Old friends ….

Catching up with old friends in New Zealand has been one of the best things about this extended holiday. 

Richard and Vanessa were friends from Maritzburg before they moved to Auckland about 24 years ago.  Our kids played together, we were in the same House Group and church, they got us on our first Marriage Encounter weekend, we looked after one anothers’ kids, did school runs for each other and shared lots of fun times.  When they left South Africa – partly because Richard could not, in all conscience, do any more army call-ups – they left a huge hole in our lives.  We have caught up with them at different times, especially during our first visit to New Zealand 15 years ago, but this time, we spent a week with them exploring a part of New Zealand they had not visited either.  What a blessed time – we had no distractions of children, no time constraints – just plenty of time to walk and talk and re-establish why we have always felt they are some of our best friends.  There are still so many points of similarity.  One special one is grandchildren we all adore but with whom we have had a more responsible relationship than many grandparents share – their daughter, Katherine, lives with them with her two children, as Sarah lived with us with Kevin.  All grandchildren are special and precious, but only grandparents who have been parents to their daughter and grandkids at the same time can really understand this bond with its joys and frustrations.  We both have kids that live far away – Tim in London, and Nic in New Zealand.  We have similar experiences with church and with Marriage Encounter – sticking with them through the romance times and the disillusionment times, and finding that steadfastness brings special rewards.  And we all are quite besotted with our pets – they with their dog, Hogan, and we with Lindt, Jingle and Bell.  We are all facing the same challenges as we grow older but don’t feel older, as we face our own mortality but still feel immortal, and deal with health issues that frustrate and bring us more patience at the same time.  It’s been a blessed time, and we thank God for friends whose friendship has endured has endured more than a decade of separation.

We spent a night with Ali and Mike in Auckland on our way up North.  Ali was a colleague at St Nics before she left SA to join her husband Mike after his business had been demolished by cheap Chinese imports and he needed to start all over.  For Ali it must have been very difficult to leave her home, her lovely things, her Mum who is 90 this year, her beautiful garden – everything that is known for the unknown.  She started in a dreadful school, and while she is teaching in a wonderful school now, she still doesn’t have a full time guaranteed post, and is teaching a totally different age group.  Her class is governed by the “start school the day you turn 5” rule that persists in new Zealand – so there aren’t enough children at the beginning of the school year to give her a post.  She is going to have to do relief teaching at another school until her principal can justify employing her again.  Mike’s business ventures haven’t been as successful as he hoped and they are facing working for a very long time to pay the mortgage on their newly purchased house.  But Ali is so gracious, so cheerful, so full of hope and seeing this as a challenge.  She has put her stamp on the house – all the delightful knickknacks are so characteristic of her beautiful homes in South Africa.  She has started again and made a wonderful success of it all.  She’s so proud of her school and of her beloved children.  And so proud of her prowess with a computer!  We spent a fabulous evening, chatting about the past, the present and the future.  I admire her so much for her courage and steadfastness. 

Then we spent a weekend with Jane, my best friend from College, in Hamilton.  Jane and I were at school together but became best buddies when we shared adjoining rooms at NTC.  We shared so much fun together – and lots of heart to heart time too.  She held my hand all through a devastating end of a romance, I was there for her when her marriage ended, we studied for our Learners Licenses together, we shared books, even planned a modern version of Pride and Prejudice.  Our kids were all close in age and we spent a lot of time together as they played.  She is Nicky’s godmother. Then we taught together at St Christophers’ – and then somehow, we drifted apart.  Life got busy and we saw each other occasionally, then not at all, and then we lost touch.  When Nic got married we wanted to invite her to the wedding, but although I had heard she had moved to New Zealand, no one could tell me where she was.  Then last year, there was an article about her daughter in the Witness, co-incidentally written by the niece of another friend, and I “found” Kirsti on Facebook and re-established contact.  What a wonderful weekend – we talked till our jaws ached, and Pete and her friend, Tony, must have wished we would shut up.  From the first hug, it was as though we had never been apart.  We relived so many memories, and things I haven’t thought about for at least 30 years kept coming to the surface.  By the end of the weekend, I felt as though I had stepped back in time and rediscovered parts of me that have been buried under the years.  Jane has had a tough life and a tough time here, but has made the most wonderful life for herself, despite missing her family so much.  She has tackled everything that has happened to her with chutzpah and she’s tougher and yet tenderer than I remember.  Her work with Alzheimers Waikato is inspiring – from the 180km walk to raise funds for the organisation, to the talks she gives on awareness to the amazing understanding she has of people with dementia.  I wish she had been around to help me when my mom was failing – her common sense approach is wonderful.  She’s inspired Pete to think about doing some work like hers now his “gap year” is over.  When we hugged goodbye, she said it  was like saying goodbye to her sister – and I felt just the same.  We won’t let the years disappear again.

Simon and Garfunkel wrote a song called “Bookends/Old Friends” – some of the words are

Old friends sat on a park bench like bookends……..Old friends, memory brushes the same years, silently sharing the same fears …… preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you.

I feel as though these good friends are like bookends in my life – keeping me grounded, holding onto the things that really matter – keeping me “together” in a world that changes so rapidly, like bookend hold the books straight in a bookcase.  I’m so grateful to have had the chance to brush the dust off the memories and ground myself again.  Thank you Richard, Vanessa, Ali, Jane – you are all so precious to me.

Let’s talk about the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees …….

When you visit another country there are so many things that are the same, but also so many that are different.  During our trip, we’ve really enjoyed seeing nature from a different perspective

Birds

Firstly there are the indigenous birds – Kiwis, tuis, fantails and pukekos – I’m sure there are more but these are the ones we’ve seen and enjoyed the most.  Well, we haven’t seen kiwis – I don’t know anyone who has.  They are nocturnal and rare – so although we’ve seen lots of signs saying Kiwi area and signs prohibiting dogs as they might frighten the Kiwis.   Tuis (said too–ee) – are the best singers – a lovely, melodious warble.  So why one of the local beers is called Tui, I can’t figure out.  It’s a black bird, with a small white “bobble” on the throat – you hear them more than you see them, so when I see one on the flax plant, I feel really privileged.   Fantails are little birds with wonderful tails that fan out – but they never sit still long enough for us to get a photo of them.  We watched them flying in the natural forest the other day – beautiful.  And then there are the crazy pukekos (pronounced pu- ke-ko).  They are quite big and just as stupid as guinea fowl.  You see a lot of them as roadkill as they always start to cross the road as a car comes.  They are a blue bird, with a red beak and reddish legs.  They’re very quizzy, as we have found on some of our walks – they will follow us along the fence line and watch us while we eat – even facing down seagulls in case there are some tasty titbits

And then there are the “international” birds. The volcanic lakes, like Taupo and Rotorua are home to black swans.  On a lunch stop at Lake Rotoiti, a whole family of swans including the cygnets, came to see if we would feed them.  The cob was so cheeky that he rapped on my car window.  And any coastal town has flocks of stupid seagulls – congregating wherever there are people who might have food for them.  I have been fascinated by how one will always set himself up as the leader, ruffling his feathers, hunching his back and chasing the others, while squawking harshly.  They don’t seem to realise that while they are so busy chasing the others, they miss out on the food.

Everywhere you go there are ducklings

Cob Swan was rather pushy

Mrs Swan and her babies

Bees

We do see bees, but I’m really going to write about other “bugs” – cicadas.  While we were walking in a forest on Russell in the Bay of Islands, we heard a sound that was like rain pattering on the leaves above us – but when we came into a clearing, the sky was clear.  It was a crackling sound like the noise popping candy makes – and with the number of trees, it was a continuous noise.  One of the locals told us it was a type of cicada – we could hear the Christmas singers as well, but this was a different type.  The photo could be of either type – I’m inclined to think that the popping sound ones would be tiny.

Flowers

New Zealand in summer must be a gardener’s dream.  Everything grows so big!  As we drove around Northland we were treated to views of drifts of orange crocosmia and white yarrow, growing along the side of the road.  Little yellow dandelions appear like stars in the grass.  In gardens and along farm verges, huge bushes of hydrangeas in colours ranging from white, through pale pink, blue and deep purply blue grow extravagantly. Hollyhocks reach up to the roof and foxgloves are self sown all over the West coast and on the South Island. The humble blue agapanthus – indigenous to South Africa – takes on a new dimension here.  It grows like a weed, and is used on banks and verges as well as in gardens.  It grows taller than any I have seen in South Africa and the colours are often a much deeper blue than what we see at home.  And then there are the roses – Nicky’s have just shot up since the rain and are as big as side plates.  I have seen an orangey, antique style rose called Kiwi which I want to smuggle home! Do you think I’ll be caught?

Rose in Nic's garden

"Kiwi"

Trees

The trees that struck us when we first arrived were the pohutakawas.  They are similar to an Australian Bottlebrush, I suppose, and bloom in summer. With their delicate but dense red flowers, they are called the New Zealand Christmas tree.  I would love one in my garden.  Sadly, they are past their best, although there is now an orange blooming one flowering.  Driving along the Kauri coast, we were wowed by the native Kauri trees – tall and straight.  I also found the contrast between the dark green leaves and grey bark and the acid green of the tree ferns very beautiful.  Tree ferns seem so incongruous in this landscape and yet they also seem just right.  The koru or frond is so beautiful and has been used extensively in Māori art.

Pohutakawas and flax above rabbit island, Mount Maunganui

The January pohutakawa

Tane Mahuta - King of the Forest - the biggest Kauri tree in New Zealand - about 2000years old

Remembering my Dad

Today would have been my Dad’s 90th birthday.  He was born on 20 January 1922 in Swaziland where his father was a doctor.  He was the 4th of 7 children – the “middle one” – following Lewis and the twins, Pendrell and Bridget.  He was baptised Roger Dawson O’Neill Waddington – Dawson being my grandmother’s maiden name and O’Neill a family name – although no one could tell us why as the family was not Irish but true blue English.  The sibling he was closest to was Val, whose birthday would have been yesterday.  Her full name was Valentine Emma Augusta O’Neill Waddington – what a mouthful! She was followed by Margaret and the youngest, Damer.

 Dad had a governess in Swaziland and started school work at 4, so he was young for his class when he started school at Mooi River Primary School.  The family lived there for the rest of time – when Aunt Val died about 8 years ago, she left a family house to Jen, my sister – that’s how long they lived there.  When Dad was in about Std 8 at Glenwood Boys High, he was in a terrible motor accident and spent a year off school, returning to Estcourt High when he went back to school.  He did very well in Matric, despite a year away, and was still only 16 when he finished school. He went to University for a year, before joining the army in early 1940 when he was nearly 18.  He served in Italy and Egypt – times he told us very little about – and visited Palestine before coming back to South Africa to finish at Varsity.  He would never travel overseas again – he said he’d seen enough during the war.

 He did his teaching diploma because that was all he could get a loan for, and his parents couldn’t afford to pay Varsity fees – doctors were not rich in those days.  He met Mom when she boarded with his parents in Mooi River and after a long courtship and engagement they were married in 1950.  A wonderful, happy marriage that sadly lasted only 38 years.

 Dad taught at Weston, and at Warner Beach, before being made a Primary School Principal at Paddock and then Verulam.  He was then pulled back into High School Science and taught briefly at Mansefield before finishing his teaching career in Ixopo.  He remained a thorn in the flesh of the education department until he retired at 60 as he wouldn’t apply for high school principal’s posts.  He was loved by all his pupils, who called him “Tubby” – his sisters called him “Podge.”

He was a keen sportsman – rugby, hockey, running and tennis – running the Comrades marathon several times, once after being told by doctors that he would never walk upright again after an abdominal op. He was a great musician.  He had a perfect boy treble voice and was head chorister at St Thomas’ in Durban, but always claimed that his voice didn’t live up to its early promise when it broke.  He was a wonderful choir master and singing teacher – even getting big high school boys to enjoy singing.  He was always involved in the church, and served as a sub-deacon (Lay Minister) until he took umbrage at something Desmond Tutu said and resigned from the church.

He kept bees – and started off other beekeepers who remained true friends. My name – Deborah – means “bee” – chosen because of his love for his bees. He died of cancer in April 1989.  The day he died a swarm of bees came into the chimney in the lounge and we were in a state of panic.  We phoned one of his bee-keeper friends and she said, “Bees know things.  His bees have come to say goodbye.  Just wait awhile and they will leave.”  And they did.

So there is the potted history – but who was he really?  He was warm and friendly – we couldn’t go anywhere without meeting someone he knew – and who was delighted to meet up with him.  If he didn’t know someone, he’d make a new friend.  People loved him, and he loved people. He was extremely intelligent and well read – and when he didn’t know something, he would find out – and that was in the days before Google!  He could be opinionated and intolerant – when he hated something, nothing would change his mind.  He hated modern technology – and when I bought my first computer with the money he left me, I tongue-in-cheek called it “Dad.”  He was so musical – and I loved singing with and learning from him.  He taught me to harmonise before I could even read.  He was a philanthropist, despite having very little disposable income!  It wasn’t the amount of money – it was the time and care.  He built a school for the local children almost single handedly, making the bricks himself.  He was generous to a fault – no-one in need left his door empty handed.  He drove the ambulance for the Red Cross and donated blood regularly. He was impulsive and adventurous – we’d set off on holidays on the spur of the moment – he even got Mom and me hiking down the Wild Coast.   He had a wonderful empathy with nature – he kept snakes, tamed a sunbird which would come into the house and “talk” with him, loved his cats so much that he tried giving one of them mouth-to-mouth respiration when it was knocked down by a car.  He embraced his inner child in the days before anyone even knew there was an inner child.  He didn’t care what people thought of him – he just played!  I remember skipping down West Street in Durban, holding his hand – and later being mortified when he did things like that!  He would come to visit me at Boarding School in the big yellow Ixopo School bus – humiliating for a teenager, but he didn’t care!  He just wanted to see his kid!

And for me, that is the thing I remember and most about Dad.  He loved his family.  He was a devoted son and wrote to his mother every Sunday until she died – “writing” taped letters once she started losing her sight.  He loved his in-laws – my Granny and Grandpa -  although he didn’t call them anything until we were born and he could call them Granny and Grampa.   He seconded his brother-in-law, Grahame, when he ran Comrades - after gifting him his Comrades number 49.  He was such a devoted husband – he sold his typewriter to buy the wedding license - and all her life, he protected her from anything that might upset her.  He loved his kids. When I was a baby, he apparently used to stop people in the street and say, “Do you want to see my beautiful baby?”  He played with us – I remember him taking us swimming early in the mornings, and spending a whole holiday building a boat with us that we all learnt to paddle and even sail.  He took us on amazing holidays and enjoyed sharing books and songs with us.  He helped us keep a sense of “magic” – enjoying fantasy and games.  He was a fantastic Grampa – picking the kids up and putting them on ladders so they could wave to the steam train, balancing them on his hand and lifting them up high into the air, to their squeals of delight, fetching them from my room at the crack of dawn, so he could have a private play with them, even in the days before he died, making origami birds and little toys so they would have them when he was gone.

There is so much I could say about him  - but that would take a whole book.  I loved my dad and miss him still – but I’m so glad I had him as long as I did.

Hokianga and the Kauri Coast

After the excitement of yesterday, I wondered if today would be an anti-climax.  The West Coast of Northland is largely forest and farmland and there was not much “adventure” to look forward to.  But on a day when there is good weather, New Zealand scenery never disappoints.

The first bit of excitement was a trip on the car ferry over Hokianga harbour.  The harbour is huge – more like a fiord than anything else, and there is no way across it except the ferry.  You can drive all the way round, but why would you when there’s a chance to go on a ferry.  It’s only about 15 – 20 mins, but on the smooth water in the morning, it was really lovely.  We drove from Rewene - where the ferry ended  - down to the coast at the twin towns of Opononi and Omapere, and were treated to exquisite blue water and a walk to the headland above the harbour.  Fantastic views down onto a totally deserted beach and across to huge coastal dunes.  People can dune surf on them, but the peace wasn’t disturbed for us this morning.

We drove the rest of the day down the Kauri Coast – through the Waipoua Forest for some of the way – huge kauri trees and acid green tree ferns, underlaid with tea tree.  The biggest Kauri  - Tane Mahuta – is seriously impressive.  And New Zealand has certainly woken up to the power of Tourism since we were here 15 years ago.  Then there was a sign about the size of an A4 paper saying – Biggest Kauri tree.  Now there is a picnic site on the opposite side of the road, a wooden boardwalk and an Info Centre.  And plenty of signage.

Lots of farm land – cattle, sheep and kumera – and a long road along the next harbour – Kaipara.  The Wairoa river that feeds it is wide and muddy, but lower down, the valleys and the water are beautiful.  We stopped at Helensville where we are staying in a beautiful guesthouse attached to a Victorian House.

We’ve both recently read a book by Ngaio Marsh about New Zealand.  It is a murder mystery set in Northland on a thermal reserve near a harbour and takes place during WW2.  Part of the story is that someone in the district is signalling from a peak nearby about ship movements, resulting in the sinking of a merchant ship by the Japanese.  Where ever we have gone in Northland, we’ve tried to work out where the story could have taken place.  At first we thought Hokianga could be it, but then we realised no big ships could be in it.  So that was that theory!  Some of the harbours on the Peninsula could be it – but each one has a problem with it – no thermal activity up North, although we know that there were army units stationed there.  But our last stop might be it!  The Kaipara harbour is huge and deep.  There is a peninsula that goes up to the Kaipara Heads.  There is a themal park at Parakai – it has been developed for a long time – since the 1910s, but a little artistic licence could be excused.  And it isn’t too far from Auckland – so it’s more likely in the 1940s that a huge distance on poor roads.  So we may have solved our mystery – or not! But we’ve had fun doing it.

Our road trip ends tomorrow as we drive to Hamilton to see Jane – a friend since the 1970s.  And then back to Tauranga to get ready for the baby.

Local is Lekker

Most of the tourist guides only mention the "big" companies when they talk about trips "up North" and most of the trips set off from Pahia on the Bay of Islands to Cape Reinga.  But a little bit of Googling, and I discovered a local company that operates out of Kaitaia - right at the end of the penisula.  And I am so glad I did!

Firstly, we only had to leave at 9.00am - and were picked up right from outside our motel.  Secondly, we were on a fairly small bus, it was 1/3 of the price of the "big" tours, but best of all, we had a local guide. 

Selwyn Subritsky is a local teacher who drives for the Harrison's Cape Runners on a part time basis.   he is also a volunteer fire fighter.  His roots in the community go very deep - his great-great grandmother came out from Germany, having married a Polish man - where the name Subritsky was derived from, and settled on the penisula.  His mother and father both belong to different Maori Iwis, or tribes, and as we travelled through the area, he could tell us which of his tribal lands we were driving through.  And all along the way, he told us snippets of local information - how the schools work, why and how the state forests of radiata pines were planted, what he and his 14 brithers and sisters did as youngsters.  He took us to the Subritsky homestead and explained the local Maraes.  And through it all, he was cheerdul, amusing and so proud of his family - despite the snide comments about his "relatives.'

My dream of driving along 90 Mile Beach was everything I had wished for - driving along a firm flat beach, skimming the edge of the waves, seeing other cars coming towards us and seeing the signs reminding us that State Highway rules apply.  The buses and cars don't have to be 4x4  - the beach is so firm.  The beach is actually only about 65 miles long, not 90, and we drove about 70kms to the Te Paki stream.  There we stopped, avoiding the sinking sands, and some of the passengers - including Pete - climbed up to the top of the dune and tobogganed down.  Then on through the Te Paki station and to Cape Reinga - a picnic on the beach and then on to the lighthouse at the Cape.  It was awesome to see the meeting of the Tasman and Pacific oceans - whether the two colours of water had anything to do with it, I don't know, but it was beautiful, nevertheless.  A drive back along the right side of the peninsula and back to our Motel before 5.

It was worth every penny and every minute - local is definitely lekker.

Across the top of the Island

When I looked at booking a coach tour so we could drive along 90 Mile Beach – a long standing dream of mine – most of the tours I researched left from the Bay of Islands.  It just didn’t make sense to me – get up at some ungodly hour to catch a bus in Paihia and then roll back home after 7 in the evening.  And the cost was prohibitive. So I looked a bit further and found a local tour company that leaves from Kaitaia, just south of the peninsula.  It meant a 120km drive to Kaitaia, but we decided to do it slowly and enjoy the day.

Thank goodness I did – our drive across the top of the Island was amazing.  A stop in Kerikeri brought back memories of our visit there 15 years ago – my Mom enjoyed it so much.  And then from there on it, it was views all the way!  We drove along the scenic routes all the way – and what scenery.  We would drive through windswept plateaus that reminded me of the West Coast of the Cape, with the scraggly fynbos, and then suddenly, down a gorge clad with indigenous forest and then up onto a cliff with views of the sea - and what sea!  The colours were amazing, especially when the sun shone.  The high cliffs above blue, blue bays and different coloured sands were as beautiful as anything I saw on the Mediterranean coastline. 

We drove around a number of bays - one was Tauranga Bay, which was special for us and the huge Doubtless Bay gave us amazing views of different beaches.  Then we drove around the Karikari peninsula - every beach just seemed more amazing.

I'm going to let the pictures do the rest of the talking - Pete took a millions pics today, I think.

The Bay of Islands

The rest of New Zealand basked in unaccustomed sunshine today, but Northland, where we are travelling, had quite a lot of high cloud, which gave way to sunshine on and off all day.

We set off early to catch the second ferry of the day over to Russell – a peninsula across the way from Paihia.  We travelled with people going to work over the water – at least two of the ladies worked at the bank, and we saw others in the Village during the day.

Russell was one of the first – if not the first – white settlements in New Zealand.  It was known as the “hell-hole” – home to whalers and traders – and their hangers on!  It also boasts the first Anglican church in NZ – Christchurch.  It’s a small white wooden building, with charming windows bordered with stained glass, and kneelers embroidered by local ladies over a long period of time.

When we were there 15 years ago, I seem to remember much more grass and sheep grazing right near the water.  This time there was a tourist centre, with many restaurants and shops selling curios and tourist trips and activities.  There are a lot of motels and accommodation places and a lot of cars – which I don’t remember from last time.  It will be interesting to compare the old pictures with the one Pete took today.

Despite the development, we had a wonderful morning.  We walked on a couple of tracks – up to the Flagstaff – site of the British flagpole that was cut down 4 times by the Maori chief of the time – and a couple of small, steep walking paths which took us up to magnificent views of the water – sometimes, we could almost see water all the way around. 

Walking along the beach, we met a local man who was pulling his boat down to the water.  He commented on Pete’s camera and then gave him some really helpful hints.  He mentioned that he had a picture displayed at one of the local galleries, and we discovered later that he is a well known photographer – so sharing his expertise was really brilliant for us.

The shops are very self-conscious – I said to Pete it was like Clarens by the sea.  And lots of the over-groomed people walking around with their over groomed pets would have been just as much at home in our Free State town as they were in New Zealand.

It was disappointing that the water wasn’t as vibrant as it would have been on a sunny day, but the cool was welcome, and when the sun did shine, it made the contrast even greater.  Walking through the forest, we were struck by the sound of what we think were cicadas – not the usual screech of Christmas Singers (as we always called them at home) but a sharp, crackling noise.  At first we thought it was rain, and then likened the sound to the noise popping candy makes.  Pete found a cicada on a tree – we’re not sure if it was one of the normal ones or one of the popping ones, but it was different from the ones at home.

In the afternoon we looked at a few things around Pahia, and then had tea and a fish and chip supper on the beach, surrounded by greedy seagulls and a quiet sparrow, who calmly picked up all the crumbs the voracious ones left.

Off to Kaitaia via Kerikeri in the morning – what wonderful names they are. 

Earthquake!

We heard yesterday that Christchurch had been shaken with another strong aftershock, following the December shocks that frightened so many. Nic tells me that the earthquakes have surprised scientists – Christchurch is not actually on the tectonic plate join that lies under much of New Zealand.  The boundary goes through parts of the East Coast of the North Island, through Wellington and then down along the Southern Alps.  The unpredictability of nature is so obvious in this situation.

Napier was destroyed by an earthquake and devastating fire just under 80 years ago.  It does lie on the join of the plates, and there would inevitably be an earthquake sometime.  But while we were there last week, we saw a video on the earthquake and the rebuilding of the city, and there were some things that really stuck with me.

The first is that it happened on the first day of the first school term in 1931 – the 3^rd of February. As I saw the visuals of the collapsed buildings and the fires, I thought how it must have been for the children – especially those newies starting school for the first time.  What terror there must have been in the classrooms – children screaming and crying for their mothers, teachers trying to cope with their own fear as well, and then, for those who survived, trying to find their families.  And the feelings of the mothers … it doesn’t bear thinking about. Nowadays, people know about PTSD and people are treated for it, but I wonder how many children were left with indelible scars – especially those who were orphaned.  Perhaps I can research what happened to them sometime.

The second thing that struck me was how difficult communication was.  Telephone lines went down with the quake, and road and rail links were destroyed.  We heard that the only means of communication was the radio on the ships near the harbour.  Thank God for the Navy – warships were sent from Devonport on the West Coast to bring relief and help them to rebuild.  Nowadays, we have so many forms of communication – but I know of friends who still couldn’t reach their loved ones in Christchurch when the networks were jammed.  But at least global news led to huge humanitarian outreach and prayers for the people of Christchurch – and other natural disasters.

The rebuilding of the city was also an eye-opener to me.  The city is known as the Art Deco Capital of the world – and this is because all the building happened at once and in one specific style.  These were depression years, and building was not really happening in the rest of the world, but if Napier was to survive and not become a ghost town, it needed rebuilding – and it happened very quickly.  As a harbour, I suppose they needed to have a town there, and although many people left, never to return, others stayed and new ones came.  The cheerful colours of the Art Deco buildings, the extravagant decorations, the voluptuous shapes, must have been like holding two fingers up at fate – Napier would survive and grow!

But the thing that really amazed me was how Napier escaped the hideous architectural destruction of the 70s and 80s – the harsh, utilitarian lines, the factory like facades.  The Art Deco society was only started in the late 80s, and it is amazing how few buildings have been destroyed.  New building seems to take place behind the facades, which are preserved, and the embellishments are still there.  Perhaps the East Coast of New Zealand is so far from the “real” world that it was 20 years behind the rebuilding of city centres as we saw it in South Africa, but they have done a wonderful job.  Owners of buildings must find it frustrating, having to keep embellishments painted in contrasting colours, and the pressed metal ceilings of pavement verandahs in good nick, but obviously it is part of the by-laws.  More strength to Napier City Council.

I wonder how the centre of Christchurch will be rebuilt.  It is unlikely to be as charming as Napier.

Up North 1

Auckland to Pahia

The first leg of our Northland trip was up the East Coast of the Northern part of the North Island.  The GPS got us out of Auckland past the Sky Tower and via the Harbour Bridge (always a thrill for me) and got us on to State Highway 1.  We had a long way to drive today, but we chose to take the smaller, windy, more interesting roads. 

First stop was Orewa – a delightful seaside town not too far from Auckland.  As we stopped next to the beach, we saw a group of older (than us) people walking along the beach, walking sticks, hats and all – obviously a Seniors’ walking club.  Not to be outdone, we took a brisk stroll along the firm, almost muddy beach – a lovely walk which helped clear some of the cobwebs from the previous night’s overindulgence in wine and conversation.  A cup of coffee from the Wild Bean Café, beloved by our friend Richard, and I felt rejuvenated!

We will need to come back this way and plan to spend a night somewhere around here, so decided to have a look at Warkworth and Snell’s Beach.  Warkworth is fairly charming, but the extra distance to Snell’s Beach was worth it – a stunning bay, sparkling in the intermittent sunlight, with a small, hard beach.  It felt a little like the Mediterranean beaches near St Tropez.

We took the scenic route from Warkworth to Wellsford, driving through steep gorges forested with what always seems to me such alien vegetation – austere conifers and luscious tree ferns, farmland that reminded us of the Midlands, except that you could also see the sea, and everywhere, amazing panoramic views of the sea and the islands – Goats Island and Hen and Chickens Islands.

Wellsford is better not tarried in – except that its cleaner, it reminds me of Bergville – the armpit of the Drakensberg.  Once again we took the scenic route, and the first part was pretty ordinary, until we came back to the sea at Langs Beach and Waipu – beautiful stretches of coast.  A brief stop in pedestrian Whangerei, and then on to Pahia, right in the Bay of Islands. 

Pahia is very much a tourist town – very little besides motels, restaurants and tourist shops.  We struggled to find a supermarket to buy some milk.  But the walk along the beachfront and the beach, listening to the small waves breaking loudly on the hard beach, walking on the cool wet sand and soaking up the tourist vibe, was awesome.  As the sun sets, it’s a peaceful evening and a great start to our trip.

The other side of the Mountain

On our first day in New Plymouth, we could have been excused for thinking that those who said there was a mountain right behind the town were lying.  The sun was shining, but thick cloud on the land side of the town covered any trace of Mount Taranaki.  When we saw the snow covered tip of the mountain peeking out, I was so excited – I just wanted Pete to take pictures.  Sadly, the snow looked just like more white cloud and the bits of mountain looked like grey cloud in our photos.

The 4 days we spent in New Plymouth all followed the same weather pattern – rain – often heavy – in the early morning, followed by a gradually clearing day.  But on the New Plymouth side, always cloud over the mountain.

But when we drove around Mount Taranaki to the inland side, the picture was completely different.  Mount Taranaki is a perfect, cone shaped volcanic peak – just like Mt Fuji and Mt Kilimanjaro.  It stands over on the coast, in line with the other central volcanoes – Ruapehu, Tongariro and Ngarahoe, and Maori legend tells that Taranaki angered the other mountains, and was banished to the coast.

On “the other side of the mountain” the Egmont National Park  (pakehas – white settlers – called it Mt Egmont) allows access to the upper parts of the mountain.  We wanted to see the goblin forests – trees festooned with trailing lichen, the Dawson’s Falls and the Wilkies Pools.  We put on our walking shoes and set off.  The Goblin Forest was easily seen – as we strode along the well marked and maintained DOC (Department of Conservation) path, the lichens almost brushed our faces.  “This is a piece of cake,” I thought.  There were even tyre tracks from a quad bike.  My blistered feet would stand up to this.  And then, around the corner, the path stopped.  There in front of us was a river – boulder strewn – and on the other side, the orange flags to show where the path continued.  My first instinct was to say – “I am going back down the path.”  But against my better judgement, I stumbled across the rocks, supported by both Pete and Richard, carefully keeping my feet dry.  I needn’t have bothered!

Two DOC workers, busy making a straight path to the pools, told us nonchalantly that crossing the river was the worst part of the trail – it was easy after that.  They then loaded their equipment onto their quad bike and went back down the path.  They must have laughed all the way back to the camp!  The walk to the pools wasn’t bad – a bit slippery in places, but fairly level.  And the view of the mountain was incredible – the snowfields sparkling in the sun, clear water gushing down from the peak, huge rocks which had been thrown or washed down thousands of years before, lying tumbled in the river bed.

But the rest of the trail was NOT easy.  A narrow path, following the river, crossing it over and over – sometimes on bridges but often on rocks   and once over and under a small waterfall – provided lots of challenges.  With my fear of falling and never being able to be carried out, and with Vanessa’s deep fear of falling, Pete and Richard were in great demand as holders, buffers, rocks and stays.  And they were amazing!   Even when I turned round, forgetting I had a backpack on my back, and almost brushed Pete down the ravine.  As we realised we were safely on the campground, a group hug expressed our relief.

 Did I enjoy it?  At the time, probably not.  It was beautiful, rugged, and the scenery was breathtaking, but the amount of adrenaline I produced was staggering.  But am I glad I did it?  Definitely!

Driving back round the mountain, through hobbit sized hills, I was awed by the power of this amazing landscape.  New Zealand is so beautiful – exploring it is an adventure.

On the East Coast

We set off tomorrow for a trip up to the North of the North Island - called - hardly surprising - Northland and I've realised that I haven't written anything about the two other trips we've taken - a trip to the West Coast and the Taranaki region with special friends, Richard and Vanessa and a couple of days to the East Coast - Hawkes Bay - with our special kids, Nic and Ray. So before I get sidetracked with new sights, I need to record some of the other two trips.

Our Hawkes Bay trip was planned last year, so we had very little choice with the weather - and it didn't play the game. We set off for Lake Taupo early on Saturday morning in grey weather which meant our potential view of the volcanoes was shrouded in mist. Taupo is a quaint town with lovely shopping streets - like so many of the shops in New Zealand towns - but we didn't see too much because the rain started - and poured and poured! Luckily, we had stopped at Huka Falls in the morning and been awed again by the force of the water as it pours through the narrow gorge - it's hard to know what to look at, listen to, feel - I am amazed at the incredible power of nature.

The next day we travelled early in the morning through gorges to Hastings where there is a famous Sunday Farmers' market. Ray drove like a hero through torrential rain, gusting wind and windy roads for us to get there mid morning. It was worth the drive - a super market with wonderful fresh produce - including seasonal fruits - plums, cherries, apricots, nectarines - delicious. We drove the 20 or so kilometers to Napier, where it was pouring with rain - and very little to do in that sort of weather apart from the Aquarium - which we declined! Once you've been to Ushaka ..... Napier was destroyed by a devastating earthquake and fire in 1931, and was rebuilt over the next few years in an Art Deco style. A dry place to be that morning was the Art Deco shop where we saw a movie on the earthquake and rebuilding, and then, after a bit of shopping in the main street, we were able to get into our Hotel. The rain lifted a bit in the afternoon and we had a long walk along the coast walkway past the port. You are reminded how yopung the soils in new Zealand are when you see the slips - and why some people build houses right on the edge of cliffs, I don't know. We saw two houses, where the whole of the garden has slipped down the cliff. Skies cleared a little that night and Pete got an amazing picture of moonrise over the Christmas lights of Napier.

The next day was brighter and we spent the morning driving - to Kidnappers Point - which we couldn't reach by road. The only way was a long walk on a pebbly beach, dodging the tides, or an expensive tractor ride - so we didn't get all the way. A drive through Havelock North took us to Te Mata peak, and as the weather cleared, we saw wonderful views, right around Hawkes Bay and inland. A stiff walk but worth doing - and at least it was all on the level.

Two more adventures - time to walk around the Art Deco buildings in the sunshine, and a sunset drive North along the coast, where we saw a cruise ship leaving the harbour, hooters booming, just as the sun went down.

A drive back through patchy weather ended a great East Coast getaway.

If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes ......

Someone said to me that in New Zealand, you get 4 seasons in one day. And another said, "If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes and it will change."

That has certainly been the case in the 6 weeks we've been here. It is summer, and summer is meant to be a lower rain season - most of the rain falls in winter. But this summer is the wettest in about 15 years.

We arrived to a few days of big winds - blowing all the remaining blossoms off the cherry trees and blowing down branches. And since then, we've seen more rain than we have seen sunshine. There have been some stunning sunny days - like Christmas Eve which was cool but bright. And then there have been days that started out pouring and morphed into sun, and others which started off sunny and morphed into rain. And then there are the days where we have moved the washing in and out all day - under the shelter on the deck, out into the sun, back under the shelter.

We've had nights that were cold enough to sleep with a duvet and others when we have thrown off the sheets because it is sticky. Last weekend, we had torrential rain on out trip from Taupo to Napier. Ray drove though heavy rain with gusting winds on windy roads - I was so glad it wasn't me driving. Even with a rain jacket, I was soaked in the short dash between the car and the Info site. But the next morning, the clouds cleared, it ended up being bright and sunny and we had a wonderful evening watching the sunset.

We have realised that you can't wait for the weather to clear to do the things we want to do - we might do nothing! So we do the things we've planned and hope for a showery instead of a rainy day. Thank goodness for a good rain jacket - the one I bought last time we were in New Zealand - to go on the boat in Milford Sound. We don't bother with umbrellas - because there is so often wind with the rain.

The best thing about the New Zealand weather is reading on facebook how hot it was in Maritzburg. I saw Jess's car thermomenter yesterday - 47 degrees! It hasn't got much more than 25 here, although it is quite humid at times. But nothing like Maritzburg's humidity!

When the sky is blue, it is beautiful - a paler blue than the African sky, which is usually a much deeper blue - because there is more water vapour in the sky in this narrow, water surrounded island. But even in the rain, it is good to be here.

Earth Mother or Intellectual?

One of Nic's friends was visiting while I was doing some baking. She saw my sewing as well and said, "Oh you must be a real Earth Mother." I suppose I look the part - more than plump, rosy cheeked (after baking in summer), fairly eccentric clothes (I didn't bring much with me so what I have doesn't always match. Since I've been here in NZ, I've done a lot of "earth mother" stuff - lots of Christmas baking, making a batch of rusks, cooking for the freezer and sewing - lots of sewing. I made a Christmas runner out of strips of fabric - and it looked beautiful on the table on Christmas Day. I've started making a doll for Ricky - after hours of searching and browsing on google and dreaming about how to do it, I finally bought a pattern and cut it out. I've helped Nic with planning her baby quilt and found patterns for a mobile. I've made "taggy" rattles for some of Nic's friends who are also having babies. And - my crowning glory - I have made a cloth book - "Where is Mo?" After weeks of sewing, hand stitching and embroidery, machine applique, pattern drawing and ironing of pieces, it is finished. I'm so thrilled with it - it has worked out really well and it's so bright and cheerful.

It's been a while since I did so many crafty, home maker things. I have been quite intellectual over the past few years. There's been school stuff and Varsity stuff and stuff for Reading to Learn. I've presented at conferences and had to look up all sorts of things for Schoolnet. I've used a computer more and more, and even made movies. At the moment, I am busy writing lesson plans for Reading to Learn and thinking about doing a Masters degree, using my R2L experiences for my research.

So which do I prefer? Neither and both, I suppose. Having time to do the crafty things but not making them my primary focus is fun and quite freeing. But I need to have a reason to do them - I can't see myself doing patchwork or baking "just sommer" - I need someone to share it with.

I don't see myself joining a quilting circle and baking for the hell of it while I neglect the intellectual stimulus - but I hope I can find more reasons to be "Earth Mother" in the year to come.