It's the vibe of the thing

There's something really comforting about arriving into a place late in the evening and knowing exactly how it works. Like popping on a favourite pair of slippers, a snug cardie or entering a warm house from a cold frosty day. Yes, I can just about remember what those were like.

Not that it was at all cold, or even cool for that matter, when we rolled into Raglan last night after an arduous journey from Auckland in peak hour 'bank holiday' weekend traffic. Yes it may have taken nearly four hours to travel a distance that, under normal circumstances, would only take two but it's worth it. It always is. You see for us, Raglan is our bolt-hole. A place where we can come and totally switch off, unwind and relax. It's our go-to place. A home-from-home-from-home if you like. 

So why here? Why do we return, time and time again? What is it that attracts us back to this little coastal town?  I've never really thought about it until now. I thought it was, you know, just like the vibe. But if I had to put my finger on it and really think about it, well here are ten of my favourite things, a love letter to this little piece of paradise....

1/. Catching the Waves

It has to start here. Forget the 'Welcome to Raglan' sign because you know you've really arrived when you can finally pick up the signal from the pulsing radio station Raglan fm. Broadcasting to the nation.... well via the internet at least. It's fair to say that the analog signal is not that powerful, a few km out from the town and that's your lot, but that makes it all the more special and a real sign that you have arrived and the weekend has stated.

And, if you arrive when we normally do, you'll be treated to some of the best dub-reggae there is. For from 7.00pm (ish) to 9:00pm on a Friday it's Reggae Rodeo with Red Robin. There is nothing more powerful to put you in a holiday weekend state of

mind than a bit of late day sun and some early evening reggae.

 

2/. The Sea

Yes it may be an obvious one as Raglan is on the coast, but the ocean here is really something special. Being on the west coast of New Zealand the sea comes roaring into the beach - which is what makes Raglan the surfers' paradise that it surely is. 

Not that I am a surfer mind. I've only tried it once, off the coast of the Gower Peninsula in Wales, and that was enough for me. It's a lot of hard word for seemingly little reward. Thinking about it I could've saved a lot of time and energy and just drank several gallons of sea water without even bothering to put on a wetsuit.

Having sand bar gives the town the best of everything; a calm tidal lagoon to relax and splash in, and a roaring monster in which to risk life and limb. A walk along the black sands from the town out to the breakers is quite something as the quote calm gives way to the roar of the might of the Pacific Ocean.

 

3/. A Bridge too Far?

Just as Raglan is a town of the sea, it is also the town of bridges. Well two in particular. And they couldn't be more different if they tried.

Raglan Bridge, or to give it its proper name Te Kopua Bridge, is a local legend. Although it had been rebuilt relatively recently, it is still the local hotspot for kids of all ages. From sun-up to sun-down people congregate on the bridge and participate in the Kiwi pastime of bombing. Even as I write this, as the sun sets on another gorgeous day and from the comfort of our patio, the air is full of distant giggles, laughter and the distinctive thwop as bodies collide with the water below. 

I must admit that I am a Raglan Bridge virgin. I've never plucked up the courage to leap off into the water below. One of these days I will have to give it a go, maybe one early morning when no one is looking and well before the first kid arrives on the bridge. I certainly wouldn't do it from the second of the two famous bridges in Raglan.....

To be fair, I wouldn't have far to fall and I'm not exactly sure that the bridge railings would take my weight. It'd be more of a trip than a jump. Goodness knows how this plywood contraption ever got allowed to be opened to the general public. It looks like something an over enthusiastic dad built for his kids in the garden than a piece of useable infrastructure. But it's very New Zealand and very Raglan. Like I said, it's

more of a vibe thing.

 

 

4/. Raglan's Roasting

If coffee is your thing, and I appreciate that it's not everyone's cup of tea, then I am led to believe that Raglan has the best coffee in New Zealand. It must be true because I've heard that from two different people and they both seem to know their coffee. Obviously I can't substantiate that, other than to say it's very good, but I'll get back to you when I've tried the rest.....

 

 

5/. Dough Nut

If the coffee wasn't enough, then the bread should be. If Raglan can't lay claim to having the best bread in New Zealand, is then it can certainly state, without and risk of opposition, that it has the smallest bread shop in New Zealand. Sandwiched (sorry) between a TradeAid shop and a gift shop, the little shop dispenses delicious home made bread between the hours of 9ish and until they sell out. And with bread this nice it doesn't take long.

 

6/. Sunsets and Wines

What Raglan loses in sunrises it more than compensates in the sunset department. Some of the best sunsets I have seen, definitely in New Zealand but even perhaps the world, have been from the Orca Bar in Raglan. What better way is there to celebrate the end of another great day than to sip a drink and watch the sunset? Winter, summer or somewhere in between, they never cease to impress. Unless of course if it's peeing down. Which never happens..... Well not often!

 

7/. A Bit Fruity

It was something of a discovery when we first tried real fruit ice creams. They're all over New Zealand now, seemingly having sprung up almost overnight. But the first we tried was of course in Raglan. It's a simple concept; just combine a cup of real fruit with vanilla ice cream and mix into a sugar cone. Delicious and it has the added advantage that it counts towards one of your 5-a-day. Well maybe....

8/. Raglan Time

Just like an old Wild West town, where guns where confiscated at the entrance, so it is with Raglan. Except they're not confiscating weapons but watches. Or at least they ought to. Timekeeping is not really all that essential in Raglan. Sure, you need to know roughly what time the bar opens and an approximate sense of what part of the day it is wouldn't go amiss. But that's about it. Raglan time is certainly 'ish' time.

If keeping to a schedule is more your thing then this little town is definitely not for you. Go to one of the bigger urban areas and immerse yourself in the rush and push of city life. And don't forget to get uppity when a bus is a minute later than the timetable. I promise you'll feel much more at home.

Me? Well I like a nice schedule as much as the next person but it is nice to switch off once in a while. And I mean proper switch off. Well for three days at least.

9/. I Get All the News I Need from the Weather Report

And did you know that Raglan has its own newspaper? Well it does. It doesn't quite have the circulation of the New York Times but it does have the advantage that it's free. Established in 1903 this weekly community newspaper reports on everything Raglan based. International news doesn't get a look-in, thankfully. After all why would you want to spoil a relaxing weekend by reading the disasters that are unfolding outside the town's borders. And I'm not just talking about football scores. Exactly.

10/. Harbouring a Beer

Whilst Raglan doesn't have its own brew, it does have some pretty cool places in which to drink other's outpourings. Like the rest of NZ, the beer in Raglan is served super cold and it's all the better for it. Even the glass is chilled. When the sun is blazing and the temperatures are rising, a cool beer is just the ticket.

And there is no better place to enjoy a pint or two than the Harbour View Hotel. The place has a real western feel to it, and if you can nab a seat on the veranda you can almost imagine horses being tied to the hitching post. Just don't expect a view of the sea. I've yet to work out why the place was given the name it was. Admittedly the sea isn't far away, no more than a few minutes stroll, but the building is facing the wrong way. The only chance you have of seeing a boat bobbing whilst enjoying a well earned beer is if a boatie drives up the street with his craft in tow.

 

Well that's about it but I could go on. I haven't mentioned Karioi Mountain, kayaking, great fish and chips, the harbour ferry or the wonderful airport. Well airport is perhaps overstating it a little bit. You're not going to see 747s landing here anytime soon but it's entertaining to watch the light aircraft landing in what it essentially a grass field. 

I'll leave those stories and others for next time. And I'm pretty sure that there will be a next time. I've only

been back in Auckland a few days and I can already feel the pull of the town....

On the Brink

I know I do, on occasion, tend towards exaggeration but yesterday I witnessed what can only be described as the deep chasm of anarchy. "What, in Auckland?" I hear you say. Don't believe me, then read on.....

It is quite easy, in these tumultuous times, to assume that we are all going to hell on a handcart, or some other wooden wheeled contraption. Actually, come to think of it, if I was to go to the warmer of the two afterlifes, you couldn't pick a better mode of transport than a handcart. Yes, if I'm heading somewhere where I don't particularly want to go, then it's a slow and unreliable mode of transport for me.

So I've digressed. Again. Back to the point.

Yes, it's quite easy to come to the conclusion that we are all heading for disaster. Markets flutter seemingly at the sight of a slightest risk. Financial markets mind you, not the retail kind. Which also flutter but it's usually due to a stiff breeze and not some megalomaniacal leader in a big house. Not only markets but we all seem to be eyeing each other with suspicion and wondering who is going to react first. Technically you can't react first, as the definition of a reaction requires something to happen in order for it to be reacted to. I guess that just goes to show how jittery people are when they are even considering a pre-emptive reaction. Hhhmmm. Anyway, let's just agree that the world appears to be on a knife edge and leave it at that.....

What? Oh, yes the chasm of anarchy. That's where I came in but I appear to gone off the point. Sorry.

Right. The chasm of anarchy. You see last night Auckland was fortunate enough to have the rather splendid PJ Harvey within it's city limits and I, being appreciate of her music, decided to go along and see her an her band perform songs from her latest release. All was going swimmingly; I found the venue, parked the car and bought a pie and a packet of crisps from the canteen - we are quite civilised here in New Zealand when it comes to live entertainment.

Being of an age, I had decided to purchase tickets for the seating area and so I obediently went up the stairs and found my allocated seat. It wasn't difficult and just a case of matching the row letter with the seat number. I am regularly surprise to see how often people find this concept of alpha-numerical system of seat assignments so difficult, be it a concert, cinema or aeroplane. In this case, people seemed to take an age debating whether they had the right row, seat or even if this was the place they were supposed to be at in the first place. I did wonder that very thought when I glanced along my row to see an elderly couple sat starting out at the sea of people. Security is quite tight these days so I assume they were at the correct concert and not wondering why so many people were dressed in leather to see Richard Clayderman.

Anyway, after a few wrong turns and heated debate about the seat assignments, people eventually settled down to watch the concert. Or at least I thought they had. Then it all started to kick off'

"Excuse me, I think you have the wrong seat," a bearded man said to the couple in the row in front of me
"Yes we do but you see someone has sat in our seats so we just sat here," came the response.
"I see, but these are our seats," came the reply, quite inevitably
"Well there are still plenty of others so just pick another," the wrongly-seated couple offered.

The advice was taken and so another couple sat in the incorrectly allocated seats. This wasn't going to end well.

Predictably, another few people arrived to find that their seats had also been commandeered by a displaced customer and they, like those before them, sloped off to find an empty set of seats. The ball was really rolling now, as more and more people were unable to take their seats as displaced people had occupied their spot. Tensions were rising as people feared that there would not be enough room for everybody and voices were starting to be raised and fists clenched. The venues security team were called in to try and placate people and resolve the issue.

"Sir, can you please move to your correct seat," one particularly burly guard suggested
"I'd love to but someone is already sat in it and won't move," came the response, "If you can free our seats we'll happily move but otherwise we're not budging!".

A rather brave response I must say given the size of the guard.

The security guard set off to find the offending person and was never seen again. I must say, for the record, that I was sat in the correct seat and was enjoying the spectacle safe in the knowledge that I had followed the rules and done nothing wrong. Not that would have been any comfort to me if it all went biblical, so to speak. I was sat right in the middle of the action and was in no place to feel smug and safe at the same time.

"Those are our seats, please move."

The bearded man was back and having another go at reclaiming his seats.

"Oh you again. Sod off and find another!"

Yikes, it really was going to get rough in here. And the concert had not even started yet. I started to consider my options. Should I stay put and risk getting caught in the cross-fire, despite knowing that I was in the right? Maybe I should make a hasty retreat and go and stand on the ground floor with the rest of the great unwashed. No damn it! I'd chosen a while ago that I wanted to have a seat and have a seat I would, even if it cost me my front teeth. I would take the moral high ground and stay put. Actually I sunk as low as I could into my seat and hoped the whole thing would just blow over....

...and as the house lights went down and PJ came onto the stage people cut their losses and sat down. Phew! Little did PJ know but she had disarmed the situation and peace had returned to the provinces. Or at least the dress circle for which I was mightily relieved.

But what is it that makes someone decide that they can just sit anywhere, despite clearly having been allocated a particular seat? Is it arrogance, ignorance or a mixture of both? Why do they thing that they have more rights than anyone else. Presumably their seat was not to their liking so they took someone else's? Maybe theirs was a bit cramped and they needed more room? Or perhaps they just wanted to cause trouble?

Without sounding all British, seat allocations are there for a reason. To allocate seats to people who have bought tickets and systematically dole out space. It's a fair and simple system - those who get tickets early can choose where they want to sit, safe in the knowledge that the seat will be there waiting for you. Leave it a bit too late and you get whatever is left, thankful in the knowledge that you were lucky to get a ticket at all. A soon as someone decides that they don't want to following these rules, and that they are simply above all that nonsense, then it's not hard to see that we are just a stone throw off from sheer anarchy. Once the genie is out of the bottle it's not going to be easy to put it in again.

I can understand why to break the convention would be quite tempting. Someone else has something that you want and feel entitled to - after all you arrived here first. If they are too lazy to get here on time, or want to waste time queuing at the bar then more fool them. They deserve to lose their seat. It's their own fault and they deserve everything they get. Just let them try and move me! Ha! I'll show them. This is my land now and there is nothing they or anyone can do about it.......

.....wait we are still talking about concert seats aren't we?......

Everything you wanted to know about the Inca Trail but were too afraid to ask

Walking the four day Inca Trail, even ignoring the fact that you arrive into the stunning Machu Picchu, must surely be one of the great walks this planet has to offer.

Maybe that is euphoria speaking, as I have just returned to the hotel and had my first warm shower in four days, but I don't think so. The 42km route climbs through some stunning Andean scenery, tropical forests and mountain passes before dropping down to the ruins of the old Inca settlement at Machu Picchu.

Tempted? Before you make up your mind please permit me to share some of the things that I have learned....

The High Life

Most of the trek takes place at a seriously high altitude, in comparison to where most people live anyway. For those that spend their lives at or near sea level just moderate exercise at these heights is.... well let's say interesting. 

The Inca Trail never drops below 2,430m above sea level and that is only on the last day. Most of the route is above 3,000m and the highest point is a lung-busting 4,215m. I found that walking uphill at these heights made me feel like an asthmatic ant with a particularly heavy bag of shopping.

The only way to deal with it, besides allowing yourself a few days to acclimatise before putting on your walking boots, is to take it easy and listen to your body. The last few steps to the top of the route I was reduced to walking a few steps and then resting. Frustratingly, the top never seemed to get any closer despite shouts of encouragement from my fellow trekkers.

 

At 4,215m this is a high point of the trip.... literally!

Step Class

Eddie Cochran got it seriously wrong when he suggested that there were three steps to heaven. I lost count after the first few hours on the first day of just how many steps I had climbed. Certainly more than three and I was nowhere near heaven at this point. The Incas certainly liked their steps and I you don't then this hike is not for you. Steps up and steps down, many at a near vertiginous angle. Looking down at some of these flights of stairs, I wondered to myself exactly where I would stop if I tripped. I didn't like the answer I gave to myself.

 

One of the less steep sections

 

These go on for over two hours whilst descending 1,000m

Stick and Stones....well mostly Stones

And when there weren't steps to negotiate, the majority of the path surface was covered in stones. All different sizes and at different angles. The Incas could build amazingly straight walls but their path making skills left something to be desired. Maybe they should have invested in some Yorkstone paving?

The unevenness of the surface wouldn't be a problem except for the precipitous drops at the side of the path. Jutting rocks and awkward angles are just waiting to catch out the unsuspecting hiker.....

 

Narrow ledge with drop just out of shot.....but it's there!

Travel Light

Most people, and I was no exception, undertake the journey as part of an organised group. Whilst the porters carry most of the load, you still need to carry the essentials for a day of mountainous hiking; warm clothing, waterproofs etc. Add to this two litres of water, essential to keep altitude sickness at bay, and the weight of the pack soon adds up. Think twice before chucking in a make-up bag or that 'essential' guidebook to Peru. Every ounce counts.

Supermen aka The Porters

And whilst we are in the subject of loads, a mention has to go to the Porters. These guys are amazing. Not only do they carry the tents, mattresses, sleeping bags and spare clothing of the trekkers, they also carry four days worth of food, seats, marquees, plates, cutlery, napkins and even table cloths. Impressive enough, but then consider that they run ahead to make sure everything is set up for your arrival at the lunch stops and the campsite at the end of each day. 

The applause they all give when you arrive at each resting point seems a little misplaced and I couldn't help but applaud back at the sheer amount of effort they had put in. These guys really are superhuman. The only thing missing were capes. 

Which brings me onto the sensitive subject of tipping. Whatever value you decide to put on their efforts, and it is a personal choice, just remember that they do this on a minimum wage. Each Porter receives 200 Peruvian Soles for the four day trip, or to put it in an easier perspective, around £20. Feeling generous? You should be!

 

The whole team

The Magic Tent

Ahhh, the Magic Tent. You will develop a love-hate relationship with this piece of camping equipment for  'Magic Tent' is the affectionate name give to the toilet tent. Well I say toilet, but you are faced with when unzipping the door, other than a rather fruity aroma, is two buckets. One for liquid and the other for more solid deposits. Admittedly they do both have seats, but the effect is still the same; you pee or poo into a bucket. 

The morning ritual, at least for me, was always approached with some trepidation. Not knowing what to expect when the door was unzipped and the respective lids lifted, and the sheer delight when it became apparent that you were the first to christen the receptacles. It's the small things in life. Learning to take a two stage approach to evacuations took some getting used too - it was important not to mix liquids and solids - and unnecessary prolonged the time spent in the Magic Tent. This was not a place to linger so banish any thoughts of getting through another chapter of your book or finishing another level of Candy Crush. Get in and get out. As quickly as possible.

Rooms with a View

An honourable mention has to go to the campsites. They are spectacular. Not in terms of facilities - there aren't any - but in terms of their locations. Being perched high up in the mountains at 3,000m whilst watching the sun set is a magical experience. When it isn't raining that is. 

The campsites at Paq'aymayo and Winayhuayna are something to behold. What they lack in physical space, they more than make up for in view. Just be careful when you exit your tent - the narrow ledges that are used for the camping ground are not very forgiving for the unwary. Just as well that there are no bars or shops selling alcohol.

 

View from the camping ledge at Winayhuayna

Early to Bed, Early to Rise

If anyone is thinking about catching up on sleep whilst trekking, this is not the route for you. For most of the mornings were were up and hiking by 7:00am whilst the Porters dismantled the campsite. This was not a problem as, mainly due to the lack of daylight and sheer exhaustion from the previous day, we were tucked up in our sleeping bags by 7:00pm. 

The last day however, the final approach to Machu Picchu, we were woken at 3:30am and on the trail by 5:30am. Hardly a restful holiday. 

The early mornings were made somewhat easier by being served coca tea in bed. Well in sleeping bags anyway. This was usually followed by a bowl of hot water to wash away the cobwebs. Coca tea is an essential part of the day. Not only does it contain a fair helping of caffeine, it also allegedly wards off altitude sickness. Does it? Well I drank plenty of it and was absolutely fine so maybe there is some truth in it. And yes, coca tea uses coca leaves, the exact same ingredient to cocaine, albeit in much higher concentrations. 

Coca is used in a whole range of products and I munched my way through several packets of coca toffees. Purely for the prevention of altitude sickness, honest.

Guiding Lights

Each trekking party, whether it's part of an organised group or not, must have an official guide for the duration of the trip. Not only will these keep you from getting into grief, they are also an essential source of information. Our guide, Victor, was on hand to answer any question, no matter how trivial or obvious, and helped make the kilometres tick by.

He was also on hand to help one of our group when he got serious altitude sickness. He went a funny shade of blue, developed a crushing headache and had to lie on the ground whilst the worst of the symptoms passed. Victor, and his assistant guide Katy, nursed him back to health over the course of the day and managed to get him to camp that night in one piece, shaken from the experience maybe but ready to tackle the next day.

Road to Ruin

One of the most amazing things about the trail is that every couple of hours there is another Inca settlement to enjoy. Rain or shine. These places never fail to amaze as the sheer majesty of these hillside structures leave a permanent impression. Yes they may not be as old as Roman settlements but what they lack in age they make up in sheer ingenuity.

Questions circle; why here? How did they transport the store? How did they plan the site? I know that is the engineer in me talking but these mountain settlements are wonderous. 

 

Inca ruins at Winaywayna

Machu Picchu

At last, I hear you wonder. Although the end game of this whole adventure are the magnificent ruins of Machu Picchu, it is the journey that's the most important. Yes, a cliche maybe, but it's true. 

But having said that, nothing quite prepares you for the first sight of this place. We arrived at the Sun Gate at around 6:30am and there, laid out before us was the once great city of Machu Picchu. Jaws dropped and tears welled up, partly because of the exertion that had been expended over the last few days but mostly because of the awesome sight. There is no other word that would be appropriate.

Luckily, despite it being the wet season, it was a clear morning and we could see the whole of Machu Picchu and beyond it the Andes Mountains and Amazon rainforest. Spectacular and frightening drops were visible on each side of the settlement with the river and rail line far below.

Although we were there early, visitors who had opted to get the bus from Machu Picchu town were already filing through the entrance gates. It was hard not to view them with some disdain for they hadn't struggled over the mountain passes and fought altitude sickness. Ah well, each to their own.

Whichever mode of transportation you decide to take, and from wherever you have travelled, the journey is worth it and I can't think of another historical site that invoked the same emotion. Stonehenge perhaps or maybe Hadrian's Wall. 

 

The Inca settlement of Machu Picchu 

 

Seriously impressive stonework. 

The End of the Line

Finally, an honourable mention has to go to Machu Picchu town. It is overshadowed, both physically and reputationally by the ruins above, but it is well worth spending a few hours here before hearing back to Cusco. It is reminiscent of a Swiss alpine village, such as Murren or Wengen, and is a great place to relax and mull over the achievements of the past few days whilst enjoying a drink and a hot meal. Just try and get a seat somewhere near an open window as you may put fellow diners off their food with your personal aroma!

From here, trains run back up the valley to Cusco over a relaxing four hour journey. Sit back and enjoy the ride. 

 

The only thing missing is the sound of cow bells

So there you have it. Still tempted to give it a go? You should be. Despite the basic facilities, altitude early mornings and exhaustion you will experience it is still a worthwhile trip and something that I won't forget in a hurry. 

You will meet some interesting people along the way, see fabulous views (even in the rain) and explore magnificent Inca ruins, marvelling at their ingenuity and skill.