The Magnificent Sevens

Hi Mom, and a big “HELLO!” to all of our faithful followers out there. I know you’ve all been clamoring for a new blog post, but we just finished a three-week car and campervan adventure in New Zealand which has kept us fairly busy, and with limited internet service we’ve been out of touch. Sorry about that! But now we’re leaving, and we’ll have a post about the campervan trip soon…in the meantime…

One thing I can tell you about New Zealand: we’ve met so many nice folks on this global trip, but this may be the nicest place we’ve been. Take this exchange, that happened a few nights ago:

(Sunday night, 11pm)
[KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK]
Me: “Sorry to wake you, but do you have a spare key for Cabin #6? We locked ourselves out…”
Campground owner, standing in doorway, in his underwear: “Oh…well, no worries, mate.”
(sounds Australian, I know, but they say it in New Zealand, too)
“We went out to look at the stars, and then I realized I forgot our key, and the door was locked behind us…beautiful stars out tonight…we don’t get these kind of stars in New York, you see…”
“No worries, mate.”
“I’m terribly embarrassed about this – I hate to be a bother – but the stars, you know; and the doors automatically lock when you step outside, so…”
“No worries, mate…”
“My wife is actually trying to stay warm in the toilets right now, she’s in there in her nightgown; so she’s not very happy with me, as you can imagine…”
(ed. note: “toilets” = “bathrooms.” Public camp bathrooms in this case.)
“No worries, mate, here you go.”
[hands me key]
“Thanks so much! Hate to be a bother…sorry again, I appreciate your help!”
“No worries, mate.”

More New Zealand facts: there are a lot of sheep here. A lot. So much so that during television coverage for the opening day of rugby season (opening day, people), there was a commercial for sheep mouthwash. You read that correctly: a commercial for sheep mouthwash. I can barely floss my own teeth, let alone force some ewe to gargle a belt of Listerine. But I guess you have to keep on top of your sheep’s dental care here, it’s a matter of national interest.

Something else interesting: some people here walk barefoot, even in cities. And why not? There’s no garbage or litter anywhere, and abundant recycling opportunities. Hell, they even had a primetime show about recycling. And the public restrooms are spotless, stocked, and without a trace of graffiti. So yes, you can go barefoot just about anywhere.

Other things of note:
“Shopping Carts” are “Trundlers.”

Dogs kill penguins.

Bananas are scarce.

One other thing, and with this I’m being totally serious: New Zealand may be the most beautiful, scenic place we’ve ever been. Ever. Every time to you turn a corner, your eyes expand and you say, “WOW…” The scenery is really like that. It’s amazing.

And speaking of amazing, there’s this lengthy tale: A few weeks ago, Amy and I went to the New Zealand Rugby Sevens tournament in Wellington. It’s a two-day tournament in which sixteen nations compete in fourteen-minute matches of rugby, with seven players per side. Hence, “The Rugby Sevens.” But it’s more than just a sporting event. It’s like Halloween, Mardi Gras, and a dance-off all rolled into a big two-day party.

First of all, EVERYONE wears costumes. As one Kiwi told us, “we don’t really celebrate Halloween, so this is a big costume party for us.” Secondly, EVERYONE is drinking from mid-morning until late at night, like Mardi Gras. And like Mardi Gras, EVERYONE in Wellington embraces the event, which takes over the whole town. In fact, these posters were up all over the city, a friendly reminder from a tolerant community:

Things kicked off early on a Friday morning. Around 9am, as we walked down to the bus stop near our rental room, we saw people in various costumes drinking in pubs which had been open long before we walked by. This seemed normal, and didn’t phase anyone. Then we boarded a bus bound for the city center, where we joined groups of lumberjacks, construction workers, football players, and a biker gang for the ride downtown. It was as if we’d stumbled upon The Village People ride at Disneyland.

(Note: here’s another example about how nice everyone is in New Zealand – at every bus stop, nearly every person who got off the bus paused briefly and shouted to the front, “Thank you, Bus Driver!!” And the bus driver would smile and nod, or tip his cap like he was Fred Astaire. As a New Yorker, it was unnerving.)

As the day went on, we concluded that the most popular costumes, it seemed, were as follows:

#1 – Caveman/Flintstones (with varying degrees of animal skin, from the real to the cartoony).

#2 – Ron Burgundy and the “Anchorman” crew.

#3 – Superheroes (a catch-all, but again, very popular).

And finally, #4 – Mexicans.

Yes, that’s right – Mexicans! Everywhere there were people dressed as your stereotypical Mexican.

For example, look at this classic movie cast, from right to left – the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, the Tin-Man, and the Mexican.

And no one seemed to take offense to this. In fact, we saw a few guys dressed as Hasidic Jews, with big-nose Groucho glasses. And we also saw a bunch of people dressed in blackface – yes, blackface. But WAIT, it gets better – including a black guy in blackface!! I did find it fascinating that this is acceptable in New Zealand. This seemed normal, and didn’t phase anyone.

Maybe it’s just culturally accepted, like they have some very advanced sense of humor, or very thick skins. I can’t really explain it, honestly. But as another example, first we saw a black guy dressed in blackface, and then – and I wish we had a better picture of this – there was this little person – dressed as a leprechaun! (Note Fred Flintstone behind him.)

Also of interest – two guys were dressed as the Blues Brothers, and some other guy came up and pointed at the bigger guy and said (earnestly) – “Hey! Jim Belushi!” Then there were the “sexy” girls. You know, sexy policewoman, sexy kitten, sexy viking…all the iterations of sexy whatever. Now you can add the following to the list of “sexy” costumes: Sexy Rubik’s Cube. Sexy Michael Jordan. And Sexy Pasta.

There were grown men dressed in adult diapers.

Please tell me if you’ve heard of this song: it’s called “Double-Bubble Bubble Butt.” Yes, that’s the song. And apparently, at the Sevens, it’s a thing to be on the Jumbotron shaking your butt – your “double bubble bubble butt” – to this song. This happened half a dozen times at least.

People chugged beer, people puked.

People STOOD in puke.

People in costumes played double-dutch, in a stadium hallway.

The fleet was in town.

Fully-grown babies terrorized the venue.

..and Bill Clinton French-kissed Arnold Schwarznegger.

This seemed normal, and didn’t phase anyone.

All-day drinking combined with the anonymity of costumes equals trouble. They did something at the stadium in Wellington that they would NEVER do in the USA – sell beer in bottles. Sure, they were plastic bottles, but as the days got longer, you were prepared to be hit in the head with an empty beer bottle missle. Bottles were flying everywhere, and with total impunity.

And something totally funny: there was an actual sporting event going on during all of this mayhem. I can tell you some of the results now, if you haven’t already checked on how your fantasy Rugby Sevens team did…

The USA actually won something. They were the “Shield Winner,” and it was the Rugby Sevens equivalent of getting a participation trophy for being on the intramural squash team. We were the best of the crappy teams, beating notable rugby powerhouses like Spain and Portugal. USA!!!!

Kenya also won something. They were the “Bowl” winners, meaning they are not that bad, but frankly not that good either. And here’s the interesting part – during their award presentation, the stadium loudspeakers played “Buffalo Solider.” Seems an awkward choice to me, but then again, I was not dressed as a pants-free nun, so who am I to judge these proceedings?

And of course, New Zealand’s own All-Blacks sevens squad won it all, taking home the first place trophy. The crowd went nuts, and once the award was presented, we high-tailed it out of the stadium to avoid the crowds, the flying bottles, and the vomit. In doing so, we missed the All-Blacks doing an impromptu “Haka,” the Maori battle dance that’s become a symbol of national pride.

So this national pride came to a crescendo at the Sevens. And it should have. When you live in a country where everyone’s nice, where the streets are clean, where every vista is more amazing than the next, and where your national team dominates the world in your favorite sport, there’s much to be happy about. So much so that you thank the bus driver on your way home to wash out your sheep’s mouth with a fluoride rinse. This is normal, and doesn’t phase anyone.