The Chronicles of Kiwi
Part 3

I’ve had some helpful advice on time zones from some of my military buddies. They mean well and I appreciate the guidance, but as I mentioned, Daylight Savings Times puzzles me and I doubt that I’ll become a horologist (look it up) on this trip. Moreover, I haven’t worn a watch in twenty years. I have some magnetism thing that makes them run wonky and they usually give up after a week or so. At one point I had a drawer full of dead watches. I think I had one too many Tim Allen moments playing with electricity. Anyway, thinking too much about time is depressing and when you’re on vacation all you’re doing is spending it.

I like to flip through the yellow pages when I’m away in the off chance I have a rich relative or two wandering about of which I’m unaware. Who knows? Perhaps they could use a bit of guidance with estate planning. I’ve heard I might be related to the founder of DR. Pepper, Charles Alderton, but he’s never rang. But you never know ‘til you try. I also like to check out the competition by thumbing through the church section in the yellow pages. Just a professional curiosity to see which teams are playing in the area. In this town, the latest count is: Catholics-2, Angicans-3, Pentecostals -1, and surprisingly, the Jehovah Witnesses-2.  I was curious about those J.W. lads. They’re the ones who have both the temerity and tenacity to come a’rappin’ on my chamber door on Saturday mornings. Since everything is upside down in New Zealand, perhaps it’s the pagans who go knocking on their doors each Saturday. There’s a thought.

We spent last night with some Maori folks in one of their villages. The Maori are lovely people and in their own way, refreshingly politically incorrect. While western elites yammer and lecture about the inappropriateness of cultural appropriation (viz. Most recently, the Halloween costume police), the Maori’s seem to want everyone to enjoy and have a go at their culture. I wasn’t sure at first. They began the evening with a solemn ceremony and said that we were not to laugh during the opening or attempt to mimic the warriors as they poured out of their canoe. They rushed the audience, screamed at us in the native language and the men kept sticking their tongues out and bugging their eyes at us. Once the ceremony ended, the Chief then exchanged the touching of the nose greeting with a few of people and then said, “Now that the opening ceremony is over, we invite you to laugh at us and imititate us the rest of the night.”  Ah, I wish these good-hearted folks could get some more air time. It would do the hyper-sensitive West a heap of good. (Heap is Kiwi for a lot). Also, the men do all the cooking!
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Us non-Maori men were invited to come and learn the Huka – the traditional warrior dance. The dance was easy enough, but for the life of me, I couldn’t pull off a fearsome face. I kept smiling. Had I been a Maori warrior the enemies would have been encouraged to take the whole island. I leave you with this picture of me and a true Maori warrior.

Blessings,
CJ