I wasn't aware that scorpions were that prevalent in Wales but maybe they are...maybe so. [Notice the sheen of rain on the street - typical of Wellington, typical of NZ in general, perhaps typical of Wales!]
I think it had closed down. Enough said.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Welsh Wellies
Here's a snap for Iwan, Popeye, Daf & Graham. If for some strange reason you woke up with a desire to open a Welsh restaurant and then for an even more inexplicable reason decided to do just that in Wellington, NZ...too late. Someone's beaten you to it.
I wasn't aware that scorpions were that prevalent in Wales but maybe they are...maybe so. [Notice the sheen of rain on the street - typical of Wellington, typical of NZ in general, perhaps typical of Wales!]
I think it had closed down. Enough said.
I wasn't aware that scorpions were that prevalent in Wales but maybe they are...maybe so. [Notice the sheen of rain on the street - typical of Wellington, typical of NZ in general, perhaps typical of Wales!]
I think it had closed down. Enough said.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Wellington Boot-iful
The pace of my travel is relentless and there was no hanging around in Rotorua for me. I had made my impression. It was quick smart onto the InterCity bus again with my dear grey haired friends with reading specs & dilapidated luggage (actually I fitted in pretty well). Destination: Wellington. The route from Rotorua goes high up onto NZ's desert road with some dramatic scenery which I didn't really take many pictures of - I was on the bus, alright. Aptly enough the route to Wellington takes in Taihape, New Zealand's gumboot capital (as NZers call Wellies). More people in boots than in barefeet in that town.
A fast flowing river in a gorge. Gorge.
A fast flowing river in a gorge. Gorge.
Mt Ruapehu from the desert road south of Taupo, the highest peak in the north island of NZ at 2800m.
Wellington, referred to as The Windy City. More meteorological than 'digestinal'. They weren't kidding. I nearly lost my toupee and had permanently watering eyes. At least the sun was shining, a novelty. I liked Wellington, seemed a bit more down to earth and manageable than Auckland, not that Auckland is some daunting megatropolis. Also the bus driver dropped me at the door of my hostel. How kind is that? It's the little things that colour your opinion. Can't imagine your average Brit bussy doing that, if they actually stop at a bus stop, that's a gift.
A New Zealand version of a Belisha beacon (and that's what they're actually called). Amused me for some reason. I guess it saves on leccy.
Some dummy I met at the New Zealand Cricket Museum at the Wellington Basin. Little did I know this was to be the high point of my cricket experiences abroad in 2006.
Hello there 2007!
Happy New Year to you. 2006, it's been great but it's time to move on. I'm going to be hanging out with 2007 for a while, probably a year at a guess.
Oh, and get this. I never thought that it would happen but I seem to have embraced YOOF culture with a full blooded bear hug and have managed to upload a video onto YouTube. I KNOW!! At the moment it's nothing more exciting than about six seconds of bubbling mud (actually, that's exactly what it is) but the path has been forged for more of the same...I mean video uploads, not more clips of bubbling mud.
For those with a strong desire to see mud in its bubbling state or are too hungover to know what you're doing, here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GH5uKgLxH9c
So, 2006 has definitely been the Year of Change that Iwan & I christened it at the start of the year: I am now jobless, probably unemployable, homeless and drifting about the globe. Not quite what I expected but hey, change is change, right?
2007 - the year of penury, destitution and slipping into the underclass? We'll see. Hope 2006 has been a blast for you and 2007 is even better.
Let's GO!
Oh, and get this. I never thought that it would happen but I seem to have embraced YOOF culture with a full blooded bear hug and have managed to upload a video onto YouTube. I KNOW!! At the moment it's nothing more exciting than about six seconds of bubbling mud (actually, that's exactly what it is) but the path has been forged for more of the same...I mean video uploads, not more clips of bubbling mud.
For those with a strong desire to see mud in its bubbling state or are too hungover to know what you're doing, here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GH5uKgLxH9c
So, 2006 has definitely been the Year of Change that Iwan & I christened it at the start of the year: I am now jobless, probably unemployable, homeless and drifting about the globe. Not quite what I expected but hey, change is change, right?
2007 - the year of penury, destitution and slipping into the underclass? We'll see. Hope 2006 has been a blast for you and 2007 is even better.
Let's GO!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Ferny Undergrowth
North & south island, New Zealand - 14-21, Nov 2006
You know that silver fern the All Blacks wear on their shirt. Well, it's not some random affectation or marketeer's brainchild - New Zealand is awash with ferns. Admittedly none of them I saw were silver. Green seemed to be the in colour this season.
You know that silver fern the All Blacks wear on their shirt. Well, it's not some random affectation or marketeer's brainchild - New Zealand is awash with ferns. Admittedly none of them I saw were silver. Green seemed to be the in colour this season.
See what I mean. Pretty ferny, huh?
More ferns in amongst some trees. There are plenty of those as well.
A mighty fern.
That's ferny.
Furly fern.
Woody scene with fern elements.
Not so ferny but I like it.
Strange orange undergrowth. Soooo last season.
Close up of the orange stuff. I think it's what they make Tang out of.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Rotorua - kinda eggy
New Zealand, North Island - 9-13 Nov, 2006
So, after six days of acting like a rabbit dazzled by the bright lights of a juggernaut that represents NZ's biggest city (about the size of Wigan), I got my act together and managed to leave Auckland. Maybe I'd over done it on the sushi. Maybe so.
I decided to avoid the GAPers' stalwarts of the Kiwi Experience, Stray or Magic buses, the equivalent of an 18-30 party bus where the fresh faced youths bump off each other and get a bleary & beery eyed view of some of the most dramatic and remote bars in NZ. These are sometimes referred to as Shag Wagons or perhaps more charmingly F*ck Trucks (apologies for the use of a swear word to Mrs Gorringe, my probation officer). I opted for InterCity, the equivalent of our National Express. The clientele is a more mature crowd that still gets dressed up in ill fitting sports jackets complete with knackered suitcases tied up with string. Other than showing myself up with my dress sense, I fitted in quite well.
My first planned stop was Waitomo down the west side of the north island. It's famous for its caves and the GAPers like to go tubing in the fast flowing rivers that run through the cave network. We'll never know whether I would have paid good money to do what as a kid I did with an old tractor inner tube down Harrold weir - the rain had been falling for the last three days meaning the water level was too high. Instead I found myself with a group of Japanese tourists ogling into the pitchy caves at glow worms - oooh. Outside the rain had really started to bucket down. I still hadn't found the reason I was in NZ.
I pulled the pin on an overnight stop in Waitomo and climbed back on the bus heading for Rotorua, famous for its volcanic activity: bubbling mud pools, geysers (jets of steamy water rather than Shoreditch-finned mockneys), steaming lakes and eggy odour. The whole place had the smell of brimstone and were it not for the lake view,collection of seventies cars and the fact it was coming down in stair rods, it could have been mistaken for hell-lite.
It was in the Rotorua hostel (closest to the bus depot on account of tipping rain) that I managed to lock myself out of my dorm room whilst taking a nocturnal leak. Things would have been better if I hadn't done a McCann and scampered to the bathroom in the buff. I don't know whether the unfortunate dorm mate that had to get up and open the door was more annoyed at being woken from his slumbers or more shocked at what presented itself in the unflattering neon light of the hallway. I didn't see him in the morning, he had left early, perhaps even before he had put his shoes on.
So, after six days of acting like a rabbit dazzled by the bright lights of a juggernaut that represents NZ's biggest city (about the size of Wigan), I got my act together and managed to leave Auckland. Maybe I'd over done it on the sushi. Maybe so.
I decided to avoid the GAPers' stalwarts of the Kiwi Experience, Stray or Magic buses, the equivalent of an 18-30 party bus where the fresh faced youths bump off each other and get a bleary & beery eyed view of some of the most dramatic and remote bars in NZ. These are sometimes referred to as Shag Wagons or perhaps more charmingly F*ck Trucks (apologies for the use of a swear word to Mrs Gorringe, my probation officer). I opted for InterCity, the equivalent of our National Express. The clientele is a more mature crowd that still gets dressed up in ill fitting sports jackets complete with knackered suitcases tied up with string. Other than showing myself up with my dress sense, I fitted in quite well.
My first planned stop was Waitomo down the west side of the north island. It's famous for its caves and the GAPers like to go tubing in the fast flowing rivers that run through the cave network. We'll never know whether I would have paid good money to do what as a kid I did with an old tractor inner tube down Harrold weir - the rain had been falling for the last three days meaning the water level was too high. Instead I found myself with a group of Japanese tourists ogling into the pitchy caves at glow worms - oooh. Outside the rain had really started to bucket down. I still hadn't found the reason I was in NZ.
I pulled the pin on an overnight stop in Waitomo and climbed back on the bus heading for Rotorua, famous for its volcanic activity: bubbling mud pools, geysers (jets of steamy water rather than Shoreditch-finned mockneys), steaming lakes and eggy odour. The whole place had the smell of brimstone and were it not for the lake view,collection of seventies cars and the fact it was coming down in stair rods, it could have been mistaken for hell-lite.
It was in the Rotorua hostel (closest to the bus depot on account of tipping rain) that I managed to lock myself out of my dorm room whilst taking a nocturnal leak. Things would have been better if I hadn't done a McCann and scampered to the bathroom in the buff. I don't know whether the unfortunate dorm mate that had to get up and open the door was more annoyed at being woken from his slumbers or more shocked at what presented itself in the unflattering neon light of the hallway. I didn't see him in the morning, he had left early, perhaps even before he had put his shoes on.
I have a smashing wee video clip of the bubbly mud but I haven't figure out how or indeed if I can upload vids onto the BigBlagBlog.
A'wight Geyser!
A strange coloured lake with steam and stinking of eggs.
A picture of my towel before I washed it. Only kidding, I haven't washed it yet.
A sort of rock ledge with funny coloured deposits cascading down it like some overspill of goo (but it was more crusty than gooey, how odd).
Bonfire night - it's THE BOMB
Auckland - Nov 5, 2006
Before I scampered out of Auckland hunting for the true meaning of NZ (and also trying to avoid liver failure), I got invited to a Bonfire Night celebration by a friend of my friend Ian, Sarah Valentine. This was great news because if there's one event in the calendar that I love more than another it is Bonfire Night. Odd that it gets celebrated all the way down in NZ, just a hangover from more British times I guess and let's face it, why would you give up any event that involves fireworks and 'controlled' arson? Bloody fab.
Added to the excitement of exploding gunpowder, the party was at some 70s NZ rock star's house. Sarah described him as the David Bowie of New Zealand - quite an accolade. I think his name was Jeff. Anyway, he was a top fella and very happy to have this drop out drop in on his party.
Nothing will ever live up to last year's display in Victoria Park, London when Lizzie and I witnessed a fifth scale model of parliament go up in flames as a 20ft mechanical Guy Fawkes danced atop of the blaze, but as home displays go, this was quite fun. It was livened by a bunch of tight trousered teenagers with asymmetric fringes dancing about the garden and shooting flares at each other. No sign of the biscuit tin, battery powered torch and arms length taper. I can't criticise really as I was doing the same sort of thing at their age, probably worse. It's a wonder I have all my limbs and my vision's OK...touch wood.
Sorry no pics. I forgot my camera.
Before I scampered out of Auckland hunting for the true meaning of NZ (and also trying to avoid liver failure), I got invited to a Bonfire Night celebration by a friend of my friend Ian, Sarah Valentine. This was great news because if there's one event in the calendar that I love more than another it is Bonfire Night. Odd that it gets celebrated all the way down in NZ, just a hangover from more British times I guess and let's face it, why would you give up any event that involves fireworks and 'controlled' arson? Bloody fab.
Added to the excitement of exploding gunpowder, the party was at some 70s NZ rock star's house. Sarah described him as the David Bowie of New Zealand - quite an accolade. I think his name was Jeff. Anyway, he was a top fella and very happy to have this drop out drop in on his party.
Nothing will ever live up to last year's display in Victoria Park, London when Lizzie and I witnessed a fifth scale model of parliament go up in flames as a 20ft mechanical Guy Fawkes danced atop of the blaze, but as home displays go, this was quite fun. It was livened by a bunch of tight trousered teenagers with asymmetric fringes dancing about the garden and shooting flares at each other. No sign of the biscuit tin, battery powered torch and arms length taper. I can't criticise really as I was doing the same sort of thing at their age, probably worse. It's a wonder I have all my limbs and my vision's OK...touch wood.
Sorry no pics. I forgot my camera.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Oh dear
At this rate I might not even get to see any cricket on Day3 (am actually in Melbourne, Australia at the moment, a trick of the BligBlagBlog that makes out I'm still in NZ). At least the rain that follows me around the world might ensure there's still some play on Thursday.
NZ - what am I doing here?
Auckland was my first exposure to hostel living; in Mexico it had been cheap hotels and the US had been with friends other than the weird St Pauls Hotel in San Francisco (some of the regulars there would have eaten your average hostel dweller for breakfast and picked their teeth with the bones to boot). In Auckland I had randomly picked X-Base in Fort Street as my home - a big party-centric hostel or backpackers as they call them. (I didn't know that before I checked in.)
I had come from the travelllorrr free zones of Mexico and San Francisco and had landed in Auckland: Travelllorrr Central, the Piccadilly Circus of GAP yearers, a thronging crush of Brit, German, US and Canadian 20-somethings (and younger) with their cliques of geeks and sleeks. All of them running around like horny Jack Russells, rubbing up against each other and barking boozily. Those too cool for school (although only marginally too old) hanging around the pool table like it was back in the sixth form common room, the internet rooms full of the white noise of kids Skyping home. In short, I felt like a geography teacher on a field trip - I had the cords, all I was lacking was a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.
Here's an example of a typical night:
Gather in the hostel kitchen and start getting excited. Green light.
Get to know some new friends, have some drinking games. Amber light.
And out we spill into the backpacker friendly bars and clubs. Red light.
Some of the more dangerous types who haven't forged a meaningful relationship over an Export Gold or vodka Red Bull carry on until dawn with Fijian rum. Lights OUT!
I was in Auckland for six days. That's three days too many in anyone's book. I had to get out of Auckland with cords and thorn proof tweed jacket intact.
I had come from the travelllorrr free zones of Mexico and San Francisco and had landed in Auckland: Travelllorrr Central, the Piccadilly Circus of GAP yearers, a thronging crush of Brit, German, US and Canadian 20-somethings (and younger) with their cliques of geeks and sleeks. All of them running around like horny Jack Russells, rubbing up against each other and barking boozily. Those too cool for school (although only marginally too old) hanging around the pool table like it was back in the sixth form common room, the internet rooms full of the white noise of kids Skyping home. In short, I felt like a geography teacher on a field trip - I had the cords, all I was lacking was a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.
Here's an example of a typical night:
Gather in the hostel kitchen and start getting excited. Green light.
Get to know some new friends, have some drinking games. Amber light.
And out we spill into the backpacker friendly bars and clubs. Red light.
Some of the more dangerous types who haven't forged a meaningful relationship over an Export Gold or vodka Red Bull carry on until dawn with Fijian rum. Lights OUT!
I was in Auckland for six days. That's three days too many in anyone's book. I had to get out of Auckland with cords and thorn proof tweed jacket intact.
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