It's an overcast winter day in New Zealand, about eight degrees Celsius (48 degrees Fahrenheit) — day four of my Kiwi experience. I'm standing on top of a hill in Rotorua, barefoot and wearing nothing but my bathing suit, shivering spastically in the chill wind. Oh, and I am about to dive head first into a giant, plastic hamster ball.
All right, perhaps I'm exaggerating a bit. The large apparatus is not actually a hamster ball, though I am most definitely not feigning any symptoms of impending hypothermia. Sure, I feel like a huge wimp — what self-respecting denizen of the northern hemisphere would consider this wintry? C'mon, I'm from Chicago. I know what real cold feels like. But I am thousands of miles from home.
And what of the hamster ball? Allow me to explain — like I said, the giant orb is not a hamster ball at all, though it basically looks like one, only much, much larger. Technically, the plastic vessel is a "zorb," which to me, the clueless newcomer, sounds more like something out of science fiction rather than one of New Zealand's many whacky thrill rides.
Okay, so you are probably thinking, "What the hell is zorbing?" It's quite simple actually. You sit inside the "zorb," an apparatus made out of two highly-durable plastic spheres — one smaller ball suspended inside the larger one — and roll down a hill. Not such a hard concept, especially if you have ever kept hamsters as house pets.
Of course, I am totally thrilled to be zorbing today, despite the looming threat of frostbite and my lack of proper winter clothing (i.e. bathing suit). To be honest, I have spent these first few days of my study abroad program's orientation to New Zealand in a constant blur of new names, faces and places. Getting acclimated to a new country is hard enough as it is but throw in lack of sleep, living out of a suitcase and an overwhelming amount of people to meet ... well, you've got yourself a recipe for disorientation.
Each day is patched together by infrequent bouts of consciousness, no thanks to everyone's trusted travel buddy, Jet Lag. We've gone to seminars on New Zealand geology, immersed ourselves in the nation's political history, learned how sheep are sheered and have been warned multiple times that abortion and dental care are not covered under our student insurance. To put it bluntly, we are all physically and mentally wiped and could use a cheap thrill right about now.
I look at the other students in my study abroad program — all of us strangers in a strange land, unsettled and sleep deprived; shivering in line like Depression-era orphans queuing up for a ration of hot soup. Tomorrow we all leave Rotorua for our respective universities throughout New Zealand. The impending doom of readjusting again to another round of strange places and more unfamiliar faces echoes the freshman year limbo between pre-orientation and orientation.
I realize now that I shouldn't be bitter about the constant moving around, the lack of sleep or even the cold temperature. I should appreciate the fact that I received such a comfortable introduction to this unfamiliar country, complete with guided tours, complimentary dinners and conveniently fleeting friendships.
Study abroad orientation, like zorbing, is the New Zealand experience in a bubble. You're pushed carelessly down a hill and sent spinning into the unknown, yet you are still protected by a cushion of air — a buffer to ease the transition from American to international student. The ride is over before it has even begun and eventually you're ready to plant your feet firmly on the ground.
I eagerly dive into the zorb, ready to milk the last 30 seconds of this ride for all its worth.
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Ally Gimbel is a junior majoring in English. She can be reached at Allyson.Gimbel@tufts.edu.
