I t'ink I saw a puddy-cat

From the first time we visited Auckland Zoo, the animal encounter experience had been on a mental checklist for us. As time passed by and work took over our lives, our progress with the list slowed down and the ink began to fade. Then when I was trying to think of something to do with a day-off from work (I have one extra day holiday that must be used or is lost each quarter), the idea came back to life. However, I guessed that this had also disappeared from Lucie’s memory, so it would make a great surprise day-out for her.

We arrived slightly early so had a quick drink and something to eat before we heard our booking name announced. Then we joined another couple and started the preliminary tour. Our charismatic guide enthusiastically fed us facts for each animal we passed and made sure we were told plenty about those we were meeting.

Our first glimpse of the big cats was behind glass as we stood with the regular visitors. Then with a signal from the handlers, we were ushered around the back of the enclosure, through a locked gate, and into the animals’ den. A few more warnings & instructions and we were standing less than 10 metres away, allowing them to get accustomed to our presence.

We moved closer - down to 3 metres. They seemed to be placid enough, but our hearts hammered away preparing us for a futile attempt at flight. As we moved closer, the guide told us (with perfect timing) that they were actually the biggest ‘scaredy-cats’ in the animal kingdom, and were actually more afraid of us. However, the thought occurred that a frightened animal can turn aggressive in defense so we took no chances in moving slowly and quietly. In all honesty though, the worst that probably would’ve happened is that they’d have moved to the opposite end of the enclosure and not let us near them.

We were taken in turns to sit behind one of the Cheetahs and stroke its flank. The other couple was first and then us. The Cheetah had seemed a little agitated so Lucie and I were to go one by one with her being first. However, it seemed as though he’d had enough for the day as soon after I sat stroking next to Lucie, the big cat began to growl. We were told to back off, and then when he’d calmed down we moved back in again, but the deep sound started again.

After that, we all moved to form a line a couple of metres away. We asked questions of the handlers, and were told stories about the Cheetahs, ‘Anubis’ and ‘Osiris’. I guess I’d hoped for a longer time with them, more interaction perhaps, but it was a good experience nonetheless, and it certainly kept Lucie smiling all day.

Breaking Into Summer

By the end of November we were comfortably into summer. The uncertainty in the weather that prevailed last year had been succeeded by constant days of reliable sunshine. We felt confident in embarking on a weekend away, and had sufficient faith to return to tent life.

A friend from work was celebrating his birthday with friends in the Coromandel, so we used the excuse to get out of the city and join them. We left Auckland around 9am on Saturday morning and were tucking into fish and chips near our destination around noon. The others hadn’t been to ‘Hot Water Beach’ before, so we met there and watched them battle against the tide as they attempted to dig their hot pools. A cool wind dissuaded us from shedding clothes and giving anything more than our feet to the hot water, but the tourist-virgins splashed around victoriously all around us.

When we arrived at the campsite, the sun was out in force and the cool wind had disappeared. We took a short walk over a couple of sand dunes and onto the adjoining beach. There were no plans beyond just being here, so we relaxed with a few beers, strolled along the sand, and tried fishing from the shore. Sadly the only thing we caught were crabs, but that didn’t matter; we’d previously stocked up on meat from the supermarket so our BBQ was more than adequately equipped for a hefty dinner.

It felt good to be in a tent again. It was cramped, uncomfortable sleeping at its best, with an early morning sunlight wake-up call. It brought back fond memories of all the fun we’d had camping around Western Australia, and helped us mentally escape that much further from our working lives in Auckland.

In the morning we smiled at each other as we packed up the tent. Our speed and efficiency betrayed how practiced we were and we easily fell back into the old routine, knowing our parts in the process.


The idea was to grab a full breakfast somewhere, and then beach hop our way back around the Coromandel Peninsula, slowly returning to Auckland Sunday evening.

We picked up a mighty fry-up in Whitianga and dented the sand of one beach, but it wasn’t long before the birthday boy was calling for more booze and we were taking in an early lunch.

The day moved on and it became more obvious we were hearing a different drummer than the birthday group. Their goal was a full-on drinking session back in Auckland, and ours was to post-pone the return trip and enjoy the last of our break. So, we parted ways as they returned home with maximum speed, & we stayed on a beach.

Escape to Waiheke

We’ve lived with many people since coming to New Zealand. They have ranged from the polite, clean, and considerate to the loud, obnoxious, and insane. There are only a few we’ve stayed in touch with, and probably even less we’d live with again. Two people that fall into both those positive categories are an American couple we lived with for around 6 months.

Our early summer was still reigning unchallenged and called out for weekend exploration. We joined up with our old flat mates, Erik and Minerva and set out on a morning ferry ride out into the Hauraki Gulf. Waiheke Island had escaped our presence last summer thanks to the fact good weather seemed to bypass every weekend we planned to go there, but there would be no reprieve from us this year.

We stepped off the ferry and breathed in the relaxation. 30 minutes away by sea, and half the world away in feel. We were just starting to let the atmosphere truly take over our senses when a local tour guide approached us and started the hard sell. While I looked at our surroundings I caught the eye of a café worker who had clearly seen the speech before. She looked at me with complete sincerity and mouthed the word “RUN”. Once my laughter subsided I joined the girls in reiterating the fact we wanted to do our own thing and were not interested in a tour. He muttered his rejected annoyance and walked out towards a mini-van full of Japanese tourists. They stared out like sheep from a trailer, and I felt a pang of sorrow for them as they were carted away.

We on the other hand, picked up a hire car and set out on roads curvier than a Playboy party. The island is only 20 km long, so we didn’t expect the long journeys between stops, but then it didn’t worry us either; we were in no hurry.

We stopped at beaches, cut foot prints in sand, and climbed rocks. When hunger called, we made our choice from the 13 vineyards on the island and prepared to sample the culinary delights. Our first course was an obvious choice for such a venue - a selection of wines were brought out on a tray for us to sample, mull over, and enjoy. By the time those glasses were empty, food was definitely required to bring me back to road legal. Thankfully the food here was as good as the wine, and we made every mouthful last. It was obvious to see why ‘Stonyridge Vineyard” was so well regarded.

In the afternoon we continued our drive around the island and went for a short walk across a headland to a seemingly secluded beach. The sky was beginning to darken by the time we arrived so we didn’t hang around long, and began our journey back to the ferry terminal.

Back in Auckland, the colours surrounding us had paled again, while those of our new memories were still fresh from the brush. We'd had a great escape from the city, and would definitely return to Waiheke again.

Park 'Live'

I would rank them as one of my favourite bands. When they released their first album, it captured emotions I was feeling and became a soundtrack to many moments of those times. There is a raw passion and emotion to their songs that is hard to ignore. Their blend of almost classical melodies mixed with screaming choruses not seen in such brilliance since Axel Rose graced the stage, rings out in perfect balance. I’d thought about what it would be to see them perform ‘live’ for many years and always said it would not be an event I’d miss.

At around seven o’clock we left our apartment and headed out into the night. A few drinks mixed with a few songs at home, got our hearts beating to the evenings pace. The closer we got to the Vector arena, the more people streamed onto the road we followed, and we became lost in a single mass of people, carried along by snippets of songs sang proudly by the crowd.
The support act for any gig is usually a good indication of the quality of the main event. In this instance, the support was probably worthy of the ticket alone. Chris Cornell played a great mix of his solo work, Audioslave greats, and took us on a memorable trip down ‘Soundgarden’ lane.

A short intermission and a quick beer later and we were back in the thick of the crowd counting down to the main event. Bright lights lit up a huge thin curtain covering the stage and the start of a song began. As soon as one scream rang out from the crowd, it set off a sequence and the whole place erupted. Link Park had arrived in New Zealand.

They played an incredible set. If you could pick a top selection of their tunes, then I’m sure that every one of them was played with passion. When they reached the end of the night, and I said to Lucie that they hadn’t played ‘Faint’… well, you can guess what the first encore was. We sang along throughout the night like everyone else, and emerged outside afterwards slightly deaf and unable to speak. It was an incredible show and I’ll definitely be first in line to buy tickets when they next head this way.

Moving On

An amazing example of how you should never tempt fate and just keep your mouth shut occurred sometime in August. On one of those rare occasions when everyone in the flat was together, in this instance, playing Texas Holdem Poker, someone asked if the rent has been increased at any time during the 13 months Lucie and I had been there. We looked at each other and replied “not once” with joyful realisation. The next day we received a letter from our agency notifying that the rent would be increased by an astronomical $80 / week in 2 months.

I sent a half-hearted letter to the agency requesting that the landlord reconsider, but in truth, we had been looking for a good reason to move out. The problem had always been that it was just too good staying where we were. The apartment was a spacious, top floor, luxurious apartment in the city centre, and living with 4 other people meant the bills were cheap and so was the rent. But, on the flip side of that, it was hard to relax, we were living in other people’s mess, and it was rarely quiet. We needed our own space, and as we’d no longer be able to think about the money we’d be saving, we knew it was time to move on. This represented a significant development in our settling into New Zealand. The shared accommodation served a clear purpose. It allowed us to save lots of money for further travel, but with flatmates constantly coming and going, and having no time or space to properly relax, we had remained in a state of being where our backpacks were always mentally half packed.

What Lies Beneath

It feels strange to be writing this now; I’m not overly late by my standards – not even two months have passed since my last trip, and yet the change in the world around me suggests far longer. Strangely, there hasn’t been a gradual transformation of the seasons over that period. It was a change as sudden as a turning a light on, causing everyone to do a double-take at the world, and wonder how long we’d all slept one night. There was no spring - summer just arrived one week, unadulterated and unrestricted. Tens of centimeters of the precious snow base I had watched build up on the mountains were destroyed without mercy. Then, as if mother-nature knew a mistake had been made, the sun made a hasty retreat and the clouds dumped snow on the mountains in an extremely apologetic display. Another view could be that we were witnessing the winter’s death dance – a last burst of life energy before giving in to its fate, and then the following week it was as if it had never happened.


This year was our first full season for snowboarding in New Zealand. I’d looked forward to it from the moment the mountains closed last year, and lived every moment of the season this year, by the mountain’s weekend weather forecast.


Our first outing had been wet and miserable provoking a cautious hesitancy that saw us watch every weekend for over a month pass by without strapping on another snowboard. When our set did arrive, and good weather was predicted for a full week, the whole of Auckland paid attention, and similarly heading to the mountains. Record numbers of 7000 and 4000 people were seen at the Whakkapappa and Turoa resorts. Still we didn’t care; we were on snow, in or out of a lift queue.



That week brought about the start of a few good weekends of weather and we took advantage whenever we could. I treated myself to a new snowboard jacket, and started braving the sorts of jumps I’d been comfortable on before busting my hand last season. Times were good. We saw more and more of the two resorts and got to know runs like they were our own back garden. I found a new appreciation for Whakkapappa. The plentiful natural bumps provided

an awesome playground of jumps or obstacles depending on adrenaline levels, and the view of Mt. Ngauruhoe on a clear day was spectacular.

Like all time spent having fun, it passed by twice as fast, and it wasn’t long before that first week of summer arrived. The perfect white veneer was stripped away and the true grotesque features of the mountain. As it turned out, we were no more ready to accept this than winter itself, so when that further dumping arrived, we packed our bags, and headed for the mountains once again. All the beginner runs were now nothing but rock, so 2 consecutive chair lifts were required before you could really board anywhere. On the plus side, the restricted runs meant Lucie tackled her first ‘Black Diamond’ run, and there was still plenty of snow on the upper mountain to ease the painful goodbye.

It was a strange season on one of the world’s most active volcanoes. Back in mid-May, before the first snowflake fell, the tephra damn holding back the crater lake burst spilling a lahar of 1.4 million cubic metres of mud, rock, and water smashing down the mountain. This was actually a good thing as another lahar was due, and it was far better to get it out the way now, than mid-snow season. Then on 25th September, after a perfect day on the slopes, a hydrothermal eruption occurred without warning accompanied by a small earthquake. Rocks and ash were thrown into the air destroying the Dome Shelter, and two lahars stained the glorious white slopes. Amazingly, as no further activity was detected over the next two days, the mountain saw one of the busiest weekends of the season as thousands of people flocked to the slopes to see the stark contrast now affecting the mountain. Unfortunately we were not able to join them, and when we did make it back there, new snow covered the scar tissue, thus hiding the evidence of the true power beneath.

Winter Distractions

Our first snowboarding trip of the season had dampened our enthusiasm for spontaneous jaunts to the mountain. Now, we checked the weather forecast every day from a week before, and made our decision to go or not by Thursday morning. This sensible approach, combined with dramatically changeable weather meant that we missed some glorious days on the mountain, but also prevented many wasted trips.

On those weekends when we’d stayed in Auckland and sunshine did prevail, we ventured out from home, and went wandering about the city. We’d keep an eye out for advertisements for anything of interest and then explore when the time came. The first of these outings was a trip to the museum to check out a collection of BMWs that had been given custom paint jobs courtesy of a number of the most renowned artists of the 20th century. Valued at over $30million, the complete collection includes 15 cars. Auckland museum had been lent 4 of them, painted by Andy Warhol, Roy Liechtenstein, Frank Stella, and Ken Done. We’d expected more than this, but the free admission should have been a clear indication of the true size of the display.

Never-the-less, we took our time, read the displays, and grabbed the digital moments. After that, we strolled aimlessly around the domain, letting random statues decide the route and gravity dictate the pace.

Sundays in the sun seem to have an amazing way of prompting a complete disregard for the movement of time, and thus an inspired patience to any activity. The flower garden was not on any of my lists for things to check out, but at this moment in time, there was no reason why not. Or, perhaps, there was just no better alternative nearby.

Another weekend, we decided to finally visit one of the oldest and most popular tourist attractions in Auckland. Kelly Tarlton’s Underwater World, opened in 1985, is the quintessential example of turning any old crap, with a little ingenuity, into a money spinner.

Sometime before the 1980s, a local marine archaeologist, Kelly, had the bright idea of heating and moulding acrylic sheets into shapes enabling him to construct a transparent tunnel. He then took a bunch of disused sewage tanks, and with the help of a few million gallons of water and his wonderful new tunnel, constructed the beginnings of an underwater world. Since it’s opening in 1985, it has been expanded to include a replica of the hut used by Captain Robert Scott on his tragic expedition to Antarctica, as well as a colony of penguins.
Our reasons for going here though were as much about the journey as the destination. The walk from our apartment is an easy hour or so, along a coastal road with beautiful views. The actual place was a sweet distraction, but was definitely in keeping with New Zealand’s size. Still, it was something we hadn’t done before and was a nice place to spend a few hours in a lazy weekend.

Mt. Eden was our next weekend target. This dormant volcano is the tallest natural feature in Auckland, and as such is a magnet for tourists. For us, it was as good a point as any to walk to, and due to it dominance on the horizon, it drew us towards it like wise men to a star.

Last winter in New Zealand, it felt pretty cold. Not quite cold enough to justify a jacket (most of the time), but when the wind kicked up and tore through your body, you definitely knew it wasn’t shorts weather. That was the country’s coldest winter in 36 years. This year, the wind might have caused the occasional shiver, but there’s probably been more times, when I’ve taken off a layer, rather than crave an additional one. The seasonal changes are far more subtle than the difference a gust of wind or a patch of shade makes on you, and a burst of unadulterated sunshine feels as warm as summer all year round.

The Start of the Season

I’m definitely a child of summer. When the sun is shining I feel better - healthier and everything seems more positive. The world and I come alive. However, there is one aspect of winter that gives me all that goodness in a form so potent that it might as well be intravenously injected. Sure, the dark evenings, wet and gray days, and cold wind take the joy out of most normal activities, but winter also means a divine blessing of the white stuff on the mountains. Then it’s time to wax the snowboard, pack the car, and get beaten up by nature whilst having the time of your life. The benefit of New Zealand being such a small country is that the hallowed hills rest only four and half hours drive-time from city stress. There was absolutely no reason not to purchase a season pass as soon as they went on sale.

The weather forecast became the top internet search topic for the next 4 months, and I’d start every day by checking Mt. Ruapehu’s website for updates on snow depth and lift status. Once there was a sufficient base for at least some of the mountain to open, we committed to the first weekend away of the season. And seeing as it was the first, we took Friday off work, so as to make the drive down there more casual than the normal post-work Friday night toil.

Even with a late start, and a slow drive, we made it to our accommodation by early afternoon and were up the mountain for about 3pm. When we opened the doors to the car, and the wind slammed them back, and we suspected it may not have been the perfect afternoon. It wasn’t worth Lucie spending any money to hire a board for what little time remained of the day, and in such horrible conditions, but as I had everything there, there seemed no reason not to have a little go. Yeah, little being a bit of an understatement here. I managed 2 runs on the beginners slope before they called ‘last lift’ due to the high winds, and my first outing for the season was over. Never mind, it was better than nothing.

That evening, our flat mates Erik and Minerva joined us, and we all hit the slopes the next day. It was raining at town level and unfortunately even worse on the mountain. But, we hadn’t come to the mountains to not snowboard so everyone that needed one, hired a board, and we made the best of it. Only one proper run was open for the majority of the day, and as everyone else had the same resilient attitude as us, the lift lines were far longer and slower moving than such whether should dictate.

Never-the-less, the snowboarding gods rewarded our dedication and the rain ceased for a good few hours in the afternoon. There were even a few blue patches to the sky, although none passed directly overhead.

A beautiful blazing fire waited for us at our accommodation when we returned cold and wet. The owners had asked us in the morning if we’d like them to light the fire later for us. We knew it would be a nice idea regardless, but after that day’s weather, it was very, very, appreciated.
The next day saw no relief from the rain so we only lasted a few hours before deciding to start on the return journey back to Auckland. It definitely wasn’t the best snowboarding trip I’ve been on. Hell, I probably enjoyed the snowboarding more at Milton Keynes, and it rained so much I would have been better off taking a surfboard, but it did teach us one major thing - how easy it was to get down to the mountain for a weekend. This lesson would not be forgotten easily.

Visa Fishing

Feeling rejuvenated from such a perfect holiday, it was a great relief to come back and face the potential that Lucie would be kicked out the country in less than 3 weeks if she didn’t arrange an alternative visa. No problem; as per the recommendation of 3 separate ‘specialists’ from the immigration office (including our case officer), she would now need to apply for a tourist visa to pass the time until residency was confirmed. There were a couple of questions in the application that were as clear as vomit so she phoned our reliable immigration office for assistance. In doing so, they now advised that it was impossible to apply for a tourist visa if currently in the country on a working holiday visa. For some reason, this small problem was not identified by anyone previously. Our new situation was, either we heard positively on our residency application in less than 3 weeks or Lucie would have to fly to a non-NZ jurisdiction country (that didn’t require a visa application itself), and then she’d be able to return to New Zealand and be immediately granted a tourist visa. B*llocks to that! Understandably, we were a little miffed at this incompetence so I phoned our case officer and in the nicest possible way, told her to sort her act out. Her response was at least positive even if not totally reassuring. We were told not to worry; she would make that deadline. The back-up plan was that if we hadn’t heard, we would send our passports to immigration and plead the case of it being impossible for Lucie to leave when they had our passports. This was going to be interesting.

I’d lost a lot of weight when travelling. I managed to drop around 5kgs just in the Himalayas, and that was with eating 2 helpings of Dhal Bhat twice a day for nearly 3 weeks. I guess the rest of the loss was through not eating my usual 6 meals a day and simply, not lifting weights. When we got to New Zealand, I knew we’d be here for at least a year, so registered with a gym within the first couple of weeks. After that, some good home-cooked food, no more packet noodles, plenty of meat, and initially no work to go to, helped me pack on 4 kgs in the first 3 weeks. Since then, the battle has been slower but consistent and I’m now heavier than ever. “You can achieve your dreams. Beafcake.” No ‘Weight Gain 4000’, but I have had the help of a few tubs of protein powder, and enough porridge to feed Scotland.

In the last couple of months I decided to take up another hobby. This time, something which has appealed to me for years, but for one reason or another I never got round to trying. The sofa can be a powerful adversary of action. For the last couple of months, every Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I have been learning Wing Chun Kung Fu, courtesy of Sifu Tony Brooks – who according to rumour, would have kicked Bruce Lee’s ass, if they fought at the same age…and one wasn’t dead. I’ve really enjoyed this escapism. No matter how tired or even ill I’ve felt beforehand, I always feel better for going. The class suits me perfectly. There is no bullshit, pretense, or unnecessary exercise. The way they see it, if you want to get fit, go to the gym, this class is for learning kung fu. I couldn’t believe how much we covered and so quickly. I remembered doing Shotokan Karate years and years ago, when we never learned anything remotely cool until reaching the higher belts. On my 2nd class of kung fu, I was practicing multiple hit combos, and finishing with arm breaks. What’s more – it all made sense. It is a lazy mans martial art – defeating an opponent using the least amount of energy and using an attacker’s force against them. This is so much fun it should be illegal.

While there were still the odd weekends of sunshine, we couldn’t resist another attempt at fishing. This time, we went all out and chartered a boat. The skipper said from the start that it wasn’t the best of the year to go, but we remained optimistic. On the way out, a pod of 20 plus dolphins swam with us, and we were content with the day already.

In the distance, the sky was dark with movement. This was a good sign. Where there were birds en masse, there must be fish drawing them there. We tried our luck in the area but consistently came up with nothing. From there we tried a few different spots, and our luck increased each time. I managed to convince myself that I was pretty good at fishing and reeled in 12 fish over the next few hours. Unfortunately most of these were either no good for eating, or infuriating close to, but below, the legal size limit, and had to be released. However, at the end of the day, Lucie and I had a glorious red snapper each and a couple of Mau Mau. Some people do it for the sport, I do it for the dinner, and it tastes even better when you’ve reeled in the beasts yourself.

The penultimate date arrived and Lucie's visa was over. Thankfully, confirmation had arrived that our residency had been granted, and she wouldn't have to go on the run. It was such a long build up, and so much stress, that it should have been a huge relief or cause for celebration when it was actually over. It wasn't though. It was an anti-climax. Just an end to stress, rather than massive elation. True, we were very pleased that our future was back in our hands, but we never felt the need to pop a champagne cork.

Balance

I phoned around every resort on the island and told each of them our story. Some offered sympathy in reduced rates but others only responded with words. The final outcome was a choice of two, and the difference in price between them was fractional compared to the quality. Now, was not a time to be cheap; we had a holiday to save.

The Muri Beach Club Hotel looked impressive in the pictures, but was nothing compared to the real thing. We felt like imposters, beggars almost, as we arrived in the plush marble reception, soaked from the rain and carrying our backpacks. We were shown to our room and once again questioned whether we were in the right place. Surely this room wasn’t ours? I must have misheard how much she quoted.

Before we left the lodge, I’d phoned the police again and asked if there was any update on the search. They’d arrested one kid and had a bag. What bag? My bag? I described our bag, confirmed it was mine and asked them to list the contents. Red t-shirt. Yes. White T-shirt. Yes, yes. Black trousers. Yes, come on. Sony Playstation. Eu-bloody-reka! Still, no cause to break out the champers just yet; it had been raining all night, and even more today. Unless it had been protected, it was highly likely the PSP was now downgraded to an expensive paper weight. I said these things to try and stop my hopes from soaring, from being too happy, but my optimism is a powerful attribute.

The weather improved, so we caught a bus to the old accommodation, picked up the scooter, and raced into town – thank God it’s a small island. Of course the rain started again soon after starting up the scooter, and we were drenched by the time we got to the police station, but mustn’t grumble.

The bag was brought out and we shifted through the contents. It felt strange pulling out, what the burglars had hastily stuffed in. All the clothes were damp. Not a good start. 1/3 of the vodka remained. Better. The PSP was there, and although damp, some life remained.

The sergeant told us that they’re captured the kid, after finding him laughing his head off, pissed out of his thieving little mind & sitting on the beach. The vodka had brought the perpetrator into the arms of the law and justice to Rarotonga. I’ve always maintained that booze has been good to me.

Back at the hotel, we scraped off our saturated clothes, stepped into the enormous shower, and then slipped into bed. The hotel movie channel would see us through the rest of this rain, and plenty of food and booze would get us through the evening. That night, we dined gloriously.
The morning rain washed off any signs of a hangover, and the afternoon brought us something wonderful. Something we’d been wishing for, for days; the touch of sunshine. Like addicted fiends we chased the sun for all it was worth, as it made its descent into the west. By the time we were on the other side of the island though, it had disappeared from view. We hoped for its return tomorrow.

The curtains were thick in our room, but the difference in the morning light shining around the edges was unmistakable. When we pulled back the curtains our joy was incredible. Please let this last.

We ate breakfast, hardly looking at our plates; just staring outside, and smiling at each other. Almost afraid it would be gone soon, we went outside straight after and starting taking as many photos as possible. The transformation was miraculous. We’d left our holiday hell and walked into paradise.

There isn’t a great deal to see on the island, but one thing we said we would check out was the waterfall, and considering the drowning this place enjoyed over the last few days, we expected it to be in full flow. We zipped up the dirt track on our scooter, and joined the other tourists at the top to see the spectacle. While others held back, we stepped past them and up to the water’s edge. This turned out to be the mosquito buffet area, and they immediately stepped up for their fill. Before Lucie could snap a single photo, at least ten of the little suckers were seated for dinner on the backs of her legs. Now we knew why everyone else kept their distance.
Back on the beach, everything was perfect. Ipod soothing the soul, the sun browning skin, and dips into the lagoon cooling our bodies. This was the kind of holiday we wanted, that we deserved. Imagine how good it would’ve been if it just started here. It would take a lot to convince us to stay in a standalone studio again. It would be resorts all the way from now on. Well, on holiday at least.

In the afternoon, we took a kayak around Muri lagoon, circling the islands and stopping to snorkel whenever the fancy took us. It really was beautiful. Such purity in all directions.

In the evening, we walked along the shore to a recommended restaurant and had our last dinner on the island. We treated ourselves to a lavish feast with cocktails and cake for dessert. Afterwards we took the longest 100 metre stroll in history - dodging crabs, watching shooting stars, and taking silly photos.

The next morning, and our last on the island, I managed to squeeze a dive in. I’d have needed at least 24 hours before flying to do two dives but could safely dive once with the 16 hours that remained. The dive was impressive for the visibility (around 20 metres) although this was considered very poor for the island, but I didn’t see much of great excitement. A beautiful Lionfish was a high point, but other than that, it was just a peaceful experience that I consistently enjoy.
While I was 30 metres below sea level, Lucie was floating a metre above it, enjoying a scrub and a massage in the hotel health spa. The afternoon was a beach affair for both of us, and in the evening we tried out a cultural night. Unfortunately our first choice of venue was booked up and the 2nd choice didn’t exactly impress. We wondered how authentic the night would be if the intro performance had a stereo system backing beat, so our patience didn’t hold out for the main show. In truth, this was also attributed to the fact we knew our departure was only hours away. We found it hard to enjoy ourselves when we knew our holiday was coming to an end. Months of looking forward and now it was to be imminently behind us. How cruel the movement of time is.

We dozed for an hour or so back at our room before the taxi took us to the airport and then we slept for most of the flight back to Auckland. When we got back to our home around 6am, we made for bed straight away. A few hours of rest and the feeling we had when first waking up in Rarotonga was reversed. It was back to the real life. Back to responsibilities and city living.
From the moment we’d arrived at the Muri Beach Club Hotel, we wondered if the price she’d quoted was incorrect; there had to be some hidden charges. Throughout our stay, we were consistently impressed with the quality of the accommodation, the food, and the entertainment (some of the best amateur singers I have ever heard). Even when we requested a late check-out, they charged us a third of the standard price and asked no set time for us to be out by. The price for the room was exactly as stated.

Back in Auckland, our curiosity got the better of us and we searched for the hotel online. There we found the standard prices for each of the room types available. It turned out, ours was the most expensive available and we’d been paying over $400 less a night than it should’ve been. That’s almost worth getting burgled for. We would never have stayed here unless that horrible event occurred and considering that I had most of my things returned to me, including the most valuable item, we felt slightly lucky. I’d say very lucky but the weather had to balance that out, didn’t it.

Loss

We travelled during the night and arrived at our studio around 2am. Our sleep suffered, but it was a joy to wake up to being on holiday. Smiles brought our faces to a level that contradicted the tiredness we felt, and we sprang from our slumber to the windows like kids to their presents on Christmas morning. The curtains were peeled back and ‘Rarotonga’ was revealed, the main island of the Cook Islands. Light golden sand ran from the back of our studio down to inviting lagoon water. A short distance beyond, a band of white from crashing waves, separated the lagoon from the deep blue of the ocean, and betrayed the location of the surrounding coral reef. It was beautiful. The rythmic sound of waves breaking over the reef was calming & the feel of sand beneath our feet was therapeutic. We were defintely on holiday. After months of looking forward to this moment, it had arrived.

With no sense of urgency we roused ourselves to leave our piece of paradise and check out the main town. The bus service of the island, although less than punctual, was reliable and easy going. It stopped whenever anyone asked to get on or get off.

We promised ourselves a true holiday on this occasion so agreed to not worry about spending and just enjoy. However, some habits are hard to shed, and we ended up buying enough food for a few days. We had the cooking facilities in our studio, so why not use them? And besides, holidays are not for worrying –whether it is about cooking or not cooking. Plus, we were looking forward to our first sunset barbeque. This was the reason for choosing accomodation on the west of the island and away from the resorts – privacy, peace, and sunsets.

We saw out the remaining hours of sunlight by walking up and down the beach in front of our studio. Taking pictures of everything from every angle, and constantly smiling at our fortuitous location. Who wouldn’t lap this up?

Remembering the pleasure of eating fresh coconut in Cape Tribulation, Australia, we teamed up once again. Lucie found us a suitable choice, cut away the outer layers, I used a corkscrew to open a hole, and we poured out the exotic liquer. I then applied the overhead swinging technique of our primate ancestors, and smashed the nut onto beach rock. The harvest was in, and our appertiser was ready.

The sun dipped beyond the horizon and we cranked up the BBQ. Steak, sauages, mushrooms, and tomatoes on the grill and cocktails in our hands. The evening was nearly perfect. Nearly, because whilst we enjoyed our dinner, the local mosquitoes enjoyed theirs. Why has no-one eradicated these pests from the planet yet? What possible purpose do they serve except in spreading discomfort and disease? We weren’t mad though. It was just another sign that we were on holiday and was easily accepted. It would take more than that to raise blood pressue in a place like this.

The next day, the skies promised trouble and it wasn’t long before it materialised. No problem. We knew this was a possibility. We had books, booze, a TV, and a DVD player. We were fine, thank you very much. No cause for stress here. The hours passed by like rain falling from the trees, and it wan’t long before we were sleeping the night away to wake to our third day. At some point during the night, my boardshorts had left the clothes line outside and gone walkabout. Not Lucie’s towel or bikini. Just my shorts. Fair enough, I shouldn’t have been so trusting. Besides, they were white and not exactly decent when wet, so it was no great loss. The perpetrator would find this out as soon as they stepped into the ocean.

The morning brought a hiatus to the precipitation damnation so we caught a bus back into town. Our intention was to hire a scooter for our remaing time on the island, but first I would need to obtain a Cook Islands driving licence. This is mandatory under the ruse of ensuring safety to the roads, but is little more than a money making endeavour. Not everyone is required to take the test (a small anticlockwise circuit from the police station, round the block, and back again) , but everyone is required to pay a fee. A simple ‘road tax’ would have worked just as well. What cracked me up about the whole procedure was you had to take the test with your own vehicle, thereby hiring and driving to the test centre without a licence, to gain a licence that was presumably not guaranteed by the essence of a test being required.

I returned to the police station half an hour after registering for my licence and was issued one without requiring a practical test.Perhaps the quota had already been achieved for that day so the test supervisor had gone home for the afternoon.

Almost immediately after we left town, the rain began to fall again. It reminded me of being back in Vietnam, getting soaked on a scooter on the way to the Demiliatarised Zone, and we laughed at our misfortune. This seemed to enrage the storm and the intensity increased viciously. By the time we’d arrived back at our studio, we were soaked through, but still jovial. Thunder started rolling across the heavens with such frequency that we were sure it was the sound of crashing waves. The wind increased and the lightening came. Our patience was tested but still we remained calm.

It took hours before the torment eased slightly and we walked two doors down to the owners of our studio to pay the remaining balance. Whilst there, we borrowed half a dozen DVDs to see us through, and returned home. We were gone for around ten minutes.

When we returned to the studio, we decided to pop up the local supermarket and stock up on cocktail mixers. Might as well use this break in the deluge to bring in supplies. Even though we’d only be gone a few minutes, for some reason, I put virtually everything of value in a bag to take with us. When I considered bringing the only other valuable items left such as my PSP, I reasoned it wasn’t necessary as we’d only be gone a few minutes. The property was locked. It would be fine. I didn’t even know why I was bringing everything else along.

When we left our studio, we said hello to a couple of kids in the apartment next door. They were cleaning windows and sorting a few things out, so we weren’t sure if they were part of a family who’d just moved in, or local help employed to get things ready.

The drive to the shop was only a few hundred metres but something felt wrong. A smile from a passing motorist seemed sinister, not welcoming. We were back within minutes, and it took only seconds to see our feelings were just. The dividing door between our studio and the apartment had been forced open. The frame was off the wall, and plaster littered the floor. Then we started noticing things that were missing. My PSP. Why didn’t I take it with me? We called the owners, they rang the police, and I had a look next door for how they managed to gain access. This section of their mission was easier than the last, as no force had been required to open the windows on the far side of the propery. It was only then that we realised we had probably disturbed them, and they could be nearby. Were they running or waiting to return?

What else was missing? The list grew as I went over a mental checklist of what was brought, and our anger increased. They had gone through our things and taken only specific items. They’d emptied Lucie’s sports bag and filled it with possessions. My other pair of boardshorts, my PSP, a spare camera battery (obviously the retards believed this to be for the PSP), Lucie’s camera charger (once again, an obvious mistake over the appropriate accessory for the PSP), two pairs of my trousers, 3 t-shirts, & 3 pairs of underwear. The local kids would soon be fashioned in the style of Nick Parker. I wanted to tear their limbs off. They’d also gone through our fridge/freezer and taken milk, cookies, musli bars, and a bottle of vodka. What kind of human being takes another man’s booze and his underwear? These were demons.

During the discussion with the police, it was clear that there would be no C.S.I. team to aid our misery. But there was hope; my discription matched that of a kid previously caught by the owners of the property, his identify was known, and he’d previously been arrested. Add a bottle of vodka to the equation, and they were going to get caught.

We felt angry and insecure. They had shown incredible cheek by saying hello to us, and continuing with their crime in broad daylight, but it also showed they had no fear of repercusion. These were not masterminds. The milk and cookies illustrated their age, but their stupidity was worth being afraid of, as what limits did they have?

We didn’t want to stay there another night. Our holiday had been invaded, our safety threatened, and our relaxation polorised. The safety that the owner promised with the help of a dozen screws in the door was of no comfort. They had forced entry before - there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t again through a different door. They had also shown no logic in committing the crime in daylight after being seen, so there was no confidence in the owner’s words that they wouldn’t return.

He took us to his sister’s accommodation a km down the road at Puaikura Reef Lodges. The close proximity brought little comfort, and we discovered later that this place had also suffered a number of break-ins in the last 6 months. Lucie spent most of the night with the light on, unable to sleep, and fearful of another attempt. We played over the series of events in our minds, and constantly questioned whether we could have done something different. I blamed myself for not questioning them when I first saw them next door, for not taking my PSP with me, for not running to catch them immediately upon discovering the scene, for choosing this accommodation, for our luck. We considered the possibility of catching an earlier flight back and continuing the holiday in New Zealand, but realised this would cost greatly.

I promised Lucie that I would give her a proper holiday for our remaining time, that we’d get beyond this. It was now down to us. We could let this affect the rest of our holiday, or we could accept it, move on, and try to recoup something good from this trip.

Expensive Expressions

From the moment we first stepped on New Zealand soil, we were counting down to the day that our visas would expire and our departure would be called for. Being from different countries, our visas differed greatly in when that day would be, but it was just the earliest date that mattered to our relationship. We had until June 20th 2007 to acquire Lucie a new visa, or both of us would start the journey back to the UK.
We always knew this was the future we faced so started making arrangements towards a solution long before the deadline. In November we submitted an ‘expression of interest’ for permanent residency in New Zealand. This ‘expression’ cost $300 and highlighted two important things to us: 1st, My current employment contract was in conflict with the visa restrictions of my working holiday visa (apparently ‘any employment’ actually means ‘any employment except permanent employment); and 2nd, even dispite this misunderstanding, I seemed to know more about immigrations policies and our entitlements than our assigned case officer. Our future now rested in the hands of someone we had very little confidence in.

Nevertheless, my contract was amended with some clever wording, sent to immigration, and a month or so afterwards we received an invitation to apply for permanent residence, with a deadline to submit all necessary information by April 6th 2007. It seemed like plenty of time but that date approached a lot faster than we anticipated. Academic transcripts, birth certificates, and proof of previous employment had to be sent out from the UK. Police certificates needed to be applied for both for the UK and Czech Republic, and official translations were required for any document not written in English. Medical examinations were required in New Zealand, and we needed to submit proof of our relationship – photos, letters of support, bank statements, and flight receipts. The cost for all these things, and the next stage of the application was over $1500, but it was substantially more than this in terms of our stress and health. We encountered numerous problems and setbacks which made us constantly question whether or not it was worth the effort. I’m a firm believer in the fact things work out for you if you’re on the right course in life, and a lot of signs here pointed we weren’t. However, I’m stubborn and don’t like changing my mind once it’s set on doing something, so we battled on.

Our next issue was the fact it could take anywhere between 3 & 6 months for our application to be processed, and even then, it wasn’t guaranteed that we would be given residency. This was slighly worrying as from the date of submittal, we had less than two and a half months before Lucie’s visa would expire. As a contingency plan, we were advised by our case officer and two separate immigration officials that Lucie should apply for a tourist visa for the interim period if we haven’t heard anything by June.

This all made for some very testing moments. We were trying to settle in a country that we felt didn’t want us. We didn’t know if we were leaving in months or when we wanted, so didn’t know what we should save and what we should spend. We obviously still enjoyed our breaks, concerts, and events, but we had to justify the spending of each against the uncertainly of our future. One event we were not going to miss was the chance to see The Red Hot Chili Peppers play Vector Arena – a new stadium less than a 15 minute walk away from our apartment. I bought our tickets 2 minutes after they went on sale, 8 minutes later the gigs were sold out, and a few hours later they started appearing on ‘trade me’ (a NZ equivalent of ebay) for some ridiculously large sums, and we started questioning how badly we wanted to go. However, the initial excitement and desperation soon calmed down, the bidding dropped to more sensible levels, and the temptation to sell evaporated.

The gig was good in the sense that I love their music, and it’s always good hearing the tunes, but the actual show was lacked energy. The only performance that was bursting with life was that of the support act, ‘Har Mar Superstar’. We didn’t know they were scheduled so it was a good surprise. I’d last seen them perform at Glastonbury 2003, and consequently knew who it was as soon as we saw a middle-aged overweight balding man take the stage just wearing his underpants. The rest of the audience weren’t quite so enthused and the reception wasn’t particularly welcoming. There were some great moments to the Chili’s show, but it didn’t compare to their performance at Hyde Park in 2005.

Back to reality and our June deadline quickly approached. Our fear and loathing of the immigration service increased, stress levels reached the sky, and we felt permanently tired. We badly needed a holiday.