tahghagen

Then

Now

Words by Teresa Hagen, Photos by Herman Hagen

In 1980, I was living in Nacogdoches, Texas, and had never traveled outside the U.S. Meanwhile, Herman was living in Lelystad, Netherlands, and had never traveled to the U.S. Now, certainly people would say it was fate that brought us together, however I’m here to tell you that it had nothing to do with the universe but a common problem that bedevils all our lives in 2018: computer error.

Yes, that’s right, we met by computer mistake. I was fresh out of college and decided that I should see something of the world before I settled in a career-oriented job, so I ordered tons of brochures about tours in Europe and the U.S., finally settling on one that involved a bus camping trip across the U.S. Since I could only afford half the trip, I chose the northern arc, which went across the country from New York City to San Francisco. Herman chose the round trip, which circled the U.S., starting In NYC, south as far as Texas, west to San Francisco, then northeast back to NYC. Alas, things didn’t go quite as planned, and he ended up on my bus taking the northern arc first.

That was almost 38 years ago, and the one thing that has remained a common interest during our 36+ years of marriage is a love for travel. Now, we are entering a new phase of our lives called retirement, or as I like to call it, the great adventure. So, we’ve sold our home, our cars; stored 135+ boxes of personal belongings and are officially nomads.

One of our biggest frustrations throughout our mutual careers has always been the lack of time to learn about and enjoy the destinations we’ve visited. That changes as of March 5, 2018. We’re off for a 90-day visit each to New Zealand and Australia, and will not grace the U.S. shores again until the end of August.

Initially, I was hesitant to start this blog, as I thought nothing we would be doing could be that interesting to anyone but ourselves. While that may be true, I did remember that, as a writer and storyteller, I have always been cursed with, um, unique events that tend to take place wherever I go (“The Hurricane Cruise”, “The Great Field Mouse Escapade”, “The Cambodian Elevator Heist,” to name a few) so I have no doubt I’ll have several tales to tell.

In an effort to entertain you before we embark upon our new travels, my first posts will give you a look back at some of our past adventures. Stay tuned!

Leaping into Traveling (The Beginning)

I was a teenager the first time I got on a plane. After hearing w-a-y too many horror stories about turbulence and air sickness, I sat down in my seat (luxurious in comparison to today’s torture devices), I pulled out the safety brochure, read it front to back, then grabbed the handy vomiting bag, making sure I was ready for any and all emergencies. Much to my delight, I found that neither item was necessary as I marveled over the thrill of acceleration when the plane lifted off into the sky. From then on, there was no turning back.

After 45 years of travel, I still find it the most exciting way to meet people different from me and experience other cultures. I often encourage my fellow U.S. citizens to travel, especially outside the country, because that’s when you begin to realize that people are the same everywhere; all they want for their families is safety, security, and enough food to eat and water to drink. Yes, different cultures have different definitions of what that may mean to them, but if you take the political/religious/military ideology out of the equation, we all have a lot more in common than we think. It’s harder to label someone as “the other” when you realize that.

Water Poltergeist

Herman and I are beset by water poltergeists. Every home, condo and apartment we have ever occupied has developed leaks. But the best evidence of a ghostly creature shacking up with us took place in our temporary home in the Netherlands right before we emigrated to the U.S.

We were waiting for the final approval for Herman’s U.S. permanent visa, at which point we would only have 30 days to leave the Netherlands and reach the U.S. where the visa application would get the last stamp in his passport (a rather anti-climactic affair as it turns out). Thus, we had to sell our home and car (just as we’ve done now) and take up residence in a small vacation bungalow that was part of a large recreation park for families.

From day one, the shower drain was determined to make me understand how much water I was using by filling the space between the shower floor and the top of the lip, which I estimate was about four or five inches tall. Finally, I’d had enough and I marched over to the administration office to ask for a plumber to come and unplug the drain.

Now, you should know my Dutch was fairly reasonable after three years in the Netherlands, lessons in an elementary school alongside a little Vietnamese boy, and family members who didn’t speak a word of English. At least I thought I understood the language until the two men who eventually came to look at my shower predicament removed the toilet from its drain hole, stuck a small pressure washer type implement into the hole to run water through and hopefully dislodge whatever was stuck in the pipes, then ran out into the street to remove the manhole cover to see if anything began to float away. At first, there were nods of approval that, yes, this was having its intended effect, but then a concerned look crossed their faces.

The man in the street yelled to the man in our bungalow, “Wij hebben nodig het brandslang!” (We need the fire hose!). Fire hose? They didn’t say fire hose, did they? They did!! So, along came this guy carrying a regulation size firefighter rubber hose that was at least five to six inches wide when flat. He hooked it up to the hydrant in the street, unwound it and stuck the nozzle in the toilet drain hole. Back in the street, he turned the hydrant on and the formally flat hose was now bulging with pressurized water that raced into the bungalow and slammed down into the drain. Not to be deterred, the blockage didn’t budge. However, I now had fountains erupting out of both the kitchen and bathroom sinks! And the solution to this problem, so I was commanded, was to grab towels and run back and forth trying to stop up those drains.

Now, dear readers, you would think that we would have had a successful, um, evacuation of said blockage after such an assault, but alas, all that was accomplished were two perplexed men and a flooded bathroom. It took another 24 hours before the illustrious crew determined that there was a broken pipe and all that drama was for nothing, so they moved us to another unit. Fortunately, the water poltergeists must have been too exhausted to follow us.

The Great Field Mouse Escapade

Yet one more story from the Dutch bungalow chronicles.

We knew we were in trouble the day we found a hole in our cloth shopping bag. It was an incredibly neat and tidy round hole, so it was doubtful that a knife had done the damage. Then we found the droppings on the floor in the living room. Yep, we had a mouse.

After further investigation, we discovered that the interloper had taken up residence behind our portable closet in our bedroom. Now, I don’t know about you, but when I think of a mouse, my image is more of a rat-sized creature with big, ugly teeth, so I was prepared for war. Unfortunately, neither Herman nor I resemble Winston Churchill when it comes to strategy. I forget what we planned on using to demolish the enemy, but with implement in hand, we decided to move the closet and take quick action.

As we moved the closet, a small creature flew out like a shot and I got my first brief glimpse. It was a field mouse with huge eyes and a tail twice as long as its body. I turned pleading eyes on Herman and declared, “I can’t kill THAT!”

Okay, new strategy. Herman grabbed a broom, and I found an old shoe box with a lid. After closing the bedroom door to prevent escape, Herman proceeded to “encourage” the mouse toward the closed door where I stood ready with the shoe box. The poor thing was so terrified (as were we) that she sprang across the room, jumping from curtains to bed to floor with Herman in tow and me shouting battle plans. Finally, Ms. Mouse ran toward my shoe box and I readied the trap…except she squeezed under the slit under the door and disappeared into the living room. Great!

It was now at least 12:30 a.m. (oh, I forgot to mention that we figured out the mouse was in our bedroom as we were going to bed), so our patience was wearing thin (never mind the mouse’s terror level). We finally managed to locate our prey near the door to the outside, which seemed like a perfect solution, as this was a mouse meant for the outdoors.

We positioned ourselves on either end of that wall where the door was located, brooms in hand. Our thought was that we would be able to sweep the mouse out the door, but she was having none of it. For the next hour, we swished her back and forth like a ping pong ball until finally, miraculously, she disappeared into the night. Exhausted, we flopped onto the couch. Nature 1, Humans 1. It was a tie at best.

Kia Ora from New Zealand!

The Hagens have landed in New Zealand! Sadly, there are no interesting stories to report about our flight, so I’ll fast forward to our landing, where, of course, a new chapter unfolded. Upon resuming a standing position after a 13-hour flight in a semi-fetal version of babies in the womb (if you know a better way to try and sleep in an economy seat–even if it is a premium economy seat–please send tips my way.), we shuffled off the plane and into the border patrol area.

Most border patrol areas are rather non-descript and this one was no different…until we reached the end. A kiosk with a computer screen blocked our exit to the free world beyond. Uh-oh, one last hoop to jump through. Along with a month-long respiratory “thing” that we hoped antibiotics would finally knock out and physical strain from all the packing, Herman was loopy from the plane “birthing.” He tapped the screen and began answering the questions. To be fair, the first two questions elicited “yes” responses, so naturally, he assumed the third would result in the same response. You know what they say about assuming, well, “yes” was not the wisest response to the question, “Have you been convicted of any crime within the last 10 years?” The nearby attendant was able to resolve the issue, but I can’t help wondering if we might have a police car tailing us for the next six months. Herman does have that Clint Eastwood squinty eyes look about him, you know.

Of course, we rented a car from the only company that appears to have just one shuttle, so we were delighted when we called to find out that he was right outside of door 11 and was waiting for us. When we finally located door 11, we walked out to see our shuttle disappearing into the distance. It took at least another 30 minutes for him to come back by and pick us up. Most of his conversation was about the weather and how hot and muggy it was. Finally, we arrived at the car rental location. The friendly, efficient customer service lady processed our paperwork quickly and went out to drive our car around to the front. I should have known it was all too easy. She walked back to where we were waiting and with an apologetic tone informed us that the car needed alignment, so she recommended that we go have breakfast at this great café nearby, the car rental company’s treat. Who are we to say no, besides, we had no choice. A different person drove us to the restaurant, saying someone would return in about an hour.

Admittedly, we weren’t all that hungry because Air New Zealand feeds you really tasty food, and breakfast before we landed was quite filling, but we did our best to eat again (we had the best pancakes, ever). At this point, we’re getting really tired and beginning to worry how much energy we had left to drive the hour and a half to Hamilton, the location of our first hotel. An hour passed, but no driver arrived. Finally, we called and begged them to send someone to pick us up. A few minutes later, the airport shuttle arrived with the same driver that picked us up at the airport. Talk about déjà vu!

Instead of taking us to the car rental place, he proceeded back to the airport, rotating from the international to the domestic terminals and repeating the same weather comments each time he picked up a new passenger. The only saving grace came when his shuttle was full and he headed for the car rental place. Oh, but there was one more adventure to come. A shuttle bus towing a small enclosed cart behind it for luggage took a sharp right turn, and all the luggage in the little cart came barreling out into the street. Our driver tried to notify the other shuttle driver by beeping but to no avail. The next thing we knew, he’s heading back to the airport again! Fortunately, he didn’t make another round and we finally got off the shuttle and into our rental car. When we got to Hamilton, we basically dropped the luggage and collapsed.

The Oreo Cookie Cow

Marokopa Falls

Rocky Outcropping

Patriotic Kiwi

The Oreo Cookie Cow

Raglan, New Zealand

Bridal Veil Falls

Bridal Veil Falls Trail

Hamilton Gardens Indian Char Bagh Garden

Hamilton Gardens Italian Renaissance Garden

Where’s the Mother of Dragons?

Hamilton Gardens

Herman and I have had a lovely four days exploring Hamilton and the region around it after lying comatose almost 24 hours upon arrival in New Zealand. Although the weather has been exceptionally warm (oh, let’s face it, it’s hot!), we walked around Hamilton, visiting the Waikato Museum Te Whare Taonga o Waikato, where there is the most incredibly well-preserved Maori canoe plus other carvings. Next door is an art gallery that was so well thought out that, if I were that wealthy, I would have bought almost everything inside, and that’s a rare impulse on my part. Fortunately for our pocket book, we moved on. On day 2, we visited the Hamilton Gardens, another must-see if you’re ever in this area. For more of Herman’s photos from Hamilton and Hamilton Gardens, visit http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018/MARCH-8-2018-HAMILTON/ and http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018/MARCH-9-2018-HAMILTON-Gardens/.

Herman and I have a great fondness for waterfalls. Perhaps we see it as a way to give praise to the water gods in the hope of warding off the poltergeists, though a fat lot of good that’s done us. Day 3 led us to Raglan, which is along the coast, and to the Bridal Veil waterfall. Beautiful! And for this time of year (end of summer), incredibly robust with water. For more of Herman’s photos from Raglan and the Bridal Veil Falls, visit http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018/MARCH-10-2918-RAGLAN-COASTAL-DRIVE/.

Today, we visited the Marokopa Falls near the Waitomo Glowworm Caves. We had planned on visiting the caves, but considering the cost of the tickets (NZ$50 for two) and the negative reviews, we decided to pass. On our last visit to New Zealand, we stumbled on a small cluster of shrubs formed into a cave, which contained the elusive creatures. The ideal environment for a glowworm is a dark, quiet environment with a lot of moisture. Now, you would think any creature with the word “worm” in its name would not be that impressive. You’d be wrong! As we stood in this dark cocoon surrounded by low-hanging plants dripping with dew and holding our breath, we watched as one tiny light after another began to glow until the place lit up like a string of Christmas lights.

On the way back from the falls, we passed through scenery that reminded me of “Lord of the Rings,” particularly a spot with a lot of rocky outcrops. Perhaps those of you who have seen the movie might remember the rocky spot where a wraith stabs Frodo in the shoulder. If it wasn’t a filming location, I feel quite sure Jackson and his crew must have filmed nearby.

Today’s trip also gave us the chance to sample Big Azz ice cream. Yum! Herman had a lot of opportunities to stretch his photography muscles, including photos of giant Kiwi birds and an Oreo cookie cow. Please note we went to great death-defying feats to capture a picture of this cow. We’ve never seen anything like it before. You might note that I have replaced the top photo of the blog with one by Herman. I would have preferred one that didn’t have me in it, but the peaceful aura surrounding that spot is not to be denied, so just try to ignore the “model.” For more of Herman’s photos of the Marokopa Falls, rocky outcrops and Oreo cookie cows, visit http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018/MARCH-11-MAROKOPA-FALLS/.

Oh, one last thought for the day, if you ever think that you might be able to boil an egg by placing it in a ceramic cup, pouring boiling water over it, and letting it steep for five minutes, don’t bother. Life without a pot and a stovetop is hard! Tomorrow, on to Rotorua!

Do You Know the Way to Rotorua?

Anglican Church in Cambridge

Stained Glass Window

Double Gazebo

Rotorua Museum

Lawn Bowling

Thermal Pool

Thermal Lake

St. Faith’s Church

St. Faith’s Church Interior

Etched Glass of Maori Christ

Maori Meeting House

A Shy Pukeko

Blue Lake

Green Lake

Dried Hot Mud

Waterfall

Paua Shells

Finally, a Picture of Herman!

This is Day 3 and our last day in Rotorua. Herman is off hiking while I’m taking full advantage of a rest day.

We left Hamilton on Monday, the 12^th, stopped temporarily in Cambridge for a wonderful photo of a double decker gazebo, and visited a charming Anglican church. I’m surprised by the number of churches, which vie with Maori meeting houses almost everywhere you look.

On the way out of Cambridge, back on the narrow road to Rotorua, we encountered a line of stopped cars, backed up as far as we could see in front of us. With flashbacks of Los Angeles traffic in our minds, we stopped and waiting patiently for the road to clear, but then we saw cars turning around and knew that our GPS-led route was off the table. A person directing traffic said that there was a crash that would take 3-4 hours to clear, and we needed to drive to another town nearby, at which point there would be signs pointing us to Rotorua. Okay…basically, we ended up following all the other cars until we started seeing signs for Rotorua. However, our GPS was getting rather irritated with us, prompting us every half mile to turn around until she finally gave up out of pure exasperation.

Without any further drama, we made it to our destination and our new hotel, which I will admit is somewhat of a letdown after our more comfortable accommodation in Hamilton. The property is riddled with concrete poles, one of which Herman promptly backed into. Now, to be fair, Herman is an incredible driver (I mean, anyone who can drive fearlessly along the Amalfi Coast in Italy deserves recognition), but this was just not his day. Add to the scraped paint a missing hubcap, and we’re having a grand start to our 90-day car rental. I had hoped that we would return the car in June to the rental company, dirty but intact, unlike the car we rented 20 years ago that was so old and decrepit upon receipt in Auckland that pieces of it littered our route throughout both islands. When we dropped it off at the end of that trip, we thought we heard the sound of metal clanging, envisioning the poor vehicle abandoning all its external and possibly internal parts on the garage floor.

Rotorua is a big center for Maori culture and geothermal activity. Sadly, we don’t have any photos of Maori dances or a Hangi (a method of cooking food using heated rocks buried in a pit oven) as we experienced an evening at a Maori village during our last visit to New Zealand. I do highly recommend it, though. Also, tourism has caught up to New Zealand, so even visiting some of the major geothermal areas is very expensive. Fortunately, there are still plenty of things to do, and Herman got some great shots of a heated lake and birds, including a shy Pukeko.

We were so disappointed to discover that one of the most iconic buildings, the Rotorua Museum (Te Whare Taonga o Te Arawa) was closed due to earthquake upgrades that became necessary after recent earth movement activity across the country. Originally a bath house, the museum houses fine arts, photography, social history, and Taonga objects from the Maori culture. We were able to take advantage of a free walking tour of the property. I also learned a little bit about lawn bowling, as the area surrounding the building is government gardens with multiple uses for relaxation and recreation.

Apparently, Christian missionaries had a major impact in New Zealand during the 1800s. The St. Faith’s Church in Rotorua combines typical Christian architecture and stained glass windows with Maori carvings and a window with an etched figure of Christ wearing a Maori cloak. We were told that the chieftain at the time that the missionaries arrived directed his people to split between joining the Anglican and Catholic faiths. Across from the church is a Maori meeting house, though unfortunately, it was closed for a, well, um, meeting.

Yesterday (Wednesday), we visited the Blue and Green Lakes, both so inviting and peaceful. We also visited the Buried Village of Te Wairoa, a once thriving tourist town during the mid-1800s due to the nearby Pink and White Terraces (a series of naturally heated, thermal pools) on Lake Rotomahana. On June 10, 1886, Mt. Tarawera erupted, burying most of the village in hot ash and mud and destroying the terraces. You could see the dried mud up against what was left of some of the buildings, and I can only imagine how terrifying that must have been to see that coming toward you if you were trapped in your home! There was a waterfall on the property, bringing our total to three so far. For more of Herman’s photos, go to http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018.

Tomorrow, we’re on our way to Lake Taupo for one night, so you probably will not hear from me again until we reach Tongariro National Park.

When Not Hiking Is the Secret to a Happy Marriage

I am married to an Uber Hiker. Now, Herman will tell you that he’s just your average trekker, but if you’re someone who can hike 10-13 miles in a day and even get out of bed the next morning, you are an Uber Hiker in my book. While I admire the sheer determination and physical athleticism of such a feat (or pardon the pun, feet), I discovered my hiking limits years ago when we visited Glacier National Park.

We decided to hike up to a glacier in the park, sort of in memory of the glaciers we’d seen in Norway when we first got married. As a note of caution, it is not wise to take your in-laws on a honeymoon trip, even if it is the only way to afford seeing such spectacular Norwegian fiords and glaciers, but I digress. The Montana route gave us the choice to either hike six miles or take a boat ride across the lake and connect to the path at the four-mile mark. Well, being the “efficient” hiker that I am, I voted for the boat ride/four-mile hike. Of course, cutting off two miles of an ascending hiking trail comes with consequences.

The trail began on an immediate incline. To make matters worse, the path continued upward along the side of a rock face with full sun exposure (and guess who forgot their sunscreen). Four agonizing miles/hours later, we reached the top. Panting, I sat down on the nearest rock, vowing to fell some trees for an overnight shelter if necessary to avoid the climb back down. Herman surveyed the view and commented, “You know, this glacier isn’t as nice as the once we saw in Norway.”

There was a moment of silence, and as any longtime male spouse or partner knows, that is never a good sign. I fixed Herman with my best glare and said, “THIS is the most BEAUTIFUL glacier you have ever seen in your LIFE!!” Wisely, Herman didn’t dispute my assessment of the scenery, so we took some photos, rested a while, then undertook the return trip down the trail, with my “brakes” (knees) protesting the entire time. When we reached the bottom of the trail, I plunged my head into the glacier-fed lake just to cool off. The next day, Herman suggested we take another hike. Divorce was momentarily on the table, but that’s when the new plan (and the title to this blog) went into action.

This past Friday (March 16), we left our humble abode with the sparking electrical plugs and Hobbit-sized couch in Rotorua to travel to the largest lake by surface area (238 square miles) in New Zealand, Lake Taupo. While Taupo is considered a tourist hotspot, it doesn’t feel that way, at least during this time of year. There was a nice breeze coming off the freshwater lake and, for the most part, the area was very tranquil. The next morning, as we stopped for photos, I watched the people who were strolling/walking/jogging on the trail that ran alongside the lake and thought I could easily get used to this lifestyle.

On Saturday, Saint Patrick’s Day, we drove to Tongariro National Park. This park sits on land that is still volcanically active, and you could see steam vents in a couple of places. We decided to splurge and spend a few nights at the Chateau Tongariro, which has a fantastic view of Mount Ngauruhoe, which was known as Mount Doom (the home of Mordor) in the “Lord of the Rings” movies. Mount Ngauruhoe last erupted in 2012, so the hotel has signs alerting you to the fact that if you hear an alarm, you are to assemble in the reception area. Not sure what happens after that, but my guess would be “abandon ye all hope.” Oh, and our bathroom toilet sounds like a giant cave troll chugging a beer after we flush.

Herman decided to take a 13-mile hike to see the Red Crater and the Emerald Lakes. According to a New Zealand website, “the Emerald Lakes fill explosion craters near the summit of Mount Tongariro. Their brilliant colors are partly caused by dissolved minerals, washed down from the thermal area of nearby Red Crater.” Herman also anticipated getting a mist-free photo of Mount Ngauruhoe, which most of the time tended to wear a crown of clouds. He took off at 6 a.m., leaving me to my own devices for the day. It’s rather chilly in the mornings, here, so I briefly ducked out on a terrace to take a photo of Mount Ngauruhoe, which was, surprisingly, cloud free. This is an important point, as when Herman returned around 3 p.m., he told me that his quest to take photos of the Red Crater and Mount Ngauruhoe without fog had failed. I couldn’t help feeling a bit superior as I showed him my cloud-free photo of Mount Ngauruhoe, and I didn’t even have to leave the hotel. He was not amused.

Please do visit Herman’s photo website to see the photos from this blog page and many others: http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018/MARCH-16-2018-TAUPO/; http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018/MARCH-17-2018-CHATEAU-TONGARIRO/; http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018/MARCH-18-2018-TONGARIRO-CROSSING/.

It’s Never What You Think

Turoa Ski Area

Possible Avalanche?

Ya Think?

Kiwi Sighting

Chicken on Tour

Sheep-in-One!

Happy Golf Course Maintenance Workers

Rush Hour

Can You Spot the Hobbit?

Near a LOTR Filming Location

Three Sisters and an Elephant

The mountains around Tongariro National Park are high and cold enough to attract skiers during the winter, so yesterday, (March 20), we took a drive up to one of the ski areas. Upon our return down the zigzag road, we were careful to keep our speed in check because you never know what might be around the next zig or zag, which is why I found the sign posted right before the road turned into a pretzel rather amusing. I think perhaps the sign posting service needs to back the sign up about a half mile because I could just imagine a car careening off the edge of the road if the driver waited that long to “slow down now.” Or perhaps the sign needed to say “The point of no return.”

We also got our first sighting of a kiwi, the bird that is (see photo above). To be honest, the sign is probably the only opportunity we will have to see one in the wild. I suggested to Herman that we should come back after dark and park our car by the sign and sit there for about an hour. Perhaps we’d actually see one try and cross the road, but alas, Herman wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea.

Today (March 21, 2018), we left Tongariro National Park for the long journey to New Plymouth. After we’d been on a tree-shrouded road for about an hour, Herman spotted a scenic lookout sign and decided to take a detour. Up we went along a typical narrow, winding road until we got to the top. And what met our eyes? Three chickens! Yes, I mean your average barnyard chickens. We have no idea why they were there, because, according to Herman, the scenery wasn’t all that impressive anyway, so we left the chickens to their own devices and drove back to the main road.

The North Island is very hilly, and it’s very hard not to imagine that you are in Hobbinton and should spy a Hobbit at any moment. However, today’s journey took us through a hilly area, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Unfortunately, Herman was unable to find a safe place to pull over for a photo, so I have been racking my brain on how to describe the scenery to you. At first, I thought an apt description would be a sharpened pencil, but that didn’t seem right. Then, I got it. The hills looked exactly like green carpeted, 1950s style, ladies pointy bra undergarments! Voila! I did say they looked very unusual.

We’ve been seeing a lot more sheep the last couple of days. Now, sheep in New Zealand come in different ratings, depending on the time of year when you visit. If you tour the country in December, like we did 20 years ago, you will notice a lot of X-rated sheep, meaning totally naked thanks to recent shearing. In March, which is the beginning of the fall, sheep are more R- and PG-13-rated. As you can imagine, this makes wool a prized commodity. However, we’ve come across a new use for these sometimes fluffy creatures…golf course maintenance workers. Yes, indeed, we stumbled upon a golf course, teaming with sheep that were contentedly munching on premium grass. I must say that seems like a brilliant solution in a country that has more sheep than people, but there is one caveat that gives me pause. I’m not so sure I would want to put my hand in a cup to retrieve the golf ball. Just saying!

Don’t forget to check out more of Herman’s photography at http://www.hermanator.net/NEW-ZEALAND-2018. Until next time!

A Rain of Signs

Proud Bread

Now, This Is Advertising!

Everything Is Bigger in New Zealand

Printed on a Sidewalk

Anyone for a Game of Thrones?

Hmm…

A Maori Tribute

An Artistic Depiction of a Maori Story About a Whale

Windmill

Uitsmijter

Oreo Cookie Cow Family

Well, goodness me, I guess time really does fly by when you’re having fun! It’s March 27, and we’ve just ended our first full day in (windy) Wellington. The weather is cooperating, which is more than I can say for our time in New Plymouth, where it rained off and on for almost 36 hours. Fortunately, we had a good wifi connection and spent the time binge-watching “Stranger Things” on Netflix. I would say our most valuable item in our luggage is a cable that connects my computer to the TV so we can watch Netflix comfortably.

Upon leaving New Plymouth, the weather gave us enough of a break to drive to Egmont National Park. We both saw the local waterfall, Herman got a hike in, and we managed to settle into our room at the Dawson Falls Mountain Lodge before the heavens opened up once again. Our next destination was Wanganui, which is a nice town near the sea. Due to earthquake upgrades, two of the buildings we had hoped to visit were closed, so once again, Netflix came to our rescue. We also had a lovely conversation with a New Zealand couple that we met at an Irish pub, and they promptly invited us to come visit them upon our return to the North Island in May. That’s the third person/couple we’ve met that has invited us to their home. New Zealanders are right friendly people!

Yesterday, we drove to Wellington. On the way, we stopped in Foxton, a little town with a windmill. There is a large expat Dutch population in the country, many of whom settled here after World War II. To help with assimilation and prevent a weakening of the New Zealand culture, Dutch immigrants were spread all across the North Island and probably the South Island, too. But in Foxton, the local community has built a museum that honors both the Dutch and Maori history of the area. Along with the museum and the windmill is a small café, where we had the best uitsmijter (an open-faced ham and cheese sandwich with two fried eggs on top). The Dutch eat uitsmijters for lunch, not breakfast.

Today, in Wellington, we took a tour of the New Zealand parliament. It was so interesting to learn about the country’s form of coalition government, which consists of a 120-person House of Representatives. The prime minister is a woman, Jacinda Ardern, and she’s only 37 years old! Did you know New Zealand was the first country to give women the right to vote?

Considering the weather and a lot of time on the road, Herman brings to you via some of his photos something most common in New Zealand: three-dimensional billboards. We’ve also seen some interesting memorials and city artwork. Also, thanks to the artistry of our friend Rick Yenofsky, we bring you an Oreo cookie cow family. Well, dear ones, adieu until the next update.