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.

What We Returned To...

The view of the balcony of our apartment at 1.00 pm on Saturday February 6. The snow is forecast to continue until about 8.00 pm tonight. A good day to stay at home and work on the blog.

An Eye for Style

My previous posting ("Kiwi Creativity", Jan. 4) reported on visual delights that we have encountered in unexpected places. This is intended as a post-Wellington supplement of that entry. The above is a mural outside the tourist information office (which are located throughout NZ and known as "I-Sites") in a town in the Taranaki region called Piopio, thought to be named after the extinct native thrush. Here are some other examples of eye-catching fancy:

(Carved Maori-style panel from the interior of the Whanganui River paddle boat).

(Another exterior wall mural, in Wanganui).

(Exhibition of New Plymouth Stone Sculture Society, at the end of which the works were to be auctioned).

Even an ice cream truck can become a work of art. (New Plymouth) And, of course (as the leitmotif of this blog), the ubiquitous humble public toilet, here done up in synchromistic Cubist style:

Could Picasso have done better?

(Posted by Joan on Feb. 6th).

On the Road: The West Coast

After Wanganui, we proceeded up the western coast of the North Island, an area that is far less visited by tourists, at least non-Kiwis. It is sparsely populated and consists mainly of dairy farms in the interior and small beach towns along the coast.

The area is somewhat circular in shape, following the outline of its most famous attraction, Mount Taranaki (or Mt. Egmont, if you prefer), which we are told is a snow-covered dormant volcano. However, as it was continuously engulfed in clouds, we never actually observed the top. This is as much of a view as we ever got. A hike to Dawson Falls (below) on its slopes was a bit disappointing.

However, the coastline had its own rugged beauty, and unusual black sand, the color attributable to the high level of iron (which, I'm told, would cause the sand to be picked up by a magnet).

The beaches have no shells but are littered with driftwood, the product of storms blowing in off the Tasman Sea.

We traveled through a number of small towns, which typically consist of a main street lined by a stately-looking bank, small stores and cafes, often either Art Deco in style (for the larger and more prosperous towns) or resembling the American west, with arcades to shield pedestrians from the strong sun and rain. Of course, many little shops reflect their trades and are somewhat whimsical in appearance.

But the real surprise in these towns was the presence of the sport of lawn bowling, with participants clad in the traditional white garb. It is very popular, especially with older Kiwis (women as well as men), and is reported on regularly in the sports pages of the newspaper.

The above was in New Plymouth, which was somewhat of a pilgrimage for David, as he is from (old) Plymouth. The principal center of the Taranaki region, New Plymouth is situated around the only deep-water port on the west coast. It features wonderful parks, gardens and "reserves"-- green walkways throughout the city that parallel streams or the coastline, and provide excellent opportunities for jogging, cycling or just meandering.
We concluded this phase of our trip in Raglan, which attracts visitors to its world-class surfing beaches (which we found rather stark). Our cycling guide had fond childhood memories of staying in the camper park there, which is now huge and filled with all sorts of camper vans/elaborate tents, outdoor gear and barbeques, although I imagine its denizens would have gotten soaked in the torrential thunderstorm that we experienced upon waking up.
On to Auckland....

(Posted by Joan on Feb. 6)

The Tour of Upokongaro

When we were in Wanganui, on the west coast, we went to a super art gallery (Sarjeant), where there was an excellent exhibition of glass sculpture; we walked the main street and one or two side streets; and then we realized we had 'done' Wanganui. There is, incidentally, controversy over whether the spelling should be the Maori Whanganui--pronounced Fan gan oo ee--rather than Wanganui. Judging by newspaper correspondence, this is a heated dispute. The art school there is famous, and it has an excellent glass college.

So what next? Let's take the paddle steamer up the river...not an inspired choice. The steamer burns coal, and as we set off we were showered with black specks of ash that have still not been fully laundered out of my trousers.

And the scenery up the river was not exactly exciting. Lots of owners of riverside houses waved to us--though I would have thought that in GREEN New Zealand they would have been cursing the black smoke.

After about three quarters of an hour, we were deposited at a jetty in Upokongaro. We were told we had half an hour to visit the town. But there was no town there. Just a stretch of road, a church, a few houses, a cafe/bar--and that was that. The church was of some interest. Built in 1876, it has an odd spire, as you can see. (The leaning spire of Upokongaro) Apart from the spire, which was odd, there are, I guess, hundreds of little wooden churches like this all over New Zealand. We got a guide to church, which provided a wealth of historical facts--such as, "originally there was no vestry, and the belfry was used for clergy to change.." The stained glass windows "are of historic interest and particular beauty." They were.

Well, after the church there was really nothing to do but wander along the road, digital cameras in hand.

There were some houses with very striking gardens, full of photogenic flowers...

Agapanthus--known as "Aggie's Panties"-- are everywhere in New Zealand: blue and white. Indeed, they are often regarded as a weed. They grow wild along the roads in great banks.

Then we came to the cafe/bar, where there was a group of middle-aged and elderly bikers enjoying their beers--very similar to a group of Harley riders in the USA. A few tattoos in evidence, the odd pony-tail. But no doubt solid citizens in their weekday life. The bikes were very impressive and photogenic.

And then it was back to the paddle steamer for the trip down the river to Wanganui or Whanganui. A bit more wandering around the town: we looked at the velodrome, and we bought our supper from Subway and our beer and strawberries from New World Market, before setting out for our B and B, which was some miles north of the town. A rather elegant place--the carriage house of what was a country mansion. We had all the usual cooking facilities, stove, microwave, fridge etc. that seem to be standard in most motels and more modern hotels.

We ate our Subway sandwiches and our strawberries, drank our beers, and drove off a few kilometers to watch the sunset on Iwi beach.

(Posted by David on Feb. 6th)

Dangers in New Zealand

For a nation whose population spends much of its time jumping off cliffs with parachutes, bungy jumping from high bridges, free-falling from the Sky Tower, and so on with numerous variations on adrenaline-rousing pastimes, it seems positively perverse to discourage adventurous New Zealanders from jumping onto the ferry. But New Zealand is full of warning signs of one sort or another, everything from the universal 'may be slippery when wet' to warning about how many people may stand on a bridge (though that last one has a tragic history involving the deaths of some children when a bridge collapsed.) Here follow just a few notices we encountered--not all exactly warnings.

Oops--that photo was meant for another post. But note the slash through the O.

This is not a warning notice, but it intrigued us. When you go fishing here, you probably need to bring a lawyer along with you to interpret these fishing rules. This was taken near Raglan.

A few yards away from this notice at Lake Rotorua a woman sat in a car while her small son was showering the black swans with pop-corn. The swans became frantic, and we envisaged getting a photo in the local paper, "Boy Savaged by Black Swans." No such luck. He soon became bored with the swans and started chasing a group of geese. His mother continued to smoke her cigarette. Should we do that hike? Or have we had the pants scared off us? We did it and outfaced the bullocks who surrounded us, and we did have to step very carefully over the stiles to avoid the electric fences. But the biggest hazard, for which there was no warning, was sticking our boots into large dollops of cowsh.

Self explanatory...watch that mud. But I do not understand the prohibitions on caravans, campers, and tents: who would want to take those into the mud anyway?

This was a notice we encountered near Raglan. It points to a slice of New Zealand history that is still a matter of great controversy--who has rights to the seashore? The Treaty of Waitanga is the founding document of New Zealand as a British colony, signed by the British 'governor,' Hobson, and a group of Maori chiefs. It has been a source of continual controversy ever since, not least because the Maori translation of the English text was certainly defective. And--though I won't go into it--the whole question of the relative positions of Maoris and caucasian New Zealanders is a delicate subject: and historically there are great similarities with the native American experience in the USA. Enormous amounts of PC are observed everywhere in dealing with this subject. For example, the Maori Wars--the title of numerous books--are now The New Zealand Wars.

This is a warning--very discreet, and a bit mysterious--about possible "offensive behaviour" that you might encounter at Ladies Bay and Gentlemens Bay in St. Heliers. You will have to use your imaginations as to what that is all about. For old Plymouth readers--think 'Lions'Den.'

You may need to click on the picture to read the small print through the graffiti. If you do, remember that, when you have deciphered the small print, you click on an arrow in the top right hand corner that says 'back to blog.'

I seem to have lost photos warning one of being engulfed by boiling mud, or scalded by hot springs. Dire warnings indeed--stick to the path or the thermal dangers will almost certainly kill you.

On our first hike in New Zealand we came across this notice, which are everywhere in New Zealand. Various explanations were given to us as regards possums, but we certainly learnt that they are a pesky pest, introduced from Australia. There are about 30 million possums in New Zealand - that's about 7 per person! So says Wikepedia, but ask a New Zealander and the answers you will get vary from 30 million to 90 million. Depends who did the counting, I suppose. Apparently, possums will munch through around 21,000 tonnes of leaves, berries and fruit every night. Of course, if there really are 90 million of them, it will be three times that amount.
The first possums were brought to New Zealand in 1837 from Australia.
Possums are native to Australia and are protected there.
Many trees in Australia have possum defences such as spines, prickles or poisonous leaves –but New Zealand trees and shrubs don't.
In New Zealand possums have no natural enemies. That is why possum numbers increased so fast. The possum is not protected in New Zealand, it is a pest, and it is doing a lot of damage to the native plants, animals and birds.

But there is controversy about the use of the chemical 1080, and often one saw signs decrying the use of the chemical and claiming that it was poisoning a lot more than possums.

Posted by David on February 5 2010

WASHINGTON...snow city

We made it...26 hours after getting into the taxi at the house we were using in St. Heliers, we arrived here in the middle of Washington DC at about 11 pm, having landed in a blinding snowstorm and been driven home by my son, John, at a sensible snail's pace. We straight to bed, and we awoke at about 11 am this morning.
The rest of the blog will need some planning, but we will get to it in the next few days. We have a stack of photos from the time we left Wellington and much to report about the bike trip.
Sorting through two months' mail is a bummer...
Posted by David

Departure Day...

Tuesday morning, and Joan has done her morning run, and I have done my morning walk to Achilles Point in St. Heliers. We are packed--almost. Joan will have one last swim, and after lunch we will call the discount taxis that do a reasonable fare to the airport.

We need reading material for the long hauls we face on the plane. We have rejected stealing books from the well-stocked bookshelves of our (absent) hosts, and yesterday we failed to bargain successfully for two second-hand books from a stall at a big flea/craft market. ("How much for the two?" " $12" "I'll give you $10" "No" "Then forget it."). So we shall have to see what the bookshop here in St. Heliers has to offer.

For food in St. Heliers we recommend highly the carry-out hamburgers from Rockfire.

And the Auckland bus service is excellent--buy day tickets. And use The Link.

This post is really just a place-marker, and my usual anxiety level prior to long journeys precludes any attempts at wit. It is just that this is our last day here in New Zealand, and I thought I should take note of it. We left Washington on December 1--arrived here on December 3. We leave Auckland on February 2 and arrive in Washington in the waning evening hours of February 2.

Off for a final walk..

Posted by David on Tuesday February 2, 2010

Back in Auckland

Well, we made it.. Heaven knows how many vertical feet we climbed on our bikes, and how many vertical feet we rode in the van while our faster and fitter, and in my case somewhat younger, companions struggled up the longest and steepest hills in their lowest granny gears. Yesterday we finished riding at Clevedon in mid-afternoon and were shuttled back to the hotel in the Viaduct Harbour area of Auckland. In the evening we were taken by minibus to St. Heliers for our last supper together. For those who know St. Heliers, we ate at The Vista restaurant, and it was a super meal. Breakfast this morning--Saturday--at the hotel, and then just the two of us were off by ferry to Waiheke Island. We did an hour-long bus tour of the island (well worth it) followed by a two hour hike, mostly around the coast. Joan had a swim on Oneroa Beach: we had two beers and a bucket of chips (the British kind): we came back to Auckland on the ferry, threatened by the blackest clouds and heavy downpours of rain that only clipped the boat for a few minutes, and we emerged at the dock in bright sunlight. After picking up our bags at the hotel, we took a taxi to our friends' house, where we will stay for the next few days.

But the blog will mostly have to wait until we are back home. We have no facility here to upload photos (I am using--and loving--the resident I-Mac), and we would like to plan our next entries rather carefully and be able to post appropriate pictures. We have a number of subjects in mind, including a very brief supplement on public toilets. Maybe something on trees--NZ trees are extraordinary: we even saw a square one on the bike trip. Maybe something on warning signs of one sort or another--they are everywhere, warning you of a very wide variety of dangers. And, of course, the cycle trip needs some memorialization (I spell it with the 'z', Brother John, as otherwise it shows up as a spelling error). We have given our fellow cyclists the blog address, and they could be accessing it at any time: so I hasten to say what a really pleasant and agreeable crowd they were. Marion and his wife, Alice, from Houston: Terry and Bonnie from Minnesota: Mark and Cathy from Michigan: and Tony from Stratford on Avon--and our Kiwi guides, Owen and Alex.

So do not look for much on the blog for the next day or two, but please check in again at the end of next week.

I should also like to record that the rooms in the Sebel Hotel actually have washers and dryers, and we were gratefully able to do a load of sweaty laundry yesterday afternoon after our last day of cycling.

Tomorrow, if the weather is favorable, we hope to walk to the top of a volcano that last erupted only 600 years ago. We will probably read a warning notice that the possibility of another eruption cannot be ruled out, and care should be taken...etc., etc.

Posted by David on Saturday January 30 at 9.17 pm NZ time.

Church Bells?

"What the hell is that?"
"Bells"
"What sort of bells?"
"Church bells."
"What time is it?"
"Six oclock."
"You can't have church bells at 6 o'clock in the morning."
"Maybe there's a service."
"But it's Friday."
"Maybe it's some sort of memorial day--like Anzac Day, and they ring the bells because they landed on the wrong beach at 6 o'clock in the morning."
"Perhaps it's a fire alarm."
"Or an earthquake alarm."
"Or a volcano alarm."
"I'll look out the window and see if there is panic in the streets. No, nothing happening in the streets..but, just a second--IT'S THE GODDAM ALARM CLOCK, switched to wake up the previous guest in this room.
I hit a button and the beautiful church bells, which had reached quite a crescendo, stopped immediately.
And started again in ten minutes--quietly at first, and rising and rising until we unplugged the damn alarm radio.

Auckland Public Library

Sheltering from the rain in Auckland. The rain has pursued us from Raglan, where we woke this morning to thunder, lightning, and buckets of rain. The early part of the drive was miserable--rain pouring down: but luckily the worst of it finished before we did the 7 km up, up, up, and down, down, down, over the range of mountains that separates Raglan from the flatter land near Hamilton. Our GPS did a sterling job and delivered us through the Auckland suburbs to St. Heliers, where we deposited the luggage we will not need on the cycling trip. Great problems finding the hotel--one way streets, blocks cordoned off by the police. I pleaded to be able to get through, saying I would be totally lost if I could not get to the hotel--and I actually drove over a cone the police had set up, with Joan having a fit in case I was arrested...
Just back from the Sky Tower, from which one has superb views all over Auckland. They have a sky-jump, which allows crazy people to jump off the top--about 200 metres down. They are attached to a cable--and free fall until the last twenty metres or so, when they are slowed up and stopped at ground level.
Free Internet here in the Library but only 20 minutes a session.

Service Interruption...Sorry

Dear Readers--the half dozen we know about and any other odd visitors who have happened to find our blog--it is with great regret that we have to announce that there will be an interruption of blogging on this site, starting tomorrow, Sunday January 17, 2010. We are leaving here at the end of our lease of this storm-tossed glass box apartment at Point Jerningham, where we look out at the whole expanse of Wellington Harbour on one side and Evans Bay on the other. Needless to say, a full gale is currently blowing. (Couldn't resist it, although I swore no more weather reports)

We are heading up the west coast of the North Island with stops at Wanganui, New Plymouth, Raglan--and on the last lap we will arrive in Auckland on Thursday January 21. On the next day we will start a nine day cycle trip: bus to Rotorua and then working our way back to Auckland via the Coromandel Peninsula.

The computer will be packed away; but if we can, we might manage a little time in Internet cafes, just to let you know we are still alive. But we doubt if we will be able to do much. Nevertheless, with two indefatigable digital camera-persons like Joan and me, I have no doubt that, when we get back to Washington on February 2, we will load another extensive set of pictures into the computer and blog away about the cycle trip and our return to the US, which will no doubt start with us being strip-searched before we can get on the plane.

So bear with us...

(Posted by David, with photos by Joan, on Saturday January 16)

Google is Watching

A brief line to show you how clever Google is. When you hit the key to publish the blog, there is an intervening screen on which you have to make a further click. My last post mentioned motor bike accidents. At that intermediate stage before I published the posting, up came a Google advert--small, discreet, just a few lines--advertising motor-bike helmets.

Car surfing..emigrant diaries..

In her tackling of New Zealand sports, Joan has not mentioned "car surfing." Yesterday a headline in the newspaper puzzled us: "Woman Injured in Car Surfing." The item did not make clear what "car surfing" actually is, so we went into the newspaper's web-site and searched for "car surfing." We found incident after incident--almost as regular as drownings, climbers falling off cliffs, and motor-cycle accidents. So here is one, cut and pasted from The Dominion Post:
"A Christchurch man was crushed after the van on which he and four others were "car surfing" rolled on Okains Bay beach yesterday.
The man was riding on the van's roof on the Banks Peninsula beach after an all-night rave party in a cave.
The van rolled in soft sand, landing on its roof and pinning the man by his torso.
He was revived at the scene by a passer-by before being airlifted to hospital.
Okains Bay Camping Ground caretaker Alan Watt said he was going to the cave about 7.40am yesterday to ask the partygoers to turn down their music when he saw the van "having a rip up the beach".
It disappeared out of sight and when he reached the van it was on its roof with its former passengers spread around it.
"There was a gentleman partially pinned under it. He had stopped breathing. I managed to co-ordinate enough of the idiots to push the van off him. We did CPR and got him to come round again"

What restraint--waiting until 7.00 am before asking them to turn the music down.

I tell you, these New Zealanders are a crazy lot. I have, however, been disappointed by the bungy jumping set-up down on one of Wellington's main streets. There are two tall towers, and a form of double seat is drawn up between them: when released, it drops like a stone down to the ground, only to be arrested at the last second by the thick rubber bungy attachments, which then have the passengers bouncing up and down until eventually reaching a standstill. My disappointment is that I have never ever seen anyone actually doing it. It does cost about 30 US dollars to get your adrenaline rush, and perhaps this is just too expensive. Rumour also has it that the bungy cords once broke during a test.
BTWay--let me quote from the Oxford History of New Zealand: "Latitude, longitude, wind direction, rain, wind, and sun: it is the exceptional emigrant diary that does not make frequent and explicit reference to weather conditions..no single factor was as dominant an influence on a pioneer existence as the climate."
So our constant references to the weather are only a new and digital version of the pioneers' diaries. I mention this because on this --our last Saturday in Wellington--we woke to pouring rain and a southerly gale. No running for Joan. No walk to get the newspaper. But as the early pioneers, huddled in their makeshift houses, besieged by wind and rain, turned to write their diaries, so we have turned to our blog to help pass the time.
Posted by David on Saturday January 18.