Kindness of Strangers

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Many people rent camper vans to make their way around New Zealand. The distances are large and towns small, so having a van to live out of for a few weeks makes sense. Our favorite are the Wicked vans, a company that has somehow managed to elevate camper vans to cool status by painting them with hip graphics, from Spy vs. Spy to mock graffiti. When we knew our friend, Tim, was meeting us in New Zealand, we investigated renting a Wicked van to toodle around the country for three weeks. But we quickly learned that their vans are really only suitable for two people. We were scrambling to make arrangements from Bali, with very limited email access, and the folks at Wicked advised us that a third person could be accommodated by “tenting it” outside the van. We quickly dashed off on email to Tim explaining the potential plan: “if we go the camper van route, someone will have to sleep in a tent (i.e., you).”

Our intention wasn’t to force Tim to stay in a tent, nor to sound like heartless jerks. But that’s how it came out, and Tim reports that our email instantly became a joke at work. No one could pass Tim in the hall without saying, “i.e., YOU!” and chuckling to themselves.

Needless to say, the camper van idea quickly died, and we’ve been staying in a random assortment of accommodations throughout New Zealand. When we received an offer to stay in Dunedin, one of the world’s southernmost cities, with Beverly, a former New Mexican who is friends with Jackie, one of our workout pals from our local YMCA, we jumped on it. Although the original plan had been for Maikael and I to stay with her, Beverly graciously offered all three of us to stay in her apartment during our visit to Dunedin.

Dunedin was primarily settled by the Scots, and the town’s name is Gaelic for Edinburgh. It’s obvious to see why Dunedin was selected as a Scottish outpost: rolling green hills surround the historic town center, which is ringed by a lovely harbor. We parked our car outside the Regent Theatre and heard the sound of bagpipes drifting through the streets: this was the Scotland of the southern hemisphere.

Beverly showed us to her apartment, a darling, historic building built by local confectioner Richard Hudson as staff quarters, perched high above town with sweeping views of the harbor. She then graciously handed over her apartment to the three of us, offering to stay at her daughter’s house in “The Harry Potter Broom Closet” during our visit, the kindness of strangers astounding me once again. Maybe we could finally redeem ourselves for that “i.e., you” comment?

After we settled in we made our way to her daughter, Shane’s, house, who had prepared a tres New Zealand dinner: local wine, meat pies, and Pavlova for dessert. We met Beverly’s four grandsons, cool kids who were not only well-mannered, but able to participate in adult conversation. Peter is the oldest at 11, followed by Oliver, Theo, and Linus, the youngest and most extroverted at five. They provided a history of Dunedin from a youthful perspective. We learned that thousands of Jaffas, a New Zealand candy, are raced down Baldwin Street each July, which proudly holds the distinction of the World’s Steepest Residential Street, with a 19 degree slope. They made fun of our goofy American accents, and we egged them on by asking them, “How do you say ‘fish and chips?’” “Fush and chups?” Oliver responded, cautiously.

The boys are real Kiwis; as not-yet-teenagers, they are accomplished outdoorsmen. They sail, run, hike, bike, fish, camp - you name it. They also know to operate a TIG welder.

When we met up with the family the next day, the kids proved they’re made of both brains and brawn. Peter asked us what we thought of the recent US presidential election, weighing in with his opinion of Barak Obama. As we made our way towards the nature-rich Otago Peninsula in the car, Peter asked, “Have you ever been in a protest?” “No,” we responded. “I have!” he said, cheerily. He was clearly opposed to the construction of a new rugby stadium, that would only be used a few days a year. What was wrong with the old one? he wondered. His civic-mindedness overrode an obvious penchant for sports. Kiwis are nothing if not resourceful, caring deeply about making the most of one’s resources. This is the first place in the world where I’ve seen a hybrid taxi cab, painted bright green.

We taught them all about calling “Shotgun!” on car trips which, in retrospect, might not have been the smartest thing to teach four brothers. (Due to our American accents, I’m pretty sure that Linus thinks it’s called “Shutgun,” and will consequently go through life as a pop culture pariah.) Then we passed along “Slug Bug” and “Popeye;” again, teaching four boys a game whose primary objective is punching other people was probably not the smartest thing. When we reached the Royal Albatross Refuge, which shelters these massive birds with three meter (nine feet) wing spans, Tim excitedly told the boys about throwing bread at birds when he was little. Within minutes, Oliver was chucking pebbles at low-flying seagulls. It’s obvious that none of us are parents.

On the Monarch Nature Cruise, we spotted New Zealand Sea Lions, who lounged lazily on the sandy shore. Elephant Seals beached themselves on the rocky slopes, and New Zealand Seals arched gracefully through the water like dolphins. Unfortunately, no Northern Royal Albatrosses were flying, as it was nesting season, but we did spot Royal Spoonbills, with their cupped beaks, and Blue Penguins, the world’s smallest. But the real action was on the boat, where we were teaching Linus “knock-knock” jokes. Of all the impressionable things we imparted, that had to be the stupidest.

“Knock-knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Albert.”

“Albert who?”

“Albert TROSS.”

Repeat ad nauseum for the next hour.

Soon, Linus was making knock-knock jokes using any material at hand. He was a hobo trolling for junk, using whatever he might find to craft a truly terrible joke. If we mentioned a serviette, which we explained was a napkin in our goofy brand of English, we knew that within ten seconds we were going to be offered a knock-knock joke that had something to do with a serviette. “You’ve got to get some new material, man,” Tim encouraged.

After another great meal at Shane’s house - this time Chicken Chile Enchiladas, a reminder of home - we drove to Signal Hill to take in views of the city as eerie, cotton candy cloud swirled overhead in the twilight. We watched the lights of Dunedin flick on all at once, twinkling in the distance. Next stop? Baldwin Street, where we gunned the car to the top of the hill and coasted down the other way, delighting Peter. Maikael, Tim, and Peter commenced a race to the top of the hill. Peter stayed a few paces ahead, winning by just a nose, but Maikael said it was obvious that he could have raced to the top well before any of them. But Peter was a gracious winner, a “no big deal” attitude being the most prized in New Zealand. There is no room for tall poppies here, braggarts who try to prove that they’re better than everyone else. In fact, the whole national attitude is one of “aw shucks,” which is why we like it so much.