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Published: December 30th 2007
Browns Bay flat
UnprepossessingAfter a lengthy spell of abstinence from blogging, December spawns a new episode from sunny Aotearoa...this time from the cooler climes of the beautiful south island.
A downstairs flat in Browns Bay, on Auckland's attractive North Shore, had been home for a couple of weeks in November until it dawned on me that this "very quiet building" was occupied by two or three people (not "one person only, out all day"). The approachable but alcoholic Russian landlady seemed perfectly content to rent out the flat to an easy-going English guy and made the above assurances to me, but gloriously failed to get the facts right. The speed at which New Zealand houses are currently erected may be impressive enough, but this appears to be at the expense of using decent-quality materials. The outcome, in my particular case involving Mrs Moscow and her place, was that every single footstep from up above was akin to thunder, and that her "stay-at-home" partner ("two persons, one IN all day") was the one to provide these footsteps on the wafer-thin upper floors on a regular basis, at all hours of the day. Crockery and glassware stored on my shelving downstairs literally rattled about with
each stride made above this area, such was the fragility of the building; even a minor water leak from upstairs caused the ceiling above me to saturate and subsequently weaken the ceiling tiles. Despite our broad agreement that I'd occupy the flat for several months, and even though the back garden featured a lone lemon tree, I ceded to Mrs Moscow that I'd be making tracks after only a fortnight what with the problems at hand, and she grudgingly accepted this, clutching another glass of wine as she did so. I'd never formally completed and signed the rental form that had been made out to initiate this agreement, broadly due to the fact that she was always too pissed to bring it round to my place on any given evening for me to sign.
The rental market in Auckland, and, I gather, all over New Zealand, is very buoyant and just as soon as a new property to let is advertised in the local press it tends to get snapped up, but my luck was in when I visited another ground-floor flat in the vicinity that was being leased out by the friendly South African owner. The whole building,
Browns Bay
Sweeping beach...in autumn of which the small flat was a part, was up for sale, but the property sales market was dragging its heels and therefore some short-term income from the house was the lesser of two evils for the landlady, but from my point of view I could rent this very cosy flat more cheaply than the Soviet bedsit two streets away, despite the unlikely ongoing possibility that the locating of a buyer in the very near future would necessitate another move before the end of my NZ stay. It was worth the risk and the lower rental payment was most welcome, as was the fact that the charming and globe-trotting Gail from the UK was beginning her occupation of the main house (with her twin children in tow, Amber and Jordan) at about the same time as me. It was great to be able to share what we had in common, which included not only a British background (and accompanying sense of humour), but memories of time spent living in a country we both adore, Sri Lanka, and also a mutual love of wine and music, which we hope will result in our attending a forthcoming vineyard concert (great idea!) featuring
Night out in Taka
Cricketers on the razzle NZ legend Dave Dobbyn. To be continued.
Coaching cricket during December in Auckland proved a busy but worthwhile activity, and it featured some overdue successes for the mens premier team with whom I am involved, as well as for the under 15 district boys team that were participating in the Auckland tournament, and who'd collectively clutched short straws in having a Pom in charge for a week before Yuletide kicked in. My outwardly laid-back approach to team coaching was not in keeping with the perceptions of some of the players' well-meaning parents, however, who through previous experience felt the need to bellow numerous and detailed instructions to the whole squad during every moment of the first day's play at the tournament in the elegant surroundings of Devonport. With a quiet word in their shell-like, I was able to set out some ground rules and the parents were prepared to relent and allow me the opportunity to take care of business in my own way, and I respected them all the more for observing this request. By the end of the fourth day of this week-long tournament, and despite many kilometres of nervous pacing around the boundary from certain fidgeting
Sky Tower
Auckland's alien landmark fathers, we'd already secured enough points to win the tournament, and I think I finally made a breakthrough with the parents, days after building an instant rapport with the players themselves, who relaxed and enjoyed the cricket, playing some decent stuff on the field along the way.
A Christmas trip to Christchurch was undertaken at favourable cost (flying on Christmas morning is the way ahead), and it provided an opportunity to meet up with an old friend from the UK on a three-year sabbatical in the south island, and also to track down some even older friends following my last visit to Christchurch 12 years previous. This latter task was itself two-fold: locating long-lost acquaintances from my 1994-1995 working holiday was one thing, but whether they'd even manage to remember me was quite another. The 90s trip spanned five months and the majority of my friends at that time were developed through playing cricket for Christchurch team Old Collegians CC, which was my weekend pursuit between bouts of occasional work, with employers such as Mansfield Tavern (grumpy lot), a cold storage factory (cool) and a local odd-job man who employed me to paint fences and buildings, and also to
Misty skyline
Auckland from the North Shore, sure mark out several rugby fields as I recall. Whether any cricketers from those care-free years still plied their trade at Elmwood Ave, the home of Old Boys Collegians CC (a recent amalgamation necessitated a name-change) remained to be seen, as did the pair of shorts that I drunkenly threw up in the air and which landed in the ceiling struts of the clubhouse ceiling way back on New Year's Eve in 1990 on my very first visit to the club. That's another story.
Park at Auckland's airport car park and be prepared to be left to your own devices when making the journey from your vehicle to the terminal buildings - you'll receive precious little help from anywhere. The car park for the domestic terminal is painfully inadequate and once three cars have passed the barrier, breathe in and it's pretty much full - the next option is the international terminal car park (good luck finding that one). This more expansive area offers up many spaces when you find/reach it, but by this time you are likely to be feverishly checking your watch as checking-in time looms, and to assist you with your Auckland Airport experience there are terminal
Knocking shop
Anything's available for the discerning North Shore customer shuttle bus options and signs that lead the way back to the domestic departures. Except there are not. Heathrow this ain't. Lick your finger, stick it in the air and perhaps you could drag your luggage through the myriad of other parked cars in what might be the right direction, but it's a gamble, and with the clock ticking you just have to rely on lady luck as to whether your navigational guesswork pays off. I was a few minutes late for my own check-in as I sweatily handed over my photo ID and ticket, although the airport guy was in festive mood and made nothing of it as he thrust the boarding card into my hand and I sought out the espresso bar.
This serves to remind me of the chap who approached the large table at the airport departure area with a lady sitting behind it, and to her surprise the guy made some excitable clucking noises while jumping from one foot to the other with arms flapping, bent at the elbows. "No sir, this is the CHECK-IN desk".
For the first time in my own experiences of air travel, and despite very regular requests whenever
Flora
...and fauna I check in for the next flight for a free upgrade please (based on the "if you don't ask you don't get" policy), I managed by accident to enjoy the short Auckland-Christchurch flight in Business Class at no extra cost. At a lanky 6"4', I regularly find air travel completely uncomfortable and like most things these days, commercial necessities dictate the ultimate outcome, which in this case means that decent leg-room is compromised to accommodate extra seats. As soon as we were in the air I stretched out of my (very narrow) seat and loitered at the back of the plane, indicating to the cabin staff that aeroplanes only cater for 'normal-sized' passengers and that I'd be more comfortable standing for the hour-long journey. With impressive efficiency, Miss Qantas located a spare seat in the Business Class area and indicated that I could transfer myself there (this was based on the "don't ask and actually, you might just get..." policy). And what luxury! Chances of repeating this good fortune for my 24-hour return trip to the UK in April 2008? Just like the airline seats in Economy, slim.
Unwinding in cool, dry Christchurch was just what was needed and
Crimbo
...in Christchurch the trip made me refreshed for the second half of the cricket season back up north, and although I hadn't managed to track down too many old friends here in the south, the memories from previous trips were pleasant and these included visits to the cricket club, old stomping grounds and places of work.
In Cathedral Square, in the city centre in Christchurch, you'll often see two contestants pitting their wits against each other in a game of giant chess. The chess board and chess pieces are giant, not the players - they are normal size. They'd usually fit into an Economy airline seat, put it that way. Anyway, once I'd spotted this from the seat of the city tram that circumnavigates the centre, it occurred to me that only the previous month I'd shared a splendid lunch with New Zealand's only chess grandmaster. I just knew he was a chess grandmaster. He took 20 minutes to pass me the salt.
Kia Ora y'all.
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Pikester
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Mirry Chrustmas!
Hey Griggsy Brings back memories when you mention the mansfield! Sounds like you having a great trip and congrats on coaching the boys to a win makes it all seem worthwhile! You off to QT while you down there? Happy New Year me old mucker! A x