OK. Sorry for the delay. I know you last 2 remaining loyal souls have been frothing at the mouth in expectation of this last and final blog entry. Upon my return to SF, life kinda got in the way. It is now Christmas Night and not a creature is stirring except for me and this mouse. All is quiet and I finally have time to craft the finishing touches to this epic tome.
So, like, uh, where was I?
So, like, uh, where was I?
First of all, let me acknowledge straight away that I realize my tone in many of the blog entries contain a wide-eyed "Gee Whiz" sense of wonder which might be absent if I were not such an innocent abroad. While I may have traveled extensively in the US, I have only been out of the country 4 other times and Ensenada doesn't really count, does it? OK. Maybe it does.
As a boy, I visited Montreal '67 with the family.
In '82 I backpacked across Europe for 10 weeks.
Some time in the late 80's, I went to Ensenada for the day.
In 2009 I piggybacked on a business trip which my brother Gerry made to Australia.
On the way back to the US, I took a 3-day layover in NZ, drove around the North Island and said to myself "I"m coming back here!"
And so it has come to pass.
And so it has come to pass.
So, I don't have a wealth of first-hand experience, in terms of other cultures.
It has become clear to me that New Zealand is truly a chip off the old block, in terms of commonalities with Great Britain. Some of the little things that amazed me (plunger coffee, electric kettles, meat pies, pasty white people) are doubtless quite typical throughout the British Isles. Obviously, I'm no expert, having spent only a handful of days in Ireland and 18 hours in England back in '82.
Thus, my slightly naive take upon discovering some of these miraculous "differences".
There were numerous such revelations daily but I've only made note of a few of them here.
One of the things that really jumped out at me, especially in the populated areas, was Safety Vests. So many people wore them that I began to think that it was some sort of fashion statement. But, No... It was just a widespread requirement.
Bus drivers, construction workers, meter maids, trash collectors, taxi drivers, security guards, police and fire, all utility or maintenance workers, school groups, gaggles of mothers with strollers, bicyclists, joggers, walkers, etc. etc. etc. And they kept them on all day long, as opposed to your usual American worker who tends to shed such garments at the first opportunity. Upon further investigation, an internet search revealed that some Kiwis are of the opinion that they've gone overboard with the vests and that safety may in some way be diminished by their omnipresence.
But overall, it's gotta be a good thing, I think.
Now... About that internet. It's amazing how easily one can grow accustomed to fast download speeds in the US.
(After all, dial-up wasn't all THAT long ago.)
(After all, dial-up wasn't all THAT long ago.)
Well, New Zealand in many places is still lagging greatly behind in this regard.
In the more remote towns, speeds tend to be exceedingly slow. Internet is pretty widely available but sometimes just verrrry slooooow. However, except for the remotest of the remote, both public wi-fi and mobile phone coverage is quite good. And that's important because EVERYONE in NZ has a smartphone of one kind or another. EVERYONE. Day-old infants and septuagenarians included! My iPhone GPS worked quite well almost everywhere. I can hardly wait to see how many added fees I've rung up on my international data plan. (This just in. Mobile phone bill is $423.00. Yipes!)
The other thing that constantly fascinated me was Cars. I'm kinda a car guy, even though I drive a staid old Camry.
In grade school, our playground was right across the street from the Chevy, Ford and Cadillac dealerships in our little Village. I would always wait expectedly with great excitement for the introduction of new models each year and prided myself on knowing the nuances of every change or addition to the product lines. I'm still sorta that way. I can usually identify any make and model automobile from a considerable distance. Which made playing that game especially challenging and fun in New Zealand.
In grade school, our playground was right across the street from the Chevy, Ford and Cadillac dealerships in our little Village. I would always wait expectedly with great excitement for the introduction of new models each year and prided myself on knowing the nuances of every change or addition to the product lines. I'm still sorta that way. I can usually identify any make and model automobile from a considerable distance. Which made playing that game especially challenging and fun in New Zealand.
Left-hand drive aside, some cars were familiar and some not at all.
Camrys and Corollas were plentiful. (In fact, it appears that Toyota is the best seller in NZ, hands down.) Nissans, such as my sturdy rented Bluebird, kinda looked familiar at first but grilles and taillights and some body panels were different enough to then make them largely unfamiliar. Holdens (GM cars from Australia) appeared nothing like their US counterparts.
And then there were the Utes. Utility vehicles that are modern versions of the Chevy El Camino and Ford Ranchero, available in the US until the late 70’s. Most looked nothing like those beasts of yesteryear save for the overall form, which is essentially the front half of a sedan married to the back half of a pickup truck. Very popular in NZ and Australia, Utes are no doubt an outgrowth of the livestock culture.
And the Vans! All sorts of vans, big and small. There were a number of large Toyota vans I found quite appealing. I thought for sure they would be big sellers in the US but obviously some decision-makers don't hold the same opinion. There were also all kinds of tiny little vans by companies I'd never heard of that looked like they'd be blown to pieces in a stiff crosswind. The variety was endlessly entertaining.
Every now and then, I'd even come across a classic American body-style Ford or Chevy from the 50’s or 60’s when, I guess, we were exporting them to Australasia.
And lastly, there were the occasional Jaguars, Morrises, MGs and Triumphs from the UK, no doubt imported at great expense in comparison with more easily available vehicles from Japan and Oz. But the UK presence is everywhere, from the way farms, villages and cities are laid out and constructed, right down to the rugby, cricket and "football" sporting cultures.
Initially, I began to wonder just how and why NZ came to seem so doggedly British.
Had I studied up on the subject prior to my trip, I would have learned that the first mass waves of migration to NZ came largely from the England, Scotland and Ireland and that New Zealand was not fully independent of the British Parliament and the Crown until 1986.
What really opened up my eyes was a wall placard in the Oamaru History Museum recounting the star-crossed 1912 Terra Nova Expedition headed by British Royal Navy Capt. Robert Falcon Scott. Despite making it to the South Pole, Scott and his crew perished of exposure and starvation on their way back. The search party that eventually found the bodies came ashore in Oamaru and from there transmitted the sad news to the world.
As the placard read, "Since New Zealanders considered themselves British citizens first and New Zealand citizens second, this news was taken extremely hard by the populace and a period of national mourning and remembrance immediately commenced." That was the key for me. Despite being settlers in a new land, they considered themselves British citizens first.
Unlike the US, breaking with the Mother Country and forging a new national identity was not on the agenda. They went about recreating what they loved best about Olde England (and Scotland and Ireland, etc.) and remained loyal to His and Her Majesties. The Kiwi national identity gradually came into it's own through evolution and integration with the Maori and immigrants from Europe, Australia and Asia. While it seems, on the surface, to still be a largely Anglo-centric population, there's no denying it is a polyglot nation. It amused me to no end, for instance, overhearing children of Asian immigrants speak with a semi-mangled combination of Chinese and Kiwi accents.
I also amused myself by trying to recreate the distinct New Zealand way of speaking. I have a certain gift in that I can easily pick up on and mimic accents. I would listen to local radio stations while driving and repeat along with the host or guests of public affairs shows. I nailed it pretty quickly. The danger lay in my everyday encounters with Kiwi folk. I found I would start slipping into the accent and this mortified me. I would've hated to find out I was doing a really bad imitation and for people to think I was mocking them. I usually caught myself before I was detected. I made it a policy to just be myself and speak in the accent I was born with.
There was that one time, however, when I boarded the bus to Miramar and when asked where I was going, I replied in my best American accent, "Camperdown Road". When the driver asked again, I replied in the same manner. When he still didn't understand, I put on my best Kiwi accent and then he understood right away! But he gave me a WTF look just after that.
The real trick sometimes was understanding a fast-taking Kiwi with a thick accent.
More than once I found myself smiling and nodding in agreement like a simpleton to some comment directed at me. There were times I would have to ask someone to repeat what they'd just said but there were other times, like when buying a soft drink at a petrol station, when I would just let it slide. This was due to part laziness and part aversion to potential embarrassment.
Everyone I met along the way was very pleasant and extremely accommodating.
The desk clerk at the Waterloo Hotel in Wellington inquired if I had come Down Under to enjoy a nice Christmas in summer time. I had a spirited discussion about the recent America's Cup with the host of the B & B where I stayed in Nelson. I was routinely asked my opinion of New Zealand and always replied with some form of "Oh, I love it! It's so beautiful and uncrowded."
I did not have a great deal of extended interaction, though, because I was often driving hither and yon all day long, usually staying out late taking photos. This was normally followed by in-house dinner at my hotel/motel/studio apartment while I sorted thru photos and updated the blog. But I would often chat with people in cafes or restaurants and many times with fellow tourists I met while hiking in remote areas, many of whom were Kiwis on holiday. A few times, I was tipped off by these good people about some nearby attraction that I really should not miss. That's how I found out about the Weta Cave.
People also readily volunteered to take my picture amidst epic landscapes when they saw me snapping selfies with my iPhone. (I had promised my niece-in-law that I would email such photos to family members on a daily basis.) While I greatly appreciated the offers, I quickly found that the average person often has less-than-average photographic skills. None of the pics these kind folk took were any good.
I don't mean to brag, but it became apparent that I'm a better photographer than most people are, even with one arm (figuratively) tied behind my back! Eventually, I began declining offers from people wanting to "help". On a few occasions, when I politely demurred, my response was not all that well-received.
By and large, though, encounters with locals and other travelers usually brightened my day. As I stated much earlier in this blog, I was originally of a mind to stay a few days in hostels for this reason. I had a notion it would be a good way to fraternize and get travel tips. However, that scene was very much a young people's thing and, god bless 'em, I love their energy and vitality but it ultimately was not for me. This was made especially clear to me when I stayed in a combination motel/hostel in Christchurch.
The "Backpackers" complex had 6 studio apartment units with full kitchen and bath, of which I had one. Adjacent to these units was a large dorm building that housed a large communal kitchen and 6 different rooms with 6-8 bunk beds apiece. There was an exterior courtyard across from my door where the backpackers hung out in the evening, talking in all manner of foreign tongues, laughing and quaffing brews. There certainly was a relaxed and festive ambiance to the place which I enjoyed... until about 11 PM. Then I would then devolve from a happy traveler savoring the sounds of life all around me, to the old guy who wants nothing more than for those damn kids to Get Off My Lawn, STFU and Go To Bed! That's when I knew I would not be staying in any more hostels.
After 10 days behind the wheel and in the wild, I eventually ditched the rental car and concluded my trip with 2-1/2 days of urban experience in the nation's capital, Wellington. It's an expensive city, not unlike DC or New York. (Although I believe Auckland is thought of as the "New York" of the country.) I wish I'd had more time to explore Wellington more thoroughly but that wasn't the point of this expedition. I really came to the South Island to see the mountains and the coasts and the wide open spaces. And boy howdy, I got that in spades.
But as I walked around in different neighborhoods or rode through some of the smaller suburban enclaves, I had a keen desire to spend more time in each of them, to live in them, to really get to know these places and their inhabitants. This was especially true when I took the bus out to Miramar, about 40 minutes south of the City Center where I was staying. A clean and tidy bedroom community at the water's edge, comprised of small one-story (and occasionally two-story) cottages and houses, Miramar appears to be a lovely little place to live. And nestled within its breast, Miramar holds Peter Jackson's Weta Workshop, which gave birth and form to the "Lord of the Rings" movies.
It was really quite surprising to find that the Workshop is a one-square block facility, surrounded on all sides by the same aforementioned homes. There is even an elementary school right across the street. I had expected to find a vast warren of sound stages and warehouses in an industrial area down by the docks or someplace like that. The Workshop itself is indeed a series of co-joined industrial structures but the exterior is very nice and except for its size, does not look out of place in the neighborhood. There are no other industrial buildings to be found anywhere nearby, just nice little homes on every side.
My understanding is that Peter Jackson grew up in Miramar and still lives there today. I can understand why, because I wanted to live there, too! It was such a pleasant setting and so damn... Cute! (And believe me, I rarely, if ever, bandy the word "cute" about.) No doubt there IS a large complex of warehouses and soundstages elsewhere because, from what I could tell, the Weta Workshop comprises only the model, prop and wardrobe fabrication areas, a small green-screen stage and the Weta Digital section, no doubt chock-full of computers and CG wizards.
The Weta Cave is a souvenir shop attached to the Workshop that is open to the public and I've already described my visit there. But I do want to point out that it was a friendly Kiwi seatmate whom I met on the initial flight to NZ. She was on her way home from voting family in the US, and she clued me into the Weta Workshop tour, without me even asking. My thanks to her. It certainly was one major highlight of the trip, among many highlights.
On my last night in town, I revisited Cuba Street, which I also wrote about in a previous entry. It was markedly different in the early evening hours. Instead of drunken young revelers hootin' and hollerin', there were all sorts of people shopping in funky little stores and dropping into cafes for dinner. There was so much to see and so much to choose from. I wanted to dine in each and every one of those incredibly varied restaurants and stay up all night.
While on Cuba Street, I had a peak moment when I felt an overwhelming need to go everywhere, see everything and do everything and just consume the world. I didn't want to stop traveling and exploring. I wanted the road to go on forever and for the party to never end. But as with all good things, this, too had to end. I returned to my hotel, packed my things and prepared for an early getaway the next morning.
The return flight, while uneventful, was lengthy indeed. I had to fly 2 time zones farther west to Sydney, Australia, to catch a flight to San Francisco. By the time I had retrieved my car from where I stashed it in the East Bay and landed back at my apartment, I had been in motion, more or less, for about 21 hours.
Sadly, once I got embroiled in Bay Area afternoon traffic, I quickly went from blissed out to pissed off.
The rude, competitive and thoughtless way in which many of us Americans drive was instantly thrown into high relief by comparison with the drivers I had been dealing with in New Zealand. The fact that I had neglected to gas up and was running on fumes as I creeped along in traffic on the Bay Bridge did not help matters much.
Anyway, you know the end to this story.
I got home safe and sound with a trunkload of photos and memories to spare.
Rather than soothe the savage breast, this trip aggravated the travel itch and already has me daydreaming of new worlds to explore and conquer. It might not suck to do this every year or so, while I'm still young.
Oops! Too late!
Anyway… in closing, be advised that I will still be posting some photos NOW… and THEN.
The photos I am posting NOW are all the "selfies" I shot along the way.
Originally, these were only sent to family members, on a semi-daily basis.
I now include them in one single group for the rest of youse to peruse.
THEN, I will finish sorting through the 3,121 images I came back with and, in due time, will put together a well-organized web page for further perusal by youse-all. I will send out a link to those web pages within the next week or so. Start holding your breath… now!
In the meantime, here be a bucketload o' selfies.
