Kia Ora – Welcome to New Zealand

Security at the Sydney Airport was extremely rigorous, or maybe the surly lady running the scanner was just having a bad day, because I had to unpack all my camera equipment from my carry-on before she would let me go to the boarding gate (my camera equipment had to go through the scanner twice). However, the flight over to Christchurch was pleasant and ended by flying across the South Island Alps for our first view of New Zealand.

We finally got through formalities at the Christchurch airport (customs and a person in front of us at the car rental desk who was deaf, had trouble reading English and therefore could not communicate well) and picked up our car, a Toyota Corolla that was much smaller than a Corolla in Canada. Driving on the left is always a bit of a challenge on the first day, particularly when faced with three roundabouts in a row, but we arrived safely at our motel. As it was late in the afternoon (we lost two hours through time zone changes, the 3 hour 30 minute flight and the delays at the airport), we decided to do some laundry. Almost all motels in New Zealand and many B&Bs have guest laundry facilities – an idea we should adopt in Canada and the US. After we recovered our clean clothes, we went out for dinner at a nearby Thai restaurant the hotelier had recommended. It was really good, so good in fact that we ate there two nights in a row. We got back around 9 p.m., sipped some excellent New Zealand wine and called it a night.


The next day, we walked about two kilometres to the centre of Christchurch which is called the Cultural Precinct. We popped into the AA office (no, not Alcoholics Anonymous in spite of our propensity for wine) to get maps. As the CAA is affiliated with its New Zealand counterpart, I received a temporary membership which meant all maps and services were free.

Christchurch is a charming, very English-type city. Its nickname is the Garden City and it is easy to see why. A small river (the Avon) meanders through the Cultural Precinct – one can even go ‘punting’ on the river, poled along by your own ‘Edwardian’ gentleman. The Victorian Gothic cathedral at the centre of town is fairly large and is apparently the most visited church in New Zealand. Cathedral Square contains sculptures and people playing chess with huge men on a board painted on the pavement. Trams stop to pick up and set down passengers in front of the church. The historical tram circles the Cultural Precinct and does not really travel far, but I suppose if you are into that type of thing, it is worth a ride. Otherwise, the centre of town is easily doable on foot.

Not far from the Square, along Worcester Street, we stopped in at a beautifully restored Queen Anne style building that used to be the Municipal Chambers. It featured a very emotional exhibit on New Zealand’s role in the Passchendaele battle of WWI as a tribute to ANZAC Day on April 25 (ANZAC refers to the Australia-New Zealand Army Corps). The first item was John McCrae’s poem In Flanders Fields, remarkable because he was a Canadian Army doctor (he wrote the poem while with the 1st Field Artillery Brigade at Ypres in 1915). We chatted with the exhibit’s custodian afterwards and he told us about ANZAC Day celebrations that happen in towns and cities throughout Australia and New Zealand. Originally, it commemorated the soldiers who took part in the Gallipoli campaign that started on April 25, 1915, in Turkey during the First World War, but now has grown to honour all Australian, New Zealand, Cook Islands, Niue, Tonga and Samoa troops who comprised ANZAC forces. Gallipoli has much the same meaning for New Zealanders as Vimy Ridge does for Canadians.

Subdued after our tour, we walked slowly down Worcester Boulevard towards the Botanic Gardens. Just before we got there, however, we turned into the former campus of the University of Canterbury. The old campus, with its Gothic Revival style buildings and quadrangle at the centre has been ‘recycled’ as the Christchurch Arts Centre complex. When the University moved to new buildings in 1974, this complex was to have been razed, but was preserved by the city to protect the architecture. Weekend markets and events are now held there. The quadrangle featured a very interesting wire sculpture suspended overhead. As you walked around the quadrangle, it changed from a set of stairs into a house!

At the end of Worcester Boulevard and at the gate of the Botanic Garden, we went in to the City Museum to view extinct Moa skeletons (they were huge birds, some three metres tall), Maori artefacts and the excellent Antarctic exhibit of expeditions that included those of early explorers from Captain Cook to Scott, Shackleton and Byrd, including expeditions of today. It was fascinating to see how survival clothing and equipment had changed over the years. Canada even had a contribution to make; an early Bombardier snow cat and a more modern SkiDoo were featured. Exiting the museum, we sauntered through the huge botanic gardens towards our hotel, but stopped in at a pub just outside the gardens for a pint and late lunch. Marie noticed a Casino across the road, so while she went over for a couple of hours, I stayed behind and chatted with the barman (we were the only ones in the pub) about New Zealand, rugby, Canada and rugby (Rugby is to Kiwis what hockey is to Canucks). Probably because I kept him company, he gave me a souvenir cap as I left to rejoin Marie who had finished playing the slots $20 NZ richer.

In the morning, with the weather ‘fine’, we headed south towards Dunedin our next stop, but instead of taking the main highway, we set out south westwards toward the Alps on the Inland Scenic Route. We passed by deer farms as we progressed towards the mountains, went down and through a beautiful gorge where the air was clear at river level but foggy 100 metres higher and crossed our first of countless one lane bridges. Most South Island highway bridges are one lane we were to discover because there is so little traffic on the roads in this country of 4 million people (if you see the movie, X Men Origins – Wolverine, you will see a New Zealand one lane bridge – as the pickup crosses it note the arrow painted on the left to remind tourists to get back into the ‘right’ lane, something the pseudo-Canadian driver does not do in the film). Driving in New Zealand is fun; the roads are winding and twisty, with lots of hills and narrow sections and constant reminders to drive on the left, to obey the speed laws and to not drink and drive. We found Kiwi drivers to be courteous and law abiding – much better than most Canadian drivers.

We had coffee in the small skiing village of Methuen where the principle actors from Lord of the Rings stayed when filming the “Rohan” scenes just up the road. The extras were bused the 90 minutes to and from Christchurch each day of shooting. After completing this circular loop to the shoulders of the Alps, we dropped back down and joined State Highway 1 (it appears on maps as SH1 and was called schwon by our GPS) for the trip down the coast. We took a detour to the town of Waitake to see wallabies (imported from Australia) at the botanic garden and to have lunch at a café. Most ‘restaurants’ in New Zealand, particularly in small towns, villages and in the countryside, are called cafés. Many towns and villages in New Zealand also start with the letters Wai, which in Maori means water. New Zealand is a bilingual country, English and Maori are official languages and both are taught at school.

The next stop was along the seashore (beautiful seascapes) to view the completely spherical Moeriki Boulders. Termed septarian concretions, they range in size from large beach balls to small cars and are truly amazing. Spherical ones only occur here, in one location in the North Island, on the Cannonball River in North Dakota and near Kettle Point (Lake Huron), Ontario, so they are pretty rare. The cores of the boulders are hollow, the exteriors mostly hard calcite. They date from the Tertiary period, around 65 million years ago. While scientists can state how they were formed, I prefer the Maori legend which is more interesting. To Maoris, the boulders represent the eel baskets, calabashes, and kumaras (sweet potatoes) washed ashore from the wreck of the large sailing canoe, Arai-te-uru, which had sailed from Hawaiki (Maori homeland) in search of green stone (jade).

Late in the afternoon we arrived in Dunedin and crossed the harbour bridge to climb up the hill where our first Bed and Breakfast, a ‘Homestay’, was located. A ‘Homestay’ or ‘Farmstay’ accommodation is exactly that. You stay in a bedroom in a house and have limited services. The home’s owners talked to us for just a few minutes upon arrival, recommending a place to eat back down the hill in the city (my first night’s experience driving on the left, in the dark and in the rain to boot) where we went for dinner. After dinner we strolled around the Octagon, the centre of town where the streets form, you guessed it, an octagon, to see the lit up cathedral and city hall, and finally the beautiful train station before returning to the Homestay for the night.

The next morning, after a continental breakfast, we drove back through downtown so I could photograph the station before going to the far end of town to see the world’s steepest street. It is difficult to photograph the street since perspective through the camera lens does not do justice to how steep it really is. I did watch a jogger pause at the bottom of the steps, reset her watch, and head up the stairs at a quick pace. It took her about 4 minutes to run up the sidewalk stairs to the top. It took me about 10 minutes to recover from the effort of thinking about how taxing it would be for me to walk to the top.

We drove back through town and headed south, turning off the Schwon to take the Southern Scenic Route along the coast and through the Catlins (a mostly forested area). This drive was absolutely gorgeous. The topography changed with every corner we went around; from farmland and hills covered in sheep to lush rain forest. The road climbed over hills from the tops of which the farms in the valleys below looked like minature models. As we reached the coast, empty beach vistas stretched on to the next headland in the far distance. There are few villages along the route. One that is on a beach is called Kaka Point, named after the kaka parrot. It marks the start of the drive to Nugget Point and although it is an unsealed road (a sealed road in New Zealand is an asphalt road), it is well worth the drive to see the 1870s lighthouse and a seal colony. The coast around Nugget Point is outstandingly rugged, with high cliffs, pounding waves, stupendous views and isolated beaches. Few people live in this area of the South Island, but we did bump into fellow travellers; I chatted with two men from Denmark who come to New Zealand often for hunting and fishing.

After Nugget Point, we continued on the Southern Scenic Route as it wound its way through more farmland, rain forest (fern land), over and around hills and along the coast through wetlands and past more vast, empty beaches, until we ended up in Invercargill. It was now late in the afternoon, so we did not stop but continued on to Riverton, a small fishing village about 20 kilometres towards the tip of the South Island. We had booked at the Riverton Beachfront Bed and Breakfast at an area called “The Rocks” and were soon settling into an excellent room with a view of the ocean. Our gracious hosts made a booking for us for dinner at a seafood café a kilometre up the beach, and before it got dark, we walked out onto the sand of the beach to watch the sunset. I have never seen a sky turn so violet before and as it was perfectly reflected on the wet sand of the beach, it made for beautiful photographs. It took us a while to wander up the beach to the Beach House Café (voted best café in NZ in 2007) where we had an excellent dinner of chowder and Blue Cod. On the way back to the B&B, we were treated to a magnificent display of the Milky Way. Both Marie and I remarked that we had not seen so many stars or the Milky Way so dense since we both were kids. Finally, I had a long soak in the spa bath to end a marvellous day.

The next day, we had a really scrumptious breakfast, sitting at a large picture window looking out at the beach which now was covered by high tide. Our host and hostess spent quite a few minutes with us chatting about the area and other subjects, and then it was time to head out as we were scheduled on the Milford Sound overnight boat trip.

The drive to Te Anau, the town at the start of the Milford Highway was through farmland and forests, and skirted around the base of hills that grew progressively steeper the further north we went.
We stopped on the way to look at the one-lane Clifden Suspension Bridge that crossed the Waiau River. It was built in 1899 and used until 1978 to replace a small ferry on the river which, when flooded, made travel up the west side of the South Island almost impossible. We got to Te Anau around 11 a.m. and visited the Fiordland I-Site (I-Sites are throughout New Zealand and provide tourist services and information) to get additional information on the Milford Highway. The Milford Track, a popular hiking (tramping in NZ) trail also starts in Te Anau. The i-Site folks were warning trampers not to go on the Track because of a huge storm approaching in two to three days. Boy, were they right about the storm and about the trampers – several of who were rescued by helicopter a few days later! We also filled up with gas as the round trip drive to Milford Sound is about 300 kilometres and there are no gas stations along the route.

About 20 kilometres from Te Anau, we left the sheep farms and open range behind and entered Fiordland National Park. We drove through a small forest and as we emerged from it, we entered the Eglinton Valley which instantly reminded me of driving from Jasper to Banff in the Canadian Rockies. On both sides of the valley, towering mountains, some covered with snow, thrust upward into the cloudless sky. The valley floor was covered with tall brown grass and the Eglinton River flowed in braids down its centre. Further along the Valley, we stopped at the Mirror Lakes; pools of still water that perfectly reflected the mountains on the opposite side of the valley.

A sign in the still waters, written upside and down and backwards reflected back the name of this popular stop along the road. Birds chirped, whistled, dinged like a bell (the bell bird of course) and cackled in songs unfamiliar to us as we walked along the boardwalk under the shade of large trees to view the pools.

Back in the car, we did not go far until the next stop where we pulled in to view the mountains all around us and an alpine valley below us because by this time, we had climbed to the highest part of the Milford Highway. Here, we bumped into some Americans from Upper New York State and started to chat to them. Like us, they were on a month long visit to New Zealand, but were nearing the end of their trip. A little further along the road, we came to the Homer Tunnel, a one lane, 1.2 kilometre long rough cut, steeply descending (from the Te Anau end) tunnel about 20 kilometres from Milford Sound. We had to wait about fifteen minutes to go through as traffic is regulated by a traffic light. There is no room to pass another vehicle in the tunnel. With no lights in the tunnel, and water dripping down from the “roof”, the journey through was somewhat intimidating when realizing that New Zealand is prone to earthquakes. However, I read afterwards that the tunnel has been there since 1954.

We emerged from the other side of the tunnel and went quickly downhill through several sharp switchbacks from the tunnel’s 900 metre above sea level position, stopping at The Chasm, a trail along the Cleddau River that twice crosses the river on footbridges and where several waterfalls and water sculpted basins and pot holes line the granite sides. The trail meandered through and under huge ferns and all that was missing in my mind was the roar of a Tyrannosaurus. The Americans we had talked to earlier walked around the trail with us and we found out that they were taking the overnight boat trip in Milford Sound so we said we would see them later before heading the last few kilometres down to the sea and the Sound itself.

A note on Milford Sound.
First of all, it is a Fiord, not a Sound. What’s the difference, you ask? Other than being two different words, a Sound is ‘an inlet on the sea, parallel to the coast’ whereas a Fiord is a ‘long narrow deep inlet of the sea, between steep slopes’. Milford Sound is not parallel to the coast, but runs 15 kilometres inland from the Tasman Sea and is surrounded by sheer rock faces that rise 1,200 metres or more on either side. But all you really need to know is that it is a beautiful place irrespective of whether it is named correctly or not. We stayed overnight on the water, our ship had large cabins, the food served in the evening and at breakfast was buffet style but really good, and the passengers, including our American acquaintances, proved to be quite the party crowd. Having an Irish couple at our table certainly didn’t hurt the party atmosphere.

The two days we spent at Milford Sound were sunny, so we didn’t see the hundreds of temporary waterfalls it is famous for when it rains, but we did see a couple of permanent ones, one of which the bow of the boat actually got under. The myth is that if the spray of this waterfall hits you, you will be 10 years younger in the morning. I was drenched both times the boat went under the falls while taking photos. So I figure I should have reverted to childhood in the morning – at least physically. The scenery in Milford Sound was simply spectacular and the ride out to the Tasman Sea to see the sun come up was exhilarating for the large waves we crashed through and over. Don’t miss this place if you go to New Zealand.

We left Milford Sound around 10:30 a.m.and headed back up the highway. We only stopped a couple of times on the return trip up the Milford Highway when we saw something particularly astounding. We turned left at Te Anau and headed towards Queenstown, our next stop. The drive over was uneventful as we passed mostly through farmland (cattle ranches) and quite a bit of natural land where no one seemed to be. We did pass by one area where a protected plant was growing - it was reddish and spiky, kind of like tumbleweed. Other than that, we went through just a couple of small villages on the way and even had trouble finding a cafe for lunch.

We arrived in Queenstown around 3 p.m. and after checking in to the hotel, went for a walk around town. Queenstown is the most popular summer resort in New Zealand (bungee jumping and jet boating were invented here) and it is also a ski resort in the winter. We were there in the ‘in between’ season so there was not a lot of tourists roaming around. We wandered up and down the four or five streets that make up the shopping district and found a place where we wanted to eat later on. We then checked out the waterfront and a small market happening in the park before sitting on the patio of an Irish pub where we could watch the people wander through the park and the boats coming and going from the waterfront. Later that evening, when walking to dinner, I heard a man proposition me with the ‘hello sailor, new in town?’ line only to discover upon turning around that it was the Irish couple we had met the night before. We had a few more laughs and wished them well in their travels before going to dinner where we were waited on by a young server who had a funny accent for a Kiwi – seeing as how he was from Ottawa. Small world.

The next day, the weather started out sunny but we knew from the weather reports we were going to drive into rain as we headed out to the west coast to begin our journey north. The area around Queenstown is magnificent with the Remarkable Range of mountains in the background, the emerging fall colours of the wild grasslands against the contrast of the azure blue of the sky and the sun tinged clouds of early morning enhancing the green and brown colours of the land. After climbing to the top of the Crown Range Road (the highest sealed road in New Zealand) a few kilometres out of the city where the views of the area were stupendous, we descended into the Cardrona Valley, a major site of the 1860s gold rush. This proved to be a beautiful unplanned (our GPS wanted us to stay on Highway 6) drive along the Cardrona River past huge trees with leaves turning golden in the clear fall sunshine, but as we headed north to Wanaka and Lake Wanaka, we could see the clouds getting darker ahead. By the time we entered Mount Aspriring National Park, we headed into the rain. And it did not end for the next three days.

As we drove through the National Park and along a river valley in the mountains, we saw countless waterfalls from the rain cascading down the mountains. Some of the falls actually were landing on the roadway as the culverts could not contain the amount of water coming down the mountains. The waterfalls were a consolation for the amount of rain falling and for the thick, low cloud cover that made a view of the Southern Alps from the west coast side impossible. We stopped for a walk to see a particularly large one called Roaring Billy as the rain had slackened, but we still got completely soaked in the fifteen minutes it took to go down the track to the river and back. We could not see the tops of any of the mountains for the thick cloud cover.

At the coast, we headed north and crossed a long one lane bridge where the Haast River was already in full flood. The river surged against the bridge supports, almost cascading over the roadway. We could feel the power of the river through the trembling of the bridge deck as we crossed. We learned a couple of days later that the bridge was closed for a day shortly after we crossed for fear it would be washed out. In the nearby town of Haast, we stopped for lunch and to visit a Maori art studio. We bought a Maori wooden sculpture in a shadow box and thought we got a deal from the proprietor. However, we learned later we could have purchased the same sculpture on the North Island for $50 less (transportation costs I guess). Continuing through the hammering, wind blown rain, we drove on to Fox Glacier, our next stop. We had hoped to see the Glaciers which come down almost to the coast, but the 1 km road to Fox Glacier was closed because of rain and flooding, so we went for our fall back activity. We did a laundry. Then out into the rain for dinner at a very popular café and back to the motel to listen to the wind and rain drumming on the roof all night long. On the west coast of the South Island they measure rain in metres, not millimetres. Close to where we were staying, one area averages nine (9, yes, 5 +4) metres of rainfall a year. I think they got 8 of those metres the night we were there.

The next morning was dark and foreboding as the rain continued to teem down. So we packed up and headed north along the coast road, not being able to see much of anything. The storm (one of the largest in years it turned out) did whip up the ocean surf, so we were entertained by glimpses of crashing waves through the rain as we made our way north. We tried a couple of times to stop to see some of the 'ghost' towns we passed, remnants of the gold and coal mining rushes of the 1800s, but each time, the rain was too ferocious to be outside.

We stopped in Hokitika, a town famous for green stone (a type of jade much coveted by the Maori) that is made into jewellery and toured a couple of the jade ‘factories’ before popping into yet another café for lunch. The rain had let up a bit but the wind was still ferocious so we did not stay long in the town, but continued our journey to Greymouth where we had wanted to visit Shantytown, a recreated gold town of the 1860s.

But because of the rain, we settled for the local museum (which contained hundreds of photos from the 1880s to modern times) and a tour of the Monteith’s Brewery. At the conclusion of the tour, and after sampling about 5 different beers, we drove across the Grey River as dusk was falling, and headed the 15 kilometres north to our next B&B.

In the teeming rain and now pitch darkness, we banged on the back door of the B&B only to find out we had the wrong house – we had to go another two hundred metres up the track. Our host helped us in and offered to make tea for us, telling us that the ‘missus’ was still at work in Greymouth and would be home late that night. We went out for dinner a bit later to a café about a kilometre north of the B&B and when we came back, Dennis, our host, told us that a small slide had occurred on the road south of us and that he would have to get his 4x4 out to meet his wife. A little later on a neighbour stopped by to say two German tourists had gone off the road and landed their car on the beach. They were all right, but Dennis said the tide would get their car overnight. Try to explain that to the rental agency. Dennis made us some more tea and we chatted. Marie decided to go off to bed, and shortly after she did, Dennis got another phone call. He looked worried, but ever the good host, he put on a DVD for me to watch about the deer cull (ask me about this since it was pretty graphic) and said he was going out to check on the road. He came back a half hour later to say that a large slip, 50 metres wide and 10 metres high now covered the road to Greymouth. He said that the amount of rain and large road slip was the worse he had seen in the 13 years he had lived there. I went to bed thinking that we were stuck for a couple of days while the roads were repaired.

In the morning Dennis had good news for us – the road north, the direction we were going, was open at the moment and the weather was supposed to improve. The rain was much gentler than the night before, but he said the large slide would take at least a day (it took two) to clear so his wife had to stay in town. He made us breakfast and we set off shortly after 8 a.m. We drove down towards the slide, but stopped at the small one where the road was covered in stones and the water was still running across the pavement. We reversed direction and headed north, hopefully away from more road problems.

In several areas of the South Island coast, penguin colonies can be found. The six species of penguin that live in New Zealand tend to be small, with the Blue Penguin the smallest of all species. Since the birds spend daylight hours fishing at sea, we did not get up early enough, or go to colonies at dusk to actually see any live birds. But signs along the road (some are apparently hunted) often warn motorists to watch out for the birds. We passed through a colony area shortly after leaving the B&B.

Fifteen miles down the road near the town of Panakaiki, the rain had temporarily stopped as did we to see the Pancake Rocks, columns of limestone that resemble stacks of pancakes. They were formed 30 million years ago when the lime in dead marine creatures built up between softer layers of mud on the ocean floor. Uplifted by seismic disturbances, the rocks are now being eroded by the wind, rain and the sea. The softer layers erode first, thus the pancake stack effect. The Rocks are famous for the blowholes when the sea rushes in pushed by westerly winds and is forced up through holes in the rocks, but because it was low tide when we were there, the sea could only manage a couple of feeble spurts of froth. The twenty minute loop walk into the Rocks, which form Dolomite Point, was very informative, with descriptions of the various plants (mostly ferns) and trees along the route. The Rocks are definitely worth seeing if you are in the area.

We continued north until just short of Westport where we turned inland to head across the top of the South Island to Picton, our destination and the South Island Terminus for the Ferry to the North Island. The Buller River valley we followed took us up into the Alps through the Buller Gorge. The Buller River was the colour of milk chocolate and enormously swollen, carrying whole trees as it rushed down towards the sea. At the top of the Gorge, we emerged into an Alpine Valley that was remarkably flat. We followed this valley along the edge of Nelson Lakes National Park until we arrived at the wine growing area of Marlborough. The first vineyards appeared on the south facing side of the hills; then we were surrounded by them for kilometres as we made our way into Blenheim for the run up to Picton. The Marlborough region is the biggest wine growing area in New Zealand, with Sauvignon Blanc wines predominating. These wines are available in Canada.

When we arrived in Picton, we checked in to our motel and went in search of the ferry terminal as we were to catch our ferry at 7 a.m. the next morning. It started to rain again so when we went out to dinner, we once more pulled out our umbrellas. We purchased a bottle of the Sauvignon Blanc (when in Rome…) and drank it when we got back to the motel, set the alarm and went to bed.

The next morning, the sun was up, the clouds had almost disappeared and we soon found ourselves on the ferry, sailing out of the harbour right on time for the voyage over to the North Island. It takes about 90 minutes to reach the open sea from Picton as the ferry navigates a Sound (not a fiord). We sat on deck in the sunshine and watched the scenery unfold as we made the 3 hour 30 minute crossing to the North Island. We would not be back to the South Island again until a couple of days before we left for home. The North Island beckoned.

The Journey to Middle Earth - Part One

The difficulty in getting to Australia and New Zealand from Ottawa is the fact that these two countries are so far away. This makes for an extremely long flight. From Ottawa to Vancouver (5.5 hours), then from Vancouver to Sydney (15 hours non-stop), it is a travel marathon. If you have the financial wherewithal, or the airline points, it is definitely worth it to fly in business class. Being able to lie down flat on the long leg across the Pacific was a blessing. Of course, compared to the original Europeans who took months to go to Australia in the nineteenth century by sailing ship (most as convicts being ‘transported’, some dying on the way), the flight is a breeze, even if one were in economy class.

Australia is a country that has had its share of introduced species which have caused huge problems (almost everyone knows the story of the 26 original rabbits and what happened to them – 60 million today – hey, they are rabbits!) so it is the first country I have visited where the aircraft is sprayed after landing. Passengers must sit in their seats while the crew opens all the overhead compartments and sprays them with what smelled like an insecticide. This takes about 10 minutes and is, one hopes, completely harmless – at least to humans.

The sun was shining when we exited the airport terminal and it was already a warm day, even though it was 8:30 a.m. local time, when we grabbed a taxi and headed to our hotel at Circular Quay at the heart of Sydney Harbour and within five minutes walking distance of the original settlement, The Rocks. After arriving in our room, I checked the view out the window. The Sydney Opera House was right there in front of me. After seeing this famous icon so many times on TV and in pictures, I just had to get my camera out and take a photo, my first in Australia.

We got cleaned up and then sallied forth down Pitt Street for the two block walk to the Harbour. As it was the tail end of rush hour, scads of ferries were arriving and departing Circular Quay, and trains and buses were also arriving and departing this busy transportation hub. We walked along the east side of the harbour, stopping to take a few pictures of the Opera house on the opposite side. Then in front of us loomed the famous Sydney Bridge, called the Coat Hanger by the locals. Built in the early1930s, it is still the tallest steel arch bridge in the world, coming in at 134 metres from the top to the water.

Turning inland at the end of the Quay, we headed up into The Rocks neighbourhood. Old buildings, with titles inscribed on them such as ‘Sailors Home’ and ‘Seamans’ Rest’ and a couple of pubs which boast of being the oldest in Sydney (apparently 6 different pubs claim this honour) allude to the original character of this area of the City. The Rocks today is a compact warren of small streets and alleys, stairways and passageways with iconic names such as the Suez Canal (so named for what happens in a rainstorm) and the Nurse’s Walk. Replete with shops, boutiques, pubs (lots of them), restaurants, the oldest house in Sydney (Cadman’s Cottage) and the Sydney Visitor Centre, it is an interesting place to wander aimlessly around in and get a feel for what Sydney might have been like in its early days. Being jetlagged, that is just what we did. Wander aimlessly around. Eventually, we sat at a sidewalk table at a pub and watched people go by (and tried the local brew). We meandered back to the hotel and while Marie went for a nap, I walked up Pitt Street into the commercial centre of town. It was swarming with business people out for lunch (people tend to go to lunch from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m.) and the sidewalks were teeming. People were hurrying to and from take-away (take-out) places, or sitting on benches, on small plots of grass, on the low walls around buildings and in the numerous squares to eat their take-away lunches. I was not at all hungry, so after roving for a few blocks, I returned to Circular Quay and sat on a bench and watched the afternoon rush hour of ferries engorge with people and sail away. Around 5:30 p.m., I went back to the hotel and Marie and I went out into The Rocks for dinner. Then, rapidly losing steam because of the time change, we went back to the hotel and crashed at 9 p.m. local time.

Day two was another sunny, warm day. Although autumn had set in, to us it still felt like summer. We wandered down to the Opera House early in the morning and walked around this huge, magnificent building with its white sails representing the scallop shells found here in middens left by the Eulora Aboriginal people. The Opera House sits on the western side of Circular Quay Harbour, on a man-made spit of land (a large wharf would be a better description) and it dominates one side of the Harbour while a cruise ship terminal and the Sydney Bridge dominates the east side of the Harbour.

Designed in the late 1950s by a Danish architect, Jørn Utson, it was not completed until 1973. Jørn never worked long on the construction phase, having had a fall out with the changing requirements of the City of Sydney and with the attempts to keep costs under control. Originally estimated to cost $7 million, the final project came in at $107 million. Nevertheless, it is a very beautiful building, much larger than I thought it would be. It has UNESCO heritage status and tours of the building can be had if one so desires (the price of the tours should get back the $100 million overrun after about 100 people visit!).

When we had finished gawking around the Opera House, we entered the Botanical Gardens and followed the sea wall around the bay. This reminded me of Stanley Park in Vancouver, albeit the trees and birds were different, with palms, bamboo, eucalyptus trees, cockatoos (beautiful white birds with the worst screeching call I have ever heard) and other ground birds with long hooked beaks roving around. We checked out Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair on the point, a bench carved out of the sandstone cliff in 1810 by convicts that was used by the Governor’s wife to watch for ships arriving from England (when I sat in the chair, I could not see any ships from England, but I could see some of the Australian Navy ships that now help keep the Limeys out (just kidding, Great Britain)). The convicts (primarily transported people - both men and women- from England who were sent to Australia for a crime as simple as stealing a loaf of bread) built much of Colonial Australia's infrastructure. After serving time (and presumably with good behaviour), most were set free and like the rabbits imported into Australia, proceeded to populate the countryside.

After visiting the Chair, we skirted the tour buses lined up on the road behind it and took the 'high road', a path towards the centre of the Gardens and stumbled upon the Flying Foxes, very large fruit bats, hanging in a grove of trees. They were not all asleep because we could hear them chittering amongst each other and some of them were actually flying around, perhaps looking for a better roost for the day. They leave the trees each night and set out to feed on fruit throughout the Greater Sydney area.

We left the Botanical Gardens close to Government House (a museum now since the government moved in 1927 to Canberra in a situation much like the choice of Ottawa as Canada's capital) and descended the stairs to Circular Quay. We jumped on a ferry boat (by a day pass for the ferries; it is much cheaper than several one way tickets and can be used on the trains and buses as well) and rode over to Darling Harbour, via Luna Park and a couple of other stops. There were a lot of kids (and parents and grandparents) getting off the ferry at Luna Park since it was Easter break for schools in Australia. Luna Park is a beautifully restored 1930s amusement venue, although I think that if I were still a kid, the entrance to it would scare the-you-know-what out of me! What a creepy introduction to a day of fun since you have to go in through the mouth of what looks like Humpty Dumpty trapped between two fence posts.

Once at Darling Harbour we turned inland and walked the four blocks or so to Chinatown and to Paddy’s Markets, a large building that contained stall after stall of inexpensive clothes, electronic products, leather, wigs and more wigs, household goods, did I mention wigs?, and tourist souvenirs. It is the best place to buy souvenirs and since we were tourists, we had to buy something. We exited with a boomerang and some shot glasses depicting Aboriginal art. I also bought a baseball cap with Australia written on it, which was a good thing because I soon lost my Ottawa Senators hat I was wearing. We had stopped for lunch in Chinatown and being a gentleman, I had removed my hat and set it beside me on the ground (we ate outside) to dine. When we left the table, I left my hat. I hope whoever found it at least becomes a Sens fan.

Then it was back to Darling Harbour and the ferry back to Circular Quay. Later that afternoon, we caught the ferry for the half hour ride to Manly and Manly Beach. (There are two ferries to Manly, a fast one that takes 15 minutes and one that takes 30 minutes. My advice is to take the slow boat to Manly and enjoy the sightseeing along the way). If you go on any ferry rides in Sydney, this is the ferry ride worth taking, not only because Manly is a pretty seaside town with beaches both on the harbour and on the ocean, but also for the ride itself. After arriving at the Manly wharf (it contains interesting shops, bakeries and restaurants), we ambled down the Corso, a pedestrian mall, to its end where it terminates at Manly Beach. We joined the locals (for some reason mostly comprised of several young mothers, some jogging, who were pushing their baby strollers). Of course, we ambled along the paved path that runs along the beach. We stopped for about twenty minutes and watched the late afternoon surfers ride on and ultimately crash into the fairly large surf rolling in from the South Pacific.


Returning back along the Corso to the Harbour Beach and the Manly Wharf, we spent some time window shopping and browsing in a couple of the stores. Kerri, our daughter, had asked us to pick up some clothes for her at the Billabong Stores and we found one on the Corso. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that the clothes are actually cheaper at Billabong stores in Canada. I guess it is cheaper to ship them to Canada than to Australia from China!

Our friends Daryl and Melanie Rock had suggested we get a take-out pizza from the ‘Wood and Stone’ pizza parlour on the corner of the Corso across from the ferry wharf and watch the sunset from the harbour beach. Because we were in Australia in the autumn, the sunset came a bit early for us to eat, so we bought a beer on the corner of the wharf and watched kids playing at the water’s edge as the sun went down over the harbour beach, then went for the pizza. (Daryl and Melanie, you are right – the Tandoori Chicken pizza was sublime).

The ferry ride back to Sydney was spectacular because of all the lights along the route and as we came into Circular Quay to see the Opera House lit up while the bow waves from the ferry splashed and hissed below us was truly magical.

We had booked a tour to go to the Blue Mountains the next day and at 7:45 a.m. our guide arrived in a minibus to get us. Only one other couple was on the tour with us so that ended up being lucky because Steve, our driver/guide, spent a lot of time talking to each of us and adjusting the tour depending upon what we said we wanted to see and do. On our way out of town, he showed us the Olympic Site, explained the history of Sydney and all of the suburbs we went through, and told us several anecdotes about Australia and the Sydney area. He had a great sense of humour and throughout the day we exchanged several gentle digs at our collective countries, politicians, sports, and accents. Steve works for Boutique Tours and I picked them based on the reviews on TripAdvisor. If you are in Sydney and want to take a tour to the Blue Mountains, you can’t go wrong with Boutique Tours (they also do wine tours to the Hunter Valley) and hopefully Steve will be your guide. He knows all the plants and stopped often to show us (and let us smell the leaves he crushed) what made them peculiar and what they were used for by Aborigines and colonists and naturists today.

The first place we stopped was at an Aboriginal cultural centre, called Muru Mittigar, which in the local Aborigine dialect means ‘Pathway to Friends’. Phillip met us and took us out to a field where we all had a go at throwing boomerangs. I remember when we had a boomerang fad in Canada (remember Skippy and the Flying Doctor on TV?), but unlike the boomerangs we imported at the time, Phillip's boomerangs actually did come back. I managed to land one of them at my feet (the rest went a bit further afield). After we all had a throw, we went into the Centre where Phillip and his mate (in Australia mate does not mean significant other) talked to us about Aboriginal history, showed us artefacts which included huge boomerangs, spears, baskets, and of course showed us how didgeridoos, the oldest wooden wind instruments in the world, are made. Philip’s mate was the expert and he played several of them for us. What an earthy and deep buzzing sound he made from what are essentially hollow branches. We had tea and Aboriginal ‘Damper’ bread (so named because it has no yeast and was cooked in damped camp fire coals by early colonials), wattle seed pikelets and native jams from bush fruits before we left the Centre and headed up into the Blue Mountains.

On the way, Steve explained how the Blue Mountains got their name. Eucalyptus trees release moisture mixed with resin from their leaves as the sun shines on them and this refracts the blue end of the spectrum, resulting in a blue haze in the air. He joked that Ozzies are not very original with naming features – they have the Blue Mountains, Snowy Mountains, Great Sand Desert, Great Rocky Desert, Great Western Highway, Great Southern Desert etc.

We soon were driving down a dirt track and stopped on the side of the road. Steve led us down a short path and suddenly we were standing on a rock cliff, two to three hundred metres above a valley below. He explained that we were on the King’s Tablelands, a feature that would become more apparent later on as we circled the top of the horseshoe shaped valley below. After we all took photos, we jumped back in the van and drove around to the other side of the horseshoe where we walked down another path to a lookout where we could see the flat top where we had stood twenty minutes before. We also faced the Three Sisters – rock formations that in Aboriginal lore were created when the witchdoctor Tyawan, trying to escape with his family from a mythical creature called the Bunyip, used his magic Kangaroo shin bone to turn his daughters into stone so that the creature could not eat them. He then turned himself into a Lyrebird further down the valley when trapped by the Bunyip and because birds cannot hold the shin bone, dropped it and hid in a cave. To this day, he continues to search for the shin bone to help him turn his daughters back into people.

We descended into the Megalong Valley and on the way down the very steep and winding road to the valley floor, we drove through a tropical microclimate replete with huge ferns that looked like they came right out of Jurassic Park. A couple of kilometres into the valley, we stopped at a Tea House for lunch. I had a homemade and very delicious chicken pie sitting outside in this tranquil setting beneath large trees listening to the birds singing all around us.

Back in the van, we headed up the cliff and started back towards Sydney, but Steve had one more place he wanted to show us. We went down into another valley and back into the National Park to a very peaceful open area in the bush where a few campers had pitched their tents. Here we looked for kangaroos as they are quite abundant in the area. But all we saw was ‘roo doo. And several more kookaburra birds in the trees all around us. It was now getting dark, so we piled back in the van and headed to Sydney. To keep us entertained, Steve put a DVD on the screen in the van that showed us many of Australia’s unique animals. We arrived back at the hotel about 7:30 p.m. and since we had been eating and snacking all day, decided to just grab some of the food and drinks offered in the lounge before calling it a night.

The next day dawned a bit cloudy and cooler. We decided to head up to the Paddington Markets but got our directions mixed up and actually ended up back by Chinatown again. After having a coffee to figure out our next plan of attack, we decided to head to the Sydney Aquarium since the skies were still threatening showers. The Aquarium is not large as aquariums go, but it did have quite a display of Australian Dugongs, which are related to Manatees. They are interesting looking animals, but how sailors in centuries past mistook them for mermaids, I will never know - maybe too much rum? The best part of the Aquarium was the two large tanks through which glass tunnels run which means you feel like you are actually under the water with the fish and other sea animals, plants and corals. I thought this really worked well in the tank where several different species of sharks and rays cruised about inches from us.

After touring the Aquarium, we stopped at a restaurant in Darling Harbour and had lunch. Afterwards we walked back towards Circular Quay, following the road along the harbour, past the cruise ship berth and then into The Rocks once more where we climbed about a million stairs to go up onto Observatory Hill where the views of the harbour, bridge and city are great. The old Observatory and weather station is at its top. While Marie rested and admired the view, I toured the exhibit inside which informed me that the temperature in Sydney once reached 45 C in January, that 300mm of rain once fell on the city in 24 hours (needless to say a boat was a handy thing to have), and that a hailstorm once caused 1 billion dollars in damage (the hailstones were larger than oranges and crashed through the tile roofs of houses, buildings and cars). But no worries, mate, most of the time the weather in Sydney is what Ozzies call ‘fine’.

We made our way down Observatory Hill to the end of George Street in The Rocks where the weekend market was underway. Over a hundred kiosks exhibited art, jewellery, old photographs, clothes, books, jams and other confections, wooden toys, aboriginal objects and a myriad of other crafts. Even if you don’t buy anything (we just picked up some fudge), checking out the stalls and wares is well worth an hour or two. If nothing else it indulges the shopping genes prominent in the fairer sex and works up a thirst in the other.

Our last full day in Sydney and the weather appeared to be ‘fine’ so we headed out to a store we saw in The Rocks called the Rocks Hatter where I picked up a Kangaroo Leather drover’s (Australian cowboy) hat as my souvenir (you will see me modelling it in the next parts of The Journey to Middle Earth). We bought another day pass on the transportation system and caught the train to Bondi Junction where we switched to a bus and went to Bondi Beach. It is easy to see why this beach is so famous. A perfect crescent of sand set between two headlands where the surf crashes unto the rocks in towering surges of white spray that contrasts with the deep turquoise of the ocean behind, it is quite a sight to behold from the walkway set above the beach. We strolled down the walkway, watching the surfers as they waited to catch the perfect wave for the ride into the beach. As we did, I noticed an ominous black cloud (more like a bank of clouds) approaching from the west and our back. Halfway down the beach, I suggested to Marie that finding a restaurant for lunch or coffee suddenly seemed like a good idea. Needless to say, we did not make it up the hill to the street. The rain hit us in a sheet of water, but luckily, we were 20 metres from a picnic shelter, where we and another 6 people converged and suddenly became best mates. We all watched the rain pour down and the surf crash onto the rocks while we chatted for about twenty minutes and then it was over and we all went our separate ways.

We finally got to the restaurants and ate at a table on the sidewalk behind a protective plastic sheet because of the wind that was still blowing pretty hard. After lunch, we caught the bus and did the reverse trip back to Circular Quay. We had decided to take another ride on the ferries if the weather was good, and since it was OK, we boarded the Rivercat (smaller catamaran) for the one hour ride to the suburb and former town of Parramatta. This was an interesting ride as the ferry was quite fast in the harbour, passing the Olympic Site and huge houses on the upper reaches of the Harbour before entering the Parramatta River itself. The river kept getting narrower and narrower and eventually, the ferry was making about 5 knots as we silently cruised up what to me resembled a jungle river as the trees and vegetation actually grew right in the water at the river’s banks. We got to Parramatta and as we did, it started to rain, so we decided to stay on the ferry as it turned in a basin before a small weir and immediately started the return trip. As we headed back down river and just as before we entered the main part of the harbour, the clouds broke up, rainbows appeared and the golden honey coloured rays of the sun shone through in a late afternoon light show that made for a very pleasant welcome back to the City.

What better way to say goodbye to Sydney and our introduction to Australia than sailing on the water towards a glorious sunset. We will be back.

California Dreaming

Another good thing about being retired is that one is flexible when it comes to travelling. I can take off almost at a moment’s notice and when the opportunity arrives – carpe diem.

So when Marie let me know that she was going to be in California for a couple of weeks to work at the NHQ of the company implementing Oracle, I immediately went online, found a good fare from Ottawa to Los Angeles and started to look for my summer clothes.

I don’t know what it is that Mother Nature has against me, but every time I have gone somewhere this winter, it has snowed. This time, the snow started just as I was leaving Ottawa and within a day, another 25 centimetres had fallen. Thank goodness I have great neighbours; one looks after my mail, and the other has cleaned my driveway each time I have been away.

Anyway, upon arriving in Los Angeles all thoughts of snow had disappeared. The sun was shining as I took the rental car shuttle over to get my car. My name was listed in the fast rental area which meant I could go out in the lot and take my pick from the car class I had rented. I was severely tempted by a small, white, two-seater sports convertible that was included, but when I opened the trunk, I could see that my suitcase would barely fit. So instead, and somewhat reluctantly, I chose a cherry red Ford Focus.

I turned on Kate (my GPS) and headed out to partake in the Great LA pastime of freeway parking. The hotel was not far, though, and by 5 p.m. I was sitting on the hotel balcony, refreshment in hand, soaking up a few rays in the late afternoon sun.

The next day after seeing Marie off to work, I headed due west about 5 kilometres to the Pacific Coast Highway. It once connected all the small towns along the coast but now all the small towns are part of greater Los Angeles. I turned south at Redondo Beach towards the Palos Verdes Peninsula and then onto Palos Verdes Drive to follow the cliffs along the ocean. This turned out to be a beautiful drive with few cars on the road and a speed limit of forty-five miles an hour (about 80 km an hour in non American English). My first stop of the day was at Point Vicente to visit the Point Vicente Interpretive Centre and Park. This Centre has information on the Palos Verdes Peninsula’s history and geography, but specializes in studies of the Pacific Gray Whale. The southern migration of these whales occurs from December to April and whales can often be seen in the Catalina Channel offshore from the Centre. I spent an hour or so scanning the water but alas did not see any. The Centre is adjacent to the closed Point Vicente Lighthouse. This park is a great place for picnics and for just enjoying nature.

A little bit further down the coast, in the town of Rancho Palos Verdes (named after the large Spanish cattle ranch that was here when California belonged to Spain and Mexico), the road passes by the Wayfarers’ Chapel, a peaceful glass and wood church designed by Lloyd Wright, Frank Lloyd Wright’s son. Lloyd Wright had redwood trees planted on each side of the church and these now form ‘tree walls’ that complement the wooden frame of the building. A service was underway while I was there, so I could not enter the Chapel itself, but I enjoyed walking around the grounds and taking a few minutes to rest and contemplate the warm sunshine, beautiful location and quiet, which is why the church was built in the first place.

Re-energized, I headed further down the coast and crossed an interesting area of about 2 kilometres where road signs warned of landslides. The often repaired undulating roadway and indeed several work crews in the process of actually backfilling and repairing the lane on the other side, attested to the geological instability of this area. No houses were built along this part of the road. I thought about stopping for photographs, but the no stopping signs and evidence of very recent landslides changed my mind.

After passing by the Trump National Golf Club ($275 plus tax to play a round), I arrived at Point Fermin Park , located in San Pedro. Here, the road turns north as this is the western side of the Los Angeles Harbour. I stopped in the Park to have lunch (a beautiful day for a picnic) and also to visit the Point Fermin lighthouse. Built in 1874, the lighthouse is a rare example of Victorian ‘Stick’ architecture (there were only six like it built and only three still exist). Whereas most Victorian architecture is based on the ornamental Queen Anne style, the Stick style stressed the wall surface itself as a decorative element rather than as a surface to which decorative detailing was added. No curlicues for this Victorian style.

I received a personal tour of the lighthouse by an elderly volunteer who was a veritable fountain of information about the lighthouse, San Pedro and the Peninsula. She asked me at the end of the tour if I knew where the first lighthouse in the world was built, and when I said the Pharos (meaning light in Greek) Lighthouse of Alexandria Egypt, she said I was only the second person she had met that knew that. I did not correct her, however, when she stated that the Alexandria lighthouse was named after the Egyptian Pharaohs. After all, I was not on Jeopardy and she was a very kind lady.

After leaving the park and lighthouse, I drove up the hill for a view of the Korean Bell of Friendship, a gift from South Korea to the American people for the US bicentennial in 1976. The two "people" guarding the entrance to the bell reminded me of pictures of South Pacific island art rather than Korean. I particularly liked the "sunglasses" on the carvings as well as the hat on the figure on the left. From the bell's location, the views out over the Catalina Channel, the Port of Los Angeles and the terraced hills to the north are amazing. The bell weighs 17 tons and the pagoda it sits in is very beautiful. An ocean marine facility that rescues marine animals shares the park in which the bell is located, but I did not visit it.

As it was now late afternoon, I cruised north through San Pedro (which is a port city that has seen better days) before catching the Harbour Freeway back to the hotel.

The next day, I decided to drive 80 kilometres south to San Juan Capistrano to visit the Mission that I last saw in 1965 on a trip with my brothers and parents. I thought I would be smart and waited until 9:30 a.m. for the morning rush hour to dissipate and accordingly, for the first 40 kilometres, I sailed along at 100 kph which is rare on the LA area freeways. Then for about 10 kilometres near Irvine, we slowed to 10 kph, so it took almost ninety minutes to make the trip. I do not understand how Los Angelinos can live where they do if they have to drive. If you have not been to LA and area yet, and are planning to drive around the city, make sure you budget enough time for the traffic.

Mission San Juan Capistrano is a beautifully restored and still functioning mission that was founded twice – in 1775 but abandoned because of Native unrest, and then again by Father Junipero Serra in 1776. The Mission was once famous for the ‘Return of the Swallows’ each spring and still has exhibits on the swallows even though the massive built up area around the City has all but meant that the swallows don’t return anymore.

The church that was built in 1777 is still used today. The mission and grounds is a beautiful place, small and compact enough so that the whole site can be seen in about three to four hours depending upon the number of school children present who learning about California history. Although an excellent audio guide is included in the admission price, tagging along within earshot of the guides who take the student groups around was also very informative. I have seen a few California Missions in my five visits to the State (there were 21 original missions between San Diego and San Francisco, each about a day’s journey by foot apart) and I would certainly recommend this one (and Purisima on the ocean drive between LA and San Francisco) as the two best to visit in my view.

I spent a few minutes in Old Town San Juan to see this historical area which still has original adobe houses (but which now is a disappointing and mostly commercial district; commercial being committed hippies who run candle shops, tea shops, fortune telling shops) literally on the other side of the tracks from the Mission, before heading back late in the day to the hotel.

The next day, with the weather still great (indeed, it was sunny and warm for the whole week I was there), I thought a trip to Long Beach would be entertaining. Long Beach is famous for its large Port, attractions such as the Aquarium of the Pacific (#2 visited after Disneyland), the 1936 ocean liner Queen Mary, and ocean parks and walks. I had lunch and then walked through Rainbow Park (the location of the Aquarium and a marina). The Aquarium was very busy, but the restaurants, park, marina and shopping area adjacent to the park were not. I noticed a headline in the local weekly that the Queen Mary was having financial and ownership difficulties, so it appeared to me that Long Beach is no longer the mecca that it used to be when the US Pacific Fleet was located here. The fact that Long Beach is surrounded by oil refineries, the huge breakwater built to protect the Navy boats and that keeps water from circulating in the harbour (very polluted) and the container port also detract from its potential beauty. The city is trying to clean up the harbour though and apparently fish have returned - at least the bird in the picture thought so. I did not stay long, instead I set out to do some shopping on the longer way back along the Pacific Highway (no bargains considering the difference between the US and Canadian dollars).

Marie and I had decided to go to San Diego on Saturday since we really enjoyed this city on our first visit in the 1980s. We booked a hotel in Old Town which we remembered as a beautiful and historic area where the city was first established. We arrived early and headed downtown on the San Diego Trolley (to the city centre) to visit the San Diego Maritime Museum.

This museum has an interesting collection of ships, including the world’s oldest active ship, the ‘Star of India’ which was launched in 1863 at the Isle of Wight, England, with the name Euterpe for the England – India cargo run. She is an iron hull ship, one of the first of its type. She had a disastrous beginning. ‘On her first trip she suffered a collision and a mutiny. On her second trip, a cyclone caught Euterpe in the Bay of Bengal, and with her topmasts cut away, she barely made port. Shortly afterward, her first captain died on board and was buried at sea’. Her next life was as a passenger ship, making 21 trips to take emigrants to New Zealand. Sold to Americans, in 1902 she began her third life sailing to the Barents Sea to fill up on canned salmon from Alaska and had her name changed to the Star of India. She was sold to a group of San Diego people in 1926 who wanted to restore her, but her restoration was not completed until 1976.

We took an outstanding harbour cruise on the museum's Pilot, the official pilot boat for San Diego Harbour from 1914 to 1996. You don’t sit in the Pilot, you sit on the cabin as it is a small boat. Which makes for an interesting ride since the harbour is really busy and the larger boats that pass by create wakes that cause the Pilot to really bob about. We also toured the Soviet era ‘Foxtrot’ submarine, B-29. Built in the 1970s to a 1940s German U-Boot design, she shadowed US Navy Pacific Fleet ships before she was taken out of service in the 1990s. The Maritime Museum web site warns “Persons that have trouble bending, crouching or climbing or are uncomfortable in confined spaces may have difficulty touring the B-39 submarine” for good reason. The small hatch that connects compartments is a challenge for anyone no matter size or age. If you saw the movie K-19 – Widowmaker, you will know what the inside of this submarine is like. Just remember that things (particularly the small hatches) on the screen look bigger than they actually are.

We returned late in the afternoon to Old Town and walked back through this historic area which is a State Historical Park. A celebration of the Mormon Battalion, the only religious unit in American military history (the Salvation Army does not count), which marched from Iowa to San Diego during the Mexican-American War in 1846, was underway, complete with period costumes, food and music.

I was glad to see this celebration, because Old Town has been completely commercialized since we last visited in the 1980s and is now quite disappointing. Before, some of the buildings were portrayed as they had been, i.e. the General Store, but now there is a 'tourist' store in just about every building selling some pretty tacky stuff. I suspect that the State Parks in California are like our national museums in Canada; they receive less and less government funding and have to find other ways to raise funds.

On Sunday, we headed inland and north from San Diego to visit the San Diego Zoo Wild Animal Park, an 1800 acre site in the San Pasqual Valley. Affiliated with the San Diego Zoo, the Animal Park protects endangered species and has breeding programs (notably for the California Condor) which releases animals back into the wild and provides specimens to other zoos around the world. The Park is well worth visiting and on the day we were there, the animals were very active as it was sunny with a high of about 23 degrees. We travelled into ‘Africa’ aboard the Journey into Africa tram which circuled the park and made one feel as if you were actually out on the African veldt.

Later on, Marie had fun feeding the lorikeets (native to Australia and New Zealand). We also walked the Naroibi Trail past the camping area (called Snore and Snort) and past the elephants, tigers, lions (but no bears, oh my) to Condor Ridge and marvelled at the size of the California Condors, we laughed through the Animal Encounters game show (might have had something to do with the 1.5 litre ‘large’ beers we bought) and peered into the canopy of trees in the Hidden Jungle exhibit. I have visited the San Diego Zoo as well, but I would recommend the Wild Animal Park for a day’s excursion if you are in this part of California.

The next day, I left early for the airport (10 kilometres but forty minutes away by freeway and no I did not take the 'giraffe') for my morning flight home. Serendipity must have been my middle name that day, because the Air Canada lounge was closed for renovations, so Air Canada passengers were directed to the Air New Zealand lounge. As New Zealand is our next major destination (notwithstanding Marie going to Moscow for work), I was able to pick up several books, maps and other materials to start planning the next getaway later this spring. Until then, keep on Dreaming.