Haast Cattle Sale

On Thursday, 22-11 Graham and I took a break from the farming, and headed over to the West Coast for a cattle sale at Haast.

We left after a full day of work on Wednesday, and spent the night on the shores of lake Wanaka. If anyone ever heads down to New Zealand, the recommendation is to avoid Queenstown, and stay here instead. There's a great organic cafe/store (SoulFood), am amazing views of snow capped peaks, and a great friendly vibe.

The next day we drove through Mt Aspiring National Park. It was too misty to see the high peaks, but large hills, punctuated by thundering waterfalls and covered in coastal rain forest zoomed out of the mist as we followed ? Pass along the Haast river to the Tasman Sea. The copious rain has washed glacier sediment into a broad, marshy plain along the sea, and this area raises quality beef cattle.

The dress was blue jeans and gumboots, the food was fried whitebait patties (a New Zealand specialty), and the cattle were a nice mix of Herefords, Simmental, Angus, and various crosses. We walked around the narrow board walkways on top of the pens for thirty minutes, checking out the wares, and then PGG Wrightson started the auction of the thirty odd pens at around 12:30. An hour or so later, it was all over, and Graham had brought sixty heifers from various lots.

Then a five hour drive back to Marama farm, after arranging for a truck for the cattle the next day.

Monday on Marama Farm

For all you lazy people, headed to bed on Sunday night, I just finished a long day on the farm this Monday. Don't know if it will inspire you to quite your desk job, but thought a typical day might be of interest.

6:30 AM - Alarm goes off. I hit snooze
7:00 AM - out of bed. Getting ready by putting on the dirtiest clothes. Once clothes are clean, I'm really reluctant to get them dirty again . . .
7:30 AM - Muesli for breakfast. And some of the pumpkin bread I made last night. The farmer swears by muesli, but what I really want is some toast. No one in NZ seems to have a working toaster . . .
8:00 AM - Graham Clarke (the owner of my current WWOOF farm) comes in from shifting some sheep, and lets me know that a tailing crew is here, and they're out in the north sheep yards.
8:30 AM - Arrive at the sheep yards, a bunch of seemingly randomly placed runs and small yards that actually work quite well to get ~1,000 sheep and lambs sorted and moving. I introduce myself to the 5 person crew, and jump in.

Tailing Apparatus

Tailing in case anyone ever asks . . .

Sort the lambs from the ewes using a drafting gate (I'm not allowed on this part, I mostly just try to keep out of the way). When 200 lambs are stuffed into a 15 foot square pen, bleating horribly, we're ready to start. I've got a plastic jug of seaweed juice on my back with a long nozzle I shove down the lamb's throats and give them a squirt. It's an organic farm, so no antibiotics/worming agents in this mixture. Another girl holds some ear markers, for ripping two triangles out of the lamb's ears as the farmers mark. The older woman holds the tools for rubber banding the balls of the males, an older man will be doing the same to the tails, and two young guys shove their way into the lambing pen to start hefting lambs onto the slide. We throw them in on their backs, and tug them through each station by the legs.

Blood spatters everywhere from the ear punch, and the lambs fling manure around when they kick their hooves. Some lie quietly, and the disease fee ones have glistening off-white coats. They'll sometimes make eye contact, and others bleat horribly.


Lambs to the Slaughter

9:00 AM - 4:30 PM
We work the assembly line for about and hour and a half, then pack up the fences and gates, and move to another pasture. After eight hours, I'm covered in shit, have blood spatters everywhere (including my glasses), and have an aching hand from tugging down the lambs all day. Heavy little buggers.











Bruce taking a brief rest

4:30 PM - Then off on the quad bike (I do like roaring around on these things, but drive like an old woman after all the stories about the thing slipping over on steep slopes) to shift some more sheep in preparation for tomorrow. Since I don't feel comfortable on the steep slopes, a lot of walking around and waving my arms up and down, sometimes yelling random words or syllables to move the sheep through the far gate.

All in all, just the day I was looking for. Was going to tell the farmer I was leaving early if i didn't get more work/time with the animals, but this was perfect, in a painful and disgusting type of way. Ah, farm life.

Rotoiti Farm

Spent 10 days on my best WWOOFing experience so far, and the farm was damn cool as well. It's nice to be back in the 20th century, and while a small operation that relies on a lot of man power, this feels much more like a commercial farm.

Rotioti Farm is owned by Sue and Roger More. They have ~100 acres, mostly fenced for sheep and beef, but the real money maker is the organic free range eggs. I've heard they get $10 NZ for them in Auckland, and lucky me, I got to eat them for free every day. They have about 1,000 hens that they get when 6 wks old, throw them in one of four chook sheds ("chook" is New Zealand for chicken), and then make them lay, lay, lay for 18 months or so. The hens are remarkably happy and tame. They like to follow people around, and will start a mad clucking at the sound of Sue's voice. The whole operation is deceptively simple. They've fenced in yards and built sheds according to the EU free range organic standards (BIG yards, lots of feeders and nest boxes, perches, etc.) This means the chickens act like chickens, which is to say cannibalistic beasts that follow a strict hierarchy. I've seen older chickens running around with bloody holes in them, as the other members think nothing of taking a bite or two of their mates. You see why many organic operations laser off the beak tip. Though the chickens have the best living environment I've ever seen, so hate to see how stressed out birds act.

My job on the farm was actually pasture maintenance. Which means whacking thistle and foxglove with a dipper. Very satisfying, especially when you get the stroke just right and the offending weed jerks out by it's roots and goes sailing across the paddock. The other task was digging out brambles, which while also satisfying, produced a horrible series of bloody scratches over my face and arms. At times all I really wanted to do was investigate Napalm application.

The couple who owned the farm was a delight. Tons of books, help myself to feed, and lots of long rambling discussions over wine each night with dinner. They also took me around when they went out to coffee with the neighbors, on a restorative trip to the hot springs, and to some local organic meetings. I don't know if Southland will be this relaxing, but headed to Marama Farm near Gore on November 5th.

Grey Auckland

After South and SE Asia, New Zealand is empty and colorless, at least in the big cities. So strange to finally be back in a land where I understand everything, have all the modern conveniences, and long for the mess and bustle of Calcutta. I arrived yesterday, and set out last evening in the cold drizzle to find a cell phone service, do some quick shopping for essentials, etc. Everyone is wearing some shade of black or grey, the 10 people on the street I see, that is, and the shops have all closed at 5:30 pm! Dorothy, we're back in Kansas. Definitely not the tourist ghettos I'm used to staying in, and this is the neighborhood with all the hostels! I'm going to have to get used to life in the modern world all over again. And I hate black, grey, and tasteful shades of tan or beige! Even the backpackers are wearing neutrals.

Rode to the top of the SkyTower last night (the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere is shorter than the Eiffel tower) and watched the rain storms roll in off the bay as the sun set. Beautiful, and since there's so little people, even the cheesy tourist attractions aren't crowded. Looked down on 4 lane streets with maybe 5 cars per block, and caught some of the charm of a modern big city with no people. 30% of New Zealanders live in Auckland, but it only has 1.3 million people . . .

On the plus side, food in the grocery store is cheap (about the only thing that is, and the business section of the paper today said the NZ dollar will continue to rise against the USD. Damn currency markets have recently become an obsession, as I watch my savings buy less and less.) The sun is shining today, and I found the local equivalent of TJ max and bought a bright yellow fleece. I'm staying in Auckland until Thursday, with local trips out do a dormant volcano and the Bay of Islands.

Boat Rides

This post is dedicated to Dad, who taught me that you should always do anything involving a boat ride. Though this didn't work out in Lyon, France (the best part about the river there are the bridges . . . ), Dad's advice has been perfect for Thailand: the cheapest, fastest and most likely place to spot locals has definitely been boats.

The canals retain the old Bangkok architecture (in the form of wooden and congregated metal slums that line the canals) while the modern concrete high rises start just a few yards in, the houses over hanging the canals look like they've been in Bangkok for a while. The water itself is fetid and black, probably even deader than the Ganges, and no one seems to be bathing in it or drinking the thick soup. It's plied by long narrow ferries that take commuters to and from various Bangkok neighborhoods. When it's raining, they become strange plastic enclaves hurtling through the dark, and it's easy to get completely lost. If you ever have a chance to get on one, they don't stop unless you stand up and get the attention of the assistants clinging to the sides of the boat. . . The main river is more touristy, but still transversed by a crazy mix of tour boats, Thais on dinner cruises, Royal barges (I witnessed a practice run where acres of boys in red baseball caps, instead of ceremonial headdresses, stood at attention by the oars), passenger ferries and long tailed boat taxis. Definitely my favorite part of Bangkok.

Since this trip is partly about food, my thoughts on Thai cuisine: I find Vietnamese more complex, but Thai food has two very important things going for it. 1) it's absolutely fresh, as I've yet to see anything that wasn't made to order, from the street stalls to the fancy restaurants. 2) it's everywhere. Unlike DC, where satisfying a food craving in the tourist areas can feel like a hunt for buried treasure, the Thais have thoughtfully places something to eat at least every 50 feet. High on too much coffee with sweetened condensed milk, the afternoon is mostly a game of what don't I want to eat, as everything imaginable is on display.

And in case anyone was wondering, after what felt like a stay in five star hotel (except for they part where they stick needles in you and administer large electric shocks . . . ) I have been diagnosed with drop foot. A completely compressed nerve in my left knee, and partially compressed one in my right has left me unable to lift my toes easily. I have settled into a kind of lurching gait, and the doctors tell me that everything should be back to normal within six months. This means minimal hiking in New Zealand, but I should still be able to work on farms. If you ever go to Nepal, don't sleep on your side, or spend long hours squatting!

The Beach

Had time between tests at the hospital, so went to the beach! Met a friendly German in the taxi in a small town called Trat on the Thailand/Cambodia border. We were in one of the pickup taxis (they hold about 10 people in the back of a pick-up truck) and he asked we where I was going. I responded I didn't know (don't have a guide book for Thailand, and had come to Trat on the recommendation of a guy on my flight from India who said that it was the quickest point to the beach from Bangkok), and followed the German to his hostel. We set out to the night market to find some food (love the Thai take on food: everyone must always be hungry, so there's great, cheap street food everywhere), and I confessed I hadn't drunk liquor for months. Since Andorra in July actually. So we proceeded to get smashed off of one bottle of the local rum, SongSang (sp?). It's actually quite good, they give you a bottle, two glasses, a bucket of ice and some cokes, and it feels pretty dandy going down. I managed not to kill myself heading back to the hostel, politely (I hope, I'm not known for my tact when drunk) turned down his offer to travel with me to the beach, and woke up the next morning feeling absolutely horrible. The two hour ferry ride through the remains of Typhoon Lekima didn't help, but the beach resort was heaven. I was the only foreigner there, probably because I found it by climbing into a random taxi after the ferry ride and following this cute Thai couple to their destination.

The Beach Natural Resort www.thebeachkohkood.com/indes.php for pictures. My camera had run out of batteries, and no where to buy more at the hotel, so no pictures of my own.

Was able to bargain for a great beachside hut, and spent most of my time dozing by the waves. Imagine swimming alone in a tropical bay, coconuts behind you bobbing in the surf, before heading up to your thatched beach hut. Though since I had purposely avoided the backpacker party spot, and turned down the German, was surrounded by Thai couples so it was a little lonely. Fell asleep each night to the surf though, and read trashy books left by previous english speaking tourists.

Comfort Food

I think Bangkok is supposed to have some of the best food on earth. Brought a Lonely planet guide to the city just for the restaurant reviews, and am scrolling through for a good place to eat dinner. The word Vietnamese jumps out at me from the page, and I can't stop dreaming of fish sauce . . .

My first real resturant meal in Thailand (have been frequenting the street carts) is the DC version of comfort food: vermacelli bowl, lime soda, the fish soup with the tamarind and pineapple, and banana fritters. I blame Thuan.

Bangkok

I feel like I'm back in DC, though the transvestite prostitues have been replaced by sleazy old American and British men walking around with young Thai girls. The concrete buildings and traffic jams feel like home. I'm going to try and take a boat down the canal to the post office and the Golden Mount, just to remind myself I'm in a foreign country. Though there's more asians than in DC, there's a lot of Middle Eastern and Ehtiopian immigrants in the neighborhood where I'm staying, as well as tons of American and European tourists, so it really does look like home in some ways.

I'm here getting some care at Bumrungrad Hospital, and so far the experience puts the American medical system to shame. I simply emailed the hospital the day before I arrived with a description of my problem, and they had me set up with an appointment for the day after I arrived. They had me immediately see the correct specialist, and the tests he ordered are all scheduled for the same day less than a week from now. And it all comes to less than a tenth, maybe 1/20th of the US cost. Amazing what life is like when I have money (as compared to the local population). I wonder what the standard of care is like for the average Thai citizen?

Nepal - Setti Valley Organic Farm (I)

Nepal is in the bronze age, people use so few tools. The farm is organic, and the director very progressive about trying new farming theories, but they use local laborers, who really seem to prefer doing everything from a squatting position with their hands. I have only seen four tools in use in my time here: a small hoe, for plowing the fields by hand while bent over, a scythe used by women for cutting grass, a hammer to break the local rocks that the buildings are built from, and a saw for cutting bamboo, the main structural support for anything and everything. Modern conveniences do make an appearance, like the satellite telephones and the bio-gas that we use for cooking, and the ever useful plastic sack, but in general, this farm is human powered and the products dug of the land.

I'm here as a "volunteer", but compared to the village women I'm pretty worthless as a laborer, so I have more the status of eccentric guest. I do a little light work, enjoy the beauty around me, and learn from the SADP Nepal director who runs the farm. A truly enjoyable experience. The food is amazing, the people are so nice, and remarkably happy. 80% of Nepal is engaged either directly or indirectly in agriculture, so I think I'm getting a real feel for the country. I have more in my backpack than most of them own in the world. A grand statement on the materialism of our rich countries.

Last Friday I went on a small hike, joining one of the farm workers who was headed back to his village to pick up his wife. We were 1 hour on a motorbike, then walked for 1/2 hour and crossed a river by cable bridge. Then a two hour jeep ride (everyone was very pleased when the jeep road was built), with a good 20 people plus goods crammed into the back and top of an extra large land rover. Then a three hour walk along the terraced rice fields and forests, with frequent pauses to climb over the landslides that were the results of the recent heavy rains. I didn't make it all the way to the worker's village, so stopped in an earlier one only 2 hours walk from the road head. I have now been to a place completely inaccessible by car or horse. Incredible scenery, though it's been too rainy most days (as it was that day) to see the high mountains, but when you do catch a glimpse of the high peaks, and realize how close you are to the tallest mountains in the world, it's soul stirring experience.

Nepal is pretty clean, and we drink only boiled water, so I've been good except for the raging case of conjunctivitis (endemic in Nepal, though they've managed to eradicate Malaria). It's also a completely different cleanliness standard. The farmhouse is basically a three walled, dirt floored shack, where the farmer and his wife, I, and any guests sleep back against the main wall. The front is open to the bio-gas pit (where we dump the cow manure, collected daily by hand) and the hose where the water for washing, cooking and drinking ends. There is a small kitchen area in the back of the shed, three large wooden chests for storing food and possessions, two tables for eating, a bench and some chairs. In the back, kept dark without windows to avoid flies, is the kitchen: two shelves and a platform for the single stove burner. All of the food itself is prepared on the ground. In terms of cleanliness, the feeling is: if you rinse it with running water (and sometimes give it a good soaping), things are pretty clean. I haven't had any problems yet, and we eat with our hands in Nepal, so the system works pretty well.

Calcutta

Egg roll stands every 100 yards. Thick dough, fried in ghee, they cook an egg on top, layer in onions, spices, Indian ketchup and hot sauce, then load it with your choice of cheese, chicken or mutton. Indian meets China: heaven


The sweets man on the corner has a suitcase full of petit fours that he displays. I buy one in the morning, but always end up giving half to the children who cluster around begging for one. The street kids here are professional quality. One followed me for two blocks, tugging on my arm to make me drop the ice cream cone I was eating. The Indians all found it enormously funny, and I was tempted to give her something for her persistence, but didn't want her to inflict herself on the next tourist.


Fish, the only seafood I've felt comfortable eating in India. I'll have to wait until Thailand to try some more as I don't think it's part of the Nepalese diet at all


The Jewish baker in the marketplace who makes rolls that taste just like the supermarket ones Ya-Ya buys for thanksgiving . . .I had 4 for breakfast this morning.

PayPal must die

So pay pal flipped out when I made a payment from India, and has locked the account to a credit card I canceled before I left! They've mailed a confirmation code to my previous address, and refuse to put the money I tried to pay someone back in my bank account until I enter some goddamn code. Pay Pal is evil, evil. All I receive are form emails, and they are currently making interest on a substantial amount of my money, while I try calling the customer service number in vain. American culture has intruded on my idyll, and I'm not enjoying the experience.

Khajuraho

Spent 11 hours traveling to Khajuraho, at the recommendation of a slightly batty American woman I met in the gardens of the Taj Mahal. The air conditioned train journey to Jhansi was freezing, and I and all my seat mates had the same cold, so we huddled in shawls and sniffed sympathetically with each other. Then the typical train station rickshaw experience. The driver takes you slowly to your destination, while his friend hops along for the ride and tries to convince you to go to his hotel/take his tour/use his taxi. Made it to the bus stand (filled with garbage and the odour of urine), and waited 1.5 hours for the next "express" bus to Khajuraho. Then five hours on an un-air conditioned carriage, crammed in with my fellow passengers. It only really became hell when the bus stopped and all air movement ceased as the driver and his two helpers tried to drum up more business. They were standing packed in the aisles by the 3rd hour, and I was very glad for my window seat. The temples here are worth the ride though, and the hotel is so clean I didn't wear my flip flops in the shower, and they even provide soap, sheets and a towel. $10 a night versus $5 is blowing the budget, but I'm happy for the pampering. No air conditioning though, so the 40+ temperatures are gruelling.

Walked around the temple complex this morning. The sweat was pouring off of me, but the carvings are amazing, the gardens are beautiful, and there are no touts allowed inside. I've uploaded some of the photos, but it's hard to describe how cool they are. Each temple features literally thousands of statues in full relief, with a particular focus on women. There are scenes from every day life (a woman picking up a child, two lovers dodging a monkey), gods and goddesses, lots of war scenes, and some pretty intense erotica. The funniest might be the man fucking a horse, as a women covers her eyes but peeks through her fingers, half horrified, and half intrigued. All perfectly preserved in the soft sand stone, which with the color and the movement of light and shadow as you walk around the building almost makes the images come alive. The sculptors must have loved their job, as each figure is an individual, with a unique facial features. They might show the same god in three successive panels, but each one features a different pose. Worth the heat, which is saying a lot. Then spent an hour under the trees at the refreshment stand, drinking coca-cola and talking to a local MPTD official (Malay Pradesh Tourist Department). He moved here from Delhi, but regrets that the railroad will soon come to Khajuraho, bringing hordes of tourists. I can't imagine how that will change this place. Good for the local economy, and would be happy to be spared the bus ride, but it's nice to be a a sleepy Indian village.

Agra

This morning, I woke up at 6 and walked out to see the Taj Mahal in the dawn light from the roof top of the flea bag hotel where I spent the night. It's convenient to the Taj Mahal, but having spent the morning gazing on pristine beauty, I'm looking for a nicer place in town. I can't really begin to describe that building. Like all of India, what struck me the most was the contrast, of the poor district clustered around it's gates, and the 750 Rh fee for foreigners to enter. The building to so huge and gleaming, that you don't notice the thousands of tourists passing though at all. Interesting too that the current building is in many ways the work of modern artisans, as things are constantly crumbling and being repaired.

Spent the rest of the day washing clothes, talking to some nice German girls and an English couple on a 12 month trip around the world in the very clean hostel somewhere in Agra. There was a giant thunderstorm that evening, so didn't make it back to the Taj Mahal to see it by sunset. All the tourist only talk to each other, because most conversations with locals invariably devolve into the pet charity they would like you to give money to, the tour guide service that they run, or their past experiences with foreign women. Very polite and nice people, invariably couched in the most respectful terms, which makes you feel so awful about saying no. I am developing a thicker skin. Or maybe westerners are just weird about money, and the Indians take a much more up-front view of the whole thing.

Agra - First Impressions

India is too much to describe; I think I need a few more days to digest the last day in Delhi before trying to put the experience into words, as you so often say. Saw the Taj Mahal as the sun rose this hazy morning. Walking through the warren of Old Delhi, which as poor as it seemed, is no where near as bad as an actual India slum, then riding the extraordinarily clean Delhi Metro, guarded by police with machine guns. Arriving in Agra at the tail end of the curfew from the riots. Too many jumbled images floating around.

I'm off to Khajuraho tomorrow. Hindu temples full of exquisitely preserved erotic carvings. Then on to Varanasi.

India Rail

I purchased an India Rail pass, and will be traveling around on that for the rest of the two weeks. My first trip I met up with a group of businessmen from Andar Pradesh, who were headed back on a 36 hour journey to their home state, after coming up to petition the government at Delhi. The asked the usual India questions: What does your father do? How much do you make? Are you married? Did your father give you permission to come on this trip. I like the nosy questions, as it gives me free reign to be horribly nosy in return. They were very nice, but rushed me off the train at the wrong stop (I just made it back on), they were very worried about me missing the Agra stop, but completely unfamiliar with Northern India Railways.

New Delhi Impressions

India is so much easier, more colorful, cooler (in temperature and make-up) and much less pollution than I had imagined. Am excited to spend three days here before heading off to Agra. Then a visit to the holy Ganges in Varanasi (I don't think I'll take a dip, though), Darjeerhling and the hill forts, the North East, then Pokhura in Nepal for three weeks.


I think I'm completely done with Italy. After spending a month in rural, rural Italy, I wouldn't mind if I never heard the phrase "mama mia" ever again. Interesting farming methods, but Italians I think qualify as the worst people I've met so far for thinking that everyone should speak perfect Italian and that the Italian way is the only way. The people I was staying with actually had a lot of tension in the community because they were doing a slightly less traditional way of farming. The innovation of India is very refreshing. The current budget hotel reminds me of budget hotels in Morocco, though India so far is cleaner, more people and much less touts. Though maybe I'm just more comfortable in my own skin. I think it helps to be a woman traveling alone.