Dr. Phil?

On New Year's Eve, I talked for a while about my imminent trip to New Zealand with Doug Kleinman (my cousin, for those of you who don't know him), who had spent some time in the antipodes himself. Of all the things he said, I was most intrigued with his mention of a friend of Aunt Ann's he had met in Wellington. I didn't have a single contact, let alone one in Wellington, and was ready to jump on any I could find. So I got Aunt Ann's email from Mom and shot off an inquiry.

The resultant conversation was a little odd, but really nice. I hadn't seen the lady in years, and hadn't spent any real time around her since I was a much smaller, different person. I don't want to make too much of this-- it was only a few short emails, hardly a bonding experience. But they were the emails of an articulate, intelligent, and nice person. Over the past few years I've been forced several times to admit that I'm damn lucky to be related to all my relatives¹. The sensation has yet to grow old. In any case, it had been years since she'd talked to said friend, but she was happy to get in touch for me. A few days later, I had arranged to meet one Mr. Phil Capper (see title) for an orientation of sorts when I arrived in Wellington.

Now, if any of you get the chance to be given a tour of a city by a longtime resident who is also a professional academic in the social sciences, I recommend you jump on it. If said professional academic is also unfailingly friendly, nice, and interesting and has a charming touch of that birdlike fidgety awkwardness people call "professorial", I insist you jump on it. I didn't just get the rundown of the physical geography of the city-- dude got out his socio-economic, political, and historical crayons and colored in whatever seemed relevant and/or interesting². Highlights:

* Happy Valley, where the hills always block the sun and where police tend to start dragnets³.

* An abridged history of Anglo-Maori relations.

BRIEF, SLOPPY SUMMATION: As the initial English port settlements expanded in typical imperialist fashion, several Maori tribes got together and decided to be politically proactive. They signed the Treaty of Waitangi, which accepted British sovereignty on the grounds of British protection (from each other as much as anything. Lord, but the Maori were fighters) and fair compensation for Maori land. Now, initially this got about the same respect its American counterparts were shown (minus some genocide, I guess ), but later, some folks dug that old treaty up, and decided to take it seriously and treat it as the founding document of modern New Zealand. New Zealand has undertaken a serious attempt to make good on those promises of compensation-- many millions and some clever investments later, several tribes have become powerful voices in Kiwi politics. END OF B.S.S.

* One tribe, known as particularly vicious warriors, has taken to producing many ferociously smart academic radicals, who reject the sovereignty of the nation-state of New Zealand on the grounds that their tribe never signed the treaty of Waitangi. This argument has not swayed the courts of the nation-state of New Zealand, which might have meant something if all concerned parties considered themselves within their jurisdiction.

* Wellington has a town belt of forest that got planned out decades ago. The city has grown beyond its confines, but it's still possible to walk all day and not step foot out of the woods. In fact, most of the forest footage in "Lord of the Rings" was filmed within Wellington city limits.

* They really take their ecology seriously here. Makes sense, for an island with no native predator worth the title and a rural economy. There is an island in the harbor that was used for decades for quarantining animals⁴, and a bird preserve with a seriously thought-out predator-proof fence. It has awfully fine mesh, goes far enough underground to prevent tunneling under, and has a cap of sorts to stop anything climbing over. There is also a 5,000 year (that is not a typo) plan for establishing native old-growth vegetation. Someone has a pretty optimistic view of climatic stability.

Afterwards, we headed back to the Capper apartment for coffee and conversation. Phil and his wife (who is also terribly nice, which makes it even more mortifying that I've forgotten her name) live just a few blocks away from me. We talked about academia, New Zealand's badass Wild West (per capita, way more gnarly than Earp-era Arizona), flickr, Moomins⁵, and so on. At the end of the evening, I was very politely kicked out and invited to dinner the next day.

Dinner was a lovely lamb roast. My vegetarianism centers on an objection to the ethical and ecological problems of factory farming-- New Zealand's pasture-raised sheep are totally fair game, and delicious with mint sauce. It was a lazy day compared with the last one-- while dinner was cooking itself (offers of help were met with smiling resistance), I dashed through the first three volumes of Moomin comics, and ended the evening with a postprandial cricket match. New Zealand was putting a hurting on the almighty Australian team⁶, and Phil gave me a fairly thorough explanation of the sport and its lingo, my impressions of which will probably take a whole post of their own. I mean, I went on for long enough about surfing, and here I actually know what I'm talking about.


1. Good job, all y'all. Seriously, every dang one of you.

2. If you think that this would be a perfect opportunity to take a bunch of pictures showing the character and breadth of Wellington, you would be right. If you also think that I can be a pretty absent-minded dude who can forget obvious things like cameras, you would be right again.

3. Police tend to start dragnets there because police tend to end dragnets there.

4. Except a brief, shameful period in WWII, when it was used to quarantine humans. Not that America can exactly take the upper ground here.

5. The Cappers have a plush Moominmamma and Moominpappa that travel with them. That is adorable and this is my last footnote. I promise.


































6. So I lied. This upset, though, is the emotional and athletic equivalent of the Sox sweeping the '98 Yankees, if the Sox had the Astros' roster.