Pax Plena

Tag: Living

  • My Neighborhood

    Silverdale, Hamilton NZ

    I don’t have many friends here in New Zealand. In fact, aside from my colleagues at the school, I’ve met hardly anyone. This dilemma is the three-fold product of not having a vehicle, awaiting my first pay stub, and working full-time. But the longer I’m confined to my corner of town, the more I find that belonging to a place is a funny thing. And, in fact, this sense of belonging is not terribly difficult to achieve if one tries. 

    Consider my almost daily trip to the carry out place down the street, or as they say here in New Zealand the “take away.” By the by, I can’t say I understand the nomenclature. But then again, I can’t understand why Kiwi drive on the left side of the road and substitute the letter “s” for “z” in ways that make no sense. For example, if New Zealanders had the word in their vocabulary, “privatize” would be spelt “privatise.”

    I suppose it’s not only the nomenclature that makes little sense. They play cricket here too.

    God bless America.   

    Anyway, back to my take away shop.

    It’s difficult to chat sometimes with the amiable proprietor given our language barrier. As noted, I speak American whilst they speak English with inflections of Vietnamese. But I come in often, and I feel rather comfortable here. They’ve also gotten to know me quite well and usually fire up a cheese burger when they spot me crossing the street. 

    The place is run by a father, his son, and his wife – who, incidentally, speaks way better English than either bloke. But it’s the father who’s the chatty sort. He likes to give me a hard time for ordering the cheapest, least healthy thing on the menu. I can’t understand him all the time, but those times I can’t, I’m pretty sure he’s saying in Vietnamese that I’m going to give myself a heart attack. I respond to his shenanigans by reminding him that my consistent patronage keeps him in business. This always gets a good laugh.

    Tomorrow, we’ll repeat the schtick. Because, after all, we both know I’ll be back. 

    And that’s the funny thing really. My analytical mind knows that this is a transactional relationship. He and I chat because we both want to continue the arrangement: he provides a service and I pay him for providing me with food. But in nearly all ways, it’s a perfectly honest, open relationship. Does that make it less of a friendship because its transactional? I don’t think so.

    The bottom line is that they are keeping me well-fed and I am helping to keep them in business. And when you share a small corner of the globe in a small corner of the country, in a small corner of town, well, that’s just what neighbors do.

    – Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

  • Happy Waitangi Day

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    You can be forgiven if the salutation above means relatively little. If I hadn’t the day off, it’s quite likely the day would have passed from my radar too. Even so, Waitangi Day is New Zealand’s celebration of its founding document the Treaty of Waitangi. The treaty marked an 1840 agreement between the Māori peoples and the “Queen of England” that permitted the Brits to establish a civil government in New Zealand in exchange for the recognition of Māori ownership over their lands and other property interests. 

    Unsurprisingly, there has been much disagreement on the contents of the treaty – the lot of which makes my job here possible. Of principle importance is what exactly both sides ceded in the original understanding of the treaty. The Māori contend that they did not give up complete sovereignty to the Crown such that their traditional governance entities would be rendered moot. The British Government and, subsequently, New Zealand’s constitutional monarchy contends that, in fact, the Māori did just this.

    Of course, the the matter isn’t quite so black and white. Consider that the New Zealand Government established the Waitangi Tribunal in 1975 to hear Māori claims of violations of the treaty. To date, some $700 million have been spent by the Government on reparations to the Māori in the form of land and property transfers, and formal apologies for violations of the treaty, all with the consent of the British Monarchy. Such payments, however, have stoked the resentment of some non-Māori New Zealanders who allege that the Māori are simply exploiting the treaty to obtain special privileges from the Government. The Māori claim that such concessions by the Government are simply what is appropriate given the destruction of their culture and governing structures.

    As an aside, my work here will focus on the restoration of traditional Māori governance structures and their long-term viability. To wit, concerns about extant Māori governance entities have reached such a pressing level that the University of Waikato’s Māori and Indigenous Governance Centre has committed significant resources for examining the best practices of tribal governance from around the world in hopes strengthening Māori governmental institutions at home. All of which is a very long way of saying that my work here will focus on finding ways to help create stable governing entities for Māori peoples. 

    Taking a step back, as an American in New Zealand, it’s a bit odd celebrating another country’s founding. But I tried to get in the spirit by having a lunch of what the locals call fish and chips – or what I routinely call fish and freedom fries much to the confusion of my local restauranteur – who happens to be a Vietnamese immigrant that speaks only limited English. To compensate for my foolishness, I make it a point to leave a tip. Unfortunately, I think this further confuses him since New Zealand isn’t a country that tips its service industry workers. Strange, I know. 

    In all, it has been a relatively agreeable Waitangi Day. I met a number of colorful characters, including a neighbor named Jared who tells me that he has an aunt who is Sioux. Incidentally, I met Jared when he dropped by and woke me up, around 8am this morning asking to for a spoonful of instant coffee for his coffee mug. I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead – although sleeping in would have been quite nice today. I was also pleased to make the acquaintance of Syd, a local, Indian entrepreneur who runs the quick-mart only a couple of blocks away. The Simpsons would be proud.

    And with such august company, I have to say that the national holiday/day off has been quite nice. From the Southern Hemisphere to you, Happy Waitangi Day.

  • Public Transportation, The Original New Zealand Excursion

    I decided to venture out yesterday. This was not an easy thing for me to do. As my wife would attest, I prefer habit over adventure and tend to stick close to the rivers and the lakes that I’m used to, quoting the immortal TLC.

    That said, I am also particularly loathe to use public transportation, especially busses. I’m not sure where this phobia came from but most of my experiences with bus systems have been bad. Some of this stems from a personal incompetence at reading the bus grid, with its complex schedule of fares and timetables, not to mention that no bus in the history of busses has ever run on time. Given that its the middle of summer here and a balmy 78 degrees with 50% humidity, I was also more than a bit frightened at the thought of a crowded bus with poor AC.

    Nevertheless, I made the 20 minute walk to my local Walmart equivalent, affectionately called The Warehouse. One can call New Zealanders many things but ostentatious isn’t among them. After finding my various necessities, I ambled along toward the local bus stop. Having studied the bus grid before I left, I felt confident that my luck with public transport would turn for the better.

    I shouldn’t have been surprised when it didn’t. Rather than taking me toward my destination, I inadvertently boarded the wrong bus due to New Zealand’s affinity for driving on the wrong side of the road. Two hours later, after taking the entire bus loop, I arrived at the stop nearest my residence. My twenty minute trip by foot turned into an afternoon-long tour. As it happened, poor AC and crowded seats were very real, though very negligible, concerns.

    In all, I learned a valuable lesson from my excursion. Busses are cursed. Avoid them if at all possible. When taking local public transportation becomes necessary, take the train or a cab. You’re welcome.

    – Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

  • Savoring Life…

    It’s a drop past 9AM here on the farm. Looking out my office window, the frost in the fields is slowly giving way to the warmth of the sun. My wife and son are snuggled in our bed while my faithful hound guards the house against the miscreant rabbits of her dreams. What a swell morning it is.

    One of the blogs I’ve been drawn to over the past year is Leo Babauta’s Zen Habits. As the name suggests, the blog details a number of habits one can cultivate to develop a more mindful approach to living. In his latest piece, Leo suggests tips for how to savor life. Based on the excerpt below, the act of savoring life can readily be defined as mindfulness:

    It’s still dark out and the world remains asleep as I write these words, and I’ve just finished my morning meditation.

    I sip my coffee, and savor the stillness, the quietude, the space of being able to think without distractions of the Internet or others.

    This savoring … it’s a magical act.

    [Link]

    Given how frenetic life has been the past several weeks, I appreciate the idea of savoring life a great deal. But I’ve found that as simple as the notion of mindfulness is, it’s still more than a bit difficult to implement into my routine. 

    The mundane things are the most difficult to savor because they simply aren’t that interesting. For example, all the mindfulness in the world will not fool me into thinking that vacuuming is a savorable act because it isn’t. Vacuuming is a chore that needs to be done because the living room is hideous and my in-laws are en route to see their daughter and grandson. In fact, they arrive in a few hours. But the same can be said for driving, paying bills, sitting in class, etc. 

    The irony of our lot is that so much of our lives are spent doing the mundane things we are indifferent toward. How does one savor the unsavorable?

  • Winter Books Reviews – 2013

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    It seems no sooner did I resolve to post more often then the first week of the new year slipped away.

    Much is afoot here in the Sooner State. My family and I are planning a temporary relocation to New Zealand (more on that later) and it seems like the paperwork for our visa applications will never end.

    Closer to home, I am planning three book reviews for the winter months – all of which look quite promising. Here’s a brief run down of coming attractions:

    Ron Rash’s The Cove debuted in the Spring of 2012. The paperback came out recently, reprinting the haunting tale of an outcast girl, and a mysterious wanderer who happens upon her isolated homestead.

    Alexander Snegirev’s Petroleum Venus is set for release next month. The book is on he shortlist for the Russian National Bestseller Prize. The novel depicts the relationship between a single father and his soon who was born with Down’s syndrome.

    Finally, Nell Leyshon’s The Colour of Milk was released in late December. The slim book explores the temptations of a young father’s daughter as she leaves the family farm to work for an aging couple living nearby. The young girl is introduced to knowledge of the intellectual and carnal variety as she is forced to grapple with the consequences of both.

    In all, a busy schedule but one that hopefully generates many more conversations to come. As always, stay tuned.

    – Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone