Paradise Lost

We crossed the International Date Line and the Equator and ended up in Honolulu the day before we left.

Honolulu - a tropical paradise...

It was a bit like moving from Middle Earth to the Twilight Zone. The move from New Zealand to Honolulu is like moving from one dream state to another.  The difference is the type of dream.  New Zealand is one of those wish fulfillment dreams where all your worries are resolved or your fondest desire is realized.  Honolulu is one of those bizarre dreams where things are disjointed, don’t make any sense and you wake up from it and think, “Where did THAT come from?”

I love Hawaii.

I love the sunshine, the beaches, the warmth and the scenery.  Honolulu is not Hawaii.  Honolulu is just a big American city attempting to project the image of a tropical paradise.  It ain’t successful.  There is a constant background noise of police sirens, construction and car horns.  The streets are lined with shops that only the rich and famous dare enter.  People strut down the street in their swankiest tropical clothing trying to look high and mighty and there are limousines cruising everywhere.  The staff in all the businesses look cranky and stressed.  I can find that in any American city – why would I come here?

Waikiki? 

Waikiki is the most famous stretch of sand in the world.  This should be the reason to come to Honolulu.  Waikiki is a beach with delusions of grandeur.  The only reason it is famous is because it is in Honolulu and the only reason Honolulu is famous is because it has Waikiki.  Sounds a bit incestuous, doesn’t it?  Don’t get me wrong – Waikiki is a nice beach, albeit a bit crowded, but there is nothing extraordinary about it.  We have beaches back in Canada that make Waikiki look like an after-thought. 

Waikiki beach 

The difference is the temperature.  About 15^oC difference.  At home you get about five minutes in the water and you start to shut down – here you can spend an hour in the water and only get a bit shivery and slightly blue.  So, maybe that is a good reason to come here – especially when the weather back home is grey, wet and cold.  The other reason is the amount of clothing required.  Shorts, sandals and t-shirts are all that is necessary here as compared to…. well, I won’t get into what is required back home.

The weather has been windy and rainy - but sometimes that can give you Rainbows!

Honolulu is a place you have to see.   Like most famous cities you have to see what it is that makes them famous.  We don’t plan to spend a lot of time here and I cannot imagine we would voluntarily return but we plan to make the most of our time. 

What do you do in Honolulu?  You go to the beach and expose yourself to copious amounts of sunshine in order to get a tan and, possibly, malignant melanoma - always fun.  You can go shopping and spent vast amounts of earnings for exclusive brands of Italian clothing hand-made in Cambodia – an effortless way to aid the wealthy.  You can go to Pearl Harbour, see a tribute to war and get a nourishing dose of propaganda – always beneficial for the sanity.

We decided to do all three.

Because the weather has been very windy and showery we felt that the beach was not going to be too crowded.  What we did not count on was the fact that it was an American holiday called “President’s Day”.  The other thing we did not think of was that all these tourists had spent an inordinate amount of money to come here on their holidays and, damn it, they were going to spend their beach holidays on the beach! 

I understand that completely.  Me too!

It was peculiar to see all these people stretched out on their beach towels with another beach towel wrapped around them to keep warm.  It was not cold and the rain came in little spurts that lasted about 5 – 10 minutes but North American instinct says if it rains – its cold.  If they took the towels off and allowed the sun to warm them up they would be fine but they kept the damp cold towel wrapped around them insulating themselves from the warmth. The beach appeared to be a haul-out for some peculiar species of multi-coloured sea lions.

We wandered along the beach for a while enjoying the sun when it came out but did not stay a long time there.  It was just caution.  I spent the summers of my childhood and youth at the beach getting sunburn after sunburn.  My default skin colour was red and I peeled off more skin than a sack of potatoes every year.  Sun damage?  Most assuredly! I felt that more sunburns were, at best, a very bad idea.  So we lathered up with high SPF sunscreen and limited our exposure time.   This was not my idea – I am nowhere near that intelligent.  Telen figured that one out and, in spite of whining and stomping my feet, I did as I was told.

It has been fairly windy here and Telen was complaining about her hair blowing in her face.  I thought that was a bit insensitive.  I suggested we go to the Ala Moana mall and she could get a haircut at one of the salons.  Little did we know what awaited us at the Ala Moana Shopping Centre. We blundered on in to the mall in our MEC shorts and Southeast Asian t-shirts. I have heard the names Prada, Armani, Neiman-Marcus, and the like but I have never seen a store with those names on it.  To say we were under-dressed might be a bit of an understatement. 

Telen did find a small hair-salon tucked into a corner of the basement behind a pillar that would cut her hair as long as the fat hairy man in the cheap t-shirt left IMMEDIATELY.  So, I poked around the mall for a while looking at electronics and marveling at skill that could crowd that many numbers onto a small price tag.  Some, I guess, couldn’t fit the numbers on so they left the price tags off completely.

When I retrieved Telen from the hair-salon we wandered around the Mall.  Telen thought it would be fun to go into the Prada store.  The moment we walked into the store the security guard was onto us.  He did not say anything but he made it obvious that he was watching by standing right behind us. Telen saw a little black skirt for $695.00.  I saw a white cotton t-shirt.  It was the cheapest thing in the store at a bargain $275.00.  I looked at it, puzzled over it and even touched it (the security guy got apoplectic at that) and I could not figure out why it was $275.00.  Why was the skirt $695.00?  I assumed they were made in the same factory in Cambodia that my $6.00 t-shirt was made and they all cost 5 cents to make.  It is amazing that people will pay that much money for a t-shirt or a skirt because it has a brand name on it.  Does it make them feel better than everyone else because they spent that much money on clothes?  Are they that desperate for status?  It seems to me as if they have been swindled by their own snootiness.  I can just hear Prada chortling, giggling and shrieking as they roll around in the cash.

Pearl Harbour and the Arizona memorial was as expected.  Actually it was a little more subtle than I expected.  In contrast to the blatant propaganda and loaded words we experienced in Vietnam the message was stealthier.  The information they presented about the Japanese attack on Oahu was good and they did present quite an involved section on why they attacked.  However, the Americans were presented as selfless, courageous and disciplined victims of an unprovoked strike by a ruthless enemy.  I have no doubt there was courage and cowardice on both sides.  People are people.  Once again we see the incredible loss of life (over 2000 people in 4 hours) brought on by a bunch of old men in positions of power who are playing the “Game of Thrones”. 

American war machine.  Nice to see on a tropical holiday...

They had a twenty-minute film about the attack on Oahu with actual film footage of the battle.  The narrator went on to explain how the Americans rebuilt the fleet and went to war against the Japanese.  He explained about the millions of lives lost in the war and how the Americans managed to sink five of the Japanese aircraft carriers involved in the attack on Pearl Harbour.  At that point a woman a couple of rows up from me pumped her fist in the air.  As the house lights came up she started clapping loudly and looking around the room urging everyone else to clap.

I don’t think she got it.

It is not a football game where your team wins.  Those 5 aircraft carriers that the Americans sank were full of young men and women who died horribly and in terror by burning or drowning.  All those parents back home would never see their children again and would know that they died horrible deaths.  All the young wives and husbands would never see their beloved again and all the children would never see their moms or dads. It is the same as the Americans that died at Pearl Harbour and every combatant in every battle in every war.  Revenge, vengeance, justice – whatever you want to call it – it all boils down to people killing and dying for the fancies of power-hungry old men.

The memorial was to the courage and valor of the combatants in the War of the Pacific.  I have no doubt those people showed great courage and should be remembered for it.  But they were all victims.  Both sides.  I guess it makes it easier to bear if you believe that they died for a noble cause.

Either the latest "Star Wars" technology or testing lab for "Double Bubble"

Oahu and Waikiki did not feel like Hawaii.  Telen and I had to keep reminding ourselves that we were, in fact, in Hawaii.  If nightlife and big spending are what you go to the tropics for then Honolulu is the place for you!  If beautiful beaches, warm water and relaxation are why you go the tropics – go somewhere else. 

We will!

Telen writes:

I was told before that Honolulu is a big city of over 900,000 people and, yes, it is indeed a city full of high rises, limousines, Hummers and obese people in electric scooters.  I keep having to remind myself that this is the tropical paradise called Hawaii.  The main reason that we ended up in Honolulu is that it is one of the stops for our Circle Pacific plane ticket.

I am more of an optimist compared to Rand.  I try to see the positives wherever I go.  What do I find appealing in Honolulu?  The act of people watching, I would say.  Rand and I found ourselves repeatedly comparing the people here to those in New Zealand.  In general, the pace of life in Honolulu is typical of America:  fast pace and consumer oriented as reflected by the huge number of expensive stores and gas guzzling vehicles.  We often reminisced about our experience with the people in the New Zealand, seeing fields and fields of sheep and cattle grazing and the gentle humor of the locals.  I do not recall seeing a single limousine or a Hummer there.

We are continuing our search for the authentic Hawaii.

Sunset from Waikiki

 

    

 

Good-bye to Middle Earth

Kiwi Traffic jam: It's TOTAL gridlock out here!

What do you do after Milford Sound?

Pretty much anything you do after that has to be an anticlimax.  However, we soldiered on in the knowledge of inevitable disappointment.  And disappointment we found – we were disappointed in our surety of disappointment.  Does that sound convoluted?  All this touring around at the bottom of the world where the blood is constantly rushing to your head has probably done some damage to my already somewhat shaky intellect.

We hopped off the bus at Te Anau just outside of Fjordland National Park to spend the night before travelling to Dunedin.  We just had a brief stopover and decided that, rather than make our own breaky (which has been our habit up to now), we would have one of the famous venison pies made at the local pie shop.  We had been told that the meat pies in New Zealand were wonderful – but the person that told us that is a Kiwi and probably just homesick for comfort food. 

So, we decided to “bit the bullet”.  Since it was a venison pie a bullet was a possibility but we were hoping the term was metaphorical.

It was an interesting experience.  The meat pies were very large, very warm and very fresh.  I was expecting there to be something other than just venison in the pie.  You know – some peas or carrots or whatever.  In the pie were just large chunks of meat and a bit of gravy.  My stomach found that to be a somewhat unexpected breakfast and was not entirely sure how to deal with it.  After a bit though it settled in and decided it was a good thing.  Since then we have been periodically eating the local meat pies and spending some time after periodically checking our heart rates awaiting the inevitable myocardial infarction.  So far – so good.   I don’t want a cholesterol test done for a while - I know I will fail. 

Dunedin is the oldest city in New Zealand and is the furthest south that we went.  We noticed a definite difference in climate between the north end of south island and Dunedin.  It felt more like September back home than mid-summer – cooler and a bit crisp.  No one was wearing jackets but you could see them itching to put them on.  Since they are made from wool the itching bit is included at no extra charge.

Dunedin is famous for its architecture.  The buildings were certainly ornate but not enough to make one gasp in awe.  What we found interesting was the boat tour that took you out to see the albatross.  Dunedin has the only known albatross-nesting site that is on the mainland and is easily accessible.  Seeing the albatross gliding in against the wind with their three-meter wingspan was worth the trip.

Albatross!

From Dunedin to Christchurch.  It was a long and tedious bus ride.  The east side of the south island is fairly flat and more given over to agriculture than the west side.  That meant more sheep and more cattle.  Yawn.   The dairy industry in New Zealand is now the largest industry there – surpassing the sheep raising.  I guess the high tech fabrics have replaced wool as the textile of choice these days.  I did buy some Merino wool socks, though.  When you put them on it almost feels as if they have been pre-warmed.  But I know they are not THAT fresh.

Christchurch looked pretty good.

That is like saying to someone who is recovering from a horrible car accident that they look pretty good.  The earthquake did a lot of damage to property and people’s sense of security.  About fifty thousand people decided to move out of the city.  In spite of the inevitable bureaucratic nonsense that happens when government and insurance hacks try to figure out how to get out of paying the city is doing pretty well at putting itself back together.  Certainly the trade’s people are doing well by it.

Some of the damage caused by the earthquake in Christchurch

We took an “Alpine Safari” while we were in Christchurch.  That entailed heading into the mountains in a four-wheel drive, a jet-boat ride up the river and then a train ride back to Christchurch in the world-famous Transalpine Express. 

Thank goodness for Telen and her magic.  The four-wheel drive bit went up into the mountains and along barely discernible tracks on the edges of precipices.  Strangely I handled it well – although the fact that we were up in the clouds and the drop-offs simply dropped into the fog may have helped.  Going along a ridge that was about 10 cm wider than the truck and dropped off on both sides into the abyss did make me feel somewhat uncomfortable, though. 

The 4-wheel drive vehicle we climbed the mountains in

I know, I know – I said riding in a jet boat was puerile, juvenile, and senseless – but did I happen to mention that it is fun?  Part of the Safari included a jet-boat ride up the river.  The jet-boat was invented in New Zealand to navigate the very shallow rivers they have.  They only draw about 6 cm of water and they have no keel.  What this means is that they can zoom along on water that only comes up to your ankles.  I swear we were going to rip the bottom out of the boat a number of times and I know I felt rocks touching the bottom.  I mentioned this to the pilot but he just looked at me with psychotic eyes and did the maniac laugh.  I didn’t think I was going to get any satisfaction from him.

riding the jet boat

After the jet boat we ended up on the Transalpine Express train back to Christchurch.  This was supposed to be a spectacular train ride through the mountains.  It was more serene than breath taking.  It was enjoyable (especially because we had warm meat-pies) but not something to write home about – so I will say no more.

Telen and one of the deadly meat pies

We flew back to Auckland and from there we took the bus to the Bay of Islands.  The town of Puhia is where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed between the English and the Maori allowing the English to cheat the Maori out of their land.  The settlement across the bay, now known as Russell, was the first settlement in New Zealand and earned the name of “Hell Hole of the Pacific”.  It had been a hangout for whalers, seal hunters, escaped prisoners, smugglers, pirates and prostitutes.  Now it is just a slightly boring little town with a few quaint restaurants and souvenir shops.  I was quite disappointed when we went there and saw hardly any drunken brawls or shootings.  I guess I will have wait until I get to America for that – for the shootings anyway…

We took a bus up to Cape Rienga – the most northerly point in New Zealand.  The interesting thing about the bus ride is that it went along 90 Mile beach (which is actually 64 miles long).   I don’t mean on a road beside 90 Mile beach I mean ON 90 Mile beach.  Such a bizarre experience to ride along at 90 km/hour on a sand beach with the water lapping at the wheels of the bus and seagulls taking off from the beach in front of us to get out of the way. The driver stopped for us to take some pictures.     

That would probably best be described as “unfortunate”.

We came to halt and the bus sank in the sand up to the axles.  When I say bus I am not referring to an over sized van – this was a full sized Greyhound type bus full of people.  Needless to say we were not going to be able to push this thing out by brute force.  Brute force is something I am good at but, in spite of my Neanderthal tendencies, there was no way I was going to move that thing.  The tide was coming in.

Our attempts to pull the bus out of the sand

Every guy on the bus had some advice for the driver.  I am sure he took it all into account but chose not to go with it and we waited until two more busses showed up.  They attached the two busses to the front of our bus and tried to pull it out.  Interestingly enough the two new busses had their rear wheels in the ocean as they attempted to get our bus out.  After a number of tries during which one of the cables did a spectacular break they managed to get our bus onto relatively firm sand.

 Because the tide was now very close to the busses we high-tailed it along until we came to a river.  The busses all turned and we drove up the river.

 As weird as that sounds it actually happened.   To make matters stranger we stopped at the bottom of some huge sand dunes and the driver got out and started handing wake boards to everyone.  We all went sand boarding.  You have seen nothing weirder than some old granny in a pink cardigan and flowered dress riding down the sand dunes on a wake board and shrieking with delight.  I thought I had inadvertently wandered into the twilight zone.

Me Sandboarding

We made it to Cape Rienga albeit somewhat late.  We could see where the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean met.  It was a beautiful spot with unbelievably blue ocean and sky.  Again, you cannot explain it with words or show it with photos.  You gotta go there.

Telen at Cape Rienga. You can see the white-caps where the Tasman Sea meets the Pacific Ocean

The next day we took a cruise into the Bay of Island.  The point of the cruise was to take us through the “Hole in the Wall” which is sea cave on one of the islands.  We were underwhelmed by the whole experience.  However, to make up for it, some dolphins came for a visit followed shortly by about six little Blue Penguins. 

The little Blue Penguins

Then Telen and I had a guided walk on one of the islands given by a Maori man named Rua.  We did not learn so much about the island as about the Maori.  It was fascinating!

Telen and Rua

The trip to Cape Reinga and the cruise on the Bay of Islands was a great way to finish our stay in New Zealand.  I would prefer to call New Zealand by its Maori name Aotearoa – which means, “Land of the Long White Cloud”.  Aotearoa is a wonderful place with spectacular scenery and down-to-earth, unpretentious people who would take you into their own homes given the opportunity.  It is a place that has its problems – particularly between the Europeans and Maori – but nothing that is not resolvable.  We met many wonderful people and ate too many meat pies.  I don’t think I have ever been to a place where I felt more welcome.  Although New Zealand is not Tolkien’s Middle Earth – there are no Elves, Wizards, or Goblins, there is a kind of magic here.

Check this out:

Telen writes:

I am sad to have reached the end of our one-month tour of New Zealand.  The pace of life here seems more laid back and the people in general are very hospitable.  We have taken numerous coaches and shuttles during our tour.  Every single driver has been friendly and welcoming.  Each of the places we stayed at always offered us some complimentary delicious New Zealand milk to have with our tea. 

Such a welcoming gesture! Haere Mai!

The Maori people have achieved a much stronger economic progress than the aboriginals in Canada.  It was an inspiring experience to have a Maori captain and crew on our cruise in the Bay of Islands.

New Zealand is definitely a place worth returning to for more exploration.  The next trip would be to try some of the hiking trails scattered throughout the country. 

   

Stress inflation

A waterfall in Milford Sound

Remember that I said that life is less stressful in New Zealand?

Well, it is – but moderation in all things – even moderation.  I think Kiwis have reduced the stress too much in their lives.  In order to compensate for the lack of stress they jump off of things.  Here in Queenstown there is no shortage of places to jump off of extreme heights.  Bungee jumping was invented here.  However, you can also skydive, parasail, kite-surf, base-jump, canyon swing, and anything else that you can think of to pump out that adrenaline.  In our evolution as tree-dwelling primates we developed a very sensible fear of falling.  It was important for us to believe that if we fell out of our tree we would become part of the food chain either as prey or as carrion.

So the Kiwis have invented ways to allow us to laugh in the face of death and sneer at good judgment.  They get us to leap off of great heights to our certain death – then catch us at the last minute.  When we do this, and survive, we feel great.  Kind of like when we take our hands out of the fire – it feels so good when it stops.  The Kiwis are smart and make people pay for this experience.  Imagine that – paying huge amounts of money to give yourself a near-death experience and a trip to the laundromat.  I have read that the greatest fear people have is public speaking. Why not just have a stage and an audience and get people to pay to get up and make a speech?

No, this is NOT me.  I wonder how much he paid to do this.

Bungee jumping was invented in Queenstown.  We actually saw the site where it was first done.  They have since increased the options available to someone with an excess of bravery, cash and a shortage of intelligence.  It all comes down to how long you want to be in free-fall.  The higher the platform the longer you fall before the bungee cord starts to slow you down. It costs about $200.00 for a jump that leaves you in free-fall for about 2 seconds. You are plummeting at $100.00 per second. This fact is even more chilling than dropping to what your brain believes is a certain and painful death; dropping to a certain and painful bankruptcy.  To make it even more exciting you can do the jump while wearing a garbage can over your head or by leaning back in a chair until you fall off the platform.  That sounds too much like real life to me.

At my age there is a good reason for me to not bungee jump other than poverty and wisdom.  I reckon that when I get to the end of my rope all my flesh would slough off like an over-cooked chicken leg and just my bones would be left hanging and clicking in the breeze while an oily glob drifted down the river below. 

This is not an experience I am willing to pay for.

Queenstown advertises itself as the adrenalin capital of the world.  You can roar up narrow canyons on a jet boat barely missing the canyon walls if you wish.  When the jet boats get back to the jetty they come in at ludicrous speed and suddenly turn.  Since they have no keel they simply start spinning and skipping across the surface of the water.  A lot of people scream at this point.  I know I did - and I wasn’t even in the boat.  They can attach you to a parachute and drag you behind a boat such that you are essentially hanging in the air and trusting your survival to 20 square meters of Asian-made artificial fabric and a half-crazed immature Kiwi drunk on adrenalin.  You can take a gondola up to the top of the nearest mountain and they will attach you to half a parachute and let you leap off.  You can take a lift up a hill where they will place you inside an inflated rubber ball and roll you back down.  An exercise in futility, if you ask me.  All of these things and more are available to you here in Queenstown if you have the cash and not a lick of common sense.  When you are done here you will have no cash and, hopefully, somewhat more common sense.

Us?  We went to Milford Sound.

Does this look like something from Lord of the Rings?

Milford Sound is in Fjordland National Park on the west coast of New Zealand.  It is mis-named in a few ways.  It is, in fact a fjord.  A “sound” is an inlet carved out by a river and then backfilled with ocean as the sea rises.  A “fjord” is an inlet carved out by a glacier and backfilled with ocean as the ice melts and the sea levels rise.  One is created by gradual erosion by the river and the other is created by brute force as the ice smashes its way through the rock.  Sort of like poetry vs. prose or Canada vs. the US.  Negotiation vs. War…   that sort of thing.

The other way it is miss-named is calling it Milford.  That is like renaming Gandalf the Wizard to Miles the Magician.  New Zealand does tend to do that – they have some of the most lackluster names for their cities:  Hamilton, Wellington, Nelson.

Along the way to Milford Sound we stopped at some of the areas where the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit were filmed.  There is no evidence of there ever being a film crew there but the bus driver was still muttering under his breath about all the delays they caused.  It makes me want to watch the movies again to see if I can identify some of the sites.  In Queenstown our accommodation was almost at the base of the Mountains of Mordor. Telen thought she heard a gravelly voice muttering about something “precious” during the night.  It gave her a bit of fright but I explained to her that I was just trying to murmur sweet endearments to her.  Ok, so I have a cold… but that was no excuse for trying to stab me with an enchanted Swiss Army Knife. Actually the mountain range is called the “Remarkables” but it doubled as Mordor for the movie.  

The Mountains of Mordor aka "the Remarkables"

 Milford Sound is nothing short of spectacular.

A fjord, generally, is a body of water (NOT a poorly make Norwegian automobile!) that has mountains that go almost straight up on either side.  Milford does that.  In spades!  Although the mountains are nowhere near as high as the mountains in BC they are breathtaking.  They are essentially enormous cliffs that drop straight down into the gorge of Milford Sound.  Since it rains 2 days out of 3 on this particular part of the coast (they get 3 meters of rain a year) there are myriad waterfalls tumbling down those cliffs.  The trees of this area have figured out how to hang on to those cliffs so they are covered in vegetation.  One can go on and on trying to explain how awe-inspiring Milford Sound is without being able to get it across.  Photos cannot do it justice.  When I look at the photos I took of Milford Sound I am blown away by how they have been completely unable to capture it.  There is no way to convey the grandeur of Milford Sound using words or pictures. 

You just gotta go there!

A waterfall into Milford Sound.  Notice the ship at the base of the cliffs?

We cruised out to the Tasman Sea through Milford Sound.  I got a terrible crick in my neck from looking up at the mountains.  Some of them, literally, leaned out over the water.  Since this area has a penchant for landslides this made me distinctly nervous.  I was reassured that the mountains were solid granite and if they fell on me I would not feel a thing.

The weather coming into Milford Sound from the Tasman Sea

I was hoping to see wildlife in Milford Sound.  The brochures talked about seals, dolphins and weird exotic birds.  We saw some gulls and a few seals. We can see those at home any day of the week.  Apparently the Sound is so deep that there is nothing to eat there so the birds and dolphins only come in for a visit once in a while and apparently they were not feeling sociable that day.  How mercenary can you get?  They won’t come to visit unless it’s for dinner. 

Makes you wonder how genuine their friendship is…

It was a bit breezy that day...