In Which Kat and Destiny Have Birthday Bonanzas

So, we’re going to start by not even mentioning how late this update is.

Kat’s Birthday:

My birthday began in Napier, not far from the home of a certain Kiwi mum who brought along a certain enthusiastic daughter to join in the celebration, the first part of which was Turkish kebabs for lunch and a pavlova (classic Kiwi—not Australian—dessert that’s more or less a large meringue with a cream centre) complete with dried fruit, whipped cream topping, and candles.

On January 11, the actual day of my birth, I spent most of the day in a bathing suit (or togs, as it’s referred to over here) on a beach with a book, the first ever birthday I have spent thus. I thoroughly enjoyed it and intend to do it again next time I manage to be in the southern hemisphere over my birthday. The day was capped off with dinner at a lovely café that had outdoor seating and a brilliant dessert menu.

One week later, a van, marked only with ‘Napier Tours,’ drove up to the end of the prison driveway, and we two daring adventurers were instructed to get in by the driver, a former policeman who had in fact put a number of men in Napier Prison over his career. The van then picked up two more Americans, a pair of golf professionals, both in their early twenties, and all four of us were whisked away under the Hawkes Bay sun to five fantastic wineries where we discovered, among other things, a Riesling reminiscent of liquid candy, a Sherry that smelled and tasted like Christmas cake, and the fact that there are indeed wines Destiny can enjoy.

To complete the celebration, we took a detour on the way to the South Island and stopped by the lakeside town of Taupo, home of Skydive Taupo. A white limo took us out to the airfield where I was introduced to Wadey, who would be diving with me. So after putting on a particularly flattering blue jump suit, a pair of plastic goggles, and a leather cap, we boarded the little plane that took us 12,000 feet above Lake Taupo. Here, I waved good-bye to Destiny who, along with her tandem, started to make her way earthward. A few minutes later, after all the other divers had left, Wadey and I, now strapped to one another by a harness, made our way to the door, now 15,000 feet up.

The blue sky and blue lake below rushed in with the cold air as I rocked back, then fell forward. For a minute—the longest minute imaginable, and at the same time, entirely too short—the cold and the blue rushed up at me, a single continuous sensation of flight, which never really felt like falling. The earth grew ever clearer, though it seemed more like it was coming into focus and less like we were really getting closer—until the sudden instant when the parachute opened and everything stopped. Then came the gentle glide, around and over and down, a slow, graceful motion from the sky back to the airfield.

Thus ended the celebration of Kat Harrell’s 23^rd birthday.

Now, as to Destiny’s birthday:

Honestly, if you think about it, hurling yourself off a platform above Queenstown, New Zealand, is the best birthday present you can give yourself. What better way to celebrate the passing of another year than to treat your body like a heart-pounding, adrenaline-laced, life-flashing-before-your-eyes amusement park? I find that one of the best ways to really appreciate life is to satisfy l’appel du vide (literally “call of the void,” that feeling you get when standing on a precipice that maybe you kind of want to jump…)

So in this marvelous Year of our Lord 2012, in honor of the 22^nd year of my life (a year I have fondly nicknamed Double Deuce), I screamed “Geronimo!” and threw myself into a swan dive off the Ledge in Queenstown. The Ledge Bungee is distinctive for its “runway” and free-harness system, which allows you a running start and a free-fall in the manner of your choosing. Some people have been known to go off the platform on bicycles and skateboards. Here is the conversation between the two bungee instructors after my screaming descent (as evidenced on the far-too-expensive dvd footage that I did not buy):

Instructor 1: She’s crazy. Where is she from?

Instructor 2: The States.

Instructor 1: Oh.

For those of you who have not yet experienced the joy of bungee (or stoutly refuse to do so), here’s a taste:

Your feet find empty air and for the space of a heartbeat you’re airborne. It’s a crystalline moment, where you become keenly aware of every color and sound and sensation. The bite of the harness, the itch on your ankle, the green of the trees below and the blue of the sky above, the scent of sweat and nylon and pine.

Then comes the ground-rush and your body reacts to the sensation of what it perceives to be impending death with sensory shutdown. Your eyes are open but you can’t see anything. Your limbs and mouth and ears and nose are not your own. The only thing left to you is the queer feeling that your stomach is trying to claw its way up your brainstem.

Then the bungee cord snaps taut and your body crashes back into itself. Your heart (which you didn’t realized had stopped) starts pounding away. Your lungs (which you didn’t realize had shriveled) fill with air. Less than five seconds have passed, but it might as well have been years.

Leaping into the void is truly a remarkable thing, why else do you think it calls to us? (Disclaimer: Leaping into the void without a bungee cord or a parachute would most certainly end in death, and therefore would be a truly tragic thing.)

After Kat’s jump, we walked back toward the shop. Along the way, we were stopped by an elderly couple sitting on a bench. They wanted to know if we were the ones who had just bungeed, and informed us that they had been terrified for us and couldn’t believe we would do such a thing. Their concern was heartwarming. Also hilarious.

The second part of my birthday celebration took place a few hours south, in the marvelous and hilly coastal town of Dunedin, where lives the incomparable Thomson Family and their regal and fluffy cat, Glitzy Candle-Bears. With the Thomsons, we had a Mexican fiesta on my actual birthday, with homemade empanadas, rice, enchiladas, guacamole, and pico de gallo (thanks, Jonathan). For pudding, a beautiful chocolate cake baked and decorated by Kat (and half-iced with Nutella, as we ran out of frosting.)  While we devoured cake, Anne Thomson (the mum) presented me with a birthday gift, which I eagerly opened. But the moment I laid my hands on the prize, Anne cried “Wait! That’s mine!” and snatched it back. That was probably the most disconcerting birthday gift I’ve ever received. (Don’t worry. The next day she found my actual present, a lovely tea towel printed with names of places on the South Island.)

Birthdays ought always be spent with people who care about you, whether on one side of the world or another. This year, I was lucky enough to celebrate twice with such people. The day after my fabulous fiesta with the Thomsons, I skyped home, where my family was celebrating my U.S. birthday with as much flair as if I had been home. Through my computer screen, I got to enjoy decorations and a birthday cake with exactly the right number of candles. My mother told me I had to choose someone to blow out my candles. My little cousin Emilyn immediately shouted “Me! I’m going to blow them out!” She did an excellent job, though I’m not sure whether it’s my wish or hers that will come true. I should submit an enquiry to the Birthday Candles Wish Association.

In Which Kat and Destiny Rock the South Island

We realize, as it’s getting toward the end of April, that those of you still in school are reaching that period toward the end of the school year when everything is due all at the same time and you have exams on everything ever. Thus, as your friends, we have chosen to give you the best gift we can from the other side of the world: ways to procrastinate! So we are putting up several updates in close succession. Enjoy.

First, we make our way from the lovely city of Dunedin, home to the University of Otago, the focal point of New Zealand fashion, and the lovely Thomson family, who will appear several more times, we’re sure, in upcoming posts, as we tend to be at their house a lot. Along the road that skirts the edge of the harbor (and is not the place you want to be with a particularly speedy driver and a storm coming in) is the little township of Portobello. Here we spent a week staying with a Scotsman by the name of Bill, helping with gardening, exploring on bicycles, and wondering why on earth God in heaven saw fit to make roosters. One of the two roosters that resided on the property had a particular love for standing outside our bedroom window at unrighteous hours of the morning and making noises similar to those heard, we assume, in the lower circles of hell. The rooster had also discovered how to crow at just the right frequency to blast through your earplugs and make them utterly useless. It was a week of lovely views, pushing bikes up steep inclines, and considering ways to murder roosters.

After our week in Portobello, we stopped back in Dunedin for two nights before catching the bus to Geraldine, where we met George and Hilary, a British couple now living in Canterbury and building a house using straw as insulation. Also staying at George and Hilary’s house was another American help exchange traveler, an early twenties woodcarver named Warren, who was among the most beautiful human beings either of us had ever personally encountered. We learned that he was dating a girl back in the States, which was probably for the best, as the battle between our two adventurers for Warren’s affections could very well have been long, bloody, and rather uncomfortable for our hosts. We spent Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays some 16 kilometers outside Geraldine, where the house was nearly finished, cleaning, painting, weeding, picking fruits and vegetables, and learning the many uses of mud mixed with straw.

Recipe for plaster mud:

The mixing of mud for plaster is a delicate art, one that requires both tenacity and skill. Enter Destiny, fully geared up in black rubber pants, jacket, and gloves. On a wooden platform at the side of the house is a giant plastic bucket surrounded by smaller buckets of mud. Step one: Dump a small bucket of mud into the “mixing bowl”. Step two: Using a tool that is basically a massive electric egg beater, blend the mud into a deliciously smooth consistency (like cake batter). Step three: Pour the mixture through a sieve into a wheelbarrow. Step four: Take the chunklets of leftover mud from the sieve and form the most epic mud pies of all time (Just for the fun of it).

In Geraldine, where there is one main street and everyone seems to know everyone, there is little of interest to mention. However, it is home to Barkers, a New Zealand famous juice, jam, and preserve company, as well as a very tasty fudge and ice cream shop and a library that offers free wireless internet. However, the most wonderful part of Geraldine is the movie theatre—a single room with a big screen, a small stage area, a balcony, and several front rows that have been replaced with couches, so that you feel you’re in your house, curled up on your couch, watching a big screen movie. We saw ‘Beautiful Lies’ and ‘The Iron Lady’ and attended a discussion on ending world poverty.

After two weeks in Geraldine, we made our way to the Canterbury back country, where we spent two weeks on a sheep and cattle station, set along a glacial-carved braided river, hemmed in by mountains that some mornings were covered in snow. The station, called Glenfalloch, is home to the Todhunter family, made up of Kiwi-born farmer Chas, his German wife Dietland, their seven-year-old daughter Freddy, and their three-year-old son Hendrick. Chas was not around much, as he spent most of the day off working in various parts of the farm. Dietland, a brilliant chef, was kind, if rather reserved. Freddy was rather clever and developed a habit of popping into the house we were staying in without any warning. Hendrick, who had yet to master talking, walked around babbling in almost-words, sounding something like a young Swedish Chef off the Muppets. We also made the acquaintance of Tom, the fairly quiet farm hand, and Cecilia, a young journalist from Denmark hoping to do a series of articles on working and living in New Zealand.

Our working hours were mostly spent painting—fence posts, garages, bedrooms, verandas, any number of things. When we weren’t working, we hiked in the surrounding hills, kayaked down the river, and read and watched DVDs in our house. Yeah, we had a house. The farm is also a retreat and conference centre, with three guest houses, one of which was ours. It had five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, and two kitchens. There are also two little huts, both outfitted with heaters, and between the huts and the houses, the farm can house at least twenty guests.

Thus we progressed from a shared room and a suicide-inducing rooster in Portobello to our own rooms with a brilliant interior view in Geraldine to our own guest house at Glenfalloch. Here’s to hoping the universe smiles on your fortunes as well, perhaps without inflicting you with roosters.