You may not end up in Guinness for it, but you’re sure to have a memorable experience.

Links to posts about each of these experience – as well as videos! – are included. Enjoy!  

World’s Most Dangerous Beach

We don’t normally think of beaches as being dangerous, but Sunset Beach in St Martin in the Caribbean will set your heart aflutter. It’s directly at the end of the island’s airport strip, and you can watch planes come in on top of you. Thrill seekers like to hold on to the fence at the end of the runway and be mangled by the prop blast as jets land mere meters away. (I settled for taking pictures from a mildly respectful distance).

The Most Dangerous Beach in the World

World’s Highest (Commercial) Skydive

As a skydiver with almost 300 jumps (from a life that seems lifetimes away now), I dropped my license when I started traveling full-time. But when I was in New Zealand, I was treated to a tandem jump that allowed me to experience the world’s highest commercial skydive, exiting the plane at 15,000 feet.

World’s Highest (Commercial) Fixed Line Abseil (Rappel)

This was an absolute highlight of all my travels. In Waitomo New Zealand, this full day event involved a 100 meter abseil (rappel) into a cave, followed by five hours of venturing through this extensive watery cave system. In our wetsuits, we squeezed, swam, jumped, and shimmied through this cave, and hung out with Waitomo’s famous glow worms (which have their own funny story).

Abseiling, Caving, and Spotting Glow Worms in New Zealand

World’s Highest (Commercially) Rafted Waterfall

New Zealand is home to all kinds of world’s [whatevers], and I experienced a lot of them whilst filming a tv show there in 2010. Even after a day of sledging (which is like white-water rafting on a glorified boogie board), I was shaking in my wetsuit in anticipation of the 7 meter (23 foot) drop that flips a good percentage of rafts. Ironically we survived the drop, and then almost sank the raft whilst caught in a rapid that is apparently more dangerous than the waterfall itself.

World’s Longest Train Ride

When I did the Ultimate Train Challenge in 2011 (30 days from Lisbon to Saigon, all by train), it included a solid week on the Trans-Manchurian between Moscow and Beijing. It’s better known as the Trans-Siberian, the difference being the particular route the train takes. Either way, it’s long.

A Week on the Trans-Manchurian Railway

World’s Fastest Train

Hot on the heels of the world’s longest train ride, I embarked on the world’s fastest train from Beijing to Shanghai. Watching the world whizz by at speeds close to what planes manage was an experience. And with stations on either side that were more like airports than train stations, at times I had to wonder if I was actually flying.

13 Random Experiences on Asian Trains

World’s Longest Wall/Biggest Ancient Architecture

You got it – this is the Great Wall of China. I’ve had the good fortune to have been there not once – but twice.

Beijing – Then and Now

World’s Shortest Ferry Ride

If you fly into Toronto’s Island Airport (officially known as Toronto City Centre Airport), a ferry will deliver you to the “mainland” downtown core of Toronto. It’s a whopping 120 meters (400 feet), and the ferry itself is about a third of the size of passage it runs.

World’s Most Isolated Major City

There are a few contenders for the world’s most isolated/remote major cities (depending on your criteria such as by population size or accessibility), including Auckland New Zealand, Honolulu Hawaii, and Iquitos Peru. Regardless of the measuring stick you use, I can say I’ve been to all of them.

But Perth Australia is most eager to wear this banner, and it’s an isolated city indeed. Bonus: it also boasts the largest inner city park in the world.

Perth in 24 Hours

World’s Most Dangerous Airport

When I was filming a television show in Nepal in 2010, we flew from Kathmandu to Lukla, which is the gateway to Everest and the Himalayas for trekkers. Tenzing Hilary Airport earns its moniker as the world’s most dangerous airport due to the short runway with absolutely no margin for error. The runway is on an incline so planes coming in can stop before hitting the mountain behind it, and so planes taking off can gather sufficient speed before the runway drops off into a valley of nothingness.

The other danger factor at this airport is the weather, which comes in out of nowhere. It took us two days of waiting at Kathmandu airport for enough clear sky to allow us to fly in, and we were stuck there for three days longer than scheduled waiting for the clouds to clear so we could take off. The only other way out would have been to hike for 2 days to the nearest city where we could catch ground transportation back to Kathmandu.

World’s Most Expensive City

Oslo Norway takes this prize, and spectacularly so. I went to a middle-of-the-road thai restaurant for lunch and paid almost $50 for a green curry and a glass of wine. This was pretty average for my meals in Oslo. Now, if you live in Oslo and earn money in the local currency, you can get by pretty well. But with Norway’s strong currency, visiting there with foreign currency in your pocket will result in your pockets being empty pretty quickly.

Travel Lessons and Surprises: Oslo

World’s Top City for Cyclists AND World’s Happiest City

Again there are a few contenders for this title (not the least of which is Amsterdam), but the prize – for both bike friendly city and happiest city – goes to Copenhagen Denmark. I don’t know that bicycling and happiness are related, but there you go.

Copenhagen: A Modern-Day Fairy Tale

Largest Beer-Producing Area in the World

If you think Germany takes this cake, think again. When I was in Boulder Colorado, I learned that it’s part of the largest beer-producing triangle in the world, with micro-breweries at every turn. Boulder tops a bunch of other lists (in America) mostly in the realm of being active, bike-friendly, dog-friendly, rich, and skinny. Guess you have to burn off the beer somehow, and with the Rocky Mountains at your doorstep it’s not too difficult.

A Curious Bubble in Boulder, Colorado

World’s Largest Techno Party

The annual Street Parade in Zurich Switzerland is actually officially billed as a political demonstration (dating back to its humble beginnings in 1992 as a demonstration for peace, love, and tolerance. Back then there were 1,000 attendees; now it sees about a million attendees, hitting the streets to party, show off their costumes, and get their groove on.

The World’s Largest Techno Party: Street Parade in Zurich

World’s Highest Bungee Jump

The world’s highest bungee jump is currently the Macau Tower at 233 metres. However in 2005 when I was in the Western Cape of South Africa, I took a leap (a few, actually) off Bloukrans Bridge which was at the time the world’s highest bungee jump at 216 metres. So considering this is a list of my own world [whatevers], I think it still counts. So there. Bite me, Macau.

World’s Highest Navigable Lake

Lake Titicaca (bordered by Bolivia and Peru) is the largest lake in South America, and the highest navigable lake in the world. I spent a few days on Isla del Sol, and even though I live at an incredibly high altitude in Peru, I marvelled at just how close to the sun this island really was.

Visiting Isla del Sol on Lake Titicaca, in Bolivia

World’s Longest Standing Protest

Since 1972, a small fire has been burning in front of Australia’s parliament building. Along with the small collection of derelict looking tents off to the side housing anywhere from a few to a few hundred Australian Aboriginals who tend to the fire, this is the world’s longest standing protest. Stumbling on to this with a friend while walking around Canberra one afternoon led to one of the most enlightening days I’ve had in all my travels.

The Australian Aboriginal Tent Embassy

World’s Worst Smelling Food

This prize goes to Surstromming, a canned fermented fish that is popular in Sweden. It’s a love-it-or-hate-it kind of food, that actually doesn’t taste nearly as repulsive as it smells. (There. I’m sure you want to try it now, don’t you)?

Northern Swedish Delicacies, Including Surstromming

Do you have any World’s fastest, highest, longest, smallest, deepest, craziest WHATEVERs in your travel repertoire?

This post 18 of the World’s Fastest, Highest, Longest (etc) Things to Do appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

This post was originally published in 2011. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and content. 

NZ to Canada: It shouldn’t be that difficult…

I had a starting point: New Zealand. And I had a final destination: Canada (to visit family and friends, who I haven’t seen for a few years). But after spending six months in New Zealand, and returning to a place very familiar to me, I wanted to “shake it up” by visiting somewhere different (perhaps exotic) enroute. As a full-time traveler, I’ve created a lifestyle that allows me to do that, and I figured I’d be crazy not to exercise this privilege of choice.

But it was in making this choice that I became completely stymied. When the world is your oyster, where do you begin?

So I asked my readers, and polled my Facebook fans. I opened up a world atlas and searched for logical stopover points. And I researched – and researched, and researched – flights, routes, and possible itineraries; emerging day after day from fruitless hours spent online with nothing more than tired eyes and a frustrated spirit.

Nothing clicked.

Nothing seemed easy. Every time I thought I had it narrowed down, another possibility would fly in from stage left and confuse me again.

This was the paralysis of choice.

How I’ve traveled so far

In the past, my travel decisions and destinations have been quite easy; a family wedding brought me to western Canada, a unique caretaking position drew me to Hawaii, a sponsored trip brought Australia into the picture, and filming a television show introduced me to New Zealand. In these situations (and others), there was always choice, but one option always stood out from the rest as the “obvious” one.

But without an “obvious choice” this time around, the world suddenly became really big, with altogether too many places to go, none of which grabbed me or presented an opportunity inspirational enough for me to jump on board.

And the longer I stalled on making a decision, the more stressed I became and the less happy and inspired I was.

Choice = Misery

Suggesting that “Choice equals Misery” is a long shot, but possibly not as far-fetched as you might imagine. Consider these situations:

The Monk

A few weeks ago, a monk walked up the driveway to Mana Retreat Centre. He was on a walking pilgrimage from Auckland, and needed a place to rest. According to his faith, he is not allowed to ask for anything. He owns nothing, and relies solely on the kindness of others for survival. In his (fairly strict) practice, he can’t even help himself to a cup of tea; it must be offered and prepared for him.

Seeing that he was tired and needed a place to pitch his tent and rest for a few days, we offered him just that. In turn, we also prepared his meals (he ate once a day), and regularly offered him tea, coffee, and even blankets and various amenities in an attempt to make his stay comfortable.

One morning I told him that we were having some difficulty in determining what a good meal would be to prepare for him, knowing it’s his only meal of the day, and not knowing what he enjoys or needs. I asked him if there was anything in particular he was craving.

“Yes, but I can’t tell you,” he replied. “I must simply accept whatever you offer.” He went on to describe how the act of choosing something he wants or craves creates an attachment that contradicts his faith.

When I shot him a “you-poor-thing, you-must-live-a-hard-life” look, he simply smiled and assured me that he’s never been happier since he adopted this lifestyle; that it’s amazing what happens when you accept whatever comes your way.

The African Farmers

The (hypothetical) African farmers wake up in the morning, tend their fields, and provide for their families. There is no choice in this routine; it’s just what they do. They’re usually born into this line of work, and if they don’t continue with it, they – and their families – will starve.

We should never wish destitution on anybody, and I’m not supposing that poor people without life choices are happy by nature. But you can’t deny how these farmers don’t know – and haven’t even considered – any other way of life, and they just get on with their day…with a smile on their face.

Isolated Tropical Islanders

I read once about an isolated tropical island that is one of the few places left on Earth still completely disconnected from the “outside world”. The natives still live simply, and haven’t been touched by modern society.

Are these people unhappy because they don’t have our modern conveniences? Of course not; they aren’t even aware of another way of life. Are they happy? Fundamentally, yes. Sure, they have their moments as we all do, but the increasing mental health epidemics of our society (like depression) are completely foreign to them.

Even Me: The One-Bag Wonder

I have also taken some measures to reduce the choices I have to make in life. By having my belongings fit into a bag, I have eliminated most consumer choice. If I want to buy something, it actually has to replace something else; I simply don’t have room for extra stuff!

As such, I’ve reduced the agony of consumer choice. No need to decide between an lcd or plasma screen television, or cruise through aisle after aisle of “stuff” in a big box store, figuring out how I can afford to buy this or that and still make my credit card payments. “The Joneses” are off my Christmas card list – no need to keep up with them any more!

Heck – even the sheer amount of choice at a big grocery store overwhelms me! Do we really need to have 50 different types of cereal, a dozen different types of canned tomatoes, and 20 kinds of pasta? Whew. All I wanted was lunch.

Travel Choice

And so we return to the idea that having too much choice in where to go and what to do next (without an option that seemed obvious and that I was passionate about) ultimately made me miserable. It led to a complete paralysis: the paralysis of choice.

Reducing Choices

So if choice is paralyzing, ultimately leading to misery, the solution would be to reduce your choices, right?

But once you are used to having choices, bereaving yourself of that “privilege” might seem extreme. Reducing my belongings to one bag was moderately extreme and might be incomprehensible to many people; in turn, the life choices of the monk who owns nothing and lives at the mercy of others didn’t seem like a lot of fun to me.

But I do believe that choice – too much choice – is a recipe for unhappiness. Or maybe it’s when we identify something we want but can’t have – the feeling of deprivation – that leads to misery.

So how do we reduce our choices (a.k.a. misery) without feeling deprived?

This post The Paralysis of Choice appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

Both of my parents are musicians. Growing up, we lived in a two-bedroom apartment with two pianos; often one parent would teach a student in the living room, and the other parent would teach in the bedroom.

Needless to say, I have had music in me since the womb. I’ve played many instruments growing up; performing concertos on piano, touring with a ballet through China as a flautist, and even dabbling with orchestral percussion and jazz drum kits.

In addition to a piano-heavy household, my mother is a singing teacher and choral director, and my father is a jazz pianist.

So singing has also been a part of my upbringing; I’m now coming to understand this in more ways than I initially realized.

In one of my “former lives”(!), I hailed as a professional actor/singer/dancer, specializing in musical theatre. But my singing “career” goes back further than that.

My father used to have jazz “gigs” at restaurants and hotels. Growing up, I remember going to see him play, and when my bedtime rolled around, I’d be ushered into a back room at the restaurant to fall asleep and be carried home when Dad finished playing.

As a solo player, Dad played most of the jazz standards. And listening to him practice over the years, I became quite familiar with them. But without a vocalist to accompany him, I didn’t know the names of the songs or the lyrics; only the tune.

One of my favourite things to do when Dad was practicing was to sit in my room and sing along, pretending I was the sultry “jazz singer” in a sparkling dress, standing next to the piano in a dimly lit jazz club crooning to an entranced audience. I sang my little heart out to my dad’s playing.

I scatted like Ella Fitzgerald, and wailed like Billie Holiday. But so I wouldn’t disturb his practicing, I sang into my pillow.

It wasn’t until I was well into my 20’s when Dad was visiting my place for a dinner party that I admitted my little singing secret. After he politely played a few tunes at the bid of my guests, I started humming along to a few. This evolved into a little scat session; me and my dad.

It is something I will never forget.

Fast forward 10 or so years. Having been traveling for four years, I’ve not had a chance to perform at all. Prior to leaving Toronto, I was heavily involved in musical theatre, loving the ability to express myself physically and vocally. But on the road, I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough (or in apt places) to work my way into a theatre group or production.

This inability to perform is the one thing I really miss with a full-time travel lifestyle.

A few weeks ago, an a cappella vocal group performed at a fundraiser here at Mana Retreat. Having listened to Manhattan Transfer from a very young age, something about the tight closed harmonies of a cappella groups has always sent shivers down my spine.

Listening to this accomplished group sing at Mana was a true delight for me. But as usual, I wrestled with my own desires to perform, and found myself wanting to sing so badly it actually hurt.

Luckily, opportunities to sing have been coming to me in various forms. I’ve been harmonizing for some music tracks for Cybiont, including a sweet little ditty called So Much Work For Love To Do. We’re even starting to develop some tracks together, which is a new process for me, since I’m used to working with pre-written music instead of creating new tunes.

I’m also branching out and singing more myself. I’ve worked out a few tunes on the piano (like Feeling Good sung by Nina Simone) and even performed them at various open-mic nights. (I’ve also realized how difficult simultaneously singing and playing piano can be!).

And I’ve even recorded a track or two myself, including Calling You: a favourite song of mine from my all-time favourite movie Bagdad Cafe.

So what’s next for a budding singer and performer wanting to follow a dual passion for both traveling and performing? Who knows. Maybe the next step for The Professional Hobo is a gig on a cruise ship, traveling with a tv show, or even touring around with a show/band/performance.

Or maybe I’ll just keep singing into my pillow, humming in the kitchen, and enjoying the beauty of music for what it is. Which is okay too, as long as I’m following a passion (ie: traveling). You can’t always have it all. Only time will tell.

How do you balance chasing passion? Are you forsaking a passion with your current life choices? If so, how does it make you feel?

This article was originally published in 2011, and has since been updated for accuracy of links and content.
A few years after writing this I went on to apprentice with a shaman in Peru for two years, followed by some time working as a shaman’s assistant in Ecuador. Those experiences allowed me to use my voice in a completely different way.

This post Singing, Performing, Traveling, and Chasing Passion appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

But this 2.6km train journey has a story all its own; one of art, conservation, and engineering.

This article was originally written in 2011; it has since been updated for accuracy of links and content.

Coromandel Town, New Zealand

Coromandel town is the nearest town to Mana Retreat (where I have been a part of their work exchange program). It isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, but is a nice place to enjoy a latte or ice cream, a seafood lunch, and browse the half a dozen tiny gallery-type stores. It’s full of character – and characters – and at the height of the tourist season during the Celtic Fair, this small town of 1,500 swells up to over 10,000.

Driving Creek Railway’s Beginnings

But back in 1973, Coromandel didn’t even have 1,500 people to its name. This is when Barry Brickell bought a 22 hectare (60 acre) block of hilly land three kms north of town with a vision akin (in my mind) to Kevin Costner’s character in Field of Dreams. Barry wanted to build a narrow-gauge railway to the top of the mountain; envisioning a train that would carry hoards of passengers – tourists – to the top of his mountain of scrubby bush.

Despite Coromandel not being a huge tourist draw-card in the early 1970’s, Barry was quite content to pursue his dream and vision of creating this railway – a project that took him 32 years to complete.

It was an uphill battle – pun intended.

You’re Building What?!

Before boarding the train, I watch a DVD about how Driving Creek Railway came to be. Interviews with Barry reveal that he’s a quirky potter with a streak of sarcastic humour that takes the edge off his fierce determination. It is the marriage of these qualities that nurtured his commitment to building the railway in the face of complete adversity.

He talks about how his father, accountant, bank manager, and “so-called friends” accused him of wasting his time on building a miniature railway.

And from the outside, you can’t really blame his family and friends for thinking they were talking some sense into him. It wasn’t like Barry had any particular knowledge or expertise that lent itself to building a railway like this. Although most people would go to school for engineering or to study some range of skills that might assist in the project, Barry turned his nose up at formal education, saying that going to school just makes you bored stiff and knocks the knowledge right out of you.

Instead, Barry figured it all out on the job. He was inspired by the switch-backing railway systems that climb the mountains in Peru, and simply said “If they can do it, so can I.”

And so he did.

The Driving Creek Railway Experience

Examining the incredibly narrow 15” gauge rails, it’s tough to believe there’s a train that will take me and the other 30 or so passengers up to the top of the mountain, almost 200metres above where I stand. But sure enough, moments later a three-car toy train pulls up and offloads the last group of passengers, all beaming with smiles.

Sitting in the train is a knee-to-knee experience with other passengers in each car, but it’s cozy and feels a bit like an Alice in Wonderland moment; like we have all been shrunk down to a size just big enough to fit into this train you could envision chugging around a little model toy world.

After being expressly informed we can’t stick our heads or arms out of the train, we’re off. The reason for this adamant caution quickly becomes apparent, as in many spots there is little to no leeway on either side of the train – through tunnels, across viaducts, and amidst dense foliage.

Knowing that Barry tackled this impossible feat on his own (hiring local contractors only for the major earthworks) makes the ride all the more unbelievable. To gain the 200 metres in altitude, we traverse across major viaducts (double-decker no less), around two spirals, through three tunnels, and five reversing points (where the train actually reverses direction in a zig-zag fashion, effectively switch-backing up the mountain).

Along the way little pottery treasures are everywhere to be found; an elf sitting on a tree stump, faces and murals melded into the terracotta tunnels, and impromptu sculpture gardens. There is almost too much to see in one go.

Half an hour later, we’ve made the 2.6km journey to the top and have ten minutes to enjoy the incredible views from the aptly-named “Eyefull Tower” before heading back down the way we came. Our driver recites a well-rehearsed, informative, and delightfully sarcastic commentary about the area, which is when the conservation angle to Barry’s mammoth project makes itself known.

The land that Barry bought in the 1970’s was once rife with kauri trees – majestic native trees that live hundreds of years with massive trunks. Unfortunately the majority of kauri trees were harvested when settlers arrived, and Barry is on a mission to reforest and regenerate the kauri and other native species. He even uses his narrow-gauge railway to transport the seedlings up the mountainside for planting.

Pottery

Driving Creek Railway (which is actually called Driving Creek Railway & Potteries) is also a formidable pottery studio home to resident and visiting potters and glass blowers, with demonstrations and wares for sale, in addition to the works of pottery art that can be found alongside the train tracks.

When you visit, you might even see Barry, now in his seventies, quietly pottering away on a new work of art or ware. Barry did what he set out to do almost four decades ago, and now he’s enjoying his own little eden – a place that is appreciated by thousands of people each year.

Playing with Passion

Everybody I spoke to in Coromandel said the railway is a “must-see”. And the train is a quirky ride with lovely views from the top. But what really makes the experience sing is the story behind how the railway came to be: Barry’s passion and fierce conviction to create this railway against so many odds; to create a place where he can work on and display his pottery; and to give back to the land through native species regeneration.

You just can’t fault a guy with determination to play with his passions.

How are you playing with your passion?

This post Driving Creek Railway: A Different Kind of Train appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

This post was originally published in 2010. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and content. 

During my multiple visits and lengthy stays in Rotorua, New Zealand, Mount Tarawera’s large flat-topped presence continually beckoned to me from the horizon. This formidable volcano with a violent history is a distinguished part of the Rotorua landscape. So I was over the moon when I was given a chance to do some crater walking on Mount Tarawera.

New Zealand is a very active volcanic zone, as evidenced by White Island – New Zealand’s most active volcano, just off the coast. But you don’t have to leave the mainland to feel the presence of volcanic activity, past and present. Rotorua’s steaming sulphur pools and geysers give you the feeling that the ground could open up and swallow you at any given moment (before logic and good sense kick in and you realize the earth’s crust is a little heartier than that).

And Mount Tarawera, about 50kms out of the city, reminds you to be respectful of how mighty the earth can be. In 1886, it erupted with incredible violence, creating a column of ash and steam 11kms high, killing 153 people, and burying three villages with 20 metres of mud and ash.

Today, Mount Tarawera is considered a Maori sacred site, with three distinct peaks and six craters.

I hitched a ride with Mt Tarawera New Zealand; the only company with the rights to drive up to the crater, over 1,100 metres above sea level. There are some companies that land by helicopter at the crater’s edge, but I preferred the chance to do a hike around the crater.

Our merry band of six (including two guides) parked just beyond the base camp, after driving through endless layers of fog and rain. In fact, we had all resolved ourselves to a damp walk with no views, so we were thrilled when we discovered that after 20 minutes of driving uphill on a rough track, we had actually driven above the clouds.

After hiking up to the crater’s edge, we were rewarded with views of all of Tarawera’s peaks and craters, as well as the peaks of some distant volcanoes poking above the clouds.

“Okay,” said Jude, one of our two guides. “We can do a few different walks from here. The first follows the crater rim along here, a short rock climb up that ridge, then up to the Tarawera summit over there,” she said as she pointed to the highest peak on the other side of the crater.

“Then, we follow the crater rim on the other side, and descend into the crater over there,” she said as she pointed to a visible trail on the opposite side of the crater that looked insurmountably vertical.

“And of course, what goes down, must come up, so we’ll come back up and out the other side.” Jude finished off. By this point, all our jaws had dropped in disbelief that this hike was even possible, much less that Jude could be as casual about it as she was. Even I – avid hiker and mountaineer that I am – felt those familiar butterflies in my stomach that were indicative of my feeling challenged.

Then came the clincher. “There’s no going back once we start the hike, so we all have to agree on the route and stick to it. We’ve got an hour and a half to do it.”

We paused, waiting for Jude to propose a Plan B, which never came. “So…are you ready?”

We continued to stand there in disbelief. “It’s really quite a doable hike. Believe me!”

It was when we turned to our other guide, an affable gentleman on the verge of his 80^th birthday (who looked not a day over 65) who was retying his hiking boot laces and had already admitted that he does this hike – twice daily, that we realized there was no Plan B. If he could do it – then by golly we could too.

Surprisingly, the terrain was fairly easy going. Despite the incline, the footing was solid, as volcanic rock is quite “sticky” for lack of a better term. After few brief stops for huffs and puffs, we were upon the “rock climb”. This part was a fairly easy scramble for somebody with mountaineering experience, and a fun challenge for those who were newbies. But everybody made it up without much ado.

Now, we were following the crater rim up a gentle slope to Tarawera’s summit. I had been warned about the part to come – something that can be quite fearful for some people, but which I was excited to experience: sheer drop-offs on both sides. The trail was about one metre wide, and looking on either side revealed a sheer drop of at least 500 metres. Our group was hearty – we even stopped in the middle of this section to enjoy the views; no vertigo here.

Upon reaching the Tarawera summit we were back in the clouds, but elated to be at the top. Pictures were taken and congratulations given all around. But our inevitable descent into the crater was yet to come, so we didn’t dally for too long.

“Scree” is a term for small loose rocks that usually make up the terrain on steep inclines in mountainous environments. In my experience in the Rocky Mountains of Canada, scree is made of sharp limestone, which is quite slippery and difficult to navigate.

The best way to get down a scree hill is to do some “scree skiing”, which is a loose term for sliding down the hill on your feet under the guise of having some general control. In my own experience scree skiing in the Rockies, I’ve been known to trigger landslides, so I had some apprehensions about what lay ahead.

But on a small hill that made for our practice run, I was pleased to discover that the stickiness of the volcanic rock made for an entirely controllable scree skiing experience. In fact, instead of sliding out of control as I’m used to, we could actually “walk” down the hill, each step sliding up to half a metre before burying our feet in the sticky scree.

Before we knew it, we were all on the bottom of the crater with huge smiles on our faces and rocks filling our shoes, surrounded by peaks on all sides, and wishing the hill had lasted longer. We stopped to (literally) dump the rocks out of our shoes and boots, before continuing on the (somewhat) gentle incline up and out of the crater.

Amazingly an hour and a half later, we emerged from our hike, exhilarated and slightly exhausted. Looking back at the terrain we covered, I had trouble believing we did it in the time that we did, without even feeling particularly rushed.

After a stop at Mt Tarawera Base Camp on the way out to write some notes in the guest book and get our certificates of achievement, we hopped in the Land Cruiser and descended down the rough track back into the clouds and fog. Although the rain and dense fog didn’t lift that day, we counted ourselves lucky to have seen the sun – and all that it shone on at Mount Tarawera.

Please check out this video of my Tarawera experiences, complete with evidence of the scree skiing and sheer drops!

Editor’s note: Mt Tarawera New Zealand provided me with a complimentary tour. They have since ceased operating these tours, as Mt. Tawarera is no longer accessible by the public. 

This post was originally published in 2010; is has since been updated for accuracy of links and content. 

This post Crater Walking on Mount Tarawera, New Zealand appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

About two-thirds of the way through, you’ll get to experience the daily bell-ringing up at the Sanctuary, which fills the air with a positively electric energy.

This post was originally published in 2010. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and content.

I’m pleased to say I’ll be returning to Mana in the next few days for another week, as a large UK Lifestyle magazine wishes to do a feature article on my “Mansion Minding” lifestyle and they’re sending a photographer out for the shoot! What a great excuse to go back for another quick fix before my trip to Europe.

Click here to watch the video if it doesn’t show up in your browser.

This post Mana Retreat Centre: Video appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

Welcome to Wednesday night meditation with Sister Shalom.

This post was originally published in 2010, and has since been updated for accuracy of links and content.

Once we have stood in silence for a few minutes to bring our attention to the present moment and discard whatever nervous energy we were carrying with us, Sister Shalom turns to a large bell that is hanging from the branch of the tree behind her. She slowly and methodically extracts a wooden stick from the crook of the tree, and noiselessly brings the stick to the side of the bell.

She rings the bell a few times, letting each gong reverberate as if it is a song unto itself. Then, she starts to sing with the bell:

Listen to the bell, it has no words

Listen to the bell, it has no song

Listen to the bell, I realize

That bell is me

We intertwine

Listen to the moon, she has no words

Listen to the moon, she has no song

Listen to the moon, I realize

That moon is me

We intertwine

Listen to the night, it has no words

Listen to the night, it has no song

Listen to the night, I realize

The night is me

We intertwine

Listen to the bell…

…and with that, she allows the bell to echo into the silence of the night. We are left to hear the sounds of “silence”: the owls, birds, possums, and gentle breeze wafting through the ferns and trees, under the almost-full moon.

Although sometimes Sister Shalom opens the meditation with some words of inspiration or instruction, tonight she simply says “Tonight is just too beautiful for words. Enjoy your walking and sitting meditation”.

And with that, she turns gradually and starts the walking meditation. We walk slowly and evenly in single file, following Sister Shalom as she walks through the garden in the moonlight. We pause at a pond full of lily pads and reeds, and contemplate the view as we turn towards the moon and listen to the frogs. After a minute or two, we continue the walk, contemplating each step we take, intentionally and reverently.

After about twenty minutes, she leads us up to Dharma Gaia, her “centre for mindfulness” that is just down the road from Mana Retreat. She takes off her shoes outside and enters the warm meditation room, bowing to her altar with a small statue of Buddha, surrounded by tiers of candles and flowers.

We silently take our places on red rectangular cushions with circular cushions for sitting cross-legged on. I do my best to get comfortable and settle in for the next 45 minutes, as sitting on the floor without losing all the feeling in both my legs is not my forte. I wrap my pashmina around my shoulders and let the ends fall over my hands for both comfort and warmth.

We are a small group of only six people tonight, and as some people shift to get comfortable, others are already sitting still with eyes closed. Tonight, my “monkey-mind” is racing, and instead of closing my eyes, I regard the situation with observational curiosity. I watch Sister Shalom as she methodically sets herself up on her meditation cushion, moving her long full robes aside to situate herself in such a way that it appears that she was meant to sit there forever. She takes off her headdress to reveal her cleanly-shaven head – an initially startling sight, but not – at all – an ugly one. In fact, it adds to her beauty.

She continues to look down (perhaps inward) as she puts her singing bowl on a cushion in front of her and with a small wooden stick, rings it three times. As with the other bell, she allows each peal to reverberate for its full song before ringing it again. Then she slowly puts the wooden stick down and begins her own meditation, resting her hands on her knees.

During my time at Mana Retreat, I’ve worked hard at the art of meditation. As a perk of work exchange at Mana Retreat, we are sometimes invited to join in the workshops and retreat activities of various groups, and shortly after my arrival, I enjoyed participating in some meditation sessions offered by a four-day silent retreat while I wasn’t working.

I have a love-hate relationship with meditation, as I suspect many people do. It’s an ever-changing practice, and even those accomplished in the art of meditation can fall prey to a session that is rife with playful inner voices (I call it my “monkey mind”) that distract us from the task at hand, which is to simply be present and silent – in every sense.

I know when I’m truly present in meditation, because I think of nothing, feel relaxed, and my body even responds with a tingling sensation that starts at my head and trickles like a waterfall to my toes. I don’t feel fidgety, my neck and back doesn’t hurt (as they usually do) and even my legs don’t fall asleep.

And as soon as I realize I’m thinking of nothing and congratulate myself for doing it, the moment is gone – because I’m thinking again! This is what makes meditation difficult – it defies the mind, because you can’t “think” yourself into a state of meditation…as long as you are actively thinking, you aren’t fully present in the moment. You simply have to shut down the inner voice, and relax into the present moment.

We spend our lives anticipating things, or reflecting on things. We are rehearsing a future conversation, figuring out how tomorrow will work, worrying about something, or dreaming of things we want or hope to have. Or we are replaying and analyzing a previous conversation, wondering what things would be like if we had done something differently, or trying to learn from our past.

While both anticipation of the future and reflection of the past are good, if we don’t know where we are right now, then anticipation and reflection are futile exercises.

I’m reminded of a story that the facilitator of the silent retreat at Mana told us one evening: he said he was at a silent meditation retreat in Tibet that was three weeks long. He was about halfway through and really suffering. He was bored – phenomenally bored, and wondering if he was going to last through the course. He wanted to be anywhere else but there.

So instead of trying to even more forcefully quiet his mind and thoughts, he entertained them. “If I don’t want to be here, then where do I want to be? What’s my ideal fantasy of how I want my life to look?”

“Well,” he answered inwardly, “I’d like to be surrounded by spiritual people, in a beautiful place. I’d like lots of time off to relax and contemplate things, and not to worry about work and the stuff we all tend to worry about.”

Then he opened his eyes and realized he was already there! And yet, here he was, continuing to strive towards something different, something more.

This is the human condition – to continually want something different, something more. Many of us know that the saying “the grass is always greener on the other side” isn’t actually true, but is a concept we all wrestle with nonetheless.

We can strive for fame, for wealth, for a partner/family, for happiness, for our definition of success. But when we achieve it, somehow we aren’t satisfied. We then seem to keep wanting for something more, something different. And although having goals is constructive in helping us to move through life and grow, if we aren’t ever truly satisfied with what we have, life continues to be empty and unfulfilling.

This is the art and practice of meditation (as I’ve come to understand it); to truly arrive at the present moment and appreciate it for what it is. To be here – not wanting to be somewhere else or thinking about something else. Until we have arrived, we can never go anywhere of meaning.

Even though I can conceptualize and rationalize meditation and what it means, tonight I’m still struggling. I can’t get comfortable, and the little voice in my mind won’t leave me alone. I think about silly and mundane things, and have an inner conversation with myself that borders on comical.

I’m reminded of the book Eat, Pray, Love, and the challenges the author has with her own inner voice during a meditation retreat in India. She writes about the fabulous – and hilarious – conversation she has with herself while simply trying to be quiet in the moment. For a moment I am her.

But then I’m not meditating – I’m reflecting on a book! Argh! It appears that tonight is not going to be the night of zen meditation that I had hoped it would be. Ah well; you win some, you lose some. I keep trying to simply sit with myself and quiet my thoughts for the rest of the 45 minutes, which feels more like two hours.

Eventually, I hear Sister Shalom’s robes rustling, and I open my eyes to see her reaching for the wooden stick again. She rings her singing bowl three times slowly, to bring us back to the room (from whatever wonderland we’ve been respectively visiting for the last while).

We finish the evening with a tea ceremony. Again without words, Sister Shalom slowly and mindfully picks up a tray of upside-down clay tea cups and sets it in front of her. She turns each tea cup over methodically, careful not to let them clink together and disrupt the ongoing silence. The only thing I hear is the ringing in my ears, and the occasional crackle of a candle.

She opens a thermos of tea, and pours some into each cup. The sound of the tea gurgling and splashing in each cup is almost deafening amid the silence. Then she holds prayer hands to the tray of steaming cups, picks one cup up, and passes it to the person beside her. The person receiving it holds prayer hands to the cup with a small head bow, reflecting love and compassion into the tea. They take the cup and pass it to the next person, and the next, who does the same until the tea arrives to the other side of our u-shaped gathering. This process is repeated with the tea until everybody is holding a cup of tea for themselves that has been “blessed” around the circle.

Then we sit in silence, and drink our tea. The sound of swallowing is almost deafening, as we sip and swallow the hot tea, which is absolutely delicious. I don’t know what kind of tea it is, but I suspect that I’ve had it before and simply never appreciated it as much as I do in this silent contemplative gathering.

I look over at Sister Shalom as she drinks her tea. She holds the cup with both hands, and before she takes a sip, she holds it to her face and inhales for a minute. I imagine her smelling the tea and feeling the hot steam on her face. Then she takes four consecutive deliberate sips before setting the tea down in front of her for a few minutes with her eyes closed, and repeating the same ritual. Even drinking tea is beautiful in the company of Sister Shalom.

One by one as we finish our tea, we carefully place our empty cups in the tray in the middle of the circle, and silently stand up to leave. Sister Shalom continues to sit cross-legged in front of her bowl, eyes closed, as we reverently bow to her altar – and to her in thanks – with prayer hands, and back out of the room. We put our shoes back on and silently make the 10 minute walk back up the drive through the forest in the moonlight, back to Mana Retreat, where we silently hug each other and go to bed for the night.

While I walk, I wonder how long Sister Shalom remains sitting, cross-legged in meditation, after we leave. But then, I realize, I’m not in the present moment, and I draw my attention back to the beautiful night, the bright moon, and the sounds of nature all around me. This – this, (for me), is the art of meditation.

This post Sister Shalom, and the Art of Meditation appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

This post was originally published in 2010, and has since been updated for accuracy of links and content.

The Tongariro crossing has been described as the best one-day hike in New Zealand for ages, but has gained a whole new pilgrimage since Lord of the Rings came out. The reason? This hike takes you through the heart of “Mordor”, passing by “Mount Doom” (and climbing up it, if you’re feeling energetic enough to add 2-3 hours to your day for the side track to the summit). And no, it’s not called Mount Doom in real life.

Although there was a certain appeal for me to see the desolate landscapes of “Mordor” in person, I’m not enough of a Lord of the Rings fan to have gone out of my way to do this hike for that reason alone. Instead it was the volcanic mountainous landscape, the long trek, and the promise of epic views that lured me in. Tongariro National Park wasn’t on the way to anywhere for me – I made it a dedicated trip and prayed that the weather would cooperate for the one day window I had available.

The Tongariro weather wasn’t looking too good leading up to the trek either. The park had been closed all week due to high winds and snow (yes, snow) in some parts. Because of the steep exposure on some parts of the hike, as well as the high altitude, weather plays a big part in how the day goes. As with any mountainous environment, a sunny day can turn into a blizzard at any time of year, and hikers must be prepared.

Make sure to check the weather reports before you make your arrangements!

So despite a week of foul weather leading up to my trip, I persevered in the hopes that the weather would break in time for my only available hiking day.

Where to Start Your Tongariro Alpine Crossing Adventure

The major launching point for the Tongariro Crossing is Taupo, a pretty town on a huge lake bearing the same name in the centre of the North Island of New Zealand. Even so, Taupo isn’t all that close to the start of the hike (which is located in Tongariro National Park). To get there, you catch a bus at the crack of dawn (before dawn, actually), and spend the next hour and a half waking up and considering your fate with a host of other travelers in the same boat (er…bus).

Alternatively, you can stay in Turangi the night prior, which is only 20 minutes from Tongariro park, but also has fewer amenities. 

Check out these accommodation deals near the Tongariro Crossing here! 

The evening prior, I befriended a girl from Holland who was staying at the same hostel as I. I discovered we were destined for the same fate when I overheard her wondering aloud if she would hear her alarm and awake in time to catch the bus. We vowed to wake each other up if we weren’t both up and eating breakfast by 5:45am.

But that wasn’t necessary; come the next morning we found each other in the dark kitchen with a few other travelers who were up for the trek, bleary-eyed and stumbling around. Needless to say the bus ride wasn’t exactly an uproarious one, despite it being packed with travelers from around town who were all committing their day to this hike.

Despite numerous warnings to have ample clothing, food, and water available, many of the hikers I saw on the bus had little more than what they were wearing (which in some cases was shorts and t-shirts) and a small bag with water and (maybe) a lunch. By comparison my bag stuffed with provisions and extra layers looked out of place, but with my experience in the mountains, I know to play it safe.

After being dropped off with about a million other hikers, my new friend (Sam) and I began the trek. Initially it felt less like the vast expanses of Mordor and more like a donkey trail given the stream of hikers in front of and behind us. People periodically stepped aside to get the perfect shot of the beautiful sunrise over the mountains, trying hard to ensure that nobody was in the shot, ironically, as if this place was their own secret. (And yes, I am guilty as charged – evidence below).

We later learned that April is the shoulder season for the trek, and that it actually wasn’t as busy as it could be. Tongariro Expeditions – the company that shuttled us to and from the park – takes 100,000 people each year into Tongariro National Park for this hike, and they’re not even the only operator in the region.

The hike itself started fairly easily while we all got used to the terrain, before we tackled the aptly named “Devil’s Staircase”. This separated the fit from the not-so-fit, as some people literally sprinted up the never-ending switchbacks and rocky stairs, while others took breaks every few minutes. Hacking away in the thin cool air and laughing at our own breathlessness, Sam and I made it to the top with only a few short breaks.

This is where the suckers for punishment could tackle the side-track to the summit of Mount Ngauruhoe (pronounced nah-ruh-ho-ee), aka “Mount Doom”. Although I’m sure the views from the top were splendid, we were already above the clouds, and had surpassed the designated time to begin the ascent (and still make it down and finish the hike in time to catch the last bus out of the park).

So instead we persevered on the Tongariro Crossing itself, walking clear across massive volcanic craters, past Mount Tongariro (another side track that takes about an hour and a half to summit and return), around volcanic cones, and between peaks and lakes. The grade was ever-upwards, and at times required some hands-on scrambling with steep exposure on both sides.

About three hours into the trek (after the worst of the climb was over and we had descended into and out of the “Red Crater”), we were hit in the face by an invisible brick wall; one that reeked of rotten eggs. Taking only shallow breaths to avoid the overpowering smell, I recognized it from other geothermic sites (including White Island), and knew that there was some serious geothermic activity taking place just below our feet. This smell stayed with us through much of the afternoon.

After a lunch stop at the aptly named (and beautiful) “Emerald Lakes”, we continued on the rest of our hike, enjoying the rolling terrain. We passed steamy sulphur springs, and watched as the landscape gradually became greener and lusher, until we finally descended into the humid forest.

We emerged the other side of this 19km hike a little worse for wear but generally pleased with our time of six hours (minus an hour for lunch and a number of breaks along the way).

When we got back on the bus, our egos were more than a little bit deflated when we learned that the record Tongariro crossing time (including an extra few kilometers to/from a lower parking lot) is an hour and forty-five minutes. It was surely accomplished by the likes of one of the people we saw running – literally running – past us with nothing but spandex and camelbacks on.

How Difficult is the Tongariro Alpine Crossing?

Tongariro Alpine Crossing difficulty: For us regular folk, the Tongariro Crossing is a long day, but not an overly strenuous trek. It requires endurance, a solid stomach (for some of the steeper drops on an especially windy day), and a few extra layers, as it can get cold at altitude. And although you can do the walk in running shoes, I was grateful for my hiking boots, which made some of the scree-filled descents into various craters much easier to accomplish while remaining upright.

Best Time of Year for the Tongariro Crossing

You can hike the Tongariro Alpine Crossing at any time of year, but you can’t do it without a guide (and crampons and ice axes) in the wintertime, and you can’t do it without massive crowds in the summertime. Hence my recommendation is to attempt the Crossing in the spring and autumn seasons; my stamp of approval for this idea was sealed by the increased number of locals who were there as well – avoiding both the summer crowds and winter chills.

Have a look at this video that tells so much more than what 1,400 or so words can!

This post The Tongariro Alpine Crossing: New Zealand’s Best One-Day Hike appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

This post was originally published in 2010; it has since been updated for accuracy of links and content.
I cannot speak to the current volunteer program and how it operates; I am told that it has changed quite a bit.

It all started in Thailand, two years ago. While enjoying the companionship of some new friends from Canada, the age-old questions used by backpackers the world over came out: “So where’ve you been? What’s your favourite place in the world?” And so on…

I’ve heard this question answered time and time again, and most of the time the answers are quickly forgotten. But for some reason this time it stuck.

“Mana Retreat, in New Zealand,” came the immediate – and enthusiastic – response. He knew that I love to work in trade for accommodation around the world, which is what his visit to Mana entailed. “The work is awesome, the people rock, and the food…” his eyes glassed over, and it appeared that words couldn’t describe how good the food was. I seem to remember a little ribbon of drool running down his chin as he said something about gaining weight while he was there.

As soon as I fell in love with New Zealand and decided to kick off my solo travel adventures here, Mana Retreat Centre popped back into my consciousness. A quick internet search revealed that Mana is a mind-body-spiritual retreat on the Coromandel peninsula on the North Island of New Zealand. And – glory be – they have a work-exchange program.

I sent in an application and started a lively email conversation with the head coordinator of the WWOOFing program. Mana uses “WWOOF” (Worldwide Work on Organic Farms) as their main way of attracting the work-exchangers who make up a large portion of the retreat’s staff. Soon enough I was booked in to arrive just after Easter, and assuming the four-day mutual trial period went well, I’d stay for at least a month.

Since then it has been magic. The area is gorgeous, the property is spectacular, the people are beautiful, the work is fun, and the food….dribble dribble…

Mana Retreat Centre: The Property

Mana Retreat is set on a gorgeous piece of hilly land (about 15 minutes south of the town of Coromandel), overlooking the ocean and at the foot of (and encompassing) the sacred Maori Mount Pukewhakataratara.

Yes, Pukewhakataratara. (Before you wonder how on earth it’s pronounced, it goes something like pook-eh-fa-ka-ta-ra-ta-ra. Except the “oo” in pook is pounounced like the “oo” in cook or book.)

Now say it five times, fast – and you’ll get the hang of it!

There are walking tracks through the bush that go up the mountain, down the valley, around waterfalls and swimming holes, and through groves of 400 year-old trees. Built almost seamlessly into the land are bush lodges and huts for guests, meditation platforms, hammocks, natural benches, organic gardens (which provide much of the cuisine enjoyed by the group), a teepee, a sweat lodge, a bush bath, a sauna…the list goes on. This is in addition to the main building, which has an octagonal room (with bay windows on five sides) for conferences/retreats/ classes/group functions, a large kitchen and dining room, a few rooms for guests, an office, and a library.

The Sanctuary

“Dinner is at six-thirty,” said Val, who was giving me a brief orientation on my arrival. “If you want to go for a walk before dinner, I suggest going up to the sanctuary. The Goddess path is the quickest way,” she said, while illustrating the route on a small map. “If you’re there for six o’clock, you can hear the bells, which are magical”.

Feeling both overwhelmed and enchanted, I took her advice and headed up the trail. The route was steep, but I was rewarded at every turn with a little goddess statue or an equally beautiful view of the sub-tropical rainforest overlooking the ocean.

Twenty sweaty minutes later I came upon a clearing, and discovered my destination: the Tara Sanctuary. It sits just below the peak of Mt. Pukewhakataratara, and overlooks the rest of the property, with the ocean beyond.

It quite literally took my breath away.

Tara Sanctuary itself is a non-denominational (or multi-denominational, depending on how you look at it) space that encourages contemplation, inspiration, and peace. The signs saying “silence” are almost unnecessary, as the feeling of awe transcends any need to speak. Should you choose to play music or sing inside the sanctuary (which is accepted, if not encouraged), the acoustics will send you into a trance. It’s almost unreal.

This is why Val suggested hanging around for the bells to chime; the bell tower is just beside the sanctuary, and the ten minute orchestra of bells reverberates off every wall in other-worldly ways.

Work Exchange at Mana

Okay, Nora. Back to reality, before you think I’ve lost my marbles and am going to start chanting “Hare Krishna” or something (which I won’t). It’s just a gorgeous place with an incredibly peaceful harmonious energy – what can I say?!

So, on to the work at hand, because staying – and eating (we’ll get to that in a minute) – at Mana Retreat isn’t free.

As far as WWOOFing gigs go, the work requirements at Mana are at the upper end of what’s generally expected of those who work in trade for their accommodation. You work approximately six hours per day, five days per week. With breaks and lunch, the six hour day looks more like seven hours, and the days off are irregular, depending on when various groups are staying at Mana and how many staff are needed.

Despite the long hours, the work is relaxed and enjoyable.

The jobs at hand involve working in the kitchen (preparing, serving, and cleaning up after groups as large as 60 people including staff), housekeeping, or gardening. My favourite job was, of course, working in the kitchen. Speaking of which…

The Food

Mana Retreat is a drug-free, alcohol-free, and vegetarian property. Although the first count isn’t a problem for most people, the second and third counts of no alcohol and no meat/seafood is a challenge for others, who when I described the place prior to coming, wondered what I was thinking.

And although I’m a self-confessed omnivore, the food here was so bloody good that I didn’t miss the meat.

No really!

Not a meal went by when I didn’t help myself to seconds (and sometimes thirds) of creative salads (deriving ingredients from the garden), yummy curries, soups, roast veggies, stews, and other concoctions that one of my fellow WWOOFers from Germany referred to as “hip gold”!

Breakfast is homemade muesli (and when I say muesli, I mean muesli!) and organic homemade yoghurt with fresh fruit, congee (rice porridge), and a selection of organic wholegrain breads. Lunch is the main meal and involves multiple salads and some lovely curry of sorts. And dinner is soup, more salads, and a dessert that truly is “hip gold”. (Especially after seconds).

An organic coffee and tea station kept me enjoying hot beverages all day, and I was usually still full from the last meal by the time I sat down to the next. I never succeeded in my self-challenge to make it through a whole day without taking second servings of something.

Hip gold…

The People

“Hip gold” is one of many interesting terms that came from endless conversation with people from so many different backgrounds. WWOOFers from all over the world congregate at Mana, adding greatly to the experience. During my stay, there was representation from Germany (four people, in fact), England (there’s a huge UK presence in New Zealand in general), Hawaii, France, Canada (that’s me!), and – of course – New Zealand.

With English being a second language for many of the WWOOFers, dinner-table conversation can be very interesting, with many inadvertent plays on words. Often, English-speakers are asked to define odd words that are used in the context of conversation; a task sometimes tougher than it seems. It took us a while to define “kinky” (without being explicit) so our French companion could understand!

Overall, Mana attracts people who love nature, travel the world, work in trade for accommodation, and are open to their own brand of spirituality and growth. Each morning at 8am, staffers who wish congregate in the library to hold hands and listen to the sanctuary’s bells tolling for 10 minutes. They then draw inspirational cards that provide a focus for the day and something to contemplate. Spirituality doesn’t have to be somber and serious either – we enjoyed many laughs in even the most reverent of situations.

So it is with an open heart and stronger sense of self that I bid adieu to Mana. But I believe that it’s only for now, as I – like so many of Mana’s WWOOFers do – plan to come back soon.

This post Living at Mana Retreat appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!

This post was originally published in 2010. It has since been updated for accuracy of links and content.

Rotorua is the hub of Maori culture in New Zealand, and just walking down the street you see evidence of this in a large contingent of Maori locals. And their identity remains strong; even chatting with my heli-sledging river guide Geni, she identified her tribe’s history and customs in the context of our conversation. It was at these cultural presentations though, that I gained a sense of the history and traditions of the Maori people.

Having been descended from the Polynesian islands, I see many similarities between the Maori and the Hawaiians. Where I sense the Maori are unique is in their continuous upholding of language, song, and dance even today. It is not entirely uncommon to see a Maori (male or female) with traditional facial tattoos, and many customary dances and rituals are still taught and practiced in daily life. There are even public schools that teach solely in the Maori language.

Please check out this short video to gain a sense of the Maori culture, song, dance, art, and food.

Here are a few of the Maori cultural terms traditions that you see in the video:

Waka: This is a hand-carved war canoe. It is quite impressive to see, especially when paddled in the traditional manner with chants and all.

Pohiri: This is a traditional welcome ceremony for visitors. Initially it seems far from welcoming, as a representative from the tribe makes a fearsome show of presenting a peace token to the visiting tribe’s chief. (In our case, a member of the group was nominated to be our chief). Once the token is accepted in a very specific manner, peace between the tribes is established. Today the ceremony is always done with peaceful intentions, but the fearsome display is meant to intimidate the visiting tribe just in case the purpose of their visit isn’t peaceful.

Haka: The Haka is a very powerful dance and chant of strength. Literally translated, Haka means “breath on fire” or “words of fire”. The Haka is different for every tribe, and learned and practiced in Maori culture today. Traditionally it is meant to welcome visitors, but also to (again) demonstrate their power and readiness to fight should the visitors decide to attack. One of the typical moves in a Haka is for the males to stick their tongue out and bulge their eyes. It is both funny and scary to see, and the traditional meaning of the move is to say to the enemy “my mouth waters and I lick my lips for soon I will taste your flesh”. Like the Pohiri, it is done with peaceful intentions today, but also demonstrates the warrior mentality that has allowed the Maori people to remain “unconquered” for thousands of years. The hair stood up on the back of my neck at one particular Haka, which was excellently performed.

Poi: I wrote about my foray into fire spinning and poi, which actually originated in New Zealand. Poi aren’t traditionally set on fire though; originally they were balls filled with stones and designed as practice tools to strengthen warriors’ wrists for holding and using battle clubs. Since then, Maori women have lightened the weight and adopted it as a beautiful art form and dance. I look forward to acquiring a set of traditional Maori poi myself as my New Zealand souvenir.

Hangi: A Hangi is a traditional Maori way of cooking. A pit is dug into the ground into which a layer of coals is placed, then the food (a selection of meat and vegetables), and another layer of coals. It is all covered with burlap or leaves and baked for many hours. It’s delicious!

Please click here to see the Maori Culture video if you can’t view it on this page.

This post Maori Culture in New Zealand appeared first on The Professional Hobo. Please click through to read it in full!