Haere ra to Wellington

With thanks to WellingtonNZ

After the brownest Bircher muesli I have ever encountered (and I am an expert) I went back down to the waterfront for this morning's activity, which began at Te Wharewaka o Poneke by the Wairepo Lagoon. Here I met Ariki, a tall and strong-looking, thoughtful and intelligent young Maori woman who welcomed me to the architecturally untraditional whare with a karakia and took me for a walk around the area, giving me the other side of the European history that was all I ever learned back in the unenlightened days. At least I did already, thanks to Jimmy yesterday, know that it was Kupe depicted in the statue outside, and I was able to show Ariki that I knew the creation story behind Wellington Harbour too. Points!

It was interesting, though - Ariki is from Taranaki and her maunga is naturally the one I spent a couple of days circling and obsessively photographing recently, but I never noticed that all carved figures there have pointed heads in recognition of its mana. 

We spent an hour walking and talking, with me learning a lot, and then, after a coffee and pain au chocolat at the gorgeous Louis Sergeant café, I was finished with Wellington for the present, and headed home again, well satisfied with my short-notice junket.

Wellington: windless and wonderful

With thanks to WellingtonNZ

A clear, calm, sunny morning is a gift wherever you are, but especially in Wellington, emphasis on the ‘calm’. This was a to be bit of a theme on my second activity today, an e-bike ride around the harbour to Miramar, but first I went to Parliament. 

I've done the Parliament Tour before, but a while ago, so I needed a refresher for my story, and it was interesting - firstly, that I was the only Kiwi in the group, which apparently is the norm. Astonishing. We trailed along the literal corridors of power, past the old iron liftshaft that's the backdrop to all the news interviews with the politicians, into the library, debating chamber, committee rooms, hearing history, looking at statues (Kate Sheppard the first) and portraits, works of art and the building's clever anti-earthquake base isolators. It was all very neat and, today, since it's not sitting, deserted. We weren't allowed to take photos, but afterwards, wandering back out by myself after a coffee in the Parliamentary café, there was no-one around, so I did.

I headed back to the waterfront via the National Library for a dutiful look at the Treaty(s) of Waitangi, the Declaration of Independence and the huge rolled-up Suffrage Petition - 1893, we were first to give women the vote, you know; and a quick circuit of Old St Paul's where they are certainly very forward in their expectation of a donation. 

Next was my Switched On Bike Tour in the company of guide Jimmy. I am already a fan of e-bikes (it only takes one ride to convert you) but these bikes were even better than my first experience, being a bit less heavy and clunky, but amply powered for today’s 25km ride which was mostly on the flat.

We skimmed off along the wide pedestrian waterfront, which is continuously busy with walkers, joggers, bikers, skateboarders and dog-walkers – so there was a bit of weaving in and out, which added to the fun. We stopped to admire the Kupe statue – he discovered New Zealand, about 1000 years ago, a very impressive achievement of navigation, but it was his wife who first saw land and gave it the name of Aotearoa. (There was a bit of a flurry recently about using that as our official name, but it faded away almost immediately.) We also stopped to admire Solace in the Wind, which I had always thought, without knowing its name, was a statue of a man about to dive. But he's braced against the wind that Wellingtonians automatically deny (sorry about that ill-placed reflection).

We cruised along the cycleway past marinas, pretty boatsheds, Oriental Bay with its lovely artificial beach of golden sand (imported originally from Golden Bay in the South Island), rows of cute wooden two-storey villas interspersed with private cable-car rails shooting remarkably steeply up the cliff, and fetched up at the Zephyrometer – a similar but different wind-powered kinetic artwork from New Plymouth’s Wind Wand, and onto its second incarnation because it’s built to swivel and, this being Wellington (average wind speed 27km/h, highest recorded 250km/h during the Wahine storm in 1968) its tip has occasionally bent a bit too low for the peace of mind of passing traffic.

We continued past the end of the airport runway, past the wind-swept Hollywood sign rip-off, and turned off along the edge of the Miramar peninsula towards Shelly Bay. New territory for me, and what a revelation! So close to the city, humming away across the harbour, but cicada-buzzing bush on one side of the narrow road, and little beaches on the other, where fabulously clear, blue water was lapping on the sand. It was a whole other side to Wellington for me, and not just geographically. We skimmed along to the Chocolate Fish Café, in its picturesquely peeling old navy/air force building, had a nice smoothie and a chat in the sunshine, and then headed back along the road again.

At the end of the peninsula, we headed up the hill towards a lookout on the headland, and here was another revelation: the road was quite steep, but I cycled up it sitting up straight! Clicking on up to Turbo setting meant that I just kept pedalling at the same easy rate, but got enough of a boost from the motor to flatten that angle out completely. Fabulous. And all completely silent, of course.

We looked out over Wellington’s lovely harbour, noted that the planes taking off and landing had changed direction because of the wind, I listened to a Maori legend/geography explanation that was as inventive as always, and then headed back to the city. It was just after 5pm by now, and the commuters were heading home, Wellington-style – that is, walking and cycling along the waterfront (more ducking and diving required), and queuing patiently for ferries. We got back after almost three hours, that had zipped by as effortlessly as if on an e-bike. Brilliant invention!

We ate very well at the Thistle Inn in Thorndon, in the very building patronised by both Katherine Mansfield and Te Rauparaha, if you could ever think of a more unlikely pairing (though it wasn't of course) where young barman Matt was a star with clearly much more ahead in his future than advising customers to choose the venison risotto (though I did, and it was delicious).

We finished the night with a trip in the cable car up to the top for a splendid view over the city on this beautifully warm, calm night, with the city looking exactly as lovely and interesting as it actually is.

Wellington: cruise over, so just cruising

With thanks to WellingtonNZ

We woke this morning moored already in Wellington, whose harbour we had eased into in the early morning. It was cool and cloudy – it’s officially autumn now, after our long hot spell – and we disembarked with absolutely no ceremony (this has been the least official-feeling famil I have ever been on) but also no bills to pay. Always good! And now, goodbye Viking Sun, and on to the next thing: collecting story material in the capital.

Wellington was quiet – it is Sunday, after all – but it’s still a cool little city, with an abundance of stately and official buildings, and interesting shops, and heaps of restaurants. I did a bit of an explore of Hannah’s Laneway where Fix and Fogg the peanut butter specialists were officially closed, but their premises occupied today by Duck Island, who make what Lonely Planet has decreed New Zealand’s best icecream – high praise indeed, but well deserved, judging by the coconut caramel sesame peanut praline (a mouthful in all senses) that I enjoyed.

The Wellington Chocolate Factory is nearby in this fashionably grungy little street, making ten flavours as block chocolate plus individual ones from beans imported from Peru, Nicaragua and the Dominican Republic. Purely because I was surprised and delighted by a similar combination in Copenhagen last year, I bought a block of craft beer-flavoured dark chocolate. (Eaten later, it was interesting but the arty dried hop flowers stuck on one side were much less fun to eat than they looked.)

Appropriately, next I went into Fortune Favours, a craft brewery in a former factory where there were many hipster beards and black t-shirts, and the Beachcomber wheat beer was very good. 

Sunday afternoon was winding down, so that was that for exploring, and I wandered back along Lambton Quay to the Park Hotel (workmanlike and handily central). Later, I ate at the always excellent Ortega FishShack, where my admiration of my juicy prawns equalled that for the friendly efficiency of the staff in their leather aprons, whisking up and down the steps and welcoming every diner like an old friend.

Viking Sun, Day Three - Good bits and not so great

With thanks to Viking for this cruise

We are at sea today, and Aotearoa is living up to its name, the land having a low fluffy duvet of cloud its whole length - but at least the sea is calm. Today is about onboard activities, if that’s not too strong a word for the clientele, most of whom to my observation seem to hover (again, probably too active a verb) outside the upper 60-70 age range that was claimed by my guide on the first day. They had parked themselves all around the ship in its many nooks and crannies with iPads and books, puzzles and games, and seemed to be settled in for the duration. I, however, dear reader, began my day in the spa with some Nordic bathing.

This was my first, and not my last, encounter of the day with a territorial fat old white (self-)entitled American man, a demographic which now has to prove itself to me, individual by individual, as worthy of space on this earth. The cause for my getting growled at here was pausing in the doorway to take off my fogging (not a euphemism) glasses, and accidentally letting out some of the steam. I’m a sauna novice, and perhaps this is the ultimate sin, but it felt like an over-reaction and certainly didn’t help me to relax. So I sat, tense and sweaty, and much closer to him than I would have preferred, space allowing, until it felt like time to cross over into the snow room, which was small and obviously chilly, snow heaped up around the walls and on the benches, clinging to the walls and visible as frost crystals in the air.

As instructed previously, I scrubbed my skin with handfuls of snow – thus exfoliating it, which is why people rave about their smooth, glowing skin afterwards – and then sat, a bit bored, waiting to get cold enough to leave. Repeat twice. I finished up with a longer session in the steam and then popping into the bucket shower next door, to pull the chain and empty a wooden bucket of cold water over my head. It was more funny than bracing. A quick wallow in the warm pool facing the flickering pretend flames along one side was the final duty – intended, probably, to induce what the Danes call hygge.

Next (today is all about experiencing what’s available on board) I went to the pool, aft, which I had all to myself. Actually, pools – there’s a Jacuzzi but the main one (still small) is an infinity pool perched right at the back of the ship, overlooking the swirling aqua and white of the wake. It’s pleasurably mesmerising to hang there gazing at it, even on a dull (but warm) day. There is a bigger one, incidentally, on the pool deck, which has a handy retractable roof.

A bit later, I passed through the Knitting Class in the Wintergarden – a busy group of women clearly of differing abilities, needle-wise, but all looking contented. I had heard that there was some shock at the prices of NZ wool – but have every confidence that they will be impressed by the quality.

I’m not eating much today, having rather overdone it in the main restaurant yesterday, and we had the Chef’s Table degustation menu to look forward to this evening, so I kept on moseying around, signally failing to get the layout straight in my head (it doesn’t help that the ship is not symmetrically organised) and fetching up at the wrong end as often as not. There were people everywhere, scattered about in comfy chairs inside and out – but nowhere looked crowded.

The theatre was busy, though, come Trivial Pursuit time. We wandered in, looking for a team to join or, failing that, somewhere to sit – but were summarily moved on from our seats by yet another officious OWM who stated that that was where his team sits. There were plenty of seats, dear reader – but these were his, and we were evicted. Then it happened again, but more politely, and we ended up on our own, a team of two amongst twenty of six each, and took on what turned out to be Round 38 of the game. It was a brisk affair, soon over, without the entertainment value of Moss running it on Silversea, and we did ok, considering: 7/15 (should have been 8, if I hadn’t been overruled on my K=potassium answer) – that’s equivalent to 21/15 if we’d had a full team, so my head is high. (The actual highest score was 14/15). More interesting than that, though, was my encounter with an actual US government whistle-blower - but that can wait for a separate post. 

Next I thought I would have a go at the art class, since I disappointed myself so deeply trying that on my last cruise. But, though I got there right on time, the class was already full and silent, people heads down busily sketching kiwis. This is the downside of joining a cruise halfway through: everyone else is onto it, their territories claimed, friendships established. The same thing happened at the choir in the shiny black windowless bar: the auditions were done ages ago, everyone had their parts and their music, and there was no room for me to croon along in their rehearsal of 'Danny Boy'.

The official Cruise Critic Awards gloating round the pool yesterday afternoon naturally focused on the category that Viking Sun was absolute top for, which was Entertainment, and tonight’s show (as well as last night’s) certainly vindicated that vote. Christina Bianca was the sole star this evening, doing song impersonations of every diva you could think of – perfectly performed, funny and thoroughly entertaining. She was excellent, and the full theatre gave her a standing ovation that she totally deserved. (Yet another Titanic reference, though - she naturally included a Celine Dion number in her performance.)

It was a very satisfying end to an evening that had already begun at The Chef’s Table with a 5-course degustation menu that was interesting and delicious, and very much complemented by the knowledgeable and enthusiastic input from the serving staff. So, well done, Viking.

Viking Sun, Day Two - Ignoring Auckland

We sailed last night – all the way from Queens Wharf to Princes Wharf. So we woke up blocking the windows of the long-suffering Hilton guests and wondering what was so special about the ship we'd had to make room for. Everyone on board was busily readying themselves for a day ashore, many of them no doubt heading over to Waiheke Island to do the vineyard tour or mosey around Oneroa, but oddly we felt no such compulsion. (Having an afternoon, evening, night and morning in the city did feel generous, though.)

Instead we breakfasted in a leisurely fashion at Mamsen's - that's Norwegian for Mum's, and it's all modelled closely on the kitchen and food that Viking President Torstein Hagen grew up with. The thing to have here was apparently the waffle, so I did, but wasn't impressed - it was a bit dry, needed butter and lots more than the mingy amount of cream and fruit I was allotted. But the croissant I didn't have was, apparently, a (messy) triumph.

The fruit tea wasn't, though, so I popped ashore - mightily disappointed, I have to say, to see everyone offered a plastic bottle of water as they left the ship - to buy myself a box in town. Then I just nosed around the ship till sailaway at 2pm. We'd been looking forward to this, never having sailed in or out of the Waitemata before, but sod's law dictated that this summer's long hot drought broke today, and the cloud was so low that even the top of Rangitoto was blotted out, and there was no chance of seeing Waiheke.

There was a Halfway Point Party on the pool deck, celebrating Day 65 of the 130, which was rather spoiled for me by an American OWM getting territorial over a couple of chairs that - truly, reader - I reached first. The Cruise Director, Heather someone, was full of the news that Viking has done excellently in the just-announced Cruise Critic Cruisers' Choice Awards, getting first in 11 categories (trouncing Silversea, I have to note with surprise). People seemed smug and content - though there was some disappointment still swirling around that weather meant the cruise had had to miss out Stanley in the Falklands, and Easter Island, adding to the already pretty high number of at-sea days. (I, of course, regular readers 😃 will be aware, have been to both those places, so I had my own reasons to feel smug.)

Though we certainly weren't hungry, our lunch having been very nice, we felt obliged (it's tough, this job) to try out the High Tea in the Wintergarden as Minky G strummed away on her guitar. We eschewed the cake stand of sandwiches and fancies, which looked very good, and just had tea and scones. They too were good but I have to say the allocation of jam and cream was again on the mingy side.

I skimmed past a performance by the Virginia Gentlemen in the Atrium which was completely full, three levels and even the stairs jammed with sitters. These young guys, all very short-back-and-sides, smart suits, clean and wholesome, sing doo-wop which, while not in the same category of intolerably self-important nerve-janglery as jazz, requires a very specific kind of finger-snapping musical appreciation: you need to be American, for a start. Much more to my taste was the pianist later when we had pre-dinner drinks - though, again, they give out automatic PLASTIC STRAWS???! Whatever is Viking thinking? 

Dinner was at the much-vaunted Manfredi's, and my goodness, they spoke the truth. I really wasn't that hungry but the bistecca fiorentina was SO fabulously tasty and tender. All I had to do to cut it was to draw the knife across it and the mere weight of the blade was enough to do the job. A triumph. I ate the whole thing. And then, despite deciding to skip dessert, our lovely waitress was so enthusiastic about the Nutella panna cotta, showing me a photo of it on her phone, that I gave in, and it was indeed delicious.

I cruised through the shops - lovely Nordic stuff in glass, felt, silver, at typically Scandinavian prices - and then we took our seats in the theatre, for Gary Arbuthnot, who despite his name is Irish, and a whizz on the flute and penny whistle. I would happily have sat there and watched his fingers blur over the instruments, but there were clips from movies playing behind him. That was fine when it was a James Bond theme tune - slightly less comfortable when it was Rose and Jack dancing down below deck in Titanic. The movie's listed in the entertainment schedule, too. They like to live dangerously, on Viking Sun.

Viking Sun, Day One - All aboard! Or not, whatever

With thanks to Viking for this cruise

Yes, I am a hypocrite. About four blog posts back, regular readers 😃 will recall, I was riding my high horse about the hideousness of big cruise ships and declaring that I would never lower myself (er, from that high horse) to set foot aboard anything bigger than 900 passengers. Well, guess where I am right now? Oh yes, comfortably ensconced on the Viking Sun, home to 930 smug guests. And here I will be happily staying, as it sails from Auckland to Wellington, as part of the 130-day world cruise it began in Miami at the start of the year, ending in London.

This was one of the lastest-minute famils I’ve ever participated in: 48 hours from offer to boarding, which is only slightly dizzying because all it took was a ferry trip and a short suitcase trundle along the wharf. The ship arrived this morning, and is overnighting in Auckland before departing tomorrow afternoon, so I could actually have delayed my embarkation until then – but why would you, and deprive yourself of a night’s dinner and entertainment?

So here I am, in a suite that is a touch on the snug side but, since the ship is pretty new (2017), it's neat and elegant and eminently acceptable. All Viking suites have verandas, and as we are happily on the starboard, ie landward, side (we will be sailing south down the east coast – can you work that out?) the sun is shining in through the ranchslider beyond which is the Cloud on Queen’s Wharf and just above its roof a peep of the harbour bridge, busy with rush-hour traffic.

Soon after boarding, I fortuitously tagged along on a travel agent tour and have already seen all over the public areas of the ship. Right now they are all still a confusing muddle, but I have hope that I will get everything sorted by the time we reach Wellington on Sunday. First impressions are of easy elegance, lots of blue and beige and blond wood, many appealing places to sit, quantities of glass, a very Nordic presence in terms of artwork, a novel (to me) infinity pool at the stern, and some seriously tempting restaurants.

I have already learned that all the flour used in the kitchens (by France-trained chefs) is French, so I have high hopes of proper croissants and baguettes; and more than one person has strongly recommended the beefsteak at Manfredi’s Italian restaurant. I have been urged to try the Nordic bathing experience, which includes an actual snow room, and a bucket shower. 

Tonight there is a Maori concert party in the theatre after dinner; beforehand there will be Norwegian music in the atrium; and I am hoping that both the Irish flautist and – tarah! – old Buskers Festival faithful Nick Nickolas, who are part of the entertainment programme, will be performing before I disembark in Wellington. Fingers crossed.

Taranaki 3 - Birds and MAMILS

With thanks to Venture Taranaki for hosting me

I don't know, MAMILs, they're everywhere, but when you want one, can he help? No, he can't. Not this morning, anyway, as I was just setting out on my bike ride along the Coastal Walkway to the Insta-famous Te Rewa Rewa Bridge. I'm from Christchurch, you see: flat city, so bike gears always flummox me, and this morning I managed to seize them up so the pedals wouldn't, er, pedal. So, failed by the MAMIL - actually, more of an OMIL - I flagged down, I had to wheel the bike back ignominiously to the hotel and take another.

Anyway, that aside, it was a splendid thing to be doing on a clear, warm, sunny morning - and lots of others had the same idea. Cyclists, walkers, runners, with or without dogs and/or kids, they were all out there appreciating the sparkling sea, the white foam on the black sand, the Sugar Loaf islands and, of course, glimpses of The Mountain which, in Taranaki, is always there, peeping or looming. People were friendly, smiling and greeting me, and it was all just lovely. And the bridge, when I got there, didn't disappoint: freshly painted white, it was as artfully sculptural as it looks in all the photos, and make a perfect frame for the mountain. 

I already had my eye in, art-wise, after having a guided tour of the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery and Len Lye Centre. It's a real mouthful, that - but the building itself is a marvel, all wavy stainless steel walls, reflecting and distorting. And inside is a regularly-changed display of Len Lye's kinetic artwork, which is mesmerisingly lovely and fascinating, and impossible to photograph. Plus, of course, in the art gallery, there was the usual arty-farty stuff that I always secretly suspect to be an elaborate con-type joke. I mean, a dark room full of black Venetian blinds hanging from the ceiling, scented with wildflowers and gunpowder?

Much more to my literal tastes was the Brie and sausage tartine that I bought from a Frenchman at a container café on the way back, and shared with a bunch of sparrows (only the bread base - the topping was too good for the likes of them).

Then I headed for Pukekura Gardens, near the centre of town, which are famous for their being lit up at night. Also for being the main venue during WOMAD, which is about to start, so some of the grounds were closed off. Never mind: I had a pleasant stroll around, under huge trees and ferns, past the azaleas and rhododendrons that grow so well here, and the traditional Tea House, and the big fountain that I set off by pressing a button. I walked around the lake with its ducks and swan, and crossed the Poet's Bridge - which is not as poetic as it sounds: it was funded with the winnings from a horse race won by The Poet.

Next I went back into town and flitted round Puke Ariki, which is the museum/library complex here: modern, well-presented and not too guilt-inducing for those of us with inadequate time/energy/eyesight. There was a nice little section on Taranaki ingenuity, which has led amongst other things to mechanised hedge trimmers, NZ's first purpose-designed farm bike, a device for practising brass instruments quietly, a mobile TB unit, and a no-dig hangi. I also learned, a little disquietingly, that Mt Taranaki has had numerous eruptions over the last several hundred thousand years, each time collapsing some time afterwards. The last time it blew was 250 years ago - I wonder if another collapse is on the cards?

And then my Taranaki visit was over - though I will happily return, there's lots more to see and do. Besides, I've got that damned mountain under my skin now, just like a local.