THE SANCTITY OF HOUSESITTING IN LOW-KEY PALMY

After two days of hot and humid weather, Palmerston North finally cooled down with late afternoon showers yesterday, which alternated between steady droppings of rain that made soft, pitter patter sounds on the roof and drizzle throughout the night. The weather couldn’t seem to make up its mind. I thus awoke at 6:30 this morning to birds singing and a strong island breeze. Realizing I had to take the recycling and garbage bins to the curb, I stepped out of the house and dragged all three to the end of the driveway, relishing the way the breeze whipped my hair around this way and that. Last night, I anticipated another humid and sunny day, but the sun hasn’t wanted to greet Palmy residents today.

I spent Christmas alone housesitting for one of my supervisors. Not one to sit in the house all day (though I’ve been known to sit in my office reading for the large part of the day), I spent some of the gorgeous sun-filled afternoon outdoors, weeding out the competitive plants that seemed to have proliferated while I wasn’t looking. Later, I meandered into town and decided to peruse the list of upcoming movies at the Downtown Cinemas. Having given into my movie craving a few days before with “I, Anna”, a Charlotte Rampling indie, which cost me a whopping NZ$16.50, I began creating a mental list of movies to watch, an event that lasted exactly a minute.

The day was overall quiet, like a ghost town that was keeping residents hostage in their houses. The Sunday before had the same impression on me. No one milled about in the streets as they normally do, save for a few stragglers scattered on the grass in the Square just behind the mobile soft serve ice cream truck.  I figured everyone was at church. Not seemingly a Christian place, I slowly learned that many people actually celebrate church day in this town. Although, I must say that perhaps, it should not be so surprising in light of the new information I acquire from documentaries on the telly that teach me about New Zealand’s conservative history. One example of the right-minded (in political terms) tendency of the parliament, I learned yesterday through a documentary broadcast on the Heartland channel on Sky TV that the Kiwi parliament imprisoned many peaceful protestors of World War II. Perhaps in response to the unwelcome attitude of the parliament, many decided to set up an organic, independent commune for pacifists, to which many people even today still gravitate. But, I was surprised to learn about New Zealand’s version of America’s “Red Scare” during the McCarthy era, that the Kiwi government would commit such a heinous breach of civil rights. During the “Red Scare”, hundreds of people were blacklisted and arrested for their association with the US Communist Party.

Still on Christmas Day, walking about the centre of town, I began noticing landmarks and features of the city that I hadn’t noticed as well before. I go to the City Library on occasion to have a coffee at the indoor café or to peruse the books that I want to read after completing the two I already have on loan, and I pass down this street a number of times. But, on this day, without the usual visual distractions of throngs of people, I noticed the number of quaint, independent coffee shops along this street called George Street, which is apparently highlighted in the Lonely Planet as the café centre of Palmerston North. I peeked into the cafe store windows, the Red Tomato, Cuba Café, and some others, the names of which I can’t remember to get a glimpse of the ambience. Each displays a variety of motifs and colours, reflections of the owner’s handiwork and personal taste.

Most of Christmas Day, however, as has been the case over the last several days since starting the housesitting task, I’ve sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by rows of windows and scenic backyards, reading journal articles and re-writing parts of my literature review. Slaving away is too mild a term for such a mundane task. My mind drifts in and out of my labour since chunks of the discussion about resilience, which I might have mentioned in another blog post, has been dedicated to discussing the food system, a topic I’ve covered in previous academic pursuits. But, just as I think I might pass out from the redundancy, I find something that adds some insight to the literary discussion as a whole. Luckily, I’m not scheduled to write the "Introduction" chapter, which is really my research framework, until March 1. I’m happy with the flow of my work, thus far, and am pleased with the emerging outcome of my review. I realize I owe much to my supervisor, who "lent" me her house for some two weeks because the sanctuary of living alone in a quiet neighborhood (even the barking dog next door renders me companionship) at the West End of the Square has given me the mental space to think through my literature review.

 

A MONTH OF MORE LEARNING

Two weekends ago, I explored the road running along Moginie Village, a highway that inhabits sheep and dairy farms. I set off after reading and writing for what seemed like hours to me in my room.

This Saturday morning was quiet in our flat, the loneliness of it manifested in the hollow echo of the hallway, made known to me as I walked the short, carpeted distance to the exit door.

The sun was shining blindingly as I stepped out onto the miniscule foyer that greets entrants paying a visit, a fact I hadn’t understood from the darkness of my bedroom. Cushioned at the far side of the flat, my room is hidden from view by the bushes that protect me from being seen by people crossing the courtyard, and thus doesn’t see direct sunlight. From the vantage point of my room, my senses were deceived, as I discovered.

Walking briskly, taking care to step away from the cars racing down the highway, I pursued the distance with a vengeance, like a woman with a mission to learn what was on the other side. I approached a sign orienting my location in Palmerston North to surrounding towns: Masterton, 28 kilometers; Levin 18 kilometers. Was I going in either direction?

After walking for what seemed like hours, I finally descended upon another valley, which dipped up and over another hump. A sign attached to a wooden fence read Silver Fern Farm. Unknown to me of the distance I had fastwalked, I asked a little girl living in the house on the farm how to get into town. She said, “you have to keep walking that way,” in her soft New Zealand accent. I followed the direction of her finger and began to see familiar sights, ane eventually a roadsign directing me back to Massey University.

This December was busy, filled with activity, one in particular of great importance to me (the Agrifood Network Conference), where I learned that early scholars can start networking and showcasing their research that was, like me, beginning to materialize in the early stages. I learned that conferences are a good place to do that and a good place to network with more senior scholars. I hope to present my findings at the XXI Agrifood Network conference. The venue of that one will be decided at the one next year, which will be in Melbourne, Australia.

The conference was new to me, but it exposed me to the food network research goings on in Oceania and Southeast Asia. Massey University, being a land grant, agricultural research university, is right in the thick of it. Massey U has some of the highest funded food research projects in the country, I discovered. The topics on provenance and Bourdieu’s habitus engendered some fresh perspectives for me, revelations that are always good for researchers – like a fresh breeze after a moment of stale, dinner wind. The food security scholarship, which I have been re-reading . . . and re-reading, and re-reading  . . .  was starting to feel like the latter to me after polishing up my book manuscript over the last three years. Needless to say, my literature review is proceeding and progressing much better than I thought. I spent the last week doing more re-writes, becoming almost obsessive over “getting it right” that I couldn’t move to the section on planning, which is important to establishing the planning perspective in my intended research.

I finally got the Christmas care package from my folks in Massachusetts this afternoon. Tropical nuts are sold by the grams here and are too expensive for my student budget, so seeing these nuts in my care box was very exciting. The dried fruit are an added plus.

I read Yahoo and CNN to stay on top of news in America. My heart broke, along with everyone else’s, after learning about the massacre in Newtown, Connecticut. Those beloved children. New Zealand also experienced a gun massacre in Ala Moana beach, which changed gun ownership laws around the country. There has not been another gun massacre since the legislative change. Something to think about for American policymakers and voters.

NOT A TYPICAL SATURDAY, BUT TYPICAL ENOUGH

My interactions with the outer world has been reduced to cyber space, where my greetings are restricted to an over-active finger that clicks “like”, “share”, “logout”. No conversations except the ones I have with myself, commenting and exclaiming out loud. Facebook it has to be for the budget-minded student for a while, I’m afraid.

If I haven’t mentioned this before, the skies above the north island are inherently temperamental. Being an island climate, grey clouds roll in and are held at bay by the warmer rays, which descend on the rolling hills of Palmerston North and beyond.

I experienced the morning market on Church and Albert today (Saturday) for the first time, where mostly Asian and Maori sellers showcase the green thumbs of the farmers. (Don't know yet where the vegetables come from.) Designed for early risers, it was not as busy when I strolled in around 11-ish. To get there, I decided to cross Victoria Park at the bottom of the bridge on Fitzherbert Avenue. Birds calling out to each other in the course of swooping from branch to branch, fluttering wings barely missing my alert ears, are a welcome sight compared to the cars zipping on the road. The sounds I heard were only those of wildlife. Civilization was a muffled cacophony in the distance. I sighted British elms, gum trees and wild cherries along the gravel road.

At the end of this brief traipse, I stepped out onto Cook Street, in the area where the Aquatic Centre sits, only to discover that I was at the other side of the Square, a fair distance from Church and Albert streets. Because I had completed rewrites of my literature review, I decided to view this errand as a half day off before I return to my desk and shave off unnecessary bits of my review.

The Mini-mart, which sells Indian spices, was along the way. So were several coffee shops. Unfortunately, after Victoria Garden the remaining distance of this route was pretty drab, offering little in the form of vegetation. Soon, I was engulfed again by a steady stream of asphalt, Pacific Island architecture, and oh yeah endless coffee shops.

At the end of the day, I look upon this day as my having discovered the must-dos, bucket list items that I had been putting off for weeks because of my preoccupation with the literature review (notice how I treat the litreview as a third peson so as not to get too emotionally involved with it). Oh, and I managed to sneak in a few hours at a café, where I nursed an Americano while perusing through magazine articles about artists, musicians, and actors. The orange-lemon infused water, a signature quencher for this particular café, did its job, the perfect partner to my parched throat.

I even borrowed a library book about the Kennedys from the City Library, where I used the card I applied for on Friday for the first time.

After a long six-hour nap at dusk, as I had stayed awake through the night, I was back to the grind again, slicing through my paragraphs and consolidating thoughts and themes to make my review more readable.

I’ve moved to the other side of campus to Moginie Village, another residential hall for mature, postgraduate students. I am still on top of the hill, but the sights are different. Instead of looking into my neighbours’ kitchen, bedroom, and living room, I now see birch trees when I open the shades from my bedroom. When I cook, I see birds, possums, and other trees I don’t recognize. When I take a short route towards the cherry trees fronting a cow paddock, I see sheep, some already sheared in preparation for the heart of the summer. A different sensation, indeed.

DAILY TRAVAILS OF AN EARLY DOCTORATE STUDENT

I received permission to continue my doctorate program at Massey, having earned approval for my research topic and acceptance of my DR2 application by the Graduate Research Committee (GRC) around mid-October. Currently, I am in the throes of the literature review.

There are a lot of interesting synchronicities in the literature relating to discussions about resilience in the human development, ecology, and social-ecological systems, but I'm struggling to coordinate the themes discussed in them because I’m not sure how much I should cover in the review. I’m already starting to select the key concepts that will need elaborating in the final confirmation paper due later towards the end of my first year.

Doctorate studies is more isolating than I had imagined because my topic is really unlike anyone else’s here or even in the literary world made up of ecologists and food system scholars. My particular research area has not been covered extensively by such scholars and, therefore, there are virtually no studies of food systems in the province, where I expect to be later next year. Thus, I can’t really discuss the fine points of the literature review with many of my peers – or colleagues, which I think is the preferred name for doctorate classmates.

There is definitely an air about being a doctorate student at Massey University. Here, I feel like a researcher than a student more than when I was a masterate student. We are also seen as such, as professionals navigating their own ship than students still being guided by assignments.

I’m the most recent arrival here. Many of the doctorate students have been progressing through their seminar report and confirmation for at least one year, already. For some, the time has been at least two years. One of my colleagues returned to Pakistan to do his fieldwork. He passed his confirmation seminar and left some weeks thereafter.

The next most recent doctorate arrival is a researcher from Mexico. He came in June or August, I can't remember which month. That time seems like aeons ago, which means the time has flown here for me.

The weather remains temperamental; lots of intermittent sunny days, interrupted by rainy ones. The rain never lasts, though. The day might start out sunny and then give way to rain and grey, cloudy skies in the late afternoon, or vice versa. Parts of Palmerston North are in the valley, and when I walk in the basin of the valleys, I can see the elongated mountain ranges. There is a wind farm along one of the gorges here. The white, rotating windmills sit atop what look like green, chocolate drops when viewed from far away. But, the truth is, these sceneries are never very far away. Generally, they're outside my window, where I can easily gaze at them. 

Because my literature review due date is the end of January next year (2013), I spend most days studying – in the morning, afternoon through lunch, and into late evening until about 11pm, sometimes 1am. In between these long, studious hours, I squeeze in some walking time. My trek is usually the same, down and up some hills, and then up the "1000-steps" stairs, the name I’ve lovingly given to the ascending, winding structure that’s much worse than a stair master.

Television shows allow me to vegetate for an hour or two. TV time is usually when my creative juices flow most prolifically and actively. Since the beginning of October, I’ve also attended the occasional fellowship event with postgraduate students from the Philippines. Through these events, I've met other New Zealanders, Pacific Islanders, and various people from around the world, who’ve come to Massey U or New Zealand to settle.

While my life might appear mundane to some, I’m happier than I’ve ever been, nestled in my carrel, reading through my research material. Meanwhile, the minutes tick away unnoticed by me.

FIELD TRIP FRIDAY

I was invited to participate in a field trip along with several undergraduate planning students. We’re all in the same school, the School of People, Environment, and Planning. This trip gave me an opportunity to get outside of the university area and meet people outside of the city. We traveled first to the Awapuhi Bike Conservation Area, which is also I discovered the site for the recycling center. The layout of the center in relation to the conservation area was very interesting. Apart from the building, which houses the office, presentation area, and the recycling facility, the metals yard and sludge pools are also located within the vicinity. New Zealand, being so small in land space, has to be not only innovative with land management practices, but also I imagine more stringent about environmental regulations. As we drove up to and away from the facility, I noted the winding bike trail in relation to the facility and land. From the first observation, the various use purposes worked.

Afterwards, we visited the manager of Kitchener Park, a native plants park located in nearby Fielding. He allowed us to trek inside and view the large trees, and pointed out the plants that Maori’s used to live on. He pointed out the breadfruit tree, which is akin to the breadfruit found in Hawaii.

Finally, we stopped in at a dairy farm, where we were introduced to the environmental regulations governing dairy farms. This particular one had a holding pool of water, which drained the water source. It was hard to see the source of the water, but there was clearly a pipe underground leading into the standing water. Like the United States, as with all wastes including water, standing pools require a liner to prevent leachate from entering subsurface aquifers.

New Zealand is true to its reputation. Dairy farmers really dominate the agricultural industry and the landscape leading to the farm was testimony of this. There were acres of paddock all adjacent to each other.

I also noticed the hospitality of the New Zealand people. After each visit, one student stepped forward and thanked the hosts for accepting us, after which the student bestowed them with a gift. What a nice gesture, one that made me forget that grey skies loomed overhead and beyond. The weather, as usual, didn’t disappoint.

Back at the office, I dealt with housekeeping stuff – meaning administration and my research proposal. I was determined to complete both by 12:00 a.m., I managed to do so with my research proposal before 8:00 p.m, but the DRC2 still hasn't been completed. Thus, while I can now concentrate on the statement of expectations and begin preparing my schedule for the next three years, I still have to make sure that the very important DRC2 is done so I can hand it in and finally register as a doctorate student.

GREY SKIES AND COOL TEMPERATURES

Palmerston North is not a very sunny place. Rain has preoccupied the weather on most days this week. Last weekend was sunny, warm, and inviting, but the days thereafter have been disrupted by intermittent rains that are heavy at times and at other times are only light drizzles.

I’m beginning to understand the research focus of the New Zealand PhD model. Unlike the U.S., where doctorate students take two years of courses before embarking on the research topic, in New Zealand incoming doctorates begin their dissertation research at the start of the program. The initial proposal submitted with the application allows potential students to give professors a rough idea of their topic of interest. But, almost immediately after these students arrive on campus, they must begin refining their research topic. They also develop a program of study, called the “statement of expectations’, which functions like a contract within two weeks of commencing. Hence, there’s a lot of pressure in the early stages of the doctorate program.

Luckily, I anticipated the speed of progress and had begun developing my research topic early, even before I applied. There are also numerous forms to sign, which help to document our progress. Although supervisors give a lot of guidance (as I’m learning), the progress is determined entirely by the student. We have to coordinate the benchmarks that measure our progress and are signified by defined assignments that lead up to the full proposal at the end of the year. Thus, in the first six months, the methodology chapter draft has to be written, finalisaton of my research proposal (which tends to be the formulation of my introductory chapters), the draft outline of my chapters with a description of the chapters content, and then the confirmation seminar almost at the end of the first year. I also have to define my ethics framework for my fieldwork, which I anticipate beginning around the first week of October 2013, with an expected departure date of 1 October, 2013.

While all this is going on in our lives, we are strongly advised to attend workshops given by professors. The format of the doctorate is a little like the format of Goddard College in that all Goddard students attend workshops during their one week residency. But, all work is done independently and all communication is done by e-mail. Here at Massey, almost all communication is done by e-mail during the period preparing for and writing the dissertation.

The research workshops over the weekend were a tremendous help in this crucial stage of the research proposal, but needless to say, the pressure is definitely on and while I feel energized by the refinement of my research focus, at the same time, the seriousness of grey skies reflect how earnestly I am approaching my studies. With the same earnestness as a moose butting his antlers against a tree in the attempt to knock it down. Although I won't be knocking any trees down, i am determined to pass and even more determined to earn that final qualification to enter academic life - the doctorate.

ONE HELPFUL WORKSHOP AFTER ANOTHER

I spent the entire weekend indoors, in workshops mainly that informed the attending students about just about anything on research. The workshops were very comprehensive and detailed, containing ideas on good research techniques, how to frame our research, to centralize our research topic, etc., all of which re-energized my brain and triggered ideas on how to further narrow down my topic.

Saturday seems like a blur now, but everything given was a mouthful and I had to go on one of my walks in order for the information to foment and be processed into something academic sounding. It came to me as I reentered the dirt trail leading to the parking lot behind Fergusson Halls. Happily, this refocusing of my research question has brought me closer to the central theme of my dissertation. 

Sunday, today, was the final day. It wasn’t as long or as packed as Saturday, and the workshop sessions forced me to think about something that I hadn’t really incorporated into my other research endeavors: the self in relation to the subject. Here in New Zealand, they seem to encourage taking this factor into account. I think it challenges readers to think about the relationship between researcher and the studied, perhaps even encourages readers to ponder over whether or not this relationship is significant to achieving objectivity, if that makes any sense. 

I’ve heard this comment over and over from various professors and researchers – no research is value free – but simply by acknowledging one’s personal motivation, even one’s alliance with the subject matter in terms of shared experiences or even something as superficial as appearances, the reader injects objectivity into the way he/she receives the research findings. The reader is forced to separate him/herself from the researcher, done so by discerning the elements in the study that might be influenced by the researcher’s personal relationship to them, and weighs them against other findings. Put another way, the subjectivity of the researcher forces the reader to be more discriminating about the findings exposited in the study.

At the end of the day, I went for my walk again, exploring the trails winding uphill to . . . where? Somewhere. 

I opted to follow the heritage trail, where I learned about Morrow’s contribution to Massey University before continuing on to Collison Road. I sighted cows, sheep, and the John Dyer residence hall. One cow’s udders were so full that I was tempted to milk her to alleviate the extra weight I knew she was carrying.

I marvel still at the similarity between the landscape surrounding the university and Sunderland. I appreciate the university’s connection to agriculture because I know how vital it is to feeding New Zealand’s population.          

MASSEY UNIVERSITY IN PALMERSTON NORTH

After the city sights of Auckland, where I did a quick head, shoulders, and head massage and walked around the ferry area a bit, Palmerston North is so much more tranquil. At the end of the day, after hours of studying and attending workshops, having access to walking trails that are surrounded by bush and streams is a plus to studying at Massey University.

I also had a chance to sight the rainforests of New Zealand on the ride to Palmerston North. I boarded the NakedBus at 7am and by exactly 7:15 am, I was off. Very much like the Japanese way of working, people in New Zealand like to keep schedule and I learned that the NakedBus drivers aren’t really very different.

After the bus left Hamilton Center, where I boarded the connecting bus, the surrounding environment was pretty much greenery. I saw countless sheep grazing the hills and numerous Swiss, milking cows sitting on the grass. It reminded me of the Sunderland countryside.

The highlight of the trip, the part where I guessed I developed motion sickness, was the winding bits. We went down and around, down and around mountains, descending onto vast areas of streams and rainforests. I thought I sighted a tucan sitting on a branch, a very colorful bird, but I’m not sure whether there are tucans in New Zealand. Needless to say, the entire scenery was utterly breathtaking.The Naked Bus had a 40-minute stop in North Plymouth (a name shared by the first Puritan colonial settlement in Massachusetts), a seaside community about a 3-hour drive from Palmerston North. The first thing I saw as we drove to the center of North Plymouth was a pharmacy, where I eventually bought “Nausicalm”, a motion sickness medicine that settled my undulating nausea. The second thing I saw when the bus parked was a female-only waiting shelter across the street. It resonated, I guessed, of Maori tradition, where women are given separate congregation areas to do their private business. Native Hawaiian women also have such a tradition.The rest area contained a bathroom and a sitting room, where three elderly women sat as I walked in. I liked the atmosphere - the protected seclusion it promised me as I headed over to the bathroom.

When I finally arrived in Palmerston North, after a long, 10-hour bus ride, a fellow student awaited me. I knew immediately who he was when I saw him sitting on the bench; I had tentatively suggested to Christine that he meet me at the bus port, as I might not know how to get to campus. We greeted each other, after which we grabbed a taxi (which takes Eftpos cards, by the way – very convenient if one doesn’t have any cash), and immediately headed to Atawhai (pronounced Atafai) Village. My room at the end of the hall contains a sink, desk, dresser, and bed. A heater is attached to the wall for those cold days. The Campus Living Villages staff had prepared for my arrival; I found clean sheets on the bed and dishes in a black, reusable shopping bag on the desk when I entered my bedroom. Unlike the other rooms in our flat, my sink is around the corner from the doorway, so I have a bit of privacy if I keep the door ajar.

Although jetlagged and tired and still recovering from my nausea the student accompanied me to Countdown, a supermarket in the same mall as Kmart (think USA), to buy groceries. I also bought all the necessary items for moving in. So, the next morning, I had coffee, crumpets topped with low salt, feta cheese, and scrambled eggs garnished with sautéed mushrooms. Not a bad first evening in Palmerston North.  

AUCKLAND AT LAST

My flight hit the tarmac at exactly 6:15am this Wednesday morning. (My blogs are a day late because I’ve been too lazy to access internet on schedule during my travels). I arrived to a very welcoming environment and an efficiency that I soon learned was exhibited at every agency I encountered today. I first saw it at the customs desk; the customs agent merely looked at my visa, stamped my passport, and passed me through. In the United States, whenever I return, I get asked a myriad of questions, as if I was under suspicion for something bad. On top of this Spanish inquisition-like interrogation, they are rude to me. Besides the politeness and the professionalism, the Auckland airport security personnel were very good about directing the human traffic through all the security checkpoints. One final scan of my bags upon departing the customs area and I arrived at baggage claim. I waited several minutes before I sighted my grey luggage emerging around the corner on the carousel. Happy and relieved to know that my luggage had not gotten lost or strayed in-flight, I proceeded to exchange my currency at the Traveller’s Express booth and subsequently walked over to the traveler’s corner to reserve a dorm bed at the Camel Nomad.

I should also mention that the traveler’s corner at the airport contained a lot of information, a feature essential for those without possession of the Lonely Planet. I sighted accommodation directories for both the North and South Islands, among other helpful information. I also learned that the AirBus Express arrives every 10 minutes, often enough to make transitioning to the hostel convenient and smooth. The AirBus Express even sponsors a booth, where people can purchase tickets before boarding between 7am and 7pm. Adapters can also be purchased for NZD$20.00. The plus side about using this public transportation service is that the staff seemed to be very knowledgeable. The driver knew exactly which zone I would have to get off at after I presented the name of the hostel to him.

The ride to Auckland central took about 30 minutes. Within minutes – following a short walk from the bus stop along Front Street – I arrived at the hostel doors. The clerk remembered me from the phone and booked me in for this evening. The hostel allows travelers to store luggage in the luggage room for free, as check-in doesn’t occur until 1pm.

Along the way, I noticed a BNZ branch on Queen Street. So, after a brief breakfast at the ubiquitous Burger King chain, I walked across the street and showed one of the bank clerks the letter I received from the bank a month ago, signifying the holding account I had opened on line. The bank manager was very helpful and the entire process took probably less than 30 minutes. During this time, not only did I deposit my money into my account, but I also received my Eftpos card, which allows me to pay for charges immediately.

The day’s final errand was purchasing my NakedBus bus ticket. This bus, I was told, can be very busy. They charge an extra NZD$10.00 if the weight is over the upper limit of 20kg, but at the discretion of the driver. However, it is a small payment in light of the low price of NZD$39.00 for a one way ticket on an 8-hour ride. Compare this price to 45.00 or 31.00 for a 4-hour ride to NYC from Amherst. 

The NakedBus stop on Quay Street is a very convenient distance from the Nomad hostel. The same agency that sells the bus ticket, "4Sightseeing", gave me a free SIM card, but I haven't figured out how to work it on my motorola cell phone.

At one hour before check-in, I’m going to head over to the water front to enjoy the pre-summer breeze rolling in from the ocean. I can feel it from the Seattle Espresso café, where I am writing the draft of this blog.   

ARRIVING IN LA: CITY OF ANGELS

I never understood why LA became known as the city of angels. The crazy maze navigating passengers from the domestic terminal to international departures required a bit of skill and patience (as for the latter, I'm work on building every day) and as usual I didn’t get the full story from the people in the know and from passersby about the exact location of the connecting shuttles. To get to the Air New Zealand departure section, I had to go out the baggage claim area and run over to the left to get the shuttle. Not such an angelic area to maneuver around. The shuttle turned out to not be far from where I was, but the distance was enough to be reminded of the stifling humidity of LA, a familiar sensation from previous visits. I could already feel perspiration pressing through the pores on the back of my neck, at the base of my hair follicles, and my upper lip. The worst thing about all this grimy humidity is the greasy hair that I know I’ll end up with by tomorrow morning.

Despite the trickiness and the heat, I managed to pass through airport security with little fanfare. My only complaint was being made to go through the process of taking out my belt, belongings, shoes . . . well, any of you who have traveled know how cumbersome the security measures can be.

On a side note - I saw Tim Daly standing by the carousel in the baggage one area. He’s much shorter in person than I had perceived, as he appears to tower over Addison, his former love in "Private Practice", on the tv screen. The black, horn-rimmed glasses sitting on his very prominent nose made him look professorial and extremely handsome – more so in person - especially with his hair sticking up from sleeping (I presume) during his flight and looking so very casual.

I finally got my much-desired red wine at the tiny pizzeria eatery not far from Gate 25. The late night travelers look sleepy; the tv is loud above the clink, clink, clink of glasses and beer bottles being cleared by the bar help; a baby is cooing in the corner. The barbecue chicken salad I ate was the perfect antidote to my rumbling stomach. In about two and a half hours, I’ll be up in the air again and probably eating . . . again. 

The wine is doing its job. I’m starting to feel sleepy and relaxed, if not a little loopy. I hope I don’t doze through my flight. I should probably wait by the gate now.

DEPARTING JFK ON THE SECOND LEG OF MY TRIP

Up at 5:30 am, much earlier than the crack of dawn, to catch dear old Peter Pan Bus to Kennedy Airport – so begins my journey to Auckland. I was half an hour early, so I stopped into Amherst Coffee and sipped a strong, roast coffee while I waited patiently for the driver. My mind strayed to my luggage, knowing that it would be more than the 50 pound limit allowed for these cheap tickets. Poverty doesn’t gain one any favors, that’s for sure.

As I mentally ticked off all the sweaters, pants, shoes, and books I packed, I realized I could have probably done away with most of them. I prefer to pack light and I generally bring more than is necessary. Experience should have informed me this time that I would not use all that I bring, but as usual I thought into the future to the next three years, knowing there were items I might need and knew I didn’t want to buy in New Zealand. 

After checking in, I discovered that the damage wasn’t so bad, as the extra baggage fee was worth a mere USD$70.00. The ticketing agent explained that even though the itinerary was shared with United Airlines, the flight technically belonged to Air New Zealand. Therefore, I was spared the normative USD$200.00 fee charged by UA. What a relief! The differences in fees did get me wondering about how these airline mergers benefit the airline companies. Specifically, how do the financial benefits to the passengers benefit the bottom line for the airlines?

Departing from any airport in NYC is a pain, to be sure. Besides the human congestion, anything could have gone wrong. Peter Pan was slightly late in arriving. I had a brief visit with the USPS, which rendered some delay. And, with the heavy traffic, there was no telling whether or not I would reach the airport with enough time to check in and pass through security without the usual stress levels associated with using public transportation. The airport bus shuttle picking up travelers from Port Authority was also slightly late and weaving through traffic took an entire hour. Anything could have gone wrong, so I was grateful to finally reach Terminal 7 with some time to spare. Unfortunately for me, the interlude between boarding and being cleared by airport security for boarding was short and provided only a minor relief from the nervous adrenaline in my veins induced by the minor obstacles during the transfers. I so wanted to relax with a glass of wine and simply write, but no such luxury on this occasion.