"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.
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.
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