To cut a long story short, it was time to get away…a long way away.
On the January, I decided that New Zealand was about as far as you could get, I had relatives and friends there, and I’d always wanted to go.
On February 14th, I boarded a plane bound for Los Angeles, and ultimately, NZ. Both halves of the flight were 747-400’s, massive planes that hold about 400 people, and fly at 38,000 feet at 530 mph. The first part was BA, and it was comparative luxury, what with it having more legroom and seat backs TVs with a choice of channels. I spent a couple of days relaxing with some friends in a warm part of Northern California. I left the airport so late, that I checked into a motel and next morning, I ate a muffin at a breakfast bar in a USA motel on the way, which subsequently turned out to contain over 1,000 calories (the muffin, not the motel). A family waddled into the room, and the mother proceeded to give her offspring a healthy start to the day by filling a quarter gallon cup with cherry coke. Mmmm…calorific!
The second leg of the journey was a slightly less comfortable Qantas flight for the last 12 hours. I did manage to blag exits rows on both flights, hence more legroom which was nice. Oh, and guess what? I was sat next to lesbians…AGAIN! And again, they were the wrong kind of lesbian, so sadly no action. I had a conversation with someone who had just visited the USA, and they mentioned something which I keep forgetting to put in my USA diaries:
American public toilets: how come Americans like to watch each other take a dump? I mean, it’s weird…go into any public toilet, and they are designed so that there is an inch or two gap round the door, and the frame of the cubicle is so low, that anyone 6′ or above cannot help but see the person next door. All slightly disturbing. And yet Ann Robinson had to be airbrushed in posters, because it was felt that Americans couldn’t handle wrinkles?!? But then, this is the country that renamed Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, because the yanks didn’t know what Philosopher meant. And, oddly, when I was in LA, the posters for Harry Potter had him looking completely different to what he actually looks like! The movie “pret a porter” had top be renamed “Ready to wear”. Funny, wrinkles offend, and yet they are happy to have massively obese people waddling their way to another heart attack…
Arrival at Auckland was a lot more pleasant than in the US, where I was checked 3 separate times. I wasn’t too annoyed about it; better safe than sorry. The only hold-up at Auckland was because I had to have my walking boots chemically scrubbed. There was no charge for it, and it is done to any camping or walking equipment which contains any trace of mud. After all, with about 40 million sheep, you wouldn’t want them catching mad cow disease, would ewe? It was just coming up to the autumn when I arrived here. The weather was good - a massive hole in the ozone layer means lots of sunscreen is needed, but apart from that it’s just the mozzies that can be annoying. Oh, and the damn cicadas. These buggers REALLY know how to make some noise! Its just incessant and very loud.
I met with the first of many relatives I was to meet, and very hospitable they were too. I was soon taken to see Auckland city centre and first impressions looked good. Pretty much what I imagine Shanghai to be like. “Gold rush America” style shop-fronts, selling dodgy Japanese goods, or Chinese food. And more internet cafes in one road that I have seen in a lifetime, all at around $NZ2 (60p) per hour. It’s certainly a more happening place than is made out in the guidebooks. I saw some band called “Zed” playing in the square, followed by some skate dudes attempting to break various bones by flying through the air upside down on their bikes. Something about the x-games or something. The first thing I have to try is “Extreme Ironing”, described as “the thrill of danger, with the satisfaction of a well pressed shirt”.
Talking of danger, I have been to USA, Canada, Mexico, Spain, France etc, and almost NO-ONE drives as dangerously as the Kiwis (perhaps with the exception of the Italians) It’s either full acceleration, or screeching to a halt. Corner coming up? Don’t indicate, just lurch into the corner, sending pedestrians running, and score extra points for clipping a traffic sign on the way round! Body repair shops (probably of both sorts of body) do big business here. Somehow, a country with a population of under 4 million manages 15 road deaths a week. The road toll for 2002 was 402, which was (they say with great pride) the lowest since the 1960’s…
The Kiwis love their sport, and everyone I have spoken to so far assumes I have come for the cricket, although if I’d come all this way for it, I’d probably be at the ground, rather than wandering the streets of Auckland. The result of eating the muffin is that I have not eaten since, which is good, because there are no porkers here, so a serious toning regime was called for, made easier by the fact that the relatives I was staying with were health-food nuts. After a few days, I was taken north to the Bay of Islands, which lies in the sub-tropical zone. We arrived later in the evening, and met yet another relative, who lives in a most incredible house, built up on stilts. As for the view from my window…well, check the photo album. Impressive! Saturday saw us heading off to see the place at Waitangi where a treaty was signed with the Maoris, the mode of transport from the ferry to the place was by TukTuk taxi, imported from Bombay. We went to a Maori meeting house, and I learnt the names of lots of people and places which I have already forgotten; despite the alphabet only having only 15 letters, I find Maori words particularly hard to remember.
On the way back, a 120Kg shark had been caught in a competition. At the time of catching, the shark was pregnant. The foetus has been cut out, and the shark was weighed with much pride by it’s captor, while it slowly died with the indignity of having bits of womb hanging out. What made it more annoying was that I then found that this shark was caught not for meat, but for game. “But they use the meat, right?“, I asked. “Na, mate, it’s just thrown away now.“. All seemed a bit of a waste of large shark just so some small-dicked tosspot has a photo to take back home. Next day, I went further north to Cape Brett/Cape Reinga and spent a good afternoon relaxing at Oke bay. Each bay you see is more perfect than the last, and what is even better is that no-one owns any beach anywhere. In other words, you can find a bit of beach on any of the hundreds of islands, bring the boat in, and just do what you want. On Monday, as everyday, I swam across the bay, about 2/3 of a mile each way. The rest of the day was spent doing not much, but that evening, the water in the bay was completely flat, like glass, and reflecting a perfect full moon. So, I decided to take a swim. As I started to swim, I noticed what looked like sparks. With each movement of my hands or feet, little flashes and sparks would travel through the water. It turned out to be phosphorescence in the water, something that only happens in the right conditions, at the right time of year. Pretty darn cool! It is nicely explained in a passage from this webpage:
“Another phenomenon, more often associated with the tropics, is fairly common around the Greek Islands; this is the “phosphorescent sea”. It is seen at its best on moonless nights in late August and September and seems, for some reason or other, to be brightest when a thunder-storm is impending. Then every splash of the oars, every ripple past bow or stern, every swirl in the long wake, is outlined by darting sparkles of greenish fire. A dive over the boat’s side is a thing to be remembered forever. As you part the velvety black of the waters, countless millions of green sparks streak past you like a storm of stars. Minute fiery snow-flakes brush you in wind-blown flurries until your flesh squirms with conviction that they must burn you. And auto-suggestion almost convinces you that they do! The sensation is so incredibly eerie that, after a few minutes of it, you generally scramble back into the boat in a hurry. The cause of all this firework display is a unicellular animalcule, Noctiluca miliaris, shaped like a tiny translucent cherry. The stalk of the cherry is represented by a short whip or flagellum with which it propels itself by rhythmically beating the water. And the size of this organism, which is sometimes so numerous it can illuminate many square miles of ocean? Only one millimetre (1/25th inch) in diameter - just big enough to be visible to the naked eye.”
During the time I was in the BOI, the Queen had departed NZ, apparently to a storm of controversy in the Brit press, because Helen Clark (the Kiwi PM) didn’t say grace, wore a trouser suit, and dared to mention the “R” (republic) word in an interview. Such matters aside, I boarded a catamaran in Russell to see “The Hole in the Rock”, which is a rock with…well, YOU work it out! Quite neatly, the boat sometimes goes through the hole (which is a tunnel almost) which is filled with very rough water, and a fearsome wind rushes through, so I was rather impressed that the pilot managed not to bash it against a wall, bearing in mind there were only a few feet either side. An even greater achievement considering it was a woman driver…
We headed back on the 27th, stopping at Whangerie (a touristy town where the chatter of plenty of British voices to be heard), and that’s pretty much that! And talking of cars (again), the accident rate is unbelievable. There have been so many incidences of drivers pushing past lines of children at school crossing patrols, that some have been abandoned altogether, and the relative doing the driving was no better. We came to a road works where a new layer of asphalt was being laid. After 2 minutes waiting behind one of those “stop/go” boards, she got impatient, and just drove on, swerving to avoid oncoming cars in the one lane, and then straight across a layer of hot asphalt. After another hour of windy mountain roads taken at 80mph, I was relieved to be offered the chance to drive. After all that, we stopped half an hour outside Auckland, and drank coffee for an hour, so we’d miss the traffic! And you know the best part about this? Insurance is not compulsory!!! So what happens if someone hits you, and they are not insured? You pay. If neither are insured? “Then yer fucked!”, as one person put it.
I’d been here a week, and I couldn’t think of anything about England I missed, and although I bitch about the driving, there are many things they do well. The first is following the lead of Assume PM John Howard, who’s policy on Asylum seekers means that NO (repeat NO) boats have attempted to land with illegal economic migrants since that policy was put in place. The result? According to the NZ Herald, there may by as many as 914,000 people waiting along an Asian peninsular to try and get into NZ, so emergency measures have been rushed through meaning that people trafficking now carries a sentence of $500,000 and 30 years inside. Now, why can’t Britain follow suit?? Another thing the Kiwis have got right is banning adverts/sponsorship by and for tobacco companies. Since doing so, cigarette sales have fallen 17%. Crime is on the up, though. In 1950, there were NO murders. Even in the late 70’s, many people never used to lock their cars and houses. In 1998, there were 2012 robberies, 57,333 drug related offences (Maori have a big drugs problems),116 homicides, 741 sex offences and 45 murders. WHAT can make a country do that so quickly?!?
As a value-conscious shopper. I am in bargain heaven here! The UK pound is strong, the result being that a large cup of freshly made cappuccino and a cookie for under a quid is the kind of pricing I could learn to love. Some stuff works out about the same, but I’ve yet to complain about prices of anything. How does reasonable accommodation in the city centre for 7 quid a night sound? (4 share). Or your own room in a motel out of town for 20 quid?
Even though I had a free bed for a while (well, as long as I keep chopping firewood), I checked into the Auckland Central Backpackers hostel so I could get an idea of the city at night, and have a drink without wondering how I get back to the ‘burbs. A rather odd thing happened…a leggy good looking brunette came and drapped herself over my table, wearing not a whole lot worth wearing. However, she was from Arizona, and proceeded to spend the next hour talking like that girl from the Orb’s “Little Fluffy Clouds” number. I don’t know what she was on, but it was cool listening to her try to form polysyllabic words, whole sentences even, while trying to see how far up her skirt I could see. All while she puffed her way through almost a pack of Silk Cut Ultra. Even I could have shagged that, but I let it pass. She gave me a kiss goodbye, and wiggled off back to the bar.
After a 2.5 hour session in the YMCA gym/pool, (devoid of cowboys, oil-riggers and assorted beefy gay men telling me how fun it was to patronise one of their hostelries), I headed back to find that it was 70’s night in the backpackers hostel bar. I soon found myself in the company of Jade and Rebecca, two lovelies from Oz, on their way to work in the UK on a 2 year permit. On a plus side, they were neither the wrong kind of lesbian (in fact, not lesbian at all), nor were they minging. Although no rampant menage-a-trois was forthcoming, we sauntered forth onto Queen Street in Auckland. This is the main road in the city, which never really gets a traffic jam, and yet between 9pm and about 1am, is solid with traffic, a large portion of it made up of boy racers in Subarus etc, burning large amounts of rubber, and making for an interesting journey for the intoxicated pedestrian wishing to cross it. (Red lights seem to be more a general guide here, especially with bus drivers. My driver on the way back today insisted on mounting the kerb at high speed several times, presumably to remind him where the side of the bus was).
We ended up at Sky City Casino, where the drinks were surprisingly affordable, and even more surprisingly watered down. Bear in mind that we arrived before 11pm, what kept us all absorbed was this: The casino dancefloor attracts the rich yachting crowd, the hopeless, and the high class hookers. But more of interest to us were two pacific island ladies, one of whom looked liked Lieutenant Uhura from Star Trek, and the other was sporting the finest example of a female mullet (or mull-ette, I suppose) that I have seen for a long while. We all agreed that is was a true shame that I did not have my camera, for she would certainly have been “Mullet of the Month” The other thing that kept us intrigued was the sight of people ballroom dancing to inappropriate music.
“Listen you fools, he’s playing Josh Wink’s ‘Higher State of Consciousness’. For God’s sake man, put her down and grab some glowsticks. Besides, you’ll give yourself a hernia!”. Seriously though, we were fascinated. Not only were many of them accomplished ballroom dancers (even if it was to a Kylie remix), but we could not work out the moves. The seemed to know exactly what the next move was, even though there was no pattern to the movements. Fortunately, I remained sober enough to know where Jade’s toes were, as I repeatedly crushed them in her sandaled feet, using 14 stone of flailing fool in Hush Puppies to do the work. We arrived back at the hostel at about 4am (total cost of all alcohol and room for night, under 17 quid!!), went our separate ways, and on my part, got no sleep, what with the non-air-conditioned room being about 92 degrees (temperature, not angle of list).
The other things were the occasional pipe bombs. Yes, when the Kiwi layabouts have polished off a set of tyres bald from wheelspinning, they get lengths of pipe, seal one end, fill them with gas (from aerosols etc), roll them away, and throw a match at the open end. The result is a report of astonishing ferocity, and not good for the nerves of someone attempting to get to sleep in a hot room full of strange men half a mile away.
I had been looking for a car, and ended up buying a nice ‘91 Nissan Primera from a wholesaler who took pity on me. 3,500 bucks all told. 190,000k’s on the clock (ouch!) One month MOT, 2 months reg, PAS, auto, 2 litre. One tiny problem I soon discovered was that the reason the driver’s electric window would not wind down was that all the internal gubbins had been replaced by a lump of wood holding the window up. As the car was “sold as seen”, I had no choice but to slum it round the breakers yards finding all the missing bits. By the end of the day, I was a bit peed off, and as I was going to take my car for a new WOF (MOT), I managed to persuade the bloke to fit it for ten quid. Not bad though - a motor, winding mechanism (both fitted) and an MOT for a shade under 100UKP. While I was waiting for my warrant of fitness (for car, not me) to be done, I met this charming young lady, and we had a coffee together. I seem to be having a more reasonable measure of success with the Kiwi chicks than in the UK, and in that most conversations with females usually end up with court orders from the CPS (Crown Prosecution Service) or MAFF (Ministry of Agriculture, fisheries and food), it was quite a result (only kidding about the MAFF and CPS by the way!).
Earlier on in the day, I sat on top of the biggest erection in the southern hemisphere…the Auckland Sky Tower. I WAS going to jump of the top of it (and very high it is) but 65 quid for 45 seconds seemed a little much at the time. My YHA card brought the cost down from $15 to $10, but even at $15 it is worth the trip. Spectacular views are afforded across the city and bay, and there are glass panels in the floor which allow you the unnerving experience of standing very high up with very little under you!
On the way to the lantern festival in the park, I noticed there was an IMAX cinema (since gone out of business). As the timing and length of film was perfect for the amount of time I wanted to kill, I went to see the IMAX version of Beauty and the Beast. Then went to the lantern festival. More of a “food and vending” festival, but still good, and those Chinese sure know how to make firecrackers!
The next stop was a night in a motel in one of Auckland’s posher outer suburbs, which seemed solely concerned with providing expensive European cars and eateries to the local population. That evening, I wandered the streets frequenting a few bars and an Irish pub. Much live entertainment to be had on that Friday night, and Salsa seems to be the done thing here. After my massive outlay of 25 UKP for a nice motel, I returned to the road to visit another relative in Papakura.
I arrived at around 10am, and was whisked off to a rather smart boat for a days fishing. Not sure why I deserved it, but these Kiwis are such thoroughly nice people! There were four of us, and we had a thoroughly top day and while snapper bit the bait, we lunched on the waves, with a fantastic view towards Auckland and the Sky Tower.
I was trying to think of some way to thank them. I was to stay there the night, and as soon as they discovered I was a PC fiddler, I was plonked in front of a PC which was riddled with viri, and crawling along. A couple of hours later, it was running like a dream, clear of viri, and quicker on the net. They seemed pleased as punch, and a splendid meal followed. Now, I don’t know whether this applies to all Kiwi women, but from what I’ve seen so far, they sure can cook!
The next day took me to yet another relative in Cambridge, for a week’s painting which was landed upon me by the first relative I visited, who thought she was doing me a favour. Now, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s painting and decorating, and a week of cursing, misery and falling off dodgy scaffolding followed. Ironically, my insurance covers me for everything from driving a car to bungee jumping, but not wobbling around on ladders. However, the people themselves were thoroughly nice, and again, I soon found myself in the role of a Mr Fixit, this time mending two LCD displays on a hi-fi, a video with a slack belt, ANOTHER electric car window, and, most importantly, a dancing gorilla that sings “The Macarana”. All the mending and a weeks worth of painting netted me less than I used to earn in a day in the UK, bless them, but they DID put me up and feed and water me very substantially, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable week.
Cambridge is a small (12,000 people) place, mainly populated by the elderly and arty, but it has a famous bridge and a splendid swimming pool. One thing that these small towns still have on a Friday night is “the swill”. Once upon a time, not so long ago, pubs used to close at 8pm, but even though they can pretty much open when they want, a phenomena still occurs on Friday, where half the town piles into the pub at 5pm, and then it’s completely dead by 8pm. Weird.
Hamilton and Rotorua
After leaving Cambridge, I arrived in Hamilton to spend the night. I located the YHA about 1 second before they were about to close, and found myself sharing a dorm room with a beautiful Israeli girl. We had a quick chat, and went down to the Irish pub to celebrate St Patrick’s day. This was the ONLY pub we could find that stayed open beyond 9pm! (I since learnt that Hamilton has seen drink-spiking reach epidemic proportions, so bear that in mind if you visit.) We soon found that we were in almost identical situations; both escaping far away to forget bad endings to relationships, and both with roughly the same itinerary for the next few days. So, we decided to travel together and next day we headed for Rotorua via the Waitomo glow-worm caves. And very romantic they were, but there was nothing going on in the dark, except for the amazing spectacle of thousands of glow-worms lighting up the roof of the caves like stars in the sky. We were a bit flirtatious together, but she was giving off the old “I like you a lot, but don’t try anything!” vibes. I was happy with that (I hadn’t intended anything else except travelling anyway), and that (Sunday) evening, we arrived at Rotorua.
We checked into the double room at the YHA (separate beds!), went for a walk by Lake Rotorua, and met a solo traveller in the shape of William, and Brit living in France, who appeared to have travelled large portions of the world, and had plenty to say, so we met him for a drink and something to eat at The Pig and Whistle (highly recommended, and so called because it used to be a police station), where I learnt about life on a Kibbutz in Israel, which sounds like a lot of fun, except for the recent troubles increasing the chances of being exploded. This is one pub not to be missed in Rotorua, and it is so called because it used to be a police station. Fantastic, generous portions, freshly cooked. A good meal and a beer cost…wait for it…6 quid! The next day we visited the Wai-o-tapu Thermal Wonderland, including the Lady Knox geyser. Here’s the spiel about it:
“The Lady Knox Geyser was found in the late 1800s by a group of New Zealand prison labourers who were planting parts of the nearby Kaingaroa Forest. When they went to wash their clothes in what appeared to be a hot pool, the soap from their clothes reacted violently with the chemicals in the water and the clothes were thrown some distance away into the bush. In 1903, the daughter of the NZ Governor General, Lady Knox, officially christened the geyser by soaping it herself in a ceremony. For thirty years after that, the geyser erupted every 48 hours by itself. From 1933 onward it has been soaped daily to view the eruption. Today, we use a specially made biodegradable substance to achieve the eruption. The water comes from about 400 metres below the surface. It erupts from surface tension disruption caused by the soap-type organic substance. This allows pressure and temperature to be released and thus the violent eruption for a few hours each day.“
Anyway, next stop was Te Whakarewarewa, which gives a good tour around boiling mud pools, and there is a special dark room where you can see the nocturnal Kiwi bird in action. Accommodation was very full in Rotorua - could not even stay another night at the very large Kiwi Paka YHA hostel. So, time to move on! Went back to the Pig and Whistle next time, but this time we met Peter, a Brit. who is CYCLING around the two islands, and made me feel most unfit! On Thursday, Michal (pronounced like Michaela) departed on her already-booked coach for Taupo, while I spent another day in Rotorua, including a dip in the famous Polynesian Spa pools.
I headed to Taupo on Thursday, via the steamfields of the Wairakei Geothermal Power Plant. A drive round the place was free, so I drove to the observation point and looked out. Now, from an engineering perspective, this is an amazing place. Across all the fields, as far as the eye can see, bit gleaming steampipes appear from the ground, channelling steam to the power plant, with other pipes carrying condensed water back for re-injection to the steam fields. Total output is 170Mw currently, or about 4% of NZ’s power. NZ is unique in being able to do this, due to the exceptionally thin crust of the earth here, which is a few hundred metres, compared to the 25Km in most of the rest of the world.
At around the same time, my car radiator decided it didn’t want to be left out, sprung a leak, and started venting steam. I kept it cool using ingenious methods which I will explain later. The leak turned out to be in a plastic bit, which refused to respond to a good dose of Radweld. This was not what I wanted. I then decided that, as the car would need SOME sort of service this year, I’d get all the pain over and done with. I spent the whole afternoon on arrival in Taupo getting quotes for various things, and then the whole night worrying about the cost. In the end, after dividing by 3.3, I realised what a bargain it was compared to UK garages, and a new radiator tank, rear brake pads, and an oil change cost me 109 quid, and it’s all done now, so I don’t need to worry about it (I hope!).
Skydive!
While my car was in for service, I decided that it had come to the stage where I needed to hurl myself out of a plane. And so I did! I called Taupo Tandem Skydiving, which was $199 for a 12,000 foot freefall, and they let you take your camera! Six of us climbed high over Lake Taupo in the small prop plane, and when the plane reached 12,000 feet, we were told to smile for the camera, kneel down, and prepare to fall! I can hardly remember the exit from the plane, but we reached terminal velocity pretty quickly. I just remember laughing, screaming and blaspheming, while my Danish instructor shouted “It’s fucking good, yah? Now you are seeing why I like my job!”. About 45 seconds after exiting the plane, a tap on my forehead told me it was time to brace my neck for the parachute opening, after which I was allowed to take my camera out, and I took some amazing shots of my feet dangling high above the ground, and of another skydiver about level with me. A few spins and about 3 minutes later, we landed.
Was I scared? Not at all! In perspective, I have moved about as far away from everything and everyone I know, and have travelled 12,000 miles to get to a place where the standard of driving is some of the worst in the world. The chances of being in a road accident are far greater. Plus the fact that the instructor I was tandemed with probably wanted to survive as well. Many of them jump ten times a day, and hundreds of people jump every day. It’s just something I’ve always wanted (but could never afford before) to do. I must hasten to add that this was the first time I have screamed uncontrollably while a strange man has been strapped to my back, although I soon realised the error of recounting this in the pub later, as some wit said that all the other times, I hadn’t screamed!
But, beware of the video: if you pay the $150 for the flight vid, all you get is an extra 45 seconds of you…the rest of the vid is the same as all the other jumpers can buy for $15. Fortunately, I didn’t buy it! Nevertheless, I bought the photo, the group vid, and the t-shirt. All in, with the jump, the whole lot came to $259 (78 quid at 3.3) which I do declare to be a total and utter bargain! (Cheapest place in the world, it’s said).
You can get an internationally recognised “Stage 1 AFF” qualification for $399 (120UKP), which, if I have understood it correctly, allows you to throw yourself, unaided, out of any plane in the world. But as my other goal is to learn to fly a light aircraft, I will have to see what the finances are like after a few months of hard work! Oh, and will I go bungy jumping? No way! I’m not stupid…..
Taupo nightlife is very different from many other cities/towns, due to the fact that most people are there in order to do some extreme sport or other, and on the whole, they are very interesting, good looking people. I dropped by the YHA, and although I hadn’t managed to get a space, I met up with Peter, Michal and many of the other people I had met in Rotorua. Several of us went to the Irish bar, which is one of several on the waterfront, which hardly gets going until 11pm, and is absolutely packed with people both on and off the dancefloor until closing time at 3am. Drinks work out at about 2ukp per pint, which isn’t too bad. Several people mention that fact that I seem to be going out more now than I ever have in England. Well, that’s because I can afford to, and the places are nice! I’m not going to pay 12 quid to get into some smoky hellhole, for the privilege of paying 3 pounds a pint for watered down piss, while not being able to hear anyone, due to being deafened by repetitive shite.
It was touch and go for a while, but amazingly, I managed to meet up with Dunc and Clare, two friends from England travelling south to north NZ, on Saturday. Large quantities of barbequed meat and beer (ever tried bbq’d beer?!?) followed, and, after much swapping of travellers tales, we turned our thoughts to the next day, which was to be the conquest of….
Mount Taranaki
Taranaki (formerly Mount Egmont) is a dormant volcano, located in Egmont National Park, in the southwest corner of North Island. Its symmetrical snow-capped cone towers majestically near the Tasman Sea coast.20 Taranaki is the native Maori name for the mountain, which was ruled in court to be an equally valid name to Mount Egmont. Many maps now show both names for the mountain, since both are considered officially correct. Legendary thick forests once blanketed the mountain’s lower slopes, but they exist today only in the higher elevations. The lower slopes have long been cleared, and today hold lush pastures used predominantly for dairy farming. The summit is perpetually snow-capped, and in winter ice ice blankets the entire mountain. The ascent is generally straightforward, but weather is quick to change, and the steep upper slopes are frequently icy. Egmont has a higher death toll than any other mountain in New Zealand, as inexperienced climbers often underestimate its dangers.
Some history: Maori history recalls how Te Maunga o Taranaki (Mount Taranaki) once lived in the centre of New Zealand’s North Island with other mountain gods, Tongariro, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe. Nearby stood the lovely maid Pihanga, with her cloak of deep green bush and all the mountain gods were in love with her. What had been a long, peaceful existence for the mountain gods was disturbed when Taranaki could no longer keep his feelings in control and dared to make advances to Pihanga. A mighty conflict between Tongariro and Taranaki ensued, which shook the foundations of the earth. The mountains belched forth their anger and darkness clouded the sky. When peace finally came to the land, Tongariro, considerably lowered in height, stood close by Pihanga’s side. Taranaki, wild with grief and anger tore himself from his roots with a mighty wrench and left his homeland. Weeping, he plunged recklessly towards the setting sun, gouging out the Wanganui River as he went, and upon reaching the ocean, turned north. While he slumbered overnight, the Pouakai Ranges thrust out a spur and trapped Taranaki in the place he now rests.
With all of that in mind, we set off at 7am for the 2.5 hour drive from Wanganui to the mountain. We stopped at a small town outside, to be told by the local tourist office that:
1: we were starting too late in the day
2: We’d never make it
3: We were going to die
4: We’d need ice poles and crampons for the top.
And so, with our spirits high, we headed for the road that would take us to the base of the mountain. Fortunately, the mountain info office (where all intending climbers should sign in) was a little more realistic. As long as we had warm clothes, water and food, we’d be fine. At 10am, we started our 8261 feet ascent up the second highest mountain in NZ. Much taller than Ben Nevis (if anyone’s done that one).
Duncan and Clare had kept telling me about how many long hikes/3 day long bike rides and climbs etc they had done. And so, I assumed this meant this mountain would be a doddle. It was then that they chose to tell me that this was to be the largest thing they’d ever climbed. Oh dear. The only climbing I’d done in any recent years, was climbing out of bed. The road started out as a concrete lined closed 4wd vehicle track, which petered out into gravel. And then it stopped. And that’s where it started getting steep. And snowy, and icy. But this was also where we broke through the newly-formed clouds, and were treated to a spectacular view of Mount Tongariro(?) in the distance. The weather was perfect above the cloud, with deep blue skies, warm sunshine, but a cool breeze helping to stop us getting too hot, There were steps at certain points, which had been well maintained, but this was no rambling stroll. It was relentless, very steep, and very slippy.
We stopped every hour or so to eat and drink something sugary, and after the third hour, I was starting to flag. I was keeping up OK, and not holding them up, but I have to admit, Duncan is a man with a lot of energy! He just keeps on going! I must have suffered brain damage at some point, because I found myself picturing those motivational posters you get at gyms…you know, the ones with some bloke running across a peak, with “Success!” or something as a caption.
What made the last part the worst was that the snow was waist deep, and although we were trying to follow in other’s footprints, quite often we’d try and push off for the next step up, only to have a leg sink deep into the snow, which was a large waste of energy getting back out. Finally, we were at the top…no more false peaks, just elation and elevation. It was just incredible. We ate lunch, enjoyed the view, and took lots of pictures. (LOTS more in the Taranaki section of my photos)
The Descent
In some ways, the descent was worse than the climb…we kept falling and sliding all over the place, and at some points I just gave up and toboganned down the side of the hill on my arse…I didn’t really care that it was freezing snow with sharp volcanic rock underneath! What I hadn’t accounted for was how much muscle was used in walking down a steep hill, and I simply didn’t have any energy left. But of course, we all had to keep going, and three hours after leaving the top, and after breaking back through the clouds, we reached the visitors centre.
At this point, having managed to take my digital camera all the way up the mountain and back again, as well as on all my other adventures in the last few years, I took my camera out of the bag by the car, dropped it on the grass, and it broke! Fortunately, I managed to get the pictures off, and it looks like it’s just a microswitch in the lens cover, but it’s ironic that it happened right there.
Of course, as far as our aching muscles were concerned, the last thing we should have done was to get in a car and drive for 3 hours. So, got in a car and drove for 3 hours. We stopped near “home” in a Woolworths (foodstore) to get some food for dinner, at which point Dunc and I got out of the car to find that our legs didn’t really want to play any more that day, so, I especially, hobbled around going “ouch” a lot!
We must have burned in excess of 8,000 calories that day, so we consumed bolognese, ice cream and generous quantities of wine. Duncan and Clare departed at 10am on the Intercity bus for the next part of their adventure, and that was that.
And so this brings me up to date. Next stop, Wellington…
Wellington
“You can’t beat Wellington, on a good day (or even a bad one too)” so say kiwi band from Cambridge, The Datsuns.
One weekend, I decided to sent off a few job apps. Two were targeted, two were speculative. The two targeted interviews resulted in interviews, both in Wellington, both on Wednesday, within two hours of each other. And so, I drove to Wellington.
Both interviews went well, but if truth be known, I should have spent a little more time researching the companies.
It turns out that one of the companies was the Oscar winning special effects company behind Lord of the Rings, Weta Digital.
However, they were interviewing 40 people for 4 places, wouldn’t say what the pay was, and couldn’t let me know for ten days, so I took the immediate offer from the other company, and started work the following Monday.
In between, I went to “Te Papa”, the museum of Wellington, and they have some amazing exhibits…a bit like the Natural history museum in London…only good.
Also visited the Houses of Parliament. Both buildings have either been built, or modified, to cope with earthquakes, by sitting them on giant shock absorbers, which reduces a 7 to a 2 on the Richter scale. The parliamentary system is very open and very interesting; they have the worlds only transexual MP, more women than men MPs, and a Rasta MP who skateboards into work.
Wellington is quite a nice place, especially if you like coffee. There are no less than 545 (yes, five hundred and forty-five) coffee shops, which have changed owners 248 times so far this year. Starbucks are here, of course, charge around three times the price of any other place, as usual. And, although not really busy, people are still buying it. Shortly before I left, I read a report (Mirror, I think) about coffee shops, and in blind tests, no-one could tell the difference between a Costa Coffee/Starbucks coffee, and a normal coffee. But when the same test was repeated with the brand names, people appeared to enjoy it more. So, it goes to show that people assume that if you charge more, it will be worth more. Following that principle, reading this will cost you fifty quid. By paying the money, this journal will appear to be informative, witty, and well written, when in fact it’s just the Happy Shopper of journals in a Harrods bag….
Whoever wrote that not a lot of live music happens in Wellington was lying. On any Friday or Saturday night, the many bars are packed, most of them resonating to the sounds of a jazz, blues or rock band. Of course, being located where we are, the spectacle of drunk Japanese trying to sing Karaoke is never far away either!
The sex industry is fairly liberally governed here. There are about 600 prostitutes (sorry, “adult entertainers”) working in Wellington, and at least 28 clubs in the city centre. And they all do well for themselves. Let’s face it, yer average Kiwi bloke doesn’t want to mess about with chatting a girl up, hell no. Just pay your $50 (less than £15 for “full service”) and be done with it. On a more serious note, the sharp increase in rapes and drink spiking is disturbing trend in Aotearoa.
Due to the fact that the CBD (central business distric) is “hemmed in” but a high ridge all round, everything is built upwards, and there is almost NOWHERE to park, certainly not without paying. But using true Kiwi ingenuity, they make a parking space out of anything and everything. As soon as they have built the first couple of floors of a new office or apartment block, they stick in a couple of ramps, and charge $10 a day to park in it, while the rest of the block is built above. Even abandoned shop units..just take the glass out and there’s space for another 5 cars!
Well, here I am, working for Australasia’s 12th best company to work for. But I can see why the Kiwi’s drive and live so fast and hard…the working days are so long that you need to make the most of every second. But there are benefits too. I work on the top floor of a tower, and I can see views out across Wellington and the harbour. The pay…well, for NZ wages it’s not bad at all. It’s best not to convert it to UK sterling though, because I’m getting paid about the same as I was as a bus driver 12 years ago! But it’s all relative.
I’m Alan Partridge!
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I have become Alan Partridge, if you know who that is. Yes, I lived in a hotel. Actually, it wasn’t too bad. You get a private room, sheets and towels changed twice a week, a TV with sky, a fridge, bed, desk and phone. And it’s secure. And it’s under ten quid per night if you stay a week at a time.
If you venture into Tesco or Sainsbury, you may have seen some muck called “Yo Sushi!” or something. And, wait for it, they charge SEVEN QUID for a bit of seaweed, a few grains of rice, and something that could be fish, possibly. Except it’s too small too see.
Here, I am eating Sushi for lunch most days. Big, round rolls of freshly made sushi, 5 of them for under 2 quid!!! Proper sushi too.
Sometimes, I take my lunch and eat it by the harbour, looking out across the bay at the volcanic mountains in the distance, while the warm clean air and radiant sunshine ease away the morning’s air conditioning. Actually, I work afternoons; 12pm to 9pm, but it’s still warm at 4pm.
The Friday Fives:
Last Friday, as in most of the world, it was dress-down day. Except, unlike anywhere else I have worked, when five o’clock came, it was time for what’s called “The Friday Fives”.
Basically, it goes like this: On 5pm at friday, the fridge gets opened. It’s a large fridge. And it’s a full fridge. And it’s full of Heinekan, Tui, wine and other assorted alchoholic beverages. In fact, they have a wine rack that holds about 100 bottles, just in case.
And you grab a beer or ten, a big tray of food appears, and you eat and drink. As much as you want. For free.
By 10pm, most people were still there and I must confessed I was reasonably well mashed at this point!
I left at about 11pm, but the serious animals were still there. Apparently, it’s not unknown for the cleaners to come in and find someone asleep on the couch on Saturday morning! Since then, I’ve also learnt that, providing you are within half an hour of finishing work, you can grab a beer on any day of the week. So by about 5:30, there are glasses of wine and bottles of beer dotted around. Excellent!
Last night, as I worked a little later, they almost insisted I take a couple for the way home. The evening air was warm and fragranced with the smell of delicious food wafting from one of the many restaurants around. Just while I remember it, imagine the smell coming from the extract fan of a UK restaurant kitchen. Grim, huh? Part of the reason is that us brits don’t understand the concept of changing the oil regularly. Here, the fish and chips and any fried food is absolutely fabulous (and about one quid for a large bit of fish), but in the UK, I’ve been told that the same oil is sometimes used for a week at a time. Ugh!
As I was walking home at about 9:30 last night, I walked past the Telecom shop, and there are two large screens, one connected to Auckland, the other to Christchurch. There’s a camera, speaker and microphone, and it’s a tv-quality image, and this chap had pulled his car onto the pavement, opened up a tinny, and was obviously settled in for the night to chat to his mate in Auckland, when, on the Auckland screen, a group of girls wandered past, and seeing the camera, decided to give the other two cities a most welcome and extended display of tit and thong. Of course, I stayed watching merely out of technical interest…..
Nearing home, I looked back across the harbour. The city lights were reflecting in the calms waters, the sky was clear.
I decided I definitely like this place!
It brought huge joy to my heart to find out that the kitchen in the apartment I live in is has a lot of Smeg.
For example, there is a Smeg dishwasher:and there is a Smeg cooker but….
What do you need to cook with on a Smeg cooker? You need to cook with Smeg!
A highly unnatractive sounding prospect, however, they do provide a cookbook to assist..
I don’t think there’s anything I could type to top that!
And so, on to Australia for a few weeks….
Tags: aotearoa,New Zealand,nz
Categories: Australia, New Zealand, travelogue
No Comments »
