Yes, yes, yes! I know it has been too long. But I have been drowning in computer non-functioning nonsense for the last few weeks, and the blog has suffered.
My poor computer (yes, brought from home) picked up a virus in Auckland, I believe, the very first week we arrived. We tried to transfer a word document from our hostel's computer to my computer, using Bjorn's memory stick, and somewhere in the process that dirty hostel computer sneezed on my computer, spraying it with lots of nasty (and potentially fatal!) germs. Ugh.
All of this is to say that now, when we try to open word documents, we find that the contents of those documents have been replaced with a message that says "Hack by debugger!!!!!" Creepy, right?
As the weeks have passed, computer has grown sicker and sicker, and basically all the files we have on there (which includes our personal entertainment - downloaded seasons of TV shows) have been infected, corrupted, whatever.
So blogging became a bit of an adventure. Because we can only pick up wireless internet standing at our kitchen counter, it's a bit more comfortable, going into a long writing session, to sit down on the couch, put the blog into a word document, then transfer it onto the blog-site later, when you can get onto the internet. Of course, with our Word completely corrupted, you must make sure NOT to save the document or close it, because once you have, your work will be sure to be replaced by that irritating debugger message.
So what happens when, amidst all of this complicated mess, your internet goes down? Well, that's what happened to me the last time I tried to write my blog. I had written a lovely entry about life as a cleaning lady (which you'll just have to wait and wonder about for now), only to find that when I was ready to post it onto the site, the internet was completely gone.
And so, because any computer messes like this REALLY drive me bananas, I just decided to wash my hands of it and haven't been bothered with trying to get that entry posted for some weeks now.
Mr. Computer has at this point been left at a service shop in Christchurch. Please pray for healing. Hopefully we'll get it back next week.
And another excuse! Internet here is $6 an hour, and they've like completely blocked you from connecting your camera and doing fun things like downloading pictures for your friends, which is what I was attempting to do when I came to the internet today. It is FASCINATING to me that internet access was so much better (and faster and cheaper) in South America than here.
So...pulease bear with me until I have my computer situation smoothed over. I have not given up on the blog!
Meanwhile, it is Thanksgiving day in America today (though it's Friday afternoon right now here). I imagine all of my friends and family sitting around their warm homes, shoes off, glass of wine in hand, full of food, watching TV, working a puzzle, perhaps already heading back into the kitchen to pick at leftovers, depending on what time you've eaten.
It's hard to be here for Thanksgiving. Well, no, actually. It's almost too weird for it to be hard. I feel so very far away that it's hard for me to imagine that it's Thanksgiving on the other side of the world. They obviously don't celebrate this holiday here (when, as my boss says, the Americans give thanks to the Indians for letting them take over), and furthermore, they don't really eat turkey over here! Ever!
Bjorn and I went into Christchurch on Wednesday night to have a big dinner out to celebrate A) Thanksgiving, B) our 8 month anniversary, C) my half-birthday, and D) my father's early birthday. We had yummy Thai food, and then went to a restaurant that specializes in desserts for a stomach-sickening pig out. It was fun - GREAT fun - but it wasn't really Thanksgiving, was it? We didn't even talk about what we're thankful for!
So I've been making myself go through my annual what am I thankful for list, even though I have no turkey to eat and no Frazier family party to attend. And I won't write out the whole list (though one of these years I AM GOING TO DO THAT!), but my family, my friends, Bjorn, and this amazing year are in the top five. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Know what I am REALLY thankful for? Mumsy and dadsy and brother John are coming to see me...for Christmas!! I cannot wait! EEEEE! It will be such fun.
Okay, my hour at the internet is about to be up, and I am not about to spend more than $6. So sorry.
Hope everyone has had a fabulous Thanksgiving! More soon...perhaps I'll even be able to rescue my cleaning lady entry one of those days:)
Much love to you all.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Half Flush or Full?
When I arrived at the Auckland airport seven weeks ago (seven weeks! though it actually feels longer), the first thing I did when I finished with customs was hit the ATM. It was the usual stuff – enter your password, select withdrawal, key in the amount, etc. As I was wrapping things up, a message came up asking me if I wanted my receipt. Again, typical stuff. But, glancing over the message, my eyes stuck on something unusual. “Would you like your receipt? Please be mindful of the environment when making your decision.”
I am not a super environmentally conscious person. I mean, I try to recycle when I can, but environmental causes are pretty far back in my mind. Pulease, I’ve got like, Bjorn and what am I going to have for lunch today and should I have another cup of coffee and why can’t my bottom be less jiggly and all other manner of important things on my brain instead.
But in all seriousness, I was struck that day by how something so seemingly simple – just an extra sentence on an ATM machine – could make me (and millions of other ATM users) immediately aware of the environment. Do I really need my receipt? Well, no, I guess not. I’d probably just take a quick glance at it, wad it up, and throw it in the nearest trash can.
New Zealand is a very familiar place. The people speak English, they look like me, they dress like me, have similar backgrounds. But I have learned that NZ is also an extremely different place from the US, and the differences come across in very subtle ways.
The toilets here are fairly standard, but wherever you go, be it a restaurant, a gas station, a shopping mall, the toilets are spotlessly clean. The first few weeks I kept approaching public bathrooms with dread, breathing through my mouth, prepared for the worst, and finding…clean! They have these little sanitation boxes in each stall, which are full of disinfectant that you can spray out onto a bit of paper and wipe the toilet clean. A great idea, to be sure, but even greater, people ACTUALLY DO THIS! Can you imagine Americans EVER stooping so low as to clean up after themselves in public restrooms? I love us, I promise you, but we wouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t catch. I can’t figure out why.
While we are on the subject of toilets, let me also tell you how puzzled I was at first when it was time to flush. Instead of one little flusher, there are two little buttons – one plain and another with a little half-moon symbol on it. After about a week of just randomly selecting a button to push, I brought this up to Bjorn. Oh, he said, that tells the toilet how much water it needs to pump through. If it’s just a number one, it just needs a half flush. If it’s something more, it needs a whole flush.
Water saving brilliance. This is so simple it’s just silly.
I'm not trying to put America down for not operating this way, for not having these kind of systems set into place. But, when you see these simple things working so easily in a country, functioning successful, actually succeeding in making citizens more mindful about things like the environment, this light sort of dings on, like - Oh! These things ARE possible. It CAN work.
And, in light of our most recent election, I am feeling rather hopeful about things like this. Hopeful about my country. Proud of my country! We CAN change.
And that is all I am going to say about that. Because I don't like to talk politics:)
Now then. Everything is super here. This morning at 8 AM I began a five week exercise class led by my friend Erin. It's twice a week, for an hour and fifteen minutes, and we meet on the recreation field, just across the street from my house. There are about eight of us in the class, and we just do an assortment of cardio, strenth training, that sort of thing. I was doing lunges across the rec field today, the sun shining, the bay looking like its beautiful self, the mountains doing the same, and I just had an eek moment. I do love this place.
And this afternoon, I got invited to go out for a FREE sailing lesson, taught by a friend of a friend who is trying to start up a sailing instruction business. It was such fun. I got to be the jib trimmer. I got to trim the jibs. (I just sort of moved the front sail from side to side when we needed to turn.)
Sailing lessons, outdoor exercise - it's all making me very excited about the quickly approaching summer season here. (December is like our June.)
At the same time, though, I am really feeling homesick for fall. I talked to my parents the other day, and they were cozied down by the fire, eating chili - spending a November day the way it's supposed to be spent! And I thought about the fall leaves, and the way the air smells and feels, and I felt a little sad to be away from it all. But I won't complain too much. Skipping from summer to summer to summer isn't half bad!
Okay. Wrap it up, wrap it up. This blog has taken me bits and pieces of all day to write because I cannot focus! I am all over the place!
Love you all lots. Hope everyone is well and enjoying November.
I am not a super environmentally conscious person. I mean, I try to recycle when I can, but environmental causes are pretty far back in my mind. Pulease, I’ve got like, Bjorn and what am I going to have for lunch today and should I have another cup of coffee and why can’t my bottom be less jiggly and all other manner of important things on my brain instead.
But in all seriousness, I was struck that day by how something so seemingly simple – just an extra sentence on an ATM machine – could make me (and millions of other ATM users) immediately aware of the environment. Do I really need my receipt? Well, no, I guess not. I’d probably just take a quick glance at it, wad it up, and throw it in the nearest trash can.
New Zealand is a very familiar place. The people speak English, they look like me, they dress like me, have similar backgrounds. But I have learned that NZ is also an extremely different place from the US, and the differences come across in very subtle ways.
The toilets here are fairly standard, but wherever you go, be it a restaurant, a gas station, a shopping mall, the toilets are spotlessly clean. The first few weeks I kept approaching public bathrooms with dread, breathing through my mouth, prepared for the worst, and finding…clean! They have these little sanitation boxes in each stall, which are full of disinfectant that you can spray out onto a bit of paper and wipe the toilet clean. A great idea, to be sure, but even greater, people ACTUALLY DO THIS! Can you imagine Americans EVER stooping so low as to clean up after themselves in public restrooms? I love us, I promise you, but we wouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t catch. I can’t figure out why.
While we are on the subject of toilets, let me also tell you how puzzled I was at first when it was time to flush. Instead of one little flusher, there are two little buttons – one plain and another with a little half-moon symbol on it. After about a week of just randomly selecting a button to push, I brought this up to Bjorn. Oh, he said, that tells the toilet how much water it needs to pump through. If it’s just a number one, it just needs a half flush. If it’s something more, it needs a whole flush.
Water saving brilliance. This is so simple it’s just silly.
I'm not trying to put America down for not operating this way, for not having these kind of systems set into place. But, when you see these simple things working so easily in a country, functioning successful, actually succeeding in making citizens more mindful about things like the environment, this light sort of dings on, like - Oh! These things ARE possible. It CAN work.
And, in light of our most recent election, I am feeling rather hopeful about things like this. Hopeful about my country. Proud of my country! We CAN change.
And that is all I am going to say about that. Because I don't like to talk politics:)
Now then. Everything is super here. This morning at 8 AM I began a five week exercise class led by my friend Erin. It's twice a week, for an hour and fifteen minutes, and we meet on the recreation field, just across the street from my house. There are about eight of us in the class, and we just do an assortment of cardio, strenth training, that sort of thing. I was doing lunges across the rec field today, the sun shining, the bay looking like its beautiful self, the mountains doing the same, and I just had an eek moment. I do love this place.
And this afternoon, I got invited to go out for a FREE sailing lesson, taught by a friend of a friend who is trying to start up a sailing instruction business. It was such fun. I got to be the jib trimmer. I got to trim the jibs. (I just sort of moved the front sail from side to side when we needed to turn.)
Sailing lessons, outdoor exercise - it's all making me very excited about the quickly approaching summer season here. (December is like our June.)
At the same time, though, I am really feeling homesick for fall. I talked to my parents the other day, and they were cozied down by the fire, eating chili - spending a November day the way it's supposed to be spent! And I thought about the fall leaves, and the way the air smells and feels, and I felt a little sad to be away from it all. But I won't complain too much. Skipping from summer to summer to summer isn't half bad!
Okay. Wrap it up, wrap it up. This blog has taken me bits and pieces of all day to write because I cannot focus! I am all over the place!
Love you all lots. Hope everyone is well and enjoying November.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
The Secret Hut and Other Stories
I have a new friend named Erin. She's a 28 year old Canadian gal who biked into Akaroa four years ago and has basically been here ever since. Her first month here, she met a local boy, Tim, and he courted her and wooed her and when she left for Canada six months later, he followed her. Now, they spend Canada summers in Canada and NZ summers in NZ. Ideal, no?
Tim and Erin started a company called On 2 Wheels, which is a bike tour service that only operates in the summer. They put you and your bike in their van, drive you up to the top of a nearby hill, and let you out, free to cruise down the other side of the hill to Le Bons Bay, a lovely beach spot nearby. When you get there, they have lunch and wine set out for you. I think it's a three hour trip in all. LEAVE THE HILLS TO US! is their slogan. I like, I like!
I was on my way home the other day when Erin popped out of Vangioni's (she works there occasionally as a favor to Steve, who happens to be Tim's best friend from growing up). Ellen! I have the best idea. I want to take you to our secret hut. Wanna come? Please, please, pulease!? It'll be so fun! (Erin is a personal trainer on the side, and she has one of those incredibly energetic personalities.)
So about twenty minutes later I was in Tim and Erin's On 2 Wheels van, riding out to the secret hut. When I first met Tim and Erin, she mentioned that they were living in a camper van on a piece of property that Tim's mom owns. They had just returned from their North American summer, and Erin was spending her days cleaning out the camper van, getting it liveable again.
Well, as it turns out, their "camper van" is code word for this adorable little one room hut they have built themselves. I guess in order to build such a hut - something that has a kitchen and that you intend to live in permanently - you technically need a building or residential permit of some kind, and those things cost money. So, whenever they speak of it publicly, it's the "camper van".
(I have a feeling that many locals know about the camper van/hut, but it seems like the kind of place where as long as you don't make anyone mad, no one will try to get you in trouble.)
We parked the van on the side of a winding forest road, about 3 miles outside of Akaroa. We can't take the van down the driveway, Erin said. We can only go down it with four wheel drive. As we started the 10 minute walk down the mud and gravel driveway, Erin and I shared stores about ourselves, and I took in the scenery. With no other houses or humans in sight, we were out in the middle of the forest (the bush as they call it here). The bluish green waters of the bay popped out in between breaks in the trees. Sailboats were out racing, each with a different color sail puffed out in front of them.
When we got to the bottom of the drive, I looked up and saw this itty bitty shack of a thing. This is it! Erin said. The main room of the hut (the only room of the hut) consists of an impromptu kitchen, with mini fridge and stove top, an orange easy chair, a lofted bed, and a turquoise painted wall. It is totally home-made and homey. Upon exiting the room, you can walk around behind it, where there is another, smaller construction - Erin's walk-in closet! Shelves full of clothes and shoes out in the middle of the forest. Unbelievable.
Next to the closet, there's a little area enclosed with a stone wall about waist-high and above, a shower head. Shower with nature. Finding myself needing to use the potty, I told Erin I was going to go off and squat somewhere (I assumed that was the drill). Oh, no! Erin said. Just follow that little path over there. There's a little pedestal of rocks you can stand on - you'll see. So I wandered back there, and sure enough, in a small opening in the trees, sat a large metal barrel of a thing, with a real toilet seat on top, and a stack of stones leaning up against it for access. Perched up there on the little potty, staring out over the bay, was incredibly charming somehow.
So what do you think? Erin asked me when I returned. Do you think you could live like this?
Well, I'm totally jealous, I said. I'd like to think I could live like this, but...I guess it would take some getting used to.
Yeah, Erin said. You know, I've just realized that you really need so little to live. I've got everything I need right here.
She poured me some juice and pulled a couple of fold-out chairs out into a clearing, and we sat and talked and watched the boats chase each other across the bay.
It's nice to have a girlfriend around. There's a loneliness that can seep in, sometimes, and there are some things that you can only talk to your girlfriends about. (Your boyfriend, for example! Just kidding, Bjorn. Hehe.) But seriously, it was so nice to just sit and talk and share stories and relate.
Erin is not what you might think of when you think of someone that lives simply. She wears makeup, has stylish clothes - she walks around Akaroa looking like she might live in NYC. And yet, she lives in this place that has nothing but the essentials - bed, shower, fridge...walk-in closet:)
The hut is the embodiment of this simple life I've imagined off and on over the past couple of years. And faced with it, I'm not sure I could really do it. But it would be an incredible vacation spot. And Erin's told me that we can come up and stay there sometime when they're away. I can't wait to take a shower out in the middle of the forest, staring out over the bay!
Regardless of whether or not I could do it, the place is incredibly cool, and I find it inspiring, too. This hut is the kind of thing that they are gong to look back on when they're fifty and laugh hysterically about, probably. But what a memory to have! The years we started the business and built ourselves a one room hut. It's so imperfect, so against all American ideals, but there's something so earnest and honest about it. I think it's great.
Okay - must go make lunch now. Hope everyone is well! And thanks for all the comments on the last post! I do love the comments. Much love.
Tim and Erin started a company called On 2 Wheels, which is a bike tour service that only operates in the summer. They put you and your bike in their van, drive you up to the top of a nearby hill, and let you out, free to cruise down the other side of the hill to Le Bons Bay, a lovely beach spot nearby. When you get there, they have lunch and wine set out for you. I think it's a three hour trip in all. LEAVE THE HILLS TO US! is their slogan. I like, I like!
I was on my way home the other day when Erin popped out of Vangioni's (she works there occasionally as a favor to Steve, who happens to be Tim's best friend from growing up). Ellen! I have the best idea. I want to take you to our secret hut. Wanna come? Please, please, pulease!? It'll be so fun! (Erin is a personal trainer on the side, and she has one of those incredibly energetic personalities.)
So about twenty minutes later I was in Tim and Erin's On 2 Wheels van, riding out to the secret hut. When I first met Tim and Erin, she mentioned that they were living in a camper van on a piece of property that Tim's mom owns. They had just returned from their North American summer, and Erin was spending her days cleaning out the camper van, getting it liveable again.
Well, as it turns out, their "camper van" is code word for this adorable little one room hut they have built themselves. I guess in order to build such a hut - something that has a kitchen and that you intend to live in permanently - you technically need a building or residential permit of some kind, and those things cost money. So, whenever they speak of it publicly, it's the "camper van".
(I have a feeling that many locals know about the camper van/hut, but it seems like the kind of place where as long as you don't make anyone mad, no one will try to get you in trouble.)
We parked the van on the side of a winding forest road, about 3 miles outside of Akaroa. We can't take the van down the driveway, Erin said. We can only go down it with four wheel drive. As we started the 10 minute walk down the mud and gravel driveway, Erin and I shared stores about ourselves, and I took in the scenery. With no other houses or humans in sight, we were out in the middle of the forest (the bush as they call it here). The bluish green waters of the bay popped out in between breaks in the trees. Sailboats were out racing, each with a different color sail puffed out in front of them.
When we got to the bottom of the drive, I looked up and saw this itty bitty shack of a thing. This is it! Erin said. The main room of the hut (the only room of the hut) consists of an impromptu kitchen, with mini fridge and stove top, an orange easy chair, a lofted bed, and a turquoise painted wall. It is totally home-made and homey. Upon exiting the room, you can walk around behind it, where there is another, smaller construction - Erin's walk-in closet! Shelves full of clothes and shoes out in the middle of the forest. Unbelievable.
Next to the closet, there's a little area enclosed with a stone wall about waist-high and above, a shower head. Shower with nature. Finding myself needing to use the potty, I told Erin I was going to go off and squat somewhere (I assumed that was the drill). Oh, no! Erin said. Just follow that little path over there. There's a little pedestal of rocks you can stand on - you'll see. So I wandered back there, and sure enough, in a small opening in the trees, sat a large metal barrel of a thing, with a real toilet seat on top, and a stack of stones leaning up against it for access. Perched up there on the little potty, staring out over the bay, was incredibly charming somehow.
So what do you think? Erin asked me when I returned. Do you think you could live like this?
Well, I'm totally jealous, I said. I'd like to think I could live like this, but...I guess it would take some getting used to.
Yeah, Erin said. You know, I've just realized that you really need so little to live. I've got everything I need right here.
She poured me some juice and pulled a couple of fold-out chairs out into a clearing, and we sat and talked and watched the boats chase each other across the bay.
It's nice to have a girlfriend around. There's a loneliness that can seep in, sometimes, and there are some things that you can only talk to your girlfriends about. (Your boyfriend, for example! Just kidding, Bjorn. Hehe.) But seriously, it was so nice to just sit and talk and share stories and relate.
Erin is not what you might think of when you think of someone that lives simply. She wears makeup, has stylish clothes - she walks around Akaroa looking like she might live in NYC. And yet, she lives in this place that has nothing but the essentials - bed, shower, fridge...walk-in closet:)
The hut is the embodiment of this simple life I've imagined off and on over the past couple of years. And faced with it, I'm not sure I could really do it. But it would be an incredible vacation spot. And Erin's told me that we can come up and stay there sometime when they're away. I can't wait to take a shower out in the middle of the forest, staring out over the bay!
Regardless of whether or not I could do it, the place is incredibly cool, and I find it inspiring, too. This hut is the kind of thing that they are gong to look back on when they're fifty and laugh hysterically about, probably. But what a memory to have! The years we started the business and built ourselves a one room hut. It's so imperfect, so against all American ideals, but there's something so earnest and honest about it. I think it's great.
Okay - must go make lunch now. Hope everyone is well! And thanks for all the comments on the last post! I do love the comments. Much love.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Vangioni's
Good evening! Welcome to Vangioni’s! Have you dined with us before? No, well, I will tell you a little bit about our menu:
Here at the front we have our tapas, which are Spanish-style small plates – simple dishes that are great for sharing as a starter. Then we have our pizzas, which are definitely a favorite here. They’re classic, Italian-style, and they’re 30 cm, so they’re big enough to share, depending on your appetite. Finally we have our Mains, and I just want to point out that the mains don’t really come with any substantial side dishes, so if you are interested in a vegetable or a salad, those are listed at the back of the menu. And, oh yes, please check out the blackboard over there for tonight’s specials.
Alright, I will give you a few minutes to think things over, and I’ll get back to you!
I’ve worked at Vangioni’s for three weeks, and I have probably said those words a hundred times already. I’m trying really hard not to sound like a robot when I say it, or to say it a bit differently from time to time, but…that’s my shpeil (I have never tried to write that word before – how do you spell it?)
Vangioni’s is a “Mediterranean” restaurant, which I think is a fancy way of saying it’s Spanish and Italian cuisine. The tapas (which I think my father could find a way to accept, especially because they’re served as appetizers here) are things like bruschette, escargot (I’ve not tried this yet, though it looks amazing – the snails come out in this hot, bubbling, butter sauce, and it smells divine!), scallops, prawns (lightly fried with this scrumptious tangy, sweet and soury kind of sauce), calamari and potatoes (and probably the best calamari I’ve ever had – not fried, just pan-sauteed), and oh yes, the most mind-boggling tray of mixed olives I have ever seen. I never knew an olive could be so good.
Our pizzas are (in my personal opinion) our best-sellers, and we may just have the best pizza in this small town. The pizzas are special because they’re different or, as Bjorn says, “This pizza has CHARACTER!”
The Helena pizza has Ham, Pineapple, and Blue Cheese, and I know it sounds a bit weird, but this pizza is really freaking good. Especially if you like blue cheese, which I do.
The Akaroa has fresh Akaroa salmon on top of mixed greens. The Kiwi has marinated lamb with yogurt sauce. The Chorizo (YUM!) has…chorizo and is a general meat-lover’s dream. The La Reine has ham, mushrooms, and olives (YUM). I could go on, but I’d need a menu, and it’s pretty early in the morning here, and I doubt anyone’s up over there yet. But, there are about 15 of these pizzas, each one unique and delicious. People go crazy over the pizzas.
The main dishes are fancy-restaurant dishes like rabbit, lamb shanks, seafood risotto, and we always serve local salmon in some form, as well as another local fish of the day. And the sides are things like oven-roasted vegetables, gratin of cauliflower (basically just cheesy and baked and bubbly and all things good), roasted potatoes, garden salad, green salad, greek salad, etcetera, etcetera.
Is anyone’s mouth watering yet?
Well, let me tell you about our desserts. The dessert menu changes every few days, but one thing that seems to consistently stay on there is the chocolate pudding. No, no, my North American friends. This is not chocolate pudding as you know it. Not even close. It’s this ridiculous, dark chocolate cakey kind of thing, baked to order. It looks something like a brownie when it’s served, but when you dip your spoon into it, you find this amazing, soft, but not quite gooey, warm chocolate pudding inside. And we serve it with vanilla ice cream, which is made on the premises.
We also frequently have some kind of bread pudding – recently we’ve had strawberry, raspberry and rum, and brioche. Apple crumble, New York cheesecake, and homemade blueberry and mint sorbet have also graced the dessert board recently.
So. I have become slightly obsessed with food. Hm. Maybe I should say, it has come to my attention that I am and have been for a while obsessed with food. Good food. Foods with strong tastes. Olives, cheeses, good wines, strong coffee. Chocolate pudding! So I feel right at home working in the restaurant, surrounding myself with one of my favorite things in life.
When my tables are taken care of and I have a bit of idle time, I go stand at the counter into the kitchen, and just watch. I am so envious of people who can cook, who can chop vegetables properly and without cutting their fingers off, who just decide to “make something up”. Steve, the owner, noticed my extreme interest in food and asked me if I liked to cook. Well, I like food, I said. I LIKE to cook, but I am a butcher my vegetables, cut my fingers off, cling to my recipe, kind of cook. Sigh.
Don’t worry, father, I am not going to go to chef school or anything crazy like that. Though it did cross my mind at least once over the last few weeks.
Vangioni’s is a FUN job. To me, it is an ideal summer job. And in the last two weeks, I’ve been taught how to work the till (the cash register, basically), so some nights, I don’t do any waitressing at all. I stand behind the bar, fix drink orders for the wait staff, and keep track of the tables’ bills. I am also learning how to make fancy coffees with the fancy coffee maker. I have probably wasted 10 liters of milk this week alone, honing my milk-frothing abilities. But! If I can become a pro at the coffees, I will be a total asset to the restaurant, AND, I will be able to work day shifts when we start opening during the days. (We are currently just open daytime on Saturday and Sunday). And then, Bjorn and I will be on the same schedule. And that will make me happy!
Okay. I will stop this food blog entry now. I hope that answers your question, Suzers.
Good news! Bjorn and I BOTH have today and tomorrow off. So, as soon as he wakes up (yes, I got out of bed at 7 AM this morning to write my blog), we are going to hop in the car and head to Hanmer Springs, which is a 2-3 hour drive northwest of here. It’s supposed to be a really nice spot in the mountains with lovely thermal baths! We’ll spend the day there today, camp around there tonight, and then head to Christchurch in the morning (back in the direction of Akaroa). We will do a bunch of grocery shopping there (because the store here is crazy expensive) and probably take in a movie and a nice dinner as well! Bueno!
Love you all. Hope all is well.
Here at the front we have our tapas, which are Spanish-style small plates – simple dishes that are great for sharing as a starter. Then we have our pizzas, which are definitely a favorite here. They’re classic, Italian-style, and they’re 30 cm, so they’re big enough to share, depending on your appetite. Finally we have our Mains, and I just want to point out that the mains don’t really come with any substantial side dishes, so if you are interested in a vegetable or a salad, those are listed at the back of the menu. And, oh yes, please check out the blackboard over there for tonight’s specials.
Alright, I will give you a few minutes to think things over, and I’ll get back to you!
I’ve worked at Vangioni’s for three weeks, and I have probably said those words a hundred times already. I’m trying really hard not to sound like a robot when I say it, or to say it a bit differently from time to time, but…that’s my shpeil (I have never tried to write that word before – how do you spell it?)
Vangioni’s is a “Mediterranean” restaurant, which I think is a fancy way of saying it’s Spanish and Italian cuisine. The tapas (which I think my father could find a way to accept, especially because they’re served as appetizers here) are things like bruschette, escargot (I’ve not tried this yet, though it looks amazing – the snails come out in this hot, bubbling, butter sauce, and it smells divine!), scallops, prawns (lightly fried with this scrumptious tangy, sweet and soury kind of sauce), calamari and potatoes (and probably the best calamari I’ve ever had – not fried, just pan-sauteed), and oh yes, the most mind-boggling tray of mixed olives I have ever seen. I never knew an olive could be so good.
Our pizzas are (in my personal opinion) our best-sellers, and we may just have the best pizza in this small town. The pizzas are special because they’re different or, as Bjorn says, “This pizza has CHARACTER!”
The Helena pizza has Ham, Pineapple, and Blue Cheese, and I know it sounds a bit weird, but this pizza is really freaking good. Especially if you like blue cheese, which I do.
The Akaroa has fresh Akaroa salmon on top of mixed greens. The Kiwi has marinated lamb with yogurt sauce. The Chorizo (YUM!) has…chorizo and is a general meat-lover’s dream. The La Reine has ham, mushrooms, and olives (YUM). I could go on, but I’d need a menu, and it’s pretty early in the morning here, and I doubt anyone’s up over there yet. But, there are about 15 of these pizzas, each one unique and delicious. People go crazy over the pizzas.
The main dishes are fancy-restaurant dishes like rabbit, lamb shanks, seafood risotto, and we always serve local salmon in some form, as well as another local fish of the day. And the sides are things like oven-roasted vegetables, gratin of cauliflower (basically just cheesy and baked and bubbly and all things good), roasted potatoes, garden salad, green salad, greek salad, etcetera, etcetera.
Is anyone’s mouth watering yet?
Well, let me tell you about our desserts. The dessert menu changes every few days, but one thing that seems to consistently stay on there is the chocolate pudding. No, no, my North American friends. This is not chocolate pudding as you know it. Not even close. It’s this ridiculous, dark chocolate cakey kind of thing, baked to order. It looks something like a brownie when it’s served, but when you dip your spoon into it, you find this amazing, soft, but not quite gooey, warm chocolate pudding inside. And we serve it with vanilla ice cream, which is made on the premises.
We also frequently have some kind of bread pudding – recently we’ve had strawberry, raspberry and rum, and brioche. Apple crumble, New York cheesecake, and homemade blueberry and mint sorbet have also graced the dessert board recently.
So. I have become slightly obsessed with food. Hm. Maybe I should say, it has come to my attention that I am and have been for a while obsessed with food. Good food. Foods with strong tastes. Olives, cheeses, good wines, strong coffee. Chocolate pudding! So I feel right at home working in the restaurant, surrounding myself with one of my favorite things in life.
When my tables are taken care of and I have a bit of idle time, I go stand at the counter into the kitchen, and just watch. I am so envious of people who can cook, who can chop vegetables properly and without cutting their fingers off, who just decide to “make something up”. Steve, the owner, noticed my extreme interest in food and asked me if I liked to cook. Well, I like food, I said. I LIKE to cook, but I am a butcher my vegetables, cut my fingers off, cling to my recipe, kind of cook. Sigh.
Don’t worry, father, I am not going to go to chef school or anything crazy like that. Though it did cross my mind at least once over the last few weeks.
Vangioni’s is a FUN job. To me, it is an ideal summer job. And in the last two weeks, I’ve been taught how to work the till (the cash register, basically), so some nights, I don’t do any waitressing at all. I stand behind the bar, fix drink orders for the wait staff, and keep track of the tables’ bills. I am also learning how to make fancy coffees with the fancy coffee maker. I have probably wasted 10 liters of milk this week alone, honing my milk-frothing abilities. But! If I can become a pro at the coffees, I will be a total asset to the restaurant, AND, I will be able to work day shifts when we start opening during the days. (We are currently just open daytime on Saturday and Sunday). And then, Bjorn and I will be on the same schedule. And that will make me happy!
Okay. I will stop this food blog entry now. I hope that answers your question, Suzers.
Good news! Bjorn and I BOTH have today and tomorrow off. So, as soon as he wakes up (yes, I got out of bed at 7 AM this morning to write my blog), we are going to hop in the car and head to Hanmer Springs, which is a 2-3 hour drive northwest of here. It’s supposed to be a really nice spot in the mountains with lovely thermal baths! We’ll spend the day there today, camp around there tonight, and then head to Christchurch in the morning (back in the direction of Akaroa). We will do a bunch of grocery shopping there (because the store here is crazy expensive) and probably take in a movie and a nice dinner as well! Bueno!
Love you all. Hope all is well.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Small Town Living
I’ve never lived in a real small town before. I don’t mean that in a country hick way – “That there Akaroa is one real small town”. No, no, I just mean that I have never lived in a genuinely small town before.
I’ve lived in small-ish places. Bloomington, IN, Hoboken, NJ. But I realize now that those experiences count for nothing as far as small towns go. Akaroa is the real deal.
There are the people, the community. I’ve lived here for not quite two weeks, and I recognize more faces every day.
There’s Keith, the guy who owns a kayak-rental business and stores his kayaks in our front yard. There’s the lady that bags groceries at the 4 Square Supermarket who sat at the bar at Vangioni’s the other night, drinking wine for a long while. There’s the weary looking, cigarette-smoking, dyed-blonde woman, who owns a boutique down the street, and tries to smile at me as I walk past while she sweeps the store’s porch.
There’s the couple from Hawaii who I waited on in the restaurant a few nights back. I ran into the woman on the street the following day – Oh! Our waitress from last night! And then again into both of them a few days later, out taking a morning stroll.
There are the ones that want to get to know me. Loyal repeat customers at the restaurant who tell me they were “down at the supply store this morning. Met your boyfriend. Nice guy!”
Not even two weeks, and I somehow feel like I am a part of this community, even in just some small way. And it’s a nice feeling. It’s hard to feel out of place or lonely when everyone you meet wants to talk to you, take you in, hear your story.
There’s the physical place. The surroundings.
“I love this place this much,” Bjorn says after dinner last week, his arms stretched wide. I think he loves the place more than I do, if that’s possible. Every morning, he walks five minutes down the main road to the other end of town and stares out over the bay. He says that the water looks like glass at that time of day, the reflections of white sailboats stretching long across the grey water.
I walk down to the supply store around 12:45 PM most days to bring Bjorn lunch. We sit on a bench looking out on the bay and munch on sandwiches and bask in the sunshine and chat. Bjorn says, Isn’t this the best lunch spot? Ever? And every time I reply, Sure is!
I go out for walks for hours at a time. Paths take me through farms, sheep and cows sometimes obstructing my way! I feel a bit shy writing this, but I had the silliest and most wonderful moment this morning, running down a grassy hillside, dodging piles of cow poop. I felt like I was Julie Andrews, ready to come to a halt at the bottom of the hill, open my arms wide to the mountains around me, and burst into song. The hills are alive! He he. But I’m quite serious. I almost sang. I’m surprised I didn’t, actually.
There’s the quiet.
I was standing on the corner of our street earlier this week around dusk. The sky still had a hint of blue in it, and the almost-full moon was rising over the hill behind our house. It was a lovely sight. But what struck me at that moment were the sounds. Or the lack of sounds. I looked down the street and saw not a single other person outside, not a single car buzzing by, nothing. And all I could hear was birds chirping. Birds singing over the silence.
I’ve known silence before. Alone on top of a mountain in Chile, trying to find sleep in my ice cold tent, and nothing but the wind in my ears. But this silence was different, perhaps because I didn’t realize that a town – a man-made place, full of men (and women!) – could be silent.
I could not have transferred directly from Manhattan to Akaroa. I was too high strung back in January. Needed to be occupied. Needed to be always going. Akaroa would have made me crazy. But this year has taken me down a few notches, to a place where I can just relax and enjoy a moment for what it is. And if all I do in a day is sit in sunny spot on the front porch and read and take Bjorn lunch, well, it’s a day very well spent.
And that is all just to say, life is good in this small town. More soon. Much love.
I’ve lived in small-ish places. Bloomington, IN, Hoboken, NJ. But I realize now that those experiences count for nothing as far as small towns go. Akaroa is the real deal.
There are the people, the community. I’ve lived here for not quite two weeks, and I recognize more faces every day.
There’s Keith, the guy who owns a kayak-rental business and stores his kayaks in our front yard. There’s the lady that bags groceries at the 4 Square Supermarket who sat at the bar at Vangioni’s the other night, drinking wine for a long while. There’s the weary looking, cigarette-smoking, dyed-blonde woman, who owns a boutique down the street, and tries to smile at me as I walk past while she sweeps the store’s porch.
There’s the couple from Hawaii who I waited on in the restaurant a few nights back. I ran into the woman on the street the following day – Oh! Our waitress from last night! And then again into both of them a few days later, out taking a morning stroll.
There are the ones that want to get to know me. Loyal repeat customers at the restaurant who tell me they were “down at the supply store this morning. Met your boyfriend. Nice guy!”
Not even two weeks, and I somehow feel like I am a part of this community, even in just some small way. And it’s a nice feeling. It’s hard to feel out of place or lonely when everyone you meet wants to talk to you, take you in, hear your story.
There’s the physical place. The surroundings.
“I love this place this much,” Bjorn says after dinner last week, his arms stretched wide. I think he loves the place more than I do, if that’s possible. Every morning, he walks five minutes down the main road to the other end of town and stares out over the bay. He says that the water looks like glass at that time of day, the reflections of white sailboats stretching long across the grey water.
I walk down to the supply store around 12:45 PM most days to bring Bjorn lunch. We sit on a bench looking out on the bay and munch on sandwiches and bask in the sunshine and chat. Bjorn says, Isn’t this the best lunch spot? Ever? And every time I reply, Sure is!
I go out for walks for hours at a time. Paths take me through farms, sheep and cows sometimes obstructing my way! I feel a bit shy writing this, but I had the silliest and most wonderful moment this morning, running down a grassy hillside, dodging piles of cow poop. I felt like I was Julie Andrews, ready to come to a halt at the bottom of the hill, open my arms wide to the mountains around me, and burst into song. The hills are alive! He he. But I’m quite serious. I almost sang. I’m surprised I didn’t, actually.
There’s the quiet.
I was standing on the corner of our street earlier this week around dusk. The sky still had a hint of blue in it, and the almost-full moon was rising over the hill behind our house. It was a lovely sight. But what struck me at that moment were the sounds. Or the lack of sounds. I looked down the street and saw not a single other person outside, not a single car buzzing by, nothing. And all I could hear was birds chirping. Birds singing over the silence.
I’ve known silence before. Alone on top of a mountain in Chile, trying to find sleep in my ice cold tent, and nothing but the wind in my ears. But this silence was different, perhaps because I didn’t realize that a town – a man-made place, full of men (and women!) – could be silent.
I could not have transferred directly from Manhattan to Akaroa. I was too high strung back in January. Needed to be occupied. Needed to be always going. Akaroa would have made me crazy. But this year has taken me down a few notches, to a place where I can just relax and enjoy a moment for what it is. And if all I do in a day is sit in sunny spot on the front porch and read and take Bjorn lunch, well, it’s a day very well spent.
And that is all just to say, life is good in this small town. More soon. Much love.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
For Your Viewing Pleasure
A few pics from Wellington and our new home, Akaroa - http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy . Enjoy!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Akaroa, Akaroa
Oh, my friends. What a happy few days this has been!
Wellington wasn’t feeling so right. It’s a perfectly nice town. I COULD live there. It’s very green, with lots of cute, old, brightly painted Victorian houses lining the hilly streets. And there’s plenty to do. It has all of the things a city has to offer – movies, restaurants, bars, shopping, with the bonus of easy access to outdoor activities.
But, well, we just weren’t getting anywhere in Wellington. Jobs weren’t popping out at us, and the more we thought things over, the more we admitted to each other that living in a city wasn’t exactly what we wanted to get out of this trip.
On top of this, it is insanely windy in Wellington. And my bangs do not like windy. Did I just write that?
Anyway, we widened our search. We started poring over online job listings for all of New Zealand, and we found that a vast majority of the seasonal jobs for people like us were down in the South Island. We found one posting that was particularly interesting – a farm hostel in Akaroa, a small town just south of Christchurch, was looking to hire two people to work for accommodation, one to work the reception desk and one to do light cleaning. Work for accommodation sounds good, we said! Think of all the money we will save!
We spoke with the guy at this hostel, and he encouraged us to come down and check out the place. See if it suited us. He did advise us that these jobs left us enough time to get second jobs, so we could actually MAKE some money, too. And so we kept looking, and we found yet another posting for this very same tiny town, this one for wait staff at a little restaurant. We called this guy up, too, and he also encouraged us to come on down.
And so we did. Akaroa or bust! Well, we decided that we’d just go have a look, and if it didn’t work, no big deal. There was plenty of work in Christchurch, too.
We pulled into Akaroa around 11 AM on Tuesday morning, and as we drove through the hills around the town, you could just feel the tension building in the car. Oh dear Lord, I thought. This is the most incredibly beautiful place I have ever seen. I MUST live here. This MUST work out. PLEASE let this work out. We were both immediately in love with the town, and the prospect of not getting to stay was, well, not happy.
Akaroa is about 85 kilometers southeast of Christchurch, on the eastern coast of the South Island. It is one of several itty bitty towns across the Banks Peninsula, and sits on the edge of a gorgeous turquoise bay, closed in on three sides by tall, green hills. Historically, it is the first French settlement in New Zealand, and they’ve tried to preserve the “frenchness” of the place – all of the streets are named Rue this and Rue that.
It is a small town, but a tourist town. Its population swells from 600 in the winter to 10,000 in the summer. Isn’t that incredible? There’s one main street that wraps around the bay, with cute little cafes and restaurants and B&Bs, and then the town sprawls up into the hills behind. The town is complete with sailboats in the bay, a lighthouse, a cemetery for the original French settlers, a vineyard – need I go on?
It is perhaps the most charming place I have ever visited. And guess what? I don’t have to be just a visitor! I get to LIVE here for three months!
Es correcto. I have a job. So does Bjorn.
About fifteen minutes after arriving in Akaroa, we decided to go ahead and call Steve Bradley, the owner of the restaurant. We had had some second thoughts about the hostel jobs, given that they wanted to the reception person to work 9AM to 9 PM three days in a row, in exchange for accommodation. It wasn’t the hours that sounded bad, but it just didn’t financially make much sense. The hostel guy was definitely getting more out of the situation than we would be.
Steve Bradley said he was at home (an apartment over the restaurant), so why don’t we just stop on by for a chat?
Steve is about the nicest guy on the planet. He’s probably in his early thirties, born and raised in Akaroa. After university, he went traveling around for about six years, then returned to Akaroa, to find that his parents were trying to decide what to do with this little piece of property they owned in town. We should put a shop in there, they said. I’ll open a restaurant there, Steve said.
And so Vangioni’s popped up two years ago.
Steve walked us around the restaurant, told us he could definitely start one of us waiting tables full-time as soon as the next day, and asked if we needed a place to live. Yep, we sure do. So he walked us over to a little house right next to the restaurant and said we could stay here if we liked, for just $440/month. (That’s about $290/month in American dollars, and split between two people that’s…$145.)
Steve asked us if we were interested, and we just stood there with our mouths open like, uhhhh, YES PLEASE!
Bjorn sweetly and graciously let me take this first job we found, as we had previously agreed (since, well, I have a bit less money than he does), and Steve told me to show up at the restaurant at 3 PM the next day. And that was that! Within an hour of our arrival, we were all set. Incredible.
We went out for a celebratory lunch, and had our first beer in 9 days. (Our first night in Wellington, we had made a pact not to spend any money on alcohol until we had jobs. We found a little loophole in this pact, though. A movie theater in Wellington had a super offer where you could get a movie ticket and a glass of wine for $12.50 – and tickets are normally $15. We decided it was NOT cheating to save ourselves $2.50 by having a glass of wine.) It was a very happy day.
The following day, while purchasing a hair dryer at the local supply store (girl’s gotta be able to make herself presentable if she’s going to wait tables), I saw a sign mentioning that they were looking to hire a sales assistant. I chitty chatted with the woman for a few minutes and told her my boyfriend would be very interested in the position. Send him down, she said. So I went out on the street, found Bjorn wandering around, feeling a bit rejected from a couple of other places he’d tried, and sent him up the street.
And presto change-o, ten minutes later, Bjorn walked out with a job. I like this hiring system here.
So we have this new life here. Just like that. Isn’t it amazing how easily you can start a new life? We have jobs, a car, and a house. It’s nothing permanent of course, but it’s EXACTLY what we were both looking for, in the end. A bit of normalcy in an amazing location.
I’ve worked two nights at the restaurant now, and I think it’s going to work out very well. It’s a small place – just ten tables inside and six outside – but it has a warm, cozy feeling. At the moment, I am working with Selene and Frankie, best friends from France who are living in another flat above the restaurant; Viv (a guy), the chef from NZ; Tomas, the dish guy from Chile; and Steve. Every night after we wrap things up, the six of us sit down and share a meal together, and I look around and think, this is just too cool. The six of us sitting together, from all different places. It’s hard to find that.
Now I’m sitting here in our living room, drinking hot tea, and wondering what I am going to do with this day. Bjorn has gone off to work, and I don’t have to go to work til 4:30 PM, so I have my whole day free! But with the beach thirty seconds from my door and all of the little hiking trails around Akaroa, I am sure I will think of something!
Hope everyone is well. Much love.
Wellington wasn’t feeling so right. It’s a perfectly nice town. I COULD live there. It’s very green, with lots of cute, old, brightly painted Victorian houses lining the hilly streets. And there’s plenty to do. It has all of the things a city has to offer – movies, restaurants, bars, shopping, with the bonus of easy access to outdoor activities.
But, well, we just weren’t getting anywhere in Wellington. Jobs weren’t popping out at us, and the more we thought things over, the more we admitted to each other that living in a city wasn’t exactly what we wanted to get out of this trip.
On top of this, it is insanely windy in Wellington. And my bangs do not like windy. Did I just write that?
Anyway, we widened our search. We started poring over online job listings for all of New Zealand, and we found that a vast majority of the seasonal jobs for people like us were down in the South Island. We found one posting that was particularly interesting – a farm hostel in Akaroa, a small town just south of Christchurch, was looking to hire two people to work for accommodation, one to work the reception desk and one to do light cleaning. Work for accommodation sounds good, we said! Think of all the money we will save!
We spoke with the guy at this hostel, and he encouraged us to come down and check out the place. See if it suited us. He did advise us that these jobs left us enough time to get second jobs, so we could actually MAKE some money, too. And so we kept looking, and we found yet another posting for this very same tiny town, this one for wait staff at a little restaurant. We called this guy up, too, and he also encouraged us to come on down.
And so we did. Akaroa or bust! Well, we decided that we’d just go have a look, and if it didn’t work, no big deal. There was plenty of work in Christchurch, too.
We pulled into Akaroa around 11 AM on Tuesday morning, and as we drove through the hills around the town, you could just feel the tension building in the car. Oh dear Lord, I thought. This is the most incredibly beautiful place I have ever seen. I MUST live here. This MUST work out. PLEASE let this work out. We were both immediately in love with the town, and the prospect of not getting to stay was, well, not happy.
Akaroa is about 85 kilometers southeast of Christchurch, on the eastern coast of the South Island. It is one of several itty bitty towns across the Banks Peninsula, and sits on the edge of a gorgeous turquoise bay, closed in on three sides by tall, green hills. Historically, it is the first French settlement in New Zealand, and they’ve tried to preserve the “frenchness” of the place – all of the streets are named Rue this and Rue that.
It is a small town, but a tourist town. Its population swells from 600 in the winter to 10,000 in the summer. Isn’t that incredible? There’s one main street that wraps around the bay, with cute little cafes and restaurants and B&Bs, and then the town sprawls up into the hills behind. The town is complete with sailboats in the bay, a lighthouse, a cemetery for the original French settlers, a vineyard – need I go on?
It is perhaps the most charming place I have ever visited. And guess what? I don’t have to be just a visitor! I get to LIVE here for three months!
Es correcto. I have a job. So does Bjorn.
About fifteen minutes after arriving in Akaroa, we decided to go ahead and call Steve Bradley, the owner of the restaurant. We had had some second thoughts about the hostel jobs, given that they wanted to the reception person to work 9AM to 9 PM three days in a row, in exchange for accommodation. It wasn’t the hours that sounded bad, but it just didn’t financially make much sense. The hostel guy was definitely getting more out of the situation than we would be.
Steve Bradley said he was at home (an apartment over the restaurant), so why don’t we just stop on by for a chat?
Steve is about the nicest guy on the planet. He’s probably in his early thirties, born and raised in Akaroa. After university, he went traveling around for about six years, then returned to Akaroa, to find that his parents were trying to decide what to do with this little piece of property they owned in town. We should put a shop in there, they said. I’ll open a restaurant there, Steve said.
And so Vangioni’s popped up two years ago.
Steve walked us around the restaurant, told us he could definitely start one of us waiting tables full-time as soon as the next day, and asked if we needed a place to live. Yep, we sure do. So he walked us over to a little house right next to the restaurant and said we could stay here if we liked, for just $440/month. (That’s about $290/month in American dollars, and split between two people that’s…$145.)
Steve asked us if we were interested, and we just stood there with our mouths open like, uhhhh, YES PLEASE!
Bjorn sweetly and graciously let me take this first job we found, as we had previously agreed (since, well, I have a bit less money than he does), and Steve told me to show up at the restaurant at 3 PM the next day. And that was that! Within an hour of our arrival, we were all set. Incredible.
We went out for a celebratory lunch, and had our first beer in 9 days. (Our first night in Wellington, we had made a pact not to spend any money on alcohol until we had jobs. We found a little loophole in this pact, though. A movie theater in Wellington had a super offer where you could get a movie ticket and a glass of wine for $12.50 – and tickets are normally $15. We decided it was NOT cheating to save ourselves $2.50 by having a glass of wine.) It was a very happy day.
The following day, while purchasing a hair dryer at the local supply store (girl’s gotta be able to make herself presentable if she’s going to wait tables), I saw a sign mentioning that they were looking to hire a sales assistant. I chitty chatted with the woman for a few minutes and told her my boyfriend would be very interested in the position. Send him down, she said. So I went out on the street, found Bjorn wandering around, feeling a bit rejected from a couple of other places he’d tried, and sent him up the street.
And presto change-o, ten minutes later, Bjorn walked out with a job. I like this hiring system here.
So we have this new life here. Just like that. Isn’t it amazing how easily you can start a new life? We have jobs, a car, and a house. It’s nothing permanent of course, but it’s EXACTLY what we were both looking for, in the end. A bit of normalcy in an amazing location.
I’ve worked two nights at the restaurant now, and I think it’s going to work out very well. It’s a small place – just ten tables inside and six outside – but it has a warm, cozy feeling. At the moment, I am working with Selene and Frankie, best friends from France who are living in another flat above the restaurant; Viv (a guy), the chef from NZ; Tomas, the dish guy from Chile; and Steve. Every night after we wrap things up, the six of us sit down and share a meal together, and I look around and think, this is just too cool. The six of us sitting together, from all different places. It’s hard to find that.
Now I’m sitting here in our living room, drinking hot tea, and wondering what I am going to do with this day. Bjorn has gone off to work, and I don’t have to go to work til 4:30 PM, so I have my whole day free! But with the beach thirty seconds from my door and all of the little hiking trails around Akaroa, I am sure I will think of something!
Hope everyone is well. Much love.
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