Give and Let Give

Human nature doesn’t get nearly the credit it deserves. One of the most important attributes that I’ve found upon moving to both New York and New Zealand is the kindness of relative strangers- particularly in times of distress.


New Yorkers have a reputation for being a fast-walking, tough-talking, competitive breed but upon arrival I found a culture dying to feel a connection. One can’t stand on the street or stare at a subway map for five minutes without someone approaching with an offer to help. Complete strangers will start a conversation in an elevator or subway and, particularly while working in restaurants, patrons were dying to ask about your life story. Work acquaintances and fast friends were always willing to go above and beyond to help find a new job, place to live, or promote an aspiring artist’s show. In New York I found the strong support network absolutely necessary to cultivate a city of dreamers.


I was struck by a different kindness from the international travelers making up the Chateau staff. I was a little bit nervous to join a team slightly later in the season than most, afraid that previous friendships may have already formed impenetrable bonds. What I found was the polar opposite: a welcoming group of open arms, an open-door environment, and a willing trust to lend money, a car, or some advice at any hour of the day.


Truly beautiful colors were revealed during a recent bout with the flu that plagued almost every member of our staff. While some people were barely able to breathe or get out of bed, others were making runs to the pharmacy in town to pick up medication, lending magazines and movies to keep patients entertained, covering long hours at work, and even sitting in germ-infested rooms to dull the loneliness and boredom of being quarantined away from home. The selflessness and kindness that I witnessed gave my faith in humanity and my immune system enough of a boost to ward off this round of illness- and yes that’s the sound of me knocking heavily on wood!


I’m not sure if it’s the difficult pace and constant rejection of being a struggling artist in the big city, the isolation and backpacker’s conditions of a small mountain town, or the inherent goodness of people in general, but what I’ve seen of the world is far from what is reflected on the front pages of newspapers and gossip magazines. They are the small voices offering to buy you a coffee, recommend a word-of-mouth traveler’s destination, and pay forward the kindness offered by those before them. What I’ve seen is hope for our future.

A Taste of Home

One of the best ways that I’ve discovered to combat homesickness is to recreate the traditions that you miss most. This is how the idea of All-American Brunch was born.


Sunday brunch is a New York staple, as much about the company of friends and the excuse to drink champagne in the morning as it is about the food. We rounded up the American staff hailing from Seattle, Tennessee, DC, New York and Massachusetts, coordinated days off, and dressed in our finest red-white-and-blue for a little taste of home without anyone making fun of the way we say “tomato”.


We scoured the grocery store in town to find bagels (surprisingly scarce in this country!), eggs, smoked salmon, hollandaise, bacon, fruit salad, mimosas and coffee and dove into our feast. Saturday Night Live’s the Best of Will Farrell provided the perfect entertainment, making it tough to chew through laughter.


To top off the afternoon, Helen and I dove into a Sex and the City marathon, which turned out to be a bit of an overkill. It’s one thing to enjoy the benefits of a good brunch, and another entirely to taunt yourself with visions of the things from home you can’t have: good friends, a different restaurant everyday of the week, and all of the perks of cosmopolitan life.


So, I just reminded myself of the humidity of an East Coast summer, bundled underneath a blanket and drifted into a nap. Central Park grass can’t always be greener.

Mother Nature is a Tough Boss!

One of the largest adjustments from moving to a concrete jungle to a mountain environment has been conceding major decisions to the whims of the weather. As a pedestrian town, New York is somewhat affected by the forecast - do you carry an umbrella to the subway? Do you eat at an outdoor café or seek solace in an air-conditioned room – very rarely will the weather actually disrupt the flow of daily life.

On the mountain, we are at the mercy of the skies. My work schedule is dependent on access to the ski areas: if they’re open we can expect to be busy later in the day as families come down after a day on the slopes, but I get called in early on days that the slopes are closed to accommodate guests who settle for tea and scones as opposed to a day of snowboarding. Deliveries and trips to the nearest towns depend on the roads being open and ice free, and whether or not the car available has chains or four-wheel drive.


It can be a humbling experience, and a frustrating one. Ski and 

snowboarding fans are stuck sleeping with crossed fingers that they can take full advantage of their days off. A heavy snow can turn the walk to work into an obstacle course, dodging the snowball fights that automatically ensue after a heavy snow.

Even our moods can be affected. I worried about the idea of living through two winters in a row when I chose to change hemispheres. I may have soaked up the sun in Las Vegas before arriving, but the idea of snowstorms in September is still tough to wrap my head around- especially with pictures of friends from home lounging on the beach taunting me on Facebook.


I’ve always respected the power and beauty of the weather - lightning storms and sunsets are a few of my favorite things – but there are certainly days when I wish Mother Nature took requests into consideration.

Taranaki Falls

One of the best things about being surrounded by travelers is the element of spontaneity. People from around the world with different personalities and varied interests come up with adventures that you could never have dreamed up alone. It was over lunch that I decided I wanted to jump into Taranaki Falls.


Helen and I were eating in the staff room and planning to use the internet before our shifts started when Mike, a sweet young guy from England, plopped down at the table across from us. Everyone knew that he was heading home to start university in a few weeks and was trying to cram in as many activities as possible before leaving.


“What are you up to today?” we asked.


“I’m going to jump in a waterfall,” he replied matter-of-factly, “I just wish I had someone there to take my picture.”

Helen and I exchanged a quick glance. “I’ll go with you,” I volunteered, “but if you’re jumping in the water then so am I.”


“Well I’m not going to be the only loser who doesn’t jump in,” Helen chimed in.


And so, our idea was born. We each ran home to change into swimsuits and pack a bag of warm clothes to bundle up for the walk home. We met at the entrance to the Taranaki Falls walk, checked our watches and realized that there was no way we would make it back to work in time if it actually took us the allotted hour posted each way.


Refusing to accept defeat, we decided to run the downhill portions of the trail and Manhattan speed walk the rest of the way, reassuring ourselves that the time was overestimated for dawdlers. Stopping for a few pictures in between, we reached the falls in about forty-five minutes.


Since it was his original idea, Mike stripped down and went first while Helen and I stood on the rocks armed with a disposable camera. After striking a few poses he crawled out shivering but grinning. We took turns wading to the middle, standing still long enough to get a good shot, and then trying to convince the next participant through chattering teeth that it really wasn’t that cold.

After we had each taken one turn, we concluded that we couldn’t really claim to have jumped into a waterfall while we still had dry hair, so Helen and I grabbed hands, plugged our noses, and tip toed far enough out to completely dunk our heads. Not one to be outdone, Mike followed suit, splashing water overhead as he broke the surface.


Exhilarated, and possibly delirious from the cold, we started our walk back at the same fast pace that we had taken there. Even slowed slightly by a scraped knee that I earned taking a fall around a slick corner, we made it back in time to change clothes and get to work with barely a minute to spare. For the rest of the evening, fueled by adrenaline, endorphins, and the sheer timing of coming across the idea on a day filled with blue skies and sunshine, I couldn’t wipe the grin off of my face. As fate would have it, a blizzard hit Whakapapa village the next day making the savoring of our experience even more sweet.

**This little adventure was featured on www.Trazzler.com!

Just Do It.

I’ve never thought of myself as an adventure sports junkie. In fact, most people laughed when I told them I was going to live on the side of a mountain and work at a ski resort when I don’t ski or snowboard. I’m simply here for the experience of seeing another country and having some quiet time to write without the millions of distractions that New York provides on a nightly basis.

That being said, I promised myself that I would be open to new experiences and take advantage of any that presented themselves. When I heard that a group was organizing a white water rafting trip I jumped right in.

Eight of us drove down to Tongariro River Rafting (www.trr.co.nz) where we met our guides Nick and Ben and changed into wetsuits, life jackets, and helmets. They corralled us onto a bus and took us to the river where we got a few brief instructions before hauling our boats into the water.

The severity of a river is rated on a scale of one to five, and my favorite explanation was that one was equivalent to a warm bath, while five was similar to dropping a live hornets nest into your pants. Our river was a level three, and of course we chose a rainy day so we spent our time between rapids (which was probably seventy-five percent) sitting on our hands for warmth. 

Luckily, our guides were full of jokes and silly banter to keep us entertained.

After a two hour ride full of gorgeous scenery, a few thrilling moments of water splashing into our faces and a few more spent bouncing up and down in the boat trying to dislodge ourselves from the top of a rock, we piled back into the busses for a soak in the nearby hot pools. Numb skin tingled against the warmth of the water the moment our toes broke the surface, but within minutes we settled in and never wanted to leave.

Before we knew it we were being called out of the water (just moments before the skies broke and began to rain again) to change back into comfortable clothes. We headed back to home base where tomato soup (homemade from Nick’s garden) was waiting for us with bread and butter. We ate, drank and laughed at the slideshow of photos already streaming on the wall and left as soaking but completely satisfied customers.

The Job

So, what am I actually doing here?!
My official title is Food & Beverage Assistant at the Bayview Chateau Tongariro. I am generally scheduled to work Lounge Service, which is pretty much a combination of bartender/barback/barista/waitress /American ambassador (people LOVE to ask the staff where we’re from, what it’s like, and what we’re doing here) and anything else that gets thrown my way.


My schedule is pretty ideal- most of my days start at either noon or 3:00pm and run up until midnight, unless there is a special event or particularly rowdy crowd that keeps us open late. Our clientele make up a stew full of varied ingredients- we’ve got high-end hotel guests having cocktails before dining in the five star restaurant spiced with skiers and snowboarders looking for a cold beer after a long day on the mountain and garnished with families placating their children with hot chocolates for a moment’s peace so they can get a glimpse of the gorgeous mountain view out the enormous picture window. You’re as likely to see a cocktail dress and heels as you are grown adults tossing dripping wet coats over the backs of couches and warming their stocking feet by the fireplace.


I work in a bit of a boys club, but they’re a great crew. Jon, our bar manager, is from England and a big kid at heart who could charm the pants off of anyone who approaches the bar window. Tim, our assistant bar manager and Jon’s best friend, is a smart ass Boston boy. He can rub people the wrong way until you realize that he only pushes people’s buttons when he knows they can take it. He can also turn on a smile the second any guest approaches and knows fine-dining etiquette like the back of a white-gloved hand. Rounding out our crew is Tony W, who everyone calls “Dubs” due to the number of other Tonys running around. He’s from Northern England with a great accent to match and hides his sharp wit inside the demeanor of a big teddy bear.
During busy times my job keeps me running, and in down times I turn to silly details like organizing the six different types of coffee saucers we use or taking walks around the lounge with rambunctious rug rats. It may not be the reason I came to New Zealand, but it is my means to income, housing, and a social life, and so far it’s not half bad.


Oh, and it allows me the time focus on my real career aspirations and get an article published in an Australian newspaper…. more on that later!

The Staff

Living in the lodges is basically like being in college again, on an international campus. The staff here at the Chateau is primarily from England, Scotland, and New Zealand with a few Americans sprinkled in, topped off with travelers from Sweden, Poland, Brazil, etc. Most are skier/snowboarders (we do live adjacent to a mountain and all…) or backpackers looking to earn their way to the next destination.


Like most young adults in a new setting, we turned to drinks and games to get to know each other. There is a tavern two minutes down the road that hosts pub quizzes, pool tournaments and beer pong games where you can generally find a crowd unwinding after work.


Helen, the manager and friend responsible for bringing me here, celebrated her birthday the weekend after I arrived and she decided to combat summer-sickness with a beach themed birthday party. The whole staff got into the spirit with festive gear and crazy games that lasted until breakfast was being served in the cafeteria the next morning.


And, just as a reminder that we are actually living in a small country on the side of a mountain, we awoke the next day to the news that the water supply was contaminated by sewage getting into the village water supply (and yes, I made that face that you’re making right now!). So much for rehydrating- or even brushing our teeth! It was treated within twenty-four hours but not before plenty of moaning, groaning, and missing the simple pleasure of access to boiling water.