Октябрь 09, 2005
fin
Home again.
Next trip scheduled for the beginning of November. Should be a short one; there's a truck show in Moscow, plus maybe a week of hopping. It's not even confirmed as yet that I'll be there, but I don't doubt that it will be soon.
Cheers until then...
Next trip scheduled for the beginning of November. Should be a short one; there's a truck show in Moscow, plus maybe a week of hopping. It's not even confirmed as yet that I'll be there, but I don't doubt that it will be soon.
Cheers until then...
Октябрь 07, 2005
Outprocessing
10/8 16:06, Auckland time
The Airport. My home-in-between-homes-away-from-home. For security reasons (of course..) they won’t let me check in for another hour, but I do get to sit here and type unobtrusively until they deign to let me pass.
I awoke at a leisurely 8:00 this morning, skipped breakfast and got my requisite shopping done by ten. With still most of the day to kill, of course, it was time for a drive. I headed north for Whangarei (“wh” is pronounced halfway between an “f” and an “h”, like the Japanese “fu”), the northernmost ‘big’ city in the country. Rain and winds beat at the car on and off all the way up; still, once you get outside of the Auckland area, the area gets worthwhile again. Mountains and paddocks and gorges and rivers and forests and bush all the way. I made it up to Whangarei by one in the afternoon, with only a brief vineyard stop just outside of town (see photo below for the view from the parking lot). If it wasn’t for the glorious countryside, the Kiwis themselves would be the main attraction of New Zealand. The owner of the vineyard near chatted my ear off, and once he heard where I was from, absolutely had to have me try his best-seller – which turned out to be a niagara (the smell was spot-on, even if the taste was a bit unusual) the first clippings for which he had personally imported from the Willamette Valley some twenty-odd years ago. The coincidences almost cease to impress me by this point.
Then, a quick grocery-store lunch in Whangarei, a glance at the beach from the dryness of my rental, and back to Auckland. The weather cleared for most of my trip back, with merely fifty-mile-an-hour steady winds without heavy rain – though I did catch some hail going over the last range before Auckland. Filling up right before the rental return, the wind was strong enough to blow my car’s gas cap off the roof and send me chasing it across the station lot, until it fetched up against/inside a bush. This is not normal weather here all the time, but it is certainly far from unusual for springtime.
At this point, I hardly feel that a New Zealand wrap-up would be anything but repetitive. In the same way that pig’s ear in China re-set the bar for horrible things to eat, New Zealand has re-set the bar for great places to be. But of course, you’d have to be here yourself to understand...
The Airport. My home-in-between-homes-away-from-home. For security reasons (of course..) they won’t let me check in for another hour, but I do get to sit here and type unobtrusively until they deign to let me pass.
I awoke at a leisurely 8:00 this morning, skipped breakfast and got my requisite shopping done by ten. With still most of the day to kill, of course, it was time for a drive. I headed north for Whangarei (“wh” is pronounced halfway between an “f” and an “h”, like the Japanese “fu”), the northernmost ‘big’ city in the country. Rain and winds beat at the car on and off all the way up; still, once you get outside of the Auckland area, the area gets worthwhile again. Mountains and paddocks and gorges and rivers and forests and bush all the way. I made it up to Whangarei by one in the afternoon, with only a brief vineyard stop just outside of town (see photo below for the view from the parking lot). If it wasn’t for the glorious countryside, the Kiwis themselves would be the main attraction of New Zealand. The owner of the vineyard near chatted my ear off, and once he heard where I was from, absolutely had to have me try his best-seller – which turned out to be a niagara (the smell was spot-on, even if the taste was a bit unusual) the first clippings for which he had personally imported from the Willamette Valley some twenty-odd years ago. The coincidences almost cease to impress me by this point.
Then, a quick grocery-store lunch in Whangarei, a glance at the beach from the dryness of my rental, and back to Auckland. The weather cleared for most of my trip back, with merely fifty-mile-an-hour steady winds without heavy rain – though I did catch some hail going over the last range before Auckland. Filling up right before the rental return, the wind was strong enough to blow my car’s gas cap off the roof and send me chasing it across the station lot, until it fetched up against/inside a bush. This is not normal weather here all the time, but it is certainly far from unusual for springtime.
At this point, I hardly feel that a New Zealand wrap-up would be anything but repetitive. In the same way that pig’s ear in China re-set the bar for horrible things to eat, New Zealand has re-set the bar for great places to be. But of course, you’d have to be here yourself to understand...
The vineyard, looking across the harbor to Whangarei
Final Night
10/7 20:51, Auckland time
Work for this trip finished up at about four. P N dropped S B and I at the Hertz counter of the Auckland airport and left for home. Now independently mobile, S B and I decided to check out the city. Having done that and now returned, I have a couple of comments:
- Parallel parking is a lot tougher when everyhing is on the wrong side.
- Downtown Auckland sucks just as bad as the Auckland suburbs.
- Even Aucklanders agree that NZ on the northern peninsula (the best I heard was, 'north of the Bombay hills') is the worst part of the country.
The city puts me in the mind of Tacoma back before there was much of anything worthwhile there. S B and I walked around the city center for better than ninety minutes looking for a restaurant or pub or cafe or anything not Chinese, Japanese, Korean, or Thai. All to no luck. We more or less accidentally (since nothing at all would actually lead an unsuspecting person there) found a Mexican place on a part of one of the waterfronts. In part due to the total lack of other options, and in part due to a morbid curiosity on my part as to how people so far from Mexico would pull off that cuisine, we ate there. As I was chatting with two Kiwi girls -- one of whom was the Aucklander from the above paragraph -- I happened to comment on this curiosity. How would kiwis pull off Mexican food, I asked. To which the guy behind the counter, the owner as it turns out, answered, "they don't". His comment and his answer led to the inevitable questions and introductions; it turns out that, until this last April he, he and his wife were Portlanders! They decided the time was getting right to bug out of the country, and headed for New Zealand with their savings and a vague idea of what they were going to do. It turns out, Kiwis really like Mexican food (slightly less spicy here than in the northern hemisphere in consideration for their generally milder tastes), and the tourist trade off the cruise ships has kept them hopping. They're staying on (though I did seriously recommend that they consider moving to the south island) permanently. In solidarity -- and since the food was quite good -- I must plug their shop, "Mexicali New Zealand" on the waterfront near Queen Street.
Most places I've been, the Americans I've encountered have left me feeling vaguly pissed off at best. Here is somehow different. All I can point to is the fact that this is the first place I've been where the people from the US seem to be assimilating themselves. I can't even imagine an expats' club down here.
Work for this trip finished up at about four. P N dropped S B and I at the Hertz counter of the Auckland airport and left for home. Now independently mobile, S B and I decided to check out the city. Having done that and now returned, I have a couple of comments:
- Parallel parking is a lot tougher when everyhing is on the wrong side.
- Downtown Auckland sucks just as bad as the Auckland suburbs.
- Even Aucklanders agree that NZ on the northern peninsula (the best I heard was, 'north of the Bombay hills') is the worst part of the country.
The city puts me in the mind of Tacoma back before there was much of anything worthwhile there. S B and I walked around the city center for better than ninety minutes looking for a restaurant or pub or cafe or anything not Chinese, Japanese, Korean, or Thai. All to no luck. We more or less accidentally (since nothing at all would actually lead an unsuspecting person there) found a Mexican place on a part of one of the waterfronts. In part due to the total lack of other options, and in part due to a morbid curiosity on my part as to how people so far from Mexico would pull off that cuisine, we ate there. As I was chatting with two Kiwi girls -- one of whom was the Aucklander from the above paragraph -- I happened to comment on this curiosity. How would kiwis pull off Mexican food, I asked. To which the guy behind the counter, the owner as it turns out, answered, "they don't". His comment and his answer led to the inevitable questions and introductions; it turns out that, until this last April he, he and his wife were Portlanders! They decided the time was getting right to bug out of the country, and headed for New Zealand with their savings and a vague idea of what they were going to do. It turns out, Kiwis really like Mexican food (slightly less spicy here than in the northern hemisphere in consideration for their generally milder tastes), and the tourist trade off the cruise ships has kept them hopping. They're staying on (though I did seriously recommend that they consider moving to the south island) permanently. In solidarity -- and since the food was quite good -- I must plug their shop, "Mexicali New Zealand" on the waterfront near Queen Street.
Most places I've been, the Americans I've encountered have left me feeling vaguly pissed off at best. Here is somehow different. All I can point to is the fact that this is the first place I've been where the people from the US seem to be assimilating themselves. I can't even imagine an expats' club down here.
Октябрь 06, 2005
The Last Drive
10/6 21:18, Auckland time
Here I am in my last hotel before the long flights home -- an airport inn right outside the city of Auckland proper. We drove today from Tauranga over the Kaimai range to Hamilton, then north along the Waikato river to Auckland. On the way through the animal paddocks up and over the Kaimai, P N commented to me that the area is big for deer farming. In fact, we passed a number of such farms (identifiable by the fences three times the height of standard sheep or cattle fences) with herd of upwards of forty deer each. One buck even had a respectable rack of antlers, though I understand the farmers usually crop those to keep the deer from damaging each other. They say that some twenty or thirty years ago, venison became a significant market in New Zealan, and a number of folks got into raising deer. These days, it's not that big, but most restaurants list at least one venison dish on their menu, along with the standard beef, lamb, and fish. P N's wife, when we were at dinner two nights ago, commented that for Kiwis, the movie Bambi may as well have been about a cow or a chicken.
After Christchurch and Tauranga, Auckland is definitely the Big City. As we passed over the Bombay Hills onto the northern arm of the north island, P N commented that from now on, we would be surrounded by JAFAs -- that is, 'Just Another F-ing Aucklander'. Nonetheless, we're here for a working today tomorrow, then I have most of Saturday to myself in the city.
Then... home.
It's funny. At the beginning of the last week, one's attention is focused on how close home is, nearer the end, one begins to dwell on just how long one has been away. For me, it has been four weeks. A whole month-of-February. I've been in this job for eighteen months, and been out of the country for sixteen weeks of that. Almost one week a month. It shocks me to look at the numbers in front of me, but there they are; the calculations are correct.
But enough of that. Tonight, sleep; tomorrow, work; and then to home.
Here I am in my last hotel before the long flights home -- an airport inn right outside the city of Auckland proper. We drove today from Tauranga over the Kaimai range to Hamilton, then north along the Waikato river to Auckland. On the way through the animal paddocks up and over the Kaimai, P N commented to me that the area is big for deer farming. In fact, we passed a number of such farms (identifiable by the fences three times the height of standard sheep or cattle fences) with herd of upwards of forty deer each. One buck even had a respectable rack of antlers, though I understand the farmers usually crop those to keep the deer from damaging each other. They say that some twenty or thirty years ago, venison became a significant market in New Zealan, and a number of folks got into raising deer. These days, it's not that big, but most restaurants list at least one venison dish on their menu, along with the standard beef, lamb, and fish. P N's wife, when we were at dinner two nights ago, commented that for Kiwis, the movie Bambi may as well have been about a cow or a chicken.
After Christchurch and Tauranga, Auckland is definitely the Big City. As we passed over the Bombay Hills onto the northern arm of the north island, P N commented that from now on, we would be surrounded by JAFAs -- that is, 'Just Another F-ing Aucklander'. Nonetheless, we're here for a working today tomorrow, then I have most of Saturday to myself in the city.
Then... home.
It's funny. At the beginning of the last week, one's attention is focused on how close home is, nearer the end, one begins to dwell on just how long one has been away. For me, it has been four weeks. A whole month-of-February. I've been in this job for eighteen months, and been out of the country for sixteen weeks of that. Almost one week a month. It shocks me to look at the numbers in front of me, but there they are; the calculations are correct.
But enough of that. Tonight, sleep; tomorrow, work; and then to home.
Октябрь 05, 2005
Maunganui
10/5 21:50, Tauranga time
So I climbed Mount Maunganui this afternoon. Pictures are below, but the story will so enhance your enjoyment of them that I must beg you to read on before skimming down.
At about three in the afternoon, after an otherwise fabulous day, the skies over Tauranga opened up. The weather forecasts called for rain to continue through Sunday; we are leaving on Thursday, myself perhaps never to return (one can never count on these sort of things. I was to be four days at the foot of the only solid geographical feature of major significance around the Bay of Plenty, without making it to the top. An intolerable situation.
So, repeating to myself the confidence that the rain was sure to break, I asked P N to take me to the beginning of the main mountain trail. As luck would have it, the rain did pause around 4:30, when i was dropped off at a gate in the road, with instructions to follow the sign to the summit (a sign, helpfully pointing towards the mountain...). Up I went, with an eye to the west, whipped by the wind wherever I was out of shelter. Almost immediately I left the beaten track, which seemed to be circling around at an unacceptably slow grade. Seeing what appeared to be an ‘unofficial’ footpath more or less straight up, I headed into the grassy paddocks which cover the lower half of Maunganui. Very quickly, I crested a rise, startling a flock of sheep grazing on the hillside; this was clearly not a hiking trail, as the fences I could see ringing me to the uphill and sides also testified. But, I had already come a little way, and figuring that the other side of the fence was probably a ring of the summit road, I continued upward (never retreat!). Of course, it wasn’t a road once I hopped over the fence, but another sheep-laden paddock (more steep than the first). I followed the fenceline until it turned uphill, and hand-over-handed myself up for a good ten minutes. Finally, reaching the top of the upper paddocks, the road was nowhere to be seen. Further, I had somehow reached the highest paddocked point, the fenced land going off to the side at a steep downward slope. I could see, however, what appeared to be game trails (what kind of game? Who knows..) on the other side of hte upper fence trending more or less uphill. So again, hop the fence.
As it turns out, the ‘game trails’ took – as they are wont to do in the woods back home – paths not so much suited for human beings. I only had to backtrack one time, but that was due mainly to dogged stubbornness-in-the-face-of-overwhelming-evidence, rather than to any particular utility of the trails. As I got into the main bush, about half way to the top (melaleuca and ferns and small eucalyptus trees, along with thorny-viny things similar to blackberries and other unidentifiables) the skies grew dark with the impending rain, and I seriously considered going back. But, of course, I knew that if I turned back I might never get the chance to get lost or fall off a cliff in Tauranga again, so I pressed onwards and upwards. At least the upwards part made my path easy to select when the trails disappeared. Finally, coming to a solid near-vertical rock face some half hour after hopping the last fence, around whose side I dragged myself up with the help of greenery (melaleuca branches – no good; eucalyptus and silver ferns – good), I pushed out of the bush and onto the last part of the summit path. Packed gravel was as good as pavement. I reached the top in no time, pulse pounding in my ears, and started taking pictures (I had plastic-bagged my camera before setting off).
First, photographing the city to the south, I turned west to get the mainland, and saw a wall of blackness not far enough away. The rain was coming, and there was clearly no way at all I was going to be able to beat it. Resigned, I got what I hope is a good set of shots, and headed back down (the trail all the way this time, thanks). Fortune was with me as the storm seemed to bend around the mountain, dropping only a handful of sprinkles on me – not that I wasn’t soaked anyway from my wilderness trek on the way up – and giving me at one point the impressive half-rainbow that I’m sure my pictures cannot do any justice at all. As the trail back down passed below the elevation that remained native bush, it passed through a series of gates and occupied sheep pastures. That last New Zealand touch, I guess. At the bottom of the trail, S B and P N were waiting for me in a pub, Kiwi beer ready. I have joined, i am told, the illustrious ranks of only three other guys who’ve come in on business trips and made the climb; I with the special distinction of doing it during heavy rains (it poured in the town while I was more or less dry on the trails above) as well as taking what may have been the most difficult path possible, aside from actually scaling the main cliffs on the southern face.
Oh yes, I picked up a rock on the top, too.
So I climbed Mount Maunganui this afternoon. Pictures are below, but the story will so enhance your enjoyment of them that I must beg you to read on before skimming down.
At about three in the afternoon, after an otherwise fabulous day, the skies over Tauranga opened up. The weather forecasts called for rain to continue through Sunday; we are leaving on Thursday, myself perhaps never to return (one can never count on these sort of things. I was to be four days at the foot of the only solid geographical feature of major significance around the Bay of Plenty, without making it to the top. An intolerable situation.
So, repeating to myself the confidence that the rain was sure to break, I asked P N to take me to the beginning of the main mountain trail. As luck would have it, the rain did pause around 4:30, when i was dropped off at a gate in the road, with instructions to follow the sign to the summit (a sign, helpfully pointing towards the mountain...). Up I went, with an eye to the west, whipped by the wind wherever I was out of shelter. Almost immediately I left the beaten track, which seemed to be circling around at an unacceptably slow grade. Seeing what appeared to be an ‘unofficial’ footpath more or less straight up, I headed into the grassy paddocks which cover the lower half of Maunganui. Very quickly, I crested a rise, startling a flock of sheep grazing on the hillside; this was clearly not a hiking trail, as the fences I could see ringing me to the uphill and sides also testified. But, I had already come a little way, and figuring that the other side of the fence was probably a ring of the summit road, I continued upward (never retreat!). Of course, it wasn’t a road once I hopped over the fence, but another sheep-laden paddock (more steep than the first). I followed the fenceline until it turned uphill, and hand-over-handed myself up for a good ten minutes. Finally, reaching the top of the upper paddocks, the road was nowhere to be seen. Further, I had somehow reached the highest paddocked point, the fenced land going off to the side at a steep downward slope. I could see, however, what appeared to be game trails (what kind of game? Who knows..) on the other side of hte upper fence trending more or less uphill. So again, hop the fence.
As it turns out, the ‘game trails’ took – as they are wont to do in the woods back home – paths not so much suited for human beings. I only had to backtrack one time, but that was due mainly to dogged stubbornness-in-the-face-of-overwhelming-evidence, rather than to any particular utility of the trails. As I got into the main bush, about half way to the top (melaleuca and ferns and small eucalyptus trees, along with thorny-viny things similar to blackberries and other unidentifiables) the skies grew dark with the impending rain, and I seriously considered going back. But, of course, I knew that if I turned back I might never get the chance to get lost or fall off a cliff in Tauranga again, so I pressed onwards and upwards. At least the upwards part made my path easy to select when the trails disappeared. Finally, coming to a solid near-vertical rock face some half hour after hopping the last fence, around whose side I dragged myself up with the help of greenery (melaleuca branches – no good; eucalyptus and silver ferns – good), I pushed out of the bush and onto the last part of the summit path. Packed gravel was as good as pavement. I reached the top in no time, pulse pounding in my ears, and started taking pictures (I had plastic-bagged my camera before setting off).
First, photographing the city to the south, I turned west to get the mainland, and saw a wall of blackness not far enough away. The rain was coming, and there was clearly no way at all I was going to be able to beat it. Resigned, I got what I hope is a good set of shots, and headed back down (the trail all the way this time, thanks). Fortune was with me as the storm seemed to bend around the mountain, dropping only a handful of sprinkles on me – not that I wasn’t soaked anyway from my wilderness trek on the way up – and giving me at one point the impressive half-rainbow that I’m sure my pictures cannot do any justice at all. As the trail back down passed below the elevation that remained native bush, it passed through a series of gates and occupied sheep pastures. That last New Zealand touch, I guess. At the bottom of the trail, S B and P N were waiting for me in a pub, Kiwi beer ready. I have joined, i am told, the illustrious ranks of only three other guys who’ve come in on business trips and made the climb; I with the special distinction of doing it during heavy rains (it poured in the town while I was more or less dry on the trails above) as well as taking what may have been the most difficult path possible, aside from actually scaling the main cliffs on the southern face.
Oh yes, I picked up a rock on the top, too.
Tauranga from the top
Towards home
Uh-Oh...
Right past me
Октябрь 04, 2005
Another Glorious Day
10/5 08:60, Tauranga time
A little sprinkle before sunup kicked off what looks to be another superb day on the Bay of Plenty. As far as work goes, we only have a very few tasks today, all of which are right around Tauranga. The expectation is that we’ll finish up in time for a hike up Maunganui. Of course, pictures and narrative will follow.
This morning, breakfasting at a cafe near our motel, I got the chance to talk with an ex-Californian – after not too long, the NA accents blaze out at you when you come across them – who is in the process of Kiwifying himself. He’s been out this way for ten years, with a couple trips back to the States to visit family and whatnot. Unlike some other places, there was no need whatsoever to ask him what brought him out this way, and what keeps him here. Just a brief look around would do that. A nice thing, he says, is that the Kiwis are such an immigrant people that they take to newcomers very quickly – particularly ones who intend to stay on.
At the timberlands yesterday, a bit of big news is the recently announced closure of a mill. NZ being so far away from everything else in the world, and off any beaten track, their commodities markets (and the NZ economy is heavily ag-commodities-driven) fail to move in a particularly logical manner – even to Kiwi eyes. So, at a time when timber prices are going up worldwide, they are destructive-logging on the south island, and closing mills and reducing manpower on the north. The flip side is that, historically, when the world commodity markets have gone south (no pun intended), NZ has done pretty well.
The first task for this morning is possibly the least pleasant; P N, S B, and I have to re-meet with a major, long-term customer who is nearing the end of his rope in dealing with the lack of support from one of our vendors (which The Company just happens to own, making this an issue of The Company’s reputation, as well as just the local dealer). Our hope is to offer this guy a deal he can accept that will keep him willing to work with our dealer for long enough for time to smoothe over this current unpleasantness. Honestly, i don’t plan on saying much at all.
But I see that P N has arrived, and we absolutely cannot be late for this one...
A little sprinkle before sunup kicked off what looks to be another superb day on the Bay of Plenty. As far as work goes, we only have a very few tasks today, all of which are right around Tauranga. The expectation is that we’ll finish up in time for a hike up Maunganui. Of course, pictures and narrative will follow.
This morning, breakfasting at a cafe near our motel, I got the chance to talk with an ex-Californian – after not too long, the NA accents blaze out at you when you come across them – who is in the process of Kiwifying himself. He’s been out this way for ten years, with a couple trips back to the States to visit family and whatnot. Unlike some other places, there was no need whatsoever to ask him what brought him out this way, and what keeps him here. Just a brief look around would do that. A nice thing, he says, is that the Kiwis are such an immigrant people that they take to newcomers very quickly – particularly ones who intend to stay on.
At the timberlands yesterday, a bit of big news is the recently announced closure of a mill. NZ being so far away from everything else in the world, and off any beaten track, their commodities markets (and the NZ economy is heavily ag-commodities-driven) fail to move in a particularly logical manner – even to Kiwi eyes. So, at a time when timber prices are going up worldwide, they are destructive-logging on the south island, and closing mills and reducing manpower on the north. The flip side is that, historically, when the world commodity markets have gone south (no pun intended), NZ has done pretty well.
The first task for this morning is possibly the least pleasant; P N, S B, and I have to re-meet with a major, long-term customer who is nearing the end of his rope in dealing with the lack of support from one of our vendors (which The Company just happens to own, making this an issue of The Company’s reputation, as well as just the local dealer). Our hope is to offer this guy a deal he can accept that will keep him willing to work with our dealer for long enough for time to smoothe over this current unpleasantness. Honestly, i don’t plan on saying much at all.
But I see that P N has arrived, and we absolutely cannot be late for this one...
Октябрь 03, 2005
Timberlands
10/4 16:04, Tauranga time
The weather was clear and sunny today, so we drove down south to Taupo to check out a logging operation in the Kaingarao Timber Lands. The Kiwis have been logging and replanting that area for well around a hundred years now, as the orderly rows of pine and doug fir (!!) can attest. At this point, they're well into fourth and fifth generation trees. The tops of a couple of snow-capped mountains in the background, the breeze, the birds, the ferns (not silver ferns, just a local trash variety), wildlife, and slash piles -- I almost could have been up in Vernonia. They even have deer in the forests around here (along with boars, one of the few moderately dangerous native animals), but the Kaingarao get so heavily sprayed with anti-pest and anti-weed that the deer don't particularly thrive. The driver I rode with tells me that the boars are about the only animal that can handle the chemical concentrations. It's surprising, given how green the NZ government is...
I'm snatching a few seconds away from work, but my time is up. More later.
The weather was clear and sunny today, so we drove down south to Taupo to check out a logging operation in the Kaingarao Timber Lands. The Kiwis have been logging and replanting that area for well around a hundred years now, as the orderly rows of pine and doug fir (!!) can attest. At this point, they're well into fourth and fifth generation trees. The tops of a couple of snow-capped mountains in the background, the breeze, the birds, the ferns (not silver ferns, just a local trash variety), wildlife, and slash piles -- I almost could have been up in Vernonia. They even have deer in the forests around here (along with boars, one of the few moderately dangerous native animals), but the Kaingarao get so heavily sprayed with anti-pest and anti-weed that the deer don't particularly thrive. The driver I rode with tells me that the boars are about the only animal that can handle the chemical concentrations. It's surprising, given how green the NZ government is...
I'm snatching a few seconds away from work, but my time is up. More later.
Amendment
10/3 20:20, Tauranga time
I need to start out by amending the recommendation I made regarding living in New Zealand: This place is great, except for Rotorua. P N, S B, and I drove out that way today to see a few logging customers at their headquarters – it seems to be a sort of hub for the major outfits on the north island. Heading back to the car after leaving the office of the first, I asked S B what the nasty smell was (like rotting something). He replied “Rotorua”. I took it for a joke until the smell got worse and worse as we drove further into the city. Finally, eyes watering and head beginning to ache, I had to ask again what was going on. Apparently, the hot springs for which the town is somewhat famous are sulphur mud springs. It is actually painful to be around them, though people do live in the town (recognizable, one would assume, by the smell of old, dead farts that must follow them wherever they go). I truly cannot imagine how it would be possible to spend more than a very brief time there. As S B commented, it’s one element they don’t mention in the brochures...
The drive out and back, on the other hand, was nothing short of glorious. The green, grassy dairy and sheepy hills and valleys; the forests, and the river gorges all right less than ten minutes outside town are definitely worth more than the speedy trip past we gave them. Really, the jungle was probably more varied and purely stunning, but the difference here is that these lands are all civilized; one could actually imagine buying a plot and living out here. Even more, P N tells me that a Kiwi would consider anything more than a ten-minute commute excessive – even the ones who live out in the countryside.
As for the rest of the day, the logs I managed to see spoke volumes themselves of the state of nature in NZ. Some cuts showed almost two inches between rings. I’d think you could almost see the trees growing, at that rate. It rained pretty much all day, though nothing like the lashing of last night, just a mild drizzle that, along with the total greenery (and omitting the shapes of the hills and the palms and Norfolk pines everywhere) completed the resemblance to home.
Tomorrow we plan to go past Rotorua (windows up, and air system on ‘recirculate’ this time) to Taupo to see the logging operations in action. It being a two-hour drive, we’ll be making an early start of things, so to bed I go.
I need to start out by amending the recommendation I made regarding living in New Zealand: This place is great, except for Rotorua. P N, S B, and I drove out that way today to see a few logging customers at their headquarters – it seems to be a sort of hub for the major outfits on the north island. Heading back to the car after leaving the office of the first, I asked S B what the nasty smell was (like rotting something). He replied “Rotorua”. I took it for a joke until the smell got worse and worse as we drove further into the city. Finally, eyes watering and head beginning to ache, I had to ask again what was going on. Apparently, the hot springs for which the town is somewhat famous are sulphur mud springs. It is actually painful to be around them, though people do live in the town (recognizable, one would assume, by the smell of old, dead farts that must follow them wherever they go). I truly cannot imagine how it would be possible to spend more than a very brief time there. As S B commented, it’s one element they don’t mention in the brochures...
The drive out and back, on the other hand, was nothing short of glorious. The green, grassy dairy and sheepy hills and valleys; the forests, and the river gorges all right less than ten minutes outside town are definitely worth more than the speedy trip past we gave them. Really, the jungle was probably more varied and purely stunning, but the difference here is that these lands are all civilized; one could actually imagine buying a plot and living out here. Even more, P N tells me that a Kiwi would consider anything more than a ten-minute commute excessive – even the ones who live out in the countryside.
As for the rest of the day, the logs I managed to see spoke volumes themselves of the state of nature in NZ. Some cuts showed almost two inches between rings. I’d think you could almost see the trees growing, at that rate. It rained pretty much all day, though nothing like the lashing of last night, just a mild drizzle that, along with the total greenery (and omitting the shapes of the hills and the palms and Norfolk pines everywhere) completed the resemblance to home.
Tomorrow we plan to go past Rotorua (windows up, and air system on ‘recirculate’ this time) to Taupo to see the logging operations in action. It being a two-hour drive, we’ll be making an early start of things, so to bed I go.
Октябрь 02, 2005
North Island
10/3 06:27, Tauranga time
New Zealand sprung forward yesterday, putting me only four hours off Portland time for the rest of the trip. Really, this means there will be the same time difference after the end of October going from Portland to New York as there is between Portland and NZ (though the flight to the one is a bit longer).
S B, P N, and I finished off yesterday on the south island with a trip to up into the Port Hills, the (clearly volcanic) bulge east-and-slightly-south of the city itself. I’ll put up pictures shortly. The clouds were starting to sock in the basin when we got up in the morning, and never really cleared before we left.
I utilized my new-found bluffing skills to get S B and myself into the lounge at the Christchurch airport. P N had left before us, flying direct to Rotorua, some maybe 45-minutes drive from Tauranga. Flights are difficult this time of year, since a lot of schools are on break, and the place is swarming with students – both local and foreign. So, S B and I flew from Christchurch to Auckland, then from Auckland to Tauranga. The second leg covers what is maybe a two-hour drive, but since we flew it in a craft only two seats wide (capacity twenty total, including pilot and copilot), took us almost 45 minutes. If the weather had been clear, I’m sure it would have been a visually stunning ride; as it was, it was a gastronomically-stunning ride – at least for the poor lady right in front of us who went through three ‘chuck bags. Fortunately, she was quiet about it, at least enough so that none of the rest of us felt the need to follow suit.
So, now, in a motel in Tauranga, maybe 100m from the foot of Mount (so named for politeness’ sake; it’s summit is a whopping 232m (760ft) high) Maunganui, on a bit of peninsula in the Bay of Plenty – swimming on the south, surfing on the north, I have found my residence for the next three nights. The rain moved in something fierce last night -- they say it is here for a long haul – and I listened to it lashing the building all night and morning. Yesterday evening, at the Irish pub in town (I’m not certain that they have any non-alcoholic eateries in all of Oz/NZ; you certainly couldn’t tell by the company I keep down here...) I had the odd pleasure of getting to explain the offsides rule in soccer to S B while we watched the Adelaide/New Zealand game. It’s simpler than cricket, one must admit.
Today, we’ll hit the headquarters of our dealer’s New Zealand operations – conveniently located in Tauranga. This was actually a partner of the major dealer that S B works for until maybe two months ago, when the mogul who owns the Aussie one bought the Kiwi one. So, they’re still sorting out who is who and what and so forth. As I understand it, our plan is to hit mostly logging customers for the next couple days. If Aussies weren’t such whiners when it comes to rain (Queenslanders, at least), we’d certainly be doing that; as it stands now, I’m not completely positive what our plans are. P N says we’ll go to a nature preserve where I’m sure to see a kiwi bird at least sometime before we leave.
Eating breakfast in the overlook restaurant atop the westernmost of the Port Hills, I had to ask P N, everywhere has its problems that push at least some people to leave; what’s the matter with NZ? He though for a while before coming up with the only thing he could, ‘it gets cold and wet here, and it’s far away from everything else’. I could see how that might bug some, but for a Pac NW’er, those would be features. From what I’ve seen, I can’t think of anything to add to that list; I highly recommend this place to anyone who is capable of being here without contributing to screwing it up...
New Zealand sprung forward yesterday, putting me only four hours off Portland time for the rest of the trip. Really, this means there will be the same time difference after the end of October going from Portland to New York as there is between Portland and NZ (though the flight to the one is a bit longer).
S B, P N, and I finished off yesterday on the south island with a trip to up into the Port Hills, the (clearly volcanic) bulge east-and-slightly-south of the city itself. I’ll put up pictures shortly. The clouds were starting to sock in the basin when we got up in the morning, and never really cleared before we left.
I utilized my new-found bluffing skills to get S B and myself into the lounge at the Christchurch airport. P N had left before us, flying direct to Rotorua, some maybe 45-minutes drive from Tauranga. Flights are difficult this time of year, since a lot of schools are on break, and the place is swarming with students – both local and foreign. So, S B and I flew from Christchurch to Auckland, then from Auckland to Tauranga. The second leg covers what is maybe a two-hour drive, but since we flew it in a craft only two seats wide (capacity twenty total, including pilot and copilot), took us almost 45 minutes. If the weather had been clear, I’m sure it would have been a visually stunning ride; as it was, it was a gastronomically-stunning ride – at least for the poor lady right in front of us who went through three ‘chuck bags. Fortunately, she was quiet about it, at least enough so that none of the rest of us felt the need to follow suit.
So, now, in a motel in Tauranga, maybe 100m from the foot of Mount (so named for politeness’ sake; it’s summit is a whopping 232m (760ft) high) Maunganui, on a bit of peninsula in the Bay of Plenty – swimming on the south, surfing on the north, I have found my residence for the next three nights. The rain moved in something fierce last night -- they say it is here for a long haul – and I listened to it lashing the building all night and morning. Yesterday evening, at the Irish pub in town (I’m not certain that they have any non-alcoholic eateries in all of Oz/NZ; you certainly couldn’t tell by the company I keep down here...) I had the odd pleasure of getting to explain the offsides rule in soccer to S B while we watched the Adelaide/New Zealand game. It’s simpler than cricket, one must admit.
Today, we’ll hit the headquarters of our dealer’s New Zealand operations – conveniently located in Tauranga. This was actually a partner of the major dealer that S B works for until maybe two months ago, when the mogul who owns the Aussie one bought the Kiwi one. So, they’re still sorting out who is who and what and so forth. As I understand it, our plan is to hit mostly logging customers for the next couple days. If Aussies weren’t such whiners when it comes to rain (Queenslanders, at least), we’d certainly be doing that; as it stands now, I’m not completely positive what our plans are. P N says we’ll go to a nature preserve where I’m sure to see a kiwi bird at least sometime before we leave.
Eating breakfast in the overlook restaurant atop the westernmost of the Port Hills, I had to ask P N, everywhere has its problems that push at least some people to leave; what’s the matter with NZ? He though for a while before coming up with the only thing he could, ‘it gets cold and wet here, and it’s far away from everything else’. I could see how that might bug some, but for a Pac NW’er, those would be features. From what I’ve seen, I can’t think of anything to add to that list; I highly recommend this place to anyone who is capable of being here without contributing to screwing it up...
Port Hills looking south towards Christchurch harbor
Октябрь 01, 2005
Port Hills looking west towards city of Christchurch
