Home is where I am

"Home for you is wherever you hang your hat." Fern Keller (my mother), 1957. Kia Ora! We leave Invercargill tomorrow morning April 17, a bittersweet departure. While this has been a rewarding experience, we are anxious to get and give besos y brasos to our kids (that's Texas talk for hugs and kisses). Waiting for us will be 4 of our 5 kids and 3 grandchildren. Who wouldn't want to come home to that? First we fly through Christchurch to Auckland. We are staying there one night so The Kiwi Consort can interview for yet another temporary position in palliative care for next year. I guess he likes it! Friday afternoon we fly out of Auckland to LA. Then on to Austin via Denver, arriving around midnight. We will be in Texas for about a month and then drive to Minnesota where this writer will spend the North American summer months. That of course is an adventure in itself, but not one that falls into the vegemite tales category. (Although I brought some vegemite back with me. That stuff is addicting!) I have more tales about living and traveling in New Zealand (we have lived in Greymouth as well as Invercargill), Antarctica, and the sub-Antarctic islands that I haven't been able to finish and post. And at some time in the future, I will post on this site, all the adventures that I have been sending the select few on e-mail. So here's the deal. I will get them finished as I can and post them on the blog. Essentially, until we return to KiwiLand, this becomes a memoir, albeit one of relatively recent adventures. If you aren't already, I invite you to become a Follower. If it works as it should, the site will just notify you by email when a new posting is up. Then you can read it on the blog and post comments also. This is the address to bookmark: http://vegemite-tales.blogspot.com/ Thank you for reading my musings. I have so enjoyed the responses I received from you. Until we next meet ... Cheers and Aroha*! The Kiwi Traveler *Maori. Translates akin to Aloha from Hawaii.

AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...........

Keep your eye on the red shirt.....................







I don't think I can do this!
















Whoa! Back flip out?













YIKES!









WHOOPEE!!!!

































Big Bounce

















Just swingin'












Coming
back
up












I DID IT!!!!!










Note: Before the jump, I signed a legal waiver which I didn't read, of course. Later, I noted AJ Hackett Bungy would not be responsible for "... emotional trauma to friends and relatives ...". I would have just blown that off except The Partner was so relieved that I survived that he cried. Gotta' love that man!

Cheers!
Kiwi Traveler

Living the high life in Qtown

4 April 2009 Kia Ora! Queenstown is the queen of New Zealand's tourist industry. We have been here before but ignored the usual tourist attractions in favor of a wine tour and visit to a historical Chinese village limited restoration in Arrowtown, returning by way of the market orchards around Cromwell. You will find that story on a previous post. Now I want to be a tourist in Queenstown, so this is the weekend to indulge me, if not us. We are booked at the Novotel, teeming with busloads of tourists from America, Japan, Holland, Germany and who knows where else. I got in on an Internet special and then, bonus!, we are upgraded to a garden room. The Novotel is on Marine Parade, a boulevard right at the water front, and we can walk to The Mall, restaurants, and more. We choose highly reviewed restaurants for our meals (The Bunker, Pier 19, and Wai, which is Oh-My-Gawd! good). The Skyline Restaurant at the top of the peak overlooking Queenstown is closed Saturday, so that is saved until Sunday. For a buffet, it is surprisingly good also. So other than food, the big Saturday event is a trip across Lake Wakatipu in a vintage steamship, TSS Earnslaw. There is talk of closing this attraction because of the pollution from the coal-fired engine. I don't know; what do you think? We watched the coal being loaded into the hold and then viewed the engine room and the crew hand shoveling it into the engines. Some people wondered who was the Captain of this ship anyway! The ship is quite elegant and features a piano player and sing-a-long on the return trip. Alas, only the piano player seems to be singing. Some passengers debarked across the lake at Walter Peak Station to tour the compound of a former sheep station and watch demonstrations of dogs herding sheep and sheep shearing. Having just had an up-close-and-personal-tour of the McIntosh sheep farm, we passed on that option. Back at the quay, we shop an artist's flea market and wander out on a jetty. Here is the winning New Zealand ship from America's Cup, of which the Kiwis are justifiably proud. Tourists can get in on the thrill for a price and book a sail on the vessel. We wander on up to Shotover Street. I spy the AJHackett Bungy storefront. Hackett is the owner of several bungy jumps around Qtown. Are there jumps with a harness instead of ankle wraps, is my query. Then, eyeing my wrinkles and gray hair, he says: Good on you! You can make that jump. Yeah, right! Then we drive out to Glenorchy, a tiny hamlet at the other end of the lake. It is halfway to the trailhead of the Greenstone Track, the 4-day backpacking adventure we took on a long-ago trip to NZ. In the village, we share Devonshire tea and pleasant memories of a time when we could still do a mountain tramp. Saturday is the tame day. Just wait until I tell you about Sunday! Cheers, Kiwi Traveler

Fw: A visit to the farm

29 March 2009 Kia Ora! We are invited to the McIntosh farm. Yes, that McIntosh; Jamie's parents Kate and Alistair. Alistair, also called "Tosh", raises sheep and also has about 19 cattle. The trip to the farm takes about an hour from Invercargill. We traverse backcountry roads and through the foothills close to the Catlin Mtns. The comfortable 5-bedroom farmhouse, up a hill and accessed via a narrow tree and shrub lined lane, is tucked into a shady glen. Though the day is chilly and gray, we warm ourselves by a warm fire in a sunken parlour. Dinner includes delicious lamb chops (What else?!), served two steps up in the dining area. I ask Alistair if this is a sheep station. He laughs. "No, a station is at least 10,000 acres. We only have about 700 acres." Just a teeny place, you see! Alistair and Kate run about 7,000 sheep. After dinner, Alistair takes us on a tour of the farm. Anticipating this tour, I am prepared with my rubber calf-high Wellingtons (aka gumboots). We travel through multiple paddocks to the top of the farm and inspect just a small representation of that 7,000. In the sheep shed, Alistair shows us bales of wool from shearing that happened early this morning. Too bad the shearers were on their own schedule; I would have loved watching the process. Alistair demonstrates how the sheep are sheared and shows us the electronic technology by which each sheep is weighed as they pass through a shoot. Then they are divided into different pens based on weight. Some are off to market while others need to grow more. Back by the welcome warmth of the fire, we have tea and meet Pocket, the cat. Kate tells us the amazing story of Penny and Pocket, and Alistair gives us a children's book by artist and author, Gwenda Turner, written about this pair of remarkable animals. Briefly, the story is this: McIntosh daughter, Bianca, has an empathic fondness for animals. (She is now a veterinarian.) One evening on her way to a party, the 18-year old Bianca spied a piece of gray fluff at the road side. She stopped and picked up a tiny kitten with its eyes still mostly closed. She tucked the kitten into the breast pocket of her shirt (hence the cat's name), and Pocket was off to his first party. Arriving back at home, Penny, the family Jack Russell terrier, became very energized on seeing the kitten. She picked Pocket up and carried him back to her basket. Kate thought nature was about to take care of the kitten. But she hadn't anticipated what Penny was going to do. Penny adopted the kitten, allowing it to nurse. After a couple days, Penny, who had had a couple of litters, began producing milk. Even though Pocket's nourishment needed to be supplemented, Penny continued to nurse and mother the kitten, and Pocket thrived. Of course the novelty of a dog nursing a kitten made the newspapers and that is how the book titled Penny and Pocket came to be written. Cheers, Kiwi Traveler

Lift a glass to Central Otago

Kia Ora!

We knew we were going to the Queenstown area but couldn't agree on what to do there. I wanted to do the tourist sites like ride the old-timey steam ship, take the gondola to the top of the mountain above Queenstown, and maybe, if I dare, do a bungy jump. Bungy jumping originated in the South Sea Islands where indigenous young males tied jungle vines around their ankles and leaped head first off a platform in the trees. Some survived; some didn't. Commercial bungy jumping started in New Zealand in 1988 near Queenstown, when an enterprising A. J. Hackett created a bungy jump from a bridge over the Kawarau River. I am put off by hanging from my ankles, which can't take any more abuse than they already have.

Main Street Arrowtown

France? No, Chard in NZ

On the other hand, The Kiwi Consort wanted nothing to do with the tourist mecca of Queenstown. He wanted to visit the quaint town of Arrowtown. In the end, I couldn't get two nights lodging in Queenstown, so after one night at a pricey place on the edge of Q-town, we went to Arrowtown. We booked a wine tour of Central Otago vineyards. This area can grow both whites and reds well because of the dry climate and variations in altitude from sea level to high in the foothills. We visited four, mostly outstanding, vineyards and ate lunch at Carrick winery. A favorite was Peregrine Vineyard where the architecture was designed to resemble the wing of the bird, which by the way is an American bird. There are native falcons but no Peregrine falcons in NZ. Chard Winery looked for all the world like it should be set in the French countryside. As the tour leader headed back, she stopped at the bungy jump. We all watched as a young woman, teetered at the edge of the bridge, waiting...waiting...waiting... Then she backed out and didn't jump. I was not tempted to hang by my ankles over the river.

Arrowtown, where we found a lovely little motel, is as quaint as its reputation. Dating from the era of gold mining, we walked through the portion of the town settled by the Chinese miners seeking their fortunes. Nearly all were men who were in the area for one thing only, and that was gold. When European miners left as the alluvial gold appeared to be gone, the Chinese managed to glean more from the rivers and sent their profits home to China, where most returned when the gold was depleted. We walked through the remnants of the Chinese village tucked in the shadow of the mountain. Each stone and tin hut had a fireplace for heating.

Remains of Chinese Village

The Long Drop

In front of the Chinese general store was the doorless "long drop". I wonder if the entire village used just the one?


Cheers,

Kiwi Traveler

Rugby

Kia Ora! We have been to two rugby games. Rugby Southland, a local support organization, had a deal. Buy a game ticket and they would provide a free bus to the game in Dunedin. We continue to check out the things the Kiwis love - like harness racing and now rugby. This seemed like a good opportunity so we bought tickets. Saturday afternoon we boarded the bus at the Ascot Park Hotel along with about 50 other people. Dunedin is 3 hours each way so it was a big time investment. We arrived at Carisbrook Stadium at 6:30 PM, one hour before kickoff, and time for "dinner" before the game. The Kiwi Consort brought a PB&J (peanut butter and jelly) sandwich from home, scoffing at the junk food served in such venues. My feeling is that the ambiance, including the junk food, is part of the whole experience. Remembering hot dogs at baseball games, I opted for game food. I ordered a hot dog. I was taken back when I was handed a corn dog, with the option of having the top dipped in a spicy sauce. Obviously the concept of hot dog is something else here. It was greasy enough to keep me from feeling hunger all night. Some of our busmates reappeared wearing war paint to support their team. One man had a wooden sword, fake vest, and a cape in team colors. And he was our age! The Southland Highlanders were playing the Chieftains. There was some silly pregame entertainment. When the Chieftains appeared on the field, so did a large muscular long haired man wearing only a kilt and boots and waving a large sword. He is the archetypal Highlander brandishing his sword at the "enemy". He circled their huddle menacingly. I kept trying to apply American football terminology and concepts to the game, but it just doesn't translate. Rugby moves a lot faster, and the players do not wear protective gear. Scrums are frequent in which 3 players from each side lock arms over the shoulders and face each other. They crouch down and the entire rest of the team on each side circles in back of the front 3, all of them holding on to each other. Then it is like a reverse tug of war, each side pushing against the other. Eventually, the ball squirts out the side from somewhere in the scrum, a player from the side where it emerges grabs it and runs like the devil is behind him. And the devil is, in the form of every member of the opposing team. Quickly the guy with the ball laterals it to another player. He runs until pursuing players threaten to tackle him and laterals it to someone else and so on. Or so it appeared. There was a lot of kicking the ball back and forth. All in all, this was a pretty back and forth, lackluster game won by the Highlanders on two penalty kicks. The Highlanders and their fans were psyched. They are a bit of a losing team this season. After we had purchased these tickets, our friend and colleague Kate McIntosh informed us the Highlanders were playing the next week in Invercargill. I wished she had told us that before we got the tickets for the Dunedin game. Not to worry, she said, we could go again and she would provide the tickets. And so the next week we were back at the stadium with Kate and Alistair McIntosh, in Invercargill. We ate at home before the game; the food was better. The game was more exciting even though the Highlanders came out short this time. The younger fans participated in sword play after the game. Kate and Alistair's son Jamie is a "prop" for the national team, the All Blacks. A prop is comparable to the center in football. He is the big middle man in the front of the scrum. When the All-Blacks are off season, he plays for the Highlanders. But he is currently injured, so his job is to give a little personal attention to the high flyers in box seats. That wasn't us, but I met Jamie and got my picture taken with him, as promised. I think that about does it for the sports. There doesn't seem to be any local cricket though the national team keeps getting creamed by the Indians (Go, Indians!) right now. Netball and basketball are out of season. And the big golf tournament in Queenstown is over. Tiger wasn't here but a bunch of lower ranking Americans showed well. Cheers, Kiwi Traveler

The weather ... again

Kia Ora! We've had some really nice weather. The sun was warm and bright, the temperature reached 24 (felt like about 70F) for at least 3 days. I guess that was summer. And then we got another of those four-seasons-in-one-day days, which introduced a spate of weather that warned of the approaching winter. Snow fell at 600 metres, we got sleet, rain, strong winds, and a short spot of sun. Everyone says this has been a cool summer. Hear that as an understatement. My shorts haven't come out for wearing yet making me wonder why I brought them. Even at best, I recognize that this far south, the climate is temperate minus, which gives rise to several wry observations on the part of the people who live here. To wit: "If you can't see the mountains, it is raining. If you can see the mountains, it's going to rain." "If it rains before 10 (AM), the sun will shine by 2 (PM)." (Sam quoted Grandmother Carol: "Rain before 7, sun by 11.") And here is a poem written by Kiwi Anonymous: Southland Weather It rained and it rained and it rained and it rained; the average fall was well maintained, and when the tracks were simply bogs, it started raining cats and dogs. After a drought of half an hour we had a most refreshing shower, and then the most curious thing of all: a gentle rain began to fall. Next day was also fairly dry, save for the deluge from the sky, which wetted the party to the skin, and after that the rain set in. Cheers, Kiwi Traveler