Birds and Boats

A quick review: I’m into birds. Unfortunately most of New Zealand’s terrestrial birds were flightless or otherwise hopelessly ill-adapted to predators. The vast majority went extinct when people brought over dogs, rats, stoats and the like 1,000 or so years ago. A few exceptions exist on smaller islands and drastic efforts have been put forth to try to save some of the more critically endangered species (see ‘ejaculation helmet’ from the last entry).

Here’s a cute little parrot called a Kakarito. I found loads of them on Matiu/Somes Island a small island in Wellington sound.

I took a break from exploring and birding to shoot down some enemy aircrafts from the one the island’s four never-used anti-air turret bunkers form WWII.

This isn’t just a fantastic example of my photography skills, it’s also a Saddlebird, a species that hasn’t bred on the mainland for centuries until it was recently reintroduced into a ‘mainland island,’ basically a large reserve surrounded by a massive ‘vermin fence’ and packed with special feeders and everything these fragile unafraid rarities could possibly need to survive and reproduce.

Take this guy, a New Zealand Robin. He will practically jump underneath your boots as you’re walking hopefully you’ll startle up some insects for him to munch on. Now as say a feral cat this throws the entire stalking strategy out the window. To eat one of the these guys all you would need to do is turn over a few leaves and shake a few tree branches, that is if you can find one!

I saw loads of pelagic birds on the ferry between the north and south islands, but I didn’t take any pictures (they would have just looked like clouds and ocean) so who cares!

The Marlborough Sound at the northeastern tip of the South Island is quite gorgeous. And nearly as soon as I got off one ferry, I got on another out to the Queen Charlotte Track to hike (or “tramp” as they call it here) through some amazing lush vegetation with some fantastic views of the sound.

My Camera doesn’t really do much justice to the gorgeous placid turquoise water or the 20 foot tall tree ferns, but I found an old oil drum that made a decent ledge so I could include myself in a picture. Look how excited I am. Go 10 second timer!

After a night camping out in the bush it was on to Nelson where I spent last night. As soon as I get this post up, I’ll stick my thumb out to try and hitch a ride to this whitewater kayaking festival in Murchison.

Mean times in Hawkes Bay

So now that I am actually on the move and traveling and touring like a traveler and tourist should, I’m going to try to post more pictures and fewer words to make things a bit more readable and entertaining. I’ll start here:

No, I didn’t go through a wormhole back in time. I thought so at first too, but it’s just art deco weekend in Napier. All kinds of goofy-looking folks and ‘mean’-looking cars filled the town:
I’m not sure if that’s a model T Ford, but there were definitely quite a few of them putting around.

By the way if you’re in your late teens (which, let’s face it includes a good chunk of the early 20s now-a-days) and living in Hawkes Bay, then every other sentence spoken has to include either the word ‘mean’ (used in place of ‘great,’ ‘awesome,’ or when there’s no other way to describe an especially delicious pie) or ‘hard’ (an emphatic affirmative that replaces a valley girl/surfer dude’s ‘totally,’ or the ‘for sho’ of ebonics).

You have to talk this kind of lingo (and own several thousand dollars worth of equipment) if you expect to land a gig DJing at the prestigious Diva Bar in Havelock North.
The key to a good set is the chalk marquee.
Did I mention it was art deco weekend?

But now I’m in Wellington. It’s quite scenic despite the lack of 1930s style. Here’s the view from the top of the cable car track just in front of the botanical gardens.
The museum here is amazing. My favorite exhibit was about the rescue efforts of concerned biologists desperately trying to save a critically endangered species of flightless parrot:
Probably the second most significant item on display after the ejaculation helmet:
The only colossal squid on display in the world. It’s not full grown, so only 4 meters long, but would still make some ‘mean’ calamari if it weren’t pumped full of chemical preservatives. Got a few boat trips planned over the next couple days that should be opportune for seeing some ‘mean’ pelagic birds. ‘Hard!’

In New Zealand's fruit bowl

After a brief stay in Auckland I caught a bus down to Hawkes Bay to visit my friend ‘Carl’ who I met back stateside. ‘Carl’s’ family has really opened their arms for me with a free bed and delicious dinners consisting mostly of the fresh produce grown in their back garden--yum! This part of New Zealand is known as ‘the fruit bowl’ and is packed with apple orchards and vineyards. ‘Carl’s’ backyard contains 41 varieties of fruit and nut trees/shrubs alone, not to mention a full vegetable garden, three chickens and a small aviary of exotic parakeets and finches.

The last couple mornings I have dropped ‘carl’ off at his tractor-driving job at a local vineyard and gone off to explore. The volcanic soil, a product of abundant volcanism arising from the nearby Pacific-Australian tectonic plate boundary, makes Hawkes Bay a prime area for agriculture and thus not much in the way of wilderness has been preserved barring a few exceptions.

Of course I have pretty much scoped all of them out over the last couple days: a small scenic reserve called White Pines Bush lies just a few dozen kms inland and shows just how lush the native vegetation was before the land was thoroughly cultivated. It’s a tiny rainforest oasis with trickling streams, massive tree-ferns and towering trees among a wider landscape of steep unnatural pastureland and tree plantations.

Further up into the mountains lies Lake Tuitira, which is a large deep lake home to New Zealand’s endemic grebe and ducks. It was quite gorgeous on the day I visited:

Just beside the rather large and sprawling beach town of Napier is the Ahuriri Estuary, an important habitat for local and migratory bird populations. I got to see a colony of about 157 Bar-tailed Godwits overwintering. In the next couple months they will make a 12,000 kilometer flight back to their breeding grounds in the Alaskan arctic, a trek that earns them the distinction of being the world’s farthest traveling migratory bird species.

In 1931 a large earthquake leveled Napier and it was rebuilt completely in Art Deco style architecture that was popular at the time, which makes it quite a unique and cute town. This weekend is art deco weekend, which means that Kiwis flock in from all over the country to showcase their relic 1930s automobiles.

I’ll stick around for the festivities and to see ‘Carl’ DJ with one of his mates at a local bar and then head down to Wellington after the weekend and then onward across the ferry to the south island where the truly stunning scenery is supposed to ubiquitous.

I’m hoping to catch up with ‘Carl’s’ brother, ‘Clive’ down in the south island in Murcheson, the whitewater capital of New Zealand. ‘Clive’ is a world-class whitewater kayaker and documentarian. Extreme kayaking has taken him all over the world and he has used his videos to raise money for charities in Africa that fight malaria and in Nepal that train women to be river guides. Another one of his videos earned him a year’s supply of Red Bull. Anyway, it seems like a fantastic opportunity to experience first hand the heart of one of New Zealand’s trademark extreme sports. Can’t wait!

Off to the land of the Kiwis

How it ends so quickly. Four months in Australia gone in a blink. And I still have yet to travel anywhere outside New South Wales and Victoria.

I arrived at my hostel in Auckland, New Zealand after midnight last night and immediately wandered out onto the street where I met three young delinquents. “Where’s the nearest pub?” with an American accent immediately earned me a can of beer and an escort into heart of the city. They warned about a liquor ban, but everybody around was drinking on the street despite an abundance of cops who seemed completely ambivalent about enforcement of this said ordinance.

After catching the final few songs of a fantastic cover band over an 8 dollar pint of beer, I decided to call it an early night as I hadn’t managed much sleep in my final few days in Sydney. Here’s my first picture in New Zealand:

I spent two of my final four weeks in Sydney on work travel trips south and then north. Revisiting and camping at gorgeous and secluded Racecourse Beach along with getting a great view of a wedge-tailed eagle were probably the highlights. The drive up through the Upper Hunter Valley Sunday was quite scenic as well and we stopped off at a few wineries for some tasting and banter with lonely vintners. We did pass a few anti-scenic huge open cut coal mines, but they served as good motivation for a team of environmentalists. Here’s a sunset in the Upper Hunter:
On my last night I threw a going away party for myself at my flat. The Wilderness Society bought me an Australian bird book, which unfortunately will be dead weight for me in New Zealand, but was a very nice gesture. Everybody signed a card and one creative employee sweetly drew humorous little caricatures with bios of all the employees and several of the different stereotypical people encountered on the street at work. It was great way to say goodbye to everyone and my English flat mate was nice enough to clean up the entire mess (which was quite big) before I even woke up despite the fact that some of my work buddies’ friends were apparently complete dicks to him the night before. He did such a good job cleaning that I even got my entire bond back from my crazy landlord at 1:30 pm the next day! I owe you one mate.

It is always a bit of a transition uprooting oneself from a stable living situation, city, job and social group and hurtling into a new exotic location to start with a clean slate. I promised myself I wouldn’t linger too long in Auckland as my boss advised me that it’s basically just a smaller version of Sydney. New Zealand is about adventures and being outdoors. I haven’t planned a first move yet, but it will likely be to Lake Taupo to see some friends I met through my parents in Sydney who happen to be there for the week. It is also en route to a Kiwi friend I met in the US who lives in Hawk’s Bay. But before I can get out there I have to sort out a few tedious logistics such as my visa back to Australia, return flights, currency exchange and cell phones.

We had some very un-Australian weather for Australia Day:

Hope the elements cooperate in Kiwiland!

a brief outline of four weeks of mayhem and explosions

I have tried to begin writing this entry several times. Far too many things have happened to cover adequately.

Just after my last report, I went to a music festival to cook for a band of cabaret performers. They gave me a ticket that would normally cost 280 bucks and all I ended up really doing on the culinary front was cut up a few tomatoes and wash some dishes. I was happy to let them paint my face and dress me up in goofy costumes and then wander around terrorizing people and helping promote their show, “the non-linear bohemian guide to love.” Probably the coolest part of the festival was this thing:

Basically if you can’t tell from the picture it’s a tennis court but with a giant wire and paper Mache dome in the center. It makes for a game of lobs and shouting ‘service,’ since you can’t actually see your opponents. Anyway, a few days I was about ready to run off and join the circus.

But I ended up leaving early to come back to Sydney for a hectic New Year celebration. Lots of people and flashy fireworks.

I got to do a bit of body-boarding (boogie) up in Terrigal with my boss, I would have rather given surfing another crack, but just had to work with the equipment on hand (body-boards and fins). There happened to be some sort of kids’ Australian triathlon going on with all these ‘nippers’ clad in bright suits and swim caps running up the beach, paddling boards and swimming through fierce surf and occasionally capsizing.

The Sydney Festival kicked off on the 10th with a bunch of free concerts. ANZ bank was handing out thousands of light sabers for the hordes of revelers. It left us wondering why a bank would give weapons to a mob of 300,000 people. I caught Grace Jones among the throng in the Domain. She was a James Bond villainess in A View to a Kill and apparently has a music career as well.

The next weekend I went on this tour of the Hunter Valley and got to hand feed port Jackson sharks, eagle rays, and some other cartilaginous sea creatures, go on a dolphin cruise and surf down some massive sand dunes (which by the way isn’t anything like snow boarding, though I think I’m equally bad at both). Hunter Valley is renowned for its wines and I got to taste quite a few of them at the cellar door along with some cheese and chocolate as well.

It was a bit tough getting back into work after the break, but training up some new talent helped me get back into the swing. I led another week-long travel trip. This time to the south: Wollongong, Gouburn, Nowra, Kiama, Batemans Bay. We ended up working a bit too hard for my liking. This Irish guy was absolutely voracious (when he wasn’t suffering from heat stroke) and helped set the pace. Last month I had the second-best fundraising results in the country: 52 signups. Some jerk down in Melbourne beat me by one, while the third place performer only had 39. I already have 48 this month with four more shifts to go. If I don’t take the title this time I reckon this new leprechaun will. He’s got the gift. A few people I was particularly proud of joining: a nuclear physicist concerned about the hard-line anti-nuclear energy stance held by many environmental organizations (including TWS as far as I know), a marketing student who complimented me on doing a good job, and a man who after saying ‘no’ and walking away, came back five minutes later to fill out the form and tell me he had schizophrenia (oh the irony).

I’ve got about three more weeks on this work visa. One of them will be spent on another travel trip. After that I’m off to Kiwi land for an unknown amount of time to do unknown things. I’ll miss Sydney for sure, but happy to be off on a new adventure in a new country.

A southern (hemispheric) Christmas

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I was going to title my latest blog entry “my first business trip” and cover the travel trip I co-lead up the central and north coasts of New South Wales with my fundraising team. But I got so fed up with being unable to publish most of the stories I most wanted to write about that I almost quit blogging for good. I got in enough trouble for mentioning -*gasp*- racial stereotypes last time. I can't imagine how my parents would react if I were to talk about ***** ********* and *** on the *****.

All I will just say it was an eventful trip. One English employee, to use the widespread AA euphemism, “fell off the wagon,” then got dumped by his finace, and had to leave after day 2 because he was too depressed to work. An 18-year-old Aussie kid who had scarcely left his home country town got caught in a rip current at Racecourse Beach and nearly drowned, and my co-leader, a Fijian fundraising veteran in his thirties dislocated his shoulder attempting a rescue. I returned to Sydney relatively unscathed and despite the casualties we, as a team, managed to hit our sign-up target for the week. Unfortunately I brought a dead camera battery, so no pictures =(

But back to the matter at hand, the birthday of baby Jesus. This has been my first Christmas away from home and, much like Thanksgiving, the holiday has had little resemblance to what I’m used to since I have no family around. Christmas dinner I ended up sharing with a group of Sri Lankans, one of whom I am friends with through work. We ate some traditional Sri Lankan food in the traditional way, with our hands, which was pretty awesome, and not nearly as messy as you might think given the fact that we were eating rice and curry. Apparently I’m “a natural” at Sri Lankan hand eating. Perhaps I was born in the wrong country.

I received one gift this year: a coffee table photography book of Sydney from the 30s and 40s. Not something that I would put at the top of my list and an item almost completely unusable for a typical backpacker/traveler. But the gesture was very sweet coming from friends of friends of my parents and I guess it will be good for the next seven or so weeks the duration of which I will at least have an actual coffee table for it to sit on. They also were sweet enough to have me over for Christmas Eve dinner for which they served seafood as Aussie tradition dictates: Sydney rock oysters and fish. Yum!

Today was Boxing Day, whatever the hell that means, so my flat mates and I took a ferry over to the entrance to the harbor (actually ‘harbour’ since we’re in Commonwealth territory) to see the sailing yachts take off for the annual Sydney to Hobart race. I'm tracking the race now one Google Earth and it looks like Wild Oats might take an unprecedented fourth straight victory. After the boats left sight around the corner en route to Tasmania we hopped a bus down to Bondi Beach, which was absolutely jam packed. I still managed to get in some decent body surfing in the less corpulent and supposedly much more dangerous section of the water. The lifeguards kept yelling at everybody through megaphones to move up the beach and swim between the red and yellow flags. But I don’t see how one can swim, let alone catch waves, when there are more people by volume than water.

Up next: I’m leaving Sunday for some music festival in the bush. I’m cooking for a band of 40 cabaret performers in exchange for free entry. It goes until New Years Day, but I’m going to dip back to Sydney to catch what is supposedly one of the most spectacular fireworks displays in the world. The morning of the new year I’m driving with my boss up to some idyllic beach/bay called Terrigal where we'll stay until we have to reopen the Wildos office on the 5^th. So the next week or so should be nice and hectic. Can’t wait!

Hope anyone who might happen to be following the blog out there has had some good holidays and will make it through to 2009 in one piece. Speak to you then!

Greetings from Asiatown

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The flat is on the 12^th floor and the view from the balcony is rather spectacular and a voyeur’s dream. Were I so inclined I could probably sit out in the sun with my bird-watching binoculars for hours of free entertainment peeping into the rear windows of hundreds of other flats and offices. It’s right in the heart of the city—wonderfully convenient for me since I can easily catch a train to any suburb in which I might happen to work. The majority of the immediately local residents are Asian immigrants who do most of the actual cardiac work of pumping nutrients of coffee, toast and muffins to the gray-matter suits who commute in for the city’s daytime cerebral tasks. Many cafes don’t even bother to open their doors on weekends.

To call the area Chinatown might seem superficially appropriate for an American such as me who cannot discern between different East Asian ethnic countenances, but it would really betray the true diversity. There are loads of Chinese, but also Koreans, Japanese, Indonesians and Thais (the restaurant below the flat is called ‘Thainatown’). The above nationalities have a terrible reputation among backpackers and flat-sharers for anti-social behavior: hiding in their rooms, not speaking English, emitting unpleasant aromas. I am lucky enough to share with a rainbow of foreign nationals: India, Germany, England, New Zealand, who all speak English and coexist well. As far as I can tell nobody born in Australia actually resides within the CBD. When somebody calls the flat on the intercom from downstairs the ring fittingly plays the tune of "It's a small world after all."

When I step onto the basketball court at the park by central station, typically as the only non-Asian, I’m greeted by awestruck faces as if nobody has ever seen anyone taller than 6 feet before (isn’t Yao Ming supposed to be Chinese?). The standard is always pretty terrible and the NBA jerseys most of the players wear rarely represent ball skills or game knowledge. I haven’t had any trouble at all meeting fascinating and friendly people; the climate and weather are great; and the city is exciting and busy. But the lack of a decent basketball game in town and the fact that I haven’t caught a single Duke game (more a problem with the time difference than a lack of potential venues) are what make me most homesick.

Actually the lack of decent grog is a rival problem. Like most warm-weather countries, the Aussie beer lacks diversity and flavor. It’s also extortionately expensive. A 6-pack of standard tasteless lager costs about 15 bucks and it’s tough to find a case for much less than 40. The popular alternative among backpackers is wine, which by comparison is essentially free. That is especially true of boxed wine which is referred to affectionately (or loathingly) by Aussies as ‘goon.’ Once the cask has been emptied, the Mylar sack within the box can be inflated like a balloon to make what supposedly in some aboriginal language is called a ‘goon,’ but what us Anglos would call a ‘pillow.’ Aboriginals have a reputation similar to Native Americans when it comes to drink. As they get decent government financial support, many make a profession out of public park alcoholism. You certainly can’t walk from central station to my flat with passing at least a dozen aboriginals that appear severely intoxicated. Anyway, all it takes to join them is $10, which buys a 4.4 liter box of dubious ‘wine.’ After finishing all that, especially if you’re in the park, you would certainly need a pillow, which just happens to be the prize at the bottom of the box. I guess I’m just spoiled by America’s craft beer revolution and the U.S. macro-brew economies of scale.

Do you drink beer? Then you could definitely afford to become a member of the wilderness society. All it takes is one beer a week (assuming you would have paid about $4.60 for it at a pub) to give us 1,000 lobbying points in parliament and save 150 hectares of wilderness per year!