A Final Walk in St. Heliers

Our final NZ days were spent at a friend's house in St. Heliers, a residential area to the east of downtown Auckland (about 20 minutes by car), close to Kohimarama Beach, an excellent spot for swimming located between Mission Bay and St. Heliers. Before our departure to the airport and lengthy journey home, I took a final walk along the seafront. Leaving the house, with its impregnable security system fully armed, and walking towards the sea, we passed some very fancy houses (or is it one house?)

We reach Tamaki Drive which winds its way around the bays right into the harbour area of central Auckland. Tamaki Drive is the scene of much physical activity each morning--runners, cyclists, walkers, and a few yards away on the beaches, the swimmers--seemingly whatever the weather. Joan sets off to run in the direction of Auckland. I walk in the opposite direction, appreciating the trees.

The one above--and there are at least two of these enormous trees--is, I believe, a Moreton Bay Fig Tree, although I expect to be jumped on by New Zealanders who will undoubtedly correct me. They are huge. But not all that old--trees grow quickly in New Zealand: the St. Heliers information leaflet says they were planted in 1923.

I keep walking along the beach front and up the hill at the end, to discover a completed 'reserve' that wasn't there when we did the same walk in early December. There was some construction going on at that time, but it looked like roadwork. But what was completed was this beautiful overlook platform, jutting out over the edge of the cliff, complete with painted carvings.

The overlook is called Achilles Point and the picture below tells you why.

The previous day we had seen video interviews in the War Memorial Museum with men who had served in the Achilles. The Museum is excellent--better, we thought, than Te Papa in Wellington--with interesting historical presentations as well as a wonderful collection of natural history exhibits, by the way.

Walking back down the hill, retracing my steps, there were great views right into the centre of Auckland, but the haze was sufficient to block the city out from my photo. This is what the skyline looks like from the ferry to Waiheke Island (just imagine yourself jumping off the platform below the pinnacle of the Sky Tower and having paid large sums of money to do so):

As always, I was struck by the contrasts in houses here in St. Heliers and in many of the places we visited. You pass one modern house like the above and fifty yards later something traditional, like the one below, which is on your left walking back to the main commercial strip of stores and restaurants. (I am sure G. and D. will recognize it)

Not far past that house, we come to the "cheaper" end of St. Heliers, where a succession of rather modest eateries is situated. We can recommend the Indian restaurant. But don't order the set price dinner featuring a bit of 'everything.' It's just way too much food.

So back along past the more upscale cafes--La Vista and Annabelles--past the large green 'reserve' (The Vellenoweth Green, which was reclaimed from swamp) on which we saw Sunday soccer--small goals, tennis shoes, older males--being played. Cross over to the bike and running path by the sea, and who do I meet at the end of her run...but the ever energetic Ms. Powers.

So back to the house that was so kindly placed at our disposal. Finish our packing. One last walk down to Moreton's, a cafe, to have some lunch after spending 1/2 hour watching the exciting sport of lawn bowling at the local club. Crowded with silver-haired players of both genders, elegantly dressed in white. Call the discount cab. Assemble outside beside the road, to be picked up by the same cab driver who took us in December to the rental car agency at the start of our visit. The trip had come full circle. The adventure was ending, and we were driven to the airport to catch our plane to Los Angeles.

And here we are, less than a week later, back in Washington, cross-country skiing along the C&O Canal tow-path following a huge snowstorm (and now we're in the grip of a second blizzard). I suppose, regretfully, we must declare our NZ adventure officially over.

(Posted by David on Feb. 10)

A Few Observations About Kiwi Life

As our adventure draws to a close, it may be useful to memorialize some of our impressions --admittedly skewed by our own experience and possibly inaccurate, for which we apologize-- of everyday New Zealand life. Here are a few random observations.

It is a more egalitarian society than the US, with far fewer displays of conspicuous wealth or, for that matter, poverty and homelessness (although a large chunk of the population seems to be living in vans, at least during the summer months, and parking near those handy public conveniences). In keeping with the somewhat laid back attitude, tattoos are in evidence everywhere, as well as both adults and children walking barefoot (and I'm not referring to the beach).

With respect to basic social services that we used, we can report that the buses run according to a published schedule and are generally right on time, tourist information is readily available in the user-friendly setting of an I-Site, and even small towns feature public libraries, like this one in the Wairarapa region, where we were given free access to Internet.

There is a noticeable absence of suburban sprawl and strip malls throughout most of the North Island, at least compared to the US, and the small specialty shop (toys; stationery; etc) is very much alive and well. Moreover, some rather monumental buildings appear in the smaller urban areas, such as this Victorian-era opera house in Wanganui.

There is a serious concern about the risks of ozone depletion and skin cancer, and public warnings to wear sun protection and hats, which are on sale everywhere.

In a country with so much dairy farming throughout, it is not surprising that the ice cream is outstanding. It's available everywhere in small "dairies", akin to our 7-11's but featuring handscooped ice cream in a variety of flavors, like the popular Hokey Pokey (vanilla with bits of toffee).

There are many medium-priced restaurants, called cafes, offering WONDERFUL coffee (esp. the "flat white", with its decorative topping) and pastries, as well as small meals. Customers place their orders at the register and are given a number to carry back to a table to await their meal. The food eventually appears-- but service is typically VERY slow and you have no assigned wait person with whom to register your impatience. However, there is usually a wide selection of beers available on draft (Monteith has several varieties; Steinlager; Tui) or in bottles (some of which have "pop tops", like soda cans), and the chips (below, served with aioli in the Auckland area) are outstanding. The long wait simply means that you drink more until the meal arrives. There is no tipping, which is the norm for other personal services as well (e.g., hair cuts).

The issue of the relationship between the Maori population and those of European descent (or "Pakeha's", meaning "stranger" in Maori) seems to be very politically charged. It is a long and difficult history, and in the nineteenth century not unlike the US historical experience with Native Americans; but the issue remains much more centrally placed on the political radar screen in NZ, and Maoris play an important part in the political process. Maori is now an official language, and one TV station offers programming in Maori. I'm certainly not qualified to offer an opinion on the matter, other than to observe that it is clearly a sensitive topic. For greater appreciation of the cultural dimension, the film "Whale Rider" is highly recommended.

Perhaps reflecting the rural connections or heritage of many New Zealanders (my impression is that even many urban dwellers seemed to be only 1 or 2 generations removed from a sheep farm), gardening is a near-religion, and it shows. Lovely flowers and landscaping seem to spring up everywhere.

8. The passion for gardening is also reflected in the parks that proliferate in New Zealand's cities and towns, like Pukekura Park in New Plymouth. It was decorated with lights for the Christmas/New Year's holiday, and had nightly outdoor concerts, as well as displays of model airplanes in flight, which attracted a large and appreciative crowd.

(and, yes, there are A LOT of sheep....)

Movie tickets are comparatively expensive, and the practice in many downtown theaters of having assigned seats, as in live theater, seems unnecessary and inefficient.

OK, I've devoted much space on this blog to commenting on wall murals, but they really are striking. And just who produces them anyway, and at whose direction? Regrettably, this must remain a mystery, although sometimes they are signed or credit is given to a school or a group of art students.Beaches-- sometimes lovely, sometimes desolate, and largely empty. The first, below, was at Whangamata, on the bike trip, which had a golden beach that stretched endlessly. This was a Pacific coast beach, in contrast to the second --more desolate, less inviting--which was on the west coast, on Cook Strait near Makara Beach.

We can't resist one more note of praise for public toilets and their often whimsical exteriors, even on the humble example below (in Cape Ferry).

Another word of praise for the Kiwi sense of style. These next two were in a craft store in Waiheke. The first was a wall hanging with dozens of small metal fish, and the second was part of a painting on--guess what?--corrugated iron.

Finally, the sunsets....

(Posted by Joan on Feb. 10)

Three Vehicles of Note

It would be churlish and ungrateful if this blog did not show a picture of the car we rented and in which we drove somewhere near 4,000 kilometres without the slightest problem. We rented it from a company called A2B, which specialized in renting older, well-used cars--we had quite a few dents and scrapes that were all charted before we left, and the odometer showed about 152,000 kms. Joan was in an art gallery, or taking photos of wall paintings, when I decided we needed a photo of the car. For anyone interested in architecture, the house in the background is typical of New Zealand houses. The roof is corrugated iron, and you can also see that the building on the right is mainly constructed of corrugated iron.
When we returned the car in pouring rain, a young man at the rental agency offered to drive us back to the hotel. When we got there, I tried to tip him, but he adamantly refused to take it, which I found rather admirable--and typically New Zealand.


This vehicle takes a bit of figuring out--but it is essentially a small house built onto a pick-up truck. Curtains on the windows, and at the rear--invisible--is a little porch with a couple of chairs. It was parked along beside the coastal path in New Plymouth, and it was clear that someone was living in it.

As you will have seen from previous blogs, I like tractors and odd vehicles, and I was delighted to come across this vehicle--an old steam-roller: though diesel, I presume. The photo does not capture the colour properly. It just sat by the road on Waiheke Island, and I assume that people were happy to have it there as a sort art object, as it must have been there for years. Its provenance is shown below.

Just thought I would throw these three in before we finish the blog--just a few more posts to go.

As a blizzard is now blowing across the Washington area, and we are house-bound, we might even finish today.

On the Road Again-- This Time, by Bike

The next phase of our New Zealand stay consisted of a 9-day cycling trip from Rotorua to Auckland, organized by New Zealand Pedaltours. For those of you who haven't been on organized cycling trips, they quickly fall into a familiar rhythm. On the first day, all of the guests introduce themselves (our group consisted of 4 couples from the US and one Englishman, as well as our 2 Kiwi guides) and say a few words about where they're from, etc. It soon became evident that this was an experienced group of cyclists, each of whom had taken well over a dozen organized cycling trips. We exchanged prior trip information like war veterans sharing battle experiences ("yes, we did Ireland and Provence; Canadian Rockies was a tough one, etc.")

On the first day, the guides fit you to your bike, and you usually take a short ride to see what adjustments are needed before you take on the longer and more serious challenges. At the end of a day of riding, the group swaps stories and jokes about the usual hazards of being a cyclist, such as the big logging truck that came so close you could feel the hair on your arms rise; the incessant headwinds (which, miraculously, were not really a problem on this trip), and --of course-- the hills, about which more will be said later. By the end of a week together, we have drunk many beers and become fast friends, soon to share our photos via Shutterfly or similar web-sites once we get home. The final dinner is usually a celebratory affair, where one dresses in the slightly fancier clothes saved specially for the occasion (typically the only clean stuff left), and the guides salute the guests and vice versa before we say adieu.

The following recounts our cycling trip, not so much in chronological order but rather by theme, as we proceeded from Rotorua through Matamata to the Pacific coast of the Coromandel Peninsula, proceeding in a counterclockwise direction through Whangamata, Whitianga, Coromandel Town, Thames, and Clevedon, where our cycling ended and we were shuttled in the minibus back to Auckland.

A WORD ON ROTORUA.

Rather smelly (like rotten eggs), rather tacky on the outskirts, but still a major tourist draw. We arrived there from Auckland in the Pedaltours minibus, with the two Kiwi guides (Owen and Alex), on the Saturday afternoon, so perhaps we did not have time to do it justice. The main road into the town was discouraging--rather like the outskirts of American cities--strip malls, petrol stations, car dealers, fast food places. The hotel was pleasantly old-fashioned, and at lunch-time we met our fellow cyclists.

This is the iconic "Government House" in Rotorua, which was an attempt by the New Zealand Government to establish a spa towards the end of the 19th Century. It is a fairly imposing building at the end of some spacious and beautiful gardens--and two impeccable bowling greens. The right hand side of it is being reconstructed.

We spent some time walking around Rotorua, but it was a bit underwhelming. A few muddy pools with a bit of steam coming out. Very nice views of the lake, with its flocks of dangerous black swans. And, of course, there were the usual warnings scattered around.

Rotorua is surounded by tourist "attractions"--the usual jumping off high places, sky-diving, cable cars, rolling down hills in large rubber balls, and more educational activities like sheep-shearing demonstrations. We were not particularly attracted to these attractions, and in any event we had only a short time on the Saturday afternoon to engage in any of them had we wanted to.

On Sunday morning, by unanimous agreement of the cyclists, we set off from the hotel on our ride to Matamata. The guides had wanted to spare us the traffic on the first 7 kilometres by taking us all in the minibus and unloading the bikes out of town on quieter roads. We told them we could manage the traffic--and we did. So our first ride was from Rotorua to Matamata. (This business of having something repeated in a name seems to be common in the Maori language: there are a lot of places with these repetitive names.) When we got to Matamata, we split into two groups--five of us went to one farmstay, and four to another. The two guides had to make do with a motel.

THE FARMSTAY.

One of the highpoints of a New Zealand cycling trip is the opportunity to stay in a private home, typically a farm, and get to know the host or hostess, and on farms to learn a little about farming, which is otherwise a mystery to us urban dwellers.

The farmstay where we boarded for two nights was called Maungatarari View--Lake Karapiro Farmstay. One of the many attractive views from the house is shown above--the photo does not do it justice, I must admit. Our hostess was Diane, who had run a farm for 26 years after the early death of her husband: then sold it and bought the spacious house where we were staying and started the farmstay. And a very pleasant, personable, and agreeable hostess she was, producing two super evening meals and prodigious breakfasts, and enlightening us on such arcane matters as why some sheep had horns and others didn't.

The Rubic's Cube of livestock herding, or how to separate the ram from the ewes...this was the problem that Diane had to solve, with our help, on the first night we were there. She had three paddocks, each of which had a gate into a fourth smaller paddock. Now have I got this right? In one paddock was a randy ram: in the second were a group of ewes and their lambs from last season: and in the third was a group of bullocks. Diane wanted to move them all into different paddocks and end up keeping the ram away from the ewes. So first we moved the bullocks--or was it the ewes?--and then we moved the sheep up to one end of the adjacent paddock...did we? Then we put the ram...No, I have forgotten the sequence. But the end-product was that two groups of animals and the ram were all in paddocks different from those they were in originally. This was accomplished by much waving of arms, rattling of stones in plastic Persil bottles, and a great deal of shouting. And we all had to take our shoes off before we went back into the house as they were plastered in cowsh and sheepsh. The ram had to wait until February--poor old bugger--until he could tup the ewes, as July was the best month for the lambs to be born. (The gestation period is five months.)

Points of interest--a ram might cost a couple of hundred New Zealand dollars. And you get a pittance for black wool these days...and it seems to be the genes as to which sheep have horns: and it's not just rams.

Below are David and Bruno, the very affectionate house dog at our farm stay. He was perhaps a little over-nourished. And he seemed to be left-handed. The photo was taken when we went for a short walk through the paddocks of a neighbouring horse farm--which had some beautiful thoroughbred horses--to an arm of Lake Karapiro, where the world rowing championships will be held next year. On our second night at the farmstay, Diane drove us down to and across the dam that created the lake and showed us where the championships will be held.

BEACHES...

The Pacific side of the Coromandel peninsula is lined with beautiful sandy beaches. They contrast with the beaches on the Tasman Sea coast, which often have black sand and, although often spectacular, are not very inviting.

On the rides and in the afternoons and evenings we explored a number of beaches and one cove--Cathedral Cove--which is rightly touted in all the guidebooks as a beautiful place; but it is overrun with people and loses some of its attraction as a result. The beaches were at Whangamata, and at Hahei, where there were two beaches, one of which is called HOT WATER BEACH (below), where you can rent a spade for $5 to dig a sand pit into which hot water will well up at a certain state of the tide. We did not have a chance to experience this "do-it-yourself'' spa, as the tide was wrong. So our steep downhill into the beach and the steep uphill out of it was not rewarded by a soak in hot water, for which we had brought our swimming togs (as the Kiwis say).

Over the hill from the hot water beach was Hahei Beach--

And more of Hahei...

Cathedral Cove required a walk of a half an hour along the cliffs and a steep, stepped descent to the cove itself, all with spectacular views out over the sea. There were, however, a LOT of people, and environmentalists are apparently complaining that the crowds are ruining the place. Great controversy, for example, over whether a woman selling ice-cream on the small beach was the first step towards commercial exploitation of the area. Owen, one of our guides, made us swear that we would not buy an ice-cream from her.

These are the sorts of pictures--minus the people, of course--that appear in all the books about the Coromandel Peninsula.

Joan on a rock at Cathedral Cove.

Again Cathedral Cove--all those indeterminate shapes in the water are not seals or dolphins sticking their noses up but people.

SIGHTS ALONG THE WAY ....

In no chronological order, here are some of the sights we saw along the way.

In Waihi, there was the most enormous hole in the ground--the Martha Gold Mine, with its relic of the old Cornish pumping station. Wherever there was a hard rock mine you would find Cornishmen. The photo cannot give you the size of the hole, but look carefully at how small the huge trucks appear as they labour up the inclines.

We picnicked in the town of Paeroa on January 25, and at lunch David was treated to a chorus of Happy Birthday and given a chocolate birthday cake. There were two points of interest about the town. The first was the public toilet in the park where we picnicked. IT SPOKE TO YOU. When you entered, a voice said, "You have ten minutes to use this public toilet. Press the red button to lock the door and the green button to open it." You were then serenaded by smooth jazz as you went about your business. I wanted to write to the Superloo firm that makes these toilets and suggest that the voice should also say, "I will not let you out unless you have washed your hands." That should be fairly easy to program.

The second point of interest was that Paeroa is known for being the source of spring waters used for a popular soft drink that, frankly, tasted a lot like Sprite. But town pride was evident in this giant bottle.

HOBBITS 'R US....

ALL ROADS LEAD TO MATAMATA, whose claim to fame seemed to be that it was one of the sites used in "Lord of the Rings". Moreover, a good number of the townspeople were used as extras, and we noticed a remarkable similarity of many of the local barflies to hobbits (rather short and stocky, with shaggy hair and bushy beards). Bike tours often offer the participants options of side trips, and here we were offered--for a price--a Lord of the Rings Tour (Next to agriculture, The Lord of the Rings is probably still New Zealand's biggest economic activity.) However, there were no takers from our group: we all opted instead to hike to an overlook below a famous waterfall.

The picture to the left is a mural by a Matamata artist, who took eight months to complete it. It incorporates many old buildings that played a role in Matamata history.

To be fair to Matamata, it is the centre of a very big and important activity. As the guide book calls it: stock-stud heartland. In addition to dairy farming, it is the centre of New Zealand's thoroughbred horse-breeding, and we should have noted somewhere that horse racing is as popular here as in England. Lots of newspaper space is devoted each day to racing results. And betting shops are everywhere.

So rather than do Lord of the Rings, we all opted for the hike to Wairere Falls, where we set out after reading all the warning signs about slippery pathways and a rugged trail and the need for proper footwear. It took about 30 minutes to climb up to the falls, often on what seemed like endless steps. And here we are--

THE RAPAURA WATER GARDENS

This was a side trip to a picnic site at some water gardens on the day we went from Coromandel Town to Thames. We visited the gardens while the guides fixed the picnic. It was a very attractive setting, and there was some beautiful landscaping and sculpture, with signs scattered about (e.g. "a workman works with his hands, a craftsman works with his head, and an artist works with his heart"-- that sort of thing).

THE SQUARE KAURI TREE

After the picnic we drove in the minibus to a famous tree, which was reached by climbing innumerable steps. The whole of this area had been covered with Kauri trees in the last century, but they all had been logged except this one--the British Navy used Kauri wood for spars and masts on its sailing ships. And it really was very close to having a square trunk. Worth all those steps to see.


THE DRIVING CREEK RAILWAY

This treat was on Pedaltours. Near Coromandel Town, a potter called Barry Bricknell (OBE) started a small guage railway to get his clay down from the mountain going up behind his pottery, and in an eccentric sort of way he had expanded it and expanded it, mostly building it himself. Then, to pay off a bank loan, it was suggested that he open it to the public as a tourist attraction. And it was an amusing experience to sit in the little train carriages and take a half an hour trip up the mountain through tunnels and embankments made of wine bottles rammed into clay neck first. On each side were strange pottery figures. There were bridges and sidings where the train changed direction and the driver had to walk from one end of the train to the other.

Here is one of the tunnels:--

This gives you some indication of the sort of decoration that was along the railway line.

At the top of the ride was a lookout building called (sorry--I didn't name it) The Eyeful Tower, from which you could see in the very far distance the skyscrapers of Auckland.

THE BIRD HIDE...

On the last day's ride, we went along the so-called Seabird Coast of The Firth of Thames, and it was suggested that we might like to visit a bird hide and spend a little time seeing the shorebirds there, as The Firth of Thames has huge areas of mud-flats that are wintering quarters for vast numbers of shore birds--Godwits in particular that come from Alaska. I was the only one who showed any interest, and Owen and I wandered out over the scrubby grass for a quarter of a mile or so to visit the hide. My expectations were diminished by Owen telling me that the birds all fly away when they see someone enter the hide. But that was not the problem: the tide was way out, and the nearest birds were not much more than specks way out on the mud.

AND DID I MENTION THE HILLS?

Each day we were given a cue sheet and a profile for the ride we were about to do. This is the profile for the ride from Whitianga to Coromandel Town. "What are these," said Tony, the Brit from Stratford on Avon--neighbour to Judy Dench--"phallic symbols? Or are we expected to ride up them?" (One of those little pointy ones in the middle was the steepest ride on the trip.)

Overall, the rides were very hilly. Had the description of the rides in the Pedaltours' brochure been clear about the hills, we would probably not have signed up. But we were certainly glad we did. Both Joan and I opted to ride in the minibus up some of the hills: we also walked bits of other hills: and some of the hills we were proud to get to the top without getting off and pushing. Our hill-climbers were the Fearless Four--Marion and his wife, Alice, from Houston: Cathy and Mark from Michigan--and Tony: those five rode up every hill on the route. And they were joined on a number of hills, including the Coromandel climb, by Terry from Minnesota. They were all very strong cyclists.

Downhills could also be difficult. When the road is steep and full of curves with signs indicating you should slow down to 25 kpm or even 15 kpm, you have to keep pumpng the brakes to avoid getting going too fast for comfort. Of course, Tour de Fance riders would probably be hitting 50 mph on some of the hills we went down. I get nervous over 30 mph. (what if you have a flat in your front tyre?)

But the views from the top of the hills were spectacular, particularly when we crested the hills overlooking the Firth of Thames and started to zoom down to sea level.

The above photo is at the top of the longest and steepest hill on the trip. It is the last of the phallic symbols shown in the profile above. The Fearless Four, Terry, and Tony all completed it, although Tony felt mortified by being overtaken by a runner (a triathlete) near the top.

This was the sign at the top of the hill I have just mentioned. But we went both down and up a number of hills that had the same warning. And there was usually also that wiggly sign that indicates corners for the next so many kilometers. And going up or down, you do not want to be in one of those corners when you meet or are overtaken by a timber truck with a huge trailer.

Here is David upon reaching the top of a tough climb (taken by Joan, who struggled up there barely ahead of him):

And here he is at the bottom of a screaming downhill. You might want enlarge the pictures by clicking on them and comparing the expression on his face in the two pictures.

As Kiwi custom dictates that old shoes and assorted clothing are to be hung along fences or in trees (like the famous fence strewn with brassieres near Cardrona, on the South Island), David decided to discard his well-worn cycling shoes in Clevedon by hanging them over the branch of a tree, and we packed up the rest of our cycling gear to await our next 2-wheeled adventure.