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Thursday 19th November Coromandel
(To Neighbours tune) Lay-ers! Everybody needs good lay-ers! Because good layers will keep you warm. I am at Coromandel Town (pop 1870 – sorry 1869 as Old ‘Digger’ at the General Store has just died at the age of 143) and have been persuaded by the nice lady at the Information Centre that the half hour climb to the ‘pa’ lookout is worth the effort. It is windy at the bottom, warm on the way up, and blowing a gale at the top. I am layering and de-layering like a demented onion! No way can I avoid breaking into a sweat. But she is right, the view is worth it. Right at the top I stumble upon what at first I think is a ‘wino’ but in fact turns out to be a tourist from Devon supping ‘vino collapso’ taking in the view and not wanting to go home! We briefly discuss the relative merits of views in OZ and NZ and conclude that there is more tranquillity in NZ. I leave him to his thoughts and the last of his wine and head down to the Harbour road. The ‘pa’ by the way is a Maori fortress – like our castles up high to dominate the surrounding countryside. Lots of these about but not much use against cannon fire from ships – step up Captain Cook et al.
I have driven for six hours to reach Coromandel, and have had to come back through Auckland. New Zealand trunk roads are not quite what we would expect in the UK, but we have to remember there are only 4million NZrs in the whole country. In the UK you expect a service station every 30 miles or so. In NZ you are lucky to get one every 200kms or not at all (c/f return from Cape Reienga). So careful planning and filling up whenever you get a chance are the watchwords of the day. The journey from Paihai (Bay of Islands) to Coromandel is about 400kms, but this is right down the Northland Peninsula, around the bottom of the Firth of Thames, and most of the way up the Coromandel Peninsula. Once you get away from Paihai the scenery is pretty dull until you hit the flat land at the bottom of the Firth of Thames. Then there is a long, long stretch of straight road with the Coromandel Range rising spectacularly in the foreground. These are the highest mountains I have seen so far. They are on a par with Snowdonia and parts of Scotland. Once across the Firth you reach Thames. Captain Cook had to dig deep for this one, noting that the river bears ‘some resemblance to that river in England’ – er, that it was wide and had water in it! The road hurries through Thames – well who wouldn’t - and then rather spectacularly winds its way along the coast for about 40kms, clinging to the edges at points for dear life, and then shoots off into the foothills which are more than a little Alpine and cause some spontaneous yodelling on my part, before descending past the oyster beds into the small hamlet of Coromandel.
I know what you are expecting! Some disaster stories re the local population once ‘Cooky’ turned up. Well, things went really well to start, even when gold was discovered first in Coromandel and then in Thames. Somehow the local Maori managed to get the gold-diggers to buy licences to dig for gold on their land. But you will also know it did not last. Greed again, the Maoris got swindled, swamped by 10,000 settlers in the first year after gold was discovered. The other thing that happened was that loggers stripped the hillsides of the ‘kauri’ trees so that by 1930 there were none left at all! The NZ Government is now trying to replant some.
New Zealand birds are really annoying me. When I try to speak to them they move away; when I try to photograph them they get all coy; and when I ask them to shake a tail feather for me they get positively aggressive. To top it all I hardly recognise half of them. So first stop at Coromandel is to a bookshop to purchase Collins’ Birds of New Zealand. I did not do the same in Australia on the grounds that there were far too many and I would have gone bonkers trying to identify them. I had spotted harriers hunting by the roadside on my trip to Cape Reinga, and at first wondered what they were hunting as there are no mammals in NZ – then, of course remembered that there are no indigenous mammals if you don’t count bats. The settlers brought lots with them, so there are plenty of rabbits and dead sheep etc for the harriers. What I didn’t realise was that the settlers also brought lots of birds native to the UK in particular and just released them into the wild. The birds of course got on with it and they are all over the place now. At Cape Reinga I had been surprised to hear skylarks when the wind dropped. Outside my hotel I had seen blackbirds, thrushes and sparrows. It took some time for the penny to drop! NZ now has mute swans, and black ones from Australia, and the dreaded Canada Geese. The settlers packed them all in – ducks. Swans, geese, small birds, large birds, owls, finches – it goes on and on. And just for good measure they release weasels and stoats to keep them on their toes! So walking around Coromandel is a bit like walking round an English village - sparrows on the lawns, chaffinches in the trees, blackbirds singing – you could shut your eyes and be 18000kms away in England. But in some respects that is what the NZ settlers wanted to recreate. I did see some native species. The Bell Bird that goes ‘ding dong’! and the NZ Kingfisher which I watched perched on a log in the estuary, fishing for small crabs. At the end of my walk to the ‘pa’ I rewarded myself with freshly caught and cooked Coromandel scallops and chips! Loverly!
Talking about birds and distances has reminded me that at Cape Reinga yesterday a sign showed the UK to be 18000kms away. So I worked out that if I drove off the end of the Cape and headed home it would take me two months solid driving for twelve hours per day at an average speed of 60kmph to get home – that is if I did not meet any road-works and the traffic lights stayed on green all the way!
Friday 20th November Rotorua – Land of a Thousand Smells!
‘Mud, mud, glorious mud! Nothing Quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me follow, down to the hollow, and there we can wallow, in glorious MUD!’
I am so relaxed I think I have either had seven or eight pints – which I haven’t – or someone has stolen my bones! What has actually happened is that I have just been to Hell’s Gate Waori Mud Spa on the outskirts of Sulphur Spring City Arizona ie Rotorua. The leaflet waxes lyrical about this secret Maori treasure, with special muds and sulphurous waters where for the princely sum of $75 ( about £45) you can relax in your own private mud bath ( no hippos allowed – or so they said!) and then commune in a sulphur spa ( no blaming each other for the eggy odours!). So I thought when in Rome… First though you have to do the tour of the boiling mud pools ( average temperature 70 -100 degrees so not allowed in these!), sulphur lakes, and the mud volcano. Ok if you like steam and smells that remind you of chemistry labs at school. Not so good if you don’t like eggs. I did think for a moment that it might all be an elaborate hoax like the Only Fools and Horses ‘Peckham Spring Water’ and that below the boiling mud were pipes etc. who really knows. Still, the visit was worth it. I got 20 minutes on my own in a warm sulphur pool with a bucket of grey mud to play with. So what you say, you could do that at Southport any weekend! But no, this is ‘special’ mud. Quite what it’s supposed to do I don’t know. It’s too silky to give skin a good ‘peeling’. It just feels nice and makes a relaxing experience. 20 minutes later and I am hauled out of the pool by a hefty Maori warrior and thrust straight under a cold shower! ‘Shower good!’ he says convincingly. I am then led shivering to a sulphur spa pool where there are a number of terrified-looking people up to their necks in the warm water (it is 38degrees). ‘You go in pool now!’ says my captor, pushing me down the steps and into the water. I settle down next to two Germans and ask them how long they have been in here. They think three days, but are not sure as they are suffering from dehydration. After half an hour I slip out when the ‘guard’ goes to fetch another captive from the mud bath.
Apart from this it was superb. I can’t believe how relaxing it was and even the cold shower – yes that was real – contributed to the overall experience. I stayed in the spa pool for about 35 minutes. The others in the pool were varying sizes but some only showed about a quarter of their true bulk above the water line – hence the comment about hippos! The name of the place is down to George Bernard Shaw who visited and said it looked like the ‘Gates of Hell.’ His comments about the mud bath and compulsory cold shower are not recorded!
Another long drive today as I had to reach Rotorua where I stay for one night. I travel the ‘famous’ route 309 from Coromandel to Whitianga. It is basically an old logging road but all the guide books say it is ok in an ordinary car as long as it is not wet. Thankfully the weather is fine, and the road is a mixture of sealed road, unsealed stoney track and muddy (dry thankfully) track. It is very scenic and meanders through farmland, forest, up hill and down dale. The guide leaflet says you will be ok if you keep well left! It doesn’t mention massive logging trucks coming at you on the wrong side of the road or road-works – lots of road-works. They seemed to be rebuilding massive sections of the road. I think they are preparing for the real tourist season in December/January/February. It took me about 45 minutes to do the 21kms of route 309. Good fun. Back on route 25 it was Rotorua here I come, with about four hours driving ahead of me. The Coromandel peninsula is divide right down the middle by the Coromandel Range so I now had this on my right as I sallied down the coast. Music was my company as usual, and having found a copy of ‘Schindler’s Ark’ in a bookshop for $2 yesterday and having started reading it last night I was soon launching into ‘Three German Officers Crossed the Rhine’. Not my finest moment so far! Thankfully a car passed by me with the registration CANBY and so I was able to justify a change to the Beatles! The East coast of the peninsula is allegedly the prettier but I had no time to stop and see. I did notice a Cook’s Beach on the map, next to Cook’s Bluff, and then next to Shakespeare Bay. Was Cook’s bluff that Shakespeare never visited New Zealand?
My main intention was to get to Rotorua early enough to visit the mud spa, but also to allow me to visit the Kiwi conservation centre at Rainbow Springs. Imagine my annoyance then when I stopped off at a place called Tauranga for a coffee and a sandwich to find that it was enwrapped with major road-works and once I got into the city I could not find a way out again for 45 minutes! Hard to believe but the place is massive and it is a major port. I missed turnings galore and ended up driving on instinct to get myself back on the right track. Don’t go to Tuaranga!
Rainbow Springs Nature Park is a major player in Kiwi conservation in the North Island. Kiwis are bred there and released into the wild, with a high survival success rate. There is not a lot of chance of getting up close and personal with a wild Kiwi as they are shy nocturnal birds, so this was likely to be as good as it was going to get. And good it was! I joined a touring party of ten for a 45 minute in depth look at the conservation programme which included very close contact with – but not touching or photographing – three adult Kiwi. They are the national bird of New Zealand, about the size of a large domestic hen, and just about the oddest thing you could see – apart from the duck billed platypus! Physically they are more closely related to mammals than birds – for example they have marrow in their bones. They lay eggs the size of footballs! The human equivalent would be a baby of 35lbs! Ouch! The females are much nastier than the males – rings a bell, that one! The males incubate the eggs for 80 days. They mate for life. And they look cuddly. Why the problem then? OK it’s us again! The Maori have to take some responsibility for when they came the Kiwi knew no predators so were easy pickings for food and feathers. So easy that the Kiwi would just stick its beak in the ground and pretend it was not there! Kiwi feather capes were very popular with tribal leaders. However there were just not enough Maori to do serious ecological damage. That was down to us. Along we come and chop the habitats down. Then we introduce serious predators – cats, dogs, possums – but worst of all, weasels and stoats. These little beggars can kill 500 kiwi before you can say hang on was that a weasel I just saw. No that was a stoat! How do you know the difference. Simple, weasels are weasely recognised and stoats are stotally different! (Thanks to the memory of Grandpa for that one!) They are prolific breeders too so lots of kiwis needed for baby weasels and stoats. The poor kiwi just had no defence. Eggs, young, developing adults – all easy pickings for Mr and Mrs Weasel and the little weasels, as well as the Stoat Twins. So the conservation programme aims to put adults into the wild at a stage where they can at least defend themselves – they have very sharp claws. It’s slow progress but it is working. The conservation centre has very elaborate anti-predator fencing and a big sign that says ‘Weasels and Stoats – keep out!’
The guide for the tour was a Kiwi lady called Miranda. Now, whereas the Australians talk from the back of their throats – ‘Strine’ – Kiwis are more subtle but talk through their noses. ‘Egg’ becomes ‘ig’, ‘bird ‘ becomes ‘beard’, ‘sex’ is ‘six’ and ‘arrest’ becomes ‘ a wrist’ etc etc. So with a party of ten consisting of three from the UK, two from Canada, two from Thailand, and three from India the commentary was going to be interesting. Add to that a speed of delivery that was almost formula one and you can see what went on. Apparently two beards had six and the female laid an ig. The male then sat on the ig on the nist for two manths and a check was born. The check weighed in at 104 grims. The check was then taken away by a consirvationist before it was eden by a priditer, and fid a spishul diet of beef heart and veggies. When it weighed nearly a thousand grims it was released back into the wild where it was eatin by a weasil. Later in the evening after my mud bath I went back to the centre for the kiwi ‘night viewing’. That’s stretching it a bit. In the absence of SAS night vision goggles I think I saw a kiwi or two rushing between a nesting box and some bushes! They could have been mechanical for all I knew!
I will finish today with two things – plants and radio.
Plants first. The plant emblem of New Zealand is the pohutukawa tree. It has bright red flowers and a profusion of red signals the summer is here. They are just beginning to emerge now. The Maoris called it this because it means ‘red tree’ – doh! I missed out the Australian emblem the ‘wattle tree’ and apologise for this.
For all the Monty Python buffs out there, remember this……
‘This here is the wattle, the emblem of our land,
You can stick it in a bottle, you can hold it in your hand. Amen.’
Rule Seven – no pooftahs! Rule Eight – there is no Rule Eight! Rule Nine – no pooftahs!
Radio! Come back Radio One – all is forgiven. New Zealand Radio is awful. It is so bad that every radio in every hotel or motel I check into is tuned into some sort of ‘Gold’ or ‘Timeless Classics’ station. Tonight I turned it on and Peter and Gordon blasted out. Who you say if you are under 93! Followed closely by Roger Whittaker! Help! Help! If it is not that it is Bic Runga singing to me from every ‘piped musac’ outlet in the country. Love the song, but has New Zealand not got any other music? Help!
Saturday 21st November Rotorua to Napier
I am heading South for my last couple of days in the North island. Actually it’s South-East to Napier on the coast, but first I have to do the ‘Maori’ experience at Te Puia. This is the site of the world famous – so famous I had not heard of it before – Pohutu Geyser which erupts a couple of times each hour and spurts hot steam, water and gasses to levels of 30 metres, but not today folks! It was impressive none the less and given that it all works on ‘natural’ plumbing even more so. The Maoris have built a cultural experience centre around the geyser site and though this sounds a bit tacky it is good fun. At my motel in Coromandel the owner had rather sourly referred to Rotorua as ‘RotoVegas’, and it is like that – a bit in your face and commercial but what the heck. It is one of the most popular holiday destinations in NZ for NZ people and who am I to challenge that. Not a place to stay a long time though. My ‘experience’ at Te Puia started with a quick visit to the geyser for a mini ‘spurt’ and then to the daytime concert which promised a traditional Maori welcome – hopefully not the same one Captain Cook got ie a spear in the back - songs, dance and the famous war dance, the Haka. Our hostess gathered us around the entrance to the Maori meeting house to explain what was going to go on. She laid great store on respecting the sacredness of the house as visitors and said we would be required to remove shoes and hats. She also said that the group should be quiet when the warrior came to challenge us at the start. This is where it went a bit wrong as the party of Japanese tourists did not seem to understand ‘quiet’ or ‘respect’. Now it may have got lost in translation, as the hostess said we would be experiencing a ‘tradisihinil Maori gritting’, and they may have been confused enough to expect the oncoming ‘warrior’ to throw handfuls of small stones at them, but when she said ‘shhhh!’ several times you would think they would get the message. One of them managed to get himself elected as ‘honorary chief’, basically because he pushed his way to the front, and then proceeded to not follow the hostesses instructions, for example not to turn his back on the warrior as this was seen as an insult! She was incredibly patient, and as for the rest of us if the ‘gritting’ warrior had chosen to spear him there and then we would have said ‘just deserts’. We followed the hostess into the Meeting House and she sat the men at the front – as would have been done in the past. Greetings and songs followed and then the women were invited up on stage to take part in the female poi dance. This involves swinging balls on string to music so the efforts were quite hilarious. Even more so because one of the Japanese men had managed to miss the word ‘female’ and had ended up on the stage. The hostess shrugged her shoulders and left him there. Then it was our turn. We were ‘required’ to perform the ‘haka’. It was great fun and no-one minded that we made a hash if it! Lots of thigh slapping and grunting. Seeing as the ‘haka’ is designed to intimidate opponents in war, we would have not even frightened a rabbit! No-one cared though and the ‘real’ warriors had a great laugh at our expense. At the end our ‘chief’ managed to get the traditional Maori ‘nose rubbing’, the ‘hongi’ right otherwise I fear to think where they would have rubbed his nose! A great hour!
I stayed for another hour and toured the site, looked at the geyser again, and went into a cultural exhibition. Lots of famous people have been here including Gracie Fields, Eleanor Roosevelt ( who looked about six foot six), and our own Queen and Prince Phillip (‘bloody natives!’). An interesting tale is the one about one of the Maori guides who actually assisted the Queen by holding her elbow when she appeared to stumble. Protocol says that mere mortals should not touch royalty so she was reprimanded by an eqirry and her bosses! Her response was to say would they have rather she fell! She is also recorded as giving Eleanor Roosevelt a ‘hongi’ but needing a step-ladder to do so, and giving Gracie Fields change for her New Zealand coins using the biggest cash dispenser in the world ( sorry!) After that really bad joke I went in to the kiwi house. The sign said no noise and no cameras, but it was not long before the familiar ‘babble’ arose and the ‘chief’ and his entourage arrived. I left quickly. Hope the kiwi had the sense to hide!
A fifty minute drive saw me at Lake Taupo, NZ’s biggest lake. It is in the caldera (collapsed cone) of a volcano that last erupted 26000 years ago and threw out 800 times as much stuff as Krakatoa! Wow! All the areas surrounding are still volcanically active. The lake is 606 square kms, and at the southern end is the mountain range that contains Mount Ruapehu (2797m) the most active volcano in the area - last erupted 2007! It also contains Mount Ngauruhoe (2287m), otherwise known as ‘Mount Doom’ from ‘The Lord of the Rings’. This mountain was chosen for the film because of its perfect conical volcano shape. You can see these mountains for miles around and at this time they are still snow-topped. The road takes me down the eastern side of the lake, through some forests, and then heads off into some semi-desert. I know this because the sign says ‘Desert Highway’. It is a tad disconcerting to see a gate after a couple of kilometres with a sign saying ‘road open’. I expect the road may have some problems in the winter – snow etc – but it still is a little shaking. I am heading down to a place called Waiorou where I expect to pick up a road to Napier that is not the main road. This will take me over the ‘top’ as it were, snaking between the Ruahine and Kaweka mountain ranges and through the Kaweka Forest. It should be interesting to say the least! I have looked at the map and it definitely does not say 4WD only! I have a little concern re petrol so stop at Waiorou and fill up and do the tyres. Waiorou is an army garrison town and the land to the east is all firing and training ranges. I will not be going there. To the west all the way to the turnoff the peaks of Ruapehu and Ngaoruhoe dominate the skyline and my thoughts. I imagine Frodo and companions climbing the peaks and making their way through the forests. I think about Orcs lurking in the trees of Kaweka Forest. What great scenery and how well used in the films. Make mental note to watch them when I return. For real ‘ Ringies’ there are organised trips to Hobbiton and all the sites used in the film. Not for me, but the films have really boosted the NZ tourist trade.
At the turnoff for Napier, which I nearly miss because I am thinking of other things, the sign says ‘Napier 154kms. Sealed road apart from 27km.’ Great, that means where the road is steepest etc it will be at its worst. Hey, ho! Off we go! I think I will do Napier in about two hours. The road is easy to start and that always ‘sucks’ you in to a semi-complacency. Farm after farm, up and down hill, then the forest starts, then the road gets steeper, more winding. Then a hopeful sign – road-works ahead. In this situation this usually means they are extending the sealed bit, and it does, but it’s Saturday so they are not working and have just left the whole thing in a bit of a mess. Half sealed and gritted roadway stretches before me. On some sections it says ‘100kmph’. I am doing well to do 60kmph and keep the car going in a straight line! I have to be alert for trucks as it is logging territory. Some of the hillsides are stripped of trees and look forlorn. I see only dust clouds behind me but am not expecting anyone to overtake me. In fact no-one does until a couple of kms from the end. The odd car and 4WD comes the other way. After all people do live here! Nipping to the shops must be a real experience – especially if you leave your bag behind! And just to keep me on my toes, some parts are sealed and I think that’s it then I hit an unsealed bit again. I am going carefully into a bend on an unsealed downhill bit when a 4WD comes tearing round coming up the hill. He sees me late and goes sideways a bit to get past. I shan’t repeat what I called him! The nearest I come to any real disaster is when I shave the hind legs of a farm cat that chooses this particular moment to cross the road. Eight lives left I feel. On the final sealed stretch a ‘ute’ comes up behind and I let him past. I am glad to see the end of the road and the sign that says ‘Napier 19kms’. It has taken me 90 minutes to do the 136kms from the Waioru turnoff. Not bad really. Make mental note to give up ambition to be a rally driver!
Glad as I am to see some ‘real’ mountains at last, I am somewhat humbled to read that none of the ones I have seen so far get into the top 30 NZ mountains in terms of height! My guidebook tells me that I am yet to experience real height and will see it in spades in the South Island where one National Park – the one where Mount Cook is – has 22 out of the top 27 peaks over 3050m high! Mount Cook itself is the highest at 3755m. Nothing in Australasia competes with it. Looking forward to that one then.
Sunday 22nd November Napier
I wake a bit dazed after my long drive the day before and my rather nice meal of New Zealand lamb with Rosemary – funny, I thought she’d gone to Canada. I remember why I have come to Napier. On 4th February 1931 at 10.47am Napier’s early history ended and its future was assured by one and the same act. A huge earthquake measuring 7.8 ( ie BIG) shattered the centre of the town, flattening most buildings, and killing 157 people. In nearby Hastings another 101 died. It is still New Zealand’s biggest ever natural disaster. Luckily it was the first day of the school year and Napier’s children were still outside lining up to be out into their classes! Otherwise it could have been another Aberfan. It is hard to get hold of the magnitude of such things but the whole Napier area was tilted upwards by 2.1 metres by the earthquake! The water in the inner harbour lagoon just disappeared and Napier suddenly had an extra 3000 hectares of land to deal with. The residents cleared out as you can imagine and most of them could not return for nearly two years. Napier needed rebuilding and here was where its future was secured. At the time of the earthquake a style of design known as Art Deco was fashionable – it had started in Paris with the Expositions des Arts Decoratifs et Industriales Modernes in 1925, and was used for example in the design of the Chrysler Building in New York – and this was embraced with gusto in the rebuilding of Napier. Thus Napier is THE world capital for Art Deco buildings. But it wasn’t just colourful, it was cheap and safe as most of the buildings would be made of reinforced concrete and devoid of the added decorations that had fallen on people in the earthquake. Napier reinvented itself, and today it is a tourist hot spot for this principle reason. In February they have an Art Deco festival in which major stars appear ( eg Rod Stewart) and they have a street ‘dinner’ for 2000 people – booked solid a year in advance – where all attendees dress in the Art Deco style of the 1930s. It is major fun and a real money spinner for the town. Even if architecture does not float your boat you can’t help but be impressed with the style and colour of the buildings and the fact that they have not bowed to the pressure of organisations such as McDonalds but rather made Mc Donalds adopt their style to the town’s buildings. Not all of the 1930s buildings have survived but there are sufficient for the whole CBD to have that Art Deco feeling about it. Well worth a visit and a walk round.
One of the Art Deco shops was Dymoke’s book shop and in a very short time I had bought two books about Captain Cook! Will let you know later.
Albatross! Albatross! Gannet on a stick!
Off in the afternoon to Cape Kidnappers to see the Southern Hemisphere’s largest mainland Gannet colony. This is three hour guided trip by 4WD lorry-coach (see Daintree River) and is the only way of reaching the colony without walking for four hours along a beach and risking getting cut off by the tide. So safety first. The route takes us through Cape Kidnapper’s Station which sound like a farm, which it partly is but it is also the ‘plaything’ of a US billionaire who bought half the coast of this peninsula ( 5000 acres) with the express intention of building a golf course on it and a world class one to boot. He did that and it is number 37 in the world rankings. Lucky for us on the trip the previous owner of the land happened to own the Gannet Trip Company and so inserted a clause in the purchase agreement guaranteeing access rights for his company through the ‘station’. So instead of the hazardous beach route we get to go on the hazardous station route – well some of it is hazardous. It takes an hour to reach the Gannet colonies (there are four) and we go through rolling pastureland, river beds, native bush, steep gullies (and I mean steep!) and alongside cliff edges with breathtaking views. As a result of arriving early and chatting to the driver who is a primary school teacher who does some supply teaching and this as well, I get invited to sit in the ‘death’ seat alongside the driver so that I can see with great vivid detail all the chasms we can fall into and the edges we can roll over of he gets it wrong. The others in the lorry-coach are all from NZ or OZ except for a lone Japanese girl who speaks top no-one and may be on the wrong bus. As we go along the driver points out rare birds, trees, sheep ( lots of these), and gives us a full breakdown of the purchase of the land we are now on. He also tells us he has played golf on the course, which would normally cost about £300 a round! We stop to take in the spectacular cliff-top views of Hawke’s Bay and the Mahia Peninsula. He tells us that when he did the morning trip it was so misty they could see nothing.
The Gannet colonies themselves are all near each other and there are 10,000 breeding pairs who return to the same site each year. We can get right up close and the noise( and smell) is tremendous. The birds ignore us and get on with the business of nest building, mating and for some of them sitting on eggs. They are a beautiful bird and very acrobatic. The main activity while we are there is nest building and male Gannets swoop over our heads (very closely) carrying large amounts of seaweed for the nests. With approximately five thousands birds at each site finding your partner whilst carrying a beak full of seaweed is not easy and many birds do not do it first or even second time. If they land next to the wrong female they get roughed up and have to take off quickly. When they do locate the ‘missus’ there is lots of squawking , and a ritual recognition dance that involves rubbing their necks together. Nest sites are vey jealously guarded and any encroaching even by accident is dealt with by nipping the offender! I felt like David Attenborough! Gannets, Gannets everywhere! They get under your feet, they get in your hair. Even standing directly under the runway I did not get ‘pooped’ upon, but the bus driver said I was just lucky! Whilst we were there a trio arrived who had walked the beach route and had had to wade some of the way. Two of them were from Scotland – but not according to one of the NZ ladies who confidently informed me she had identified their Welsh accents! They had come to NZ for the summer to shear sheep. Good luck, I say. The way back took us down a very steep cliff pathway and I felt myself apply my invisible brakes at one or two points, but the vehicle held steady and we returned ok. On the way the driver showed us a new ‘anti priditor fince’ and some ‘priditor traps’. The new owner had co-operated with two other landowners to try to create a conservation reserve on the peninsula. Once the fence was in place they systematically killed all the possums in the area (hundreds), as well as 700 – yes 700 – wild cats, lots of rats, weasels, stoats ( see yesterday’s joke) so that they could introduce kiwi and other rare birds to the reserve. They have a full time staff of ‘catchers’ who bait small traps for those ‘priditors’ who bypass the ‘fince’. I had wondered about foxes and it seems that this was one animal the settlers chose not to introduce as it was already seen as a pest. Perhaps it was a class thing too, as most people who came were not landowners in Europe? Anyway New Zealand is fox-less. As a parting ‘gift’ our driver introduced us to a plant called ‘Bushman’s Frind’ – lovely big leaves with a soft white down on the underside which can be used as natural toilet paper if you get caught short in the bush! Thanks for that, mate!
Travelling back to Napier I remembered that the Dutch in the form of Abel Tasman had named New Zealand but no taken possession of it. That is until I passed a chippy in the town of Clive and just had to stop for breaded snapper and chips. And the name of the chippy? ‘The Frying Dutchman’!
Cape Kidnappers? Another ‘Cookyism’ I am afraid. He had brought a ‘prince’ from Tahiti to act as interpreter and the ‘prince ‘had a servant who was kidnapped by local Maoris who fancied him with chips. Luckily he was rescued so the he could die of dysentery in Jakarta later in the voyage.
Monday 23rd November Napier to Wellington
It is a bright morning in Napier and after packing I tour the town centre photographing some of the Art Deco buildings. It is a little confusing as the ‘pedestrianised’ area seems to be frequented by traffic so I have to leap strategically every so often when taking snaps. I have a long drive ahead to Wellington – 305kms – so I breakfast in Napier. I choose a café at the junction of Tennyson Street and Hastings Street (there are also Browning and Byron streets – town planner liked British poets). I have a good view of some of the Art Deco buildings but one row is spoiled by ‘Rosie O’Grady’s Irish Pub’ – bah! You can tour in a 1930s car and one comes by. For a moment it is the only car at the junction and it is the 1930s again. In an instant it is gone and replaced by a new Chrysler Cruiser which doesn’t really look out of place, then a van advertising a cleaning service.
‘If you’ve got some growth on your window panes, who you gonna call? Mould Busters!’
I relax with porridge and fruit followed by poached ‘iggs’ on toast and lots of Earl Grey tea! Just watching the game – having a Bud!
The road from Napier to Wellington is bordered on the Eastern side by the Pacific Ocean and on the Western side by the Ruahuine Mountian Range. The land is pretty flat and makes very good farming and wine producing territory but scenically is a bit dull. You have to wait until you get to a town called Featherston, about 60 kms from Wellington before it brightens up again. I settle into ‘drive’ mode and get my MP3 player going. Thus I am a bit shaken out of my reverie when about half way to Wellington I am confronted by an enormous Viking astride the road! I know Eric the Red went to America, but New Zealand? I have hit the town of Dannevirke, which is on my map but not featured in my guidebook. I just have to stop and find out. The woman in the Information Point is most put out that the town is not in my ‘Lonely Planet’ guide! I double check it and still can’t find anything. She helpfully gives me a leaflet of explanation as to why there is a Scandinavian town in the middle of nowhere. It is simple enough. I am on Highway 2, but in the 1870s this did not exist. The route from Wellington to Napier had been planned but it was still very much a rough horse track. A proper road and railway was needed. To build a road etc you need labour and this would at that time have to come from abroad. Recruitment was put in the hands of a Norwegian a Mr Friberg who popped across to Norway, Denmark and Sweden and came back in 1872 with a shipload of Scandinavians. There were 13 Danish, 6 Norwegian, and 2 Swedish families, and each family was given 40 acres of land for their troubles. So that’s why they are here! So as they say in these parts – Hilsen Fra Dannevirke! (Hello from Dannevirke). The leaflet I was given was so helpful that I now know to put my rubbish out for collection on Tuesdays, that if I lived there I would be one of 9321 residents, and if I need to make a telephone call there are three call boxes situated along the High Street.
Excited by my visit to Dannevirke, where I availed myself of the use of the public conveniences on Barraud Street, I picked up a hitchhiker. I had thought for some time that there were hardly any hitchhikers around even though each town has at least one ‘backpackers’ hostel. The guy I picked up was a Kiwi of around mid-40s, who had trained as an engineer, had done various jobs for a while but not settled at anything, and over the last couple of years had taken to wandering the country ‘free camping’ ie sleeping under trees, and ‘tramping’ ie walking over hill and dale. He financed his lifestyle by signing on the dole but he had no intention of getting a job. Nowadays you can pick up your dole money anywhere as long as you have access to a bank account so he could travel where he wanted. He looked reasonably healthy on it. He said he avoided spending money on lodgings if he could and managed to get a shower etc once a week! We chatted about travelling, comparing England to New Zealand. He had some firm views on global warming, mutli-nationals taking over NZ businesses and a range of other stuff. He didn’t seem to see the irony of his complaining about immigration, and saying that those that worked were ok viv-a-vis his own non-working situation. I didn’t want to get drawn into any heavy discussions and anyway he would have forgotten me two minutes after he got out of the car so I let him talk. He told me that hitch-hikers were getting rarer as the younger ones tended to buy a cheap van or car rather than haul their packs along the roads. At the end of their journey they sold or dumped the van! A bit of the kiwi attitude to Maoris popped out in that we passed a Maori girl hitching. She had the traditional tattoo on her chin which at first site is a bit disconcerting. He said I would be wise not to pick up a Maori hitcher as they could not be trusted ( see Abos in Oz and Blacks in the USA etc etc). He went on to say that most urban crime is committed by Maori youth ( see Abos in OZ and Blacks in USA). No mention of disaffection due to employment prospects, racism etc. Hard one I know as it is ‘chicken and egg’ but it betrayed the usual myopic attitude. After about an hour I dropped him at a place called Featherston where he was going to find a place by the river to spend the night and have a few cans. I did not envy him one bit!
The last few kms to Wellington pass through the lower parts of the Tararua Range and the Rimtuka Ramnge, but the road is still pretty winding and steep. Wellington is NZ’s capital city though it is considerably smaller than Auckland ( about 400,00 all told in the region but only 100,000 in the city). You have to go through here when travelling between the islands. It is built on very steep hills and is a bit like San Francisco in the respect. It is known as ‘Windy Welly’ and I have experienced some of that tonight – it is throwing it down as I write this! Its famous ‘children’ include Peter Jackson of ‘Lord of the Rings’ fame and Katherine Mansfield, who ranks as NZ’s most distinguished author despite writing a limited amount of shirt stories and dying of TB at the age of 34 in France! More by luck than judgement I find my hotel easily and once settled in go for a walk. Compared to Sydney the hotel advice is good. I am sent downhill ( a good start) to get the Cable Car up to the top of the Botanic Gardens so I can see the view and walk down hill ( I like it) to the town afterwards. The Cable Car is very neat and cheap. There are also trolley busses ( like SF) and some ordinary ones. Up the top the Botanic Gardens are a bit disappointing but I enjoy the walk down and the view over the harbour. I need some exercise after my long day in the car.
The route down takes me through the Bolton Street Memorial Park, at the entrance to which is an explanatory board and free leaflets. The ‘park’ is in fact an old municipal cemetery which is as old as Wellington itself. It reached capacity in 1892 and a new one opened elsewhere. I find these places fascinating, they have so much history in them. There are over 8500 people buried in the cemetery, from all denominations, but despite living and working together each ‘denomination’ (Anglican, Jews, Catholics) insisted in having separate sections of the cemetery! There was also separation in terms of wealth with the poorest having simple wooden grave markers – most of which have rotted away – and the more prosperous having huge stone markers or obelisks. In the 1960s it was decided to put a motorway right through the middle of the graveyard. This meant the removal and reburial of 3700 persons, and the closure of the area for three years. The creation of the ‘Memorial Garden’ was to make up for the disturbance. Each gravestone is a story on itself and the guide leaflet picks out some key ones. Times were hard then and families did suffer. One family, the Duffs, had to deal with five of their children dying of Diptheria within a period of 11 DAYS! From December 21st 1876 to January 1st 1877 Hannah (21 months), Edith (6), Agnes (8), Margaret (10), and John (11) died. I stood there stunned by this. Just how could the parents cope with that? There is no record on the gravestone of other children but the father lived another 20 years and the mother outlived him by ten years. Diptheria is a disease virtually unknown now to us in the developed world, but it was still killing children in the UK in the early parts of the 20th century. The biggest child killer of the time was Scarlet Fever which caused blood poisoning and circulatory failure and another grave records the loss of six children of the Wallace family within three months in 1865. Finally, a fire took Louise Johnson and her five children in 1877. With death rates like these it is no wonder the cemetery filled up by the 1890s! In the lower part of the Garden I did find the grave of Rira Porutu who died in 1866. He had been a Maori tribal chief and was one of the signatories to the Treaty of Waitanga (see Bay of Islands).
My final task of the evening was to locate the Te Papa museum for a visit tomorrow before I get the ferry to South Island. Finding it was no problem. Finding my way back to the hotel was. For once my map reading skills let me down and I went left instead of right and like the Grand Old Duke of York when I was up I was up, and when I was down I was down, and when I was only half way up I was neither up nor down! Taxi!
Wednesday 24th November Wellington to Nelson
The historians amongst you will be amused by that juxtaposition. From Waterloo to Trafalgar via Lady Hamilton’s boudoir no doubt! But first, Te Papa. It is a huge National museum – and is FREE – and is too much to see in the couple of hours I have got before I go for the ferry. The museum guide says to see Levels 2 and 4, which are about the geological and geographical history of NZ ( level 2) and the social history, including immigration ( level 4). So off I go. Fabulous display about the geological origins of New Zealand, with lots of moving models and videos explaining ‘plate tectonics’ and why NZ is so volcanic. Simply put, the earth’s surface is a series of inter-related ‘plates’ that move about and push against each other. Where the most pushing happens there is the most earthquake and volcanic activity. The ‘join’ between the Australasian and Pacific plates runs right through NZ. An aerial view shows the lines of mountains that I keep mentioning running down the middle of the North island and all the way along the West coast of the South island. In geological terms this is a very young land mass and still changing! Makes the scenery exciting but there will be more quakes and eruptions in the future – it is guaranteed! Linked to this the geographical displays showed how some creatures are common to NZ and OZ, and why some aren’t, as at one time the two land masses were joined ( with India, South America and Africa too). It also showed that prior to the arrival of the Maoris about 100 years ago, 85% of the land mass was covered with forest and bush. The Maoris reduced this to about 55%, and the European settlers reduced it further to 25%. It basically stayed that way because the remaining 25% was too hard to cultivate being on steep mountains or swampland. Despite this I am amazed that there is still 25% left! As I have mentioned before apart from the effects of clearance on native plant and bird species, the introduction of non-native plants, animals and birds has had a devastating effect on native wildlife. It is easy to ‘tut’ from a distance when we have our ‘eco’ eyes open wide, but even the early settlers had their warnings from far sighted farmers, some of whom feature in the display. Places like NZ ushered in the era of cheap, mass produced food - Anchor butter, NZ lamb etc – so we have all benefitted at some point from the farming methods adopted. Times change though and there is a firm foundation for a more eco-friendly approach in NZ for the future.
The Maoris travelled great distances by seas to get to NZ, and slowly occupied the whole of the two islands. When the ‘settlers’ arrived the usual land swindles took place and it is very stark in the South island where there is hardly any land still under Maori ownership compared to the North Island. Maoris have their representatives in Parliament and their own TV station but it is hard not to see it as tokenism. One odd aspect is the adoption of the Maori ‘haka’ or war dance ( of which I am now an expert – demonstrations for a fee!)by the New Zealand Rugby team, the All Blacks. Tokenism again? Funnily enough there is some public discussion here about the names of NZs rugby and soccer teams. The soccer team is called the ‘All Whites’ and has just qualified for the World Cup in 2010. The World Cup is taking place in South Africa so a team called the ‘All Whites’ may not go down too well! We will see.
I chanced upon part of the display about immigration which was devoted to non-Maori people from the Pacific Islands eg Samoa or Tonga. They were encouraged to come to NZ but on arrival experienced racism from the ‘settlers’. Some responded by setting up strong political movements like the USA Black Panthers. Others formed ‘gangs’ not unlike those in South American cities like Rio. I wonder what my hitchhiker would have made of their stories?
My last bit of interesting news about Te Papa is that it has on display one of the cannons from HMS Endeavour, Cook’s first ship and the one that nearly sank after striking the Barrier Reef on their way home. The only way they got off the reef was to chuck lots of stuff overboard, including six of the cannons. Divers found then in 1969 and sent them to museums in New Zealand and Australia. It does not mention the UK – I will find out about that.
I haven’t got very much to report about the Inter-islander ferry, apart from the fact that it is big, and when we are waiting on the top ramp to be loaded we are physically shaken by the trains being loaded below! The journey of just under three hours, as well as the one hour wait for loading, gave me a chance to finish one book (Schindler’s Ark) and get well into another ( Captain Cook), and still have time to watch the ship being expertly backed into its berth at Picton Harbour having negotiated the winding route through Tory Channel and Queen Charlotte Sound – very winding and narrow! We had of course crossed Cook Strait which separates the North and South Islands, so it was appropriate that I should arrive reading a book about him.
Schindler’s Ark first. I picked this book up in Coromandel for the princely sum of $2. I will now leave it in some café for someone else to read. I had seen the film (Schindler’s List) and I suppose I was drawn to it by some of the tales I had picked up on my travels about treatment of indigenous peoples. It ranged between very depressing – just how could people treat each other like that! – and uplifting in that the human spirit refused to be broken by horrendous experiences. There were moments when I felt I could not go on reading it, despite the fact that I knew that most of the people involved survived the Holocaust – and some of them spent time in places like Auschwitz. But finish it I did with a tremendous respect for those involved and a feeling that I am glad I will never have to go through something like that.
Captain Cook is a little better. I went into a book shop in Napier and asked if they had anything on him. The man serving mumbled a bit and then went off. Five minutes later he came back with four books. I would have bought them all but I have no spare ‘weight’ in my luggage so I settled for two. One was a ‘101 things you always wanted to know about Captain Cook’ sort of book. I read that in one sitting. The other is a little less straightforward. The author is tracing in parallel the lives of James Cook and an ancestor of hers who lived a hundred years after Cook, but published a history of Australia in which he claimed Cook had never ‘discovered’ Australia. Very controversial at the time I understand. In fact Cook never claimed to have ‘discovered ‘ Australia, but he did think he was the first person on parts of the East Coast, but his principal aim was to stick a flag in a bit of it and claim it for the King of England! It is people since who have used this for their own ends and named all sorts of bits of it after him – McDonalds ‘Cook’ Burgers! He does however need credit for what he was really good at which was mapping for he completed the first successful circumnavigation of New Zealand (which if you remember had been named by Abel Tasman – wake up at the back there!) and drew spot on maps of it to boot! He may have used some earlier maps to give him some start but with his accurate measurement of longitude his maps are so good that they have only been superseded by the use of satellite technology! How about that!
I will let you know how the comparison works out but the ‘101 facts’ did give me chapter and verse about his death. He was getting on a bit by the time of his third (and last) major discovery voyage, was not well, and was starting to make poor judgements. His fatal poor judgement was to go back to Hawaii where he had already received a bit of a hostile reception. Local people pinched one of his boats and Cook decided to take their chief hostage until they handed it back.(This was a tactic he had successfully employed on earlier voyages). As you can imagine the natives were not going to let that happen and a skirmish ensued on the beach. Stuff was thrown and something hit Cook on the head. He responded by shooting the nearest native and then all hell broke loose. Cook was speared in the back, fell in the surf and was speared and clubbed to death. Four marines and a number of natives were also killed. The rest of the crew withdrew to the ship to regroup. To make matters worse the natives then ‘cooked’ Cook and ate part of him – he was only finally identified by a scar on his hand from an accident earlier in his life. Nasty. Needless to say the ship’s crew regrouped and went back and gave the natives a good going over, in the process getting back what bits of Cook they could, and burying them at sea. It took eleven months for the news of his death to reach London. A bit of an ignominious end to a rather interesting life. Thus the Cook legend was founded and grew and grew and grew. More anon.
Wednesday 24th November Nelson
Picton where the ferry landed is very small, and the next biggest settlement and the centre for activities for the three surrounding National parks is Nelson. It is a two hour drive from Picton, through the lower reaches of the Mount Richmond Conservation Park, and through a winding valley that cuts between the Bull and Bryant Ranges. What is noticeable is that wherever the land is in any way flat there are vineyards. Miles and miles and miles of them. And I understand that I am yet to hit serious wine territory! Nelson is a town of about 40,000 but is close to Stoke and Richmond so in effect it is one big conurbation. Yes, it is named after the Admiral, but as yet I do not know why. There is a Trafalgar Street, a Trafalgar Square, a Hardy Street, a Victory Square, - then just in case we miss the British patriotic influence we have Wellington Street, Britannia and Victoria Heights. Curiously there is Quebec Street, the Heights of Abraham, Montcalm Street, and St Lawrence Street. These do not mean there is a French contingent in the town. On the contrary they celebrate the drubbing of the French by an army led by General Wolfe so that we took over huge tracts of Canada, and just to prove that everything ends where we began, the charting of the St Lawrence River that led to the victory was carried out by – yes, you have guessed it, Captain Cook!
I am behind with the domestic stuff so this morning is washing and shopping as I will be here three nights. I visit the Tourist Centre and book a sailing trip in the Abel Tasman Park for Thursday – not forgetting to take my sun screen! There is just so much to do round here you get a headache just thinking about it. You can jump into, onto, out of, over, under just about anything you can imagine. You can walk or shop till you drop. You can camp, tramp, stamp, or stand where you like. You can ride a horse, a speedboat, a tractor, whatever. You can swim, dive, snorkel, see dolphins, seals, and maybe whales. You can drink yourself silly in the millions of vineyards gasping to give you free samples. Or you can just lie on the numerous beaches and get sizzled. This area is just about the most popular area in NZ for NZ tourists. Abel Tasman Park to the North is the most visited National Park in NZ – and he never even went there! The Kuhurangi National Park lies to the West and is the place to go if you want to ‘tramp’ or cave as it has some of the deepest and most intricate cave systems in the country – not for me folks. And to the South are the Nelson Lakes with more walking/climbing country. It’s all a bit intimidating if you just want a stroll! Nevertheless I go to the Conservation counter and ask about a not too hard walk that will take 2-3 hours. The man behind the counter who bears a remarkable resemblance to Sir Ranulf Fiennes, clearly only works in days, and I have to explain that I am only a ‘soft’ Brit ,and am not interested in roughing it with nature. He rustles his maps in a bit of a fluster, and suggests I might like to stroll round Woolworths. I say I have already been, and he is clearly impressed that I have survived so suggests a walk near Mount Arthur in the Kuhurangi Park. He finds me a map which shows a place called Flora Hut – which I am sure I have already seen in Woolworths! Next to the Anchor Butter. The walk will take about three hours and will lead me up to 1500 feet, with good views of the Mount Arthur range. I am sure he mumbled ‘good riddance’ as I left.
He would be even more irritated to know that after all his efforts I never got there! Oh I set off alright and followed the instructions in the leaflet, but right from the word go I felt that it would not work out. For a start the instruction leaflet was so vague. It mentioned taking a road bridge at a place called Ngatimoti on the road to Moteuka, but did not say take the back road to Moteuka – I discovered this by accident. When I reached what I thought was the bridge after an hour driving – nothing is close! – there was no sign for Graham Valley as the leaflet said. I guessed and took a right and found myself in Moteuka. Bugger it I thought, I’ll head back to Nelson. There must be a way back to my digs that does not pass the Conservation centre. As it happens I stopped at the Nelson beach at Tahunanui , had a really nice walk in the surf for an hour – the beach is endless! As is the norm now, very few people swimming but no stinging jellyfish and no shark nets! My walk in the surf absolved my guilt and I later waved happily at the Conservation centre as I drove past.
In the evening I walked into Nelson itself to see the Art Deco Cathedral at the top of Trafalgar Street. It was only 7pm but all the shops were shut and the town was eerily quiet. All that was missing was tumbleweed. There were a few bars open with a smattering of customers. I set off from the cathedral to walk back to my digs and came across a blue plaque on the wall of a jewellers. It said –
‘In 1999, Jens Hansen, renowned gold and silversmith, created here the One Ring for the movie trilogy The Lord Of The Rings’
One ring to rule them all, one ring to bind them
I did laze in bed a bit this morning and read my book as a very windy night had lots of doors and windows rattling and to boot someone from my bank rang me at two in the morning! Was amused by a story in this morning’s reading about when one of Cook’s party shot one of the strange bouncing creatures they had been seeing. As they settled down to a feast of the creature’s meat with a couple of friendly locals, conversation turned to what the strange creature should be called. The party had a sort of interpreter from Fiji, but he did not understand what the Aborigines were saying – ditto they did not understand what he was on about. No doubt there was a lot of gesturing and arm waving and imitating bouncing like an elaborate game of ‘charades’, so that in the end to the question (delivered v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y as Brits always do to foreigners) what do you call that creature we have just eaten, the Aborigine allegedly replied ‘kangaru’. So it became ‘kangaroo’. What the Aborigine was really saying was, ‘Sorry mate, no idea, I’m not from round here. I’m from Woolamaroo.’
Thursday 25th November Abel Tasman National Park
Despite the fact that you only have to look under your bed to find evidence of an explorer round here, I think I have just had one of my best days so far. I had signed up with Abel Tasman Sailing Adventures, a subsidiary of Abel Tasman Inc., for their full day sail in Tasman Bay and along the coast of the National Park. They promised scenic sailing, golden beaches, lagoons, fur seals, forest and an hour long beach lunch at Anchorage Beach where you could explore, swim or just relax. A 9.30 check in meant an 8am departure from Nelson. In my rush I forgot my road map so had to guess some of the way and then stopped at a garage and got a local one. I had been told to report to the caravan on the beach – very sophisticated but when I got there not a soul in sight. I have learned not to panic in these situations as everyone is a bit laid back but I did look around for a catamaran – saw one out in the bay – and had a word with the man in the hut next door who was selling tickets for the water taxis ( back to them later). He said ‘Oh yes, they will be along eventually’, which of course they were. I had in the mean time spotted the catamaran on the move towards the beach and spoke to the guy sailing it who turned out to be the captain for my trip. The catamaran can take about twenty people comfortably but at any one time there were only a maximum of 15 so lots of room to settle down. We set off at 10am after our safety briefing – the emergency exits are to the front, the sides and the rear, and if the oxygen masks come down we are about to be hit by a plane! Very droll but it set the tone for the day. Mark, the captain, was pleasant but always very professional. He clearly knew what he was doing, so much so that he was able to roll himself a cigarette and steer the craft with his knee or foot at the same time. We had a two hour trip up the coast, calling in at lots of bays for a look, spotting some seals, and just taking in the magnificent scenery. No wonder this is as popular with NZ people as it is. It is just picture postcard beautiful. Golden sands, empty beaches, deep blue sea, birds, wildlife. We all soon sank into relaxing mode but making sure that we treated ourselves carefully against the sun- except the two girls from Bavaria who insisted on getting lobster red! More fool them – pain tonight I fear!
At Anchorage Beach we lunched and whilst the Bavarians got redder some of us went in the edges of the sea and then headed for the shade. At that point some of the passengers departed to walk back along the Tasman Track – a mere four hours. In today’s heat rather them than me. We then took on some other passengers who had got a water taxi in the morning and who had been rock-hopping and seafood collecting for a couple of hours. It took us nearly three hours to get back because the captain wanted to do a bit more ‘sailing’ so took us a bit further out into the bay. More seals – the NZ fur seal is huge! – more scenery, more relaxing. The time went very quickly indeed. And I didn’t get sunburnt! I could see me quite getting used to this!
Chatted to lots of people on the boat – including the captain who let me have a steer for a bit – but most interesting was a girl form Plymouth who had taken six months unpaid leave to do the NZ and OZ trip. She told me she had been quite shocked by how negative Australian people were about Aborigines – even her friend and relatives. So it is not just me who picked up this ‘vibe’. We discussed how marginal social groups often turn to anti-social behaviour as a way of registering their ‘presence’ , and this is the case with the Aborigines and some NZ groups. As we talked and sailed through these idyllic bays we reflected on how traumatic it must have been for any native group to see a European ship just turn up in their bay. It was a trauma it took some groups a long time to get over. I said that perhaps the Australian Aborigines had a lifestyle that was so far removed from the European one that has been imposed that they may never get over the trauma.
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