Out of Summer & Into India

Back at the end of last winter, when the snowboarding-high was still strong in my bloodstream, Luke told me about a little trip he had planned for 2008. In the coming February, he and some mates would be heading for whiter pastures, and as one person had dropped out, there was space for another addict. That time soon arrived, and when most people in New Zealand were worshipping air-conditioning and had sun lotion perma-sheen, I was putting the pack to my back and flying to the Northern Hemisphere in search of glorious white powder.

I had a minor episode at Auckland airport as no-one could make up their minds if I needed a transfer visa for Australia, but apart from that, all went well. I was even so fortunate as to have a generous check-in attendant who overlooked my bag weighing 8kg over the maximum limit, and checked it through all the way so the other airlines wouldn’t pick up on it either.

3 flights, 24 hours, and not much sleep later, I arrived in Delhi. It was a different world to the one I’d left behind in New Zealand, but the similarity to Nepal helped me feel at ease. There wasn’t so much of a culture shock this time, but a realized expectation.

In Nepal, we were ambushed upon leaving the airport by a seemingly helpful hoard, intend on carrying our bags and lightening our wallets. In Delhi, the attack was brought into the airport, but at least distinct barriers kept them at a distance. After a brief case of mistaken identity involving who the real owner of my name board was, I was outside the airport watching my bag being haphazardly balanced on the roof of a snack-sized car. The driver and the name board holder (two distinct skill-sets so different people required for each task), tried arguing the bag would be OK, but with two snowboards and all my belongings at risk, I remained adamant a form binding was to be used.

When we set off, they noticed me struggling to secure my seatbelt and said that only the front passengers were required to belt up in Delhi. I resisted the urge to argue beyond this myopic view as to my true concerns being beyond mere legalities and opted instead for a whispered prayer.

After a short while into the journey, they uttered a phrase that would become very familiar to me over my time in India – “Tips?” I’d experienced hundreds of requests for hand-outs in SE Asia, and felt much more comfortable now not reaching for my wallet straight away - Particularly so in this instance, as sitting out from the black leather was NZ$200 and INR5000 in crisp large denomination notes. Instead, I played the ignorant and enthusiastic Englishmen abroad, and encouragingly asked them for all the good ‘tips’ they could give me on what to see in Delhi. Their expressions showed their frustration at my misunderstanding, but with only a limited grasp of English, their responding clarifications never improved beyond repeating the same phrase, to which I countered every time with appreciative comments. I couldn’t help but smile inwardly.

When I arrived at the hotel, those that were already in Delhi were long gone into the depths of the city, so I settled into my room, showered, changed, and went to the restaurant next door for my first authentic curry.

I then hired a taxi for 4 hours, to take me to The Red Fort (a 2 hour return trip, and yet probably less than 20 km), with the proviso that I also needed to pick up a local sim card for my mobile phone. With each moment I spent on the roads I thought more on the similarities with Nepal. The quality of roads in Delhi was far better, but the driving politics were equally chaotic. 2 lane roads became 6 lanes, and horns sounded with pulse-like frequency, as cars constantly moved within centimetres of trading paint only to miss by the grace of Shiva.

I arrived at the Red Fort, and agreed a pick up time and place with the driver for just under an hour. Within a few footsteps of leaving the car I was approached by a small boy offering “help”. He followed me around while I bought my entry ticket and then asked for his recompense before I could leave him at the entry gate. In reply, I asked that he tell me something of interest about the Red Fort, outside which he had staked as his picking territory. With only a shrug to offer me, I asked for just one fact to justify a donation. Once again, he gave a shrug with the addition of a pleading expression. I may have been tired, but I was no longer hungry, so this time I handed over a modest sum and suggested he should go and learn or make up a few facts.

India has been described many times as a stark contrast of amazing beauty on one side, and its opposing extreme sitting in reflection. The Red Fort wasn’t the most stunning construction of beauty I had ever seen, but it was definitely a difference to the world beyond its walls. Outside, everywhere seemed to be stuck in the construction phase with only few buildings ever attaining a finished state. Activity was everywhere. 10 men would be working in a space normally occupying and requiring only one. Inside, there was a peace and tranquility that contradicted The Red Fort’s purpose, but affirmed its completion date, 369 years prior.

Being by myself and working towards an unchangeable pick-up time, I walked swiftly around the grounds, capturing digital views but not dwelling as couples and families might.

The driver took a long route home, passing various embassies, the president’s palace, parliament, India Arch, and a few other places whose names I was unable to excavate from his heavy accent. I picked up a sim card with as much ease as applying for a U.S. ‘Green Card’, and probably involving more forms, and then headed back to the hotel as the last sunlight faded from the city. I scoffed down my 2nd curry (and here the count ends so as to avoid near infinite repeated occurrences throughout this blog series), and retreated to my room and into bed. As darkness swam my way, a knock at the door brought me back to the room. Luke’s friends, Roger, Todd, and “Jubs” had come to say “hi”, but in my state of exhaustion I could barely manage minimum pleasantries before “good nights” were wished and I was slipping back towards the subconscious. The next knock signaled Luke’s arrival, and being an established friend, I must have felt less compelled to exchange pleasantries as I passed out again before his backpack hit the floor.

Summer In The City

It was an incredible summer. It started the moment winter finished at the end of October and reigned supreme to the end of February. We spent most weekends in disbelief, hoping it would last, and at the same time expecting its sudden downfall and disappearance for another year. Most weekends, we jumped on a bus to the north shore and grazed Takapuna beach, but we also explored the Hauraki gulf a little more, with a trip to Motuihe Island. As with so many other short trips away from the city centre we were amazed at the peace and tranquility so easily available within close proximity to the busiest area of the country.

The unusually warm weather attracted a large number of sharks to the shores of New Zealand, with one worrying photo of a popular holiday spot showing over 40 sharks around a sand bank not 20 metres from the shore – Hammerheads, Makos, and Bronze Whalers. Contrary to their dreaded reputation though, no-one suffered an unprovoked attack, although a couple of life-guards that were trying to scare off one shark did endure some bite damage to their dingy.

We didn’t explore as much of the country as last summer, but instead spent more time around the city, enjoying lunches at the waterfront, trips to the beaches, and walks in all directions. We attended an exhibition of the Terracotta Warriors, wandered around the "Aquatica Festival" and watched a man squeeze himself through a tennis racket. It wasn’t a summer of obvious achievement, but and a synchronization of rhythms, coalescing environment and person.

Festivities & Fur

This was our first Christmas spent in New Zealand. Last year, we’d made a surprise trip to the Northern Hemisphere and dropped in on our families in the Czech Republic and England. This year however, we checked the accounts and "computer said no.” So, we did what we could to make it seem more like home.

Lucie went shopping with a friend in the direction of St. Luke’s Shopping Centre, and after checking out a couple of garden centres, managed to pick us up a splendid Christmas tree from a private seller. We bought a few decorations from ‘The Warehouse’ and Lucie made up tissue paper white roses for the tree. We reasoned that Christmas in summer would need slightly different decorations and the result she made was ‘perfick’.

On Christmas Eve, along with a couple of English mates, we headed over to ‘SnowPlanet’ and got our white Christmas. First we took things seriously and enjoyed our own ways of getting down the slope, by way of board or skis. Then, we borrowed a few sledges that were lying around and took about 20 years off our lives as we bombed down the slope, out of control, getting covered in snow-spray and giggling like kids.

On Christmas day, I couldn’t go without all the normal traditions, so I’d stocked up well. I started drinking around 10 o’clock in the morning. Normally this would be either while making the fire at my parents’ house, or just sitting around it. We snacked on nibbles, breadsticks and the like, and had a melon starter sometime around noon. We watched the film offerings on TV, and prepared the Christmas Roast. I certainly wasn’t going to go without that. Mum emailed me the recipes for dishes I didn’t know, and our feast gradually took shape. For dessert, we destroyed a Strawberry Double-Decker Cake that Lucie made and then succumbed to the sofa.

In the evening, I made ‘skype’ calls to my brother and then my parents. On most ‘skype’ occasions it’s usually Saturday morning for me, and Friday night for my parents, so my dad is well past at least one bottle of wine. It was nice on this occasion to be the one that was under the influence and being somewhat silly.

In the days following Christmas, we enjoyed the beautiful sunshine, and took walks around the city. Any illusion we’d established of it being Christmas in our decorated apartment was broken once we stepped into the summer heat. I don’t think it will ever feel like Christmas this side of the world.

Lucie and I had made pretty regular visits to the various pet shops of Auckland for some time now. In fact, even back in England, we’d kill time by popping into one to see the animals. For me, this was more of a relaxing pastime, but for Lucie, I think each of these was a scouting trip. She missed her cat back in Czech, and really really wanted another. However, our uncertainty over how long we were going to stay in New Zealand had always stopped her before, but then a little Christmas magic took over. Two grey and white kittens in the Newmarket pet store put a spell on her. I saw them with her on the first occurance, and then when she returned alone the next day, she left with company.

I came back from the gym, and found I had a new and furry flatmate. I acted pretty blasé about him at first, but it was damn hard not to love the little critter.

On New Years' Eve we had a pretty quiet one. Gone are the days where I’d look forward months in advance to one of the biggest social nights of the year, and more often than not, have a night that vastly differed from what I’d hoped for. On this occasion, we kept it low key. A few cocktails in front of the TV and brief walk outside at midnight to watch the bringing of a new year with fireworks from the skytower. Not quite the displays you see in London, but it was good nonetheless.

So, we began 2008 with a new addition to the household and a firmer tie to New Zealand. Our future now looked as though we wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and certainly not before we’d saved enough money for one extra plane ticket.

I t'ink I saw a puddy-cat

From the first time we visited Auckland Zoo, the animal encounter experience had been on a mental checklist for us. As time passed by and work took over our lives, our progress with the list slowed down and the ink began to fade. Then when I was trying to think of something to do with a day-off from work (I have one extra day holiday that must be used or is lost each quarter), the idea came back to life. However, I guessed that this had also disappeared from Lucie’s memory, so it would make a great surprise day-out for her.

We arrived slightly early so had a quick drink and something to eat before we heard our booking name announced. Then we joined another couple and started the preliminary tour. Our charismatic guide enthusiastically fed us facts for each animal we passed and made sure we were told plenty about those we were meeting.

Our first glimpse of the big cats was behind glass as we stood with the regular visitors. Then with a signal from the handlers, we were ushered around the back of the enclosure, through a locked gate, and into the animals’ den. A few more warnings & instructions and we were standing less than 10 metres away, allowing them to get accustomed to our presence.

We moved closer - down to 3 metres. They seemed to be placid enough, but our hearts hammered away preparing us for a futile attempt at flight. As we moved closer, the guide told us (with perfect timing) that they were actually the biggest ‘scaredy-cats’ in the animal kingdom, and were actually more afraid of us. However, the thought occurred that a frightened animal can turn aggressive in defense so we took no chances in moving slowly and quietly. In all honesty though, the worst that probably would’ve happened is that they’d have moved to the opposite end of the enclosure and not let us near them.

We were taken in turns to sit behind one of the Cheetahs and stroke its flank. The other couple was first and then us. The Cheetah had seemed a little agitated so Lucie and I were to go one by one with her being first. However, it seemed as though he’d had enough for the day as soon after I sat stroking next to Lucie, the big cat began to growl. We were told to back off, and then when he’d calmed down we moved back in again, but the deep sound started again.

After that, we all moved to form a line a couple of metres away. We asked questions of the handlers, and were told stories about the Cheetahs, ‘Anubis’ and ‘Osiris’. I guess I’d hoped for a longer time with them, more interaction perhaps, but it was a good experience nonetheless, and it certainly kept Lucie smiling all day.

Breaking Into Summer

By the end of November we were comfortably into summer. The uncertainty in the weather that prevailed last year had been succeeded by constant days of reliable sunshine. We felt confident in embarking on a weekend away, and had sufficient faith to return to tent life.

A friend from work was celebrating his birthday with friends in the Coromandel, so we used the excuse to get out of the city and join them. We left Auckland around 9am on Saturday morning and were tucking into fish and chips near our destination around noon. The others hadn’t been to ‘Hot Water Beach’ before, so we met there and watched them battle against the tide as they attempted to dig their hot pools. A cool wind dissuaded us from shedding clothes and giving anything more than our feet to the hot water, but the tourist-virgins splashed around victoriously all around us.

When we arrived at the campsite, the sun was out in force and the cool wind had disappeared. We took a short walk over a couple of sand dunes and onto the adjoining beach. There were no plans beyond just being here, so we relaxed with a few beers, strolled along the sand, and tried fishing from the shore. Sadly the only thing we caught were crabs, but that didn’t matter; we’d previously stocked up on meat from the supermarket so our BBQ was more than adequately equipped for a hefty dinner.

It felt good to be in a tent again. It was cramped, uncomfortable sleeping at its best, with an early morning sunlight wake-up call. It brought back fond memories of all the fun we’d had camping around Western Australia, and helped us mentally escape that much further from our working lives in Auckland.

In the morning we smiled at each other as we packed up the tent. Our speed and efficiency betrayed how practiced we were and we easily fell back into the old routine, knowing our parts in the process.


The idea was to grab a full breakfast somewhere, and then beach hop our way back around the Coromandel Peninsula, slowly returning to Auckland Sunday evening.

We picked up a mighty fry-up in Whitianga and dented the sand of one beach, but it wasn’t long before the birthday boy was calling for more booze and we were taking in an early lunch.

The day moved on and it became more obvious we were hearing a different drummer than the birthday group. Their goal was a full-on drinking session back in Auckland, and ours was to post-pone the return trip and enjoy the last of our break. So, we parted ways as they returned home with maximum speed, & we stayed on a beach.

Escape to Waiheke

We’ve lived with many people since coming to New Zealand. They have ranged from the polite, clean, and considerate to the loud, obnoxious, and insane. There are only a few we’ve stayed in touch with, and probably even less we’d live with again. Two people that fall into both those positive categories are an American couple we lived with for around 6 months.

Our early summer was still reigning unchallenged and called out for weekend exploration. We joined up with our old flat mates, Erik and Minerva and set out on a morning ferry ride out into the Hauraki Gulf. Waiheke Island had escaped our presence last summer thanks to the fact good weather seemed to bypass every weekend we planned to go there, but there would be no reprieve from us this year.

We stepped off the ferry and breathed in the relaxation. 30 minutes away by sea, and half the world away in feel. We were just starting to let the atmosphere truly take over our senses when a local tour guide approached us and started the hard sell. While I looked at our surroundings I caught the eye of a café worker who had clearly seen the speech before. She looked at me with complete sincerity and mouthed the word “RUN”. Once my laughter subsided I joined the girls in reiterating the fact we wanted to do our own thing and were not interested in a tour. He muttered his rejected annoyance and walked out towards a mini-van full of Japanese tourists. They stared out like sheep from a trailer, and I felt a pang of sorrow for them as they were carted away.

We on the other hand, picked up a hire car and set out on roads curvier than a Playboy party. The island is only 20 km long, so we didn’t expect the long journeys between stops, but then it didn’t worry us either; we were in no hurry.

We stopped at beaches, cut foot prints in sand, and climbed rocks. When hunger called, we made our choice from the 13 vineyards on the island and prepared to sample the culinary delights. Our first course was an obvious choice for such a venue - a selection of wines were brought out on a tray for us to sample, mull over, and enjoy. By the time those glasses were empty, food was definitely required to bring me back to road legal. Thankfully the food here was as good as the wine, and we made every mouthful last. It was obvious to see why ‘Stonyridge Vineyard” was so well regarded.

In the afternoon we continued our drive around the island and went for a short walk across a headland to a seemingly secluded beach. The sky was beginning to darken by the time we arrived so we didn’t hang around long, and began our journey back to the ferry terminal.

Back in Auckland, the colours surrounding us had paled again, while those of our new memories were still fresh from the brush. We'd had a great escape from the city, and would definitely return to Waiheke again.

Park 'Live'

I would rank them as one of my favourite bands. When they released their first album, it captured emotions I was feeling and became a soundtrack to many moments of those times. There is a raw passion and emotion to their songs that is hard to ignore. Their blend of almost classical melodies mixed with screaming choruses not seen in such brilliance since Axel Rose graced the stage, rings out in perfect balance. I’d thought about what it would be to see them perform ‘live’ for many years and always said it would not be an event I’d miss.

At around seven o’clock we left our apartment and headed out into the night. A few drinks mixed with a few songs at home, got our hearts beating to the evenings pace. The closer we got to the Vector arena, the more people streamed onto the road we followed, and we became lost in a single mass of people, carried along by snippets of songs sang proudly by the crowd.
The support act for any gig is usually a good indication of the quality of the main event. In this instance, the support was probably worthy of the ticket alone. Chris Cornell played a great mix of his solo work, Audioslave greats, and took us on a memorable trip down ‘Soundgarden’ lane.

A short intermission and a quick beer later and we were back in the thick of the crowd counting down to the main event. Bright lights lit up a huge thin curtain covering the stage and the start of a song began. As soon as one scream rang out from the crowd, it set off a sequence and the whole place erupted. Link Park had arrived in New Zealand.

They played an incredible set. If you could pick a top selection of their tunes, then I’m sure that every one of them was played with passion. When they reached the end of the night, and I said to Lucie that they hadn’t played ‘Faint’… well, you can guess what the first encore was. We sang along throughout the night like everyone else, and emerged outside afterwards slightly deaf and unable to speak. It was an incredible show and I’ll definitely be first in line to buy tickets when they next head this way.

Moving On

An amazing example of how you should never tempt fate and just keep your mouth shut occurred sometime in August. On one of those rare occasions when everyone in the flat was together, in this instance, playing Texas Holdem Poker, someone asked if the rent has been increased at any time during the 13 months Lucie and I had been there. We looked at each other and replied “not once” with joyful realisation. The next day we received a letter from our agency notifying that the rent would be increased by an astronomical $80 / week in 2 months.

I sent a half-hearted letter to the agency requesting that the landlord reconsider, but in truth, we had been looking for a good reason to move out. The problem had always been that it was just too good staying where we were. The apartment was a spacious, top floor, luxurious apartment in the city centre, and living with 4 other people meant the bills were cheap and so was the rent. But, on the flip side of that, it was hard to relax, we were living in other people’s mess, and it was rarely quiet. We needed our own space, and as we’d no longer be able to think about the money we’d be saving, we knew it was time to move on. This represented a significant development in our settling into New Zealand. The shared accommodation served a clear purpose. It allowed us to save lots of money for further travel, but with flatmates constantly coming and going, and having no time or space to properly relax, we had remained in a state of being where our backpacks were always mentally half packed.