Given the region's position on one of the most volatile confluences of tectonic plates on the planet, it seems strange that the city's most obvious and striking building is the needle-like, 328m tall Sky Tower. The tallest man-made structure in New Zealand, it defines the skyline and, from it, I gained amazing views of the city and its surrounding. That was until the cloud and torrential rain engulfed the viewing platform. However (cup half empty moment), this concrete and glass spindle looks like it would topple in a high wind, let alone what might happen if an earthquake on the scale of Christchurch happened here.
Even so, whilst the ascent is via a glass floored elevator, some people who go up the tower choose the 'express' route back to street level. That is, they jump off the top! No, Kiwis aren't distant relatively of the lemming. It appears that a large slice of New Zealand's tourist industry is predicated upon the stimulation of adrenalin. If it's high, you jump off it. If it's fast flowing, you jump in it and, if it's wide you swing across it.
I was conscious that I was now on the last major leg of my tour and that, in five weeks time, I'd be heading for home. I still had many experiences that I wanted to achieve and I had people that I wanted to visit. Leaving Auckland, my plan was to head east and the south towards Wellington for the first 8 or 10 days. Cross to the south island and tour there for about 3.5 weeks and the return to the north and Auckland to meet my flight home.
As with Oz, I acquired a 'Mighty' campervan. In fact exactly the same model, layout, etc. just a bit older. I met my friend Mo, her daughter and grand daughter in auckland. They kindly drove me to the van rental centre and Mo and I continued on to Tauranga, where she lives along with her other daughter and her family. This gave me time to acclimatise as New Zealand is very different from Australia. One tends to 'lump' the two together if you live in Northern Europe, but the reality is quite the reverse. Yes there are many similarities, mainly in the people - friendly, hospitable, etc., but the landscape and, more especially, the flora and fauna are miles apart - literally and metaphorically.
An Australian that I met in SE Asia, told me that one way to spot the difference between a Kiwi and an Ozzie was vowel sounds. He was right. In Australia (generally speaking) vowel sounds are as we might expect to hear them, albeit a little 'over' pronounced. At some point in New Zealand's etymological history, someone must have taken a scrabble set of vowels, found a similar set of vowel sound, put them in a box and shaken them up. Then picked one of each at random to match together.
So, for example, an 'e' is pronounce as we would an 'i', an 'i' as a 'u' and so on. Just to make it more exciting, this isn't a particularly consistent rule as it often depends upon surrounding consonants and, on some occasions, the vowel sound is omitted entirely. This last state was responsible for the failure of my favourite non-rude joke:
Man in pub: Year frum Ungland? Sweet as! Tull us a joke thiin.
Me: Ok. What do you call a fish without an eye?
Mip: duuno, tull us?
Me: a fsh.
[pause]
Mip: so, the syme! No difference! No much of a joke uf y'ask my.
In a similar vein, discussing this with my friends Nick and Sian, who have been living in Christchurch for a few years now, Nick recounted the difficulties he had when he first arrived in the country. A conversation with a new colleague went something like this:
Colleague: so you're the new guy, Nuck!
Nick: Yes, but the name's Nick.
C: Usn't thet wut I sod? Nuck?
N: no, you pronounced it Nuck not Nick.
C: Nnnnuck. Nnnnuck. Surry, I'm nut gutting it.
[Nick places his right index at a point about 3 inches below his ear]
N: what would you call this?
C: That's yer nick.
N: And that's my name.
C: You pommes have sam bluddy stroinge names!
Nick and Sian moved to Christchurch shortly before the first of the two major earthquakes to hit the city in September 2010. They were living in an apartment block on the edge of the city centre and, when the second quake hit on the 22nd February the following year, lost their home and most of their belonging. Visiting the city, for me, was a strange mix of emotions. It was wonderful to see them both, find them in good spirits and to spend time with them. However, it was sad to see the effects of the event. As I was shown around the city, certain phrases became stark and disconcertingly repetitive.
'That was where [such and such] building used to be’
'This was the building that featured in the news broadcast about...'
'Here is what is left of...'
The city centre is dotted with shipping containers. Many are stacked, like giant Lego bricks, in front of remnant facades of buildings, either to hold them up, or so that, if they do collapse before they are demolished, the rubble won't go too far. Some, in testament to the resourceful nature of the people, have been placed as make-shift shops and cafes, especially in what is left of Cashel Street - previously the retail heart of the city.
I spent a lovely long weekend with Nick and Sian, along with Sian's cousin Kerri. Both Kerri and I wanted to experience swimming with dolphins, which turned out to be a magnificent experience. On the drive out to Akaroa, where we were to do the swim, we passed through a town called Hornby. We had to stop here, briefly, as the level crossing that traversed the main highway, had been closed to allow for a passing train. Unfortunately this took an inordinately long time to complete, not because New Zealand trains are particularly long, but, being 'N' gauge, the locomotive continually jumped the tracks. This required the Controller, a wizened old gentleman with heavy glasses and a short grey beard, to amble from the signal box, lift the loco and examine the underside, remove the cigarette from his mouth so that he might blow away any dust and replace it carefully upon its rails. Then, shuffling back to the signal box, he would set the train, once more, in motion. Only to have to repeat the exercise again after the train had gone no more than a couple of feet!
I drove some 7000k around the north and south islands and found new and exciting scenery at almost every turn. I understand why some refer to the country as Godzone. I often thought about how I would describe what I was seeing to people at home. Geographically, there are many similarities with the UK and norther Europe, though it is as if the landscape is younger and condensed. If you could imaging the Yorkshire Dales with sharpe peaks and razor like ridges not yet ground down into that familiar rolling landscape. The edges of Exmoor, wild but dotted with livestock, a uniform lush green, with water carved valleys precipitously steep, where roads cling to and wind around the narrow tops. If you took a piece of green paper and scrunched it up really hard, then opened it out again without flattening it down, that might give an idea of the fresh, sharp-edged newness of the countryside. In amongst all of this will rise the occasional and seemingly random mountain. Often the result of a volcanic eruption thousands of years ago, you are never far from a reminder of the volatile and fragile nature of this land.
Then there is the south west, the Southern Alpes and Fjordland. Go look it up, google it. Superlatives escape me. This breath-taking part of the country inspired me so much that I took a flight above the highest peak, Mount Cook, and threw myself out of the plane in order to better enjoy the views!
Special thanks as well must go to Phil & Sue in Tauranga and Steve in Wellington for showing me some great hospitality on the Kiwi leg of my trip. I hope no one takes offence at my tale of the linguistic challenges of travelling Godzone. There was a fair bit of 'tongue in cheek' and, in any case, who am I to speak, coming from 'arlow in h'Essex where 'urricane 'ardly ever get an 'H' pronounced at the beginning.
One last tale, though, that nearly landed me in seriously bad trouble. I had stopped at a small town shop - known as a dairy here. Being a fairly basic place, much of the produce was on shelves behind the counter, a bit like home 40 years ago. Having bought most of what I need, I remembered that I had planned on cooking an omelette for my dinner. Seeing 'fresh eggs' on the shelf behind the 'quite attractive' woman serving me, I asked for some. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Oh! And could I have half a dozen eggs, please.
Woman: Sex?
[pause. I didn't even know one could determine the sex of an egg!!]
Me: Erm! Three of each?
Woman: No, I wuz just asking if you wanted sex!
[Whoow now! Steady tiger!]
Me: Have you ever been to Shanghai?
Goodbye from New Zealand and see you soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment