Anniversary

Anniversaries are a strange thing. Giving pause to look back; challenges overcome, moments experienced and achievements.... errr.... achieved. Very rarely do they make one look ahead. Which is probably a good thing. Who knows what the reaction would be. No, best stick with the past. For one it's a lot clearer and for another it's done. No more energy required. Completed.

So why this sudden urge to be all retrospective? Well just a few days ago we passed our first anniversary of being in New Zealand. I know, I can hardly believe it myself. A whole year. Gone. Just like that. In fact, we'd already passed some other significant milestones on the way to this one; one year since quitting our UK jobs, one year since we moved out of our house, one year since we started sofa surfing and a year since we took off and left UK soil. 

We celebrated our first anniversary by walking to the Domain and having an ice cream, just like we did on our first weekend proper in Auckland. We looked around as we licked our salted caramel treats, and saw ourselves in the same place a year ago, remembering being amazed we'd made it this far..... and had the same feeling. Weren't we just the coolest cats?

So at the risk of sounding like one of those New Year television programs - you know the ones that review the events of the past twelve months - here are some of the highlights and lowlights;

Highlights

• Finding a lovely place to live 
• Meeting up with friends
• Sitting on Auckland's stunning beaches
• Settling in to a new workplace and making new friends
• The climate
• Kiwis
• Out stuff arriving from the UK - in one piece. 
• Sneaky side trips - Sydney for a weekend!
• Tahiti
• The Kepler Track
• 'Discovering' Moa beer
• Elbow at the Powerstation
• Joining a new running club
• Rekindling a love for the cinema (could be just the wine though)
• The regional and local parks
• Flowers
• Birds
• Mountains
• Lakes
• and of course pies

Lowlights

• Saying goodbye to friends and family
• Living out of a suitcase for two months
• Saying goodbye to new friends.
• Auckland rain (not very often but boy can it rain)
• Finding a lovely, but sometimes cold, place to live in
• Having to work for a living when it feels like we should be on holiday
• Actually looking forward to going to work when it's either too hot or too cold at home.
• The TV programmes - OMG what are they thinking?

And many more. It's like the past year just passed in front of my eyes.  So what now? What will the coming twelve months bring? One thing is for certain, it's going to be interesting....

Stranded!

Now I can appreciate that most people would view being stranded on a tropical island as not a particularly huge problem, assuming of course that there was a plentiful supply of water, food and wifi, but I am. And it is actually thank you very much.

Putting aside the fact that no-one is going to believe me, especially my work colleagues, it has put a crimp on my plans. Being in work tomorrow for one and having clean clothes. And the day was going all so well....

After a lovely morning lounging around we finally got ourselves ready, breakfasted and headed around the island towards the airport. After stopping a few times en-route (see how I cleverly slipped a bit of French in there!) to admire the view of the lagoon and the waves breaking out at sea on the coral barrier, we arrived at the airport far too early - even for us. We have a habit of overestimating how long things are going to take; driving to the airport, dropping of the hire car, checking in and so forth that we usually spend a good chunk of our holiday actually in the airport, wandering around and chastising ourselves, once again, for setting off far too early. Today was no exception, although our arrival was hastened by the fact that it had decided to rain hard and that, it being a Sunday an' all, there were no restaurants open for business. With nearly four hours to kill we were certainly in no danger of missing our flight. At least we were in the shelter of the airport whilst a rain storm of biblical proportions played out outside.

But it was all good - we had some snacks, reading matter and a comfortable seat. Which was a good job as we were about to find out. Now don't get me wrong, I quite like airport departure lounges. As well as the anticipation of a journey yet to take, there are shops, cafes and people. People watching is one of the most entertaining things to do in departure lounges. They are a weird bunch. Take the guy, for example, who was fashioning a 'rat's tail' hair cut and was wearing a t-shirt that broadly boasted 'This is my going out shirt'. Or at least that's what I think it said. It was hard to tell with the martial being stretched to breaking point across his beer belly. I wonder if his wife liked it? She was a very slim and attractive southeast Asian woman. Now I'm not going to jump to any conclusions so I'll stop right there. There was also the usual couple who, when faced with the news that their bags were over the weight limit, proceeded to argue their case with the terminal staff. It wasn't going well and I have to say that questioning their parenthood was not perhaps the most tactful approach. After at least thirty minutes they accepted defeat and coughed up, all the while mumbling about having flown all around the world and suggesting that Air New Zealand were once part of the Third Reich. The ironic thing, and it wasn't wasted on the rest of the queue judging by the looks they were getting, was that they were in the Express Check-In lane.

Yes, time was passing nicely and it was nearly our allotted boarding time. But something was up. The plane that we were supposed to be getting on was not on its stand. Ah, but the board still had the flight showing as being on time so all was good. Back to the people....

Now I'm no expert in aviation planning but I do suspect that you actually need an aeroplane to get onto in order to begin boarding. It would be a horrible charade otherwise. Our boarding time had been and gone and we were still sat, on the thankfully comfortable, departure lounge seats. We had now been in the airport for four hours. Those who were observant, or had been there so long that they had internalised the staffing schedule, would have noticed an increase activity at the rear of the room. Something was definitely up. And that, as it turns out, was the problem. The incoming plane was not able to land due to poor visibility. Okay, it was a little damp, but enough to not be able to land a modern jet plane? If planes couldn't land in the UK due to wet weather then we'd have less flights than a small island in the South Pacific and Heathrow be a backwater facility. Which would be nice for the residents. Anyway, the aeroplane had been diverted to neighbouring Rarotonga to determine what to do next. Fit some wiper blades maybe? If we felt bad, just consider the passengers on the incoming flight - as first days of a holiday go, being sat on an aeroplane whist your fate is decided is not the best start. Even if the plane is on the runway in a tropical island.

The news, when it came was not good. They were going to take off and go back to Auckland where the weather was more conducive to landing a sophisticated aircraft thank you very much. They might try again tomorrow. Tomorrow? What's wrong with this evening? The rain had actually stopped and the stars were clearly visible. 

We'd now been in the airport for nearly six hours. It had been so long that I was considering getting a part time job - I felt that by now I knew the workings of the airport better then most and besides it would help pass the time and bring a little more money in.

Just as I was formulating my interview responses we were told to collect our bags, return through immigration - I don't know why because we hadn't actually gone anywhere - and get onto a shuttle bus which would take us to a hotel. Which it did. Eventually.

So here we are. Roughing it in a five star hotel, in a suite that is bigger than our house in Auckland, a private balcony, cool air conditioning and a minibar stocked with tiny drinks. Or at least it was stocked. As places to wait it's not bad. I might have a dip in the pool later, or maybe go to the spa. Choices, choices. 

But despite all that, it's not where I was supposed to be and that's annoying. If I'd have wanted an extra day's holiday it wouldn't have been this. Does that make me ungrateful? Probably. But there is nothing I can do about it. I can no more influence the flight of an aircraft than I can direct a light opera. So I'm just going to have to sit back, relax and make the most of an extra day in Tahiti. Life's a bitch.

We've just heard that we might be departing at 7pm this evening, only 1 day, 1 hour and 25 minutes later than scheduled. Now that's a record that Nerwork Rail would be proud of!

A Time Traveller's Tale

There can't be many holiday itineraries that promise, not only respite from the worst of the winter weather, but also an opportunity to step backwards in time. You see on this trip we were flying to Tahiti from Auckland; leaving on Wednesday morning but arriving on Tuesday evening. Indeed, the strangeness was brought home when we were sat eating our evening meal on Tuesday night I remarked "Just think, we will have arrived in Tahiti this time today". It was an interesting prospect but one which I was strangely apprehensive about - although I'm quite fond of Tuesdays the thought of have two in a row was a little unnerving.

Well I'm glad to report that the space-time continuum has not been damaged and through the vagaries of the international date line, we arrived in Tahiti in one piece and, thanks to a strong tail wind, ahead of schedule and fifteen hours before we took off. Not bad for a four hour flight - I even managed to fit a movie in!

Ironically though, arriving in Tahiti is very much like time travel. Whilst it could be argued that New Zealand is a microcosm of European life, albeit with a Pacifica twist and better weather, Tahiti is in a world of its own. Other than the occasional Carrefour supermarket, there are no familiar points of reference. 

Being plunged into the mayhem that was unfolding in downtown Papeete in a hire car, with a manual gearbox and driving on the opposite side of the road increased the feeling of disconnection from....well....modern life. The drive was an experience I'd rather not repeat. By the time we left the airport, not only had it suddenly gone dark but it was twenty six degrees and was raining. It was like getting a warm shower. But fully clothed. 

After successfully negotiating the urban traffic, narrowly avoiding the numerous cars that appeared to enter the road in front from nowhere, we were on our way. It was only forty five minutes to our lagoon-side villa but it felt much longer. Now, as well as magically appearing vehicles, I had to contend with random maniac dogs who liked to chase hire cars, pedestrians with a death wish and cyclists riding head-on into traffic to whom lights are a mystery. At one point we passed a cyclist who had decided that the best way to increase his personal danger would be to, and I believe this is the correct term, pop a wheelie for his entire journey. We know this to be true because, as it turns out, his bike didn't have a front wheel! Now I know that most people raised outside the UK think we are too safety conscious but even they might stop to think about taking a bike back from work with a FRONT WHEEL MISSING!!! Well at least it saves on tyres I suppose.

Thankfully we arrived at our villa without hitting a human, dog or errant cyclist. And although it was dark we could already tell it was worth it; coconut juice was in the fridge, the small plunge pool glistened in the moonlight and the crabs were darting across the lawn to safety. Yes crabs. In the lawn. Who needs moles when you have handy subterranean crustaceans. As second Tuesday's go, it was pretty eventful.

We've only been away from Auckland for a few days but the pace of life here us such that it feels like an eternity. In a good way. Unfortunately I know that on Sunday we will have to leave and head back to reality. Back to the future if you like. Which will be a real shame. The only silver lining is that we skip Monday.  Now there's a day that I can truly do without!

You Can Call Me Al

One of the unexpected perks of being able to walk to work, other than an opportunity to witness first hand the manic Auckland morning ballet that is car borne commuting, is to brush shoulders with a true star. Well not quite brush shoulders - that would be rude - but certainly exist in the same space. On the same side of the street even. But I like to think of it as, not just two people who pass on the street, but kindred spirits who are at opposite ends of their prospective journeys. Metaphorically and physically speaking.

You see every morning, usually around the same time and place, I pass none other than Al Pacino. I know! It's amazing isn't it! Al Pacino, star of countless classic movies, Academy Award Winner and thoroughly nice chap, passes me in the street. Just typing these words gives me goosebumps. Obviously, I'd rather it was Robert De Niro but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. And besides Al, as I like to call him, is almost as good.

Quite what Al Pacino is doing cutting people's hair in a suburb of Auckland is beyond me. Maybe he's researching for a new film where the central character is a barber? Or an ex-mobster barber in the witness protection programme? It makes sense. Just think about all those juicy snippets of gossip a barber hears on a daily basis.....

Ok, I'll come clean, it's a fair cop. It's not actually Al Pacino but someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to the second best star of the silver screen. Not only that, as if that wasn't enough, but Al has clearly gone out of his way to look like Al. If you know what I mean. This guy is more Al Pacino than Al Pacino. Except less shouty. In fact silent. Although I think even the Al Pacino would draw the line  at wearing a dress shirt with his own image printed as a repeating pattern. If it's to reinforce just how much like Al Pacino, Al looks then it's not needed. It really isn't. And, I know it's sunny in Auckland, but sunglasses even on a cloudy day are a little over the top. A smidge. The overall effect though is so convincing, that sometimes I forget, and have to fight the urge to shout "Hoo-ha" in his face before rudely asking for his autograph. 

If this is the closest I get to meeting Al Pacino, the real one, then it's a good second best. And pretty handy really.  I'd imagine the having to travel halfway around the world to meet the real deal would take the shine off the experience; what with the jet lag and everything. If you think about it, passing-by somebody who looks like Al Pacino, somebody who embodies everything that Al stands for, on a daily basis surely is better than a single meeting with the original? I'm not sure if there is an official ratio for such a thing. But if there isn't - there should be. 

Anyway I'm very happy with the Al doppelgänger. Passing him always puts a smile on my face, brightens up the walk to work and puts me in a New York frame of mind. Now if I could only find a Bobby De Niro look-a-like my journey to work would be perfect....

 

A Real Rib Tickler

It's lucky I enjoy it. It really is. If I didn't I'd have to wonder why I did it because when you think about it, you know from a distance and in the cold light of day, it's a bit odd.

Sorry? Oh, I'm talking about running of course. Yes we all run from time to time, but it is usually out of necessity; to catch a bus, to cross the road without getting knocked down or to catch up with someone ahead of you. Or conversely, to run away from someone or something. Which reminds me of a photograph of sign I saw in a magazine. This particular sign was nailed to the post of a field gate and posed the question "Can you cross this field in less than 12 seconds? No? Well the bull can!" Very droll but I have digressed.

Yes most of us only run when it us absolutely necessary. The more mobile option of the fight or flee instinct if you like. So how odd is it to get up early on a cold Sunday morning, begrudgingly eat a bowl of porridge before driving to a nearby forest and run around in circles for an hour or so with other like minded strangers. Odd? Yes, very. And this Sunday we had even paid for the privilege. Sheer lunacy.

And so it was that we arrived in Totara Forestry, a spit and a hip from Auckland centre, to run around the forest trails  looking like a pack of demented and lost hikers. Except wearing less clothes than would be ordinarily advisable. 

The 11k route was one of the more gentler races in this season's Xterra calendar so I was fully expecting to break the hour mark. That was my target and by george I was going to break it. About 6k in, it was all going reasonably well. It had been a slow start due to the sheer numbers of fellow lunatics on the course but the first incline of the morning had thinned the pack down and I was now making much quicker progress. Although it was going to be close, I was confident of meeting my target. Heck, I was even starting to enjoy myself; the sun was shining, the scenery was stunning and the horrors of an early alarm call were a distant memory.

After negotiating a few potentially treacherous cattle girds, I came to the top of a lovely, wide grassy downhill. "Now I can make up a bit more time," I thought to myself before launching myself down the slope. Picking up speed and passing less adventurous souls, or losers as I like to call them, I suddenly realised my mistake. There was a horrid muddy patch about half way down the hill and I was heading for it with wild abandon. I had no hope of stopping - I'd just reached a speed that would've made a particularly fast cheetah jealous - and was technically out of control. "Don't worry Graeme," I thought, "all those years of mountain bike experience will see you through."

It did. But I'd forgotten that "all those years of mountain bike experience" usually involved me hurtling downhill at high speed and hitting a less moveable object. Although I did once have to make an evasive manoeuvre and jump over a rather startled sheep. But that is a whole different story. 

Now I'm not the most graceful runner at the best of times, as some race photographs will attest, with my right leg seemingly having a mind of its own, but hitting a muddy patch at Mach 3 would test even the most highly trained and ballerina-esque athlete. Instantly my legs decided they wanted to go in a whole different direction to my upper body, whilst my upper body concentrated on staying upright. Meanwhile my utterly confused arms had decided to emulate a particularly energetic windmill. On speed. But I was upright and nearly halfway through the muddy slop. God knows what it looked like to the spectators - maybe they wondered if this was part of the entertainment - but my deranged ballerina act was getting me through. Then it happened. My feet found a stable patch of ground and immediately sent my legs in a different direction. My upper half just couldn't cope with this new instruction and resolutely stayed on the same trajectory. In objection my feet went sideways, presumably to teach my insubordinate upper half a lesson, and I lost balance and hurled through the air. "This is going to be interesting," I thought as I landed on my side and slid down the hill. "Well this is better then I could've expected," I thought, adding "and it might actually improve my time!" What I hadn't seen was that I was rapidly approaching a fence and that I was slowly turning sideways.... 

If there is one thing you should know about fences, it is that they are largely immovable objects. And if there is one thing you should know about the human body, it is that when faced with the aforesaid immovable object, the immovable object is likely to come off better. Significantly better as it turns out. I hit the fence with a sickening thud and came to an abrupt halt. Miraculously, although it did hurt, I was in one piece and not sliced Tex Avery style into hundreds of potato-like chips. My first thought was "Thank goodness. I haven't wasted a lot of time!" I got up, checked my feet were still facing the same way and commenced running once again.

The incident was soon behind me and the four remaining kilometres started ticking off. But there was a problem. My side, the one that had bravely faced down the fence, was starting to grumble. The grumble soon became an ache and, disappointingly predictable, the ache became a pain. It slowed my progress but I was determined to keep going. I was going to break the hour mark, no matter what.

I kept running and regularly checking my time against progress. But even before the tenth kilometre was completed I knew it was a lost cause. I crossed the line, winning a spot prize for the most painful expression, and slumped onto the ground. Rather than thank me for stopping, my ribs howled in pain for me being a total idiot. What was I thinking?

Fractured ribs are going to keep my out of action for a while. I thought this running lark was supposed to be good for you? Recovery is going to be slow and painful but at least I've got something to look forward to..... the next race is the series is only three weeks away and it looks like a fast course. Excellent.

Oh, and my time for the last event? 1 hour and 38 seconds. If only I'd slid a little faster....

A Cold Snap

I'm never going to complain about being to hot ever again. If I even remotely hint at a whinge about the heat I give you permission to clip me about the head.

So why this open invite to physical abuse? Well for those of you not tuned to the Southern Hemisphere weather reports, New Zealand is going through a bit of a cold snap. 'Big deal!' I hear you think before adding 'So it's got a bit cool has it? What, you might even have to put a cardy on?' The sarcasm would be fully justified, except it is proper cold, even in the normally balmy Auckland.

OK, so maybe it hasn't hit 20 degrees below, like it did in the South Island - which you must admit is a little on the chilly side. At that temperature even Geordies might be tempted to put on a jacket. Only a summer weight one mind and then adding, 'It's not as if it's cold like. It's just somewhere to put me keys'. No, so it maybe not quite Arctic.... I beg your pardon Antarctic weather but Auckland has been getting down as low as 5 degrees at night. I know, but before you start accusing me of turning into a southern ponce, just hear me out....

Firstly, five degrees is cold for Auckland. Almost frosty in fact. Any colder and the powers that be would be seriously considering investing in a gritter. Admittedly, the temperatures get up to around 14 degrees during the day but by-eck the nights are cold.

Secondly the houses are, in general, not insulated. We all live in, what can only be described as, sheds. Wooden walls, single glazed windows and corrugated tin roofs. Great for the summer but fuck all use when the weather turns cold. Which it has. Mind you, these are £1m sheds and not something that you can pick up from B&Q. Or rather Mitre10. But despite the eye-watering price tag, when the temperature drops, it's almost warmer outside. 

Thirdly, not that you needed anymore convincing I'm sure, there is no central heating. In some cases house owners have installed a contraption called a heat pump (think hot and cold air blower fitted to the wall and you'd be somewhere close) and this is the sole source of heating. Others, such as the one we reside in, has nowt. Other than the two portable electric heaters we bought last week, we rely on layers of clothes and moving around a lot. It's good exercise but very tiring at the same time. Meal times can be a little hazardous with all that moving about keeping warm - soup is definitely off the menu after the scolding incident last night. Experts tell you that heat pumps are very efficient. They have to be because most of the heat they generate pisses out of the single glazed windows and un-insulated walls. Thankfully New Zealand gets a lot of its electricity from geothermal power so it's not the environmental disaster it could be.

Are you convinced? No? Well how about that for the last two nights, even with the heaters in full blast, our living room managed to get up to a practically stifling ten degrees. It was so warm I had to take one of my three jumpers off. 

On the positive side, I'm very clean. The bath or shower is the warmest place to be at the moment. Not looking forward to our next water bill though, and I'm starting to resemble a prune. But it's worth it for a quick defrost. The other positive is that I'm getting through a lot of work at the moment - getting a flyer at 4:30 has lost its appeal somewhat. Even on a Friday. 'Don't you have a home to go to?,' come the witty remarks. 'Actually no - I have a shed in the middle of the street!'. Luxury.

A Week In Oz - Parklife

I Have I told you how fantastic the Parkrun phenomenon is? No? Well it's a phenomenon. In every sense of that word. It's incredible to think that, what started as a favour an injured runner did for his mates in a park in London, has resulted in us travelling across Sydney at 7:30am to take part in a run.

Well trying to travel across Sydney. Unfortunately Sydney Transport has decided to chose this particular morning to close down the urban trains for, what I imagine is quoted as, essential maintenance. 

Not to be outdone, and miss out on a chance to register another different continent's Parkrun, we ended up running the last 1.2km to the start of the run. How ironic. At least it was a suitable warm up. 

But what a wonderfully way to meet with other runners and residents of the host town. It does feel strange when the run manager asks if there are any visitors from another town, as they always do prior to the start of a run, raising a hand and saying 'Yes, Auckland'. How did that happen? Odd, but in a good way I guess.

Either way we get to feel smug all day from having done some exercise. Not that we needed it particularly - we've clocked in an average of 15km per day whilst on holiday. Admittedly, we've eaten our own weight in cheese and ham sandwiches and drank enough alcohol to last a lifetime, but it's swings and roundabouts innit!

It's with some regret that tomorrow we head home to Auckland. There it is again! Home to Auckland. Home to New Zealand. How did that happen? To think we've been over here for nearly twelve months and it still makes me pause to take it all in. 

But for the time being we're in Sydney and I think we owe it too ourselves for one more look at the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. And maybe another glass of wine. Just the one mind you. Well perhaps two - it is our last night after all.