New Zealand Week 7: Whitianga, Hahei, Thames, Auckland, Sydney, London

October 18th - 19th. Whitianga - Hahei - Thames - Miranda - Auckland

Tuesday 18^th Whitianga, Coromandel. I parked-up yesterday afternoon in the small town of Whitianga, another small town-at-the-end-of-a-stretch-of-water place, quiet just now (apart from a dozen or so rugby fans I find in the local bar), but clearly busy with yachties at weekends – there are many moored in the marina.

Small and a little sleepy it may be but it has an alert and active local council, which is seeking the views of the town residents on updating its tsunami evacuation procedures. http://pacific.scoop.co.nz/2011/05/tsunami-strategy-open-days-for-whitianga/

This may interest the oenophiles amongst you. In the four good restaurants I’ve eaten in, the wine list has been laid out by grape variety – that’s not too unusual you’ll say. But after the standard white headings of Sauvignon Blanc, Chardonnay, Pinot Gris etc, there comes a listing ‘Aromatics’, which includes Reisling, Gewürztraminer, Viognier/Marsanne. Similarly with the reds. After the usual Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot etc. there is a section ‘Red Varietals and Blends’ which includes Cab Shiraz, Cab Merlot, Shiraz/Grenache/Mourve. This seems a great way of drawing attention to those less well-known wines and perhaps encouraging people to try them.

Across the bay from Whitianga is Hahei, where I fancy doing what will be my last tourist-type trip. There are four must-see places on a short stretch of coast. With sufficient time one can park up and walk the several miles of cliff and beach, but I’m short of time so am drawn to the Hahei Explorer, a trip by sea to the same places. A ‘phone call establishes that I’ve already missed the 9am sailing (the best time to do almost all these sea-based activities is in the early morning, when the weather is generally better), and that serious rain is threatening the 14:00 trip. Can I be on the beach at 12:45? I get there on time and find I’m the only one, just me and Shane Harnett, whose business this is. The boat is

a rigid inflatable, with a powerful Volvo motor on the back, and is on a trailer, behind Shane’s tractor. It’s shoes and socks off, and into the water to help launch it – I wasn’t expecting this bit, but its fun.  It normally carrying parties of eight, and with only me, it’s a bit light and high in the water, so we have a very bouncy trip – quite exciting.

The first thing to view is Champagne Bay, a small beach with a wall of rocks above in very warm, almost pink, stone. Next is the Blowhole, which we enter by steering Explorer though a tiny opening in the rock, and then enter a very dark cave. This opens up into a cavern, an enclosed chamber, which rises 80 feet to a ‘ceiling’, arching in above us, rather like inside the dome at St Paul’s. Topping it is a small opening to the sky, lined with trees standing round the edge. Spectacular.

Looking up at the top of the Blowhole

I’m still admiring and photographing this as we exit into some light and Shane decides a squall is imminent. We make a fast dash across the bay, with the Explorer hitting each wave with such force that I’m constantly thrown up off my bench, thankfully holding on with my non-camera hand. I’m not sure my chiropractor would approve of the shocks to my spine. We get to Orua sea cave where we shelter, although we are both well soaked, until the worst of the rain/hail has cleared. This time we emerge to some blue sky – amazingly fast changes to the weather.

Shane turns us round and we head north, around Mahurangi Island, and in a wide arc to approach Cathedral Cove from the north. This is quite a famous spot, partly because it has been used as a film location. (Narnia - Prince Caspian)

Cathedral Cove

Three things stand out from this short trip:

First, the rocks of the cliffs have such amazing colours, which I haven’t noticed at all over the past six week – presumably because I’ve normally been standing on them, peering out to sea. And then the rocks have such intricate patterns of lines, slashes, whorls. One young boy, a recent passenger of Shane’s, asked why the rocks had Chinese writing on them; a shrewd question. Finally, how quickly the weather changes. There can be blue sky and sun in front of us, but grey menacing clouds racing in from the other direction. All mariners know this but to landlubbers like me it’s a surprise.

It is very hard to photograph today, from a bouncing boat, and with so much water around that I’m worried about the camera, so I’m pleased that some shots have come out well.

Our time is up and Shane’s partner Robyn is waiting to meet us back on the beach as another burst of heavy rain is starting. Out of the boat, into the water, pull it up, and secure it onto its trailer. Just time for a quick photo, and then a barefoot walk to the van to change into dry clothes. What fun, and an ideal way to see those sights if your time is short.

www.haheiexplorer.co.nz

Shane and Robyn Harnett

In dry clothes and with a coffee I now head back through the Coromandel Forest from the east coast of the Peninsula over to Thames on the west. I overnight at what is my poorest site of the whole six weeks (perhaps least-good would be better) – Dickson Motor Lodge - but it is only $20/£10 for the night.

Wednesday 19^th Thames, Cormandel. My very short visit to the Coromandel Peninsula is over and I must return to Auckland for my last night in NZ. As every morning, I look over the map to see what is on my route and might be interesting. I don’t want to simply drive back to Auckland. I’m in that ‘I must squeeze in just one more thing before I go’ frame of mind. On the map I see ‘Hot Springs’. It will mean a short detour but that’s fine, something else new on this holiday-of-new-things.

In fact I miss the turning, a consequence of the laudable rules in NZ which strictly control roadside signs and advertising. Back home you could expect a sign about some tourist spot perhaps ¼ mile before the turning, and then another one at the turning. Here, you’ll be allowed just the one, small and discreet, placed at the very turning. Miss it, or see it at the last moment, and you may have to drive quite a few miles to find space to turn round. That’s what happened to me with the Hot Springs – I never visited them.

So I changed plans and drove on to Miranda. I’d already been to Geraldine, a small place near Christchurch, and any village with that sort of name sounds enticing.  There is a nature reserve, run by the Department of Conservation, based around the Firth of Thames wetland, miles of mudflat and muddy estuary. Many of the sea birds have come here from Alaska and Siberia, over 12,000 kms away. The landscape is found in few other places in the world, being a series of shell ridges, on top of the mud. The Miranda Naturalists Centre provides visitor and educational activities, there are many walks, and some discreet hides for watching the birdlife. I join a few twitchers for the walk over the flat, marshy land to the edge of the reserve. Some people have brought binoculars, others have telephoto lenses on tripods. I struggle a bit with my point-and-shoot camera, leaning it on a fence post. It is interesting, but bird-watching isn’t really for me. I am taken though by this specimen, which looks a little oriental, standing so elegantly on thin legs.

www.miranda-shorebird.org.nz

Back on the road, a very minor road, a sign appears “Major Intersection Ahead”. When I get there, I spend a full three minutes looking at my map, then re-turning the radio, and not a single vehicle passes: “Major” indeed – just another deserted NZ road.

Two hours later I’m back in Auckland, at the lovely Remeura Motor Lodge, for my last night in New Zealand. Before I get too misty-eyed there is work to do. The van goes back to the hire company tomorrow, and as it’s been my car, office, bar, kitchen and bedroom for the last six weeks it needs a really good clean and tidy. I also have to pack luggage for the flight to Sydney tomorrow, and wash some clothes. Just as I finish a really thorough clean and brush-out of the grubby carpet the heavens open and the grass patch outside my doors becomes a mud-bath. Now how do I get in and out without undoing all my work of the last three hours? Remuera Motor Lodge has been an ideal base for my three visits to Auckland. Well equipped, close to shops and cafes, it is handily placed for bus routes into the centre of the city

http://www.remueramotorlodge.co.nz/

I have touched on this previously but want to repeat how much I’ve enjoyed Auckland. Perhaps I should recognize that the Lonely Planet / Rough Guide readership is largely the youthful backpacker, student adventure crowd, so for them perhaps the city compares poorly against Queenstown and other South-Island activity spots. For me, though, it’s a fine city of about 1.4 million people of many ethnicities, clean and well run, with decent modern architecture, and sitting in the middle of an isthmus with harbours on both sides. I like it and would be happy to return.

Thursday 20^th. Auckland. The van is checked in at the United Campervan depot at the airport and I find I’ve driven 5,320 kms (3,303 miles) in the last six weeks.

For anybody interested in coming over to NZ here’s a tip: The main campervan hire companies often find they have too many vans on the south island and need them relocating to Auckland; or alternatively find they have too many up north and want some moved down to Christchurch. What they need are drivers, and you can be one, paying typically just $5 a day for the hire of the van; they will pay for the diesel and the ferry ticket, and give you five days to get from one place to the other. Seems a great bargain to me. Just type “campervan relocation nz” into Google and follow the links.

Farewell Auckland

An easy flight to Sydney, just over three hours on Air New Zealand, and another chance to see that great safety video. Do have a look; it’s a novel way of getting an important, although tedious, message across to weary travellers : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9f1awn9vBZE

Sydney: I’m staying in the Radisson on Liverpool Street, with a huge bedroom, and balcony. First off, a haircut and smarten up. I feel a bit like Crocodile Dundee, just arrived in the Big City after six weeks camping in the outback.

I read in a local paper that the British and Irish Lions are touring to Australia in 2013. Hmm..I wonder if I should….might need to talk to the bank next week.

Younger readers look away now (anybody under 40).

“I think I might take some photographs tomorrow”. That’s what we used to say at some point during the annual summer holiday, in the days when a camera involved rolls of film, expensive processing, and some care about what you shot. We were really cautious about shooting loads of pictures, knowing it was another added cost to the holiday. Then in the ‘90’s digital cameras arrived. No purchase and no processing. So now we shoot hundreds of images, at every opportunity, and later erase a large percentage of them. My camera itself is so small, so light, that I always have it with me. How times change.

It is 8 years since I was last in Sydney (to see Jonny Wilkinson drop ‘that’ goal) and on that trip I didn’t bring a camera at all – how weird. This time I’ll head down to Circular Quay to get some classic Sydney shots. The city feels much busier than I recall, more bustle, faster traffic, with many new skyscrapers, best seen from across the harbour. The business district appears less formal, many people in t’s and flip-flops; I don’t remember that. Has it really changed so much, or is my memory wrong?

A good long walk, a shower, dinner, and then into the biggest bed I’ve seen in some years.

Friday 21^st. At Sydney Central station, a déjà vu moment, and then I remember I have been here before. In 2002 my first visit to Australia was to speak at a conference in Melbourne. I decided to get the train up to Sydney. It is a 12 hour trip and friends in Sydney were shocked, and a little embarrassed for me; only very poor people would train that route.

Today I’m on a smart double-decker train, so take the upper level on the left hand side to get the best views. I’m heading south, down the coast, to Scarborough, a journey of about 70 minutes. I’m off to see an old friend, Cass Jones and his wife Alison. Cass and I first met at drama school in 1967, he was my best man, and our paths crossed many times in my theatre years. He’s been living in the centre of Sydney for the last 15 years, but two years ago decided with Alison to build their own home. It is five minutes walk from the Scarborough station, in a stunning location, perched right on the cliff – literally perched – looking at the ocean. They drove concrete piles into the rock and built the house on top. Not only are the location and the view stunning, the house itself is beautifully designed, and built with great care for detail. It’s a dream, and I have a wonderful 24 hours with them, walking on the cliff road, visiting other local towns, having a fish and chip lunch on the beach at Thiroul, and a delicious dinner. This home shows that marvellous results can be achieved by clear and thoughtful clients, teaming up with talented architects, and a top-class builder.

http://www.architecturesavilleisaacs.com.au/index.html

Perched on the rocks

Evening drinks at the edge of the ocean

Saturday 22^nd. The drive back to Sydney, which passes through the Royal National Park, takes about 90 minutes and I can see why Sydneysiders would want to move to the coast: it is so easy to commute to work in the city and yet have a beach life too.

It is eight years since England won the 2003 Rugby World Cup, right here in Sydney, and eight years since I saw Tim and Natalie Slessor. She and I worked on a project at the BBC back in 1998, and we have kept in touch over the years. They looked after me when I first came here in 2002, and in fact it was their suggestion that I should return in 2003 for the Rugby World Cup, which England won.

This evening I meet up with Natalie, and with another of my close ex BBC chums, Ricky Johnson, who she also knows well. Ricky moved out here with his wife Mel in 2003, and like Natalie has started a family. We have drinks, dinner, a good old blether, and will see more of each other tomorrow.

Sunday 23^rd October, Sydney. It is 27 degrees at midday, the sky is blue, and I walk over to Circular Quay to get the ferry to Manly, which is crowded. On weekdays these boats are an essential part of the city’s transportation system, taking thousands to work. At weekends they are more about families and tourists heading for various beaches.

The Manly ferry passes the Sydney Harbour Bridge

Natalie and Tim were living in this house above Manly when I last saw them, but at that stage they didn’t have children. The demands of a growing family led to a need for more space, which they have cleverly solved by extending upwards. From the road it looks like a completely new building, the white upper level gleaming in the sun. Inside, it is filled with light, has acres of new space, and extends outwards onto a deck and garden.

The old Slessor House

The new Slessor house

They have invited a crowd of friends and family for afternoon of drinks on the deck, and to watch the rugby – the Final – on tv.

Natalie has ‘outed’ me on facebook as supporting France, which I am for two reasons. The All Blacks will surely win but I want them to be tested, to have to fight for it, to play real top-flight rugby (we haven’t seen much in the whole tournament), and also because I like France, the French, their country and culture. I also know that on a good day the French can play great rugby, with real flair and determination.

And so we sit down to watch the Final – an incredibly tense and close match, and France have certainly ‘turned up’. Led by their brilliant captain Thierry Dusautoir they put in an enormous effort, and are unlucky to lose by just one point. For most of the second half 4 million New Zealanders must be reliving their worst fears – yet another loss, and this one at home and as the host nation. But they scrape through and are duly crowned as the Best in the World. I’m delighted for them, and the people of NZ, but I’m also pleased that France put up such a great showing, perhaps causing many people to re-asses their view.

Under the headline “Rugby World Cup 2001 final: France lose but gain the respect of the world” Richard Williams writes a very fair assessment of the game: http://www.guardian.co.uk/sport/blog/2011/oct/23/rugby-world-cup-final-france

Within 10 minutes of the final whistle this appeared on Twitter: Well done NZ! Now rwc2011 is over can @johndeedesign come back? Ella misses her g'pops!

We all sit down and dine and drink into the night. It has been another really lovely day with good friends.

New Zealand - World Champions

Monday 24^th. Sydney. The Aussie newspapers report the result of last night’s game, but in a sports-mad nation, it doesn’t get quite the coverage it will get ‘over the water’ where they have declared a public holiday. I can’t find a New Zealand Herald anywhere in Auckland.

It is the last day in Australia, and the last day of my long trip. I start the chore of collecting my belongings together, and make a half-hearted attempt at packing my stuff. But the daytime temperature is 34 degrees, so I wisely have another look around the city, heading east to the old Parliament buildings and the Domain.

The shops are selling-off RWC merchandise, heavily discounted, much of which was always grossly overpriced anyway. I try to buy just one t-shirt at each world cup, which is how I came to have a ‘France 2007’ shirt to wear yesterday. I still cringe when I see the official 2011 England shirt, a truly awful piece of design, with its dreadful ‘Olde England’ font.

Nowadays there is less evidence of unofficial shirts, the RWC lawyers presumably cracking down on such frivolity, but I always keep my eyes open for such things. I still have a Ripcurl tshirt from 2003, which used RWC on it, but beat the lawyers by putting a cross through it! My favourite this year is below, which I bought in Dunedin. It’s a clever play on the English Rose, and was designed by local company Wrookie Monster. They also did Ireland and Argentine versions, with a Shamrock or Jaguar. You can buy online here: http://www.wrookiemonster.com/

Tuesday 25^th, Auckland. I go downstairs for a cooked breakfast in the Radisson: the restaurant tv is showing the Wales v Australia game. I’ve had enough rugby, and sit with my back to it. The morning passes with a quick walk around the block, and an hour in the hotel’s Business Lounge, writing up this blog, and some emails.

Sydney airport departures

I’m on flight BA 16 Sydney to London, with a short stop in Singapore. I’m surprised to find it’s only about 50% full, with a lot of empty seats in business and first. I heard that BA was pulling out of the Australian market – is this the reason, or will it fill up in Singapore?

The pleasure of podcasts. I downloaded some in Sydney to listen to on the long flight. The first is a Radio 4 Food Programme, and the subject is the growth of street food in Los Angeles. This whets my appetite for the forthcoming meal, only to be disappointed: the BA inflight meal is poor, dull roast chicken, served with vegetables so overcooked they should have been pureed. The grey plastic cutlery doesn’t help, the label on the Spanish white wine says it’s ‘a fun wine’. Why Spanish when you are flying out of Australia?

On the plane I read an extract in The Australian from the biography of Steve Jobs, which is published worldwide today. It deals with the role of Jonathan Ive, the chief designer of all Apple’s products, who managed to forge an exceptionally close and personal relationship with Steve Jobs. I wonder how the company will survive the recent death of Jobs, and how Ive will continue to break new ground, without his soul mate. I also wonder how the two of them would set about designing the interior of a 777 aircraft, in fact the whole flight and passenger experience, which on today’s evidence needs some improvement.

The stop in Singapore is only 75 minutes, for fuel and a new BA crew. I had hoped to be able to buy a UK newspaper, although the chances of the Guardian are remote, but can’t even find a newsagent in the vast terminal. Back on board, although there is no apparent increase in the number of passengers, I count 11 cabin crew, here to serve a plane running at about 50% capacity. It seems a little overmanned to me; there are 14 passengers in my section of 34 seats. The benefit to me is a bank of four seats across, all to myself. They do offer a newspaper though – the Mail on Sunday.

Throughout the flight I have kept my wristwatch on Australia time, to help me ‘manage’ my body clock. Two hours out from London a hot breakfast is served. Since leaving Sydney I’ve had dinner (roast chicken), cups of tea, a sandwich snack, a bar service at 3 am, followed at 4am by another dinner (roast chicken again) and now brekkie. Is there room for an exercise bike on these planes?

So I’m now over London, nearly home, after 25,000 miles flying and a further 5000 kms driving. That’s all for now folks. Time to recover my luggage, change currency, and get home. There’ll be another post next week, a sort of Best of the Trip, with some Reflections on the Rugby.

There are many more photographs illustrating the week above at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/deedesign/sets/

New Zealand Week 6: Auckland, Waipu, Bay of Islands, Auckland, Coromandel

Week Six: Auckland, Waipu, Bay of Islands, Auckland, Coromandel

Tuesday 11^th October “The night ahead is almost certainly going to be stormy.” That is how I signed off last week’s post. I was parked, just one of three campers, at an exposed site, beside the dunes at Waipu Cove, with wet weather and strong winds. During the night the rain paused, and the winds did die down a little, but that simply meant I could hear the roar of the waves. It’s an odd experience, half-awake, half-asleep, listening to waves crashing, forgetting whether they are right outside the door of the van or several hundred metres away. If I look out of the window, and see them lapping at my wheels, do I have any chance of driving away? Will I make a fast move, or will I wake my two neighbours first? Once you start having that conversation with yourself, all possibility of sleep is gone – and it was. In the morning I found tht the sea was hundreds of metres away, where it had always been, and had been no more turbulent than any other night.

Waipu has a strong Scottish heritage and on the road approaching is the sign ‘Ceud Mile Failte’ (a hundred thousand welcomes, in the Scottish splling). In the 1850’s almost 1,000 Scots settled here; the population now is just under 1,500.

I drove a couple of miles north to Uretiti Beach, which I’d read was a very popular place in summertime. Again, I saw that man and his dog, and nobody else; just miles of clean sand facing out to Hen and Chicken Islands, looming out of the mist across the water. The sky is very grey, and more storms are due, but apparently they’ll come from the north so at least it will be warm – that’s reassuring. The dunes are covered in fabulously coloured wild flowers, which are a great contrast with the gorse.

Highway 1 took me into the town of Whangarei (Wh is pronounced F), where I pottered with a coffee around the small marina. Adjacent to it is Clapham’s Clock Museum, but I didn’t go in – I didn’t have the time. I was interested in the big sundial outside, and the explanation as to why Whangarei’s time differs from New Zealand Standard Time by 23 minutes (see photo). There is also a clever way of compensating for the difference caused by Daylight Saving Time.

My objective this week is to take a quick look at the Bay of Islands, which is on the north east coast of NZ’s North Island, so I press on a further 120 kms to the collection of small towns of Opua, Paihia and Waitangi. This is as far north as I shall go on this trip to NZ, and I’m about 2,000 kms north of Bluff (see Tuesday 13^th September).

Captain Cook visited the area in 1769, and gave it the enticing name of The Bay of Islands. The village of Opua is where one can get a car ferry for the short distance across to the town and island (peninsula actually) of Russell. Paihia is the central one of the group, and the largest, but still with a population of fewer than 2,000 – these places are small; hardly town in European terms. Close by are the Haruru Falls, a tourist sight in these parts. I don’t find it particularly impressive in that it isn’t a long drop, nor very wide. What is interesting though is the colour of the water (photo), where the river Waitangi passes over the edge. I don’t know if this is mud or minerals, but it is odd that it is ‘streaked’ with colour, and not just the same colour all over.

When I return to the car park, the rooster that I saw scratching around earlier has attracted the attention of some French rugby fans for whom the Gallic rooster is an unofficial national symbol, adopted by their rugby team. For many years it was tradition to release a cockerel on the touchline, shortly before kick-off. The Twickenham authorities banned the practice some years ago, but that doesn’t stop people trying to keep the tradition alive. The NZ Herald reported on 19^th September “French rooster smuggler falls fowl of stadium”

A French rugby supporter has fallen fowl of stadium security at Napier's McLean Park after trying to take a rooster into the match between France and Canada last night. Police said they were generally pleased with the crowd's behaviour at the sold-out match, which saw France win over Canada by 46-19. But while most fans were well-behaved, some 14 people were removed from the grounds for drunkenness and smoking cannabis. Operations commander Inspector Mike O'Leary said the supporters who came to police attention were all international tourists - including a French supporter who tried to take a rooster into the grounds. Roosters are a national symbol for France and releasing a cockerel into stadium grounds has become a fan ritual at matches.

This story was doing the rounds in the bars in Dunedin and the way I heard it, the rooster was got taken through the bag-search without being spotted, but was only caught when asked at the following security check for its match ticket!

Were they going to eat it?

I hadn’t booked a site in advance but turned up at the attractive Bay of Islands Holiday Park and booked for two nights. It is spacious, quiet, very well equipped, and sits beside the fast flowing river Waitangi, a mile upstream of the Falls.

There is quite a crowd of French fans already parked up, some having line-out practice on a pair of adjacent trampolines – quite a challenge for them, and quite a sight.

Wednesday 12^th. Paihia. I’m spending the day and tonight here, exploring the area. I found a large carpark just behind the main street and left the van for the day – forgetting to buy a parking ticket. Across the street I see two of the distinctive RWC coaches in their ‘World in Union’ livery. This must mean one of the teams is here, presumably having a couple of days R&R before the semi-finals. The tourist office confirm that it is the French team, staying at the Copthorne. The passenger ferry over to Russell takes about 15 minutes, and is a funny little thing, like something out of a child’s story book – Captain Pugwash perhaps.

Russell used to be the major town in this area, with Paihia simply the ‘mainland’ ferry dock. Now it seems reversed, with Russell a well-preserved, tiny, heritage place, where the locals wander the streets, even at 11am, in period clothes, staging mini-recreations. There isn’t much here for me, but I want to walk/climb up Flagstaff Hill – for the view and also for the exercise. It is the usual single track road, lined with wonderfully rich vegetation, flowers and bird life. There are one or two houses, all with fine views over the bay.  At the top is the usual 360-degree view (yes, I know, another one – how blasé I’ve become) and a rather interesting feature: a signal flagstaff which is the fifth one to stand at this spot, the others having been cut down by way of protest, or accident. The current one seems to be sheathed in steel for most of its height! I was so taken with the story, and discussions with some other English tourists that I forgot to photograph it. Wikipedia has an entry here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flagstaff_Hill,_New_Zealand

The ferry back to Pahia was a modern boat but we passed my morning vessel and I got this photo of the little toy ferry boat

http://www.flickr.com/photos/deedesign/6236725207/in/set-72157627876049098

I spent the afternoon just two miles away at the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, a historic site in New Zealand.

For many centuries the Bay of islands had attracted Polynesian settlers, and was occupied by several Maori tribes. In the late 18^th century Europeans set up bases for whaling and sealing and the main town of Russell was known as the “hell-hole of the Pacific” given its reputation for drunkenness and debauchery. The British government appointed James Busby as British Resident (a formal role) in 1833, to bring some calm and order to the warring Maori tribes and he succeeded in mediating sufficient peace to have the chiefs sign the Declaration of Independence of New Zealand. In 1840 Capt. William Hobson arrived here to write and negotiate a treaty on behalf of the British Government with the Maori chiefs. On 6^th February 43 chiefs signed the Treaty of Waitangi, in front of the Residency (in fact a tiny two-bedroom house). The site of the signing is marked by the flagstaff (I did photograph this one), on the lawn looking out over the Bay. Copies of the Treaty were then sent all over the country and by the autumn of that year over 500 chiefs had signed it. In May 1840 William Hobson proclaimed British sovereignty over the whole country.

The Treaty is considered an agreement between two peoples to live and work together in one nation and is as relevant today as in 1840. It guarantees the rights of both Maori and non-Maori citizens in New Zealand.

One could spend several hours at the Treaty Grounds, and there are several things to enjoy. There is the Treaty House, the original small British Residency, carefully restored. The Waka House (a waka is a canoe) provides shelter to the amazing 35 metre long craft which needs 76 paddlers to power it on the water. The Meeting House (Te Whare Runanga) symbolizes Maori involvement in the signing of the Treaty, and in the life of the nation. The Visitor Centre provides the arrival point to the grounds, and a good short film putting the Treaty Grounds in context. All the above is set in acres of beautiful grounds, gardens and tropical forest, gifted to the people of New Zealand by Lord Bledisloe, the Governor of NZ in 1930. It was the same man who donated a cup to be contested between the national rugby teams of Australia and New Zealand, still passionately fought for to this day.

Maori waka or canoe

On the 6^th February every year New Zealand commemorates the signing of the Treaty, the founding document of the country. It is important to note that the day, and the location, continue to be marked by protests.

“They made a treaty that made a nation”

It has been a really interesting day, and I realize I haven’t made enough effort, in my travels and on this blog, to understand New Zealand’s history.

Thursday 13^th. Pahia. Some confusion on the campsite this morning. The Brit contingent parked close by had assumed I was ‘one of the enemy’ (their words). It’s because I’m wearing a France 2007 t-shirt, one of my collection from the four RWC’s I’ve been to. I had to explain that France 2007 was the tournament host, not necessarily the country I support.

I turn south from Paihia, and make my way slowly back down Highway 1. At Warkworth I go east to look at Matakana village, and along the coast. At Omaha beach, I see what is my first housing development in NZ, a complete ‘estate’ of new houses. Nowhere else in six weeks have I seen what is common in the UK, a spread of a hundred or so houses, all by the same developer and all looking alike. This one has the benefit of a spacious layout, and almost every house differs from its neighbours. It appears to exist largely as a summer-time resort area, presumably built up around the adjacent surfing centre. Point Wells is nicer, with plenty of older houses, in more established surroundings. This small wedge of coast is about an hour’s drive north of Auckland so I imagine some residents will commute into the city. There also appears to be some wealth in evidence: swanky entrance gates and smart hedging at the foot of long driveways, several vineyards, landscaping businesses, and firms selling giant palms, yuccas, and exotic grasses.

By 5pm I’m back in Auckland and parked up again at Remeura Motor Lodge. http://www.remueramotorlodge.co.nz/

Friday 14^th. Auckland. At the top of the road I can catch a bus to Britomart, the major transport interchange which is conveniently in the centre of the city, right on the waterfront. I walk to the quay, check out ferries for a trip I want to make this weekend, and find two great cruise liners have docked; it’s a most strange sight, as the bow of one of them is within metres of the main quayside street and the passing traffic.

Right across is a coffee shop, which is inside the reception space of a corporate office block. I’ve seen this in Sydney, where it’s quite common, but never in the UK. Almost all our major offices have over-large reception foyer spaces, always dressed with a couple of plants, some classic designer sofas, and a statement artwork. Security concerns, real or imagined, mean that this expensive space always sits empty, which in the cities like London is expensive folly. I like the use of the space for public coffee shops, which of course the building’s occupiers can use too. I particularly like the view out of the window: straight at the bows of the two liners.

Alternating between sun and quick showers, I take a long walk around Auckland’s harbour, spotting in the crowds several former rugby stars, now working for the media here, including Nick Farr-Jones, Bob Dwyer, and a couple I can’t put a name to. Nobody English though: our stock has fallen.

Then a slow walk up to Aotea Square, perhaps the central square of Auckland, surrounded by the City Council hq buildings, the town hall, a major arts complex, and some decent open air spaces and landscaping. http://www.aucklandcity.govt.nz/council/projects/aoteasquare/default.asp

Right beside it is a small alternative theatre, the Basement, what I imagine to be a fringe theatre, http://www.basementtheatre.co.nz/

and beside that is the new theatre Q (for Queen St I assume) which I’m going to tonight.

In the Town Hall is a photographic exhibition of rugby photos “Union: The Heart of Rugby” which has been mounted by the publisher of the coffee-table book of the same name, to coincide with the RWC. The project set out to select the 150 best rugby photos from around the world, an uncertain task, given that all the photos capture moments from international matches, with no club or amateur games. However, it’s enjoyable, and makes me realize that trying to capture a decent shot of top level rugby from a seat in the stands, using just a point-and-shoot camera, is a futile exercise. http://unionheartofrugby.com/the-exhibition.html

I crossed over the street to the Auckland Library where the provision of free wi-fi means the place is buzzing with youngsters, some making use of the research facilities, music library, newspaper room, and good old-fashioned books. Dozens of others were tapping away at laptops and notebooks, some clearly using Skype – tricky in a place where you are expected to keep noise levels down.

And so to the Q theatre, a new building, open for just a matter of weeks, with two auditoria, one a brand-new space, the other a conversion from some old offices. My understanding is that it has all been funded by private money, with fundraising taking over a decade, but an assumption that the City will now subsidise the annual running costs. It is a classy set-up, with spacious foyers, a café, lots of staff, and a great tapas bar with some super NZ wines by the glass.

The play is Finding Murdoch about a true incident in the 1972 All Black’s tour of Wales. After scoring the winning try against Wales, AB prop Keith Murdoch is involved in a post-match fracas in the hotel and punches a Welsh security guard. He is expelled from the team, sent back to NZ, but never makes it home. On his way he detours to Australia and disappears into the outback, shunning his friends, family and teammates. And so begins a media frenzy to track him down and get his side of the story. The script is by Margot McRae, based on her work as a researcher in the 1990’s when she managed to find and interview Murdoch.

It’s an interesting and timely story, with some good performances, but a disappointing production. In the audience of about 300 was a crowd of UK sports journalists, here to cover the RWC, and having a night off: a sort of busman’s night off.

http://www.qtheatre.co.nz/

Saturday 15^th Auckland. A slow start today, with a leisurely breakfast and then an hour editing and downloading photos, and writing up this blog. Tonight will be a late night. With kick-off pushed back to 9pm to suit northern hemisphere broadcasters, we won’t get away from the ground until about 11, so I don’t expect to be back ‘home’ until after midnight – with some celebratory noise later on from supporters of whichever team wins. The Herald’s front page headline is “Yes We Can” over a large photo of the All Blacks. Erm tonight’s match is actually France v Wales, but like many Kiwi’s it’s really tomorrow’s game that matters. Not only must they get though to the Final, they must must, beat the Aussies.

The two semi-final games will be covered live on 5 tv channels in New Zealand – that’s in a country of just 4.4 million. The total viewing figures-per-channel must be quite small.

I was tipped-off about The New Zealand Maritime Museum by Ross Hunter. It’s a gem. Down on the waterfront, just metres from the throngs of Saturday crowds and RWC supporters milling in the sun, it rather suffers from low visibility, the entrance hidden by a crowded restaurant.

New Zealand’s geographic isolation has served to forge our identity as a country, and as New Zealanders. We are a nation of innovators, of dreamers, and of pioneers. People who are driven to find their own course, to seek out new possibilities with imagination and conviction.

Nowhere stronger is this expression of our New Zealand identity than through our bond with the ocean. From the first discovery by Kupe, to one of the most courageous migrations by the Polynesian peoples, to Abel Tasman and then Cook. Our spirit of exploration has been forged and the boundaries of possibility are broken. From this spirit has emerged many of the world’s greatest maritime pioneers. Voyager New Zealand Maritime Museum honours those people who sailed to the limits of their imagination.

That’s what the website says. I found fascinating sections on the current efforts to protect wildlife, including Greenpeace’s brave campaign to disrupt Japanese whaling; an excellent history of the discovery of New Zealand by successions of explorers from Spain and Portugal, the French, the Dutch, and the British; there is a whole gallery given over to a collection of tribal canoes; the stories of immigrants from Europe, come to make a life in NZ, some as recently as the 1960’s; the craft and industry of boatbuilding, from tiny one-person tubs to harbour tugs; an exhibition of maritime art, and much, much more.

The whole thing is housed in a series of old dock buildings and sheds. Right at the end, a new building is given over to New Zealand’s campaigns in the America’s Cup, with pride of place given to NZL32, the 1995 America’s Cup-winning boat. This is the Formula 1 part of the yachting world, with the same levels of commitment and expenditure, and the gallery truthfully records the failures as well as the successes.

The final gallery is given over to an exhibition of the end of a ship’s life, by photographer Claudio Cambon. He sailed on the last voyage of the US tanker SS Minole, capturing the crew, the ship, and its subsequent beaching in Bangladesh. Here, a whole industry has grown up as ships at the end of their life are run onto a long sloping beach and then dangerously broken up by hand. http://www.maritimemuseum.co.nz/

As you walk from one gallery to another, and even within them, windows open out onto the ‘real world’ of Auckland harbour, jammed with boats of all sizes, reminding you that this museum is as much about here and now, as about history. If you are in Auckland make time for this place. I really enjoyed it, and many thanks for the tip Ross. Oh, and this is another museum where you are allowed, encouraged even, to take photographs: how refreshing.

Auckland, Maritime Museum to the left

So now it is nearing 6pm – and still three hours to kick-off. The 9pm start is to suit the northern hemisphere broadcasters, with their huge audiences, but it is terribly late to be starting a game. Still the bars and restaurants will be doing very nicely. I’ve seen many more Welsh shirts today, but it is tomorrows game which dominates the press and television.

The Sydney Morning Herald: Choke, Kiwis, and we mean that in the nicest possible way: http://www.smh.com.au/rugby-union/rugby-world-cup/choke-kiwis-and-we-mean-that-in-the-nicest-possible-way-20111014-1lpap.html#ixzz1amzzFRNv

French sports paper L’Equipe, writing of tonight’s game, calls it ‘Une Bataille Colossale’ ……

“Having rebelled against England, Les Blues intend to cultivate a form of anger to go into battle.

http://www.lequipe.fr/Rugby/breves2011/20111014_092246_present.html

Outside the main station a band is playing, a band of irregulars you might call them, percussion, trumpets, a tubu, some clarinets, probably a dozen people, all dressed in the same uniform, all clearly French. My spirits lift (they weren’t down, but I’ve been missing this kind of accomplished street performance, of which there was lots in France at RWC 2007). I then discover that they are indeed ‘Los Escapateros’, one of the bands I saw in Toulouse, where they were allowed to play inside the stadium, which they did, all the way through the matches. They are leading a casual procession of fans of many nations towards the station entrance. This will be interesting: will they be allowed in, or will officialdom prevail. Well I should know by now, after six weeks in Ne Zealand – it’s much more relaxed than back home, and seems to have fewer jobsworths, whose role is to stop – whatever it was you were about to do. These players play their way onto the main concourse where they give us a rousing “Marseillaise” and then head along the platform and onto the train. The station and train staff seem quite happy (the rail service is outsourced to Veolia, a French-owned company) and the music continues all the way to Eden Park. Sadly, they are not allowed to take their instruments into the ground, a foolish rullng by th RWC organisers. (The president of the International Rugby Board is a Frenchman – we might have expected better).

I find my seat, right in front of the Press pen, where there are well over 100 journos and broadcasters, amongst whom I spot Eddie Butler (Observer) and Richard Williams (Guardian). Actor James(‘Cold Feet’) Nesbitt is sitting a few rows in front of me.

The game is disappointing and although I did want France to win, I thought it was a poor win. The result is Wales 8 – France 9, but the red card to Sam Warburton after 18 minutes, means Wales had to play the rest of the game with one man down, that man being both captain, and a real stand-out player in this whole tournament. I’m in no doubt that the ref’s decision is correct (he has little choice under the rules, which apply to all teams) but it does affect the game, and becomes a major talking point.

Lonely figure of Sam Warburton, sitting out his red card

My view at the end is that whichever team wins tomorrow (Australia v New Zealand) will go on to win the Final; I just can't see France improving on tonight's lacklustre showing. A pity, because when they play at their best, they are wonderful to watch.

Sunday 16^th, Auckland. A late start to the game last night, a late journey home, so a slow get-up this morning. There were some mild celebratory disturbances at 6am as (presumably) French supporters came home, but that’s reasonable.

There is something about me and these New Zealand towns and cities. Each seems to have the remains of a volcanic plug, and I have an urge to walk up it – usually on a very hot day. Today I walked about two miles across Auckland, quiet suburban streets and mini-shopping centres, through the Auckland Domain (see last Sunday) to Mount Eden Domain. This is a small park, with a volcano crater at its centre. It’s a stiff walk, on a tarmac road, up which the occasional family car speeds past me. At the top – as always – is a perfect 360 view of the whole of Auckland. Due north, across the water, is Devonport, where I walked up Mt Victoria; a little closer is the Domain and Museum, where I was a couple of hours ago; southwest, and quite close, is the Eden Park stadium; due south are miles of low lying suburbs, full of houses but looking quite green, a benefit of most properties having much more land around them than we’d see back home.

The crater. The tiny shape to the right of the tree shadow is my shadow

As Auckland doesn’t have anything like the traffic levels of London, the ambient noise level outdoors much lower. On Mt Victoria I could hear the cricketers a couple of hundred feet below me. Today I can hear the sound of rehearsals from Eden Park Stadium. At first it’s just loudspeaker announcements and fanfares, but then drifting up on the warm air is the stirring sound of the Australian and then the New Zealand anthem. It is very moving.

The crater, and I’ve never seen one before, is almost perfectly shaped. There is a notice reminding people that this fragile and sacred area is easily damaged: ie. No fun and games down this slope please.  By the time I get to the bottom of the Mount, I’m conscious that it’s just three hours to match-time. Into the city centre, a small café in a side street selling only French wines and beer, and it’s duck confit and a glass of Rhone for Monsieur, sil vous plait. The owner comes over to light the candle on my table. “I bring you a leetle ‘appiness. I know you are an English fan”. Charming.

A vast fleet of free buses are available to speed us out to the stadium (the trains are slow), and the chat onboard mine is about That Red Card. There seems a concensus that Wales could and should have won, even with only 14 men. Three missed kicks should have been certs.

Almost 100% All Black fans

Well, we all know now that the Wallabies are out and that the All Blacks are into the Final – an unfamiliar place for them to be. Final score 20 – 6, and the world can now start to see just now good a coach Graham Henry has been. Dogged by injuries to star players, he has developed such strength in depth, that late replacements can step into the squad and look entirely at home with the style of play, entirely at ease with each other. I’;ve been a fan of their style for some years now, regularly watching the tri-Nations on Sky tv. I’m pretty sure they will easily defeat France next Sunday, and yet….on too many occasions France have surprised us all, pulling a great game from seemingly nowhere. The All Blacks know this better than most. It really is something to look forward to. However, I won’t be watching it live, nor even in New Zealand. I decided about 18 months ago that England would have no chance of progressing in this competition, and therefore I would not spend over $800 NZ on a final ticket. On Thursday I’ll fly to Sydney, for a long weekend catching up with old friends, with whom I’ll watch the Final on tv. More in due course.

Monday 17^th October, Auckland.

You’ll find the Coromandel Peninsula on a map, just to the right of Auckland, although you have to drive south east to get onto it. It’s a 90 minute run to Thames, and then another 90 minutes of slow road to get to Whitiangi. I’m having two days away from the city, back in the ‘real’ New Zealand, before I return for my flight out on Thursday. But even out here, long after our respective teams fell out of the competition, there are plenty of campervans with Irish, English and Welsh flags, with a rare Saltire too.

I stopped at noon for a coffee at The Pipiroa Kitchen (it’s just a roadside café, but a good one) and was aware as I reversed into a parking space that a young man in a 4x4, about to depart, had paused to watch and wait to speak to me. He had seen the flags on my van and wanted to talk about…rugby, how my trip had been, what I thought of NZ, where I came from, why England had underperformed. We chatted for about 25 minutes, just leaning on his car. The remarkable thing about this is that it happens to me everyday, on buses, in cafes, at campsites, everywhere. I know this happens in rural Britain but for someone living in London this is a shock until you get used to it. It’s just the way people are here, they are so genuine and friendly, in a quiet way.

And that's it, another week gone. My next posting will come from Australia for I am heading to Sydney later this week.

Many more photographs illustrating this week are here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/deedesign/sets/