New Zealand 2011. North Island.

Posted on April 11, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

The move from South Island to North Island coincided with a change in the weather, meaning that both our ferry voyage and our exploration of Wellington were dogged by cloudy, rainy conditions, although we enjoyed a hospitable and fun time at the rugby club that had accommodated us.

By the time we’d got to Napier the clouds had cleared and we got to look at art deco Napier in the sunshine. I’ll have to admit here that while there were art deco frontages to buildings in the town it didn’t have the wow factor I was expecting, but the seafront palisades and gardens were lovely. Nearby Huka Falls, however was astonishing; turquoise foam rushing along a rocky channel with a loud roar.

We were making our way towards the geo-thermal areas and parks around Rotarua, a place I’d been eagerly anticipating since before we left the UK. At the ‘Craters of the Moon’ park, boarded walkways took us across pools of boiling, steaming mud, a fascinating sight as slow, wrinkly bubbles appeared, burping up smelly, bad-egg plops as though alive.

But is was Te Puia park that stunned us, with ‘cooking pools’, steaming streams, sulphorous rivers like lava pouring over the rocks and best of all, a tall, spouting geyser that shot a plume of hot steam high into the sky at regular intervals-the ‘Pohutu’ geyser being the best.

Our site at Rotarua had its own hot tub in a cabin and could be reserved, a benefit that was hard to resist- and this before hot tubs became the ubiquitous, trendy ‘must-haves’ they are today. It was also at Rotarua that Husband and I opted for individual activities- He to spend a day in the rapids, white-water rafting and I to the beautiful Polynesian Spa, supposedly one of the top ten spas in the world. Here I spent an afternoon lolling about in a series of warm, then progressively hotter pools before having a massage, exiting the spa with a feeling that all was certainly right with the world. Husband’s day had left him exhilarated, so all in all Rotarua was considered a great place.

We spent a tranquil day or two at Waihu Beach then made our way to Auckland, where we were to spend a few days with an old friend of Husband’s from uni days and take in another rugby match. Friend, as it turned out, was eager to show us the area around Auckland, ie beaches, forests etc. For once I’d have been interested to view New Zealand’s capital, but our host was hell-bent on avoiding the metropolis. So we looked at beaches, waterfalls and forests and they were all lovely. But here is the thing; we discovered that Friend, and many of those like him who inhabit North Island seldom travel to South Island and appear to know less of it than we who had toured it.

But we were lucky to be able to stay at Friend’s house in Auckland and to be able to park the van in the road outside. Parking slots were at a premium with the impending rugby match and we were in walking distance of the ground. On match evening there was a cranking up of the party atmosphere with Maori dancers and much dressing up. We were to see The All Blacks, playing Argentina, which meant we’d get to see a real life Haka performance too- an event that impresses me more than it does Husband!

We took our seats, the two in front of us occupied by a couple dressed in red wigs and red and white flags, indicating their status as England supporters even though England were not playing, only to discover that they were Ali and Claire, who we’d met on the train from Dunedin! This made the evening all the more special, as did the friendly New Zealanders next to us.

We bade Friend farewell and got back on the road for a trip northwards, with more sights and surprises in store…

Grace is also known as the novelist, Jane Deans. Her new novel, The Conways at Earthsend is now out and available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novellist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook

New Zealand 2011. Abel Tasman.

Posted on April 4, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

If you were to write a tropical paradise then the Abel Tasman National Park, in the north of New Zealand’s South Island could be your guide. As we arrived to our camp site, at Kaiteriteri, the skies were a flawless blue and the sea azure. We’d learned that we could catch a water taxi into the park, be dropped off at the start of a hike and picked up at another point, which was perfect. On the way we got to see ‘Split-Apple Rock’ before the boat pulled in near to the shore and a walkway was lowered to the beach- thus avoiding wet footwear.

By now we had long given up our warm layers, as since moving north [and with the benfit of a few weeks on towards summer] the weather was becoming hot. It had been tricky packing one bag for a long expedition covering all weather conditions but until now we’d at least had the benefit of the van to avoid carting heavy luggage around too much, although later in the trip this did become a headache.

So we spent our day walking along the white beaches, padding across lofty bridges spanning ravines, wandering through forest shaded with beautiful tree ferns and following rippling streams. emerald with reflected vegetation and dotted with enormous boulders, a spectacular way to spend a day.

Next we were off to Nelson to watch Australia play Russia, a wacky event at which the Aussie spectators had gone to town with their outfits. We’d been on South Island for a month and had packed in a lot of sightseeing and rugby. We’d worked our way up to the north, leaving two weeks to see what we could of North Island before moving on to the second big part of our expedition. In order to travel to North Island with our van we needed to get the ‘Interislander’ ferry, which, under good weather conditions would be a spectacularly beautiful boat ride, but on this occasion we were unlucky and made the crossing under grey skies and misty drizzle- which demonstrates that the course of true travel does not always run smoothly. Then we came to Wellington and [appropriately perhaps] the heavens opened and we were inundated.

Another first was that all Wellington campsites were full, which meant we’d need to use the local rugby club’s facilities. We turned up there, following the diversion sign and went to the clubhouse, where we were warmly welcomed by the kindly members, offered use of the club’s showers [an interesting experience] and offered a curry sauce for the chicken curry I was planning to make for our dinner!

We made use of our time to see what we could of Wellington, in spite of the rain, taking a cable car to Victoria Peak and looking at the old, timber government buildings.

Next stop was Napier and its art deco buildings…

New Zealand 2011. Ever South…

Posted on March 7, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

We’d left the Dunedin rugby pitch in the early morning, following a cold, cold night during which we’d barely slept, and continued our route southwards, this time towards Invercargill. Along the single lane road we would drive through villages and small towns, striking in their rural, agricultural ethos, with strong references to local industry. Most place names were qualified with ‘famous for…’, adding such produce as peppers or apples, and sometimes an extra-large facsimile of a fruit or vegetable adorned a roundabout or a roadside hoarding.

The architecture charmed me in that pavements and sidewalks alongside parades of shops were shaded by overhanging canopies reminiscent of the wild west. Once we’d visited a ‘dairy’ which could be located in every town or village, we never looked back as there were t delicious arrays of cakes, bakes and scones, ruinous for the waistline but scrumptious for lunches. My most overriding feeling during that trip south was that I’d been transported back to my childhood into a gentle reconstruction of the 1950s.

One place we loved was Oamaru, where even the wildlife seemed delighted to welcome us. There were various contraptions in Oamaru’s streets, including a ‘steampunk’ machine that wheezed and blew steam. With all the RWC international visitors, campsites were busy but the sites were clean and comfortable, often with underfloor-heated showers and a variety of accommodation, including simple rooms and an option to share use of a well equipped kitchen. This made for sociable travel as well as convenience. We were often to meet like travellers along the road to the next rugby match or at a site.

We were able to find quiet spots to park up and have lunch-often by a secluded beach. Once we ventured out for a post lunch stroll on the sand, only to be confronted by a beligerent sea lion which reared up in a growling, menacing stance between ouselves and the waves. Husband, in a bid to draw him off, dashed into the water then became cut off by the animal, who’d pursued him. At last the sea lion seemed satisfied that he’d terrified us into submission and loped away.

We reached the Catlins Coast and had our first views of penguins- yellow-eyed penguins along the beach.The coastline had begun to be rugged, waves crashing and foaming on to rocks and at times, a fierce wind. Inland, paths through rainforests held magnificent displays of tree ferns and vegetation dripping with moss and lichen as well as tumbling waterfalls. All was pristine. But this was not a trip for sun worshippers. The weather was cold and often wet, although it never once dampened our spirits.

We reached the southernmost point of mainland New Zealand, Slope Point, where all was bent before the fierce wind. This is the furthest south I have been on this planet.

At Invercargill we stayed at the racetrack and were treated to a view of a trotting cart as we woke up and readied ourselves for the next match. Later, down in the town the pubs and bars were full of kilted Scotsmen, then a thrilling parade of pipers through the streets.What could top this? We were to move on to what became, for me, the most memorable part of the entire trip…

My brand new novel, the eco-thriller, The Conways at Earthsend is now out and available from Amazon, Waterstones, Goodreads, W H Smith, Pegasus Publishing and many more sites. Visit my author page on Facebook: (1) Jane Deans, Novellist, Short Fiction and Blog | Facebook

NZ 2011. Heading South.

Posted on February 28, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

Having collected our beautiful campervan and stocked it with everything we thought we needed, and armed with the helpful map booklet, the list of camp sites [with discount cards] we headed south out of poor, earthquake stricken Christchurch.

First of interest in our guide book were the Moeraki Boulders. These are astonishing. Pefectly spherical boulders lay strewn about along the beach of the Otago Peninsula. They are of varying sizes, some split open but most intact. They make for an engaging sight, looking like an Anthony Gormley sculpture along the sand. As with most of the attractions we were to see in New Zealand it was quiet, with only a couple of other sightseers to share the beach.

We were heading for Dunedin, where we’d be watching an England v Argentina rugby match. Driving was a simple matter- a single lane road that wound south following the railway line, so closely that we were to cross the track dozens of times. Aside from ourselves there were fellow travellers in vans of various sizes and some trucks, but not much else.

When we arrived at the Dunedin Holiday Park, St Kilda we were directed to the annexed, adjoining rugby pitch, sharing with hundreds of fans, the Argentine contingent dressed in their blue and white outfits and wigs, one group a perfectly executed group of Smurfs in pale blue.

Not to be outdone, the English fans assembled their own, often outrageous outfits.

Every match was preceded by carnival-type activities outside the ground-a real party atmosphere, and began with the blowing of a conch shell by a Maori dressed in traditional costume.

This first match was, however marred by the behaviour of some of the Argentine fans, who refused to applaud or acknowledge the arrival of the English team onto the pitch, then afterwards we waited in line for a bus to return to our site and having got to the front of the queue were elbowed off by some. It was upsetting at the time. I suppose a level of resentment and bitterness endures from The Falklands War, and there was no opportunity to tell them how I’d been opposed to it, how I don’t believe England should ‘own’ lands on the other side of the world. We are British=we are culpable. We took a taxi back to the site.

The days were warmish and sunny but the nights were cold-and we were in an area with no electric hook-up. Next day we were keen to see some more of the area and our guide book suggested that the Taieri Gorge Railway was a popular option. Dunedin station is beautiful and elegant and the ochre-yellow train was waiting at the platform.

This was a spectacular train ride up the Taieri Gorge, four hours into hill country with a few stops at railway holts for photos or to stretch legs.

Our second night at Dunedin was one of the coldest we’ve ever had in a van. Without electric hook-up we dared not use up all our gas for heating, and so we piled everything we had on top of the duvet, including towels, coats and all our clothing. Even so, as dawn broke we gave up and packed up to set off for our next stop!

Best Trip to Date…

Posted on February 14, 2021 by Grace Lessageing

The words ‘holiday of a lifetime’ are strange and dispiriting, I feel, implying that future excursions are off the cards. How are we to know that a trip is a ‘holiday of a lifetime’? It is something you cannot say until the possibility of travel is no longer there for some reason. For the majority of us, this reason is only going to be extinction, or such catastrophic incapacity as to make travel impossible.

There are places and explorations, however that render all other trips insignificant, that if asked where are favourite holiday or travel experience was we would answer without hestitation. For me, that trip is our tour of New Zealand in 2011. And I will endeavour to write and show all the reasons why this experience tops everything else to date.

For a start, the idea was hatched [by Husband] as a grand retirement jaunt, both of us having turned in the towel on teaching that year. Then it happened to be New Zealand’s turn to host the rugby world cup, which was an obvious lure for Husband. Myself, I’m not as averse to rugby as I am to other sports and the watching of international games was to provide an extra frisson and reason to love these very special islands.

In order to take in as much of the rugby as possible whilst also seeing most of New Zealand we opted for campervan hire, and given that we were acccustomed to vans and camping this seemed the most suitable way for us to travel.

The expedition did not have a great start, since on arrival to Heathrow we queued up to be told that our Quantas flight to Brisbane was cancelled and we’d have to go next day, spending the night at an airport hotel. This meant that our onward connecting flight to New Zealand would no longer be possible. With no options, we gnashed teeth and went to the hotel, returning next day for a flight to Australia-but to Singapore, which we duly boarded, having been blithely assured we’d be ‘sorted out’ once we got there.

At Singapore it was about 2.00am and we queued up, bleary-eyed, at a Quantas desk, finding ourselves at the very end of a long, snaking line of disgruntled passengers. Much later, at the desk, the staff member seemed to be at a loss to know what to do with us, finally adding us to the next flight to Sidney, which is at least Australia, so we’d be nearer to our destination!

Who knows what time it was when we arrived to Sidney? It was late. Dark. We dragged ourselves to the airport hotel, to wake after what seemed no time at all for another flight-to Christchurch! At check-in I believed I was hallucinating when the woman at the desk asked us to open all our luggage for scrutiny, after which we barely made it on to the plane. By the time we touched down at Christchurch I was beyond calculating how many hours we’d travelled, or how many hours we’d missed or gained.

But arrival to the small, homely airport was like stepping out of a blizzard into a warm bath; the staff friendly, the arrival pain-free. Then we walked out into spring sunshine, to where a taxi driver waited, his door open ready for us to sink into a seat and we were off to see if the hotel that had expected us 24 hours ago still had our room available…

Sacrilege

Posted on March 17, 2019 by Grace Lessageing

We travelled to New Zealand in the autumn of 2011 when the Rugby World Cup was scheduled to be held there. This was to be our retirement treat-a three month stonker of a trip that also encompassed Australia [where I have cousins] and a small add-on of a stay in Hong Kong on the way home.

The thrill of such an enormous piece of travel was tempered, initially by having our flight from Heathrow cancelled by Quantas for no reason we could discern. This meant that our onward flights from Brisbane were scuppered, messing up our arrival to Christchurch, New Zealand and losing us a night of accommodation.

2011 was also the year of Christchurch’s catastrophic earthquake, which was heartbreaking in itself, besides disrupting the Rugby matches and venues involved.

After a tortuous and exhausting series of flights we arrived to Christchurch’s small airport. In the arrivals hall we staggered to the information desk and were directed out into the sunshine of the afternoon, where a kindly driver took our bags and we slumped into the back of his car to be taken to the hotel. I felt I’d stepped into a warm bath.

Even in my almost comatose state I was thrilled to see the verges and green spaces which were lined with nodding daffodils-a novelty for we northern hemisphere-ites in autumn.

Although our hotel was a forest of steel ceiling supports and those roads that had not been blocked off were cracked with fissures the hotel staff welcomed us in.

Having slept we explored our area, Hagley Park and looked at the quake-damaged centre of town. The park hosted an exhibition of the proposed rebuilding of Christchurch.

A couple of days later we collected our rental camper-van, which was exquisitely equipped and set off to explore beautiful, pristine South Island on a gentle, meandering road that followed the railway track and took us through small communities, past stunning scenery and into wonderful camp sites.

Throughout this time I don’t think I ever stopped smiling. People were unerringly kind, the ease of travel unprecedented. In spite of the terrible earthquake we were welcomed. Even the creatures were friendly.

The rugby games were like huge, joyous parties with dancing displays, music, dressing up and buzzing atmosphere. I lost count of the number of times we engaged with those around us, laughing, conversing and getting hugged.

In between matches we went sightseeing-following the beautiful, wild south coast road to stunning Milford Sound, viewing penguins and snow-capped mountains and scoffing New Zealand pies and scones from the dairies. Then we turned north via Kaikoura, went whale-watching and walked in glorious Abel Tasman National Park before taking the ferry to North Island.

In Wellington the camp site was full so the local rugby club accommodated us, throwing open their showers and their clubroom and even offering us a curry sauce to go with the chicken we’d bought to cook. We visited the amazing hot springs and geysers at Rotarua, 90 Mile Beach, Coromandel, the gigantic Kauri pines.

The trip remains, to this day my favourite to date. If asked I don’t hesitate to say that New Zealand is my favourite of all the destinations we’ve visited for the reasons I’ve detailed and so much more.

What has happened there is heart-breaking. This most beautiful and idyllic of countries has been sullied for it’s innocent beauty.

If you peddle hate posts on social media; if you keep recycling jingoistic, populist, right-wing propaganda; if you keep screeching about ‘taking back control’ and closing borders, building walls to keep people out and showing hate to other races and religions you are perpetuating acts of violence and terrorism.

Enough said.

A Tumult of Testosterone

Posted on September 27, 2015 by Grace Lessageing

We are undertaking our second Rugby World Cup tour. This is not quite as momentous as you might think, given that a] the Rugby World Cup is being held in the UK this year and b] we do not have tickets for all the matches.

Our first RWC tour, in 2011 was in New Zealand. In contrast to this year’s campaign it was an extraordinary expedition for a variety of reasons, the greatest of which is that it was in New Zealand! New Zealand remains the single most wonderful country I have ever visited. Enough said.

Nevertheless, the UK’s contribution to international rugby competition is not to be snorted at and is providing logistical nightmares that were not present last time on the opposite side of the planet. As before we are using a campervan to get to some of the venues [our own rather than rented]. We eschewed the first game at Twickenham, due to the prohibitive ticket price. We began with Georgia versus Tonga at Kingsholm, Gloucester. Easy! Husband hails from there, hence handy relatives with guest room and car to provide lifts.

Next game: Cardiff [Australia versus Fiji]. Cardiff boasts a splendid city centre camp site. Hooray! Cardiff was crammed with rugby fans in a way that Gloucester was not. This is both a joy [the meeting up, the chats, the sights, the atmosphere] and a chore [the jobsworths, the queues, the bag searches, the squashing, the getting trodden on, the corporate pushing of brands, the pushing and the endless standing about].

Notice-I have not ventured into the tangled scrummage of rugby analysis, the dodgy ruck of commentary. Why not? Because, reader I am a complete and total ignoramus on the subject. I do not know my ruck from my maul, my penalty from my knock-on and remain stubbornly resistant to understanding off-side. ‘What was wrong with that?’ I quiz Husband as the penalties pile up. But in spite of detailed explanation I continue to watch in a mystified fog of ignorance.

Despite all of this and the fact that for many years, in the previous life I rejected any kind of sport outright as a source of entertainment, I have come to enjoy watching rugby matches. I like the thrill of the build-up, the party atmosphere, the banter of the pub-goers, the outrageous costumery of the fans, the ridiculous items for sale, the gladiatorial nature of the conflict as fifteen enormous honed sportsmen pitch up against fifteen of the same, the shattering collisions, the heaving, grunting drive of the scrum and the soaring voices of the crowd as they chant, sing or stomp. And who could fail to be excited when a player breaks away to weave and dodge to the line and score a try?

So with two RWCs under my belt I begin to feel like a seasoned supporter. All the more so, perhaps when you consider that the next Rugby World Cup is to be held in Japan. Now THAT is what I call food for thought…

Anecdotage

Views from the Descent

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