Author Archives: Mike

Approaching New Zealand

Sunday 23rd February

Weather is beginning to cool somewhat as we continue to sail south, though it can hardly be called cold. The pool deck is still a bit of a scorcher and with hardly a breath of wind, more so. Later in the day more cloud began to accumulate and the wind began to coax small wavelets out of the flat calm so I guess we are beginning to get clear of the horse region.

I went to Howard Parkins talk on Mars which had a lot of good video and followed the history of the attempts to visit the planet and later we both went to the documentary ‘Blackfish’ which has uncovered some of the facts SeaWorld wants to keep secret regarding deaths of trainers and the conditions that Orca (Killer Whale) are kept in. Well worth watching if you see it scheduled, apparently it has already been shown on BBC 4. All extremely controversial stuff and SeaWorld have deep pockets. But Dr Ingrid Visser seems to be a feisty character and at the question and answer session after the film gave a good case for them to answer. We spoke to her on Friday morning at breakfast and she was very pleasant, willing to chat for as long as you wanted.

Anyway that’s about it for today, we are going to another Captains cocktails before dinner and tomorrow we are at Tauranga New Zealand.

Hawaii – Photos

Pago Pago – Photos

Nuku’alofa – Photos

Kiwi-land and Kiwi Fruit

Monday 24th February

The approach to Tauranga was as nice as Tauranga turned out to be. We sailed past what seemed to be an endless beach that extended back to a thickly wooded plain, which in turn extended back to a long sharp jagged mountain ridge which resembled an ancient flint tool set in the ground. As we sailed slowly along the coastline, the ridge slowly descended and gave way to rolling hills and when we rounded a broad sandy spit and entered the bay the town of Tauranga appeared, spread right around the flat plain in front of the encircling hills. Captain Cook called this area the bay of plenty before he set foot ashore and you can understand why as you look at the landscape. It seems to be in the perfect place to capture the sunlight and be protected from winds by the hills. The early settlers said that you only had to tickle the soil for anything to grow,

After one of the swiftest disembarkations yet, we made our way to a Kiwi Fruit orchard (Kiwi360) where we were shown the fruit growing from vines in abundance. The vines are not irrigated, their roots descend deep into the volcanic dust sub soil that lies beneath the sand topsoil. Each plant transpires 60 litres of water a day through their leaves alone before taking into account that required to form each fruit, of which there are hundreds on each plant. The micro climate in this area coupled with the perfect soil conditions mean that the fruits they grow are amongst the best in the world but very few make their way to the UK or the US because the current poor exchange rates make it unprofitable. The orchard grew every type of fruit and nut you could think of, Avocado, Almond, Pear, Cherry, Lemons, Oranges, Pistachio, but many of these were not even harvested as margins were so good on Kiwi and labour is so short that Kiwi remains the priority. Because labour is so short no one is entitled to the dole during the three harvest months as there is more work available than people to fill the jobs, so no one needs to be out of work. All around the area are fields of Maize and other crops and in between fields of Frisian (incidentally they are moving to dairy from sheep as there is so little margin on Lamb). We finished up at The Elms which was the old mission centre where the early missionaries set up shop bring Religion to the Maori population who were busy happily fighting amongst themselves and saw no reason to stop. When the settlers arrived and took the Maori’s land, they got a bit cross as you can imagine and challenged the British army to a fight which the 68th Durham and 43rd Monmouth light infantry agreed to with relish. They collectively agreed that the ‘fight’ would take place on 29th April 1864 at Gate Pa in Tauranga, whereupon the 68th and the 43rd got their collective bottoms well and truly spanked, despite having a numerically much larger force. This great victory by the Maori over the British was all the more conspicuous for the acts of kindness shown by the Maori to the British wounded afterwards. But in the end it all ended in tears for the Maori, as these things always do and two months later the British, having got their act together, inflicted heavy losses on the Maori at nearby Te Range and the land war was over. Settlers take all Maori get nothing. Still it’s not all bad, it seems that things have improved recently as since 1985 financial reparations have been made to a number of Maori tribes and they have been “allowed” to buy land and “invest” in education. But to give the Maori’s their due they don’t seem to have taken it to heart and now live in peace and harmony with the settlers.

It is easy to see why, driving along (on the left) we could so easily be somewhere in the UK. The weather is temperate, the countryside beautiful and the town is immaculate and it is not hard to understand why people are so content here. Fifty or so years ago it was a holiday resort, today it is the fastest growing city in New Zealand and has crept into the top ten as the ninth largest. More and more people visited and stayed, firms began to relocate which attracted yet more people. Land reclamation began for the docks and associated industry until it became what it is today, a thriving town.

Boats Planes and Jumpers

Tuesday 25th February

It was ‘nobbut a spit’ to Auckland from Tauranga as they say in Lancashire, or to put it in plain language, a very short distance. In the order of 150 miles. So it was not a surprise to wake up this morning and find that we had already arrived in Auckland the largest city in New Zealand and have been given pride of place in the town centre right opposite the old ferry terminal. Weather is perfect about 75°f [about 24°C for those of us who use proper units – Paul] and the sky full of cotton wool puffs of cloud. The Auckland skyline is not too overpowering as the majority of high-rise buildings are between fifteen and twenty-five stories high in the centre of the city with a sprinkling of smaller ones scattered around them to balance the effect. The further along the coast in each direction the lower the buildings.

We were off on a jaunt by 10:00am with our steerologist Paul (who honestly admitted that this was his first day on the job with comments like “jees this is bigger than my mini” but it turned out that he normally did cross country tours and it ‘really was’ his first day on the half day trips). pointing out all relevant points of interest with an extremely droll sense of humour which kept the whole coach entertained. The cathedral (a fairly modern looking building) was compared rather disparagingly as an Ikea cathedral, to the lovely old hand carved wooden one it replaced which still stands, but was moved to the other side of the road. Apparently because a lot of buildings are made of wood the New Zealanders make a habit of picking them up and shifting them elsewhere. Passing the television tower we craned our necks to see the people bungee jumping from the top without much luck, Carol said she saw one, but I’m not sure her eyesight is that good. We were taken to see where the wealthy lived in Auckland and before we got there Paul announced that we were about to see examples of how, just because an individual is blessed with a high net worth, does not necessarily mean they are blessed with good taste. Then mentioned that the people who lived there had asked for the tourist coaches to be banned from driving past their houses as they always seemed to be laughing. Not surprisingly as he then started to intone “oh! Honey I’d like to live in a house like a chocolate cake” as we drove past one that looked just like that. Then “oh! Honey I’d like to live in a house like a bunker” and so on, past the house that looked like a biscuit tin, a Neo Georgian manor house. He had a dry comment for every situation, but he knew his stuff for all that. Remind me to tell you about the Orange people, I don’t have time or space to tell you here. But it’s worth hearing.

On our way back down the hill we stopped and Paul asked for a minutes silence, as we all went quiet he asked us to look over the harbour and pay our respects, as it was there that the New Zealand Americas Cup team lost the cup to a landlocked nation. Switzerland! Sailing is a national obsession (there is one sailing boat to every four people here) and that was the ultimate humiliation.

Talking of sailing, that was where we headed for next, back down to the wharf where eight of us boarded a fifteen metre sailing ship for a trip round the harbour. There was a respectable breeze and after motoring out from the quayside we hoisted the sail and off we went heeling over until we were all in heap in the bottom of the boat. Well, not quite, until that is I took the helm and then I heard some bumps and squeals behind me. Turns out that Carol had got over familiar with a Japanese couple as we were at a good angle and cracking on a bit. Things got a bit interesting when the seaplane (Alpha one) took off heading straight towards us drawing curses from the captain as they were supposed to be warned before take-off in order to steer clear. Over our heads she flew just missing us, honest! got it on video. Well it might have been a bit higher. As we sailed under the harbour bridge there was a piercing scream from above and a body plunged towards the sea. Hearts in our mouths we watched in disbelief as it headed vertically for the water and just as it reached the surface it shot straight back up again before once more plunging earthwards. This happened several times with decreasing intensity until the unfortunate victim was finally hauled back up towards the bridge. Bungee jumping! What is it with New Zealanders that they want to throw themselves of any available high structure?

All too soon time was up and we headed back to the quayside once more encountering the bungee jumpers and Alpha one, landing this time, more curses as again no warning until after she had landed in front of us. Again got it on video. Tying up alongside we headed off into the town wandered around the shops etc. Until it was time for Carol to go back on board, (she had a hair appointment) so I wandered off to find WiFi with a pub attached. Found one but it only sold lager and Guinness so I had a Guinness. Had a problem getting the WiFi to work but the little Chinese girl behind the bar sorted it out for me. What is it about young girls behind bars who can work your phone better than you can? WiFi was exceedingly slow but I did manage to get some pictures away. Won-she told me it was the Internet in New Zealand that was to blame not the bar. Had to leave without all the pictures going as we were sailing early 5:30pm so legged it back on board and as Carol was still sitting with her hair wrapped in tinfoil, I went up to the Commodore club for a pint to watch as we sailed from Auckland. With many a blast on the ships siren, we backed out and picked our way carefully through the thousands (or so it seemed) sailing boats that were zigzagging all over the place like demented water boatmen. Have they got a death wish or what? We are a big ship and they disappeared from our sight beneath the bow on occasion. Carol finally turned up and I got the look when I asked as casually as I could “Oh were they closed?” Had to buy a cocktail for that little aside, when will I ever learn?

Trumpets and Canoes

Wednesday 26th February

The Bay of Islands is another 150 miles north of Auckland and is a truly beautiful part of North Island with a plotted 142 islands around a coastline of bays and long silvery beaches. Captain Cook named it the Bay of Islands but New Zealand was first visited and named New Zealand after Zealand in Holland, in December 1642 by the Dutch Explorer Abel Tasman. I share this with you not as a history lesson, but for some interesting facts behind his discovery. He never set foot on land, his two ships anchored off in the Bay and the local Maori’s seeing these strange vessels arrive, sounded an alarm on an instrument that looked like a short didgeridoo and made a sound not unlike a trumpet.

It turned out that someone on one of the ships actually had a trumpet and thinking he could do better than that, let rip with a rendition of ‘Oh My Papa’ or the 1642 equivalent. Well! what the unfortunate Eddie Calvert wannabe didn’t know, was, whatever he played, was effectively a declaration of war to the Maori, a sort of musical equivalent of “Oi! come over ere if you want some!” Talk about red rag to a bull, Maori’s everywhere on hearing this immediately stopped whatever they happened to be doing, and looked at each other with that look that you know means trouble. One of those ominous silences descended over all the local bars (or the Maori equivalent) and never being ones to duck a fight they promptly put on their best fighting clobber, launched their war canoes and headed for the Dutch ships. The ship’s companies leant on the rails enjoying the spectacle thinking it was some kind of welcome. It just happened that a cutter rowing between the two ships was intercepted by these canoes and the unfortunate occupants clubbed to death. Whereupon the two ships hurriedly weighed anchor and beat a hasty retreat, whilst fighting a desperate regard action, no doubt thinking “That was a bit over the top! If that’s the way they react to poor trumpet playing goodness knows how they would react to something more serious”. Anyway the upshot was, no one went near the place for another hundred years (especially trumpet players) well would you? Until, yes you’ve guessed it, good old Captain Cook arrived like the proverbial bad penny, with a better trumpet player and the rest as they say is history.

We anchored about a mile off and went ashore in a tender as the bay was too shallow for the ship to get alongside, even if there had been anything go alongside. We landed at Waitangi (famous for the Waitangi Treaty between the Crown and the Maori). The place reminded me of a cross between the Lake District without the crowds and a dales village. We caught the shuttle bus into Paihia (pronounced Pie Here) about 2 km and wandered round a sort of cross between a village fête and a handicraft market, then along the high street. Paihia is like all the other places we have seen in New Zealand spotlessly clean and really friendly. As we were due on a trip in the afternoon we decided to walk back to Waitangi along the beach of Teti bay, picking up shells as we went. This really was a place you could spend more time at.

Our coach duly turned up and we set off inland for a trip around the local area. It was similar to the countryside around Tauranga growing pretty much the same stuff, though there were more vineyards. Our driver said that the wine produced in this area was some of the best in New Zealand and we passed one that belonged to a hotel chain which grew wine only for their hotels. It couldn’t be bought in any other outlet. One way to ensure your customers return, (if they like the wine that is). The vineyards were surrounded by tall hedges of either a thin wall of conifers or bamboo, up to a height of about ten metres to protect them from the wind. Not that the wind is a problem in itself, but by creating this wind break they raise the temperature inside the cordon by another two or three degrees and thus get a higher sugar content from the grapes.

We drove through one or two little hamlets and down to a little town called Kerikeri which has two of the oldest buildings in New Zealand, but the wooden one built in 1821 and the stone one built in 1835 reminds you of just how short the history of New Zealand is compared to European History. Maori’s did not have a written language until Hone Heike (a Maori chief) came to the UK and travelled to Cambridge where academics worked with him to create a written version, in order that they could write some of the history of the Maori people from the stories they told. Oh! and translate the bible into Maori. I’m not sure how easy a language Maori is to learn, but apparently an early missionary Henry Williams taught himself to speak fluent Maori in three months. Now that either makes it a heck of an easy language to learn or someone is telling porkies.

Further on we encountered the Waitangi River which has a solid rock riverbed. This is because when a nearby volcano erupted the lava flowed down the valley until it finally cooled and it was at this point that the Haruru Falls were formed. On down the valley we travelled until we arrived back at Waitangi and the start of our trip. It was here that the treaty was signed and a lot of the early shenanigans with Maori’s occurred but to this day the Maori’s remain the only indigenous race that has a written agreement with the British Government. The largest canoe in the world is also here. 36 metres long it holds 150 Maori’s and when Princes Diana was carried in it, the Royal Navy recorded it travelling at a speed of 27 knots. Some canoe!

Anyway I could go on for ever about this place but I’d better stop or I’d run into tomorrow, talking of which, clocks go back again tonight which puts us exactly 12 hours in front of you.

Beached whales and serial killers

Thursday 27th February

Back at sea again and we are heading West across the Tasman Sea for two days heading for Sydney our final destination for this leg of the voyage. So a late breakfast and a wander down to the theatre to watch another presentation by Dr Visser this time on why whales throw themselves on the beach and become stranded. The answer? No one knows. But she went through the possibilities. Whatever the reason it seems that the majority strand after following the key whale on to the shore. However she did have some good advice on what to do of you come across a stranded whale. Which basically boils down to, make sure it is upright, cover it in sheets (to keep the sun off it and help keep it wet), pour water over it to keep it wet, point it towards the sea and wait for the tide to come in. But then the chances of coming across a beached whale are few and far between (though I did think I saw one on Blackpool beach once, though on closer inspection it had a swimsuit on).

A later talk by was much more interesting. Publicity for it said ‘Adults Only’ and it was called Serial Killers. It was by a personality profiler Diane Simpson. She was an elderly lady so tiny she could hardly see over the podium with her frail old ladies voice she could have easily played Miss Marple. But her style could make your blood run cold. She had a rather slow but precise diction, at times barely a whisper (but the microphone was good). She had interviewed many serial killers including Peter Sutcliffe (who by the way is believed to have killed about 77 people). But she could be funny as well. She told us she had been in nearly all the high security hospitals and prisons (including Bellmarsh) and as she approached the front of the stage she said it’s so nice to see so many familiar faces. But some of the stories she had to tell were truly gruesome and she took us through the mental processes of some of these killers. She was up to date too, as she had the background of the girl from Peterborough who was arrested recently for killing those guys found in ditches. Coupled with the video clips, for me it was one of the best so far.

Not much else to report, we went to the gym and then had a couple of drinks in the Commodore with a couple on our table who are leaving the ship in Sydney. Dinner was the last formal night of this leg so we had lobster, getting good at predicting the menu now.

Clocks go back again tonight, putting us eleven hours ahead of you and that’s about it.

Pancake Day

Friday 28th February

Another exiting day at sea 🙂 with the usual late breakfast and more on the whales and dolphins, on our way to that we stopped for a while to watch the belly dancing class hmmm. Then later we went to another talk by Diane Simpson on music in the mind and how it affects the brain. Quite good, found out for the first time about Gloomy Sunday by Billie Holiday, called the suicide song because so many people had committed suicide listening to it. Apparently the BBC had banned it until 2005. Anyway after lunch we went up on deck to watch the pancake race. Don’t ask, I have no idea. I didn’t stop long, Carol watched the whole thing – the sommeliers won. I had to go and find a pint somewhere. We arrive in Sydney tomorrow morning first thing so need to set the alarm as we don’t want to miss the arrival. We will berth between the Bridge and the Opera House so right amongst the action as it is the Mardi Gras festival with a new year firework display tomorrow night, so it should be quite a party. We are here overnight so next blog entry may be delayed a while. [Well it would have had he not emailed this entry to the wrong offspring – Paul]

Wet weekend in Sydney

Saturday 1st and Sunday 2nd March

Sydney reputably one of the world’s most spectacular harbours. It is impressive, I’ll give you that, but spectacular? not too sure. We were up early full of expectation. Early morning light was fighting with thick cloud and for the most part losing. It was a murky morning. Where was all that sunshine the Aussies promised us, it was here last week we were told. Last week’s no good, we are here today and Australia is supposed to be the land of eternal sunshine. Any way we approached the entrance through the impressive Heads, North & South. These are massive cliffs that together with middle head served to disguise the entrance making it difficult for early mariners to find, as when sailing past it looks like one continuous rocky coastline and without today’s modern navigational aids it would still be difficult to find, looking towards the shore from out at sea. As we nosed through the narrow gap and into the harbour, those twin features appeared far to starboard, Sydney Harbour Bridge and Sydney Opera House. We turned to starboard making for them, as if suddenly getting our bearings so to speak and realising where we were. As we bore down on the bridge we were surrounded by helicopters and light aircraft flying round and round like angry hornets, one of the helicopters (channel nine) repeatedly swooped down to almost sea level, headed towards us before soaring up and over us. Not sure that would have been allowed in the UK, but it all served to create an atmosphere of excitement especially when the ship unfurled our surprise. Our visit coincides with Mardi Gras and to show our support we are joining in with the celebrations by flying a 126 metre long Happy Mardi Gras cape, 12.5 metres high, complementing this was a 2.2 metre high stiletto. We were to be bathed in pink light and designated ‘Queen of the harbour’ hmmm and were to party the night away, ‘were’ being the operative word, more on that later. All the tower blocks around the harbour were twinkling away as hundreds of cameras clicked and arms appeared waving at every accessible point around the quays. We slipped slickly between the Opera House and the bridge as if we did it every day of the week.

Immigration was a doddle here as the immigration officials sailed with us from New Zealand. (NB. America). After breakfast we disembarked for our trip which was ‘Leisurely Sydney’ an overview of the city in order for us to decide what we were going to do in our own time. We boarded our coach and set off through the traffic (which as in all cities was nose to tail) fortunately our driver drove contra to the main flow so we were not as impeded as we could have been, but it would not really have mattered if we had as the heavens opened and we stared glumly out of the coach windows as our guide enthused about what we would have seen had the visibility been good.

Rain was on and off the whole morning and in this it was kind to us when we arrived at Bondi Beach it was during an off period. Bondi was smaller than we imagined from the stories we had heard, perfectly formed for rollers, but the surfers did not want to perform. There were hundreds of surfer’s heads in the sea all waiting for that one big one which never came. Every now and then a brave soul would have a crack only to be swallowed up in a mass of white froth as the wave broke before even getting going. There was a continuous stream of fed up surfers leaving and optimistic surfers arriving, we spent about 35 minutes watching the fun but the rain showed signs of returning so we resumed our Leisurely Tour.

On over to the high point where we would have seen spectacular views of the harbour, but for the fact that the weather had once more closed in and some unfortunate soul had jumped so the area was closed off by the police whilst they carried out their grim inquiries. This is apparently the number one spot for suicide and is covered by dozens of security cameras. There was however one bright (if it can be called that) side to this place as our guide pointed out a small ordinary bungalow opposite, where, apparently until he died a few months ago, a gentleman lived who is credited with saving over 440 lives during his time there. It seems he would keep an eye out for potential jumpers and would rush out and invite them in for a cup of tea and a chat, ending in talking them out of it. It was voluntary, he wasn’t paid anything but had received various honours for his work, it left us wondering how effective video cameras would be in taking his place. Anyway suitable cheered up by this positive spin on an otherwise depressing story in depressing weather we moved on to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. Mrs Macquarie liked to walk around the point opposite the botanic gardens but needed somewhere to sit to admire them as governor’s wives do, so she asked her husband to get the convicts to carve a seat out of the solid rock so she could sit and stare across the bay, which he (and they) duly did. One could only guess what was going through the convict’s minds as they sweated in 40 plus degrees in the hot sun so she could have somewhere cool to sit. It was not that kind of weather for us, because as we were contemplating life in those days the heavens opened again and we were caught in another torrential downpour.

I was not going to miss my ice cream for a spot of rain so I bought a cornet from an incredulous Australian lady and clambered back on board the coach, drenched. We finally got back to the ship for a shower and a change of clothes a bite to eat and then guess what? It stopped raining, so off we went round the Rocks the oldest part of Sydney (where the first convict’s tents were erected) and now home to markets, shops and other tourist attractions. Rain still attempted to discourage us but most of the markets were under cover and a lot of the pavements were sheltered by overhangs. We found some WiFi with a bar attached and managed to get rid of all the photo’s we had accumulated. Then back on board for dinner before venturing out for the Mardi Gras. Well that was the plan! We went up to the cabin to get some cash, went out onto the balcony to see how warm it was only to see rain falling out of the sky like out of a bucket. Not a soul in sight and not a sound, so plan B the bar. I guess the Mardi Gras was a washout which is a bit of a shame as they plan for it all year round.

Sunday was a little better so we shot off first thing for the Opera House and then into the Botanic gardens. We were surprised at how quiet everywhere was, the train we took for the guided tour only had about eight people on it. It took about half an hour and we then went to walk around at our own pace having had the overview. This was too good to be true the rain held off and the sun even had the temerity to show it’s face for a while. About twelve thirty we decided to go back for a bite to eat before exploring under the bridge. As we made our way back past the Opera House we realised we had made a good choice by going early as the crowds were pouring in. Word had got out that the sun was shining. 🙂 It was not to last, we were almost back on board when the rain returned and we watched from the Lido as the crowds melted away as fast as they had arrived. Another three hours of rain and we nipped out again with a brolly to explore under the bridge and round the “fingers” quays that stick out into the harbour on the other side of the bridge. Although we had some bad luck with the weather, the tour that went to the Blue Mountains travelled two hours to see nothing, no mountains, no blue and they got drenched as the windows in the bus leaked. The bridge tour got drenched climbing the bridge and couldn’t see much when they got to the top and we daren’t ask the cycle tour people how they had got on. Never mind, we are now back at sea heading for Brisbane and we have changed a huge chunk of Australians for a huge chunk of Japanese and the food has changed to reflect this.