Oh yeah, and I teach too

You may be surprised, shocked even, to learn that life here in Tonga isn’t all biking, beaches, and vacations. I actually have a job here, teaching senior-level history at a high school. It’s the British system here, with a head boy, prefects, and houses (no Gryffindor though). In the Canadian equivalent, I’m teaching grades 11, 12, and 13 (OAC lives on!) history, and grade 13 sociology.

This past week, my supervisor came to visit from Canada for six days to see the school, island, and how I’m doing here. Two of those days were our inter-house sports competition. He also took class photos for our newsletter and magazine.

3…2…1…Bungy!

Completely out of left field, Dad suggested to Lisa and I that we all go bungy jumping. It being his idea would become ironic, when he’d later opt-out. I knew New Zealand was known for its extremes – skydiving, white water rafting, and the zorb (everyone knows what that is). I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was essentially the home to bungy jumping as well – commercial bungy jumping was pioneered by New Zealander A J Hackett. A search through the “Adventure New Zealand” guidebook showed that we would be passing through Taupo, a sort of extremer’s Mecca, where Taupo Bungy promised a jump of 47 meters - New Zealand’s highest water touch. Neither Lisa nor I had bungy jumped before. The closest we had come was sitting in a freefall chair on Canada’s Wonderland’s Drop Zone, but we decided to “go big or go home.” They didn’t take reservations, but made the semi-comforting pledge that they would be operating in any weather save a lightning storm.

I told Lisa that I had to jump first if it was going to happen, basically so that I couldn’t wuss out after she jumped. We waited on a platform overlooking the lake, with two jumpers ahead of us. It appeared that the New Zealand meter was bigger then a Canadian meter, because we were at least a hundred meters higher then 47m. We watched one of the jumpers ahead, who, on “bungy!” was too afraid to jump and needed one of the attendants to shove him off the platform. Next the jumper ahead of me went, and then it was my turn.

“Good mornin’” the attendant said, then, “(stuff I couldn’t understand in New Zealand English)…camera…(more gibberish)…you’ll jump.” I nodded. He asked if I wanted to do the water-touch (exactly what it sounds like), and how “much” water I wanted to touch. I hemmed and hawed; shouldn’t touching water be my goal for jump 2? He said there was no point in jumping from NZ’s highest water touch if I wasn’t going to touch the water…

“Ok, well, I just want to brush the surface with my fingertips,” I decided, and he said no problem mate.

I stepped up to the platform, and Lisa on the bench bedside me disappeared along with the rest of the world. The only thing my brain knew existed was a patch of water below, and it was screaming at me to be careful that I didn’t fall. The attendant said something and pointed; I blankly looked up at a black device beside me, and while my mind contemplated the free fall that awaited, it whirled and clicked. I had no time to think about what it had done, because someone was counting down. When he said “bungy!” I leaned forward.

I am certain that, in my life until then, I have never had a more concerned look on my face. Not scared, just very extremely concerned. “You idiot, you’ve doomed us!” my brain screamed at me, as it struggled to understand what I had just done. I drew in a sharp breath and then a second without exhaling in between. I felt tension around my ankles, and noticed water coming towards me. “Oh yeah,” I remembered, “Water touch!” I stretccchhhhed out my finger tips to ever so lightly brush the water’s surface…and plunged in to my chest. The look on my face instantly changed from concern to surprise, underwater, before I was yanked back out. As I sputtered, I managed to do something none of the jumpers before me had – I got myself spinning. I sprang up and down, and spun round and round, blowing water out my nose.

A raft appeared below, and someone hooked me and pulled me aboard. In the thirty-second trip to shore they grilled me about my life, so that in Lisa’s thirty-second trip they could tell her all about me. Without knowing my fate, Lisa wisely decided against the water touch, but still managed to get a good spin going. All that was left was a hike back to the top, where we could tell Mom and Dad about the fun they had missed!

Lisa and I waiting for the guy in red, who needed a push


Luckily, I was thirsty

Auckland & Rotorura

After figuring out the rental car (the windshield wipers were where the turn signal should be, crazy British cars!), we headed for Auckland. Personally I wasn’t a big fan of New Zealand’s largest city (though not their capital, and I bet residents of Wellington hate it when foreigners assume Auckland is New Zealand’s capital; I certainly do when I say “I’m from Ottawa, Canada’s capital” and people reply “I thought the capital was Toronto…”). I can usually read a city after a day or two, get a feel for what makes it unique. But when we left Auckland, it was still a mystery to me. It felt like a combination of many different cities, arranged in a way that just didn’t work right. I found a little confusing and frustrating. Now that I think about it, though, it may not have been Auckland’s fault. This was the first city I had been in, in a year, that had more then three paved road. Maybe I was actually just overwhelmed by the streets, traffic, malls, and crowds, that I hadn’t had to deal with for awhile.

It was at this time that I began to notice a curious habit of New Zealanders – they stared. They openly stared; they looked, and did not look away. Now, I know what you’re going to say. “You probably had food in your beard.” And ordinarily I’d concede on this, I’m not ashamed to admit that a beard is a great place to keep food, nice and close to the mouth, and that, combined with my messy eating habits, often leads to many cookie crumbs savoured long after desert has ended for everyone else. But, when leaving Tonga I had trimmed my beard especially short, so this time that wasn’t the case. And it wasn’t just me – they stared at all of us, separate or together. And it wasn’t just in Auckland, it happened everywhere, all across the country, during the entire two weeks! It would become a constant topic of conversation – “that was weird, those two people looked at us, but then kept staring until we passed them – did you see that?” It got to the point where I would say “hello,” or wave, or, near the end of our trip, occasionally stick my tongue out. That’d snap them out of it, maybe they’d then look away, but nothing more, not even a “hello” back. Very strange. (Australians, I have found, do not have this habit. Does New Zealand stand alone in the Commonwealth with the largest population of staring contest winners?).

In Auckland, we saw the sights, including a volcano-top base built to defend the city from a nineteenth century Russian invasion that never came. And we marvelled at Canada’s representation on CC billboards (they managed to include a bunch of stereotypes – remoteness (note the bush plane), mountains, snow, fir trees, moose, beavers, and, surprise, beer). Oh, and I got a haircut, and ate sushi, crossing it off a mental “to eat in first world” list that included (of course) pizza and (yeah, I know) a Big Mac.

Then we pushed on to Rotorura. This was New Zealand’s volcanic activity capital. We were here for Christmas and Boxing Day, so not much was open, but there was still plenty to do. A great big hill was next to the holiday park, and I was determined to climb it as soon as I saw it. Lisa joined me, in what became a hike uphill through dense woods with no path to follow and only loose leaves to step on and rotting wood to grab. During the climb, we discussed the possibility of finding, at the top, a path/a road/a restaurant-gift shop, but instead found level ground so covered with trees that we didn’t even get a nice view of the area. Then it was a slide downhill, me willingly adopting the feet-bum-hands technique I had perfected for downhill on a hike with Sheldon, Leo, and Dennis in Salmon Arm, Lisa adopting it in spurts as an alternative to falling down.

The next day we checked out a free-access thermal area in town. We decided that, faced with a great big useless field full of steam vents and bubbling mud pools, the city council slapped a couple signs and railings on the place and called it a park. It had some nice hot wading pools, but it also stank of rotten eggs, so it was give-and-get. There were signs scattered about containing the history of the area. The pools had been used in the past to wash dirty things like laundry and children. One discussed a “Lobster Pool” that turned fair skin red. After that, a swim in Blue Lake, which was decidedly too cold to swim in, and naps on the beach. The next day we moved on to Okahune, Mount Doom, and Tongariro National Park. That is, with a detour to Taupo Bungy…

It never fired a shot in anger...but in frustration? Probably. Where are those Ruskies!

And it looks even bigger in real life...

I just want to experience the warmth of Tonga again!

New Zealand

The Post Family, together in Tonga

On 22 Dec my parents, sister, and I touched down in New Zealand’s largest city, Auckland. Our AirNZ flight left Tonga at 4AM, the earliest flight I’ve ever had. But once I realized that the On-Demand TV on the seat in front of me was in fact a sticker with a promise of On-Demand TV by December 2008 (they’re cutting it close!), I quickly passed out.

My first impression of New Zealand was that it was strict. SUPER strict. I have never been through a more rigorous baggage examination process, and I once tried to enter the US with eight Arabic stamps in my passport (true story). In Tonga, the baggage screen was the door you walked through as you left the airport, but here everyone went through questions after lines after x-rays after inspections after questions.

I would later discover they had every right to be worried. Ignoring the damage of flora in New Zealand, the impact of invasive fauna introduced by Europeans was massive. When Captain Cook came by, he left behind cows and other livestock to feed future colonists. But these animals reproduced much too slowly for his tastes, and so he also introduced the rabbit. BOOM! Soon everyone is sick of rabbit meat, and to combat the rascaly rabbits they introduce the stoat. These animals were mentioned to us on a tour in a way that suggested they were well known, but I’d never heard of them before. What little demon animals they are! These vicious mammals live life on a faster plane of existence then most; they can attain 400 heart beats and 100 breaths a minute, requiring a constant flow of energy. They took a look at the rabbits, going mach 3 across the New Zealand countryside, and then they took a look at the Kiwi, a bird just one good (or even mediocre) predator away from extinction, and they feasted on Kiwi ever since. The rabbit plague was never cured, but in the meantime Europeans opened New Zealand to weasels, ferrets, and possums (speed bumps in New Zealand, while ironically a protected species in their native Australia). One governor even attempted to introduce zebra. In his defense, what place couldn’t use striped horses? Or monkeys... Only a few species introductions concluded happily, trout for instance.

My next impression of New Zealand, when we left the airport, was that it was cold. I’d hardly ever worn the hoodie I brought to Tonga eleven months ago, and in my effort to pack light I had left it behind (it’s a six week trip for me, I press on to Australia at the end of our New Zealand trip). Tonga had been low thirties the week before, but New Zealand was “just” mid-twenties. I maintain that that Canadian winter will kill me.

While we waited for a shuttle to pick us up and take us to the Apex car rental lot, I took in my new surroundings. McDonalds, KFC, AVIS, two dollar coins…I could believe I was in Canada again. But then a local would say something and Lisa and I would exchange confused looks – “keyn aw halp you?” And then wheelie bins, push chairs, tumblers, chilly bins!. “Coffee” meant nothing, you had to specify - short black, long black, flat white. This was definitely a foreign country.

Figuring out Auckland

Battle of the Landing Points, Part 1: Captain Cook

The tourist attractions of Tongatapu are fairly limited, but one thing there are plenty of, is “landing points.” There are three marked on this island, celebrating the arrival of various Europeans. I’ve been to them all, and now I solve the mystery of just who has the best landing point on Tongatapu. Then I can devote myself to study the other great mystery of the universe: women!

I skipped another visit to the Captain Cook landing point, my first was more then enough. Captain Cook is one of the greatest navigators, ever; the more I read about him, the more respect I have for his achievements. From Alaska to Siberia to Australia, this eighteenth century British navigator left his mark, and explored more of the earth’s surface then anyone else in history. All that, and the big mess in Never-Never Land, to boot! His legacy is controversial, paving the way for colonialism, (which is a sensitive topic in the South Pacific, though not nearly as sensitive as decolonization). But all in all he was a fairly compassionate guy considering what he dealt with in many of his “first contact” situations. After ten of his sailors were killed, cooked, and eaten by Maoris, Cook wrote, “Notwithstanding they are cannibals, they ware naturally of a good disposition.” His time was cut short when he was killed in Hawaii, but in his ten years of exploration he filled in all the blank spots on the Pacific map. His legacy is everywhere in the Pacific; it was Cook who gave Tonga the nickname, “the friendly islands,” and wow Tonga went to town with that. Friendly Islands Bookstore, Friendly Islands Kayaking Adventures, The Friendly Islander Hotel, Friends Café…


In 1777, Cook touched down in Eastern Tongatapu, as back then the capital of the island was in that area (later moved to its present location when having a deep water harbour became important). Supposedly, there was a banyan tree there, and the story goes that he told a local boy to fetch someone important, and then took a nap under the tree while he waited. Or he might have taken a nap, then made his way to the capital to find someone important. There are plenty of variations to the story, but the tree and the nap make an appearance in each, which makes sense because the nap is a staple of Tongan life. It’s a stop on every “sights of the island” tour, but once you arrive…there is no tree, and in its place is a non-attraction-that- tries-to-be-an-attraction, a plaque. He couldn’t have picked a nicer place to land, though, one of the most beautiful coves in Tonga’s massive lagoon.

I stopped here many months ago on my way to Lapaha and the step tombs, and shared my lunch with a local who, I think, offered to set me up with one of his many girlfriends in return.

The plaque reads: Here stood formerly the great banyan Malumalu-o-Fulilangi, under the branches of which the celebrated navigator came ashore on his way to visit Pau, the Tui Tonga on the occasion of the Inasi in the year 1777.

Soon part 2, Christianity...