a little bit of soul searching...

Out of Summer & Into India

2008-03-02T18:46:00.000-08:00

Back at the end of last winter, when the snowboarding-high was still strong in my bloodstream, Luke told me about a little trip he had planned for 2008. In the coming February, he and some mates would be heading for whiter pastures, and as one person had dropped out, there was space for another addict. That time soon arrived, and when most people in New Zealand were worshipping air-conditioning and had sun lotion perma-sheen, I was putting the pack to my back and flying to the Northern Hemisphere in search of glorious white powder.

I had a minor episode at Auckland airport as no-one could make up their minds if I needed a transfer visa for Australia, but apart from that, all went well. I was even so fortunate as to have a generous check-in attendant who overlooked my bag weighing 8kg over the maximum limit, and checked it through all the way so the other airlines wouldn’t pick up on it either.

3 flights, 24 hours, and not much sleep later, I arrived in Delhi. It was a different world to the one I’d left behind in New Zealand, but the similarity to Nepal helped me feel at ease. There wasn’t so much of a culture shock this time, but a realized expectation.

In Nepal, we were ambushed upon leaving the airport by a seemingly helpful hoard, intend on carrying our bags and lightening our wallets. In Delhi, the attack was brought into the airport, but at least distinct barriers kept them at a distance. After a brief case of mistaken identity involving who the real owner of my name board was, I was outside the airport watching my bag being haphazardly balanced on the roof of a snack-sized car. The driver and the name board holder (two distinct skill-sets so different people required for each task), tried arguing the bag would be OK, but with two snowboards and all my belongings at risk, I remained adamant a form binding was to be used.

When we set off, they noticed me struggling to secure my seatbelt and said that only the front passengers were required to belt up in Delhi. I resisted the urge to argue beyond this myopic view as to my true concerns being beyond mere legalities and opted instead for a whispered prayer.

After a short while into the journey, they uttered a phrase that would become very familiar to me over my time in India – “Tips?” I’d experienced hundreds of requests for hand-outs in SE Asia, and felt much more comfortable now not reaching for my wallet straight away - Particularly so in this instance, as sitting out from the black leather was NZ$200 and INR5000 in crisp large denomination notes. Instead, I played the ignorant and enthusiastic Englishmen abroad, and encouragingly asked them for all the good ‘tips’ they could give me on what to see in Delhi. Their expressions showed their frustration at my misunderstanding, but with only a limited grasp of English, their responding clarifications never improved beyond repeating the same phrase, to which I countered every time with appreciative comments. I couldn’t help but smile inwardly.

When I arrived at the hotel, those that were already in Delhi were long gone into the depths of the city, so I settled into my room, showered, changed, and went to the restaurant next door for my first authentic curry.

I then hired a taxi for 4 hours, to take me to The Red Fort (a 2 hour return trip, and yet probably less than 20 km), with the proviso that I also needed to pick up a local sim card for my mobile phone. With each moment I spent on the roads I thought more on the similarities with Nepal. The quality of roads in Delhi was far better, but the driving politics were equally chaotic. 2 lane roads became 6 lanes, and horns sounded with pulse-like frequency, as cars constantly moved within centimetres of trading paint only to miss by the grace of Shiva.

I arrived at the Red Fort, and agreed a pick up time and place with the driver for just under an hour. Within a few footsteps of leaving the car I was approached by a small boy offering “help”. He followed me around while I bought my entry ticket and then asked for his recompense before I could leave him at the entry gate. In reply, I asked that he tell me something of interest about the Red Fort, outside which he had staked as his picking territory. With only a shrug to offer me, I asked for just one fact to justify a donation. Once again, he gave a shrug with the addition of a pleading expression. I may have been tired, but I was no longer hungry, so this time I handed over a modest sum and suggested he should go and learn or make up a few facts.

India has been described many times as a stark contrast of amazing beauty on one side, and its opposing extreme sitting in reflection. The Red Fort wasn’t the most stunning construction of beauty I had ever seen, but it was definitely a difference to the world beyond its walls. Outside, everywhere seemed to be stuck in the construction phase with only few buildings ever attaining a finished state. Activity was everywhere. 10 men would be working in a space normally occupying and requiring only one. Inside, there was a peace and tranquility that contradicted The Red Fort’s purpose, but affirmed its completion date, 369 years prior.

Being by myself and working towards an unchangeable pick-up time, I walked swiftly around the grounds, capturing digital views but not dwelling as couples and families might.

The driver took a long route home, passing various embassies, the president’s palace, parliament, India Arch, and a few other places whose names I was unable to excavate from his heavy accent. I picked up a sim card with as much ease as applying for a U.S. ‘Green Card’, and probably involving more forms, and then headed back to the hotel as the last sunlight faded from the city. I scoffed down my 2nd curry (and here the count ends so as to avoid near infinite repeated occurrences throughout this blog series), and retreated to my room and into bed. As darkness swam my way, a knock at the door brought me back to the room. Luke’s friends, Roger, Todd, and “Jubs” had come to say “hi”, but in my state of exhaustion I could barely manage minimum pleasantries before “good nights” were wished and I was slipping back towards the subconscious. The next knock signaled Luke’s arrival, and being an established friend, I must have felt less compelled to exchange pleasantries as I passed out again before his backpack hit the floor.

Summer In The City

2008-03-01T17:35:00.000-08:00

It was an incredible summer. It started the moment winter finished at the end of October and reigned supreme to the end of February. We spent most weekends in disbelief, hoping it would last, and at the same time expecting its sudden downfall and disappearance for another year. Most weekends, we jumped on a bus to the north shore and grazed Takapuna beach, but we also explored the Hauraki gulf a little more, with a trip to Motuihe Island. As with so many other short trips away from the city centre we were amazed at the peace and tranquility so easily available within close proximity to the busiest area of the country.

The unusually warm weather attracted a large number of sharks to the shores of New Zealand, with one worrying photo of a popular holiday spot showing over 40 sharks around a sand bank not 20 metres from the shore – Hammerheads, Makos, and Bronze Whalers. Contrary to their dreaded reputation though, no-one suffered an unprovoked attack, although a couple of life-guards that were trying to scare off one shark did endure some bite damage to their dingy.

We didn’t explore as much of the country as last summer, but instead spent more time around the city, enjoying lunches at the waterfront, trips to the beaches, and walks in all directions. We attended an exhibition of the Terracotta Warriors, wandered around the "Aquatica Festival" and watched a man squeeze himself through a tennis racket. It wasn’t a summer of obvious achievement, but and a synchronization of rhythms, coalescing environment and person.

Festivities & Fur

2008-01-01T18:54:00.000-08:00

This was our first Christmas spent in New Zealand. Last year, we’d made a surprise trip to the Northern Hemisphere and dropped in on our families in the Czech Republic and England. This year however, we checked the accounts and "computer said no.” So, we did what we could to make it seem more like home.

Lucie went shopping with a friend in the direction of St. Luke’s Shopping Centre, and after checking out a couple of garden centres, managed to pick us up a splendid Christmas tree from a private seller. We bought a few decorations from ‘The Warehouse’ and Lucie made up tissue paper white roses for the tree. We reasoned that Christmas in summer would need slightly different decorations and the result she made was ‘perfick’.

On Christmas Eve, along with a couple of English mates, we headed over to ‘SnowPlanet’ and got our white Christmas. First we took things seriously and enjoyed our own ways of getting down the slope, by way of board or skis. Then, we borrowed a few sledges that were lying around and took about 20 years off our lives as we bombed down the slope, out of control, getting covered in snow-spray and giggling like kids.

On Christmas day, I couldn’t go without all the normal traditions, so I’d stocked up well. I started drinking around 10 o’clock in the morning. Normally this would be either while making the fire at my parents’ house, or just sitting around it. We snacked on nibbles, breadsticks and the like, and had a melon starter sometime around noon. We watched the film offerings on TV, and prepared the Christmas Roast. I certainly wasn’t going to go without that. Mum emailed me the recipes for dishes I didn’t know, and our feast gradually took shape. For dessert, we destroyed a Strawberry Double-Decker Cake that Lucie made and then succumbed to the sofa.

In the evening, I made ‘skype’ calls to my brother and then my parents. On most ‘skype’ occasions it’s usually Saturday morning for me, and Friday night for my parents, so my dad is well past at least one bottle of wine. It was nice on this occasion to be the one that was under the influence and being somewhat silly.

In the days following Christmas, we enjoyed the beautiful sunshine, and took walks around the city. Any illusion we’d established of it being Christmas in our decorated apartment was broken once we stepped into the summer heat. I don’t think it will ever feel like Christmas this side of the world.

Lucie and I had made pretty regular visits to the various pet shops of Auckland for some time now. In fact, even back in England, we’d kill time by popping into one to see the animals. For me, this was more of a relaxing pastime, but for Lucie, I think each of these was a scouting trip. She missed her cat back in Czech, and really really wanted another. However, our uncertainty over how long we were going to stay in New Zealand had always stopped her before, but then a little Christmas magic took over. Two grey and white kittens in the Newmarket pet store put a spell on her. I saw them with her on the first occurance, and then when she returned alone the next day, she left with company.

I came back from the gym, and found I had a new and furry flatmate. I acted pretty blasé about him at first, but it was damn hard not to love the little critter.

On New Years' Eve we had a pretty quiet one. Gone are the days where I’d look forward months in advance to one of the biggest social nights of the year, and more often than not, have a night that vastly differed from what I’d hoped for. On this occasion, we kept it low key. A few cocktails in front of the TV and brief walk outside at midnight to watch the bringing of a new year with fireworks from the skytower. Not quite the displays you see in London, but it was good nonetheless.

So, we began 2008 with a new addition to the household and a firmer tie to New Zealand. Our future now looked as though we wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and certainly not before we’d saved enough money for one extra plane ticket.

I t'ink I saw a puddy-cat

2007-11-29T17:19:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-25T23:31:00.000-08:00

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

2007-10-18T23:07:00.000-07:00

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'

2007-10-14T22:51:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-14T22:12:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-13T12:57:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-07T22:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-20T23:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-02T22:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-01T22:29:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-15T00:54:00.000-07:00

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.

A Call for Action

2007-05-01T18:43:00.000-07:00

Easter brought us a couple of days off work, a long weekend, and the excuse for another trip away. The only problem was that all the predictions, both professional and office based, pointed to a wet weekend. We thought about taking a ferry to ‘Waiheke Island’, but doubted the entertainment depth of such a place could withstand poor weather. So, we hesitated and deliberated. We played with ideas of places to visit and then discounted each of them for reasons centred on the forecast. Best just stay local, do nothing, and enjoy a relaxing time. Yeah well, we should’ve learned by now that no matter what the predictions are, if you have a plan, just do it. 'Good Friday' arrived, the grey sky turned to blue, the wind died down, and the sun shone supreme. We’d been tricked again, and unfortunately nobody else had. All accommodation on ‘Waiheke’ was now booked up, and barely a single hire car remained in Auckland. Even our secondary plans of being proactive and fixing things around the home were flummoxed as we discovered that every store in the city was closed – except of course the souvenir stores, but they’d be open after a nuclear holocaust with only cockroaches for customers.

Good Friday and the Saturday right after dissappeared in a blink of proactive intentions & further indeciveness. It wasn’t until Easter Sunday before our plans had materialised to anything resembling an escape from Auckland.
Once the formalities and a couple of hundred kilometres were out the way, we’d arrived in our hire car at the ‘Kai Iwi Lakes’ just north of Dargaville. It took roughly 3 hours to cover the distance, and yet the first drops of rain didn’t touch our windscreen until we approached the car park of our destination. A few drops soon became a deluge capable of extinguishing the fires of hell, and when we left the safety of the car, the ground was a mirror for the sky. The following couple of hours were a glorious contrast of threatening dark clouds and divine moments of illumination that provided some beautiful views and worrying walks.

On the way home, we stopped on the North Shore of Auckland to grab some dinner. Perhaps it was because we hadn’t spent as much money as we’d originally intended, or maybe it was because our journey had been long and the cupboard at home was bare. Whatever the reasons, it was wasn’t something to debate about. Decisive action would now feature firmly on our menu.

Autumn in April

2007-04-14T00:31:00.000-07:00

Summer ended, the beach lost it's appeal, and the desire to explore farther afield returned. April kicked off autumn, a cold wind cut through the country, and it felt like the countdown to Christmas had began. These topsy-turvy seasons are going to take years to get used to.

Hope of perfect weather provoked hesitation in visiting ‘Rangitoto Island’ for a few weeks. We hadn't been here before and had heard that the views from the top were breathtaking, so there was no point going during days that were cloudy and wet.

Time slipped by and we acknowledged our procrastinating was more than slightly attributed to the after affects of a working week, and the simple desire to do ‘f-all’ at the weekend. We needed to break away from the duvet, stop making excuses, and just do it. Still, there was no point rushing into anything too early.

The 9am ferry was a nice idea, but was never realistic for a Saturday morning. However, the noon option allowed just enough time to rouse ourselves from hibernation, consume a nutritious fry-up, and pack a lunch for the grand expedition. Twenty minutes later, we’d crossed the harbour, and were standing at the foot of this geological toddler. Rangitoto, or “Nga Rangi-i-totongia-a Tama-te-kapua” as it’s known to its mother , is the largest and youngest of Auckland’s 48 volcanic cones. Its distinctive grand symmetry gives it an unwavering appearance from any direction, and the similarity to a painting’s eye that follows you around a room.

The choices of route were fairly limited, but that wasn’t the point of our trip. It just felt good to be doing something again. Seeing something new and getting away from the city. We wandered up the slopes, through varied landscape and stopped to photograph anything that looked slightly different than normal. We timed our pace to keep optimal distance between those ahead and those behind. We felt at peace.

On the way to the summit we stopped to explore the lava caves. These were not exactly the expansive tunnels leading to fiery depths, that I had hoped for, but they provided ample distraction to our day. Some were nothing more than large cracks opening a couple of metres into the rock, whereas others were fullyfledged walk-through passages.

We carried on to the top and circled the crater ring. Grey skies ruined the chance of great photos, but the distant perpective to our city life helped relax the soul. On the way back down, the battle of light against dark switched in favour, and our wait for the return ferry was in view of brighter horizons.

Summer Sounds & Night Lights

2007-04-03T02:08:00.000-07:00

Summer was a strange time in New Zealand. It started with the build up to Christmas, which felt completely contradictory, and although it is technically now over, it still fights back with the occasionally successful strike of sunbathing brilliance. The problem is that the weather is so changeable here. At least in England, you know if it looks like rain in the morning, it'll probably rain for the whole day, if not, the week. Here, you might wake up to perfect blue skies, get dressed in your t-shirt, shorts, and jandals (flip-flops), and walk outside into rainfall oblivion. Then, by the time you've returned inside and switched the TV on, the sun is back out again to blind your view and torment you. This causes no end of problems in trying to plan anything. However, we were told there was light at the end of this meterological paradox. February is almost guaranteed to be stable blue skies for the duration of the month.

Yeah well, it could’ve been, should’ve been, would’ve been good, but weather didn’t quite play on the schedule we were told it would. The month of February started with 3 days of continuous downpour. Not the rain you’d associate with happy businessman singing along in, while twirling an umbrella, but rain so intense, the ducks looked scared. In fairness, mid-Feb to mid-March was a lot more like the weather we'd been promised, but it was still pretty cloudy at times. I know it sounds like moaning but I guess we just expected more after all we'd been told.

In retrospect though, we looked back and realised how much great weather we actually did have. Sure, it was more patchy that Oliver Twist's trousers, but put those moments together and we had a bloody good summer.

When the sun wasn't appearing too reliable, we stayed local and spent the days lying on one of the many beaches in Auckland. There are plenty within a 20 minute bus drive so we never had a problem of getting to one. While at one of these beaches we noticed another aspect to New Zealand's weather – the whole country is a multitude of microclimates. It may be thick grey clouds above the city centre, and at the same time, a bay not 5 minutes down the road seems to be privy to a hole in the heavens and enjoying perfect sunshine for hours on end. Biblical showers fall over one area, and a short drive away, not a drop touches the ground.

With these factors in mind, we've accepted the fact, if you want to do something you just do it, and hope the weather goes well for you. Sometimes, our luck was in, and others it seemed like world was against us.

One week-long event of the summer which caught my attention was the visiting of Auckland by some very big ladies. In mid-February nine major cruise ships docked at Auckland in one week bringing in an estimated $9 million of business, largely by way of fat rich Americans. The week started with the Queen Elizabeth 2, and ended with her big sister, the Queen Mary 2. It was the first time the QM2 visited Auckland and it caused quite a fuss. Hundreds of boats swarmed around her as she arrived, and she left to a night-sky filled with fireworks. I must admit, it was an incredible sight that made the little city of Auckland look even smaller. The Queen Mary 2 is the 2nd largest cruise ship in the world - $1.1 billion, 151K-tonnes, 2600 passengers, taller than a 21-storey building, and over 100 feet longer than the Eiffel tower is tall. It's one of those amazing feats of engineering that makes you feel kind of proud.

Work was pretty good over summer. Everyone seemed to leave even earlier, work less hours, and the business was doing better than ever. I took extended lunch breaks to go to the gym, went in late, left early, and still worked harder in the week than I've ever done before. The social aspect of work kicked up a gear, with lawn bowling one weekend, a bus-pub-crawl on another, and every Friday enjoying even more enthusiastic revelry. There are two things I have noticed through this period about New Zealanders, they seem to love a drink even more than us English, and for some reason, they love dressing up to mark the occasion. They give most events a theme, and the majority of people put a lot of effort into their costumes. At the lawn bowels we had a team of Arabs playing 80s tennis pros, and the bus tour included characters ranging from a 1930s gangster (guilty) to James Crockett & Ricardo Tubbs from Miami Vice.

The city was alive with events over the summer months. From January to March, the parks of Auckland had free concerts every weekend. These ranged from small events of a few hundred people listening to jazz, to events like the Sky City Starlight Symphony that attracted over 200,000 people and featured major artists and bands (of New Zealand anyway).

The Chinese New Year brought lanterns, music, and dancing dragons to Albert Park, and 'The Auckland Festival' kicked off to a fireworks display from the SkyTower that would've made 'Al Qaeada' smile. We were lucky enough to witness the spectacle from the comfort of our living room. We didn't have far to walk to the majority of events either with most occurring at 'The Red Square' – the car park behind our building converted into three performance tents, one beer garden (with grass), and an open air cinema.

To sample something a little different we chose to watch an orchestral performance of the Spaghetti Westerns, although the options included everything from theatre to magic, opera to stand-up comedy. Another highlight of the festival was watching 'Group F' bring 'a little more light' to the Auckland Domain. These French pyrotechnicians have previous lit up the Eiffel Tower, the Stade de France for the World Cup, the Olympic Games in Athens, and the 2004 & 2005 New Years Eve celebrations in London, and now have reached their pinnacle with 'The Auckland Festival'. Yeah well, thankfully what the venue and event lacked in importance wasn't reflected in their effort. The show was more of a special efforts extravaganza than a mere fireworks display. Even the most hardened viewer was forced to relinquish a few 'oooohhhss' and 'ahhhhhhs'. Spectacular.

So in summary of our first summer in Auckland, I'd have to say the place has grown on me quite a bit. Sure, it's not the most beautiful city in the world, and lacks major landmarks, but it's heart is good. I couldn't believe the number of free events put on all over the place and just how much there is to do in the city. We came to know the beaches intimately and put our jandals to thorough use. To emphasise my point about my drinking, it's worth noting, my jandals incorporate a bottle opener in their sole so I'm never stuck with an unopened beer. Good job Kiwis!

The Foundations of a Country

2007-02-10T00:52:00.000-08:00

Just a few hundred metres from our hostel was the birthplace of modern day New Zealand. Across the bridge from ‘Paihia’, and around the headland, on February 6th 1840, representatives of the British Crown and 500 Maori chiefs signed the 'Treaty of Waitangi'. This made New Zealand part of the British Empire and guaranteed Maori rights to their land and the same rights of British Citizens. The problem is that the translation wasn’t exactly 100% accurate so there has been continuous debate since then over what exactly was agreed to. There has also been debates over the importance of the day, & whether it should be considered the country’s national day.

Commemorations for the day didn’t really kick off until 1940, and even then things were pretty low key for the next few decades. However, as the celebrations grew, they attracted the attention of activists that were not so happy with the lack of adherence to the treaty. They called for greater recognition of the treaty, to right injustices previously committed, and to raise awareness. These protests have included attempts to fly the Maori Sovereignty flag from or above the British flagstaff, and general demonstrations calling the treaty a fraud. Early in this millennium, the protests were so extreme, that the official celebrations were moved elsewhere in New Zealand. However, this was insulting to those Maori that wished to celebrate and in 2003 it was moved back to the Treaty House in Waitangi.

Recently celebrations have all been held without major incidents, although the demonstrators are always present. There is generally no actual physical aggression to gatherers, but their effect is definitely intimidating.

We walked around the grounds, darting between covers to avoid the torrential rain, and learnt what we could about the history. It’s like with most things though; the more you know, the more you realise how little you know.

I’m sure the British designed the Treaty for their advantage, and I’m sure the Maori signed believing they had much to gain – for one it saved the from being ruled by the French.

The main legal points of discussion seem to be whether or not the Treaty was the means by which the British Crown gained sovereignty over New Zealand and whether or not the Treaty is binding to the Crown. The Treaty has never been ratified or enacted as statute law and is not recognised as being suitable to be a formal constitution, but it is an important document that continues to influence political and legal discourse in New Zealand.

Growing Up Between a Rock & a Hard Place

2007-02-09T03:16:00.000-08:00

Haruru Falls are just a short drive outside the town of ‘Paihia’. We’d passed them by on our trip north yesterday, and returned today when time was a little more in our favour. The rocks atop the falls were a perfect place to enjoy some pensive plentiful minutes as we watched the world flow past and cascade beneath us. This set the pace for the day, and made it an easy transition to beach slumber for the next few hours. In truth though, it was always on our mind what the evening had in store. And when you have something planned, the hours before always seem to lose some of their importance.

Since my travelling began, I have often ignored the words of guidebooks in favour of a chance suggestion by another traveller. On the Friday before this trip, I’d interviewed a candidate at work that suggested if I was ever in the 'Bay of Islands', I should go on the ‘Rock the Boat’ overnight trip. As it happens, we’d already booked voyage on another, but signs like these cannot be ignored.

Our hostel host was less than supportive of our trip, but booked us the tickets anyway. We thought this a little strange, but ignored him in favour of following fate's suggestion. We later discovered that his feelings were matched by many other hostel, hotel, and B&B owners across town.

We arrived at the dock with plenty of time before departure. It turned out, the boat had allowed even more time. We also noticed around 20 other people waiting for the same trip, so our luck in the Whitsunday islands of having a 25 bed boat to 7 people would not be repeated here. This was not a good start. From this point on though, it got better and better.

It looked like a farmyard barn from the outside - the victim of some biblical flood that somehow was still afloat. On the inside was a different story. Almost the entire length of the first level was a beautiful wooden bar. Off to one end was a wood burning stove for cold evenings, and to the other was a bar pool table. Filling in the rest of the space, were sofas, tables and chairs, and a wet area at the back of the boat for fishing and diving from. The floor above was made up of various sized rooms for sleeping in.

There was something to do on this trip from the moment we set off, to when we returned the next day: air rifle shooting off the back of the boat leaving the harbour (3 shots each, an empty bottle dragged on string 15 metres behind the boat, and a free drink to the most hits by men and women- Lucie took the prize for the women, and I realised there is much I still don’t know about her past); fishing for snapper before dinner; night kayaking in water rich in phosphorescent algae; a morning cruise around an island, snorkelling for mussels and hand-feeding them to the fish, exploring an island, and sampling the delicacies of the sea - on the return trip, we feasted on both raw and fresh cooked mussels, and raw sea urchin roe straight out of the sea.

The trip was full to the brim with experiences that everyone was free to join in with or sit out from. There was no pressure to participate but encouragement to those that were interested. The boat was in great condition, very clean, and tastefully adorned. The crew were helpful, friendly, and relaxed. One of them turned out to be from a village near my parent’s house, and had gone to the same school as many of my friends.

On the boat we discovered the reason behind our hostel operator’s lack of enthusiasm for this original enterprise. It seems the majority of the accommodation owners had been against this trip from its conception for the simple reason that it would draw takings away from their own pockets. It’s a shame that in a country (viewed as being) so tranquil, laid back, and friendly, people are so unsupportive of each other’s progression. We've started to see this mentality in other areas of life here as well. Whether it is in shops, in business or on the roads, everyone is in a rush to get ahead and not caring who is cut off in the process. People often admire New Zealand for it being so backward. Well, it is trying to catch up quickly, and it's immaturity is showing through the cracks.

It was through word of mouth that we came across this trip, so it seems appropriate that I should pass the message on - If anyone ends up having a few days in the Bay of Islands, I would definitely recommend you put a night aside to “Rock the Boat”.

The Edge of the Map

2007-02-06T20:21:00.000-08:00

The perfect blue of the early morning deteriorated to a congested palette of white and grey clouds by the time we’d made it past breakfast. Our justification for a lazy day on Paihia Beach was now placed in the shade, and instead we made preparations for a little road-trip.

New Zealand is a small country, with no two points ever appearing too far apart. However, the roads aren’t quite as straight and uninterrupted as those of the Australian outback – a truth discovered time and time again on our travels in the south island. Here it takes a little longer to drive 120km than a generous hour. It wasn’t far into our drive north before we started realising how long it might actually take. Nevertheless, every kilometre covered was one nearer our destination, one further from home, and another reason to just keep on going. I’m always one to put the hard graft in first and enjoy the leisure afterwards, so our journey north was without interruption. I’m also pretty stubborn and don’t like giving up on anything so refused to turn back.

It took just under 4 hours to make it to Cape Reinga. It is the most northerly point of New Zealand that is easily accessible by car, and as such draws those on a pilgrimage to travel the length of the country. I suppose our motivation for coming here was similar, but we also wanted to see the point where the South Pacific Ocean & the Tasman Sea meet. We’d heard that you can actually distinguish a colour difference between these colliding waters, and thus a front to their eternal battle, but we discovered this was probably just a little romantic notion.

Another point of interest about this area is that legend states it draws people for a very different reason and for a very different purpose. On the tip of Cape Reinga, there is an 800 year-old pohutukawa tree. According to Maori belief, it is the roots of this tree that hide the entrance to the Underworld, and is thus the gateway for all spirits leaving the earth. On that note, we decided it wasn’t quite our time for earthly departure and returned south.

The Te Paki Reserves are 7 sq km of giant sand dunes - a playground for travellers, a highlight for tour parties, and the feel of being on another planet.

The amateurs here were only using ‘Boogy-boards’ to surf the dunes, not the custom designed boards we’d used in Western Australia, so we weren’t tempted to carve the grains.

Instead we explored on foot, and then moved down the peninsular to '90 Mile Beach'. It is actually closer to 90 kilometres in length, but we’ll forgive the creative labelling in view of how incredible this place is. I’ve been on some pretty long beaches before, but none as long as this or as impossibly straight as this. The effect is an expanse of sand on either side of you, over a hundred metres wide, disappearing into the distance to a pinpoint. There is nothing but ocean in front, and an endless shoulder of sand far behind you. It feels like the end of the world. The edge of the God's canvass.

We lacked a 4-wheel drive vehicle so couldn’t explore far. That would have to be an adventure for another day. Besides, the sun was now well into her descent, and we had a long way to travel home. We stopped occasionally on the return lag, but most were fleeting instances except for an extended appreciation of a breathtaking sunset. It brought back memories of travelling around Australia, and made us think about how many moments like this we've missed since working again.

The Great Gig in The Sky

2007-01-30T20:17:00.000-08:00

I love the energy that electrifies the air before a major event. It sparks lips into idle conversation and ricochets off faces leaving smiles. Lightening could strike at any moment. People become restless and tap their feet to silent drummers. There is the excitement, but also an element of nervousness. What if the show doesn’t deliver? What if it’s not as good as you hope?

There was no support act for this night. After all, who could possibly grace the same stage in the same evening as this group? Instead, the monumental projection screen displayed an old fashioned radio / amplifier that was the source of the background music coaxing people to their seats. Every now and again, a cigarette holding hand would enter the view, change the reception dial, or raise the glass of whiskey to unseen lips. It was undoubtedly a stylish intro to the night - simple, but very cool.

The band took to the stage and every face turned their way. Screams echoed around the crowd, arms stretched to the stars, and clapping rang out everywhere. A slow and dramatic rhythm of guitar & drums set the pace, and thirty thousand people were simultaneously captivated and immediately lost in time. For some it was a first ‘live’ experience, where as others were clearly continuing a voyage that started decades ago. Appropriately, the first tune of this incredible show was “In the Flesh”.

It was a strange feeling to finally hear this music live. I’ve been an avid fan ever since I first heard them. There is something so fresh about the music. So unique and special, that it demands appreciation. There are bands which fit into particular genres, and there are those that define them. I’d listen to the live album ‘P.U.L.S.E.’ again and again, dreaming of what an experience it would be to hear them in concert, and hoping that it would one day be possible. But the rift between leading members, Roger Waters & David Gilmour was too great. There was the brief reconciliation for the ‘Live 8’ concert, but nothing long lasting.

Last November, we were walking through Auckland, and I spotted a poster for Roger Waters in Concert. In Auckland. In 2007. Among the line-up, would be the complete ‘Dark Side of The Moon.’ I was ecstatic. “Houston, prepare for launch”. Even though the date was months away, we immediately tried our luck online and sought the hallowed tickets. The cheapest were already sold out. Damn. The next option was also gone. Panic. The next were listed as available. Buy, buy! OK, it was a little more than we were expecting, but a price easily justifiable for such an occasion. Now, all we had to do was wait; the countdown had begun.

Now we were there. Watching Roger Waters on stage, and hearing those tunes fill the world around us. Every tune played was an absolute classic (there aren’t many that aren’t). “Mother” followed “In the Flesh”, then we “Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun”, enjoyed “Shine on you Crazy Diamond” and moved to “Have a Cigar”. “Wish you were here” has always been a personal favourite so that was particularly welcomed, then there was “Southampton Dock”, The Fletcher Memorial Home, Parts 1 & 2 of Perfect Sense, a new offering called “Leaving Beirut”, and the end of the first act "Sheep.” In true ‘Floyd-style’ the first act finale was accompanied by a huge inflatable pig, covered in political graffiti, and walked around the crowd before being set free to chase the moon.

After a brief interlude that felt infinite in anticipation we reached the “Dark Side of the Moon”. “Speak to Me” introduced, “Breathe”, “On the Run” led us to “Time”, then “The Great Gig in the Sky”, “Money”, “Us & Them”, “Any colour you like”, and “Brain Damage” followed, before “Eclipse” concluded the timeless masterpiece.

The show was outstanding. Everyone was hooked, and felt lost when they left the stage. It couldn’t end yet. Just one more tune. Please. “Encore” was screamed from all directions, each sounding more desperate than the last, and just when it seemed the applause couldn’t get any louder, the band returned, and the volume was nudged up a few notches. Once again, the title of the tune here was appropriate; “The Happiest Days of Our Lives” brought us back to the Pink universe. “Another Brick in the Wall” commanded emphatic singing from even the driest throats, then “Vera” turned into “Bring the Boys Back Home”, and we finished “Comfortably Numb”. The whole night was incredible and euphoric. I couldn’t stop smiling as each tune began, and hoped they would never finish. It was a privilege to have been there and witness such a legend performing. Should you get the chance to ever see Roger Waters performing a true ‘Pink Floyd’ show like this, do yourself a favour and go. No matter what it costs, or how much effort it takes to get there, it will be worth it.

That feeling

2007-01-29T20:15:00.000-08:00

It’s so easy to fall in love when the sun is shining. Everything is blessed. Beauty is all around. The sky becomes a faultless blend of blue silk that seems both infinitely distant and reassuringly close. The sea is a mirror for the sky’s emotions and is subdued by its tranquillity. The odd clouds that boldly dare to step to this stage draw new appreciation as their texture and shape is intensified by the spotlight upon them. Colours everywhere are renewed in vitality and everything looks sharper to the eye. The touch of the sun is positive and encouraging. Moments feel right.

We’d only just stepped from the car, and were already smitten with our surroundings. We felt at the edge of something magnificent and couldn’t wait to explore further. Who could believe we were only 2 hours from the centre of Auckland.

From our vantage point, high on the headland, we soaked in the view, surveyed the coastline, and look towards the day’s destiny. It seemed fitting that some effort was required to get somewhere so beautiful.

It took roughly forty minutes to walk there from the car park, crossing grassland and forest. The brief glimpses of our destination along the way spurred us on and helped avoid the temptation of nearer options. At the end of the path, we stepped from behind a curtain of branches, out of the dark, and onto the white sand of ‘Mares Leg Cove.’ Beauty flowed all around and our eyes drank thirstily.

Gorgeous blue water licked at soft powdery white cliffs, carving ornaments for our view, and bedding to lounge on. A small flat island lay twenty metres from shore, drawing people to its surface and then launching them back into the sea. On the left hand side of this small cove was a pointed archway of titanic proportions that led through the rock to ‘Cathedral Cove’. Beyond the entrance, the cave opened up to a huge curved ceiling that commanded awe, and inspired the name for this iconic location. Many people had made the pilgrimage here today, but none of them could detract from the peaceful feeling. This place was exotic, beautiful, and felt like a completely different country. It was as if we stepped through a portal onto another island far away in the south pacific. We reclined onto the sheets of sand and only left there when the sun’s attention had resulted in an obvious blush to our cheeks.

In the evening, we made our way to a nearby beach for a nice relaxing hot soak to finish off our stressful day. The appropriately named, ‘Hot Water Beach’ is unique and famous around the world thanks to an underground volcano, and the fissures from it’s superheated reservoir that lead to a small area of shoreline. These fissures supply approximately 15 litres a minute of mineral rich water to the surface, at temperatures of up to 64 degrees Celsius. Anyone armed with a spade and the desire, is then free to dig their own spa pool.

We’d arrived slightly early so our initial attempts at construction were thwarted by the still lowering tide. Thankfully, we were not alone in this venture, so we combined forces and constructed a defensive wall. We were then free to build dividing walls and shape the interior. There are blatant problems with the constructive durability of sand, and especially so when the majority of the structure is below water, so we dug deep, and then filled the gaps with our own bodies before the sand could.

When prompted with the notion of digging your own spa pool, the last thing you’d think of including is a crowd of people around you. Try as we might, we couldn’t ignore them, so only stayed long enough to let the exertion of digging the spa wear off. Perhaps if we’d brought along a few cold beers, our patience would have been more enduring.

The next day we tried our luck at fishing again. First in the shallows in-front of the hostel, then once the tide had come in, we continued our efforts from the wharf. After lunch, we drove to ‘Paku Hill’ and climbed to the summit. Like so many hills of New Zealand, this is the remnants of a volcanic cone that now provides an awesome viewpoint and a reminder of the country’s makings.

That evening we dined on the catch of the day. Totally at over 100 pounds, there was enough for everyone, and plenty left for the freezer. There truly is nothing like eating fresh fish after a morning spent fishing, even if we didn’t actually catch it. Our timing of being here coincided with a fishing competition, in which the hostel owner was a successful participant. He took the best of the catch, left the rest to the masses, and in one flippant gesture, made this one of our favourite hostels.

On the last day of this long weekend, we spent the morning at ‘Pauanui’ beach, before venturing off to find a secret water hole located in ‘Broken Hills’. A friend from work has previously drawn me an elaborate map of how to find it, and now all we needed was a little adventure spirit. It was the chance to discover a piece of New Zealand, not found in any guide book, and only known about by the locals. Quite a few locals as it turned out. Our secret location was privy to at least 10 others when we arrived, and once again, the romanticism was lost. Perhaps, we’ll be lucky and alone when we next visit.

A Big Day Out

2007-01-19T00:30:00.000-08:00

There is always a balance to life. Positives & negatives to any option or choice. Something ‘bad’ about everything ‘good’. Granted some things you really have to think about what the ‘bad’ is, but it’s always there. It wasn’t long before we realized what the downside was to the ‘Big Day Out’ festival. The ‘good’ points were obvious months in advance: a killer set-list; close proximity to home (contrary to a 5 hour drive to the arse end of Britain for a Glastonbury festival); it is relatively cheap etc. The ‘bad’ became obvious when checking out the first band on the main stage. Unfortunately, this ‘bad’ point was quite a major one for a festival; there was something wrong with the sound levels. Whether it was a lack of speakers, poor acoustics to the stadium, the quality of the equipment, or just bad sound management, I don’t know, but something was definitely amiss. It seemed the only area receiving decent sound was the 50m radius around centre stage, which just so happened to be the VIP area. Everywhere else enjoyed sporadic bursts of clarity and volume depending on the stillness of the area, and the quietness of the surrounding crowd. I’m definitely not against people singing along to their favourite songs (depending on alcohol consumption, I’m right up there with the most passionate), but there is something drastically wrong at a concert, if you can’t hear the people on stage above the sound of the people around you singing.

‘Eskimo Joe’ got things started on the main stage, and apart from a couple cheesy-charty annoyances, they put us firmly in the festival mood. Other influences were classic ingredients to any outdoor music event: great bands, perfect sunshine, quality booze, shite food, and the unforgettable smell of freshly-puffed grass.

After that, we did some reconnaissance work, covered the territorial extremes, and saw what else was on offer. One highlight of this trip was a sample of the group ‘Spank Rock’ in the dance tent (appropriately labeled, ‘The Boiler Room’). They were a funky, punky, collage of beats that begged some initial head nodding, later leading to full body movement.

The next main band that made the grade for us was ‘My Chemical Romance.’ The only problem was that due to their success, and consequent standing on the main stage, they suffered the same piss-poor sound production as earlier bands. Despite the messages of of texts being displayed on a huge video screen, and comments shouted pleading for a volume increase, our combined pleas fell onto deaf ears - Ironic considering they were more easily heard than the bands themselves.

Despite being massacred by a slight westerly wind, a few thousands raised arms, and a little environmental noise, the final chords of ‘Welcome to The Black Parade’ made it in decimated form to our unfulfilled ears, and we left to seek greener pastures. This just happened to be a field outside the main stadium and the location for the 2nd set of stages. Our motivation for this move? Well aside from our quest for a higher state of volume, this would be the arena for one of my favourite acts from the Glastonbury festival in 2005.

A simple ‘Kia Ora’ (‘hello’ / ‘welcome’ in Maori), followed by the quick quip ‘I’ll be your dog!’, confused every kiwi in the crowd, and made pockets of British people piss themselves laughing. Apparently the tropical fruit drink, ‘Kia Ora’, which is remembered so vividly for the adverts involving crows pretending to be dogs, in order to receive some of the drink, was not known by our Kiwi cousins. With that prelude of confusion, ‘Kasabian’ made their musical introduction to the New Zealand market and started with the first, and title track from their latest album, ‘Empire.’ The next 50 minutes was non-stop action that ended with a field of arms raised high and swaying to their beat. It was our favourite performance of the festival, and later became, the most talked about around the city. ‘Kasabian’ had done the country proud.

After loading up on booze in one of the designated drinking areas (apparently Kiwi’s can’t be trusted to drink everywhere), we watched the musical murder of ‘The Killers’ on the main stage, and then resigned to the fact that no band was worth watching in such conditions. It was this reluctant acceptance though that led us to a highlight of the festival’s twilight. Whilst the majority were moshing it up to ‘Tool’, we were chilling out, and winding down to the sounds of the ‘John Butler Trio.’ Having never heard them before, and following disappointments elsewhere in the festival, it was a righteous end to a big day out.

High times

2007-01-02T00:04:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, I hated flying. Even up until a few years ago, I found that it immensely drained me, and only through consuming copious amounts of alcohol, could I remain completely relaxed (& consequently inebriated). Surprising really, considering my recent choice of world travel, but thankfully things have moved on quite a bit since my younger days. With advances in portable entertainment devices, personal music players, in-flight entertainment, comfortable airport lounges, and even decent meals, flying can be an integral part of the holiday that is worth looking forward to. True, not all airlines are equal, and therefore, I considered it a blessing of fate when we discovered the cheapest option for our return flights to the UK for Christmas, was with 'Singapore Airlines'.

They are the only airline I’ve been on that I have felt any degree of sadness when the final descent was announced, and they are also the only airline I’ve been on where I’ve said no to a further drink order – I assure you that these are unrelated. The fact is, they take care of you, relax you, and entertain you: there are personal back-of-the-headrest TV screens for every passenger; a choice of 80 movie channels including new releases, classics, seasonal-orientated, and world cinema; about 50 TV choices including documentaries, comedy, music & fashion; a selection of games; 30 new albums to listen to, and over 30 different radio stations. I remember the days of flying, when my brother and I spent the entire time scanning the handful of radio stations for a half decent tune, only to have to repeat the process once the tune ended – I realise this is still the case on many British Airways flights. The only problem is that to someone that loves films, there are now too many reasons not to sleep.

We’d forgone the expense of a hotel room at Singapore Airport, reasoning that it would be easy to find a comfy chair and sleep without problem, but soon discovered the available chairs must have been purposely designed in opposition of this ambition. We dosed & drifted around the airport for most of the night, until finally discovering heaven for the homeless. There were a couple of leather sofas on a lower level that no-one else had discovered yet. Sleep was now just an escalator away.

The next morning (3 hours later), we scraped ourselves off our makeshift beds and crossed the distance to Terminal 1 for a morning swim. Although, it wasn’t the warming experience we’d hoped for after a night in air-conditioned hibernation, it was refreshing and rejuvenating, and successfully washed away one flight before we engaged in the next. Thankfully, sleep came more easily in the second flight.

Our next flights this Christmas were to and from the Czech Republic. As yet, Singapore Airlines don’t cover this route, so we were forced to endure the torture of British Airways. It was the busiest I’ve ever seen Gatwick Airport, with every flight running around 30 minutes late, and our return flight provided the most terrifying landing I’ve ever experienced.

One thing that does perplex me about air travel is the strong warnings about using electronic devices during take-offs & landings, and the use of mobile phones at anytime during the flight. Surely the effects of listening to an ‘ipod’ during take-off cannot be so damaging to a plane’s controls, or if so, why have terrorists not chosen this method of manipulation? Why bother trying to smuggle on board bombs in shoes, explosive liquids, and other ingeniously complex means of destruction, and not just go hyper with some personal gaming devices and mobile phones? Are our airlines in so much danger from this equipment, and if so, why are mobile phones even allowed in carry-on luggage? The catalyst for these questions was the landing on the return flight from Czech; either the pilot was a blind-folded intoxicated monkey, or there was some serious electronic interference occurring with the controls. This left us slightly more apprehensive of our next flights back to New Zealand, but thankfully the unlimited booze of Singapore Airlines has a way of causing you to forgive and ...

Vitam vas v Ceske Republice

2006-12-31T00:12:00.000-08:00

Imagine being a baby again, but being as aware as you are now. Imagine not having the ability to speak properly & only having the capacity for a few simple phrases. Imagine what it is like being in this situation for days on end, only grasping the threads of conversation as they fly past at lightning speed. It’s exhausting. Like the thick grey fog that obscured Prague airport on our descent, I had now entered a vast linguistic cloud, that light could barely permeate. It was going to be a bumpy ride.

The first thing I noticed on arrival is that when people know you don’t understand, they don’t tend to direct conversation towards you. This is only natural as it would probably feel as ridiculous as talking to an animal, but it has a way of making you feel invisible. I felt disjointed, like a ghost hovering in the background. Thankfully, some forms of language breach the international barriers, and I was brought back to existence, with a firm handshake, a warm smile, and the chance to use a few of the expressions I did know. I instantly liked Lucie’s uncle.

That evening, the whole family gathered at her parent’s house to welcome us. Lucie had warned some of them of our impending visit, as we’d acknowledged the need to fuss and prepare in some, but her brothers and sister had been left in the dark. It was therefore, a great moment of joy and relief when her sister (two & a half years old) hugged her at the door, and didn’t want to let go the rest of the evening. Her brothers managed to take the moment more casually, although both were extremely overjoyed that she was home.
The evening was manic. So many happy faces, so many hugs and kisses, and so much I didn’t understand. Lucie translated as much as she could, but wasn’t often given the time before another question or piece of news was sent her way. Two and a half years away from a family home tends to promote conversational overlap and obliterate any chance of pauses. I picked up on what I could, and answered as many questions as possible in Czech, but largely I must have looked like an attentive dog - eyes following every word, but a vacant expression giving away my ignorance. Whatever I did manage to say, was greeted by her grandmother as if I’d danced on water, and my successes were immediately announced to the room. I look forward to the day that I can have a conversation with her; there’d be champagne & fireworks afterwards.

Much as our visit to the UK, our main reason for being here was simply to see the family, so I didn’t expect anything more. True, I would’ve liked to explore Prague, but I accepted this would be left to our next visit. It was therefore, a pleasant surprise to see a little of what her home town, ‘Pardubice’, is famous for. No, this wasn’t a demonstration of ‘Semtex’, although the action was just as explosive. ‘HC Pardubice’ are likened by her grandfather as the Manchester United of European Ice Hockey, due to their popularity and excellence. They have been the starting point of many players that now frequent the NHL (Dominik Hašek, Otakar Janecký, Aleš Hemský, Jan Bulis, Milan Hejduk, to name a few), and always guarantee an exciting match.

Less famously, but even more cherished, both Lucie’s father, uncle, and grandfather played here, and her younger brother, Vojta, currently plays in the youth team. Perhaps it was because of these connections, and not the fact her grandfather is in the ‘Ice Hockey Mafia’ (as suggested by her uncle) that we were able to attend the sell-out game without buying tickets and entered the stadium through the players’ entrance. We watched them trounce Ceske Budejovice and managed to catch up with one of Lucie’s friends in the process.

We only had two full days in Czech, and two half days when travelling in and out. We knew it would go fast, but I don’t think either of us expected it to be so tiring. There was barely a moment’s rest with always people to see or something to do. My fatigue was also partially attributed to the amount of alcohol I consumed. Lucie’s family’s hospitality towards me bordered on forced alcoholism, as nearly every meal was accompanied by beer and wine. On one occasion, this was with my first meal of the day, although admittedly, I’d slept in and was having an early lunch.

Despite our energy (and toxicity) levels, I greatly enjoyed our time in the Czech Republic, and look forward to returning. I hope that some day, we will explore this country as much as some of the others from our travelling. Perhaps, by then, I will be speaking the language fluently but I don’t expect that to occur for many years. There doesn’t seem to be a single word that is similar to the English version, there are soundings that are practically impossible to pronounce, and seven case endings to contend with (nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, vocative, locative, instrumental). At least, I have a willing teacher to help me along the way.

Round the world & back again

2006-12-28T16:08:00.000-08:00

Two months of planning / eight weeks of lies and deception. What started as a simple suggestion in a text message, led to one of the most memorable Christmas Day’s ever. It was going to be a road-trip around NZ. It became a globe-trip.

It was the initial reaction that we’d been particularly looking forward to, and it didn’t disappoint – mainly because there were no heart-attacks or paramedics involved. My parents walked into the room and we came into view. A confused look of strained comprehension fighting against logical thought, forged lines across their brows. Then their jaws dropped, faces lit up, and eyes opened as wide as the doorway. Dad accepted the reality fairly quickly and his smile came easily. Mum, however, seemed to want to cross the room, and make sure we wouldn’t disappear when touched, before giving in to her joy. It was magical. The happiness spread from face to face like wildfire. When they had us in their arms, and resigned to the truth, their eyes shone like the sun, and tears fell to cool their cheeks. Sentences were restricted by emotions to single words and monosyllabic exhalations. They held us like a kid hugs ‘Santa’, and we returned the feeling ten-fold. It’s a moment that I believe will stay with me forever, and I’m eternally grateful to my brother for making it possible.

Many similar moments of surprise followed as we saw other family members and friends, but none were as emotionally potent as the first. Some people managed to act casual in their greeting but confusion reined supreme on their faces. It was obvious that people wondered if it was their eyes, memory, or knowledge that had failed them.

The main afterthought to this surprise was realizing how well, Lucie, I, Stuart, & Em, had all managed to lie so convincingly over the previous 2 months. Granted, this was made distinctly easier by the fact it was highly unlikely to occur, but the web of lies was still intricate and compelling. In our defense, I can only offer that the cause was just.

In total, we only had around 4 full days in England, broken up in the middle by a trip to the Czech Republic. We’d traveled around the world and back again, and barely had time for our bodies to adjust to the time difference. Our reasons for such a short trip is mainly attributed so a limited annual holiday allowance at work. Every extra day we stayed in the UK, would be the loss of a long weekend exploring New Zealand. There was also little point in hanging around into the New Year as people had to return to work. It would only be delaying the inevitable.

I managed to catch up with a couple of friends, but as most had even quicker visits planned to their respective family homes, I missed many more. In truth, we didn’t do all that much when back – we ate loads and slept loads. We lazed around in front of the fire, sank into sofas, and wrapped ourselves around booze. People back in New Zealand asked me afterwards (amongst other questions) what the weather was like. I told them, “it was cold, wet, gray, and miserable – it was perfect.”

There are many different opinions offered on what home is: “where the heart is”; “the place you can never be turned away from” etc. And it is those things, but to us, we noticed it is the place we felt completely relaxed in. When walking into both Stu & Em’s, and my parent’s places, we felt worries dissipate & warmth surround us. Cynics may utter that this is the wonder of central-heating (a novelty not seen in most of New Zealand), but others will think about their homes, and know exactly the sensation I describe.

Sulphur Searching...

2006-12-15T22:45:00.000-08:00

There wasn’t much cause to stop in Hamilton. A museum, a zoo, and a Mormon temple are among the top attractions. However, there is another option that offered us something more appealing.

We’d taken a Friday off work in reward for successfully Christmas shopping for 14 people on the previous weekends, and now sought a relaxing long weekend. The botanical gardens 3 km south of Hamilton city-centre seemed like the ideal place, both geographically and psychologically, to make our first stop on this journey. The place is a multitude of contemplation arenas brought from across the globe and its ages. A Chinese scholar’s garden from around the 11th century is a good place to start, before you drift, ‘Shoin’ style, into the Japanese offering of Zen. Moving forward, we passed through the Italian Renaissance, felt more at home in 19th century England, and ended up in American modernism. Ironically, as the world changed around us, it felt that time stopped and our stress evaporated. Our only reason for finally moving on was the hunger that awoke us from this state. Our stomachs craved similarly deep nourishment to that our minds had received and we retreated to the car seeking sustenance.

We made the rest of the distance to ‘Rotorua’ in good time, and after a little phoning around, it wasn’t long before we were collapsed on our bed, and rejoicing in relaxation. We agreed that we wouldn’t worry about money this weekend (as much), and would consequently free ourselves from one of a traveller’s biggest concerns. Technically speaking, we haven’t been ‘travellers’ for some months now, but while we’re still seeing new things, have others still to see, and haven’t won the lottery, we still worried about the most cost effective way of doing everything. With our grand plans, this may remain our disposition for quite some years.

My parents had previously recommended the ‘Stone Grill Dining’ restaurant in ‘Rotorua’. There is another one in Auckland, not 20 metres from my office building, but as we were new in town, had no intention of cooking, and were getting hungry again, we went to that which was known. It didn’t disappoint. The novelty of this restaurant is the fact your food is brought to you, with the meat uncooked, and served on a slab of rock that has been heated to approximately 400 degrees Celsius by a custom designed oven. The extent of cooking (or secondary murder, in the case of steak) is then down to your discretion. Plate-licking is not recommended.

The next morning saw the only event that had a strict schedule, and therefore commanded some form of organisation and coordinated movement from us. At 10:15am every morning, the ‘Lady Knox Geyser’ at ‘Wai-O-Tapu’ begins her aquatic firework display to an audience drawn from afar. Those already sceptical of this reliably predictable event are correct to suspect. It seems ‘Mother Nature’ needs a little help these days, and is aided in this instance, by a few hundred grams of soap powder. This decreases the surface viscosity and sets off the show. Not exactly 100% natural, but at least it cuts down on the waiting and provides an impressive display.

If this did disappoint, then the rest of the ‘thermal wonderland’ would more than make up for it. I’ve never seen such amazing variety of colours in mud, lakes, and rocks. These included an amazing collection of pools and submerged terraces of incredible contrasting colours appropriately called ‘The Devil’s Paint Palette’, and the famous ‘Champagne Pool’ – a 60 metre wide explosion crater with bubbling green waters and deep orange borders.

On the way out, we stopped at the mud pools and spent far too long desperately trying (and mostly unsuccessfully), to capture the moment the mud bubbles burst, before returning to town. This left us the afternoon to explore the local thermal option, ‘Whakarewarewa’. It lacked dramatic impact after our morning’s viewings, but made up for it in cultural offerings – despite feeling somewhat Disney-like. There was a ‘Maori’ village, live sculpture carving, and an educational show demonstrating ‘Maori’ customs, dances, and songs. For lunch, we opted for the traditional ‘hangi’ – a mix of chicken and vegetables, wrapped in leaves and cooked underground.

In the evening, we reached the climax of relaxation - a post-dinner dip in the hot pools of the ‘Polynesian Spa’. This was built on the site of ‘Priest Springs’ and offered 31 hot mineral pools ranging in temperature and pH value, the majority of which overlook ‘Lake Rotorua’. We watched the clouds turn pink, the sky a deep orange, and the first stars appear. The air cooled and we sank deeper into the warmth. If we’d taken drinks along, we’d have stayed for hours.

The next day, we took the long way back to Auckland. Stopping first at the local adventure park, to see where ‘Zorbing’ was born, and then at ‘Kaituna Falls’ – a 7m drop that we intended to white-water raft over at a later date. Next it was an hour or two on the beach at the Bay of Plenty before a reluctant drive back to Auckland and an end to our break. We found ‘Rotorua’ to be a great escape with many colourful surprises and many adventures left to tackle. We never did quite get used to the sulphurous smell that engulfs the town, but it wasn’t as bad as we’d expected. The hint of eggs was there, but they weren’t quite rotten yet.

Warming up for Christmas

2006-12-07T11:50:00.000-08:00

In the run up to Christmas, we felt at odds with our surroundings. The warmer it got, the less festive it seemed. As everyone moaned about a patch of cold, wet weather, we experienced a whisper of what felt more right.

The days grew hotter and the evenings longer. It became customary for us to take our dinner to our bedroom, climb out the window, and dine on the roof – drinking red wine until the sun went down and the warmth left the glass.

At the start of December, we were visited by some friends of traveling past. Olli & Rikka, a Finnish couple we’d first met on Fraser Island in Queensland, and later said goodbye to in Cairns, were passing through Auckland on their way home. Both of our travels had ended for now, although Lucie & I were a lot farther from where we started. It was a nice feeling to catch up with old friends, in a new place, and as if no time had passed. We swapped our amended traveling resumes and toasted our onward journeys. I’m sure we’ll see them again, but in what country or year, remains to be clear.

Abel & Willing

2006-11-13T22:42:00.000-08:00

North of Kaikoura, the road and the coastline flirted like teens until the dominating terrain of the ‘Marlborough Sounds’ distracted the courtship, and we cut across to ‘Picton’. Being the marine gateway to the south island, and thus by definition (we assumed), a major port, it was a pleasant surprise as to what ‘Picton’ was actually like. By the low population (under 5000), and lack of gross developments, its simple threshold status seems never to have been surpassed, and it remains beautifully true to its surroundings of rainforest and golden coves.

Our unexpected appreciation of the area led to lunch and a short wander, and though we’d have liked to stay longer, all of us knew that another destination was calling. The distance to ‘Nelson’ was short, but the roads were procrastinating, so we didn’t arrive until early evening. This reduced our exploration to a hunt for the nearest decent meal, and we never saw more of the ‘world’s most art-deco city.’ Instead, when morning came, we journeyed away from the city and towards ‘Abel Tasman National Park.’

The road came to rest at a tiny bohemian-like village called ‘Marahau’, that held the keys for exploration in the park in the form of kayaks and water taxis, and sheltered a fleet of wood-carving herbalists, whose artistry was displayed in a makeshift gallery.

The park offers some of the best walking tracks & beaches in New Zealand, with an infinite supply of golden sand, perfect blue waters, rainforest interior, and limestone caves. The most appealing way of exploring the area was a 2-day kayak tour. This involves roaming the waters and resting on beaches during the day, feeding from barbeques, and sleeping through the nights under the watch of the stars. We imagined that it would be an amazingly relaxing getaway, and look forward to visiting the area again to try it. Unfortunately, our time was now finished in the south island. After only an inadequate wander on one beach, a drink in the café, and a chat with a hippy, we were forced to return to ‘Nelson’, drop back the car, and board the smallest plane I’ve ever been on. We thanked the heavens that the flying conditions looked perfect, and put our trust in ‘Air New Zealand.’

We used the last of the weekend to relax with my parents, and show them around the local area. Then it was back to work for us, and a little trip to ‘Rotorua’, ‘Hamilton’, and ‘Hobbiton’ for them. They joined us again on Tuesday evening, racing back from their new adventures outside Auckland, for a culinary seafood adventure at our place. The next evening they returned the favour, by taking us to the ‘Orbit’ restaurant at the Sky Tower, and we toasted our travels in New Zealand. Similar to the hellos that were said two weeks prior, our goodbyes took place before work commenced, and once again the moment seemed unreal. It was a different style on this occasion, but denial was undoubtedly the same culprit. It had become so normal for them to be living just down the road, popping over for dinner, or meeting us in town, that I’m sure we didn’t want to believe the truth was going to be a 24hr flight away again.

For many years now, I have considered my parents as friends more than guardians. This is not solely attributed to my independence, or my father’s immortal immaturity (don’t ever change dad), but due to the relationship that exists between us. True to any friendship, there were moments on the trip when fighting was imminent and distance was tempting, but on the whole, it’s a holiday I’d happily repeat again and again. The only possible problems would arise from our livers and hearts in attempting to cope with all the alcohol and fry-ups.

3 is a Magic Number

2006-11-13T20:49:00.000-08:00

Wildlife has always played an important role in the attention connected to 'Kaikoura' (pronounced ‘Ki-ko-da’). Excavations have shown the area to have been a moa-hunter settlement approximately 1000 years ago - in fact, the largest moa egg (or pieces of) ever found (240mm long, 178 mm wide) was recovered from a burial site near the present ‘Fyffe House.’ This was built by George Fyffe after emigrating from Scotland in 1854 to join his cousin, and is one of the last remnants of that era. Robert Fyffe had previously established the first European settlement here in 1842, in form of a whaling station, and it remained the whaling centre for New Zealand until 1922. After the whaling ended, deer & sheep farming and agriculture flourished, until 1987 when once again the aquatic giants rose back into the spot-light, and the country’s first commercial whale spotting tours were established.

The reason for their abundance here is attributable to the convergence of warm and cold currents at the base of a steep continental shelf. When these mix, nutrients on the ocean floor are swept up into the light zone, attracting a vast array of organisms ranging in size from krill to the might blue whale.

Other guests to this nautical buffet often include dolphins (Hector, Dusky, Bottlenose, & Common), fur seals, orcas (killer whales), pilot whales, and the charismatic sperm whale. From the skies, attendees include shearwaters, fulmars, petrels, and the magnificent royal and wandering albatross.

Any of these contenders would be a welcome sight on a voyage, but the star of the show is undoubtedly the sperm whale. As nature can never be relied upon to put in an appearance when desired, it is recommended that you allow a few days in the town to increase your chances of a sighting. We arrived late on a Wednesday morning and immediately reduced our chances by foregoing the trips available that day, and instead opting to go the next morning. It wasn’t the whales so much that we were thinking of at the time, but hopes of perfect conditions.

We’d escaped the worst of the weather, but were still within range of the storm’s mighty breath. It carried across the land in a piercing cold wind that made the people haunch over, and whipped the sea into frenzy. However, the end of the tunnel was well lit. The locals assured us that a cold wind is always followed by a calm sea and a content sky. As ever, we remained optimistic.

The afternoon was now free to relax, but never being able to sit still when there is exploring to be done, we were up and out of our accommodation before the 50th wink was reached. We wrapped up in pretty much every layer available and headed out to the fur seal colony. We encountered our first furry colonial, not a step beyond the car park, and with each step after, we noticed another. The trick wasn’t so much in spotting them, but in trying to not spot the dead ones, being stripped of their layers by the opportunistic gulls that resided next door. Thankfully, the undeniable beauty of the area, made the truth about the seals more deniable; in the end we reasoned that some of them were just a little thin and other were just taking a little nap.

That night, we dined on the town’s namesake, ‘Kai’ – meaning ‘food’, and Koura meaning ‘crayfish.’ Expensive and ultimately unfulfilling in terms of appetite, it was a delicious traveller-necessity of visiting the area, and I’d recommend a half to anyone.
Morning arrived and our hopes had been rewarded. Not only were the skies a perfect blue, but the mountains had been blessed with a covering of snow. The backdrop to our day was looking perfect. Now, all we needed were the whales.

I was impressed with the set-up of this trip from the moment we walked through the reception, past the gift shop, and into the departure lounge with flat screen TVs - The business of whale watching was clearly fruitful. This was obviously aided by the distinct lack of competition and thus monopoly on the experience gained by only one company having Maori consent to operate.

We boarded our assigned vessel and sat back to watch the mandatory safety video, before enjoying a special effects feature that illuminated the dark world beneath the surface. This was coordinated with our boat’s progress away from shore and out over the ocean trench, upating us on how quickly the shelf was dropping away. From there on out, it was a question of waiting, enjoying the view, spotting albatross, and waiting for the call from above. Spotter planes are the bringers of light on this expedition, which is why bad weather has such an impact on the success of finding whales. When the call comes in, and the coordinates are relayed, it’s hands to rails, and top speed to the vicinity.

The first thing that you can see of the whale is the spray from its blowhole. Apparently, this can be seen from miles around, but I question whether if not using magnifying apparatus or the eyes of a hawk.

It appears as nothing more impressive than a floating log at first, and doesn’t really get more exciting for 90% of the rest of the time it’s in sight. The strange thing is the effect that these things have on you, when they’ve had enough fresh air and take another dive. It’s this moment, when the body arches, the head dips and the tail rises to curl majestically before slipping below the surface, that grabs your attention like a perfect sunset. This is the moment that is captured for posters, postcards, and imaginations around the world. It’s another one of those things in life when the penultimate moment is followed swiftly by the end of the experience; once the whale dives, it is unlikely that you’ll see the same once again in that trip (being champion athletes, these swimmers can hold their breaths for up to an hour). So with a flip of the tail, the whale provides a final salute to the world, and a wave more recognizable than the Queen’s.

Into Hot Water

2006-11-12T14:56:00.000-08:00

Our hopes of aerial exploration were renewed the next morning with the idea of doing a flight around the glacial region, but once again the weather decided otherwise. We walked around town with one eye on the shops and one on the skies, but knew our chances of flying were lower than a Bin Laden's. We checked out the famous glass blowers, and saw some Kiwis (birds not humans) and tuataras (native reptiles), and then got back on the road. We’d decided that if the mountains were bringing down the rain, then we’d have to cut across country, and go beyond their reach.

The route across the south island at this point cut through a natural gap in the mountain range and consequently was a far straighter, easier, and faster drive than further south. It meant we arrived at the spa town, ‘Hamner Springs’ by early afternoon and had plenty of time to relax in the thermal pools.

This town strangely seemed to mark the furthest reaches of the rain as it was carried across the south island. The clouds approaching from the west looked dark, furious and unrelenting, but by the time they were above, their temperament had calmed, and only a light mist fell. If this pattern continued further east, then the future would be bright.

An Icy Reception

2006-11-11T22:31:00.000-08:00

Heli-hiking on Fox Glacier was probably the main thing we were looking forward to doing on this trip to the South Island. It would be a first of many things for us: flying in a helicopter, seeing a glacier, and hopefully exploring some ice caves. When you’re looking forward to anything in life, you can’t help but picture how you think it might be. If you’re an optimist then this will always be perfect – perfect weather, perfect experience, and everything that you hope for. Unfortunately, the same curse that ridiculed our vision of ‘Mitre Peak’ in Milford Sound was back to taunt us again. Nothing personal; I've now discovered it's just an effect of meteorology and geography - the South-Westland lies in the path of a band of wind known as the ‘roaring forties’. Once this wind rises to pass the Southern Alps, it cools and drops its cargo as rain and snow. On the plus side, this is what feeds the Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers and keeps them in existence, but it doesn’t help much when trying to view them from a helicopter - our flight was officially cancelled.

In truth, once we’d seen the advent of rain, our desire to do the hike fell in a similar fashion. There was no point doing the trip, just for the sake of it, and we all knew that it would be miserable in the wet – especially considering the cost involved. No, it would have to remain on ‘the list’ for another day. However, just because the helicopters weren’t flying, didn’t mean we couldn’t take a peak at the base. No point, passing through the area without at least a glacial glance.

I’d previously only seen glaciers from the modest distance of the cruising altitude of a commercial aeroplane, or while snowboarding on top on one. Either way, it’s a little hard to properly gauge the monumental size of the things and thus appreciate how impressive they actually are. As well as the size, (13km long, 300m deep, and a vertical drop of 2600m) the glaciers of this region have a few extra attributes that separate them from those that reside elsewhere in the world: A high amount of snowfall on a nevés larger than cities, combined with basal sliding, and the incline, cause these glacier to have flow rates up to 10 times faster than most valley glaciers; amazingly the terminal face of Fox Glacier is just 300 metres above sea level, 20 km from the coast, and in the middle of lush rainforest. For these reasons, both glaciers are also easily accessible.

We left the car park with the simple desire to walk to the nearest view point and just see the glacier from afar, but once the beast was in sight, it beckoned us closer and we forgot about the rain. It looked massive from a distance, but was infinitely more impressive once we were standing beneath its jagged haunches and watching roaring white water burst forth from its mouth.

Once the rain had seeped through to the skin, we called it a day, and headed on up the coast. The plan was to stop at the next town as we knew how early people in these parts stopped serving dinner, but the first few options didn’t seem warm to outsiders. The only thing lacking was a banjo playing hick and the squeal of a pig. Dinner began to seem less important.

In the end our patience was rewarded, but our wallets were dented. Chosen for the fact there was a restaurant on-site, we stayed at a posh out-of-town place near Hokitika called ‘Stations Inn’ and had the best dinner and night's sleep yet.

Post-Haast

2006-11-10T11:12:00.000-08:00

The route from Queenstown to the west coast has to be one of the most beautiful in the country. The road starts with a winding ascent to panoramic glory, takes a stroll amongst the hills, and then opens out to crystal lakes and never-ending mountains. It's the sort of journey that would never bore; offering a different experience with every subtle change of weather, season, or time of day. Breaks in the clouds creates spotlights from heaven that illuminate different aspects of the scenery like a gallery of the gods.

Our original plan was to drive straight through this area and make it to the coast before nightfall, but our delayed departure from Queenstown meant we needed to find accommodation sooner. It was this twist of fate that led us to 'Makarora'. It wasn't so much what was at this village that made it so special, but what wasn't. It was pure & peaceful, and oh-so relaxing. An occasional crisp breeze swept down from the mountains and cleansed the soul, while the surrounding greenery breathed good health. If we'd been road tripping without time-constraints, it's the sort of place we'd have stayed for at least a week just to revitalise in doing nothing.

The holiday park was practically empty when we arrived so we had the choice of two dozen 'A-frame' cabins of variant degrees of luxury. Lucie and I chose basic, whereas our more mature travellers on their gap month picked something a little more upmarket that included a bathroom. By the time we made it to the restaurant at the grand old time of 7:30pm, the chef had already left for the day so we were left with only what our caffeine-fuelled waitress could muster. This turned out to be a feast of toasted sandwiches, microwaved-quiche, and round after round of wholesome booze. It seems amazing that a location that had so little could win our hearts so quickly and provide so many warm memories.

The next morning we fuelled up on fry-up, and were back on the road early, giving plenty of time to get to Fox Glacier in time for our afternoon ‘heli-hike’. Soon after ‘Haast Pass’, we made our first stop of the day to check out the famous ‘Blue Pools’ of Mount Aspiring National Park. Although only a 15 minute walk from the road, these pools felt like stumbling onto another plane of existence. The contrasting colours are almost too rich to be anything other than a dream. Deep azure blue glacial water gathers in light-grey cradles of rock. The surrounding forest is covered on every surface with life and colour that appears prehistoric and preserved. The water is so impossibly clear that fish appear suspended in air.

The only thing that contradicts the lost atmosphere is the quality of the bridge that crosses the river and how well-kept the paths are. Like some route through a theme world of an amusement park giving people a glimpse of the past. We wandered around the waters, skimmed stones, and soaked up the surroundings, before reluctantly acknowledging the movement of time, and the need to move on. From this point on it was pretty much all downhill. The valley floor widened and the mountains on either side faded into the distance before meeting the ocean and disappearing beneath the surface. When we faced a similar fate upon reaching the town of ‘Haast’, the road turned sharply north and we followed the coast towards glacier country.

Demon Facing

2006-11-09T23:24:00.000-08:00

When something scares you, a series of reactions occur that prepares your body for dealing with the threat. This is called the “fight-or-flight” response. A part of the brain called the hypothalamus activates the sympathetic nervous system and the adrenal-cortical system, releasing a flood of adrenaline, noradrenaline, and dozens of other hormones into the body. These cause a number of reactions: breathing speeds up to feed the muscles with oxygen; your heart rate increases to deliver the oxygen; stored sugar is released providing energy; digestion is inhibited reducing unnecessary blood flow; muscles tighten; sweat glands activate; and your pupils dilate allowing as much light as possible to enter and increasing your sensory awareness. You become a coiled cobra poised to strike, and remain in this state until the danger has passed. However, should the threat linger, then the body is placed under tremendous stress by attempting to maintain this position of action. If the threat is not immediate, and is only based on an idea of what is in the future, then the fear can be diminished with denial and a concentrated change of subject. However, fears that are not faced are placed deep in the subconscious where they fester and grow in strength every time the thought of the threat returns. These fears become a person’s demons.

I witnessed my first bungy jump when holidaying in Greece as a kid. A crane had been erected on the main beach providing a platform for any would be dare-devils and a stage for others to watch. In the space of two weeks, I watched 10s of people take the plunge. Each scream cut deeper into my mind and I felt a terrifying connection with every person that couldn’t jump. But I couldn’t look away; I was fascinated. Why were some people able to jump and others not? What compels someone to leap from safety & trust a latex cord? Was it something missing from their mind or missing from their life?

Over the years, my fear gained in strength, but it wasn't until I left the UK to start travelling that the official countdown began. I knew that New Zealand, being the bungy capital of the world, would be most appropriate field on which to battle my demon, and it would only be a matter of time before I arrived. Meanwhile, every traveller’s tale I read about bungy jumping caused the same reactions of “fight-or-flight”. I’d have to put an article down intermittently when reading it, to let my heart beat ease, and my breathing return to normal. I felt sick just thinking about it. Whether you can say it had developed into a fully fletched phobia by this point is arguable. My only strength was that I knew my imagination was far more terrifying than anything real. When I was a kid, standing at the bottom of the Eifel Tower, I became nauseous just thinking about climbing it, and yet when I reached the top, I was completely comfortable leaning over the edge. In fact I felt compelled to jump. I’ve always felt this desire when being at great heights - telling myself that “I could make it; it would be OK”. Then when the urge becomes really strong, base fear of survival kicks in and I physically pull myself back from the edge and breathe. This is a form of acrophobia – it is the fear of jumping, not the fear of the height itself.

Ordinarily, the best way to face a fear is on impulse - a spontaneous action with the minimum amount of time to think about it beforehand. However, thanks to the seemingly inexplicable popularity of this type of venture, advance bookings are essential. There was no mobile reception in the protection of Fjordland National Park, but I knew this wouldn't last long on the journey back to Queenstown. For that reason, I handled my mobile phone like a remote detonator, knowing that it would be activated at any moment and I'd have to make the call. Booking this early should guarantee it being possible to jump, but it would also provide around 15 hours of agonising mental torture beforehand.

- When someone commits suicide by jumping from a height, it’s not usually the impact that kills them; it’s the heart-attack in the fall -

When that moment arrived, the polite greeting of the agent sounded like sinister mockery of my tortured mind. This messenger of Beelzebub, then explained that there were no jumps tomorrow morning due to training (“Why do they need further training? What's happened?”), so the earliest was at 12:00. An extra 3 hours had been added to my sentence. I dabbled with the temptation of using this as justification of not going through with it but I was tired of running from this. The longer it was, the weaker I became, and the stronger the fear. And so, it was booked. By reading out my credit card numbers like a prisoner ID, I'd confirmed Lucie and I would be leaping into nothing, sometime after high-noon. That's right, despite having no real desire to do it, and thus less motivation to face this fear, somewhere along the road to perdition, Lucie conceded to love or lunacy and agreed to join me.

- News Headline: Traveller dies whilst girlfriend and parents look on -

From the moment of hanging up the phone, to noon the next day, bursts of fear crept over my skin like an army of spiders. Temporary moments of blissful daydreaming were obliterated with remembrance of my impending doom and the feeling of sickness returned. The beers at dinner had helped kill some of those thoughts, but the effect of alcohol wears off if not replenished. When morning arrived, I was exhausted through living the moment of jumping again and again in my sleep. Lucie was holding up better than me and had only really shown signs of fear during the night when darkness and the nightmares took over. I’d been running hyper on adrenaline for 14 hours now and felt completely drained of life-force. At breakfast, I’d barely been able to eat. I had to coax my stomach into working again with tiny portions of food before it could handle a decent bite. I put 8 sugars in my tea to supply easily digestible energy and then moved onto the canned energy drinks. I’d become a tortured hostage to my own ambition.

We persuaded our bodies to actually get on the bus to the jump-site by reasoning that we didn’t have to jump at any point; this was our decision. Besides, we’d get most of the money back if we didn’t do it, so there was no reason not to go. On the way, we both had moments of clarity when we realised we were actually on the way to doing it.

The minibus slowed as we passed the Kawarau Bungy Jump – the first commercial jump-site in the world and no slouch at 43 metres in height. The driver allowed us all gasp at the thought, and then told us we would be jumping from nearly 3 times this elevation. “I want to go home.”

Our journey was delayed on-route by some explosives clearing an overhang above one stretch of road – it seems everyone wanted the build-up to last as long as possible. The only way to the ‘Nevis’ site is along a private road that winds around the hills and takes you further and further from safety. When the road opens out and the jump-pod first comes into view, it’s like stumbling onto a James Bond villain’s lair. No sane person would conceive such a thing. A garage suspended on wires 134 metres (440 feet) above a raging river. To quote Mr. John Patrick McEnroe Jr, “You cannot be serious”.

Suited and booted, harnesses on, and liability signed away, we all made our way out to the jump pop courtesy of a shopping trolley on a pulley system. My ass-hole could’ve made diamonds of coal at this point.

The first thing the instructor said upon my arrival was, “How are you feeling?” There was no point in lying, my emotions couldn’t be any clearer unless they were running down my trouser legs. “I’m f*****g terrified!” To which he replied, “Good, the more scared you are, the better the rush will be.” Well, that’s it, in that case, I’m about to embark on a trip to the moon.

- Bungy jumping has been successfully used to keep heroin users clean from their habit -

Stepping into the pod was like entering a new world. I couldn’t believe the buzz in the air as everyone was in different stages of either getting ready to jump, or buzzing from their experience. A blend of punk rock and new metal was screaming from a stereo and feeding the electricity in the air. Instead of feeling sick, now, as the adrenaline was pumping, I felt exited. I knew I would jump. I was actually never afraid of jumping; I was petrified that I physically wouldn’t be able to jump - afraid of failing myself. The order was determined by weight so being about average, I was set to jump about halfway. Ankle straps were secured in place and then I made my way through the gate, into the jump area, and then into ‘the chair.’ Sitting in the chair is when most people give in to panic and pull out. It’s too much to be that close and not being able to jump straight away. This is the moment when they point out you are being filmed and ask you to smile for the camera. I always was good at smiling when nervous. I was then ushered to the edge, taking penguins steps forward due to the ankle straps, and forever paranoid of tripping and falling ahead of schedule into the abyss. The fact you have to position yourself with toes just over the edge makes it impossible not to look down. One last look at Lucie for a good bye photo and the countdown begins. I don’t remember hearing it, but I remember the moment of jumping. Looking straight ahead, I lent forward (so there was no going back), bent my legs and pushed myself out in the most elegant swan dive I could muster. And then, silence. Falling so quickly and none of it seemed real. A flood of endorphins, opiates, & dopamine were released into the blood and brought about euphoria. After 8 and a half seconds of freefall the bounce comes. There is no sudden jerk like you’d expect. In fact, it’s not even noticeable that you’re slowing down, until you realise you are going back up again. And then the relief intensifies “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I f*cking did it.”

As soon as I got back to the top, Lucie was there with open arms. “It’s incredible. You’re going to love it” were some of my first words. Soon after that it was her turn. She wasn’t blessed with the nervous smile that did me so proud. Actually, I’ve never seen anyone looking so scared in my life, but she jumped without hesitation when the moment came, and gave the loudest scream I’d ever heard. When she returned to the pod, we must have looked like two loved up drug fiends; nervous hand movements, lots of hugs and kisses, huge grins, and both full to the brim with chemicals – it’s a lot harder getting the high when it’s natural, and it doesn’t get much harder than this. The ‘Nevis Highwire’ is the 2nd highest bungy jump in the world. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Showering in Sound

2006-11-08T20:52:00.000-08:00

In the thousand words that each postcard picture of Milford Sound paints, there is no mention, not even a hint, of one very simple fact. It rains here 180 days a year - nearly half the year. And that's not just a subtle hint of water sprinkled lightly from the heavens; it's a deluge averaging 5.5m a year. Unsurprisingly, the day we chose to visit happened to be when they were expecting 120mm of freshly squeezed cloud juice. However, hope was not lost, (we were told) the best time to see Milford Sound is when it's raining, as 90% of the waterfalls disappear within 30 minutes of the rain stopping. This was not a timing that we would be able put to the test.

The only way to Milford Sound by road is via Homer Tunnel. Named after Harry Homer (discoverer of the Homer Saddle), it was dug entirely by hand and pick, between 1933 & 1953, and provided much needed relief to a Depression struck local population.

On one of those good days of the year, when you emerge from Homer Tunnel, the world drops away before your eyes into 'Cleddau Canyon', providing a spectacular sight and the sensation of falling into another world. When people first made this journey, they would have been entranced with every metre covered, as the landscape revealed more and more beauty from behind curtains of rock and rainforest. When they completed the descent and reached the shore, they would have seen a near perfect reflection of 'Mitre Peak' in the serene water. It would have seemed like finding a lost world – the only things missing were a bunch of dinosaurs, followed by a fat old Englishmen, a Chaos theorist, two palaeontologists, and some annoying kids.

Driving through the tunnel, you can’t help but notice the rough and unfinished interior surfaces, and thus how natural looking they appear. It’s like some geological phenomena has caused this portal through the mountain to open, or ‘Moses’ had been in New Zealand and was feeling productive. Water flows over the jagged surface and forms small waterfalls at the side of the tunnel adding to the mysterious atmosphere. When we reached the light at the end, the low cloud and thick moisture in the air reflected the light to cause a momentary blinding glare that was replaced by slow revelation of the surroundings. The mountains in front appeared, just as the ones behind were consumed. The rock walls stretched up to disintegrate in the clouds and fall back down as waterfalls.

It was no surprise, when we arrived at the shore, that there was no perfect reflection of 'Mitre Peak' in the water’s surface. We were slightly surprised that we couldn't even see it. What we could see was a dozen different boats docked and ready to be boarded next to a terminal building that was larger than a Greek airport. Not exactly being prepared for this weather, we had to purchase four of the finest cagoules the shop offered before proceeding further. After this, we used the voucher we’d picked up at the Hollyford cabins, and waited for our departure time on the ‘Encounter Nature’ tour. This was a longer, more relaxed option, involving more ‘participation’ and allowing a ‘closer’ look at nature. In retrospect a prolonged trip in the pouring rain that involved going under one waterfall may not have been the best option at that time.

Bathing in nature, I thought back to what Billy Connolly said when travelling around New Zealand – “there is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.” Our clothing was definitely not appropriate, but the scenery here was fantastic. Breathtaking waterfalls brought life to every surrounding. The runoff for the entire country seemed to be cascading down the sides to fill the valley. A waterfall in any setting is worthy of a quick snapshot, but these demanded multiple clickings. The only thing is, it was only a matter of time, before the action of drying our camera lenses became too repetitive so we sought shelter inside, and the warmth of a cup of soup. We still ventured outside for outstanding moments of beauty, sights of sealions, or to get drenched under one waterfall, but the rain was swiftly washing away our enthusiasm for the voyage. It’s the sort of experience that has got better with time, as wet memories are dried up and the beauty of the photos takes over. I’m still keen to return one day and get that perfect picture that we see on so many postcards, but I’m glad we saw it in all it’s wet glory.

Queenstown again

2006-11-07T15:48:00.000-08:00

When you suffer from sleep depravation, nothing seems real, everything is distant - like watching TV with the sound turned off. I’m not sure if it was because of the lack of sleep I’d had the previous night, or if it was the shock of looking up and seeing my parents smiling and waving at us, but it just didn’t seem real when we first saw them again. Or maybe it was because I had gotten so used to only seeing them in photos and over a webcam, that all it took was the glass of the lobby window separating us, to make it seem like looking at a moving photo. Well, that, the inane grins on their faces, and the ecstatic waving you’d associate with a one-armed window cleaner, sponsored by "Redbull". I’m sure they were thinking similar thoughts as we looked just the same.

For the next 24 hours, it was like I was living 60 minutes behind life; it wasn’t until after I left my parents, that I started to believe I had just seen them again. "Did I speak to them? Did I manage a conversation? Am I talking out loud? Man, I need some more sleep."

The day passed with the simplicity of extended confusion and the anticipation of waiting to see them again. By the time, I'd finished with work for the day and met them in front of the harbour, I was well and truly ready for a holiday. We guided them through the immense 300 metre distance back to our apartment and asked them about their travels so far. It was strange to be discussing “travelers’ tales” with my parents, and for once, not being the teller. We then took them to dinner at our favourite Japanese restaurant before leaving them at their hotel, and returning to our apartment and blissful unconsciousness.

We left the airport in our newly hired Subaru Legacy, sped down memory lane into Queenstown, and went straight to “Ferburger”. When my parents first confirmed they were coming to New Zealand, I knew I would have to introduce them to these monstrous burgers. Plus, it was just a good excuse for me to return.

The sun was looking favourably on us now, but the forecast was less encouraging so we decided to start the journey to 'Milford Sound' a day early. Stopping en-route for coffee and Kodak breaks, we reached our intended accommodation in Hollyford Valley just in time for dinner. Described as quaint, beautiful, and historic, it was a museum of cabins from the 1930s with wood burners for heating and insects for companionship. Dinner commenced the moment I stepped out of the car and the first little sucker announced to his friends there was new blood in town. Thankfully, mum's expression of initial impression left no doubt over our desire to stay, and the owner bade us farewell with a smile and a blessing.

We now had no choice but to backtrack 50 km to the nearest alternative accommodation, without knowing if they had any availability, or have any mobile reception to call them. There was also the important factor of whether we would arrive in time for a restaurant to still be serving food, so we had to move quickly. However, when you have 4 tourists in hire car, who are armed to the teeth with photographic technology, there is always something to stop and have a look at on the way.

As it turned out, our timing of arrival was impeccable; there were a couple of rooms left, the majority of the dinner guests had finished and vacated the dining room, and the French chef had just packed up to leave. True to his nation, he surrendered to our orders easily, and swiftly returned to the kitchen to cook up some dinner.

Sailing for Snapper

2006-10-23T00:27:00.000-07:00

One in three people in Auckland own a boat. That’s an amazing amount. OK, the figure is slightly distorted by the distinctly rich who own more than one, but it’s still an amazing proportion, and one of the reasons why Auckland is know as the ‘City of Sails'.

Our flat-mate, Phil had previously asked us if we’d like to come out on his parent’s boat with him and his girlfriend sometime. Then Sunday came, the sun peeked out from behind a veil of grey, the water appeared calm, and the day was decided. For Lucie & I, it was a chance to do as the locals do, see a little more of the area, and try to catch our own dinner again. For everyone else, it was just another Sunday.

Upon boarding our vessel for the day, Phil’s dad pointed out proudly that the boat’s designer was an Englishman named ‘Fred Parker’ from Southampton. Should we have been in America, I would have immediately followed this comment with the declamation of being related to ‘Fred’, but I resisted here.

Sailing (do you still call it sailing when using an engine?) out from East Auckland we slowly made our way over to ‘Waiheke Island’. Our first destination was a spot marked promisingly on the map with a large fish. Confidence was running high as we baited up and cast out into the depths, and before long, the first catch of the day was reeled in – a monster 20 cm long 'Yellowtail'. On the west coast of Australia, Lucie and I would have had this thing killed, gutted, and on it’s way to digestion within minutes, but thankfully for us (and the fish), we were in the company of people that knew better. One, this was too small to legally kill, two, yellowtail are only good for the cat to eat, and 3, they’re generally full of lice. Education is a wonderful thing sometimes.

Unfortunately for us, despite horribly wounding numerous fish, and one small shark, nothing was actually worth killing and taking home. The ‘Red Snapper’ we’d managed to lure into our hands were too young, and the only fish of a decent size, our hosts couldn’t identify. As I said before, this wouldn’t have ordinarily dissuaded us from throwing him onto the grill pan, but it seems you shouldn’t eat what you don’t know. Not letting a little thing like an unsuccessful fishing trip get in the way of dinner, we stopped off at the supermarket on the way home, and picked up a feast of king prawns and red snapper. Sure, it would’ve been nice to eat something we’d caught (and cheaper), but the meal was too damn good to worry about the minor details.

Snowboarding Doom

2006-10-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

We arrived at the town of ‘Ohakune’ with just about enough time to unpack, sink a drink, and fall asleep before midnight arrived. The post-work 4 hour drive from Auckland had been made incredibly easy by Phil taking the reins & Heidi navigating the whole way. Lucie and I had long since been recognized for our elderly sleeping patterns, so it didn’t come as a surprise when silence was our prevailing contribution to the journey. In the few moments that I actually managed to overcome the sounds of the Sandman, and tried steal a glimpse of the mountains, my efforts were thwarted by low cloud and the colour of night. The next morning would be an enlightening occasion.

Over 2 months ago, we enjoyed an introduction to New Zealand snowboarding with a short holiday in Queenstown before starting work. It had awakened my addiction, and made Lucie a new member to the dependency club. When we returned to Auckland, we promised ourselves a couple of trips to the north island resorts before the season closed, but when work started, time sped up. Luckily, the particularly harsh winter that had engulfed the country, had left behind a legacy that was still over 2 metres deep on the upper sections of mountain. Added to this, we'd discovered that our new flat mates suffered a similar love of the white stuff and were equally keen to get one more hit in this year.

Tongariro National Park is governed by three prestigious, ever present, and often violent mountains: Mt. Ruapehu, Mt. Tongariro, and Mt. Ngauruhoe. Various aspects of each of these giants were used recently in Peter Jackson’s vision of Tolkien’s “Mt. Doom.” This attention has increased the international interest, but the locals have a long established fear and respect for the area. Formed only 120 thousand years ago, they are geological infants, and are often known for throwing attention-grabbing tantrums. The most destructive of recent times occurred in 1953. Prior eruptions in 1945 & 1947 had blocked the overflow of the acidic crater-lake near the summit, and the water level rose dramatically. When the eruption of 1953 shook the blockage loose, a volcanic mudflow called a ‘lahar’ swept down the mountain and took out a railway bridge seconds before a crowded express train was due to cross it. 153 people lost their lives in the resulting collision.

Eruptions in 1995 & 1996 caused another blockage and experts predicted that the next ‘lahar’ would occur sometime between 2002 & 2006. On the 4th October 2006, 10 days before we arrived at the mountain’s base, it looked like the time had come. An eruption had triggered ‘lahar warning system’ but it turned out that the eruption had simply damaged a sensor. There was no break in the crater wall, but the volcano was definitely waking up. Between 24th September and October 4th, the lake level increased by 1.3 metres, and the temperature increased from 7.5 degrees C to 22.5C. However, on the morning of the 14th October, the only thing that concerned us was the weather. An addiction like this tends to have a blinding effect. High winds had forced closure to the ‘Whakapapa’ resort for the day, but the good news was ‘Turoa’ was definitely open.

The next couple of hours went by in a bit of a blur - getting dressed, eating breakfast, hiring equipment, getting to the resort, and buying lift-passes - but I clearly remember those first few seconds on snow again. It’s a feeling like no other, and I am eternally thankful for finding my religion. I’ve also discovered that I have the same ecstatic feeling when watching Lucie progress. Seeing her cut some confident turns in and negotiate her way down the mountain was equally as elating as when I first did it.

The last run of the day was a beginner snowboarder’s nightmare; busy, narrow, flat in places, and littered with exposed rocks. All of these factors are the novice’s nemesis as they force you to turn the board when you may not necessarily be ready or comfortable – the threat of a painful drop or a sudden stop will do this to you. For this reason, it was an awesome sight when Lucie arrived at the base just a few minutes after me. To toast our victorious day, we bought some beers and sat replaying the day while waiting for Heidi & Phil to join us. Perfick!

The next day started as a blow-out but ended up being a sightseeing success. The wind had increased and both resorts were now closed, but rather than head back to Auckland straight away, we decided to take the long way home, and stop at a few places along the way. We stopped for lunch at Lake Taupo, went for a stroll around ‘Huka Falls’, and explored the ‘Craters of the Moon’ geothermal area. Named for its otherworldly atmosphere, this area offers a walk among steam vents, mud pools, and craters left from minor eruptions. The cold air made the steam appear as smoke, which when combined with the numerous craters, across the area, made it seem like we walking through a battleground at the dusk of a war.

It occured to me later, that this is the weekend when I should have been making an entirely different journey. According to my original plan, and flight tickets, I should have been on a flight from New York to Heathrow, and my travelling route would now be complete. Instead, I am living and working in New Zealand with the girl I love... who met me in the UK ... but originally came from the Czech Republic. It's a funny old world.

Nea Zooland

2006-10-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

Our reconnaissance tour of the city wouldn’t be complete without a visit to the zoo. It has become almost a tradition of my travels, which was born in Bangkok, and has never again seen such terrible conditions.

The Auckland Zoo is a quintessential example of quality over quantity. Great care and thought has gone into every aspect of its design, from the enclosures, the viewing areas, and the overall layout. The most striking example of this was the African animals’ enclosure, ‘Pride-lands.’ The platforms around this area were at different elevations and proximity to the animals, allowing visitors a variety of viewing angles.

As per usual, most animals were reluctant to put on any kind of show for the camera wielding enthusiasts, but some were coaxed into action with a subtle hint of offered food. When we arrived at the Orangutan enclosure, the stars of the show were being less active than a bunch of inebriated snails, and were sitting about 40ft from the nearest lens. Considering the fact they weren’t even looking in my direction, I was amazed how fast they moved towards me, when I subtly revealed the banana from my pocket. Perhaps it was because it answered a question regarding the bulge in the pocket that they’d been contemplating. Whatever the reason, they were over in seconds and eyeing me up like a group of post-club students at a kebab house. The people behind us hadn’t seen the revelation take place and were amazed at my animal magnetism. OK, I’m not proud of it; I know it’s extremely cruel to taunt animals and that’s why I couldn’t just walk away without sharing the nutritious snack with them. And yes, I realize that they are on a carefully maintained diet, but there was no way I could just walk away after the looks they’d given me. I mean out of sympathy for them, not shared adulation.

The next weekend, our new flat mates offered to lend us their car so we could explore a little further a field than local bus routes. The car hadn’t been used in a while, so before we headed back to the flat to pick up supplies, we took a long detour around the bays of east Auckland. Each bay has a village growing on it that is so similar to the small towns we’d encountered on the coasts of Australia. The only difference was that these are separated by a 2 minute drive, not 4 hours, and are located a maximum of 10 minutes drive from the centre of the nearest city.

With a car full of petrol, and our bags full of food, we headed west and arrived at the Waitakere Ranges after a whopping 20 minutes of driving. We hadn’t planned to stop here, but I’m not the sort of chap who ignores the calls of hunger, and the cries were undeniable when we were approaching this point. It was only when we were sitting there, taking in our surroundings (and lunch) high up in the hills, and looking down towards the blue sea, that we thought about how far away this seemed, and how close it actually is. I apologise now if this line of thought becomes a cliché in my descriptions of New Zealand, but I’m constantly amazed at its truth. There is so much diversity to the country within such short distances.

Our mission for the day was to see some of the fabled black beaches of the west coast, and we’d picked ‘Piha’ as the place to start. ‘Piha’ was the birthplace of board riding in New Zealand and has since been the location for numerous national advances in life saving equipment and methodology. These are probably attributable to the necessity of invention, as the rips and currents are notoriously unforgiving. And if the sea doesn’t get you, the rocks probably will. The Australian surf team vowed never to compete here again after facing the NZ team in the 1950s (and never have). When the Iron Man contest was held here in 1997, canoes were snapped in two. We would definitely not be resuming our surfing lessons today.

The most striking aspect of ‘Piha’ is ‘Lion Rock’, which stands near the middle of the beach, defiantly facing the constant attack of the sea. You can climb this if desired, but we were nursing a couple of hangovers, so never left the safety of the sand.

It is a beautiful section of coast, that I’m sure will be revisited many times during the summer months, but I have to say, we felt a little let down. When told of black sand beaches, we expected sand that was darker than a witch’s soot-covered cauldron, not a dirty iron colour. Was this another case of the exercise of creative license in the advertising campaigns or simply our imaginations running a little over-actively? It turns out, that we just picked the wrong beach. Apparently, the really black beaches are further south. Whether that is true or not, will be revealed as our explorations continue.

A New Perception

2006-10-06T17:54:00.000-07:00

Our typical modus operandi upon arriving at a new destination has always remained pretty typical. Set up a temporary base, find out the main sites of interest, and blitz through as many of them as possible using whatever time and effort was available. However, when we got to Auckland, our mission statement was slightly different. We were looking to stay here long-term & our savings balance was looking smaller than Daniella Westbrook’s septum, and similarly, was in serious need of rejuvenation. We’d allowed ourselves to get into this economic depression because our intention had always been to establish a more permanent base in Auckland, and quite simply, we had a kick-ass time in Australia.

What this meant, is like most people in their home towns, we missed out on all the usual sight-seeing getting-to-know-your-city things. In fact, we did very little exploring at all - venturing no further than just outside the city centre in all directions. This, I now realise, is one problem with living in the centre of the city – it's easy to believe that what you see, is everything there is. We’d built up a rather dim view of Auckland because of this, and as such, have spent the last month trying to see beyond our previous myopic understanding.

On the last Sunday of August, we took a ferry across the harbour to "historic Devonport", as it's affectionately known in the guide books and tourism posters. We’d previously put off this epic voyage in expectation of needing a full day to go there. It turned out to be a little nearer than we thought, but although it was only 10 minutes away on the ferry, it is a million miles away in terms of scenery and speed of life. Somehow, that ferry crossing had taken us back in time 30 years and across the world to the south east coast of England. It felt like home; familiar green hills rolling in waves gently down to play in the sea. A network of paths that divide scores of white painted houses tucked cosily into the lush green flanks.

With time on our side, and the sun on our backs, we walked away from the ferry building and the concerns of normality, around the waterfront, and gradually inland up the curves of Mt. Victoria. When we made it to the top, the view was unbelievable. Not in the usual sense where the sight itself is exceptionally striking, but unbelievable due to close proximity of such amazing contrasts in land and colour. There are the volcanic islands (including Rangitoto island) that stand out from the rich blue sea to the north & east, the rolling green hills of where we stood in Devonport, and just a short distance to the south is the city centre. This vantage point also illuminated our perception of what lay beyond the city centre to the south as the similar rich green hills of Auckland Domain, Mt. Eden, and One Tree Hill stood tall among the dull colours of buildings. It was like climbing the garden fence and seeing beyond it for the first time.

With the subtle dual-persuasion of gravity and curiosity, we wandered down the opposite side of Mt. Victoria from which we came, and made our way to the nearest beach. Now that the city was completely obscured from view, it was even easier to forget where we were. We reclined onto the sand, collected a careful selection of shells, climbed over the rocks, and gradually made our way back around the coastline to our starting point at the ferry terminal. It was during the last part of this walk that we spotted a traditional fish ‘n’ chip shop that would later become a favourite stopping point.

The following weekend, we turned our attention to the south and walked to one of the hills we’d spotted from Mt. Victoria. 15 minutes of walking from our apartment and we arrived at the edge of its boundaries. From there, it was a choice of paths differing in what sights they promised en-route and what name had been assigned to them. ‘Lovers Lane’ was a well kept path that wound its way alongside a stream, past a small waterfall, and arrived at a duck pond that was heard long before it was seen.

By no means, were the sights mentioned here some of the most amazing that I’d ever encountered, but the fact they reside so close to the city centre was something I hadn’t experienced before. I’d heard before coming to New Zealand that the country offered an amazing amount of variety for such a small place, but I hadn’t considered how close this would actually make the changes. The other point to consider is that the two places mentioned here, are just a snippet of what exists within a small distance from the centre. Countless islands are just a short ferry trip away, hilly ranges sit within sight to the west and an infinite supply of beaches are to the north. We’d sampled a taste of a greater feast and our appetites were now fully awakened from their slumber.

A Meeting with Bob

2006-08-25T23:12:00.000-07:00

About three weeks ago, I received an email from a friend in England telling of an event coming up in Auckland. An internet link to an English newspaper's website provided more substance to the story. It would seem that on 25th August, a number of pornstars would ride topless through the centre of Auckland's business district. The reason? A promotional parade for an annual erotica exhibition that has become affectionately known as the 'Boobs on Bikes' parade.

The most surprising thing about this was the fact someone the other side of the planet was the first to talk about it. But then he did have The Sun newspaper, reknowned for professional & informative journalism, keeping him abreast with world affairs.

As B-Day approached, the amount of local news coverage intensified, largely due to the adamant opposition that the Mayor was mounting against it occurring. I doubt he anticipated the massive amount of free publicity he was generating for the organisers. The end result was that the council decided the event could go on and the mayor was left a little red in the face. He did promise to keep a very close eye on the proceedings though.

On the morning of the penultimate day, an email swept through the office advising the estimated time of arrival, and everyone with a Y chromosome began to type away on their computers. The next sound was of a few dozen computers confirming the diary entry of an external meeting with B.O.B. The business district had just declared mysterious fellow known only as Bob, the most important person in town.

The strength of the crowds gathered on Queen Street was a strong argument that not everyone shared the same beliefs as the mayor. However, without official police assistance, traffic was locked in tighter than the contents of Pamela Anderson's
swimsuit, and the parade was struggling to reach the fans. The wait was obviously too much for some to take, but the majority remained resilient. There must have been a lot of motorbike enthusiasts in Auckland that day.

For some unfathomable reason, the cold nip to the air wasn't enough to dissuade an estimated 20,000 people lining the streets to take a peep. It was later said that the actual number may have been much higher than this but it was hard to gauge a precise figure. I can only guess that the person in charge kept losing his count.

To add a comparison to this number, it is worth noting that 15,000 people attended the recent funeral for the Maori queen. By adding this, I am not insinuating anything but am simply adding it for everyone else to draw their own conclusions about what is important to the New Zealand population.

News reports that evening, presented local's comments voicing both sides of the argument for the event continuing. One avenue of investigation they didn't pursue was the impact the parade had on the businesses of the city centre. What damage to the economy had this caused? When a blackout occurred a couple of months ago, news stations were quick to estimate to the dollar, exactly how much it had cost the businesses. Presumably on this case, any negative effect of mass temporay office absence was later counteracted by increase morale and subsequent productivity. Or maybe the assigned investigative reporter never saw beyond the tit of the ice-berg. My only comment would have to be that it was an all round impressive display that required a lot of front considering the opposition they were up against.

Pitch Black

2006-08-25T23:08:00.000-07:00

You don’t need to come to New Zealand to know how passionate the people are about their Rugby team. And for good reason – the All Blacks are recognised as one of the most respected and revered teams in the world today. Other countries look forward to playing them as much as they fear them; a tough match is always guaranteed and limits will definitely be pushed.

The infinite respect and adulation for The All Blacks is undeniable in New Zealand. Every other television advert either has a member of the squad endorsing the product, or the item is influenced by the team in some way. Competition prizes all seem to be related to ‘All Blacks’ merchandise and most companies seem to have an ‘All Black’ inspired product. But it goes beyond selling; The ‘All Blacks’ seem to be virtually an institution that people have pledged their allegiance to. They are spoken about like super heroes and are role models to everyone. One advert for a credit card company seemed to sum up how New Zealanders feel, when it showed various people bleeding black blood (one example was a shaving cut before anyone imagines the worst scenarios for this). It’s an annoying cliché but very true that if you cut a New Zealander in half, they bleed black. One company went to the extreme of suggesting they had used actual blood samples from the team to create clothing articles bonded with their DNA. This seemed like a pretty sick idea, but then successful advertising often beds with the controversial.

The effect of this bombardment of sports worship stirred my curiosity enough to not hesitate in grabbing the first opportunity to see them play. As luck would have it, this just happened to be against the Wallabies in the Tri-Nations series and Bledisloe Cup match. In keeping with all sports appreciation across the globe, the pre-match warm-up involved a few beers and the regurgitation of statistics spewed out of television sets and newspapers in the days leading up to the match. By the time we arrived at the stadium the beer had established itself as a dominant aspect of the event and our first port of call was to the bar to purchase enough amber nectar to get through the first half.

The rivalry between New Zealand and Australia is legendary so I expected a degree of tension to the game. Then when I saw a few Aussie fans sitting amongst the Kiwi supporters, I thought trouble was a certainty. But there was nothing. No more aggression than telling one pissed Australian (another light-weight doing his country proud) to sit down and let the people behind see the game. Sure comments were thrown back and forth, but it was all taken in good fun and generally involved language less colourful than an apartment block in Belgrade.

Now, I’m not much of a sports fanatic. I love playing sports and consider myself a sporty person, but I’ve never held much enthusiasm for watching others play. I don’t feel the connection that so many others so desperately hold onto when their team wins or loses. I suppose I feel quite disassociated from it as it wasn’t ingrained into my persona from a young age. For me, unless I have a direct interest in the result of the game such as money riding on it, it doesn’t really interest me. However, if it isn’t the excitement on the pitch that grabs you, it is the pre-match ‘haka’ which commands the attention of even the least enthusiastic sports fan. It is a synchronised Maori war-dance: a combination of vicious body movements, loud war-like chanting, and facial expressions only assimilated by normal people when attempted a post-vindaloo movement. The effect is mesmerising as it pulls all eyes onto the pitch and sets the expectation of wow for the game. There was some talk of a new haka being used for this game in honour of the recently deceased Maori queen, Te Arikinui Dame Te Atairangikaahu, but in the end, the Kapa o pango haka, was used which is reserved for special events.

The game turned out to be full of action. The Wallabies took an early lead and held onto it as the first half drew to a close. I began to think that my presence was going to be the cursing factor that would end winning streak against the Wallabies at Eden Park that stretches back to 1986. Thankfully the men in black had plenty more to offer in the 2nd half. Or perhaps the alcohol in my system was diminishing the power of my curse. The All Blacks went from being behind 11 points to 20 at half time, to winning the game 34 – 27. Of course this prompted further beerage and I eventually made it back to the apartment sometime around midnight….I think.

It was a great game with cracking atmosphere and a surprisingly friendly crowd. A couple dressed in Wallaby shirts sat in front of me, holding their baby wearing an All Blacks jersey. Apparently he was born in New Zealand and his allegiance has thus been determined by birth not, blood. Even with all the booze being consumed there was absolutely no hint of trouble. Not even after the game as the crowds flowed out onto the streets. It’s true that the atmosphere was particularly good at this game due to the team they were playing and the events of the game itself, but it gave me a taste, and I’m definitely going back for more.

Working Easy

2006-08-25T22:10:00.000-07:00

It had been over 10 months since I last did a day’s work. 44 weeks between leaving one office and entering a new one. In that time I had seen some of the most spectacular things in my life and had many amazing experiences. It will come as no surprise then, that it was quite a shock to be back in an office environment and getting up for work 5 out of every 7 days. I think after the first few days, my mind and body expected a vacation. But no; this was definitely my life for the foreseeable future.

On the plus side, my choice in employer was partially attributed to the required commute (my employer is located in the bottom right corner of the picture below, and my apartment building is in the centre). I timed it on the first day (I feel it’s important to know such information for emergencies and well, generally knowing your limits). From leaving my front door to arriving at my desk takes a grand total of 7 minutes 38 seconds. Since this first timing, I have discovered that if I walk faster, time the road crossings right, and have good luck with the elevators in my building and at work, I can do the monumental commute in just over 4 minutes. So far, I haven’t needed to add running into the equation.

Thankfully my new manager seemed sympathetic to my new disposition in life and advised me to take it easy for my first couple of weeks. The standard working hours are 8:30 til 5:30 but he didn’t think it was worth me pushing beyond a 9 to 5 pattern for the first two weeks. Since then I have discovered that most people leave around 5 each evening and rarely does anyone actually arrive by 8:30 in the morning. This was not a firm of clock watches. But, where trust is given, results are expected.

The first couple of weeks have been a very steep learning curve. It was daunting enough just meeting the managers of the 100 staff on my floor, let alone trying to remember their names or even those of some of the consultants I’d been introduced to. The office seemed to grow every day as I saw another face I didn’t recognise or was introduced to one more manager. To combat this, everyone has been very welcoming and are all doing their best in making make me feel comfortable.

I’m recruiting in a new sector now – Financial Services – so have had to learn all the intricacies of a new industry. It’s strange to be starting fresh again after working so hard to establish a reputation and forge relationships in my previous position. But, perhaps that’s what I needed - a new challenge; a new start; something to keep the interest there.

At the end of my first week, I discovered another aspect of the better working lifestyle in New Zealand. At 16:30 every Friday, everyone is free to convene in the meeting room and start consuming as much as they want of red & white wine, and a selection of beers. There are also a few platters laid out with cheese, biscuits, bread, and dips. Few booze & food? I feel better about working again, already.

Also this month (in blogging terms, not calendrical), Lucie celebrated her 23rd birthday and I celebrated my 26th. I’m now closer to being 30 than 20, and feel the pressure looming of all those greater responsibilities in life. However, I’m still being optimistic and hope a lottery win will make them a little easier to face … or at least avoid a little longer. I think for both of us, having a birthday away from friends and family made it hit home how far away we really are, and how few people we actually know here. Yeah, I admit it, I felt a little sad when reading the messages on my cards but I’ll see them again someday.

Another cause for celebration this month was our one year anniversary. I doubt many people wouldn’t put money on this celebration occurring considering when we met, what we’ve been through, and what it took to get us together again, but we did it. We celebrated by going to the Observatory Restaurant in the Sky Tower. At 328 metres in height, it is the tallest tower in the Southern Hemisphere and with the restaurant being just below the viewing level, we had a spectacular backdrop to dinner. The meal was a seafood buffet, and taking after my father, I was determined to get my money’s worth. When we left the restaurant I had consumed 1 soup, 1 starter, 4 main courses, and 3 desserts. Sure, I felt slightly sick afterwards, but it was worth it.

Chairman of the 'Board

2006-08-02T16:06:00.000-07:00

The flight from Auckland to Queenstown covered almost the entire length of New Zealand and provided a passing glimpse of the diversity of landscape we would encounter during our time here. Although this was an exciting thought, the only terrain I was interested in at the moment were glorious mountain peaks glazed with snow. As this wasn't exactly a long flight (at just under two hours in total), it didn't take long before my vision was full of this beauty. I felt like I was being reunited with a friend I'd missed for far too long.

When the plane neared Queenstown, the view opened up to include stunning lakes and patches of lower lying terrain that offered more earthly shades of colour. Despite the cliche, I have to mention that it was hard to escape thoughts of 'The Lord of the Rings' as we swept over the land.

After a short walk through an airport reminiscent in size to those on Mediterranean islands, we were picked up by Sarah, a fellow boarder and member of the "Goneboarding" community. On the way to our modest accommodation, Sarah and her friend filled our heads with accounts of the runs and conditions at the resorts of the area. My excitement was ready to burst out of my chest.

With this in mind, we completed the formalities at the hostel, shed our backpacks in the blink of an eye, and made our way into town to pick up some hire gear. It's an unfortunate truth of the world that you truly "get what you pay for", and as such the cheapest hire options were often either of poor quality, or beaten beyond recognition of their former selves. Nevertheless, we shopped around and managed to find some equipment of adequate quality and moderate price. As we'd sorted the lift passes and transport tickets out at the hostel, all that was left to do was grab some food and an early night. We followed a resident's recommendation and grabbed a couple of monumental burgers from "Fergburger". The digestive effort required to break these monsters down was all the impetus we needed to reach the land of 'Nod' (the fictional children's place of dreaming, not the land Cain was banished to - in case you were confused).

We soon discovered that trying to get a full night's sleep before something as exciting as this was as likely as discovering Santa Clause was the real leader of A-Qaeda. So, once light was on the land, we assumed full boarding gear and made our way to Coronet Park, courtesy of a lift from Sarah. Our mission for the day was for me to teach Lucie to snowboard, and for her to not kill me in the process. We knew this was a potentially explosive situation that would only normally be braved by the naïve and stupid, but there is a third category; the economically challenged. Yeah, to save a few pennies we put our relationship on the line and tackled this task without professional counselling. Thankfully, I still remembered a lot of what I was taught by my friend Jo, in England (a long time ago), and Lucie was eternally patient. So that I would ride at a more beginner level, I decided to ride switch (opposite foot forward than normal) the whole time while with Lucie, and it wasn't long before she first overtook me on a run. She did extremely well and it was one of the best moments of the week when I saw her complete her first run using linked turns all the way. I would've shouted out my congratulations but any outburst like this would surely only be met with catastrophe.

The next day we got the shuttle bus over to The Remarkables ski area, on the other side of Queenstown from Coronet Peak. The road to the resort is notorious in the region as it is unsealed, steep & narrow, and without crash barriers. Presumably the possibility of seeing a mangled wreckage of a bus and 30+ tourists covering the mountainside doesn't justify a few unsightly barriers.

Once again we played around on the green runs near the base while Lucie built her confidence and I took the occasional run through the park to play on the boxes and kickers. There were 4 boxes of different angle, length, width, and height in the park, and by the end of the day I was comfortably nailing all of them. Life has a way of building people up for falls.

We went back to Coronet Peak the next day, and Lucie moved her boarding up to using edge turning as she was going faster. I continued to improve riding switch. However, with this being our 3rd day and snowboarding being new to Lucie, I wasn't surprised that she wanted to finish earlier than the last lift (as on the previous days). While she took the bus home I went to the top of the mountain to stretch the legs and put some wind through my hair. After a couple of runs I looked at the time and saw that I had around 20 minutes to catch the next bus. The chairlift to the top took around 10 minutes, which would leave me 10 minutes to get to the bottom and board the bus. Time for a punk rock soundtrack and enough speed to make the ears bleed. This was the most exhilarating run of the day; I was stupidly quick and even had time to nail a box and kicker in the park before getting to the bottom in less than 7 minutes. When I reached the bus, there was only 1 space left and only couples waiting. That seat was mine.

We'd planned to go to Cardrona the next day, but the weather forecast predicted winds increasing to 70-100 knots in the afternoon. Lucie took this as a good reason to have a day off and I decided to head out early and local with Sarah. The wind seemed pretty strong on the higher runs but was pretty tame near the base and in the park. At least it was for the first couple of hours. After that, I was actually blown back up the slope at one point, when approaching a box. When the gusts came, everyone on the mountain seemed to just stop in their tracks, like the whole world went into a 'pause.'

After a while of God tormenting us like this, I uttered the forbidden words of "Shall we make this the last run?" Snowboarders are a superstitious bunch and injury is seen as inevitable to anyone that utters a phrase similar to this. It's not something that I normally believe in, but am certainly leaning that way after what happened next. The wind was really picking up, so after going over the first box, I avoided the next 2. As no-one was around the last one, I decided to just do that one and finish for the day. A 'frontside-boardslide' became a 'arseside-wristslide' and I bent the fingers back on my left hand to an impossible angle. Thankfully my wrist guard and some unusually flexible ligaments stopped anything snapping, but I certainly wouldn't be playing any Beethoven anytime soon. A quick trip to the First Aid centre confirmed my suspicions that no break had occurred, but the shock was playing havoc with my temperature control.

I admitted that I should have one day off to try and recover, but reasoned that if I could get my wrist guards on that evening, then I would be fit to go out the next day. It was only when I found it impossible to get the left wrist guard on that I noticed how badly I had bent it. I was suddenly very thankful I was wearing them. It also made me think twice about going back on the slopes too soon and risking further injury. As depressing as it was, I had to admit that my snowboarding was finished for the week, after only 4 days.

We tried to think of other things we could do in Queenstown (the capital of adventure sports) but everything required the use of both hands. Our choices were thus reduced to going to the cinema and making our way through the DVD collection at the hostel. On the brightside, I think we both needed a few days of rest after a hectic snowboarding introduction for Lucie, and reunion for me. On our last full day we took the gondola to the top of the mountain that overlooks Queenstown and watched various nutters jumping off a bungy platform and sailing through the air parapenting. This was a seriously cool town and I'm already looking forward to coming back here and sampling more of what is on offer.

We finished our time in Queenstown by watching a 'Rail Jam' in the town that evening. Mainly snowboarders but a couple of skiers also, were competing in a 'trick' competition on some purpose built stairs with a kinked box, hand rail, and a straight rail. Amazingly the best offerings came from one entrant who was said to have consumed 12 beers and had stripped down his top half to just the competition vest. As it was bloody freezing this was enough to convince me that he was definitely under the influence. The nutter then tried throwing his body in every way possible to complete various tricks and even tried a front flip dismount from the rail that ended in him causing a significant dent in the snow at the base with his back. Somehow booze had prevented serious injury, but I'm sure he'd feel the pain in the morning.

It was such a good feeling to be back in the mountains and on snow after a 15 month separation. The subjection of using hire gear has definitely got me looking for a new board and we're already planning our next trip - to the mountains on the north island. This time, I won't be trying anythiing new on the boxes and Lucie won't have to listen to my teachings. I can't wait. Are we there yet?

Landing on Our Feet with Our Heads in the Clouds

2006-07-18T15:12:00.000-07:00

After years of dreaming, months of travelling, and a few hours of flying, we landed in Auckland. We finally arrived in New Zealand.

Thankfully we were well prepared for the temperature change. Everyone that had come through New Zealand before Australia had warned us of freezing conditions, arctic winds, and basically the weather you'd associate with making eunuchs of brass monkeys. I can only assume these people were talking in relative terms to that of Queensland, as it wasn't cold compared to an English winter. I'm glad we were expecting the worse though, as it was a pleasant surprise being warm in just t-shirts and hoodies.

One night in the hostel behind us, and we had another suspected reason for everyone's warnings. It seems that the innovation of central heating is yet to be embraced by the people in New Zealand. Fair enough, this is the coldest winter in 35 years, but you'd still think they'd have more adequate heating. We could rest in hope that this was only indicative of it being the cheapest accommodation in town.

Our 4 months of extensive travelling around Australia had caused critical damage to our bank accounts so immediate resuscitation was needed. Now we faced the problem of the order of which things must be arranged. We needed bank accounts, but to get those we needed a tenancy agreement or service bill in our names. We needed a flat, but would need to know about about potential employers, before knowing where to base ourselves and what rent we could afford. We needed jobs, but in order to get paid, we would need to give companies bank details.

After a little stressing, we decided the first and most important thing to do was find a suitable apartment. Despite the price of our hostel, it was still costing more than many flats would. We also decided that in order to seriously think about subjecting ourselves to working again, we would need a comfortable place to retreat to at night and during the weekends.

Our search (as with many searches in life) started with the one we would eventually select. Not through any laziness on our behalf, just the simple fact that this place offered substantially more benefits than the others and the asking price was 'cheap as chips'. The next week we moved into our new apartment on the top floor (save for the penthouse) of a building in the city centre. Our room is separated from the rest of the 3 bedroom apartment by a flight of stairs and has a walk-in wardrobe (more of an attraction to Lucie than myself, although more for dreaming about filling it with new clothes rather that what we possess at the moment), and an ensuite bathroom. From our bedroom, we can climb onto a ledge / area and enjoy a sky-high view of the city with a couple of drinks. The apartment is fully furnished with everything we need, including SKY TV & Playstation 2. One of the other tenants is there around 1 night a month, and the other works nights, so we have the place to ourselves virtually the whole time. We had landed on our feet, with our heads literally in the clouds.

Now that we had a base, we both explored avenues of work. Lucie registered with all the city agencies, attended interviews, completed various IT & psychometric tests, and craved the return of the non-working lifestyle we had become accustomed to. I researched potential employers, and registered with an agency for 'extra' work for film and television. It's something I'd considered for years but I never had the guts to just go for it. This seemed like a perfect time. A few days after registering with them, I had to attend a photo shoot for my new CV. After that, it was just a question of waiting for a call.

I'd actually found an advert for our apartment on a website before we even left Australia. During the course of a few emails with the tenant that was leaving, we established he was working in recruitment, his company would be looking for a replacement, and they would be interested in talking to me. This line of thought continued and accelerated once I was in New Zealand and it wasn't long before I was meeting with a division manager. Although this was happening slightly faster than I expected, and wasn't leaving much room to explore my future in the film world, it worked as a catalyst for me to start approaching other companies. Now it was time to don the suit from 'Nam & attend some interviews. Over the course of the next few weeks, I met with 4 different companies, met various representatives, took part in my first video conference, and completed psychometric and intelligence tests.

While I was discussing numbers with these companies, Lucie landed her first job with a swanky solicitor firm who's employees go so hungry that there is a full-time chef in the office kitchen. She also discovered on her first Friday that the company buys booze for everyone in the office at the end of the week. New Zealand was looking better and better. If only, I could find a firm that employed a chef to keep my hunger at bay.

It was about this time that I received an email from TNT Magasine (one of the main publications for travellers around Australia and New Zealand). I'd sent them a photo for a competition and despite no mention of my standing, they wanted me to fill out an electronic interview for the magazine. Soon after this, I received an email from 'The Word' magazine (the other magazine for travellers in this region). The traveller's tale I'd emailed them, had won a competition and would be published in the July / August edition. I'd received 100 Aussie dollars for the recognition and was taking my first steps in following after my ma, and becoming a published writer. I have since heard from TNT again and they're printing the same story for their magasine.

I'd now signed an employment contract and agreed on a starting date for my new position. I delayed starting for a couple of weeks as there was something I needed to do. The coldest winter for 35 years signalled something very positive to me - Great conditions on the mountains for snowboarding. There was no way I could start work without sampling a taste of New Zealand snow.

As luck would have it, my delay also meant I was available for my first work with the 'extra' agency. Sadly, it wasn't a film role, but a client of theirs wanted me for some modelling work. Nothing too complicated, nerve wracking, or anything that would be seen by millions of people. Just a picture of me and another model, dressed casually and chatting in the city centre, that would go in the report brochure for SKY employees. $200 for 2 hours work (I use the word 'work' here very loosely. The experience on the whole was interesting and a good laugh and I'm very glad I eventually decided to just give it a try. Just a shame I didn't have more opportunities before I would start the proverbial 'day' job.

Rainforest & Reflections

2006-07-07T22:17:00.000-07:00

Last night, I was one of 32 people that entered a pool competition at the PK Village Resort in Cape Tribulation. The memory of achieving 2nd in Airlie Beach was still vivid enough to provide the confidence, and I hoped the hours of play in Mission Beach would have taken my ability up a level.

The first games passed with few sharp breath intakes or increases in heart rate. It was actually more of a bore than a chore as there were only 2 tables to play on, so it took 3 hours to get through the first few rounds. I didn't mind too much though; the happy hour jugs of beer were working their magic and I was feeling distinctly relaxed.

I watched from afar as players of all abilities went about their games. There were two people that stood out as being significantly better than the rest. I was to play the first of them in the quarter finals. Any pool player will tell you that it doesn't matter how good you are, if the balls are rolling funny for you on that day. Today, they were obeying my commands with military precision. Despite the helping hand of the Gods, it was still my opponent who lined up on the #8 ball first. In any normal game, it was an easy shot. Just a cheeky cut into the corner pocket, but competitions are a different animal entirely. Place a wager on a game, and doubt becomes an overbearing emotion causing a complete loss of nerve. "If you can't pot black, you ain't a good pool player" - wisely spoken by Wes in a bar in Thailand.

After he'd missed his penultimate shot, I quickly moved to the table and lined up. He'd left me a cut into the opposite corner pocket. Nothing too hard but pressure is a real confidence killer. I adjusted my stance, kept the original line, drew back & potted without another thought, and in my drunken state, became an immortal of the green cloth.

The semi-final became tactical after my poor break allowed him to sink 4 easy shots without disturbing my balls from their guarding position around the black. With no shots on, I played for snookers. No pool player likes being put into a 'snooker', and I'm reluctant to normally issue one, but sod it, I wanted some money. Now with 2 shots at my disposal, I could crack open the orgy around the black & starting play some real pool. My opponent became increasingly frustrated, kicked his shoe off & swore profusely. People will try anything to distract the opposition. Fortunately the years of playing against my brother had molded me into an SAS commando of ignoring and executing such weapons. I potted the black with less thought than producing a sneeze. I was in the final.

When I was a kid & used to watch game shows I always rooted for the contestant to gamble when the opportunity arose. It had to be all or nothing. Go for glory. However, 9 times out of 10, they lost. As I got older and saw this happening repeatedly I realized the truth in the expression about "a bird in the hand being worth two in the bush". Ignore the greed and play safe. I'm saying this as a possible explanation for why I accepted the offer of an even split of the winnings, regardless of who wins. I could suggest it was a lack of confidence, but at that moment, it was simply down to a desire to not gamble - to guarantee I would be walking away with something.

It's easy to look back now & say I should have gambled. He was obviously not confident of winning & had therefore made the offer. I was playing well. The balls were rolling right. But then luck has a way of leaving people when the final moment arrives. In retrospect, I should've taken the offer but suggested an 80:20 split instead, so the winner would still take home the lion share. But in that moment, I saw a safety line and just grabbed it. I'd never won a pool competition before & lacked the confidence to jump this final fence. Next time will be different. I finished the game with 4 of his balls still grazing the green. And anyway, $80 for an evening's work wasn't anything to moan about.

There are two reasons I've written about pool in a post about Cape Tribulation: we didn't do a lot else whilst there, and I'm pretty proud of the whole thing. Cape Tribulation is described as the place where the oldest rainforest of Australia meets the ocean and leads out to the Great Barrier Reef. Reef and rainforest. It's also a pretty backward area of the country without telephones and electricity from the main grid. The people like their quiet way of life and are noticeably strange from the lack of human contact.

We'd looked into the cheapest ways to get there from Cairns (a hive of scum and villainy) and surprising the cheapest option was to jump on a tour bus up there, stay however long we wanted and then get back on to another when we felt like. The bonus of this was that we visited many attractions we wouldn't have done on a public bus service. We stopped at an animal farm on the way there (photos of the Crocodile & Cassowary are from here), and an exotic fruit farm, a 'rainforest walk', The Mossman Gorge, and joined a river cruise on the way back. It was on the cruise when we saw Crocodiles up to 5 m long, Green Tree Snakes, and a rather sleepy Tree Frog.

Our reasons for going to Cape Tribulation were to get out of Cairns (most important), stay somewhere cheap and relaxing for our remaining days in Australia, and check out the famous Daintree National Park. Unfortunately the continuing bad weather meant that sunbathing and long adventurous walks were out of the question, but we managed to relax regardless. We picked bananas straight off the tree next to our tent, cracked open coconuts from the infinite supply in the area, and explored where we could.

When we eventually returned to Cairns we hoped to go diving on the Great Barrier Reef on our last full day. The problem was that it was ridiculously expensive to do what we wanted. We'd technically dived on the reef when we were in the Whitsunday Islands. We'd also been diving many times on the arguably better option of 'Ningaloo Reef' on the West Coast. What we wanted was to go beyond the Outer Barrier Reef and into the 'Coral Sea'. The place where underwater visibility stretches to 100m and where all the advertising photos of the animals of the reef are actually taken. But as we've learned before, quality experiences have quality price tags. You could go diving on the reef near Cairns for around $100 but what's the point when the visibility was only 8 metres and there would be nothing we hadn't seen before. And so, we decided to leave it until we had the money to do what we wanted. No point diving for the sake of diving. One more addition to the 'list' for next time. We left the next day and talked about all we have done and seen in Australia - all the experiences, sights, & sounds - the beaches, rainforests, gorges, animals, buildings, and natural monuments. It was sad that such an epic journey was now over, but we looked forward to a new one beginning.

Mission Completed

2006-07-07T22:12:00.000-07:00

Things seemed like they had been pretty much non-stop since leaving 'Noosa'; our tours of Fraser Island and The Whitsunday's were great fun, but left little time to ourselves. We'd also made an overnight stay in Townsville with the hope of diving the 'Yongala' wreck but the weather wasn't exactly supportive of the idea. So, when we arrived in Mission Beach, our simple aim was to do nothing, achieve nothing (except in doing nothing), and spend nothing (except for our accommodation, of course).

By virtue of it being the cheapest option, we ended up at a place called 'The Beach Shack.' We'd considered camping again but as heavy rainfall was a definite maybe, and a campsite would only be a few dollars cheaper, we decided to lay our heads here. 'The Beach Shack' resembles a party house from an American teen movie. Its circular layout has a hall / internet area / lounge in the middle with various rooms leading out from it. On the ground floor these include: an open plan kitchen & dining area that lead to the patio and swimming pool; a huge TV room with a monstrous collection of sofas and DVDs; a bathroom with a jacuzzi and shower big enough for two; and a couple of bedrooms. The first floor was restricted to the front of the house with two dorm rooms and a BYO bar with free pool table and an open view of the beach lying less than 50 metres away. It was extremely relaxed, friendly and cheap - all the criteria necessary for a pleasant stay. We broke up our busy schedule of working through the DVD collection with SKY TV interludes and games of pool to get the blood flowing again. We've found very few hostels that we felt at home in, so we're very pleased with finding this one. So much so that our intended 2 night stay ended up being 4 nights, and a reluctant leave even then.

Mission Beach's most famous traveller was a cyclone called 'Larry' who blew in earlier this year. Weighing in at Force 5 on the Australian Intensity Scale and propelling gusts of up to 320 km / hr, his stay wasn't exactly celebrated and his signature remains to be seen all around the area. The buildings of the area all contain some degree of cyclone protection by law, but it hasn't stopped the damage to their tourism industry. The businesses returned to work when Larry wasn't even out of breath but the tourists have unfortunately been slower to return. For our part, we barely did more than support the hostel, although in a moment of rare activity we did join an eco-crocodile tour - a trip down a crocodile infested river to the ocean and back. We stopped on way to drop a couple of traps for mud crabs but nothing big enough was tempted by the bait.

Within the first 10 minutes of setting off, we could see something disturbing the surface in the distance. At first, it seemed like an invisible boat was creating a small wake on the water and heading straight for us. When it was within 50 feet though, the deep red reflection of the eyes gave away the cause. It was a 2.5 metre long salt-water croc. that has been blessed with the terrifying name of 'Cheeky.' Not really playing to the people's fear.

The rain came down and we didn't see many other crocs on this voyage but we were definitely pleased. After missing out on Steve Irwin's zoo, we desperately wanted to see these famous creatures in their more natural setting and could now say we had.

Sailing Away

2006-06-27T15:38:00.000-07:00

The story is that they were discovered by Captain Cook on the seventh Sunday after Easter in the year seventeen seventy and subsequently became known as 'The Whitsunday' Islands. The truth is that they were originally named ‘The Cumberland Group’ and have only recently adopted the name, 'The Whitsundays.' Probably as the original name was more worthy of a sausage factory, but whatever their background, their reputation for being ‘a place to see’ in Australia is absolutely overwhelming.

The base from which to experience these gems of the ocean is a town called Airlie Beach. As this is the main base point for exploring the islands, the town is well prepared for tourists, and there is no shortage of companies there offering you a 'bargain.' The good news for travellers is that every aspect of the town's business is in competition to gain your money, from the hostel you stay in, the bar you drink in, and of course, the boat company you sail with. It also means you have to shop around like crazy to find the best deal, and then as soon as you've committed to one, you find out another company has just dropped their prices. But hey, that's life.

For 3 days and 2 nights, we would be sailing around The Whitsunday Islands on a 75ft Maxi Yacht called “Samurai”. In her younger days she participated in a number of offshore races like the 'Burns Philp South Pacific Maxi Championship' and the famous 'Sydney-Hobart Yacht Race.' Her placing in these events was not mentioned on the flyer, so I would assume she never achieved a podium finish.

The capacity for our home for the next 3 days was 20 people so we expected things to be a little claustrophobic. Our surprise was that the company had not been able to fill the remaining spaces, and decided to proceed with our trip with only 7 passengers on board. Suddenly we had an exclusive charter for the cheapest price in town - Get in! We later discovered that the company seemed to have provided enough food for 20 people - no hunger pangs would be felt on this trip.

Our first afternoon was spent sailing out to the islands and then dropping anchor near to the island we would visit the next day. We helped with the sailing when required, but there was little need. The rest of the time, we simply relaxed, read, chatted, and of course, ate plenty of food. There were a few moments below deck when the engine fumes combined with the ocean sway to make a few people lose one shade of their tan, but no-one produced a fountain of fish food.

The next morning we were well rested, and then well fed, before leaving the yacht on a motor dingy. The skipper had purposely dropped us off on one side of the island so that we had the best view of ‘Whitehaven Beach’ & ‘Hill Inlet’ when crossing over. It was spectacular; beautiful blue waters blowing wisps of white sand that hung lazily around outbreaks of rainforest. The feeling we had of discovering a lost paradise on 'Fraser Island', was flowing with a vengeance through our bodies once again.

We danced around the sand, took a million photos, and then wandered around the headland to find a quieter area of beach away from the advancing tour parties. When we arrived back on the boat, the snags (sausages) on the barbe' were nearly ready and another feast was soon laid out. In the afternoon we moved on to a different island and prepared for some SCUBA action. This was a great bonus to non-certified divers as it gave them a 30 minute try-dive that would normally cost over $150 in other parts of Australia. Within ten minutes of the first dive, we found luck once again. This time, lying on the bottom, under 10 metres of water, and in the shape of a 6ft ‘Shovel-Nose Shark’. Completely non-challant about the inquisitive beings swimming around, it lay there with only the movement of his eyes showing its awareness.

After the dive time was completed, I grabbed my mask and snorkel again and swam back out to the spot above him. By diving down and holding onto a rock less than a metre from him, I was able to hang around and get another look. After about ten minutes of repeating this, I decided to not push my luck any further and leave whilst both my fingers and toes were still in double figures.

We watched the sun setting while throwing bread into the sea and watching huge Batfish appear out of the dark water to devour it. Before the light had completely left us, we stood transfixed as a small Brown Shark was attracted to the activity in the water and began swimming around the boat. We decided to share some of our meat for the evening, and I began to wonder if this would attract a larger relative to the area that we would be snorkelling in the next day.

Unfortunately our last night was ruined slightly by one of the crew members who in typical Aussie fashion, couldn't handle his drink and decided to give out a load of abuse. When I confronted him, he backed down, apologised profusely, but later carried on the insults when I wasn't around. A great ambassador in the making.
Our next day started with some snorkel action next to a very special island. Special because it is home to the 2nd most expensive hotel in the southern hemisphere. As our boat was obviously not allowed anywhere near the rich and famous, we were moored on the opposite side of the island.

After lunch we hoisted the sails and pointed back to mainland. The wind picked up, our boat tipped to an impossible angle, and we (all wearing our warm clothing) promptly got soaked though to the bone by the spray. Everyone was laughing but this was more out of hysterics than comedy enjoyment. Our luck was that the weather had held out this long. The wind that so hastily brought us back to port, also brought with it, a fortnight’s worth of bad weather to the region.

Our sailing ‘bargain’ included a free night at our hostel so there was no need to leave town straight away. I entered my first pool competition that night and achieved a respectable 2nd place and a jug of beer for my efforts. Wheels were turning in my mind as a new idea for supporting my traveling addiction came about. I’d just have to make sure my future placings were better and the prizes were more financial.

Lost

2006-06-26T18:17:00.000-07:00

One thing we noticed as soon as we were on the East coast of Australia was the large number of destinations that we already knew we would be visiting. This is the path already travelled by thousands of people every year, and as such the top places are known by everyone even contemplating a visit - drastically different to the west coast.

Fraser Island was one of these locations. It is 80 kilometres of the largest sand island in the world displaying a list of qualities you'd expect from a fictional lost world. The interior is a covering of rainforest that hides a variety of fresh water lakes, each different from the next in colour and qualities. Its borders are endless motorways of flat sands that are surrounded by a breeding ground for Tiger Sharks. Amongst the rainforest is a lovely selection of animals including Monitor Lizards, the deadly Brown & Black Death Snakes & one of the purest breeds of Dingos in Australia - an information board on the island stated it would be easy to identify one snake from the other; a Brown snake will move out of your way, where as a Black Death Snake moves for no-one. From the view point at Indian Head, huge Manta Rays could be seen sailing through the water and every now and again, there would be the unmistakable black shape of a large shark. The beach was definitely closed for swimming.

The "roads" on the island are little more than cleared lines through the forest which do nothing to flatten the terrain. The only places where more than a walking speed is possible is on the large flats of hard sand near the ocean's shore. For these reasons, only 4 wheel drive vehicles are allowed on the island and even these struggle with the conditions (and the drain of playing music all through the night).

On the first day, we visited Lake Wabby, the deepest of the lakes on the Island. It has a rich green shade, and a subtle smell of the fish that inhabit it. One side of the lake is a mountain of sand that is slowly encroaching on the lake and consuming a metre off its width every year. It will be gone in less than 25 years.

There was a genuine sense of secrecy about this lake that was not perturbed by the groups of backpackers gracing its sandbanks. Maybe it was it's surroundings; one side of the lake was the hills of sand, and the other was dense rainforest that hid the path and consumed the sound of cars before they could reach the water's surface. The silence was the constant here and the voices of people were merely small disturbances to its power.

Our camping party was the combination of 3 trucks of 9 people on the "Fraser Roving Tour". On the first night we stayed in the relative luxury of a campsite, and on the second night, we stayed just beyond the first sand bar on the beach. Each group worked with varied cooperation in the cooking, preparation, and clearing away of each meal, as most people assumed different tasks. The most important aspect of mealtime was that no food or scraps be left outside the trucks - Dingos would swarm on the area and eat all food remains in sight given the opportunity.

Lake McKensie was the most beautiful lake we saw on the island and is often the chosen subject for poster advertising. It sits high enough, that its water remains clear of the impurities of some of the other lakes and is surrounded by perfect white sand. Once again the rainforest guarding it's borders protects against prying eyes. It was like finding paradise. At least that is, until a few hundred other backpackers arrived and shattered the illusion. We were thankful that we had arrived early enough in the day to see it so empty and late enough in the season that even at its busiest wasn't as bad as it can get. But still, I wanted it just for the two of us.

I often curse the sight of other people at the places we go to, and certainly that was the selfish feeling I had at Lake McKensie. It made me think about the true motivation for the great explorers of history. Was it a selfless act of discovering for the people of the world that drove them, or was it a selfish desire to find something for just themselves?

In retrospect, I realise that it was the people on this trip that made it worthwhile and so memorable. Fraser Island is truly beautiful but there isn't much to do there, and not a lot to keep your mind busy during the marathon drives along the beach or through the bumpy interior. The people on the trip made these times a lot more fun and as part of the experience as any of the lakes. Along these lines, it was probably our evening barbeques and drinks sessions that were the best aspects on the tour, although the subjects weren't nearly as pictureasque as the natural views on the island.

Another Holiday

2006-06-24T23:51:00.000-07:00

'Noosa' was a member of an exclusive list of 10 locations you "must" visit in Australia. People we'd met on route also voiced this opinion although the admiration seemed to lie not on what you could do there, but in doing very little. This sounded pretty good to us after all the excitement on the Gold Coast.

The sparse clothing draping off bodies immediately hinted that this was a holiday town. Add to that a massive range of fine restaurants, a couple of beaches, a dozen beach shops and bars, and you have 'Noosa'. The unfortunate thing for us was that as a holiday destination, it charged holiday prices. Even our patch of grass in a campground, 45 minutes on a bus from the beach, cost $28 a night. I think that's taking the piss slightly. With similar prices about town, we swiftly made the decision that there wasn't going to be enough here to warrant staying more than a couple of nights.

As the tent went up and the sun went down, we saw the first signs of a cold night approaching as goose-pimples began to cover any exposed flesh. So, we did what anyone would do in this situation (not), and ignored the consequences of our actions and jumped into the swimming pool. The water was heated but this was swiftly being drawn away by an evening breeze. As soon as my skin was clear of the slightly warm water, I ran for the safety of the showers praying that some hot water remained.

The next day, we left the tent as soon as we'd defrosted and jumped on a beach set for Noosa Beach. From there, we took walking to a new level of slowness and spent the day strolling around the headland, through the National Park, and stopping at beaches whenever the mood took us.

We stopped constantly to chat, take photos, or just gaze into the distance. When we finally completed the route to Sunrise Beach, we saw an army of grey conquering the skies and bringing with it, an unrelenting torrent of rain. Despite our position, sheltering under a tree next to a bus stop, we thanked our luck that the clouds had been kept at bay for the majority of the day. When the bus did arrive, our smiles hadn’t faded in the slightest, although we were looking forward to getting into some warmer (and dryer) clothing.

Noosa shows all the amenities and luxuries that you’d expect from a holiday destination in the sun, but we saw little of what we were searching for in Australia. There was nothing we hadn’t seen before – except for during a few hideous moment of clarity on a nudist beach. Why are these places never as you imagine?

Like with our time on the Gold Coast, we didn’t feel we were seeing anything uniquely Australian - just the familiar tracing of so many other resort towns from around the world. I’d recommend it as a place to relax for anyone spending a limited amount of time in Australia. Possibly for a break after spending time spent in the cities along the coast. But for us, there was no need to spend another night.

Goldie Lookin' Coast

2006-05-26T05:14:00.000-07:00

The queue that led us to the Metropolis Rapid Transit (MRT) platform was small and fast moving. A short safety warning was issued to passengers before boarding commenced, but there was no reason for concern. The system was friendly, informative, and efficient. No-one expected anything to go wrong. No-one thought we'd suffer a series of earthquakes within seconds of the train leaving the station. A series of earthquakes that caused such devastation that we were unable to stop at the next station. Destruction that turned concrete to dust and brought cars from the street level into the tunnel next to us. The emergency lighting system kicked in and the evacuation warning sounded. An explosion was expected in the tunnel any minute, and this was the moment that the train decided to lose power and seal our fate. There was no escape. No hope for salvation.

As we readied ourselves for the end, a calm and reassuring voice came from behind the train. Almost before the words finished reaching our ears, our bodies accelerated away from their origin at tremendous speed. In 2 seconds, we had reached 100 km /hr and left the tunnel. An explosion behind us screamed out in fury at our escape. Our train flew up to a vertical angle before curving round and flying straight down towards the ground again. After that we flew through various loops & turns before returning to relative safety. The sound of everyone breathing in again was undeniable. The next sound was a unity of voices calling for an encore.

We had as just been on the new 'Superman Escape' ride at Warner Brothers Move World. Ignoring the rest of the park, we walked straight around to the entry and got ready to experience it all again. What a rush!

Elsewhere in the amusement park, we saw a 4D Shrek movie, had photos with cartoon characters, rode the Lethal Weapon rollercoaster, watched The Police Academy Stunt Show and escaped ghosts on the Scooby Doo ride. It was a trip back to my past. I couldn't stop smiling as similarities to a Disney World visit when I was 10 surrounded me. I may have aged 15 years since then, but I'm sure my smile was just as big, if not bigger.

‘Dreamworld’ on the other hand, has no cartoon characters or movies to give background stories to their rides. It is just a choice of pure knuckle-whitening, heart-pumping, pant-staining rides that you’re not sure if you liked or not, but do them again. The advertisements for the park goad thrill seekers into attempting all 5 of the most brutal choices on offer – The Cyclone, The Claw, Wipeout, Tower of Terror, & The Giant Drop. These varied in directions, speed, and duration for how they threw your bodies around, but to illustrate their pedigree I’ll explain what is involved in The Giant Drop (the highest vertical drop ride in the world): A slow ascent to 119 metres, hanging there for what seems like an eternity, before free-falling for 5 seconds and reaching a speed of 135 km / hr and experiencing 4Gs.

I wonder what it is that fascinates us as a species with experiencing things which trick our bodies into thinking we are in mortal danger. Is it a quasi-subconscious feeling of euphoria caused from still being alive after the event, despite logically knowing that you were never actually in danger? Does it go back to an innate sense of proving oneself that must be quenched by other means when partake of war is not possible? A test. A challenge of conquering our fears and setting new boundaries to what we can put ourselves through? Or is it something more dark in nature; a glorified method of self-destruction that is more socially acceptable than a vodka binge? Is it a fascination with living or dying that draws millions of people every year to theme parks like this?

‘Dreamworld’ is also the setting for the Big Brother Studios, a Matrix exhibit, a wild-life section with tigers weighing up to 250kg, 9m long pythons and an 8m long crocodile, and various other themed sections of fun. The rest of the rides offered slightly more complex ways of twisting, turning, disorientating, and speeding you into a zone of adrenaline fueled grins that were impossible to shake for the rest of the day. To make sure, we rode most of the rides at least twice and threw our bodies in every way possible. Thankfully, nothing was ever thrown from our bodies.

Our base for these trips was a place called Burleigh Heads on the Gold Coast of Australia, located about an hour drive south of Brisbane and 20 minutes south of Surfers Paradise. Some friends of Lucie’s were kind enough to put up with us for a few days while we raced around and saw as much as possible (thanks Theo and Nora). As well as the theme parks, we went body-boarding in Burleigh Heads, had a brief glimpse at Surfers Paradise (merely an excuse to see X-men 3 at the cinema), met up with Sarah & Gavin again, and spent a day in Brisbane.

'The River City' seemed like a very beautiful city, but we just weren't in the mood to see much that day. I’m not sure if was because of what we had already seen in the area, or just a tiredness that was becoming more draining with our continuous travels. We tried to check out a couple of local points of interest only to see a suit of scaffolding covering them. After that, we made a quick circuit through the streets and found our way to the casino. Lucie has an uncanny knack for winning on fruit machines and we planned to use this skill whenever the possibility presented itself. But that’s it. That’s all I could say about Brisbane.

The Gold Coast has seen a tremendous amount of development over the last 10 years and shows no sign of slowing down. The ‘Warner Brothers’ company is in the process of moving their entire film production operations to the area and building 30,000 homes for the staff. Elsewhere in the area (at the moment) are a dozen other attractions including Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo, & Sea World. Sadly we didn’t have time (or money) to visit the zoo but assured ourselves we would have plenty of other opportunities to see crocs in their natural environment further up the coast. Our travels so far have varied from true outback experiences, interacting with nature, and seeing some national monuments. The stay in the Gold Coast was something different entirely. Just fun. No culture. No genuine Aussie experience. Just a few days of behaving like kids, not worrying, and enjoying ourselves. That's worth a stop for anyone passing through the area.

The Evolution of The Sub-Species Known As 'Hippy'

2006-05-23T15:27:00.000-07:00

Byron Bay is one of those places in Australia that was always on the list. Anyone who'd been there recommended it, and every traveller who hadn't, said they were going there. We arrived slightly dazed and confused, as per every other morning after a night on the bus. Only this time, we felt that we'd landed back in the summer. The first words spoken by the hostel minibus driver were "You can leave your jumpers in the bus; you won't need them here." Time to break out the sun lotion, kick-back, and turn those grey-city tones back to beach-brown.

We had about an hour to explore the town before our bus would whisk us back to the hostel. In any normal situation this would be completely excessive for the size of the town involved, but this wasn't a normal town. This was the king of chill where the infinite supply of surf shops is only disturbed by a selection of hip bars. Everything moves slower here. Nothing is done in a hurry. In one direction, the road leads to rainforest & remaining ridges of one of the largest volcanic craters on earth, while the other direction takes you straight to the beach and a constant supply of waves.

What town could be better than this? Well, we chose to leave the comparative hecticness of this place for a town so laid-back that a koala would be considered an energetic resident. A place with even more reliable waves than Byron Bay, but without the trendy name and consequent draw of the majority of travellers. A place where people didn't dance on the tables (one bar in Byron Bay is famous for this), but where people have chilled out to the sounds of Jack Johnson & Donovan Frankreiter playing in the local pub. Jack fell so in love with this town that he has recently bought a house at the end of the beach for when things get too stressful in Hawaii.

After a few days of doing nothing but watching pretty views, DVDs, and our eyelids, we decided to jump on a bus to a well known hippy retreat. Nimbin is a town that dropped a trip in the 1970s and then got caught in a psychological trance that prevented it from moving forward. Arriving at the town has the feel of entering some kind of warped theme park or theatre town, only the props being taken reek of authenticity. And the constant offers of drugs don't do much to hide it either.

While some locals have maintained a consistent authentic look with acquiring new clothes every year, some appear never to have changed. Their clothes and their skin hang on with an obvious lethargy that barely conceal the paranoid eyes looking suspiciously out at the modern world.

The openness of the marijuana appreciation in this town is not exactly a closely guarded secret. It is well known to both travellers and native Australians and yet its habitual use is somehow able to continue. The only efforts to combat this began when the drugs became less socially tolerable and heroin was introduced. Suddenly things weren't so innocent & naive - restaurant and bar owners were forced to drill holes through their spoons to discourage addicts from stealing new apparatus. This method of cutlery customisation backfired though, when the tourists started stealing these spoons as memorials for their experience of Nimbin.

The government installed CCTV cameras along the main street to identify and later prosecute dealers, but how do you look for someone specific when everyone acts the same - virtually everyone positioned along the main street was selling. Even if one 'provider' did feel slightly paranoid by big brother's ever watchful eye, then they would simply move to a blindspot for the actual transaction.

Our problem with this place wasn't what was being taken, but the hostility we felt when we expressed non-interest in what was on offer. The whole town had the feel of a squat, as if the people had taken over and then decorated in their own poor taste. The 'museum' of the history and benefits of marijuana was a papier-mâché den for people to smoke out of CCTV sight. Not exactly up to the standard of Blue Peter. Most people had that tired look of street beggars, and were viewed with an apprehension of an approaching mood fluctuation that lay barely below the surface.

On the way back to Lennox Head, our minibus driver seemed desperately sorry that he was the one who'd taken us to Nimbin. He talked about the difference in responses of people that had been on his eco tours around the region and those coming back from Nimbin. He said that it had a genuinely pleasant past but didn't believe it had a future. The guy looked like a quintessential hippy with long blond hair, & a penchant for using expressions like 'dude' or finishing sentences with 'man', and yet he wanted to distance himself from the hippy retreat as much as possible. During our stay in Lennox Head we found more and more people that walked the same path and held the same views as the minibus driver. It seemed that while some hippies of the region matured, & found pleasure in the elements of surfing and conservation of nature, others just matured in the scale of drugs being consumed.

A City Surrounded by Beauty

2006-05-23T15:26:00.000-07:00

In stark contrast to our perception of Canberra, we knew we'd arrived in a city the moment we stepped off the Greyhound bus at Sydney Central Station. A local cardboard supporter was being physically persuaded to enter a police van, while his equally vivacious acquaintances made their objections known. As welcoming a sight as this was, we decided to not hang about and left in search of a bed for the night. The usual criteria would need to be fulfilled of being close enough to walk to with bags on, but far away enough to not hear these disturbants ... and cheap. We hobbled along under giant brick railway bridges, across and then beside a 6 lane road, and accepted our fate at the arse end of Elizabeth Street.

The next morning we walked to the south-west-side of Sydney to hunt for some warmer clothes at the Glebe Market. The surrounding area was a gallery of graffiti talent that I found far more interesting than the shopping potential of a market, but we made it there regardless.

Luke met up with us in the centre and provided a quick tour of the city and its parks. The last time we'd seen each other was in Perth, before that it was in Thailand and next it would be in New Zealand. It's funny how things go.

With most of the notable landmarks securely stored on our memory cards we decided to take a train 2 hours west of Sydney to the Blue Mountains. This national park is 200,000 hectares of heritage listed landscape & it's name derives from the blue mist produced by the eucalyptus oil of the dominant trees. The area is a rich wonderland of crystal clear waters falling over yellow rock cliffs surrounded by a treasury of greens.

The base for our stay was The Flying Fox Backpackers in Katoomba - aborigine for 'shining tumbling water'. The night we arrived there, a BBQ was put on by the hostel - coincidental, not on our account. The lounge was a large gathering of deep sofas that surrounded an open fire. The bed had more covers than the song 'My Way', and the room was generously decorated to the level of a bedroom at home. We felt instantly comfortable in this home and didn't procrastinate on whether we would stay the previously debated extra night or not. The fact that the back garden was an eternal selection of walking trails through some of the most beautiful scenery we'd seen on the east coast was just a bonus.

Well rested, but emotionally hand-cuffed to the bed, it was with reluctance we actually left this place to explore. We ignored the main area of Katoomba and opted instead to explore the lesser popular vicinity of Wentworth Falls instead. For the next 4-5 hours we followed our feet along various paths up, down, and around the escarpments. Our conversation and surrounding views distracted us from thoughts of tiredness (most of the time), and we arrived back in Katoomba in the late afternoon. The potency of the shadow filling the valley was steadily gaining in size, and moved up the cliffs to consume the famous "Three Sisters" rock formation. As these were the pin-ups of the region, the surrounding area was pile of railing lined viewing balconies with swarms of tourists covering them. We grabbed the mandatory photos and swiftly returned to our room at 'The Flying Fox'.

Our time in New South Wales was limited so once we were back in the city, we wasted no time before resuming our exploration. The ferry to Manly was one of those things when the journey was more important than the destination, as it was the harbour views we were paying for.

Once our feet returned back to Circle Quay, we jumped on a train east to one of the most famous beaches in the world. Bondi Beach was the start of a headland walk to Coogee Beach that was similar in setting and views to The Great Ocean Road in Victoria - only without the apostles!

The next day we took advantage of the fortunate timing that had placed my brother's wife's sister and husband (or 'Gav & Sarah' in abbreviated form), in Sydney at the same time as us, & met for a surreal lunch on the opposite side of the world from home. They had climbed the harbour bridge in the morning and we were set to in the afternoon.

Fondly known locally as 'the coathanger', the bridge was opened in 1932 & is considered to be one of the '7 Engineering Wonders of the World.' Paul Hogan became a local celebrity when he was working as a painter on it. He managed to save a half-hearted suicide attemptee by hanging on with one hand and reaching out to him. He later returned the favour by bringing increased international attention to the bridge with his 'throw another shrimp on the barbie' sketch while hanging off the archway. Nowadays, the safety is so extreme that you are permanently connected to the bridge by a thick steel wire when climbing, and not even ear-ring or tissues are allowed on the climb in precaution of something falling and causing a traffic accident below. The downside of this was that we were not able to take cameras along to capture the spectacular views of the city.

My initial impressions of distaste for this city were transformed over 5 days into those of love. It was hard not to fall for a city that had so many famous and beautiful landmarks within, and even more areas of natural beauty surrounding it. A dozen surfing beaches are within a short train ride from the city centre to the east and unspoilt wilderness lies to the west. My only regrets for our time here were that our visit was not during the summer months and that we were unable to obtain tickets to a opera or musical performance at The Opera House. They would become further additions to the list of what to do and see on a return visit.

Politicians & Pornstars

2006-05-11T18:14:00.000-07:00

When Australia became a federation in 1901, the newly unified nation called for a capital. As neither Melbourne or Sydney would submit to the other's claim for glory, the powers that be decided that a new city should be built in between them. An American architect named Walter Burleigh Griffin was then chosen to design the city, and the aborigine word for 'meeting place' was the inspiration for it's name.

Canberra is a very open, well planned, and beautiful city. However, it lacks depth of character and feels as though it was only yesterday that ol' Walt's design left the blueprint. This seems strange when you consider that it's nearing its 100th birthday, but not so when you look at the inland location, and thus disadvantages compared to the neighbouring cities of Sydney & Melbourne enjoying their coastal views.

So the politicians moved in with their families, but all the other intricate colours that make up the rainbow of most cities in the world never followed. That is, except for the pornstars & dope tokers. The reason for their influx, is that the Australian Capital Territory enjoys some of the most lapse laws in Australia regarding pornography and minor drug use. The cynics among us may stipulate that the catalyst for these leiniancies is that there is consequently no 'story' when a politician or a member of his / her family, is caught 'leg before wicket' or taking a lung full of Jamaica's finest. The truth, I'm sure, is down to another reason altogether. Really.

As soon as we'd found suitably cheap accommodation and fueled our bodies with adequate nutrician and energy, we stepped out of the hostel into the city centre and began strolling. That lasted all of 15 seconds before we decided to take advantage of the excellent bus network. Once we reached the other side of Lake Burley Griffin, we headed straight for the National Gallery. This offered all the usual questionable offerings of the contemporary nutcases / artists of today's world along with those of yester years.

Our interest here lasted only slightly longer than it take to consume a sausage roll and we made our way over to the science museum nearby. I grant you that the majority of the interactive exhibits here were (slightly) tailored more towards more younger visitors than ourselves, but as we were still feeling slightly dazed from a night sleeping on a bus, the level of thought & concentration required here was perfect. We burst into hysterics at our balance and coordination skills in the sports section, cursed the school kids in the games section, and threw out some shapes in the music and video hall. We left after being 2 of only 3 people attending an acted performance about liquid nitrogen, & aliens from the planet Zog taking over the Earth!!!

Canberra is an extremely well planned capital, but lacks a lot of critical elements necessary for me to feel comfortable calling it a city. It feels more like a movie set that we were taking a private tour of. From the novelty grass roof of parliament to the artificial lake, and it's 140m memorial jet of water shooting out of it, the place doesn't feel quite right. Or maybe my opinion on this is simply attributable to a lack of sleep and thus similar viewpoint to insomniacs where everything seems unreal, far away, a copy of a copy. Whatever the reason, I would urge anyone to go there if they are in the area, for the simple reason of seeing the capital, but not stay longer than is necessary to 'take the tour'.

The Fashion Capital & It's Dwindling Apostles

2006-05-11T18:07:00.002-07:00

We landed in Melbourne to find that Winter had taken an earlier flight and was there to greet us. As we broke cloud cover during landing, a familiar sight of grey / green haze spread out in all directions and it felt like returning to England.

We left the airport as soon as all bags were collected, and made our way to Lucie's relative's house, on the east side of Melbourne. Once again we were lucky to enjoy the hospitality of friends and could miss out the usual backpacker domains. It also provided the chance to test some of my Czech skills and to hear the language spoke in all it's indistinguishable complexity. I have much to learn.

Melbourne is one of a few cities in Australia that was not established by convicts and it's people are very proud to state this in every brochure. A good path of historical enlightenment is to walk 'The Golden Mile' - a route from one corner of the central city to it's opposite, passing the landing point of the first ship, major buildings of influence & consequence, and finishing at the museum. We breezed passed sites requiring an entry fee and slowed at those that were free. By the time we reached the museum, our time was limited to two hours and within 5 minutes of that, it became clear we would not see it all.

Now that the cultural side had been taken care of, we jumped forward in time to investigate Federation Square (the celebration of the 2001 centennial), St. Kilda (the 'place to be seen' for pretentious style seekers & backpacking 'Neighbours' enthusiasts), the Observation Deck (the place to see from), and the Crown Entertainment Complex (where films are watched & money is lost.) I paid $50 to enter a 10 seat Sit&Go Tournament of 'Texas Holden'. 3 people went all-in on the first round and set the pace for the game. I played conservatively at first until I was the 2nd chip leader and became a little too confident in my subconscious feelings of psychic ability. Luckily while I was losing money, Lucie was winning on the slot machines. $30 up when I found her, she increased to $80 up, and cashed in when still $63 in profit. Now that's teamwork!

After a few days in the city we hired a car and headed south west to 'The Great Ocean Road' - a ribbon of tarmac that precariously grips the hillside only metres from a steep drop into the blue. It is 300 kilometres of the biggest war memorial in the world that opened in 1932 to commemorate those who died in WW1.

A short distance from Torquay we arrived at our first stop - a beach that was said in one film to be the setting for "the biggest surf this planet has ever seen". I'd wanted to go to Bells Beach ever since watching 'Point Break' when I was 14. It is probably the most famous surfing beach in Australia and from the viewpoints on the cliffs, the reasons why, could be seen rolling towards shore in a non-stop convoy. With neither a surfboard or the skill we kept our visit to talking about (and quoting some film history), and taking a few photos.

We then drove on a widow-maker of a road that had more twists and turns that a 'Bush Gardens' roller coaster. Great fun compared to the monotony of the usual straight roads in this country, but not too enjoyable for a passenger feeling slightly sick whilst in a car that was racing against the sun. We stopped along route to see the Erkine Falls in Otway National Park and take a few scenic walks but we always had in mind the time remaining until sunset.

By the time we actually reached the '12 Apostles', darkness prematurely taking over courtesy of a blanket of thick grey clouds. Despite the less than ideal conditions to view this significant site, the beauty of it's setting was undeniable. The bold yellow of the cliffs must truly look stunning when against a clear blue backdrop of a summer's day. It would be nice to return here some day and see how many of the now '8' remaining Apostles, are still standing.

We spent the night in the town of Warrambool, which lies at the western end of 'The Great Ocean Road'. After a restful sleep in a caravan park cabin, we had an early start to reach 'The Grampians' - the 3rd largest national park in Victoria and said by many to be the most beautiful. Using Halls Gap as our base point, we drove around to various points and explored as much as possible in the hours we had allowed. A large proportion of the park was devastated by fire last summer and the extent of scorched earth could be seen from any of the viewing platforms. The reassuring element of this scene of destruction was the beauty of fresh green stems and leaves growing out from black bark. The forest dealt with the damage and moved on unswayed. We left just before dark set in, and drove against a barrage of rainclouds to get back to Melbourne later that evening.

It had taken a total of 20 seconds of walking on the streets of Melbourne to realise why it is regarded as the fashion capital of Australia. We felt uncomfortably under-dressed as we wandered about the city and desperately craved the money to buy some new clothes.

The city is clean, well organised, with excellent transport links (including a massive tram network), and seems a great place to base oneself in Australia. There are excellent surfing beaches to the south west, & beautiful national parks and wine regions to the north. We spent a total of a week in Melbourne and had a very rushed tour of the area. The tiredness of traveling was biting at our muscles and called for some rest. We spend some days doing relatively little and on others, enjoyed the simple pleasures of just laying in bed for the majority of the day. In one regard it was time wasted, but it was a fundamental necessity required to keep the momentum of our traveling going.

Feeling slightly refreshed, if not still a little disoriented from traveling, we boarded a night-bus to Canberra, and promptly undid any of the good we had achieved in rest.

Welcome to 'The Rock'

2006-05-02T00:18:00.000-07:00

If you said "Australia" to most people, I'm confident that the two main things that would grace their minds would be "Ayers Rock" and the Sydney Opera House. For many years, it has been these dignitaries that epitomized, in my mind, the extremes of what I would encounter “down-under”, from the dusty red outback to a modern city. In 1993, Ayers Rock & The Olgars shed their European names and regressed to the traditional titles, "Uluru" & "Kata Tjuta”. I feel this should be mentioned to avoid any confusion over my use of the traditional names.

Since I was a little boy, I regarded “Uluru” as the unofficial ambassador of Australia, thanks to countless views of it in books and television. Now actually there, I hoped to discover a deeper insight into the culture that has surrounded it for the past 50 thousand years - to hear the legends and feel a new level of closeness available only through presence and understanding. Unfortunately for us, this information was not as readily accessible as we’d hoped for. The majority of the aboriginal legends are passed down from the old to the young, & some are kept strictly within specific families. This makes it very hard to learn much or appreciate why the area is so sacred. It also did little to dissuade us from climbing “Uluru” on our first day.

However, after 3 frustrating days of learning very little, one random question to the minibus driver set of a landslide of information that both gripped and surprised us. He’d lived in the area of over 10 years now, & has many aborigine friends. Over the years, they have felt more and more comfortable with him, shared some of their stories, and thankfully for us, he has chosen to pass them onto anyone who asks. The essence of what he said, was that although the “Anangu” (the preferred nomenclature for the natives of this area) are keen to share their culture, they will only relinquish a minimal amount to those that are only passing through. They do not believe they should give up such valued information to those that fly in on a plane, when their people have always had to walk hundreds of miles through the desert to get here. Ignoring this seemingly jealousness of innovations in aviation, the journey to Uluru has always been seen as a pilgrimage that has now become possible for anyone with a credit card. For this reason, photography is banned at 6 sacred sites around the base of Uluru and very little is shared to the general public outside of the cultural centre. The rock itself isn’t sacred, but is the setting for a number of significant zones. 6 are made known to the non-aboriginals, but 1 is kept secret. Much like, the city of London is not sacred but contains many sacred sites within it.

He told us a couple of legends and then went on to explain why the “Anangu” are against people climbing “Uluru”. The first (and most easily dismissible) is that Uluru is a giant marsupial mole and it is the animal’s back you are climbing on – of course it is. The 2nd is that the steep path from the base to the top (348m above sea level) is the traditional route taken by the ‘Mala’ – ancient & respected small kangaroo like creatures of old. However, the “Anangu” realize that we care for their beliefs on these matters, about as much as they do for ours. They also appreciate that it is a part of our culture to climb, to strive, to achieve, but it is not something they can comprehend. Life is hard enough without risking an abrupt end by climbing for the sake of climbing. A total of 38 people have died attempting the climb and each death has been met with great sadness by the “Anangu”. They believe they are responsible for us whilst on their land and as such any death will be met with the demise of one of their own.

So, why not just ban people from climbing? The driver stated that the “Anangu” know that “Uluru” is a billion dollar business. Half a million people come here every year and 60% of those, climb. If they banned the climb, the number of people visiting the area would decrease and local businesses that rely on this custom would suffer. A media frenzy would then ensue and the “Anangu” would be held accountable. Therefore, they are trying to combat the numbers on ‘the rock’ by signs and information. 10 years ago, virtually 100% of people coming here, climbed it. Roughly 60% do at the moment, and they hope this downward pattern will continue until climbing is a vague thing of the past.

Ignoring all the myths and legends, the most important reason why they don’t like people climbing is that the vast majority of people don’t respect the land. They urinate on it, drop champagne corks, and leave litter. These inadvertently contaminate the water holes surrounding the base and scare off the local animals. If the animals don’t come, the aborigines lose a food source, and are forced to accept government hand-outs to buy from supermarkets. People then look down on them and state they should get jobs like everyone else. But why should they? Why should they adapt to our way of life when we have no right to impinge it upon them? Because we feel they would be better off? Because we feel our society has more to offer them? 50 thousand years ago the aborigines of Australia were some of the most advanced people on the planet, but due to the effects of geographical constraints, they never progressed further. They are now faced with a monumental jump to take on a new way of life or be pushed further and further into the most inhospitable places in Australia.

It is said that anyone who removes a piece of Uluru will suffer terrible luck until it is returned. This is confirmed weekly by letters received by park wardens from people sending rocks back after suffering a string of unfortunate events. Similar misfortunes have been experienced by those who have taken pictures of the 6 sacred sites.

I am not a religious person but would say I am of the spiritual persuasion. I don’t hold much belief in the legends of the aborigines, or other religions for that matter, but it doesn’t mean I don’t believe in more than what is seen or heard. There is undoubtedly something special about “Uluru” & “Kata Tjuta” that has been drawing people to the area for thousands of years, and continues to do so. Like everyone else, we must have taken a hundred photos each of these rocks. We joked about taking each new photo because they are all essentially of the same thing (just another look at a red rock), but we continued to do it anyway. Sure, you can put an element of this flippant regard for photography down to the easy manageability of digital technology, but I believe it is largely due to something else - something that cannot be explained by science and can only be measured in degrees of faith.

The range of colours displayed by “Uluru” at sunrise and sunset was breathtaking on every occasion. Any slight variation in cloud cover or weather created freshness to the vision & an image different enough to warrant even more photos. And yet it is just a large rock (or monolith for the geologically inclined). Leaving this area, I realize that I still know very little about its true spiritual significance but perhaps that is one of the reasons why it remains so enchanting - a mystery for curiosity - to know about the unknown. Or perhaps, it truly has a power that is felt by the soul.

The strange thing about our little chat with the minibus driver was that it wasn’t anything about “Uluru” that was the most interesting, and even stranger considering what the point was. Despite there only being a small amount of information provided about “Uluru”, it is an infinite wealth of knowledge compared to what has been spoken about a more sacred site in the national park. “Kata Tjuta” is so important to their people that the women & children will not even look at it. There is nothing in the cultural centre, nothing on signs, and nothing in the brochures.

The rock structures of both “Uluru” and “Kata Tjuta” extend down to 6 miles below the surface, so it is actually only the slightest amount that is visible to people. This is very apt considering the amount of information known by white men about their cultural history.

Wild-Life & Swan Diving

2006-04-22T00:06:00.000-07:00

The city of Geraldton was supposed to be our last stop before returning to Perth. A short distance from the coast are the Abrolhos Islands and the wreck site of the famous 'Batavia.' I say famous but like with most Australian history, it's all too recent for us to really give a damn. The reason why this drew my attention was that although 125 people survived the wreck, 124 of them were killed by a maniac among them. So, I figured this sounded like a lovely place to see off the end of our second road trip. The only problem was, that against popular opinion, Australia does experience some form of winter, and it had swept in while we were in the Tropics. It was now far too cold to think about getting into the water.

We had no real interest in anything else Geraldton had to offer so talked ourselves out of an arctic night in the tent and drove back to Perth to the warm hospitality and home of Mike & Sue. We still had a couple of pre-booked days with the hire car left so decided to take a little trip out to Caversham Wildlife Park in the Swan Valley region west of Perth. I know it's cheating really, but the majority of wildlife we'd seen were road kill - we'd personally taken out a Thorny Devil and were witness to a Brown Snake losing getting flattened. We'd also seen roadsides littered with kangaroos in various states of decay, and let me tell you, "Skippy" didn't have much of a spring in his step anymore.

Most of the animals here weren't moving around any faster but it was nice to see all body parts where they should be and I'm sure everyone would like to give a wombat a stroke every now and again.

After we took the hire car back, Mike and Sue kindly offered us the use of Mike's Holden V6 Ute for the weekend - now we felt like true Australians. For the last three weeks of our 2nd road trip, I had moments of thinking about the wreck diving I had missed out on in Dunsborough. My cold had disappeared within a week of the new road trip, so there should've been anything stopping me next time. However, as sod's law dictates, suggestions of a cold began again the moment we started heading south. It was as if my body didn't want me to dive, or maybe my apprehension manifested itself as a weakness in my immune system. Whatever the cause was, I was determined to not let it beat me again. On the morning of the dive, I was still sniffing, but I reasoned the fact that if I could sniff (however, restricted) with both nostrils, then I would be able to equalise. The dive would go ahead.

Right up to the point of a few metres below the surface, I was unsure if I could continue, but my stubbornness to go on, putting the danger of losing my money over my hearing, was the ruling judgment. I held my nose, blew until the noise squeezing through my ears signaled their equalisation and felt relief from both pressure and doubt.

Just like watching the whale shark appear from out of the blue, the outlines of the bow came into view, and then lines began to gradually complete it's huge frame. Images from film footage of the Titanic flooded my mind as I swan over the handrails and stood on the deck. Bizarre sensations of not actually being underwater were quashed with every school of fish that swam by.

Approximately 15ft off the starboard, lay a Wobergong Shark watching our every flipper stroke. This was his territory and we only had a temporary pass. Best behaviour would be maintained or appropriate action would be taken.

The first dive was an orientation dive where the group stayed with the instructor but I was qualified to go where my will desired on the 2nd dive. This was to go inside, to penetrate it's hull and see the rooms and corridors where 250 naval men once walked. Along with 3 others of the same disposition, I swan through a hole on the deck where a gun emplacement once sat, and flew along passageways & up stairs to see various rooms. Some were obvious as to their function, as apparatus such radar machines spoke of their history, whilst others were left to imagination. We finished our tour with a stop in the bridge, and thought about controlling this ocean giant.

The Swan was scuttled for tourism in these waters in 1997. It was rigorously prepared for this and no one died in the process of it's sinking. And yet, death seemed to cover every wall. Ironic considering that it is the life of ocean which now thrives on these walls and only dead metal was there before. The eeriness of seeing this, and being inside it, was both overwhelming and exciting. It is a new angle to my diving and has rejuvenated my interest to unimaginable levels. I can now let the cold do whatever it likes; I've 'Swan' dived.

When we arrived back at Mike & Sue's house, I thought about what we had already seen of Australia and how far we'd traveled. The total amount for all road-trips was over 7500km. In roughly 6 weeks of being in the country we had driven more than the distance from New York to Rome (or 5.5x the length of Britain). We'd seen all types of both land & marine wildlife, swam with a few of them, and eaten a few more (emu, crocodile, and kangaroo.)

Except for the wonderful interludes of staying with Mike & Sue, we'd stayed in our trusty tent the whole time. My brother asked me if we worried about all the dangerous animals that roam Australia. In truth, it does cross your mind when walking around at night only wearing sandals, and we were always careful to make sure the zip of the tent was done up so as not to return to any unwelcome guests. But apart from that, we just put those horrible thoughts out of mind or at least didn't worry. We adopted an attitude of not letting our fears stand in the way of something we wanted to do. And to be honest, living in a tent isn't all that bad - they're actually quite spacious.

Driving On Fumes To Canoe The Desert

2006-04-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

Exmouth was the most northerly point that we would be going to in Western Australia. We'd originally intended to head up past Karratha & Port Headland to check out Broome, but decided it wasn't worth it for the distance and time we'd use. Plus, we need to save some things for the next trip down-under!

After leaving Exmouth, we briefly stopped and explored Shothole Canyon, before continuing the long way back to Perth. We'd deliberately left a couple of places out on the way up so at least we'd get to see some new things on the way back.

We arrived at Carnavon sometime in the afternoon and could see one of the attractions before the town was in view. Dominating the skyline is the huge OTC communications satellite dish that was opened in 1966 and participated in the space race to get man on the moon. It was also from here, that Australia received it's first satellite TV broadcast. The station closed after assisting track Halley's Comet in1987.

OK, not exactly the thrill of the century but there wasn't much else to see in the town, so we kind of had to make do. We briefly checked out the 'One Mile Jetty', and by brief, I mean, stopped the car, took a photo, and drove off again. The problem is we'd seen a longer one in Busselton and this one had nothing new to offer. Other attractions in this entertainment jewel were the banana plantations, but we were so exhausted by the excitement of the OTC Dish and big jetty that we decided to miss these and have an early night instead.

I mentioned before that the cost of fuel and supplies in between large towns is very expensive. Therefore, if you're watching your pennies, you try to make your fuel last the distance to get you that little bit further in order to reach a large town. For this journey, it was to get from Carnavon to Kalbarri without stopping. With 100km to go, the tank read just above the empty line. As we neared 60km, the light came on. It was over 30 degrees outside and would be impossible to push the car much of a distance through this hilly area. I drove with the clutch in on any downhill section and prayed whenever going uphill. As we reached the crest of the umpteenth hill on the never-ending road, we saw Kalbarri in the distance and a nice downhill stretch to lead us there. As a Mylo remix of The Killer's tune "Somebody Told Me" played on the stereo, we celebrated driving the last part of 60km while singing along and cruising at the pleasure of gravity up to speeds of 50km/hr. We'd obviously not found the limit to driving on low fuel and would have to push it further between petrol stops next time ;)

Our reason for returning to Kalbarri was to go on the Desert Canoeing excursion we'd missed out on last visit. As I said before, the fact that the organiser Frank was going to cut himself a road through the bush to use, as the other was impassable, was too good an introduction to a tour.

On the morning of the big day, Frank and his dog 'Boots were pleased to see us again and that we'd made the effort to come back - the tour would go ahead on our account despite only another three tourists going.

As I said before, this canoe trip has not been possible for about 150 years and may not be possible again for a very long time. There is usually no water in these parts at all. Not a drop. We would be canoeing through the desert, on the results of 7 (or 8) cyclones that had dumped their loads on Western Australia this year. It was never going to be an adrenaline-pumping day out, but a rare experience of Australia that allowed us to see something different.

We steered our Canadian-style canoes under branches, between gum-trees and over sandbanks. We had a lunch on an island, looked out for Monitor Lizards munching on desert frogs, and relaxed in watching Australia drift by or fly above. At the rate which the water level was dropping, Frank estimated that he'd only be able to take these tours out for another 3 days. We'd made it back just in time.

So, was it worth the trip back there? Absolutely. It was amazing to see how much water was traveling through a desert and also the high-water marks from when it was at it's peak. A tremendous amount of rain had fallen on Western Australia and provided us with a rare opportunity to do something very different. Gotta love those cyclones!

We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat!

2006-04-18T20:53:00.000-07:00

The size of the writing on the map is a gross misrepresentation of how big the town of Exmouth actually is. Although there was techincally a settlement here beforehand, it's main cause for development was the creation and occupation of an important American Naval base here. This has since been handed over to the Australians but is still a dominant blot on the Exmouth map.

Once again, a town simply means a main road with a few buildings along it. Importantly for us though, the attractions we sought were not part of the town's infrastructure. Exmouth marks the northernmost reaches of the Ningaloo Reef Marine Park. Approximately 8 nights after the full-moon in March & April, a monumental event of coral spawning occurs on the reef and the attending audience come from all over the world. As the coral releases millions of bright pink egg and sperm bundles, it signals the start of a chain of events that ends with the arrival of the biggest fish in the ocean.

There is comparatively very little known about the Whale Shark although they are said to grow up to 18m in length and believed to live for over 150 years. Although they have over 300 rows of teeth in each jaw, these giants of the ocean are not a threat to humans. They are filter feeders, filtering planktonic organisms such as krill and crab larvae from the water primarily near the surface. This makes them relatively easy for us to find and study. It also makes them an easy target for fisherman from countries in SE Asia, and their numbers are on the decrease as a result.

The viewing of these magnificent creatures is what pulls hundreds of thousands of people to Exmouth every year. The problem with an incredible experience such as this is the incredible price tag which accompanies it. In this case, the standard format is around $330 for the privilege. However, as there is no guarantee you will find one on your trip, the ticket comes with a no-sighting guarantee where the next available trip is free. There is still no guarantee you will see one on the 2nd trip.

We'd heard from companies in Coral Bay that it was only within the last few days that any Whale Sharks had actually been seen this season but no companies in Exmouth were obviously advertising this fact. One company caught our eye with an offer that seemed too good to be true - $170 for a trip. The catch? There was not a non-sighting policy. Do you feel lucky? Hell yeah.

There were only 2 spots left on the last day of this special offer period, and that was on our last intended day in Exmouth. We'd either see one or not - simple. That meant we had full two days to occupy our body and minds before the penultimate day arrived. On the first day we drove around the coast and down to view some gorges and check out some snorkeling spots. The starting point for this was Yardie Creek Gorge. We walked under the sun's oppressive gaze for a couple of hours, seeking shelter from the steep walls, skimming stones in the clear water and watching a couple of sharks patrol their territory.

By the time we returned to the car-park, we were anxious to shed our sweat sheens and headed to a beach to cool down. The dehydrating exertion of the first walk and rehabilitating relaxation of the beach swung heavy favour towards spending the rest of the day either in the sea or on the sand.

On our 2nd full day in Exmouth ('Whale' day in 24 hours and counting every second), we had intended to go fishing. Ideas of catching huge Blue Marlin and Mahi Mahi unfortunately never became a reality due to discovering that this had a name: 'Game Fishing' - and that had a high price. There was no point paying over $150 each for a 2nd best choice like reef fishing, so we opted to try our luck, hire a rod and go at it alone. Well, it worked for finding a turtle.

We had no luck on the beach in the morning so headed to the jetty in the afternoon. Within a short space of time, I caught our entrée for the evening - a rather meaty looking 'flathead'. We had no club to deliver to a death blow to it's skull, so I was forced to end it's life by stabbing it through the brain. A lot of things go through your mind when taking a life, but nothing compared to what went through the fish's - 6" of cold hard steel. I had caught, I had killed. Now, it was up to Lucie to gut the poor bastard. Our luck continued with hooking a red-nose next, and our first course was now decided. There would've been a main as well, but nothing else could be enticed that day.

On the morning of the trip, we were told that no companies in Exmouth had seen a single Whale Shark the day before and sightings had been sporadic and short on the previous days. We set off on the boat, trying to discourage any excitement or expectations.

The first stop for the morning was a short snorkelling excursion near the reef. We were advised this was more of a swimming test for everyone, but there were plenty of things to marvel at. I separated from the main group in search of greatness and swiftly found a Bull Ray, that was over a metre in width. With Lucie now swimming at my side we surveyed more of the area and found another one of similar size partially hidden in the sand nearby. We already felt satisfied with the money we had spent.

When everyone else was back on the boat, and only Lucie and I remained in the water, a small pod of dolphins was seen in the distance. The dive instructor jumped in immediately and motioned for us to follow and check them out. The dolphins were too fast, but the chase brought us right up to 3 Dugongs that we had no idea were there. I had never expected to see these extremely shy creatures so close and was even happier with our luck.

Before we were back on the boat, the call from the spotter plane had come through - a Whale Shark had been spotted! Time to grab a hold of something, put the boat into top speed and go find a big fish. Even though we all knew that whales sharks had been known to dive out of sight as soon as people jumped into the water, there was no chance of restraining our excitement. People either laughed, joked about our luck, or kept their voices to their mind, and watched the ocean ahead intently. When we were within sight, the dive instructor jumped into the water and swam to locate the whale shark's precise location while the boat attained a position ahead of the shark's course. When the timing was declared right, we jumped into the water in a controlled rush and swam towards the dive instructor's out-stretched arm. With my heartbeat filling my ears, and excitement in my stomach, I swam. When it first came into view, I was completely awe-struck. As it effortlessly glided towards us with a carriage of small fish taking shelter close by, it resembled a 'Star Wars' type mother ship, with smaller ships flying around it on a voyage through space. I repeatedly took new breaths, and dived underwater, to get what I deemed the best position for taking photos.

After 16 minutes, the whale shark decided it had seen enough, and dived beyond our reaches. We didn't care. We had seen one. We had swam with the biggest fish in the ocean & had only paid $170. And even if any of us had any sad feelings when we were getting out of the water, they were instantly put aside when it was announced that another one had already been spotted and was waiting for us.

In total, we saw three whale sharks on that day that ranged from 3.5 to 5 metres in length and swam a total of 25 minutes with them. I won't repeat my spoken sentiments of amazement when approaching the 5 metre one, but I'm sure they would be echoed by almost anyone that was in the same flippers. You are technically supposed to keep at least 3 metres way from the sharks at all times, but this is often impossible as it's own curiosity draws it towards you. Surprisingly, your only fear at this time, is that you're close proximity may cause the shark to dive and thus your experience to end.

To say we were satisfied with our decision to take a gamble is a contender for the understatement of infinity. Including our decision to independently look for turtles, we had now saved a total of nearly $700. I think that's cause for a celebratory drink….or 6.

Turtle Interference

2006-04-18T20:50:00.000-07:00

In reaching 'Coral Bay', we had driven another 300 kilometres and crossed the Tropic of Capricorn. This tiny town is famous for being one of the most beautiful holiday destinations in Western Australia, and as the southern gateway to the Ningaloo Marine Park.

At 300km in length, the 'Ningaloo Reef' is the largest fringing coral reef in Australia and is the only large reef in the world that is found so close to continental land mass. At Coral Bay, the reef starts only a dozen flipper strokes away from the shore, and as a result, a tiny town 1100km north of Perth has become a Mecca for snorkelling addicts everywhere.

A few seemingly autonomous patches of coral quickly becomes a lush landscape of variety as you move further from the shore. Networks of a pastel-red branchlike coral cover 10m squared areas, and then stop to reveal bright coloured fan formations. As the type of coral diversifies, so does the variety of fish. What appears to be only coral at first glance reveals a busy maze of traffic swimming all around and in between each formation. Companies were charging unsuspecting tourists (& those that didn't want to get wet), over $150 for viewing tours, and all you had to do was swim fifty metres.

Other companies were capitalising on promises of seeing some of the wonderful wildlife in the bay. From Turtle tours at just under $200, to Whale Shark tours at $340, if there was an animal on the reef, there was an organised tour to try and find it. We had previously decided that we'd like to see turtles here, but $200 each, was a little hard to justify, so we put our masks and snorkels back on and searched the reef ourselves.

Within 5 minutes of our second snorkelling endeavour, we simultaneously spotted a turtle just a few metres away. It looked amazing. By simply doing what it does every minute of every day, it held our attention for as long as we had the energy to follow it. For the next hour, we swam alongside it around the bay, watching it's every graceful movement.

I have been fascinated by turtles ever since being a small boy. On one holiday, the island we were on had a turtle rookery on it. We'd missed the hatching, and saw no turtles, but from that moment on I wanted to see a turtle in the ocean. From the first second we saw the turtle in Coral Bay, I became that little kid again.

It seemed perfectly at ease with our company and was even so comfortable as to let me stroke it's head and feel the texture of it's shell. Of course, you're not supposed to get this close, and certainly not supposed to touch them, but the turtle didn't seem to mind, so what does it matter?

We'd just saved around $400 by ignoring the tours and finding one ourselves. From the markings on it's shell, I believe it was a Loggerhead Turtle, which is the most endangered species in Australia - not only had our luck found us a turtle, but it found a particularly rare one. We were now avid fans of Coral Bay.

The Not so Little Mermaid

2006-04-18T20:47:00.000-07:00

Shark Bay is one of a handful of places across the globe that satisfy all four criteria for world heritage listing, having important evolutionary and biological histories, unique formations and natural habitats where threatened species survive. There is over 2000 km of coastline, white beaches, turquoise waters, and rust-red sand dunes. Within these crystal clear waters lives a massive variety of sea life from dolphins to dugongs, and from the 'Eagle Bluff' viewing point we immediately spotted one of the reasons why it is called 'Shark Bay'.

Denham is considered to be the main town of the area, although there is little more than a few shops and a couple of campsites. By the time you've questioned if you've seen the main town, you've driven through it. As we had all the supplies we needed, we opted to continue driving and try our luck at 'Monkey Mia' instead. There is only one resort here and considering the value of the name that this place holds, we expected to be conned out of an extortionate amount of money for our space of grass. We were pleasantly surprised. The resort had excellent facilities, & was located right on the beach that was the setting for the daily dolphin visits. Considering this was 'it'. This was where people go when they want to see the best of the ocean and get close to dolphins; I'm amazed it was so reasonable priced. We watched the sunset from the beach, cooked some grub, and slept under a sky of black velvet sprinkled with diamonds.

Soon after we had enjoyed our breakfast, we made way to the beach to watch the dolphins enjoy theirs. The study and interaction with dolphins has been going on here for over 25 years, and the feeding probably started at the same time. For this reason it is still allowed although there are current debates over its future continuance. Whether it was down to the food being offered or the history of these meetings, I'm not sure, but the dolphins here were far more comfortable with playing around and getting closer to everyone than at Bunbury.

After two successive appearances of up to 12 dolphins each time, we collected our snorkels and masks, and headed down the beach to see what we could find by ourselves. A turtle had been recently spotted near a black buoy so we headed there first. After about 25 minutes of no luck, I caught sight of a fin about 40m from where we were swimming. It was too quick to get a good idea of what type of animal it belonged to, but after seeing the shark from Eagle Bluff, I had to swallow my heart before I could speak. I began to think, "There is far too much food about to warrant an attack on a human. Stay calm; an excited heartbeat will sound like an animal in distress and would only attract a shark more." I grabbed Lucie's attention and suggested we should move slowly towards the shore. When we able to touch the bottom we saw a group of fins swing in an arch above the water in the distance and felt sure they were dolphins. And then, as our attention was looking straight ahead, two dolphins swam from the side & came within a couple of metres of us. We pulled our masks on and swam with them for a moment before their interest weaned and they swam faster than our ability. Now we could tick swimming with dolphins of the list and count $300 saved.

The next day we spent the morning snorkeling again, and in the afternoon jumped on board 'Shotover' - the 61' catamaran, originally built as an ocean racer that established itself as the fastest of it's kind on it's maiden voyage. The main draw for this trip was the variety of wildlife we would see, and in particular, the chance to see the (probable) source of the mermaid myth. Dugongs are aquatic mammals that cradle their young up right in the water. For me, this is where any similarity to a woman ends. The perpetuated image of beautiful women with flowing blonde hair must surely be indicative either of how lonely sailors once were, or the strength of the beer goggles they were using.

We were lucky enough to see a total of 4 different dugongs on the trip and just about managed to gain a couple of photos of them when they briefly broke the surface for air. These bizzare looking mammals spend most of their time eating and manage to consume over 70kg of seaweed a day. The problem with this much grazing is that they are very slow moving. Therefore, their defence against sharks needs to rely on something more than speed or agility. With no bone marrow, these creatures are extremely robust & heavy and use their bulk as a battering ram. On top of this, they can also tense their skin to such a degree that a shark's tooth can not penetrate it.

Our last stop before leaving the marine park was at Hamelin Pool where a great variety of stramatolites are found. The problem is that once you have seen one stramatolite, you've seen them all.

Grand Views & Gran Turismo

2006-04-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

A general rule about Western Australia is the smaller the town, the more expensive everything is. This rule also applies the further you travel away from main cities like Perth. With this in mind, we made plans to pick up food and fuel in every major town we'd pass on each journey.

We hadn't planned to make any other stops on the way to Kalbarri, but a particularly pink lake outside Port Gregory grabbed our attention and signaled for a driving break. Port Gregory was originally heralded as the great 'port of the north', but that idea sank with the dozen ships wrecked off the coast here. Nowadays, the pink lake, which is used as a centre for beta-carotene production, seems to be the only appealing aspect of the area. Of course that only holds your attention for as long as it takes to stretch and a take a photo.

As the pink lake becomes a dot in the rear view mirror, the horizon to the west begins to flatten out and turn a deep blue. The first viewpoints we reached were fortunately the 'Natural Bridge' & 'Island Rock'. I say fortunate as these were known as the best of the area, and after the reception of flies we received there, we had no intention of stopping again until reaching town. As soon as we'd stepped from the air-conditioned safety of the Hyundai Accent, we were covered by a blanket of flies intent on investigating any exposed orifice. Words cannot even begin to describe just how annoying this is. I was a nuclear reactor of rage, wishing that any fly that had the audacity to land on my skin would be incinerated instantly. Thoughts of somehow inducing spontaneous combustion to eradicate a few of these things filled my mind. The relentless resilience of their assault is enough to nearly cause tears, and certainly ruin the appreciation of a view. We now had an immediate purpose in Kalbarri - to buy a head-net as soon as possible.

That evening I was further welcomed to the area by a particularly vicious insect. I didn't get a good enough look at him to formally identify the suspect, but from the blurred view I had, I would say it was flying ant. Despite only being about an inch long, this little bastard gave me the most painful sting I've ever suffered. The uncertainly of what I had seen, and the increasing discomfort in such pleasures of nausea, dizziness, and my finger swelling up like a balloon, made for a restless night wondering if it was something more fatal.

As I was still breathing the next morning, and the remaining digits on my left hand were functioning as normal (I now had little feeling in the finger that was bitten), we left camp and made our way to the National Park. Unfortunately for the suspension on our hire car, over 60 km of the journey today was on an unsealed road - or a rally track as it came to be treated.

With my appreciation for life, and reckless abandonment for caring about a hire car, I put the pedal to the metal and raced my way to Grin-town. Every time we either gained a few centimetres of air or skidded to one side, thoughts of the $1000 excess swept through my mind. However, my reasoning that a rally driving experience in England would probably cost a similar price, was enough to keep the revs screaming higher than a helium-inflated choirboy.

Driving skills that have been precision honed with hours of time on the rally circuits of 'Gran Turismo', were coming back to me with every bump & skid. I pulled into the car park and gave a victorious hand-brake-turn salute to all the 4x4s sitting so proudly. Driving has never been so much fun.

My elation turned to a desire for elevation as the rocky landscape surrounding the 'Nature's Window' provided a perfect playground for more foolhardy exercises of adrenalin.

The window itself was pretty impressive but the flies prevented any lasting enjoyment without the head-net, and who wants to look at the world for long, from behind a green mesh? The massive amount of water sweeping through the gorge had meant we were unable to trek 'The Loop', so we played around on the cliff edges and then moved on to the next site.

At the end of the day, we stopped off to talk to a company about some quad biking tours that we'd heard about. He advised us that he wasn't running them at the moment, in favour of a desert canoe trip instead. Due to the incredible number of cyclones (7 or 8 depending who you talk to) that have ravaged West Australia this year, there is a river in the desert that hasn't existed for 150 years. This was an opportunity to canoe a journey that would probably not be possible again in my lifetime, or many people's to come.

On the morning of the big day, we were picked up along with 6 other experience seekers soon after sunrise, and headed out in a huge mining truck with our leader, Frank, at the wheel, and his dog 'Boots' sitting close by. Roughly 100 km into our 200 km trip into the desert, we encountered bad news. The floodwaters had increased even further and a vital road was now impassable. Frank was even more upset than us at this setback and apologised profusely. He even drove us down a single lane, sand and rock strewn road, to see a little known spot where you can see the start of the Murchison River gorge. Not many locals know where this is. Only a handful of tourists have been here. Virtually no one has seen it with this amount of water passing through.

When we got back to Kalbarri, Frank assured us that the trip would be possible when we would be heading back through the area - he had a plan. He would take a chainsaw, his dog and gun, and go clear an old disused road he knew about, shooting his grub and sleeping under the stars. That kind of introduction to a tour was not something we would ignore. We would definitely be back.

In the afternoon, we checked out a few other viewpoints over the ocean, and then made our way to Rainbow Jungle - a world leader in the breeding of endangered species of parrots, cockatoos, and exotic birds. Nothing too exciting, but a relaxing option for an afternoon and I think I'll always find the phrases and characteristics displayed by these creatures amusing. Plus, I don't care how old I am - teaching a parrot to swear is piss funny.

Tree Huggers & Desert Revelations

2006-04-18T20:16:00.000-07:00

From Lancelin, we backtracked to Yanchep to spend a couple of nights. I was still waiting on a delivery in Perth, so wanted to stay within driving distance. However, as Sod's Law dictates, the waiting wasn't quite enough for the postman to even knock once, and we later moved on North regardless.

Yanchep National Park is one of Perth's weekend getaway locations. There are numerous walks, a boating lake, caves to investigate and a koala sanctuary. We were simply looking for a relaxing place to spend a day, & kill some time.

Now fully relaxed, we accepted the delivery wouldn't arrive in time, and pushed on North to Cervantes. Our first stop here was to see a piece of earth's history at Lake Thetis.

Lake Thetis is one of the few sites in the world where living stromatolites are found. Occurring as domes of limestone around the edge of the lake, stromaltolites are formed by the activity of microbial communities trapping and binding sediment and precipitating calcium carbonate from the water. OK? The interesting thing is that the ones here are over 1200 years old, and are the closest living organisms to the earliest life on Earth. It is believed that microbes similar to this, living over 3500 million years ago, are responsible for giving us an atmosphere. Good work, fellas.

The 'Pinnacles' are the poster pin-ups for WA tourism. They are easily accessible on a day trip from Perth and thus a viable option for those with just a short time in WA. The best time to view this rock forest is said to be around sunrise or sunset - we arrived about an hour before sunset.

The columns were formed thousands of years ago when ancient plant roots formed a weak cementation of calcite within the dunes. After that, it was just a question of time before shifting sands and the wind exposed them to tourists. To me, the area had an otherworldly feel to it, which would be perfectly apt for a Pink Floyd video. In a momentary lapse of reason, I jumped up on the pillars of rock, and let my air guitar sing 'Wish you were here', until I felt comfortably numb.