Food for Thought

When I packed Ground Zero into my backpack, the other me cried,

A photo posted by Shuni Vashti (@automidori) on Dec 17, 2015 at 7:59pm PST

"What an irrelevant book you are taking with you! New Zealand! That's the complete opposite to Nepal, Pakistan, Afghanistan... "

"I know. But, I have already started reading this and I cannot wait until I return from New Zealand to read the rest."

"You should have brought this book with you on your Silk Road journey. It would have been more appropriate."

"I know. But, at the time I went on the Silk Road, even on the second time, this book wasn't  published yet. Besides, I had other authors with me: Paul Theroux and Colin Thubron."

The dialogue concluded with whatsoever, Ground Zero is thrice worth to enjoy instead of Jetstar's paid iPad of low taste choices."

#####

Christchurch, December 26th 2015

One of the few things I don't like about New Zealand is that I have to make a quick decision of what I'm going to have for dinner. Dine in, or take away, decide now, before 6:00 PM -- the latest! I'm talking from Christchurch, a city considered big to New Zealand standard. I'm talking in summer, a season with people twice the amount last winter. 

To my discontentment,  I watched the cute lovely cafes and shops on New Regent Street preparing for closing. Some were like had been shut for a long time ago. Dead quiet. Even the Chinese ones. I think New Zealand is the only country where the Chinese become lazy. Aha.

I walked up and down the street near my hostel, Jailhouse Accommodation. To the left and to the right, in search for food. Closed. Closed. Closed. Thai Restaurant... uhm, no. Afghan Restaurant... uhm, looks good. My taste buds are sometimes more Central Asian than Asian. But... entering and dining here alone, I gazed through the window, seems being out of place. I walked away. Closed. Closed. Closed. I came back, gaze through the window, a man sitting near the window smiled at me. But... ah. I walked away.

"Hey! Do you think you are entering the country or the restaurant?" questioned the other me. "Order for take away and eat at the hostel!"

I came back. Pushed the door open, read the menu, and pointed at one that said had lamb something. New Zealand and Central Asia combined, lamb should not be missed.

The Afghan man (which I found out later) behind the counter replied but I couldn't understand his English. "Bla, bla, bla. But if you want, I can give you... bla, bla, bla." To whatever that was, I said yes.

Not long after, several men came in. They too looked Central Asian. They sat at a long table in the corner. I watched dish after dish laid in front of them. Surely this restaurant is a place to celebrate a feast. Furthermore, a place of no worries about halal or non-halal, in a country where you are a minority. A big picture of Kaaba hung on the wall.

"Would you like this, too?" the Afghan man pointed on a big plate he was about to serve to his guests.

"Oh! No." I didn't bother to ask what that was. It just looked huge. That can feed me for three days.

He continued preparing my order. I was curious and excited. What would it be like?

"Would you like some curry?"

"Excuse me?"

"Curry. Like this." He dipped  into a big saucepan.

"Oh, curry. No... thank you... I think this is enough." Errr... did he look disappointed? Ah... if only I had few more days in Christchurch, I would gladly go sampling his cuisines.

While handing out a twenty dollar note and waiting for the two dollar change, I asked him,

"Excuse me. Where are you from?"

"Me? I'm from Afghanistan." That minute I scolded myself. Afghan Restaurant, you know it.

"How about you? Where are you from?" he asked me back.

"Indonesia."

"Indonesia? But... you are Chinese, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

"I worked in Malaysia for two years. My boss was Chinese. She was nice. Very very nice." He paused. His eyes gazed far away. I could tell he didn't say that because I was Chinese. He meant it.

"Ah ya, there are many Chinese too in Malaysia," I commented.

"Chinese people, nice people. My boss, her name was ... (I don't remember.)" He turned his gaze from the glass door to me. He was like: Don't you know her? Such a nice person.

#####

Afghanistan. The owner of the Persian Restaurant I entered in Auckland last winter was also an Afghan.

Afghanistan. Malaysia. Ground Zero formed a relationship with my New Zealand trip, although New Zealand is never mentioned in the book. The story of an Afghan who aimed for a new life in Australia, traveled to Malaysia, and then Indonesia, but then got deported by Indonesian government... might also be part of the life story of this Afghan in Christchurch and that Afghan in Auckland. They had been the lucky ones, who eventually made it.

My hand dropped, because I didn't expect my package to be so heavy. Indeed, it was a large portion. Presentation speaking, it's not pretty. Some people might not stand the strong spicy scent as well. But I, savored everything until the last grain of rice; rice like I had in Turkey. Ground Zero on my left, Flat White coffee on my right, I continued my journey of mind, in Afghanistan.

An Angel from Christchurch

Christchurch, July 21st 2015

I decided on YHA Christchurch Rolleston House because I saw on the internet that Intercity had a stop on Rolleston Avenue. To my great surprise, that was on the net but not on reality. But to my greater surprise, my Intercity ended the journey on Armagh Street where there was only a bus shelter and a taxi driver. Thinking that Christchurch was a big city, I expected I would get off at a bus terminal, not just a bus shelter. I expected there would be an i-Site or any information desk alike where I could ask for direction. Having experiencing the other cities, I took it too easy with Christchurch. Yeah, again thinking it was a big city.

Fine. It has been ten days and I have never taken a taxi. Maybe now is the time to spend some money on a taxi. So did I speak to myself.

I walked to the taxi driver. In an instant, the way he looked at me made me feel uneasy. Hesitantly I gave him the address.

"YHA! That's near. Just walk straight there."

"Straight, and then?"

"Just straight."

"Will YHA be on the left or on the right?"

"Just straight. You'll see it."

"Okay, thank you!"

My opinion on this non-Caucasian-looking guy changed. How honest, I thought. In some other places, the taxi driver would just go round and round pretending the destination is far away.

"But!" I turned back to him after a few steps. "This is the YHA on Rolleston Avenue."

"Yes, yes. Rolleston. Just go straight."

I walked and walked, but neither on the left nor on the right seemed like a place where people can have a sleep. To my even greater surprise, the city seemed incredibly quiet. It was dark already. But it was still 6:45 PM. A city??

I checked the GPS on my smartphone. The line didn't go "just straight". O, ow. I made a turn to the right following my GPS, and walked, and walked. It didn't seem "it's near!". O, ow. Who's correct? My GPS or that taxi driver?? I turned back, and walked.

One guy whom I asked for direction to Rolleston Avenue, simply shook his head and walked away. Another guy said, "No idea." One lady said, "I think it's over there." She thinks.

Maybe I should go back to the bus shelter, wait for another taxi, or another person. Logically, chances to meet someone at a bus shelter is higher. So did I suggested myself.

This was the moment when I missed the previous country I had traveled to for 3 vacations in a row. It was a country where the world thinks is filled with unreligioned people ruled by a ruthless president. No one has ever suggested me travel to that country -- how unlike New Zealand! -- and people constantly ask me if I was okay in that country. As a matter of fact, I have traveled that country, the largest country in the world, from East to West, did get lost a couple of times, but nothing like this here, in Christchurch, ever happened to me. Christchurch! Listen! Doesn't that sound religious enough?

A man in suits parked his car and got off. He must have forgot something in his office, I assumed.

No! He walked towards me!

"Are you lost?"

"Yeees... I am."

"Where are you going to?"

"YHA Rolleston Avenue."

"Do you have the address?"

"Yes, I do." I gave him my piece of paper.

"Oh okay. So it's two blocks away from here, and then turn to the right... "

"You mean, I turn right at the second crossroad?"

"I'll walk you there!"

"Really?? You just give me the direction."

"Never mind. It's not too far anyway. Let me take your suitcase for you."

"So sorry to bother you."

"It's alright. I saw you just now. You looked confused. And then after I turned around, I saw you were still here. So I thought maybe you were lost."

The distance to YHA wasn't that near after all that we could make a rather long conversation on the road. He asked me how I could be here. I told him about Intercity, the taxi driver, and about my GPS.

Apparently the biggest answer to most of my questions about Christchurch was, or is, earthquake. After the earthquake, bus stop locations have changed, GPS maps haven't been updated, people have moved out of Christchurch, and so on. About the taxi driver,

"He didn't want to take you??" this gentleman asked.

"No, he didn't. He said, it's just nearby."

"He should have taken you and charged 5 dollars."

"I wouldn't mind to pay 5 dollars. But he said nothing about the fare."

"Maybe he was expecting passengers heading to the airport."

"Oh! I thought he was just being honest."

"Could be also."

[A few days later I was told that it's actually against the law for a taxi driver to refuse a guest.]

We turned to Worcester Boulevard. He said that my hostel should be by the corner near the museum. But before leaving me, he'll make sure the numbers of the houses shows that I'm heading to the right direction, he told me.

"Thirty five... thirty three... thirty one ... yes, then it's right. You see that museum over there?"

"That big building facing here?"

"Exactly. Your hostel should be just across that museum."

"Thank you so much, Sir. I really can't thank you enough for this." I bowed down in front of him the Japanese way, the very most thing I could appreciate his gentleness with. "God bless you."

"Remember, don't cross the street. Your hostel is on this side."

"Yes, I will."

#####

At the hostel. 

"Wow! You are lucky! I would have think twice," said the lady staff.

"Really?? Is it not safe here?"

"Well... it is. But since it's dark already, being a woman alone ... bla, bla, bla."

"Yeah... I think I was lucky. He was such a gentleman. He even carried my suitcase for me."

"He did??" 

[Actually, now I'm thinking. What if he ran away with my suitcase? But.. but... he parked his car and walked with me. If he had bad intentions, it would have been more convenient to offer me a ride to the hostel. The fact that he left his car behind was actually the act of showing safety.]

"He didn't walk me up to here. He left me several houses away after making sure I was going to the right direction."

"He didn't follow you here??"

"Nooo... he didn't ... " I thought he did that to make me not feel too much uneasy having him walk me all the way through.

"Then he must be a gentleman," said the lady staff into conclusion.

"Of course he is!!"

#####

Dear Gentleman from Christchurch on the night of July 21st 2015,

In case by any chance this post finds its way to you, I would like to tell you again how much I appreciate you walking me to Worcester Boulevard in that rather eery quiet Christchurch. May God pay you back multiple times. I have nothing to give you -- and I know you are not expecting it either -- but I will always remember you. God bless you, Sir. Amen.

The Wellington I Saw

Wellington, July 18-19th 2015

Although on July 18th I took a  Hop-On-Hop-Off Guided Tour, I'd like to warn you that this is not going to be the touristic point of view.

It was raining that day. But my driver's wit and cheerfulness brighten up Wellington for me.

Bronze statue of Mahatma Gandhi in front of Wellington Railway Station

If I remember correctly, my driver said that this statue was to commemorate the immigration of Indians to Wellington. But according the references I found on the net, such as this one,

it acknowledged "the commitment of the people of New Zealand for setting an example to the world of a tolerant, open and inclusive society"

From Te Papa Tongarewa Museum.

Call me silly, I don't care. What impressed me of all that glory in Te Papa Tongarewa Museum, was this doll. When I was a kid, Dad's friend in America gave this doll to me. I couldn't believe how everything was exactly the same.

Batik making!! Batik.

And then a book about batik making... wow. I'm thinking, maybe I should make a collage of photos related to batik from the countries I have traveled to. Whose national heritage is batik actually? Aye.

A memorial to Paddy (He is a dog.)

About Paddy the Wanderer, I learned from Museum of Wellington City and Sea. Paddy is somewhat like Shibuya's Hachiko. Copying from the information board at the museum:

Paddy the Wanderer was an airedale terrier who became a popular waterfront identity in the 1930s. It is believed he was originally called Dash and was owned by a little girl whose father was a seaman. When the little girl died of pneumonia in 1928, Paddy began wandering the wharves, perhaps looking for his lost playmate. He was soon known and loved by watersiders, seafarers, taxi drivers and carriers, all of whom took turns at paying his annual dog license.
.......
When Paddy was about 13 years old his health deteriorated and he took to a sickbed in a shed on the wharves. He died on 17 July 1939. Obituary notices were placed in local newspapers and a fleet of black taxis formed a funeral cortege to carry his coffin for cremation.

A commemorative drinking fountain (which has a likeness of Paddy, a fountain for humans and two drinking bowls for dogs) was paid for by Paddy's friends and admirers in 1945.

The book of Paddy's biography can be purchased at Museum of Wellington City and Sea.

I recommend this book for all dog lovers. You just need to prepare a tissue box next to you. There are two editions at the museum's souvenir shop. In this one, the extended edition, there are stories about the city itself, a little politics and sports. Maybe in the non-extended edition it's just Paddy. However, the non-extended edition has no photos.

The Hope Gibbons building, an old valued landmark.

 There's more than just a building here. It's about Hopeful Gibbons, the founder of one of New Zealand's largest family businesses. Interestingly to me, "Hopeful" was a christened name after the character in "Pilgrim's Progress". Uhm, that's a book. Not a movie :D

St James Theatre, another prominent landmark in Wellington.

 Too bad, there were no opera or ballet shows during my stay. The Russian tour is coming in September, I read. I wish...

Cabbage Flower by the side of Wakefield Street.

Later on I discovered that cabbage flowers are common 'street flower' in New Zealand.

These ones were just in front of my hostel, YHA Wellington.

Mount Victoria Lookout on July 18th 2015.

Weather wasn't good. My ferry to Picton scheduled the next day was said to be in high possibility of being suspended. And that night the wind worsen. I thought my window was going to fall off. Of all my winter storm experiences, that was the worst. No snow but worst. Maybe because my room was on the 6th floor and facing towards the sea? I spent the night with "Paddy the Wanderer." Forget about the ferry. Who can sail?

I read until 2 past midnight, woke up at 8, thinking I'd be spending the day reading and sewing. I drew my curtain opened.

I gasped. Am I still in Wellington? Unbelievable. In a hurry I grabbed my towel....

See you at the Sunday Market!!

A Stranger in Wellington

Wellington, July 16th 2015

In a big city, public transportation should be convenient. Assuming so, I searched around for bus timetables. Why take a taxi when buses are plenty, right?

Yeah... they are metros, too. Now which one goes to YHA Wellington? Map... check... Ah, why trouble my mind while there's a information booth there and this time, I speak the language. Right?

Just a few meters before I reached the desk, the lady staff behind the desk left and there was nobody else there. Look around....

A man in blue uniform. Ah, he must understand about the transportation around, I assumed again.

"Excuse me, Sir."

He pulled off his earphone instantly and bowed down towards me -- for he was tall, or I was short.

"Do you know which bus or metro goes to this address?" I showed him a piece of paper with my hostel's address.

"Uhm... I think... it is... " then suddenly the lady behind that information desk passed by. He called her and she told him the number of the bus.

"From here you go straight to that escalator...  you go up... and then... uhmm, just come with me!"

Before I could say anything, he was already walking ahead -- in the opposite direction to which he had been heading to.

"Am I not bothering you?"

"No, no. It's okay. It's not far anyway."

At the bus stop. "Let me see your address again, please. ... YHA... "

"YHA! I know that! That's at Courtnay Place." Suddenly we heard a voice. An Asian looking guy.

 "You know the place?" The man in blue uniform seemed more excited than me.

"Yes, I know. I'm going towards that direction, too."

"You are?" said the man in blue uniform again.

"Yes, I am!"

"Can you take her with you?"

"Sure, sure!"

"So you'll get off at the same stop?"

"Yes, I will. My destination is only a couple blocks away from the YHA."

"Great. Thank you so much!" That man's look was, "I entrust her to you, take good care of her."

This Asian looking guy turned out to be a Sri Lankan. He grew up, studied, and now working in New Zealand. His English was remarkable enough to proof he did grow up in NZ and in fact half a New Zealander himself. Being Asians in a white people's land, we shared something in common and thus had a great conversation along the way. We shared our views about the people, from nearly the same point of view. We shared about food... Oh yeah, guess what, he thought I was a Vietnamese.


He stood up.  "Are we getting off here?" I asked.

"Yes, this is it."

We got off and I heard, "Thank you, Driver!" from him.

"So I'll just follow this road, right?" I asked again.

"Yes, it's not far from here. I'll show you."

"Thank you so much. Are you going to get back on the bus?"

"No, I'm not. No worries."

Another short conversation continued. This time about what to see -- and eat -- around the place. Te Papa Museum was one, a crocodile restaurant was another.

"Crocodile!? Crocodile meat!?"

"Yes, it's famous. They serve crocodile meat."

Then there I saw it. YHA.

"I can't thank you enough for this."

"My pleasure. I know how it sucks getting lost in a foreign country. Enjoy your evening!"

Inner Beauty in Kelly Tarlton's

Auckland, July 14th 2015

Emperor Penguin, the tallest penguin in the Penguin Kingdom

Certainly an emperor but not a Chinese or Japanese emperor :D

The Emperor flips his wings.

That means, the penguin is feeling warm, not cold!

The Emperor checks on the ground... oops!

Ooops. This is not real snow. Everyday in Kelly Tarlton's Sea Life Aquarium, a number of -- don't remember how many -- tons of snow is produced.

The Emperor must have offspring, although not yet alike.

Penguins, an Emperor or not, are born entirely different from their parents, on the outside.

Since I started preparing my itinerary till the day I set foot on Auckland, I kept seeing Kelly Tarlton's being mentioned here and there. Of course I didn't decide to visit because of that. You know, I'm not that kind. However, when I entered Kelly Tarlton's, to be honest, I was disappointed. "Is this all for being mentioned everywhere?" Or should I blame myself for have been going to too many (maybe) aquariums? What I'm seeing now is just half fascinating as Tokyo's Sumida Aquarium... ah.

Oh yes, I have seen Emperor Penguins before, under open air, with no glass wall in between, in Ueno, Japan.

Protect Sea Turtles! They are either endangered or highly endangered!

My eyes moved around finding something I had never seen before.

Plastic Bag = Jelly Fish

Ahahahaha!!! What a kid's mind! was my first reaction reading this. Plastic bag floating in the water do look like jelly fish, indeed! But no, that's no joke at all. That's scientists' discovery, I read further.

Besides this one, there's another piece mentioning "jelly fish" which apparently my camera had missed out.

Good picture, bad photo. Blurry :P Picturing a turtle thinking of jelly fish.

Do you make mistakes in spelling? Don't be embarrassed. NZ kids do, too!

My favorite of all!

Turtles can't eat chocolate, you know! Even a 5-year knows that!

I stared at the small tables and chairs, color pencils, coloring book, at the stack of sticky notes... and I knew. This place is more into educating, whilst I had come expecting to be amused, to be fascinated, to be entertained. See? What a highly appreciated way to educate a child in sea turtle protection! For this one reason, I'm labeling this post with "inner beauty" besides "moving beauty" a.k.a. animals.

Wow. Maybe you can leave your stomach at the doctor's and go back to work.

Being a shark dentist must be a promising business!

The complete opposite to shark!! No teeth, no stomach.

But, wait! Seadragon??

Spiny Seadragon. Solegnathus spinosissimus.

Is the dragon Chinese?

Aye! Maybe there are more seahorses than humans in NZ...

In the end, I had to admit, I had seen many things, but I didn't know many things.

The other reason of labeling this post with "inner beauty" is the understanding of Kelly Tarlton. I always admire people who live their passion, and succeed. However, for Kelly Tarlton, there is more to that. It's like that his whole life had been meant for this aquarium. I couldn't get myself to capture the articles displayed on the wall. Tragic success. Maybe... for that reason Kelly Tarlton's Sea Aquarium is mentioned everywhere.