Heather & Rod's Amazing (& Not So Amazing) New Zealand Adventures

If I didn’t know better, I might suspect I was pregnant. (Don’t be alarmed, I do know better and this is a 100% impossibility, thank you Lord!). Why? Well, have I heard somewhere that pregnant women are ultra-sensitive to smells? Not sure if this includes actually manufacturing phantom smells, but that is what has happened to me. Every day, about five times a day . . . I smell asparagus. It’s gotten to the point where it’s driving me mad. At first I thought maybe I was eating too much asparagus (it is in season) and the smell was seeping out of my orifices. Not just my pee, as is normal you know, but EVERY orifice. Can a smell really come out of your nose? Your ears? I am beginning to think it might be possible. But, that can’t be accurate. I eat asparagus about once a week at the moment . . . two, tops. . . surely that frequency can’t leave lasting seeping effects? Then, I thought maybe it was my breath. Eek! Rod has gotten tired of me coming up to him unexpectedly and huffing into hi

Rod and I have retired to the beach for Christmas and the summer holidays. Gotta love New Zealand, when you can take a month off at Christmas and your clients think this is normal! Whenever we contemplate moving back to America, this lovely tradition holds us here… Anyway, tired of cooking for ourselves at the bach (beach house), we decided to pretty up and go to the golf club for dinner. It is still a bit quiet at Matarangi beach as most people stay at home (Auckland or wherever) for Christmas Day and Boxing Day (day after Christmas), so thus there were only about 25 people in the restaurant. A quiet night. As I tucked in to my calamari and Rod into his tomato/feta entrée (appetizer, that is), I glanced at the bar to see a most famous face! In much too loud of a whisper, I hit Rod on the hand which stunned him out of his wine-appreciation reverie and said, “Oh my goodness! Look over there! It’s What’s His Face!!! You know from the Amazing Race TV show! Phil!!! It’s PHIL!” Rod, coolly

My blog readers already know I have demented dreams, so may as well share my latest. I am 'home' in America and helping my father with chores on the farm when what should appear? Why, a small herd of talking billy goats, of course! I was very afraid of them. I thought they appeared a bit evil and one tried to headbutt me while talking all the while. I told my father he'd have to deal with them as they scared me. My dad began talking to them as if he knew them - he'd done this before, apparently. Turns out he had offered the goats to bed down for a while in a nearby cave. They showed up to claim their nests for the night. Once they surveyed the cave and approved, my father decided it would be nice to offer them something to eat - they were hungry from their travels. I'm not quite sure what he was preparing, but it was some sort of raw meat. He began throwing it on the barn floor for them to eat and I found myself confused and appalled. "If they are civilis

If one looks back in History, one will find many wars fought over food . . . you have the great spice wars, wars over tea (Boston Tea Party), there were actually wars over salt in India (so says, Google), and even coffee wars (Starbucks vs all the others, that is). And, now, I am claiming 2007 as the year of the Great NZ Cheese Wars. These Cheese Wars took place in a small suburb of Hamilton, New Zealand and all began over a small block of Havarti. Going back in my own history (yes, I'm in my 40th year!) Havarti has always been a favourite cheese. In fact I have fond memories of Havarti. When I was a young lass (why does talk of history automatically make you think with a British accent?) my grandmother knew Havarti was my favourite fromage and she would always bring a block just for me when she would visit. Since then, Havarti has always held a special place in my heart. In New Zealand, however, it's a different story . . . . Havarti here is not Havarti there (US). In fact, ra

We sleep in till 8:15. I look at the bedside clock and yell, "oh no, we've missed the bread, it'll be cold!" Rod dashes to the door with only a few minutes to spare before all warmth was lost. Thank goodness this is our last day of bread - I think I gained two pounds in three days! It's back to low- carb next week. A lazy morning and we pack up to go. Before we're off we take a stroll on the beach and sit on some rocks in the sun. We have a bit of a walk along the sand and see daulphins off the coast. A perfect 'goodbye.' Back to the 'Great Barrier International Airport.' I see our pilot/bag lady friend again - checking people in. . . . Turns out it's a pretty windy day and flights are late coming/going from the island. I have a bit of a tendency to get a ' pukey ' on bumpy flights, so I'm getting slightly anxious about the flight. More so as I've left my motion sickness pills at home. . . . hmm , not a smart move. After

8:00 - yep, more yummy bread! And, more rugby . . . . and more views. So predictable now. However, here's what's unpredictable . . . . Great Barrier somehow gets Aljazzera TV on this morning! This happened to be on the channel that, on the previous day, was broadcasting the rugby. We thought for a few moments NZ had been invaded by Muslims overnight. We soon found the rugby on a different station (there are only 5, so this was a bit bizarre). Oh well, we chocked that up to 'interesting island life.' After another leisurely morning, we were off to a two hour roundtrip walk to the island's hot springs. All along this creek there are little pools where you can sit and enjoy the hot, steamy water. Rod stripped down to his skivvies - I put my feet in. It was a very unique experience. Back from the hot springs, we took naps, watched another movie and got ready for dinner. We were booked in at another lodge called, Earthsong . A 25 minute drive and we turn onto a drive

It was 8:00, so you know what that means! Fresh bread on our doorstep - - mmmm , yes, each morning at eight sharp, fresh, warm bread. Marmalade and butter in the fridge and fresh coffee boiled on the stovetop - - with a view to die for. Now, this is breakfast. Plus, Rod was in heaven as there was a television in the room and he was able to watch the Rugby World Cup semi-final match. Does it get any better than this? Na-ah. After a leisurely morning, we were off to do a bit of tramping (walking that is) and exploring in the 4 WD . We drove nearly an hour to the top of the island to a mass grave site where people were buried after a horrible shipwreck in the late 1800s. A bit grim, but a nice walk all the same. Our second walk was through Windy Canyon, which was terribly windy ( whoda thunkit ?), to the top of a mountain with more amazing views. We ended our physical day with a walk to a waterfall. We worked off the bread! Back to the room to prepare for dinner. We're off the Skill

In classic 'Rod and Heather Tradition,' last Friday we embarked on our annual surprise birthday trip (a reminder: we have the same bday and take turns planning a trip away each year). It was my turn to plan the surprise and after a bit of an email blunder, Rod found out where we were going. So much for the surprise - - - he did know the 'where' - Great Barrier Island, off the coast of NZ - but didn't know the hows or whats..... The trip started at Auckland airport where we chartered a flight to the island. A young lady (I'd give her 23, which would be generous) met us at the plane and took our bags. We assumed she was the 'bag girl' but she popped into the front seat and began giving us safety instructions. What is it about getting old that makes others look so young!? After a beautiful, scenic flight, we begin landing onto a paddock by the wind-swept beach dunes when I jokingly pointed to a green shed and said, "there's the international termin

As part of our adventures of living New Zealand, we've come to realise the country's religion of choice is not Catholicism , not Anglican . . . . it's rugby. And, this year is something like Ramadan with less ritual . . . . it's the rugby world cup. It only comes around once every four years, so it's a big deal. This year, the world cup is in France and the whole thing lasts about two months. And, Rod's into it. . . . this shouldn't be a surprise. Anything that involves a ball, Rod can quickly become addicted to. The exception is Cricket. He tried playing Cricket the first year we lived in NZ. You have to realise that most Cricket games last for five days . No that wasn't a type-o. Five days! Short ones last three days. Recreational cricket can take place in an afternoon. However, it's just not your typical 'game with a ball.' Rod reckons the best way to watch cricket is with a good book. A typical score for one team is around

For those of you following the saga of my 'special callers' (see http://americannzadventures.blogspot.com/2007/08/what-does-135-get-you-on-street.html ), I am sad to report that I missed the opportunity to find out the street value of $135 today. I was sitting in my office this afternoon when my phone rang: "Hi. I'm calling about your ad in the paper." In the middle of a mind-sucking task, I didn't even clue in: "What ad?" "The ad for a massage," says the hopeful John. My ears perk up and I catch on now! However, immediately laugh and say, you have the wrong number. When a SPLIT SECOND LATER, I began screaming down the phone . . . "wait, wait, wait, wait, wait...." UGH! He hung up. There it was, people! My chance to ask a few questions about the value of my hourly fee. But, one mystery is solved. This was the first time my caller actually came out and said he was inquiring about an ad in the paper for a 'massage' (code in

When Rod took this picture this week, I had a premonition of how my life might end and a scenario has been floating arond in my brain ever since. This will only happen if Rod goes first, as with him around I'll maintain my sanity, but if he kicks it, here's how I predict things may ensue: A woman's body was found today at the bottom of a heap of sleeping cats. The scene of the smothering was the victim's home, an apparent feline haven. Reporter, Joe Smith, was first on the scene with this report: "The woman - once a noted professional in the local community - was found wearing her housecoat, lying on the couch. There were cats sitting on her head, lying on her lap and reposing on every limb. It is thought she may have inadvertantly fallen asleep, when the legion of cats lept upon her and smothered her to death." It was noted by police that the cats were apparently "quite large," the result of what could only be chronic over-feeding. The commissioner

It's Friday, and as is tradition in the Claycomb household, we will be 'going out' for the night. Nothing fancy, people, just a bite to eat and a movie (Matt Damon if I'm lucky!). As Rod reads the evening paper, he gets to the last page - - the TV listings and says, "Don't forget to tape Project Runway." I am still finishing off some work bits and not quite listening 100%, but this stopped me in my tracks. I look up at him and say, "Do you realise what you've just said? We are actually going to TAPE Project Runway!" Rod's disclaimer, which he is forcing me to type at gunpoint (okay, more like wineglass-point), is that this will be taped for MY enjoyment not his (uh, huh). But, this is just an illustration of what our TV viewing has been reduced to after 8 years in NZ. It's like we're living in a bubble where we don't actually remember anymore what good TV actually is. Here's the typical viewing schedule: Mondays: Desp

Picture this . . . . . a late winter evening and my cell phone rings at about 10pm. Being that my phone is primarily a work phone and my profession is PR, a late evening or early morning call can never be a good thing. One of my clients is an airline pilot training organisation . . . . eek, late night cell phone calls get the adrenalin pumping, visions of planes crashing! The phone is in the office, so I jump out of bed, race down the hall and grab my phone on the last ring.... A shy-sounding, soft spoken man is on the line and uncomfortably says: "Um, yeah, ah, I saw your ad and just like wondered, like, where you are located and what your rates are?" Hmmmm.... I was niave and confused. Had I inadvertantly placed an ad for my communications services and couldn't remember? My fees are $135 and hour, but I don't usually start out my sales process by talking money (learned that in some sales training class years ago). So, I say in a very business-like, rather stern

I was searching on the web for something and found this link: http://www.nwm.co.nz/download/North%20&%20South%20Article%20on%20Hamilton%202006.pdf . It is an article on the town we live in - Hamilton. Rod and I were interviewed in it, if you're interested! Heather

Rod and I took a hiatus from our New Zealand Adventures to visit our families back home in Pennsylvania. We had a terrific holiday and spent the last day in Washington DC with Rod’s parents, Bud and Eileen. We toured the sites and ended our day in the Quality Inn near the Dulles airport. We booked the hotel earlier in the week. We had intended on getting two rooms – one for us and one for Rod’s folks, but the cheapest place we could find near the airport was $160. I suggested that was a bit much to pay for two rooms, so why didn’t we just share one? Eileen warned us she had a tendency to get up a few times a night and wouldn’t want to bother us, but we quickly dismissed this as something that wouldn’t be a problem. There was no mention of any nighttime idiosyncrosies Bud may have that might impinge on our slumber, so we assumed all would be fine. We booked the one room. As we settled in for the evening, there was a brief conversation about Bud’s sleep apnea machine. We quickly became t

Okay, since I'm on about my dreams . . . . I'm having some really freaky ones. Too many to write out in full. Plus, if I told you them all you would know how truly demented I am. The fat lady from the Poltergeist movies featured in one the other night - - - you know, the 'go into the liiiiight' woman. . . . oh my. But this one takes the cake... The world has ended and only a few people have survived. I'm holed up in this old, old house with a few other people. The house is falling down, the roof has holes in it, we are all cold and miserable. And there is this monster out to get us... Turns out it's one of those creatures from Greek mythology (yeah, I told you this is normal content) that is half bull, half man. When we see him, he's HUGE and he is trailed by this black cloud (kinda like the monsters in Lost - the TV show). Anyway, it's terribly evil and so scary. He's out to get all of us and kill us. All of my friends there are trying to

Am I stressed? You be the judge! In one evening, I had the following nightmares.... Dream #1: I'm sitting down to take a test on something like the History of Ancient Indian Religious Ceremonies (yes, if you aren't familiar with my dreams, this is normal content). Some guy in a turban hands me a test and I sit down and realise . . . I KNOW NOTHING! Nothing! I have this papyrus with outlines of ancient drawings on them. I'm supposed to take some coloured power and, using a brush, brush the powder over the drawings. This is going to reveal some answers.... But, it doesn't work. I realise that I have been studying all semester for this final exam but I know nothing and I am pissed! I signal for the test monitor to come over and I begin yelling that I know nothing . . .this isn 't fair. . . . I've studied, but nothing I've studied is on this test! I get so frustrated I begin just uncontrollably crying and crying. I leave my desk and walk outside and the

For the first time in my life I have had slight inklings that I just may be getting a bit (JUST A BIT) older. For all you readers over 35, do you remember the first time you actually felt you were getting older? Unfortunately, I've had a raft of incidences lately, which have all converged to give me a general feeling of 'oldness.' Firstly, I am sorry if I'm the first to tell you this, but I've recently come to the realisation that we are actually older than we tell ourselves that we are? Yes, hope you're sitting down for this one.... On 'paper' I'm only 38, but I'm actually IN my 39th year. I'm in my 39th year. Perhaps that's why I'm feeling old lately. Incident #1: I've got this fungus growing on my face that just won't go away (okay, it's a bad rash, but it's not pleasant!). I've always had the good fortune of having good skin. While all my friends had teenage acne, I always skirted by relatively pimple-

Many of you have seen this, but I realise there are new 'readers' out there who could have missed this one. Or, if you've seen it before, it's worth watching again! My husband, the novice fisherman, attempting to fillet a fish while I read him instructions I found on the Internet . . . . Click here for the video link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUnZ_lpPq2w Heather

Rod just got around to reading my previous posting: "Division of Labour." When he read the part about not ironing for him and sharing 'tidy toilet' duties, he nodded and remarked very matter of factly, "Right - -- that's when I started sitting down to pee." It's a significant milestone in our married history, really. You know . . . the first time you leave the bathroom door open while peeing . . . the first time you have to flap the bedcover . . . the first time your husband scratches his itches without apology. And, for Rod - - - sitting down to pee. After hysterically laughing until I was crying, I did remember this fact. To Rod's dismay this is just too good not to become 'blog fodder!' I remember the first time he actually took the toilet brush in hand. . . . Rod has a thing about germs, so wouldn't be surprised if he also donned gloves and a safety mask on his first foray. Okay, if not that extreme, there was at least som

Before Rod and I got married, we had the traditional 'marriage counselling' precided over by the pastor who would marry us, Pastor Mel Stephen. During one of our sessions, Mel gave us each the same 100 question quiz. We were to take it away and answer it separately, not sharing answers, and bring it back for him to have a look. The quiz asked such questions as . . . "who do you expect to change the oil in the car? who will do the banking in your family? who will do the grocery shopping?" It also went into hard core issues as well, "if your kid is caught smoking dope, what's the punishment?" (okay, so that wasn't one of the questions, but you get the idea). Amazingly - Rod and I still pride ourselves on this one - we answered 99 out of 100 questions the same! We were so meant for each other! One of the compromises we made at this early stage in the relationship was that I was happy to do the laundry in exchange for Rod taking care of the finances

Rod comes home from work on Thursday, we get in the spa ('hot tub,' Americans) as we normally do at the end of the day and the first words out of Rod's mouth are: "The grossest thing happened to me today!" "Oh yes, blog material!" I say. With wine in hand and sweat on brow, I begin taking my mental taking notes... unfortunately . . . . or, actually, fortunately, no pics . . . but here it goes... Rod is standing on the footpath (sidewalk, you people) outside a local cafe waiting to meet a friend for coffee. Up the path, half a block along is a bench at the bus stop. All of a sudden he hears a loud grunt coming from that direction and looks to see what is happening. This shoddy looking, unkempt man is sitting on the bench and reaching with both hands into his mouth and pulling out what looks like a large pink object from his throat. Rod thinks, "is he choking ," and waits a moment to see what is happening. All of a sudden, the man's thr

Rod was a bit under the weather yesterday, so I was relegated to the weekly grocery shopping on my own. With list in hand, I was off to the shops... Veges were first in, fish, meat, milk . . . oh, yes, we need some soda, so down the soda aisle I go only to be stopped in my tracks. There, on the corner of the shelf, was something of American ex-pat dreams . . . . Mountain Dew - and NO SUGAR (nothing is called 'diet' anymore) to boot! If I were in the movies, there would be a beam of light shining on the soda box and dreamy music in the background. Anyway, I picked it up, gave it a little hug and shot through the rest of the store, anxious to see Rod's face when I got home. "Honey, a little piece of America for you!!" You have to understand, in eight years, this hasn't happened often, but when it does it is a very exciting time. I remember, for instance, the first time we found Oreo cookies (they call them biscuits in NZ). We bought and ate the whole pa

We've done it! Rod and I have decided in retirement, we're going to go around building decks. Man, we're good! We finished yesterday with a flurry of the nail gun (my weapon of choice...) and the finished product looks great, I must say. Only thing left to do is a bit of dirt movement (make that ONE MORE TIME for the movement of the dirt!) and hauling some grey riverstones in to surround the edges. But, these might be more like August timeframe projects..... When I mentioned the retirement career as deck builders, Rod said he was keen as long as all decks were built at waist height . . . . this would mean he wouldn't have to bend over. He's only 38, but his back is shot. Oh well, nothing a fortnightly (two weeks, you Americans) massage and a wheatie won't solve. Okay, Americans, the wheatie is a NZ invention we just discovered last month after 8 years on the island! It is a bag of wheat husks. You put it in the microwave for 2.5 minutes with a mug

Big deck adventures continued this weekend as our new deck at our Hamilton home took shape. The biggest challenge was setting the posts at an even height. I wanted a deck just off the ground, so this required digging 9 holes about 1.5 feet deep! Lots of dirt to move. And, since we're in the city, no back paddock (field, you Americans) to shove the unused dirt. So, I think we moved all dirt in this 10ft by 10ft space a total of 6.3 times! Ugh. Keeping in mind all neighbourhood cats are using the newly turned earth as a fresh toilet! It never fails - - uncover some new dirt by planting a new plant or something and the local cats are there to test it out. Okay, our cats are there to test it out too. This means inevitably you get a little prize when you are digging the dirt 6.3 times on average! Eeuuw! Another lovely thing is our cats love the feel of the dirt on their fur/skin. Pele especially - -- he loves, particularly, to do this in the middle of the night and then crawl into bed b

Our cat, Pele, has asked me to post a letter he wrote a while ago (don't worry, I'm not psycho - just cat crazy!). When we moved to our new house, about 10 miles from our old house on Grey St, he ran away for 3 months and lived in the 'bush' (woods, you Americans) where a man named Bryan took pity on him and fed him jelly meat (gooey, gross meat in a can!) twice a day. Since Pele is a 'fraidy cat' it took Bryan three months until he could get close enough to see our number on his collar and phone us! Here is Pele's account of getting acclimated back to life with us (the wardens) and a new arrival, Mitzer the cat. He is writing Bryan a letter of 'thanks' for taking care of him. Pele escaped and travelled back to Bryan's three times (one mile away) before we confined him indoors for many months! He's very happy and settled now..... Dear Bryan, It’s been several years since I escaped the Northern Hinterlands for the green gullies of Harrowfield.

Rod and I recently returned to a friend's bach on Kawau Island, just northeast of Auckland. Here we are with Rod's parents having breakfast on the deck.... it is literally paradise. The only way in is on a water taxi and once you get there, it's just you and the birds and views of the harbour. The recent trip brings back memories of our first time on Kawau with my parents, Bob and Janet. Here's a story of that past, great adventure.... Kawau Boatie Tales: It’s amazin’ we’re still livin’ We had landed in ‘Paradise,’ but even in Paradise Americans can not live without knowing what George Bush might have been up to overnight. So, it was inevitable that we would embark out in the dingy, sail the treacherous Karaka Bay to buy the day’s edition of the New Zealand Herald. The first morning arrives and, just short of drawing straws, the father-daughter team is chosen as the pair that will brave the high seas. Neither having any dingy experience whatsoever, but this doesn’t both

Two years ago, Rod and I built a deck at our bach (beach house, you Americans). That adventure began when, one day, on the front lawn, I wandered out about 15 feet from the house and said to my lovely husband, "I want my deck to come out to about here." Rod took some careful measurements and then looked up at me and said, "you realise if you come out to 'here' the deck will be bigger than the house?" Hmmm, curiously interesting fact, but that does not deter my big deck desires. After all, Americans want everything 'big', right and my deck should be no exception! My favourite thing to do, to embarrass Rod while building this vast wooden structure was to say in a very loud voice when the neighbours were outside pottering about, "I love my large DECK(emphasis on deck)!" Because, New Zealander's would assume I was saying another word in a NZ accent . . . . leave you to it to figure that one out (gotta keep the blog Rated G). Several months