Buddhists, sunburns, and meat pies

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19 hours after leaving behind a frozen Chicago in the midst of winter, my plane landed into the welcoming arms of a New Zealand summer. All in all, things went smoothly with the flight, although I was so dazed getting off the plane that I forgot my shoes on it and didn't realize until I was walking around barefoot in the arrival hall!
In the airport, I was greeted with the sight of imposing muscular tattooed polynesians dudes strutting about in thin cotton skirts. I think befriending some of these maori dudes will definately be one of my goals over the next 3 months. In contrast, my hostel, located in the uppidy suburb of Parnell, was filled with silver haired Brits sporting bad combovers and khaki shorts. There is also a huge Asian and Indian population who seem to run all the shops, hotels, and taxis around here. Although Aukland is affectionaltely called, "The city of sails", locals like to refer to it with a note of disgust as "Chinatown".
A spanning metropolis, Aukland is still a city within nature. My immediate impression of Aukland can be summed up in two words: posh and lush, English colonialism set in the tropics.
I spent my first morning there strolling the rose garden which overlooks the bay. But merely walking around the city, one can still indulge in the fragrant plants and flowers shooting out of every yard. Living up to its reputation, there are a lot of birds too, and the sound of their songs pleasently overtakes the dull moan of city traffic. Many of them are of the flightless variety, and it tickled me silly to chase them about as they pitifully hopped away.
I had a little bit of time to kill, so I set out via ferry boat to the Lava Fields of Rangitoto Island, which erupted only 600 years ago. What must the Maori have thought as they stood from the mainland watching lava bubble and shoot out of the ocean's surface I can only imagine. There was not much to do in Auckland, as I was told from other travelers that it was mainly an exit and entry point and not really anywhere you'd want to stick around.
And so after getting my bike sorted out, I woke Saturday morning to start two and a half days cylcling up to the Coromandel Coast where i was due to arrive at my first farm.
In general, I've found New Zealanders to be an extremely outgoing and helpful lot. Everywhere I've gone, people stroll up to chat or offer a hand. When I was trying to navigate my way out of the maze that is Auckland, a friendly security guard whom I asked for directions held me captive for over an hour, just wanting to chat, and insisted on giving me an orange as a parting gift. In the town of Clevedon, where I stopped at a cafe for lunch and my first try at a meat pie, an equally friendly kiwi, upon hearing my accent, sat down at my table in order to find out all about me and give me heaps of advice. I think part of it is that the pace of life in New Zealand is so relaxed that people have the time to just take things slow. Living geographically in a bubble, people here seem to be a bit naive or uninformed about the rest of the world. One kiwi, when told I was from Chicago, asked if I owned a horse. How he came to associate Chicago with horse riding, I am not quite sure. But it is kind of nice that my nationality doesn't seem to conjure up much of a reaction out of people here, unlike in Europe where everyone wants to tell you what they think of your country.
My first day of riding was a bit punishing, as I was not in shape for the hills that I encountered, and have never traveled with so much weight strapped to my bike before. The roads here, while in defence all seem freshly paved, have a bumpy top layer of gravel rather than a smooth finish. This minor detail has taken a huge toll on me, as the constant handlebar vibration it causes has made my palms go completely numb to the point where I can't even write with a pen. That coupled with the ceaseless amount of punishing hills, makes New Zealand not quite the pedaller's paradise it is often made out to be. I managed to make it a full hundred kilometers my first day of riding, and spent the evening relaxing in the hot spring town of Miranda. I found a motorcamp where I was able to pitch my tent and have access to the hot spring pool. In comparison to the onsens of Japan, the water was not as hot as I would have liked, but still warm enough to soothe my tired muscles. Again, everyone at the camp, mostly kiwi families on holiday, wanted to chat it up with me; find out where I was coming and going, etc. The family camping next to me even invited me to join them for a dinner of good old fashioned hamburgers. Rain delayed me the next morning, but I was still able to make it into Thames, a small mining settlement, by lunchtime. Thames is the typical New Zealand town, cute little general stores selling mostly fishing supplies and a few cafes with a population of only 500. I had a quiche for lunch, which was one of the tastiest things I've found on offer here. As I said, I ate my first meat pie the other day, and I think it will be my last as well. Heavy and gravy filled, it sat in my stomache like a brick. Not exactly your powerbar.
Back on the road, I soared down the winding coast passing gorgeous bays and rocky shores passing under the occasional fragrant, shady tree. Coromandel Penninsula is one of the highlights of the North Island, a great place to camp, hike, and fish. As the day wore on, I had only to climb a huge mountain that seperated me from where I wanted to camp for the night. But before I attempted it, I stopped at a nearby house to fill my waterbottles. The woman I talked to thought I was a bit mad for trying to get over the mountain on my bike, and tried to offer me a ride up in her jeep. I hesitated for a moment. Maybe I am a tad crazy, but in the end I told her no. I just felt like if I had taken the ride and cheated once, then I would never have the guts to do it. So although I had been cycling all day, up I went, 100, 200, 300 meters to the summit and a spectacular view of the whole penninsula right at sunset. I think I made the right choice, for I had earned that moment more than anyone else who laid their eyes upon it that evening. I zoomed down the hill into town and managed to find a nice old chapel to sleep behind. During the night, a bright light was shining into the tent, and worried I had been discovered, peaked out only to discover that it was the stunning brightness of a full moon shining down upon me. Everything in nature seems to take on an exagerrated intenseness in New Zealand. Perhaps it is the tilt of the earth that makes everything seem so much more sharp here. Awoken at dawn by the cries of nearby roosters and cows, I departed the chapel to make my final day's cycling over to the tibetan buddhist commune I would be volunteering at for the next two weeks. I had only 35km or so left to go, but my legs where so sore that those last kilometers were some of the hardest of my whole trip. I stopped a few times along the way to jump into the ocean and cool down before making it up my last hill and then my last decent into the valley town of Colville.
I've been at Mahamudra for two days now, but after so much previous activity, I am still settling into the slow and quiet pace of life here. The center is run by a female monk, a jolly nun with a shaved head sporting the orange robe, who goes by the name 'venerable'. There is a main building with kitchen and library, a meditation hall, the dormitories, and a large garden for strolling. A flow of teachers and retreaters come and go here, and other than a few permanant staff, it is just me and the four other volunteers. As a volunteer, it is our job to maintain the gardens and keep the place tidy, cleaning up after the retreaters. The work is light and easy and in exchange we get overfed heaps of delicious vegetarian cooking. There is not much to do around here besides exploring the hills, the beach, or the nearby town which consists only of a general store and one cafe. So it looks like the next two weeks will promise me many opportunities for meditation after all.
Until next time...

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