My dear Sarah Jane,
So I'm here in a cabin in the woods of Massachusetts, at the oldest dance festival in America. I made it here in one piece, after flying for I guess nearly 30 hours arrrrrgh; Auckland - Tahiti - Los Angeles - New York. Sooo very jetlagged at first, but now I'm fully recovered and having a grand old time.
So far we've had training in:
- What to do if you see a bear
- How to tie a trucker's hitch knot
- How to pronounce 'Nina Ananiashvili'
- Why you don't wear heels on steep gravel pathways
- The proper etiquette at an icecream social
Seriously though, my work is going well, and the dance companies are about to start arriving any day now which is exciting. The weirdest culture shock so far? Almost all of the houses in the neighbouring towns have American flags hanging off them. Do they simply forget they're in America? Bizarre. New Zealanders aren't patriotic in that demonstrative kind of way (beyond wearing 'I Huffer NZ' hoodies and listening to far too much Trinity Roots et al) so I start giggling on car trips and my colleagues have no idea what's going on.
To tell the truth, I'm really excited about getting down to the nasty nasty Dr-Phil-watching, Dunkin'-Donuts-eating, mechanical-bull-riding seedy underbelly of this place. It seems too squeaky clean and outdoorsy to be real right now.
My next post will have pictures, so you'll see what I mean. It's pretty as a postcard here. Is it a facade? We shall see...
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