In New Zealand the sky is backwards, the streets are backwards, and it’s the middle of summer in January… I can only hope that in this down-under land of reversal the population is 90% gay, 10% straight, and the handsome young men chase after fat old guys. No evidence of that, although so far people here seem very friendly and helpful.
There are even professional helpers to save befuddled tourists! While I was pulling out a map and apparently looking as lost as I felt, a man and a woman, both wearing black leather hats and red shirts with insignia announcing them as civic employees, offered directions, and lots of tourist info, including leaflets.
I left San Francisco Monday night at 7:00, and arrived 13 hours later, Wednesday morning at 5:00. As for Tuesday… well, where did the day go? The time zone here is actually 21 hours ahead of San Francisco. Which generally means it’s 3 hours earlier the next day. Anyway, I missed Tuesday entirely. Not the first time I’ve lost an entire day, but this is the best excuse I’ve ever had.
Staggering into my hotel around 7:30 AM I was told as nicely as possible that check-in isn’t until 2. The receptionist let me check my bags in and enjoy a breakfast that I wasn’t strictly entitled to. By the toaster there were the usual little plastic min-tubs of jams and similar tubs of vegemite. Yay! I am a happy little vegemite! For those who don’t know about it, Vegemite is a bitter, salty, yeast derivative from Australia. My Aussie friends turned me on to it and I found a source in SF. I love the stuff – another way in which I differ from most Americans.
The flight over had been pleasant enough, and I got a few hours of sleep, but still… much as I’d prefer a nap and a shower at this point I’m sort of staggering around Auckland and made my first stop at the Sky Tower, the tallest structure in the Southern Hemisphere. The observation decks offer spectacular views of one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever seen.
This tower also has a remarkable feature… involving cables, clips, and jumpsuits for people to jump from the observation deck down to a platform beneath the rim. (notice the blue and yellow suit in the lower right corner here. Given the speed they zip down by the observation deck I was lucky to get that shot!) It looks like terrific fun, and for what they charge it should be! Not quite as much as a tandem dive, but more than I cared to spend.
Auckland stretches across a narrow stretch of New Zealand’s northern island. There are two great harbors on either side. On the northwest one opens to the Pacific Ocean. On the southeast is the Tasman Sea, and beyond that, Australia. This whole country is a bit of a volcanic mountains and edges of tectonic plates pushing up above sea level. From this tower one can see arms land and water reaching around and pushing into each other. I’m now looking out at a volcanic mountain rising out of the bay, along with other islands and capes. The city itself is very green, with large and small parks breaking up the modern highrise buildings that crowd the center city.
It’s warm and humid here, but after 10 summers in Washington DC, this is nothing. Aukland is at 36 degrees and 52 minutes south latitude. (36:52 north would be right between Monterey and San Jose.) With a northern view I can see the sunlight to the northeast trying to push through the overcast. From the southern hemisphere the directions of celestial motion are completely reversed. From our apartment in San Francisco we look south and see sunrises to the left and sunsets to the right. Here one looks north and sees the sun rising to the right, and setting to the left. It’s very weird for an old sky watcher from up north. People have suggested that the overcast here is pretty constant. I may not get a clear view of the stars here. If not here, then certainly out of two weeks in Australia. The original Maori name for New Zealand was “Aotearoa,” meaning “Land of the Long White Cloud” might have been my first clue. Duh…
Walking around downtown Auckland has a not quite British feel, but more Mediterranean, with palm trees and succulents and a bit of the Maori Polynesian influence poking up everywhere. It’s hard to tell, at least at first how much of that Maori is authentic, and how much is a way for colonists and later immigrants to claim a connection to this land and its longer history. A few Maori phrases – like kia ora (hello) are commonly used.
The main street in Auckland is Queen Street. I found myself at the corner of Queen & Victoria. And yes, we were amused. It got even better when I noticed banners welcoming people to Queen St. and a larger banner strung up over the middle of the street announcing a large annual tennis tournament they have here called “The Heineken Open.” Whoever set up the banners reading in juxtaposition, “Welcome to Queen Street” “Heineken Open” may never have read the two out loud that way. Or maybe they just don’t have that bit of anatomical slang down here.
There are lots of Asians here, and one of the civic tourist helpers (with a South Asian accent and complexion) told me there are lots of opportunities for skilled immigrants. If the US gets too scary, Elias could probably get a job here. Alas, I’ve read on a website for disgruntled Americans who’ve moved here that the Kiwis have their own ways of doing things and tend to resist innovation, perhaps not making this the ideal destination for a control queen. And as an astrologer with a lifetime of the northern hemisphere in me, could I manage professionally with this upside down sky?
Finally in my hotel room, showered and out of the clothes I’ve been wearing from Monday morning to Wednesday afternoon -- give or take a day. This room is rather, ummm… monastic. Toilet and showers down the hall. That’s OK for a few days in Auckland at the beginning of my trip, but I’m very glad I upgraded my hotel in Thailand. By that time, I won’t be putting up with this! Ah, well… I’m clean and quasi-oriented. And the Kiwis are awfully nice. No complaints!
Between the yellow pages and the desk clerk there’s not a clue about where there might be a mosque around here. Earlier in the day I saw a halal kebab shop and asked the gentleman behind the counter… well, first I apologized for not being a paying customer at the moment, and explained since I saw the “halal” sign, maybe could he tell me if there was a mosque nearby. He was a bit startled and asked “You are Muslim? Where you from?” (I’m constantly reminded of the old Borscht Belt tag line, “That’s funny. You don’t look Jewish!” Unsurprising, but still ironic. Nu… Like I was saying… ) Anyway, when people ask me where I’m from I return the question. He’s a Kurd from Iran, and waxed enthusiastic for the Kurds in Iraq. He seemed confident that someday, eventually the Kurds in Iran will be part of a Kurdish state. “InshaAllah” I replied. As God wills it. This handy Arabic phrase, depending on intonation and context can imply anything from “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” to “We should only live so long!” Anyway, he may serve a great lamb kebab but whether his geography or his English was worse is an open question.
Later that day, after exhausting the resources here in search of a mosque, I went out for a walk, and saw a Hyatt Hotel just up the hill from us. I walked in looking for the concierge, hoping he would know where to find a mosque. It took him a little while for him to wrap his head around the fact that I was looking for a mosque. “I’m a muslim” I prodded through his dumbfoundedness, “Of course I could say my prayers up in my room, but I’d prefer to go to a mosque and worship with others.” Finally the wires connected and he asked a couple of other guys, who joined in his amazed confusion, and finally he looked it up in the internet. He pulled out a map and showed me a way to get to the mosque. It looked like a driver’s route, broad circuitous streets rather than narrow direct ones and it seemed unlikely in any even that I would make it there for maghrib prayers.
Stopping at a light to cross Queen St – around where the Kurdish Kebab guy had vaguely indicated there should be a mosque – I noticed a photographer whose shot I was blocking, so I backed up to give him the shot and then noticed a couple of women in niqab and then two men in front of them, a middle-eastern looking fellow and a black man in a djellaba pushing a baby carriage with two little girls. “Assalaamu Aleikum,” I apologized to the gentlemen for intruding, and said I was looking for a mosque and was told there was one near here, but could they tell me more specifically? “What? You are Muslim? Where are you from?” sigh… The directions in this case were clearer, but too convoluted to follow. The mid-eastern fellow, Abdurrahman, and his wife took me to the mosque, a basement room in a run-down flat that was sealed with a combination lock. The combination was scratched in tiny numbers on the door, so after some fumbling we hit the right combination of buttons and got in. Nobody was there. And according to my info magrhib prayers should just be starting. Well, there’s different ways of calculating the correct times and their posted schedule was a few minutes later than the one I’d downloaded. Abdurrahman and his wife left me there alone and I read a surah of the Quran in hopes of someone showing. A young man came in, prayed briefly, and then sang the adhaan. A few more men straggled in and we prayed.
(Another day, when I had time I found the mosque the concierge had directed me to, and yes... very far. I wouldn't have made it for magrheb prayer, but unlike that funky little basement mosque this one was quite lovely, built in the 1970's, the architecture suggesting a south Asian community. A gentleman there told me proudly that it was New Zealand's first mosque.)
Later I went back to the kebab shop for dinner. My Kurdish friend wasn’t there, but another man, sitting out front, asked if I found my mosque. Yes, I told him, sparing the specifics, and after a brief conversation. Behind the counter, a young man who had heard a bit of the brief conversation opened in the usual way. I could start wondering if around here instead of saying “Wa aleikum salaam” the proper response to “Assalaamu aleikum” is “What? You are Muslim? Where are you from?” Well, this one is from Afghanistan and he started asking me about lecturers. There are a lot of very preachy sheikhs offering recorded inspirations. I mostly find them tedious and unlistenable but I politely went along with the Afghan and told him about Yusuf al-Hamza, one of the better speakers in California. (He really is much better than the usual lot!) And my Afghan friend asked about speakers by name as if I should know them… “Do you know Abdurrahman?” I said, yes – and he brightened up – I just met a guy named Abdurrahman. He’s from Saudi Arabia and he helped me find the mosque. No, different Abdurahman. The poor kid looked so disappointed.
The “What? You are Muslim? Where are you from?” conversation routinely leads to questions about my conversion (or “reversion” as Muslims call it.) I keep it as simple and straightforward as possible. I almost feel guilty when people make such a big deal about how wonderful it is that I’ve found what the other guy feels so strongly is The Correct Path. It’s my path, certainly, and I’m glad for it, but with all due respect to others who have found their way in other religions or none at all. How to make the point for granting that others’ religions are as good for them as mine is for me – without insulting the poor guy who’s so certain that just having made the shahadah has set me above non-Muslims. And let’s also allow for the fact that these guys aren’t exactly proficient in English and coming from very different cultures, so some nuance could be getting lost in translation.
Auckland has a wonderful museum atop a hill in the large Dominion Park – a good walk from my hotel. The stroll took me past the tennis center at the edge of the park, and I got to see from a safe distance that Auckland’s Heineken Open, and a lot of people were going in. A path took me past a number of abstract sculptures and flower gardens and on the way I passed the “Dominion Nursery” a series of large horticultural sheds of course, but after so many sci-fi novels and movies, I couldn’t help but thinking the name sounded awfully sinister. A sign pointed to the Valkyrie Fountain. I went to see something that might have been of Wagnerian proportions but was in fact rather demure. A lone valkyrie, astride her horse and sounding a horn, couldn’t have altogether been more than two feet tall, including the horse, atop a fountain with some lovely bas-relief carving along the side. To-joto…. oh. Actually, it was quite beautiful.
Up the hill, approaching the War Memorial Museum, a small sign at the beginning of its grounds warned the visitor that this was “consecrate ground.” OK, so there could be vampires buried here. In broad daylight, not to worry.
An extensive exhibit showed the history and artifacts of the Polynesian peoples – actually the Austronesian peoples who came out of Taiwan a couple of thousand years ago and spread all over the South Pacific, branching into Polynesians, Micronesians, and Melanesians. I’m sorry, but every time I hear about Melanesians I wonder about the Scarlettesians.
Of course the bulk of the exhibit was on the Maoris who came to these islands about 1000 years ago. There were also exhibits on natural history. Until the Maori arrived with their domesticated animals – more of which arrived with trade with other islands – the only mammals on Aotearoa were bats! Some birds, in the absence of predators, lost their wings (like the Kiwi), or evolved to sizes that their wings couldn’t support (like the emu). The giant Moa, now extinct, was about 8 feet tall, making it more believable that birds are descended from dinosaurs. An exhibit of Maori Natural History showed how the Maoris believed that all things on earth were descended from different gods. Stories and genealogies lined the walls.
A Maori cultural presentation had about half a dozen handsome young folks in native dress and tattoos dancing, singing, and demonstrating martial arts. In the more martial sequences the guys would stick out their tongues, which in their culture is a sign of menace.
Something I learned, not from this show, was that the Maori name Aotearoa, which means “Land of the long white cloud,” is sometimes translated as “Land of the wrong white crowd.”
Auckland is built on a field of 49 volcanoes, so of course they had an excellent exhibit on volcanoes. That included a mock-up of a living room with a large TV and a panoramic view of the bay. The TV had a news special about an imminent volcano and as they were warning about the explosive gasses the water of the bay outside bubbled up with first a rise of hot steam, and then a plume of black smoke. The room shook, the TV signal went dead and a rush of deadly black smoke came at us. After we had all gone the way of Pompeii a new volcanic cone was visible in the bay. It was very well done.
They also had a temporary exhibit on Darwin, including his personal life (His grandfather, Josiah Wedgewood, invented the fancy dishware.) his round the world voyage on the Beagle, and how he put together his theory on evolution. Not the first to come up with the idea of evolution (A number of scientists, including his other grandfather, had advanced the idea.) but he was the genius who figured out the key to the puzzle.
Wandering through the park from the museum, back towards the hotel I lucked into a couple of greenhouses with gorgeous collections of flowers I’d never seen. And then back home by way of Albert Park (Of course there’s a Victoria Park on the other side of town). A statue of Queen Victoria commemorating the 60th year of her rule stood in Albert Park, but where was Bertie…?
January 11
Colleen Coffey came around this morning and picked me up for a drive around some of the coastline and country towns north of Auckland. It’s been a gorgeous day of scenery and chatting about astrology, families, etc… She has a Saturn-Moon conjunction in Cancer and with my planets in Cancer, well, of course we spent much of the day talking about families, food, and national politics and history. We also enjoyed visiting a shop where they make wooden toys by hand and she bought the most wonderful Noah’s Ark for the youngest of her 7 grandchildren.
We drove over the Auckland Harbor Bridge. It was originally designed as a four-lane bridge but it so quickly proved insufficient for the suburbs that it opened up that four more lanes were added on. The two new lanes on either side were clipped on to the original structure by a Japanese company, so they are called “the Nippon clip-ons.”
With the semi-tropical weather and the volcanic soil things grow very quickly here and there was lush vegetation all along the way. Mostly the terrain was gently rolling hills and small valleys. There were a great variety of trees and flowers. I don’t know from trees, and the flowers were largely unfamiliar, but what struck me were the huge ferns that were nearly as big as trees.
There were gorgeous views across the harbor to Auckland proper, lovely little beaches on the Pacific Ocean, and some fun little stops. One was a cheesery where they had a feta cheese made from cow’s milk and a gouda with walnuts. Alas, no samples, and leaving the country in 3 days I didn’t want to buy anything that would get confiscated at customs.
Much more fun was a honey shop where there were all sorts of treats and skin care products all made with honey. Some hives sat outside one window and others were embedded in the wall visible through glass panels. I’ve seen a number of articles lately about the medicinal properties of honey, and the lotions I sampled made my dry skin feel instantly better. Especially good for what ails you is the manuka honey, manuka being a local plant that provides a very healing pollen. The sun is harsh down here, so I bought a couple of skin lotions. I also bought some honey chocolate fudge that will never make it to customs. Yum!
Colleen was telling me how New Zealand is much more British than Australia, and without thinking about that when we stopped for lunch she ordered bangers and mash and I had fish and chips while we sat on a balcony overlooking a river filled with ducks. The food wasn’t bad, but the ambience was better.
Although Colleen is a perfectly good driver, I had a number of scares only because, as in Britain, New Zealand has people driving on the left-hand side of the road. A few times I saw her about to make a turn that -- to my right-hand-road experience and perspective – looked suicidal. I though sure we were going to crash when in fact everything was perfectly fine. One time she was making a left turn and I saw a car coming way too fast from the left. Colleen simply made her turn and then laughed at my visible panic. I laughed too, once I realized what was happening.
Coming back into the city we stopped at Mt. Eden, the highest point the Auckland region. Of course the views were fantastic. You could look to the northeast and see the narrowest part of the land – seven miles between the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Tasman. Colleen explained to me that the harbors on the east side were blocked by a sandbar. Despite all efforts to dredge it, the sand keeps returning. The water is also much rougher in the Tasman than the Pacific, making for more dangerous boating and swimming, but offering bigger challenges to the surfers. (On the aptly named Pacific side, the harbor is so full of boats Auckland is called the city of sails.) It means some extra sailing between New Zealand and Australia, but any shipping between the two countries has to be via ports on New Zealand’s far side.
Like all the hills around here, Mt. Eden is volcanic in origin. Like nearly all of them it is long inactive. From up there it was easy to see the volcanic history of other hills nearby. There were a number of craters near the top of Mt. Eden. The largest had a sign telling people not to go into the crater. When I looked into the deep, grassy bowl, I saw a herd of cows – perhaps the last thing I would have expected to find in a volcanic crater. I walked across some shallower, smaller craters – and who would have thought that the biggest danger in traversing a volcanic crater would be stepping in a cowpie! Colleen grew up with cows and sheep grazing up there, so she thought it was perfectly normal itself, but very funny that I found the cows in the crater so bizarre and amusing.
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