Hey Mister, can we please have our sun back?

There is nothing quite like the 21 June to really hammer home the difference between living in the UK and NZ. Well that and the fact that one nation defines itself far too much by sporting prowess and the other has an over eager appetite for meat-filled pastry products. I'll let you decide which.

Anyway I would've thought that, after a couple of goes at this Mid-Winter-In-June lark, I would have been better prepared. Nope. Not at all.

No amount of chilled Sauvignon Blanc is going to trick my subconscious into believing it's summer. I should know - I've certainly tried! And just as wine-related relief doesn't work, neither does reading stories of a heat wave in the UK. In fact, if I'm being honest, it goes right against the grain it does. The very nerve.

Yes, seeing images of people laying spread-eagled in parks and on beaches whilst we're languishing in near-permanent darkness just doesn't seem right. In June? There should be a law against that. What makes it worse is that, rather than celebrating the arrival of warm weather (which let's face it doesn't happen that often in the UK) the papers are full of dire warnings about heat stoke, poor air quality or sunburn. Sheesh, there's no pleasing some people. It's summer so suck a Solero!

I can though totally emphasise with heat wave issues. Just as the cold is hard to bear, it's not nice being too hot. At least with the cold you can always put on another layer, when you're down to your undies there really is nowhere else decent to go.....

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the globe, winter in New Zealand seems like it goes on for an absolute age. Other than Matariki* there is nothing to break up the monotony of three months of dark and cold weather. But thankfully, after today, we're on the up. Time to get our ball back. 

But that is at least another two months away. Before then, we have to get through the absolute miserableness of July and August, both of which are full months. At least in the UK one of the winter months has the decency to be short. Yes I'm looking t you February. You may be bone-chilling cold but at least you're short!

I afraid there's nothing alternative but to escape to some winter sun for as long as possible. Which is why this year we're heading to Northern Australia. Yes there is a chance we'll be bitten by spiders, attacked by wild dogs or chomped by crocodiles but at least we won't be cold! Drastic times call for drastic measures.

It can't come soon enough. In the meantime I'll have to revert to my alcohol based solution. Yes I know I've already said that it doesn't work, but no one ever gets criticised for trying too hard do they!

 

*In the Māori language Matariki is both the name of the Pleiades star cluster and also of the season of its first rising in late May or early June. This is a marker of the beginning of the new year. 

In Your Eyes

It seems incredible that we're approaching our third anniversary in Aotearora. Which is, incidentally, what we are now obliged to call our adopted home. Either that or we're being overly pretentious. I'll let you choose. 

Anyway, after three years on these islands it's not unreasonable to expect that some of the more dramatic aspects of this stunning country have faded into the background as the mundane seeps into everyday life.

I suppose it's inevitable. There are, after all, bills to be paid, insurance policies to be arranged, cars to be serviced and work to be ...well worked. Heads down and just getting on with it.

Of course every now and then something will drag you by the lapels back to fact that your are in the Southern Hemisphere and so very fortunate to be here. But it's easy to forget as you go through the weekly routine.

That is, however, until you host a visitor from another far flung place. Of course it's all relative, just as to some the thought of standing on top of an active volcano field whilst sipping Sauvignon Blanc sounds exotic, there are those who yearn to see a building that was built before 1860 and marvel at the sheer audacity of it all. 

So, speaking of relatives (see what I did there!), we've had the great fortune to welcome our nephew to this fascinating country. If there was any doubt that New...sorry Aotearora... was a long way from the UK you just had to witness the sheer look of bewilderment and confusion on his face as he stepped into the arrival lounge. "Where am I?", "What day is it?" and "What's that smell?" all rolled into one strange expression. Well, not to beat about the bush and for the record;

1/. Auckland, New Zealand

2/. Friday evening

3/. You

Ahem, so where was I? Oh yes, visitors.

Flashback to when we first arrived at our new employer and I was asked if anyone had promised to visit. "Sure," I said.

"Well, and I hope they do, but you'll be sick-to-death of seeing the same things over and over again by the time you've done it several times," came the rather jaded response. An opinion I hadn't asked for nor welcomed. Of course they were British.... or more accurately from Yorkshire.

Was it true? Would we really start to resent doing the same thing over and over? Would that be our destiny - to go through the motions for visitors who have bothered to travel 12,000 miles to see us and the most southern country of the Commonwealth? Surely not?

Well I can categorically state what a load of chuff, to use a phrase the miserable Yorkshireman would understand. It couldn't be further from the truth.

Firstly, living this far from family and friends is not easy, so it's really appreciated when they make the effort to travel this far. It's really great to have visitors, and not just for their smuggled tea bags and Galaxy chocolate, although that does help....

And secondly, we're only too happy to show visitors the things that caught our imagination. 

If I could bottle the reaction on visitors faces when they see for the first time Rangitoto, Auckland's very own volcanic guardian, steam and bubbling mud in the local park in Rotorua, the sheer vastness of Great Lake Taupo when they're told it's the the crater of an active volcano or the majestic beauty of the snow capped Southern Alps I'd be a very fortunate person. 

Seeing their reaction reminds us what it was that made us come to live here, momentarily lifting the veil of the daily routine. 

It's really a privilege to share what we've experienced with loved ones, and we get a real thrill when they see what we saw. Through their eyes if you like. It really is a win-win situation. They get the thrill of the adventure and we get satisfaction in the knowledge that we weren't truly bonkers to throw it all up in the air and travel to the other side of the world. Well not as bonkers as we feared anyway.

And if that sounds all too serious for a Friday evening then I apologise. Right, it looks like we're starting our descent into Queenstown so I'll say tara for a bit....somewhere down there there's a pint with my name on it and a nephew who is desperate for a race on the mountain luge. He just doesn't know it yet!

 

 

 

 

First Impressions

If common wisdom is true, and first impressions last, then Auckland has a pretty poor reputation. Or at least it should as far as our family members are concerned.

Everybody wants others to see their home town in the best light and as far as Auckland goes, that would be bright sunshine, warm air with Rangitoto framed by the glistening Hauraki Gulf whilst sailing boats and cruisers slip smoothly by. I can see it now. No literally because as I type these words it is doing exactly that. Doing what it does best and, it has to be said, what it does the majority of the time.

Except when we are expecting visitors. Think I'm exaggerating? Let me recap.....

October 2015
Technically the end of the winter and the start of spring, October is usually when the temperatures start to pick up (not that they get particularly low in Auckland anyway) and the sun shows it's face more often than not. Unless of course you are expecting visitors from the UK to arrive.

In this particular case, my Mam, Dad and sister were visiting New Zealand for the first time and were going to spend three weeks travelling around the North Island. A bit of late summer sun, from their point of view, before the darkness of a UK winter set in. Auckland, however, had other plans.

The day of their arrival had...err arrived... and rather than bright sun the weather decided to, well what can only be described as piss it down. Just as a sunny day in Auckland is something to behold, you ain't seen rain until you have witnessed a rain storm in Auckland. Rain drops the size of golf balls I tell you with a fairly brisk wind for good measure. And that was the weather that greeted my family as they stepped wearily off the plane, through NZ Immigration and Primary Industries. Not what they ordered, nor expected and certainly not what we wanted.

Fortunately, from the second day onwards, there was not drop of rain as the blue skies returned for their entire three week holiday, barring a few rain storms during the night and on days we were car bound.

I'm really pleased that New Zealand got its act together - I wouldn't' have been at all surprised if, seeing the grey skies and torrential rain, that they just turned around and got back on the next flight home.

December 2015
The local wisdom is that summer doesn't really start in New Zealand until after Boxing Day, and settled weather isn't really guaranteed until well into January. But local wisdom is exactly that. Local. To anybody brought up in the North East of England, what exactly constitutes a summer is somewhat different from that expected by most New Zealand inhabitants. In all honesty, most of us northerners were usually happy if we could don shorts on for at least one day and squeeze in a barbecue between the showers. One day like this a year would see me right, so to speak.

It's not unreasonable, therefore, for someone who has taken the trouble to travel the 12,000 miles from the UK to NZ to expect a bit of summer sunshine when arriving into Auckland in December. Alas, not for Sarah's sister. 

Instead what greeted her, when the arrival departure doors swished open, was leaden skies and gale force wind. Yes, right on cue, a tropical weather front had decided to park itself off the coast and it was playing havoc with the weather system. It wasn't destined to be around for long but that was of little consequence to our visitor who had what has to be one of the worst air travel experiences I've heard about. I won't go into details, but an unscheduled 16 hours layover in Shanghai Airport was definitely not part of the deal. If she'd been there any longer then I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd been offered a job to pass the time whilst she waited. "Don't worry", we texted, "there's a beautiful Auckland summer waiting for you".

To this day, I'm not sure if the tears that streamed down her face when she saw us waiting in the arrival lounge were of relief, happiness or the realisation that she'd spent the last two days suffering only to find that NZ had exactly the same weather she'd left behind in the UK.

Again, thankfully, the weather system left just after Christmas Day and the rest of the time a more seasonal festive weather pattern arrived.

If first impressions are those that count, then on these two occasions visitors to these islands would not have left with the best of opinions. I guess you're thinking that I'm maybe overstating this somewhat and that Auckland can't possibly know when we are expecting guests. No? Well read on....

June 2017
In just a few days were are expecting our nephew to arrive on these shores for his first visit to the Southern Hemisphere. Although the weather in winter can be a little unpredictable, and we have suggested that he brings an entire four season's worth of clothing, he will be leaving behind a pretty decent UK summer by all accounts.  It would be nice, therefore, if Auckland could behave itself for once and greet our visitors with a sunny smile. It has been, the last few weeks been really sunny and warm with temperatures hovering around 16 degrees most days. Very pleasant and just about as good as anyone could expect for what is approaching mid-winter.

But with almost military precision, this is all due to end the day he arrives, if the forecasts are to be believed anyway. 

The forecast for this coming Thursday is not looking great and there is a high chance that, once again, Auckland is going to do its best to get rid of our visitor before he has even had the chance to put his bags down. Another potentially cold damp squib of an arrival.... 

Ah, well it's only a forecast and not the weather so things might change before then. We really do appreciate and understand the effort it takes to get here so it it too much to ask for the weather to behave itself? Well in case it doesn't, we'll have umbrellas at the ready and warm embraces for the latest family member to venture this far south. Well we will providing he has remembered to bring the tea bags we've asked for!

 

Travelling Light

When most people think about air travel, they conjure up images of sleek streamlined aircraft cruising at altitudes that would have once been unimaginable, whilst relaxing, munching on Hors d'oeuvre and sippong champagnes from a crystal glass goblets. Not that this is anything like the real intercontinental travel but one can dream can't one?

For those of us who are less inclined to think in ideals, we still expect a certain level of comfort and convenience. The operative word in that last sentence being expect. But even in the cheapest of budget class, a packet of crisps and a glass of water wouldn't go amiss.

In a country that relies heavily on air travel to get around, not due to the size mind you but due to the lack of reliable infrastructure, it could be argued, expected even, that they would've got air travel sorted. Hhhmmm not on current evidence.

At the moment, as I type these very letters into my phone (yes my it is in flight mode thank you) we are  taxiing across what is seemingly miles of runway to actually take off. Although I suspect, having been trundling around for nearly fifteen minutes that we're actually driving the 300km from Auckland to Napier, and  those aren't actually runway lights I can see out of the window but the headlights of fellow travellers on State Highway 1. Admittedly I wouldn't have noticed and would've normally dozed off by now, except the flight is only supposed to take 45 minutes.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Alarm bells started ringing much earlier, not actually alarm bells you understand, but metaphorical ones, when we were asked to go to Gate 62 to catch our flight. The airport only has 50 gates. What they should've said, as it turns out, was "can you please make you way across the car park to the shed at the end of the road. Oh and by the way, don't expect a seat because there are only three and one has Albert's potted plant on it."

Maybe I'm lying about the potted plant. It wasn't Albert's it was Terry's.

So after making our way across the crowds of people who were waiting expectantly for their flight to far flung places, we weaved around the Vauxhall Novas to arrive at the departure gate.

Now call me old fashioned, but one of the features of departure gates, if not the feature, is that stuff should actually depart from here. Woth some poor weather no doubt the culprit, several flights are backed up and cant actually depart. We at least there is the lounge to errrr lounge around in. Well ok there's not much lounging going on, what with the potted plant and everything, but at least there is nice floor to sit on. It would have to be a really low rent place not to provide a nice floor on which to sit and while away the time. After all, what better things are there to do on a damp Thursday night?

Eventually all things must come to an end so, begrudgingly, we stood up and formed a queue to get onto the plane. But being at Gate 62, there is no plane. Instead, we are treated to the indignity of getting onto a bus which then proceeds to drive us back across the car park and to another far flung corner of the airport to our waiting plane. As we approach the Dash 8-300 aircraft, which I'm now reliably informed by our inflight pamphlet is our assigned vessel, I begin to wonder. Either this craft is a technological marvel or it is actually smaller than the bus that we're currently travelling on. Only without the double doors in the middle and destination sign on the front!

It's the latter. I'm not saying that this plane is small but is it normal to be able to stretch out your arms and touch both sides of the aircraft? No didn't think so. And as if to reinforce the point, we are asked if anyone with a bag larger then a 10p mix-up can make themselves known to the cabin crew so it can be put in the hold. Or on the roof rack if there's not enough space.

Which, after a slight detour, brings us back to the present and the taxiing down the runway/state highway. 

Time then for the safety briefing. Or at least it would be if I could hear it. Unfortunately for the cabin crew, the propellers have started and any important instructions are lost in the noise and vibration from the engines. Being no stranger to air travel, some of the gestures look familiar but their verbal accompaniment is lost. For all I know they could be instructing us to, in an emergency, point to the windows and wave to anyone we can see outside who might be able to help.

Hurray, we're airborne. Or at least I think we are. The ground details don't seem much further away than they were ten minutes ago.....

"Hi folks, this is Terry your Captain for this flight. Today we'll be cruising at an altitude of around twenty metres where the air temperature is slightly cooler but not so you'll  notice really. Can I ask that you please refrain from putting your head out of the window as it is quite dangerous and a little off-putting"

With a vehicle this small, there isn't any in-flight entertainment as such, unless you count the amusing sight of the cabin crew trying to sell food and drink and tidy up on the five minutes that they have between takeoff and landing. But who needs dull Hollywood blockbusters when you can watch the land whizzing by. And other traffic.

Still, at least it won't take long to disembark and unload. I've seen family saloons with more passengers and luggage, and we don't have the annoying children to get on the way of the process. Well not many anyway. With s flight this short, there isn't much opportunity to be delayed, but I do fear that the stiff breeze might've blown us off course. Ah well, perhaps a weekend in Tauranga is better anyway!

 

Getting Away from It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Getting Frooty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

The Times They Are A-Changin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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