Out and about in Auckland

Auckland is the City of Sails, sitting around harbours, lagoons, rivers and creeks.

The choice of outings was bewildering, but in the end we settled on a harbour cruise. Waitemata, the harbour's name, means 'sparkling water' - absolutely! We were blessed with a bright sunny day.

We toured every wharf, jetty and marina in Auckland Central, amid a forest of moored sailing boats, before dodging in and out of a fast-moving regatta.

Then we headed out past the historic Bean Rock lighthouse. How anyone could live for years in the tiny wooden shack perched on top of a delicate metal structure is one of life's great mysteries. Well, perhaps not, but still a marvel.

Then an altogether far too brief stop on volcanic Rangitoto island, boasting the largest Pohutukawa - New Zealand's flaming red 'Christmas tree' - forest in the world. World famous. In New Zealand anyway.

Then past historic Devonport and the naval base to the iconic harbour bridge - just in time to see someone bungee jump off it.

Then back - and supper in a restaurant at the beach in St Heliers  - beginning to think about heading for home: just a few thousand miles...

An early start on a sunny morning took us to catch a train to the city centre. We walked past the neo-Gothic Anglican cathedral and city hall, through a beautifully restored high class Victorian shopping arcade to the glass shrine that is the Apple computer store.

We didn't join in with other worshippers but continued on with an ever-increasing sense of history to Circular Quay.

Ferries across the harbour and a couple of aboriginal street artists waited for us, but we hurried on to the Opera House. Groups of school children trailed up the steps, clutching an assortment of musical instruments. What an experience for these young performers.

Nothing had prepared us for the beauty of this lovely city. Sparkling water, tree-lined bays, wide streets, elegant skyscrapers, the shell-like curves of the Opera House and, above it all, the harbour bridge.

A ferry took us across the harbour to Watson's Bay for lunch. No ordinary fish and chips: grilled barramundi with chilli plum sauce. Then a stroll along past the beaches and coves and more history to a lighthouse on a headland.

And all the time, talking and catching up. What a joy to meet up with Elissa again, a lovely little girl having become a poised, wonderful young mother. And so many happy memories of the times our families had together.

The evening brought Max and Hanna. Laughter and reminiscing until our faces ached. We went home with them...

...to yet another day of exploring Australia's treasures. The Three Sisters and the Blue Mountains. A male lyre bird, resembling nothing as much as a black pheasant, strutted across the path but what struck us most was the incredible bird song.

And coffee and cake and more and more jokes and laughter. Such dear, dear friends - when we left, I could not hold back the tears. Such friendship is a rare gift - but the pain of separation is now inextricably bound up with the joy.

Before that, though, we managed yet another happy reunion: Lucy, honorary Guernsey girl and erstwhile dog-sitter. Great to see her well settled in her marriage and a promising career as a baker. Love that girl.

We went with her and Hanna to visit the oldest church in Australia at Ebenezer: this far the Lord has brought us. The little church, surrounded by graceful eucalyptus, nestled on a promontory in the great Hawkesbury River. The temperature was in the mid-twenties, the sun gentle on our backs. Peewits and willy wagtails strutted on the thick grass, parakeets fluttered above us. It felt like being back in Kenya.

And so, we left Sydney. Wish it wasn't so far away...

Sydney!

Monday saw us awake at 4.30, leaving the house by 5.30 and leaving the airport at 8. Auckland to Sydney. 3 hours.

Emerging from baggage claim, we immediately recognised Robyn. It had been 20 years since we had last seen each other and she had her back to us, but we still knew her straight away.

How is that good friends never seem to change?

So a quick coffee was needed first to calm the cheek-stretching smiles which split our faces and recover from the breath-crushing hugs.

Then a whirlwind tour began. Back to their house in Sydney's spacious suburbs, lunch, then a drive through the National Park, marvelling at the gum trees and the birds.

We were ecstatic to see kookaburras. Then huge cormorants. And sighting of white cockatoos was completely thrilling - the first time. After we'd seen - and heard their distinctive screech - again and again, we realised they are as ubiquitous as crows. Or maybe even sparrows. Borderline tiresome, after a while.

Still, the bird sounds, and glimpses of brightly coloured parakeets, were wonderful, especially the whip bird, where male and female answer each other with whip-like calls.

We drove up to Bald Hill, a headland on the coast, watching the paragliders and hangliders slope soaring. The coastline, cliffs interrupted by beaches, stretched beyond our sight.

Australia is VAST.

Winding down the hill to the Sea Bridge, gracefully balanced above the shore, hugging the curves of the cliff.

Then along to a quiet beach - and ice cream - before heading back to meet more of the family.

20 years of growing up, marrying, jobs, grandson...a lot of life.

Waterfall...s! The Raft of Adventure

We stayed the night in a log cabin - possibly a cedarwood cabin, as it was named Cedarwood Lodge - right on the shores of Lake Rotorua. Pied shags perched on the pontoon in front of our window, waiting their chance for fish and thrushes hopped on the lawn.

Early the next morning, we were off to navigate the waterfalls of the Kaituna River: specifically, the largest commercially rafted waterfall in THE WORLD.

I must confess to being somewhat nervous. I don't enjoy most fairground rides - and envisaged this as wet roller coaster - and wasn't even convinced it was potentially safe.

The family kindly tried to convince me to spend the day at one of Rotorua's thermal spas, thinking that a relaxing mud treatment or hot lava massage would be better. But I'm not a 'spa' person and wasn't going to

be left out. And I did feel rather embarrassed that I had made a fuss about my apprehensions, especially when Richard had gone to so much trouble over the whole trip, researching and making bookings which have enabled us to have so many wonderful adventures.

So we went. It was great - and I wasn't scared at all, not one little bit.

Might have to try those roller coasters after all...

(The journey back to Auckland could have been an anti-climax after this, but it wasn't. Tauranga, Mount Maunganui and coffee and cake...and a brief stop near Hobbiton...)

In hot water

One of the things I had really wanted to do in New Zealand was to bathe in the natural hot springs.  We had already been to Waiwera thermal pools, a series of man-made bathing pools which drew on natural hot water. One of the pools was too hot to sit in, although the feel of the hot water pouring onto one's shoulders was very relaxing, and it was amazing to be just sitting, very warm, in water in the open . Swimming wasn't an option.

But it wasn't quite what I had envisaged, so we stopped just before Rotorua. Just off the road, a hot stream met a cold stream, providing a mix of water. We eased our way into the murky waters beneath trees where pintails whirled and fluttered. Choosing a spot according to temperature was easy.

It was a wonderful place to relax, soothing sore muscles in the sulphurous water.

The Road Through Mordor

After watching the final episode of the Lord of the Rings saga - The Return of the King - we journeyed up Mount Ruapehu spotting the location of Sam and Frodo's final scenes.

The mountain shone bright in the early morning sun, the crater covered in snow, giving way to bare lava coated in white lace.

The ski area was already heaving with excitement, even though it was still only 8.30. There was a national slalom competition on higher up the mountain and the queues for lift passes were already long.

Down on the beginners' slopes, there was a much more relaxed air.
Toddlers were skiing without poles, doing snow-ploughs so controlled that one even came to a complete stop by leaning forward and planting his head on the ground, tripod style. Skiers and snowboarders whizzed in and out of people strolling around taking photos or teaching beginners. There were even people throwing snowballs or making snowmen and children climbing up the lava scree, exploring.

It all seemed incredibly laid back.
Cat and Richard honed their snow boarding skills: I tramped around in the snow, taking photographs and marvelling at the beauty around me.

Later, we left for Rotorua. Mount Ngaruhoe, The Mountain of Doom in the Rings saga, shone in the sunlight and even Mount Tongariro, after which the whole National Park (a world heritage site), is named, was clear.

Stopping again in Ohakune for coffee, Cat bumped into friends: firstly, the family with whom she spent her first Christmas, who live in a nearby town. Then she met a CAP money coach from Auckland, on holiday in the area for a few days. Small world.

We left reluctantly, taking the Desert Road in the rain shadow of the three mighty volcanoes, gazing our fill until they disappeared from view...

Climate change: snow in August

A rainy morning and a slow start - not to mention some aching muscles - took us to Ohakune, on the south-western side of the mountain.

On the way, we passed thousands of rusty car wrecks - also known as the Horopito Vintage Vehicles and Museum.

Tempting, but we didn't stop.

Ohakune has, like so many of the rural settlements, the air of a frontier town. Many of the buildings are wooden, with deep verandahs. The Utopia cafe had an old brick fireplace and chimney, gleaming kauri wood floors and a menu of homemade, exotic cakes. The town had a reputation for growing winter vegetables - the vegetation on this side is much thicker and more lush, with thicker forest clothing the slopes.

We drove up to the ski area, even busier on this side. It started snowing...

Going back down, we took a mountain track towards the Waitonga Falls, at 65 metres the highest on the mountain.

 


The evergreen woods reminded us of Rivendell,  home of the elves in Tolkien's The Lord of the Ring saga. Mosses dripped off the trees, solitary lichen clung to bark. The leaves barely trembled in the stillness, broken only by the bell-like notes of a solitary tui, invisible among the trees.
The Ring was calling us...