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

“You’re gonna have to kill him,” were the words I uttered to Rod as we watched Charlie lying on his side, barely moving and breathing erratically. We had gotten attached to him in the last day or two. Our ‘relationship’ started two weeks prior . . . It was a sunny day. I was sitting on the couch and looking outside the window when I noticed Pele The Cat ‘flirting’ with something in the backyard. I knew he was flirting - - he was flicking his tail and rolling on his back and casting his wide eyes at something in the grass not too far away. I went to inspect. A baby hedgehog was the love interest apparently. Freaked out by small, wild animals (wha, huh, do you even follow this blog, people?) I didn’t get too close. But I had to admit he was a bit cute. He was only as big as my hand and slow as a snail, so I wasn’t too worried about a vicious hedgehog attack. As the days went on, I got used to seeing Charlie skitter across the yard. He seemed to be happy slowly meandering around th...

It was 2am and my parents, our friend Virginia, Rod and I were fast asleep on Kawau Island in our friend’s beautiful bach. Such an idyllic spot, I could never have imagined the night time scenario that was about to unfold. . . I’m known to be a light sleeper and was awoken by the sound of bottles clanking together as if someone were rummaging through the empties. Below our bedroom is the rubbish bin, and I immediately thought of racoons in the garbage back home in America. No racoons here, but possums are equally leftover lovers. I had to go investigate. I venture down the two steps that lead to the kitchen and the side door and see the door has accidently been left ajar. I pull it shut without a further thought and turn on the outside light. As I squint to see if there are possums licking spaghetti and tuna tins, I hear the rattle of bottles coming from just behind me. I swing around to see the pantry door is open and in the corner where all the liquor bottles sit is something ...

“This is Roving Reporter, Aech Kleicombe, live (online), reporting from downtown Hamilton, New Zealand. "I am reporting tonight on a little-known-crisis that is threatening homeowners in this city with a shortage that is predicted (by myself) to rival the proportions of last century’s great oil shortages in the 1970s. “I have been researching this crisis for some time and, although I do not want to panic the city’s homeowners, I do feel it is my duty to report the facts. Just the facts. “My colleagues and I have been growing increasing panicky as we’ve searched city-wide for what one would assume is a common household item. Yes, that’s right, the all-too-familiar and unexceptional white pillow case. “And, it’s important to note, readers, that this is only the white pillow case. There is no need to panic if you need ecru, ivory or taupe. No, it is only the WHITE pillow case. Something so incredibly common that homeowners have been able to purchase them since the dawn of the t...

An airport is always a funny place to see all kinds of people. I was at the Hamilton Airport today for a meeting and while standing in the queue to order a coffee, I saw a man sitting at a cafe table donned in a French beret. The proper, real kind with the little tab on top that makes you want to pluck it right off his bald little head. But, that wasn’t all: he also had a very French-looking handlebar moustache with the ends twisted tightly and pointed up toward the sky (oui!). And, to top it all off, beside him sat his carry-on luggage that was, in fact, a shopping bag with the words ‘French market’ screen-printed on the side alongside images of various fruits. “Okay, this guy’s not for real,” I thought to myself. And, while I stood in line, I could tell others were thinking the same. But, after he sat there for a really long time leisurely reading a book and sipping his café au lait from a paper cup, the more I realised he was real - - - a REAL Kiwi trying to be REALLY French .... ah...

This past August I was coming out of my typical ‘winter funk’ not having exercised much over the rainy season. So, I thought committing myself to run Hamilton’s 12 kilometre Bridge to Bridge fun run would be the trick to get myself in shape by training . . . . I had 3 months to do it. Easy. Last week, on Wednesday, it’s 4 days till race day and I’m wondering, ‘ if I ran the next 3 days, could I possibly get in shape for a 12k run?’ Nope - - so, I downgrade my expectations, ‘ I’ll just run the alternate 6k race, thanks .’ Piece of cake. Is it also too late to train for 6k? Thursday comes, ‘I should really go for a run and see if I can do it...’ Friday rolls around, ‘Run? Hmmm.... kinda rainy...’ Now it’s Friday night and I discuss my dilemma with a friend . . . do I run tomorrow (one day before the race) to see if I can actually run the whole distance, or do I just wing it on Sunday? The risk is I may be too sore on Sunday if I run Saturday after so many months of being such ...

After my last blog post, ‘I’m Living With Killers’ . . . .what’s the worst thing that could happen after Rod skips town for Las Vegas. UGH!!!! I get home from working out, step in the hallway and feathers everywhere. I wander, carefully, into the living room and there is Mitzer, lying on the carpet in the sun like a drunken misfit. He lifts his head slightly as if to say, ‘did ya want something?’ I keep looking for the bird . . . . until I retrace my steps back around to the hallway and here it is hovering in the corner by the garage door – I nearly squished it when I came in the house. It’s breathing heavily but looks scared stiff. As much as I really don’t think of myself as a ‘girly girl’ something about birds just freaks me out. So, there’s no way I can pick up the thing. I’m kind of whimpering to myself and cursing the cat as I walk around the house saying out loud, ‘what am I going to do?!’ Trying all the while not to have a full blown panic attack. I know! I’ll call our...

It’s a relaxing Tuesday evening . . . . Rod has just cooked me dinner (as per usual, I’m so spoiled). As we settle ourselves down with our plates and a nice wine, all of a sudden, our cat Mitzer bowls through the cat door and all I can hear is a loud, urgent ‘peep, peep’ of some small animal! I scream, “Rod, it’s yours!” and I proceed to the highest point in the room. I am now standing on top of the chair in our lounge, half-eaten chicken breast forgotten in my mouth as I scream for Rod to ‘get it.’ Whatever ‘it’ is. You have to understand, I am a bit of a wimp when it comes to furry creatures brought home by the cats. Rod never lets me forget the morning I woke up and stepped on a large black thing in the hallway, ran screaming into the toilet AS HE WAS DOING HIS BUSINESS mind you . . . . in a hysterical mess screaming and crying that there was a rat in the hallway. After Rod zips up quickly in order to rescue me from this horrible beast, he saunters back from the hallway to the...

What a crazy week it's been in the Southern Hemisphere - tsunamis in Samoa, an earthquake that killed more people than the tsunami did in Indonesia, aftershocks in both countries and then an earthquake in Peru. Not to mention the hurricane in the Philippines last week that has left thousands and thousands homeless and killed hundreds. I think the earth is angry! Growing up in rural Pennsylvania there really weren't too many natural disasters that could harm you. The occasional heatwave . . . okay, get into the air conditioning. A flood - yes, there were a few of those that were quite major. Drought - - yeah, not the best of natural disasters when your family operates a Christmas Tree farm. Living in New Zealand this week, however, has brought a whole new reality to what natural disasters can really be like. The day after we came home from our beach house in Matarangi following a long weekend, our friends went up to stay for the school holidays. That morning, Rod and I were...

What a sad week for us ‘children of the 70s.’ The death of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon and now Michael Jackson . . . . my brain is on overload with so many memories associated with all three. Firstly, how many of my girlfriends had the Farrah ‘do?’ ALL of us had it at one time or another. Man, I had my curling iron heated up morning, noon and night trying to practice how to get that flick around the face just right. All I wanted was to grow up to be a pretty and cool as Farrah! What little girl didn’t? Most of my memories of Ed McMahon are of me hiding behind a corner or on the steps listening to my parents watch late night TV. When I heard ‘Here’s Johnny’ I knew it was really late and I was being quite naughty being out of bed! But, I’m most sad about the death of Michael! His music is associated with a lot of ‘firsts’ for me . . . . his Billy Jean album was the first album I ever bought with my own money. I can remember he had a sparkly silver outfit on the front. I’d play it for hour...

Well, my friends, I am getting older. Yes, as you know, I’m 40 now (I was going to say I’m in my 41st year, but that just sounds way too old!). And, in NZ, that means it’s time for your first mammogram. Prior to the Big Squeeze on Thursday, I had no prior knowledge of what it’s like to have a mammogram except for some documentary I saw once on 60 Minutes. I can’t even remember what the subject was, but I DO remember some woman’s really ugly, vein-striped boobs squeezed like a wet sponge by that horrible machine. This was 10+ years ago, but fresh enough in my mind to cause boob-squeeze anxiety, nonetheless. Although I had trepidation, I figured this is kinda like jumpin’ off the high dive (bad analogy as I stood there for 20 mins but ended up climbing back down the ladder). Anyway, I knew I had to just do it – and not think about it. So, I made my appointment for 3 weeks hence. Then, I just had to wait . . . . and think . . . . about my boobs squeezing in that contraption that beg...

A key life lesson we all learn early on during childhood is to use the ‘buddy system’ during risky situations. I’m sure you can all think of times when you’ve had to call on a buddy and put the ‘system’ into action. Swimming is a good one that comes to mind. I was snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef eight years ago . . . . there were sharks and nasty looking fish and the risk of sea snakes, not to mention rough waves hitting me in the face as I tried to clear my airway. The risk of me drowning was rather high. So, the dive master made me stick with a buddy. Smart thinkin’. . . Tramping ( hiking, you Americans ) is another instance where the buddy system is a good move. When you’re lost in the dark bush ( woods, my US buddies ) on a cold winter night, you’ll be wishin’ you had a buddy just about then. Women attending University frat parties. . . . Yes, I can still remember the days, friends . . . . . . it is certainly advisable for all young women to use the buddy system under th...

Chapter 2 ..... I had a wonderful time in Athens. It is one of the most incredible places. Excavations of folks that lived there in 3000 BC. That's further on that side of Christ than this one! It's just incredible how all these massive stone structures were built so long ago. Ok, most of these were built around 2000 years ago, but what's a few years when you're talking thousands. And so amazing still.The Greeks just ooze sexuality and indigance, a marvelous combination that results in a very interesting culture. The food was fantastic and, of course, with Ouzo to finish everything off, you always go to bed happy!So, after a day and a half in Athens, it's off to Crete for the conference. It's only a 50 min flight from Athens to Crete. I'm feeling pretty confident in retracing the steps BACK to the airport...45 min later, all good. The flight to Crete was smooth, with the most amazing views over the Mediterranean coming into Heraklion, the major city o...

It's All Greek To Me Ok...Rod here. Please bear with me, as I don't have all the blogging experience that Heather has. But, she tells me that my recent experiences in the ancient world of Greece deserve a mention. so, here goes... I am currently on one of my round-the-world business jaunts. You know, the crazy 18 countries and as many hotels in 20 days. Everyone usually calls them 'holidays,' but those who've never done one can be very naive! Part of this trip has sent me to the wonderful country of Greece...the island of Crete to be exact for an international conference in Agricultural and Biosystems Engineering. Before you start thinking how rough I have it, I can tell you that putting such a conference in such a place is torture. Imagine the most beautiful setting on the Mediterranean Sea at a posh resort for 3 days, and all you get to do is sit inside window-less, air conditioned rooms listening to Ag & Bio Engr papers. Stupid really... Anyway, that...

Some friends – Tye and Char – who are from California, recently came for a visit. It was so great to have them here. Since it was their first time in New Zealand, we wanted to cram all the fun stuff they could possibly do into their 10 days! We went to the beach, visited geothermal sites, took them fishing, and pointed them toward every touristy option they could squeeze in. Their last day in New Zealand was a Saturday and we aimed to send them off with a ‘big bang.’ We had to ‘Kiwi-ise’ them in a monstrous way! So, first, we dropped them off at the famous Glow worm Caves. These are caves you walk through and then get on a boat in a very dark underwater cavern where these glow worms dangle from the ceiling. They glow in eerie silence. It’s way cool. We met them on their way out of the caves anticipating their delight at the natural wonder . .. . however their only comment was about a 20 inch trout they saw toward the end of the trip. Hmmmm, I was wondering . . … perhaps they were unimp...

Yes, the car service saga continued into the New Year. It’s now a month past our driving holiday – six weeks past the date I first noticed the service was drastically overdue - and still no signs of Rod making any moves to schedule a service appointment. Meanwhile, the kilometers are ticking up on the odometer at an alarming rate…. My parents were visiting and we all happened to be driving together in the car when I decided to ‘out’ Rod to my father. Now, you have to understand, I come from a family of men who were – and are – EXTREMELY particular about their cars. They are especially particular about ensuring the engine is serviced regularly. If the car manufacturer recommends an oil change at 5000 miles, my grandfather and father would get the oil changed at 2500 miles. That’s just the way things have always been done in the family – until Rod the Rebel joined us, that is. So, yeah, I thought I’d ‘out’ him. Doing so would hopefully teach him a lesson and would also be kinda funn...

If you asked me to name the reasons why I love Rod, one of the main ones is he takes care of me. He knows how to fix stuff around the house. . . he takes out the garbage . . . . he does handy things. I love that! I’m not a weak woman, but I do like that he can do these ‘manly’ things. There’s not much that Rod can’t do actually (I still have this teenage infectious ‘love thing’ where I do think he’s great at everything!), but recent events have clearly demonstrated that anything automotive does go on the list of ‘things Rod CAN’T do for me.’ It was a real blow, actually. I’m still recovering mentally. Picture this . . .we are getting ready for a long holiday. The holiday will involve a lot of driving for many kilometers into areas of the country where mechanics and petrol (gas, Americans) stations are few and far between. Three days before the trip, I glance up at the windscreen and see that Rod’s next service on his vehicle is due at 15,000 kilometers. Another glance to the od...

No, it’s not quite over yet. . . . one more celebrity story… Fast-forward to March. I am having a casual stroll on the beach when in front of me is a man with his golden retriever. The dog is fetching a stick. As I near this guy, something looks vaguely familiar. Finally, it clicks. This is the host of the New Zealand version of the television game show, ‘Deal or No Deal!’ I had heard the rumours from the locals that he had a place in Matarangi. As I approach him from behind, he slowed up considerably. I decided I’d wanted to follow him and see where his bach (beach house, Americans) was located. Perhaps, by chance, we might be neighbours and didn’t even know it!? So, now I must find a reason to slow up as well so that I continue in a following mode. I stop and look out to the horizon, feigning a love for the beauty of the sea. . . . . I look down and begin an bit of eager shell seeking. . . . . all the while nonchalantly glancing along the beach to see if my Deal or No Deal fri...

Forgive me for my absence from the blog. I’ve been on a blogaday . . . that’s a ‘blog holiday!’ But, baby I’m back! So, where was I? Right, celebrity spotting at Matarangi. WELL, so, if you’ll remember waaaaay back to Christmas and my spotting of Phil Keogan, the host of The Amazing Race . . . . The very next day I saw him again. And, if I was one to be prone to paranoid delusions of being stalked, I may have thought he was following me! The next morning after having dinner with Phil (delusional, huh, what?), Rod and I set out for the big city of Whitianga for holiday supplies (okay, it’s a small village, but it has a supermarket). We met some friends at our favourite café. There I was, in mid-bite of my eggs Benedict when who walks into the café? PHIL! He’s unshaven, baseball cap backwards, an old t-shirt and jeans. He’s carrying a paper sack from the pharmacy next door (which was in a suspicious shape of L’Oreal hair dye) and gets in the queue (in line, you Americans) to order...

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 ...