Aotearoa welcomes us

Aotearoa, the long white cloud which is New Zealand, welcomes us back into her arms. We arrive Thursday morning quite early, the sun is not quite up. We go directly to the ferry dock where we take a boat over to Waiheke Island, a twenty minute boat ride from Auckland. Our friends Anne and Carlo have recently moved there with their four children. 

Waiheke is charming and fertile...lots of orchards, vineyards, sheep and cattle, oysters, clams, vegetable gardens. Although a small island of 8,000 people full time (which jumps to 35,000 in the summer), Waiheke boasts several gourmet restaurants, some attached to vineyards; several art galleries; a film festival; a writing festival; a sculpture walk; two charming small towns...all amidst a stunning natural landscape of rolling hills, dramatic cliff drops to the ocean, and gorgeous bays.

Waiheke Island 

Jumping into a new time zone, after breakfast we immediately go to Whakanewha Beach to dig for clams for dinner. When you understand that the Maori sound 'wh' is pronounced 'f', you'll understand why all Americans get such a kick out of the name of this beach! 

At low tide, you merely dig into the sand with your hands and always come up with 5 or 6 clams. They are small yet, but quite delicious when Carlo prepares them this evening with a simple white wine, garlic, and parsley sauce. We are really tickled by the fact that we can see the Auckland skyline while up to our knees in the warm water of the bay!

We lunch at Te Fau, a winery/restaurant, while gazing out at cattle on the rolling hills. I have venison, which is outstanding.

Friday morning we drive around the island and see a beautiful piece of land where Anne and Carlo will build their home. It sits on a beautiful bay, where there are two oyster beds. There are 16 bee hives on the property, as well as a perfect spot for a vegetable garden. The children pull the rowboat beyond  the mudflats and fish for snapper.  Then we have another lunch at another vineyard restaurant, also delicious. Matteo falls off a small cliff and suffers a concussion, so lunch is cut short and we go to the emergency room. He comes home the wounded warrior, with big scrapes on his cheek and knee, and a chipped tooth.

We are invited to a local party and meet so many interesting New Zealanders. Many have lived on Waihiki for 20+ years. Mary tells us that Waihiki has been a sanctuary for many families over the years...even the Rothschilds came here in 1880 and have maintained a cottage here since. There are also many people from other countries...Italy, Germany, Holland...so even though a tiny island, quite cosmopolitan.

Saturday morning the weather has changed dramatically, and it is grey, rainy, very windy and gusty, and there are whitecaps visible from the house. When it clears in the afternoon, Anne and I take the children to the town beach. The waves are large, and apparently not usually so. The surfers are out! The water is freezing but Luca, Arianna, Isabella and I brave it and jump and splash in the waves for a good 40 minutes. Refreshing!

Sunday morning is still windy, but we take a wonderful walk along the coast, which dips down into the bush where we see bright orange flowers, and back up to the top of the cliffs overlooking the water. There are huge Pakahaweka trees that grow right out of the cliffs.

That night we take the ferry back to Auckland, eat yet another meal at the hip "The Depot" restaurant (why does hip always mean uncomfortable stools to sit on?) which includes lots of local oysters, and leave for Rotorua the next morning.

 

Dublin, Ireland

Rather than follow today's planned itinerary to the Powerscourt Garden in the County of Wicklow, I opted to explore Dublin on my own, in particular, making a visit to the Book of Kells at Trinity College, an artifact I have long wanted to see.

Queen Elizabeth II of England is here in Ireland, making an apology and reparations to the Irish people for the wrongs done to them by the English. This is the first time an English Monarch has visited Ireland since 1901. Security is tight, so I leave the ship early in order to avoid the cordons which will snarl traffic into and out of the city. The taxi driver drops me off in the old Georgian part of the city, next to the statue of Molly Malone, and across the street from Trinity College.

I enter the main gate of the College, into an impressive courtyard of grey stone buildings. This is the oldest college in Ireland, founded by Elizabeth I by charter in 1572. The campus is actually quite tiny, and beyond this first courtyard, the old buildings make way for ugly modern ones of cement. It is exam time, and one can sense the students' tension.

The Old Library, where the display of Irish medieval gospel manuscripts is housed, is the oldest extant building on the campus, built starting in 1712. The manuscript display includes samples from The Book of Kells, the Book of Armagh, and the Book of Durrow. These books are made of parchment, and penned by hand and candlelight by monks from as long ago as 800 A.D. The most well known to me is the Book of Kells, created in the monastery on the Island of Iona (which we will visit later on in the trip). My dear English teacher at Yale, Marie Boroff, lit the fire in me to see these books when I had the privilege of studying Old English with her. I wish everyone could see the quality of the lettering in black ink, and the startling and glorious initial letters with their panoply of color and images. One letter might contain blue from cyan, gold, green from malachite, and red. The letter might be in the shape of an animal, a human, an intricate Celtic knot. Some pages contain no letters, only pictures full of symbols. One can spend long moments gazing and following the convoluted paths of symbols, all having meaning in the medieval church. 

The archivists have created a really wonderful explanatory display, which shows how vellum is made from the skin of sheep (and lasts a long time!), how the inks are made, how the monks learned their calligraphy, and how one can discriminate among writers by their use, or non-use, of punctuation. And then one enters a dimly lit room, with the books open inside a glass case. You can spend as long you like hovering over the pages and drinking them in...again the organizers have arranged it so that people are admitted in small groups, and it is not too crowded, or at least it was not the day I was there. I talked to the guard in the room, and he said that four times a year they open the case and open the books to a different page. So he has seen several pages! It's a complicated process, where the room has to be sealed, the temperature and humidity brought to the same levels as those inside the case, and everyone wearing gloves.

 One leaves this room and climbs to the Long Room, housing 200,000 of the Library's oldest books. It is an astonishing sight to see shelves of books rising two stories off the floor, under a barrel-vaulted ceiling. This room also contains the oldest surviving harp in Ireland, dating from the 15th century. It is constructed from oak and willow with brass strings, and it is this harp's image which appears on Irish coins. As well, there are numerous busts of famous Irish people, including Jonathan Swift. 

I left the campus, thrilled to have accomplished a life's dream. I walked down Nassau Street, full of charming Irish shops. Suddenly, barricades and Gardai (Irish police). "The Queen will be along in about 15 minutes", I was told. I made my way to a choice viewing spot on a curve of the road, and 2 minutes later, along came the cavalcade! I was lucky in my chosen spot - I was on the correct side of the road to have a good long look at Her Majesty, regal in pale blue, sitting in the left rear passenger seat of her Land Rover, behind a sparkling expanse of bullet proof glass. I am only about 6 feet from her - she is much prettier than I expected, and has a lovely smile. When I talked to local people in Dublin today, all I spoke with expressed pleasure that the Queen had come to Ireland, and apologized. I know there had been a small crowd the day before who expressed their displeasure, but those I spoke with were unanimous in their approval.

Right behind me was the Irish National Gallery, my next stop. They have a small,  but very perfect permanent collection, with at least one painting by each of the great artists since the 1400s. They also had a room devoted to the paintings of Jack B. Yeats, the poet's brother, and I did not care for his work at all.

Campanile in Trinity College quadrangle

The Graduates' Reading House

I thought these were cupcakes, but they are soap!

I was so busy looking (not through the viewfinder) and clicking at the same time, that this is the lousy picture I got of the Queen. You can see her blue-clad arm in the signature wave, at the far right of the photo.

Dear Oscar!

 Onto the traditional Irish pub for lunch, where I had the traditional Irish stew and pint of Guinness. Then on to a surprise stop at the Public Library, which had its W.B. Yeats collection on display. Yeats' wife, George, donated his works, collections, and artifacts to the public library...good choice! The curator was quite creative in displaying this eclectic collection. It begins in a sound room, where you hear different people reading the poet's works (including himself), while images are cast on the screen-type walls of sights which influenced him...Lady Gregory's home, his stone tower, friends' created art. Then one moves from 'room' to 'room'...his re-created study, a room devoted to his friendship with the actress, Maud Gonne, a room containing his personal collection of books. This was truly an unexpected treat, as I did not know about his work belonging to the public library. Seemingly, all of Dublin's most important cultural and political buildings are contained within a two-square block area....the College, the Art Gallery, the Library, the Senate. It seems that most other countries, unlike our own, marry art and politics.

I had agreed to meet my morning's taxi driver at the statue of Oscar Wilde, in Merrion Square, but he never showed up so I really had to scramble to find a taxi who could bring me back to the port through the still existing security cordons. I had neglected to inform myself of the ship's site, so was lucky to find a driver who knew where the cruise ship was berthed. Along the way, we passed the spectacular new soccer stadium, straight out of the future, where Brazil had just defeated an opponent. Later in the trip, while at the Edinburgh airport, I saw numerous Scottish men in kilts, who were headed to this stadium to beat Ireland!

Mt. Congreve Gardens, near Waterford, Ireland

This garden is about a one hour drive from Waterford. It is a privately owned 70-acre garden which includes a 4-acre walled garden. We come at the right time, May, but England this year has been cold and drizzly, and so we are probably about 3 weeks early. Many shrubs are budding, but little is in full bloom.

Our guide is Mike, who looks about 14, but tells us he has worked in the garden for over 30 years. He is now the Head Gardener. He regales us with stories of the owner, Ambrose Congreve, who, at 104 years old, tootles around in his wheelchair, waving his stick at Mike and criticizing what Mike has, or has not done, in the garden.

The walled garden is full of vegetables and fruit trees. Mike tells us this feeds the family, staff, and provides table food for the large parties often held at Mt. Congreve. There are 8 full-time gardeners to care for this magical woodland.

We walk down long graveled paths, bordered by several varieties of Rhododendrons and Azaleas. It is a cool, damp day, really nice for strolling through this wonderland. We learn, as we have learned also on Tresco, that when the lichen is very full on the trunks of the trees and shrubs, the air is healthy. We see giant clematis winding up tree trunks, up to 100 feet high.

There is a spectacular waterscape, relying on a natural stone formation, but adding in some more stone pathways for the water, and ending in a secret pool. There are 'windows to nowhere' that frame the view. There is a tiny summerhouse in the midst of a velvet glade...only it's at the bottom of a quarry and how do you get there? This is a charming garden, full of mystery and delight.

At every prospect, you can either hear or see the River Suir. This garden is built along its bank.

These are beech trees hurt by storm winds, and come back slanted.

Clematis

The River Suir

Such orange color!

The reds, pinks, and oranges all show each other off.

The secret summerhouse

Poppies, which I think of as invasive, truly are everywhere. I saw them in Spain as well.

** A sad note: after I left England, some friends I made on the trip wrote to me and told me they had seen on the news that Ambrose Congreve passed away on May 24, one week after our visit to his garden.

The Wild British Isles

Tresco Isle, Scilly

After travelling 240 nautical miles from our embarkation point at Portsmouth, England, we arrived at the Scilly Islands, which are 28 miles southwest of Land's End, Cornwall. This archipelago has been inhabited since the Stone Age. Severe and stark, it yet has a mild climate due to the effects of the Gulf Stream.

We came to visit the Abbey Garden on the isle of Tresco. In the 1830s, Augustus Smith, a merchant banker, plant collector and botanist, recognised the climatic advantages of the islands, and began the creation of the Abbey Garden. The garden now contains plants from five major botanic regions: Europe, North America, Africa, New Zealand/Australia, and the Mediterranean. Keep in mind, this island is located at 40 degrees latitude North!

The Scilly Isles are on the migration route for birds from both North America and Siberia, and, even though this is migration season, we didn't see anything unusual. However, in the garden itself, there is a flock of Japanese pheasants - bright gold, green, blue and red, they are bright and glowing jewels.

There were rough waters last night, kind of dizzy making, and as I was being pitched around while trying to go to sleep, I thought, "why do I go by sea?". Well, of course the answer is that there are so many wonder spots on this planet that are only accessible by sea....it's worth some discomfort.

They say things will be calm for the next few days, but when we get to the North of Scotland we can expect some more rough waves. I'll be better prepared with some dramamine next time.

The only way to approach the underwater road at Tresco is by Zodiac.

                                          

 Believe it or not, this is one plant. The yellow flower pops out of the purplish leaf (bract?). I think it is from Africa.

                                                  These geraniums have roots that grow above the ground.

                     This garden gazebo was made entirely from shells and tiles, including my favorite pakau shells from NZ.

                                            

I have never in my life seen a grey flower.

Right now we're docked at Waterford, Ireland, and this afternoon we go out to the Mount Congreve Gardens, a woodland garden on the banks of the River Suir.

Kennedy and Ghizo, Solomon Islands

This morning we come to an atoll configuration, with several reefs ringing several islands. One of these islands is now known as Kennedy Island, because this is where the young John F. Kennedy and his crew clung to life after the destruction of their ship, the PT-109.  In fact, he and his crew members first wrecked up on another island, which had no water, and no shade. After some time there, they realized they could get to this 'perfect' island, with a shaded interior of tall trees, and most importantly, water. The sailors on board, told us, however, that there was some difficulty in the swim, because, the narrow neck of the channel between the reefs causes strong tidal surges. If you mis-time your swim, you could be swept out to open sea. I wonder if all the crew men were swimmers, or some had to be dragged by their crew mates.

We spent the morning on this island, which is so tiny, you can literally swim around it in about 15 minutes. The interior is lovely and shaded, and I had the good luck to see a large red parrot. 

Honiara, Solomon Islands

A crowded, dirty port. We wait a long time for a berth...lots of dangerously overloaded ferries and decrepit tanker type ships are all vying for space. Many have folks on them with their fruits, vegetables, and fish for market...they have tarps draped all over the rigging to make shade from the hot sun. 

We disembark, and board a bus which takes us to Bloody Ridge, where young American, Australian, and New Zealand servicemen gave their lives while trying to keep the Japanese from the nearby Henderson Airfield. This, now lovely area overlooking grassy hills and a beautiful wide river, was once the site of ongoing battles to gain and lose land, by inches, literally. What marks the spot is a shabby cement "memorial", lounged upon by three young local children.

We then go to Henderson, where you can still see the original wooden 'conning' tower built by the U.S. Marines. The airport is now used for regular air travel. Nearby is a memorial garden commemorating those who gave their lives...this is where I realized so many of the soldiers were from Australia and New Zealand as well as the U.S. The garden is shaded, quiet, somber. There are many small crosses...some for individuals, some for entire units.

On the way back to the ship, we stop at the local market. There are booths and booths, and tables, of fruit, the ubiquitous betel nut, and all kinds of fish. It is packed and has to swivel one's way through the mass of people. Like every day so far, it is pouring rain, and people have pushed themselves against the walls so they are under shelter. I am looking at an array of small, bulbous, shapes that look sort of like sea urchins without the spines, when I realize they are crabs, that have had their legs torn off! Whether this is to keep them from running away, or in order to sell the bodies and legs separately, I don't know. They are arranged quite artistically, in pyramidal shapes.

I am sad today, just thinking about all those barely trained young men who got sent into an alien landscape of extreme discomfort, and were killed.


As I did not bring my good camera on this trip, I would like to send you to Zegrahm's official blog of this trip. The expedition staff are all accomplished photographers, and you will see the images I would like you to see here. 
www.zeco.com/travelreports

Port Mary, Santa Ana Island, Solomon Islands

A strange, fantastical creature is cavorting in the water at the edge of the beach...he is arrayed in a short banana-leaf skirt, and has a crown of banana leaves. He kicks his knees up high and leaps...he is like a seahorse come to life. He blows a trumpeting call through the large conch shell he carries...and laughs, like Puck. He is joy incarnate.

As our dinghy comes to shore, the children rush out to "attack" us with their miniature spears. So I wonder, is the laughing seahorse god the seductive enticement to enter the palisade? And then the "guests" are eaten? I never receive an answer to this....but I feel the truth of it. Although the ceremonial greeting may be out-of-date in these times, I suspect it had its uses in times past. 

Santa Ana is densely wooded, and Port Mary is a charming village carved out of the woods, with each home having large gardens. We walk into the open central square, and people have put up tables and mats to show their handicrafts. There are gorgeous bone fish hooks, and elaborate fishing floats, and tiny replicas of outrigger canoes. The large church building is next to the small bar. All the buildings are made of woven leaves and have dirt floors. The gardens are organized, and full of produce.

We even finally see the elusive megapode, a black chicken with big feet. One of our shipmates brings back a megapode egg, which the chef cooks for him for breakfast. It is about the size of a goose egg, and is about 98% yolk, with a thin white rim. The megapode bird uses a heat source other than its own body to incubate it's eggs. It creates a compost heap to hold the eggs during the incubation period - it has a sensitive gland at the base of its head which detects temperature, so it sticks its head into the compost heap to check if the temperature is correct. Isn't nature amazing?

We walk a path to a large cleared circle, where the villagers will gift us with their dances. They have arrayed benches and flower-garlanded arches for seating. As in every village we have visited, the dance and singing styles are unique. Three elders keep the music going, with a variety of sustained tonal notes, not exactly harmonious, yet arresting.  The women create a very quiet, very soft dance which honors the yam, and the harvest of the yam. They have an element to their costume which I have not seen before, which is strung shells worn bandolier style, criss-crossing their chests. I very much would like to have some of these decorations, but they are not for sale - they are part of family wealth and only to be passed along from generation to generation. They are wonderful.

The men approach from a distance away, out of the woods, and dance for a long time, in uniform rows and columns, their grass skirts swaying over their modern shorts.  

Sorry, I have no still pictures, and the videos of the dancing will not upload. Apologies.

Day 8 on the Clipper Odyssey, 28 November 2010