Adventures in Kiwi Land

Part 2
More Adventures from the Big Smoke
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Tuesday, February 9th, 1999
It's been awhile since we last recorded anything in the Kiwi-journal, so it seems there's a bit of catching up to do. We left off at Piha surrounded by weird black sand and smirking locals. Despite that treacherous drive, we've actually made it back there on several occasions and have since discovered Muriwai, our new favorite beach - but more on that later.

First, some of the things we've been enjoying around Auckland:

Fine dining. Now, let me tell you, these people have never heard the term "eat and run". No matter where you choose to partake of your meal, it will be at least 20-30 minutes until someone takes your order and another half an hour until you're eating it. The Kiwi's may have inherited their cuisine from the English but their table manners are decidedly French.

Thom and I recently went to a work related dinner at a place called Cin Cin's (pronounced Chin Chin's) with several members of the Ghost team. The reservations were set for 8:45pm Thursday evening so of course we arrived promptly at 9:00. Drinks are the first order of business and this consumes at least 45 minutes while we wait for our table (why we made reservations in the first place I'll never know). After we're seated, wine has to be ordered, approved and delivered before you even think about appetizers. The main course finally appears around 11:00 ( how would you like your lamb?) and salad is served after you eat. This is followed by a desert menu as large as the entrée list, a cheese plate and last, coffee. By the time we got home it was almost 2:00am Friday morning.

So I guess the moral of the story is, next time you go out to dinner in New Zealand, plan on being gone at least two days.

The weather has also been something to enjoy, though it is rather unpredictable. Mostly it's warm, partly cloudy and fairly dry. The weather reports however are completely useless as they typically say something like,

"In the North Island today it will be sunny unless there's clouds". They also show slow motion play by plays of the days weather on TV like some sort of weird sports broadcast. A little map appears and next to it a ticker showing the hours from 08:00 up until 18:00. Then they roll it and say,

"Roight! Look et that! Sunny this mawning but then they-ah wa HEAPS o' clouds boi one-thuhty!
Then in tha aftanoon it was sunny a-gin! And now it's stah-tin to rain! See?"

And they show you on the screen just in case you don't have any windows.

It does get very humid occasionally. On our way to another dinner over in Ponsonby, Thom and I discover we're early, yes - actually early for something. (Bea would have been so proud.) So we decide to have coffee down the street to kill some time. We approach an interesting looking café and notice they have "upstairs seating". It's raining and particularly warm out, so we think sitting by an open window with a breeze sounds quite nice.

Walking through the establishment brings you to a staircase and also to the realization that this is some guy's house and he just cooks and tends bar out of his kitchen. How…err…quaint. Up the narrow passage we head toward the front room and discover we are walking past what appears to be Ali-Babba's lair. It's this room off to the right that you can just peek at through a curtain, and it's draped in red velvet from floor to ceiling. Strange, twangy music is playing softly. There are no chairs but an abundance of cushions placed around a large, low table. Quite a few bodies are sitting about this, smoking (don't ask what) laughing, and drinking wine. Thom and I exchange a look.

Passing the aromatic room, we arrive at the front of the house and sit next to the window overlooking the street. Though many tables are scattered about, we're the only people there. After placing our order with the shirtless and shoeless waiter/owner/stoned guy, I take note of the room. It's decorated in Thai fashion, lots of red and brass. There's an enormous palm tree in one corner and a big gob of art in another. Different music is blaring through a huge speaker directly behind Thom's head and he smiles then screams across at me, "Interesting place, isn't it?" That's an understatement.

Looking out the window, I can see directly down onto Ponsonby which is covered in a weird humid, rainy haze. There are a couple of palm trees within view and the store across the street says "Afrika Badada" or something like that. People in white cotton shirts and khaki's are walking past and I half expect to see little barefoot children driving donkeys laden with baskets of rice. Combine this with the intense humidity, unusual foliage, and even more unusual surroundings, Auckland seems to melt away and leave us sipping coffee in Jakarta.

Outdoor adventures are a must here, including the "Volcanic Safari and Cruise" to Rangitoto Island. The cruise part only lasts about 20 minutes, but does allow for lovely views of the city and harbor. Hanging off the bow of the ferry, we watched the translucent green water pass swiftly beneath us and the strange, lumpy island loom ever nearer. At the mere infant age of just 600 years, Rangitoto Volcano ranks among the very youngest pieces of land in the world. It's fairly active too, as are most of the volcanoes in New Zealand. They have at least 6 within the city itself, all populated by people and their homes, who seem not at all concerned about dwelling so near to oceans of molten lava.

After making almost a complete circuit around this island, we finally disembark and are quickly herded onto little open train-shuttles for the guided safari part. Thom and I are both seized with the compulsion to sit in the front row, as if somehow the ride will be scarier and faster there. We hustle our way to the front, American-style, and then turn to watch the further-back and less fortunate board as best they could.

Within a few minutes, we realized that the front of the train was nothing more than a standard farm tractor with the words "Volcanic Explorer" painted a bit haphazardly on the side. A lean, dusty looking fellow, permanently sunburned and somewhere around 50, jumped up into the tractor seat. He proceeded to welcome us, rattle through the rules (no jumping off the train, blah blah blah) and tell us a bit about the volcano we would be ascending. Then the "train" came to life and off we went.

Unfortunately, the rest of this grand tour was lost to both Thom and I since we instantly became deaf from the roar of the tractor engine and rattle of the train. I knew the tour guide was talking because I could see him holding a microphone while people behind us were nodding in comprehensive agreement. Sometimes an occasional word would filter through as the engine changed gears, then Thom or I would exclaim, "I think he said something about that tree!" Or "Marsupials! I heard him say Marsupials!" We would then eagerly seek the wildlife or rare, beautiful fauna that we were convinced lurked just around each volcanic lump. Sadly, these visions never did materialize and we saw nothing but the same rocks and trees for several bone-jarring hours as we bumped along in our motorized wagon train.

In no time at all, we were completely covered in a fine layer of white dust. I looked at Thom's powdery face and pointed, laughing hysterically. He wasn't feeling particularly humorous however and barked, "what!" daring me to laugh again. As a peace offering, I hand him the bottled water (which now tastes like melted chalk), hoping that will help. It doesn't and he jolts and jerks about in the front seat trying to be grumpy, which only makes it funnier. Ahh… true love.

Finally, we made it to the top. Well, almost to the top. We were to get out and walk to the summit, a mere 15 minutes hike, straight up of course. A bit tiring on legs so used to office chairs, but it turns out the whole hike was on a board walk. Apparently they carried in tons of lumber and over many years constructed a wooden walkway all the way to the top of the crater, complete with stairs and handrails.
There was a little girl of about 5or 6 right in front of us counting each of the stairs in her little Kiwi accent.

"93, 94, umm…."
"95" said Thom out of nowhere.

She looked back, momentarily frightened by this huge dusty man, but then resumed. "34, 35, 21..… 87." I thought, I'm sure glad I didn't go to school here.

The summit was just above us and then - what an amazing view! I'd never seen anything quite like it and felt it was definitely worth all the dust I'd been eating.

Completely surrounding us was the blue, blue water of the South Pacific Ocean, dotted with little white-rimmed islands, sailboats and lagoons. Off a little further was beautiful Auckland City (City of Sails as they call it), with the Harrah's Tower dominating the skyline as usual. To the west was stunningly green Waihiki Island, to the North - Great Barrier. Everything was sparkling and gorgeous and perfect. I felt like I was standing in a postcard.

We stayed at the top for about a half an hour and learned about the military base they had up there and the fear of enemy attacks that were prevalent during WWII. Of course no one ever did attack, the Kiwi's being at the rear-end of the planet, so the fort is now used as a fire watch post.

On commencing the tour, Thom and I wonder out loud why we didn't see any wildlife, or amazing fauna. Overhearing this, one of the Kiwi's explained dryly, "Oh, roight. That's because he said they eradicated all the animals because they-ah eating all the plants. Didn't you hea-ah that paht?"

Errr… no. We must have missed that. Thanks.

Muriwai beach is also on the west coast but easier to get to than Piha. Only a small amount of heart-stopping travel has to be endured, much to our relief. After just 30 minutes, due west from the city (or the Big Smoke as people outside of Auckland say) we can be on the beach instead of freaking out in the car.

It's a fairly long, very pretty beach that you're also allowed to - interestingly enough - drive on. Imagine our surprise as we're standing there, admiring all that coastal nature has to offer, when suddenly we're in immediate danger of becoming one with the sand. A jeep something-or-other is barreling down upon us and we move quickly to avoid a potentially unpleasant situation. No one else finds this unusual, except of course, the yanks who were standing in the middle of the "road". Imagine that.

Something else that grabs our attention are the orange-rubber motor boats scattered all along the coastline. Not that life-saving vessels are unusual in themselves, but the number of times per day that these particular ones perform their duties makes me a bit wary. The water is full of swimmers though, so we tuck our bodyboards under one arm, and take the plunge.

Ahh… bodyboarding. Thom and I are fully head over heels in love with this sport. The first time we went, we thought we ourselves great, brave people indeed and went almost up to our waists! Catching what we now would think of as sad little excuses for waves, we swam and rode and ducked all day long. 'Twas pure bliss. That is - until we got home and could have made a boiled lobster look white. Completely fried, slathered in aloe vera goo, we had to sit in front of the open window, praying for any type of cool breeze to bring small relief to our parched selves.

Amazingly, we had been using SPF 30 all day long. They're not kidding about that hole.

Two days later we find ourselves in Hot Buttered, a local surf, dive and ski shop. We decide to do this right. Two wet suits, fins (flippers for all you grommets), real waterproof sunscreen and a new board for Thom. Then we're back at Muriwai looking at each other and wondering, exactly how does all this stuff work?

Well, I decide to just put on my flippers, zip up the wetsuit and walk, slap, slap, slap, into the ocean. For some reason people are looking at me really weird. As I hit deeper water and waves start to come in a little harder, I think I understand why. Though flippers make swimming much nicer, they certainly don't improve one's walking skills any. Each time I try and lift my foot to go forward, the pushing motion of the water catches the wide fin surface and makes it feel like I'm trying to step into a cement wall. Not pretty. I look back and see that Thom is carrying his fins, and plans to put them on once he gets in further. He's wicked smaaht.

Removing my own, I follow him into deeper water, wait for a pause between waves and begin a bodyboarding ritual that terrifies me still. No matter how fast I am, or how mellow the surf seems, I am inevitably knocked down and pummeled by 500 gallons of water each time I do this.

I wait for my window of opportunity, poised with fin in hand (thank goodness it doesn't matter which foot you put into which flipper!) and then just as a wave passes, raise my leg up to meet my arms now immersed shoulder deep in the water. My head is almost level with the sea and turned sideways so I can keep an eye on the enemy. Frantically I shove my foot through the strap as I see the swell build, seemingly twice as large since my head is right up against the ocean's surface. I let go of the heel strap prematurely and the fin falls off. Desperately I grab it and try again as the wave is now fully formed and looming gigantic above me. It's quite ridiculous how fast my heart is beating and I feel like someone out of a thriller movie trying to escape an ax-murderer in the last miraculous second.

Ta Da! Triumphantly I stand, both flippers intact, smiling and - SLAM!

I am swallowed up in a gurgling mess, receiving an unsolicited brain enema as I try and breath salt water through my nose. The tumult passes and I'm left gasping and blinking the Tasman Sea out of my eyes. I see Thom not far away, flopping over with laughter, not even enough breath left in him to make noise.
"Yeah, laugh it up tall one!" I yell, hoping that thing I just noticed out of the corner of my eye is my hair and not seaweed. Thom laughs even harder, practically choking.

It took us almost a full week of flipper use before we figured out that there are better and less harmful ways of getting to where you need to go with fins. The most obvious?

Put fins on, walk backwards.

A couple of Sundays ago, Thom and I went to Muriwai for the afternoon. There was a lot of wind that day and after taking one look at the foamy surf, I said "No way." (I'm really not that good of a swimmer). Turning to Thom however, I read the look of glee upon his face and knew it was pointless to stop him. I headed up the beach, he headed towards the water.

After I was comfortable on the sand, I took another look at the ocean. I had never seen it like this before. I could see rips opening up everywhere, flat smooth places where no waves break, and then absolute anarchy everywhere else. I wasn't too worried about Thom though, on account of his being so tall. Myself being rather small in frame, the pull of the ocean effects me a lot stronger. Where it comes up to my shoulders, he's barely waist deep, so when I do get caught in a rip, I had better be no deeper than my middle or else I'll be going for a long swim. Thom on the other hand, had only to take one Goliath step towards the shore and he was safe again.

So I lay down in the sun and closed my eyes.

Presently, a large shadow passed over the sun, blocking my warmth. Intending to verbally abuse some poor cloud, I sat up to discover instead, a tall, soggy apparition, rather bulging of eyeballs and pale of complexion. It was Thom, returned from the ocean but looking as though he had come back from the dead.
"How was it?" I queried.
"Uhhhg…" was all he replied.

Other days, the boarding is spectacular. Smooth rolling 4 to 6 foot swells, no rips, pulls or otherwise unpleasant sensations. Two such days we will always remember.

Thom and I were both catching great waves. We'd been out for a few hours already, it was sunny, warm and we were never going home. No longer were we wimpy shore-huggers, but have since learned how to really enjoy ourselves in the water. Thom had just come off a huge swell, pulling a spin at the top. Stopping right in front of me he says,

"Did you see the fish?"

Hoping they weren't the kind of large fish with many teeth, I reply in the negative.

"They're jumping out all over! Some of them are two feet long!"

I nervously look about, thinking of the shark attack in Maunganui the week before. Something touches my leg. I shriek and flail my arms about wildly. It was my own flipper.

Thom stifles a laugh, "Don't worry, there aren't any sharks here".

Getting back up onto my board, I paddle out to a likely looking swell. Suddenly I do see a fish jump! It's about a foot long, silver and black and falls back into the water with a Plop! Well, that's not so bad I think. As long as he doesn't have any mean friends, I guess I'll share the ocean with him. Positioning myself in front of a good wave, I start to paddle like crazy to catch the curve and not go over the top. I look back to see where it is and notice the sun is shining right through it, making it look like one of those oil paintings you always see in coastal tourist shops. Bob Ross eat your heart out.

Then I see a flash to my right just as I'm about to go for a ride. Slicing down the smooth front, my torso lifted up off the board, there's no spray so I can look around. For my brief journey down, I see more flashes and realize it's more of the little silver fish. And they're surfing.

My new shiny friends motored smoothly along, going about the same speed as me just a few inches beneath the surface. I'm awestruck. My wave is losing it's momentum though, so I go over the back and paddle towards another swell. This time I don't catch it, but watch as it gets closer and I can see all the sleek little surfers reflecting back the sun with their bellies. It passes by and I see them dive down just before the wave breaks. Then they swim back and do it again.

For the rest of that afternoon, we surfed with the fishes.

The other memorable evening was just four or five days ago. We took off after work (around 6-ish) and decided to try a sunset surf. It was especially nice because most everyone had gone home and there were just a few die-hard surfers and after work drop-ins like ourselves.

The surf was okay, but we had more fun just being there and playing than anything. We floated around on our boards, not caring about catching a thing. The rips were bad a few times so we went to higher ground and pretended to get caught in them. The breakers were onshore that day though, so even if you were pulled, you didn't go far before you came crashing right back in on a big swell. So we loudly practiced tearful, dramatic good-byes to each other as we got sucked out to sea over and over again.

Pretty soon the sun was low and huge on the horizon. There was a little cloud, just enough to reflect all the dazzling pink and red and orange back into the sky. The water picked up a lovely purple hue and the waves broke with all the colors looking like stained glass through them. I ran onto shore, flippers slapping, dragging my board through the sand. I grabbed the camera and took about a million pictures.

It was pretty amazing, standing knee deep in the Tasman Sea while the sun melts beneath it's surface and causes the whole horizon to glow. We walked back up the hill towards the car and noticed there was a silent crowd of people, sitting, standing, laying on the grass, just watching. So we all watched together as the top rim of the sun dropped lower and lower.

In the silence that followed, I pondered, "all these people made time to do this." No doubt some of them had finished their dinners, turned to each other and instead of flicking on the TV said, "Let's go watch the sunset, shall we?" There were older couples, single people, children with parents, even surfers hanging out of their cars, all quiet and reverent towards the show of nature.

No laptops, no cell phones, no thoughts of work and stress and bills.
Just time. Time to sit and see something beautiful and appreciate what you have. Time to spend a moment with your family, your lover, your dog, yourself. Time to be.

Yeah, I guess you can say we like it here.

SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Update - February 14, 1999 - Happy Valentines day!

Thom and I have found a fabulous house! We will be moving in on the 27th of February and are totally excited! It's three bedrooms (for all you visitors), has a beautiful garden and best of all - we can have a dog! Potty training days here we come!

We're leaving for a 5 day Sydney trip soon, so look for more adventures when we get back.

We love and miss you all!!

Thom and Alida

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3