Calling My Bluff

See what I did there? No? Ah well never mind.

The next port of call on our trip around the bottom of the South Island was literally the bottom. Well almost. Close enough to not matter.

If our destination of Invercargill gives you the impression of a Scottish themed location, that’s nothing compared to the journey from Lake Manapouri. Empty roads, towering mountains and lonely glens for all the world look and feel like Scotland. 

As for Invercargill, many streets in the city, especially in the centre and main shopping district, are named after rivers in Scotland. These include the main streets Dee and Tay, as well as those named after the Tweed, Forth, Tyne, Esk, Don, Ness, Yarrow, Spey, Eye and Ythan rivers, amongst others.

It will be no surprise then to learn that this part of New Zealand was inhabited by Scots - to the extent that traces of Scottish speech can still be heard in the local dialects. 

But it wasn’t the connection with northern Britain that brought us here. Nope, it was for the most southerly parkrun in New Zealand and arguably the world. Arguably because there is now a weekly event in the Falkland Isles. I’m not convinced that one should count. But I would say that though. It is probably one of most beautiful courses in New Zealand, short sections of paths and gravel trails all surrounded by trees and flower beds. And a nice and straight final 1km. Nothing like a simple and potentially fast finish. 

The other reason to come down this way was to head out to Bluff, the most southerly town in Aotearoa. There isn’t a lot to see in Bluff, although it is the centre on the New Zealand oyster industry. If that’s your thing. Yuk I say! I honestly don’t see the attraction in swallowing slimy gloop. Whoever convinced the general public to consider these to be such a delicacy should get an award. 

Passing by the few shops that constitute Bluff’s town centre and very soon you arrive at Stirling Point. Although this is it the most southerly part of New Zealand, it is the start (or end depending on your preference) of the long distance Te Araroa hiking trail. 

Stretching around 3,000 kilometres along the length of the country's two main islands between Cape Reinga in the north and Bluff in the south, it’s quite some undertaking and normally takes around three to four months to complete. Some years ago we visited Cape Reinga so with having visited the two end points, there’s only the bits in between to complete!

The scenery here is stunning, albeit somewhat cooler than we are used to. Deep blue ocean, white rocks and greenery combine to create a perfect coastal scene.

It’s one of those places that I am pleased to say we have visited, but there’s no real reason to reprint, unless of course one of us loses their senses and decides to take in the Te Araroa trail. Hmm, maybe next year. 

Doubtful Cruise

I’ve always held the view, rightly or wrongly, that cruises were the preserve of the über rich or the retired and on that basis they weren’t for me. But plans change and so, with the intention to give up regular paid employment on the horizon, I arguably fall into the latter category. 

So maybe, that is how I found myself onboard a vessel in Deep Cove dock in Doubtful Sound about to set sail on an overnight trip through Fiordland.

For those unfamiliar with the geography of New Zealand, Fiordland is a national park located on the southwestern coast of the South Island. Fiordland National Paek was created in 1952 and covering 4,868 square miles is by far the largest in New Zealand..

There are fourteen sounds within Fiordland and whilst at 25 miles long Doubtful Sound is not the longest, it is the deepest. At over 420m deep, be mindful not to drop your mobile phone because it’ll be a struggle to get it back.

Ahh, I know what you’re wondering….why is it called Doubtful Sound when it’s in Fiordland? That’s a really good question. Well, Doubtful Sound is actually a Fjord so it should really be called Doubtful Fjord. Why? Whilst a sound is usually formed by the action of the sea flooding a river valley, a fjord is formed by the action of a glacier - and that is what we have here. Or so we were told.. 

And why Doubtful. Like a lot of things around New Zealand, Captain James Cook had an influence in the name, or rather re-naming because it already has a name but that wasn’t European enough for the celebrated explorer. On his journey around the western coastline of the southern island of New Zealand, sometime around 1770, he observed what appeared to be a passage into the interior. As the prevailing wind direction was westerly, he determined that whilst he could sail the ship into the passage, he was doubtful he would be able to get back out again. The opportunity to explore inland was passed and the name Doubtful Sound allocated to the inlet. So there you go.

Righty-ho, back to the trip. It’s fair to say Doubtful Sound is not that easy to get to. Compared to the most popular excursion in Fiordland, Milford Sound, where a road takes travellers right to the dockside, Doubtful is a little trickier. First up you have to drive to the oddly named Pearl Harbour on the shore of Lake Manapouri. From there a ferry will take you across the lake to the imaginatively named Western Arm. This 45 minute trip would be worth the entrance fee alone. Surrounded by snowcapped mountains and deep green forest, the lake crossing is breathtaking. 

Once docked, it’s another hour by an unsealed road over Wilmott Pass to Deep Cove dock. Finally we’re in Doubtful Sound. And of course, you get to do it all again on the way back. At least it can be accessed by the general public. There are many others that are so remote that can be accessed only from the sea -  no roads or even footpaths So, with the amount of effort it takes, it’s no surprise that this is an overnight cruise. 

Not wanting to share with other people, we’ve got a private cabin for the trip. A lovely refuge from the hubbub with a private, albeit small, bathroom. And a great view of the outside world. We could, should the need arise, sit in our little space and watch the world go by. But where would the fun be in that - we’d miss the chance to take in the spectacular panaoramas and remark on just how odd other people are! Not like us, we’re normal!

The cruise is amazing, and definitely worth the effort in getting here, even if that is part of the fun. The remoteness means that there is less boat traffic and that in turn means there is less noise. And with it being overnight, there is no rush. After an hour or so we were at the Tasman Sea. Just in time to watch some seals lazing on a rock, and then turn around and head back to explore some more. For a place with the highest annual rainfall in New Zealand, we were treated to bright sunshine and calm seas. Wow!

We anchored overnight in Precipice Bay, enjoyed a three course meal before heading to our cabin.

Waking up in such a unique location was something special. Although the weather has changed to that more keeping with the region - yes it was raining - the fjords took had taken on a more gloomy but magnetic look. After another fabulous meal, we lifted anchor and started our journey back to Deep Cove.

There was just time for perhaps the highlight of the trip. The sound of silence. For a few moments, the ship engines were silenced and we just drifted down the fjord. The only sound was that of the waterfalls, the wind in the trees and morning birdsong. Words fail to describe the feeling. 

A few hours later we were docked back a Deep Cove and began our return journey to the main land. What an unforgettable trip with memories that are unlikely to be dimmed by the passing of time -  that would be impossible given the amount of photographs I took. 

Hahei Hi Campers!

The less charitable might call it a lack of imagination, but I prefer to call it tradition. Or at least it is now. Ever since our first visit to these shores we’ve made Hahei our pre-Christmas destination. 

Who would have thought that after our visit here on holiday in 2013, we would have returned five of the following nine years. Of the missing years, one time we were in the Galapagos and the others we had visitors. So, given free rein, Hahei is our pre-Christmas holiday destination. Something that we would never have contemplated in the UK. I’m shivering at the thought!

Saying this from the relative comfort of knowing that the forecast is for settled weather, we’ve had a fantastic time every single year we’ve visited. And what a way to unwind into Christmas.

New Zealand’s campsites, or campgrounds as they are known here, make a holiday under canvas very easy. Almost all of them have a kitchen space to make cooking a doddle, barbecue areas complete with barbecues come as standard and all have defined pitches. None of this cram-in-as-many-as-we-can approach that afflicts some UK camp sites. Yes, looking at you Coniston Hall!

Hahei Beach Resort takes comfort and convenience one step further - there is a bar, pizza place and burger joint on the premises. It really couldn’t be easier.

As this is our last summer at Christmas - we’re returning to the UK next year - we’ve pushed the boat out. Not only do we have a nice new tent, but we’ve also gone for an electrical hook up. Posh I know. Whilst being able to charge gadgets is a convenience, the real game changer is having an electric kettle. Astonishing that such a common household appliance can have such a groundbreaking impact. Tea practically on tap!

Our other move towards luxury is the addition of camping beds. My word what a difference. Aching backs from sleeping on the floor are no more and climbing into bed takes camping to another level. It’s almost glamping. It’s almost like being at home even.

And the tent? It’s wonderful. With it being inflatable, gone are the days of messing around with poles, a few pumps and it’s up. Admittedly we were worried that a strong wind might propel us into the air and carry us off to Fiji, so it’s well anchored to the ground. We hope. Not that there is any sign of strong winds. 

Yes the outlook is for a fantastic week of relaxation, sun, swimming and perhaps the occasional visit to the bar.

The End of the Line

Avid readers of this admittedly increasingly sporadic blog will know that I am somewhat dismissive of New Zealand’s attempt at a passenger rail service. 

In fact calling it a service is as far from the truth as one could possibly get. So what is there? As far as the main urban areas go, there is a little bit of a passenger service in the Wellington region and obviously Auckland had a reasonable network - when it is running that is. Quite how Auckland Transport and KiwiRail get away with cancelling train services almost every weekend and during most of the public holidays is beyond me. I can’t think of anywhere else in the world where the transport operators would be allowed to curtail passengers services of the country’s most populous city on such a regular basis. But they are and they do. Frequently. So a city of around 1.5 million people is without a train service each and every weekend and over the four week holiday period..

And what about inter-city services? Well there aren’t any. Not at a frequency that you could call a service. The nearest city to Auckland is Hamilton and admittedly there is a train ‘service’ that connects the two metropolises. It runs twice a day but only once on a Saturday, if you’re lucky. And speed? Well it is some way off a high-speed service. The 120km trip takes just under two hours. An average speed of a little over 60kph.  

There is another service in the north island but that is geared more towards tourists and the terminally patient. A trip from Auckland, the largest city, to Wellington, the capital, can be completed by train. But only on a Monday and a Wednesday, taking over 11 hours to complete and costs around $300. Time and cost aside, it is worth doing once, as we have, but it’s not a commuter service. Not by a long shot.

The other two long distance services are in the South Island and, with us finding a free weekend at the start of the summer, we decided to try them out; the Coastal Pacific and the Tranz Alpine. Or to put it in geographical terms, Picton to Christchurch along the east coast, then Christchurch to Greymouth via the southern alps.

 If time and budget was unlimited one could, in theory, jump on a train in Auckand and travel the length of the North Island to Wellington. Catch the Inter-Islander ferry and continue the journey southward by rail from Picton.

We didn’t have the time so we took a flight from Auckland to Blenheim in Malborough to pick up the Coastal Pacific scenic train. Relying on a flight connection to catch the only train of the day was a gamble but we needn’t have worried…..the flight was on time and the train was late. Ah well. Quite how a train could be late only one hour into a six hour journey is a question for another day.

Grumbles aside, it was well worth the effort. It was a glorious day with great views out across the ocean as the train wound its way down the coast, often so close that sea spray would douse the windows. 

If the first day was stunning then superlatives wouldn’t be adequate for the second day of the train. The train westward out of Christchurch is unassuming - mostly light industrial buildings on the outskirts of the city and then the expanses of flat farmland as the train crossed the Canterbury Plain. So far, so-so. 

Then, once the train entered the foothills of the alps…oh my word! What a dramatic change. Snow-capped mountain peaks towered over narrow glacial valleys. Bridges crossed steep ravines, with tumultuous turquoise rivers hundreds of metres below. Staring transfixed out of the carriage window I never wanted it to end. 

But end it must because Greymouth in the west coast is where the line ends, at least for rail passengers. Another victim of New Zealand’s ever shrinking rail network. So the only thing to do was to grab a bite to eat, get some provisions for the return journey and head back the way we came. 

And, if I was feeling particularly introspective, that could be a metaphor for life. Time to turn around and go home. The end of one journey and the start of another. Maybe I’ll write about it one day!

Northern Sights

Although this is our fourth visit to the fair city of Oslo, it’s been nearly twenty years since we last visited. I am honestly staggered by that. How did that happen?

Our first visit was way back in 2001 when a friend in work recommended it as a holiday location and gave us contact details of a travel company that specialises in Scandinavian travel. Saw it, booked it and…..you know the rest.

It was a big trip, or so it seemed at the time, and for the first time we felt like adventurous travellers - heading off to unknown lands across the North Sea. Crazy really to think that a future escapade would take us to the southern hemisphere. Admittedly we didn’t stray to far from the capital city. After catching up with a friend who lived there, we caught the train to Flåm and spent a gorgeous week at the side of a fjord. It was idyllic. As well as the fantastic scenery, boat trips and hiking, I got the chance to buzz the QEII in a little boat. 

Setting out to buzz the QEII

The aforementioned QEII

It was all over far too quickly and after visit to Bergen by catamaran we were back in the airport to fly

back home.

We were back in Oslo just a year later for the same friend’s 30th birthday and then a couple of years later for his wedding. It did seem like Oslo was becoming our second home.

Yet then there was a gap. A large one by anyone’s standards. So when the opportunity arose - more on that in a minute - to return, how could we pass up such an opportunity? 

Airlines’ pricing algorithms are a mystery to me, and I suspect a lot of others. We were looking for the most cost effective way to get back to New Zealand from Switzerland when it became apparent that it was cheaper to first travel to Scandinavia and then depart a few days later, rather than a direct route. Odd but true. So with that in mind, a weekend in Oslo seemed like the perfect end to our summer sojourn around Europe.

As well as seeing the beautiful city 20 years later, it also gave us a chance to catch up with some friends from the UK and of course our whānau resident! 

As usual when we visit Oslo, the weather was glorious with warm and sunny days and long light nights. The beer, wine and conversation flowed with ease. It was good to spend time with friends we haven’t seen for a while and soon the intervening years dissolved away in tears of laughter. As well as revisiting old haunts we found some new favourites and generally had a relaxing and enjoyable time.

I’d forgotten just how friendly and helpful Norwegians are and I reckon that they would give Kiwis some stiff competition as the most accommodating hosts. No offence New Zealand, just saying!

As I leave Oslo again, I am determined that it won’t be such a gap to my next visit and I look forward to exploring more of this fantastic country. There’s so much more to see and I know we’ve only scratched the surface.

Like Clockwork

I realise that, as I am typing these words on a train to the airport, this could all come back to bite me but surely the Swiss transport system is one of the wonders of the modern world?. 

We left a small mount village at 05:40am and caught the 06:00am bus. Which as admittedly left two minutes late. This wasn’t the fault of the transport system, but instead an issue with a passenger  who decided to arrive at exactly the departure time and then continued to debate the price of the fare with the driver. Quite possibly the most annoying person we’ve come across this holiday. If this scene has payed out in the UK then the driver would’ve closed the doors in the late comer’s face and waved as they drove away. Equally, if this has been a scene from New Zealand then…. actually it wouldn’t have mattered because there wouldn’t have been a bus in the first place and even if there was, it would’ve either been late or not turned up at all.

Minor passenger related glitches notwithstanding, the bus caught up the lost time, despite the route being a tortuous, twisting and narrow road down the valley and arrived at the train station on time. That didn’t stop me giving the late comer a hard stare as we disembarked. I felt much better.

Ten minutes later we were on the train speeding north towards Bern and are expecting to arrive at the airport at 09:15, making two changes on the way each with only five minutes to make the connection. Who would’ve thought that fast and frequent public transport set make for a fast and efficient transport network? 

Express inter-city trains connect to regional trains that then connect to local trains. These then connect to trams, mountain railways, cable cars, buses or boats, depending on the desired destination. When viewed from high up in the stratosphere it must look like a well orchestrated ballet. It’s magic - except it isn’t really. So how is it done…..sorry excuse me, we are arriving into Bern and I have to go and change trains.

…..where was I? Ah yes, how is this done? I recall reading an interview with a Swiss transport network representative who was responsible for planning the timetable, and he was slightly dumbfounded when he was asked that very question. “Well, you plan one week and then repeat it across the rest of the year”’ was the simple and perhaps obvious response. Could it be as straightforward as that? It makes you wonder doesn’t it.

[post blog note - arrived at the airport at exactly the planned time. Shame the flight was an hour late leaving 🙄]

¡Viva España!

If truth be told, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a holiday in Spain. Although I had been here before, one three fleeting occasions, I really didn’t know what to expect.

My first visit to Spain was as part of a package holiday in 1989 to Salou, celebrating the end of our A-Levels. The big debate at that time was whether to pay extra for a flight or just stick with the basic package and take a coach all the way to the southern coast of Spain. What a choice. On one hand a more expensive but much quicker travel option, and on the other a gruelling two day road trip and ferry crossing.

Thankfully, common sense prevailed and we took the coach option. Why waste valuable beer money on a flight when you could drink all the way on the coach? Obviously really when you think about it. Two weeks in the resort of Salou, or more accurately ten days by the time the travel is deducted, wasn’t exactly the best introduction to Spanish culture one could’ve hoped for. It’s no exaggeration to say they there were more English in the town than locals. Bar a change in currency and improved weather there was little difference to being in England.

The second visit was a few years later as part of a month travelling around Europe by train. This time we headed to Pamplona from southern France to participate in the running of the bulls festival. A great plan, except we were a day late. I can’t recall if our journey took longer than planned or whether we just had the wrong date. I suspect the latter. Disheartened, we spent the day at the station chugging back Rioja, eventually catching a evening train to Barcelona, where we immediately changed trains and headed back into France. Actually it was probably for the best. I’d hate to think what might have happened if we had arrived on the day of the festival. Getting chased down streets by ill tempered animals would’ve ended badly for us I suspect. In actuality the worst that happened to us was a sore head from too much vino and a slight embarrassment from decorating the outside of the train carriage. Let’s move on…..

I did get another chance to visit Barcelona in 2003 when we visited for the weekend to celebrate a family birthday. It was a fleeting visit and not really enough time to do the city or country justice. Oh, and it rained almost the entire weekend with the sun coming out just as we headed back to the airport.

So this time we were going to do it properly and spend nearly two weeks travelling around and meeting up with friends (and local guides!)

And what a time we’ve had. From the moment we arrived into San Sebastián, to the final few hours in Madrid, Spain has put on a show; the glorious weather, (arguably too good) beautiful cities and delicious food, wine and beer. The fact that I speak virtually no Spanish didn’t seem to matter, not like in a neighbouring country I won’t name. Everyone seemed pleased to meet us and wanted to help us enjoy our visit.

It has certainly whet our appetite for the country and I am absolutely sure that we’ll be back - but maybe when the weather is not quite so hot! 40 degrees is a novelty at first but it soon becomes a challenge. Thank goodness for the slight coolness of the coastal resort of Cádiz.

But a return is for the future. For now we bid adiós to the Iberian peninsula and head for the cooler mountain air of Switzerland.….

Zen and the art of backpacking bag-packing

I used to have a t-shirt with the words “He who travels light travels happy” emblazoned on the front. I loved that t-shirt, not necessarily for the wise words but for the comfortable fit. Oh and the cheery image of a suitcase being carried aloft as if it were a balloon. Nevertheless, it offered advice that any traveller should embrace. 

I’ve lost count of the number of times I have seen someone trying to heft a suitcase that is clearly too heavy onto a train. I could of course help but but I’d much rather tut under my breath and think to myself “they’ve over packed”. Maybe that t-shirt should’ve had the words “Smug Git” instead.

Actually the problem isn’t with the individuals but instead with the manufacturers of modern suitcases. I suppose it’s a natural progression from the invention of the wheel. Applied to travelling, first to the cart, then the bicycle, the car and finally the roll-along suitcase. Honestly these things are so huge I don’t know why they didn’t just fit wheels to their wardrobes and take those on holiday. Foreign cities are now chock-a-block with mobile accompaniments, click-clacking their way between hotels and methods of transportation.

Anyway I have digressed. One of the advantages of travelling with a rucksack is that you can’t overpack. The space you have is the space you have. It is quite limiting at first - and seemingly an impossible task to fit all of the clothes and personal items you need for a month away into a very limited space. No matter how hard you try, that third pair of footwear just won’t fit. There is always the option of hanging things to the outside of the bag but that could end in disaster. Think I’m overstating it? Well how would you feel if one shoe went missing? Spending the month hopping doesn’t seem like a whole lot of fun. No, much better to keep everything on the inside. Safely tucked away.

Of course the disadvantage of a rucksack is that everything has to be unpacked and repacked at each destination. Sure it is tempting, after struggling to get everything into the bag, to leave it be and just keep wearing the same set of clothes. But there is your travelling companions to consider. Not sure they would appreciate your lack of enthusiasm for changing your clothing. Especially after a few sweaty days in southern Spanish cities. Besides, with each emptying and repacking it does get easier. A system develops and with it an understanding of the optimum method for making use of all of the available space. A zen like state in the mastering of space and time. Well space mainly. Socks and undies are stuffed into hiking boots, each small space is filled with an appropriate item of clothing. Imagine a game of Tetris but with shoes and clothes instead of colourful blocks. And without the catchy music. 

When done correctly, the tidy ensemble makes a 12kg mobile home possible. And nothing is fastened to the outside….yet.

I’ve just completed my eighth packing, achieved in the semi-darkness of a hotel room and completed in under ten minutes. Not bad. Admittedly it’s not quite as lump free as I would like, but that’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have bought that souvenir t-shirt in Seville - it’s upset the proverbial apple cart and unbalanced my zen like state. 

Never mind, I’ve got a few more attempts to make to get it right. And if I can’t? Well there’s always the option of jettisoning some unwanted items. The US power adapter for example, or one of the three jumpers I brought. Well it was cold when I left New Zealand.

 

Siesta?….Si por favor!

I am beginning to wonder if you were to look deep into my family background, far beyond the Yorkshire clan and deep into the past, that there might be a trace of Spanish in my genetic make-up. Is it possible?

I left New Zealand a few weeks ago for a trip around Europe and after a quick call into Canada and the UK headed to Spain - a country that I have only fleetingly visited in the past. I’ve been here for almost a week and I have well and truly settled into the rhythm of life here. The food, the wine and most of all the Siesta. Oh what a wonderful thing that is. No doubt helped by the heat and the lunchtime drinks, but how great it is to switch off for a few hours and grab some regenerative sleep. 

Admittedly, I have always tended to have an afternoon kip, especially on a weekend when it wouldn’t interfere with work, but I can take it to a whole new level here. Olympic standard even. 

Firstly, it is encouraged and by being so, the guilt of sloping off for an hour or two when there are other things that need doing is gone. Doze away.

Then there are the wonderful wooden shutters on the windows. Who needs curtains when you can cover the windows with what are essentially planks of wood? Plunging the room into near total darkness literally invites sleep.

Oh and of course there is the air conditioning. Blissful cool air to chill the room and keep away the outside heat. It might be nearly 40 degrees outside, but it’s a soothing and sleep inducing 22 degrees in the room. Sure it might not be that environmentally friendly but so are a lot of other things. And besides it’s probably a price worth paying to avoid a sleep deprived grumpy Graeme being loose on the streets.

Yes I have truly embraced this particular part of Spanish life. I’m even considering make a suggestion to my company when I return to New Zealand to allow staff some time in the afternoon for a sneaky doze. I’m sure it will enhance productivity and make for a happier workplace environment. I could even build in the coats into my project budgets. Task code zzz. Everyone is a winner. Surely it’s worth a go?

There is an art to a successful Siesta and that is timing. It could be very easy to overdo it - with the room being so dark it’s easy to forget that there is still a part of the day to complete. And what a waste that would be - there are beautiful streets outside to wander through, and that vino won’t drink itself!

Citizen Graeme

A few years ago, borrowing a phrase from the Marx Brothers, I wrote that I wouldn’t join any club that would have me as a member. 

I lied. 

“What?” I hear you shout. Yes I can only imagine your surprise. But I did, sorry. In actual fact, if I’m being truly honest, I’d just about join any club that would have me. I’m not picky. Obviously there are limits. Political allegiances have to be chosen carefully, as do any that require an ongoing membership payment. I’m still smarting from the huge amounts of cash I forked out for the Britannia Music Club. Actually might still be paying for those six original cassettes I was sent. 

So naturally, when the opportunity arose to become a citizen of New Zealand, I jumped at the chance. You see, although I was already a permanent resident, I was frustrated with the limitation that I couldn’t represent New Zealand in an international sporting event. I am convinced that if it wasn’t for a few recurring injury niggles, I could easily become one of their key athletes. Maybe in athletics or football.  Yes, once I was a citizen I’d show Mr Jarvis my school PE teacher and part-time torturer just what I was capable of. 

If that wasn’t enough, Citizenship comes with a rather tasty black and silver embossed passport. Very cool.

There were no downsides as far as I could see. There was only the matter of filling out the application form, having some photos taken and handing over £750. And it could all be done online from the safety and comfort of an armchair. We’ll mostly.

Right then, the application form. This was a worry. What if I had to explain the rules of rugby or write down my favourite lamb recipe? That would be tricky. I have been to one rugby game in Aotearoa but didn’t really enjoy it - not helped by the fact that I didn’t have a clue what was going on. And lamb? Hate the stuff. 

Lying on an official form was undoubtedly guaranteed to get your application thrown out. If either of those two questions came up, I’d just have to do the only honest thing and consult Wikipedia.

As it turned out, the form was fairly straightforward, as most official things in New Zealand are. The hardest part was getting the web site’s facial recognition software to recognise me. It took several attempts in various different lighting locations to get it to work. Goodness knows what neighbours thought as I paraded up and down the street. I had decided that I needed to be smart for the photo so was wearing a shirt and jacket….. as well as pyjama bottoms.

Eventually it worked, and the application and supporting information was uploaded. Now I just had to wait. Months passed and my application didn’t appear to have moved anywhere in the virtual queue. At this rate, my application wouldn’t be assessed for at least six months, mostly because of the sudden increase in applications since the pandemic. I was in no rush, there were many more people in much more precarious situations I’m sure. And besides I was between athletic seasons. 

After a few months I’d stopped looking and eventually it slipped from my mind altogether. it would be assessed when it was assessed. It was a huge surprise, a few weeks later, to find an email in my inbox confirming acceptance of my application. That was it then. I was a New Zealand citizen!

If I’m being honest, it was a bit of an anticlimax. The email explained that because of restrictions that were in place because of the pandemic, there wouldn’t be the usual ceremony, and my certificate would arrive in a few days in the post. Arrive it did, but even this was a little….well…amateurish. It looked more like a photocopy than the important document that is was. Ahh well, it was only a bit of paper. I was a citizen and that was the important thing.

The final step was to apply for a New Zealand passport. Thankfully this was to be a quick process and only held up by the fact that I would be out of the country when it was processed. Because there was a risk that I wouldn’t be allowed back in whilst my passport was being printed, I had to wait until I was back from my travels before applying. Wouldn’t that be ironic - a citizen and can’t get back into the country because of an admin SNAFU.

Anyway, that’s all there was to it. Do I feel any different? I guess I do. A little anyway. I do have two passports now so it feels a little James Bond. It is an honour to be able to call myself a New Zealander and it’s something that I will treasure. As for the athletics career? Well it’s just typical that I’ve had an ankle injury since I became a Kiwi so I have ruled myself out for selection. No dramas, there’s always next year….

As Tasty AF

Although it's hard to recall now with any great certainty, but I think in general I drink more alcohol here in New Zealand that I used to when I was in the UK. Not necessarily in volume, but probably more regularly. It's not that I've been keeping a record or anything, but alcohol is served at many more occasions than it ever was back in Blighty. And so by extension, I must be drinking more often. Or maybe I'm just being precious and, as usual, thinking too much.

I was really surprised, when not long after I started work, there was a late afternoon client meeting in the office and, as well as the usual snacks and finger food, bottles of wine started to appear. And not just one or two but several and of different varieties. Maybe this is common place in some other industries, but in my experience not in engineering, and certainly not during the working day.

And then there is office drinks. In the company I work for, every second Friday the beer and wine fridge is opened at 5pm - yes there is a beer and wine fridge in the office kitchen area - and staff can come down and enjoy some beer, wine and food with the rest of the team. This practice is fairly commonplace in New Zealand and generally it's a lovely thing to do but there have been stories when things have gone a little too far. For example, after one such event several years ago, an employee decided to drive home after drinking more than their fair share and crashed their vehicle into a tree. No problem they thought, I'll just leave it here and come back in the morning and get it. Unfortunately for them, they were so unaware of their surroundings, that they didn't realise that they had barely driven 100m from the office and the tree they had crashed into was actually on the grounds of the adjacent primary school. Oh, and it if that wasn't enough, the car a company parking pass attached to the windscreen. This was not, I hasten to add, at our company but that of a competitor. 

In December 2014 the drink driving laws in New Zealand were tightened up - this resulted in numerous awareness campaigns being broadcast and in some cases, bars displaying posters advising how many beers you could have per hour and remain within the legal limit. I'm sure they thought this was being responsible but I have my doubts about their effectiveness. 

That's not to say that there wasn't an alcohol influence in the UK. I remember many occasions early in my career when we would go to the pub on a Friday lunchtime and wander....actually make that stagger....back in to the office sometime around 3pm. But that was back in the good old days in the early 90s when it didn't really matter. Or did it? Nah, who cares if some of the designs prepared were fuelled by lunchtime drinking...actually thinking about it, that might explain some of the horrendous road junction designs that have been built. The general UK population was in no danger from me anyway - I tended to doze through the rest of Friday afternoons and so did very little work. What can I say, I was young and very easily led and you absolutely didn't leave the pub until the boss did!

On the whole though, New Zealand doesn't seem to have a binge drinking issue, random issues on a Friday evening aside, it's just that it's more readily available. And hence why I think I imbibe on a more frequent basis. I'm not saying that I have an issue or anything, but it is something of which I have become increasingly more aware. One part of me thinks so what, it's not like I'm putting beer on my cereals or anything - although I did try that once as a hangover cure after a particular heavy New Year's Eve in Edinburgh - but there is a small niggle at the back of my mind that makes me wonder.....

If the prevalence of alcohol wasn't enough, New Zealand's beer is much stronger than average. Take our local bar as an example, the weakest beer they have on tap is Guinness at 4.2% and it's about as Irish as me - it's brewed just down the road at the Lion Brewery. Most of the other beers served at our local start at around 5% and increase in strength to a syrupy 9%. And most are very deceptive and certainly don't taste as strong as they are. This might be due to the fact that New Zealand beer is typically served at throat numbingly cold temperatures - even the glasses are kept in the fridge to make sure it arrives at your table as cold as it was when it left the tap. It's just the way we like it, or at least that's what I've been told. But make no mistake, mistake a heady brew for a session beer and you'll soon be wondering why your legs won't carry you in the direction you want to go....when you eventually get up from the table that is. 

There is one blessing, a safety net if you like, and this is that it is illegal for any pub licensee to serve to inebriated people, and that extends to the entire group. So, if one person in the group drinks past their limit, the whole group won't get served. Further at large events, such as sporting events and concerts, there is another level of control - the volume that can be served to an individual is managed on an hour by hour basis. How does that work? Well initially they may be no limits, or the limits are very generous - say four drinks per person. But if there is a hint that some in the crowd might be getting too tipsy, then the grip is tightened and the tap is turned off a little - so the limit might become one drink per person. And so the flow of alcohol fluctuates as the evening progresses. This did lead to an odd situation when we attended a concert at a local vineyard only to find that the distribution of wine to the crowd had been turned off. Imagine a vineyard not being able to sell it's own wine to the punters. They were lucky there wasn't a riot!

So why am I telling you all this? Well because I was conscious that I may be drinking more than I should, I've been experimenting with Alcohol Free (AF) beer, and I have to say that it's been an eye opener. I wasn't expecting much - my experience with AF beer from the past has been less that satisfactory. In fact water was more palatable than the AF beers I have tried in the past. There was more beer flavour in the beer bottle sweets we used to each as kids. But surely, things have moved on I thought? I found a company in New Zealand that specialised is such things and ordered a box of 30 different types of AF beers and, as this was one of my projects, naturally I had to create a spreadsheet to track the beers that I was trying and score them.

I am pleased to report that all 30 beers were a vast improvement on AF beers from the past - they all had flavour and actually tasted like beer. Some were even better, had a lovely bitterness and I swear that on a blind tasting it would be hard to discern the difference between an AF version and a normal beer. 

Since I started this experiment, I have also noticed that supermarkets usually have a shelf or two dedicated to AF products and it has even appeared in some bars on tap.  In fact the tap beers are so good that I have had to check that I have been given the correct one.  Don't worry, I haven't gone all puritanical and given up on regular beer, but it is nice to have the option from time to time.

So without further ado, here are my top five AF beers. Yes and they are all as tasty AF!

Brewery	Name	Comments
Good George	VR NonAlc Hazy IPA	Wow - had to ask the server to make sure it was the AF version. Got it on draft from Good George bar
De Haalve Man	Bruges Sport Zot	Smells like a Belgian beer, tastes like a Belgian beer so must be a Belgian beer. Remarkable that this is AF
Drop Bear Beer	Tropical IPA	Wonderful! Tastes just like the real thing. Nice and crisp taste with good hoppyness.
UNLTD	IPA	Lovely sharp bitter taste - crisp on the tongue. Very refreshing.  Fruity with a long, hoppy finish. Delicious.
Weihenstephaner	Hefe weissbier	When the Germans get in on the act you know it must be a good thing.

Tasty AF? You bet!

Anywhere but here

Okay so it’s about time I just face facts and admit it…..Easter in New Zealand sucks.

I know I will have mentioned this before, but to recap, it just doesn’t work. In the northern hemisphere Easter is a spring celebration, enjoying the rebirth of nature, flowers blooming and days getting longer. Here it is the exact opposite; nights drawing in, arrival of autumn and summer plants receding. The only saving grace is that it isn’t cold. Not yet. At least not up in Auckland anyhow. But why celebrate darkness and the coming of winter? 

I can get on board with a summer Christmas - it’s odd enough to be enjoyable. And besides, the sun helps get over the fact that it’s nearly thirty degrees out and people are dressed in Santa costumes. Heck, I even don’t mind Halloween being in spring even if it does kind of take the edge of the spook-fest by being sunny and bright. Nah Easter sucks.

But it’s not just being in the wrong season that makes it a tough sell with me. It’s everything else.

Our first Easter in New Zealand didn’t go as planned. We decided to take advantage of the long weekend and flew down to Christchurch. Maybe we could’ve chosen another destination but I don’t think it would have made much difference. The simple matter is that we just weren’t prepared. How we were supposed to know that everything shuts on Good Friday and Easter Sunday? Want a beer or wine to celebrate the long weekend? Well you can have one glass of wine or beer with a meal but that’s it. If you fancy going on a bit of a bender, then buckle up. Or rather don’t buckle up, because you’re going to need to have the stomach for it. Just think about it. For every drink you have to buy a full priced meal. And it’s firmly enforced for fear of severe penalties for any establishment caught flouting the law. We know from experience - trying to convince a sceptical bar tender that you always only eat crisps for your evening meal isn’t going to work.

The final straw that first year was hiking miles across town to a bar that we thought might be far enough away to allow us to buy a beer without the need for a three course meal. It was so far out of town it was literally the wrong side of the tracks. Nope. Nothing doing so we admitted defeat and headed back to the hotel. We had a very dry and uneventful weekend in Christchurch I can tell you, to the point where it prejudiced our view of the city for years to come. 

If the lack of beverage options wasn’t enough, then tendency for one of us to get ill during the four day break puts the tin hat on it.

Last year it was Covid which struck us down on the Saturday of the Easter weekend. This year it was the turn of another less famous but equally effective virus. We both felt like we’ve been hit by a truck. The only silver lining is that as everything was shut, there was nothing worth being well enough for anyway. Oh and we had to cancel our plans to go camping. So not all bad. My goodness, the thought of being unwell under canvas….reminds me of one year in Coniston where I spent the night sleeping in a ditch because it was closer to the toilet block. Urrgghh!

Some say illness is brought on by the change in the seasons but I’m not sure that’s it. Some say that because it’s the first break since Christmas, as soon as your body senses a slowing of pace it shuts down for some rest as well. Maybe that’s it.

So what are the options then? Don’t take a break and work the whole way through? That’s unthinkable. Maybe we should’ve learnt our lesson from the first year and not travelled? Nah sod that. The only option for next year is to be anywhere but here…..

Bye baby, baby, bye, bye

If there is a true art form in New Zealand, it’s dentistry. Wait……give me a chance. Come back. But it’s true, somehow dentistry in Aotearoa is head and shoulders above all of the other medical practices. (See what I did there.) Except maybe physiotherapy. But then I would say that - I’ve had more bad muscles than I have bad teeth. Actually that probably says more about my choice of leisure activity than it does about the standard of my oral hygiene.

Anyway I digress. Where was I? Ah yes, Dentistry in New Zealand. Right. So as I was saying, dental care in New Zealand is really something. When we first arrived here, I thought I’d just not bother with it. A couple of years without seeing a dentist regularly shouldn’t be a problem. I have, after all, had a relatively trouble free set of gnashers. Sure I’ve had the odd filling here and there, and the occasional extraction, but overall nothing to write home about.

But as our stay became extended, eventually I gave in and so booked an appointment at our nearest practice. Boy was I in for a shock! What I was used to was an appointment lasting maybe ten minutes. Fifteen on the outside….. Not an hour and a half. Yes you read that correctly. Ninety-sodding-minutes. What I hadn’t factored into the equation was that it was actually two appointments in one. First with the hygienist, where the teeth are given a bit of TLC, and then a check up by the dentist. It’s a long process that's for sure. 

I suppose it does make sense. Why waste the dentist’s time on scraping and polishing when they should be looking for faults. It doesn’t take a mechanic to wash your car after all.  And all that attention doesn’t come cheap - at least on the occasion of my first visit, the dentist didn’t take a sharp intake of breath and say “Oohh, that’s going to cost you mate!”. Or if he did I didn’t hear it - I was too busy worrying about getting out of there before nightfall and wondering if I should have brought pyjamas.

That was many years ago now so I’ve gotten used to the process. Allow plenty of time, wear comfortable clothing and maybe get a loan pre-approved. Thankfully my healthy gob trend has continued in New Zealand. Or last it had until last week when I lost a tooth. Well not exactly lost. Let me explain. You see it all started late last year…..

Oddly, I’ve had a constant companion in the mouth department - a baby tooth that didn’t want to leave the nest so to speak. It’s been there through my school days, college and university, and was there when I started my first job. Obviously I care for my teeth so well that it just didn’t want to go. But as it approached its fiftieth year, things started to go a bit wobbly. You could say a bit doddery. So it’s fair to say that in the last couple of years it's been more of a hindrance than an asset.

In fact it was getting so loose I started to think about alternatives - something to fill the gap should I lose my faithful companion. An implant seemed to be the best option until I found out that I would need a bone graft for it to work. And the most suitable building material for that graft? Swiss cow bone. Yes the bones of a bovine. I wasn't sure at first if it was a wind up or just a rouse to pump up the price. After all nothing from Switzerland comes cheap. Whatever the reason, it was off-putting. And what if there we’re side effects? Doesn’t bear thinking about.

So I was resolved. I decided to be undecided. I  and my little trooper would soldier on…..

At least that was the plan. Unfortunately a bowl of muesli had other ideas. Last week I was tucking into my morning my cereal and…ouch! It was one bite too far for the little fella. After an emergency trip to the dentist I was a few grams lighter and several hundred dollars worse off.

That gap in my life is nothing to the gap in my mouth. It feels huge! Like the Grand Canyon of the mouth world. A deep as it is wide. Even now I can imagine that there is a dare devil blob of bacteria planning an audacious stunt to jump across the chasm…. I need to get out more. Sometime I forget and get a shock when I notice the absence. I suppose it'll save a bit on teeth cleaning.

People tell me it isn’t bad, it’s hardly noticeable at all really. As long as I don’t smile or talk. Hhmmm, maybe cow bone isn’t too bad after all......