Conference on World Affairs

Each year in spring, the University of Colorado at Boulder, hosts a weeklong event called the Conference on World Affairs. If you think that sounds like a pretty broad topic for a conference, you can't even begin to imagine the reality. Here is a smattering of the titles of some of this year's talks:

-Tiny Houses and Liveable Cities
-Bioengineering: Designer Babies and More
-Brexit and the Future of the EU
-Do Your Brain a Favor: Spend Time Outdoors
-The Power of a Story
-Laughing Matters: Humor in an Unfunny World
-Space Tourism for Fun and Profit
-China and North Korea: It's Complicated
-Fireside Chat: Dogs and Us
-CWA Book Club: Hillbilly Elegy Discussion
-The Best Two Parties Money Can Buy
-Oh Heck, I'm Up to My Neck...in Student Loans

I heard about the CWA only last year, after it had already ended, and I was determined to attend this year. It's free and open to the public without registration; anyone can browse the catalog of panel discussions and performances and show up to learn about whatever topics strike their fancy. In browsing this year's offerings, I was intrigued to note that speakers ranged from CU professors to eminent inventors and adventurous to MacArthur Genius Grant winners to celebrity chef Rick Bayless. Needless to say, my hopes were high.

I was not disappointed. Despite a somewhat hectic week, I managed to attend four talks and a movie screening. I was actually rather grateful for my busy schedule; selecting panels to attend would have been all but impossible without constraints to work around. Nearly everything sounded fascinating. I found myself drawn mostly to sociology and education, and attended "Education: Separate and Still Unequal" (about de facto school segregation); "At-Risk Kids: Breaking the Cycle"; "Let's Talk About Race"; and "Will Congress Ever Work Again?" (in which one panelist compared Trump to a yeast that was causing conservative mindsets to ferment and another, memorably, quipped that he was more like a yeast infection). Sessions were either 50 or 120 minutes long, depending on how meaty the topic, and I found that the time flew by.

I was particularly inspired by a speaker who appeared in two sessions I attended ("Separate and Still Unequal" and "Race"), James Bell. Mr. Bell is the founder and head of the San Francisco-based Burns Institute, which works on equity in the judicial system, particularly as it is applied to youth. After spending his childhood in Alabama during Jim Crow, Mr. Bell moved to San Francisco to attend UC Hastings for law school. He was one of the first students admitted as part of affirmative action protocols and was, therefore, one of the only black students in the school. His reception, he said, wasn't always warm, but as a recipient of the MacArthur Genius Grant, I think it's safe to say he's had the last laugh. During the wrap-up comments in one panel, he said that this was his first time at the CWA. He'd had a great time, he said, and it had exceeded his expectations. I was delighted to hear that he'll be returning.

Ed and I also went to a screening of a film I'd wanted to see anyway called The Music of Strangers: Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble. I simply cannot recommend this documentary highly enough. It tells the story of a group of international musicians who share their stories, cultures, and backgrounds through gorgeous music and deep friendships. We couldn't stay after the final credits, alas, but one of the musicians from the film was there to discuss it with audience members. SO cool.

So if you're itching to visit Colorado, learn something new, or both, consider heading to this part of the world in mid-April next year. The only possible negative aspect of coming to Boulder for the CWA is agonizing over the seemingly endless line-up of lectures, discussions, and performances.

Blood on the Boards: Life in the Wild West

We moved into this house in January, which isn't exactly prime time for viewing wildlife. Still, I have been a little disappointed that we haven't had more interesting sightings. The most unusual animal Ed and I had spotted prior to the end of March was a coyote trotting across the face of the hill opposite us. And that's not really all that unusual. We see deer constantly; rabbits frequently; and thanks to Mischa or perhaps the cats, field mice (or at least their remains). There are magpies and sparrows all over the place, but considering how much time I spend gazing out the window, I'd been hoping for something a little bit more exciting. Recently, I got my wish.

I was standing in the kitchen when something on the railing of our deck caught my eye. It was a beautiful hawk of some sort, and I immediately called Ed to come see it. Because he entered the room from a different angle, he had a different vantage point, and so he was the first to spot the carnage. Our deck was covered with gray feathers. In the center was a small pool of blood. And upon closer examination, the hawk perched above its handiwork had a few downy feathers caught between two of its talons. The perp seemed obvious.

Murder scene

We gazed at it for a while while, speculating. We concluded that the victim was probably one of the pigeons that has been hanging around on the ridge line of our roof. Then Ed just had to get a closer look and maybe a few photos, so he army-crawled toward the window. The hawk didn't care for this and flew away. But it was back again a few minutes and kept flapping off when we got too close, then returning. This caused us to wonder whether it had left some of its meal behind, but when we searched later we were unable to find a single body part. It's rather difficult to believe that a smallish hawk wolfed down an entire pigeon, but I'm not sure what else to think.

This is the best photo Ed was able to get. 

Debate about what kind of hawk we have for a neighbor have ensued. Some people who saw the pictures that Ed managed to take believe it was the ferruginous hawk and others believe it was a prairie falcon. Having looked at the pictures of both, all I can say is if they pretty darn similar to me and I can't commit to one or the other. 

Prairie Falcon

Ferruginous Hawk

Whatever it is, I have seen it several times since that day, hanging around in trees near the house. I suppose I should feel sympathetic toward the pigeon population, but it's pretty great to have our very own hawk. I hope it sticks around.

Wait, Wait!

I'm put off writing at least one blog post about India because the prospect of sifting through hundreds of photos and attempting to sum up a trip like that is intimidating. One thing I've done to entertain myself while I'm stalling has been to drive into Denver to watch something I'd never seen before but was intimately familiar with: a live taping of the radio news show Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me.

I'm a big fan of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. My family sometimes spent Saturday mornings walking quietly around the kitchen while preparing and eating a late breakfast, all the while listening, rapt, to this hilarious show. Once, while driving through Georgia, I got pulled over. I didn't bother to argue with the policeman or try to justify the fact that I have been speeding. I took the ticket as quickly as possible because it meant being able to turn my radio back on faster and thus get back to the show. So the prospect of seeing it in person was exciting, if a little strange. Would the hour's drive to Denver and the price of the tickets be worth seeing at something that was meant to be listened to (for free)?

In short, it was. We arrived to find the entry to the Buell Theater absolutely jammed with people. Everyone seemed excited, and it took ages to pack them all into the theater, so we started a little late.

Poundstone

The show itself lasts 45 minutes on the air, but we sat in the taping for over two hours and even left before Peter Segal, the host, re-recorded some of the flubs after the official end. I knew that there would be some editing and some content that didn't make it onto the show in the end, but I had no idea there would be so much. Paula Poundstone in particular added to the timestamp. She was the funniest comedian of the three on the panel, and one of her trademarks is going off on long, rambling rants about whatever topic happens to be on the table. She alone was probably responsible for  at least half an hour of the runtime. 


It's always a little strange to see people whose voices you know well. I always imagine what radio personalities look like an almost always turn out to be dead wrong. Tom Bodett looked younger than I thought he would and Paula Poundstone was older. Peter Segal was shorter and Bill Kurtis was rounder. At first, it took a little while to reconcile these strange appearances with the voices that were so familiar, but eventually I settled in.

Bodett

Segal

Kurtis

 Each show features a famous a guest, and this time it was John Hickenlooper, democratic governor of Colorado. Although Colorado is a thoroughly purple state and therefore John Hickenlooper is controversial by virtue of his party identification alone, this was not an audience that had mixed feelings about him. (When you figure that the liberal public radio station listeners who filled the theater had been culled from an already liberal geographic area, you can probably imagine the kinds of content that got these people fired up.) I have never heard a politician so whole-heartedly cheered. The crowd was beside itself, and although I didn't know a lot about him before seeing the show, he did, indeed, seem like a pretty nice, regular guy. His term limit is up in 2018, and Peter Segal tried several times to elicit his commitment to running for president during the next election. Hickenlooper dodged these questions gracefully and winningly and was even a good sport about all the pot jokes that are par for the course when someone interviews a Colorado politician.

John Hickenlooper

Listening to the show on Saturday morning was quite interesting. I knew that quite a lot was going to be cut out and I wondered how they would do it. I found that although editors did cut liberally even changed the order of some of the things, the whole show ran perfectly smoothly and I didn't feel as though listeners were missing out on too much of what I saw live. However, Ed and I both agreed that we were glad we had gone. The experience of being surrounded by so many enthusiastic audience members while listening to a show that I usually hear on my own was a fun experience.

Hong Kong, Briefly

I didn't really know what to expect from Hong Kong, but I guessed that it would be pretty similar to Tokyo simply because both are large Asian cities. Nope. To my great intrigue, HK is a compelling place that is completely its own.

Ed and I landed late-ish on a Tuesday night and took a cab to our hotel. We found that although most restaurants were closed by the time we were settled in and Ed was hungry, around 11:00 P.M., that there is never a McDonald's too far away when one is in Hong Kong, and most seem to be open all night.

Although it is a modern city, bamboo scaffolding abounds.

The following morning dawned slightly overcast. I considered it warm, at nearly 70 degrees, but the number of down coats and scarves I spotted suggested that most locals disagreed. Our first move was to walk to Wagyu, an Australian restaurant, for breakfast. The setting and the food were wonderful, and I recommend it highly. We wandered through the antiques district and looked at allegedly ancient bronze castings, ceramics, ivory carvings allegedly made from mammoth tusks, and more jade than you could shake a stick at. Then we did a little shopping in one of the many, many upscale malls here. Like in Japan, shopping seems to be a favorite national past-time. The huge office and apartment buildings that fill the downtown area all seem to have devoted the first few floors to high-end stores. The sidewalks here are narrow and often in poor repair, but luckily many of the buildings are connected to each other by raised walkways that provide wider avenues through which to get around. Navigating, however, was quite a challenge. It was like trying to learn one's way through a rabbit warren. Lunch, in one of these malls, was at a delightful Thai place called Mak Mak. Again, highly recommended.

Huge banyan growing into a wall

I spent most of our excursion not sure what to look at. First, there were the buildings, which were enormous and creatively (if not always attractively) designed. Some looked like remnants from another era with washing hanging out of windows and some were sleek and modern. Then there was the backdrop: hilly and surprisingly verdant. I've never been in such a modern, urban city that had more thriving plants. Enormous banyan trees and other jungly-looking plants burst from any space that wasn't paved right next to heavily-trafficked sidewalks and whizzing roads. And finally, the people: not since New York have I seen such diversity, but there is a different kind of variety here. Hong Kong is absolutely overflowing with ex-pats, and we heard British and Australian English, French, and German just as much as Cantonese as we wandered the streets. These aren't tourists, either; they live and work in this Asian financial center, rubbing shoulders with Chinese men carrying straw baskets filled with celery and Chinese women in woven reed hats. The overall style seems to include both traditional(ish) clothing and formal and professional attire.

Ed and I ventured up to the peak after lunch. One can walk to the top or take the tram, and we opted to do the latter since we'd been on our feet all day already. The tram runs every five minutes or so, and the ride takes three or four minutes, during which the car climbs the mountain at what feels like a 50-degree angle. Off the tram, we ascended through yet another mall to the viewing platform on top, where we were presented with a breathtaking view of...smog. Pictures showed us what we were supposed to see from up there, but the pollution, thick and light gray, concealed most of the city, even parts that weren't too far away. Interestingly, my eyes and throat felt OK; I've never experienced smog like that and would have assumed that it would feel intolerable. Walking home later that night, much of it was gone; Ed says it's mostly from power plants, which presumably have to burn less coal late at night once most of the city has gone to bed.

Admiring the "view" from the peak

We went to 12000Francs, where a friend of mine is the head chef, for dinner that night. It is in a hip part of the city called Soho, where narrow streets are lined with cozy boutiques, bars, and restaurants. Our food, which we let Conor select for us, was wonderful and we left, around midnight, stuffed and happy. My advice to all travelers to Hong Kong is to 1) eat at 12000Francs, and 2) save room for dessert (though you will be tempted not to).

We treated ourselves to a late wake-up the next morning, then took the subway (clean, surprisingly easy to navigate, and quick) to Kowloon for an early lunch of dim sum at the Peninsula Hotel. This was my first real dim sum experience and, although some of the dumplings were a bit slippery and required chasing with my chopsticks, it was wonderful, particularly with the elegant Peninsula as a backdrop. We began the meal with glasses of champagne and ended it with about a gallon of tea each. In need of a walk afterwards, our next stop was the Yuen Po Bird Park, a street devoted entirely to stalls selling bird cages, toys, food, and hundreds and hundreds of birds. It was, as you can imagine, a pretty loud place. Over the fluttering and chirping, Ed and I identified finches, parakeets, Macaws and various smaller parrots, lovebirds, mynah birds, and more. In addition, there were plenty I'd never seen before, and lots of opportunistic sparrows flying between cages eating all the spilled birdseed.

We made a few other stops--not particularly interesting ones, so I'll spare you--before getting our bags from the hotel and heading back to a very convenient train station that goes right to the airport. HK is difficult to walk around, thanks to all of the raised walkways, and we found that taking cabs is just as tricky. Despite its large ex-pat population and modern feel, most cab drivers don't speak enough English to understand where one wants to go and are unwilling to look at an address presented on a Google Map. We were turned down several times before, finally, an older gentleman pulled over for us and helped load our bags. Since they didn't fit in the trunk, he simply left it partially open and secured everything with bungee cords. I could have hugged him. 

Hong Kong would be an interesting city in which to live, and I'm glad I got to visit it briefly, but I'm not sure there's much of a reason (except the shopping, of course) to go back or spend much time. 

Another example of modern-meets-antiquated: Street stalls in which vendors spread their wares on the ground under awnings between sleek, new buildings. 

A typical Hong Kong vista: tall buildings and elaborate roadways punctuated by lush stands of tropical trees.

Speak Like a Kiwi!

As Ed and I prepare, rather sadly, to leave New Zealand for our next stop, I thought I'd share some linguistic gems gathered during our time here.

First, pronunciation. Like many commonwealth countries, funny things happen to vowels (especially the short e sound) and Rs here. Try the following words and phrases to sound like a native:

Left - Lift

Stairs - Steeys

Red - Reed

Neck - Neek

Yes - Yiss

Spectator - Spictatah

Berry smoothie - Beeree smoothay

Aircraft - Eaycrahft

Ed - Eed

Head - Hid

Ace of Base - Ice of Bice

Grab - Greb

Clever - Clivah

Scared - Skeed

Big Fig - Bug Fug

Next - Nixt

In addition, there's some delightful slang to be aware of. Some of my favorites are:

-"Sausage sizzle" - Backyard BBQ

-"(Adjective) as." - Very (adjective). For example, if a burrito is large, a local might say, "That burrito is big as!" "Sweet as" is a very common way to express approval or admiration, e.g. "I just won the Nobel Prize." "Sweet as!"

-"Chockas" - full, as in, "That restaurant is chockas. It's a two-hour wait for a table." Comes from "chock full."

-"Kiwi" - 1) an endangered, flightless, indigenous, nocturnal bird, now endangered; 2) an oblong fruit with a brown, furry skin and a bright green, sweet center punctuated by edible black seeds; 3) a native person of New Zealand; 4) an adjective describing something inherently characteristic of New Zealand

-"Brecky" - breakfast, one of many British English terms that survive here

-"Hire" - rent

-"Is that the lot?" - Is that everything?

-"(Unprintable)" - for the sake of propriety, I will not include this word here; suffice it to say that a four-letter word most Americans consider to be the most offensive term imaginable is not only no big deal here, it can be used in compliments, as in "He's a good *," or "She's a built *," (meaning she is strong and in good shape).

-"Mate" - friend; in addition to British English terms, lots of Aussie slang is used here. 

-"Bugger/buggered" - casual and commonly used synonym for another rude (in the US) word, as in "He's had a hard time of it, poor bugger," and "This pen is buggered; do you have another I can use?"

-"Courget" - zucchini 

-"Kumara" - sweet potato

The best way to learn is to practice, though with some of the slang you may want to be careful about doing this in mixed company. 

Jackson Bay and Rob Roy Glacier

Ed and I set out on two day trips from Wanaka in two days; the hours in the car went quickly because the scenery was beautiful. Mostly pictures below, as they'll tell the story better than I ever could.

Jackson Bay

This spot on the west coast of New Zealand is a great spot to see penguins! Or so we were told. The drive was about 2.5 hours each way, which is a bit much, but Eliot told us about the Blue Pools about an hour into the drive that we just had to see. Figuring this would break things up and make it twice as worth the trip, we set off early in the morning. The walk to the Blue Pools took about 15 minutes from the main road. We'd been driving through hills covered with dry, brown grass but the moment we stepped onto the trail (or "track" as it is called here) we were transported into what felt more like a jungle. Moss-covered tree trunks protruded from a sea of ferns. 

We crossed a rather wobbly suspension bridge over a river that gave us a sneak peek at the color of the water that would be in the pools. Thanks to sediment from glaciers, the shade of blue is spectacular. 

It was still early enough to be chilly by the time we got to the pools. Ed estimates the temperature of the water was in the 50's. So we banished any thoughts of swimming and just enjoyed the scenery.

Lots of people had left their mark in the schist field to one side of the biggest pool. While the towers of rocks were kind of cool, I prefer nature to look a little more, well, natural. 

We climbed back into the car after our little respite and kept driving toward the coast. The sign below seemed promising:

We walked through the "town" in about 90 seconds. The track to the beach was a little longer, and I was glad because it was quite beautiful. Ferns and lush greenery surrounded us on all sides, and we spotted tiny fish in the creek next to the path. Birds entertained us with their antics (something birds seem to be pretty into doing here in New Zealand). But when we got to the beach, its most notable attribute was its lack of penguins. 

This is pretty much the whole beach.

At least I thought that was its most notable attribute. Ed thought its most notable attribute was swarms of sandflies. I'd never heard of these before coming here. If you haven't, be grateful, because they are an absolute menace. Though foiled by long sleeves and pants, there isn't much else that thwarts them. Instead of drinking the blood of their victims through a sharp proboscis, the method used by sophisticated insects like mosquitoes, sandflies, as Eliot explained, "hack away at your skin with tiny knives, spread anti-coagulant saliva over the gash, then slurp away."I, in long, protective clothing, scrambled along the boulders out to the point to see whether a colony of penguins lay just beyond our view. Ed provided a buffet for the sandflies. Eventually, disappointed (me) and bleeding (Ed), we trekked back to the town to the Craw Pot, a restaurant the very size and shape of a train car (a comparison which may explain its origin) for some truly exceptional fish and chips and something called a mussel fritter, which is a fried patty of chopped up mussels and seasonings.

We learned from a placard in town that penguins typically molt on the beach between January and February. By about March, they head out to sea and are gone for a few months, so we suspect that's why we didn't see any. But it all turned out pretty well, actually, because if we had seen penguins I probably wouldn't have been scanning the beach so carefully as we drove away. Through the window of the car, I saw what seemed to be small black heads poking out of the water, only to disappear a moment later. We pulled over and walked out to the beach, where we saw that what I'd thought were heads were, in fact, fins. They looked like dorsal fins because of the way they were emerging, then vanishing, but they were rounded. And there was too much reflection on the water to tell what they were. But then there was a slightly larger wave and we realized what we were seeing. They were dolphins.

I did NOT take this picture, and we did not see them out of the water. But this will give you an idea, since you've probably never heard of or seen this kind of dolphin.

Based on the way they were swimming all over the place close to the surface, we guessed that the dolphins were probably eating. But every now and then a few of them would take a break to surf toward the shore on a wave. I saw lots of individual fins and lots of pairs of fins, too. It was fantastic - I could have watched them all day. Ed, however, who had discovered that this beach also played host to its own sandflies, was soon ready to go.

We learned later that this particular breed is called Hector's dolphin. They are very small, have rounded dorsal fins, and are found only in this part of the world. They are known for being very playful, and their babies are born in January, which may explain why I saw so many fin pairings: I'll bet they were mothers and little ones. We drove back through more lovely scenery, and I thought the hours on the road were well worth it.

Rob Roy Glacier

The following day, our target was much closer. Rob Roy Glacier is only about an hour and twenty minutes from Wanaka. It's actually closer than that drive time indicates, but the last third of the drive follows a dirt road punctuated by many, many "fords" that forced us to drive through at a snail's pace for fear of getting stuck in the water. There were lots of skinny waterfalls pouring down out of nowhere, thanks to the glacier fields that are all over the tops of the mountains in this part of the country.

The hike to the viewing area--this is not a glacier one would want to walk on because it's covered with crevasses and rather unstable--took us a little less than 90 minutes (including lots of stops for photos and gazing around). There were quite a few wildflowers and for a while everything was lush, green, and tropical rather than Arctic. But then, suddenly, I spotted the glacier looming above is through a break in the foliage. 

The river we walked alongside for much of the hike was the expected vivid blue of a river fed by glacial melt. The whole thing was lovely, though a bit steep for my recovering hip... I was glad to have brought my trekking poles!

We waited for a bit at the upper viewing area hoping to see an icefall, but nothing happened and so, having rested a bit, we headed back down and were treated to more sweeping views of the valley carved by the paths of previous glaciers. 

Akaroa

Akaroa (ah-kuh-RO-uh) is a one of the larger tiny towns along one of the many bays that ring the strange little nub that sticks out of the east coast of New Zealand below Christchurch. On the map below, you'll see it on the right side of the largest bay. (Ignore the pin. I did not create this image, but it shows the general area pretty well.)

The drive from Christchurch took about an hour and a half, but, as anyone who has driven much in New Zealand knows, it was a rigorous hour and a half. Unlike the United States, which has long stretches of straight highway that hardly require you to steer, every road we've driven on in New Zealand twists and turns on its way up and down hills. There is no downtime behind the wheel. I was a bit anxious to travel to this part of New Zealand because there have been terrible fires recently. (Investigations are ongoing, but foul play is suspected.) I wondered if parts of the road would be closed or whether the skies would be filled with smoke. We were surprised, however, to see only one burned spot, and for the most part it seemed that only the grass had burned away. The trees still seemed green and intact. 

If you look very carefully you can just see a plume of smoke in the very center of this picture. A singed hillside lies to its right. Fires were mostly contained by the time we drove by, though we did see a helicopter toting a large bucket of fire-retardant. 

We passed through several tiny towns on our winding way toward Akaroa. They often came as surprises because the road carried us up and down so steeply and suddenly that often we couldn't see what was on either side of us. There was little traffic, for which I was very glad because the road was unbelievably narrow, and every bus or truck that roared by left me gasping. Eventually, we worked our way up to Summit Road, which, as you would imagine, traces the apex of a line of hills. We pulled over, captivated by the view that dropped off on either side of us. 

Summit Road

To the right - not a lake but a bay!

To the left - the open ocean

We had a quick lunch, then headed to Le Bons Bay. Eliot recommended this spot for an open-water swim, and it was purported to be both one of the most beautiful bays in the area and to have one of the best beaches. The road, impossibly, grew even narrower as we headed down the hill toward the beach. Lush pastures beckoned on either side of the road, populated by newly shorn sheep and occasional groupings of horses. Flowers--wild roses, lupines, and lots of others I couldn't identify--were in full swing.

The beach proved to be lovely indeed, though very windy. There were hardly any people on it and the sand was soft and fine, albeit covered with piles of some of the heartiest seaweed I've ever seen. Some of it was kelp-like, and other types had tentacles that looked and felt like strips of leather. The water was that unbelievable shade of turquoise I have always associated with the tropics (though, in my opinion, it was pretty darn chilly here).

Ed tested the water. It was shallow for quite a ways out, but it appeared to calm down a bit where it finally got deeper. He donned his wetsuit and headed out but lasted only about 15 minutes. The waves, even where they weren't breaking, were too big to get much of a swim in. 

I occupied myself with beach-combing. I've never been on a beach with more shells. Mostly I found thick, ridged clamshells and mussels, though there were some more exotic snails occasionally and rare pieces of fragile sand dollars. A few days ago we saw some mussels in a grocery store that seemed unbelievably large, but the shells on this beach put them to shame. The largest one I found was about as long as my foot. One would have needed a knife and fork to eat it, and I think I'd only have been able to manage about two. 

This is NOT the largest one I found; the big daddy was about 25% larger. 

From Le Bons, we drove into Akaroa. It is simply lovely. Attractive houses dot the hills and a string of shops and restaurants hugs the waterline. There is a small beach with a sandy area that gives way to rocks on either side, and people swam to and dove from a small floating dock. It was hot. Ed hopped into the bay for a much more successful swim while I explored the town, then we shared a bottle of Sauvingnon Blanc on a pleasant patio that featured a rather grungy-looking but very talented pianist. (The wine, like all Sauvs I've sampled here, was excellent. The winery is called Babydoll because the proprietors, eager for an environmentally sensible and cheap way to control weeds, got the idea of using sheep in their vineyards. Since normal sheep are tall enough to eat the grapes, however, they've opted for a breed called babydoll sheep that grow to be no more than two feet in height.) We very much enjoyed our stopover but were ready to head out the next day. Every storefront was devoted to tourism and the place was packed with other sightseers. While the locale is lovely, I don't recommend spending more time in Akaroa than it takes to soak in the natural beauty.

With a little time to kill before going to the airport, we opted to go to Willowbank Nature Reserve, which is a mere seven minutes from the Christchurch airport. We didn't have time to tour the whole thing, but there is a wonderful section that features animals native to New Zealand that we made our way through. One of the best features of this place is a kiwi house. Kiwi are strange creatures and almost no one gets to see them in the wild because they are nocturnal, shy, and masters of disguise. But the kiwi house is lit by only a few red lights, simulating night, and during daylight hours the kiwi stalk around hunting insects. (During the night, the lights in the house are turned on so that the kiwi will think it's daytime and go to sleep.) We entered the hushed, dark enclosure to find people lining a walkway, peering into the semidarkness to either side. Every now and then, someone would hiss or gesture to a companion and point into the dark borders, and if I strained hard enough I would see the odd, bobbing gait of a kiwi as it moved through the underbrush, probing the ground delicately with its long beak. They make a very soft sound as they hunt and move surprisingly quickly, considering their ungainly style. They were much bigger than I expected them to be.

This guy has nothing to do with our visit to Willowbank, but I'm including this picture so you can see how large kiwi are.

Another exciting encounter starred a bird I'd heard about but not yet seen. Happily, we couldn't have missed this little feathered show-stopper, as he nearly ran right into us! The fantail is larger than a sparrow and smaller than a robin, and its maneuverability is astounding. Fantails eat flying insects and they use their tails, which they can fold into a tight little bundle or spread into a dramatic splay, to help it swoop in tight, vertical trajectories as well as from side to side. The one we spotted was in hot pursuit of a bug flying right in front of us, and after it gave chase for a bit, it settled onto a branch right next to us to let us admire it. Its beak was tiny, but I suppose that's just the thing for catching gnats.

Other notable sights were a baby gibbon being coddled by both parents, a regiment of marching

New Zealand possums

ducks who hoped very much that we had bought bird food for them (we had not), a crested pigeon that looked like a punk rock musician, lots of black swans, kaka and kea birds (like parrots), and the dinosaur-like tuatara lizard. To Ed's disappointment, the ring-tailed lemur didn't show itself. We did, however, meet a native pig whose snout was oriented at such an angle that it's rather amazing it doesn't drown in rainstorms. The placard suggested that it enjoyed a scratch behind the ears, so Ed obliged and was rewarded with a grunt. We had learned that "possums" here are actually cute and cuddly-looking with soft fur (that is made into scarves, hats, and slippers, or spun along with merino wool into yarn for extra-warm sweaters), and we got to see one in the reserve that wasn't smashed in the middle of the road. Don't be fooled by their pretty faces, though. Possums are an invasive species and threaten native birds and mammals.

On our way out, we encountered a rather flustered looking mother with two tiny pairs of feet just visible under her skirts. As we watched, we realized that this was just the tip of the iceberg. Eventually, no fewer than nine little ones emerged. Ed couldn't resist making friends.

As we prepared for our flight back to Queenstown, we learned that we hadn't seen anything yet in terms of lax airport security in New Zealand. When one is scheduled to fly on a turbo prop plane, there is no check at all. We simply marched onto the plane, stowed our bags above our heads, and watched a little sadly as Christchurch fell away below us.