Robyn’s Secret Passage

Today was Round The Bays day. The last time I did it, two years ago, I ran it, but this year, with diminished fitness, I decided to walk it instead.

I got up early (or not, considering daylight saving had just ended) so I could catch the early bus. I waited at the bus stop, and waited, and eventually the bus showed up 10 minutes late. But tragically it was packed full of other Round The Bays entrants and couldn’t stop. So set off on foot.

I was planning to walk to the next major bus stop and catch the next bus, but the electronic timetable showed the next bus wasn’t coming for another 15 minutes, so I continued on foot. I was only passed by one bus on my way to Quay Street. It seems strange that Stagecoach don’t put on extra buses for an event when lots of people want to use public transport.

4.5km later, I was at the start line, only 15 minutes late. This was actually quite good, because it usually takes about 10 minutes for the masses to thin out enough to start moving. I was able to start power walking right from the start, with my iPod drowning out Helen Clark’s commentary over the PA.

I powered along Tamaki Drive, passing many walkers. By the time I got to Kohimarama, I was feeling rooted, but I had some emergency-power jelly beans and pressed on to St Heliers and the finish line, adding 8.4km to the day’s tally.

My time was 1.41, which is two minutes slower than when I walked it in 2000, but considering I started 15 minutes late and had also just walked 4.5km, it works out to be my best walked time.

After the run I headed back to Mission Bay and saw “Walk The Line” at the Berkley. I wanted some air-conditioned comfort and it happened to be the next film to screen. It was an enjoyable tale, made better by the music.

Feeling refreshed after this, I decided to walk back to Auckland. I trudged slowly back around the bays, taking about twice as long to get there. My iPod went crazy. I think it’s broken. I’m so sad.

So all up I walked 21.3km, which is just over the distance of a half-marathon (though I’m sure that technically half-marathons don’t involve stopping for Johnny Cash biopics).

But this makes me think, if I can handle that much distance in a day, then perhaps a half-marathon isn’t out of the question. Ooh.

I love the vileness of St Patrick’s Day. I like the wearing of green shirts, eating of green food, singing of Irish songs, donning of silly hats, and drinking of Guinness.

I feel a bit guilty that I don’t do anything similar on St Andrew’s Day or St George’s Day, but there’s always time to start some new traditions. A cup of tea on April 23rd and a deep-fried Mars bar on 30 November, perhaps.

There was a special work outing to the pub for lunch and feasted on such traditional Irish fare as nachos, wedges, fried mystery meat, and hummus. The only green food was the pesto that came with some breads.

But there was Guinness, and that makes it all better.

I suppose in a way celebrating St Patrick’s Day is akin to events like the Chinese lantern festival or Pasifika - it’s a reminder of the rich ethnic tapestry that makes up this city. Cheers.

- Roibín Ó Gallchobhair

The one thing I like about the weeks when I start work at 7am is being able to experience the sun rise on the way in. It’s very pretty.

This morning on the way in, I’d taken my camera with me and stopped off at the Symonds Street overbridge to take some long-exposure photos of motorway traffic.

I found a good vantage point between two large signs. It gave me a nice view of one of the sections of road and gave a nice inky blue sky towards Newmarket.

I mucked around with the settings and took a few photos until I was satisfied with what I’d taken. I turned to leave when I realised there was a man standing by me. He looked like he wanted to say something, so I took a headphone out to hear.

“I was just seeing if you were all right,” he said. I realised that because there were the big motorway signs on either side of me, he would have been unable to see my camera. All he would have seen was a person sort of leaning towards the motorway at a time when most people are still in bed.

Having just taken some choice photos that captured and beauty and splendour of Auckland, I was in an anything but suicidal mood. I could see that he was just trying to be a really really good Samaritan, but I started laughing at the silliness of the situation.

I told him what I’d been doing, thanked him for his concern and continued on to work.

Then I realised that while I’d been taking photos and talking to the man, a Leonard Cohen song had been playing on my iPod.

Um, yeah, so I just filled in my census form online, even though census night is tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting it to let me do it, but I appear to have successfully given them all the information about myself (Other; pakeha) and my dwelling (rented).

I only hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow so I do get to walk and not take the bus. Goodness know how that would screw up the transport plans for the Auckland region in the year 2030.

Ashura666 desired to go diving during his time in Aotearoa New Zealand, so me and Teh Matt decided to come along for the ride, so we turned it into a road trip. We hit State Highway One and headed up to scenic Tutukaka.

(Ha! That sounds so easy, like we didn’t spend a good day panicking because every rental car in Auckland was already rented, but eventually fate smiled on us when a car rental place a block away from Matt’s bachelor pad had a car available.)

Monday

Conclusion about the trip from Auckland to Whangarei: Very scenic. Roads not as windy as I expected.
Conclusion about Whangarei: The less said, the better. Pak’n'Sav was particularly forgettable.
Conclusion about the trip from Whangarei to Tutukaka: Windier than I expected. Ngunguru was very scenic. I still can’t pronounce Ngunguru to a pleasing enough degree.
Conclusion about the accommodation in Tutukaka: Clean and tidy, with splendid views and a delightful piece of folk art made from old wine bottle corks.
Conclusion about dinner at Schnappa Rock: Rather good. Crazy Emma recommended it to us (true), but we would have gone there anyway.

Tuesday

Ashura-san got up early and went diving so Matt and I were lazy arses and slept. When we finally awoke, we drove along the coast and hung out at Sandy Bay, a surf beach. Matt went swimming, while I took some photos along the beach and read “Collapse” by Jared Diamond, because that’s the kind of krazy stuff I do on holiday.

(This omits the part where I got up early to to drive Ashura to the marina, but the car wouldn’t start. It turned out the bumpy road to the cottage had shaken the battery cable loose.)

Fish n chips were acquired from the Ngunguru fish n chip shop. They were all right, but their paua fritters scared me with their greenness.

Wednesday

Matt decided to go out on the boat, leaving me with the car for the day, so I decided to explore historic Northland.

My first stop was Kawakawa, formerly known as Train Town, now known as The One With The Toilet. Yes, I visited the Hundertwasser toilet. It’s all that. I was going to say it’s a pity there isn’t anything more to do in Kawakawa, but maybe it’s a good thing that the loos are the best thing about it.

I continued further up north to Paihia and then Waitangi. I was last in Waitangi about 20 years ago. I went to the Treaty House because, like, that’s the birthplace of the nation.

I’m not sure, but I might have been the only New Zealander amongst the visitors. A quick glance in the visitors book revealed very few mentions of New Zealand.

The Treaty House was kind of strange. Part of the display was dedicated to factoids about the construction of the house itself, but it’s not the house that’s important (and it is a rather unremarkable house - not like Pompalier House across the harbour in Russell, or nearby Kemp House or the Stone Store in Kerikeri). It’s what happened in and around it in 1840 that is. The treaty signing itself happened in a tent, and you don’t see 19th century canvas manufacturing techniques being examined.

I was hoping that the Treaty House would give me some insights as to what it means to be a New Zealander. All it left me was wondering why the house needs to be “restored” every 30 years or so, and what present-day ills would be corrected at the next restoration.

I much preferred the big lawn area over looking the Bay of Island, surrounded by the Treaty House, whare nui, and flagpole. That says something to me about being a New Zealander.

Passing through Whangarei on the way back, I stopped off at the Countdown to get some provisions. I had to end my visit prematurely because I was so grossed out by the suburbanness of the supermarket. The checkout lady wanted me to look at a dress some lady was wearing in the next aisle. It was a really ordinary looking flowery dress. “Mmm, it’s nice,” I said, nausea welling.

On Wednesday night, I saw the Milky Way for the first time ever, and it was magical and special.

Thursday

One more set of dives for Ashura, so Matt and I again hung out at Sandy Bay, where I read more of “Collapse”.

Ashura, Matt and I all have Canon cameras, so there developed a competitive spirit to take the most excellent holiday snaps. It wasn’t enough to take one picture of a nice sunset. No, we would be mucking around with exposures and making panoramas and comparing results. I think I totally nailed the Tutukaka sunset:

Then it was time to head back down to Auckland. Delightfully, some clever person had skilfully changed a number of Warkworth road signs to read Wankworth. Ha ha!

A splendid few days were had. Of course, I’m still planning on doing a comprehensive exploration of historic Northland, but that’ll be a while off.