TheQueen

New Zealand 1st Installment - Queen of the Kava Ceremony

We flew to New Zealand via Fiji, with a 1-day layover, arriving in Fiji very early in the morning. It was pleasant to sit in the moist, breezy, February morning, waiting for the bus to our resort.  After a short bus ride to our resort on the shore, scoring a little breakfast, and visiting with the mynahs, we took the hotel bus to Nadi Town.  We were dropped off at a very nice shop with every kind of goods – nice clothing, huge kava bowls, bark paintings, cheap gimcracks labeled “Bula Fiji” in gilt letters.  Escaping with no more than a shirt for B., we decided to stroll through the town. 

At every shop entrance, we were invited to come in and see the finest goods for sale.  As we picked up speed, hoping to trot right by all the hustle, a man fell into step with us and introduced himself.  Let’s call him, for the purposes of this tale, Frank. As we strode along, Frank told us about his village, far from the coast.  He told us about the hospitality and customs of his village.  “Come with me,” he invited, “and enjoy the traditional Fijian hospitality of a kava ceremony.”  And he turned into a shop door.  We followed.

Gesturing us quickly to an alcove at the rear of the shop, Frank introduced us to his partner, Ned.  Ned welcomed us, seated us on stools, and proceeded to wash the kava bowl and prepare for the ceremony.  So there we were, Frank on my right, B. on my left, and between us and Ned the kava bowl, or tanoa.

Ned ceremoniously prepared the drink.  And Frank allowed as how I should be the “Queen” of the kava ceremony.  Ned and Frank taught us the rituals, clapping with hands cupped, the proper number of claps, saying the correct words, drinking the small bowl of kava, dipped from the tanoa, in one long draft.  And so we commenced.

After the first round, a third partner appeared, along with four very young tourists from Europe.  We formed a circle around the tanoa, Ned prepared the kava, and we all joined in the ceremony. Frank, still sitting on my right, insisted that as the Queen I should have a gift.  He reached behind me to a table of carvings, putting one in my lap. Once, he told us, there was no love in Fiji.  Marriages were arranged.  But now all is changed.  The carving, he explained to us, show the male and female and represent the coming of love to Fiji. The carving would bring luck and love to our household.

Well, what to do?  Before a third round of the ceremony should begin, B. and I excused ourselves.  I set the carving on a side table, ready to walk out of the shop.  “But,” B. wondered to me, “would we be offending local custom if we just left the carving?”  I hesitated.

Frank bounded out from the alcove, selected two necklaces, and proceeded to clasp one around B.’s neck and one around mine.  “These are my gifts to you. Let me wrap your carving,” he said, “and prepare the paperwork you will need for customs.”  Wrap it he did, and then presented me with a bill. And he asked for U.S. dollars.  And then suggested that I might want to give him something extra for his poor family back home in his village.

We dragged that dratted carving all over New Zealand and back home to California.  I keep it as a reminder that sometimes being the Queen is not at all what you expect.

There are lots of posts on the web about kava ceremonies.  I thought this one was nice. Rob Kay's Fiji Islands Travel Guide - Kava 

New Zealand Installment #2 – Auckland to Wellington

Like other volcanic islands, the North Island slopes sharply upward from the sea.  When in Auckland, therefore, it is very easy to locate the harbor – head downhill.  We spent only two nights and a day there, but I think we climbed that hill a dozen times.  The street, quite a wide one, must have been at a 6% grade at least.  Good training for the coming hike.

From here we bussed to Wellington, as the scenic railway train was sold out.  It was a nice trip through sporadic rain showers. As our reward for arriving early, we got the front seats and had a fine view.  The scenery ranged from bucolic farmland to desert to green but very steep and rugged hills.  Once arrived in Wellington, we were chauffeured by the newlyweds-to-be, G. & J., to the suburb of Johnsonville, where the wedding would take place.

Wellington, we discovered, is very hiker-friendly.  There are several well-known (although not so well sign-posted) Walkways.  The day after our arrival, being at the northern end of the urban area, we thought to tackle the Northern Walkway.

We started out, following the instructions in our Rough guide, taking the train one stop toward the city.  And we did indeed find the signs pointing to the walkway.  But the signs seemed to be steering us back toward the way we had come, toward Johnsonville. We walked a long way that way without seeing any signs at all.

What to do? After considerable dithering and retracing of routes and consulting of maps, we decided we could proceed on city streets until we overlapped the Walkway.  So we set off down Burma Street.  At Khandallah, we detoured to the local library, where a kind librarian gave us some rudimentary maps and directions.  With only one more unproductive detour, we did indeed find the Walkway.  We walked through Trelissick Park and down into the Ngaio Gorge.  The track was absolutely lovely – abundant foliage, gorgeous trees and flowers, and some steep ups and downs. And I without my camera, an oversight I did not repeat on the rest of our trip.

From the rim of the gorge, the yellow arrows led us up hill.  And up hill. And up hill yet again, on city streets.  And finally, up a really steep, narrow road. Marching blithely along, high above the city, we encountered a gent walking his two dogs.  We were, he told us, on the wrong track (might have been the Tongariru?).  He very kindly directed us to a steep downward trail that would take us, he vowed, to the Botanical Gardens. By now it was afternoon, and I was tired and cranky.  Why did I ever want to do this? 

We descended the steep track, slipping and sliding at times. We did indeed emerge at the botanical gardens, and they were spectacular.  The rose garden was surely worth the lingering we did there, especially the Aloha and Typhoon blooms. 

To finish out the day (the Northern Walkway is clocked at 13.5 miles, and no one knows how many miles we put into unintended detours), we stumped up the steep hill to the tram station, rode the tram down the hill, and hoofed it to the train station.  I was ready for a rest on the ½ hour ride to Johnsonville. 

New Zealand Installment #3 – Wellington – Otari-Wilton’s Bush, Northern Walkway Reprise

Thursday

Today a short hike, since the rehearsal dinner is tonight and we were making a late start.  We chose Otari Bush, one of two preserves in the city with native vegetation. This site, according to our guide books, is the more mature, and also has a botanic garden.  Fortified with a veggie pie from the local bakery, we rode the train to Crofton Downs station and hiked to the preserve.

We spent about three hours in the gardens and preserve.  There was such variety – forest paths, open meadows, huge flowering trees, an 800-year-old Rimu tree.  We entered through the gardens.  From there, trails led down to an open, grassy park area  and on to a number of loop trails on the steep opposing hillside.

The loop trails were indeed very steep in places.  But no switchbacks for hardy Kiwi hikers – instead they build steps!  I swear we climbed that hillside at least three times during the afternoon – at least my knees felt so. Here I also saw my first fantail.  They are flirty little birds who flit around catching the bugs you stir up as you stomp down the trail.  Their tails, when they pose most prettily, open just like a fancy lady’s fan.

  Friday

Today is the wedding.  We wake to overcast and fog, as we have most mornings here.  If the weather follows the familiar pattern, it will begin to clear around noon and be beautiful the rest of the day.  I gather that we have been very lucky not to have wind, as Wellington is known to be a windy city.

We got the gouge on route-finding for the walkway at dinner last night.  C. S.-S.  knew it well. We decided to backtrack the part of the Walkway we had missed.  So, we rode the commuter train to Kandallah, and proceeded north. 

 It was a lovely, cool walk, foggy all the way. I was quite enjoying myself until we started up Mt. Kau Kau – stairs again!

 As we ascended, the fog grew thicker: no views from the top of Mt. Kau Kau today.

  As we walked through the pastures at the top we crossed from field to field over several stiles, each of them a bit different.  This one, I thought, was most interesting.

And those beautiful purple bell-shaped flowers, beaded with dew, growing in the hedgerows?  Beware the deadly beauty --Foxglove, the source for digitalis. 

 

 

 

The wedding, by the way, was held in an old Anglican chapel atop a hill, and was followed by a high tea in the church hall.  The wedding party motored off to the Rose Garden in the city’s Botanical Gardens for pictures.  The rest of us caught up to them at … guess where … Otari-Wilton Bush, where there is a magnificent facility for parties.  The reception was a hit.  We danced until midnight. Many years of happiness, G. & J.!

New Zealand Installment #4 – South Island, Abel Tasman Park

Traveling in New Zealand is a delight.  Every major town or city has at least one information site, or i-Site.  The small white “i” in a green oval marks the spot. We had booked our major transportation and, of course, the Milford trip, before setting off from California.  But much of our tootling around the South Island was arranged on the spot but stopping in at i-Sites.

 The day after the wedding we took a taxi into the city to the ferry terminal, and rode a ferry from Wellington to Picton.   The trip was absolutely calm -- a blessing, I’m told.  In Picton we picked up our camper van … at least we thought we were getting a camper van.  What we got was a van with seats that reclined – no bedding, no kitchen equipment – but, oh well.  No wonder it was such a deal!A trip to the local Warehouse, a popular discount store, yielded all we needed.  After a further stop at a grocery store, we were ready to roll.

We drove west through steady rain to Nelson, where we stopped at an i-Site to book camp spots.  Then on westward, with the rain drumming on the top of the van and the wipers swishing, to the very gates of Abel Tasman Park.  During the last 17 km. of the drive, the skies really opened.  They don’t call it the “wet” coast for nothing! And that was Saturday.

Sunday dawned bright and sunny.  We treated ourselves to breakfast at the Park Café – a pile of yummy French toast with fried bananas and bacon, and a latté each. Feeling on top of the world, we asked at the café counter where we might book a jet boat ride. The plan was that we would ride the jet boat up the coast to Torrent Bay, and hike back along the trail. Here I learned something else about New Zealand.  Virtually every establishment catering to tourists can book you on any attraction.  Our hostess got on the phone, verified availability, collected the money, issued us vouchers, and sent us off down the road.

 And the fun began.  The jet boats depart from a low wood building with a wide verandah.  Outside the building, there are several tractors, each with a jet boat on a trailer in tow.  We were formed up, loaded onto the boats, and advised to buckle ourselves into the life jackets hanging over the side. Our driver fired up the tractor, hauled us down the road (!), and then backed down the ramp into the water.  (The tides in the bay rise and fall about 4-1/2 feet, and when the tide is out the tractors haul the boats out across the sands before they can put in.)

 Our driver gave us a bit of a tour, pointing out local landmarks and telling us a bit of the local history, like Split Apple Rock in the picture. It was a fun ride, although another time I would really be tempted to take the slow route via kayak.

The trail back was wide and well-maintained.  Tiny white petals from the crowns of flowering trees littered the shady paths, and there were many small grottos. The trail must have been an awesome construction job.  There are bridges and bridges and bridges, small and large.  Thousands of cicadas above in the canopy tap-tapped ceaselessly, a noise like raindrops falling on the leaves.  In some places the noise was almost deafening, and I was glad of my hat, which muffled the noise a bit. Add to the ledger 14km, including a side trip to Cleopatra’s Pool.  Then on to Westport for a hot shower and a sound sleep. On our next trip we will allow a lot more time at Abel Tasman. 

New Zealand Installment #5 – Westport to Haast

During the next two days (that would be Tuesday & Wednesday) our plan was to wander down the West Coast, taking in the sights as we made our way to Queenstown. We began with a visit to the seal colony at Cape Foul Wind, so named by none other than Captain Cook. He never actually landed there; evidently the weather wasn’t cooperating.  Today it was anything but foul, so in addition to the seals, we were treated to a lovely panorama of the beach.

We wandered slowly down Highway 6, with a brief stop at Punakaiki (Pancake Rocks and blowholes and our first weka-sighting), a short stop at Hokatika, and then on to Franz Joseph, where we stopped for the night.

 

 

 

 

The next day it rained, at times very heavily.  We managed to do a 30-minute hike up the valley to the terminus of the Fox Glacier.  The landscape in that valley changes regularly as a result of torrential rains and slides.  It’s an effort to keep the trail open.  The glacier is immense.  The little black vertical features you see in the bottom left of the picture – those are people –  and they're not supposed to be there!

We then made a detour to Lake Matheson, where we had a tailgate picnic and set off around the lake for a view of Mt. Cook.  Well, we had hoped to get a glimpse. 

It’s somewhere behind the clouds in this picture. The last 40 minutes of this hike I was huddled in my rain gear trying to keep the camera dry.  At least I now knew that my rain gear truly worked.

We drove on through extremely heavy rain to Haast, home of sand flies and ‘mozzies’.  If you’ve never met a sand fly, count yourself lucky.  They bite. It rained so hard and I was so wet that I talked Bob into a motel room and dinner at the local pub, Smithy’s. 

A word about the highway – it’s two lanes with an occasional passing lane, and not much in the way of shoulder.  The bridges are all 1-lane only, the longer of them having pullouts mid-way so two cars can pass.  And, of course, one drives on the left. 

The country is very rugged – imagine Big Sur with temperate rain forest vegetation and waterfalls everywhere and stormy, stormy weather.  It’s beautiful, awesome country.  The last bridge to be completed on this coast, the Haast Bridge, was completed only in the 60’s and it took 2 years to get it all in place.

August 9 – Pt. Sur Light Station

Yesterday we visited the Monterey Bay Aquarium, along with dozens of families and several summer camp groups.  I was particularly enamored of the schooling fish in the kelp forest.  The displays of jellies are something else I could watch for hours.

 

Today, we queued up to take a tour of the light station at Pt. Sur.  The station is a state park, entirely volunteer run.  To get there, we caravan through a gate and across a working cattle ranch, park at the bottom of the hill, and proceed upward on foot. Our guide carried a book of pictures from times past, among them photos of the railway used to haul supplies up to the top of the rock from the supply lighters that arrived three or four times a year.  There was no highway in those days, so delivery by sea was the norm. The consequent perilous unloading of supplies required considerable ingenuity. Our very knowledgeable volunteer docent guide gave us a real flavor of what it must have been like to tend the light, as well as a perspective on the marine life and weather.

Four families lived atop the hill, the head keeper allotted one house and the three assistant keepers each allotted each a section of a tall row house.  The light keepers tended the kerosene flame inside the Fresnel lens and the clockwork mechanism that displayed the light at the prescribed 15-second interval.  The families tended the one horse and one mule and one cow allotted to the station, at one time having to descend the rock to the barn at the base of the hill. (In later years, the barn was moved to the hilltop.) The families also had other livestock, but their husbandry required singular methods in the harsh environment of Pt. Sur.  For example, chickens had to be tethered lest they be blown off the rock!

 This is a tour worth taking.  For more information visit  Pt. Sur State Historic Park .  Oh, and one last tidbit -- the last time the Coast Guard inspected the light, they left it rotating in a counter-clockwise direction rather than the usual clockwise.  The historical society has received calls.

 

August 11, Pt. Reyes National Seashore

We spent the weekend with B.’s sister and her spouse, D. & Z., in their treetop villa in the hills of El Cerrito.  Ah, the joys of civilization – espresso, ethnic food, and good consignment shops. (Not that the same couldn’t be had in Carmel, but we had been much too busy hiking and sightseeing to partake.)

We left Sunday mid-morning for Crescent City, a long haul on the coast highway.  But we couldn’t resist the call of Pt. Reyes.  We managed a picnic at Drakes Beach , on the sunny side, and then took a quick walk out to the lighthouse stairs.  More visits definitely in order here – we could spend quite a few days hiking the trails and exploring the seashore. 

 

  And we could perhaps plumb the mystery of why the lighthouse is down 300 stairs rather than up?

August 13, Hendy Woods

Hendy Woods State Park is just up the road from the Anderson Valley Inn.  We drove through the park to the day use area at the end of the park roads.  Here several loop trails wind though the Big Hendy grove. As we often do, we started out in the wrong direction, and ended up near the campground.  We backtracked up the fire road and joined the upper loop trail, and walked for some 2 miles on the flat, springy trail.

 Along the way, we took a side trail to the hermit hut.  Here, in the latter part of the last century, an eccentric hermit lived for 18 years.  According to the posted articles, he was a gentle soul. 

The undergrowth here features lots of ferns, and a curious clover-like ground cover.  Both are common to the redwood forest along the Pacific coast. From my limited research, the clover-like plant is redwood sorrel.

 

August 24, Mt. Rainier

Today was a transit day, moving from Olympic National Park to the Yakima Valley.  We took the scenic route, and stopped by so the B could say hello to his old buddy, Mt. Rainier.  Rainier’s snowy crown, visible on a good day from Seattle, dominates the horizon. There are other mountains, but none so distinctive. The eye is inexorably drawn to this Prince Among Peaks, trailing his glaciers down rocky slopes and into the streams and rivers below.

 

August 26, Oregon Trail

Today we traveled from the Yakima Valley to La Grande, Oregon, taking the scenic route along the north bank of the Columbia River.  Once settled in our hotel, we backtracked a short way up I-84 to the Oregon Trail Visitors Center – this a small forest service center, not the big national center further down the highway. 

 This section of the trail is the Blue Mountain crossing.  The old stagecoach road is easy to see, as is the wagon trail.  These 120-odd years after the trail was abandoned, it is still easy to trace its path, worn deep into the earth, in places bordered by the rocks moved aside by the intrepid travelers. The path comes straight up the ridge; no switchbacks on this trail.  The top-heavy wagons would tip over if tilted to one side by the contour of the hillside.

Now the only sounds are our feet on the path and the wind in the trees.  But imagine what it must have sounded like to the travelers on the Oregon trail: wagons creaking; the thud of the ox team’s hooves; the crunch of iron wheels on tree roots;   the sounds of men clearing deadfalls, felling trees or levering up rocks from the path; the sounds of assorted livestock;  the murmur of conversation and the occasional shout or laugh of a child. And imagine the dust – that is mentioned in many of the immigrant’s diaries.

This site includes two short interpretive loop trails.  The Oregon City Loop Guide includes imaginative narrative that helps you imagine what it must have been like for the travelers.