Six metres high and rising

To all who love and care about Jay, I apologise if I have pushed him into a hobby that will result in him becoming the New Alain Robert. Having rejected a go on the gyroscope as too scary, which was fair enough; and bailed at the last minute on the 3metre vertical slide, which is just sensible; I was expecting him to dismiss the climbing wall out of hand.

But no. Thanks to a very good tutor, the qualified member of staff here at 'Science Alive!' in Christchurch, Jay scampered up the vertical incline. Unconcerned about falling off, he actually quite dug the 'slowly rope' as he called it, which would gently lower him back to earth. He would set off for another go immediately and usually fall off at a difficult section about 80% of the way up. He said he was too concentrating on holding on to think about how to do the tricky section. But on at least one occasion he made it to the top and planted his palm onto the hand print there to mark the dizzying height.

I've told him to remember that he doesn't have the harness when he's in the playground, but once again, I'm really sorry if this kind of thing catches on.

My Cup runeth over

After initial lack of hydroslide activity I can now say that I have been to the best water park that the world has to offer. And another one too. First up, and pictured, is the the Moana Pool in Dunedin. Features two slides: Fast and Slow. The slow one is pretty pedestrian and the fast one is a bit faster. And here endeth the review of that pool cos I need to get on and tell you about the QEII complex in Christchurch.

If the Stoke Newington Pool had been built like this then it would be the envy of every borough throughout the UK, instead of not even registering in the grand scheme of Olympic facilities that was knocking around at the time. I shall try to list its plus points in one breath just to try to get through them: full size competition pool, diving pool with 2x3m, 5m, 7m and 10m platforms, toddler pool, wave pool, fast flowing river section, 2x 3m wide whirlpool things (very vigorous swirling water, lot of fun), faux stone pillars, beachy sunset murals, bubble pools, fountains.

And I haven't even started on the hydroslides. Five of them, ranging from Collosus and Titan, large winding tubes that can be slid straight down, or ridden down on inflatable donuts. Then The Cruise, a faster ride, donuts not permitted and a couple of black segments of the slide make it a bit scary. For the true connoisseur there are The Body Bullet and The Terror Tube.

Both are a narrower gauge than the others, no sitting up and enjoying the ride, its lie down, keep your arms in and you'll be at the bottom pretty soon. The Body Bullet is a straight forward, tightening corkscrew. The G's increase, your gritted teeth get progressively more spray from your feet's wake before the relief of the final splashdown. The ride is timed and you can easily take 20% off your time by reducing friction by riding purely on shoulder blades and one ankle.

The Terror Tube could be renamed The Anarchy Artery. You are subjected to loud music and flashing lights the whole way down. Big on disorientation, low on terror. There's no suspense as you have no idea what is about to happen. The Terror of worrying that your about to smash your face on the next corner is countered by the thought that you probably won't.

If I could, I would take every brick of this place back to Stokey to show them what a great swimming pool looks like. Even on a quiet tuesday evening, the competition pool had serious looking racers in it. There were kids honing their very impressive diving skills from the 5m and 7m boards. The fake Roman bath paint job and sunset murals were a bit cheesy, but they made the place light-hearted. And most important of all: we just about had the slides to ourselves.

The Incredible Penguin Milking Machine

Annie once saw penguins before, hence her enthusiasm for persuading us that it was worthwhile. She had visited a town called Oamaru and hung around in a little shed that was built specially for the penguin fans. We found ourselves in Oamaru after too much hydrosliding delayed our departure from Dunedin and stopped us from getting all the way to Christchurch. Claims to have already seen a penguin were pushed aside and we set off for a return to Annie's magical shed.

As we've ascertained, Marine Biology is not exactly a science. It is however a branch of show business or sports-entertainment. The shed has now been replaced by a Grandstand with a Penguin educational centre attached. Everyone is to be seated by 8:15pm. The penguins are on at 8:30 and the whole show should be over by 9:30. The sun is pleasantly setting and the waters of the harbour are calm. It is a world away from blinking into a force ten gale and being unconvinced that even a penguin would want to be here.

A guy with a microphone arrives. I'm expecting a drum roll, and him to say 'Welcome! To the world of the Penguin!', but instead he's a Marine Biologist that tells us about the Blue Penguins being the smallest penguins in the world, and they can't register the yellow floodlights cos they see blues and greens, and a bunch of Marine Biologist stuff. He makes sure to remind me and 150 Koreans that no photography is permitted. We tried banning just flash photos, but people made mistakes and anyway, the auto-focus lights still mess with the penguins' eyes, and they really need their eyes for, like, fishing and stuff.

After about ten minutes, Jay, me and most people near us are bored of me and Jay going 'Look! There's a penguin! Oh no, it's some seaweed!' Annie doesn't even take Jay seriously when he says 'Look! There's a penguin!' But later we admit to being proud that Jay was the first to spot an actual penguin. They are very small, and timidly make their way up the slope before all rushing across the road at the top. Just as soon as one of them is brave enough to go for it. Once in their nests they give up the timid stuff and squawk like crazy at each other for long after we have left. Some local humans told us that the penguins are going to pay for the redevelopment of the entire harbour area. Well done, Magic Penguins.

We then return to our natural habitat, the campsite. Driving carefully so as not to run over any of the late arriving penguins in the car park (needs David Attenborough voice). And before any Marine Biologists write in, yes, the photo is of a bunch of cormerants, or shags, as we like to call them down here. In my defence, it is a good photo, there were loads of them, it's taken right next to the penguin place, and I bet lots of you did think they were penguins.

Dropping Science down Antarctica Way

There are many signs along the way promising Crafts, Galleries and other ephemera. Most are complete rubbish, such as Happy Hens in Otago, which is a shop full of pottery hens. But the Lost Gypsy Gallery of The Catlins is an exception. Recommended to us by a couple of cyclists we met on the West Coast, it was described as: I can't describe it, just go in. A description that was pretty much spot on, but for the sake of the blog, I'll carry on.

The sign outside the gallery (pictured) will earn you a decent squirt of water in the left ear. I didn't work this out first time as it was tipping down with rain and a mere earful made no difference. The gallery itself is squeezed into an old bus. Everywhere you look, is another thing to press, squeeze, wind up, or let go of. All with the same vein of humour. From the Flying Walnut: a nut with a propeller, regulated by an old scalextric controller, which you can fly up a foot or so and will return to its bouncy landing pad. The 'Tribute to the Uncoordinated', a couple of mechanical hands that will inevitably fail to grab the ball between them, no matter how hard you try.

Out the back of the bus are the larger works. Under 13's are banned from these more delicate pieces, but I abandoned the family for a quick look. They included a huge organ, complete with foot pedals, with each key letting off a different sound. Doorbells, telephones, old cassette players, or more physical noises like arms that hit cymbals, or spinning shells with water gurgling in them.

Despite the low tech resources, and the emphasis on the arbitrary and the absurd, Jay refers to the place as the Science Bus. The accompanying video doesn't start to show the depth of the place, but may give you a feel of the kind of claustrophobic quirkiness of the Bus.

The Case of the Magic Penguin

Another of this part of the world's natural delights is the penguin. We took a stroll over to the spot where the little chaps are alleged to come in from the sea after hard day's fishing. The spot itself is terrific, an ancient petrified forest. I was expecting lots of big rock trees everywhere, so was a bit disappointed that its actually just a flat bit of rock at the bottom of a cliff. You can make out that the lines in the rock are surprisingly straight (ex-tree trunks), and if you go down and close, some of the rock does have a grain, which is weird. So its not actually like a forest, but it is spectacular. The biggest waves I've ever seen come crashing into this big flat section at the bottom of the cliff. So in amongst the rain, I'm now getting a taste of salt water also.

Its about now that I realise that watching the penguins arrive, isn't actually a science. Marine Biology isn't really a science, is it? This could take some time. I look around at my few fellow penguin watchers and realise that they knew they were in for the long haul. Big anoraks with hoods. Jay starts to realise that this is a bit boring, and I think I should have insisted he do zip his jacket up when we got out of the car instead of saying 'well, you'll get cold then' and leaving it at that. Much moaning ensues and we leave, Penguin count zero.

Annie really wanted to see some penguins, so we guilt Jay out on some other matter and get him to promise to wrap up properly and give it another go the next night. Wearing just about all the clothes we have, we go back to the same spot. Within a few minutes, an amazing thing happens. From this watery hades, in which I would be repeatedly smashed onto bits of fossilised timber if I ever tried to swim in it, comes the evil chicken dude from Wallace and Grommit's The Wrong Trousers. Sure he's wet, and he looks absolutely freezing, but he's made it. He's now just hanging around, getting himself back together for a bit before he actually goes home. Same as us. Jay's promise extended to one penguin so is now permitted to whine about being cold, penguins being boring, and wanting to go home. Magic penguin count one. Haven't seen a drop of rain since.

Why oh Why did we come to this part of the planet?

Glaciers I can handle, the ice looks amazing and takes 100 years to go from the top until it defrosts at the bottom and becomes cold water. Not in Invercargill. The cold water just arrives, and arrives fast. The cold rain hits the windscreen so hard, and in such large amounts that I really can't see out the windscreen. Yet will quickly stop, and my wipers begin to give a dry squeak. It then comes again with the same ferocity. I would say that it comes in waves, but if I was driving around in the sea, it would probably be drier.

We moved on from Invercargill, into the Catlins which form the most southerly south bits of the South Island. That's pretty South. And continued to be battered by wind and rain whose previous location had been Antarctica. One of the local attractions is the Sea Lion population. They can cope with the cold and enjoy the isolation, so flourish down here. We were lucky to find a couple of them just down the beach from where we stayed one morning. Now, I don't know if you've ever seen me run, but you haven't seen me run like I did when one these big fat guys decided to flollop in my direction. I was legging it back down the beach, unstrapping Theos from the baby sling to leave as a diversion. Annie laughed at me and pointed out that they were still a very long way away and had stop flolloping after about two flops. Very scary though.

Glacier II: This time it's icy

Just to let you know there's some pics of the glacier trip up on youtube. So put on your sunglasses and click here.

Golden Bay Days

Golden Bay is a part of New Zealand that even New Zealanders seem to have forgotten about. South Island top left. It's not on a main highway and the only way in is over a big hill with winding roads so it's well off everyone's beaten track. It has its own micro climate thanks to the protection of Farewell Spit, a long thin piece of land that sticks out and calms the waters of the Golden Bay beaches.

We stayed in Pohara, a small settlement with a couple of good cafes (essential – sleep deprivation has driven me to a fearsome caffeine habit!) and a sprawling campsite right on the beach. We camped with Chris and Rachel, friends of mine from Wellington (and London a few years ago). It was great to see them and have a change of dynamic to the holiday. Lovely to chat with Rachel. It doesn't matter how long it's been since we saw each other, it always seems like yesterday.

We lazed about and had a few adventures too – see Fran's bit on the Abel Tasman National Park daytrip. One of my fave spots was Pupu Springs (OK Jay, stop laughing!), a lovely natural spring with beautiful clear blue water (see pic).

Jay loved the beach and got a new bucket and spade to play with. It's brilliant to see him jumping in and out of the waves and run this way and that. Fran takes him in for a swim (too cold for me I'm afraid) and he loves it. Theo is allowed to grub about a bit in the sand. He gets very excited, legs and arms flapping wildly as he decides what to eat first – hmm sand, sticks, seaweed or rotting prawn?

Nelson revisited

The first place I ever lived in New Zealand was Nelson. It's a small city at the top of the South Island. I am writing this from a motel near the centre of town. Great seventies décor and a little balcony overlooking the cathedral and the park. Next door some oldies are playing bowls and the bells are ringing out from the cathedral belltower.

I arrived here in November 1993 and stayed for 6 months, working in a cafe called Valenos. I worked in the kitchen and learned to cook all sorts of stuff with filo pastry. I also had to cook the steaks which, as a veggie, was pretty daunting. I was rubbish at it and Bernie had to take over! Ivan ran the bar bit of the cafe along with my then partner, Martin. Martin was born and raised in Nelson and his mum, dad and a couple of sisters were living here. A lot of artists and potters live around the area and in the summer the city swells with holidaymakers and fruit pickers. I remember coming here from London. It seemed so small. There was 1 good cafe (sadly not Valenos) and all the bars were pretty basic and small town NZish (white wellies and a meatpack raffle on the bar) but the town was still pretty busy and had a good vibe . Then came the winter and it all changed. A singularly monocultural, conservative feeling pervaded and it seemed that all the people I had made friends with actually lived elsewhere. Wellington beckoned.

Looking at it now, Nelson seems very bohemian and laid-back. More funky cafes have opened and the Saturday market is arty and interesting (Fran's quest for the perfect fudge goes on). The beach area about 5 km out of town is busy and beautiful. As if that weren't enough, it has a hydroslide that is actually open - see Fran's entry 'slide your hide at the hydroslide'.

Fran's Theos Glacier

Formerly the Franz Josef Glacier, it was renamed after it was rediscovered by Theos Dios and myself. If you have ever seen a picture of a glacier in geography book then it is probably this glacier. It is reasonably unique in that it descends into rainforest, there are only three glaciers that do this. One other is in Argentina, and the third one is 20 km down the road from here.

We drove from the small township of Franz Josef, 4kms, to the car park, and then walked another couple of kms to the edge of the forest. From there you look over the river bed that runs from the bottom of the glacier. A largely boulder strewn landscape through which runs the defrosted bits of glacier, identified by the milky colour as it contains Glacial Flour. This moon-like area also hosts a multitude of other smaller streams of crystal clear water that come from the various streams and stunning waterfalls that feed into this vast flat bottomed canyon.

But dominating the view is the glacier itself. The bottom sits wedged between two sheets of rainforest, and the top becomes part of the snow capped mountain range. It appears as though it would be no problem to walk over to it and just keep going until you were up among the craggy mountain tops. But this is the first of the day's illusions of scale; a decent walk towards it and you do not appear to be any where nearer the bottom of it.

Not that you are permitted right up to the bottom of it. Too many instances of people getting squashed by huge chunks of ice breaking off it mean that you are not allowed. I don't know how the glacier police stop you from doing so. The glacier is advancing at a rate of three metres a day, so how do you build a fence around it? That's right. Advancing. Three hundred years ago, the glacier took up the entire rock strewn landscape I was now wandering in. Even in 1950 it was much larger than today. But before you hippies start waving your fists and decrying the humanity of it all, the glacier's extension is related to El Nino and La Nina more than global warming, so it's currently getting bigger.

We didn't try to go any further, I didn't really believe that we could could just zip over to the glacier and zoom straight up to the top. O r could we? We returned to the town, had a coffee, got in a helicopter and found that we could. We were back over the car park in a matter of seconds, the milky river just a strip below us and the waterfalls still looking just as amazing falling away from us as they did falling towards us. Just as soon we were over the ice. It has a bluey colour, because it is compacted so hard that most of the oxygen is squeezed out. The cracks in it are definitely huge, but it is so hard to judge just how big as the surreality of the glacier surface is countered by the weirdness of floating above it. I am unable to estimate how high above the ice we are, so can't start to quantify the scale of the chasms below.

Soon we are up at the top of things. In the distance are the peaks of snow covered mountains. I am getting used to these, they are the literal icing on many of the views I have had around NZ. But now the snow and rock breaches the distant horizon and also forms the foreground.

A few stomach churning swoops over some terrifying cliffs and we approach a large flat white expanse. Several helicopters have already parked there and many dazed, awestruck punters are roaming around. We land and exit the chopper. The horizon is either craggy rocks poking out of the snow or snow slowly sloping away from us that reveals that we are higher than the clouds. The snow is unlike any I have seen, millimetre glass beads similar to the coarse sand on the wet beaches of the Abel Tasman. Not much time to take in the beauty of it all as Jay immediately starts plying me with snowballs.


ps. I'll get a slideshow of pics up soon, but its not finished yet.

The Hard Antler Bar

Rolling into Haast Village looks and feels like rolling into a wild west town. The low rise, sparse wooden buildings in the twilight made me feel like I was entering the official middle of nowhere. You may criticise my bravery for selecting the Fan-Tail cafe over the Hard Antler Bar, but I was looking for a vegetarian option and the guide book's description of the Hard Antler Bar unsurprisingly focussed on its large collection of stag heads.

The Fan-Tail was closed. So the Hard Antler beckoned. Their collection of stag heads is particularly impressive, but the taxidermy is not the most notable feature of the place. In fact the warm welcome, friendly atmosphere and excellent food is far more notable. I sent Annie and Theos ahead as I pretended to search the car for a jar of baby food. I thought they would be less likely to cause the entire place to drop into silence simply by entering. On the contrary, they were immediately offered a high chair and alerted to the extensive menu.

Once again, an NZ dining establishment manages to impress me by not feeling that they need to here to the standard restaurant format. The Hard Antler policy on menu is simple: you choose your main bit, and then hit a buffet for the spuds and veges. We had fish, you could choose it to be battered or grilled, although I did see some spare ribs that almost tempted me. You then hit the buffet of spuds, spud salad, chips, roasted pumpkin, couple of different salads. A polite message informs you that one generous serving per person is permitted, but no seconds. I was almost disappointed that I was not expected to scrape of my plate into a bucket a return it to the kitchen.

More gastro than any pub in london, this place gets a rating of 'top notch!' I presume that the guy from the Lonely Bigot guide book just looked through the window when it was closed and wrote the review based on the name.

Abel Tasman pt 2

Astute readers may have noticed that there has not actually been a part 1 in this series. Part 1 occurred on our first journey to New Zealand some years ago. We visited the Abel Tasman National Park on what was one of the rainiest days I have ever witnessed. It did not stop it from being a fantastic day's adventure with a boat ride, a hike through the bush, over a swing bridge, on to the next bay, and picked up by a boat again. The entire time spent actually inside a cloud.

I was looking forward to seeing the place in sunshine this time as I quite fancied taking in more of the beauty of the place simultaneously, rather than the constant visibility of about 20 metres that was afforded us on the previous occasion.

We arrived in Marahau, on the edge of the Abel Tasman. I heard the rain start shortly after we had retired to the tent for the night. I heard it again several times during the night as I rumbled and mumbled my way through a warm, muggy, but it has to be said, dry night in the tent. I could still hear it once the sun had come up and I was starting to think that the 9am boat up the coast wouldn't have us on it. I could still hear it once I realised that I would have to go to the toilet at some point and I felt it once I decided that I couldn't outlast mother nature when it came to the call of nature. It still rained for ages after that. At one point whilst we were having dinner, there was a tiny glimpse of a piece of blue sky. Enough to convince us that if it wasn't raining tomorrow, we would pack up the tent and head for somewhere with a proper roof.

The plan was to visit Golden Bay on the far side of the Abel Tasman the following week. We could try another expedition from there. We met up with friends of Annie from Wellington, Rachel and Chris and spent a couple of lazy sunny days gearing up for the mission into the bush. The day came and once again the forecast let us down and we set off for the Aqua Taxi stop to take us into the forest with the wipers working overtime and the tops of the hills engulfed in low cloud.

There was no bailing out this time as Chris had done us the favour of forecasting sun and booking the boat. But our previous experience of the place had taught us that the hardest part is getting out of the car and you could do a lot worse than simply getting soaked immediately. For a start, there's the Aqua Taxi. The captain takes pleasure in making Jay squeal with delight as he slams the 12-seater boat into wave after wave after wave. So if you weren't wet when you got on, you will be now.

He also takes great pride in showing you some of the parks features. Including a gang of Seals, animals he describes as so lazy they wait for the high tide and the water to come to them before they bother to flop in for a dip. We were bang on high tide so got to see some of the fattest wild animals I've ever seen sploshing around and waving to us. High tide also allowed our big boat a brief visit into a beautiful secluded little bay to annoy some kayakers.

And last of all, high tide, the Captain informed us, meant that the first obstacle of our trek, a river crossing at the end of the beach, would be far too deep to wade through comfortably. So as I said before, if we weren't wet already... We took it well though. We met groups of pro-trampers with their raincoats, appropriate footwear and hiking sticks, who were huddled up waiting for the tide to recede. We rocked up, changed into our swimwear, and started ferrying sports bags and babies across. Admittedly, some of these dudes were in the bush for a week or so. They not driven by being an hour's stroll from the only cafe in the whole nature reserve and 2 hours from their return Aqua Taxi.

Which brings me to the rarest sighting I viewed in this park, probably one of the rarest things in all NZ. A rubbish cafe. After a hike through this prehistoric looking landscape and stumbling down hill to The Lodge, I was expecting warm coffee and a share on a big vat of vegetable soup. I wasn't expecting to be asked to leave my wet pack outside and then be offered pan-seared salmon with caramelised onion for $30. Never have I seen a more bemused group of wet people in kagouls and unfashionable shorts. I am used to cafes that choose to ignore popular appeal in favour of maximising profit from the wealthy, the desperate and those who are yet to get the hang of the currency, there are examples in every park in London. But they are an exception over here. I think. Or maybe I haven't got the hang of the currency yet.

Not for the Faint Hearted or the Foot Fetishists

Keeping a diary is supposed to be a cathartic thing so I'm not going to avoid uncomfortable or difficult issues. But it's going to come with a warning as Annie can no longer listen to me even start to talk of my feet. She puts her fingers in her ears and goes 'la la la' as soon as any mention of flaky bits, weeping, or 'in chunks' occurs. So BE WARNED! You don't have to read this.

This article is not for those that hate talk of feet, and will also not be enjoyed by those who abhor cruelty to feet.

So here is the next instalment of the increasingly off-topic blog about my trip to New Zealand.

One of the things you'll first notice about New Zealand is that shoes are optional. Even in the cities it is perfectly normal to see people wandering around barefoot. They are not homeless, nor mad. They can get away with this behaviour largely in part due to the comparatively low amount of broken glass littering the streets. Now I'm not this hardcore, my soft feet wouldn't last two minutes of mild pedestrian activity but I like to immerse myself in local cultures so I invested in the next best thing, a pair of Jandals. That's flip-flops to us Brits. Now when I say invested, I mean I spent £2 on a pair from a large cardboard box of assorted jandals in a dairy.

Now its important to note what happens when you spend such a small amount on footwear. You trip over. A lot. The flimsy pieces of polystyrene held between your first two toes twists and slips like a broken yet painless ankle and meanwhile the skin on my feet dries out in the sunshine. Then follows the rain. I am faced with a walk up a muddy track to see a volcano. My jandals are clearly the wrong end of appropriate gear for the expedition, and it has now been days since I was aware of where any of my socks were. My crunchy dermed feet are exposed to a sweaty sockless trainer hike that leaves the shoes smelling so bad that even wrapped in a plastic bag at the bottom of all our luggage they still leave the car reeking.

In steps 'Grandma's Remedy'. A magical powder that will cure the stink of feet. Twenty dollars for a pack of baking soda actually, but I can see the principle that drying my feet out a lot could allow us to get back in the car, so I give it a go. Just in time to get to the South Island and its population of sand flies. I don't hate sand flies like a lot of people do. Sure they've bitten my feet a lot but I'm trying to see the positive side, the incalculable joy I get from scratching the many, many bites on my now ghostly white powdered feet. But my feet have been so successfully dried that the heels are now cracking.

Half inch long canyons are now present on the back of both my feet and all I do is add further sand to them on a daily basis. So further medication is required and another twenty dollars leaves. This time for some of Australia's leading Heel Balm. Containing, you've guessed it cos you're so far ahead of me, yes that's right, 25% Urea. Not just any urea, but chemically synthesised. Although it didn't actually specify that it wasn't chemically synthesised inside a goat.

That said, its an absolute miracle and a few days of wiping this stuff on my heels has brought them back from the brink of completely crumbling. I no longer care who or what chemically synthesised the stuff, I would gratefully buy them a drink. Or few sugar cubes or bale of hay or whatever they happen to enjoy.

Next week I'll tell all about the fantastic Mussel Chowder I enjoyed. And then didn't enjoy three hours later.

Just a few updates

I've been looking back thru the articles, and I thought I'd better keep you up to date on a couple of matters.

After a resounding shortage of suggestions of car names, a deccision has been made. The first postcard out of the bag came from a L. Mulford of Bentworth, Hampshire. She correctly pointed out that naming your car after Obama just cos it is black, is indeed a bit rascist. Well done Mum. So the car is referred to as 'the car'. And if we're feeling affectionate, 'the van'. No offense is intended to any real vans. Or Van Morrison.

Theo is continuing to do his thing. Getting a bit bigger and eating a range of stuff, including pasta. He is also now exploding with teeth.

And for those of you who prefer pictures to words, we now have a barrel of images here. They are named after the place in which they were uploaded so picture names are not always accurate.