Local art by Annie Meakin depicts a snowy Ivybridge in Devon. See more online.
Monday 24 December 2018
Wednesday 19 December 2018
The Great Pacific Adventure - Cairns
"And so our wedding, which of course preceded this honeymoon trip, happened one month ago! It has of course been a brilliant month, and really has been non-stop ever since - fair to say that we haven't quite comprehended it all yet."
So read my diary on 13 November, written whist sitting in a hotel bed in Cairns, Queensland. The view from our hotel balcony confirms what we've been missing for the last few days, for here our old friend, the Pacific, laps tropical shores. Sultry Cairns is a holiday town, nestled along Australia's tropical coast, the only place in the world where two UNESCO World Heritage Sites meet - that is, the Daintree Rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef. We intend to explore both during our time here, but first off it's a stroll down Cairns Esplanade, where signs warn of the dangers of saltwater crocodile attacks, and nobody dares set foot on the beach due to the potential presence of the deadly box jellyfish.
Our first destination, on a warm and muggy day, is Port Douglas, an hour's drive to the north, and accessed by the Captain Cook Highway, surely one of the world's most stunning and spectacular roads. To the left, the rainforest cascades down, whilst to the right, pristine beaches give way to emerald seas. Every now-and-then we cross little saltwater creeks, crocodile territory if every I saw it. The twisting and turning road follows the coastline closely, but eventually we arrive at Port Douglas, embarkation port for a catamaran called Quicksilver VIII. Quicksilver VIII is a speedy vessel, cutting smoothly through the waves and taking us some 30 miles off-shore, delivering us to a giant platform anchored on the Agincourt Reef, one small part of the 1,500-mile long Great Barrier Reef. On the platform, numerous activities are offered for every taste - you can dive, snorkel, take a helicopter tour, and so on. To boot, Quicksilver Tours have been given the highest environmental accreditation, and work hard to preserve this incredible environment.
We opt to snorkel, and after donning very silly wet suits (box suits - again, to protect from any rouge jellyfish,) fins and masks, we slip tentatively into the warm tropical sea. For a moment all is calm, and only when I put my face into the water do I realise - with a little panic - where I am. Beneath me, perhaps 50 feet down - is a crystal clear world of coral and fish, some of which are quite big. It's a surreal experience to be suspended mid-water whilst the local wildlife swims all about you, but once I acclimatise to this, the whole experience becomes a pleasure. My progress is very slow, the giant fins on my feet causing me some difficulty, but it doesn't actually matter, for we stick close together and within the recommended boundary rope. I couldn't identify many of the fish we saw, but I do particularly remember the Maori Wrasse, known to be inquisitive creatures, and instantly likeable.
Back on the platform, we have our buffet lunch and then board a semi-submersible, which takes a half hour tour around the reef. Corals and fish abound, although not as colourful as I had hoped (apparently 80% of coral is brown, and what you see presented on TV is something of a inaccuracy.) we see sponge corals, brain corals, cauliflower corals, and huge boulder corals. Our guide is comical and has slightly broken English, but squeals with delight on two separate occasions, beseeching us to turn our heads and take in the marvels of wild green sea turtles, a sight that is one of the highlights of our holiday.
The following day is a quiet and leisurely one in Cairns, before our time in Australia - and our honeymoon - draws to a close with a final excursion to the Daintree Rainforest. The rainforest makes up the greater Wet Tropics Rainforest, and is the oldest continually surviving tropical rainforest in the world. Joining us on our excursion are a couple from Sydney, a couple from Brisbane, a couple from Texas, and a group of three from Bognor Regis, all taken under the careful eye of our guide for the day (and, we think, the best guide of our trip,) Kelvin. Kelvin explains that, when the Australian continent slipped away from Pangaea, it evolved (or rather, it didn't) in a different way to forests in the rest of the world, retaining its ancient character. We are taken first to Mossman Gorge, where an affable Aboriginal guide called Matty takes us for a fascinating walk, stopping here-and-there to show us interesting plants and flowers, and traditional tools and weapons. Matty himself lives in a community of about 250 people in the gorge, one of five branches of his tribe. The houses are wooden, but all come with air conditioning and satellite dishes, and Matty also mentions that 90% of the community are Christians. I notice an interesting difference between Matty and the very few Aboriginals we encountered at Uluru - here, it seems, people are a lot more open and talkative. Eventually we reached a tributary of the the Daintree River, a very beautiful spot with the water gushing over smooth stones. It's a very enjoyable walk, but a very hot and humid one, and our comfort is made all -the-worse because of the layer of mosquito repellent we've sprayed on our hands and faces.
From the Daintree Teahouse, it's a short drive to the Daintree River, where we hop aboard a frighteningly small boat for a river cruise. Here, mangroves and other forest trees edge the riverbank, and we feel decidedly that we are in the tropics. We are joined on the journey by a very cute white-lipped green tree frog, who is fast asleep by our bench. The Daintree River is quite sizable, and at this point feels utterly unchanged over the centuries, so mush so that I would not be surprised to see a dinosaur wander into view on the shore. That, of course, is not an entirely inaccurate expectation, for lining the waters here are the dreaded saltwater crocodiles, and after some searching, we happen upon one sitting very still in the bank. Our guide suggests that it's a female, sitting on a nest of eggs. Shortly afterwards we encounter another one, a male, who slowly submerges when we get closer, in a sinister and uneasy manner. Saltwater crocodiles are enormous animals - the largest of all reptiles - and have been known to take human beings here, although this is usually avoided with little bit of common sense, and my overwhelming reaction is one of delight that we've been able to see a couple on our trip. Elsewhere, we encounter little mudskippers and fiddler crabs, whilst when we get back to the jetty, out boat attracts the attention of some archer fish, prompting our guide to place small pieces of fruit on the boat's edge, watching with delight as they spit and knock it into the water - they hit the target every single time.
So read my diary on 13 November, written whist sitting in a hotel bed in Cairns, Queensland. The view from our hotel balcony confirms what we've been missing for the last few days, for here our old friend, the Pacific, laps tropical shores. Sultry Cairns is a holiday town, nestled along Australia's tropical coast, the only place in the world where two UNESCO World Heritage Sites meet - that is, the Daintree Rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef. We intend to explore both during our time here, but first off it's a stroll down Cairns Esplanade, where signs warn of the dangers of saltwater crocodile attacks, and nobody dares set foot on the beach due to the potential presence of the deadly box jellyfish.
Our first destination, on a warm and muggy day, is Port Douglas, an hour's drive to the north, and accessed by the Captain Cook Highway, surely one of the world's most stunning and spectacular roads. To the left, the rainforest cascades down, whilst to the right, pristine beaches give way to emerald seas. Every now-and-then we cross little saltwater creeks, crocodile territory if every I saw it. The twisting and turning road follows the coastline closely, but eventually we arrive at Port Douglas, embarkation port for a catamaran called Quicksilver VIII. Quicksilver VIII is a speedy vessel, cutting smoothly through the waves and taking us some 30 miles off-shore, delivering us to a giant platform anchored on the Agincourt Reef, one small part of the 1,500-mile long Great Barrier Reef. On the platform, numerous activities are offered for every taste - you can dive, snorkel, take a helicopter tour, and so on. To boot, Quicksilver Tours have been given the highest environmental accreditation, and work hard to preserve this incredible environment.
We opt to snorkel, and after donning very silly wet suits (box suits - again, to protect from any rouge jellyfish,) fins and masks, we slip tentatively into the warm tropical sea. For a moment all is calm, and only when I put my face into the water do I realise - with a little panic - where I am. Beneath me, perhaps 50 feet down - is a crystal clear world of coral and fish, some of which are quite big. It's a surreal experience to be suspended mid-water whilst the local wildlife swims all about you, but once I acclimatise to this, the whole experience becomes a pleasure. My progress is very slow, the giant fins on my feet causing me some difficulty, but it doesn't actually matter, for we stick close together and within the recommended boundary rope. I couldn't identify many of the fish we saw, but I do particularly remember the Maori Wrasse, known to be inquisitive creatures, and instantly likeable.
Back on the platform, we have our buffet lunch and then board a semi-submersible, which takes a half hour tour around the reef. Corals and fish abound, although not as colourful as I had hoped (apparently 80% of coral is brown, and what you see presented on TV is something of a inaccuracy.) we see sponge corals, brain corals, cauliflower corals, and huge boulder corals. Our guide is comical and has slightly broken English, but squeals with delight on two separate occasions, beseeching us to turn our heads and take in the marvels of wild green sea turtles, a sight that is one of the highlights of our holiday.
The following day is a quiet and leisurely one in Cairns, before our time in Australia - and our honeymoon - draws to a close with a final excursion to the Daintree Rainforest. The rainforest makes up the greater Wet Tropics Rainforest, and is the oldest continually surviving tropical rainforest in the world. Joining us on our excursion are a couple from Sydney, a couple from Brisbane, a couple from Texas, and a group of three from Bognor Regis, all taken under the careful eye of our guide for the day (and, we think, the best guide of our trip,) Kelvin. Kelvin explains that, when the Australian continent slipped away from Pangaea, it evolved (or rather, it didn't) in a different way to forests in the rest of the world, retaining its ancient character. We are taken first to Mossman Gorge, where an affable Aboriginal guide called Matty takes us for a fascinating walk, stopping here-and-there to show us interesting plants and flowers, and traditional tools and weapons. Matty himself lives in a community of about 250 people in the gorge, one of five branches of his tribe. The houses are wooden, but all come with air conditioning and satellite dishes, and Matty also mentions that 90% of the community are Christians. I notice an interesting difference between Matty and the very few Aboriginals we encountered at Uluru - here, it seems, people are a lot more open and talkative. Eventually we reached a tributary of the the Daintree River, a very beautiful spot with the water gushing over smooth stones. It's a very enjoyable walk, but a very hot and humid one, and our comfort is made all -the-worse because of the layer of mosquito repellent we've sprayed on our hands and faces.
After our humid walk in the forest, we are taken to the Daintree Teahouse, where we are served a tasty lunch and offered the chance to try a number of exotic fruits. The proprietor of the teahouse gives an interesting talk about some of the plants and fruits of the forest, and although I don't remember everything we tried, there was dragon fruit, passion fruit and pomello among the selection. Our host is clearly knowledgeable on many things - when he hears we are from Devon, he remarks regrettably: "I'm afraid we don't have any clotted cream available."
From the Daintree Teahouse, it's a short drive to the Daintree River, where we hop aboard a frighteningly small boat for a river cruise. Here, mangroves and other forest trees edge the riverbank, and we feel decidedly that we are in the tropics. We are joined on the journey by a very cute white-lipped green tree frog, who is fast asleep by our bench. The Daintree River is quite sizable, and at this point feels utterly unchanged over the centuries, so mush so that I would not be surprised to see a dinosaur wander into view on the shore. That, of course, is not an entirely inaccurate expectation, for lining the waters here are the dreaded saltwater crocodiles, and after some searching, we happen upon one sitting very still in the bank. Our guide suggests that it's a female, sitting on a nest of eggs. Shortly afterwards we encounter another one, a male, who slowly submerges when we get closer, in a sinister and uneasy manner. Saltwater crocodiles are enormous animals - the largest of all reptiles - and have been known to take human beings here, although this is usually avoided with little bit of common sense, and my overwhelming reaction is one of delight that we've been able to see a couple on our trip. Elsewhere, we encounter little mudskippers and fiddler crabs, whilst when we get back to the jetty, out boat attracts the attention of some archer fish, prompting our guide to place small pieces of fruit on the boat's edge, watching with delight as they spit and knock it into the water - they hit the target every single time.
Our drive back to Cairns took in the Captain Cook Highway once again, and we stopped for one final view at the Rex Lookout, which overlooks Wangetti Beach, a particularly stunning portion of the coastline. Here, para-gliders set off from the cliffs and head up into the clouds (sometimes the owner of this business takes his dog with him) and whilst we opt to stay firmly on land, you can understand the desire to see this landscape from above - it must be spectacular. As Lizzie and I stand looking out across the ocean, it dawns upon us that our trip is drawing to a close, for tomorrow we must leave Cairns and head ever-eastwards, back to Britain, back where the North Atlantic - and not the South Pacific - dictates the state of play. With the exception of Uluru, the ocean has been our constant companion since we landed in Los Angeles, so much so that I'm sad to give it a final glance. But despite this, we both leave with a heart full of gratefulness and thanks, for the opportunity to come out here in the first place is a huge privileged, and one that we have been determined to absorb in every way. It's a wondrous part of the world.
Saturday 15 December 2018
The Great Pacific Adventure - Uluru
We step off our Virgin Australia aircraft and onto the sun-baked airstrip. All around us the earth is red, and the hot air is clearly visible rising off the ground. The temperature is in the mid-30s, and after five seconds in the open air, we are hot and sweaty. "Welcome to Central Australia" says the man from AAT Kings, the dominant tour company in these parts (and, one has to say, excellent at what they do.) The title of Great Pacific Adventure takes rather an odd turn here - we're 1,200 miles from the big blue ocean, in the middle of one of the world's most inhospitable deserts - Sydney is a world away, and Rarotonga a lifetime ago.
Our home for the next three nights in Yulara, a tourist resort 'town' in the middle of the Australian desert, created in the 1970s to formalise and keep check on tourism in the vicinity of Ayers Rock (or, as we call it nowadays, Uluru.) Yulara came about to replace the unmonitored building of motels and other establishments at the base of the rock, to help preserve the world-famous landscape, and to filter tourists - like us - into a central point. It was ahead of its time, built sympathetically so that the resort is not visible in the landscape, yet providing a comfortable environment in which to live, even in this remote corner of the world. The name Uluru doesn't really mean anything - it's a proper noun, the name of the rock given to it by the Pitjanjatjara people (part of the Anangu people,) but the name itself has no particular meaning. The site is sacred to the Aboriginal people, who since 26 October 1985 have been officially recognised as its traditional owners. In turn, they have leased it back to the national park authority for 99 years, and together they manage and maintain the park. Climbing the rock, which always seems to crop up in conversation, is a contentious issue - the traditional owners have always requested that people don't do this, and in October 2019 it will be officially banned.
We're up at 3.45am the following morning. It's Armistice Day 2018, the 11th also falling on Remembrance Sunday this year, particularly fitting as it marks the 100th anniversary of the end of hostilities. The Australian news has it pretty well-covered this morning - 65,000 Australians died in the First World War, and today they are remembered here and around the Commonwealth. It seems bizarre that Australians were involved in that conflict, from the perspective of somebody sitting in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by desert, with galahs squawking overhead - how could a war on the other side of the world have affected anybody here?
Our early rise is to board a coach destined for Uluru, to watch the monolith wake up in the sunrise. A strange spot of rain doesn't dampen the excitement, and as we get our first real view of the rock, so we realise that all the reports are true - it really does amaze the senses. The rock changes character completely in the sunrise, as it moves from its dusky grey to more familiar orange-red, until it shines bright in the full sun of the morning, totally dominating the landscape. One can only imagine what it must have been like for the earliest explorers to come so suddenly upon this feature - and one can also finally understand why the rock is held in such reverence by Australia's earliest people.
We leave the rock for another famous feature - Kata Tjuta (the Olgas) lies some 20 miles to the west. Again very sacred to the Pitjanjatjara people, the name translates as 'Many Heads' for in Aboriginal lore, these enormous boulders are the heads of the ancestors. There are 36 huge domes in total - a much bigger formation than Uluru - although tourists are limited to two permitted footpaths, one of which traverses the Walpa Gorge (translating roughly as 'Windy Gorge,') an awe-inspiring path into the rocks which gives an understanding of the majestic scale of the geology. We are absorbed in our environment, for this is so completely different from anywhere we've ever been before, and there's a definite sense of both spirituality and ancientness about the place. I want to learn more about the Aboriginal traditions here, but our guide can't tell us much as he's not allowed to know, which I find a little disappointing. Nonetheless, it;s a remarkable place, and although we're back at our hotel by 10am, we feel as though we've had a whole day out.
The heat of the day dictates that any outdoor activity is reserved for mornings and evenings. In the middle of the day, we walk to the resort's little museum and art gallery, then move on to the 'town centre,' really a collection of two or three souvenir shops, an art gallery, and a little supermarket. The supermarket here isn't just for tourists - locals use it too, coming from remote settlements in the vicinity to do their shopping, so there's a good mix of foods and people. Notwithstanding the tourists, there's more than 1,000 people living here - many employed by the resort, along with the Anangu living in nearby communities. It is here that I realise that, far from being purely a tourist hang-out, the facilities are a lifeline for people living out in this remote stretch of central Australia. We really are in the wilderness - the nearest town, the famous Alice Springs, is more than 200 miles away.
The next morning, in the cool of the dawn, we walk across the resort through the bush, to the Imalung Lookout, with good view of Uluru 20 miles away, the more distant heads of Kata Tjuta, and hundreds of miles of unbroken desert. The trees in our immediate vicinity are alive with squawking, and we turn our heads to reveal what looks like a thousand galahs flapping in the branches. These birds are my favourite thing about this part of Australia, for they are gregarious and vivacious little things, full of character. From here we walk into the resort to catch the bus to Yulara Camel Farm, a little farmstead a couple of miles away, with an impressive collection of camels and other animals. The camel is not native to this continent, but is an unofficial icon of the Australian desert since being imported in the 1840s. Since this time they've gone feral and, being well-adapted to the climate and geography here, have evidently flourished. Nowadays camel milk is lucrative, prized by soap manufacturers. At the camel farm, the animals seem to live out a relaxed and care-free life, giving the occasional ride to tourists, and spending the rest of their time in spacious pens, with plenty of shade from the sun. It feels as though we've stepped back in time, for there's an old-fashioned shop and homestead, a windmill water pump, and some old coaches and other artefacts on display.
For our final evening at Yulara, the clouds thicken and give us a light misting of rain, hardly ideal conditions for the Uluru sunset viewing we've booked. In the end it turns out to be a damp squib, an unlucky reminder that, even in the desert, the rain can wreck even the best-laid plans. Uluru disappears from view not with its legendary blazing, but rather dissolving into the darkness, until we stand alone, wondering if it was ever there to begin with. It's a sad end to a memorable visit - tomorrow we leave this part of Australia, and unlike other places we've visited, we're fairly certain in the knowledge that we won't be back. It's not that we haven't enjoyed every moment - it's just that now we've experienced the splendour of Uluru and Kata Tjuta, and felt the remoteness of the unforgiving desert, there seems little reason to return. Still, we take with the curious depth of feeling that comes with being so far away from anywhere, and we feel almost intrepid as we board our Qantas flight to take us out of the iconic, mystifying Red Centre.
Our home for the next three nights in Yulara, a tourist resort 'town' in the middle of the Australian desert, created in the 1970s to formalise and keep check on tourism in the vicinity of Ayers Rock (or, as we call it nowadays, Uluru.) Yulara came about to replace the unmonitored building of motels and other establishments at the base of the rock, to help preserve the world-famous landscape, and to filter tourists - like us - into a central point. It was ahead of its time, built sympathetically so that the resort is not visible in the landscape, yet providing a comfortable environment in which to live, even in this remote corner of the world. The name Uluru doesn't really mean anything - it's a proper noun, the name of the rock given to it by the Pitjanjatjara people (part of the Anangu people,) but the name itself has no particular meaning. The site is sacred to the Aboriginal people, who since 26 October 1985 have been officially recognised as its traditional owners. In turn, they have leased it back to the national park authority for 99 years, and together they manage and maintain the park. Climbing the rock, which always seems to crop up in conversation, is a contentious issue - the traditional owners have always requested that people don't do this, and in October 2019 it will be officially banned.
We're up at 3.45am the following morning. It's Armistice Day 2018, the 11th also falling on Remembrance Sunday this year, particularly fitting as it marks the 100th anniversary of the end of hostilities. The Australian news has it pretty well-covered this morning - 65,000 Australians died in the First World War, and today they are remembered here and around the Commonwealth. It seems bizarre that Australians were involved in that conflict, from the perspective of somebody sitting in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by desert, with galahs squawking overhead - how could a war on the other side of the world have affected anybody here?
Our early rise is to board a coach destined for Uluru, to watch the monolith wake up in the sunrise. A strange spot of rain doesn't dampen the excitement, and as we get our first real view of the rock, so we realise that all the reports are true - it really does amaze the senses. The rock changes character completely in the sunrise, as it moves from its dusky grey to more familiar orange-red, until it shines bright in the full sun of the morning, totally dominating the landscape. One can only imagine what it must have been like for the earliest explorers to come so suddenly upon this feature - and one can also finally understand why the rock is held in such reverence by Australia's earliest people.
We leave the rock for another famous feature - Kata Tjuta (the Olgas) lies some 20 miles to the west. Again very sacred to the Pitjanjatjara people, the name translates as 'Many Heads' for in Aboriginal lore, these enormous boulders are the heads of the ancestors. There are 36 huge domes in total - a much bigger formation than Uluru - although tourists are limited to two permitted footpaths, one of which traverses the Walpa Gorge (translating roughly as 'Windy Gorge,') an awe-inspiring path into the rocks which gives an understanding of the majestic scale of the geology. We are absorbed in our environment, for this is so completely different from anywhere we've ever been before, and there's a definite sense of both spirituality and ancientness about the place. I want to learn more about the Aboriginal traditions here, but our guide can't tell us much as he's not allowed to know, which I find a little disappointing. Nonetheless, it;s a remarkable place, and although we're back at our hotel by 10am, we feel as though we've had a whole day out.
The heat of the day dictates that any outdoor activity is reserved for mornings and evenings. In the middle of the day, we walk to the resort's little museum and art gallery, then move on to the 'town centre,' really a collection of two or three souvenir shops, an art gallery, and a little supermarket. The supermarket here isn't just for tourists - locals use it too, coming from remote settlements in the vicinity to do their shopping, so there's a good mix of foods and people. Notwithstanding the tourists, there's more than 1,000 people living here - many employed by the resort, along with the Anangu living in nearby communities. It is here that I realise that, far from being purely a tourist hang-out, the facilities are a lifeline for people living out in this remote stretch of central Australia. We really are in the wilderness - the nearest town, the famous Alice Springs, is more than 200 miles away.
The next morning, in the cool of the dawn, we walk across the resort through the bush, to the Imalung Lookout, with good view of Uluru 20 miles away, the more distant heads of Kata Tjuta, and hundreds of miles of unbroken desert. The trees in our immediate vicinity are alive with squawking, and we turn our heads to reveal what looks like a thousand galahs flapping in the branches. These birds are my favourite thing about this part of Australia, for they are gregarious and vivacious little things, full of character. From here we walk into the resort to catch the bus to Yulara Camel Farm, a little farmstead a couple of miles away, with an impressive collection of camels and other animals. The camel is not native to this continent, but is an unofficial icon of the Australian desert since being imported in the 1840s. Since this time they've gone feral and, being well-adapted to the climate and geography here, have evidently flourished. Nowadays camel milk is lucrative, prized by soap manufacturers. At the camel farm, the animals seem to live out a relaxed and care-free life, giving the occasional ride to tourists, and spending the rest of their time in spacious pens, with plenty of shade from the sun. It feels as though we've stepped back in time, for there's an old-fashioned shop and homestead, a windmill water pump, and some old coaches and other artefacts on display.
For our final evening at Yulara, the clouds thicken and give us a light misting of rain, hardly ideal conditions for the Uluru sunset viewing we've booked. In the end it turns out to be a damp squib, an unlucky reminder that, even in the desert, the rain can wreck even the best-laid plans. Uluru disappears from view not with its legendary blazing, but rather dissolving into the darkness, until we stand alone, wondering if it was ever there to begin with. It's a sad end to a memorable visit - tomorrow we leave this part of Australia, and unlike other places we've visited, we're fairly certain in the knowledge that we won't be back. It's not that we haven't enjoyed every moment - it's just that now we've experienced the splendour of Uluru and Kata Tjuta, and felt the remoteness of the unforgiving desert, there seems little reason to return. Still, we take with the curious depth of feeling that comes with being so far away from anywhere, and we feel almost intrepid as we board our Qantas flight to take us out of the iconic, mystifying Red Centre.
Sunday 9 December 2018
The Great Pacific Adventure - Sydney
Interesting fact of the day - in New Zealand, people still celebrate Guy Fawkes Night; in Australia, they don't. They used to, of course, but over the years Sydney's New Years Eve celebrations have eroded the traditional commemoration of the Gunpowder Plot, and consequentially our touch-down into Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport on 5 November means we've miss the sparklers, Catherine wheels and all. Not that we're complaining - it has been a delightful flight, and we are processed into the Commonwealth of Australia in two minutes flat. The airport has the novelty of a metro station, so our transit into the city is as simple as it gets and, notwithstanding a temporary panic when the hotel cannot find our reservation (I had, apparently, been given the new surname, Triner) it has been the easiest international journey I have ever made.
Sydney, as everybody knows, is famous for its harbour, and the waterside location of The Rocks and Circular Quay make up the very heart of the city. it is from here that we embark, the next morning, for a ferry around the harbour, stopping at Taronga Zoo (with a superb collection of birds, koalas, echidnas, platypus among other non-native species) and then onto the beach community of Manly. Here, you can see the shark nets placed at strategic intervals to keep the unwanted predators away from the shore, although not everybody seems to be swimming within their bounds. Our exploration of the town takes us away from the harbour and down to Manly beach, waves lapping its shore and looking oh-so-Australian. The beach is busy, for it's a hot and sunny Spring day, and over the crowds flitter our first glances of the sulphur-crested cockatoos, a truly lovely sight. Returning to the ferry wharf, we notice many people dressed in suits and ball gowns, along with plenty of fascinators - but of course! This is the day of the Melbourne Cup, Australia's Grand National, and the whole country seems to have taken the day off to eat fancy meals, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and watch the racing unfold live on TV. It's clearly an all-day affair, and there is much cheering and shouting coming from the plentiful bars.
The next morning is quite the contrast - the sky is thick with clouds, and there's a persistent rain in the air. We brave the weather for the delights of Sydney's waterside botanic gardens, a wonderful oasis of peaceful green space and beautiful flowers. Back home they're heading slowly towards winter, whilst here the days are getting longer and hotter, and the garden is showing off fantastic dahlias, foxgloves and abundant roses. Even better, another piece of native birdlife - a laughing kookaburra - lands on the lawn right in front of us, the only one we see in our time in Australia. As the rain thickens, we walk from the gardens to Hyde Park, past St Mary's Cathedral and on to the Australian Museum, the perfect place to shelter, enjoy some lunch, and take a look around. I instantly like this museum - it has a big old-fashioned gallery, in which it is housing an exhibition called "200 Treasures," bringing together its greatest artefacts such as prehistoric pottery, Polynesian masks and ancient fossils. Upstairs, meanwhile, there are huge dinosaur skeletons, a room dedicated to the Pacific people, and a "surviving Australia" section, including information on how to not be eaten on a deadly continent where just about everything can kill you. The rain still hasn't stopped when we leave, so it's a quick march to a beautiful old galleried building called the Queen Victoria Building (QVB, the locals call it) in which sumptuous but unpretentious shops offer an old-world experience. Here, I get whimsical for home - the Christmas decorations are up, the lights and tinsel are dancing all around us, and there's an enormous six-ton Christmas tree in the centre of the building. At the end of a busy second day, we arrive back at Circular Quay and hop aboard a vessel for an evening dinner cruise around the harbour, taking in the stunning Harbour Bridge and Opera House by night. I enjoy a ravioli starter, kale-stuffed chicken, and chocolate raspberry cake, washed down with a glass of champagne and a good local beer - it's all a sure reminder that we're on our honeymoon, and celebrating with the best that Sydney can offer.
Australia is famous for its unique wildlife, and the following morning we are picked up by a cheerful and burly fellow called John, who stuffs us into his 4x4 and takes us out of the city and into the Southern highlands for a ten-hour wildlife tour. John's a typical characterful Australian, and he's well-travelled - only this May he was driving with friends across Dartmoor. We arrive, 90 minutes later, in a little town called Berrima, once a boom-town owing to its location as a day's travel by stage-coach from Sydney. Nowadays its population sits at only 400, but it retains several of its old buildings, including a grand courthouse, and a pub, said to be the oldest continuously licensed establishment in the country. We stop for tea in a little cafe, and are given Lamington Cake, named after an old governor. The story goes that a local woman made the cake for Lamington's arrival, but he was otherwise detained and was three days late in getting to her. Not wanting to waste the cake, which was going to go dry, the woman covered it in chocolate to keep it moist. This, however, meant that the governor would get chocolate all over his fingers, so to counter this, the woman rolled the cake in desiccated coconut, thus inventing a local delicacy. After cake, it's out to spot wildlife - we see plenty of wild kangaroos but no koalas, emus or platypus are to be found. Nevertheless, it's a great feeling to be out of the city and in the bush, and as night falls, we grab our torches and begin a search for wombats and wallabies by night. It takes a while, but soon we are rewarded with great troops of kangaroos, at one point watching an enthralling boxing match take place between two of them. Wombats, too, finally emerge - little round balls of fluff that I find surprisingly large, shuffling around in the shadows, and occasionally wondering straight across the lights of our torches. By the time we hit the pillows back in Sydney, it's nearly midnight and we are totally exhausted.
On our final day in Sydney we walk to the nearby Darling Harbour, a vibrant part of town with many shops and eateries, as well as other attractions such as a zoo, aquarium and shopping centre. It's a pleasure to stroll the water here and watch as boats of all shapes and sizes drift in and out of berth, and there's a nice mix of tourists and professional locals, on their way to the high rise offices for a day's work (and what a view this must be from your office.) We're in Darling Harbour to catch an ocean-going Princes Cruises vessel, which will take us under the Harbour Bridge, past the opera house, Tarronga and Manly, and out into the Pacific to look for whales. I'm skeptical, not wanting to get my hopes up that we'll see anything on what is one of the last voyages of the season, for the whales' migrations south are beginning to end for the year, and it's an awfully big expanse of blue. Our marine biologist, however, seems more positive, and after a little while searching, we are rewarded with what must be the greatest wildlife experience of my life - the sighting of mother and calf humpbacks. Our operator works on an ethical basis - no spooking of stressing the creatures, no sonar or radar to track them, just an experienced eye with a pair of binoculars. The pilot shuts off the engine and we watch the occasional blow of water from the deep. Our biologist knows that the calf has to come up for air more regularly than its mother, but when she appears she's enormous and beautiful, treating us to jumps and breaches over a captivating hour. It's a first, and possibly once-in-a-lifetime moment for me, and I'm a little emotional - it's a sight I never expected to see.
We dine that evening at Darling Harbour, before taking one final stroll around the water front, passing under the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge (I have decided this is my favourite landmark of all.) There's nowhere quite like this - nowhere so well-known yet so far away, and we shall dearly miss being here. Sydney Harbour provides a magnificent farewell after four magical days, and we're feeling a little sullen to move on so quickly. Nonetheless, we know we'll be back - and tomorrow, all being well, everything around us will be very different indeed.
Sydney, as everybody knows, is famous for its harbour, and the waterside location of The Rocks and Circular Quay make up the very heart of the city. it is from here that we embark, the next morning, for a ferry around the harbour, stopping at Taronga Zoo (with a superb collection of birds, koalas, echidnas, platypus among other non-native species) and then onto the beach community of Manly. Here, you can see the shark nets placed at strategic intervals to keep the unwanted predators away from the shore, although not everybody seems to be swimming within their bounds. Our exploration of the town takes us away from the harbour and down to Manly beach, waves lapping its shore and looking oh-so-Australian. The beach is busy, for it's a hot and sunny Spring day, and over the crowds flitter our first glances of the sulphur-crested cockatoos, a truly lovely sight. Returning to the ferry wharf, we notice many people dressed in suits and ball gowns, along with plenty of fascinators - but of course! This is the day of the Melbourne Cup, Australia's Grand National, and the whole country seems to have taken the day off to eat fancy meals, drink copious amounts of alcohol, and watch the racing unfold live on TV. It's clearly an all-day affair, and there is much cheering and shouting coming from the plentiful bars.
The next morning is quite the contrast - the sky is thick with clouds, and there's a persistent rain in the air. We brave the weather for the delights of Sydney's waterside botanic gardens, a wonderful oasis of peaceful green space and beautiful flowers. Back home they're heading slowly towards winter, whilst here the days are getting longer and hotter, and the garden is showing off fantastic dahlias, foxgloves and abundant roses. Even better, another piece of native birdlife - a laughing kookaburra - lands on the lawn right in front of us, the only one we see in our time in Australia. As the rain thickens, we walk from the gardens to Hyde Park, past St Mary's Cathedral and on to the Australian Museum, the perfect place to shelter, enjoy some lunch, and take a look around. I instantly like this museum - it has a big old-fashioned gallery, in which it is housing an exhibition called "200 Treasures," bringing together its greatest artefacts such as prehistoric pottery, Polynesian masks and ancient fossils. Upstairs, meanwhile, there are huge dinosaur skeletons, a room dedicated to the Pacific people, and a "surviving Australia" section, including information on how to not be eaten on a deadly continent where just about everything can kill you. The rain still hasn't stopped when we leave, so it's a quick march to a beautiful old galleried building called the Queen Victoria Building (QVB, the locals call it) in which sumptuous but unpretentious shops offer an old-world experience. Here, I get whimsical for home - the Christmas decorations are up, the lights and tinsel are dancing all around us, and there's an enormous six-ton Christmas tree in the centre of the building. At the end of a busy second day, we arrive back at Circular Quay and hop aboard a vessel for an evening dinner cruise around the harbour, taking in the stunning Harbour Bridge and Opera House by night. I enjoy a ravioli starter, kale-stuffed chicken, and chocolate raspberry cake, washed down with a glass of champagne and a good local beer - it's all a sure reminder that we're on our honeymoon, and celebrating with the best that Sydney can offer.
Australia is famous for its unique wildlife, and the following morning we are picked up by a cheerful and burly fellow called John, who stuffs us into his 4x4 and takes us out of the city and into the Southern highlands for a ten-hour wildlife tour. John's a typical characterful Australian, and he's well-travelled - only this May he was driving with friends across Dartmoor. We arrive, 90 minutes later, in a little town called Berrima, once a boom-town owing to its location as a day's travel by stage-coach from Sydney. Nowadays its population sits at only 400, but it retains several of its old buildings, including a grand courthouse, and a pub, said to be the oldest continuously licensed establishment in the country. We stop for tea in a little cafe, and are given Lamington Cake, named after an old governor. The story goes that a local woman made the cake for Lamington's arrival, but he was otherwise detained and was three days late in getting to her. Not wanting to waste the cake, which was going to go dry, the woman covered it in chocolate to keep it moist. This, however, meant that the governor would get chocolate all over his fingers, so to counter this, the woman rolled the cake in desiccated coconut, thus inventing a local delicacy. After cake, it's out to spot wildlife - we see plenty of wild kangaroos but no koalas, emus or platypus are to be found. Nevertheless, it's a great feeling to be out of the city and in the bush, and as night falls, we grab our torches and begin a search for wombats and wallabies by night. It takes a while, but soon we are rewarded with great troops of kangaroos, at one point watching an enthralling boxing match take place between two of them. Wombats, too, finally emerge - little round balls of fluff that I find surprisingly large, shuffling around in the shadows, and occasionally wondering straight across the lights of our torches. By the time we hit the pillows back in Sydney, it's nearly midnight and we are totally exhausted.
On our final day in Sydney we walk to the nearby Darling Harbour, a vibrant part of town with many shops and eateries, as well as other attractions such as a zoo, aquarium and shopping centre. It's a pleasure to stroll the water here and watch as boats of all shapes and sizes drift in and out of berth, and there's a nice mix of tourists and professional locals, on their way to the high rise offices for a day's work (and what a view this must be from your office.) We're in Darling Harbour to catch an ocean-going Princes Cruises vessel, which will take us under the Harbour Bridge, past the opera house, Tarronga and Manly, and out into the Pacific to look for whales. I'm skeptical, not wanting to get my hopes up that we'll see anything on what is one of the last voyages of the season, for the whales' migrations south are beginning to end for the year, and it's an awfully big expanse of blue. Our marine biologist, however, seems more positive, and after a little while searching, we are rewarded with what must be the greatest wildlife experience of my life - the sighting of mother and calf humpbacks. Our operator works on an ethical basis - no spooking of stressing the creatures, no sonar or radar to track them, just an experienced eye with a pair of binoculars. The pilot shuts off the engine and we watch the occasional blow of water from the deep. Our biologist knows that the calf has to come up for air more regularly than its mother, but when she appears she's enormous and beautiful, treating us to jumps and breaches over a captivating hour. It's a first, and possibly once-in-a-lifetime moment for me, and I'm a little emotional - it's a sight I never expected to see.
We dine that evening at Darling Harbour, before taking one final stroll around the water front, passing under the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge (I have decided this is my favourite landmark of all.) There's nowhere quite like this - nowhere so well-known yet so far away, and we shall dearly miss being here. Sydney Harbour provides a magnificent farewell after four magical days, and we're feeling a little sullen to move on so quickly. Nonetheless, we know we'll be back - and tomorrow, all being well, everything around us will be very different indeed.
Wednesday 5 December 2018
The Great Pacific Adventure - Auckland
On a day when we achieve the phenomenon of crossing the international date line, leaving Rarotonga on Wednesday afternoon, and landing four hours later in Auckland, on Thursday evening. The flight had no remarkable features, but US immigration services take note - we were admitted into the constitutional monarchy of New Zealand in one minute flat.
After a marvelous night's sleep in one of the world's more comfortable hotel beds, we wandered down the city's main thoroughfare, Queen Street, towards the ferry port, where we secured passage on the Devonport Ferry, running to-and-from the little harbourside suburb at regular intervals. Devonport, it we discover, is a lovely neighbourhood - clean, peacefgul and affluent, with a hint of the 1950s in its presentation. We poppeed into a few of the well-kept shops, then made out way up Mount Victoria, from which the views over to the Auckland skyline are remarkable, and allow a firm understanding of the harbour's geography. Mount Victoria (the Maori for which is Takarunga) is actually the nighest volcano on Auckland's north shore - its historic lava flows forming much of Devonport's current waterfront. In more recent times, the mountain was used for artillery placements, such was its strategic positioning, defending the land from any direction.
Back on the mainland, we hiked to what is called the Auckland Domain, a lovely park that is home to the Auckland Museum, and offers what is said to be one of the southern hemisphere's finest collections. The mainstay of the collections naturally focuses on Pacific peoples, with many wonderful carvings and canoes, along with impressive natural history exhibits. Well readers of this blog will know how long I could linger in such a place, and it will come as no surprise that we spent some time exploring the galleries here.
Next morning, and up very early for a hotel pick-up courtesy of Bush & Beach tours, destination Hobbiton, the famous film set for the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies. Apart from the Kiwi driver called Dave, we're the only non-Americans on the bus, and all is jovial as we drive out of Auckland and into the Waikato region, the landscape for which is largely the domain of cattle farming. At Hobbiton, movie fans are gathered in their thousands (some, it can be noted, are taking it all very seriously) and after being assigned a guide to make sure we don't wander anywhere we shouldn't, we are off on a poke around the many - many - little hobbit holes. Personally, I'm not very interested in the films, but I have to take my hat off to the quality of the gardening, which is beautifully maintained and offered a feel of the idyllic. After this, a drink in the Green Dragon Pub, then a buffet lunch (which included, I am pleased to report, roast potatoes,) gift shop, and the long ride back to the city.
Briefly rested, we were out again for the Auckland evening, stopping by at 'Sky city', the centrepoint of which is the Sky Tower (name a city that doesn't have one of these nowadays!) The lift ascends in no time, and before we know it, we're staring out over Auckland and to the Pacific. Beneath the tower, there's something of a carnival in town, with music, street food and samba dancing, which drew quite a crowd.
For our final day in the city, we took to the railway station for a very special meeting. More than 50 years ago, Lizzie's great-uncle, John, emigrated to New Zealand, never to return to the UK again. Here he settled, married a Kiwi and had two children, whole also live in the greater Auckland area. On a warm and sunny Sunday morning, we had a convivial chat and a coffee for a couple of hours, learning about each other's lives and sharing some photos Lizzie's family.
Seeing them off with good tidings, we opted to take the long walk from the waterfront to Mount Eden, an old volcano to the south of the city centre. This walk took in an area called Parnell, with a very pleasant atmosphere and a wide variety of shops and cafe, alongside Auckland's surprisingly modern cathedral. Following Parnell Road, we skirted the edge of the Domain, stopping for a lunch of kiwi burgers (that is, beef burgers with a fried egg on top) and then took the steep pathway that led up to the enormous grassy crater. Mount Eden, like all of Auckland, is a dormant volcano, and whilst an imminent eruption is unlikely, nobody is quite sure when the next incident will occur. It's an undoubtedly strenuous climb, but once at the summit, we have yet another extraordinary view to enjoy, which this time includes Eden park, the country's largest sports venue, and a regular host for the famous All Blacks.
It's another quick turn-around that sees us leave Auckland wastefully soon. In the city we found a curiously familiar home, very British in many of its ways, and with the usual friendliness for which this country is renowned. Auckland feels classy, cultured, peaceful, and eminently liveable, and as we know we want to explore more of New Zealand in the future, it seems very likely that we'll set foot in this lovely city again.
After a marvelous night's sleep in one of the world's more comfortable hotel beds, we wandered down the city's main thoroughfare, Queen Street, towards the ferry port, where we secured passage on the Devonport Ferry, running to-and-from the little harbourside suburb at regular intervals. Devonport, it we discover, is a lovely neighbourhood - clean, peacefgul and affluent, with a hint of the 1950s in its presentation. We poppeed into a few of the well-kept shops, then made out way up Mount Victoria, from which the views over to the Auckland skyline are remarkable, and allow a firm understanding of the harbour's geography. Mount Victoria (the Maori for which is Takarunga) is actually the nighest volcano on Auckland's north shore - its historic lava flows forming much of Devonport's current waterfront. In more recent times, the mountain was used for artillery placements, such was its strategic positioning, defending the land from any direction.
Back on the mainland, we hiked to what is called the Auckland Domain, a lovely park that is home to the Auckland Museum, and offers what is said to be one of the southern hemisphere's finest collections. The mainstay of the collections naturally focuses on Pacific peoples, with many wonderful carvings and canoes, along with impressive natural history exhibits. Well readers of this blog will know how long I could linger in such a place, and it will come as no surprise that we spent some time exploring the galleries here.
Next morning, and up very early for a hotel pick-up courtesy of Bush & Beach tours, destination Hobbiton, the famous film set for the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies. Apart from the Kiwi driver called Dave, we're the only non-Americans on the bus, and all is jovial as we drive out of Auckland and into the Waikato region, the landscape for which is largely the domain of cattle farming. At Hobbiton, movie fans are gathered in their thousands (some, it can be noted, are taking it all very seriously) and after being assigned a guide to make sure we don't wander anywhere we shouldn't, we are off on a poke around the many - many - little hobbit holes. Personally, I'm not very interested in the films, but I have to take my hat off to the quality of the gardening, which is beautifully maintained and offered a feel of the idyllic. After this, a drink in the Green Dragon Pub, then a buffet lunch (which included, I am pleased to report, roast potatoes,) gift shop, and the long ride back to the city.
Briefly rested, we were out again for the Auckland evening, stopping by at 'Sky city', the centrepoint of which is the Sky Tower (name a city that doesn't have one of these nowadays!) The lift ascends in no time, and before we know it, we're staring out over Auckland and to the Pacific. Beneath the tower, there's something of a carnival in town, with music, street food and samba dancing, which drew quite a crowd.
For our final day in the city, we took to the railway station for a very special meeting. More than 50 years ago, Lizzie's great-uncle, John, emigrated to New Zealand, never to return to the UK again. Here he settled, married a Kiwi and had two children, whole also live in the greater Auckland area. On a warm and sunny Sunday morning, we had a convivial chat and a coffee for a couple of hours, learning about each other's lives and sharing some photos Lizzie's family.
Seeing them off with good tidings, we opted to take the long walk from the waterfront to Mount Eden, an old volcano to the south of the city centre. This walk took in an area called Parnell, with a very pleasant atmosphere and a wide variety of shops and cafe, alongside Auckland's surprisingly modern cathedral. Following Parnell Road, we skirted the edge of the Domain, stopping for a lunch of kiwi burgers (that is, beef burgers with a fried egg on top) and then took the steep pathway that led up to the enormous grassy crater. Mount Eden, like all of Auckland, is a dormant volcano, and whilst an imminent eruption is unlikely, nobody is quite sure when the next incident will occur. It's an undoubtedly strenuous climb, but once at the summit, we have yet another extraordinary view to enjoy, which this time includes Eden park, the country's largest sports venue, and a regular host for the famous All Blacks.
It's another quick turn-around that sees us leave Auckland wastefully soon. In the city we found a curiously familiar home, very British in many of its ways, and with the usual friendliness for which this country is renowned. Auckland feels classy, cultured, peaceful, and eminently liveable, and as we know we want to explore more of New Zealand in the future, it seems very likely that we'll set foot in this lovely city again.
Saturday 1 December 2018
The Great Pacific Adventure - Rarotonga
It's an odd feeling, something approaching culture shock, as our wind-battered aircraft touches down on Rarotonga's airstrip, which sits on the northern coast of the little island, parallel to the crystal-blue seas. We've left Los Angeles, with its metropolitan population topping 13 million, and arrived in Avarua, national capital of the Cook Islands, and home to 5,445 souls. The weather is a far cry from the holiday brochures, warm rain tumbling from the skies, and gales viciously bending the surrounding palm trees into new and unusual shapes. The arrival committee, however, is far more welcoming, and in a lovely local gesture of friendship, we have gardenia garlands placed around our necks as we exit the airport. There's really only two words you must know here - Kia Orana, as the locals greet natives and visitors alike, meaning "may you live a long and fulfilling life." I think we're going to like it here.
Our hotel is a self-contained flat sitting just off Muri beach in the island's southeast corner. Off the beach, the sapphire-blue Muri lagoon is separated from the Pacific Ocean by the coral reefs that surround the entirely of the island. Here also sit four tree-shrouded motu - little uninhabited islands - which add structure and perspective to the scene. Save for the venomous stonefish, which is easily avoided by wearing proper footwear in the water, there's no animal here that can kill, maim, or otherwise eat you - it's surely as close as one can ever get to actual paradise.
Our time on Rarotonga is short, and we wish to see both forest and coast on our visit, and so we hop aboard a 4x4 tour, courtesy of Raro Safari Tours, which offers excursions into the island's mountainous interior. We're not talking any great distance here - at its widest, the island is not seven miles across, and a visit into the middle is half that distance again. Along the way, we are shown fascinating pineapple and mango plantations, and significant cultural sites such as the Toka Akamaaraanga, a place from which ancestors embarked in little canoes, bound for new islands. Exploration is a deep-rooted part of the Polynesian heritage, and Rarotongans are proud of the role they played in discovering the islands of the Pacific (which eventually, of course, led to the discovery of New Zealand) long before Europeans arrived in these waters. Up in the mountains, the tracks are treacherous after the rains, but our driver (who calls himself 'V') soldiers on in the jeep, and we ascend through the mists until we are atop the second-highest point on the island. From here, the view is exhilarating - lush forest all around, a glimpse of the sea below, and the island's highest point, a granite outcrop called "the needle," just visible through the thickening fog. Just knowing that we are on nothing more than a speck of land in the middle of the enormous Pacific Ocean is both humbling and invigorating. I even fancy I can see Captain James Cook and the HMS Endeavor anchored off the shore.
The Muri Lagoon, which has the intriguing property of becoming more beautiful with every look, turns even more azure as the wind and rain dies away, and eventually we are given a full taste of the beautiful South Pacific. In such a climate, there's only one one thing to do, and so armed with snorkel mask and reef shoes, we set fourth into Pacific waters. We don't go out too far - perhaps up to waist-height - and although the mainstay of the reef lies further out, we are still treated to a few corals, some dainty fish, and the odd sea slug. The reef has one other secret that I only learn once the wind has dropped - for our entire time on the island, there's been a constant distant roar, like an aeroplane flying high overhead. I had put this down to the sound of gales, but realised when swimming in the lagoon that it was actually the waves crashing against the reef edge half-a-mile or so away, a constant thunder in the background.
On our final evening on Rarotonga, we venture up to the nearby Te Vara Nui, the Island Nights cultural tour. We're taken around a purpose-built centre to learn about the island's history, religion, social government, medicine, fishing, costumes, and coconuts (the 'tree of life.') After this fascinating tour, we are seated for a buffet dinner, before a full show of dancing, drumming and fire, playing out the story of Tongaiti, a voyaging warrior who sailed into Rarotonga, sending his daughter to marry the island's chief so that Tongaiti and his family would be welcomed. Really, a fascinating watch, and a wonderful display of history and humanity - the perfect memory to take away from our time here.
No sooner has our plane touched down in Avarua, then we are queuing up to board our onward flight. We've had an unbelievable few days, and grown remarkably accustomed to the stunning lagoon right on our doorstep, the friendly and welcoming locals, and tropical feel. In Rarotonga, we've found an island that ticks off every reason for travel - an amazing place, well worthy of many more days exploration, and somewhere that neither of us will ever - ever - forget.
Our hotel is a self-contained flat sitting just off Muri beach in the island's southeast corner. Off the beach, the sapphire-blue Muri lagoon is separated from the Pacific Ocean by the coral reefs that surround the entirely of the island. Here also sit four tree-shrouded motu - little uninhabited islands - which add structure and perspective to the scene. Save for the venomous stonefish, which is easily avoided by wearing proper footwear in the water, there's no animal here that can kill, maim, or otherwise eat you - it's surely as close as one can ever get to actual paradise.
Our time on Rarotonga is short, and we wish to see both forest and coast on our visit, and so we hop aboard a 4x4 tour, courtesy of Raro Safari Tours, which offers excursions into the island's mountainous interior. We're not talking any great distance here - at its widest, the island is not seven miles across, and a visit into the middle is half that distance again. Along the way, we are shown fascinating pineapple and mango plantations, and significant cultural sites such as the Toka Akamaaraanga, a place from which ancestors embarked in little canoes, bound for new islands. Exploration is a deep-rooted part of the Polynesian heritage, and Rarotongans are proud of the role they played in discovering the islands of the Pacific (which eventually, of course, led to the discovery of New Zealand) long before Europeans arrived in these waters. Up in the mountains, the tracks are treacherous after the rains, but our driver (who calls himself 'V') soldiers on in the jeep, and we ascend through the mists until we are atop the second-highest point on the island. From here, the view is exhilarating - lush forest all around, a glimpse of the sea below, and the island's highest point, a granite outcrop called "the needle," just visible through the thickening fog. Just knowing that we are on nothing more than a speck of land in the middle of the enormous Pacific Ocean is both humbling and invigorating. I even fancy I can see Captain James Cook and the HMS Endeavor anchored off the shore.
The Muri Lagoon, which has the intriguing property of becoming more beautiful with every look, turns even more azure as the wind and rain dies away, and eventually we are given a full taste of the beautiful South Pacific. In such a climate, there's only one one thing to do, and so armed with snorkel mask and reef shoes, we set fourth into Pacific waters. We don't go out too far - perhaps up to waist-height - and although the mainstay of the reef lies further out, we are still treated to a few corals, some dainty fish, and the odd sea slug. The reef has one other secret that I only learn once the wind has dropped - for our entire time on the island, there's been a constant distant roar, like an aeroplane flying high overhead. I had put this down to the sound of gales, but realised when swimming in the lagoon that it was actually the waves crashing against the reef edge half-a-mile or so away, a constant thunder in the background.
On our final evening on Rarotonga, we venture up to the nearby Te Vara Nui, the Island Nights cultural tour. We're taken around a purpose-built centre to learn about the island's history, religion, social government, medicine, fishing, costumes, and coconuts (the 'tree of life.') After this fascinating tour, we are seated for a buffet dinner, before a full show of dancing, drumming and fire, playing out the story of Tongaiti, a voyaging warrior who sailed into Rarotonga, sending his daughter to marry the island's chief so that Tongaiti and his family would be welcomed. Really, a fascinating watch, and a wonderful display of history and humanity - the perfect memory to take away from our time here.
No sooner has our plane touched down in Avarua, then we are queuing up to board our onward flight. We've had an unbelievable few days, and grown remarkably accustomed to the stunning lagoon right on our doorstep, the friendly and welcoming locals, and tropical feel. In Rarotonga, we've found an island that ticks off every reason for travel - an amazing place, well worthy of many more days exploration, and somewhere that neither of us will ever - ever - forget.
Tuesday 27 November 2018
The Great Pacific Adventure - Los Angeles
"Los Angelenos,
To live in sunshine
Their funky exile
Midwestern ladies
High-heeled and faded
Drivin' sleek new sports cars
With their New York cowboys"
So wrote Billy Joel, in what has been described as a "typical eastern American view of the west coast." And that's the thing about Los Angeles - we've all got preconceived notions of the place. Despite never been within a thousand miles of LA, I still feel as though I know it, as do billions of others around the globe, all thanks to the magic of Hollywood.
It's also not somewhere I've ever clamoured visit, but as one of the Pacific's major transport hubs, there's always been a good chance of winding up there at some point, if only for a day or two - which is how we happened to be there in October. Our own arrival into West Hollywood is, on its own, a cause of massive celebration, for after being stranded for some time at the international airport, we eventually resolved to take a taxicab through the dimly-lit and seedy underside of the metropolis. Our driver, who we're sure carried a gun under the seat, drives at about 90mph, but this feels like the lesser of two dangers, and we're in a massive state of relief when he finally turns onto Sunset Boulevard, for what we've seen out of the window confirms our suspicions that this is not an entirely safe or friendly city. Los Angeles, perhaps more than any other city on earth, has a reputation for a "step on anybody" culture, where success is measured by wealth and property, where there are big winners - but also massive losers. However, our long journey is rewarded by very friendly hotel staff, and a spacious, safe and quiet room with a view over the distant city skyline.
The next morning, and everything feels so different. The threatening edge is gone from the atmosphere, and Los Angelinos are making their way - somewhat slowly - up and down the boulevard in their huge pickups. As we have less than 48 hours here, we opt for the hop-on-hop-off tourist bus, which whizzes around the main sites of Hollywood and Beverley Hills. Our pick-up is the nearby Comedy Store, a well-known incubator for many of America's top laugh-out-loud acts, and we are almost bundled onto the first service of the day, which arrives 15 minutes late, causing the driver to wave us on without even checking our tickets. From the top deck, Tinseltown opens up before us - the Capitol Records Building, Melrose Avenue, Paramount Studios - on an exhilarating ride around.
We are eventually deposited at the very epicenter of the show business world - Hollywood Boulevard - whose famous Dolby and Chinese Theater are known the world over (The Dolby hosts the Oscars, whilst the Chinese Theatre has around 200 celebrity handprints on its forecourt.) In front of them both, and stretching down the the boulevard in both directions, are the Hollywood stars, embedded into the paving as a permanent reminder of film, music and television greats. in my opinion, they've taken some liberties with who they let join the club, but looking beyond this, all the class acts are represented - Frank Sinatra, Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Audrey Hepburn, and Donald Duck. It's something of a pass-time to search the stars, and we find many, if not all, of our favourites (note to those searching for the great Bill Murray, his star is not to be found on the Hollywood Walk of Fame - something to do with him riling the establishment up in just the wrong way.)
In all honesty, there's not actually much else to do on Hollywood boulevard, so we take a couple of local buses and navigate our way to Griffith park, home of a famous observatory. Up here, the whole of the city - and, it seems, the whole of Southern California, are within our frame of vision. The observatory itself is probably the most interesting place in the city - opened in 1935, it contains a large solar telescope for projecting images of the Sun, alongside the deeply absorbing Foucault pendulum, designed to demonstrate the rotation of the Earth. Outside the walls of this scholarly institute, those who have made the journey up here are rewarded with the best on-foot views of the famous Hollywood Sign. Surrounding the entirety of the site, the scrubby, dry landscape hints at snakes and scorpions - although it was the dry land itself that was to make headlines in the weeks following our visit, when the Californian tinderbox went up in smoke, with some of the worst fires in living memory.
The next morning, our bus takes us down the never-ending stretches of Santa Monica Boulevard, to the beach of (funnily enough) Santa Monica. This is old-school America, its enormous wooden pier hinting at the leisure activities of an earlier time. Upon the pier, we're instantly attracted to the Bubba Gump Shrimp co. shop, a spin-off from the Forrest Gump film, selling all manner of T-shirts and other merchandise. The very end of the pier itself is another piece genuine Americana, for at America's very western edge, the pier marks the end (or beginning) of the historic Route 66, which once trundled some 2,448 miles from Chicago, until 1985, when it was officially removed (most of its distance having been upgraded to the great US Interstate system.)
Beyond the pier, we stroll along Santa Monica beach, although the weather is slightly grey, a little squally. There's good reason for coming here though, for this is my first ever sighting of the Pacific Ocean, the great body of water that will be our almost constant companion for the next three weeks. As for the rest of of coastal LA - that is, Venice Beach and the Marina Del Rey - they'll have to wait for our next lay-over in the City of Stars, for our time has already run out, and we leave in anticipation of our next destination, which will be altogether more exotic and extraordinary...
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