We will remember them

Perhaps the spit and polish isn't as good these days - certainly the standard of marching suggests rather less square-bashing than used to be standard - but full marks, as usual, to the Devonport Anzac Day service for sincerity, respect, organisation, inclusiveness and colour. This year one of the catafalque guards got a bit faint, poor young man, and had to be relieved; the Last Post bugler on the roof was a cornet player on the ground; there was no Lord's Prayer but we sang the Australian national anthem; and a choir boosted the sadly abysmal hymn-singing performance of the public (those of us who learned them all at school getting feebler in the volume department, and the youngsters not coming across them at all now).

It was a beautiful morning after heavy rain through the night, the flags were flapping in a warm breeze, seagulls called from the beach, sails billowed on the yachts on the harbour, and children perched in the crook of the big pohutukawa beside the war memorial. It was a large crowd, from little kids cross-legged on the ground to frail old veterans smart in their blazers, medals glinting, everyone wearing a poppy. It was solemn and proper, and there was no forgetting the loss and the sacrifice.

Afterwards we went to the Navy Museum along the front in Torpedo Bay, really well presented and interesting, even to someone with Air Force affiliations. It starts with Cook's Endeavour and finishes with Bosnia, with in between lots of models, memorabilia, weapons, photos, video and storyboards. Perhaps the most chilling thing I saw there today was this Japanese map of New Zealand - what with that, and the accounts of German activity off the North Island coast, it demonstrates the accuracy of the title World War.

Getting twitchy

While it's true (see below) that trains are looming large for me at the moment, so are birds. They were all over the Hump Ridge Track, even more so on Stewart Island where I saw wild kiwi as well as a stray white heron, more kaka than I could shake a stick at - not that they would have cared if I had, bold rowdy parrots that they are - and then there were the penguins in the Catlins.

Down in Wellington, we went to Zealandia, which is a wildlife sanctuary very close to the centre of the city, where all pests have been eliminated (apart from a few mice) inside its simple-but-effective top-hatted fence, with wonderful results. 'Wildlife' in the NZ context of course means birds, since we have nothing else native, except for some bats, and I was actually perversely depressed by how much birdsong there was. It was loud and varied and glorious: so much better than what had pleased me down in Fiordland along the track, and just shows the terrible effects of those blasted stoats, rats and possums, despite all the traps they maintain.

Amongst all the species at Zealandia are takahe, strange sturdy creatures like monster blue-green chickens, poking into the feeders and looking even odder because the two we saw both had transmitters sticking out of their feathers. They were thought extinct, but rediscovered down in the depths of Fiordland in 1948, and have been conserved since then with moderate success. There are some that have been reintroduced to the wild near Lake Te Anau that cost the taxpayer a phenomenal sum each (not that I'm complaining) but most of them are in managed reserves like this one. It's a worthwhile place to visit, you could easily spend half a day there, chasing the birds with your camera. Not that I had to do much chasing of this tui - I just hung out of our bathroom window here at home.

What a difference one letter makes

What is there left to say about Boston? Boo, hiss to the internet for making it so easy for terrorists/madmen/disaffected youths to make such simple but deadly bombs. Yay to the internet for making it so easy to keep up with developments in real time and to allow the public to help the police. Shocking and tragic as it all was, and so appalling that the brothers would even think about targeting marathon runners and spectators, it was drearily familiar too in the reactions: the national solidarity, the media coverage, the scramble in our press to find local connections, the official pronouncements, the parade of smiling photos of victims, the makeshift memorials... Yes it was more random this time, and the method was novel, but it probably won't be long before there's another in the long, long line of mass shootings and we'll be back at the beginning again. When the Senate won't even tighten up background checks for gun purchasers, what hope is there?

KiwiRail's Northern Explorer

The whole purpose of going down to Wellington was to come back again, on the Northern Explorer. Trains have become a bit of a theme recently, with my having travelled across several European countries on the rails last year, and the Rocky Mountaineer and various other train trips coming up in June. This is one I hadn't done before: the 10-hour journey between Auckland and Wellington along the Main Trunk Line through and past some of the North Island's best scenery. "A front-row seat to the back country," the brochure described it - and so it was, passing through places not on view to road travellers, and giving a new perspective to familiar scenes.

Some were, even so, a bit too familiar, so I was glad that, by chance, we'd chosen to travel north rather than south, given that the time of year means that the last hour or so of the journey is in darkness. That meant that the last section, approaching Auckland, was no great loss, whereas I would have been sorry to miss seeing the Kapiti Coast at the other end. Luckily (and unexpectedly) the sun was shining, and the sea sparkled, Kapiti Island looked invitingly mysterious, and the Tararuas were doing their best to evoke a Grahame Sydney painting.

There were lots of autumn-bright trees, the sheep were back-lit, the little towns neat and sleepy, the farmland tidy. Then we got up onto the volcanic plateau with ravines, rivers, viaducts and tussock country, before winding around the Raurimu Spiral, where the line curls round on itself and at one point you can see it both below and above the train: pretty impressive engineering. Nature had already outplayed that though, with the mountains we'd just gone past. Ruapehu was sulking inside cloud, but Ngauruhoe and Tongariro were clear, if moodily dark and threatening, the former channelling its Mt Doom persona.

LOTR references were overtaken by Hobbit ones as we went through the neat hilly green farmland near Matamata, hearing lots of history on the headphone commentary (which you can't hear if you're outside on the observation car, tch) before getting into familiar country as the rain arrived and the sun pushed off for the day.

It was a lovely trip, scenic, relaxing, comfortable in the nice new carriages with their big windows, David the Train Manager was friendly and informative, and Simone behind the counter in the cafe was quite a character. The food, by the way, was delicious - supplied by Wishbone. Their chicken laksa soup was so good I bought some more to take home. Imagine! Railway food you can't get enough of!

Busy bees

Just down the hill last night, as we lay on the hotel bed watching one politician being laid to rest, our lot was busy making a bit of history again. New Zealand is the 13th nation to put Marriage Equality into law - not as good as our effort for universal suffrage (*cough* first) but much better than most, and something to be proud of.

We wandered down there today, and took the free tour of Parliament Buildings, which was somewhat constrained by the Pacific Forum going on, with noisy groups of people everywhere and many of the usual sights off-limits. We did, at the end though, get to go into the Chamber and lean on the MPs' desks, to the disquiet of the guide, who's not used to having her party loose in there.

It was good to see Parliament so busy, and know that last night the pollies actually achieved something. Pleasing, too, that despite an x-ray and no cameras, we were able to move around relatively freely and literally rub shoulders with our elected representatives in the corridors. Exactly as it should be.

By the way, I do like how even the weather forecast in the Dominion Post is political:

There's splendid, and then there's SPLENDID

It always surprises me how small Wellington is, seeing as how it's the capital city. It's not the only one, of course - Canberra, Ottawa, Washington DC spring to mind, as well as most (all?) US state capitals; but still...

Small but lovely, even on a damp, monochrome day, with some splendid buildings - I especially like the Catholic cathedral and the Fire Station - and a much more attractive waterfront than Auckland's, with lots of public artworks. It's the kind of place where culture comes easily, and so it was that we spent hours nosing around Te Papa, the National Museum, entertainingly (if necessarily) more modern than ancient in its exhibits, before finishing the day at Downstage Theatre.

We saw 'Krishnan's Dairy' which was clever and funny and sweet, and also short, so that we were back in time for the live broadcast of Maggie's £10 million funeral. I lived in England for all of her, it's hard not to say reign, so I understand completely the fuss, on both sides. That aside, there's nothing like seeing St Paul's being put to proper use. Now that truly is a splendid building.

Spit!

Good grief! Adventure World - that's Adventure World - has just announced its new luxury Inca Trail package. If anything ought to be an oxymoron, it's 'luxury Inca Trail'. This package includes masseuses, sleeping stretchers and HOT SHOWERS. Imagine! Trails of porters in car tyre sandals flapping up and down all those irregular steps with strapped to their backs a massage table, fancy Portaloos, gourmet dinner ingredients, presumably linen table cloths, wine glasses... It's madness.

The Inca Trail is a unique and very special experience that's meant to leave you grateful for the opportunity to have walked it, and proud of having coped with the altitude, the exertion and the relatively primitive conditions. It's not right, turning it into some cushy outing with canapes and high thread-count pillowcases, for goodness sake. Wrong! Totally, totally wrong.

When I did it, with Explore, it was already a cut above the usual experience, simply because we started walking five hours or so behind the daily quota of trekkers (still just 500 a day, porters included). That meant that, far from walking in the company of so many people, and trying to sleep each night while some of them partied hard, we didn't see any other hikers till literally the very end of the track, and spent our nights in peace at what were for everyone else, lunch stops. It was a real privilege, having the track to ourselves, with all its birds and ruins and rivers.

But we still slept on the ground, on pads, washing twice a day in half a bowl of warm water brought to our tents by the porters, ate nourishing, if plain, rice-based food, and used a fairly insalubrious portable toilet (which was made worse by the sole American in our group, Chuck from Saint Louis, refusing to go along with the national custom of putting used loo paper in a bucket, rather than down the toilet). When we got to the end for that fabulous view of Machu Picchu from the Sun Gate, we truly felt we had earned it, and even owned it, a little. I really can't believe it could possibly be the same for well-rested, fluffed-up, gourmet-fed rich people.