabor Mate are interviewed on a lot of them. 

I'm writing this from a king-sized clean and soft bed in Kailua, Hawaii. In an auspicious facebook post reply, I learned that an old friend from Boulder contra dance's parents live here and would be tickled to host me for this 24 hour Thanksgiving layover. It's the end of a long day that began with a 6:30 AM alarm, waking me up from a dream that vividly highlighted my ongoing challenge and practice with assertiveness. I cleared up the last of my room, made one final illegal-dumping run to a big trash bin at a neighboring apartment complex, and drank echinacea elderberry team with a splash of unsweetened vanilla hemp milk. Bye-bye Portland. 

Something that's been so profound thus far with this transition is the bringing to the forefront and recognition of communities I have become a part of, formed and fomented (I don't know what this word means but it belongs here). I have worked pretty hard to think through all the aspects of life that would need to shift and end, how that would go, and how to carry it out. A real executive functioning bonanza. I gave 2.5 months notice at work and stewarded that as best I could. It feels like a distant memory now, every Tuesday and Thursday since Oct 2015 heading down to Oregon City. Finding my favorite Mexican food ever, including that which is in Mexico itself, just 2 blocks from my workplace in OC - Super Torta. 

Communities... I went to the Tuesday night contact improv jam one last time. It's been maybe 2 years since I've attended regularly, but I must have gone enough that I know a critical mass of people, made an impression, and got some love and care when I announced by departure. I've had some extra special one-on-one hangouts with people over the last week, mainly from Aspen Grove. Really cherish my one-on-one sits and hangouts with sangha members. Even though it took us a year+ to finally make it happen. Even at home, my relationship with my community members [affectionately termed 'fostervillains'] has taken on a sweet and more authentic and deliberate texture in recent days and weeks. 

Writing this is a bit laborious, because I'm doing a lot of considering of who might read it and what they will think. That's unnecessary caretaking. It's also clarifying, and I really doubt it'll last through this trip, but I am still on board with the idea of going for it and seeing how it unfolds. I have a desire to connect with people in my life, express myself, share and be shared with, see and be seen. And heard. This could be a platform for that but it also begs the dichotomy blogs often split upon: sharing the narrative details, or sharing my emotions that undercurrent the observable aforementioned? 

Tomorrow I leave on Thursday morning. Thanksgiving. After a 9 hour flight to Auckland, I'll be arriving about 10 PM Friday night. I guess this is how you miss Thanksgiving and Black Friday. 

PS: The plane to Honolulu was so empty I got a row of 5 seats to myself. 

Hi folks,
I managed to both locate and dust off my old blog that I created and populated back in 2009. I was an undergrad at NYU and wrote some cringe-worthy missives. It'd be silly to delete them though; posterity reigns. Ten years later and I'm still lexically oriented, and heading to New Zealand for some unknown amount of time.

A few people asked me if I'd be documenting my trip in any virtual form and my answer  has been a shrugging "no" thus far. But I'm socially porous and sway, so I'll take this stab at a new routine and see how much traction it gains. It's 3 days before I leave Portland and I want to kick this off by memorializing a handwritten poem I've hung on to for a few years. I'll recycle the paper and type it here:

Tooth Care

Thomas and I have been discussing

in a most heated way

The pros and cons of our flossing methods,

respectively

Right to left, top to bottom

middle to outside

before the brush, after, before + after

Disposable pick

length of string. Dial it back

waxen, flaxen, everlasting

What a time, if we could all

freely share our true flossophies

On the back of the page I wrote this poem. A different energy to be sure:

Entering closed

bound up, a taut hotel fitted sheet

foundation intact

passed all inspections

I guess I have to socialize

what does that mean again?

Every time I lock eyes with a definition,

the pieces shift

your gaze evades me

bite my lip

gnaw on my nail

dissociate

                                    Thank you,

                                              I trust you to

                                             bring me back