Getting Away from It

In what is becoming a bit of an Easter tradition, we are spending the holiday weekend on a tropical island.  In years gone by we spent most Easters camping, usually in the Lake District, and we had some fab times. Yes, some were wet, but for most of them the weather played its part and what better place is there to be than camping in Cumbria. But with a multitude of island getaways on Auckland's doorstep, and with the roads to the camping grounds in the north blocked with holiday traffic, it's shockingly quicker to fly to a South Pacific island and swap canvas for canapés.

This time it's Samoa's turn to play host and so far it's been a fantastic choice to get away from it all. Totally off the grid, away from emails, BBC news, football results, Facebook, Strava, and general global turmoil. And yes, I appreciate the irony of writing a blog about being off the grid that I can't actually post . You'll just have to take my word for it that what follows is all true and I'm not actually in a bar in Auckland making this all up. Although, cone to think of it, that would've been considerably cheaper and less damaging on the waistline. Probably.

It's not that this place is so remote that it doesn't have the internet, it does, it's just that I'm too tight to pay for the wifi cards or air time of our phones. I could, of course, turn on data roaming but I'm still paying off the debt from doing that two Easters ago in Tahiti to get a quick peek at Google Maps when we couldn't find our accommodation.  

So I can't send hourly photo updates of the beautiful sun, glistening sands and the roaring waves that are crashing on the coral reef a few hundred metres out to sea. 

I also can't send photos of me grinning from ear to ear holding whatever is the cocktail of the day, or underwater photos of fantastically coloured fish. You wouldn't want to see that anyway, I'm sure.

And no camera can catch the fact that it's 34 degrees and very, very humid. Being outside is not unlike being wrapped in a blanket. The air feels thick and gloopy and just walking is a struggle, although that might be the pizza from lunchtime getting it's revenge. We did try and take some refuge from the all encompassing heat yesterday afternoon and retreated to our chalet. If I have learnt one thing from this trip it's that, after closing all of the windows and doors, you really need to turn on the air conditioning unit to get the benefit! Essentially we created our own sauna as we sat in a closed room, with no fresh air for two hours in the baking heat and sapping humidity. On the plus side, however, my skin feels really rejuvenated after profusely sweating for several hours!

Apart from that, our days have revolved around swimming in the pool, snorkelling, eating and drinking and not much else. Not that that is a bad thing, which is just as well as it's likely to be the pattern for the next few days, although we have threatened to go for a run at least once. The thought of trying to run in this heat doesn't exactly make me jump into my running shoes, but I can't miss the opportunity to get a Samoan run onto my Strava account. Plus it will give more weight to the fact that we are actually here! After all, if it doesn't happen on Strava then it hasn't happened!

In a few days though we'll be back in a 'cold' New Zealand autumn with temperatures dropping below twenty and rain on the horizon. Well I assume so, we left with a cyclone knocking on the front door of Auckland so let's hope it's still there. Not that I would know if it wasn't.  I'm off the grid you see, and relaxing in blissful ignorance. Did I mention that already?

 

Getting Frooty

On the odd occasion that I head out for a run in the morning, it's not uncommon to come across a group of tired and terrified looking group of people jumping up and down whilst being yelled at for not trying hard enough.

Yes I'll admit I'm only basing this on an extremely small sample size because by 'odd occasion' I actually mean hardly ever. Well, it's so hard to be motivated first thing in the morning what with all the sleeping that's to be done. And if they wasn't enough to fill your morning then there is the coffee. Well it won't just drink itself will it? With such a hectic morning routine it's not surprising that there's actually very little time to devote to putting on running shoes and heading out the door. I'd love to but it's just not possible. Honest!

But on the odd occasion that I have managed to squeeze in a few laps around the Domain between bouts of sleep and caffeine intake, I have been quite surprised that fellow early morning fitness fanatics would chose to eschew a nice cup of coffee for being shouted at by a burly bloke with a buzz cut. Why do they do it? If that wasn't bad enough, they pay for the pleasure. I can't imagine waking up early in the morning and thinking, "What I really need now is to put on some active wear and go and stand in the cold in the park and be shouted at. That's just the ticket!" It really makes me question their state of mind not to mention the quality of their coffee. 

But, despite the verbal abuse that these sessions bring, judging by the size and number of these groups, the Boot Camp business is booming.

Anyone who knows me will appreciate that I'm not the rebellious type and much prefer to keep my head down and get on with it, or hope that whatever it is goes away, whichever comes first. But I'm pretty sure that being shouted at whilst trying to come to terms with being in the park at some ungodly hour is likely to bring out the worst in me. Or best, depending on your point of view and attitude towards chaos. And for that reason, as well as a general sense of early morning apathy, I've given these group fitness sessions a wide berth.

Until this evening that is. Admittedly it was partly in response to being told by a physio that I should run less for a while (he might have actually said 'no running' but I wasn't really paying attention at this point and was already planning my next half marathon). But also because I felt the need to improve my overall general fitness without resorting to a gym membership, the aforementioned verbal abuse or indeed getting up early. Any of those three things is likely to send shivers down the spine of any well adjusted individual.

So on the recommendation of some friends, I turned up at my first Froot Camp. No that's not a typo. Why 'Froot' I hear you ask? Well I understand that it's because it's free. So it's a Free Boot Camp, or Froot Camp for short. But I rather think, after having completed my first session, that it's because it's a Friendly Boot Camp. Absolutely no shouting involved. Which is a relief.

And you would be excused for thinking that if it's free then it can't be as good as those you pay good money for. Admittedly, having never paid for the pleasure of being ridiculed in public, I don't have a reliable point of reference. But, if the effort that was needed to lift my iPad off my lap to type this blog was anything to go by, then I'd say it hit the target. With all too precise accuracy for my liking!

And it doesn't just stop at my arms. My legs are tired, my stomach muscles are wondering what they've done to deserve such a beating and the softness of my bed looks oh so inviting at the moment. And I still haven't taken off my running shoes. Just the thought of bending down that low is making me wince.

There is a lot to be said for training with a group of like-minded people, and proof that it doesn't have to be abusive, well in a verbal sense anyway and I'll definitely be back for more. And as for that half marathon I was planning? Well compared to Froot Camp it'll be a walk in the park.

 

The Times They Are A-Changin

Yes I know that I could have equally titled this blog 'Stop Me If You Think Youve Heard This One Before', but I've just got to say that I still find the changing of the seasons confusing, back to front and more than a little discombobulating.

What has brought this on? Well last night the clocks changed in New Zealand. No big deal, I know, but it's now pitch black but still 18 degrees with 81% humidity. For you budding meteorologists out there, that means it's warm and sticky. And dark. And it's just not right! When the clocks change to their autumnal setting, it's supposed to be cold, crisp and fresh. And you certainly shouldn't have a preying mantis trying to make its way enthusiastically up the wall whilst wondering if it's safe to turn off the anti-mosquito device. It's all rather hard to take in if I'm being honest. 

To add to the utter confusion, shops in the high street are preparing their Easter displays. You know the drill; bunnies, eggs, baby chickens (chicklets?) and daffodils. It's all out of season for those raised on a northern hemisphere cultural diet. When you're expecting to see pumpkins and witches' brooms we're getting Easter paraphernalia. Simply put. It's. Not. Spring.

It's enough to drive you to distraction. Maybe it's these mixed messages that resulted in one of the most talked about events of the year so far. No, not a visit by Justin Bieber, but an audaciaous raid on a local art gallery. Yes, during the early hours of Saturday morning Parnell played host to a heist. Or The Heist as it's now being called. 

I know what you're thinking, "Why go all of the bother of ram-raiding an art gallery when most of the rubbish in there could be painted by my five year old niece?". Well ordinarily I'd be with you. But this is Parnell and the thieves took off with two paintings worth over $1m. Which is not bad for a night's work.

Although the residents of this neighbourhood are outwardly outraged, that a crime of this nature could happen in this sleepy bohemian enclave, secretly they're chuffed to bits. Yes you really know you're living in an up and coming area when it can host a heist. Forget all of the Ferraris and Porsches, you know  you're doing well when the art gallery gets done over. It's certainly going to put Parnell on the map once again and give our neighbouring neighbourhoods something to aspire to. I even heard one local say, whilst queuing in a grocers to buy some tofu, "You can say what you like about Parnell, but Ponsonby's never had a heist! That'll shut them up. Tschh, they haven't even got a gallery!"

Amidst all of the chatter, the Police went door-to-door asking if anyone had heard anything or seen anything suspicious. I imagine it was a fruitless exercise, a bit like the time I went to the shop to buy bananas only to find they'd all been sold, as most Parnellians are well in bed by 3am. It's not, shall we say, a party 'burb. Besides, everyone knows that the paintings are probably still inside the gallery, as anyone whose seen The Thomas Crown Affiar knows.

And if they aren't still in the gallery, then they can't have gotten far. Not on New Zealand roads. Unless they had a boat waiting in the harbour, in which case they might be on one of the many outlying islands. My money would be Waiheke. Plenty of rich folk there and the perfect place to flog a million dollars worth of artwork. Ponsonby wouldn't even get a look in!