Pathway to Taupo

It was a series of coincidences that sent me on this journey. Cycling had become a way of life - albeit a very small one. I cycled to work and home, nearly every day. It began as frustration - driving to work meant a daily payment for parking; walking to work meant a long walk, after dropping a child at daycare. I watched in envy as the cyclists passed me on Oriental Parade - for them, a ten minute commute: for me, 40 minutes.

One morning, high in an apartment looking over Oriental Bay I spied an advertisement in the newspaper. $199.00 for a bike at The Warehouse. Now, money was short, but $200 was feasible. So I did it, I bought the bike.

I then set myself a challenge. Ride to work 30 times, and a new bike - a decent bike would be in order. It took a long, long time. The first few times, I didn't think I would make it. The wind around The Bays is awful - very hard on a beginner. The showers at work were a welcome, and necessary blessing.

30 rides down, and I started looking for a real bike. A friend counselled me that an Avanti Blade Sport would be the one - an entry level road bike, built especially for commuters. I bought it.

After about three years of riding around the Bays to work, I moved. To Karori. Karori is at the top of a very large hill. I took up walking to work (it was closer), and put away the bike. It wasn't the hill that scared me, it was riding down the hill. Too steep. Too fast.

Eventually I gave it a go. Rode to work - very slowly. Almost wore out the brakes that day. That evening I set off for home. 55 minutes later I arrived - absolutely drenched in sweat and worn out. I'd walked a fair distance.

But I kept at it, managed to get my time up the hill to 25 minutes - riding all the way, even the last bit which was a huge effort.

Last year, I'd thought I could have a go at the Taupo race - 40kms, a huge challenge. But I piked out. Not enough training. Not enough time.

This year though, I spotted a poster at my chiropractors - join Gearshifters - train for Taupo. A training group. Hmmmmmm. I checked out the website, sent an email. 'Sorry to see you are booked out, but I'm keen to join for your next training group'. I received one back - there was space for me!

So I joined. Paid my money. With not a little trepidation.

13 weeks to Taupo. It didn't start well. The first group ride I had another commitment, so I rode to Johnsonville the week before. It was HARD. 22kms, and I was a gibbering wreck. I called for pickup.

Then I did start with the group, and discovered a bent for hills. That was after I discovered this great spray stuff of caffiene and taurine. A spray or two of that, and I was good to go!

Some training rides were great, but a couple were really hard. The last few long ones, I struggled. I found it exceptionally hard on the flat. So I decided to do 80kms instead of the full Taupo. Then my relay rider pulled out, and I found another one. Then I got sick. Out for two days with a chest infection, which turned into two weeks off the bike. Then another ride and that was really hard. 86kms, flat, everything I struggled with.

I went home and declared I wouldn't do it. I wasn't well enough. I would go as support only, and not attempt the lake this year. After all, I had learnt huge amounts in the training, and didn't need to actually do the race.

I'd booked my bike in for a fitting anyway, and still did that. And found it made a huge difference - when I got back on the bike after 3 weeks off. That was the Thursday. 8 minutes down the hill and I was a convert - I could do it! I walked into work, announced my new decision - that I would do the full 160kms. Friday we loaded up the bike and drove to Taupo.

Taupo: 160kms. 27 hills - three of them hard ones. 160kms - the equivalent of Auckland to Whangarei - or Auckland to Hamilton and nearly back again. I'd had three weeks off the bike. I hadn't ridden further than 86kms in one go, and the 86km ride had left me shattered.

Leppin. Muesli bars. Water. My magic caffiene / taurine spray. Sunscreen. 9.30am (or close to it), Group 8 was let out of the start line. An early crash quietened the group a little, and soon enough there was just me and my mate riding together. Mr Positive he was - and boy did I need it.

The countryside was just beautiful. The bike was... OK. At first we stopped only at the water stations - about every 20kms or so. Then I started stopping just a little earlier - twice I stopped for a breather then rode around the corner and discovered a sign: '200m to water station'. So I rode 200m, then stopped again for a refill and a chat.

Towards the 80km mark, halfway around the lake, I was doubting myself. How could I possibly spend another four or five hours on the bike? The sun was wicked - we had resorted to shade stops every now and then. Then we got to 80kms. Faster to carry on around than to go back was the call. One woman loaded her bike on the back of the mechanic's van, and hopped in. She was done. I looked, thought about it, then with some encouragement from Mr Positive, got back on the bike.

That last stop was at the top of Waihi Hill. A sign there read 'caution, long downhill'. Caution? Caution? I was dying for a long downhill! This hill wasn't taken as fast as some of the others. There were a few 35 and 45km corners, and I didn't want to fall off any time soon. Down we went, then along the long, long flat towards Turangi.

Off the hill it didn't seem so hot. The long flat ride had been dreaded a bit, but great company kept me going. We still stopped now and again, more often than we should have, but often enough to keep the pain away. Only 80kms, two small bumps, then Hatepe. Don't think about Hatepe, the signs kept on saying. Sure thing.

But then, we saw it. Not huge, not the biggest hill I've tackled. The first few hundred metres were ok, but then a rest was in order. I looked back and forward - only one other rider - Mr Positive - cycled all the way up that hill. A few (possibly hundred) metres of walking, then I regained my seat and cycled to the top. Phew. Only 25kms to go.

That last 25kms took a good hour. Yes, it was flat with bits of downhill. But slow. The legs just weren't pushing the bike hard enough to get momentum. But, with a few more stops, we found ourselves on the outskirts of Taupo. Last seen that morning.

The end of the road was nigh. 10 hours on the bike, a bit of a sunburn, a sore butt, weak legs, but 160kms behind me. Three of us rode in together - Mr Positive who stayed with me the whole way around, and another who had joined us around the 80km mark. We did it - 10 hours and six minutes was my official time - a long way past the 7 or 8 hours that I had hoped for. But I had pushed my body much, much further than I had ever pushed it before.

Wow - me - from couch potato to Taupo cycle challenge completer.

Will I go back? You betcha! I'm going to shave an hour off my time, and cycle all of Hatepe hill. Roll on 2011!

A long, hot Bath

Leaving the huge landscape of Stonehenge behind, the intrepid travellers (Barb, Paul and me) made our way through the English countryside (and the Pom's equivalent of Waiouru!) to Bath.

Bath: ancient city of pagans, Romans, society of the 18th century (think the Duchess of Devonshire) and now, well, still the creme de la creme of English society. Our first glimpse was of a white city built on the side of a hill. Wikipedia tells me that much of Bath is built from Bath Stone, an Oolitic Limestone comprising granular fragments of calcium carbonate. This makes the stone reflect the sun, and turns it into a stunning, bright white city. Especially when it is a baking hot day - as it was when I was there.

Parking was a breeze, then finding the city centre almost as easy. After a quick lunch in a non-touristy pub, I joined a walking tour. These are free, and organised very professionally - given by the 'Mayors corps of honorary guides'. We started off in the main square, outside Bath Abbey - a fantastical church with amazing carved stone figures climbing up and down the outside - to heaven and to hell. I remember standing in awe, listening to its history, merely five hundred years old it was a baby compared with Stonehenge, but awe-inspiring nevertheless.

Walking through Bath, we saw Roman baths, architecture like nowhere else, and heard the stories of the city that had its heyday due to being the 'in place' for society. The Royal Crescent is huge. Built in a massive semi-circle, what fascinated me was the green park in front. Not that long ago, I watched an episode of Time Team where they dug up that very park. Seems amazing when standing on it, that the city of Bath ever allowed that sort of excavation.

We were lucky enough to see the inside of the Assembly Rooms: one thing took my eye here - a stunning chandelier. Worth a million pounds, it shone, sparkled, was just stunning in real life.

Walking back through the narrow streets to the square, I saw a woman about my age, with a little girl about Lili's age. Beautifully turned out, I wondered how a child would feel growing up in a place that felt to me like a well-preserved manor-house. Where there was grass, it was smooth, manicured, perfect. Where there wasn't grass, there was stone. I didn't see a single playground anywhere.

Bath struck me as a beautiful city, full of history (and a UNESCO World Heritage Site). But would I live there? Not a hope. And not just because the prices were comparable with London. Give me rough-and-ready New Zealand cities any time!

Mysterious Stonehenge

Having a fascination for all things old, Stonehenge was a 'must-see' for me. After all, it was less than two hours away from our home-base of Reading.

Setting off at a reasonable hour, we made good time on the English roads and found our way to the tourist mecca of Stonehenge. It was packed. Tour buses, cars, tourists, cameras... all very odd as it was quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

What the books don't show is that Stonehenge sits supreme and lonely in the midst of a massive, blank landscape. It is as if past travellers reached the Salisbury Plains and their children immediately said 'we're bored, there is nothing to do here', so in typical parent fashion, the adults moved heaven and earth (or a number of very large rocks) to give their children something to look at. Perhaps.

Seeing Stonehenge is believing. Seeing the massive monoliths standing, incredibly upright, in the same place they were set thousands (yes, thousands) of years ago can bring about some strange reactions.

For me, a sense of history. A sense that people lived, worked and died here. A sense that this place had been busy, once. Not busy in the sense it was the day I visited. Busy with tourists and cameras, people looking but not belonging. No, I had more of a sense of a busy community, centred on the stones, but living and working in them, around them. The stones were a part of their community.

For us now, Stonehenge is a museum piece, complete with ropes, guided walkways and a personal headset for every tourist. These headsets isolated us from each other, giving us the stories, myths and legends about the place, individually. I found it hard to share the wonder when I was hearing the stories in my own time, with my own personal headset.

While Stonehenge filled me with wonder, almost with a sense of ownership (it was my people who put this here), I know that not all feel this way. For some, it is a place of horror, a place where they feared to go. Where dreadful things happen(ed).

So what is Stonehenge really all about? When I was little, I thought it must be possible to know. Now that I'm an adult, I've had to realise that some things will always be a mystery.

I will leave you with this thought on Stonehenge. When I was there, the place was packed. The car park was full. When I was walking around the stones I had to dodge, thread my way through, walk around individuals and groups of people. It was like being in a busy Westfield - think school holidays. But take a look at the photos. Can you see the hordes of tourists? The hundreds of people who were viewing this monument to civilisation? I kid you not, they were there. But where are they in the photos? Was I really alone on that day?

Drifting down the Thames

Downstream or upstream, I'm not sure which. Whichever way it was, the day after returning from Poland had to be a rest day. An 11am cruise from Reading to Henley on Thames seemed just the ticket. Even better, we found the only free parking in Reading right next to the riverboat mooring!

Although the day wasn't perfect, moving from 35 to 21 degrees was a bit of a shock to the system - and travelling down the Thames caused a breeze just cool enough to warrant some shopping when we got to Henley on Thames.


Anyways, the boat was named the Mary Stuart; it took a good couple of hours to get there, and I stopped taking photographs after a while as there were just too many gorgeous houses on the banks of the River Thames.

Henley on Thames is just 8.3 miles from Reading, but what a different world. While Reading is very much a commuter city, Henley on Thames had these beautiful shops on narrow streets. The choice for lunch wasn't a great one - my chicken / bacon salad came with half a chicken and quarter a pig. There were some salad greens, but not many. Having said that, sitting in the garden bar under the heat lamp was just lovely. An added bonus was seeing the All Whites scoring their goal against Slovakia in the World Cup. Imagine if you will, a packed bar watching the game. They shoot, they score, I throw my arms into the air with a 'wooo hoooo!'. I'm the only Kiwi in the bar. Silence all round. I take my cider and move back out to the garden bar. Quietly.

Ah well, after a leisurely lunch, we took a quick dive into the shops, found myself a cardi for the ride home, and off we went for our return boat-ride.

Now, I'm not sure if it was that night that resulted in my best dining experience in England. Jamie's Italian - it was with a fair bit of trepidation that we entered this restaurant, expecting not very much.
However, the service was fantastic, the food divine and I've been left a Jamie convert. I can't describe the symphony of flavours, just, if you ever get the chance, go Jamie's Italian. As Paul said to the chef on the way out... 'you guys are artists'. Wow.

A farmhouse in Poland

Getting back to the great OE, after Krakow came four days in a farmhouse 60kms south west of Krakow, on the road to Tarnow. Or, as Barb's brother told us on Facebook just a week before I left New Zealand, 'leave west london, head east, drive for 1200 miles and you're there. Nearly. Or, the house no. is 87, the village is Flisewice, the area is Zakliczyn, the state is Malopolski. It's somewhere in-between Tarnow and Krakow. I promise I will be at the airport when you arrive. p.s. it's not a big forest.' And as Barb's husband responded 'I had a case of Malopolskie once, but the Zakliczyn cleared it right up.'

The first day saw a girls' trip to Brzesko (said Br-jes-go), and the markets. Officially, we were there to find Boz something to wear for the christening, but unofficially, I had a GREAT time. Shopping without a shared language is surprisingly easy. And the stall-holders were amazingly helpful. This was a market chocka full of clothes and shoes stalls. Heaven! I found a stunning grey velvet dress complete with sparkly bits, for only 110 zlotys... about $50NZ. The only queues were the ones at the food / drink stalls - for water. In 35 degrees, everyone was keen to keep hydrated.

The second day we were sent to Zaklycyn (said Za - klitchen). Another market, smaller this time, with more of the second-hand clothes variety. I went with high hopes (and 500 zlotys in hand), but failed to spend anything there. When we discovered a flat battery, we were forced back into the shops (the heat, you know), and had a great time exploring the supermarkets and electronics shops. I found a charger for my mobile phone for 15 zlotys (about $6), and very proudly carried out the transaction from start to finish without much Polish at all.Needing a jeweller, Barb spotted two teenage girls standing outside on the street. Thinking these would be the obvious people to know where to find a jeweller, she was right when they pointed across the (narrow, cobblestoned) street and one of them came to serve us!

Home in the Polish countryside was indeed next to a forest, and on each day I managed a wander through. It was shady (good in the heat), and felt just like Little Red Riding hood was going to appear. I was told that 70% of Poles live in the countryside, and I could quite believe it. The houses were of concrete blocks, solid and large. I was told that many housed extended families, which was true for the house in which we stayed.

The hospitality was amazing. On our arrival, our hosts discovered that beer was off the menu for Barb, as she is gluten-free. Jacek disappeared, and reappeared with cider in hand. This was presented to us, and each time our glasses were emptied, they were refilled. No great trouble in the heat we were facing! The other seemingly endless supply was of cake, or ciasto (chas-to). It is very hard to say no, when six varieties of cake are placed in front of you... I gave up trying to say 'no thankyou' (or nie dziekuje (n-yeah gen-kweer)) and ate the cake with every meal (breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea and dinner). In this house, the main meal of the day was at midday, and included two courses - soup and a main. Stunning food, beautifully cooked.

Speaking of food, the after-match function proved a culinary delight. (The reason for our visit to Poland was the christening of Barb's niece). But before I take you there, I have to tell you about the church. Around 200 years old, made from stones taken from a castle that was even older. This was a stunning Polish, Catholic church (all three things were a new experience for me). Situated off the main road, the church seemed to be a focal point for the community - the family we stayed with attended on at least two other occasions while we were there. It was right next to a huge graveyard, which was obviously well-used and well-cared-for.

So, on to the after-match function. It was about 5pm, searing heat, down on the main road on the first floor of a pub. On the table when we arrived were bowls of noodles. On sitting down, the bowls had broth added to them to make noodle soup. YUM! This was followed by a main meal, then I started to lose track. About every hour a new lot of food was brought out. There were hot sides, cold sides, cake, soup, mains, desserts, food, food food! The last serving was of a stew. I was persuaded to fill my bowl, and managed to slurp the liquid. I simply could not fit another morsel (for me, an experience I have never had before).

Now, of course, all this food was not served without an accompanying drink. I was reliably informed there were 12 bottles of vodka (or wodka). For 25 people. Some of which were children, and breastfeeding Mums. So there were about 18 of us for which the vodka was provided.

Imagine, if you will, a shot glass at every place setting. Behind the shot glass was a normal drinking glass for the juice (in jugs on the table). For each shot of vodka taken, you would follow up with a swig of juice.

I learnt two very useful words that night: polowa (pour - over) meaning half, and na zdrowie (nos - drou-via) meaning good health, or cheers. Every little while, Jacek would come around the table, filling the shot glasses. Shortly after, someone would raise their glass into the air and the others would follow suit. A resounding call of na zdrowie, and the glasses were emptied. In this way, nine bottles of vodka disappeared. (A lasting memory: from the end of the table, a plaintive 'Bar-bar-a, Bar-bar-a, na zdrowie. My friend did the team proud).

Poland was stunning. I'm really keen to go back one day, but know that I can never replicate our stay there. If we do go, I'm going to aim for Brzesko - out of the main centres with a great market, and a lot closer to the 'true Poland'. Na zdrowie!

Sydney or bust!

About four weeks ago, Alex sent me an email titled ‘time-wasting competitions’. On opening it he said that he had finally won one. Finding a spare moment in my busy day, I flicked a quick email back… ‘what did you win?’. The answer came back… ‘a weekend in Sydney’.

Wow! A weekend in Sydney… two weeks hence! That would require some arranging. Two weeks on, I put Liliane on her first ever flight by herself… all the way to Paihia. We then sat in the international airport for several hours (surprisingly relaxing) while waiting for our flight, which got later and later.

Finally arriving in Sydney we joined the rest of the winners waiting for the transfer to the Four Seasons Hotel. A tap on my shoulder preceded a surprising question… ‘are you Greta’? A cautious ‘yes’, and I discovered that one of my fellow winners was from Poroti – that’s just up the road from Maungatapere where I grew up. The perils of having an uncommon name – and looking somewhat like your mother! Yes, my fellow winner had recognised my name on the list, and then recognised me at the airport!

Off then to the Four Seasons Hotel. What can I say. Right on the entrance to The Rocks, and just across the road from Circular Quay. Convenient doesn’t even begin to describe it! So, a fast bottle of wine with Alex’s cousin, and off we went in search of food. At 10.30 on Friday night. I can tell you that the fashions at that time of night are the same as in New Zealand – short skirts, low-cut tops, and plenty of freezing flesh on display. And these haven’t changed since I was going out at 18.

So, food. A little difficult to find, and a little tricky at times to negotiate through the crowds of party-goers. However, a foray into The Rocks led us to the aptly named The Rocks Cafe. And what a great meal that was! Italian (are they all Italian restaurants in Sydney?), not much English was spoken by the various wait-staff. My potato and black olive gnocchi was divine… Alex loved his Linguine, and Helen couldn’t get through her fish and chips, but I can reliably tell you that it was delicious. That restaurant has been noted on our list for places to eat in Sydney next time we are there. YUM! Oh, and the cheesecake to finish was well worth it.

Saturday was an interesting mix of time on our own, and planned  activities. Planned was part of the competition winnings – an art and culture tour in Paddington. Also planned was dinner at Bel Mondo. But more about that later. Not so planned was a ferry ride to Balmain for breakfast (lovely!), and the quick shop at The Rocks market. I LOVE The Rocks market – the guy there with his aerosol paintings is just stunning. I have one, and each time I go to the markets I love to watch him create the paintings. It is a show in itself. So, after a quick shop in Balmain (one handbag), and an even quicker one in The Rocks markets (three necklaces), we headed back to the Hotel for our ride to Paddington.

Now, neither Alex nor I are great art critics, and our art tends to the colourful (me) or historic (Alex). So the art and culture tour through modernist galleries was…  very interesting. Stills Gallery had weird photos of scenes built for the camera by Maleonn and photos by   Petrina Hicks. Sabbia had an exhibition of ceramics and glass, entitled ‘Winter’. Unsurprisingly, everything was white. (I’m sure I’ve never had a white Winter – and pretty certain Sydney artists wouldn’t have either). But then, I’m no expert. The best piece looked like a piece of corrugated iron and it was bright, but where to put it… nope, nowhere even in our ultra-modern house.

So, on to Hogarth Galleries, and their celebration of indigenous art. This is where I really felt that the stunning newcomer, and so young, indigenous artist was on to a good thing. Brown and orange paintings, all surprisingly similar. Big canvases. Would I buy one? Not a chance. The ones in this gallery that did intrigue me were hidden away upstairs, and for not nearly as big a price. These paintings had the name of the artists written below – mostly in very shaky script, in some cases not as good as Liliane’s. The contrast between the obvious artistry with the paintbrush and the limited ability with writing their own name was just a little heartbreaking.

Australian Galleries was another interesting place, and again I wondered if we were secretly being laughed at (these people will think anything is art!). This gallery had rooms full of sketches by Jeffrey Smart – sketches that he had done in preparation for painting something. So, parts of bodies, different scenes, all jumbled up on pieces of paper that had been framed. And not a single actual painting in sight. But we could buy the book if we wanted – the book had the actual paintings. That just seemed like a complete swizzle.

The biggest shock to the system was at Sherman Contemporary Art Foundation. This was host to a black and white bouncy castle with a roof. We had to put matching suits on, and crawl into the space. While good for flips and forward rolls, I missed the art completely. Apparently it was a comment on something to do with cells. I didn’t realise that padded cells would be so much fun!

A final trot down the road took us to Sullivan and Strumpf. More paintings on the bottom floor, but the top floor was interesting. Plasticine models that told the story of an artist. Kind of like Wallace and Grommit, with a political statement. These I could relate to, if only from wandering from one scene to the next. It was a cartoon in slow motion.

Phew – art and culture done, we were free to head to North Sydney and see some of Alex’s friends. After a discussion there on the problems of men and big-screen TVs (they talk about them for ages, years, and never commit to a purchase. Take a lesson from a woman! Choose it, buy it, put it on the wall and make it work! Don’t talk about it!) we headed back to the city to get ready to go to Bel Mondo. OK, wow. Hard to find, but great food, lovely atmosphere, and the best ever waiters. Definitely worth going back to.

Fast forward to Sunday and it was Birkenhead Point (clothes) followed by the Fish Market (fish, chips and oysters). A quick trot to Paddy’s Markets to spend (literally) our last dollars on t-shirts for the kids, followed by a long trot back to the Hotel to collect our gear, join our fellow winners on the bus and head for the airport.

Each time I go to Sydney I like it more. This time was simply awesome.

Krakow in 35 degrees

Heading to Krakow in Poland on Day 4 of our big trip seemed almost easy, having navigated the flights over from New Zealand, then traipsed through Paris and London on our own. The first big mission, however, was getting from Reading to Luton, about an hour and a half's drive. I had every confidence in Barb. After all, she's driven for years, car, buses, all sorts of airforce stuff, I figured getting through the English countryside would be a breeze. And she'd got back from Luton on Tuesday (yep, that's right, just before our mad dash to Paris).

A minor point about the English countryside that I had missed until this Thursday was that the roads are just a little different to New Zealand's. Just a little motorwayish different. (I love the way all the roads are called by letters and numbers - makes it a lot easier to fit on a map! - but you wouldn't want to be out by 1 or 3... the M1 takes you somewhere a little different to the M4).
But then again, it was 3.30am, we had merely to leave Reading by way of the M4, find the M25 and then exit to The North on the M1. No kidding - the signs (of which I neglected to take a photo) pointed travellers either to London, or The North. That's like, all you people who live outside London, we can't be bothered to mention any names of towns. You just live up there somewhere.

(It wasn't until a few days later when travelling, again on the M4, to The West, that I realised they don't bother to put the names of towns on the signs, as if they did, the signs would have to be freakishly big for the sheer number of places they would list). Now, I won't lie, the presence of roadworks on the M1 (or was it the M25) worried me a little. I had seen signs mentioning that if we were heading to Luton, we should be in the left lane. That would be the lane some distance yonder, over the guardrails, traffic cones and so on.

What didn't worry me so much was the speed at which we were able to travel. 80mph wasn't uncommon. Speed cameras would snap for those going above the average speed. Which meant we could travel to the conditions (and fast, which did a lot for my fears about getting to the airport on time). Suffice it to say, we soon found ourselves in a small village, making our way to a large carpark. A quick hop on the shuttle, and 15 minutes later we were at Luton. On time (by which I mean, we were there before the check-in counter closed at 6.30am - who am I kidding... we were first in line)!

Avoiding the large stag party (all in t-shirts labelled on the front 'Dave's Krack-off June 2010' and on the back variously 'Goon', 'Groom', 'Seamstress', and the one I liked (t-shirt that is)... 'Token Aussie'), we sat down for breakfast and to breathe easy for the first time in a while.

So, finally, Poland. From the air, Poland looked like a large country with lots of substantial houses, surrounded by a lot of land.

Some facts for you: houses are generally built from concrete blocks, with very thick walls. Often they house a few generations. 70 per cent of Poles live in rural areas. Motorways are good, other roads are not. Seatbelts in the back seat (apart from for children) are not compulsory. Speed limits appear optional.

Our arrival at the airport amused me. We landed, then disembarked the plane only to embark a bus. Then into the airport itself. (As we flew EasyJet, and I'm just a little Scottish, we didn't pay the extra to queue-jump, but did strategically position ourselves so that at every point we would be first in the queue of people who didn't pay extra). However, the first block was at Customs.

Three lines for EU people, and one line for the foreigners. EU people made up about 80% of the total, so I thought we would be through pretty quickly. We were about third in our queue. I hadn't counted on the first person in the queue taking longer than all the EU people together. So, slipping across the rope barrier (avoiding the customs officers in khaki carrying guns), we finally made it out into Krakow airport, to collect our lonely bags orbiting the carousel.

Wow - Krakow! 35 degrees and, need I say, it was HOT! Off to the back seat of a Citroen that would see a lot of me in the next few days, we roared into Krakow. Our driver was Jacek (said Yat-sic), Boz's (or Bozena's - said Beau-jaina) brother. Boz is Barb's sister-in-law. Jacek doesn't speak any English. Pete (Barb's brother) doesn't speak much Polish. So, there we were, Jacek, Pete, Barb, Me and Jacob (Pete and Boz's son). (Jacob speaks both English and Polish, but as he is two, is not so good at the translating).

Krakow (or Cracow - with a v at the end) is a stunning city. It was one of the few Polish cities to be saved from major destruction during many wars, and you could easily spend days here. For us, however, we had an afternoon before heading to Falisewice, 60 miles hence.

Our first stop was the Royal Wawel Castle. It sits near the city centre, and is built atop a hill (as every good defensive castle should be). Having seen Hever Castle in the mellow English countryside just days earlier, this castle was totally different. One similarity, however, was the crowds of tourists. Sigh. We chose not to join the huge queue, and instead made our way to a souvenir shop and stocked up on t-shirts and postcards Polish.

Now, an old myth or legend (or true story - who knows) of Wawel Castle is that a dragon lived in a cave beneath it. So off to the dragon's cave we went - down into the bowels of the hill on a dizzying spiral staircase. We wound down, down, down into the muddy base. Yes - it was believable - a dragon could have lived here.

Exiting back into the heat, we found a variety of stalls with souvenirs, including many dragons. Jacek kindly provided us with ice-creams, and we made our way on the shady side of the street towards the main centre.

While exploring Krakow was definitely on my list, walking any distance in the heat didn't feel a good plan. We had seen the tourist golf-carts earlier, so after a brief negotiation, we found ourselves set for three hours. So, Krakow proper. We did the Jewish quarter, the central city and hopped out to see Schindler's factory. This is where I really got closer to World War II and the persecution of the Jews. Seeing the ghetto where there was a mass extermination, the memorials to the people killed, and the variety of synagogues was eye-opening. In Poland, World War II is not that long ago, and you can point to the places from where the Jews were taken. Heavy.

But the city itself was beautiful. I didn't get a shot of the gardens that ran from Wawel Castle to the main square, but they were almost reminiscent of the Champs Elysees - without the traffic. The city was really easy to get around, with heaps of stalls in the main square, selling all sorts of amber and other trinkets for the tourists.

The city really did cater for tourists, and the horse and carts traipsing through the square (complete with tourists) while we ate our second meal of the day at 3pm (the first was at 6am) was pretty cool. This, I have to remind you, in baking heat. However, it was only the first 'main meal' in the middle of the day that we would have in Poland - one of our first learnings was that the family where we stayed ate their main meal in the middle of the day - a traditional hot cooked meal, with meat and vegetables. Yes, there was cabbage, in case you were going to ask. But only with one meal, and it was done beautifully. There was more noodle soup than anything else... apart from the cake. But these and other stories I will tell in my next blog or two.

Krakow - beautiful city, old cobblestones vying with modern roads. Golf carts galore for the tourists and a fantastic castle to boot. Old and recent history give this city a definite personality. It is a survivor.

More from London

London was a city that felt like it has been photographed millions of times (well, there were millions of tourists with cameras on the day we were there), but this page has a few of the photos I took, of things that took my fancy.

The first picture was taken as our bus whizzed by Trafalgar Square. Named after the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805 (the most decisive battle of the Napoleonic Wars), I guess it wasn't surprising to see that Admiral, Lord Nelson abounded. Well, in statue and in ship if not in body.

Something that not all of you Londonites (all those friends and family who have lived in, or near London, or just visited there a long time before me!) will know about the newest shrine to Nelson (erected May 2010) - a giant ship in a bottle, of which I took a photo as our bus whizzed by Trafalgar Square on our second time through.


I was stunned at just how many statues there were in London (and Paris) - something I never have noticed in Wellington (but since returning, I have been looking at the architecture more, and discovered there are statues in Wellington). Funny how visiting other countries makes you much more aware of your own

So, Nelson. I was surprised to see how 'real' Nelson is to the inhabitants of London. In Windsor Castle (many days later), there was a whole room dedicated to Admiral Lord Nelson and the battle of Waterloo (and not a small room either!).

This leads nicely in to my thoughts on World Wars. Here in New Zealand I've never really thought much about the wars - apart from where they touched my own family history. I had a great-great-grandmother, Annie Robinson, who lost two brothers in the First World War. Then, twenty years later, she lost two brothers in the Second World War. Can you imagine her sending away her sons in the knowledge that wars are real, and do kill people? And when I say she lost brothers and sons, that's a euphimism for the fact that they were brutally killed. On purpose. By someone else. In peacetime, that's called murder.

Anyway, for me, the wars are about my ancestors losing people. In London, I saw the results of the bombing of the 1940s. It is in the gaps in the streets (more often than not filled with brutish 1950s buildings) and in the scars on the buildings. We saw some of these scars as we travelled the streets of London. In Poland too, I noticed that World Wars were not far from the surface. I guess that in New Zealand, we are physically remote from the actual events of the wars, so are not reminded of how many lives were affected, less than one hundred years ago. Sometimes distance and isolation is a good thing.

Back to London! Another fascination for me was seeing the names of things that I know - Paddington Station, Edgeware Road, Leceister Square... all names on the monopoly board. Combine this with famous brands, and history - shops that were established in the 1700s for example - for a Kiwi girl, these things made London very familiar, yet hugely different. To me, England is what New Zealand will look like when it finally grows up (in about 1,000 years).

How was this for mixing famous names (Twining), ancient history (I mean, Twinings Tea started operating in 1706. That is 63 years before Captain James Cook set foot in New Zealand, and 136 years before my family decided to settle here (in Nelson)) and a fascinating piece of architecture (check out the size of the buildings either side!)?

Another new thing in London were the many elephants scattered around the streets. Each was painted or decorated in a different way, and apparently represented the work of different artists. They were placed on the 1st of June, and would be auctioned off at the end of June. Fundraising for some charity or other. These elephants were in Green Park, just beside Buckingham Palace. It was a little odd to see them there - from the pomp and ceremony of The Mall and Buckingham Palace, to a group of... fantastically painted... elephants.

Not the Tower of London as our guide hastened to tell us, the Tower Bridge was an instantly recognised landmark of London for me. And for Liliane, who knew its name, and a few nights later, showed me that it featured in her Peter Pan DVD. What surprised me when I watched the opening scene in the DVD is how true to life the London scene is - I was able to tell Liliane that I had seen many of the types of houses in which the Darlings lived. Speaking of the houses, I was surprised to see so many brick houses - I simply hadn't realised that the majority of people in England (OK, so this may be a gross generalisation) live in brick, terrace, houses - all joined together! It was almost odd to come back to Wellington, to each house with its own land, completely separate from its neighbours.

The photo above was taken from a spot quite near the actual Tower of London. I didn't take any photos of that place - some say it is the most haunted building in England, and I have to agree. Terrible things happened there - the building has an horrific aura, and although I would dearly love to see the Crown Jewels, and (before my trip) was keen to go inside, nothing will get me inside that place. Cold, dark, dank and haunted. 1,000 years old (started by William the Conqueror), so ancient and historical - what I went to see, but no way. Nohow. I will leave that for others less aware of ghosts.

Many people seem to remember St Paul's being black. On the day I went, the sky was certainly black, but the church was white. I found the sheer size of this beautiful building hard to understand, but my favourite story (from our guide) was that there were pineapples on the top of the building. Pineapples, guilded in gold. My initial reaction was that the guide was pulling my leg, but no, squinting up (and avoiding the raindrops) I could see these ornaments for myself. This was one of the few stops on our whirlwind tour of London, and I'm so glad I got off the bus, listened to the stories, and had a closer look for myself. Beautiful building, I will be back.

"Look up, way up, and between these buildings on your right!" Doing as our guide had told me, I managed to capture a quick photo of the 'wedding cake church'. Our guide explained that a baker's daughter was getting ready for her wedding, and wanted a fantastic cake (probably one that would blow away her in-laws, and all her friends). The man, wanting to please his daughter sought his inspiration everywhere, until finally, looking to the skies, he saw the steeple of this church. And so was born the first tiered wedding cake. Cool story, huh!

What a day in London

My heart is pounding
like a drum
I can't believe my eyes
In London people seem to
come in every
shape and size
So many paths I wonder
how they find their way
So many signs I wonder
what they really say

London is everything
I've heard and more
London is nothing like
I've seen before
Music and feathered hats
and roofs that shine
with flags flyin higher
than a pine

How do they build
their huts so tall
Can this be all one tribe?
The things they sell
the things I smell
I never could describe
These cakes taste just like
berries picked this very day
The sound a river makes still
takes my breath away

London's as busy as a hive of bees
Grandmother Willow would just
love these trees
Crowded and loud but so
exciting too, with colors
I never even knew

All day in London I had that song running through my head. Even though Pocahontas visited London a few hundred years before me, the words from the movie rang true!

The day started in a hotel in Cartwright Gardens - three beds in one room and we needed the sleep after the long day in Paris. After a pretty fantastic breakfast it was a quick march to Euston Station to catch the train to the Embankment Station. A quick look above-ground (this isn't where we are supposed to be!) and we were back down underground, this time to Westminster Station.

Westminster was just beautiful - the houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and then... Westminster Abbey. The crowds were fairly horrendous though - thousands upon thousands of tourists, all with backpacks and cameras... hang on, ok, I was one of them. But while most of the crowds were staring up at Westminster Abbey (yes, it is pretty fantastic), I was intrigued with St Margaret's church, just next door. St Margarets was originally founded in the 12th century (I was just starting to get used to this - buildings that were hundreds and hundreds of years old) and it is just a beautiful church. I discovered a few days later that Elizabeth Woodville, King Edward the IV's queen (mother of the two murdered Princes in the Tower), had taken sanctuary not once, but twice at the end of St Margaret's churchyard.


From Westminster we decided to visit the Elephant and Castle. This is a pub based at just above the Elephant and Castle tube station. Now, somewhere I read (or was told) that the name the Elephant and Castle came about as one of the Kings had kept two mistresses - one tall and thin, and the other... not. Thus the elephant and castle.

It was lovely sitting in the bar, drinking cider and watching endless red buses traverse the roundabout. Certainly a nice break from all those tourists we kept tripping over!

After a quick meal, it was off to Victoria Station to catch a double decker tour of London. We were going well for time, when in the midst of changing from one line to another at the Embankment (dang that station!), the Circle and Jubilee lines were closed! Above ground to find a taxi... tons of taxis but no drivers! Back to the station... yes - they were open again. Quickly on to the train, above ground to Victoria Station, to discover that the Victoria Coach Station was not right there!

I raced ahead, reaching the Coach Station about three minutes after our tour was supposed to have left. Dithering about to pay or not to pay (I'd nearly got lost on the way; I had no idea if Paul and Barb were lost as well), I started our booking. Paul and Barb arrived in the nick of time, we ensconced ourselves on the top level of the open-air double-decker bus, and prepared to tour!

For those who know London, we started with Buckingham Palace,
made our way back to Westminster, up Whitehall, along the Strand, along Fleet Street to St Pauls. We stopped there for a look (what an amazing building - with pineapples on the top!) and around to the Tower of London.
Then we hopped on a river cruise, and made our way back up the Thames to the Embankment Pier (yes, the Embankment again!). A side hop back through Piccadilly Circus and we ended up crossing the Wesminster Bridge, moving smoothly on to our London Eye excursion.

Back to Paddington Station for the train back to Reading, and a ride in a taxi to finish the day. Phew! Two massive days in a row (Paris then London), and we were off to Krakow in the morning!

Paris: from the air

Montparnasse 56, the highest building in Paris, provides a fantastic view of the entire city. A short hop from Notre Dame on the Metro, we emerged into daylight with a mission to spot the tallest building. It wasn't hard to find (look up). Finding the entrance however, is a little different. If you wanted to dine there (overpriced and not the best quality, apparently), then it is straight in the front door. If you want to just look at the view: go around the corner, up some steps, through an unmarked door, buy your tickets, have your bags searched, then walk through the door, down a hallway to... the main entrance.

The top floor of this building is a huge viewing area, with 360 degree views and maps all around.
If you are really adventurous, you can find the (again unmarked) door to the rooftop. While I am not a natural height-lover, the roof top was so high up that it was like looking out of a plane window.

And what a view - Paris spread out below. Looking down into Montparnasse Cemetery, across to the Eiffel Tower, the river Seine, all the beautiful architecture of Paris spread out in front of you.

We started the day looking out over a city that we didn't know. It was fitting then, to end the day, after walking through much of Paris as well as travelling under its ground, to look out over a city that had taken my heart.

Vive la France!