World gone mad

First there were the appalling, murderous riots in our beloved former home of Ealing. Now a major snowfall in Wellington. The world has gone mad.

Central Karori

Fortunately, while seeing sedate Ealing torn apart was heartbreaking, the snow was magic. It didn't last long in central Wellington, but the hill suburbs - like where we live - remain covered in white ice.

Though we both nearly slipped coming down the driveway today - tramping boots and all - and any room without a heater rapidly turns into a refridgerator, it's been worth it for the memories. As we got off the bus last night it was like a blizzard.

We weren't born the last time this happened in this city, and we might not be around the next time Antarctica comes to visit. So it's been a few days to savour.

Our commute

A break from posts about China - today was one of those rare, calm and clear days in Wellington and I finally remembered to bring my camera to work. So here's an entry about how we get to work.
We're blessed to live in Mt Victoria, a wonderful suburb filled with 19th century wooden villas and an eclectic mix of partying students, young professionals and wealthy older home owners. It's got the massive benefits of being a few minutes walk to the entertainment hub of Courtenay Place.  Plus, it's a mere half hour walk along the waterfront to get to work.

And on a day like today the waterfront is stunning.

A gull who knows a good view

It's a tonic on the way to work and, especially now that daylight savings has kicked in and it's light in the evening, a tonic on the way home.
We walk out the doors of our government skyscrapers, through the canyons of Lambton Quay and Featherston Street, then out onto the harbour.


It's past the posh restaurants, the heritage cranes and Fergs, the indoor rock climbing and kayaking centre.  Then it's the playground and the first of the poems that mark the Wellington Writers Walk.

The harbour is an ironing board

The rowing club and its pretty lagoon, the waka house that's nearly built, the mighty floating Hikitia crane, the bulk of Te Papa, and the Solace on the Waterfront statue, which always attracts people who like a nice butt.

Finally, it's Waitangi Park, with the ducks floating amid the reeds, the many games going on the grass, and the skaters and basketballers on the concrete.

Then its past the Art Deco fire station, the Embassy Theatre, more good restaurants, until we go up the hill to home.

Beats being stuck in traffic.

Wellington

After two and a half years away, I had forgotten about how absolutely positively nasty Wellington could get at times. The rain! The cold! The wind! The combination of all three resulting in umbrellas being discarded in rubbish bins all over the city and rain coming at your face horizontally! Every now and then though, the sun does come out. On days like today when most Wellingtonians are probably frantically catching up on doing washing, we got our bikes out and went for a ride around the bays. It's true, you can't beat Wellington on a good day.

A rant about winter

The problem with the English winter is that the days remind me of Hobbes when he wrote about men’s lives being nasty, brutish and short. The leaves lie sodden and smelly on the ground, the backing soundtrack to my tube commute is “Sniffles and Snorts in Sneeze Minor” and it’s dark at 4pm. There is so much to see and do in the UK, but given the weather we have pretty much put all local sightseeing on hold for a few months and have been spending our weekends doing inside-things. Such as, watching Season Four of Lost (amazing!), and finally going to the V&A Museum (very interesting). I’m not bored, but I have realised that our blog entries have been a lot more about blocks of text rather than interesting photographs, and apologise for that!

As Confucius said: “He who suffers a British winter must stock up on good books and warm food and try not to get too lazy and unfit.” He didn’t say that? Well he should have! I am pretty sure that he also uttered the wise saying “If Lauren and Tane stay in the Northern Hemisphere for one more full winter they are mad. MAD”.

You know what the worst thing about winter in London is, though? It's that I know that New Zealand is probably warm. So, please feel free to leave plenty comments telling me about gale force wind in Wellington or freak December snow in Auckland as such comments will be much appreciated!

Wellington in 2007: the last summer I was there. [insert: wistful sigh]

A very typical Wellington night out

As those of you that have moved overseas will know, about three weeks out from D-Day you start doing a series of lasts. Last time you’ll see so-and-so. Last bus ride somewhere. Last Crunchie bar being guzzled in the depature loungue in Auckland. Fitting in with this theme, last Friday night was the last time in a while that the four Keenan girls would go out in Wellington. Joined by some other friends, we had a very fun and Wellington-esque night out. There was Indian food. There was the Big Kumara. There was dancing. And of course, there was karaoke.

There were also sightings of the Blanket Man, and subsequent asking each other “Doesn’t he get cold?” The bucket fountains also got a visit.

We also hung out with the plastic tuatara on Cuba Mall. Is it just me, or does he look incredibly smug?
Last of all, there were kebabs. It wouldn’t have been a proper Wellington night out if it had ended any other way, I suppose.

A shameless plug for Wellington

Back in early 1980, I was born in Wellington and lived in the area for the next 9 years. Despite growing up here, when I re-moved to Wellington in late 2003 I liked it about as much as I like my alarm clock. As far as I was concerned the wind was a pain, there were too many people marching around in suits, and I especially hated the way that whenever I took a wrong turn while driving I would end up on the motorway. Shudder.

Between now and then, though, I got to love it. I know to always carry a spare hair-tie to keep the wind from turning my hair into a face-whipping lacerator. Tane and I have morphed into suit wearing marchers, especially on Lambton Quay at lunchtime. I even shamelessly wear sneakers with work clothes like a true local. Now we don't have a car, the accidentally ending up on the motorway isn't a problem either. Having said that though, we have ended up in Newlands by accident a few times. Heh.

Yesterday Tane and I were walking through Central Park, enjoying the vibrant colours while avoiding the dangerous looking mud puddles and sodden leaves. We agreed that Wellington is the new black. Also, that while the rest of the world sounds pretty exciting to visit, Wellington is still pretty neat. Why?

1. The views

True, that means hills, and hills mean puffing and pain. The views at the top, though, are awesome. This is the view from our house.

And this is from a hill near Eastborne that we climbed on Waitangi Day. Even though I looked like an angry tomato at the top, it was worth it.

2. The Town Belt. It's pretty cool starting the day walking through here on the way to work.

3. The great vibe. And the culture - neat movie theatres, cafes and shops.

4. Feeling like we're in the centre of the country. Which, in many ways, I guess we are.

5. It's home. This is me and my sisters at Titahi Bay, where we grew up.

In fact, one of my earliest memories is of sheltering from the wind right near this spot. Pretty typical Wellington, eh?

5 reasons I love Easter

1. Chocolate eggs and hot crossed buns

Need I say more? Except that the new Cadbury Pineapple Lump eggs get an honorable mention this year. Mmmmmm.

2. Sweet, sweet mooching

I love Easter because it is four whole days to relax right when you need it. Every year I forget it's coming, and get that moment of sheer joy the Monday beforehand when I remember that it's only a four day week. Bliss. It is also a public holiday without the drama of Christmas, and without any obligation to go anywhere. Except, of course, the supermarket to stock up on buns and eggs. This Easter has been especially fabulous for sweet sweet mooching, and I feel thoroughly relaxed and happy.

3. Easter always makes me think of Italy

Nowadays, I hardly ever think about when I lived in Italy. Easter always reminds me, though, of being a cold, culture shocked foreigner living in Pietragalla back in 1998. While living there I decided it sounded like fun to partake in the Easter procession and eagerly volunteered. I hadn't realised, though, that this meant getting up at 4am to wrap up in my brown jumper covered in sheep and joining a small group of locals to walk around the village, behind a cross, singing carols about how much it sucked to be Mary the Mother of Jesus when Jesus was crucified. Every Easter I think about this ritual which no doubt continues to be practiced there.

4. It's a chance to do stuff that I've been meaning to do for ages

I have done so much this weekend that I've been meaning to do for ages. I have finished In Cold Blood (which was excellent), caught up on sleep, and even cleaned the kitchen. Momentous.

The highlight of the long weekend, though, was Tane and I doing a walk we had been meaning to do for ages - the walk to Pencarrow Head. Pencarrow is at the Eastern mouth of the Wellington Harbour, and getting there was a lovely 4 1/2 hour meander on a beautiful day. As always, the scenery was stunning, and it was very satisfying seeing Wellington from a different angle. The highlight, though, was reaching and having lunch at the lighthouse. As Tane put it while we were sitting, reading above the harbour: "It's a good life."

We also took a moment to reflect on what the lighthouse would have looked like back in 2001 when someone* apparently painted it like Mr Blobby. Interesting.

5. It's a chance to do something challenging

Last Easter, I pushed my physical boundaries walking around Waikaremoana. This Easter I pushed my physical boundaries too. With the help of my three sisters, I broke a personal record - five hours of shopping at Queensgate Mall. I think that I will need to start a strict training regime if I am ever to attempt that again.

*not naming names

Borders

Bookshops are to book geeks like me what lone mountain caves are to long-bearded hermits. They are somewhere to kill time without over-eager shop assistants asking if they can help you every five minutes. Somewhere to meet a friend who is always notoriously late as browsing a bookshop is far more pleasant than standing on a windy street corner. Bookshops are also great for, well, looking at books.

Borders bookshops in particular have been my lone mountain cave during my travels in North America. To me and my family, Borders has became as much a part of the American experience as lard-filled doughnuts, watching strange daytime TV and visiting shopping malls the size of a small city containing such diversions as an orchestra of life-sized mechanical bears. Between the impressive collection of books that American Borders’ bookshops contain, the deliciously comfortable seats and the conscious policy of staff leaving customers alone while they browse, a Borders bookshop is a weary traveller’s dream. As whoever came up with the Borders concept also deliberately ignored the sacred commandment of book lovers “thou shalt not drink hot beverages and eat cake while reading”, when my feet were crying for mercy after hours of walking around an American city, finding a Borders always felt a bit like striking gold.

Borders in Honolulu was a place to enjoy the crisp air conditioning and shelter from the sweltering heat and humidity, while enjoying the view of palm trees from inside the café. Borders in Chicago was the opposite, the warmest place I could find to sit and read on a December day so cold I thought I would lose the use of my fingers. Borders St Louis was where I went to reduce my heart rate back to normal after making the ill-informed decision to visit the top of the towering St Louis arch. Borders in Los Angeles was a place to pretend that I wasn’t in the smog capital of the world. For my Dad, Borders in San Francisco was where he went to occupy his mind after witnessing a bank hold up and shooting while innocently walking down a street in the downtown area.

The Borders formula is a cunning one indeed. Despite all intentions of going to a Borders to escape the weather and rest tired feet, trying to lug home to New Zealand far too many books than was sensible also became part of the American holiday experience.

Given my long association with Borders, and also having recently inspected the one on Queen St in Auckland, I was excited at the prospect of one opening on Lambton Quay. The morning it opened, I scrambled to the new store for an initial inspection. On the surface, it met with approval. Good travel section. Lots of magazines. Great non-fiction books. However, upon returning a few days later for a proper peruse Borders Lambton Quay started to feel … odd. I was at a loss to understand why – the books were good, the chairs comfortable and the winning café-and-browsing formula was the same. What was missing? I met up with my Dad in the café to discuss. Why was this Borders different? Dad hit on the answer after we heard some staff talking near-by.

“You know” he said. “the thing I always notice about America Borders are the heavy American accents over the intercom.”

He was right. The only reason why that Lambton Quay Borders didn’t fit with my idea of what a Borders ought to be like was simple – it was on Lambton Quay. My feet weren’t sore. My house was a short bus ride away, and I had not been walking around Wellington all day. What’s more, I knew exactly where it was located, so hadn’t stubbled upon it after a day of being a tourist.

Next time I go to North America, or any of the other Borders bookshops around the world, it will be different. Already Borders on Lambton Quay has become a place to meet friends who are notoriously late, and somewhere to kill time when I don’t want to be pestered by over-eager shop assistants. When next in an American Borders, I wonder if I will think about the vegemite on toast you can buy at the one on Lambton Quay, as well as the New Zealand history and literature books found there. I wonder if doing something that used to feel part of the American experience might, next time, leave me feeling more than a little homesick.

Croquet in the park

Like most other Wellingtonians, Tane and I have spent the weekend frantically relaxing in the sun. No-one can frantically relax like a Wellingtonian. I think the Wellingtonian brain works something like this: "Sun! There is sun today! I might not see another day of sun until next Christmas! I must go as quickly as I can to relax at the beach/in the park/in my yard!" Only that train of thought could possibly explain the masses who flock to Oriental Bay on a sunny day, even if it is July and only 5 degrees.

On Saturday, a group of us had a picnic in the park to celebrate Stephen's birthday. It felt like something out of a Famous Five novel, but with more beer and smutty jokes. We had a portable gramophone to play songs that the Botanical Garden's probably hasn't heard for 60 years . We had a bun stuffed with cicada shells that Stephen tried to trick Kerry into eating. And best of all, we had a croquet set.

Stephen pumps up the boom box

Croquet sounds like an innocent and simple game, but don't let the blunt mallets fool you. Oh no. Those sticks can be vicious, and on account of the twiggy terrain, the game quite a challenge. I had the honour of being the worst croquet player ever, and Tane gets a special mention for being the person whose ball I knocked out of the way most often. I am determined to secretly practice my croquet skills to enable me to wow and dazzle the next time they get cranked out. Or, at least, good enough to knock everyone else's balls out of the way to take everyone down to my level :)

Erin hit what was was universally agreed to be the Best Shot Ever

The Best River Ever (and poker) (Lauren)

Last Sunday, Tane and I went to the Best River Ever. It was so splendid, it deserves capital letters. The river was somewhere near Otaki, on the nice bush side rather than the bad-ass-homie side. I had never even heard of the place before Geremy from work told me about it, and doubt we would have found it on our own had Geremy and his fiancée Sarah hadn’t driven us there.

The river was perfect – swift bits, calm bits, deep bits and bits so shallow you couldn’t move in without going “ow ow ow ow”. The best part? Rocks for jumping off! I have a fantastic sequence of photos of Tane jumping off that are too good not to share, especially one of him mid-air with a look on his face that is a funny mix of terror, exhilaration and pure surprise that the water below is getting closer at an alarming rate. Unfortunately I don’t have them now, but watch this space!

In other news, I have discovered the joys of poker! Earlier in the week my three sisters and I played a game with our boyfriends that lasted for hours. It was a great night, although I sadly lost the $5 I paid to play. Evan won in the end, despite attempts by Ngaire to throw him off course by playing Britney Spears. At least Erin came second, or else it might have been embarrassing that the other three Keenan girls were eliminated well before their boyfriends were, me included. I clearly have a long way to go until I can go to Montenegro and beat wealthy baddies a la' James Bond. Pity.

Swimming, Running, Biking and Beer (Lauren)

Yesterday, I completed a triathlon. Yay!

Although I've done triathlons before, yesterday's was by far the hardest. I admit that I may only think that it was the hardest because it was only yesterday and the pain is so very very fresh. The first one that Mum and I did together in Palmy in early '04 was hard work, as was the one we did in Wellington last year that had such bad weather the swim was cancelled. The one yesterday was especially challenging though as the bike was hillier than usual, and the run longer. I signed up a few months ago, assuming that I would kill my lazy demons and train really really hard. Unfortunately, my "training" generally consisted of carrying around my gym bag but rarely actually using it.

Me, almost finished ...

During the swim, it occurred to me that I was doing a better impression of the Kursk than a dolphin. During the hilly bike ride, I cursed the hills with all my might. And during the run, I wondered if anyone would notice me having a sleep in the grass. It was all worth it though when I ran, exhausted, under the "finish" sign.

Yay!

I did the triathlon with Louise after convincing her that they were great. Tane and Richard (Louise's boyfriend) enjoyed themselves as well, especially once they discovered the on site bar. They did a great job of both supporting us and fitting in going the bar while we were out biking. I suspect that they took this photo to taunt us.

The supportive boyfriends, supporting us ... and the bar

Today it feels like someone has replaced my legs with planks of wood. My mid-section is so sore I wonder if someone came and jumped on my stomach in the middle of the night. There is something extremely exhilarating though about pushing your limits, and competing in an event designed to empower women. I am already looking forward to next time. And Mum, I intend to nag you until you sign up for the next one with me!

Wellington Anniversary Weekend Pics (Lauren)

I love Wellington Anniversary weekend. It is a three day weekend right when you are getting sick of work again after the Christmas break, and as it's not nationwide I usually forget about it until a little bit beforehand so it comes as nice surprise. I like it so much, I don't even care that I have no idea whatsoever what the anniversary is actually supposed to be of.

This Anniversary weekend, Tane and I did the Eastern Walkway. The walkway took a couple of hours, and goes along the hills overlooking the Wellington Harbour. It was great - fantastic views of the Harbour, seeing lots of sunbathing skinks, and walking a windy hilly path called "Branda's Pass" that Tane thought should belong in the Lord of the Rings. I think he was even a little disapointed that we did not get ambushed by bandits, as he thought the name would suggest.

The highlight of the day, though, was the Ataturk Memorial at the beginning of the walk.

The Ataturk Memorial is a pretty impressive memorial commermorating Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey. At the memorial you can find lots of quotes about how highly Ataturk thought of the ANZAC troops at Gallipoli. Also, a plaque that reads:

"Beneath this star is placed a container of soil from Anzac cove, Gallipoli, Turkey"

Before going to the memorial, I had no idea that you could visit Turkish soil without leaving Wellington. The wind was a constant reminder however that we were not, alas, in Turkey. Not that I have been to Turkey (yet), but am sure that the wind doesn't blow so hard I feel like my hair is going to poke out my eyes.

Tane and the South Coast on a typical sneaky Wellington day. It looks great, but that's because you can't see the wind!

Something else that deserves a mention from this weekend was James Moir's 30th. The theme was the ghetto, and his backyard was transformed into da hood with a beat up old cop car (1970s style), a retro dance floor, and a wall for spray painting.

Tane, dressed as a ghetto pimp,tests out his tagging skills.

I learnt at that party, however, that I will never have a career as a ghetto ho. The spray painting was much too hard, and my "Lauren Was Here" looked more like a paintball had hit than actual words. If it wasn't for being able to wear my 80s jacket, it would have been a sad day indeed.

The moment I realised I would never be a ghetto ho. That jacket, though, even makes Tane look like he has an hourglass figure.

Me with James. I know it's not a good photo, but it seemed wrong not to publish a pic of James in his gold sweat suit.

Other highlights of the weekend were board games with Sarah and Grisham, sleeping in three days in a row, shopping with Philippa and Erin at Queensgate Mall, and bonding with my cat Max. Isn't he cute?

Max after Stephen had a play with photoshop.

Oh, and my other highlight: writing my blog while procrastinating from doing both housework and my Teaching English course. Sigh.

To the Is-land (Lauren)

Islands are cool! Nature reserve islands are even cooler.

Lured by the coolness of islands, Tane and I went to visit Matiu Somes Island about a month ago. Matiu Somes sits plonk in the middle of Wellington Harbour and used to be where people were quarantined. Except for in the World Wars, when lots of Italians, Germans, and Japanese were sent there to live. These poor people weren’t aware of it themselves, but apparently they were a national threat. Matiu Somes was very cool– you can see gun enplacements (in case Wellington got invaded), woolly sheep (the current inhabitants) and giant seagulls (very scary when they want your lunch). Apparently you can see tuatara there too, but we only saw their weta body part-filled poo. Given that the boats only come every few hours, going to Matiu Somes was a great way to catch up on some reading as well.

One of the gun enplacements on Matiu Somes island

On the general island theme, Tane and I went to Kapiti Island last weekend as well. For those of you from far-flung lands, Kapiti Island is a large nature reserve off the coast north of Wellington. It's large and lumpy, and when I was little I thought it looked like a crocodile sleeping.

We went with Bonnie, Ash and Ed, after booking the trip months ago. The Island is amazing – native birds completely dominate it, and I have never heard so many of them singing in one place. The sound of them is so overwhelming most people were walking around in silence as if respecting the birds’ space.

Kapiti is well worth a trip. You can climb to the top, be harassed by weka, and get a neat boat trip to boot.

You can also delete the entire memory card of your digital camera at the end of the day too, eh Tane?

Being stalked by weka while eating

lunch at Kapiti

(photo courtesy of Bonnie)