It has been quite a busy week around the world and here in Dunedin. On Wednesday morning I woke up at 5:30 am to watch the presidential inauguration with several other students in Carrington. I have never felt prouder to be an American. After Obama's speech we had a pancake breakfast to celebrate, and then I walked into work wrapped in an American flag, leading at least one driver to honk and wave. I hung the flag up on the window next to my lab bench. Everyone here is very excited to have Bush gone and Obama in, and I wasn't too surprised to see the inauguration amply referenced in NZ pop-culture, from television ads to radio shows.
Later on inauguration day I was informed that the Dean of Medical Sciences has offered to fund me in a masters program for the upcoming academic year. My application had been unsuccessful for the international masters scholarship, but it seems that because the scholarship was given to only three people she took pity on me. Given the status of the economy back in the States and the difficulty of finding a job there if I returned, I decided it was best to remain in Dunedin, which hopefully will provide sufficient time to take this project in my own direction. The decision to be away from home for a year was by no means trivial, however, as I miss everyone back home and Sunmi especially.
Also this week I went on my first two bike rides with other human beings. On Thursday evening I rode with Henry up North Road and down into Port Chalmers, then out to Aramoana, the site of New Zealand's deadliest shooting rampage in 1990 in which thirteen were killed. Henry had a road bike but was pedaling in sneakers on clipless pedals, which is quite a challenge, so we enjoyed the sunny evening and went at a relaxed pace.
Earlier in the week while playing basketball at the gym I met a very athletic guy named James who works in microbiology and is into rock climbing, skiing, mountaineering, and cycling. He told me about a ride yesterday at lunch time with his microbiology professor. So at 12:15 I headed down to the meeting place and introduced myself. There were two guys there, both named Greg, one was the professor and the other was a masters student. The professor came across as somewhat of a jerk. The first thing he said to me was that if I didn't keep up, they would drop me. I appreciated this as common practice in large group rides, but wouldn't think it to be the first thing one said to a new rider. Then at 12:15:00 James hadn't showed up yet, and the professor Greg insisted that we leave promptly without him, even though they had seen him dressed and ready to go a couple minutes ago and he had just went inside to get a snack.
So we set off and it became apparent rather quickly that if anyone was going to be dropped, it was going to be the Gregs. I reached the top of a long climb several minutes before them and waited. When they arrived they told me to go back down the hill to pick up James, who was attempting to catch us, while they continued ahead. So I got James and we rode up together but were not able to catch the Gregs and James and I got separated again. Then I saw one Greg on the way back, as he had turned around to go to a meeting. I went zooming down a hill and missed the turnoff where Greg had gone, so James had to go all the way down to find me, but by the time we got to the turnoff Greg was long gone and headed back to town. So it was rather a disaster of a group ride.
Last night James joined Jenny and I for karaoke, which is fast becoming our social activity of choice, and this night we had an added adventure. James's family is in the oil business, so he lived in Abu Dhabi, U.A.E. for twelve years. We walked into the bar and a short Arab guy casually asked James where he was from, and he mentioned the U.A.E. The Arab, who was named Yosef and also from the U.A.E., went absolutely nuts. "We are brothers!" he exclaimed. They reminisced and gave hugs and high fives and then he asked me where I was from. When I told him he replied, "Oh man, sorry about 9/11. Joking, joking." Then he insisted, "You must come join us." He already had a karaoke room and wanted to pay for us. "Give me six of your strongest drink," he yelled at the bartender. After Yosef had shelled out more than a hundred bucks on us, we all went up to his karaoke room and met his entourage consisting of several young Russian women. We sang karaoke for a bit, Yosef ordered us more drinks, strange people kept coming in and out, Yosef and James toasted to the U.A.E., and then rather abruptly everyone left. So we had a free karaoke room to ourselves for an hour.
It has been unseasonably hot the past few days, which I say without complaints to avoid animosity from readers in the northern hemisphere, and I have noticed large numbers of people walking through the streets barefoot. I was never much of a barefoot walker, I think because I place rather high value on my lower extremities.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Cave Camping
This weekend I was planning on camping with a group of students in the Catlins, a series of beautiful and peaceful beaches a two hour drive south of Dunedin. Due to the rainy forecast, however, we decided to go to Long Beach, just 20 minutes away, so we could retreat back to town if the weather got "dodgy." Logan, the fire-twirler and chief social coordinator among the students, showed us to a huge cave a 15 minute walk down the beach from where we parked. Apparently the cave was used frequently by campers and had hosted massive rave parties with hundreds of people in the past. With the exception of a banana peel or two, I was surprised to find the cave remarkably pristine.
The other students were not of the backpacking sort, so we ended up making two trips from the cars lugging a grill, chips and candy, Logan's fire performance equipment, and loads of alcohol. I didn't complain about the grill, however, because I was able to use it to cook up some steak for burritos. The others piled on sausages, mushrooms, and zucchini, and we had quite a feast.
At this point it was getting dark and drizzly, so we wanted to make a fire. Being the only one there with any outdoors experience, I found what I thought were some semi-dry sticks and some soggy newspaper and constructed the typical kindling pyramid I had done many times before. I wasn't able to get a fire going within ten minutes however, and not wanting to be that stubborn purist that everyone hates, I yielded to Logan's suggestion that we pour onto the kindling some of the jet fuel he uses in his pyrotechnics acts. I nearly burned my hand off when the pile burst into flames.
With short breaks for Logan's performance and cave exploring, we relaxed around the fire for the rest of the evening, but the dynamics were significantly different and rather disappointing compared to what I was used to during a Williams WOOLF trip. No one seemed interested in playing any of the usual campfire games--to my utter surprise Mafia failed miserably; after twenty minutes people were just no longer interested. There weren't any interesting philosophical discussions or confessions or ghost stories. Nonetheless plenty of marshmallow roasting and other miscellanious fire cooking (bananas with chocolate and kumara) occurred. At around 1:30 AM we noticed some bright lights coming towards us. Those hoping for a bit of excitement were disappointed to find that it was just a couple friendly guys in a 4-wheel drive jeep plus a dog running behind.
It rained off and on during the night, and while the cave provided welcome shelter it was too large to feel cozy exactly. In the morning I made grilled pineapple, which wasn't any better than un-grilled, and others cooked eggs and bread and more sausages. I walked along the beach in the rain and saw four large sailboats out in the ocean as well as some otherworldly and very large kelp washed up on shore.
We arrived back in Dunedin mid-afternoon on Saturday, and since the rain had stopped I went out exploring around town and happened across an absolute goldmine of well-groomed trails along Ross Creek, just a ten minute walk from Carrington College. The trails were home to an orienteering course of the Dunedin Orienteering Club. In contrast to the other trails I had been walking on near town, which were all very steep indeed, these were rather flat and much better for running. With my knee improving remarkably after seeing the Kiwi physiotherapist, I couldn't resist a 15 minute jog. I had stumbled across the Dunedin runners' home turf, a discovery that gave Dunedin a major boost in my opinion in terms of runability.
In other news, I am starting to teach myself poi. I filled two socks with bags of rice and have been twirling them around for a few minutes each day, attempting to follow the lessons on various poi websites. At some point I'll purchase the glow poi that change colors.
The other students were not of the backpacking sort, so we ended up making two trips from the cars lugging a grill, chips and candy, Logan's fire performance equipment, and loads of alcohol. I didn't complain about the grill, however, because I was able to use it to cook up some steak for burritos. The others piled on sausages, mushrooms, and zucchini, and we had quite a feast.
At this point it was getting dark and drizzly, so we wanted to make a fire. Being the only one there with any outdoors experience, I found what I thought were some semi-dry sticks and some soggy newspaper and constructed the typical kindling pyramid I had done many times before. I wasn't able to get a fire going within ten minutes however, and not wanting to be that stubborn purist that everyone hates, I yielded to Logan's suggestion that we pour onto the kindling some of the jet fuel he uses in his pyrotechnics acts. I nearly burned my hand off when the pile burst into flames.
With short breaks for Logan's performance and cave exploring, we relaxed around the fire for the rest of the evening, but the dynamics were significantly different and rather disappointing compared to what I was used to during a Williams WOOLF trip. No one seemed interested in playing any of the usual campfire games--to my utter surprise Mafia failed miserably; after twenty minutes people were just no longer interested. There weren't any interesting philosophical discussions or confessions or ghost stories. Nonetheless plenty of marshmallow roasting and other miscellanious fire cooking (bananas with chocolate and kumara) occurred. At around 1:30 AM we noticed some bright lights coming towards us. Those hoping for a bit of excitement were disappointed to find that it was just a couple friendly guys in a 4-wheel drive jeep plus a dog running behind.
It rained off and on during the night, and while the cave provided welcome shelter it was too large to feel cozy exactly. In the morning I made grilled pineapple, which wasn't any better than un-grilled, and others cooked eggs and bread and more sausages. I walked along the beach in the rain and saw four large sailboats out in the ocean as well as some otherworldly and very large kelp washed up on shore.
We arrived back in Dunedin mid-afternoon on Saturday, and since the rain had stopped I went out exploring around town and happened across an absolute goldmine of well-groomed trails along Ross Creek, just a ten minute walk from Carrington College. The trails were home to an orienteering course of the Dunedin Orienteering Club. In contrast to the other trails I had been walking on near town, which were all very steep indeed, these were rather flat and much better for running. With my knee improving remarkably after seeing the Kiwi physiotherapist, I couldn't resist a 15 minute jog. I had stumbled across the Dunedin runners' home turf, a discovery that gave Dunedin a major boost in my opinion in terms of runability.
In other news, I am starting to teach myself poi. I filled two socks with bags of rice and have been twirling them around for a few minutes each day, attempting to follow the lessons on various poi websites. At some point I'll purchase the glow poi that change colors.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
A few observations
1) In NZ I have yet to master the casual encounter with an acquaintance, especially at work. Here it seems that during the workday, people's default mode is socializing, chatting, drinking tea, etc. So when I encounter someone in the hallway and say hi, or ask someone about the particulars of a protocol, or even mention that some folks are planning on going to dinner and would they like to join, then it is not enough just to say hi or answer the question. An entire conversation must be begun. Many times the other person doesn't really have anything more to say, but they keep looking at me and nodding or saying "eh, eh" like they desire the conversation to continue. All I wanted to do was ask where is the acrylamide and go on about my business! I have work to do! But in NZ brief social interactions are discouraged, at least in my experience so far in the biochem department.
2) The government cares about people here! It would not be an exaggeration to say that there are more public service announcements sponsored by the government on television than commercials. There are messages about fire safety, wearing sunscreen, and avoiding drunk driving. I was also aware of the government's watchful eye during the tramping expedition, in which many signs along the route warned of the dangers of avalanches and rapidly rising streams. Hut wardens gave us frequent updates on weather and recommended a rest day (although we didn't take it).
3) One solid thumbs up for universal heath care. This week I had my first experience with the NZ health system when I returned from tramping with a fair amount of knee pain. Concerned that I had re-injured the meniscus, on which I have now had three surgeries, I went to the university student health office. Immediately I was able to see a doctor who recommended that I visit the university physiotherapists across the street. There I made an appointment for the same day. The physiotherapist gave me the most thorough exam I've ever had on the knee and performed some maneuvers to increase the flexibility in the joint. Yesterday I returned to the therapist and explained that the pain was not actually in the meniscus but closer to the knee cap. I got another full exam by her and one of the senior therapists. They concluded that the removal of part of my meniscus in the most recent surgery altered the mechanics of my knee and has led to weakening of the medial aspect of the quadriceps muscle. They told me I need to train my neuro-circuitry to fire the medial section of the muscle before the lateral section and told me to work on this while sitting and pressing my foot against the ground. I'm not sure if I've made too much progress, but all their analysis seemed reasonable. I haven't paid a penny for any of this, as the NZ government pays the costs for rehab after any injury that occurred within the country, which I can claim. Now in the coming weeks we'll see if their treatment actually works.
4) Karaoke in a private room is fantastic. Last night we went to see the movie Australia, of which the best part involving driving cattle across a desert was cut way too short, followed by karaoke. The main bar was closed but for 30 bucks an hour the woman led us upstairs to our own "apartment." I just need to expand my vocal range to greater than three pitches.
5) Don't get a haircut at the Clip Joint. It cost $35 and I was made all the more miserable because on the walk home I went past a place advertising cuts for $15.
6) This morning I had nothing to do in lab so I sat in on two summer school lectures. The first was a history course called Travel: Modern Journeys and their Meanings. This lecture had little to do with travel or history for that matter but some interesting philosophical ideas on self-advancement vs. helping others and the importance of creativity and aestheticism. The second was a packed lecture on forensic biology. Taught by what appeared to be a police investigator, the lecture was heavy on forensics and the biology was very "wee" indeed. But there were lots of fun gruesome pictures. The lectures certainly held my attention, but with very few exceptions I'd choose a Williams lecture any day of the week.
2) The government cares about people here! It would not be an exaggeration to say that there are more public service announcements sponsored by the government on television than commercials. There are messages about fire safety, wearing sunscreen, and avoiding drunk driving. I was also aware of the government's watchful eye during the tramping expedition, in which many signs along the route warned of the dangers of avalanches and rapidly rising streams. Hut wardens gave us frequent updates on weather and recommended a rest day (although we didn't take it).
3) One solid thumbs up for universal heath care. This week I had my first experience with the NZ health system when I returned from tramping with a fair amount of knee pain. Concerned that I had re-injured the meniscus, on which I have now had three surgeries, I went to the university student health office. Immediately I was able to see a doctor who recommended that I visit the university physiotherapists across the street. There I made an appointment for the same day. The physiotherapist gave me the most thorough exam I've ever had on the knee and performed some maneuvers to increase the flexibility in the joint. Yesterday I returned to the therapist and explained that the pain was not actually in the meniscus but closer to the knee cap. I got another full exam by her and one of the senior therapists. They concluded that the removal of part of my meniscus in the most recent surgery altered the mechanics of my knee and has led to weakening of the medial aspect of the quadriceps muscle. They told me I need to train my neuro-circuitry to fire the medial section of the muscle before the lateral section and told me to work on this while sitting and pressing my foot against the ground. I'm not sure if I've made too much progress, but all their analysis seemed reasonable. I haven't paid a penny for any of this, as the NZ government pays the costs for rehab after any injury that occurred within the country, which I can claim. Now in the coming weeks we'll see if their treatment actually works.
4) Karaoke in a private room is fantastic. Last night we went to see the movie Australia, of which the best part involving driving cattle across a desert was cut way too short, followed by karaoke. The main bar was closed but for 30 bucks an hour the woman led us upstairs to our own "apartment." I just need to expand my vocal range to greater than three pitches.
5) Don't get a haircut at the Clip Joint. It cost $35 and I was made all the more miserable because on the walk home I went past a place advertising cuts for $15.
6) This morning I had nothing to do in lab so I sat in on two summer school lectures. The first was a history course called Travel: Modern Journeys and their Meanings. This lecture had little to do with travel or history for that matter but some interesting philosophical ideas on self-advancement vs. helping others and the importance of creativity and aestheticism. The second was a packed lecture on forensic biology. Taught by what appeared to be a police investigator, the lecture was heavy on forensics and the biology was very "wee" indeed. But there were lots of fun gruesome pictures. The lectures certainly held my attention, but with very few exceptions I'd choose a Williams lecture any day of the week.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Rees Dart Tramp
I have a few pictures in my camera from the Speight's Brewery tour, biking on the peninsula with Jenny, and hiking to the Organ Pipes.
Last Saturday I took the bus to Queenstown, a tourist town four hours west of Dunedin. There I met up with Peter Nunns, checked into a noisy hostel, and headed to the grocery store to stock up on provisions. Peter asked if I would be morally opposed to bringing wine on our tramp, and I replied no. Soon it became apparent that Peter intended on packing multiple bottles of wine and minimal amounts of actual food, explaining that he remembered hiking with his family and being cold, miserable, and hungry. I insisted that the hiking could be quite enjoyable with the proper provisions and fortunately Peter soon came around. We purchased bread, cheese, salami, a giant jar of peanut butter, honey, fruits and vegetables, scroggin, dried fruit, granola bars, oatmeal, and four dinners of burritos, rice and beans, soup, and spaghetti. I limited Peter to one bottle of wine. Then we grabbed dinner and a beer at a so-so Mexican restaurant.
The next morning at 8 am we took the Backpacker Express shuttle to the Muddy Creek trailhead and were underway by 10 in a light rain. I discovered that tramping is an appropriate name for hiking in New Zealand due to connoting a generally damp and soggy journey. My socks and boots were soaked from beginning to end. But the landscape was spectacular from start to finish as well. We slogged through marshy river plains, maneuvered in dense beech forests, waded through mountain streams, climbed rocky slopes, and were always tip-toeing over mud. I very much enjoyed seeing the lush grassy hills next to icy glaciers and spiky snow-capped peaks. From the Cascade Saddle we could just make out three mountaineers about to summit a snowy domed mountain well over 2000 meters high.
We saw several dozen other trampers the entire trip, including Aussies and Germans and Japanese. The clean and tidy huts provided excellent spaces to sleep, eat, dry our clothes, and chat with the other hikers, and the hut log books were full of notes from folks around the globe.
Highlights of the trip were reaching the Rees Saddle, just less than 1500 meters, where we snapped many photos and could see two river valleys in opposite directions, and Cascade Saddle, slightly over 1500 meters, which provided the most breath-taking views of the trip of many mountains and valleys far below.
The only hiccup in the tramp was a large amount of rain on day 4. The hut warden had told us the previous night to expect heavy falls and to be prepared to spend the next day at the hut since the mountain streams would rise and become impassable very rapidly during the rain. A moderate rain fell throughout the night, but the next morning the warden informed us that the water had yet to rise significantly and while he recommended a rain day at the hut since conditions might change quickly, we could make a dash to the next hut if we so desired. I was game to go, and Peter had a flight to catch on January 2, so while the ten or so other hikers stayed at the hut, Peter and I set off in the rain, hoping to cross 25 streams before they rose too high. The worst scenario would be reaching an impassable stream and then finding that the previous stream had also risen, trapping us between the two.
In less than five hours, however, we made it to Daleys Valley hut, stopping only for ten minutes under a rock bivouac for water and snacks. None of the streams had posed great difficulty. As we had the hut to ourselves, we hung our soggy articles all over the place, started a fire, and cooked some delicious spaghetti with salami and tomato sauce. We also finished off the wine, as it was New Years Eve, and played rummy all afternoon. I was victorious at rummy, which marginally improved my self-confidence after getting schooled at chess the day before. If only rummy required as much skill as chess.
The final day, New Years Day, was relatively sunny and was an enjoyable easy walk over a couple bluffs and under small waterfalls to the track's end. We feasted on our remaining provisions while waiting for the Backpacker Express to take us to Queenstown. There we found lodging just outside town that was significantly nicer than the downtown hostel. I soaked in the hot tub and chatted with a fellow from Christchurch, and then we were off to town for some beer and fish and chips. Later that evening I watched two semi-entertaining street performers and purchased a delicious double scoop ice cream cone. Early yesterday morning we hopped on a bus to Dunedin, and Peter got off at the Dunedin airport to catch a flight back to Wellington.
These pictures may do the trip at least some justice; Peter has more that I will link to.
Last Saturday I took the bus to Queenstown, a tourist town four hours west of Dunedin. There I met up with Peter Nunns, checked into a noisy hostel, and headed to the grocery store to stock up on provisions. Peter asked if I would be morally opposed to bringing wine on our tramp, and I replied no. Soon it became apparent that Peter intended on packing multiple bottles of wine and minimal amounts of actual food, explaining that he remembered hiking with his family and being cold, miserable, and hungry. I insisted that the hiking could be quite enjoyable with the proper provisions and fortunately Peter soon came around. We purchased bread, cheese, salami, a giant jar of peanut butter, honey, fruits and vegetables, scroggin, dried fruit, granola bars, oatmeal, and four dinners of burritos, rice and beans, soup, and spaghetti. I limited Peter to one bottle of wine. Then we grabbed dinner and a beer at a so-so Mexican restaurant.
The next morning at 8 am we took the Backpacker Express shuttle to the Muddy Creek trailhead and were underway by 10 in a light rain. I discovered that tramping is an appropriate name for hiking in New Zealand due to connoting a generally damp and soggy journey. My socks and boots were soaked from beginning to end. But the landscape was spectacular from start to finish as well. We slogged through marshy river plains, maneuvered in dense beech forests, waded through mountain streams, climbed rocky slopes, and were always tip-toeing over mud. I very much enjoyed seeing the lush grassy hills next to icy glaciers and spiky snow-capped peaks. From the Cascade Saddle we could just make out three mountaineers about to summit a snowy domed mountain well over 2000 meters high.
We saw several dozen other trampers the entire trip, including Aussies and Germans and Japanese. The clean and tidy huts provided excellent spaces to sleep, eat, dry our clothes, and chat with the other hikers, and the hut log books were full of notes from folks around the globe.
Highlights of the trip were reaching the Rees Saddle, just less than 1500 meters, where we snapped many photos and could see two river valleys in opposite directions, and Cascade Saddle, slightly over 1500 meters, which provided the most breath-taking views of the trip of many mountains and valleys far below.
The only hiccup in the tramp was a large amount of rain on day 4. The hut warden had told us the previous night to expect heavy falls and to be prepared to spend the next day at the hut since the mountain streams would rise and become impassable very rapidly during the rain. A moderate rain fell throughout the night, but the next morning the warden informed us that the water had yet to rise significantly and while he recommended a rain day at the hut since conditions might change quickly, we could make a dash to the next hut if we so desired. I was game to go, and Peter had a flight to catch on January 2, so while the ten or so other hikers stayed at the hut, Peter and I set off in the rain, hoping to cross 25 streams before they rose too high. The worst scenario would be reaching an impassable stream and then finding that the previous stream had also risen, trapping us between the two.
In less than five hours, however, we made it to Daleys Valley hut, stopping only for ten minutes under a rock bivouac for water and snacks. None of the streams had posed great difficulty. As we had the hut to ourselves, we hung our soggy articles all over the place, started a fire, and cooked some delicious spaghetti with salami and tomato sauce. We also finished off the wine, as it was New Years Eve, and played rummy all afternoon. I was victorious at rummy, which marginally improved my self-confidence after getting schooled at chess the day before. If only rummy required as much skill as chess.
The final day, New Years Day, was relatively sunny and was an enjoyable easy walk over a couple bluffs and under small waterfalls to the track's end. We feasted on our remaining provisions while waiting for the Backpacker Express to take us to Queenstown. There we found lodging just outside town that was significantly nicer than the downtown hostel. I soaked in the hot tub and chatted with a fellow from Christchurch, and then we were off to town for some beer and fish and chips. Later that evening I watched two semi-entertaining street performers and purchased a delicious double scoop ice cream cone. Early yesterday morning we hopped on a bus to Dunedin, and Peter got off at the Dunedin airport to catch a flight back to Wellington.
These pictures may do the trip at least some justice; Peter has more that I will link to.
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