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Kiwis and Kangaroos
a travel blog by
exumenius
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Thwarted by ESPN NZ - Night 103
Invercargill
,
New Zealand
The major goal today was to find a place to watch the Packers game, which would be played at 12:30. I spent the morning wandering around town looking for a used bookstore to trade in a few finished books for some new ones. Along the way I made a mental note of everyplace that looked like it might be the kind of sports bar that would be open at noon on a Monday. I eventually stumbled into a small place operating out of a room joined to a butchery/bakery. The sign said
Stewart Island in the Distance
“Butchery, Bakery, and Book Exchange,” an odd combination, but whatever. I found an old man hunched over a magazine behind the counter and, as luck would have it, he was listening to the Patriots-Chargers game. I immediately inquired as to the station and if he was a fan. “Oh this,” he said, “I am just waiting for the horse racing to come on at noon.” It all became clear. He was a gambling degenerate/bookie busily reading the racing forum and placing and taking bets out of the store, his front, as it were. He gladly accepted my three books and told me to choose any two books from the shelves in trade, not even so much as noting what I took or how many. Not surprisingly, his adult books section comprised of erotic novels and old pornographic magazines took up a good third of the small hut out of which he operated. A friendly guy, he gave me the names of some pubs that might show the game and I was on my way.
Downtown Invercargill
The Speight’s Ale House just down the street from my hostel opened at 11 and looked promising. The girl behind the bar flipped through the five Sky sports channels and found the Pats-Chargers game on the last one, ESPN New Zealand. After the New England game and a brief Sportscenter I was primed for the Packers. However, abruptly at 12:30 fucking ESPN New Zealand cut to tape delayed, B-league Spanish soccer, denying me my Packers. Once again the waitress flipped through all the channels, but this time to no avail. Defeated, and unwilling to pay $30 in internet fees to watch the play-by-play online, I decided to take a long walk down to the estuary park during the game, as my watching would have little effect on the outcome. On the way I stopped by the World’s
The Estuary Walkway
Southermost Micro-Brewery, the Invercargill Brewery, for a few free tastes of beer. A huge fan of microbrews, I was genuinely unimpressed with their product, though I signed the guest registry anyways. As you can see, the one thing Invercargill does pitch is its southernmost location. At the very edge of New Zealand, it is the farthest south English speaking city of over 50,000 in the world. The only larger cities farther south are those in Chile and Argentina and as a result many things and places here are the “southernmost this or that.”….like the Subway Restaurant next door to my hostel.
The tragic Green Bay loss left me in a foul mood for the evening. I made Rissolas, breaded, conglomerated meatballs consisting of beef, pork, and/or lamb (as the package alluded to) for dinner. I guess this counts for a traditional New Zealand meal. At night, I walked to the theatre across the street to see American Gangster, a 1970’s gangland epic.
What I Learned Today: (WARNING: Partial Movie Spoiler Below) During my travels here I’ve had more than a few New Zealanders or Aussies refer to what they believe is the relative dangerousness of American cities. While it is true that America does lead the world in prison population (though mostly on drug charges), it is certainly less dangerous than many places throughout the world, so I wondered where this belief came from. It finally clicked; the movies. Our exported entertainment culture glorifies violence to such a point that were I a small town New Zealander I would have no choice but to believe that all American cities are full of gangsters with automatic weapons who kill each other in broad daylight over drug money. To them America must seem like a big, dirty, interesting and lethal place. At the end of the movie, when the subtitles explained that Frank Lucas was sentenced to 70 years, though only served 15, no less than half of the audience snickered; a not-so silent acknowledgement of the perceived hypocrisy practiced in our land of supposed freedom and justice.
written by
exumenius
on January 21, 2008
from
Invercargill
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
Kiwis and Kangaroos
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Catlin's Coast - Night 104
Dunedin
,
New Zealand
The consistent rain bode poorly for my Catlin’s
The Group plus the Sea Lion
Coast trip today. I braved the wet and walked down to the I-site center to catch my bus at 10. Our shuttle was 30 minutes late and once it arrived Jaime, the driver, had forgotten to fuel up so that set up back another half an hour. Normally one of the office workers, Jaime was filling in for a sick driver and it showed as he wasn’t very well organized or prompt, for that matter. Surprisingly, however, he turned out to be a great guide for the day and kept our ears full of interesting tidbits and trivial facts on the region.
900 lb Sea Lion
Our first stop was Point Waipapa, the site of the worst maritime accident in New Zealand history. Back in the 1880s the Tarurua ran aground on the rocks not far from shore but only 20 of the 150 sailors survived. In response the lighthouse was constructed shortly thereafter. Waipapa Point also happens to be the summer home of a large 900-lb sea lion. The elderly male lies on the beach not far from the carpark all day graciously posing for tourists and fishing off of the reef. The rain had let up by this point, but the wind was fiercely blowing up from Antarctica giving the air a chill reminiscent of late fall day in the Midwest. Next we pulled into Curio Bay for a warm lunch at the small stand and a chance to see the elusive Hector’s dolphins. Endemic to New Zealand, the Hector’s, the smallest of all the dolphins, live only here on the southeast coast and nowhere else in the world. Luckily we did get to see a small pod of them playing in the surf a distance down the coast. Around the corner is the strange outcropping of petrified podocarp forest, apparently the greatest occurrence of petrification from the Jurassic period anywhere on the planet.
Waikapu Point
In the afternoon we made a stop at Nugget Point to see the famous lighthouse perched upon the coastal head. Below Nugget Point is one of the only yellow-eyed penguin breeding grounds in the world. Hidden in a duck blind of sorts we watched the four adults climb from the sea, oil down their feathers and then begin the long climb up the hill to their nests and the eagerly awaiting children.
A long day of driving, quite frequently on
Nugget Lighthouse
twisty gravel roads, we finally made Dunedin around 7pm. I was much too tired to find a grocery store and then cook a meal, so I dined out at the Olive Branch and had the best kebab of my trip. Gastrointestinally satisfied, I returned to Penny’s Backpackers to utilize the free internet on site. Penny’s was one of the dirtier places I’ve stayed, but it was cheap and well located just a few blocks from the Octagon, the center of town. It was a weak nights
By the Falls
sleep as the old man below me in the bottom bunk was a prodigious sleep talker who seems to blurt out random things everytime the bed squeaked. Fucker had some sort of night time Turret’s syndrome that scared the shit out of me a few times.
What I Learned Today: In Germany all it takes to become a judge is a law degree…no experience necessary. (One of the ladies in my group is a judge in Germany at age 35 with only a few years as a barrister under her belt)
written by
exumenius
on January 22, 2008
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Dunedin
,
New Zealand
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Out in the Octagon - Night 105
Dunedin
,
New Zealand
In the morning I went for a walk around town, eventually stumbling through the University of Otago Campus. The second largest university in the country, Otago has upwards of 25,000 students during the school season. This, however, was summer break so the campus was only partial filled by eager summer school participants and full time faculty members not lucky enough to be on sabbatical. I was also fortunate enough to be able to download some journal articles from the library’s database that aren’t available online. Ah, the joys of digital thievery and copyright violation. After another marginal tasting Chinese lunch (I just don’t seem to learn) I set off north in search of the world’s steepest street. Armed with a horrible map and my excellent sense of direction I became hopelessly lost, eventually ending up in some Japanese garden not far from the University.
Dunedin Railway Station
On the way back to the hostel I came across the $12 haircut bar. I entered through the green door, partly for the novelty of it and partly due to my need for a trim up. Immediately upon entering, one of life’s greatest questions was answered for me: Yes, people do actually go to a professional hairdresser to get a mullet cut. A guy about my age was sitting in the chair having his top and sides trimmed while letting it all grow in the back. Unfortunately I missed his arrival,
$12 Haircut Bar
but I imagine it went something like “hey honey, can you make me look like a Kentucky Redneck? I’ve got a job interview tomorrow and need to look my best.” He even went so far as to get the ridiculous little lines shaved into his sides, a la Billy Ray Cyrus. I should have heeded this warning and left, but I was transfixed by the surrounds and went like a lamb to slaughter when the stylist called “Next.” To be fair, it wasn’t the worst haircut I’ve ever received, but it was certainly top three. With the mullet cut fresh in her mind, she took too much of the top and sides and not enough of the back of my head. In no way am I currently rocking a full-fledged mullet, but rather just a subtle training one. You know what they say….when in Rome….As if the $12 Haircut Bar wasn’t memorable enough, as I was about to leave a crazy old Maori man with a huge unkempt head of hair came flying in the door. Turns out he wanted someone to shave his head, to which the hairdresser replied that it would be $25. Cleary drunk and likely on E, he whipped out a pocketful of change which he counted out to $18.40. After a big of haggling the red-hedded girl agreed to shave his head for $18.40 in change, more so just to get him out of there as fast as possible. Looking back, I should have stayed to watch this, but my hunger was getting the best of me and besides I’m not sure that spectators are welcome in the $12 Haircut Bar.
One Huge Tower of Chocolate
In the evening I hit up the happy hour in the cellar bar with Paul, a guy from the hostel. A nice, cozy, windowless pub, the owner’s daughter was bartending and we had the run of the place. She kept the $2.50 beers coming long after happy hour had officially ended. Eventually a Frenchman from New Caledonia joined us in the cellar. Later on we went down to The Craic, an Irish bar in the Octagon. Not fully satisfied from our numerous pints of Kilkenny, we ended up at a real towny bar, the name and location of which I do not remember. I believe there was some live music. Judging by the fact that I woke up in my bed, I imagine I didn’t do anything overly illegal or unsafe, though, again, I really can’t be sure.
What I Learned Today: Like so many of the other strange beings that happily inhabit these two islands, homo mulletus is alive and well down here and apparently damned proud of perpetuating one of the worst fashion ideas ever.
written by
exumenius
on January 23, 2008
from
Dunedin
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
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Oh Oamaru - Night 106
Timaru
,
New Zealand
By some miracle I managed to wake up on
World's Steepest Street
time. Having failed to arrange the return of my key deposit last night, I quite begrudgingly forfeited the $10 as my bus pickup was prior to the opening of the front office. Also to be recorded in the “I’m a dipshit” file, for the second time in three days I left an expensive, microfiber towel at the hostel.
On our way out of town, the Magic Bus stopped at the elusive world’s steepest street. Turns out I was only a few blocks away yesterday. Talk about anticlimactic. My wanderings were a waste of time, as the street was not nearly as steep as one would think. Nursing my hangover, I declined trying to walk up it. An hour into the drive, we stopped at a small café located along the sea in an area littered with strange, spherical rocks formed by some sort of limestone accretion or something…I wasn’t really listening to the driver. By 11 we had made it as far as Oamaru, my stop for the night. I was dropped off at the far southern part of town, and it turned out my hostel was located on the far north, nearly two miles away so I had to hike it through the elongated beach town with all my possessions in tow.
Whisky Distillery and Pub
Finally arriving at the Chillawhile Backpackers, I tossed my bags in the hallway of the old Victorian mansion and made a predatory search for some lunch, my post drinking hunger having overtaken me. The Chillawhile is a large home that Kelly and her unnamed husband have turned into a small backpackers. Very friendly and relaxed, they offer free internet and laundering services. It turns out that Kelly had messed up my reservation and the only bed left was a large queen bed that they normally don’t use, so as a result of her error I got a free upgrade to much nicer sleeping quarters.
In the afternoon I walked to town to see
Penguin Colony
the Blue Penguin colony, at which all the birds were currently out fishing so it wasn’t all that exciting. Oamaru also has a quaint, two-block square of very old buildings complete with stone streets and sidewalks. Strange visions of Prague and Bratislava filled my head. I stopped at the Whisky distillery for drink and a look around. Such concluded my day in Oamaru.
What I Learned Today: It is entirely possible to walk off a hangover…a stiff sea breeze helps as well.
written by
exumenius
on January 24, 2008
from
Timaru
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
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Up the Waitaki Valley - Night 107
Lake Tekapo
,
New Zealand
Being in a large, comfortable queen bed with no one tossing and turning in the bunk above or below me I actually managed to sleep in until 8am. After breakfast and a short trip down to the beach I packed my bags for the long two mile walk into town. My bus was scheduled for 11:15 and by noon I began to worry that the driver had forgotten me, as Oamaru is an optional stop for the Magic service. An hour late, the bus rolled into town. It turns out the driver was a substitute who didn’t necessarily believe in sticking to the rigid schedule set forth in the manual.
Lake Pukaki
The drive Tekapo was beautiful and long. The country in this part is very dry, a result of being on the leeward side of the north-south running Southern Alps. The west coast, only 60-80 kms away as the crow flies, get nearly five times as much rainfall. Water, however, is abundant here as the snowmelt from the Alps drains eastward to the Canterbury plains and eventually to the Pacific Ocean. All through this area are dams and canals, providing 25% of New Zealand’s electric power.
We finally arrived in Tekapo at 4pm. The small
Evening BBQ
town is perched at the southern shore of Lake Tekapo peering directly over the water at the snow covered peaks of the Alps. The driver, Steve, had arranged for a group barbecue tonight. Being one of the only guys who signed on for the event, I received the task of steak preparation, which was fine with me. The feed turned out to be a huge success. In all honesty it was probably the best $10 meal I’ve had in New Zealand.
Sunset over Lake Tekapo
What I Learned Today: The river, canal, and dam system of the Waitaki Valley is one of the most elaborate in world. Water from Lake Tekapo (originally from the flanks of the Southern Alps) passes through eight different hydropower plants on its relatively short trip to the Pacific Ocean. Also, strangely, because of the amount of glacial flour in the water, most of the large glacial lakes in the Mackenzie Region are completely devoid of fish.
written by
exumenius
on January 25, 2008
from
Lake Tekapo
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
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Chilling in Tekapo - Night 108
Lake Tekapo
,
New Zealand
There are a number of good day hikes in the
The Observatory
Tekapo region; however, disappointingly the traffic is so slight that no commercial services provide transport to them. Consequently, I was reduced to tramping on the short, nearby observatory hill hike. Rising straight out of town, the trail climbs upward for about 35 minutes before emerging from the trees to the balding top of the hill. Up here, the University of
Canterbury
has constructed a large observatory complex to take advantage of the dry clear air and the lack of light pollution in this relatively unpopulated area. Most of the buildings are off-limits to visitors; however, a small café sits amidst the domed structures offering food and drinks at exorbitantly high prices. The views of the town and the lake, which are free, are spectacular and well worth the climb. The way back down takes a swooping curve along the lake, lengthening the whole walk to about three hours.
The Little Town of Tekapo
After lunch, I did laundry and spared my skin some UVs by hanging out in the lounge and catching up on some academic reading and email contacts. In the late afternoon I took an off-the-trail hike down what used to be the main channel draining
Lake Tekapo
(which has now been reduced to a trickle due to most of the excess water being pumped down the canal to Lake Pukaki in order to power the hydroplants downstream). I caught a glimpse of a few 8-inch trout that appeared to be rainbows along the way. It was a calm night, as the hostel was filled primarily with old couples and Chinese girls.
What I Learned Today: If I had to do the South Island again I would rent a car.
written by
exumenius
on January 26, 2008
from
Lake Tekapo
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
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Up the Tasman Valley - Night 110
Twizel
,
New Zealand
A Silhouette of Determination
I set off early this morning headed for the Tasman Glacier and the Ball Hut trail. Since it was 10 kilometers (6.3 miles) from the hostel to the trail head I was counting on the good graces of fellow drivers down the dead end road. In less words, I needed to hitch a ride there and back if I wanted to keep my walking down to a manageable level. After a few Ks, I crossed the bridge over the small, gray creek and was offered a ride by a Norwegian man and his South African partner. One thing I’ve noticed is that all of the Kiwis and Aussies as well as most of the European couples I’ve met, whether married or not, refer to their significant other simply as their ‘partner.’ After dropping me off at the trailhead they mentioned that they would be leaving at 2:30 and that I was more than welcomed to a ride back to town.
The Ball Hut trail is composed primarily of
The Dirty Glacier and the Dirty Lake
an old four wheel drive track that hugs the outside, bottom edge of the five mile long lateral moraine of the Tasman Glacier. Hundreds of feet high in places (with the glacier actually an additional hundred or so feet below on the other side), the moraine itself would pass for a mountain range in the Midwest. The unfortunate side of this was that the first 60% of the trail offered no views of the glacier…but a certain amount of shade and protection from the winds that whip down the valley. Every so often the track had been rebuilt as an avalanche of snow and rock had screamed down the mountain erasing everything in its track. About halfway down the trail I met two hikers, one of whom recognized the UW-Stevens Point shirt I was wearing and stopped to talk to me. As it turns out, she is a senior at Lawrence in Appleton down here on a semester abroad. Yeah, yeah…small world, but I’ve learned that a long time ago, in fact the book I just finished, Six Degrees, by Duncan Watts, explains t
The Ball Hut
his very phenomenon in explicit mathematical and sociological detail (my wearing of the Point t-shirt is a vague example of broadcasting or, rather, a refined network search).
Anyways, two and half hours after leaving the
Gazing into the Tasman Valley
carpark I reached the Ball Hut, a small, unglorified shed perched on the edge of the moraine. The views from here are breathtaking, but it is the sounds that actually blow your mind. For starters, little to no human sounds at all, save the occasional scenic airplane flight high above Mt. Cook (and the Irish couple who was also having lunch at the hut, but they were fairly quiet). All the noise hears comes in the forms of loud cranks, booms, and rock falls as the glacier slowly advances down the valley. You can actually hear it moving…simply amazing. One sits in physical geography class and learns about terminal and lateral moraines, glacier till, striations, hanging valleys and the like, but none of it really sinks in until you sit on the edge of two hundred foot high lateral moraine and listen to miles and miles of moving ice actually sculpt a valley.
Wicked Clouds
A note about the Tasman Glacier: the lower five miles or so of it are coated with 3-5 feet of rocks that fall from the moraines, giving it a dirty appearance instead of the white and blue one comes to expect with a glacier. On the way back I stopped off at waterfall and let the cold water pour down over me. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and when the wind ceased to blow it was damned hot in the valley, despite being just feet from so much ice. Upon returning to the carpark I managed to catch the Irish couple from the trail just leaving in their van. They too graciously gave me a ride back to the town, in fact, they went so far as to drop me off right at my hostel. There is certain code of ethics among travelers and I’ve greatly benefitted from it today. My turn to repay will likely come sooner than later…keep that great karmic wheel turning in my favor.
What I Learned Today: There is a strange friendliness dynamic that occurs on hiking trails that, after some rationalization, I’ve come to find is a bit like life in a microcosm. When hiking along a deserted trail, if you happen to meet someone you almost always stop to talk to them. At some point as the trail becomes busier you are reduced to a simple hello or headnod. Again, at another subjective increase in volume it becomes acceptable to completely ignore the numerous passer-bys. Life is like this, depending on the size of the city, town or village you are in.
written by
exumenius
on January 28, 2008
from
Twizel
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
Kiwis and Kangaroos
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Last Day at Mt. Cook - Night 111
Lake Tekapo
,
New Zealand
On my third and final day in Mt. Cook I
One of the Swingbridges
begrudgingly opted for the popular Hooker Glacier Trail. Only a three hour round trip, the hike was certainly worth it with two large swing bridges and an iceberg filled lake lying at the feet of New Zealand’s highest peak. The downfall of this trail is the volume of people on it. Most small groups, couples and solo hikers follow accepted trail etiquette; however, the large groups of guided Japanese tourists are truly a menace. Stopping every five feet take a photo of another rock or another stream, they constantly clog the trail with their seemingly total lack of wherewithal. I suppose in some sick karmic sense this is but the beginning of our payback for dropping the bomb all those years ago…damn you Harry.
The Hooker Valley
The weather was absolutely fabulous for the fifth or sixth day in a row (I’ve lost count), though one could tell that the west coast wasn’t faring as well. All day long clouds literally rolled over the dividing range and then instantaneously dissipated into the dry air on this, the leeward, side of the mountains. The sky on this side remained cloudless all day. My shuttle bus arrived promptly at 4pm and with only two us on the return trip, I rode shotgun opposite the ever-informative Allen, owner of the company. Jacques, a chain smoking Frenchman in his 40s, sat quietly in the back vigorously shaking and humming to himself to combat his lack of nicotine on the 90 minute drive.
The Tekapo YHA was full so I was forced
Mt. Cook across Lake Pukaki
into staying at the Tailor Made Backpackers just up the hill. The desk worker/mechanic/maid was an old man who didn’t quite have both oars in the water, if you know what I mean, but was friendly enough. Not the greatest looking place I’ve stayed, the comfortable, non-bunk beds made up for the shabby exterior. After the sun finally went down (around 10pm) I trespassed onto the newly developing subdivision next door to avoid the street lights in order to get a good view of the stars. As evidenced by the observatory on Mt. David nearby, the Tekapo region is known for its clear, dry, and dark sky. It didn’t disappoint. The Milky Way, Orion, the Southern Cross and a host of other constellations I cannot identify were lit up like Amy Winehouse at happy hour. I manage to get lost in revelry for about an hour before the wind brought a chill that sent me back to the hostel.
What I Learned Today: The sheer number of satellites crossing the night sky is mind blowing.
written by
exumenius
on January 29, 2008
from
Lake Tekapo
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
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Onwards to Christchurch - Night 112
Christchurch
,
New Zealand
Overnight the clouds had rolled in, making today ideal for riding a bus. Leaving Tekapo around 9am, we made
Christchurch
by 1pm and after a brief city tour I was all checked into the Stonehurst Accommodation by 2. Two of my roommates at Stonehurst are from the Yukon, that small, triangular shaped Canadian province bordering Alaska. Now’s that the middle of nowhere.
I spent the afternoon wandering around
Some Church
this city of 300,000. Much of the downtown consists of wonderfully restored 2 and 3-story Victorian buildings, every so often interrupted by a much taller modern, steel and glass structure. Parks and public squares abound, including Hagley Park, the fourth largest urban park in the world.
In the evening I met Kathi, one of my fellow volunteers from
Wellington
for a few drinks at the Iconic, an empty, over-priced bar near my hostel. She is heading on to
Dunedin
tomorrow and eventually down to the Kepler Track, so luckily I was able to trade her some of my backcountry cooking gear for a drink at the bar. A pretty slow day as I was exhausted from the three days of hiking at Mt. Cook.
Chess in Cathedral Square
What I Learned Today:
New Zealand
must have some flexible zoning laws. All throughout this land I’ve seen some strange business combinations; a souvenir shop and bakery (
Invercargill
) and a tobaccoist/knife retailer/barber (
Dunedin
), but Smoko’s Lunches and Used Cars here in
Christchurch
takes the cake. Has anyone ever said, “Honey, let’s go get some pastrami sandwiches and maybe pick up a 04’ Subaru while we are at it”? Do you really want the guy from behind the deli counter selling you a car, or vice versa?
written by
exumenius
on January 30, 2008
from
Christchurch
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
Kiwis and Kangaroos
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Terra Antarcticus - Night 113
Christchurch
,
New Zealand
The Cathedral
I slept deep and late despite the apparent seizure the kid in the bunk above me had at numerous occasions throughout the night (I awoke briefly as the bunk shook like a washing machine a few times, but fell immediately back to sleep). After this trip is over, I am certainly I’ll likely slumber straight through the apocalypse…given that white rider of death arrives at night. Such is my ability to ignore strange noises and commotion from crazy roommates. All bragging aside, I didn’t do much in the morning with the exception of gathering supplies for the rest of my journey. Never before in my life have I actually realized how long things like toothpaste and deodorant last, until now.
International Antarctic Center
In the afternoon I jumped a bus out to the International Antarctic Center. As Christchurch is the closest large city to Antarctica so New Zealand, Italy, and the United States all base their Antarctic research operations out of this large campus located adjacent to the airport. Quite obviously, the actual American operations are off-limits to civilians; however, the New Zealanders have built a large tourist trap/museum on site. Part historical, part interactive it houses nearly everything you could ever wish to know about the white continent. Presented through a variety of mediums, the three hours I spent there went by in a flash. One of
Inside the Antarctic Center
the main attractions is a ‘blizzard room’ in which they bundle you up in a large coat and boots and drop the temperature to -10 Fahrenheit, with a wind chill of -20 F. When I told the operator that I would pass, he asked why. Naturally, I told him that I had grown up in the Midwestern United States and a -20 wind chill was nothing new to me. He just laughed. On the bus trip back, I found out from the driver that just two days ago, a man from Colorado had been on who was departing to Antarctica to run a research project at the South Pole for 13 months. I imagine it would be hell going through a six-month night, but secretly adventures like this call to me. We must all possess some preternatural desire to push the limits, to strike off into the unknown…I guess some people have learned how to quell theirs, for mine pulls at me with increasing fury.
What I Learned Today: Too much about Antarctica to even remember, so you’ll have to settle for an interesting tidbit of hometown pride. The head of the 2007 U.S. team based at the new South Pole Research Center is Jerry Marty, hailing from Wisconsin.
written by
exumenius
on January 31, 2008
from
Christchurch
,
New Zealand
from the travel blog:
Kiwis and Kangaroos
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