Black Beaches

I started today with a brisk march up Mount Victoria, in Devonport. A Fuller's ferry saved me from having to catch the bus and I found myself on the North Shore in no time at all. I strolled along the High Street, past residents and tourists reading the paper and sipping at "flat whites", and peered into the antique shop windows. Skene had promised me that NZ would be all coffee bars and curiosity shops!

The summit offered 360 degree views of the City and the Bay - Rangitoto, Brown's Island and Motuihe. There was also a radio station and further evidence of Auckland's early 20th century defences.

Birgit and Barbara, with whom I'd become acquainted on Great Barrier Island, then rescued me from a hot and humid day in the city and whisked me off to Auckland's wild and windswept west coast - a contrast to the sedate North Shore.

None of us knew the way and our first mistake was crossing the Harbour Bridge - more good views but we ended up heading a long way north before turning west. We soon had to ask a passer-by for directions and the typically friendly Kiwi fashion, she offered to drive part of the way there with us following so that she could give us a better idea of the route!

We made it to Te Henga eventually and meandered through the dunes to the wide expanse of beach. The Tasman was pounding the shore and the landscape was immediately familiar from Jane Campion's film, The Piano, which was shot at Karekare Beach, just to the south.

We walked along the beach in the sunshine, paddling through a stream in bare feet, and over a ridge to the next bay. The black sand was scorching the soles of my feet - reminiscent of the volcanic flow which brought it to the coast.

After our walk, we stopped off at the cafe at the back of the dunes which is run from a truck surrounded by wooden tables and chairs complete with canvas parasols. I had a delicious spicy lentil burger with kumura fries and aioli on the side. Just what was needed.

The next stop was Piha Beach, further up the coast - more black sands and huge surf. Lion Rock, an old pa, or fortified Maori village, stood proud in the middle of the beach. The sun was beginning to set over the sea and the remote bush of the Waitakere Ranges rose up at the back of the beach, growing steadily darker. Hallowe'en characters crept out as we headed back to the car with a demon in the dunes and a witch in the rock pools - a surreal end to the day!

Fishy Business

I eventually found SeaMart today - Auckland's fish market, appropriately nestling between the Tepid Baths and Viaduct Harbour.

At the market, I encountered many of New Zealand's native fish. I was surprised to discover that whitebait are translucent in their natural state and was shocked to come face to face with a tank of oodles of wriggling eels, ready to be purchased for use in the city's many oriental restaurants.

I was particularly intrigued to see a hapuka or groper - a meaty white fish which I enjoyed at the Harbourside Restaurant last night with pommes anna and my first ever fried green tomatoes (mmm!).

Quote for the Day

The billboard outside the quirky Braemar B&B caught my eye tonight as I walked home. It bore a good moral: "Think big thoughts and relish small pleasures."

I was disappointed though to find that the author of the quotation, H. Jackson Brown Jr., is a modern author rather than a figure from history. The fact that the saying came from "Life's Little Instruction Book" seemed to rob it of some wisdom!

The building itself is interesting too - the only Edwardian building within the CBD to be in residential use. It was converted back to a home by John Sweetman, the voice of TV3, and features a recording studio in the cellar.

John Peel

I was shocked and saddened this morning to read of John Peel's untimely demise. He kept me company with his crazy records whilst I wrote late night essays and revised for A-levels, Mods and Finals. More recently, he revived me on hungover Saturday mornings with the ultimately optimistic home truths. When he broadcast from his Suffolk studio at Peel Acres, he welcomed us into his family for the duration of the show and his death will leave a great hole in the radio schedules. I admired him for his enthusiasm, his willingness to accept his own shortcomings (most notably his failure to play records at their proper speeds) and his ability to blaze a trail without stepping on anyone's toes. I'll miss the Pig's Big 78s and even the mad German techno hits which he was wont to play from time to time. The end of an era.

Paddling in the Pacific

Labour Day dawned grey and misty but there was no wind so our planned kayaking expedition was on. Everyone seemed to be working to island time as Birgit and I sat outside the cafe in Tryphena, waiting for the instructor. We had a drink and some chocolate caramel slices to boost our energy levels and watched the world go by.

The library opposite was closed but seemed no bigger than the public toilets next to it! I hope that they have a regular rotation of stock! The man who'd poured Birgit's coffee pumped the petrol too and locals came and went from the corner shop-cum-cafe-cum-gas station-cum-takeaway.

Our instructor emerged eventually, from a house on top of the cliff which sported too bright red kayaks affixed to the eaves. We were introduced to two Texans who would be joining us for our cruise and to two double-seated yellow sea kayaks. Wayne, of Aotea Kayak Adventures, showed us the basics, strapped us into our life jackets and showed us the map before launching us into the Pacific. Birgit was captain, in charge of the rudder, and I was stroke, seated aft.

Our entourage paddled off from Mulberry Beach, passing a headland where a local Maori iwi (tribe) had been slaughtered by their Northland counterparts in the Musket Wars. The next bay was home to Pah Beach which featured two large mounds, created when the Maoris had dug a whole in the middle of a rocky outcrop. No-one knows why they did it. The water was clear and we could see rocks, weed and sand beneath us. Wayne told us to look out for sting rays and pointed out some Pied Shags on the rocks nearby.

As we progressed around another promontory, our steering and pace improved. We headed straight across the bay to a house-boat moored just off shore. I had heard an Irish couple on the ferry discussing how they were going to rent it for their honeymoon in the summer but there were no signs of occupation today.

I felt surprisingly confident on the water and was reminded of October weekends spent on Windermere and a summer paddle across an estuary in Brittany. In no time at all though, I had blisters developing on my thumbs and decided that I wasn't quite ready to circumnavigate the Island (30 hours) or make the crossing to the Coromandel (21 nautical miles).

On arriving back at the shore, I jumped into the bus and Wayne, who doubles as a bus driver, dropped me in the middle of nowhere by a school bus stop, to walk down Rosalie Bay Road to Medlands Beach, one of the stretches of sand which we had admired from the top of Mount Hobson. I set off down the track but soon began to worry. There was no-one around and the path seemed to have veered away from the direction of the sea.

There was no need to panic though and I reached the beach eventually, passing an intriguing white bubble shaped house with a strip of solar panels along its roof. I lazed on the beach for an hour or so, listening to the waves pounding the sand and watching a couple of hardy surfers.

I took my final bus trip back to the wharf at Tryphena to meet my return ferry. Whilst we were all gathering on the pier, some children pointed out a sting ray swimming between the pilings. It was as big as any of the rays at Kelly Tarlton's aquarium and I was very relieved that I hadn't seen it from my kayak that morning! No-one could tell me whether they really would sting...

Shortly after leaving the island, the ferry passed through a large pod of dolphins - my first confirmed sighting in the wild. There were dozens of dolphins, leaping through the wake of the catamaran, not too flamboyant, but plainly pleased to see us. In the distance, I saw the unmistakeable spout from a whale's blowhole. A stunning end to a fine weekend. I arrived back in Auckland, exhausted, with sand in my shoes, my trousers still damp from the sea and a tan developing.

Hot Pools and Cool Waves

Having been kept awake by the trance DJ until 4am, I was reluctant to get up. But the hot springs were calling me so I met the bus at 9am and promised myself an early day.

The track down to the hot springs was straightforward and I was able to relax after the exertions and stress of the previous day. A group of us soaked in the pools in the rain before heading back to the bus.

The bus took us through Claris, collecting some passengers at the "airport" which was little more than a strip of grass with the check-in desks housed in portacabins. The Great Barrier Airline planes were tiny and it looked as though there would have had to have been a separate flight for all the backpacks.

Birgit, my Austrian roommate, and I headed down to the deserted Kaitoke Beach and ate lunch on a sand bar. We watched the tiny planes come into land, reeling around through the clouds as they did so. I had a paddle and impressed Birgit with my British hardiness. It was the Pacific Ocean that I'd been searching for since leaving Nananu-i-Ra Island in Fiji - wild and roaring and empty. The tide crept up to our toes and so we packed up and tramped on.

The tide was too far in to go around the headland so we took the route behind it, keeping to the tracks to avoid traipsing into any of the renowned cannabis plantations. Even sheep farmers allegedly shoot trespassers round here...

We arrived at Medlands Beach and I decided to continue the walk rather than wait for the bus. I set off alone, up the road which would take me across the middle of the island, over a ridge of hills. As I climbed up, I was offered three lifts by passing cars but refused them all so that I could admire the views at my leisure. All the other drivers waved.

An hour and a half later, having reached the opposite coast, I was picked up by the bus and whisked up to the hostel for a delicious pizza accompanied by squid rings. The DJ was playing more agreeable music but everyone was opting for an early night and so I followed suit, leaving the bar deserted.

Mount Hobson

I woke up to native birdsong for the first time this morning and wandered out onto the verandah to find out where I'd ended up. I looked out onto bush and hills and the sea in the distance. The bar nestled in the trees on the other side of the valley. The day looked overcast but still. Not bad tramping weather.

After breakfast in the communal kitchen, we were picked up by the bus from the night before and taken down to Tryphena, the port, to purchase our "Possum Pursuits Passes" - a glorified bus ticket which gave us access to trampers' transport. We were divided into groups, depending on our destination of choice, and loaded onto various buses.

The island is 60km long and served by unmetalled roads in the most part and so it was an interesting journey north to the Windy Canyon. The route took us past an Irish pub, various hostels and lodges and the Island's primary school - on the beach, of course!

I disembarked with an Austrian girl, Birgit, and three Swiss language school students, Chantal, Simone and Roman. Our challenge for the day was Mount Hobson. The bus driver pointed us in the direction of a clearing in the bush and off we went. The track took us through the canyon and then up to a ridge. The sun was growing hotter and Mount Hobson loomed ahead. Not the best time to discover that my bottle of water had rolled out of my rucksack and was still on the bus...

The path continued to climb through low-level bush, affording good views of the surrounding landscape. At one point we passed a snatch block - a pulley system for the kauri logging industry, which dated back to the early 20th century. It looked like hard work. There were few birds about but plenty of signs of wild pigs. As I strode on ahead, I found a banded skink, crossing the path in front of me, seemingly undeterred by my presence. I was disappointed that it wasn't the rare chevron skink - all sightings of which must be reported.

The track was muddy and heavy-going with natural steps carved out amongst the tree trunks. We reached the 627 m summit in time for lunch though and sat in the sun underneath the trig point, admiring the stunning views. We could see both sides of the island - rocky outcrops to the west and long sandy beaches to the east.

Descending from the summit, we chose the path to the hot springs and followed a seemingly never-ending track. We were good little trampers and Birgit, Roman and I waited at each junction for the Swiss girls. We'd waited 20 minutes for them on the way up to the summit and spent the same amount of time at the first fork in the road after lunch. We were growing worried about the time, anxious for a dip in the hot springs before being picked up by the bus and I was rather thirsty.

After a flatter stretch, we reached another choice of paths and settled down to wait for the rearguard. We spent an hour chatting about Roman's impending military service and Birgit's PhD on Rogernomics before having a serious discussion as to what we should do next. Should we backtrack and look for the girls? Or head on and tell the bus driver that we had lost them and that he should raise a search party? The bus was due to meet us at 16h30 and it was 16h25. We still had another 90 minutes walking and we'd been told that the driver would declare us lost at 6pm. A difficult decision.

At exactly 16h30, when we should have been meeting the bus, Chantal and Simone wandered nonchalantly out of the bush, refusing to believe how long we'd been waiting.

The five of us pressed on through a swamp, pausing only for me to slice my thumb on razor sharp grass. But Birgit and I soon found ourselves a long way ahead of the others. Birgit decided to wait for them at the hot springs whilst I kept on to tell the bus driver what had happened. I was happy to leave Birgit with an excessively chirpy New Zealander and his morose Ukranian wife who were enjoying a dip in the steaming pool.

I encountered the bus driver halfway down the last section of the track - he'd given us up for lost at 17h15, after the Germans whom he'd picked up earlier had become impatient. I was not popular when I finally reached the bus!

Back at the lodge, a barbecue was in full swing. I was disappointed to find that the Dorchester-trained chef whom I'd expected had left the summer before. But in fact the salads tasty and fried tofu - marinated first in garlic and soy - as good as a fine rare steak. For once, I wasn't jealous of the carnivores present.

A DJ started playing dance and trance and we were expected to pay $10 for the privilege so after finishing our food (or "kai" as it's known in certain circles here), we moved off for the Irish bar down the road. On the way, we called in at Bob & Tipi's, a motel bar, where I found Maori and Pakeha (descendants of European settlers) drinking together for the first time. I had a chat with a local about Johnnie Wilkinson's fitness and enjoyed one of New Zealand's finest ciders.

When we reached the Irish pub, the Currach, we found the party in full flow with more men on the dance floor than women! The Pogues were playing at full blast and I felt suddenly homesick.

Great Barrier Island

Travelling to Great Barrier Island is a bit like getting to the Isle of Man. Before you set off, there's a big decision to make - tiny, scary plane or big, wallowy ferry. Both are horrendous, nauseating trips in bad weather and they're equally liable to cancellation. But both offer fantastic views on a clear day.

In the end, I opted for the fast ferry to avoid the trip to the airport after work and so headed downtown to the ferry building. It seemed as though the entire population of Auckland was on the move. There were long queues for the backpacker buses and campervans waiting at the traffic lights, ready to drive north to the Bay of Islands or south to the beaches of the Coromandel peninsula. The sailors had already set off earlier in the day on the Coastal Classic race but there were lots of fishermen out in launches, enjoying the evening sunshine.

The ferry terminal was packed with foot passengers, each with their own unique luggage - coolboxes (chilly bins - or "cheller bens", with a local accent), shrubs for bach gardens, fishing gear, surfboards, diving tanks, mountainbikes... There were dogs, puppies, grandparents and children all in tow. Suitcases and rucksacks were packed into huge tea chests on castors ready to be craned into the hold when the ferry arrived.

When the QuickCat moored up, we dived on board, eager for seats inside as the evening breeze arrived. It was a good crossing though with clear views of the islands in the Hauraki Gulf then the hills of the Coromandel Peninsula. I was convinced that I saw a couple of dolphins but it could have been the waves.

We landed on the island after nightfall. I had forgotten to note the number of the crate into which my backpack was loaded and so had to search each one before being reunited with my gear. I then found the Great Barrier Island Bus - a yellow and green vehicle, the old school bus, with the slogan "We go everywhere eventually". Luckily they headed for the Stray Possum Lodge straightaway, along windy, pitch black roads, and I was shown to my bunk.

I took a brief look at the night sky, admiring the unusual halo around the moon before I clambered into bed. After exchanging life stories with my roommates, soon fell fast asleep, the sea air having taken effect.

We Are What We Do

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NZ Fashion Week

This week it's New Zealand Fashion Week - though it only lasts four days, which is presumably due to someone's Irish heritage.

The event has attracted a great deal of attention in the city and has made the front page of the Herald at least twice, including a photograph of a scantily clad male model.

It also answered a question of mine - is Southern Hemisphere fashion derivative or does it lead the way? Seeing that some of the main trends to emerge from the catwalks this week have been the colour yellow, ladylike elegance and grecian drapes, it seems that New Zealand is lagging behind as it reveals the new look for Autumn/Winter 2005.

But that's not to say that New Zealand designers don't have a creative streak that is all there own as one model displayed a boar's head teamed with stunning white evening wear and some very unique pieces appeared at the Wearable Arts Awards.

Not So Glorious Mud

Against my better judgment, I decided to join the tramping club for another Sunday in the Hunua Ranges. I was promised more views than the Mataitai Forest offered and naively hoped for less mud! It wasn't to be...

The big blue bus took us south of Auckland, to the Waharau Regional Park on the Firth of Thames (a funny mix of English and Scottish, it seemed to me).

On hopping off the bus, we were offered the choice of a longer and faster walk or a slower and shorter walk. Given that most of my fellow trampers were of my parents' generation and following my exertions this summer, I opted for the extended version. More fool me! I'm not quite sure whether I over-estimated myself or under-estimated the rest of the group!

We set off at a hasty pace up the Waharau Ridge to Adam's Lookout. We knocked 25 minutes off the 1 hour 30 minutes estimate on the signposts! At the lookout, there were stunning views, along the Miranda coastline and across to the Coromandel Peninsula, the site of many an Auckland family holiday home. We were back in the bush in no time though, with barely a minute for me to catch my breath after the steep climb!

There were few birds but plenty of evidence of wild pigs. They'd been rooting around - for roots, funnily enough - and had done an impressive job of turning the soil in various clearings along the track. The only mammal native to New Zealand is the bat and pigs were introduced by sailors in the 18th century. They are now viewed as a pest and hunted throughout the North and South Islands. As a result they tend to be timid and rarely seen unless sought out.

Our next stop was the Kohukohunui Peak at 688m above sea level. We paused for a quick lunch before continuing on the loop track, along the ridge to the other side of the valley. We began a steady descent to the stream below. I was cautious on the soggy path but still landed in the mud up to my ankles several times. I was frequently reminded by one of the club regulars of the importance of wearing gaiters. Not much good when my shoes aren't waterproof in any event!

I lagged behind the rest of the group as I tried to keep my feet in the slippier parts and was criticised for my lack of confidence. The same club member suggested I obtain a walking stick. Not a very practical suggestion right at that moment! My lack of confidence was soon demonstrated to be justified as I slid down into the dirt, covering myself in mud. Eugh!

To add insult to injury, I was obliged to cross the stream at the bottom of the hill without the assistance of a bridge. The water was knee deep and the subject of gaiters came up again. I pointed out that there was some gloating going on and the topic was quickly left alone!

There was another ridge to climb before we reached the bus and I was glad that we were nearing the end of the six hour tramp. My spirits were soon restored, however, by an ice cream stop at the Kaiawa bait shop (they told me it was chocolate chips in the orange ice cream but...) The Community Notice Board outside the shop gave me a hint of local life. It carried a house sale advert written on a brown paper bag, a notice about a fishing competition and details of a new water tank installation company. The place felt remote and parochial but cosy.

A short drive up the Southern Highway took us back to the city and civilisation for another week.

NZ in the Sixties

I learnt a little of Auckland's social history on Sunday's tramp, from a lady who was born in Rhodesia and spent some of her childhood in Surrey, before emigrating with her father to New Zealand.

On their arrival, they found Auckland to be somewhat isolated from the rest of the world. New cars were only available to purchase with the assistance of overseas funds - otherwise a second-hand car was the only option. I have heard stories of law students in the '60's having an "OE" in London and exporting an E-type Jaguar on the way home to fund the rest of their studies.

Shopping was made difficult by limited opening hours. It was impossible to buy groceries at the weekend and so people would dash home from work on late night shopping night to stock up for the following week. Some families bought supplies from a wholesalers each month to counter the problem. There was little choice in the food stores and in fact the supermarkets still operate on a seasonal basis. When I arrived there were lots of pumpkins for sale - now it's the asparagus harvest and that vegetable dominates the shelves. Fresh fruit and vegetables are expensive too - a melon can cost $7 whilst an aubergine would set me back $8! At least there are 24 hour supermarkets now...

Up until 1967, pubs would close at 6pm - a restriction left over from the First World War. There was the "six o'clock swill" - workers would rush to the pubs at 5pm and drink as much as they could in the last hour of service. They would then get in their cars and drive home. Auckland now has very few pubs as we would know them and bars seem to be the venues of choice. It seems that the city skipped a step in their drinking development. It was only 5 years ago that the legal drinking age was reduced to 18 years old, from 21, amid much controversy. That might explain why I am regularly asked for proof of my age!

The country has a long history of independent house-building. Settlers would have had to build their own homes but now people tend to buy a section - a plot - which is already serviced and then hire a builder to create the house of their dreams. Every house is different and I have been surprised at how many modernist buildings there are, mainly in the wealthier suburbs.

Sections have been decreasing in size over the years as the towns have expanded and many are now subdivided by the owners with a second house built at the back for a profit. Other landowners sell off parts of their section with a covenant attached to ensure that any future buildings do not intrude on their seaview or the like. There are very few estates to be seen and it seems that only the city's apartment blocks are built by developers. The result is a hotch potch of architectural influences with traditional wooden villas, Spanish style houses and brutalist bachelor pads or "baches" as holiday homes are known here.

The estate agents take a different approach to selling the properties too. They create a slogan for each house - such as "unashamedly spacious" or "traditionally stylish" - which is put on the "For Sale" sign in the front garden. Other houses are advertised in a similar style to a lonely hearts column - "old lady seeks lifetime companion". Despite the softly softly approach, it seems though that they are as hard-hearted as their English counterparts.

Whangaparoa

Another day out with the Auckland Tramping Club, this time to Whangaparoa, on the Hibiscus Coast, north of the city. Some of my fellow trampers were surprised to see how built-up the area had become over the last ten years but there was still plenty of bush and coast-line to admire.

The area is located on a peninsula which juts out into the Pacific. We set off along the foreshore. It was low tide but we still had to wait for the waves to recede at points if we were going to keep our feet dry! There was a bit of bouldering to be done at the foot of the cliffs and I quickly realised quite how out-of-practice I've become after a few months' absence from the Castle.

The beach was empty and the weather threatening rain as we walked around the headland. I lagged behind to admire the rock pools but resisted the temptation to collect any more shells. Strikingly black oystercatchers dotted the shoreline, looking for shellfish. The track took us along the front of various houses, nearly all of which featured decks and hot tubs and seaviews - most enviable. Pohutukawa clung bravely to the cliff faces and were home to a colony of cormorants, formally known as a shaggery! There were even kereru and tui in the kowhai trees which had made the short trip over from Tiritiri Matangi.

We soon reached Shakespear Regional Park, which abuts a military firing range. There were no signs of action today, fortunately, but the range had been regularly used for experimental designs including a tsunami bomb for ridding coral atolls of Japanese troops. Passing a waterfall, we climbed up to the highest point of the peninsula, to the look-out, for lunch. There was water in almost every direction and I had good views of Rangitoto and Tiritiri Matangi Islands.

The rain was nicely timed - we'd all finished our sandwiches and I had chance to squeeze my way into my waterproof-trousers before we set off again. We walked down to Pink Beach and Te Haruhi Bay, which was home to peacocks and pukeko. We soon reached a rather exclusive suburb, overlooking the America's Cup course, and the (other) Guardian reader in our group started talking in terms of a revolution.

In search of extreme tramping, we followed the track onto the golf course. We stayed off the green and stuck to the paths but were soon glared off. Luckily we had already decided to hop over a fence onto the road when we were seen off by some men in a golf buggy!

As we neared the end of our five-hour tramp, we passed the marina at Gulf Harbour but steered clear of the pontoons in fear of more hostility!

An Underwater Adventure

A 6 km stroll along Tamaki Drive, between a marina and Mission Bay, took me to Kelly Tarlton's Underwater World. The centre was the dream of a diver, Kelly Tarlton, who died just two months after its completion, on the same day that the 100,000th visitor arrived.

The aquarium is housed in disused wastewater storage tanks to the east of Auckland's CBD and was opened in 1985. Sharks and stingrays were brought in from overseas whilst many locals donated fish and eels and the like.

An Antarctic display was added at a later stage, consisting of a replica of Captain Robert Scott's hut. I was amazed to see how much equipment they had taken with them. Not just sledges and tents and all-weather gear but also a printing press and a pianola! They even took a trunk of theatrical costumes so that they could keep themselves amused during the long winter months.

Included in the display, there was heart-breaking footage of the Endurance being broken-up by the ice sheet. It was filmed by Frank Hurley, a member of Shackleton's expedition, whilst the team camped nearby, trying to decide how best to find their way off the ice.

The next part of the museum is the penguin pool! Both King and Gentoo penguins occupy the carefully-regulated habitat which is designed to mimic the birds' natural environment as closely as possible. I was fascinated to learn that penguins moult once a year and don't swim whilst their new coat of feathers is developing. That means that they have to gorge themselves on fish beforehand in order to survive.

We were taken through the enclosure on a Snow-Cat which insulated us from the freezing temperatures. I was disappointed not to be able to stop and look for longer though. The king penguin chicks, which hatched in February this year, were particularly adorable and I could have stood and watched them for ages!

On leaving the frozen wonderland, we moved into the aquarium itself, an acrylic tunnel which was a world-first when it was built. The tanks contained sharks, stingrays (which are native to NZ) and other fish. They all seemed pretty relaxed, gliding about the water, and the rays even seemed to be winking at us. There were many starfish stuck to the walls of the tank and the seahorses would come to see who was passing by.

Kiwi Cuisine

One great thing that I've discovered about Auckland is its Food Halls.

These are essentially the same as Food Halls in English shopping centres such as the one at Surrey Quays shopping centre. But, just for a change, they have good food!

The typical McDonald's/Burger King outfits are close by but the main stalls at the dolma! Although supermarkets seem quite expensive, a straight forward curry will set you back just $6 at the food hall - and it comes with rice and naan. The chickpea dahl that I had was a great improvement on a saag aloo served in an Indian restaurant in the city centre. That dish was the consistency and colour of mushroom soup and tasted of nothing much at all. It ranked with a Nantwich saag aloo (spinach and grated cheddar) as quite the oddest curry imaginable.

The food halls seem to be specifically directed at foreign students whose mothers would otherwise worry about whether or not they were eating enough. I'm sure that there isn't a halls of residence in the city with a busy canteen given the prevalence of these alternative eating establishments.

I am, however, looking forward to trying some of the Pacific Rim fusion food for which Auckland is famed once Skene arrives... Somehow, I don't think he'll object.

A Party in Wellington

On Wednesday, I flew down to Wellington, with Phil Hamlin, a partner at Meredith Connell, for a cocktail party hosted by the Crown Law Office in honour of myself and the other Pegasus Scholar, John.

Despite hearing horror stories from the office's IT technician, our flight into Wellington Airport was smooth. The airport perches on reclaimed land on the edge of the Cook Straits and so landings can be rather hair-raising, I'm told - but we survived!

Phil had made sure that we had a packed schedule and our first port of call on arrival in the capital was the Gaming and Censorship Team at the Department of Internal Affairs. I learnt all about the review of video games, films and other publications and related prosecutions over seafood chowder at the Matterhorn.

The party at Crown Law started at 17h30 so we headed over there after dropping our bags at the hotel. A range of people had come to meet John and I and I was privileged to meet the Honourable Justice McGrath, a Court of Appeal judge and former Solicitor-General, the deputy Solicitor-General and a number of members of the Human Rights Team at the Crown Law Office. After drinks, we went for dinner at Chow, an "Asian-influenced" restaurant where we continued to compare and contrast the English and New Zealand legal systems. We also had a few non-work-related conversations...

The next day started early with a guided tour of the newly-developed Wellington waterfront from Phil. It reminded me of Bristol with its promenades, public art and restaurants.

After breakfast, we visited the Ministry of Justice in Thorndon and then the Catholic Church's new Professional Standards Office nearby. Along the way, I saw the Beehive and the old Parliament building so I now know where "Today in Parliament" comes from when I listen to Radio NZ late at night.

Our next stop was the Royal New Zealand Police College near Porirua. On a hillside, overlooking a bay, it was a little more picturesque than Hendon! We had lunch in the canteen amongst the recruits before Phil gave a seminar to Child Abuse Team managers. I helped out by providing comparisons with the English system which the Detective Sergeants hopefully found interesting...

All too soon, we were heading back to rainy Auckland but I'm looking forward to returning to Wellington at the end of the year.

Auckland Tramping Club

It was the second sunny day in a row so I decided to join the Auckland Tramping Club on their day trip to Mataitai Forest in the Hunua Ranges. I met the group and their rugged bus in Kingsland and we drove for an hour to reach the location for our tramping.

The 12 kilometre circular track, took us across a series of ridges and streams through regenerated native forest. I learnt to recognise a few more trees, including the tea tree or manuka, which provides the essential oil of the same name, and the kauri tree which left sticky gum all over my hands. I was glad of the shade of the cabbage trees and silver ferns as we climbed up the slopes.

The leader of the trip had warned me over the phone that I might find the route difficult and I was dismayed to find that other members of the group were anxious that an Englishwoman might not keep up. I began to wonder what might be different about tramping compared with hiking. The route would have rated as moderate-strenuous on the South West Coast Path scale, and I had to work hard not to slip in the mud, but the walk itself wasn't beyond me!

Listening to the stories on the bus though, I realised that tramping is a quite different undertaking to long-distance walking as we are used to it. I heard tales of mud at waist-height, helicopter air-lifts following unseasonal snow-falls, a crawl across a plank under waterfall and slipping off three-wire bridges! I shall have to examine the route carefully before I commit to the next tramp - it sounds like I got off lightly today!

City of Sails

I was woken at 08h30 this morning by the phone. I was expecting a call from home and so was confused when I heard a local accent on the other end - it turned out to be the partner from Meredith Connell who has been looking after me - Phil Hamlin. He invited me to go sailing in the Hauraki Gulf with his wife, his brother and his brother's wife and turned up to collect me half an hour later!

The boat - a 46 foot yacht - was moored at Westhaven Marina, in Auckland and we set off in a good wind down the Hauraki Gulf. I had a splendid view of the City, the container port, my flat, the domain and Mission Bay to one side (port!) and Devonport on the North Shore and Rangitoto Island to the other (starboard!).

With a following wind, we had a good run down to Motuihe Island and headed around to the sheltered side of the island, by Waiheke Island. We dropped anchor and launched the dinghy to row ashore in glorious sunshine. We landed on the beach and wandered along, past rock pools, collecting shells, to a path which would take us to the other side of the island. I was watching where I put my bare feet and walked for about ten metres before looking up to find myself looking at the sea again! The island is very narrow at this point and it takes only a minute to cross to the other bay - you can swap beaches as the wind changes!

To find a good view of the harbour, we climbed to the island's main ridge and along to the headland where we found the remains of a gun emplacement and graves belonging to a Home Service officer and three sailors, all of whom had died within a month of each other following the 1918 influenza epidemic. On the horizon, we could see Coromandel, the spit of sea which juts out into the mouth of the Hauraki Gulf, providing the sheltered harbour which has served Auckland so well over the years.

After a picnic lunch on board, we cast off and headed for home, tacking down the gulf. As we rounded the headland of the North Shore, we found a fleet of lasers, practising tacking around the buoys, and Breeze, a replica brigantine in full sail with a dramatic New Zealand ensign billowing behind as she returned to her mooring at the NZ Maritime Museum.

Phil and his wife, Helena, then kindly took me back to their villa on the North Shore, where we took a dip in the hot tub to warm up before a hearty dinner.