After a few more minutes of oohing and aahing, the crowds dispersed and I followed on having lingered a little longer at one of nature’s awe-inspiring sites. The cheerful multi-tasking geyser chap caught up with me and we chatted about the park and Lady Knox. After several years of giving breakfast to her three times a week, he still finds it a truly amazing experience. He loves the thermal park with its rainbow colours. We enthused about the phenomenon of the champagne pool with its various oxides and fabulous water with teeny, tiny bubbles… just like champagne! Bidding farewell I returned to the main thermal area and opted for the long walk to ensure that I saw everything that tourists were allowed to see. Inevitably I took masses of photos, most of which do no justice to the splendour of the burping, bubbling, slurping, steaming, smelly sulphur pools nor the limestone caves and caverns. Possibly if geological surveys are your thing, you’d gain something from looking at my handiwork, and probably you’d know which way was up… as I certainly don’t. Sadly my knowledge is limited to the coloured elements I like, such as the striking purple of manganese oxide. I guess my geological photos will just gather domestic dust when back at home.
Irrespective of my photographic prowess, I left the park in a very happy mood at about one-thirty to head back towards Hamilton. As the weather was clouding over, I was not really sure what I wanted to do but had noticed a ‘Maori village’ on the way down and wondered if it was worth a visit. As I approached I thought, ‘Might as well,’ but was a bit dubious as it was probably a tacky tourist attraction… and was that what the indigenous people really wanted as a memorial to their past? Without any great air of expectation, I paid my money and had a twenty minute wait before the next tour. I spent the time looking at a motley selection of souvenirs in the Maori arts and crafts village and began to regret my fifteen dollar entrance fee.
The minutes ticked by when, along with a few fellow stragglers, we were peremptorily summoned by a Rarotongan-reminiscent blast from a conch shell and ushered through a stockade by our Maori guide. And a very interesting forty-five minutes followed. No bad white guy stuff, not even a sub-text (although I think that might have been understandable/justifiable) but all about how the Maori people had lived pre-colonisation. Warfare was a calendar event. When there was nothing else to do, they fought – mainly over women and land. They seemed to have had an aggressive streak which flared up with little provocation. Learnt about the painful tribal markings and the games they played to strengthen their wrist action to optimise the efficacy of their weapons, especially the spatulate mere made from green jade or patu made from wood. A well aimed swipe from one of these could take the top off a skull like taking the top off a boiled egg; all very graphic. Really enjoyed a highly informative and fun visit! It was worth every cent. Although very different, the two activities of the day had been a great success. Part of the joy of this journey is encountering the unexpected – and the Maori village proved the point. In future I won’t quibble over the price of an entry ticket.
Back on the road and Hamilton the next stop. The drive was uneventful, wet, and a bit boring as I had already navigated this stretch before. On arriving back again in town I discovered that there was a ballooning event taking place; good, this should liven things up a little. Found the hotel and checked in to the inappropriately named Le Grand and went for a stroll. Had the usual ‘bun and coffee’ late lunch at about five. Not sure what had happened to the balloons, no sign of life skywards or town-wise. Regret to say I didn’t warm to Hamilton second time round any more than I had on my first visit, but it was only a night stop before Sydney, so anything was going to be bearable.
Writing this I have just had a thought… perhaps introspection is an odd mood I’m slipping into on my own. Possibly it’s fuelled by the contrast between having a fantastic, interesting and exciting day interspersed with conversation followed by mooching silently around a very quiet town. Who knows?
In my room I raided the mini-bar and caught up with journal writing and so managed to miss dinner. Bed by ten-ish, just as Friday night was finally hotting up. Plus, I had some very noisy Italians in the next room – one of whom thought he was Pavarotti, so I settled back thinking sleep might be a luxury. I was right. Unfortunately my room overlooked the main street by a set of traffic lights and the late night noise of revving engines and pounding music from cars waiting for the green light just didn’t stop. All night I drifted in and out of sleep finally falling into a deep slumber at about five… only to be awoken at six on the dot as the municipal clean-up team rolled into action. Needed to be up early, so not really a problem. So that was that. And what had I written about Hamilton being a quiet town?
Sydney and a family reunion
Saturday 6th April: Sydney, Matt and Alice – at last!
The day started with a mediocre breakfast, but excitement rather than calories would be fuelling my day. Left the hotel without a backward glance and hit the city limits at eight-fifteen… next stop Auckland.
Arrived back at Auckland airport in good time, before ten, in pouring rain and dropped off the car with a bit of a sad goodbye as I had enjoyed clocking up my 1434km or 891 miles. On reflection, that doesn’t seem like a lot of driving… Have I got this wrong?
The good start to the day halted abruptly when I was greeted by mayhem in the check-in area. Went and had a drink and daren’t say what to eat (little else to choose from – how did the world manage pre-muffin?) and then finally braced myself for the check-in queue. Post my Heathrow departure, security had been nothing more than the norm… up until this point. As my small bag bounced its way through the x-ray machine, I was almost leapt upon by a security chap. Complacency shattered, there then followed a brief but intense discussion as to how much damage to life and limb could be inflicted by my very small tweezers. I won the debate. After that, all was thankfully uneventful but I have now developed an almost magnetic attraction towards security staff, virtually running at bewildered officers – arms akimbo. Unsurprisingly, the randomness of searches now seems a little less random when applied to me.
As the plane climbed up and away from the receding seventy-one islands of Auckland’s bay I remembered the anxious couple from Derbyshire. Had they made contact with their children? Was the news good? Had they been able to stop fretting and enjoy the remainder of their holiday? Alas I would never know. Nourished by my third meal of the day, a surprisingly tasty in-flight cheese and ham ciabatta, I decided that ruminating over unanswerable puzzles obviously encouraged an appetite.
In brilliant sunshine, and with my excitement levels rising, we finally touched down in Sydney where a sunny Matt and Alice waited to greet me. The exuberance of their welcome confirmed that they were well, happy and enjoying their new lifestyle. Wonderful! I tried to be mature about this reunion and not let the side down with sobs of maternal joy, but perhaps a few tears are permissible on such occasions. Then, as currently car-less, in a battered borrowed car with George crammed into the boot with no room for waltzing, they whizzed me off on a grand tour of the city sights and sites involving much to-ing and fro-ing over the majestic and rightly iconic Harbour Bridge. Known locally as the Coathanger Bridge because of its arch shape, the ‘coathanger’ provides a splendid piece of architecture from which to suspend the New Year celebratory fireworks: a happy outcome. However, I doubt if that criterion was presented to the designer of the steel arch, Sir Ralph Freeman.
The Coathanger… from which to suspend celebratory fireworks…
We finally parked and took a stroll overlooking one of the many bays which make Sydney harbour so spectacular. Saw my first golden orb spider (very large) and a graceful tree with bright purple flowers, species unknown to my hosts, but since identified as the Jacaranda tree.
Enjoyed a welcome glass or two of beer at Watsons Bay Hotel and watched the sun sink over the dramatic Sydney skyline, then headed back to Yurong Street and their home. A gated entrance leads into a tiny courtyard and then into a ch
arming and characterful house which, with its three bedrooms and two bathrooms, makes it an ideal house for two couples to share, this they do with Damon and Odette. Had a glass of wine and a chat and then off to a tremendous restaurant, Lisa’s, just around the corner on Stanley Street for a welcome muffin-free supper of barramundi and garlic mash and, of course, more wine.
Can’t remember going to bed, but I suppose I did.
Sunday 7th April: getting my bearings
After the rain of New Zealand, the sunshine of Oz continued. First thing, took a brief amble around nearby streets and saw rows of delightful Victorian workers’ cottages with their wrought iron balconies, had no idea that such pretty houses existed in and around Sydney. When first built, these tiny houses lacked sanitation and their cheek by jowl proximity provided no defence against the bubonic plague which romped through areas of Sydney close to the harbour in the 1900s. Looking at these now contemporary dwellings, I was impressed by the ingenious ways they had been extended, it showed a sympathetic and imaginative approach to today’s planning process. UK planners, please take note.
Thinking my architectural appreciation was temporarily suspended, we headed off to Balmoral Beach for breakfast in the old Bathers’ Pavilion. The snaking queue signalled that this was an immensely popular venue and our patience was rewarded when we finally got a table, magically, with a sea view. Tucking into indulgently rich eggs Benedict, I understood why this was a place worth queuing for: delicious. Mopping up the last of my eggy crumbs, I mused that this was another innovative piece of architectural renovation. Built in the 1920s as a changing ‘shed’ it had been structurally enhanced in 1929 with a mix of art deco and Moorish influences: my architectural appreciation was still in full swing.
Heading back to the house, we dropped Alice off at the historic Queen Victoria Building to buy picnic basics from the sumptuous food hall. This superb Romanesque edifice was commissioned at the end of the 19th century to provide out-of-work craftsmen with employment during a time of recession, and the building today stands as a testament to their enduring skills. If my time in New Zealand was epitomised by what I saw inside the buildings, such as in the eclectic museums, here in Sydney I was fascinated by the external mix of the old and the new.
A quick zap around the house to gather up bits and pieces and off we set to meet friends on a cliff top overlooking the harbour… from a different angle. It was a lovely grassy spot, with no one else around, just our party: an idyllic lazy Sunday afternoon. Excellent crowd and everyone made me feel very welcome. If not joining in the conversation, then what could be a better sedentary activity than watching the balletic watery activity of dozens of small (and some not so small) sailing boats going ‘ready about – lee ho’ in the waters of the harbour? Bliss to watch and I expect bliss to do.
Eventually the evening chill sent each party off in different directions and Judy, the owner of our borrowed wheels, reclaimed her car. Can’t believe how generous everyone is with their possessions. Was sorry to say good-bye to New Zealand but I’m loving every minute of Sydney. Already beginning to understand why my son’s round-the-world ticket is only 50 percent utilised.
Sadly, the day had been marred by a phone call from Odette saying that she and Damon had disturbed an intruder in the Yurong Street house, which was an understandably unsettling experience. Although the front of the house is secure, the back is overlooked by a lodging house and a service alley runs parallel to the back fence. The fence is quite high, but the uninvited guest had hopped over without too much difficulty, as his retreating rear demonstrated. Bikes and clothes had mysteriously disappeared from the yard in the past, possibly liberated by the same nimble limbed person whose interpretation towards being generous with possessions was obviously diametrically opposed to Judy’s.
Unperturbed by the intruder incident, Odette cooked pasta with tomato sauce and Alice tossed a healthy fresh green salad (my muffin days are over). Again, must have hit the pillow at some stage – but have no memory of my head connecting with my bed.
How spooky! Just as I was writing about the intruder in Yurong Street, someone was trying to get into my hotel room in Melbourne and they were being a tad persistent. “Ah, solly…” a lost Japanese tourist, I guessed. I later discovered that he had stayed previously at the hotel and regarded room 225 as his.
Monday 8th April: bearings still not ‘got’
And still the sun shines. Monday, so it must be washing day. On my own from 8am and rather pleased that the intruder didn’t reappear whilst I busied myself with the top loader and draped wet clothes around my room. Also took it upon myself to helpfully tidy a kitchen cupboard, an action which continues to vex my son to this day… he had cleaned the cupboard in anticipation of my arrival: ouch. As midday approached I set off to meet Matt for lunch and got totally lost in the Surry Hills area (still can’t get used to that weird spelling). Shouldn’t have been anywhere near there, so not quite sure what went wrong and the A-Z was no help at all. Found a bus stop with a bench in the hope that a calm approach to map-reading would clarify matters, but after several minutes I was still none the wiser re my whereabouts.
A chap from JC Decaux (of the advertising hoardings) who had been sitting on the pavement reading The Easter Stories, asked if I was waiting for a bus. “No, lost,” I said. “Ah, I always get lost,” came his none too positive reply. He then added that I might find his mini map easier to interpret. It was. He pointed me in the right direction and with his gifted map in hand, soon found myself down by Darling Harbour and then crossed over the Pyrmont Bridge to the other shore. I just hope that the kind gentleman from JC Decaux, now parted from his map, was not circling the Surry Hills looking for a way home.
In a few minutes Matt arrived and showed me his office location. What a place to work! Standing one block back from the water, the building is set at an angle to provide harbour views for the incarcerated workers. Daydream heaven! The area is busy with the hustle and bustle of tourists and workers all rubbing shoulders creating a vibrant location – a location that is considerably better than the one I enjoyed at City Road in London. We tucked into a Japanese lunch to get me in training for next month’s trip to see number two child, Kate, at her place of work in Tokyo. (Aha, I’m not totally selfish as I’ll be joined on that leg of my journey by my husband.) Obviously, the upside of having itinerant children is all the foreign travel required to catch up with them. The downsides are the dwindling pension pot and the wobbly bottom lip every time we part; it should get easier to say “bye for now” but it doesn’t. Sorry, that’s a maternal digression…
Returning to number one child – said “cheerio” to the worker and went back across the surprisingly long Pyrmont Bridge, with its overhead monorail, an Olympics legacy, and spent two happy hours visiting the Sydney aquarium. Terrific shark and stingray tank, which was being cleaned whilst some of the inmates were being distracted with food. The two metre sharks seemed quite unconcerned by the men in masks swimming amongst them, just as nonplussed as the men themselves seemed to be in the presence of lots of pearly white teeth. Then spent an absolute age watching a busy, busy duck-billed platypus, he was quite mesmerising swimming backwards and forwards scooping up small fish in his bill. They must have been his lunch, but it looked as if he was just re-arranging them… placing a batch here and another over there… busy, busy.
Back over the bridge again to collect photos of the first part of my trip and had a cuppa to make sure I had enough energy to go… back over the ever-lengthening bridge to the aquarium where I caught the ferry to Circular Quay and the Opera House. Time for only a brief look at the outside of the Opera House, Sydney’s second iconic structure (will have to go back) before heading inland via The Domain for home, which is on the far side of the familiarly named (and spelt) Hyde Park.
Quick round of phone calls home and a bit of spit and polish and then off to Davinda’s for veggie curry and to watch the film Lantana with
Geoffrey Rush; it’s set in the Sydney suburbs and deals with that age-old trinity of love, sex and deceit. No seats, audience just lounges on cushions – except for Matt and me, no more cushions so we sat primly on plastic chairs looking like a couple of cinema ushers. Extremely good film and a really excellent evening, I’m beginning to feel rather at home in Sydney.
Again, must have gone to bed, but too tired to notice, although at some stage did manage to cram lots of still soggy clothes into George in preparation for Melbourne tomorrow before the start of my Great Ocean Road adventure.
Melbourne in double-quick time
Tuesday 9th April: back on my own and off to Melbourne
Trundled George down to the main road to hail a cab for the airport and check in ahead of the business crowd. By ten was seated on a virtually full 767 alongside a motley mix of unwashed back packers and perfumed city slickers. An hour and five minutes later we landed – heavily – in Melbourne. Caught the Skybus into town and then a minibus to the hotel; an excellent system. Found myself checking into (a little sheepishly) an elegant Radisson hotel, in an ideal location on Flagstaff Gardens which is just on the edge of the Central Business District, where most of Melbourne life happens. Managed a quick wash and brush up and hung up the still soggy clothes, using cupboard doors, curtain rails and any accommodating surface thereby changing my lovely room into something resembling a doss-house. Satisfied with the transformation, then went off to explore, walking for miles and miles with an attractive cold sore throbbing (my Sydney hosts had been far too polite to draw attention to my pustule, but we did do a lot of air kisses).
Planned and executed my ‘see Melbourne in less than a day’ itinerary as follows:
Travels with George Page 8
