Where are all the Kiwis?

Being sick is never fun no matter where you are. As a kid, when you would get sick it usually meant a day off from school (the best thing ever!), someone taking care of your every need and whim (thanks mom and dad) and watching a bunch of TV or movies. All in all it wasn’t a bad way to spend the day. Then, you get older and move away from home and the process of getting sick changes from yay no school to can I actually afford to miss this day of classes without falling behind or this day of work without getting fired. Mom and dad are not always near by to baby you and lets just be honest, no one will baby you when you are sick quite like mom and dad. But, on the bright side, you still get a day to spend inside watching TV or movies or reading a book and generally just relaxing.

Here is when it really sucks to get sick. Imagine that you live in paradise and that right now the sun is shining and there are clear blue skies and a nice gentle breeze is blowing just enough to keep it from being too warm. From your bedroom window, you can see the paragliders taking off from the hill above and you can hear the sky dive planes in the distance. Just another perfect day in paradise, but no no no you will not be able to go out and enjoy paradise today. Why not? You aren’t working; you don’t have to go to school. Today is just another day you should be spending outside enjoying the warmth of the sun down by the lake and listening to someone play the guitar.

So why am I not out there? I’m sick. Stuck in the house for more than 24 hours now just watching the beautiful day pass by through the window. There is no need for details here, lets just say that it’s the kind of stomach issue that Bear Grylls fears most in the wild and it means that I am chained to the house. Normally, I would love a day off to watch movies or TV but here its just depressing because there are so many other things that I would rather be doing before I eventually start working and don’t have all day every day to just sit and enjoy the majesty of this place. And, with only three channels, it’s not like there is a plethora of choices of bad daytime TV to choose from. I may have to brave a trip out to the movie store in a little while or I might just go insane. The best strategy may be to shut the curtains so I cant see how nice it is outside and watch a series of funny movies, although laughing may not be the best idea right now. Sorry, too much information. Where are mom and dad when you need them? Its not like I am half way across the world or anything.

Queenstown is a fantastic small town with fantastic small shops and restaurants, but if you need to do a big shop the only choice is to leave town. The next town over is called Frankton and to be honest there is not really a great dividing point between the two. Queenstown airport is located in Frankton, which can be confusing when you apply for a job in Queenstown and they send you to the Queenstown airport in Frankton, but that’s another story. All of the big chain stores are over in Frankton and the Remarkables Park Shopping Center, which sits almost directly at the base of the Remarkables mountain range. There are no Walmarts in New Zealand; instead they have a similar store called the Warehouse. It’s not quite a cheap as Walmart but they probably treat the employees better, so I guess that’s the trade off. There is also a large discount grocery store out there called New World. Well unless you are just on a quick vacation to Queenstown, you will probably, at least at some point, need to make a run out to the Remakables Park for something.

Getting there is the biggest issue because most people living in Queenstown do not have a car. There is no real need for one in town because everything is within comfortable walking distance. There is a lovely walking path along the lake that connects the two towns. It is quite a walk though at just under 10 kilometers each way and if you are going for a big shop, its unreasonable to think that you will be able to carry all of the stuff back that far. Another option is to take the connect-a-bus which run every 25 minutes or so and costs $6 each way. Not a bad option because it makes it easier to get you and your stuff back and forth but if you are going out to the Remarkables Park because its cheaper and then you add the $12 it costs to get you out there and back it very much reduces your savings. The other option is to hitchhike. Queenstown is a very hitchhiker friendly town, in fact, that is some peoples sole source of transportation.

I have always wanted to try to hitchhike but have always chickened out at the last minute. My friend Steph and I needed to go out to Remarkables Park this morning to go to the Warehouse and the DMV (I am going to get a Kiwi drivers license!). Since neither of use had ever hitched before and we weren’t in any hurry, we decided that we would give it a try. We started walking up to the road that leads out of Queenstown toward Frankton, thinking that we should at least be on the right street before sticking out thumbs out. Did you know that you really do have to stick your thumb out? It is a little bit embarrassing and one of us would stick a thumb out and then start laughing and put it back down before the cars even got to where we were. Finally, we managed to hold our thumbs out as we kept walking a little further. Three cars passed us without stopping, a girl alone in her car (fair enough), a lady with an elderly lady in the front seat (don’t blame them) and a guy is his work truck (of course you cant pick up hitchhikers while your working). Then, the next car that drove past was a middle-aged guy in a red truck and he actually stopped! We ran up to the window and asked if he was going toward Frankton, which he was. So we hopped in, me in the front seat and the other Steph in the backseat.

There was absolute silence as we drove along. It was so awkward that I felt like I had to say something so this is my re-enactment of the conversation. Me: “So, you live in Queenstown?” Guy: “Yes.” Me: “Have you been here long?” Guy: “10 years.” Me: “Where are you from originally?” Guy: “Croatia, but I’m sure you’ve never heard of that.” Me: “Well, actually I was an international politics major at university and we had several classes where we discussed Croatia and its part in the break up of the former Yugoslavia in the late 80’s and early 90’s.” Stunned look comes across mans face. Guy: “Girls don’t usually study politics. It’s usually all about the Iphone and their pretty dresses. So much for women’s liberation. All that fuss so that they can be even dumber than before.” Me: “uh huh.” Guy: “just because you studied doesn’t mean that you actually know anything. There is a difference between knowledge and studying.” Me: “Oh I completely agree that there is a difference between knowledge and wisdom.” Guy: “blah blah blah girls are stupid blah blah blah where are you two going in Frankton?” Me: “The Warehouse in Remarkables Park. So what is it that you do?” Guy: “I’m a professional hunter. I just got back last night from the US where I was at a Sierra Club meeting. You see that mountain over there? I own that mountain.” Poorly disguised look of disbelief on my face that this man actually owned the Remarkables Mountain Range. Guy: “Well its my western border. I have a ranch over there on the other side where I take hunting groups.” By this time he had pulled into the shopping center and right to the front door of the Warehouse to drop us off. Me: “Well, thanks for the lift. This is the first time we have ever hitched and you were so nice so thanks.” Guy: “If you had been a couple of bimbos I would have dropped you off back there on the main road but since you weren’t I decided to bring you all the way here.” Me: “Well thanks again.”

Practically door-to-door service. Who would have guessed it? Now I’m sure that it will never work that well again but what a great first hitchhiking experience. Other than that whole girls are stupid thing it was fantastic.

I love my little house, I really do but there is one issue that I am having here that is about to drive me absolutely insane. One of the things that is included in the price of my rent is wifi internet. Very nice because the cost of internet is astronomical if you are trying to do it on your own. You really only have two options if the landlord is not providing the internet. Option one: purchase wifi access from the city at $50.00 per month which may not sound that bad to those of you purchasing internet through Comcast back in the states but unlike Comcast, this internet is not fast and it is not unlimited. That $50.00 per month only allows you 5gb of internet access (not too bad unless you are going to download anything at all) and only one computer can be logged into that account at a time, meaning that you cant even split the cost with someone else. Option two: use an internet café at $1.00 per 15 minutes. The benefit of this is that the access is unlimited (download until your hearts content) but the drawback is that you actually have to go and sit in the internet café and those 15-minute increments go by way faster than you think that they will. In general, the internet access in New Zealand is incredibly slow in comparison with cable internet in the States, but the service is no shoddier than Comcast (can you tell that Comcast and I are no great friends?).

Despite the speed, having internet provided by the landlord is a bonus… until, that is, you realize that it only allows for two computers to be online in the house at the same time. Well, there are five people and four computers in this house and we have one lovely American roommate who never leaves the house and leaves her computer on all the time so that really only one other person can be on at a time. Well, internet is not why you come to visit New Zealand but sometimes, just sometimes, you really need to just quickly check your email. Perhaps, like today, someone has a job interview and needs to write down the name of the interviewer before leaving the house so that she doesn’t look like a fool when she shows up and doesn’t remember who it is she is supposed to be asking for. That sounds way more dramatic than it actually was and I did finally get to check the name before I left the house, but still how hard is it to log off the internet when you aren’t actually using it? Oh well, I guess I should just feel bad for her that she has not been able to get out and enjoy this area like she should have. Sorry for the rant.

Having no amusing anecdotes to share about Queenstown today, I have decided that we should talk a little bit about New Zealand as a whole. It is comprised of two main islands, the north and the south, which together are only slightly larger than the UK. Just as a comparison, New Zealand has a total land area of 103,483 square miles and a population of approximately 4,352,672 while Alabama has a total land area of 51,705 square miles and a population of approximately 4,661,900. And you thought that much of Alabama was rural… try having almost the same number of people but in twice the space. Or, think about this. The South Island alone has a land area of 58,384 square miles and a population of only 1,027,500, that’s more than 150,000 less than the Birmingham metro area alone. You want peace and quiet in this place? No problem.

Auckland is the country’s largest city with almost 1.4 million residents, more than the entire population of the South Island. It is also the city that everyone else in New Zealand loves to hate but can’t seem to express why. I think that it must be the difference in pace and lifestyle in Auckland compared to the rest of the country. Auckland is like just about any other major city in the world, where the focus tends to be big business. No one moves to Auckland to enjoy their retirement years, if you know what I mean. Besides that, it is just kind of a boring place to be. My one suggestion would be the volcano simulation room at the Auckland museum. I wont spoil it for you by trying to elaborate but just know that at one point the whole room starts to shake and the older lady sitting next to me on the couch during it, scout’s honor, started to scream. It took every ounce of my being not to start laughing out loud. But seriously, other than that, skip Auckland.

Wellington is both the political and entertainment capital of New Zealand, affectionately known as Wellywood to those in the New Zealand film industry. We met a guy in a café there who works for Weta Digital, the people behind the Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian and most recently Avatar. He was explaining to us that his job at Weta Digital was to make the fluffy white clouds in the backgrounds. Not any other shape of cloud that you might see in the films, he was quick to point out, just the fluffy ones. What I want to know is how you get into that line of work. Do you go to digital animation school and specialize in fluffy clouds or do you have to work your way up to that position? Weta had apparently recruited him from England for his cloud fluffing skills. Everyone is good at something, I suppose.

Those are the two largest cities in the North Island and as far as this discussion goes today. I know that you are on the edge of your seats to learn more about Aotearoa, the Maori name for New Zealand roughly translated as the land of the long white cloud (I wonder if that guy from Weta knows about that. Maybe someday he will get promoted from the fluffy clouds to the long white ones) but you will just have to tune in some other time… or check out Wikipedia.

Meeting new people in a foreign country can sometimes be a difficult task. Often times there are language or cultural barriers to such an introduction or simply not knowing the best places to go to do so. In Queenstown, however, this is only an issue if you want it to be. The first friends that one usually makes upon their arrival to this little oasis here are people that are staying at their same hostel. The hostel provides for a great way to meet other like minded people because you are all essentially doing the same thing, looking for a cheaper place to stay. Some stay in hostels long term because the rooms are relatively cheap and although there is absolutely no privacy in a hostel, there is also no lack of someone to talk to. More importantly for most longtermers, the hostel requires no bond, aka deposit, to move in. Shorttermers stay for more varied reasons, from the casual backpacker just passing through town to the soon to be local staying until a house becomes available. Just walking into the common area of the hostel is usually enough to find you someone to do something with for at least the day if not a long tern traveling buddy. Almost all of my friends here in Queenstown I met either at Deco, the hostel that I stayed at back in the spring (or fall depending on your hemisphere), or through someone that I met at Deco.

Even outside of the hostel, meeting people in Queenstown is a non-issue. I went out for breakfast this morning with a Deco friend and two others met through a Deco friend. We sat there enjoying our eggs and bacon and bemoaning the fact that it was Australia Day and that the shouting and horn honking were likely going to continue unabashedly though out the day. Several of the local shops and restaurants had even gone so far as to hang up yellow and green (did you know that those were Australia’s colors? Weird, huh? I thought that the flag was red, white and blue.) balloons and make a special Australian menu. My mistake was to be wearing a yellow t-shirt, which meant that every time an Aussie passed me there was either shouting or horn honking. This is why it is so important to invest in Advil (aka ibuprofen). After about my fourth cup of coffee some girl came and sat down at the patio table next to ours and that is all it took. She was having breakfast on her own so we bought her a drink and she joined us for the rest of the afternoon.

The decision was made to go lugeing after breakfast. Now in order to go lugeing you have to take a 10 minute gondola ride up one of the hills, put on a glorified bike helmet and ride another chair lift even farther up the hill. Once you have arrived at well over 700 meters above Queenstown, you are instructed to sit down on what looks like a sled with wheels and a handle bar. If you let go of the handle bar, it slams on the brakes and catapults you off the luge and onto the concrete track where you will immediately be run over by a seven year old in his own luge. Pulling back on the handlebars slows the luge down enough that you can go around the excessively sharp curves without dieing. Once you get the hang of it, you can lean your body all the way to one side and take the curves at full speed on only two of the four wheels. At that point, however, you have luged one too many times and should really find another way to spend your time in Queenstown. Its actually really fun but not having planned to go lugeing this morning, I woke up and put on a cute little summery knee length skirt, fabulous for walking around and sitting by the beach not quite so fabulous for speeding down a hill on a glorified trashcan lid. Needless to say at one point there was a serious wardrobe malfunction that would have made even Janet Jackson embarrassed. This wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t a touristy area, which means that there are cameras all along the course that take souvenir photos of your lugeing adventure. But don’t fret, after slamming on the brakes and almost causing a five luge pile up on the advanced track, I got the skirt back under control before rounding the next curve to where the grandparents wait to watch the kids come down the track. I wonder how the Duggars would have handled something like this?

Five silly Queenstown girls decided that it was time to get in shape and the best way to do that would be to hike up a mountain. The five included two English, one Scottish, one French and one American who were all experienced, even if lately lazy, hikers. There were two hairdressers, one chef, one waitress, and one hopefully some day to be employed so that she will be able to continue to pay the bills girl. The plan was simple. All were supposed to meet at 10am at Morven’s cabin near the base of the trail to begin the day. The text messaging began around 9:15am with everyone having an excuse for why 10am just wasn’t going to work. Mine happened to be that the washing machine that contained my only towel and only set of sheets was taking longer than expected and if I didn’t put them out on the line to dry before we left for the hike they would never be dry before I needed to use them that night. Even so, I was only 15 minutes late and the first to arrive at the cabin. After another half an hour of waiting, Morven and I decided to walk up to Jayne and Morgan’s house which was also near the start of the trail to see if we could hurry them along. It was there we learned that Becky, who lives the farthest away at about 5 kilometers outside of Queenstown, hadn’t even left her house yet. Lets just say that the hike didn’t get underway until well after 11am.

Now, the hike that had been chosen for today’s adventure was Ben Lomond, which stands at 1748 meters. Not a bad little trek. I made this same climb back in October with another friend while there was still snow on the ground so I really wanted to be able to see it again now that all the snow has melted. Before, it took us just under three hours to reach the summit where we had a nice little 15-20 minute rest before making our way back down in just under an hour and a half. All in all, less than five hours from start to finish. Today’s hike was to prove a wee bit different. When a group of girls get together they tend to get a bit over-talkative and even giggly which is one of the things that is so much fun about being a girl, but makes climbing a mountain a bit more difficult. It probably has something to do with that whole lack of oxygen thing but a lot more stops are required to catch your breath when you are busy chatting away while trying to hike. It definitely made for a fun hike even if it was an incredibly slow one. The last hour of the hike is a killer with several sections of very steep rocky terrain that you spend more time climbing over and less time actually walking. This was when it became every woman for herself as we all started up at our own pace knowing that if we stopped for very long we wouldn’t have the energy to start back up again. The view at the top of Ben Lomond is well worth all of the effort that it takes to get up there. You have a 360-degree view of the several mountain ranges that surround Queenstown and lake Wakatipu, some of which still had snow at their peaks. It is such an amazing sight but my legs are definitely going to be unhappy with me in the morning.

About three quarters of the way up the mountain, my phone rang. After realizing that it was, in fact, my phone and getting over the initial shock of the fact that we had cell reception on top of a mountain I reached in my bag to see who it was. Clumsily I hit the ignore button but the good news was that it was one of the companies that I had applied to work for calling me about an interview. When I got to the top of the mountain, I called her back and we scheduled the interview for this Thursday. Could there really be employment in my future? Did she know that I was on the top of Ben Lomond when I called her back because it is a tourism company that I am interviewing with and I think that the fact that I was hiking up a mountain when I got the interview should mean brownie points in my favor? And now we wait. But until then, what a beautiful way to spend the day. If only I had remembered to reapply the sunscreen.

The basic spirit of churches all over the world is pretty much the same. What makes them unique are the people that frequent them and the Reverend who leads them. In many small towns the local church is the backbone of the community, involved in almost every aspect of community life. Church buildings range from old stone or wooden chapels to large modern steel monstrosities and every variety in between. And while its not the church building that makes the church what it is, I would always prefer to go to church in an old small stone chapel with its beautiful stained glass windows because it just feels more like going to church should feel to me.

As I have said before, Queenstown is a very small town with serious small town syndrome where everyone knows everyone and everyone’s business. Unlike many small towns, however, with its high density of twenty and thirty something backpackers, its not a very religious community. Now, there are a fair few churches in town, only three of which have a designated church building. The others meet at alternating times in the gym of the local primary school and one has even taken over what used to be a legal brothel over a bar in the center of town until just a few years ago. That might be an interesting one to visit. I wonder if its still painted bordello red inside?

My choice for the past two weeks has been the local Anglican Church mostly because it was in a beautiful old building and I wanted to see inside. It is located on the aptly named church street and built on land donated to the church by none other than Mr. William G. Rees himself, the original founder of Queenstown whose giant statue complete with sheep sits down by the wharf. From the outside its a quaint small stone and wood chapel. On the wooden pews inside there are cushions of varying sizes, shapes and styles which makes for an interesting sitting experience. It was probably a good idea for the majority geriatric congregation to have some padding in order to be able to sit more comfortably and last through the entire service, but when the pews start to fill up, you don’t exactly get your whole bottom on one single cushion. My tushy spent this past Sunday morning one cheek on a thick, fluffy four inch deep cushion and the other cheek on a flat puke green cushion that probably saw its prime back in the early seventies. Needless to say, there was some serious tushy cheek envy taking place toward the end.

No one takes their own Bible to the Anglican Church because that would just make it one too many books to deal with. When you walk in, before you scope out the pews for any available comfy cushions, you are presented with two books and a bulletin. One book is the hymnal, the other is the liturgy book and the bulletin contains at least two responsive readings that are not attached to the bulletin, itself but are loose and always manage to find a way of falling under the pew in front of me. All of these things you attempt to spread out in front of you on the ledge of the back of the pew ahead so that you can flip furiously through the pages to be able to follow along with the service. I don’t think that I had this much material to organize in law school even. Because its an Anglican church, the hymns are very traditional and the old people in the congregation belt out the ancient tunes at the top of their lungs, occasionally managing to find the correct note before returning back out of key. The responsive readings are also different to any that I have ever heard. We ask God to bless the sheep and the fields and the dolphins and the trees and for the South Pacific Island on which we live (The first thought that came to me after that was “I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair and send him on his way. Get the picture?” Don’t worry I didn’t actually start singing it in church) and for scientists and teachers and doctors and farmers etcetera. Interestingly, however, there is not a blessing for the lawyers. I wonder why that is? And while some churches may occasionally have a prayer in Greek or Hebrew, this church does a prayer in Maori.

At the end of the service, the Vicar picks up a basket of chocolates and hands them out to anyone in the congregation who has had a birthday or other special event during the week before leading everyone in “Happy Birthday to you” where we all try desperately to remember the name of the person or people who had a birthday. Everyone waits in line to shake the vicars hand before leaving the church and I was completely shocked that he managed to remember my name from the week before. The little eccentricities just make the whole experience that much better. But I still may try the Brothel church next week because I just don’t think I can resist.

There are few things in life more charming than an outdoor market. Whether it’s a small town farmer’s market or the overpriced flea market just outside of most major cities, there is just something so quaint and comforting about the whole idea. Actually purchasing something at the market is often times just an after thought. The beauty is in just wandering around the different tables or stalls and people watching. Rarely will you find a more diverse atmosphere. On one side of the market you will always find the ageing hippy trying to sell random trinkets or trippy paintings. Further down there are those sellers who are trying to peddle their handmade jewelry or crafts, hoping that they will be able to drum up enough business to one day move out of the market and into a proper store. While there will always be a few vendors marketing items of actual value outside of the market, they are the least interesting of the bunch and often so overpriced that they don’t sell much of anything.

Market days in Queenstown are no exception. Every Saturday morning, two separate markets spring up on opposite sides of this small tourist town. On the sidewalks and grass at the Wharf, there is the general market that caters mainly to the tourist crowd with its jewelry made out of old New Zealand coins and the soap that is shaped like delicious cup cakes. On more than one occasion, I have seen a small child run up to the cupcake table hoping to buy a sweet treat only to be utterly disappointed when they learn that the pink frosting is just a lie. The setup begins around eight in the morning and the vendors remain until the early afternoon. So many people pass through the wharf during that time without actually buying anything that several of the people manning the tables sit there reading and have to be startled back into the moment when someone decides to make a purchase. Local musicians often times set up in the grassy area and play for the browsing crowds. The best was the tightrope walker who spent well over an hour trying to get the rope tied between the trees tight enough to actually stand on. He wasn’t very good but it made for an entertaining way to spend the morning.

On the other side of town, in the Anglican Church courtyard, the local farmer’s market sets up its tables. This is where you are more likely to find the locals. Unlike many farmer’s market, there is less locally grown fruit and vegetables and more home made baked goods including both a brownie booth and a pie both. Recently, a sausage vendor has arrived. The three proprietors of the sausage stand are all foreign and have decided that they are going to try to remedy New Zealand’s apparent inability to produce decent sausage by making it themselves. In only their second week, they have already developed quite a following and there is always a line in front of their stand. My favorite, however, has to be the coffee vendor. Where is he getting those coffee beans because I am pretty sure that coffee is not a native New Zealand crop? But there he sits, selling his bags of coffee.

No matter which market that you visit in Queenstown though, the people watching is superb. Every stereotypical kind of person visits Queenstown from the super wealthy European traveler staying at the St. Moritz to the South American backpacker who lives in a one-bedroom cabin with nine other people to the exceptionally rare native Queenstowner pushing a stroller through the crowds. One of my favorite ways to spend a warm, sunny Saturday morning is by sitting in the ice cream shop on the wharf with a cup of coffee and watch the people milling about and trying to guess where they are from and what they do back home. More often than not, you can figure out where they are from and they’re general economic status just by what they are wearing. The Asian tourists always have a camera strapped around their necks while most of the European tourists look like they got dressed to go hiking with cargo shorts and boots. The fanny pack, known as a bum bag here because fanny refers to a certain delicate area of the female body, is often sported by the over fifty male wearing tall white socks with his shorts. The tourists almost always are wearing either hiking boots or sneakers while the locals are wearing regular shoes, though few but me are brave enough to wear heels to walk around town because of the number of hills in the area. Worse than the hills though are the coble stone streets so I have resorted to keeping a pair of flip flops, aka jandals, in my purse for foot emergencies. Comfortable feet or not, with the backdrop of the Remarkables mountain range surrounding the crystal clear waters of lake Wakatipu, there is really nothing more relaxing than a Saturday morning in Queenstown, except maybe any other morning having a coffee in Queenstown.

Ok so I may not have a job just yet, but according to my network of sources I may soon be getting loads of interviews. That sounds like a good start at least. What it appears is going on is that several employers are intrigued by my, shall we say, interesting resume. More than one potential employer has asked people that know me whether or not I am actually a lawyer and it seems that they would like to meet this so called lawyer who is applying for jobs as a waitress or, even funnier, a hotel cleaner. Well, if it gets me in the door then I guess that’s good enough for me. I will just have to win them over with my stunning smile and charming personality, if only I actually had a stunning smile or a charming personality. Maybe I can fake it.

What is even more amusing, however, is that I am apparently not the first lawyer to run screaming away from the practice of law and end up on the other side of the world desperately trying to hide from any and all questions about tortuous interference with business relationships or res ipsa loquitor. Back in October, I shared a room in the hostel with a girl from Taiwan who had left her legal practice as a litigator to come to New Zealand and work in a factory. She said that at first it was hard going from having been respected at work to being the low man on the totem pole, so to speak, but that after the initial shock had worn off, she found that she enjoyed working in a stress free environment even if it came at a considerably lower pay rate.

As I sat in the meeting with the employment agency this morning trying to once again explain why I had not actually become a full time practicing lawyer after law school, she told me that I wasn’t even their only client who had done the same thing. It turns out that several offices in the Queenstown area like to hire former lawyers because of the alleged attention to detail and ability to “think outside the box.” They must not have been to the law school that I went to because if anything we were taught to only think inside the box and to follow precedent like it was the law. Well technically it is the law but you know what I mean. I digress. Hopefully this love of former lawyers will extend to me and I can get a nice cushy desk job at a reasonable rate of pay. Just about anything will pay better than being a waitress or a cleaner. Its not exactly like working for the skydive or bungy jump companies but it’d do for now and as long as it allows me to live in this absolutely gorgeous locale and occasionally go out and play in it, its perfect.

Warning: this post contains a tiny bit of a rant against Americans. I promise that I love America and Americans, most of the time.

One of the interesting things about Queenstown when I was here back in the spring was that there was a lack of Americans. No one was certain why exactly this was, but many suspected that it had something to do with the economy. The recession in the US meant that many Americans were not traveling as much and Americans, in general, don’t do the working holiday thing so Queenstown was almost completely devoid of Americans until I arrived, affectionately being known as American Steph (there is another Steph in our friend group hence the need for the distinction). In fact, the entire time that I was in Queenstown the first time, I met only three other Americans, two of whom were a couple in their late fifties from north Alabama staying in my hostel. It’s such a small world.

Well the winds must have changed because it is blowing in the Americans from all directions. Long gone are the days when you would never here an American accent while walking down the streets. The ones that are here now tend to travel in packs, sauntering slowly down the street and blocking the sidewalks. But, they spend money in Queenstown, which is what allows people like me to be able to live and hopefully work here, so I wont complain about the American tourists any more. However, now they aren’t just vacationing here, they are doing working holidays here as well. When did America find my little international oasis? I was convinced that no other Americans would be here doing what I am doing, and yes I know how selfish that sounds.

The first American that I met after getting back into Queenstown was a girl from Alaska who was looking at my house at the same time that I was. She ended up moving in so now not only are there other Americans here in town but I am living with one. And not ten minutes ago my Brazilian roommate Michelle came in the house to tell me that we are probably going to be getting a new roommate on Sunday. He is apparently from New Jersey. Really? So, I came to the other side of the world only to live with people from home. I guess it could be worse. God bless the USA!