New Zealand - Dunedin - Dinner of Disasters and Moonlit Serenades

On my first excursion from the house, I wandered over along the Oval, the local park and cricket-playing field, to the grocery store, which demonstrated to me that we literally live on the other side of the tracks in town, the division between North and South Dunedin. Mike walked me as far as his bus stop at the bottom of the street, where I had a sink or swim introduction to traffic driving on the left.

Although I obviously knew they drive on the opposite side of the street here, I was unprepared for how my brain was trying to correct this phenomenon. It literally refuses to believe my eyes showing the cars moving on the other side. I feel like shaking myself or slapping my head a few times to correct what I'm seeing. Makes jaywalking especially difficult, let me tell you! I may very well get hit by a bike or car if I'm not careful.

Upon my return to the flat, I discovered a note from Ashley requesting my assistance in preparing the pot roast for dinner. While I'm happy to help out in exchange for the free room and board I get from them, Ashley obviously was unaware that cooking meat is definitely not a culinary strength of mine. The directions seemed fairly straightforward though, so I ambitiously accepted the task. Defrost meat - check. Season with garlic, salt and pepper - check. Oil big pot - check. Brown meat on both sides - mostly check (a little too hot when it first landed, one side noticeably crispier than the other). Add broth and already chopped veggies in fridge - check. Let it sit till Ashley gets home - check. And it smelled so good. Ashley made the sides of mashed potatos, broccoli and wellingtons. It was shaping up to be a great dinner right?

And then Ashley spilled the pepper in the potatos. Whew - were they peppery. But not the end of the world, since the pot roast was central and was so full of promise. Mike and I soaked it in tasty gravy and dug in. We are chewing our way through the first amazing bite and yet... we slow the chews and glance inquiringly at each other. Ashley pauses as she notices and hesitates to take her first bite. "What? Is it not cooked?" she asks. Mike and I continue to look at each other in genuine puzzlement tinged with disappointment. "No, it's cooked" says Mike. "It's just not..." I say. "Beef..." supplies Mike. Ashley's face joins ours in puzzlement. The package fully said beef. It looked like beef, and smelled like it cooking. But it distinctly tasted like ham and the texture was totally off. And holy cow, was it too salty, courtesy of the broth. Still tasty, but you don't pot roast ham in beef broth until tender. It just tasted... wrong. Upon further investigation, we discovered it was corned beef. Which we will never buy again.

We also treated ourselves to a movie on my parents, who sent a little play money our way, let's say for Mike and Ashley's six year anniversary which they celebrate today. We saw The Watchmen, which Mike and his friends thought was awesome and philosophical, which Ashley thought was total crap, and which I found pretentious and unintentionally hilarious. On our walk home up our beloved dodgy Maitland street, we were serenaded by four drunk guys fumbling with a guitar on their front balcony. "And a very good night to you cuties!" they hollered as we passed. To which Mike turns and announces, "Um, I'm a guy." Priceless. And we waved to them again this morning, as they were still drinking on their front porch as Ashley and I went to the market at 9am. Nice.

New Zealand - Dunedin - Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle

I arrived in Dunedin airport not even knowing which way was up. I had gone with Mick to the airport in Santiago at about 1pm, despite the fact that my flight wasn't until 11pm since we were low on cash and reluctant to go the bank AGAIN. The Scotiabank branch manager back in Ottawa has already emailed me to remind me about international ATM withdrawal fees. Thanks, sir, but I am aware and would certainly be using affiliated ATMs if I could find them.

Anyways, this meant that once Mick was checked in for his flight at 2:30, I had a glorious 7 hour wait to endure in the terminal before I could even check in. Two books and one two hour conversation with an elderly South African couple later, Qantas finally opened a counter. I fought my way through the hordes of American tourists who had all just arrived to fly home to Dallas after a cruise to Antarctica to get to the check in desk and was rewarded for my absurd earliness with an aisle seat next to an empty seat for my 13 hour flight. Unfortunately, that massive line of cruise passengers got ahead of me into the security and customs lines, so some more line ups delays passed my time before the flight actually left.

The flight wasn't too bad... after 24+ bus rides, 13 hours on a plane doesn't really compare. I did overhear a rather disturbing conversation behind me where some Aussie girls were advocating the mandatory drugging of infants and young children on flights to keep them quiet. Which was totally uncalled for in the case of the six kids on our flight, who slept soundly through the night and the one baby who really only fussed when the plane was landing.

After deplaning (which I maintain should not be a word), I then was thrilled to find out that the check in counters in Auckland don't open before 5:30am. It was 3:30am when my plane landed. Sigh. I took my time going through immigration and customs again. In New Zealand, it turns out you have to declare hiking boots, since they may have foreign bacteria or plants in the soles, so the agent had to check my shoes. It was no easy task wrestling with my shoelaces at 4am, let me tell you. And let's be honest, I'm hardly outdoorsy... the guy was more likely to find gum from the city sidewalks than foreign plant species from tramping in the woods. And so I passed on, shoes unconfiscated, to wait to check in for my connecting flight to Dunedin.

On that flight, I had an early introduction to the craze for low fat food in NZ cuisine. I had the choice between low fat muesli or a fat free muffin with a low calorie orange juice or water for breakfast. Having now been to the local grocery store as well, I can tell you that every product comes in either light, low fat or fat free varieties. Except ice cream, which is an institution around here.

Finally made it to Mike and Ashley's place around 10am, no thanks to Mike. He figured it would all work out by itself. Luckily Ashley was a bit more proactive and emailed me the address, directions, and transportation options from the airport, as well as leaving me the key and detailed instructions in the mailbox. I was overwhelmingly happy to get in and throw my bags on the couch and then spent the rest of the day puzzling over what kind of jet lag would eventually settle in. Turns out I just wake up a bit early... should be over that soon.

Mike and Ashley have scored themselves a nice 2 floor flat (in which I have a bedroom all to myself!) in what is known as the Bermuda Triangle. Maitland Street, their place of residence, earned this nickname through having a somewhat shady reputation, which originates from a couple of halfway houses and group homes on the street. Mike, Ashley and I have decided to believe it's just bad press. We shall see...