Rugby and All Black mania

It is quite something to be here in Auckland as the Rugby World Cup draws to a close and the host nation finds itself in with a chance to win for the first time since 1987.

The All Blacks are the best team in the world.  They hold the number 1 position.  Everyone knows they are the best.  And yet.....for some reason they find it really difficult to win the matches that underline their global position.  This is their first World Cup final in 16 long years.  So this is MASSIVE for New Zealand.  And it comes at the end of a 13-month period when the country has reeled from the initial earthquake in Christchurch (since when well in excess of 8600 further quakes, and still counting), the Pike River mining disaster (happening, as it did, only months after the Chilean miners were all successfully freed; 2 survivors, 29 fatalities...), and now the grounding of MV Rena near Tauranga in the Bay of Plenty, and all its environmental and economic fallout.  Might I be forgiven for hoping fervently that there will be an All Black victory next Sunday?

Auckland Museum is currently playing host to the Webb Ellis Cup until Sunday, so naturally we have to go and admire it...:

Roy decides it should be on display in the unromantically-named events space, an area normally reserved for corporate customers at specific functions (something Roy is working to change), and which affords commanding views of Auckland city in the round:

I chat to the guard who's assigned to watch the Cup for the next 8 days.  He's rostered on his own, a 10am-5pm duty, that allows for no food and drink to pass his lips, nor any 'bathroom breaks'.  Roy concludes that's not really a humane assignment and ensures that others are available to ensure constant vigilance.  The queues build.  Everyone wants to be pictured with the cup.  I fancy it could be me lifting it.....

Yeah right....
Later we wander down to the Cloud at Queen's Wharf, one of the key fanzones in the city where it's all happening.  The Cloud is a major new events centre in the city:

On the night of the opening fireworks it looked like a purple caterpillar.  It is known, however, more prosaically as 'the slug'.  Today it is full of people tasting different kinds of New Zealand food and wine, whilst outside the crowds (and visiting cruise ships alongside) enjoy the free music on offer:

(Those just happen to be chefs watching the action, not ice-cream suited officers!)
The atmosphere is buzzing in anticipation of the Wales/France match.  Many have come once again dressed to offer full sartorial support to their team:

It turns out to be a controversial game.  France scores more points.....  You know the rest.

Sunday.  The country holds its breath.  The All Blacks play their antipodean nemesis, the Wallabies.  The injury list has grown depressingly long.  After agonising discussion over the state of Dan Carter's (and later Colin Slade's) groin, the past week has been full of Richie McCaw's foot.  Will he, won't he?  Luckily he does.  And they do - win, that is.  Phew!

The nation breathes again.  After all, they have already beaten the French in the Pool.  So, game over.....
Except that the French have beaten them before 'au moment critique'.  Nothing is safe.  There is another week in which to discuss/agonise/recall.  All we know is that by 11 pm 23 October 2011 there will be a result.

For the sake of this small, friendly but feisty nation, our adopted home for now, I hope that they will emerge triumphant, able to hold their heads up again in the world of rugby; able to continue to deal with the ongoing trauma of Christchurch, where everyone has a friend or relative, and where there is no end in sight to the instability and fragility of the land and its occupiers; able to contemplate one of their stunning Bays being despoiled by oil from a ship that should not have been where it was and doing the speed it was doing.....

After that, who knows?  What happens when the rugby fever leaves?  What takes its place?  Watch this space.

Human frailty and nature's power

How curious to be walking across a brick-built open space and to see splutters of boiling water and steam emerging from between the cracks....
Yes, we've been to Rotorua where the earth's crust is said to be at its thinnest.  Clouds of sulphorous steam rise incongruously from all kinds of places, amidst ordinary habitation.  Locals seem unperturbed.  I feel less sanguine, but accept it all soon enough - along with the smell.

The area has long been home to the Te Arawa tribe of Maori.  Their marae and meeting house sit at the edge of the lake, right amongst all the geothermal activity, and share land with St Faith's Anglican church, where Maori and Pakeha (white people) share worship together every Sunday. As do we on Sunday, singing our hymns in Maori along with everyone else, and appreciating the Maori influence on internal decoration.

In the foreground you are looking at surface white graves; you cannot bury someone underground where the earth boils 2" beneath the surface!  Behind the church is Lake Rotorua, which means Lake Two, it being the second lake the Maori found after landing in the Bay of Plenty.

A trip to see the world-famous Wai-O-Tapu (Sacred Water) geothermal area a few miles away.  There are other geysers around - they pronounce it as 'guysers' rather than 'geezers'; you get used to it!  But ours comes with the Lady Knox guyser.  She needs daily encouragement to erupt at a time suitable for the trippers.  Soap is administered, then off she goes:

Not sure if that's worked - meant to be a video of the geyser erupting.  Ah well...

There you go - that's what she looks like.
Walking on the carefully designated paths through the other geothermal activity is crucial.  Notices abound showing the temperature is 100 degrees.  The colours are wonderful, thanks to the various minerals.
My favourite is Champagne Pool, an impressively large steaming bubbling lake:

Devil's Pool is bright yellow.  There are lots of 'devils' and 'hells', not surprising given the landscape and the danger.  We walk a centimetre above boiling sinters.  How can they know it'll remain safe?

Back in 1886, when the world was learning about tourism and had discovered the local Pink and White Terraces in nearby Te Wairoa, one night hotel visitors and local residents were awoken by the earth shaking severely.  Within a few hours Mount Tarawera had erupted, destroying the beautiful Terraces for ever as well as several local villages.  We visit what is known as The Buried Village, now a beautiful green area full of magnificent trees.  130 years ago it looked rather different.....

The outer wood may have been renewed but the original inside remains, half buried with muddy ash and debris from the volcanic fallout.  I am again reminded of the fragility of human life and the living, changing nature of the earth on which we rather precariously perch.

More prosaically we also visit the Rotorua Museum, now housed in what was once an Elizabethan-style (more Germanic in my opinion) bathhouse.  Croquet, bowls and petanque are being played as we stroll past; a bit of old England in the midst of palm trees and sulphorous steam vents.

The new Maori galleries, opened (with Roy in attendance) only 2 months ago, are wonderful.  They tell the history of the Te Arawa coming to settle the area and how they lived, and the contribution that Maori people continue to make to the area today in many different fields of activity.  Good stuff.  We creep into the old-style film space, sitting on hard wooden benches reminiscent of old trains, to watch an 18-minute film about the night Mount Tarawera blew.  It's a gripping narrative.  Suddenly the benches come to life, shaking wildly, imitating the actual earthquake.  A small shriek then I have myself under control. They have made their point..............

The whole of the lake and its surrounding area sits inside the basin of an age-old volcano.  Others nearby have more recently been active.  We return through undulating lands of volcanic humps where herds of dairy cattle graze in tightly controlled sections of fields.  Cows have replaced sheep in much of New Zealand as an agrarian safe bet.  Not much demand for wool today, it seems.  Cows, and forestry.  The slopes are covered with serried ranks of pine, up and down, sometimes close sometimes far away.  It's not pretty, but it's a vital part of the economy.

All too soon we're back in the city, energised by our days away, having celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary in a place we'll never forget.  What a mixture of sights and smells.  I am grateful for life in all its complexities,beauty and fragility, and for all who have gone before.

Inexperienced blogging!

Still getting the hang of this blogging malarkey.  Yesterday's blog should have been edited but I had to go out halfway through, and when I got back I found I was unable to access it to change anything.  So, there you have it.  Blogging unplugged, or something.....

I was going to mention the rugby in greater detail.  How last Saturday I wandered through the streets down at Viaduct Harbour, where the French had been given an area to advertise their culture - with can-can dancers, crepes, buskers and classic cars (noteably Citroen) - see above. The sun was shining and the atmosphere was jolly and infectious .  It was no good, though - they were roundly beaten by the All Blacks later.

Yesterday, same place, pretty much same time.  This time lots of kilts, occasional bagpipes (one even being played by a man dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans, with not an ounce of tartan to be seen!) and some eccentric costumes and face paints.

You can't say people aren't entering into the spirit of things!

England won, in the 79th minute as it happened.  Whew!  And today the All Blacks survived without Dan Carter.  Also whew!  Although we missed him.  Thank goodness Zac Guildford lit up the stadium.  Great way to spend a wet, windy and cold Sunday afternoon.... (watching it on TV, I hasten to add).

New addition to the house.  A slow cooker.  Well, if I can't have my Aga here then it's the only other way of cooking something and then 'going out'.  Which is what I did yesterday.  Roy went racing for the first time in a gazillion years in something called an Elliott 7 - a fast 21' open racing boat with no back end.  Why, you might ask?  Search me, but he seemed to enjoy it.  He managed to lose the Yacht Squadron Commodore (his host) overboard whilst he was helming; got him back, thankfully, minus his expensive sunglasses.  The Commodore didn't seem to hold it against him ...  Not  sure Roy will be doing it again in a hurry, though.  Just waiting for our own Kahu to arrive late November for some more leisurely (and, I hope, dry) sailing.

And so another week has slipped by.  I've played some tennis, and been invited to play for the club team.  Should be a good way to visit other parts of Auckland city.  And I did manage to find a hairdresser, in St Heliers, too.  Japanese Tommy seems to have done a pretty good job, so that's OK.

To close I thought I'd add some random photos taken over the past few weeks...

And say that apart from comms with family and friends, old and new, and hospitality from lots of Kiwis, I am particularly thankful for:

• BBC Radio 4 - Desert Island Discs, Afternoon Plays, etc
• the changing colours of the sea
• and trim flat whites, my favourite way of having excellent Kiwi coffee

Wonder what this week will bring.....?

PS  And no, sadly my stoles have not yet re-appeared : (