Christmas Eve on the Equator

I never thought I would write this, but this Christmas Eve blog comes from the Equator. Or to be more precise, the Galápagos Islands. Or to be even more precise, Isabela.

Of all of the Christmas Eves, this has the be the most unique. Forgetting that we spent the morning  climbing up a volcano, or the late afternoon drinking in a beach bar after walking along the sand looking at the basking Iguanas, it was still unique.

But why? Well because we got to experience how another culture celebrates the Christmas period. I had foolishly assumed that everybody celebrated the same way. Ok, I wasn't expecting Southern America to start boiling up Brussels at midday on Christmas Eve, ready for the festivities the next day but I least thought they would celebrate the same day.

Instead, Christmas Eve is the big day and it is a time to  spend with families. As we walked to the restaurant for diner, after drinking beer at a beach bar (oh wait, did I mention that already?) it was great to see people out in the street walking to family and neighbours houses with plates of food and join in the festivities. 

Although we had foolishly left our Santa hats at home, we did our best by sitting in a local restaurant and enjoying a meal of rice, pork, salad and baked potatoo. Not exactly roast turkey and stuffing but delicious nonetheless.

And what's weird, despite having been in the Southern Hemisphere for the last few Christmasses, this is the closest we have felt to Christmas since we left the UK. It's certainly not the weather, nor is it being with friends and family, so it must be the light. On the equator, every day is pretty much the same; there are no seasons to speak of, the temperature is pretty much the same, and the sunrise and sunset never changes. Sunrise is at 6am and the sunset is at 6pm. Day in, day out. 

And because of this relatively early curfew, Christmas lights are everywhere. And boy do they go to town. Not for them tasteful decorations, instead every house has a nativity scene. Outside and front and centre. Even more, why stop at just lights? How about some music and, if a space allows, a screen showing scene from and aquarium? Nice!

The downside is that tomorrow will be a normal working day. Well as normal as it gets when we will be spending the morning kayaking around the bay before jumping on a speedboat to go to the next island. 

Yes I realise that it is ridiculous but is it too much to ask for Brussel Sprouts for lunch?

 

Swimming with Sharks

I was in two minds over the title of this blog entry. My original title was going to be 'Boobie Watching' but I was concerned that it would be too smutty and might attract the wrong sort of reader. It would be great for my site traffic though! In the end I went for the less titular title, although strictly speaking it is not very accurate as there was only one shark, and not a very big one at that. But it still counts in my book.

Yesterday we were taken from the dock at San Cristobel and travelled for two hours to Kicker Rock. On the way we stopped to watch a Boobie colony - stop your laughing at the back and pay attention - and marvelled at these blue-footed birds. Unfortunately we didn't get to see the Boobie dance - stop it - but it was great to finally see thee birds in the flesh after seeing them on documentaries for years.

After this brief stop, it was off to Kicker Rock. Jumping off backwards into the deep ocean as waves crash against the rocks is not something you do every day, thank God, but necessary if you want to exit the boat with any sort of dignity. Wearing flippers takes some practice and on land, or in a boat, they are somewhat cumbersome. Once on the water, however, they become extremely useful.

I have never swam in such deep water - no chance of touching the bottom here - but it makes for an exhilarating trip. The sheer amount of sea life on display was breathtaking as fish and over sea animals emerged from the depths to feed on the algae that was attached to the rocks. Even sharks! Or rather a shark, joined in the feast.

Not to be outdone, sea lions joined in, giving me the fright of my life as it swam past me. I'm no biologist but I'm sure that was a smirk on its face! 

For some, being in the ocean was a respite from the boat as the bobbing motion whilst we had gotten ready was too much for them, or more accurately their stomachs. That didn't stop some people emptying the contents as we swam around the rock, if you know what I mean. Still, I guess the additional food in the water may have helped attract more wildlife!

Today we transfer four hours by speed boat to Isabella, another Galapogean island with a whole different set of animals to encounter. Can't wait. But for now, Boobies and Sharks will do for me.....

 

Top of the World

If there isn't an unwritten rule about travelling then there ought to be. This is important so maybe someone should just write it down. I appreciate that that would make it a written rule, but hey, some things just need to be formalised.

You see, the thing is, that we have recently travelled from New Zealand to Ecuador and by my reckoning we have spent longer wandering around airports that we have actually spent in the air. Surely that can't be right? I know this is the price of travelling but if I see one more Duty Free shop or someone promising the best deal on the iPhone6 I'm going to pop. Besides, it's simply not possible. They can't all be the best deal. And while we're on the subject of airports, can somebody please get some common rules on when you can and can't take water on board. It's not big and it's not clever to confiscate water in the boarding queue. And neither does it look cool swilling down a two litre bottle of carbonated water. And it certainly doesn't feel good an hour or so later.

Anyway, I've digressed but needed to get that off my chest and am feeling much better now.

So we have finally arrived in Quito, just ten calendar hours after leaving home. The actually tally is somewhere nearer 28 hours. I never will get used to crossing the international date line, or as us travellers prefer to call it, the twilight zone. The zone where days miraculously disappear and reappear.

Because if the aforementioned time spent in airports, we arrived just as the sun was about to come up. The delights of Quito awaited, or at least they would once we'd had a shower and some sleep. It's ironic that after spending all that time sat around doing nothing the first thing one wants to do is have rest. But it was either rest or risk exploding at a random stranger and create an international situation.

Thankfully check-in was quick and within minutes we were showered and slumped on the bed. It was a most welcome and much needed rest and we slept solidly until noon. Time to explore.

Stepping out of the cool and calm of the hotel into the middle of a bustling Quito day felt like we'd stepped into the middle of a movie scene and a total contrast to our arrival in the small hours of the morning. Where did all these people come from? A Quito day was in full swing; cars were travelling in all directions, shop owners hustled in an attempt to sell their wares, conversations excitedly unfolded on street corners and the smell of sweet food hung in the mountain air.

Ahh, the mountain air. It was hard to believe that Quito was over 2,800m above sea level. Nearly 3km higher that Auckland. Luckily there were two reminders. First, there was the fact that just walking around became difficult and any incline had us gasping for air. Secondly, there was the back drop. Quito is surrounded by mountain peaks. Just a glance up the street confirmed the mountainous nature of this fascinating town. Despite it being a sunny day,, clouds spilled off the mountain tops and down the slopes into Quito. It was like nothing I'd seen before: Well not in a city anyway. Usually at this altitude we'd be dressed in hiking gear and carrying a rucksack, not wandering around busy street, wearing sandals and looking for a place to buy lunch.

Thankfully we shuffled enough to find a local restaurant and get some much needed lunch. Or was that breakfast? It didn't really matter because it was delicious... and cheap. Amazingly cheap.

We just had time for a quick visit to a supermarket to buy some essentials (water and biscuits) before heading back to the calm of the hotel. What a journey, and this was only the first day. Later we would meet our tour guide and the rest of our fellow travellers. 

If the rest of the trip was as rewarding as these first few hours then it would've been worth it, unwritten rule or not.

 

Uncomfort Zone

It may be news to some people, but I consider myself to be a fairly adventurous chap. I do. Even if you put aside the fact that I upped sticks and went to live on the other side of the globe, I still have plenty of examples of derring do.

For example, I'm not afraid to try new things on a menu and I even once changed the standard toppings on a pizza. It was a risk but it worked out well.

Then there was the time that I left the house without actually checking that I had closed all of the windows and turned off the gas. Living in the edge that one.

Yes, if ever a challenge presents itself, I'm usually first in the queue to sign up and tackle it straight on. As long as success is guaranteed of course. And I have someone with me in case things get a bit sticky.

The exception to that rule is holidays. I like a nice adventurous holiday as much as the next person as long as there is no unpredictable danger. Canoing down a river for three days? Count me in. Hiking in the alps? Sure thing. Mountaineering in the Scottish mountains in winter? Where do I sign. Adventurous stuff, I'm sure you'll agree, but the risks as easy to identify and deal with. 

With all of this experience you may be a little surprised to hear that I am more than a bit worried about our choice of destination for the Christmas holidays this year. In a couple of hours we will be heading off to South America. Let me repeat that. South. America. Yup, in a little over 11 hours we will touch down in Chile and then transfer to a flight to take us to Ecuador. For a Northern European, this is so far out of my comfort zone that no amount of blankets and alcohol is going to get me back to a safe place.l, mentally speaking that is. I could only been less comfortable if I'd decide to stick forks in my thighs for the duration of the trip. 

I blame TV. For a kid from Northern Europe growing up in the 70s, the main source of knowledge about the big world was beamed into a little box in the corner of the room. And as any telly addict will tell you, the box never lied and everything was taken at face value. So it is no surprise that my knowledge of South America is somewhat limited and more than a bit skewed.

When I think about that continent I can't help but get it mixed up with the portrayal of characters from cop shows and bad B-movies. They were never friendly, usually untrustworthy and the source of the malaise of the main character who was, of course, morally upstanding and the righter of wrongs. Or am I thinking about Mexico? My geography is a bit sketchy.

The only other image I have when thinking about our current destination is of course football. Or soccer if you prefer. And boy do they like their soccer in South America. Again, after the hand of Maradona especially, they're not to be trusted and certainly don't play football with a straight bat. Or maybe it's because they are much better than us? 

Yes I totally realise that this somewhat blinkered view makes me ever so slightly rascist. It can't be helped. Like I say, I blame television. But at least I recognise it and surely that is the first step to redemption? If I get one thing out of this trip, other than to see some real life blue-footed boobies, is the realignment of my prejudices then it will have been a success. And one worth making.

Right, enough of this banter, check-in is open. Blue-footed boobies here I come.......

 

And it's Goodbye from Him....

This is becoming a habit, if two times can indeed count as a habit. Today is my last day with my current employer and once again, as with my previous departure from my employer, I am leaving and pretty much my jumping on a jet plane to be whisked off to some exotic location. 

I am not sure what is making me more apprehensive; the thought of a trans-pacific flight to South America or having to say cheerio to friends and colleagues. Those who witnessed my last workplace departure will surely opt for the latter of the two. I won’t elaborate further, but I’ll just say that there are some properties in Darlington that are still only just getting over the flood damage!

If that was’t bad enough, I am also repeating mistakes at the receiving end, if you know what I mean. 

I started my last job in the UK with a broken wrist, having crashed off my mountain bike in spectacular fashion a month earlier and, after several days in hospital, turned up at my new employer with my writing hand in plaster. I still have the scars to prove it, and to this day I am not convinced that any of the contracts I signed in that first month were legally binding. 

When I started my role in New Zealand, I had arrived into the country only two days earlier and was severely jet lagged for the entire first week. All of those important introductions we done through a haze of disorientation and confusion. Admittedly some would say that it never really wore off and to this day I am still difficult to understand. It was a whirlwind introduction to working life. In that first week we had opened bank accounts, applied for emergency tax codes, moved into our temporary apartment and discovered that semi-skimmed milk was actually called ‘trim’.

So this time, when I arrive at my new employer after the Christmas break, I will have just returned from a ten day tour of the Galapagos Islands and a four day trek on the Inca Trail in Peru. Four days hiking at a serious altitude in what could be challenging conditions, followed by a gruelling set of flights back to New Zealand. It wasn’t going to be too bad, or at least I thought, as I had a couple of days at home. I have only just realised that I will cross the International Date Line on the way back and so the two days of quality recuperation I 'had' has effectively been halved. Doh! Still I'm sure my new employer won't mind me grabbing a couple of nana naps in that first week.

I was hoping to just slope off this afternoon, say goodbye to a couple of people and then find a quite spot in a pub to have a drink or two. Maybe even a French Exit (look it up). But no, I received an invite to my own farewell afternoon tea just a few days ago. To decline would’ve been rude under those circumstances, although I do suspect that if they’d have a better time without some bloke getting all emotional like a drunken mate at a stag do.

There are two things working in my favour today. The first is that it is getting toward the summer holidays and a lot of people will have other commitments. The second is that I am pre-occupied with the thought of going to Latin America in a few days time. My energies, for what they’re worth, are elsewhere. 

I have had a great time at my current-but-not-for-much-longer place of work and have fond memories of taking my first steps working in a foreign country. First, there was the late night telephone interviews where I tried to project an air of professionalism whilst wearing pyjamas and sound enthusiastic despite it being well past my bedtime. In some cases it was after 9pm! 

And along the way I have met some great people and picked up some good friends who I hope will continue with me on my journey in New Zealand and beyond. It’s not as if this is goodbye either. My partner still works for the employer so I will be her plus-one at the regular social events and probably turn up more times than a bad penny. Not that anyone would dare say anything - they are far too nice and in my new role I have effectively become a client. 

But despite having met some great people, and spending the last two years working alongside my partner, it's time to go. I won't go into details but let's just say that if I were a band member then I'd be saying it was due to musical differences. I'm saying no more, but if you care to buy me a drink in the Lumsden later this evening I may be persuaded. You won’t be able to miss me, I’ll be the one sat in the corner in a pool of water!

In These Shoes?

It seems odd, even after all this time, that I should be writing a blog about shoes. It's hardly my thing. Or at least I didn't think it was. No, you were much more likely to hear me waxing lyrical about Apple computers or the latest album by Teenage Fanclub than you are about an item of clothing.

Until very recently I considered shoes to be purely functional items. To be worn to protect feet from the elements, dirt and stubbed toes. Even now, after living in New Zealand for over two years and witnessing bare feet in all manner of places, I still wince at the thought of standing in something I shouldn't.

It has to be said that if all places to develop an addiction to footwear, New Zealand is the least likely place to do it. Not only are the prices hideously expensive, but the choice is somewhat limited. Or it is to my untrained eye. It's not that I haven't  tried to buy shoes since we arrived - I have bought some sandals and countless pairs of running shoes - but these are hardly high fashion. After several disappointing attempts, I have been left calculating whether I could make my current pair, yes singular, last until our next trip to Europe. Or to put it more simply, I am simply not a shoe buyer.

That was until I discovered that I could import my own. And since then, there's been no stopping me. Before I go any further, I must stress that I'm hardly in Imelda Marcos territory here, and most women would probably scoff at my shoe collection but this is a big thing for me.

Until very recently, I considered that if you had a pair of shoes that fit a particular function, then you had enough. After all, having more than one pair introduced choice, and choice was a complication I could do without thank you very much. The only exception to this was running shoes but only because it was scientifically proven that you needed to rotate between at least two pairs to make them last longer. And even then I had to read several articles and discussions to make absolutely sure it was necessary.

But here I now am, after a few internet shopping 'trips', the proud owner of not one or two but three pairs of casual shoes. I know, three. It's amazing and what a collection. Three pairs that serve the same function. What extravagance! And I've found the experience of having choice liberating and far from the burden that I thought it would be. Well up to a point at least.

Okay, so technically they are the same shoe just in different colours, but to me that is a huge step forward, if you pardon the pun. Besides, once you know a particular model of shoe fits, why risk anything else? Yes, I'll admit I've got some way to go but for me this is a big thing. It's the first time I have bought a second pair of shoes whilst the others are still relatively new, out of choice rather than necessity. And then a third? Well, wow, look at me go.

The latest addition to my collection (Scarpa Mojito Fresh in case you were wondering) are in a rather stunning green with pink laces. And just wearing them makes me smile. What a fun piece of footwear and the fact that nearly everyone has commented on them, mostly in a positive fashion, is almost worth the effort to import them.

It wouldn't be a stretch to call me, after three purchases, an importer of fashionable European footwear. Although I was getting a bit concerned that I would be classed as such and hit with a large tax bill. To reduce the risk, I took the precaution of having them shipped to different addresses, a suitable date apart and to different recipients.

But I'm done - three pairs of casual shoes is enough, especially when they are essentially the same shoe but in different colours. Besides, it's getting hard to decide which pair to wear. Do I go for the muted navy pair with red laces, the funky purple or the vibrant green with pink laces? Hhhhmmm. Nope, this is getting far to complicated so three is enough.

Mind, the orange pair with blue laces would look pretty cool.....

Permanent Membership

I can't remember exactly, but it was either Karl or his brother Groucho who said "I don’t want to belong to any club that would have me as a member." It's easy to get those two Marx brothers mixed up.

So with those wise words ringing in my ears, I'm pleased to announce that I gave been granted permanent residency in New Zealand. Yes me, a scruffy kid from a Hartlepool housing estate. How did that happen? 

Actually it all seems far too simple. After just two short years, and a handful of months, I was eligible to apply for residence. So I did. I filled in a couple of forms, attached a couple of documents and payment and that was that. Just a matter of waiting a month or so and there it was. Permanent Residency. Or to put it more simply, I'm allowed to live here indefinitely and come and go as I please. Like a resident really.

It does help that I don't have a criminal background (other than the occasional theft of beer mats from pubs) and happen to have a skill that is in short supply. For once, a civil engineering degree is something worth having. Granted, it won't help you pick up women or get you prime tables in swanky restaurants, but it will allow you to work in far flung places such as this.  

After the initial surprise had passed, I examined the contents of the package for some more instructions. But that's all there was. Just my British passport with a visa certificate stuck inside and letter. No instructions, welcome book or informative pamphlet on living in New Zealand. I'm not sure what I was expecting but it all seemed to be a little bit of an anti-climax.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting a fanfare or invitation to the Prime Minister's house for a gin and tonic, even if he is nearly a neighbour, but something would've been nice. Maybe I'm being unreasonable - I know there are those who would die to have such a great opportunity. Quite literally in some cases.

But, there's always a but, there are a couple of limitations. And whether these are a deal breaker will depend upon your ambitions. In a nutshell, here they are;

1. Firstly, I'm not allowed to hold public office. Which is a shame because, with the elections coming up next year I thought I'd give John Key a run for his money. No matter. I'll have to find something else to occupy my spare time. But I can now vote so I guess I can still influence the election in a some small way.  
2. Then there is the problem of sport. No, it's not that it is compulsory to attend All Blacks games but that I can't represent New Zealand at international sporting events. Whilst All Blacks attendance might have given me pause for thought, I can't see my 5,000m time improving that much.  
3. Finally, I don't have the right to work in Australia without first obtaining another work permit. Given that there are all manner of creatures over there that want to do you harm, and I don't  just mean the inhabitants of Adelaide, I can live with this restriction.  

Compare these few limitations against being able to vote, draw a pension, work indefinitely and get access to New Zealand's benefits system (not that I am planning to become unemployment any time soon) it's easy to see that it's a pretty sweet deal.

So what next? Well I could hang on and apply for citizenship. As far as I can tell, the only difference would be that I could get a cool black New Zealand passport. Tempting, but I'm happy with the burgundy European one that I currently have. Or at least I was. Now, when asked to present my passport, I feel like I have to apologise profusely and proclaim loudly "it wasn't me!" It used to be just the picture inside the document that was embarrassing, now it's the whole bloody thing! It could be worse, at least I'm not American.  

No that's it for me and I'm overjoyed with it. And when it comes down to it,  the biggest advantage to being given this status is that I finally feel less like an outsider. Belong perhaps?    

Right, well I'm off. There's Sauvignon Blanc to be drunk and a Barbie to be lit. Those lamb chops won't cook themselves will they! What? Well I have to make more of an effort now don't I!