Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Auckland's day of grace

The forecast promised a day’s respite from incessant stormy weather. Today it delivered on that promise. Just for once, it happened on a Sunday rather than Monday, when the best that those of us on the employment treadmill can hope for is a fleeting glimpse of sunshine en route to the closeted world of 'the office.'

I can’t decide whether to feel foolish or self-righteous for having spent the first two hours of the day writing an academic paper that was due for submission a week ago. Anyway, it was finished in good time to shower, don comfortable stretchy clothes and head off to yoga class. The sunshine streaming in the bathroom window was way too appealing to stay indoors, so I traded yoga class for a long leisurely walk setting off from the mangrove path that skirts round the edge of Ngataringa Bay. The tide is low so its mud flats rather than muddy water this morning. The harbour bridge leading into the city is a fine sight from this safe, weekend distance across the bay.

The kiwi native plantings at the maze in the park beside the path are colorful, even in the depths of winter.


Passing the ducks and pukekos at the greasy pond by the golf course, I notice coral tress beginning to flower. Could this be spring in the air already? The number of people, dogs and boats out and about on Narrow Neck beach suggest it might. An attempt at my favourite walk round the rocks to Cheltenham beach is frustrated by the tide. Other times I have been up to my a** in water to make it round but no way I’m getting in the water at this time of year! Unlike some of the younger crowd on the beach, oblivious to the temperature and splashing about with dogs who so love being in the water. The walk can only be done about two hours either side of low tide, which I missed by half an hour. Tough call having to walk back to the first beach and then by road to the second!


Work is going on to repair the washed out once again path round North Head but I have done enough detours for one day so ignore the fence and warning sign but meet no further obstacles. Just the usual stunning views across the harbour.


Back round on the city side, the breeze is cool and not so comfortable for walking. The second tough call means I have to put my sweater back on! Great day for sailing, and quite a few boats are out taking advantage of near perfect conditions.


Something always stunning to behold in the midst of winter when many trees are bare is the Magnolia in flower. Bare wood, not a hint of green in sight yet they are completely covered in big beautiful flowers in shades of deep purple and delicate pink. A sure sign that the depths of winter have already passed.



Huge yet delicate white ones come out smelling of lemons when it’s properly into spring.

Walking back now towards the village that sits ten minutes and a planet sized psychological gap away across the harbour, the route takes me past an icon that sadly seems set to become history before too much longer. The Masonic Hotel and Pub is one of the oldest established businesses in the area.


Like so many others in this sought after area, it seems condemned to go down the residential property development path to reap maximum profit for least effort on the part of the current owners. All the local, now world famous in NZ bands have cut their teeth in here, and many a game of rugby has polished or dented the national psyche in the comforting surrounds of the local hostelry. Alas, not for much longer as resource consent is pending for conversion into 22 apartments. Its been here as long as anything, and the waterfront location should make it a huge drawcard. Some say the owners don't try to run it as a viable business.


I hope it doesn’t go down the same route as another local apartment development that sold for record prices because new property commands a premium in this building restricted area. It’s been under wraps for nearly a year getting shoddily built features fixed up. It's what's known locally as leaky building syndrome, traced back to a period when regulations didn't require structural timber to be treated. The council ok'd it, the property developers are long gone and the leaky buildings cost owners millions to fix.

While I’m on a whinge about councils and their penchant for property developers, I’ll end with the comment that if private businesses treated their property assets in this way they would have gone belly up a long time ago. The wharf is just one piece of evidence that the council can neglect / abandon / mess up and otherwise prohibit access to valuable and sought after property assets, all at the rate-payers expense. How they get away with it I will never understand. Maybe I'll dedicate an entry to Devonport's other decaying assets. Sadly, there will be no shortage of material :-(

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Surprisingly sunny Nelson

In the midst of a month of rain, rain, storms and more rain, I half expected the cheap, Saturday morning ‘grab a seat’ deal with Air New Zealand to be cancelled. It wouldn’t have been the first time in these short winter months that airports down country had been closed ‘due to adverse weather conditions.’

Plans for a trip over the hill to a bach (kiwi name for a beach house) in the idyll of Golden Bay seemed less appealing as the date of departure approached. I remember the road from a trip back in the summer of ‘98. Steep, winding, spectacular and sick inducing for poor travelers in the back of four wheel drive vehicles! With slips, wash outs and power cuts all over the country in the wet wet wet winter of ‘08, the prospects did not look good. An anxious text to mein host on Friday returned welcome news the trip had been canned. All I had to do was get to Nelson and stay there til Monday morning.

It was too dark and too early to really notice what the weather was doing in Auckland. I think it was raining. I have ceased to notice unless I am out in it. It’s so unremarkable these days. Had to drive to the airport, as public transport doesn’t kick in til later. It’s the only time of day there is a clear run, an easy 30 minutes before the city wakes upinstead of an hour or more. I do recall a patch of blue between gray cloud as the wee twin prop plane buzzed up over the Manukau Harbour and headed south down the sweeping black sand bays and ragged natural harbours of the west coast.

Coming in to land a bit more than an hour later, the sun is beginning to warm the boulder bank saved over a few million years as natural shelter for the harbour.


The sun? Yes, that golden globe in the sky that shines for more hours on this small area of anomaly at the top of the South Island than anywhere else in the country. Amazing considering how close it is to wet windy Wellington, which is just across the straight. The top (and other parts) of the S Island ranks high on my personal 'wonders of the world' list. The Marlborough and Pelorus Sounds are yachties’ heaven and the sight of a hundred inlets edged by green sculptured hills is part of mine.

The air is chilled, fresh, like the best crisp winter morning in Scotland.

The day unfolds at a suitably leisurely pace. The market is another treat: real cottage industry crafts instead of a virulent rash of mass produced imported junk, unique creative products and super-size fresh veggies that boast of the fabulous micro-climate. Coffee on the terrace in a recreated 1920s village on the edge of a park with pairs of cheeky ducks to clean up discarded crumbs of apple and walnut muffin. A walk along miles of gray sand beach littered with trees blown down in the storm, giant horse mussel and tua tua shells. Hundreds of sooty and piebald oyster catchers, seagulls and very few people. A glass of wine at the Smokehouse at nearby Mapua, where a beautiful white native heron with exquisite fluffy wing feathers cracks open the romantic vision - and the laughter - by crapping on a table!



After dark in a cosy eco-built house, there is venison killed by our host, red wine, good conversation and of course, talk of the rugby. The All Blacks are not doing so well these days. A big game in a muddy field in Auckland tonight could deal a final blow to the national psyche. But it does not. They beat Australia, though the verb used is generally stronger because of who the opponent is. Slaughter, thrash, mash… the country feels good about itself again. Funny how a game affects. A great substitute for war!

The next morning heads are clear. After a respectable period of lazing in bed, we head down to the marina to meet Rebecca 11. She motors us out to the lighthouse, which turns out to be built in Bath, England, not Scotland as was believed. Still a long way to get shipped out and reconstructed. Its a beautiful clear morning out in the harbour, admiring the view from the top, I know this is paradise indeed.




By the time we return, a dozen or more yachts are racing. Outside the harbour mouth, they raise spinnakers in a spectrum of vivid colours and fly alongside the boulder bank. Standing on the inside, the sound of the sea shifting and resiting stones of not insignificant size is magic.
Small black shapes breaking the regular surface of the water tell us the resident seals are about, sunbathing, or whatever it is they do floating with a limb held out of the water. They are not shy, playful, surprisingly graceful and don’t take off when we circle them for the sixth time.


An oil rig parked up at the side reminds me of home. The sea that this one works off Taranaki on the west coast of the N Island is perhaps kinder than the North Sea and Norwegian fields.


Coming back to berth, the biggest fishing fleet in either the island, the country or maybe the southern hemisphere (does it matter?) is tied up in alongside.


The rest of the day is passed in conversation with friends, walking back up the steep road to the views from the front window and finishing the left over wine and veggies from the market. Then it’s Monday morning and a plane to work instead of a ferry. The change is welcome. The weekend has grounded me back where work, or maybe all of life, had taken me close to an edge. Friends are treasures and escape from the city a prize.