Adventures in Kiwi Land

Part 3
"No, I mean the REALLY Big Smoke..."
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Tuesday, February 15, 1999 - The Fire.

It's about 8 pm and Thom and I are getting ready and packing for our business trip the following day. Standing over my battered, green suitcase, I suddenly realize I can smell smoke, and quite strongly.

"Thom - do you smell that?"

He does and we run about the apartment, opening doors and looking out windows trying to discern the source. We see nothing.

There's a Japanese restaurant below us and I think, they must have just burned something, so I forget about it and continue shoveling clothes into my luggage. Soon however, the smell becomes just too much to ignore and I walk into the darkening living room and look out the furthest window. Still nothing. I stand on my tiptoes and lean out as far as I can, looking right as I do so. For a moment I'm paralyzed and speechless to discover the air-conditioning unit 10 feet away is engulfed in flames. The fire is climbing merrily up the wall adjacent to ours and bits of ash and smoke are blowing directly into our window now. As I watch, a wind gust rushes over the roof and the fire graduates from, "huh, that's odd" to full blown Oh Oh.

I stand there, entranced and thinking, "I wonder if it will go out?" I yell back to Thom,

"Err… There's really a fire."

"Wha-?" His muffled reply from the back room.
The flames are spreading quicker now and I start to panic.

"The apartment is on fire!" I scream.

"What's the number for 911 here??"

Thom runs into the living room and sticks his head outside, staring and fascinated like I was.

"Oh my God!"

"What's the number for 911?"
I ask again thinking how dumb that must sound.

"I don't know"
comes his answer through the window.

I run for the phone book and as I reach for it, remember the number is 1-1-1. How could someone possibly forget that?

I dial frantically and the dispatcher answers,

"111, What is your emergency?"

"Our apartment is on fire, and uh… I think it's getting bigger. Err… the fire, that is." I reply.

"Okay, what is your address?"
Oh, sure, she would have to ask me that.

"We're across from the Ferry Building in the Queens Square. I don't know the exact address."
Feeling really silly now.

"Just a sec - "

I cover the phone.
"Thom, do you know our address?

"Yeah, isn't it One Quay street or something? Or, no wait - Two Queens Square, err…"

I get back on the line and admit defeat.
"I'm sorry, I don't know it".

I suddenly find it amazing that we've lived here for two months without this vital piece of information.

The dispatcher is irritated.
"You don't know your-? Oh, never mind, I'll patch you through to the fire department."

Meanwhile, Thom is still hanging out the window and it reeks even worse like burning wood and plastic.
The fire department comes on the line. Again I go through the address trauma and he says,

"Roight! I know whe-ah it is, we'll be right the-ah!"

Hanging up the phone I tell Thom I'm going to go outside and wait. He opts to stand in the window and watch.

Opening the door to the hall, I notice the apartment next door is experiencing their own trauma. Of course the fire is directly below their window so they couldn't help but notice it. A man bursts into the hall, large framed pictures under each arm and is yelling to someone inside, "My art! For goodness sakes, save my art!"

He has a decidedly, um.. how shall we say, feminine lisp when he talks, and even more feminine way of running down the hall. Despite myself, I find this amusing. I follow him outside where I can already hear the fire engines and a crowd is gathering.

Rounding the corner to where the front entrance of the restaurant is, I see a dark figure up on the roof with a fire extinguisher. There's a lot of smoke, but the flames seem to be dying quickly. It looks as though the man will get it under control just in time for the fire department to arrive and have nothing to do. I breath a sigh of relief along with many others who had gathered and stood scattered about the sidewalk, heads tilted up. The flames sputter out and finally stop, so I decide to go back in.

At that moment, a large group of diners come bursting out of the restaurant door, arms waving madly in the air. They are yelling frantically in Japanese and appear to be running for their lives. I jump out of the way to avoid being bowled over by them and they disappear down the street, their cries of terror growing fainter, as we watch after the crazy, retreating figures. I'm positively sputtering from the mammoth effort of holding my laughter in check when someone says, "Where's Godzilla?" I lose it completely and run upstairs to share my hysterics with Thom.

On the way back up, I see the Art-guy back in the hall. He's still brandishing his rescued creations under each arm, but is now going into his apartment. He addresses me loudly,

"I've been telling them and telling them that air-conditioner juthht had to go!
I'm thho mad right now I could give my two weekthh notithh!!"

He stamps once as if to punctuate this unusual declaration, then retreats behind his door.

Thom is still sitting by the window and relates the details on how one of the kitchen workers climbed on the roof and put most of the fire out. The fire department is still here and swarming the area. They are pulling up boards, banging on pipes and generally disturbing everyone and everything in a two mile radius. I wonder briefly how Art-guy is dealing with the noithh.

With the threat of burning past, we decide to go for a walk and abandon the loud apartment until the excitement is over. It takes about two hours for them to finish poking solemnly at the dampened air-conditioning remains, but calm and order finally reign. We retire and sleep peacefully in the apartment with no address.

Wednesday February 16, 1999

Auckland International Airport.

Thom and I have business in Sydney, Australia to meet with the Symantec team and attend a Sales and Marketing kick-off meeting. Even though we'll be working, we're thrilled to be going and have taken two extra days for sight-seeing.

Thom will also be meeting with the press to talk about his product and conduct press interviews. They can't get seem to enough of him down here. It turns out he needs to be in Sydney by 8:00 am and as it takes three hours to get there by plane, he'll be leaving the house at an evil hour indeed. On hearing this, I proclaim my undying love and support, but draw the line at getting up at four in the morning. I'll be taking the 12:00 PM flight and will meet him there.

Our Australian visitor visa's were purchased over the phone with a credit card, which I think is, um, different, and we were told "It'll be in the system when you check in". Sure it will. I'm traveling with my manager, Richard, and as he's the pro at this, follow his lead. To my utter shock, our visa's are in the computer and I have Australia's official blessing upon my entrance to their lovely country.

One of the things I really enjoy about flying down here, is that they always use the largest planes and don't overbook. The only time you see a 737 is on very short domestic flights, and sometimes not even then. We're boarding a 767 and it's huge. No business class this time since the flight won't take two days and I sit by the window. I wish everyone could fly internationally as it's worlds different and undeniably more tolerable than any US carrier. The staff actually seem happy to have you on board. Before take off they are showing videos of New Zealand scenery and calming music is playing. Even the oh-so-boring safety speech captures my attention and I listen to the Kiwi accent go over the procedures as if an airplane emergency would be the most pleasant thing in the world. Not particularly comfortable in big planes, this immediately puts me at ease and I begin to almost believe that there are worse things in life than oxygen masks popping unsolicited out of the overhead compartment.

I'm excited that it's light out and sunny because I should get a fantastic view of the city and the rest of NZ as we fly out. Sure enough, with my face mashed attractively against the safety plastic, I can see the whole of Northland stretched out before us, breathtaking as usual. We do a hard left turn, and as I'm sitting on that side of the airplane, I get an unexpected view straight down to the ground. I can see directly into the city and am surprised and thrilled to discover I can see our apartment! Since we live across from the Ferry Building right along the edge of the water, it's a very easy landmark to pick out. From there, I need only to look across the street and see the roof of our little New Yorker Building. I want to shout to the whole plane and point,
"Look everyone!! There's my house!!" Realizing of course this would be incredibly silly, I tell Richard instead, who's sitting next to me, laptop open and typing furiously. For some reason, this news fails to rouse the earth-shattering emotion I was sure it would bring.

"That's cool" he smiles turning back to the laptop.
I sigh.

The lush video scenes of New Zealand have been replaced with a map of the Tasman sea and Australia. There is a diagram showing our planned flight path, ground speed and outside air temperature. I'm slightly disturbed to learn that it is -54 degrees outside the thin cabin walls.

New Zealand's small land mass floats away behind us and now there is nothing to see except the vast ocean speckled with thousands of whitecaps. From this distance, I feel I am looking at a flat, blue canvas where the paint has chipped away, revealing the white surface beneath. I start to think about how big the ocean really is and promptly give myself the creeps.

During the remainder of the flight we are fed (it's edible!) catered to and given updates on our progress. The flight seems to take no time at all and as we begin descent, I crowd my small window hoping for a glimpse of land. Suddenly…Australia! I'm reminded of Thom telling me of the White Cliffs of Dover, which he saw when he studied in England. For a moment, I wonder if he had the same amazing view on his earlier flight, but suspect that he was too busy checking out the back of his eyelids. Nevertheless, they are so massive I almost think my eyes are playing tricks on me until I see people and cars, tiny points of reference that affirm my observation. What a great entrance into a great country.

We touched down smoothly and are ushered out of the cabin, not into the portable hallway as I expected, but right down stairs off the side of the plane. I feel like the president as I reach the first step and suppress the urge to wave. The first thing I notice is how hot it is. Sydney, of course being closer to the Equator than New Zealand, enjoys a much warmer climate. For some reason I hadn't thought about this and find I am boiling in my warm clothes.

Customs is uneventful though I did experience a certain thrill as my passport was graced with a new stamp. A coworker has arrived to collect us from the airport and we climb into the waiting car. I eye the view from the window with curiosity and am shocked and baffled to discover something unbelievable. Driving in Auckland can't even hold a candle to driving in Sydney. I will spare the terrifying details, but let it be known I prayed more than once on the way to the hotel.

In the heart of the city is where the office decided to put us up, and an excellent choice it was. Sydney is much larger than Auckland and I found it thrilling to be in the midst of a busy metropolitan atmosphere once again. It almost reminded me of Manhattan, with the exception of that bad NY smell and the addition of many palm trees. On arrival in the hotel, I discover Thom is already there, checked in and waiting in the room. Throwing my luggage on the bed, I instantly cross to the huge window we are blessed with on this 18th floor. Framed within it's steel and glass I can see a lovely park just below, a stately old cathedral at the edge. The harbor is just beyond, little sailboats gleaming against the water and the air is shimmery with heat. Further still, looming over the harbor entrance like two great guard dogs, are the massive cliffs I had seen earlier, reaching impossibly towards the sky and dwarfing anything in their shadows.

I feel a pang of disappointment that we are here on business, not holiday. Our meetings begin early in the morning however, so to combat jet lag and the three hour time difference, we quickly call it a night.

Waking to the sounds of Sydney far below, we eventually find ourselves in a cab and are heading towards the conference center. Soon we leave the narrow, crazy streets behind and as we cross a bridge, I turn to see the majestic skyline stretching away in either direction. One building in particular catches our interest. Auckland has a rather famous land mark called the Sky Tower. It's the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere and seems to have taken it's design from the Stratosphere in Las Vegas. Now I'm not sure who's tower came first, but Sydney, not to be outdone, has a tower of their own. Looking remarkably like a ship's crows nest, Thom and I are quick to dissolve with laughter and designate this feature the Sky Basket. Much to the dismay of the locals, we continue to refer to it as such for the remainder of our stay.

After the meetings, the entire Sydney/Melbourne/New Zealand team is to meet at the Yacht Club for an afternoon sailboat race around the harbor. Have I mentioned I love my job? Piling into cars we arrive at the club and are split into two teams.
Now, I've spent an adequate amount of time around boats and the ocean, but never have I set foot on a sailboat and find I am suddenly shy in the presence of all these sea-worthy Aussies. I look to Thom for some indication that he is feeling the same but discover him chatting merrily about some great boating experience to a nodding, receptive listener. My gourmet cook appears to also be perfectly at ease upon the sea.

Our captain, and older man with graying hair and sun creased skin, leads us to our sailing vessel, which to my untrained eye seems to be about 40-50 feet long and is exceedingly clean. We are told to climb aboard and since you don't actually get in this type of boat, but rather on it, we did quite literally. I find a place perched atop the cabin, surrounded by miles of mysterious ropes, metal fixtures and cables. In my complete ignorance of nautical lingo, I decide to refer to everything on the boat as "rigging" a term I think I read somewhere. Though I have not the faintest idea of what that actually is, it certainly sounds better than, "that stuff".

After we're settled the captain motors us smoothly out of the dock area and into the wide open harbor. I sit back and let the sun warm me as the wind picks up, I mean really picks up, and starts to flail my hair wildly about my head. My shirt is alternately strangling me and threatening to blow right off as it fills with air and completes the illusion that I weigh 300 pounds. A huge spray of salt water suddenly materializes above me and my wild hair is now plastered motionless to my head. I am quickly persuaded that sailing is not a glamorous sport.

Those with sailing experience (everyone but me that is) have helped to raise the mighty sails and I find we're moving at quite a decent speed. We begin passing other boats and small rocky islands, and to our right is Sydney looking serene and beautiful from this distance. Someone on our boat begins yelling and I look over just in time to see the huge sail sweeping across the deck and cabin, leaving a path of scattered bodies in it's wake. I see Thom narrowly escape a face full of metal and canvas as he and the others flatten themselves against the onslaught. Luckily all escape unharmed as the sail completes it's unexpected shift to the other side of the boat. I find myself rather unhappy with this new arrangement however as I am now tangled in an impossible jungle of cables, rope ends and other nameless articles. I have fleeting thoughts of tomorrows headlines "Death by Rigging in the Sydney Harbor" and decide this will not do at all.

Disengaging my body as fast as possible, I scuttle across the boat and sit next to the captain, far away from the perils of sailing. Someone offers me a glass of wine. Ah… now this is more like it. To the left we pass a smallish island and I notice that the wind seems to drop considerably. Our sails sag a bit and we slow to almost a crawl. The captain refers to this as a wind shadow. I nod profoundly at his statement and assume what I deem to be an appropriate air of boatness about myself. He continues.

"This island used to be home to a notorious prisoner many years ago.
People would come by just to get a look and he'd run at them as far as he could, hurling insults and curses."

Apparently this man had gone quite insane from his solitude and became something of a tourist attraction in later years. Now the island is abandoned. I tried to imagine his life, forever alone yet surrounded by gaping people safe in their little boats. I would have yelled at them too.

We pass the island and are treated to a view of one of the most famous pieces of architecture in the modern world. The Sydney Opera House floats into view, it's surrounding area jutting into the water. The huge, shell-like structures are gleaming white in the sun and we can see hundreds of people milling around the front steps and entrance. To the amusement of our coworkers, Thom and I practically run into each other as we try and snap as many pictures as we can before the Opera House glides back out of site. We sit down like the self-satisfied tourists we are and beam. Not long after, we're ready to head back. The other team has won the race but somehow no one seems to mind.

Friday, February 18, 1999 (Sydney)

On our way to dinner on Oxford Street. Nat and Rebecca (co workers and friends who happen to also be engaged) have suggested a charming little restaurant in the heart of this trendy area.

They pick us up outside the hotel and we arrive in the neighborhood just in time to play what Thom refers to as The Parking Game. He says this in a voice that seems to indicate he is familiar with losing at it.

As we're driving around and around the same block, hoping to squeeze in anywhere, I am looking out the window and happen to glance up. The sky is dark, but glowing in that strange orange, big-city way it does when there's clouds overhead to reflect the millions of lights below. Against this weird backdrop I can see what appear to be large birds flying in single file and fairly even in their spacing. I wonder what kind of bird and also think there must be ever so many of them since they keep going and going with no end of their procession in sight.

We pass around the block again to try and defend our Parking Game title. A space opens! Too small. We lose. Once more I find myself looking up into the sky where the birds continue to fly overhead, not wavering for a moment in their direction, swift and unending they slice through the city air. I can hardly believe how big this flock must be.

Finally we are awarded with a parking space, and after a short walk, find ourselves right on the corner of Oxford, the restaurant very close. We're waiting for the signal to turn when I hear a sort of high, squeaky noise. I remember the birds and practically break my neck looking straight up, for they're directly overhead now, and seemingly just above the trees.

I tug Nat's sleeve and point.

"What's with the unending stream of birds?"

"Oh, those aren't birds", he replies, "they're bats."

What!?

I press the native for more information.

"Bat's? They must be huge! Is this migration season or something? There must be thousands of them."

"Actually, they do this every night. They migrate from one area to
another to feed and then return in the morning."

I look at Thom and I can see by his face he is thinking about thousands of flapping, eating, migrating bats (Thom is not a big fan of rodents with wings) but all he says aloud is, "Cool", and grabbing my hand, proceeds to walk a little faster than usual, away from the flying mammal spectacle.

Oxford Street is very bright and busy. Countless little café's spill chatting people onto the sidewalks; there's a red-light district just ahead and neon lights advertise an array of massage parlors, only I get the feeling that I don't want to get a massage here. Ever.

Soon, I begin to notice something else unusual. There are a lot of people all done up in drag, heaps of leather and, er… some interesting sights. On inquiring, we're informed that this is the gay area of Sydney and it just so happens that Mardi Gras, a huge gay and lesbian celebration that attracts people from all over the world, is to take place right here the following week.

We're almost at the restaurant now, and are passing a little grocery store (otherwise known as 'dairy's' down under) who's entrance is hidden by dozens of people. I have a healthy amount of curiosity and therefore find myself gazing quite openly at some of the costumes around me. There is a thin man dressed all in black leather just to my right, leaning against a fire hydrant. He's facing towards me for the moment, though as we're almost upon him, some unknown inclination causes him to turn his leather-clad self around, which of course puts his latter half directly in front of me. For a fraction of a second, nothing. Then my eyes are all but pulled out of their sockets as I realize this man's outfit is air-conditioned in a most curious way.
I open my mouth to speak - and say what? Just as quickly I close it. We're well passed him anyway and I realize none of the others even noticed. My curiosity suddenly dampened, I find the sidewalk quite mesmerizing and continue to look in it's general direction until we're practically seated at our table.

Dinner is of course excellent. Local Australian fare, mostly of the seafood type, we order our wine and settle in for a leisurely evening. Since Nat and Rebecca are also engaged, we swap horror stories of planning stress and florist catastrophes. They will be married two weeks after us, but theirs will be a family affair, not a solitary where-the-heck-can-we-find-two-witnesses- wedding like ours. Very shortly after their honeymoon, they will move to the States where Nat has accepted a new position. We are sad to see them go, but having just made this move ourselves, likewise thrilled for their new adventures.

The next morning is Saturday and Thom and I want to go explore this amazing city. We have a plan of sight-seeing and a little shopping, but first we want to check out the giant cathedral we've been watching from our window every day.

We head out of the hotel and directly across the street into the park. It's really hot out but beneath the trees it's lovely. There's a fountain straight ahead and lot's of exasperated mothers pulling their sopping children out of it's tempting splash. There is also a very strange bird walking around in the grass. It's black and white, standing almost three feet at the top of it's head. It has exotic orange-red markings and makes me feel like I'm at the zoo, not a park in the middle of the city.

The cathedral is just in front of us now and we're a bit disappointed to discover it's covered in scaffolding. Nevertheless, we duck beneath it and step into the cool, dark interior of this massive building.
St. Mary's was built in the late 1800's though much of the original structure burnt down soon after. All was replaced with painstaking precision however and the result is glorious.

One enters on the left towards the very last pews. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the sudden dusk and then I am merrily transported into architectural ecstasy. Directly above my head is a low kind of ceiling, covering the pews along each far wall. It's a rich looking wood, carved all over in giant thorns. Where this ceiling ends in the middle, your eyes soar upwards to follow the inside of the cathedral roof. This part looks like a long, immensely tall corridor, supported by great beams and curved arches, one after another in a row, all pointing, up, up, up into the impossible reaches of the gilded roof. Lining the church walls are exquisite stained glass windows depicting colorful holy's and their individual holiness as far as you can see. They light up the space in front of them with a whimsical shimmering, like shattered rainbows cast along the wood floor.
Following this manifestation of color towards the front, I see the altar bathed in a similar glow, great candelabras reflecting in every direction, the largest bible I've ever seen laying carefully open upon a pedestal. I think it would have taken two very strong people to put it there. Behind and along the sides are some carved wooden chairs, for what purpose I don't know, but obviously someone very important sits there. I see an elderly man moving stealthily about the alter, carefully moving particular articles and appearing to have some general purpose in his being there. Also, I see a place for the choir, the elders, a little prayer area and a corner full of melting, flickering candles. Finally, above it all and hanging like some huge majestic sun in another world, is a marvelous rosetta window brilliantly cut with every color imaginable, enormous and imposing in it's very beauty.

Of course I take all this in within seconds, and overwhelmed, sag quietly into a rear pew. Thom does exactly the same, only a few rows over and we sit in complete silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. After a moment, I hear low eerie singing and realize there is an artfully hidden stereo system within the ancient beams of this church and the air is full of Benedictine Monks going about their worship. I close my eyes and picture them in my mind, shuffling, brown-robed men, with kind and solemn faces. They walk single file and are never in a hurry. You want to just be around them and absorb all the nice feelings they give out, even if they don't talk. I can almost smell the cappuccino and imagine they must drink it out of deep wooden bowls they made themselves.

My mind wanders along charming little meditations and paths of curiosity. I've been sitting here for almost a half of an hour and could quite easily sit for a half hour more. The next moment however, my tranquil atmosphere is shattered and I about jump out of my skin at an appalling noise that seems to have generated from the front of the church. My eyes snap open in search of the cause of this dreadful interruption. I immediately see the same old man still walking about the alter, only now he's hunched over and moving much slower. The noise is undoubtedly coming from the industrial-sized vacuum cleaner he's pushing along in front of him.

I see Thom looking across at me and he nods towards the exit. Sliding out of my pew I follow him out the back door with a sigh. I suppose even holy dirt is after all, still dirt.


Today is Friday, May 7.

Since Sydney, Thom and I have had many more adventures, the most thrilling of which was to be married in late March and honeymoon in Fiji. Soon we hope to get some of those experiences down on paper to share because they are by far the most enjoyable and remarkable. We hope this latest letter finds you each well and enjoying a beautiful spring. It's autumn for us, but lovely just the same.

Feel free to write letters, email, whatever! We'd certainly love to hear from any of you and hopefully hear about some adventures of your own.

Lots of love and until next time,

Thom and Alida

POSTSCRIPT
Since most couples set their sights on expanding their families soon after a marriage, Thom and I decided we can't possibly be left out of the rug-rat-race.

Therefore, after some due thought and much consideration, we got a puppy. Not just any puppy. His name is Angus and he's a bullmastiff. For those of you who don't know what kind of dog that is, please think of a small horse. Got it? Okay, now add a doggie face, feet and tail to that picture. Yeah? All right. That's Angus in 10 months.
Currently however, he's quite small and adorable at just 11 weeks (see picture below). Yes, we take turns getting up at night and yes, we will need to steam clean the carpet soon. However, as all smug parents say - it's worth it.

We hope this finds all of you well and relatively poop-free on the carpets of your lives.

Ciao!!

Thom and Alida

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