I’ve wanted to visit New Zealand for a long time, but it always seemed so far away. (I mean, strictly speaking, it was so far away.) But it was going to be considerably closer to me from Sydney, and so in the same way that Americans travel to ‘Europe’ in a single trip – because why not? – I decided to spend my second week travelling around this country.
Wellington
It’s Jen!
My first stop was Wellington to stay with Jen. It was so exciting to see her again: we first met back at Abbi’s drunken Christmas party in 2008 and have only seen each other episodically since, but it always feels like we’ve spent a lot more time together than we actually have. She was a wonderful, wonderful host, and from the first boardgame-playing night with her boyfriend, John, I was obviously going to have a great time here. (We played ‘Tiny Epic Galaxies’, for the record. This set a great tone for the nerdiness to follow.)
Wellington is filled with these slightly odd, slightly arty sights
On Saturday I took a (free!) tour around New Zealand’s Parliament, which is pleasingly Westminster-like although with some fascinating differences (especially in its voting system) which are, of course, only fascinating if you are the type of person to tour a parliament in the first place. Later I rode the cable car up to the city’s botanical gardens and visited the national Te Papa museum, of which the most interesting part was the historical background on the Treaty of Waitangi between the British and the Māori. It’s the kind of treaty which was unhelpfully translated rather differently in English and Māori, and as such remains an active issue in New Zealand politics today.
Outside the Weta Workshop
The next day Jen drove me around on a loosely-themed Lord of the Rings day out, kicking off with the summit of Mount Victoria before moving on to the famous Weta Workshop. Their workshop tour was superb, and was delivered by an actual employee of the (surprisingly small) company who was obviously passionate about what they do and excellent at demonstrating the huge amount of work which goes into prop-making for TV and film. It’s sorta mind boggling. Plus they have trolls outside.
We also went to The Roxy Cinema, Peter Jackson’s beautiful art deco building which is filled with models in the lobby and I’m pretty confident would be beloved by Todd if he ever visited. I was particularly a fan of their gooey lemon cake, which would make it worthwhile to go see even a bad film. Afterwards, we walked by the sea at the Taputeranga scenic reserve, talked about blogging enough to distract me from getting sunburnt, and admired the seals chilling on the rocks.
There’s just LOTR stuff everywhere here
That evening, Jen took me to the finals of the rugby sevens. My last interaction with rugby was refusing to play it at school, so I was pleasantly surprised to discover that sevens is designed for people like me: everyone’s in fancy dress, nobody’s taking it too seriously, and – best of all – a game is made up of two seven-minute halves. If only all sports could follow this lead! And unlike American football, it was fast and fluid to watch. England satisfied my default expectations by losing horribly to Fiji, and then we watched New Zealand turn it around at the last moment to triumph over South Africa in the final. Which was the right moment to be in a New Zealand rugby crowd, obviously.
Special props to the guys who all came dressed as Donald Trump, with photos on their labels and ‘Make America Great Again’ scrawled amateurishly on the back of their baseball caps. (It’s worth noting that almost everyone I met on my trip volunteered the subject of Donald Trump as soon as they learnt that I lived in the US.)
At the rugby. Nobody begrudged me ketchup here.
Christchurch
I then flew to Christchurch, which is on the east coast of the South Island. It’s a city which is still very obviously devastated by the earthquakes of 2010 and 2011: everywhere you look there are buildings in ruins, in the process of demolition, or under construction. 185 Chairs is a moving memorial to the victims, and I also went to the Quake City exhibition which goes into the earthquakes in more detail.
Moving memorial to the earthquake victims
And for a single moment, I was Nolan Finn
Feeling earthquaked-out, I spent the afternoon down by Hagley Park and the river which has a distinctly Oxbridge feel. Not only are there punts meandering up and down, but at one point ‘Oxford Terrace’ faces off against ‘Cambridge Terrace’ on the other side. After discovering that a hour’s kayak hire was a mere $12 (and that’s New Zealand dollars!) I opted for that, doubly delighted that they didn’t ask for any ID, deposit or liability waivers. It was almost as if I had discovered a country chilled-out enough to just… trust people.
After kayaking, I stared nervously at the bike hire for a long time. I haven’t ridden in years, but my stated reason is always fear of cars, and here I was next to a large, bicycle-friendly park with no one I knew to watch me fall off. So I did it, and though I wasn’t the most confident cyclist on the planet, I hope it keeps my abilities fresh enough until the next time this urge arises.
Kayaking down the river
TranzAlpine
The real reason I had come to Chirstchurch was for the TranzAlpine scenic train, which travels across the middle of the South Island to Greymouth on the west coast. It’s very much a tourist thing – there’s an audio commentary and a viewing car where you can take photos in the open air – but it’s still magical, and I don’t think any further explanation is required.
You wouldn’t complain if this was your commute, would you?
View from the train
Another view from the train. I could go on.
Hokitika
Not far south of the railway terminal in Greymouth is Hokitika, a “cool little town” (their words) by the beach. I swam a few times on this trip, but this was the place with the best waves. Other highlights of Hokitika include a beach-based sculpture competition, a chance to watch a beautiful sunset while worrying about being stood on an exposed strip of sand surrounded on either side by the sea, a night-time glow worm dell (pleasingly impossible to take good photos of, not that people were put off from trying) and what I consider to be an enchanted tree. (If you look closely below, you’ll see little magical people running up the left-hand side.)
Sunset in Hokitika
At night I found what is clearly a magical, enchanted tree
Auckland
For the final leg of my trip, I flew up to Auckland, where a third of New Zealanders actually live. Now I don’t want to be mean about this, but unlike the rest of the country, Auckland is… well, it’s a disaster. Everything about the city is set up to be nice: it has wonderful parks, good weather, cool things to do etc. And then somebody decided to plant motorway after motorway right through it, on top of which – and I can only assume malicious intent here – it takes forever to cross any road because the green light for pedestrians lasts only a few seconds. Plus they frequently fail to put in a crossing where you need one, so you have to make three crossings around an intersection just to get to the other side of the road. It’s exhausting, and sucks away the joy from what should be a lovely city to walk around. I realise that nobody reading this expects me to like cars, but I can’t remember a city this bad for road layout. It may even be worse than LA.
Tiritiri Matangi Island
Thankfully, I spent almost none of my time in Auckland actually in Auckland. My first excursion was to Tiritiri Matangi Island – as recommend by Maria – a wildlife sanctuary which is only accessible via a daily ferry. (You have to take your own lunch, but they do offer free tea and coffee.) Despite the offer of guided tours to see the birds, I quickly decided I would rather get as far away from all other human beings as possible, and opted for the trek around the whole island. At some points I felt very much like a character in the closing stages of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None (it helps to have just watched the latest BBC adaptation).
The island was not quite as secluded as one young couple were hoping for, however, and it took all the powers of British reserve to stare determinedly in the other direction as I walked past them in an advanced state of undress. I was awkwardly close when they finally saw me and scrambled off the path. It was very funny, and I wish I could have telepathically reassured them that I wasn’t scandalised.
On my final day in New Zealand, I succumbed to the inevitable and went on the tour of the Shire. And even though I spent most of the day on a coach to get there and get back, and even though they herd bus loads of tourists around like sheep, and even though everybody is obviously posing for the same photos, it was still magical. It’s large and hilly enough that you don’t really notice the other groups most of the time, and everything is beautifully decorated, and at the end you’re led into the Green Dragon pub for a surprisingly decent free drink. Hobbits are so great.
The Shire!
Inside my Hobbit hole, wearing my Hobbit t-shirt
So there you go, my whistlestop tour of New Zealand. It’s a long way away, for sure, but it’s perversely easier to fly for a whole day – with a decent opportunity for sleep – rather than a shorter but more bodyclock-destroying journey. So if you ever feel a deep urge to commune with JRR Tolkien, this is the place to be.
I’m back in the Northern Hemisphere (where did all the light go?) after spending two weeks with its brighter, warmer southern twin. To avoid blogging overload I’m going to split this trip into two and talk about Australia first!
With Jeff, Carolyn and Maria
More cousins!
The impetus for this trip was Claire and Mitesh’s wedding in Sydney, which I rashly promised to attend back in the feel-good cousin vibes of Jamie’s San Francisco wedding of 2014. To have a family scattered across the world is a wonderful thing, but to have a global family where everybody actually likes each other is even better. Deborah and Rob, Claire’s parents, were incredibly generous and hosted two evenings of family reunions – including a Sydney harbour cruise – before the main event. (I didn’t take photos of the wedding itself, so until the official ones emerge, you will have to believe me that I dragged a new suit around in my backpack for two weeks. But I did!)
From the London branch, Carolyn and Maria turned up with a bundle of Cadbury chocolate to tide me over until my next UK visit: it looked like we were smuggling drugs. Many many thanks also to David and Ginger, who took me out for dinner on the first night even though I was probably frazzled and incoherent from all the flying. I also got to meet a wide selection of new cousins (at least, new to me!) which continues to expand my network of people to beg sofa space from in the future. And, of course, thanks and congratulations to Claire and Mitesh for making the whole thing happen. Never have I heard wedding vows quite like theirs.
The world doesn’t really need another shot of Sydney Opera House, but I’m giving it one anyway
On the Bondi to Coogee beach walk
Cool birds in the Botanical Gardens
More of the Botanical Gardens
After the family jamboree was over, I hung out in Sydney for the rest of the week and was really impressed by the city. It’s a delicate balance to be an obviously ‘working’ city and yet have so much going on for tourists, and Sydney is helped in doing this by a network of ferries and beaches. I checked out Manly and Watson’s Bay, but my favourite was easily the Bondi to Coogee beach walk, pictured above, which I did on Australia Day and so was surrounded by families picnicking and young people drinking and/or not-drinking on the beaches (there was some divergence between the flashing prohibition signs and actual behaviour). This stunning walk was also one of Emilie’s top recommendations, and her suggestions formed an excellent guidebook while I was there.
In the spirit of serendipity, I also want to put in a word for Sydney’s Justice & Police Museum, which I ducked into at random and fully embraces the “yes, we were originally a convict colony” history of European emigration to Australia. It’s one of those museums where you can wander around and interact with an old police station, cells and courthouse, force random strangers to take photos of you looking judgement in the judge’s seat, and admire the history of the Australian TARDIS police box. I realise people don’t go to Sydney for the museums, but if you happen to be walking past, you should check it out.
At the falls, making incorrect assumptions about how much of the hike I had completed
Without a doubt, however, my favourite Sydney excursion was to the Blue Mountains, a mountain range which – despite being a two hour train journey out from the city centre – is ludicrously cheap and easy to get to. After tapping out my ‘Opal’ card at the other end, I really did feel ashamed of the comparative cost on Britain’s railways. My Airbnb host, Mark, had recommended the trip and directed me to Wentworth Falls as the best place to go. (Tangent: I really, really love Airbnb. Especially if you’re travelling alone. This was one of the highlights of my whole trip and I only did it because I had a real resident to chat to.)
Although I knew I would get a waterfall – obviously – I was deliberately ignorant of what exactly I was going to see. This led to a lovely moment where I thought I’d got to ‘the’ waterfall, took a bunch of photos, and then realised that the path continued to a much, much larger drop overlooking a beautiful wooded valley. I was absolutely not wearing sensible shoes and had no idea how far away food would be (later a kindly hiker brought me up to speed) but I still decided that it would be silly to come all this way and then not do the ‘hard’ hike with signs like ‘Valley of Waters Slacks Stairs’ and ‘descend ladders facing inwards’. So I did, and I descended the ladders facing inwards, and it was an immensely satisfying and scenic trail with some fun challenging sections (i.e. “now get through this river somehow”) which concluded, mercifully, with a café serving restorative lunches for hungry walkers.
Looking out at Wentworth Falls, Blue Mountains
Beyond these trees, the universe ended
After lunch, my day at the Blue Mountains descended into farce as I moved on to the Three Sisters rock formation – getting mightily drenched in the process – only to discover that mist now rendered them completely invisible. And I mean, literally, to stare out from the ‘viewing station’ was to gaze into a pure white void, which still didn’t stop tourists looking and taking photos and (most confusingly of all) taking selfies against nature’s blank canvas. It was hilarious, and felt like a postmodern art project, and was probably more fun than actually seeing the designated sight to begin with.
On my last day in town, I also went to see Groupon people who usually exist solely on video conference calls. Cassie took me to lunch to try some of the laksa which Nolan had insisted I try in Sydney, and later I went for beers with the famous Bobby, a fellow ex-UK colleague Dan, and others from the Australian office.
With Bobby Mulligan
To round off, I would like to praise Australia most sincerely for its predominance of pies. After living in a desert of pies for so long, this was a joyous reversal, and to the extent that even the café on the ferry – where I’d expected crisps, drinks, maybe sandwiches – offered a selection of hot meat pies and sausage rolls to eat. If you live there, I guess you take this for granted, but it really is the most marvellous achievement and made me very happy while.
In my next post, I will ‘cross the ditch’ to New Zealand and continue my adventuring…
Happy new year! Now for a tale in three acts…
Act 1: Malibu, California
Randi and I spent Christmas itself with her family, who – despite being newbies to the whole ‘Christmas’ thing – indulged me in all of the traditions I claimed were important. So after watching The Muppet Christmas Carol the night before, Christmas Day was a riot of wrapping paper, lots of chocolate, my family’s annual Christmas quiz via Skype, playing board games (Would I Lie To You was particularly good) and – of course – watching Doctor Who. The walks on the beach, dreidel shaped Hanukkah stockings and latkes were less traditional but also wonderful. (Although you would be surprised at how quickly Cadbury Dairy Milk will melt in the Californian sunshine. Still delicious.)
A Very British Christmas
But also a very Californian one (her name is Sadie)
The traditional Boxing Day walk was a little more spectacular than normal
I’m keeping a close eye on this one
As you can see, we also did quite a bit of hiking (the perfect prelude to In-N-Out burgers), plus a day trip to Yorba Linda – where Randi grew up – to see her family’s friends, gawp at swimming pools in back gardens (in retrospect, my childhood was terribly impoverished) and, naturally, visit the Nixon Presidential Library and Museum. Or rather, we tried to, but in a typically tricky Nixonian manoeuvre, most of it was closed for restoration. So instead we saw Nixon’s helicopter, his childhood home and a gift shop where you can buy Ann Romney’s memoir In This Together (“when Mitt and Ann Romney met in their late teens, a great American love story began”).
Act 2: Vegas, Nevada
I thought I would hate Vegas. I don’t enjoy gambling, prostitution isn’t cool, and I have no need for an urgent wedding chapel. But I could hardly pass through Nevada without stopping here, and – if you think of it as a night in an adult Disneyland – it’s actually pretty fun. Randi’s uncle very kindly drove us all the way down the strip so we could see everything, and then we wandered in and out of the most spectacular sights: the fountains outside the Bellagio, the gondola rides through the Venetian, the line to check-in at Planet Hollywood…
Welcome to Vegas
Instead of a photo under the famous sign, here’s a photo of me deciding against the queue
Literally Britney Spears
We were staying at Planet Hollywood because I still wanted to do something properly Vegasy, and the choice which seemed most appealing was to see Britney Spears in her residency show. And you know what? She was great. She sang and danced and changed outfits a lot and at one point descended from the ceiling dressed as an angel – I mean, quite frankly, if you don’t enjoy Piece of Me then I don’t think there is a Britney Spears concert out there for you. But judging from the two women behind us, she was on safe ground with this crowd. And I’m not excluding myself from Britney-mania: we even tweeted our way to the jumbotron.
(Side-note: it is actually fascinating to contrast the sound of pop music from the early 2000s with today. It was obviously most exciting to hear Oops I Did It Again and Stronger and Lucky – I mean, that last one was a staple of the mix-tape cassette from many a family drive growing up. But now it’s all bass and beats and Work Bitch, which – as it happens – also sounds like the soundtrack to a dystopian Republican fantasy. I’ve grown slightly obsessed with the lyrics ever since. Did you know that Britney places a ‘party in France’ alongside Lamborghinis and mansions as markers of extravagant success? What if you just happen to live there already?)
Act 3: Zion National Park, Utah
Together with Randi’s mum and brother Alex, we pressed on to our final destination for a different kind of spectacle altogether. Zion National Park, in Utah, is really quite stunningly beautiful. The whole thing is a great canyon bordered by huge cliffs of a deep red colour, and any walk or hike will yield amazing views, even if – in December – you occasionally slip on ice along the way. For some Utah history we also visited the famous ghost town of Grafton, which we had all to ourselves when we were there, and was suitably eerie.
Welcome to Utah!
Zion National Park
With fancy post-Christmas jumper
The dream of home ownership (in a Mormon ghost town)
After so much adventuring, Randi and I cheated on New Year a little by celebrating our countdown to 2016 in GMT (the London fireworks were lovely!) rather than waiting for midnight to work its way to the Pacific. I think we can be forgiven.
In the run-up to Thanksgiving I had a couple of fun evenings: a movie salon at Robert and Julie’s examining The Breakfast Club (and its atrocious ending), a horror-themed Escape the Room-style adventure for Constance’s birthday – better characterised as a we-came-nowhere-close-to-actually-escaping-the-room style adventure – and an old-fashioned evening of chatter at Motel with Sean and Dre. And then, Thanksgiving itself!
One of the many great things about Thanksgiving is that I have no childhood vision of what it should be like, unlike Christmas, which is not really Christmas without presents under the tree / Christmas crackers / a family argument before sitting down to watch Doctor Who at midnight and so on. My only traditions so far are great food, great company and giving thanks for things, and I got all of this again at Catherine and Jason’s this year. It was such an enjoyable afternoon, and a total pleasure to meet Catherine’s parents and play Fibbage against them. Plus, all of the food turned out so well. And there was rhubarb pie!
Thanksgiving!
For the rest of the long weekend, Randi and I went exploring two more roadtripable states. Our first destination was Louisville, Kentucky which was holding its annual Light Up Louisville celebration. This included music (carols, churchy stuff, colour-coordinated children), some appealing German market touches (especially currywurst, mulled wine) and a full-on holiday parade, which was narrated by two unnervingly peppy stars of local radio. It was also accompanied by a fair amount of rain, which made it rather difficult to capture in all of its glory, but didn’t actually detract from the city spirit.
Bourbon cocktails and Southern food in Kentucky
Behind us, you can verify that Louisville is, indeed, lit up
I was so, so disappointed that this was a sporting venue and not an interactive KFC museum
The next day, we left our B&B (a B&B which, it must be noted, surprised us with free slices of piecaken) and headed back north for a night in Indiana.
This is Indiana ’15
I feel a little bad for Indiana. By broad consensus, its sole purpose is to plug an otherwise awkward-looking gap between neighbouring states. And no doubt, the view from the interstate – endless warehouses selling fireworks plus a giant billboard bearing the sophisticated slogan that ‘HELL IS REAL’ – doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence. So instead of searching for a mediocre city, we sought out small-town charm in Corydon, who were throwing their own Christmas lights switch-on bash for the town’s roughly 3000 residents.
One fully festive Gazebo
It’s a little odd, actually, since tiny Corydon started out as the capital of Indiana when it acquired statehood in 1816. The original constitution even states that the town “shall be the seat of Government of the state of Indiana, until the year eighteen hundred and twenty-five, and until removed by law”. But come 1825, the provision ran out and the capital immediately shifted to Indianapolis, leaving behind a small but charming community where the local chemist is called Butt Drugs, the local café serves up the best chips I’ve had in ages, and bells very confusingly ring out tunes from Oklahoma on the hour.
The lies of limestone
And that would be that, had it not been for all the roadside advertisements we passed for underground ziplining at Louisville’s Mega Cavern. Having never been ziplining before, it sounded amazing, and my mind was made up after checking TripAdvisor and learning that even those who believe it’s an outrage against God still gave it 4 out of 5 stars.
So back we went to Kentucky, and down an old limestone mine, to whizz through caves on ropes and wires. It was a strange mixture of adrenaline rush and quiet beauty, and if you do ever find yourself taking a roadtrip around this part of the way, you should check it out.
Zipline buddies
Final word of the trip must go to Todd, for recommending Yats in Indianapolis, our final stop on the way home to Chicago. It serves New Orleans-style food, and it’s amazing. Enough said.
For the past two weeks I’ve been travelling again for work. Back to Warsaw first, and this time joined by Bex who very graciously endured my abridged, second-hand re-enactment of an Old Town walking tour. It was also great to see Mark and Caroline again, and along with a couple of others we visited what I can only assume is one of the city’s premier gambling establishments. Alas it still failed to arouse my interest in actually gambling (no surprise there) and so instead I amused the Italians by ordering tea (with milk) at the bar. I was desperate.
Bex, Sara, Rossella and me
Caroline, Mark and Rossella in a Warsaw casino
After a couple of hours wandering around Brussels on a layover, my next stop was Morocco. Having been advised that Marrakesh would be a more interesting place to spend a weekend than Casablanca, I started there.
Inside the Majorelle Garden
I was excited – this was actually my first visit to any African country whatsoever, let alone Morocco – and spent Sunday exploring the city. (Yes, I know I’m wearing a super-touristy hat: it’s only because I needed to get some change for entry into the Saadian Tombs.) The central square, Jemaa el-Fnaa, is breathtaking and the souks alongside are fun to explore, just as long as you watch out for the motorbikes which some people see fit to ride through the packed, narrow paths.
I’m also very glad I visited the Majorelle Garden – it’s a small, enclosed space but is astonishingly colourful and peaceful inside. The perfect calming antidote to a bustling market, and the last thing I saw before catching my train to Casablanca. (A three hour ride, in wonderful old-fashioned compartment style for about $14. The rest of the world should take note.) I’m pretty sure the two Spanish men to my right were complaining about the English, though.
Jemaa el-Fnaa
In the souk
Looking out over lunch
Catching the train to Casablanca
I should mention that Morocco is very much an Arabic and French speaking country, and the limitations of my English-only tongue were particularly evident in the taxi journey from Casablanca’s main railway station to my hotel. I was somewhat confused when another passenger joined us – this turns out to be a normal and, I guess, somewhat economic quirk of their taxi system – and then the driver grew increasingly impatient with my inability to answer any of his questions. Thankfully, the atmosphere lightened when he stopped the car in order to hide away some cash in a secret cubby hole hidden in the middle of the steering wheel, and we both started laughing together. You don’t really need to share a language to bond. A shared love of the absurd will do.
With Francisco
I didn’t get a chance for much touristy stuff in Casablanca, although I was well taken care of by Francisco and Jessica while I was there, and enjoyed hanging out with other visitors from the French office. We did make it to the world’s third-largest mosque one night, right by the sea, which was beautiful.
The Atomium at night
But soon it was time to go home, and fortunately this time the mysterious gods of yield-management airline pricing granted me an overnight stay in Brussels. So as a lovely bonus to the whole trip, my parents popped in by train so we could have dinner together and see the city sights by night.
So now, in terms of tourist sightseeing, I can tick off the Grand Place, the Mannequin-Pis (or the “peeing boy statue” as everyone actually says) and the Atomium. We worried the latter would be a wasted cab ride – with nothing to see in the dark – but were pleased to discover that at night it lights up and sparkles more than a Twilight vampire.
Oh, and in the midst of all of this, I also scored theatre tickets to Harry Potter and the Cursed Child from an intense online booking queue. But that is a story for next year…
Dinner in Brussels
At the Manneken-Pis
Beth on Bergen: “It’s always fun to see you two having such a great time exploring a new place!” Apr 7, 15:05
