Some Snippets and Photos, New Zealand

Excerpts from an email dated 16 September 2008:

Hi All,

Just been out for a morning walk: for the first time, I am able to take off my jacket & sweater! The sun is bright, it's quite warm, but the breeze has an edge to it. Last evening I watched and photographed the lake at sunset, and the wind off the snow mountains was cutting, I had all protective clothing on! The mountains look best early morning and evening, and I should have stayed on until the sun went down, as the snow stays almost luminous against the dark sky, and the hight clouds go pink & orange. I don't know if a digital camera will capture it, but I'll have a go tonight; you have to use a tripod and time-exposure, so it's experimental at present! I have taken 100's of photos, to try to get the best exposure, so quite a lot may be deleted eventually. However there are just so many angles to take photos from, so I mustn't waste too much time. I wanted to get up close to Mt Cook, but the bus service there and back only starts in the summer: here defined as 1st October! Anyway, it's pleasant & quiet here, and i have one more day to walk. I'm doing quite well, last evening I walked out across the bare bed of the lake (it is very low now), over rocks and boulders, and survived without the walking stick.

This high plateau is known as the "Mackenzie Country', after one James McKenzie, a 19th century Scottish immigrant. Mckenzie was a noted sheep-thief, and amassed a flock of over 1000 rustled sheep which he drove over Burke's Pass, to graze on the open land here. Arrested and sentenced to five years in prison, he escaped three times, after which the authorities allowed him to leave the country; I think he went to Australia. This must be one of the few farming districts anmed for a rogue! He's described as a New Zealand folk hero.

After two years of drought the plateau looks as brown as the highveld in winter, but they hope for better rains.

There is a memorial here to the collie dog, which was put up by the sheep-farmers as a tribute to these fine dogs, without which they couldn't work here.

Yesterday morning early I took a flight around Mt Cook and the Alps; the aircraft look quite big in the brochure, but I had no breakfast, just in case. In the event, there were extra passengers, and I was allocated to a seriously small aircraft (excuse if I'm repeating this?), a Cessna 6-seater! Five of us got in, and I had to sit in the co-pilot's seat, very cramped. It was alright at altitude, but on the way back, of course, it got very rough, and I had my sick-bag ready in my hands. However, the pilot Andrew was very good; I just made it to the airport without throwing up. I say airport, it is just a tarmac strip in the middle of this wilderness, and a small terminal building. I went off and had a large breakfast (for me), and that's just the "small breakfast", the Farmers' breakfast includes rib-eye steak!

Magic Moments: A Dolphin in the Swan River.

Copied from an e-mail from Perth:

Perth, WA, Wednesday 22 October.

Hi everybody,

I'm spending a few days here to see my relatives and an old school friend. It's quite a change from NZ: I arrived on Monday, temperature 28°, and on Tuesday 34°! Monday evening it was hot and muggy, and perfectly calm. At about 9:30pm we walked down to the Swan River to see the city lights. There is a small jetty at the end of the road with a good view of the skyscrapers of Perth. While we were standing there, we heard a splash and a dolphin swam right under the jetty! There are two street lights on the jetty, but this dolphin didn't seem worried at all, in fact it swam around the jetty repeatedly, seemed to be enjoying itself. I could almost have touched it. He (or she) came right into the shallow water so that the dorsal fin showed. Every now and then there was a bigger splash as it chased some tasty fish, in the shallows near the beach. Even the camera flashes didn't bother this one -- unfortunately I didn't have my camera, but there were other people there too, with cameras. We must have watched its antics for about 20-30 minutes, an unforgettable experience. Apparently when the high tide pushes salt water up the estuary the dolphins are seen in the river quite frequently, but I've never heard of one coming right into the shallows like that.

The next evening I went down to the jetty again, to try and photograph the city lights, but that didn't work too well. As I turned away, I spotted something on the very end of the jetty: on closer inspection it proved to be a bird, similar to a heron. It stood perfectly still as I slowly walked closer and took this flash photo of it -- it took no notice of me.

Northwards again.

Tauranga, North Island, Friday 10th October.

Being unable to progress any further south without a boat, I caught a plane from Invercargill back to Christchurch, for a short stopover there. I'd booked a ticket on the Tranzalpine train to Arthurs' Pass: it's a favourite tourist tour, NZ Railways run a daily excursion from Christchurch to Greymouth on the West coast, returning in the evening. I took the option to get off at the Pass and catch the train on its return trip.

Arthur's Pass, named after Arthur Dobson, the engineer who surveyed the railway, is possibly the most spectacular of the NZ Alps passes. From the green farmlands of the Canterbury Plains, the line winds up into the foothills, and crosses some deep gorges on high steel girder bridges. The scenery gets more vertical as you climb. At about 900m the line levels out onto a grassy valley that in Switzerland would be called an alp: there is a large sheep station, Craigieburn, up there, it must be a very lonely and bleak place to work in winter. In late September there was still snow on the surrounding peaks.

At Arthur's Pass station, I disembarked, with the intention of taking a short walk to one of the spectacular waterfalls I'd read about. I changed my mind after I'd gone a short distance down the main street, as the rain increased to a deluge, and the wind from the Tasman side blew into a gale. It was freezing, and probably snowing at higher altitude, and seeing little point in getting both cold and wet, I retreated to one of the two cafés in the main street, where there was a log fire and some tea and cake. Having sat around there for long enough, I crossed the road to the other café, where I had some more tea and read a newspaper. A sandwich and apple served for lunch, which I ate out in the wind on the verandah. Two Keas, the comical alpine parrots of New Zealand, provided some entertainment for the tourists: these large green birds are very tame, but also cheeky, and will pull at your shoelaces with their sharp, curved beaks. Many hikers have found their boots or rucksacks pecked to shreds in the mornings! More about them later.

Feeling I'd outstayed my welcome on that side, I moved back to the other café to sit by the fire and have a coffee. The gale was by then blowing the rain horizontally. Having had more than enough coffee and tea, I stopped off at the DOC (Dept of Conservation) visitor site, where there were some interesting nature displays, and one of the original stagecoaches that traversed the Pass in the 1800's. The coach is in a good state of preservation; it was interesting to note that the vehicle was built in New Hampshire, USA.

The old road pass was built in the 19th century to connect Christchurch and the Canterbury Plains with the developing goldfields on the west coast, and the track was hacked out of the mountainside with pick and shovel. There were many landslides and rockfalls, and the journey through the old pass must have been an ordeal for passengers.

On the assumption that it would by then be polite to leave the two cafés, I walked across to the station waiting room, and got thoroughly wet just walking there. The heaters in the waiting room weren't working (nb: they were, I just couldn't find the switch), so I spent the rest of my afeternoon walking in circles round the room, clapping my gloved hands together to try and warm them, while the rain drove hard against the windows, and at one point water began to leak through the frames. The crowd of tourists returned, and we waited for the train to appear from the Otira tunnel . I'd waited patiently to get a photo of the train emerging from the Otira tunnel, and when the headlights appeared, the tourists all got in the way. I hope that the pictures will reflect the rather dramatic view through the driving rain and mist.

The rain cleared soon on the descent from the pass, and a rainbow appeared. Down on the plains it was warm again. A rainbow appeared in the mist as the train wound down to the plains. Back in Christchurch, relaxed and felt that this had been a worhtwhile adventure despite the awful weather. As R L Stevenson wrote;

"to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive,"

and in my book, at least, one takes the countries one travels to as you find them, bad weather and all (but this sort of thing should be done when you're younger!) New Zealand has been a great experience, I leave tomorrow with a collection of pleasant memotries of a spectacular country, and many friendships made and renewed.

There is still something to tell about the scenic parts around Marlborough Sounds and Kaikoura, watch this space after I get back to SA. For the time being, farewell to Aotearoa, islands in the southern sea.

Forty-seven South: Invercargill and the Last Island.

From: Blenheim, Marlborough:

More about Invercargill:

On the edge of Queen's Park, along Victoria Street, is the Southland Museum and Art Gallery. At the time of my visit, the museum was undergoing extensions and renovations, and not much art was on display. The museum has a good collection of Maori artifacts: weapons, carvings and a hand-carved dugout canoe. The Maori were what I suppose would be regarded as hunter-gatherers, and I was particularly fascinated by the collection of hand-made fish-hooks; there were hooks crafted from bone, wood and stone, with woven or twisted fibres attached. Adzes, weapons and tools crafted from wood, stone and fibres are on display.

The few ceremonial carvings on the display are interesting, and seem to feature human heads and faces to some extent. I had an odd sort of train of thought; when I landed in New Zealand, on the southeast shores of the Pacific Ocean, I reflected that thirty-two years ago, I had sood for the first time on the far north-east shore of the Pacific, on the beach at Vancouver, British Columbia. There the Coast Indian tribes, the Haida I can recall, also had a long tradition of wood-carving, for instance in their elaborate totem poles and lodge-fronts. To a lay observer like me, the difference seemed to be that the Canadian indians concetrated on images of animals: their totems carry images of the Beaver, the Bear, the Deer, creatures that had some mythical significance, and atop many totems is the image of the Thunderbird, a bird I suppose like a super-eagle, that occupied some important place in their oral tradition. The name was also crassly hijacked by the Ford motor Co for a particularly ugly motor car.

On this brief visit to New Zealand, I've not seen much of native Maori art, but I would be interested to compare it with the Canadian indian art. A friend with whom I stayed in Vancouver showed me some of the Coast indians' drawings, in black ink on a white background, which had become very sought-after by rich collectors from the south. The young indians had been suddenly inundated with dollars paid for their art, and often as a result succumbed to the ravages of strong drink, as their culture had very different view of traditional barter systems, and of course they had no bank accounts. The Coast indians used elaborate animal masks for their traditional ceremonial dances, and these also had acquired an inflated value among the rich collectors; just another tragic consequence of so-called "colonial values"? For a good story about the Canadian coast indians, read I heard the Owl Call My Name, by Margaret (?) Craven.

But I digress from my brief account of New Zealand and the Maori, people of Polynesian origin (I think), and there can hardly be a cultural connection across that sort of divide. I'm told by my hostess that the Te Papa Museum in Wellington is essential viewing, and will try to do that when in Wellingon the week after next.

The Southland Museum has a good display about New Zealand's sub-antarctic islands, away to the south: Auckland, Bounty, and several others, up to 600 km souh of Stewart Island. The remote islands are now being rehabilitated as nature reserves, unique ecosystems. Formerly they were the site of many shipwrecks; the islands lay close to the great circle route of the old sailing ships from Australia to Cape Horn, and many a ship went ashore there. for a time a coastwatch was kept there, with emergency supplies to aid distressed mariners. At the height of the 19th century whaling boom, many whalers called there. The demand for seal fur led to the wholesale killing of fur seals, practically wiping them out; the New Zealand fur seal is now a protected species, but it's doubtful whether they will ever regain their former numbers. The traffic of shipping around the southern end of New Zealand was busy in the sailing ship era, and many were the wrecks on the coast around Bluff, the southern-most town. Bluff, incidentally, is said to be the oldest continuously inhabited town in New Zealand: the first settlers established themselves there in 1824.

For some reason, the Southland Museum has an unusal nature section, housing the small breeding population of the very rare Tuatara lizards. These reptiles are apparently directly descended from the dinosaurs; they look a little like a monitor lizard ('leguaan' in South Africa) with a more knobbly hide, and a fierce appearance. Many years ago, when Gerald Durrell visited new Zealand, he mentioned that the only remaining Tuatara were located on a lonely island off the coast. The department of conservation have succeeded in esatbilshing a small breeding group of these unusal creatures, unique to New Zealnd, I believe. The repiles have an uncanny ability to stand perfectly still, without blinking, for long periods. The first time I went there, I viewed them through the outdoor windows, and was convinced they were plaster models! A closer inspection, and reading the information boards, I realised they were the real McCoy. They are reputed to grow to about 60 cm long, but those in the Southland Museum are much smaller. The largest and oldest has been nicknamed Henry by the staff: Henry very nearly fooled me again by staying perfectly still for about 20 minutes. Towards midday, when the windows of the enclosure were warmed by the sun, some more specimens appeared, and at last Henry actually turned round and walked into his burrow. The was a cage containing some babies, living in miniature burrows, who also moved. If I'm not mistaken, that is the first batch of Tuatara successfully bred in captivity. There may yet be hope for these dragon-like creatures to be seen in the wild again, perhaps in small numbers. 

But to return to the day visit to Stewart Island, the last substantial piece of New Zealand before Antarctica. On 27th September I took the light plane, a Britten Islander 10-seater, from Invercargill airport to Stewart Island, a journey of only about fifteen minutes across the Foveaux Strait. The airport on the island was about the most isolated I saw in New Zealand -- just an asphalt strip in the bush, no beacons, lights or terminal building. A minibus took us to the little town of Oban, the only settlement on Stewart. Most of the island is undeveloped, and set aside as a nature reserve. There one can find a unique population of wildlife; it's one of the few places where the native Kiwi bird can be seen. Oban lies along the shore of Halfmoon Bay, with a long stretch of clean beach. There are a few shops, a visitor centre, the ferry terminal and a fishing wharf. The island is popular for summer holidays, and holiday homes and campsites are spread around Oban. The area has beautiful beaches in secluded bays, and a number of private boats were moored around Oban and Paterson Inlet, a deeply indented part of the coast, offering secure moorings. Having finally reached my 'furthest south' destination, I took off my shoes and socks, and paddled in the shallow water; it was icy, and I doubt if I would have swum there even in summer!

On a hill overlooking Halfmoon Bay stands a small wood and corrugated iron Presbyterian Church, built (I think) in 1904. I found it quite touching to find this remote settlement bordering on the Southern Ocean, half a world away from the charming West Highland town of th same name, where I stayed while touring scotland in 1969. Tthe Scots, like the Irish, have settled in many of the old dominions, and  Scottish roots go deep; one can only imagine the feelings of the lonely Highland folk who settled this tiny piece of land in the 19th century. Most of them would never see their homes again, and their descendants now form a part of the stolid and hardy population of the southern islands of a new nation. In the church were some cards in envelopes stamped "Presbyterian Church, Oban, Stewart Island". I bought one and sent it wih good wishes to an old friend of my late mother; they had travelled and taught together and enjoyed a wonderful bond of friendship. They had also been to the West Highland town of Oban, I think.

Later in the afternoon, I was taken back to the very basic airport, and taken back to Invercargill, to rejoin the modern New Zealand. The next day I took the Air New Zealand morning flight back to Christchurch, with good memories of my little southern adventure. From there I took the railway excursion up to Arthur's Pass, but that is a story for another day.

Forty-seven Degrees South Latitude

Christchurch, New Zealand.

Leaving the grandeur of mountains and fiords at last, I took a bus from Te Anau down to Invercargill, on 24th September; we were soon in the rolling farmlands and neat little towns of Southland. I had mistakenly thought that this might be the "back of beyond", the wilder regions of New Zealand, but Southland is a vibrant, productive part of the country. It is a major agricultural area, and industrialised: there is a huge aluminium smelter on the coast, which incidentally is powered by the massive Manapouri Hydro-electric scheme, where I had just been. I read that the bauxite ore is mined in North Queensland, semi-processed somewhere else, and smelted at Invercargill.

The city, obviously named for some place in Scotland, reflects the settlers' nostalgia in the street names, which are mostly the names of Scottish rivers: Dee, Don, Spey, Tweed, Ettrick. As luck would have it, I had picked a bed & breakfast lodging very close to the bus stop at Queen's Park, a short walk from the city. It's a plain wooden cottage, with corrugated iron roof, and my hosts made me really welcome. They made me feel at home, and said I could come and go as I pleased, they did not lock the house! Coming from South Africa as I do, one can imagine how different this felt (in this day and age).

My first reaction on turning into the main street, Dee Street, was the architecture of the cityscape: there are no high-rise buildings! It was rather like looking back to the 1930's, or thereabouts, a lot of the buildings of two and three storeys have been preserved, and the facades decorated in the original styles. The Grand Hotel, at four storeys, was about the highest in sight, like an Victorian or Edwardian period piece. The ground floor levels were re-vamped, and done up as shops and offices, with more modern frontages. From the gigantic landscapes of Fiordland, I was transported into a cityscape where almost every street contained some architectural curiosity. With camera clicking busily, I walked the streets until sunset, which in itself was quite photogenic. The old City Hall, now a theatre, has been decorated in blue and cream, and is a gem of the late 19th or early 20th century. The Law courts are a remarkable contrast, the old courthouse is a rather severe single storey building in a 1920's or 30's style, immaculately maintained. The Justice Department must have run out of space, as they have built a nine-storey block next to the old court, about the highest building in town! The street is occupied by many solicitors' and barristers' offices. If you happen to be in Invercargill, The Kiln bar and restaurant is excellent, it is obviously the meeting and eating place of the legal fraternity. In my time around the city, I found some quite remarkable examples of architecture in what might be termed the Grand Manner: a Masonic hall, all massive pillars and brickwork; St Mary's Basilica, an ornate cathedral with a copper dome, built in 1905. I gathered it was the parish church for the catholic community; the Basilica stood out above the low-rise cityscape, not ugly, just somewhat incongruous. next door are the very neatly-kept Otepuni Gardens, with the Otepuni Creek flowing through, and the spring flowers just coming out: more camera-clicking -- one cannot resist the brilliant colours in the gardens, exremely photogenic.

Gardens and parks are a common thread running through my experience of New Zealand; parks and gardens, even the flower-beds on the traffic islands, are meticulously trimmed and cultivated, the edges immaculate and the flowers in formal lines (where appropriate, of course!). I admire the community spirit of a nation who are able, and willing, to put on show even the smallest towns. I could list them all, but that would be tedious; Queen's Park, Invercargill; Victoria and Hagley Parks, Christchurch, the War Memorial Gardens in Blenheim, where I am typing this now (3rd October), are gorgeous displays of gardening enthusiasm. To the prospective traveller in New Zealnd I would say: by all means see the grandeur of the mountains and the fiords, the fertile plains, the lovely coastline, but don't neglect the towns and cities, the are wondrous things there too.

This post must go up now: if you still have an interest, there's more to come, and I have a whack of pictures to show. See you around!

Aotearoa: Land of the Long White Cloud.

Te Anau, New Zealand.

Haven't added to the blog for some time, so here we are on the other side of the world from Freiberg and my front door. The journey here was a major odessey, from SA to Dubai, and then a long slog across the Indian Ocean and Australia, a stop at Sydney, and I landed in Christchurch on 10th September. Impressions are good, the city is neatly laid out in grid fashion, the street names reminiscent of Olde England: Worcester, Hereford, Armagh and the like. Christchurch was settled in 1850 by a party of Anglican settlers led by one Mr Godley, and the town and surrounding farming areas on the Canterbury Plains have thrived. The city boasts a very "English" stone cathedral, rahter like an old English cathedral town, but strangely incongruous as the surroundings of the cathedral have no other ancient monuments, all is new and modern. there is a pretty park, Victoria Park, laid out along the Avon River (what else?). A typical statue of The good Queen graces the square, but by a curious quirk of design, Victoria had her back to the statue of Captain James Cook, who was in at the start here, so to speak. I read a biography of the captain last time I was in Australia, by R Hough (?), which made me thinkCook was one of the great navigators, and a hero to boot. He was undoubtedly a great explorer, I've seen the replica of his ship, the "Endeavour", built in Fremantle in the 1990's, and the thought of voyaging around the world in such a small vessel gives food for thought. however, this week I heard a talk on Radio New Zealand by a biographer who claims to have found out much more about Cook's last voyages; it has long been known that Cook's widow destroyed most of his later letters, and it now emerges that there may have been a reason for this; James Cook suffered from quite serious mental illnes towards the end of his life, and on the last voyage this author claims that Cook "lost it", and often became psychotic. I recall that his relations with the Maori and Polynesian tribes were erratic, to say the least, and as is well documented, the last fight with the Hawaiian king resulted in Cook's murder. Judgement is reserved until I find the book.

Coming over here after spending spring in Switzerland and Germany, was, to put it mildly, an antipodean move of gigantic proportions. I like it here, the towns and cities are clean and neat, the people really friendly and easygoing: clichés which are easy to quote, but oddly true. In fact, apart from some language differences, people are not that much apart: in spirit, as it were. Europe has the backing of centuries of history, and all the artifacts of great monuments, musical heritage, and beautiful countryside that readers of this blog would doubtless have picked up. Countries commonly spoken of as former "colonies" (as if that were derogatory, which is not valid), now forming a somewhat hazily defined Commonwealth, have something in common. I've been lucky enough to have visited the old dominions -- Canada, Australia, now New Zealand, and of course my troubled home South Africa. Physically they couldn't be more different, but one comes to admire the similarities; tough people carving a living from the wilderness, urban and rural communities who display remarkably similar spirit and solidarity: when you live far fromthe "old country" you tend to rely on your neighbours, and they on you, for companionship and assistance. There's of course the downside of colonialism, as I well know from my native SA, and the Zulu and Border wars etc, and of course the colonies built on slavery and repression, but one could go down that road at another time.

Which brings one back full circle to the heritages of ancient Europe: Germany in particular, has a chequered past to put it kindly. In the shocking aftermath of world War Two, Europe only really got it together with the Treaty of Rome in 1957; having celebrated the 50th anniversary of the European Union, they have got something to look back on with pride. Time can soften the memory, but the horrors of the Holocaust remain, as do the memories of wars strtching over centuries. In June 2007 I visited the site of Buchenwald concentration camp Memorial; that was a deeply moving and shocking experience, I've felt it was wrong to take photos, and have only ever shown them to one other person.

That opens up a whole train of memories and speculations, and probably doesn't really gel with my peaceful (if cold and wet) day on the shores of the beautiful Lake Te Anau, and the glorious scenery I saw yesterday at Milford Sound, justly regarded as one of the great natural wonders. More on that, let's look up again.

Before leaving Maritzburg, I bought a copy of the Odessey, thinking it might be appropriate reading for such a long plane journey, but found it heavy going. I'm no classicist, and the Greek mythology has largely passed me by, but I thought to end this post with a quote from Tennyson's Ulysses, a poem not for all tastes, but it strikes a chord with me:

".................Come, my friends,

'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the Western stars, until I die....."

One didn't exectly smite the sounding furrows, we came in an Airbus A340-500, at 11500m and a lot faster than Ulysses' oarsmen, but you get the drift. Happy landings.

A Clivia Beside My Door.

Years ago I was given a seedling clivia, which thrived on the shaded porch. The plant was transplanted to a bigger pot, and grew apace until it was rootbound. Then I transferred it to a shady spot in the flowerbed near the porch.

For some years this clivia has produced one perfect bloom every spring; this year it is about two weeks early, and as usual it is a lovely flash of colour to greet all who enter here.

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying:

And this same flower that smiles today,

To-morrow will be dying."

Robert Herrick, 1591-1674.