Southern Cross: Doin' it big in Sydney

This last weekend is bitter-sweet. We are all together. Lunch in a courtyard restaurant, dinner overlooking Sydney Harbor, its Bridge and Opera House, an evening's entertainment at the Opera House: Shakespeare's "As You Like It"; Sunday, more dinning and talking, then onto the Cricket pitch for a 9 hour cricket match between India and Australia. 

Roxie's morning walk is extended to a brewed coffee run: two coffee late', one tall long black. Scones do not exist, a variety of doughy heavy morning pastries exist, just not something in between French light and airy, and heavy hockey puck. Phone calls between Andrew and Leah, Andrew in the midst of working on Saturday. We will meet for dinner, overlooking Sydney Harbor: reservations for 5:30, enough time for a leisurely meal, and a quick walk to the Opera House. 

The last night in Sydney, the Australian Company will tour other cities. Their diction and presentation are mostly understandable, and, probably for the first time in my life, I can get the gist of the story; not the first time I had heard it, just the first time I understood it. An early wrap to a late Saturday evening, we head back to Newtown; waiting in line to purchase train tickets, provided an uncomfortable experience of a bare-chested loud out of control young man and a pleading girlfriend. After obtaining train tickets, they were not taken as we entered the train styles, nor needed to exit when we reached Newtown as the exit doors were all wide open.

Sunday, after a late morning Roxie and coffee walk, met Andrew, caught a few brews, we bussed to the cricket pitch. From early afternoon until after 10:30 PM, we bake in the sun, drank beer, ate what we brought in our picnic basket, and watched cricket.  We were treated to a streaker, who made world wide news clips, although he ran straight towards us, I didn't have our camera poised at ready; hence, no pics. We were also treated to an exhibition of the "best batsman" in the sport. Indeed, a remarkable performance. Single-hand edly, he won the game for India.

My knees aching, I waddled down the stadium stairs, and we began our walk to find a ride home. Since the game was in doubt until the very last, a nearly full stadium emptied out altogether. Long lines awaited buses. Might there be a cab available some place? The cab lines were long and snaking into the night air. Dad charged into the street and hailed an empty cab. We pile in, the cabbie is animated and cricket involved. Andrew got out part way through our trip home. We said our goodbyes to him, as if we were going to see him in the morning, but of course we wouldn't.

Monday afternoon, we will leave after walking Roxie, packing and rearranging clothes and presents, grabbing a cab to the airport. On the 747-400, we are seated at the "back of the bus". Push off, lumbering down the runway, we are airborne. Into the afternoon light we settle in: drinks, dinner, movie. I am looking out the window. First there is wave chop on the Tasman Sea. As we rise higher, the cloudless sky fades in light, we headed East, the sun racing West. Now it is night. The stars are brilliant, and there, there out my window, is the Southern Cross.

Southern Cross: Hunter Valley

As night turns into day, through the morning stillness, I awaken to the rumble of the distant train. Time to get up. Leah has Roxie on a leash and is already going out the front door for their walk. Kathy says, "one more minute..." ala Marcus's plea prior to doing what he knows comes next, and he doesn't want to do.

We are off to our overnight trip to Hunter Valley, on a wine country tour. The first step is out the door. The next and following steps are to the Newtown train station and our ride to Circular Quay. There we will pick up our two hour bus ride to Hunter Valley. Our tour ticket has Hunter Gardens as our first stop. Drop off at 11 AM and pick up at 4:30 PM. Rain and drizzle, rain and drizzle all day long. "The gardens are past their bloom. You should have been here in October and November. The roses were all out... It was really pouring rain just a minute ago..." so said the ticket taker at the entrance. There is nobody else around.  After a brief tour of the garden center sales area, a slack in the rain fall, we head out to see whatever there is to see. This is a time for a positive attitude.

On over 65 acres is one garden after another, tied together by trails and cupola rest areas, waterfalls, bridges: formal, rose, Japanese, and many other carefully manicured complete gardens beautifully leading to the next and the next. 

Storybook garden has life sized figures, clustered together, along with its book chapter reading. The statuary and theme setting, depicting stories from English moralistic and politically motivated nursery tales. This journey through the Storybook garden reminded me of a time during English monarchy rule, between the time of the Magna Carter and late 19th Century, when speech was not free, one could not directly criticize the crown, noblemen, church bishops and church hierarchy. Only through allegory, nursery tales, did one dare to challenge authority. "Humpty dumpty sat on a wall... Mary Mary quite contrary... Wee Little Winkee in his night gown..." Nursery rhymes were one vehicle of political expression. And so we told these nursery rhymes to our children, one generation after another, loosing much meaning during the reiteration.

Our tale of Hunter Gardens, down pour and all, blossom beauty long past, low clouds hiding this Valley's gentle rolling nature, is worth seeing, is worth traveling by bus from Sydney to see. These Gardens opened my mind to the many possibilities of  shaping the soil and shrubs and flowers into an expression of one's self, one's tradition, one's sense of perspective.

The wine country tour the next day was pleasant, sunny and mild. We continue to learn at most every stop, about grapes, and soil, and wine making. Interspersed were stories of families and heritage, hardship and triumph. We saw yet another dimension of Australian life.

The bus trip back to Sydney was again, uneventful, yet, informative about the topography of Australia's Eastern coast, the haphazardly derived and jumble of streets that lead into Australia's largest city, and the everyday business of people in this part of the world.

Leah awaits our return.

Southern Cross: Out and About in Sydney

I have my ship and all her flags are flyin'.  The "sails' of the Sydney Opera House dominate  the landscape as the Sydeny Harbor Bridge dominates the Harbor.  We see both from many perspectives as we bus tour. 

First we got the Red Bus for the Red tour covering the city and environs. Leah got us to Circular Quay as our jumping on/off point. Historical sites, first prisoner's then colonists land at the Rocks. Mid-19th Century and early 20th Century immigrants come from the UK Scotland, Ireland to begin a new life. Prisoner's are let out to the colonists to work, prisoners cut the stone to make government buildings, buildings being laid out according to a plan, frequently changed, but all construction and names baring the resemblance of the mother country. Swampy land is filled in to make dockage and so the town becomes a city.

The Red tour takes us to the Central Business District (abbreviated and referred to as CBD). There is a "China town" complete with signage and newspapers. The old wharf district is being rehabilitated into toney "lofts."

 
The Red tour had just returned to Circular Quay when the Blue tour was about to depart. Our one day ticket allowed both tours. The Blue tour heads to the outer environs, where the very wealthy live and there are multiple beach areas along the coast.  Pictures were taken of the harbor from some stopping points, vantage points, sharing wealthy houses' vistas. The tour for this part felt more like touring Hollywood and the "Star's" house tours.  Daily, there are buses every half hour, stopping, dropping tourists off, picture taking, getting back onto the bus and 25 minutes later, another bus, occupants repeating the same ritual. Bondi beach and others are semi crescent in shape, sandy, and bordered on both sides with large rock outcroppings. There are some people on the beach. I did not see any swimmers. I also did not see any "Stinger suits" being worn. Leah said that several of the beaches had jellyfish nets providing "protected" swimming. 

There are vistas, perched high on the seaside hills, with a view South and the open water towards Tasmania.

Our Blue Bus stopped two blocks from Circular Quay, the end of the tour, to change drivers. It seems that our driver for 95% of the tour was due a lunch break; so this was the spot to stop and change drivers. Mind you, when our 95% driver changed drivers at the start of the tour, it was at the Circular Quay. Hmmmm. I guess this was all in accordance with the "work rules." Leah acknowledged, and it was quite visible to me, that work rules are to limit a person's work. 

I saw something else regarding work rules. Near Leah's house, the utility company was changing a utility pole. There were 4 trucks and 13 men. One man was up on the pole working amongst the power lines, the other 12 were watching him, they eating pastry and drinking coffee/tea.  Leah thought the men on the ground were on their scheduled 1/2 hour morning break. I wondered why the man up on the pole was still working while the 12 others were on break. In another example of how work rules visibly effect the work people do, I also saw a road crew patching pot holes with repair asphalt. There were 5 men: one sitting in the cab of the truck, one supervisor in his fluorescent vest, two leaning on their long-handled shoves, and one person shoveling repair asphalt from the truck's flatbed, dumping a shovelful into the pothole, tapping it down, then going back to the truck for more asphalt to patch another pot hole.

Leah says she is glad that the men have a job and can feed their families. She may be right. Sydney is eminently livable, and most things get done that need to be done.

Southern Cross: Right Hand Motor Vehicles

Before leaving the Whitsundays, there needs to be a word about an incident with an explanation. 

As we all know, the Australians drive on the wrong side of the road, as do the Brits, Japanese, New Zealanders, South Africans and Hong Kong-ese. To accommodate this wrong headed driving, the Australian driver's license acquisition process is multi-step requiring years of supervision, solitary driving, and finally able to take others for a ride. The US and the rest of the world do not have such an elaborate process since left handed driving comes so naturally. 

My first encounter with right handed driving and roadways came in Scotland, going to the Firth of Fourth and Ben Lomen in the early 1980's. Everything went as planned.

In the Whitsunday's, we rented a car to drive around and see the area. As I have knee problems, to get into the car we rented, I needed to move the driver's seat as far back as possible. After being seated, adjusting the mirrors to be sure I did not have a blind spot behind me, Kathy got in fully confident regarding my driving abilities which I assured her were flawless. I neglected to realize that with the seat so far back, the hood of the car disappeared from my view so that I could not judge the width of the car; hence, I could not see the front of the left side. When I carefully drove from the parking space within the courtyard of our hotel, I did not turn sufficiently and I nudged the blue ceramic flower pot and tree within, cracking it into multiple pieces. Kathy mentioned to me that I was about to hit the flowerpot she could plainly see, but it was too late, the deed was done. I have received some grief from her off and on since that time and it seems that the incident is a favorite of hers, mentioning it quite indiscriminately I believe. Possibly either with the incident in mind or my own trepidations, when Kathy wanted to drive on the road back from Dingo Beach, remember the narrow windy gravel roads, to see what right hand driving was like, I returned the favor of giving her grief.

Anyways, upon our return, I told the hotel booking people about the flowerpot. The following day, I told the owner of the hotel about my encounters with the flowerpot, and both people said: "no worries mate." However, on the day we were to leave, there was a knock on the door, and the cleaning woman said that we had some business to take care of before we left. The business, was to pay for the flowerpot; half of its retail value: $45.00, which I did.

So, the moral of the story for me was, not only do Australians drive on the wrong side of the street, but they build their cars to do so.  One has to accommodate to both the rules of the road as well as the cars made for those rules. Lesson learned.

Southern Cross: Whitsundays

Sailing a reach before a followin' sea, she was makin' for the trades on the outside and a down hill run to Papeete Bay. Off the wind on this heading, lie the Marquesas. We got eighty feet of waterline, nicely making way.

Leah, Kathy and I set sail, figuratively, for the Whitsundays, in spite of warnings of bad weather, last minute changes, and trepidation about becoming seasick.

The week before we were to sail and snorkel on the Great Barrier Reef, the mariner's adage "beware the lee shore" proved as true today as in the days of olde. Gale force winds 60 knots instead of the 25 knots forecasted blew and the seas whipped high, wrenching boats from their moorings and onto the rocks of the lee shore. The day we were to fly to Proserpidine, the single asphalt paved runway airport in this 73 island National Park, the company for the "Old Pearl" called to say that others in the group to sail with us canceled and it was no longer economically worth their while to go out for our 3 days and 3 nights. Quick calls by Leah to Trevor, her booking agent, and we got 3 days and 2 nights on "Waltzing Matilda", announced as we were boarding our plane to the Whitsundays. The sudden change in plans was not unexpected since Leah was told that many areas of Queensland were disaster areas. Roads were awash with swollen rivers.

Captain Cook named the various capes, coves, islands and rivers according to the days of the week and a selected crew member: Whit and Sunday. The Whitsundays National Park is located between the Tropic of Capricorn and the Equator; similar in the Southern latitudes as the Caribbean Islands are in the Northern latitudes. 

This region of Queensland's economy is tourist, sugar cane and Brahma bulls dominating the agribusiness. A narrow gauge railroad courses through the country side: the "cane train." The major "National Road 1" north from Brisbane is of a two lane, no shoulder,  country variety. As we were riding from the airport to our nearly deserted sea side hotel in Airlie Beach, we crossed many bridges with upright graduated meter sticks on either side, giving drivers an idea how deep was the water before making a decision to cross the water flowing over the bridge. We saw snorkel equipped SUV's and trucks throughout our Queensland travels. Disaster for some, a common occurrence to all, flooding with sudden and heavy rain fall was to be coped with, endured, eventually, overcome. This of course is not without peril. The week before, a Range Rover was swept off the bridge and the driver drowned. The day before we arrived, the roads and bridges we were traveling had been flooded.

We brought five days of sunshine with us; one day of 20 knot winds to drive our 40 ton sailing craft at seven knots/hour; cloudy particle laden waters from the land run off  made reef and coral viewing poor; the dazzling white pure quartz beach of Whitehaven Beach was littered with forest, and cane field debris. 

We boarded Waltzing Matilda, hoisting main sail and mizzen, unfurling the jib,  and headed for the gap between Hook Island and Whitsunday Island. Our ship's company was energetic and fun, hailing from the UK, Netherlands, France, North and South Ireland, USA. Two sets of honeymooners were aboard. The cook, deck hand, entertainment cruise director was named Paul. Wayne the skipper had been at this trade for several decades. When in the water, whether from the beach or boat, we all wore Lycra "stinger suits". Jellyfish, the kind most dangerous, in coastal waters year around, the ones causing heart attacks, terrible food poisoning symptoms, are only 2 inches in diameter, are a clear blueish hue, and you could only spot them when they were less than 4 inches away from your face mask. We traveled to many locations where fringe coral grew in the sunlight; coral that had attached itself to the sunny side of the rocks and formed their colonies. The variety of coral in the fringe reefs was the same variety as on the Great Barrier Reef.

As one of the goals for this excursion to "down under" was viewing the Southern Cross constellation. Trying to identify it in a sky scape with which I am unfamiliar, took some time. The Southern Cross is completely visible in the Southern Hemisphere after 34 degrees South, low in the Southern sky and to the East. The stars that make up the constellation, three are bright blue white, one brilliant being a double star, the top of the cross is a red giant star, and there are several faint stars. So, when you are viewing the Southern Cross for the first time, what you many be seeing, you may not recognize. The ship's lights and city lights tend to obscure the faint stars and, if the cross is cockeyed in the sky, it is really hard to imagine a cross from what you are seeing. On our first night aboard Waltzing Matilda, anchored at full tide and therefore no rocking or rolling of the boat before the flood tide switched to ebb tide, a still night, a full moon rising, I asked our skipper to point out the Southern Cross. I saw it, kind of. With my binoculars, I saw the giant red star, and then the faint ones. Finally, I could concentrate on which stars to see, and then, I could see the Southern Cross for the first time. Two goals met: Leah on deck and the Southern Cross.

The ship's company spent most of the daylight hours topsides since below deck, there was little ventilation, and the heat of day and cook stove permeated below decks. At night, sleeping on deck was next to impossible since the night "dew" soaked the decks, anything and anyone not under the Bimini top. Sleeping on the cabin top subjected you to the starboard to port roll from the tides change from flood to ebb, threatening to pitch one off the boat, or at least crashing you down onto the side decks and against the steel stanchions holding the lifelines. So, below decks we sweltered, fitfully, and nearly naked, we slept, 16 of us.

The water temperature was warm and refreshing. Relief from baking in the sun was instant.  The water color was a greenish blue, sharp demarcations between the tidal currents and ocean.  More flying fish and dolphins. The vistas were spectacular: extinct volcanoes with steep walls and scraggly shrub coverings jutted from the sea. These volcanoes reflected an earlier earth's time when the seas were lower during an ice age. Global warming, begun 5,000 years ago, melted glaciers that flooded the plains that once connected islands, they appearing as if irregularly plucked down upon the seascape. We are on the Western side of the Rim of Fire, New Zealand represents the Eastern side. Tectonic plate movement below the earth's crust, dictates what we see on the surface. 

The Whitsunday tourist destinations are the beaches of the mainland and islands, a launch point for snorkeling and scuba diving the Great Barrier Reef plus the sailing in relatively protected waters. (Hence, quite a shock when the Beaufort scale 11 storm came through causing so much destruction to boaters). The most Northern portion of the Whitsundays is Queens Beach in Bowden Queensland. Leah had left for Sydney the previous day. Kathy and I rented a car to drive to the Northern tip of the Whitsundays. The picture is of Kathy standing on the most Northern portion of Queens Beach near the outlet of a tidal river. A look South, there is 5 kilometers of deserted beach, a small portion of which is developed close to the town. The road along the beach has park on the sea side and individual houses on the other.  Jutting out into the sea, are large rock outcropping makes little bays, picturesque, photogenic, all with the now common vinegar bottle hung in a prominent beach side location to be used as emergency jellyfish stinger first aide. We drove into Bowden and onto Flagstaff point, another elevated rock outcropping, with its 360 degree view of the harbors, shores, wharfs and sea islands. The lookout had a restaurant where our Seafood lunch for $29 for one person was tasty although Kathy could have done without the Prawns coming with head and tail, eyes looking at her. The presentation was otherwise excellent as were most meals in Australia, accompanied by a mixed greens salad and simple dressing.

From Bowden we retraced our route along National Highway 1, turning again for the coast towards Dingo Beach, an even narrower windier road, major portions of which were gravel, no bridges but "water ways", meaning concrete dips in the road where the creek water flowed over the road instead of under it, and this time two meter graduated markers. I wondered what kind of vehicle would try crossing a raging torrent 6 feet deep. I hadn't seen any such vehicle so far. We were told by the Budget Car rental lady that there was nothing at Dingo Beach. She was not really correct. There is nothing worth while driving the 27 kilometers one way to Dingo Beach for is more accurate. Once there though, we took in the sights: a long sandy deserted beach; a single outrigger sailing canoe; scattered dwellings all in various states of disrepair; a bar restaurant variety store "pokies" combination, but no fuel.

Our return to Airlie Beach and hotel was uneventful, fortunately, as I didn't relish trying to ford a creek  after a flash flood. After a day's driving, beach walking, rock hiking, Kathy and I were ready for  a convenient meal, something from across the street from our hotel. We sat outside at BV's Seafood and Grill, what appeared as a fast food style place. The special was red snapper, asparagus, chips and salad. What was delivered was a perfectly scrumptious meal, relaxed atmosphere, and a nice selection of Australian wines. What a great experience. We went to bed, awaken late the next morning and hung out at the "Lagoon", a multi-depth pool with adjoining "kiddies" section, a bridge, plus being life guarded. Very attractive in layout, warm water, and not crowded. A good place to while away the day. The following day, Wednesday, was spent in preparation for our departure from the Whitsundays to rejoin Leah in Sydney.

Southern Cross: Sydney AU Arrival

When you see the Southern Cross for the first time you understand now why you came this way. And so I came to see Leah, here in Sydney Australia, half way around the world both longitudinally and by latitude. Our ship entered Sydney harbor in early morning darkness, the "sails" of the Opera House contrasting white; the Sydney Harbor Bridge illuminated by linear blue and white lights as we sailed underneath. Darkness melted away into light as we docked in Darlington Harbor. After our last aboard meal at the Lido deck buffet, Kathy and I waited in our cabin, expectantly awaiting our "Red # 2" to be called. Finally, after numbered 1 through 4 black, white, blue, yellow, red #1, then our turn. Baggage already ashore waiting. A short walk along Main deck #5, gangway to shore and voila, we are landed! Once on terra ferma, we call Leah. She is a short train ride away, coming our way. Time passes as Circular Quay and Quay #8 are once believed to be one, but were not. More phone calls back and forth. At last, "Hi Kathy, Hi Dad!" Hugs and prolonged embrace. For a taxi, we get in a line snaking half-way around the building. Luggage loaded we taxied down one-way tree lined alleys wide enough for horse and carriage amongst one and two story houses abutting one another.  

153 Union Street is iron gated and rises 5 uneven steps to a concrete porch, windows and doors iron barred. Double doors open to a "shotgun" house: a side hall leads to: bedroom, bedroom, kitchen, living room, bath and laundry room, opening out to a backyard and a no longer functioning brick outhouse. In the backyard, I could see the tin and tile roofs of surrounding houses plus the many character chimney tops reminiscent of those I saw on our train ride out of London England. 

Roxie greeted us, a mixed golden retriever with a embracing personality, friendly, pettable right from the start; all good omens. More phone calls, this time to Andrew: we will meet him in the "Rocks". And so our adventure with Leah in Australia begins.

This is Saturday, there is a street fair in the Rocks, the oldest part of Sydney. In the beginning, 7 ships from England landed with its cargo of prisoners who had endured 8 months below decks. Today, trinkets and goodies, some hand made, others from China overflow stall counters. The cover is to protect us from the sun and its high UV index. Tomorrow, Sunday, the stalls and cover will be gone. I follow Leah's and Kathy's trail as they browse, they chatting with one another about how this would look; wouldn't that look good on....; I really need to have this, "how much for this?" Having coursed the outside stalls, we plunge into the jostle of the center concourse on our return. We are to meet Andrew at the entrance of the fair, essentially, from which we began. As I dawdle behind, I listen to people speak, their accents, a mixture of native speakers, tourists from cruise boats, and truly foreign language speakers, all murmuring and gesturing  with similar intent and involvement as my two companions. 
Andrew spots Leah, and finally we meet him. "It is very nice to meet you, Leah has told us about you." A blond haired blue-eyed man, a firm handshake, bit of an Aussie accent, direct conversation, and a fast paced walk.

We stand for picture taking in front of the memorial to the early colonists who were to build a city and eventually a nation in this parched land, to include convict labor. Nobody had it easy, nor was any of this "free."

Our next agenda would be lunch and beer; a walk along Circular Quay, hub of ferries traveling throughout Sydney Harbor, the "Majestic" cruise boat that we had chased around Milford Sound NZ and lost sight of in the fog and diverging courses. To the West, is the Sydney Opera House complex where we will see Shakespeare's "As You Like It" upon our return from the Hunter Valley later on in our stay. Past the Opera House are the Botanical Gardens and our destination at the Domain, an open air short film festival. Our walk through the Botanical Gardens is a prelude to Kathy and my tour of the Hunter Valley Gardens. We laid out our ground cloth in a shady part of the grass. There were already thousands of people spread out on the grass and more coming; maybe 50 or 60 thousand eventually. Thirteen 7 minute short films began at dusk and took us into the chill of the evening, intermittently punctuated by the winged Foxbats migrating to their evening roost. It seems that they are pests now, having grown in large numbers and, by their weight, breaking tree branches in the Park.

The postscript to the films was our walk, through London based named parks, Hyde Park,  and surrounding Churches, to the trains for our ride back to Newtown. A CD of the films was enclosed with the Sunday morning Sydney Times. Andrew got a paper and its CD for us, which we can share. So ended our first day in Sydney; many memories created, snapshots of which enter my thoughts now as well as the emotions of arrival. I am here at last. 

Southern Cross

Got out of town on a boat goin' to the southern islands. So begins my quest for a view of the constellation Southern Cross after hearing the song by Crosby, Stills and Nash.

 

Barely escaping a trip altering snow storm in East Lansing, our three days in San Francisco were uneventful until the day we left for LAX and our flight to Auckland to board the MS Statendam. Rain storms, high winds delayed our SFO takeoff by 4 hours so that as we were landing at LAX, our Quantas flight was heading down an opposite runway sans 30 scheduled passengers including Kathy and myself. A very unhelpful ground staff introduced us to the notion that "service is not our priority" encountered throughout the rest of the 4 week trip. However, Dutch ship service is exemplary good. After a scramble through two international airports (Los Angeles and Melbourne AU), last minute boarding from "standby" status, we made our ship's berth in Auckland NZ having to coax our cabbie to drive to the correct wharf in spite of his protests that the object I was looking at was indeed the MS Statendam and not the Hilton Hotel that somewhat resembled a boat. Cabbie did not want to enter a gated wharf area because it would cost him money to leave after dropping us off, although he was certain that we were in the wrong place and he didn't know where cruise ships landed except the harbour excursion ships that he initially drove us to and that was all he knew about. Boarding at 8:30 PM without luggage, for a gangway removal at 11:29 and undocking at 11:59PM, we made our way to our upgraded cabin (from the most forward bow cabin on deck 4, to 2/3's way aft on deck 5). Arrangements with the Purser's office had our clothes cleaned every night, a tux for me and evening attire for Kathy all free of charge. We left NZ's largest city (1 million) to see the country's remaining population of 3 million spread out over North and South Islands.

Our journey along the North Island's East coast began with calm weather through the night and into most of the next day. We saw White Island, the most active volcano in the Southern Hemisphere. As we approached the island, flying fish made long excursions on both sides of the bow. Dolphins in two pods streaked across our ship's bow moments later. The volcano cauldron spewed puffs of sulfuric acid smoke. We stopped for photo op, turned around, heading for Turanga, our first port of call. The subsequent weather came from the North East at gale force, force 10 on the Beaufort scale, 50 knot winds generating 30 foot seas. The next morning I went on deck 6 to do my walk, the waves were bashing the lifeboats stationed on deck 7 above me. At moments, deck 6 was awash. There must be a camera trained on deck 6 since immediately as I stepped onto the deck in the semi protective area of the stern, there was an announcement on the ship's public address system that no one should be on any outside deck. What was being said seemed reasonable so I wrestled the door open and scrambled back inside. The day and night were spent holding onto handrails as we lurched fore and aft, rolled starboard and port as well as braced ourselves from the heeling boat, and made our way around the ship. I saw no women in high heel shoes going to dinner, apparently finding the captain's recommendation against high heel wearing, also reasonable.

Turunga was our introduction into the Maori hunting and gathering culture that came first to the North Island of NZ 300 to 400 years ago: meeting elders in the Maori Meeting House, and dining with Maori families for lunch. We learned of their island hopping trips across oceans; sailing  canoes lashed together to make the ocean journeys; hollowing out giant trees to make multi-person war canoes; hierarchical social structure and tribal elder rule making. At a Maori school, Maori culture was brought to us in song and dance; telling tales of clashes with other tribes, conquest, subjugation, and subsequent expulsion from hunting grounds. Emphasis was placed upon the rituals when tribes encounter other tribes. Warriors would confront the approaching foreigner with fierce facial expressions, tongues extended maximally, along with menacing gestures. Who would yield?and, if not, they would fight. Hunting territory was sought and defended in the same manner as the Pacific Islanders (from which the Maori and Hawaiians are descendants) acquired and defended resource islands. People's names are a reflection of where they are from: Mountain, River, Sea-canoe on which their ancestors traveled, Chief of the sea-canoe, revered ancestor, tribe, sub-tribe, and a given name, in that order. There were no "family" names per se. Tarunga was where we received our luggage.

At our next port of call we saw vineyards with wine making (Sauvignon blanc) a recent addition to NZ agriculture. The oldest vines were 20 years old. Wine making was introduced as the timber industry has matured and sheep herding/sheering/wool agribusiness has been in decline for decades.

  We continued our Maori cultural experience in Wellington at the National Museum on the date a "rights" treaty was signed by Maori tribal leaders and representatives of the Crown. Artifacts of the early era, representation of sailing canoes, war canoes, meeting houses, weapons. Artifacts of the first European settlers, their books, a piano (see the movie with Jody Foster "Piano"), stories of the first women's High School.

 

Captain Cook explored both the North Island and South Island in 1769 and 1770 claiming them for the Crown of England. By the 1820's Scottish immigrants arrived in numbers at both islands imprinting the land and culture: mostly sheep farmers with a hard work ethic, sober, thrifty, a belief in universal education as well as a strong political belief in the separation of church and state. The Church of England nor the English Crown were well regarded by the Scottish immigrants.

From Wellington we crossed the Straits of Cook, that tempestuous channel between the North and South Islands. Down Marlborough Sound we docked at Picton for our next wine tour. Hours later, as the sun began its Western fall, we head north again to head east and then south. Along the route is Ship's Cove, site of a 4 month stay by Capt'n Cook to beach his boat and scrap its bottom, to meet with indigenous people and talk with them through his Pacific Island interpreter (who was attacked by the Maori as he was not from their tribe), and for the Naturalist aboard Endeavor, to document the flora and fauna. Fortuitously, there was documentation of such, since by the time the European settlers had arrived early in the 19th Century, 57 species of birds initially documented, some flightless and preyed upon by a large eagle, had disappeared, hunted to extinction by the indigenous Maori people. On our next port of call, Napier, our Maori guide lead us to the canyons, caves and rock outcroppings where Maori petroglyphs (rock drawings made from bird fat and charcoal drawn on broad rocks) exist along with large collections of bones of the lost birds. The Maori guide said that scientists have not been able to interpret the drawings. The drawings appear at some sites where very large birds were driven into blind forested canyons and then the trees were set ablaze. The resulting cooked meat was then eaten as suggested by bones scraped by stone tools.

The quintessential remaining late 19th century Scottish town of Dunedin on the South Island reflected an age of gold mining,  importing and exporting, and the legacy schools and colleges are still in existence, drawing students from both islands.

Further South, rounding the National Park of the South Island, we headed into the Tasman Sea and the Fjords of Milford Sound. Milford Sound was the base of the whaling and sealing industry, a 19th century instance of hunting sea mammals almost to extinction. Today, Milford Sound is a series fog shrouded watery canyons, cascading waterfalls, and peaks reaching vertically for thousands of feet. Our piloted vessel toured three major Fjords before emerging back into the swells of the Tasman Sea, and soon to become the "Roaring 40's" (45 degree latitude South). We trailed the larger Celebrity cruise ship "Majestic" but soon lost her stern as she heads for Sydney and we towards Burnie in Tasmania. The fog clears with the building winds and mounting seas reaching Beaufort scale 11, 65 knot winds and 20 foot seas. For two days and nights we drive at reduced speed, pausing for several hours while the Starboard engine was taken off line and "tested". Resuming the Starboard engine was coincidental with the calming of the winds and seas such that by the 3rd day at sea and our entrance to Burnie AU, was uneventful. 

At Burnie, our shore excursion guide told us this town was a good place to retire, as he must have already done. After traveling by bus the North coast of Tasmania, we headed inland for a tour of the limestone caves with their iron stained stalagmites and stalactites in pedestal, pencil, and ribbon shapes. Turning off the lights, we were treated to the "glow worms", insect larvae that fluoresce in the dark. As part of our shore experience, we visited a "wild life reserve" extemporaneously coming into existence as the sheep industry faltered and various animals, no longer able to fend for themselves in the wild, found a new home and lifestyle.

From Burnie overnight we shipped to Melbourne, Kathy and my second visit on this vacation, this second visit intentional, the first visit as a waypoint on our trip to Auckland, at the beginning of our vacation. Melbourne has its own wild life preserves as well as koala (not bear) in the wild.  Picture taking took up the majority of time before reboarding and our night run to Sydney and our Leah greeting.