Went on a nice hike with an American friend today. We took a bus from the CBD up the first big hill to Brooklyn, where we started walking through residential and suburban neighborhoods until suddenly we were in the bush on a track that wound along steep ridges covered in scrubby bush, flowering gorse, pines and grass. The weather was gorgeous - still, clear and sunny. We climbed up to the turbine and I admired the view over Wellington harbor and neighborhoods. I turned to walk back to Z and realized that the white formation off in the distance was not a cloud: I was looking at an conical, snow-covered mountain on the South Island. Hiking with layers of misty blue and white mountains in the distance, I couldn't help but think of LOTR. Yes, I am a dork. After walking for three hours, we made it down to the coast along the Cook Strait. I dipped my hands in the water and discovered that's it's cold enough to make Monterey proud. There was nothing about it that said, Come on In!
Five hours later, I'm back home with achier legs and stickier shirt. I like how close we are to hiking here. No need to get in a car at all. I could use more walking in my life. And yet the jury is still out on eNZed.
What confuses the whole situation for me is how much I've changed over the past few years. There was a time not so long ago that I thought I wanted to live on a big chunk of land far away from other people. I don't think that's the case now at all. In fact, I'd rather live in a city where I can access just about everything I need by foot, bike or bus. I think it's a greener way to live.
That's the other thing I'm thinking a lot about: carbon dioxide. I'm reading a great book, The Weather Makers by Tim Flannery, that discusses global climate change. It's scary and fascinating and it certainly has me thinking about everything in a different way.
Including where I want to live. Perhaps I should look on this as growing pains. I'm trying to adjust to a new mentality, which is just as awkward as a toddler learning to walk. And much less amusing.
August 30, 2006
August 24, 2006
I Love This Place/I Hate This Place
Tuesday
We start a process of exploring Wellington's neighborhoods one by one to figure out where we would want to live should we decide to stay here.
Newtown: Thrift shops, dime stores, kebabs, chippers and good coffee. All in all we give it the big blah.
Over the hill to Kilbirnie: much bigger and bland as they come. We head into the organic food shop which is very small but stocked with brands I recognize, including corn chips that are not flavored with cheese product.
Melbourne seems better and better.
I write to Vic prof to express real concerns about my ability to engage in a project with a field component due both to conditions (gale force warnings one out of every three days in the Cook Strait) and a dive program experiencing growing pains. Would it be better at Melbourne Uni?
Tuesday night is cold - really cold.
Wednesday
First thought of the day: We should move to Melbourne. I write to two profs at Melbourne Uni.
Then I get a comprehensive response from Vic prof in which he more than adequately addresses all of my questions and then proceeds to introduce me to his other students. Wellington sounds great.
We walk over to Brooklyn, take a wrong turn and end up panting up a really steep hill where we are rewarded with views of the Cook Strait. Despite the fact that we're several miles from the coast and on top of a hill, I can see the white caps. We wind through residential streets to the "center" of Brooklyn which is fairly appealing and features a malay/chipper/thai/chinese/burger joint. More cute houses and lots of parks and I realize that I wouldn't mind living here as long as we were on the lower part of the downtown side. Living in Wellington for three years doesn't seem so bad.
We hit downtown at about 5:00 and it's full of people leaving work. I am wearing about four layers not including hat, scarf and coat. We pass women in skirts and light coats and feel like we're the coldest people in Wellington.
We realize that there is no hidden section to Wellington that we have not yet discovered. Nope, what we've seen is what we'll get, which is a polite way to say that it's small. Really small. We wander in search of somewhere to get good appetizers for a decent price. Nothing. More nothing. We eat in some cafe and realize that every one is much younger than us. Most people our age live in London or Sydney. Maybe we should follow their lead.
We end up back at the Dubliner which is quiet and comfortable. Z mis-orders, and we sip at a beer that tastes like it had an unfortunate run-in with a gewurztraminer and work our way through yet another crossword puzzle. We agree that Wellington may just be too small, though if we ended up here for a PhD program it wouldn't be bad. Melbourne would probably be better.
Back into the cold we go to meet Neener. We walk in circles until we realize that there are two burger kings and she meant the second one. She introduces us to more of her friends. They are outgoing, interesting, occasionally incomprehensible (hate sounds like "hit" and a "pin" is a pen) and two of them are hilariously drunk. We sip cocktails in a bar straight off the set of LA Confidential and talk. It's a fabulous night and we have a great time. And everyone agrees that it's really cold, which makes us feel much less wimpy.
Walking up the driveway we see scorpio twinkling overhead near a smudge of the milky way. Z and I agree that we will probably stay here.
Thursday
I get a response from a prof at Melbourne Uni who has a really interesting take on my research questions and is currently seeking funding for a similar study.
Melbourne?
We start a process of exploring Wellington's neighborhoods one by one to figure out where we would want to live should we decide to stay here.
Newtown: Thrift shops, dime stores, kebabs, chippers and good coffee. All in all we give it the big blah.
Over the hill to Kilbirnie: much bigger and bland as they come. We head into the organic food shop which is very small but stocked with brands I recognize, including corn chips that are not flavored with cheese product.
Melbourne seems better and better.
I write to Vic prof to express real concerns about my ability to engage in a project with a field component due both to conditions (gale force warnings one out of every three days in the Cook Strait) and a dive program experiencing growing pains. Would it be better at Melbourne Uni?
Tuesday night is cold - really cold.
Wednesday
First thought of the day: We should move to Melbourne. I write to two profs at Melbourne Uni.
Then I get a comprehensive response from Vic prof in which he more than adequately addresses all of my questions and then proceeds to introduce me to his other students. Wellington sounds great.
We walk over to Brooklyn, take a wrong turn and end up panting up a really steep hill where we are rewarded with views of the Cook Strait. Despite the fact that we're several miles from the coast and on top of a hill, I can see the white caps. We wind through residential streets to the "center" of Brooklyn which is fairly appealing and features a malay/chipper/thai/chinese/burger joint. More cute houses and lots of parks and I realize that I wouldn't mind living here as long as we were on the lower part of the downtown side. Living in Wellington for three years doesn't seem so bad.
We hit downtown at about 5:00 and it's full of people leaving work. I am wearing about four layers not including hat, scarf and coat. We pass women in skirts and light coats and feel like we're the coldest people in Wellington.
We realize that there is no hidden section to Wellington that we have not yet discovered. Nope, what we've seen is what we'll get, which is a polite way to say that it's small. Really small. We wander in search of somewhere to get good appetizers for a decent price. Nothing. More nothing. We eat in some cafe and realize that every one is much younger than us. Most people our age live in London or Sydney. Maybe we should follow their lead.
We end up back at the Dubliner which is quiet and comfortable. Z mis-orders, and we sip at a beer that tastes like it had an unfortunate run-in with a gewurztraminer and work our way through yet another crossword puzzle. We agree that Wellington may just be too small, though if we ended up here for a PhD program it wouldn't be bad. Melbourne would probably be better.
Back into the cold we go to meet Neener. We walk in circles until we realize that there are two burger kings and she meant the second one. She introduces us to more of her friends. They are outgoing, interesting, occasionally incomprehensible (hate sounds like "hit" and a "pin" is a pen) and two of them are hilariously drunk. We sip cocktails in a bar straight off the set of LA Confidential and talk. It's a fabulous night and we have a great time. And everyone agrees that it's really cold, which makes us feel much less wimpy.
Walking up the driveway we see scorpio twinkling overhead near a smudge of the milky way. Z and I agree that we will probably stay here.
Thursday
I get a response from a prof at Melbourne Uni who has a really interesting take on my research questions and is currently seeking funding for a similar study.
Melbourne?
August 22, 2006
Disproving a hypothesis
By my calculations, we have a little over two weeks in which to decide whether or not we are staying in Wellington. That will leave us with about a month to find our own place to live. Two weeks!?!? Eek!
How does one go about making decisions of this magnitude? What should one look for in a place to live? What's important to me? To Z? To us?
My best approach to answering these questions is to resort to the use of science. In science, you don't set out to prove anything but instead strive to disprove a hypothesis. Using this method, I assume that we are staying in Wellington and spend the next two weeks trying to find a reason to leave. A good reason to leave, because our back-up plan (Melbourne) may not be any better. If we go to Melbourne hoping it makes up for some of the things lacking in Wellington, we may be sorely disappointed. However, if we go to Melbourne because we've found something that really won't work for us in Wellington, we're more likely to not regret the decision to move on. (Those who know me well may recognize another situation in which this same approach was employed - I'll leave you guessing.)
We'll see how this fine principal works when put into practice - if I can put it into practice!
In other news, I have been conditionally accepted into a Ph.D. program at Victoria University in Wellington. The conditional part goes away when I secure funding in the form of a scholarship. I'll know about that by early December, though my potential advisor said I have a really good shot. Basically, it looks like I'll be starting a PhD program in January. Excuse me while I emit another EEEK!
This is good news - I think. It does make the committment to being away for three years feel more real. When I was in SF, the time and distance were more abstract. Now that I'm faced with the reality, I feel bewildered. In the end, I suppose all we can do is make a decision and live with it. After all, three years is only three years.
How does one go about making decisions of this magnitude? What should one look for in a place to live? What's important to me? To Z? To us?
My best approach to answering these questions is to resort to the use of science. In science, you don't set out to prove anything but instead strive to disprove a hypothesis. Using this method, I assume that we are staying in Wellington and spend the next two weeks trying to find a reason to leave. A good reason to leave, because our back-up plan (Melbourne) may not be any better. If we go to Melbourne hoping it makes up for some of the things lacking in Wellington, we may be sorely disappointed. However, if we go to Melbourne because we've found something that really won't work for us in Wellington, we're more likely to not regret the decision to move on. (Those who know me well may recognize another situation in which this same approach was employed - I'll leave you guessing.)
We'll see how this fine principal works when put into practice - if I can put it into practice!
In other news, I have been conditionally accepted into a Ph.D. program at Victoria University in Wellington. The conditional part goes away when I secure funding in the form of a scholarship. I'll know about that by early December, though my potential advisor said I have a really good shot. Basically, it looks like I'll be starting a PhD program in January. Excuse me while I emit another EEEK!
This is good news - I think. It does make the committment to being away for three years feel more real. When I was in SF, the time and distance were more abstract. Now that I'm faced with the reality, I feel bewildered. In the end, I suppose all we can do is make a decision and live with it. After all, three years is only three years.
August 17, 2006
Gumboots, "Mounts" and Brooklyn
We arrived in Auckland four days ago. Our friend Sean introduced us to NZ by taking us out to Karekare beach. It was a day where rain and brilliant sunshine fought for control of the skies. The ocean was wild and big; from the beach, we looked up at a mass of seething water. Mist and foam blew across the black sand and cliffs, and the tea trees were bent to a uniform height that made the hills look like they were covered by a manicured hedge. From the beach, we walked to a waterfall that spilled down a black, rocky cliff into a peaceful green pool. If Hawai'i and Scotland had a love-child, it would be NZ.
On our second day in Auckland, we took the ferry across the bay to Devenport where there was really nothing much to see or do. We did, however, climb "Mount" Victoria which is one of several very small volcanoes jutting up from Auckland's neighborhoods. Even Mainers would laugh at the designation of "Mount" for these bumps. I think they probably stand at an elevation of 120ft. On a good day.
On Wednesday, we caught the train down to Wellington. On the way, our naps were interupted by announcements made by a woman who sounded like a man and who therefore made me think of Eddie Izzard, and another couldn't pronounce her "r's" which left me wondering if towns like Wairaparara were actually Waiwapawawa. They told us about the sites as we passed them: the town in which the annual sheep shearing competition is held (note, to your left, the lovely and large statue of someone shearing a sheep); numerous tunnels and viaducts (length, date of construction, and height described free of charge); the carrot-growing region of NZ; a length of track that completed a spiral to get up a grade (oh the excitement!); and, my favorite, the site of the annual gumboot throwing competition. Indeed, an entry for the Guiness Book of World Records was made right there when someone tossed a size 8 gumboot 74 meters.
The train also passed by some truly impressive (and active) volcanoes covered in snow. Off in the distance, a perfectly conical peak poked its head through a ring of clouds, while next to us, a huge and scraggly mountain rose from the flat lands surrounding it. There were double rainbows and hours of rolling green farmland covered in sheep and the occasional wild peacock. It was a pretty ride.
And now we're in Wellington where it is neither windy nor particularly cold nor raining. Today, we hiked through one of the city's many green belts to another "Mount" Victoria and sat at the top in the sunshine looking at the city through the branches of a tree that someone had cleverly planted right in front of the view point's only bench. We sat and talked and tried to come to terms with the fact that we have just moved halfway around the world. Excitement, nervousness and overwhelm and vying for control of my mind at any given moment - that is except when sleep wins, as it does at around 8:00pm!
Wellington seems to have a lot of interesting people, at least to look at, though it is disappointing to discover that the 80's resurgence that has gripped the 20-somethings of America has also taken root here. Enough with the polka-dot bubble skirts and skinny jeans with heels! Enough stripey shirts with big belts!
There are also lots of cafes and restaurants and pubs. The aforementioned train operators told us that Wellington actually has more cafes and pubs than New York city -- per capita. Wellington also has Brooklyn, which, as it turns out, is right next to Central Park. And, Wellington contains perhaps the only immigration office in the world staffed by friendly, smiling people who really are there to help. So far, I'm liking what I see. Now I just need to find me a Ph.D. program.
You too can experience the wonders of our first four days in NZ by checking out some pictures here (listed under 2006 - the honeymoon is over, folks).
On our second day in Auckland, we took the ferry across the bay to Devenport where there was really nothing much to see or do. We did, however, climb "Mount" Victoria which is one of several very small volcanoes jutting up from Auckland's neighborhoods. Even Mainers would laugh at the designation of "Mount" for these bumps. I think they probably stand at an elevation of 120ft. On a good day.
On Wednesday, we caught the train down to Wellington. On the way, our naps were interupted by announcements made by a woman who sounded like a man and who therefore made me think of Eddie Izzard, and another couldn't pronounce her "r's" which left me wondering if towns like Wairaparara were actually Waiwapawawa. They told us about the sites as we passed them: the town in which the annual sheep shearing competition is held (note, to your left, the lovely and large statue of someone shearing a sheep); numerous tunnels and viaducts (length, date of construction, and height described free of charge); the carrot-growing region of NZ; a length of track that completed a spiral to get up a grade (oh the excitement!); and, my favorite, the site of the annual gumboot throwing competition. Indeed, an entry for the Guiness Book of World Records was made right there when someone tossed a size 8 gumboot 74 meters.
The train also passed by some truly impressive (and active) volcanoes covered in snow. Off in the distance, a perfectly conical peak poked its head through a ring of clouds, while next to us, a huge and scraggly mountain rose from the flat lands surrounding it. There were double rainbows and hours of rolling green farmland covered in sheep and the occasional wild peacock. It was a pretty ride.
And now we're in Wellington where it is neither windy nor particularly cold nor raining. Today, we hiked through one of the city's many green belts to another "Mount" Victoria and sat at the top in the sunshine looking at the city through the branches of a tree that someone had cleverly planted right in front of the view point's only bench. We sat and talked and tried to come to terms with the fact that we have just moved halfway around the world. Excitement, nervousness and overwhelm and vying for control of my mind at any given moment - that is except when sleep wins, as it does at around 8:00pm!
Wellington seems to have a lot of interesting people, at least to look at, though it is disappointing to discover that the 80's resurgence that has gripped the 20-somethings of America has also taken root here. Enough with the polka-dot bubble skirts and skinny jeans with heels! Enough stripey shirts with big belts!
There are also lots of cafes and restaurants and pubs. The aforementioned train operators told us that Wellington actually has more cafes and pubs than New York city -- per capita. Wellington also has Brooklyn, which, as it turns out, is right next to Central Park. And, Wellington contains perhaps the only immigration office in the world staffed by friendly, smiling people who really are there to help. So far, I'm liking what I see. Now I just need to find me a Ph.D. program.
You too can experience the wonders of our first four days in NZ by checking out some pictures here (listed under 2006 - the honeymoon is over, folks).
August 01, 2006
Just kidding - the light was a train
There I was thinking that everything was good. And then Z's computer woes got worse. And worse. And then hit total suck rock bottom bad. So instead of watching the sun sink into the Pacific Ocean from our camp site in Big Sur we spent the day in Circuit City transferring data from old hard drive to new laptop. But hey, it wasn't so bad. In the end, the new computer worked and the data was saved and we were treated to a fantastic meal and so everything was fine.
On Friday we drove to LA through the baking Central Valley. We were dreading the trip until Z realized how lucky we were to be in our own car (borrowed from Z's parents - far better than a rental) and not in some cockroach-infested dusty bus on a broken seat for 14 hours. Six hours later we arrive in LA in one piece despite the loveseat that someone dropped into the middle of our lane at the bottom of the grapevine, and me sandwiched between a truck and minivan. Hooray for good brakes!
And we see Aunt Sylvia (one of the kindest people I know) and enjoy her airconditioned house and eat some food before heading over to our storage unit to pick up a few things.
Or so we think. Turns out that the world had some more suck for us.
Back in Ethiopia, I remember Z telling me that there'd been a small flood in the storage room but that everything was OK. I didn't really give it too much thought. We were, after all, in Ethiopia and therefore unable to do a single thing. And hey! Everything was OK, right?
Well, it turns out that it isn't all OK. More than a few boxes were completely rotten, the cardboard disintegrating in our hands and cockroaches scuttling around inside. And the contents? Beyond rescue. Some of the stuff doesn't matter - it's just stuff, after all. But those four scrapbooks of mine? Gone. That great photo of Z with Steve Martin? Gone. My clothes? Gone. Z's shoes? Gone. We filled a dumpster with boxes and mould and scrapbooks and photos and clothes and broken plates and a rolling pin that looked like it belonged in a mycology lab. And it sucked.
Before we left on our honeymoon, we pared down our belongings to the essentials - the important stuff. We have now pared down some more. There's some lesson here about detachment but hell if I can stomach it right now.
After some discussion, we arrived at the conclusion that we needed to find another storage space. Which meant renting a van. Except no-one will rent a cargo van for a one-way trip (we find this out at Enterprise after speeding from Woodland Hills to Van Nuys to catch the store before it closes (at NOON on a Saturday) and to get the last cargo van available). And all the trucks have been rented because it's the last weekend of the month. So I call and call and call as Z washes out a box of kitchen stuff and repacks it. And I call. I find some woman with a heavy Russian accent who offers to help secure a U-Haul van. She says she'll try her best and call me back. Then I get through to Budget in Northridge and they have a truck - but we have to get it today. As in right now. So, back in the car to go speeding off to Northridge. And yay! We have a truck.
So we go and have a wonderful evening with Tano and Holly and Header. The latter is sweet enough to bring me a brand new dress that she bought to make up for the fact that I'd just lost all my clothes. Z approves of the plunging neckline.
Sunday morning rolls around. We are not driving via Santa Barbara where I was supposed to meet up with my advisor to go diving at Santa Cruz Island. No, I've had to cancel that, too. Instead, I'm in the shower when Z comes in to say there's some woman on the phone with a heavy Russian accent who's threatening to charge us for a U-Haul truck because we haven't come to pick it up. Oh, and good morning.
At this point, I want to give the world the finger. Instead, I call the woman back and she yells at me. I apologize for upsetting her and she yells and I apologize again and let her yell some more. She never says anything about charging us - I don't think she will. I think she just needed to get angry.
So, we load up the truck with mouldy stuff and head out of LA, stopping for a delicious breakfast at 1:00pm at Burger King (shudder) - but there's nothing else in the strip mall hell that is the valley. And we drive home past Cowshwitz up I-5, me bopping away to the iPod (not mouldy) and Z listening to my damp CD's. We unload into Z's folks' garage with their help and find parking for the truck on a Sunday evening in Russian Hill. We fall into bed at 9:00pm.
This morning, I returned the truck and had to fight the woman at Budget over "damage" to the truck that I did not do nor notice when I inspected the truck in LA. She points it out to me several times and I can barely see it. It's the kind of thing you would only notice if you were used to looking at trucks - compartively, I can see that the piece is bent. But just looking at one truck, I can't tell. Fortunately, her manager agrees with me and I leave with our full deposit.
And now I'm sorting through out stuff, removing the mould, doing loads and loads and loads of laundary, and carrying stuff to Henry the drycleaner and praying that he'll be able to salvage the good stuff. My moms-in-law has been a fabulous help, braving bags of mouldy, still-damp sheets and helping to sniff-test Z's clothes (that takes a brave nose).
As for me, I'm just trying to remember that this is a new week. And I'm trying to believe that it's all going to be OK. I mean, at some point, things have to get easier for us, right???
On Friday we drove to LA through the baking Central Valley. We were dreading the trip until Z realized how lucky we were to be in our own car (borrowed from Z's parents - far better than a rental) and not in some cockroach-infested dusty bus on a broken seat for 14 hours. Six hours later we arrive in LA in one piece despite the loveseat that someone dropped into the middle of our lane at the bottom of the grapevine, and me sandwiched between a truck and minivan. Hooray for good brakes!
And we see Aunt Sylvia (one of the kindest people I know) and enjoy her airconditioned house and eat some food before heading over to our storage unit to pick up a few things.
Or so we think. Turns out that the world had some more suck for us.
Back in Ethiopia, I remember Z telling me that there'd been a small flood in the storage room but that everything was OK. I didn't really give it too much thought. We were, after all, in Ethiopia and therefore unable to do a single thing. And hey! Everything was OK, right?
Well, it turns out that it isn't all OK. More than a few boxes were completely rotten, the cardboard disintegrating in our hands and cockroaches scuttling around inside. And the contents? Beyond rescue. Some of the stuff doesn't matter - it's just stuff, after all. But those four scrapbooks of mine? Gone. That great photo of Z with Steve Martin? Gone. My clothes? Gone. Z's shoes? Gone. We filled a dumpster with boxes and mould and scrapbooks and photos and clothes and broken plates and a rolling pin that looked like it belonged in a mycology lab. And it sucked.
Before we left on our honeymoon, we pared down our belongings to the essentials - the important stuff. We have now pared down some more. There's some lesson here about detachment but hell if I can stomach it right now.
After some discussion, we arrived at the conclusion that we needed to find another storage space. Which meant renting a van. Except no-one will rent a cargo van for a one-way trip (we find this out at Enterprise after speeding from Woodland Hills to Van Nuys to catch the store before it closes (at NOON on a Saturday) and to get the last cargo van available). And all the trucks have been rented because it's the last weekend of the month. So I call and call and call as Z washes out a box of kitchen stuff and repacks it. And I call. I find some woman with a heavy Russian accent who offers to help secure a U-Haul van. She says she'll try her best and call me back. Then I get through to Budget in Northridge and they have a truck - but we have to get it today. As in right now. So, back in the car to go speeding off to Northridge. And yay! We have a truck.
So we go and have a wonderful evening with Tano and Holly and Header. The latter is sweet enough to bring me a brand new dress that she bought to make up for the fact that I'd just lost all my clothes. Z approves of the plunging neckline.
Sunday morning rolls around. We are not driving via Santa Barbara where I was supposed to meet up with my advisor to go diving at Santa Cruz Island. No, I've had to cancel that, too. Instead, I'm in the shower when Z comes in to say there's some woman on the phone with a heavy Russian accent who's threatening to charge us for a U-Haul truck because we haven't come to pick it up. Oh, and good morning.
At this point, I want to give the world the finger. Instead, I call the woman back and she yells at me. I apologize for upsetting her and she yells and I apologize again and let her yell some more. She never says anything about charging us - I don't think she will. I think she just needed to get angry.
So, we load up the truck with mouldy stuff and head out of LA, stopping for a delicious breakfast at 1:00pm at Burger King (shudder) - but there's nothing else in the strip mall hell that is the valley. And we drive home past Cowshwitz up I-5, me bopping away to the iPod (not mouldy) and Z listening to my damp CD's. We unload into Z's folks' garage with their help and find parking for the truck on a Sunday evening in Russian Hill. We fall into bed at 9:00pm.
This morning, I returned the truck and had to fight the woman at Budget over "damage" to the truck that I did not do nor notice when I inspected the truck in LA. She points it out to me several times and I can barely see it. It's the kind of thing you would only notice if you were used to looking at trucks - compartively, I can see that the piece is bent. But just looking at one truck, I can't tell. Fortunately, her manager agrees with me and I leave with our full deposit.
And now I'm sorting through out stuff, removing the mould, doing loads and loads and loads of laundary, and carrying stuff to Henry the drycleaner and praying that he'll be able to salvage the good stuff. My moms-in-law has been a fabulous help, braving bags of mouldy, still-damp sheets and helping to sniff-test Z's clothes (that takes a brave nose).
As for me, I'm just trying to remember that this is a new week. And I'm trying to believe that it's all going to be OK. I mean, at some point, things have to get easier for us, right???
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