Time is slipping away

Time is quickly slipping away….days are down on one hand and things are coming to a close. I am beginning to have dreams of home in my sleep and that’s always a sure sign that I have accomplished my goals and have no feeling of incompletion on this trip. The last thing to be done is to travel to Rotorua today. New Zealand’s version of Yellowstone…bubbling mud pots, the smell of sulfur and geysers spurting into the air. But the real attraction of Rotorua is that it is the center of Maori culture in NZ. Carol and I were talking last night and we were glad that we had saved this for last…It wasn’t really planned, but it just worked out that way, as itineraries often do, it seems….We’ve seen much and learned much, and this will be our opportunity to put it all together and complete the picture of NZ that has developed in our minds. We’ve been ensconced in a wonderful Servas family. Rodney and Sarah have a beautiful home which they designed with the help of an architect. Rodney ran a “farm” of 5,000 sheep and 500 beef cattle roaming over 1,600 acres (600 hectares) of steep hills and flat bottom land. Stock graze the grass on the hills, while orange, corn, grass for grazing and other cash crops occupy the bottom land. They graze both sheep and cattle on the same ground since they actually work together. The sheep will eat one type of grass while the beef cattle will eat another and so they keep the pasture from being overgrazed. They have contracted with corn farmers to have their husks and stalks dumped here and are mixed with other material to fill in the dips and curvatures of the land to create even more flat land for increasing their arable land. It was an enormous operation and he has sold the land to his four children who now become the 5th generation to run the family farm. What a great tribute to one’s life to have your children want to carry on the way of life in which you raised them. We spent the day on the farm with them showing us the operation…the large sheep shearing shed which is eerily quiet after seeing the one in operation a couple of weeks ago. My mind did one of those slow fades you see in movies where it changes from one to the other, and I could hear the shearing shed noise like someone was slowly turning up the volume knob…the hum of the sheep shears, the bleating of the sheep in the pen, the ratchet of the wool press as it tamped down the wool into the bales to be shipped across the world…it was all very real.

But the real mind blower was when we took the truck to a high ridge where we could see the ocean beyond and the fertile valley below. The vastness of 1,600 acres is hard to imagine until you can look down upon it from high…the hills, the valleys, the ocean and the stock animals in every direction was immense. Down below in one of the fields used for growing different crops for stock feed, one son could be seen driving his pick-up and catching up to a tractor driven by a son-in-law, who was tilling the land in preparation for another planting. The tractor stopped and the drivers exchanged positions…Rodney smiled and said they are sharing the work load. It was music to his heart to see his work carried on and the tradition of real family farming continuing. He said that one son was in charge of every part of the farm that had a wheel in all four corners while the son-in-law had control over anything that had a foot on all four corners. We took the truck up steep hills and Rodney got out and locked the wheels in 4-wheel traction as we bumped and jostled our way up higher and higher, with Carol and Sarah hanging on for dear life on the flat bed of the truck while I jumped in and out of the cab opening and closing the many gates that took us to our picnic spot. We stopped on a rise that gave a lovely view of the farm. Below us was a pond where Rodney said he used to fish for eels as a boy and the pointed out the trees where he would hunt possums with bow and arrow, rocks and slingshots. The dogs would chase the possums up the trees and the boys would take over from there. Possums are a very real problem to farmers since they spread TB to cattle and sheep….there is a HUGE debate in NZ over the use of a poison ‘1080’ which is used to kill possums but also drastically effects the entire ecosystem…80% of the world’s usage of this poison is in NZ. Two paradise pigeons flew in formation with wings seemingly unmoving and swooped down over the pond in graceful precision and then in unison climbed up to catch another thermal. A sheep which had gotten separated from the flock was making her unhappy situation plain to all within hearing distance and Carol and I looked at each other because we remembered our small plot of ground with sheep and this sound which we heard often in our “old life.” I’m embarrassed when Kiwis say we had a sheep farm. It seems so ludicrous in view of the enormous operations here in NZ. On the way back after our picnic, Rodney pointed out a picnic table beside a creek. Here, he said, on hot summer evenings, they would pack all the children and grandchildren (they had 8 under 5 years of age at one point) into the truck and head out with food and drink where the kids would play in the creek while the adults “had a few beers and told a few lies.”

More than anyone I’ve met on this trip, Rodney and Sarah epitomize New Zealand to me…they are tough, self-reliant, kind and generous and confident in their lives. Rodney did a very similar trip as I did when we drove the taxi from London to India, only he did it by himself and on a motorcycle and just one year after my trip. Sarah, like so many Kiwi girls I met in London came to London as a nurse and traveled across Europe before returning to NZ and getting down to the business of marrying and raising her family. They still travel extensively and independently. Rodney is 75 and Sarah71, but they venture into the highlands of Burma (Myanmar) and Laos and obscure areas of China without guides or established transportation…letting the road take them where it will…They travel with a small backpack each and don’t worry about having a different set of clothes for each day of the week nor any of the little bells and whistles that make up travelers suitcases today. They continue the spirit of independent, simple, and adventurous travel that I respect and admire so very much. Last night a daughter stopped by with two granddaughters and had dinner with “mum and dad.”…she too embodies the self-confidence of Kiwis and the lives life to the fullest spirit that Rodney and Sarah stowed in her DNA. While working in London she received word that a friend of a friend was driving a truck from London to Azerbaijan…did she want to go with him…with a typical “Why not?” attitude they made the round trip and eventually married and now run the farm with other family members…tales of the truck being stalled on Hungarian train tracks and border difficulties highlighted dinner conversation while the daughters aged 13 and 11 took it all in. Their traveling days began when they were 9 and 7 when the family went to Indonesia together and traveled as Rodney and Sarah and instilled in them. Now they are off for 13 weeks to show the girls Europe. Such is the spirit of the Kiwi, a flightless, nocturnal bird in the avian world, but the homo sapien variety is a high flying, live life to the fullest, being which I truly admire. Sign of the day: “freshly showered.” A cardboard sign held by two female hitch-hikers.

The last place on earth

The Last place on earth New Zealanders are proud to be the last inhabited place in the world. Nobody was here prior to 1200, and no settlements occurred until the 1600’s…Maoris didn’t migrate here until those dates, and Europeans didn’t show up until 1634. It may be the last place on earth, but it is truly a glorious one. As we start to wind down the trip, I’ve been reflecting on what we’ve seen and I can’t think of a single thing I saw or place that I went that was blah…it’s just a continuation of beautiful scenery…everything you could want, you want coastline?…you’ve got it in spades; big city?.... done; rural country tranquility?....all over the place, and the list just goes on. And it’s all positive. Added to those physical attributes, there is a spirit to New Zealanders…they know they’ve got a great place to live, and they don’t get all gnarly just because others don’t know it….they kind of think they’re getting over in life. They’re a friendly lot, as I’ve mentioned before, just go about their business. We pass through small towns of a few thousand inhabitants, but the place is spotlessly clean, has flower baskets lining the one street on which all the city businesses are located, and it just sort of invites you to stop by the image they project. We did this often in our time here. The coast is never far away it is a never ending random pattern of rocky shorelines where water spouts and waves crash, to just around the corner where you can see the calmest white sand beach you could imagine. Our latest little surprise was Napier…it’s sort of “New Zealand meets Miami beach art deco via San Francisco earthquake.” A devastating earthquake in Napier in 1931 resulted in a San Francisco type meltdown when what the earthquake didn’t destroy, fire did. What happened next is an example of why I like this country so much. They didn’t look back, they looked forward…they widened streets, made promenades in town and along the waterfront, they laid all cables underground, and they decided that they wanted to go with the popular Art Deco style. The result is a charming place that seems so natural because it all feels like it fits together. It’s full of artsy stores and fine fashion, there is a really big vegetarian grocery store right in the middle of downtown, and the local hamburger place sells alpaca burgers…The owner told me they were the best possible…she wouldn’t lie, I’m sure. All around town there are photos which show what the spot you are standing at looked like following the quake. It’s sort of like their saying: “Look at where we were in 1931, and now at what we’ve made of our city. This is who we are.” They have grown to a city and huge port of major importance in commerce and it still remains true to its identity. It’s a really cool place Just prior to reaching Napier we pulled into a fiber store…what a surprise, and as we entered the store, the lady with eyes bulging asked: “Did you feel it?” It didn’t take a whole lot of insight to know she had just experienced another earthquake….It had happened just moments before we got out of the car. The building had shaken and she looked at the website readily available on her computer to see that it was a 5.3 quiver…not a huge one, but from our California days, my daughter and I always figured that anything above 5.0 is worth noting while below that is kind of a shrug of the shoulders moment. Our host family in Christchurch has a set of plastic, magnetic acrobats that she arranges in various forms and which she bought in Seattle. She says if it’s above 5.0 they stay on the shelf, above that they fall to the floor. They are her own personal Richter Scale. In the following days several people asked us if we had felt it and related their experience…a lady who owns a shop where necklaces are suspended noted that they moved back and forth, another mentioned that she felt the floor move beneath her feet…no great alarm or fear, but an awareness of where they live and the potential of what might be. Things seem to be moving quickly to the end of the trip now…We’re heading back to Auckland in a slow, leisurely manner and have just one more thing on our list of “to do’s,” and that would be Rotorua, the large Yellowstonesque boiling pots of mud and sulpher which dot the area. Other than that, we’ve seen/done/experienced the country as we had hoped and as I have noted before, not a single day or experience was a throwaway…it’s been great. The warmth and friendliness of the people continue to be a highlight and the trip has met and exceeded our preplanning thoughts. Laundry has been done for the last time, just two more days of driving and in a week my world will once again be as it was. And ready for the next adventure that awaits my extraordinary life….life is good.

A Saner World

A Saner world One question which has come up several times with our Servas hosts is about American gun laws…I’m asked to explain them and I can do so in an academic way, but when the conversation turns to the “why” part of the equation, I’m lost to explain something I don’t understand myself. New Zealanders just shake their heads at the lax laws and prevalence of individuals who seem to feel the necessity to arm themselves as if an armed invasion from Canada or Mexico was just around the corner. In NZ, for example, people don’t own hand guns…None, nada, can’t be done. No pistols are in private homes, period. End of conversation. Rifles and shotguns can be owned but under strict rules. Guns must be in a locked cabinet with firing mechanisms or bolts removed and ammunition stored in a separate compartment. Police have the right to, and do, make periodic unannounced checks to make sure those rules are adhered to. There are no automatic weapons allowed in the country, and semi-automatic rifles have a limit of rounds which can be held in a given clip. Police interviews neighbors, wives, and/or children of the applicant for a gun permit to make sure that the person is sane and responsible, which would rule out many of the hand gun owners I’ve come across in the States. This interview is done without the presence or knowledge of the applicant. The young brother of my daughter’s best friend in elementary school accidently killed a school friend by showing dad’s pistol which was loaded and as happens far too many times in our society tragedy was avoidable but wasn’t. Carol had a nephew who was murdered by a jealous ex-boyfriend who killed him and the girlfriend. Columbine, Sandy Hook and a myriad of other events which horrify our nation occur so often that it no longer shocks us…saddens us to be sure…we shake our heads ask “Why,” and then go about our business waiting for the other shoe to drop. This insanity just in unfathomable to New Zealanders. Our timing in the South Island couldn’t have been more perfect. We had to book our ferry passage back to the North Island before we left Auckland three weeks ago and we just had to make our best guess. We decided on the 30th to return. Our guesstimation seemed a little off when we had two days in Blenheim where people told us there was nothing to do. But we contacted a Servas host who was a fiber artist and they graciously took us in. Christine is a “felter,” and does incredible work…creative and innovative (is that the same thing?) she and Carol spent the day making projects and Carol was delighted to have such an up close and very personal experience with a fellow fiber nut. We arrived on the evening of the 28th and were told that they had to be out for the evening. Bob is a Rotarian, and to raise money for the various projects that Rotary does in the area they had volunteered to help take inventory at a local version of Target/Walmart complex and wouldn’t be home until 3:30 the following morning. We told them that we would be happy to come along and help which would mean that they didn’t have to work into the dead of then night. We started at 8:00 in the evening and counted baby clothes, containers of clothes pins, garden pots and all kinds of assorted junk that is to be found in these places..it was both comforting and discomforting to know that New Zealanders are no better than we are at buying cheap crap and gadgets. We finished about midnight and with the four of us working, they made the same amount for rotary that they would have if we hadn’t shown up. It was a way that we could give back a little for their generosity. A cup of tea/hot chocolate upon return led to more conversation before we all went to bed quite “knackered” as Christine put it The next day while the Two “C’s” felted their way through the morning, Bob took me to the air museum which has an excellent collection of WWI aircraft, both original and reproduced. They are displayed in realistic settings with actual photographs to lend the air of authenticity. They even have some actual plane parts from the “Red Baron’s” plane which was shot down by Australian troops.

After lunch we decided to take a “walk” to overlook the valley. Walk indeed, we climbed and climbed to the top of a very high ridge. The view was indeed lovely, but I huffed and puffed my way up the long climb which took close to two hours to achieve. The way down was easier on the heart and lungs but not on the knees. Jim arrived back at the house quite knackered for the second day in a row. I told Christine that if I had known how far it was, I wouldn’t have done it, but now that we were back, I was glad I had. Our time in Blenheim was anything but wasted. We were busy and they were wonderful people and we found no end of things to talk about from society to our individual histories to life itself. I can’t think of a single Servas host/hostess with whom conversation flowed so easily and intelligently. It was a perfect visit and way to end our South Island experience. So we leave the South Island and are crossing the Cook Strait as I write this letter. My count is now up to about 41 million of the 60 million sheep, about 1 million of the possums dead on the highways, and one hubcap back on the car without anybody knowing the difference. We have nine days left and while I know we have adventures ahead of us, it’s hard to believe they could be any better than our time in the South. Sign of the day: “Beware of seals parked on the highway at night.” WHAT?

It seems during very high tides and large storms the seals come up off the rocky beach and “park” themselves for the night on the highway…Talk about speed bumps !

Scavenger Hunt

As previously noted, I opted for the no insurance bit with the rental car do to the $750 price tag for it. I’ve been super careful (as I always am). However, when I was parallel parking, the curb reached out and attacked my hubcap. There was a small ditch right next to the curb, and my tire fell down into it and the plastic hubcap biffed it. During the past week, multiple people have told me that my tire was falling apart. Well, it’s just the plastic hubcap. I have been looking for a place to replace it because I don’t want the rental car company to look for other nicks and dings. There aren’t any that I know of, but I have been hit by flying rocks on gravel roads. So, in Christchurch, the 2nd largest city in NZ, I went to an auto parts store (owned by Napa Auto Parts) and priced them. I can get a set of four for $50. Not bad, and I figured that the rental car company would charge me more. However, plan B was to find a wrecking yard and see if I could get one there . They have a big “Pick a Part,” yes, determine your own interpretation, where for a $2 admission price, cheaper than an ice cream, you get to forage through the 350 trashed cars for the desired part, in this case, hubcap. Prices on the wall indicated that a hubcap is $7. We were told that if there were hubcaps they would be inside the car. So Carol and I put on grungy orange vests which identified us as pick-a- parters and we started scouring cars of all conditions of trashedness. Other orange vests were under, on top of, inside the interiors and inside the engine compartments of all kinds of cars….some had the glass all missing, some had front ends smashed, others well, you get the picture. We found a sort of acceptable one and finally a better one and so, paying our $7 we walked out with our hubcap…Hours later on the road, in the quiet of the car as it hummed down the road, Carol said out of the blue: “I certainly have interesting adventures with you.” So to my long list of $7 items, I can now add a hubcap.

We haven’t actually seen that many accidents, but we did come upon the scene of one fatal crash. Interestingly, they had the car covered in a blue tarp…bad vibes from seeing that. People really adhere pretty well to the speed limit of 100 kph, even though there is a paucity of highway police…in our three weeks, we’ve only seen about 5 of them… Just outside Christchurch is the Antarctic Experience where the replicate and explain an Antacrtic expedition with huts and an “Antarctic blizzard” experience…You pay $30 for the opportunity to bundle up in heavy parkas in temperatures of 17 degrees Fahrenheit and have the wind blow at near hurricane strength just to know what it is like…there is no end to the gullibility of human beings, myself included. After a few minutes we retreated to an igloo to get out of the wind but only after getting my butt wet by sliding down a solid ice slide….don’t ask why. But beyond that they have an excellent exhibition of “little blue” penguins, who lived up to their name…they are all rescues..sickly and/or maimed penguies which would not make it on their own in the wild. The exhibits were well done with Shackleton’s amazing sea voyage well documented and explained, plus other’s about Scott’s and Amundsen’s polar excursions. Across the street is the US Antarctic headquarters. NZ is a main jumping off point for polar expeditions. Although Ushuaia, Argentina is closer to the continent, NZ is the place where western trips start. As we tool down the road, or more accurately up and down the road, we pass multiple large field with large hay bales the shape of dice about 5 feet to a side all wrapped up in green plastic like some oversized Christmas present without the bow. They are scattered around the field in seemingly random order as if some agriculture god/goddess had rolled them out and let them sit where they stopped rolling. It seemed strange to me that they weren’t all orderly and organized, but it was explained to me that they were scattered about the fields in precise order so that in the winter time stock could access various bales without having to bring trucks into the wet, soggy fields where they would get stuck in the mire. They open various ones and the cattle/sheep/deer will come to them and feed without messing up the pasture. Rural golf courses don’t need to be mown since sheep graze along the fairways keeping it down…talk about local rules…I don’t know and don’t want to know about golf balls coming to rest in the middle of sheep droppings. The highway took us to Gore, and as we hit the highway, Carol chuckled next to me…”What’s up,” I asked?...she looked up from the map she was reading and said: “In order to get to Gore, you have to go through Clinton.” As we approached Clinton a sign read: “Presidential Highway.” I could only groan and say: “If only that were true the world would be a much better place.” A two night stay in Kaikoura was a delightful stay…excellent fish and chips and a whale watching trip that actually produced whales. Sperm whales stay permanently in a channel with a deep gorge where they can do their deep diving act for krill and squid…we watched and felt that finally after multiple trips to see whales, we finally had success. We wanted to have a “crayfish” dinner, which in actual fact aren’t crayfish/crawdads as we know them. At home they are fresh water small lobster types, but here they are what we call “spiny” lobster or Pacific lobsters…no claws. But the price of a dinner was $125 for a full one or $70 for a half…we opted for our $7 fish and chips.

Further up the road we saw a sign for “seal colony.” So far, the seal colonies have consisted of one or two, but here was indeed a colony and since we had lots of time and little distance to travel to Blenheim we watched the babies play in the water and chase each other over the rocks for an extended time. A giant salt works provided an interesting diversion. Huge ponds were spread out over several hundred acres….flooded and then left to evaporate. The salt left behind is scooped up by large earth mover types of machinery with large front end loader buckets and brought to large hoppers where it is conveyer- belted to places where it is dumped in huge piles over 40 feet (13 meters) high. From there after further drying, it is again scooped up and transported to a bagging facility where it is put into bags about 3 feet (one meter) square. Looks like it is all industrial grade salt…They do have workers picking out impurities along the conveyer belt, but still don’t believe this is table salt. Am not totally sure about what the difference is between this process and the sea salt we buy at the market. Sign of the day: “Possums….New Zealand’s little speed bumps”

A City Devastated and Reborn

Living my most of my life in earthquake country, I thought I was used to them…Easter quake in Anchorage, Northridge quake in L.A.and Loma Prieta in San Francisco…but Christchurch has given new meaning to what a quake can do to a city. It began in September of 2010 with a 7.1 in the middle of the night which did some damage..it was hard to believe that a quake of that magnitude would do “some” damage. But that was just the harbinger of things to come, and the epicenter of that quake was outside the city. Little did they know, as the saying goes. A series of over 1,200 after shocks continued to rock and at 12:51 in the afternoon on the 22nd of February a smaller, but far more devastating quake hit the city and literally tore it apart. 185 deaths with 115 occurring in just one building was the human toll, but a 4 square kilometer quadrant of the city was essentially damaged to the point where it was cordoned off and no persons other than emergency crews were allowed inside for months. Over 1,000 buildings have, or had, to be torn down and it will take literally years for things to get back to any semblance of normalcy for this city of 250,000 residents. There was hardly a home or family that was not affected by the 30 second quake. Lateral spreading and liquefaction are now everyday terms for the residents. Lateral spreading is where the earth is literally ripped apart causing huge rifts in the land. Liquefaction is where a high water table or saturated soil become jello-like and can’t support structures any further. Some areas still look like a war zone and although rebuilding is happening throughout the city, the enormity of the damage means that scars will be visible for years to come. The quake dropped the level of parts of the city so significantly that they are now prone to flooding where it did not occur before. Indeed, on our arrival in New Zealand a couple of weeks ago, a cyclone dropped in on the city and flooded parts of it. In order to rebuild, pylons now must be sunk over 75 feet (25 meters) into the ground to get to solid bedrock. Christchurch was famed for its limestone buildings, beautiful but ultimately easily laid asunder by this quake. The famous cathedral suffered such damage that it will have to be torn down completely. Throughout the downtown area the sound of jackhammers tearing into buildings earmarked for destruction and the ever present cranes of the rebuilding process are the dominant sights and sounds of the central business district.

People were thrown about like rag dolls and debris blew out of cupboards and book cases as if shot from cannons. From all that I had read before and accounts from people I know who had been here. Out Servas hosts Sally and Chendra told us that during the 7.1 middle of the night shaker, the differences between them came to the fore. Her initial thought was for him to get to their daughter’s house next door and get her, while he just wanted to hold her tightly. “If I was going to die,” he said, “I wanted it to be holding her. Christchurch was a truly lovely city with English style architecture adding a sedate and lovely setting, until all hell broke loose at noontime that fateful day. Stairways collapsed In multi-story buildings and people had to be lowered by makeshift harnesses and ropes to the ground below. Those rushing from the buildings had to be alert to the crumbling buildings cascading down upon them from above as the stunned residents tried to wrap their brain around the events of just moments before.

Rebuilding has begun but there is so much to repair…still decisions need to be made as to what can be saved and what needs to come down. In Tashkent in the devastating earthquake, the Soviets didn’t have any such problems…Central planning just made unilateral decisions and that was that…to their credit, Tashkent became a lovely city with broad avenues and very modern architecture and none of the old block house construction for which the Soviets were (in)famous. Sally and Chendra can’t get anything done on their house because the insurance company said damage was $250,000 and the earthquake assessment board said it was $59,000…until the amount is resolved, nothing can be done…and we’re three years now from the actual quake…they wait, and wait and wait. But bright new shiny buildings are replacing the old ones destroyed. New building techniques have been learned from other cities which underwent the same devastation. The character of the city will be forever changed as stone structures will not be rebuilt and more earthquake tolerant buildings are. We talked to people who had been to Christchurch as tourists before the earthquake and they were lost in the city. None of their familiar landmarks were there and they stood on corners trying to figure out exactly where they were and what it looked like before. But Kiwis are a resilient lot and they have steeled themselves to the task ahead and project their “stiff upper lip,” in a very positive way towards the future.

Sign of the day: “White Bait.” It’s a tiny fish and they make patties out of the whole fish and batter it…apparently 20+ to make one patty and the eyes stick out of the patty.” I passed

deja Vu all over again

As Yogi Berra says: “It’s déjà vu all over again.” We’ve wound up doing quite a bit of backtracking in the past few days. Because I wanted to attend a big league rugby game here in New Zealand. It is the national passion, and although American football has its roots in this game and while there are many similarities, it is a very different game. Non-stop action without any real breaks in action and no pads or helmets…the game is a bruising, bone-jarring athletic contest where heads are banged and whipped about like they’ve been hit by a vicious left hook. The big league of rugby is called the “Super 15,” with teams from NZ, Australia, South Africa and England. I had learned that a game would be played in the general path of our travels and so I adjusted our schedule a little to make sure I could be in Dunedin for the match. Our Servas hosts in the area live just north of Dunedin which is convenient, but we found that there is far more to do on the south coast, the area known as The Catlins, and so we are headed back to the area from whence we have already come when we leave here. In addition, Carol discovered that there was a place where she could buy the fiber blend she wanted to spin which is also back south of Dunedin…so all this meant a lot of retracing and going over roads several times. Luckily, the distances are not great and to get from our host family to the wool vender was about an hour and a half and to get back to the Catlins is about 2-3 hours. Not the most efficient routing, but one that allowed us to do what we all wanted to do.

Carol was delighted to find the possum/merino blend that she has wanted to find…she had bought some straight possum fiber and some already spun possum/merino/silk blended yarn but she wanted to spin her own yarn and so finding this has been one of our quests on this trip. On the way there we passed a delightful little town named “Lawrence,” which reminded me of one of my all time favorite students, Amy Lawrence, of Berkeley’s Lawrence Livermore Lab lineage. It has the distinction of being the first town in NZ to offer free wi-fi in the entire town. Now this was certainly manna from the gods for me…Any town that offers that in this country of limited connectivity is placed among the pantheon of sacred places in my heart. We passed three kids hitch-hiking in the opposite direction and started our quest to find the wool carding business at “Raes Junction,” the Tally Ho Wool Company. Tally Ho?...I kept envisioning English fox hunts and Jerry Jeff Walker’s song where he “took myself down to the Tally Ho Tavern to buy me a bottle of beer.” Turns out that the junction is merely a meeting of two roads and there are no buildings let alone a town. We drove a few kms with no sign of anything resembling anything other than the constant sheep grazing on the hillsides as we plied our way up and down the hills and around the constant bends in the road. After seeing so few sheep in the north island, I think I’ve seen about 35 million of the 60 million here in the south. We stopped at an old hotel with the inviting chalkboard sign at the open door which read: “Not a hotel, private residence, no toilets.” Never the less, I poked my head inside and saw a woman and asked directions…looking slightly annoyed, she told me that it was over the hills and around a few curves and had a big pole with a bright red flag hanging from it. Now, telling me it was over the hills and around the bends could be a description for an area about the size of the Malaysian plane they are currently looking for. Undeterred, we continued past more sheep, a sign that read: “pet ducks for sale,” (how does one tame a duck?) and a house here and there. After driving over more hills and around more bends than I thought necessary we stopped at a farmhouse and asked where it was. The lady said that it was back in the direction we’d come. “They have a sign out in front reading: Ducks for sale,” she told us. So we retraced our steps back to the duck place where there was a pole but no red flag. A closed gate is not designed to deter a fiber lady from, nor was the second closed gate. A half mile on a dirt road led us to a house with barking dogs but no people. Music blared from a corrugated tin barn and we found a lady who wanted to know with a welcoming smile how we snuck up on her. A typical New Zealander, she was bright and cheery and as friendly as a cat wanting milk. She did indeed have exactly what Carol needed and the purchase was made along with much fiber conversation. I petted the two red cats while all this took place. With mission accomplished, we retraced our steps. Over another hill and around a few more bends, there were the three hitch-hikers still looking for rides. Since this was the one day we didn’t have luggage filling Stan, we stopped and gave them a ride. They were heading to Dunedin and counted their blessings to have a ride to their destination. They were two German girls and an American boy working in the apple orchards. Like so many young kids we have seen they were here for varying amounts of time and working to pay for their travels. Back through Lawrence where we stopped for lunch and opportunity to connect on wi-fi since our hosts don’t have internet. The kids sat on park benches and were busy on their phones since the town also advertises “free international phone calls.” After lunch we all piled back into Stan and headed back to Dunedin. Great kids all of them, we chatted and told stories and they made our return trip enjoyable. The evening was topped off with the rugby game which was just what I had hoped it would be, exciting, fast paced and I loved being in the middle of an enthusiastic crowd having a rousing good tine. When we returned to the house in the country, the sky was clear and the stars seemed extra bright. The southern cross loomed high in the sky and the milky way streamed its way across the heavens. All in all, it was a wonderful day. One that was just about perfect in all respects. Sign of the Day: “A bartender is just a pharmacist with a limited inventory.”

Day in the Life

Our day at Milford Sound was further enhanced by the comments of many other travelers who said that their day there was nice but hampered by rain and limited vistas. Ours was in glorious sunshine and wonderful waterfalls. While they saw raging waterfalls, the low clouds meant that they couldn’t enjoy the overall beauty of the entire scene. People who work in the area stated that our day was indeed a rare one. In fact, we continue to be blessed with great weather. When it has rained, it has begun just as we arrive at our destination or during the night and has cleared out by the morning when we are starting out again so we haven’t been limited in getting out of the car and exploring or by more difficult driving conditions than we have under “normal” conditions. Our new day was a four hour drive which took nine hours with all the stops and vistas. I love the little hidden treasures that open up totally unexpectedly. And not 10 miles out of Te Anau, we found one. Doubtful Sound and the village of Pearl Harbor. Only found by accident by my propensity to find the smallest paved road and travel it. We thoroughly loved the tranquility and natural beauty of the place. But it is so typical of the hidden treasures that abound in this end of NZ. In this bottom end of NZ the lumber industry abounded and we found a small museum dedicated to that hearty breed of men who worked the forests. Such primitive methods of forestry with the huge two-man cross-cut saws reminded me of the same men who worked the California forestry industry in the early days. It’s difficult to separate my admiration for the difficult work and the ravaging of the land that ensued, but I always try to put myself in the place of these situations and wonder how I would have coped in such harsh conditions. Harriet Tubman used to tell the slaves she was conducting north on the Underground Railway that the moss always grew on the north side of the tree so that they could tell which way to head. Here, too, the North is always indicated by the direction the trees lean and the side of the tree which has foliage. This wind-swept southerly part of NZ has constant and often vicious winds which strip the trees of life in any direction which challenges the gods of the wind. They are an ever present compass. Our local guide map mentioned “Gemstone Beach,” where the tides brought a mixture of rock to the sandy beach and where it said: “One can often find sapphires and other gems lying on the beach. And so just as in Australia where we went “Noodling” for opals in the middle of the Australian heartland, here Carol wanted to comb the beach for her own version of hidden treasures. She’s a rock fiend and if she had enough baggage allowance, the beaches and rivers of the world would be stripped of any rock that caught her eye, and I can attest to the fact that many do. Her bags will be somewhat heavier on the return than they were on the outward leg and it won’t be because of the wool she is bringing back as well. On the beach was a rough-hewn man gold mining, of sorts. He had a portable sluice he set up along a stream running into the ocean. He would travel down the beach to his secret location, and fill several 1x2x3 foot bins with sand and transport them back to the stream on his four-wheeler. There he would shovel the sand into the sluice with the stream water running through it and extract the miniscule flakes of gold that he was finding. The sand ran back into the sea from whence it had come and the world was unchanged. We looked at the reward/effort equation and it seemed to be heavily slanted in the effort part of the algorithm. But he was a happy camper and there’s certainly something to be said about that when trying to figure out why some people do as they do. A stop at a small teashop that served as its own museum of early 20th century kitchens and households was a wonderful break from the road. Staffed by one of the great, happy ladies of the world, we enjoyed tea and a sausage roll and listened to some early Charley Pride on the “radiogram” which played in the background. And here I thought they were record players. This lady, of about 50 years of age and no taller than my 5’0” daughter, had a smile and brightness that would liven even the darkest day. She works for six months and closes shop in the winter when conditions get so nasty on the south coast that only the very hardiest of travelers head there for reasons that have to go beyond tourism. It’s a harsh environment and not one to be trifled with on land or sea. Only Patagonia in South America rivals it for southerly latitudes and nasty seas. This entire area is rife with coves and inlets where penguins, seals, and dolphins abound and short diversions from the pavement along gravel roads where campervans have lined the parking areas. The season is quickly coming to an end and people and businesses are hunkering down for the long winter coming very soon. Therefore, we splurged for our one night of special lodging and chose, naturally, a sheep/deer/cattle farm serving as a B&B. The shower alone was worth the price of admission..water as hot as you could stand it, pressure that could have doused a raging fire, and shower head of exquisite size and scope to cover the body. I could have stayed under it for hours and only emerged when the guilt about my excess overcame the enjoyment of the experience.

This is just an average sized farm for the area. 1,000 acres of lush pasture where Murray and June run “Somewhere about 2,500” sheep. Okay, if everybody is guessing at how many sheep they have, how do they know there are 60 million of them in NZ? Murray is a real meat and potatoes kind of guy…not fancy, not flashy, just down to earth with a connection to the land that is required of a life on the farm. June is bubbly with a wit about her that is required to run an inn. They’ve had a good life, and raised their children in the farm life…the two sons have continued the farming traditions and have taken over the farm. It’s difficult for young people to find financing for operations like this. Raising the necessary $3 million means an indebtedness that is a testimony to the dedication to the lifestyle. Murray talked about the difficulty of dividing assets amongst the three children, one of whom is female. The 300 deer are impregnated by the 10 “or so” bucks. When the fawns are “weaners” and are taken off the does, they are sold to the next step in the process, a finishing farm where they grow to maturity, and then sold at market. Deer farms abound in the area, and it was a real surprise to see what a big business it is here.

Luckily, they were shearing in the morning after our stay, so we got the opportunity to see the real deal - Not the tourist show. A beater, shaking a metal rattle, moves then into confined pens in the shearing shed where they are packed like sardines – easier for catching and bringing then onto the raised platform where the shearing takes place. Long shafts are attached to the ever spinning motors on one end and the shears on the other end. Four shearers can work at a time and it takes just a minute, or two at the most, to take a sheep from unshorn to shorn. They work with incredible speed and skill. Music blares from the loudspeakers to break the hum of motors and clippers, while two girls sweep the shorn wool from the platform to the floor below where they separated it into two piles…one for the trash wool and the other which went into big hoppers which were compressed into large bales of about 180 kgs (400 lbs). Wethers (castrated males) were marked on their forehead with blue dye for later identification and separation from the breeding flock. When each sheep was shorn, it was pushed down an angled chute of about 10 feet in length to ground level which led back to the pasture and their yearly haircut was completed. The entire operation was very organized and efficient, as it needs to be when you are dealing with this enormous number of sheep in a given flock. Each shearer can shear between 200-300 sheep in a given day and at $2.25 per sheep, shearing can be a profitable vocation albeit a back breaking one. It absolutely pained me to see them bent over in perpetual motion one sheep after another. This is not their only vocation, to be sure since it is a short season and the three that we saw on this day were all young men about 25 years of age. But shearers will continue to ply their trade much later in life as well. We have seen back braces which are hung from the ceiling and help support the shearers backs. If I did this work, I’d need to be on total life support, not just for my back. Sign of the day driving into a small town: “SLOW DOWN….no doctor, no hospital, one cemetery

8th wonder of the world

Okay, so lots of times you’ll hear that places are the 8th wonder of the world. That’s what the guide books call it. All I can say is that it is very special, spectacularly beautiful, hauntingly mystical and very spiritual. It is Milford Sound, and all the hyperbole that we’d heard about the place is in fact true..it’s stunning. Carved by a glacier the sound has a 3 meter (10 feet) thick layer of tannin-filled fresh water on the top of the salt water of the sound which is an offshoot of the Tasman Sea. Because of this fresh water on top of the sea water, what’s below is called “Deep water emergence.” Sunlight doesn’t penetrate the layer and so marine life which ordinarily operates at 50-100 feet deep can be found just below this fresh water layer.

This area which receives more than double the total annual rainfall of the Amazon rainforest, more than 200 days of rain, and up to 10 inches (30 cms) of rain in a single day naturally has some pretty spectacular waterfalls cascading down from the sheer cliffs. There’s a reason this is called “Fjordland,” and indeed it did remind us of Norway. I do think for the sheer, literally and figuratively, magnitude and number of the fjords, Norway is incomparable.

Tour buses descend upon the sound from Te Anau on the road which leads nowhere else by the dozen…I know this because I was behind nine of them on our return trip back to our room in Te Anau….very slow going for the 2+ hour run. Several companies run cruise ships in size from 75-200 people but this still doesn’t detract from the incredible vistas. You get up close and very personal with several of the waterfalls and they capture the water from some as they pass underneath and serve waterfall water to the passengers to drink. Another very special aspect is the underwater observatory. This observatory drops from water level down 30 feet to see natural sealife without any restrictions since they are in their environment and not in an oversized aquarium. We watched the weather carefully and booked the only sunny day in the week and it was just magnificent…The early morning fog gave the place a very mystical atmosphere and gave way to brilliant sunlight throughout our three hour cruise up and down the sound. Another noteworthy aspect of our last couple of days was the realization that the dead forests we had seen were not caused by pollution nor by the bark beetle as we had wondered, but rather as an overt effort to return the hillsides to their natural environment. Farmers had planted large tracts of pines and other species for lumber and these began to wreak havoc with native species by spreading their seedlings far and wide. So the government has been on a concentrated kick to spray the trees and kill of all non-native vegetation…as they say, it can look like hell for a long time, but in the end it will be beneficial and has shown very positive progress in several areas. Our drive on any given day is a series of contrasts…sometimes we are totally enveloped by a hovering canopy of beech trees which block out the sunlight to an extent that early morning drives require headlights. It’s like driving down a vegetative tunnel. This will suddenly end and open up suddenly to wide swaths of farm land dotted with those ever present white spots in the form expansive sheep ‘farms,” as they refer to them…We would call them sheep ranches, but here they are farms. Other times the trees are so close to the road and so tall, it is like they are huge pylons driven into the ground in a straight line on both sides of the narrow road. We will have a Servas family in a couple of days, and I’m curious to find out more about the economic situation here. Having thought that all was hunky-dory with things, I picked up a magazine which stated that the middle class is sinking, and not too slowly, because of the high cost of life here. This dairy producing nation pays more for a quart of milk than we do for a gallon…go figure. Also the government has slashed the environmental budget by 85 per cent…Can you say New Zealand “tea party?” I always find that my learning curve takes many different forms when I travel, and as usual, my short-term visits just lead to more questions than answers. A diversion around another Tahoe-sized lake led us to a visit to a sheep shearing museum and brought us into contact with a retired shearer who monitored the small exhibition. He was happy to share his experiences and since we had our own peanut sized flock in comparison he seemed to enjoy talking about his favorite subject with someone who had more than just a rudimentary knowledge of sheep. He told us that he had been able to travel the world as a shearer paying for his journeys with the money had made shearing. Because European flocks were so small in comparison he found the work easy and rewarding. European farmers paid more per head than in NZ and he had a good life. He talked about the various breeds to be found and got into the hows and whys of sheep farming. Very informative and very interesting stuff.. I’ve mentioned before how kids from all around the world come here on work/travel visas. They find jobs in all aspects of the tourist industry, from restaurants and bars in areas that have high tourist traffic to reservation agents for the various tours. Most that I’ve talked to come for six months and wind up staying for a year and extending their visa for another year. 23 months is the maximum time they can stay, and NZ is so full of wonderful places to explore that they aren’t ready to go home before they have fully maximized their options. There are over 80 of them alone at Milford Sound. There they are so isolated from their normal connected life …no cell phone service and 2 computers in their dorm with dial-up only basically means no internet connection. It requires a real change in mind set to do it, but it’s a good way to earn money and not spend it. They work 10 days and have 4 days off, but it’s two hours to get to Te Anau where there are normal facilities. The companies provide all food in large communal food storage lockers – one for frozen meat, one for fruits and veggies, etc. It’s easy to tell by the various accents when you encounter them throughout NZ. I am very pleased to see this opportunity available to young people and that the spirit of adventure and travel lives in the hearts of so many. Sign of the day: Stock effluent disposal

Wonderland

So the north Island was beautiful, but the South Island is spectacular. Still the same windy, narrow roads and now with a lot more camper vans and bigger RV’s, but that doesn’t deter from the enjoyment because we stop every few minutes to enjoy a new waterfall, a vista of the mountains, a rugged shoreline to walk, or a myriad other things that draw attention away from the fact that you’re not getting there as fast as you might ordinarily travel. Remembering that it is the journey, not the destination is the mantra of the road here on the South Island as it should be in all aspects of life. The 100 km maximum seems the norm now and plenty fast with the road conditions. No more grousing about slow speed now…just sit back and let it flow. One way bridges abound in the South. One direction has to yield if two vehicles reach at approximately the same time. NZ’ers are pretty cooperative and nobody bogarts their way when it isn’t their turn. Some seem narrower than others, but I think that’s because they have high walls and make you feel hemmed In where those with low guard rails seem more open. Many transverse raging rivers below and stopping at the other side and coming back to take photos takes a certain amount of nerve since there is little extra room for cars to pass dummies standing on the curb hoping all goes well. This dummy has not had problems yet, but the rush of air past one’s backside with the bridge shaking at the weight of the passing truck is its own kind of rush. I’ve seen many different countries and places in the past 24 hours…I’ve seen the dry grassland of the foothills of California in summer, the lush greenery of the Lake district of England, the barren forbidding Cairn Gorens of Scotland, and alpine lakes of Switzerland. This is the South Island of NZ, and ever changing, ever beautiful scenery where each bend in the road seems to conjure up images of places I’ve been and seen before. Our night in the backpacker hotel at Franz Josef glacier was a pleasant one and we opted for the second glacier down the road since we could get closer to Fox Glacier than we could to Franz Josef…however, in terms of glaciers it pales in scope to many that we’ve seen and left us with a kind of “been here, seen better,” jaded feeling. Reaching the coast again we found the rushing waves of Big Sur California to our liking and the driftwood beach took my brain to my grandsons and Astoria, Oregon and watching them play amongst the driftwood forts created there. Shortly thereafter, the car came to a screeching halt when there was a sign reading “Possum fiber.” Naturally, Carol had to investigate. Carol talked fiber with the owner who took her to the back of the store and showed her some raw/unwashed possum fiber. We left there empty handed but about 5 k’s down the road, the glimmer in her eye told me that it was time to turn the car around…It took her all of those 3 miles for her to change her mind and we returned to get a pound of it which filled a plastic bag the size of a large grocery bag. Not sure how US customs is going to like that, however we did bring back a whole unwashed fleece from Peru that the airport sniffy dog was very interested in. Carol left town a happy woman since this is one of the things she’s been a hankering for since she learned about this stuff upon our arrival. It’s blended primarily with merino, and she can get the merino at home.

Another few hours of driving brought us to Queenstown, the jewel of the South Island cities, and the place where all the adrenaline junkies head. If it’s a head rush you want, it’s here…parachuters land in the middle of town, jet boats whizz you just inches from sheer rock cliff faces, parasailing, bungie jumping, hang gliding, and a wild assortment of other activities designed to either make you feel very alive or kill you from the excitement. It’s a lovely little city emboldened by the fact that it is a magnet for tourists, particular young ones. It reminded me a little of Rothenburg in Germany…very touristy but definitely with a charm that puts that negative aspect to rest. Once again she found a fiber shop with “her” color of merino/possum blend yarn and so she grabbed some skeins. As she said as she left the shop: “Now I’m even happier.” Certainly makes for a better trip all the way around. Situated by another Tahoe-sized lake, and I do mean another, since they abound in this area of heavy rainfall, we tooled down the length of the lake to a small village named Glenorchy. Many towns in this area have Scottish names and it is this area that reminded me of my summer working in a youth hostel in the Cairns of Scotland. It was a lovely drive and we stopped for some lunch beside it and just soaked up the atmosphere. Now we have arrived in Te Anau, which is the jumping off point for Milford Sound, the crown jewel of NZ. Everybody who I know who has been there has said: “You gotta go to Milford Sound.” But that’s tomorrow. The rain finally caught us, but that’s a good thing. That means more waterfall action in the fjords tomorrow. We have a window of one day of sun and that’s tomorrow. Timing is everything in life. For now we’re ensconced in another little hotel with nice facilities and no free wi-fi. Thank heaven for the library system of NZ. They have free Wi-fi and the young kids can sniff out a free connection point like sheep smelling water. Walk into one, and they have had to set up a “wi-fi zone,” which is wall to wall with bearded, short panted, sandal wearing, pigtailed, head scarved individuals sprawled about the floor since all the chairs are taken by similar looking individuals…the cacophony of different tongues must rival Babel in its time. The deer farms are big business around here. We’ve seen them in other areas but the numbers of them here are far greater. Found out that they ship the antler velvet to Japan for use in herbal medicine…couldn’t figure out what they did with it until today. Sign of the day: “trundler parking lot - Trundlers must not leave the premises.” Discovered they were shopping carts.

South Island primer

With about one million people living on the south Island and over a quarter of those living in Christchurch, that leaves a lot of land for just a few people, and lot of sheep and even more Possums. I was wrong about the sheep population…that 70 million figure I gave before was for possums, not sheep. There are only 60 million sheep. The possums were brought here for the fur trade, some got loose as possums will do, and have ravaged the countryside, crops and pasture ever since the time when some smart dude brought them from Australia in1837 for the fur trade. They are native to Australia and are protected there. Not here…they’re fair game. They’ve tried to offer bounties for trapping them, but the little buggers keep multiplying faster that they can catch them…the prevalence of them is easily demonstrated by the number of bumps in a give kilometer indicating how many have been run over by cars whizzing down the road.. However, they are trapped and used in the fiber trade…blends of Possum and Merino sheep bring top dollar in the clothing market..they are soft and shiny and make a beautiful combination with wool. But they’re still a blight on the land and most Kiwis will say so without hesitation. The crossing of the Cook Strait was a breeze…very nice car ferry and a smooth 3 ½ hour trip and we were there. The last hour was highlighted by all the narrow coves and inlets which form the outer shell of the South Island…lots of little farm plots so isolated from the rest of civilization…the trip in reminded me of our trip down Norway on the Hurtigruten Ferry and all the similar inlets of rural the Norwegian coastline. A quick hour drive to Nelson along secluded harbors dotted with sail boats at anchor made the journey delightful and full of photo ops…although once having just passed a very slow sheep truck, I was hesitant to stop as often as I would have due the the extreme abhorrence of winding up behind it again. Nelson is a cool little city of only 60,000 but it lives larger than that due to the influx of tourists…lots of old farts like us, but tons of young backpacker types ready to tramp (trek) the bush. It’s a dream place for nature lovers of any age, and NZ is so user friendly that you can find whatever style and level of travel you want. Backpackers camp, crash on couch surfing, find cheap digs where shared bathrooms aren’t as important as they are to some of us. There is a great network of intercity buses plus selected rail service. Camper vans loaded full of people can use “Holiday Parks” where they have facilities to pitch a tent, rent a cabin or pull the camper to a stop. Then they go off tramping the myriad of lovely walks available throughout NZ. On one small walk that we did we got a small taste of the trail. We had taken a boat with about 75 others out along the coast line of Abel Tasman National Park. After depositing us and others on a beach we walked back to another beach, a trek of 2 hours, up and over the ever present hills. Coming the opposite directions were the real trampers…the kids from many lands who have come to see the beauty of NZ. Many different tongues were heard along the trail as small groups of 2’s and 3’s approached on their way into the hinterlands of the park. There are many 3-4 day treks all around NZ where people can get into the interior of the thick bush which leads to hidden treasures not found to the vast majority of visitors. There was even a couple carrying what looked like about a 4 month old baby in a belly pack. This child will be able to say he/she walked the Abel Tasman when he/she was only a baby.

But for us day hikers, it may have just been a hint but it was spectatular…the thick canopy of ferns and trees formed an arch like ceremonial swords under which we passed along the winding trail – up the hill and down the other side, then repeating the process again. Beech trees looking like they had been victims of fire with their blackened bark lined the way. The black, we learned, was just the sap which had run and solidified on the bark. Bees even use the flowers for a very dark, strong tasting honey. Then a break in the trees would show a pristine beach below – a long stretch of white sand with nary a soul in view to interrupt the eyes enjoyment of the scene.

Leaving Nelson we headed south trying to stay ahead of the weather which was nasty and headed our way. Occasional deer farms popped into view with their high fences to prevent escape into the wild. They are commercial ventures with the meat being sold and they somehow harvest the deer velvet from the horns and ship it to Japan, for what purpose I have no clue. this is a country which lends itself to all types of travelers…Globus tour buses tool around the highways transporting clients who wish to see NZ from the large picture windows, the aforementioned multitude of backpackers are everywhere, camper vans litter the highways like the dead possums, and the rental car industry is thriving with the many travelers, like us, who want the flexibility of determining their own schedules. We’ve discovered a way to beat the high price of hotels…backpacker hostels work wonders…When I was a lad they were just for individuals under the age of 25, but here in NZ they are for everybody…It was like stepping back in time to enter the hostel and see so many people from all over the world. We had our own room with bathroom and wi fi for $70. What’s not to like. Laundry facilities are available, and in the one we stayed in at Franz Josef, they served a big pot of vegetable soup for dinner and had cereal and toast/jam for breakfast…all in the price. Very cool

They're a Happy Lot

New Zealanders are indeed a happy lot…they are as friendly and pleasant a people as any to be found on this earth. They remind me of the old song by Mother Maybelle Carter, the matriarch of the Carter Family Singers in the early to mid 20th century American folk traditions..my favorite of their songs seems to apply perfectly to New Zealanders: “Well there's a dark and a troubled side of life. There's a bright and a sunny side too. But if you meet with the darkness and strife, The sunny side we also may view. Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side, Keep on the sunny side of life. It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way, If we keep on the sunny side of life.” If you want to listen to her singing with her daughters, one of whom married Johnnie Cash, you can see/hear it at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qEhj-rQSAU Another melodic sound to New Zealander is: Ca-ching, ca-ching ca-ching. That’s the sound of the cash registers here as I find things more expensive than anticipated. The $75 p/p price of Hobbiton was typical of things to come. You’ll need $11 for your pita sandwich and you can wash it down with your small coke at $4 and a packaged ice cream bar for dessert will be another $4. Dinner will set you back $30+ per person and gasoline/petrol is $7 per gallon or $2,20 per liter. Want a beer? That’s $7, please and thank you. When I moaned “politely” about the high prices, New Zealanders give me a quizzical look and just say: “You reckon?” These prices are offset for locals by the bustling economy where the minimum wage is about $15 per hour. There seems to be a lot of disposable income here and people don’t seem to be hunkering down and letting prices prevent them from enjoying the good life that NZ offers. Speaking of money….it’s not paper, it’s plastic….literally. Apparently it is harder to counterfeit. Bills of $5, 10, 20, 50, and 100 are all different colors and slightly different sizes…each has a clear window in the plastic through which you can see. They did away with pennies and nickels, so the coins are 10, 20, 50 cents and $1 and $2 dollars. The plastic has a definitely different feel to it, and doesn’t wrinkle, so all the bills look new. There has been a lot of land speculation in the cities, particularly Auckland, where fat cat Chinese have entered the real estate markets and driven up the prices of houses in desirable areas. Schools are strictly regulated by districts and so the noveau riche Chinese are not hesitant to pay any price to get their children into the best schools, squeezing out locals. One school in particular, Auckland Boys School, I understand, is considered the best in NZ and is now heavily populated by the Chinese boys whose parents pay the freight. We encountered similar situations when we moved to Washington when the fat cat Californians moved from the high real estate market to the low market, and to be honest, we benefited greatly from this very situation. I’ve been very surprised at the size, breadth, and scope of the forestry industry here. NZ is heavily forested and tree farms abound. Old growth forests are dwindling and the mess that is left by the clear cutting rivals that of the early 20th century in the American great forests…the land is stripped and the trash is left to decompose in the newly barren areas…This may be good in the long run, but it creates an incredibly ugly visual effect. The lumber trucks rumble up and down the highways transporting the trees to ports where enormous stacks of cut trees are continuously loaded onto ships to be sent to Asian ports, particularly Japan. It just seems incongruous in a land where conservation is of prime importance..it seems that the land has been ravaged and left behind. We worked our way to the bottom of the North Island to Wellington, the capital of the country, but certainly not the largest city…sort of like California’s Sacramento/Los Angeles. It seemed rather a stuffy place at first, but the boppy young lady with magenta hair and tattoo leading who knows where from under her overly short skirt told us that this was the “dull” part of town…all business and government types…she told us to walk the waterfront and head for Cuba Street which was a very counter culture sort of place where dreadlocks and tattoos were the prominent displays…it’s a pedestrian thoroughfare, sans cars, and was a lot of fun to sit and people watch… still lots of friendly smiles and happy faces all along the inaptly named street in terms of the personal freedom on display.

Along the waterfront, They’ve done a lovely job of incorporating the history of Wellington with upbeat coffee houses and street artists of all genre to liven up the route. Placards abound showing the history of the Wellington port…733 Polish children brought at the height of the armed resistance in the Warsaw ghetto to a safe haven in NZ….a ship that sank with all hands lost just outside the harbor….a plaque from the US Marines thanking the people of NZ for their hospitality during their training in Wellington….to Paddy the Wanderer, a dog who took to the waterfront after his owner died in 1928. He became a fixture of Wellington, took trips to Australia, and when he died, the fleet of Wellington taxis led the funeral cortege and his death was a front page story in the Wellington Newspaper. The three-hour ferry crossing put Carol, Stan and me on the South Island where everybody says the real New Zealand adventures begin. We’re about to find out. Sign of the day: Horse Poo….

The Long White Cloud

The Land of the Long White Cloud At least that’s what the Maori’s call it in their language, but you couldn’t prove it by me. I can’t even pronounce the names of towns…Whangamata is pronounced Fangamata, with the accent on the “ta.” Each vowel in the Maori language is a syllable unto itself and so it takes me a whole breath to say a single word. Although NZ has a British heritage, it was a Dutchman, Abel Tasman, who was the first European to set foot here. Not surprisingly, the British with their navy eventually annexed the place…”Rule Brittania, Britiania rules the waves.” We’ve had great weather and have been really lucky with it…Just before we arrived the bottom of the north island, Wellington, had at or near hurricane winds, Christchurch where we will be next week was flooded upon our arrival in NZ and Auckland where we were a week ago is facing a tropical cyclone, which is what they call hurricanes in another terminology. Situated along latitudes roughly between North Carolina and New Brunswick, but in reverse, NZ weather has a lot of variety…People say that being the weather forecaster is the easiest job possible because they are always wrong and so nobody blames them… they say that everywhere, but it’s a joke…here people are serious. So as we head across the strait to the South Island tomorrow where they say it “changes rapidly,” we now plan days by looking at weather maps first and then planning direction and activities accordingly instead of leisurely journeying south as we have for the past week It takes some patience for me to drive here. Not because the drivers are reckless or the roads are lousy, but rather because I can be accused of expecting more highway structure and I’ve been reminded a couple of times “We’re only 4+ million people.” I expected road conditions to be poor in Uzbekistan since they are an emerging nation, but I have to admit to being surprised at the narrowness of the roads and the lack of alternative routes…There are hills everywhere, so roads follow the valleys and gaps between them. So far the only 4 lane highways are within 20 miles of Auckland and the same distance here in Wellington, the capital. The speed limit is a max of 100kph/62mph and there are tons of trucks both in size and number on the highways…to their credit they have passing lanes which appear just about frustration time. Then, after passing the slower vehicles, you get some clean air for a while before the next truck looms in your vision to slow you down….they do scoot, to be sure, but New Zealand is very hilly at best and they don’t have the zip or oomph to go up the long grades at that speeds…we do have the aforementioned “slow vehicle bays” as well occasionally. Stan struggles to pass them in the short span of the passing lane…I’ve found it best to try to judge the “Passing lane in 400 meters” sign and hang back a little so that I can kick it at 400 meters and have some momentum when I actually reach the extra lane. Misjudging the distance means that Stan is destined to move aside as cars with more horsepower can zip around all of us once again proving Newton correct: “A car in motions tends to stay in motion, a car at rest tends to stay at rest.” The roads pass through lots of small towns along the way since New Zealand urbanization has developed In the lowlands and valleys…there’s not a lot of flat ground. So the congregation of people is more concentrated, I think, than in other countries…But there is a lot of civic and personal pride that goes with the culture here…The houses reflect the good life. They are individual, detached houses which are well cared for…flowers and horticulture are important to the people. There is a “neatness” to the place…things seem well-ordered and there is a very pleasant “calmness” to the entire ambiance of the nation. One thing that has really impressed me are the children’s parks. They are often mini theme parks with many activities ringing a city block square park with open space to run and play in the interior…There’s a really cool bungie bounce with a mini trampoline attached at the two bungies…it also swings and it looks like a lot of fun. Another park had a giant spider web with the mini trampolines which rises about 15 feet/5 meters high all connected with thick rubber tubing where kids can climb to the supported top. It’s like some rubberized tinker toy structure. The Wi fi situation seems to be a national joke and is my biggest frustration…everybody just rolls their eyes when you mention it…Hotels mostly charge for usage. My hotel in Auckland gave me vouchers to get on the web and they couldn’t have been actual prices to them because I went through about $130 worth of them in the time I was there…100 mb is $10, and that just loading a few pages here or there…then I had to go back and get another voucher. It was a real pain. At another hotel, they advertized free internet, but they turned it on at 7:30 p.m. and turned it off at 9:00 p.m….then on again atn7:30 a.m. and off at 9:00 a.m. other places the signal is so weak you can’t really function with it. Again, people just say “We’re small, remember.” We expected to see a nation of sheep, literally, not figuratively, but were surprised to find the enormous numbers of dairies. NZ, we are told is the 5th largest exporter/producer (I’m not sure which, but either way it’s impressive) of dairy products in the world and the landscape of good pasture land is dotted continuously with herds of Holsteins, Jerseys, guernseys and what I refer to as the velveteen breed….the hide looks different depending on the angle of the line of sight…on one angle it’s a light brown, almost a beige, while from another, it is like a dark chocolate. Only the large number of lumber trucks hauling felled trees exceeds the dairy trucks trolling up and down the highway. All the best land goes to dairy production while the less arable land is where the sheep “farms” are located. Indeed, as we headed towards the bottom of the north island and into the high desert and scrub vegetation, we began to see the large sheep flocks dotting the land. Romney is the most prevalent breed here in NZ and we remembered our Romney ram who always seemed to have a smile on his face, hence his name “Sunny.” I always suspected that smile was brought about by the fact that he was the only ram servicing our 30 ewes. Hobbiton is actually a working sheep and cattle ranch with over 6,000 head grazing on the hundreds of acres and 300 beef cattle, mostly Angus. Our visit to Hobbiton was fun, a nice diversion, but I was not in awe as most of the other tour participants since I’ve never seen a single one of the movies. That along with the fact that I never saw ET must place me in some category of culturally deprived individuals, and I think we are a small lot. But they have recreated the village of Bilbo Baggins very well, and it seems very lifelike and natural…It’s early Autumn here and hence the ground is dry and brown; looking like a California Central Valley October more than a NZ March. Like most things here, the tour is not a cheap afternoon throwaway. At $75 per person for a two hour tour, it is something you have to have real motivation to see, and my grandsons at home and ‘granddaughters’ in Uzbekistan all wanted to know about it with great interest. I posted several photos on my facebook page much to the approval of all.

Sign of the day on a freeway on ramp: “Merge like a zip.”

Whanga What?

Okay, it’s Whangamata…that came after Opoutere, Whangapoua, Whenuakite, Kauaeranga…and we never made it to Maunganui today….I ran out of energy having to try and figure out where we were based on Carol’s map reading and my limited understanding of vowels. But, it was well worth the time and effort to get here. We picked up the rental car and after lots of “are you sure you want to go without insurance,” conversations with the agency, we headed out in our Hundai Getz….I’m calling it “Stan,” in honor of one of the great saxophone players of this or any other world…it’s said that when God tried to learn how to play the sax, the angels told him to listen to Stan Getz, but when he did so, God gave it up because he had heard perfection. But that’s another story…our Stan is a simple beast…no guts, no remote, no cruise, and no insurance. But, lest you think I’m being even more foolish than usual, my Visa card covers me, and the price of insurance was more than the rental of Stan for the month. I’ve driven on the “wrong” side of the road often enough that it doesn’t bother me..of course, I still occasionally get into the car on the left side and then sit there trying to wrap my head around the fact that things don’t look right..THERE’S NO STEERING WHEEL. Then it finally dawns on me and I sheepishly get out of the car much to the guffaws of locals who have witnessed my personal humiliation. NZ roads are more narrow than US versions…that’s my story and I’m sticking to it as Carol gets nervous about the perilously close world outside her window. The roads twisted and wove and as we headed up/down the Coromandel peninsula with the ocean on the left…Carol’s side with no guard rail and the road seriously sloping towards the water…better drainage, I suppose, but Stan has to be kept in line or he will drift off into a realm for which he’s not prepared. 100 kms (62 mph) per hour is the maximum on any road in NZ, and if anybody can actually do that speed on these roads, I don’t want to be in front of them. We talked to a lady driving a campervan (small RV) and she said that on the 35 kph curves, she thought she was going airborne with the cabover sleeping compartment catching air. Carol tried to enjoy the incredible scenery, but her white knuckles gave her away…for me, I just tried to look confident and appear to be in control. One thing about the Kiwis and road signs,….they try to stay positive…no signs saying: “Stop this stupid stuff or you will die,” sort of thing…rather they try to appeal to man’s better nature: “Skillful drivers pay attention to road conditions”…This country has been too long removed from the reality of the world and therefore, has remained somewhat innocent to the ways of western/eastern/central Asian driving habits…but I do love some of the warnings…”Give way,” “slow vehicle bay,” “plan your curves, leave breathing room.” I thought that the slow vehicle bay was where somebody not gripping the wheel with all 10 digits wound up being sucked into the water by the prop wash of the aforementioned airborne campervan, but it’s a turnout for slow cars…I found them very useful. Mussel chowder and a horribly bitter arugula salad (does anybody really like that stuff?”) was delicious, different, and filling, even more so for Carol who ate the salad. Down the road some fresh oysters just plucked from the bay polished off a nice lunch. After another couple of hours drive an ice cream made everything complete…”Incredibly exquisite ice cream,” it was billed as, and it was good, but my cynicism always says that they say this so they can jack up the price

It’s toward the end of “the season,” as they say, and everybody is taking advantage of the great weather. The real winners are the motorcyclists who can really enjoy the twisting roads. Looks like great fun. Little towns dot the way and all seem to be having a season ending boom….it hasn’t always been this way…at the ice cream shop, they had photos of the “city” in the 1950’s and it looked like an entirely different world, so quaint and unspoiled…but, somebody always discovers hidden gold mines and the charm of the past is taken over by the souvenir shops, the tattoo parlors, the surf board, stores , and yes, the incredibly exquisite ice cream shops. But get off the main street and to the water and it all changes…little islands dot the water like they were strategically placed there for maximum effect and the water is a mystical blend of Lake Louise glacial milk and South Pacific atoll blue…talk about incredibly exquisite. Here in Whangamata, it is low tide and people scour the beach for the abundant shell fish that lie on the tidal flats. Our landlady said she was going to get some puppies for dinner…I looked “somewhat” quizzical and so she said…you know, “cockles and mussels.” ….I added the “alive, alive ho.” It’s Saturday and with the summer quickly slipping away, finding accommodation became a situation where we decided we needed to find a room early and not wait until we finally stopped for the evening…finding a room for two with a private bathroom proved a little difficult, but the lady at the tourist office finally found us one on an estuary here at Whangamata…and what a find it was. Situated right on the water…well, across the street, this lovely inlet was perfect for Carol’s white knuckles and my mental exhaustion….we walked the beach, watched a “small” six-foot marlin being off-loaded onto the dock, and Carol kept her nose to the ground as she always does looking for perfect shells.

After our hole in the wall room in Auckland, we have a mansion…separate bedroom and bathroom large living room, fully equipped kitchen and we’re making the most of it. I was almost tempted to fix a large dinner simply because I could. But I resisted……however, it’s bangers (sausages) and eggs for breakfast.

And now, to Hobbiton…

Wednesday, oh Wednesday, wherefore art thou.

I had forgotten how beautiful it was to fly into San Francisco International airport…flying down the coast line, seeing the rough coast of northern California become the tranquil bays north of the bridge, then the Golden Gate itself, (still one of my favorite sites) The fog rolling over the south bay hills like a runaway vapor train…turning east and then south to line up with the runways…down the pipeline that is the south bay and its Dumbarton and San Rafael bridges….was just magic to me and still stirs my blood for the city by the bay. The two hour flight on Tuesday to SFO from Portland was a piece of cake…two hour layover and then a 13 hour flight to Auckland more of the same…slept more than I ever have on a plane…7 hours sleep…unheard of…however I awakened to find I had missed Wednesday all together and it was Thursday morning in New Zealand.

Arriving at 5:30 a.m. means only one thing…..you know you are going to have to stall for hours before you can get into your room. So a walk downtown for some familiarization and our first New Zealand meal (Korean) and now to wait a while longer to crash and burn…Actually, with the time zones being 21 hours difference between the west coast of the US and New Zealand, it means that there shouldn’t be any jet lag…just tired bones after sitting in one seat for such a long time…the butt is dead, but will rise again. Time wise, we’re in Hawaii, just a day ahead. First impressions abound as my eyes and mind start to fixate of the newness and at the same time, the familiar….It was always said that Kiwis were more like the English and Aussies were more like Americans…now, however, I find it to be far more diverse ethnically than I was led to believe in 1961..Hindus, Sikhs, and Pakistani Muslims abound on the street with Asians of many origins…tons of Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese establishments. Pacific Islanders are prominently present on the street as are hajib-scarved Muslim girls on their way to school and then there are the pasty-faced English with their untanned skin glistening in the sunlight….groups of school kids are a mixed bag, literally…An Asian, a blond European and a Hajib-garbed girl all giggle their way down the street. NZ made a conscientious effort to attract Asian immigration and to associate themselves more as an Asian nation…lily white, but still Asian. As a practical matter, it was done for economic reasons, not out of some sense that the “Whiteness” of NZ was somehow inherently wrong. Australia’s “White Australia” policy also underwent some radical changes, and it feels much more like a modern city in many parts of the world with its variety of languages and facial features. At 1.5 million inhabitants out of a population of 4,5…Auckland is not some cow town perched on the ocean…it’s a thriving energetic place where multiple languages are heard on any given block. Still, 75 percent of the NZ population is European and 14 percent Maori. 6 percent Pacific Islanders, and 5 percent Asian….those numbers don’t come close to what seems to be the reality of the street, where Europeans seem in the minority. After our trip to Uzbekistan, we were surprised at the fact that there is a lot of skin shown as girls and young adults wear short shorts, short skirts , and loose clothing while guys look like they’ve just come off some camping trip…this is a very easy going, relaxed city and it is reflected in the casual dress by all levels of society…even business types seem very laid back. Quite a change from Tashkent last year where formality was the rule on the streets… No honking horns, no zipping in and out of traffic…if you stand beside a crosswalk, cars will stop. If the light is red, pedestrians wait until it turns green before walking casually across the street. The streets are clean and there is an air of polite civility here…no rushing, no pushing in line. The city is amazingly quiet for a city of this size. Nearly surrounded by water, it has what the books say is the highest boat ownership per capita of any place in the world. My Norwegian friend, Trygve might argue the point, but certainly water is a determiner of most things in NZ. Auckland is called the “City of Sails.”

Another difference is the amount of body ink…After seeing a dearth of tattoos in Uzbekistan, here ink is even more prevalent than in the US…not amongst the Asians, to be sure, but the …other groups prominently display the art…this was a little surprising until I made the enormous logical leap, for me, that this is where it all started….I’m just a little slow on these things once in a while. The city is a Victorian housing project to the max with beautiful stately houses rising above the streets and gracing the areas with their beautiful and timeless beauty. There is a specialty wood that was used to build these lovelies…the Cowrie tree, which apparently doesn’t rot…well, it hasn’t seen Washington weather, but that’s another story….because of the durability of the wood, these houses all look incredibly well kept and show no age, and their graceful lines draw the eye. It’s a hilly place…it’s up and down and up some more…Our hotel is on “Upper Queen” street and upper indeed it is…we huff and puff our way up to the hotel a couple of times a day… I was introduced to a Maori tradition upon greeting another for the first time “Hunge,” it was called. It is supposedly done to breathe in the other person’s spirit….you bring your face VERY close to the other and breathe in…..being this close has always meant a kiss would follow, but this was a guy, a Pakeha, white guy, and I’m not totally sure about the whole thing, since I can’t find anything about it online…guess I’ll discover later if he was being really cool, or just stealing my air. Some groups of university students were doing weather experiments with all kinds of contraptions and one was a small clutch of students with kites in a tree..didn’t ever learn what that was all about, but as we passed them going down from the volcano crater in the middle of the town, we asked if this was Charlie Brown’s kite-eating tree…They didn’t know CB, but when it came to Snoopy, their faces brightened and they knew that part of Charles Shultz’s society. Tomorrow we get the rental car and head out of Dodge…Auckland is truly a lovely city, but I itch for the road…the left side of the road at that. We’ve seen 1/3 of the people, now it’s time for some road time and some bucolic settings…70 million and 4.5 million…let’s get to the sheep.