Hello Virginia Beach

Hard Work:  No one will believe this, but 80 days around the world is hard work!  The only things that were planned out when I left were my airline destinations (with a few unplanned overland sections) and my first couple of night’s accommodation at the hostel in London.  Other arrangements were made on the road or on the spot.  I ended up staying in a variety of accommodations:  hostels (London, Liverpool, all of Australia and New Zealand), YMCAs (Singapore, Hong Kong, Honolulu), bed-and-breakfasts (England, Chiang Mai), low-end hotels (Delhi), mid-range hotels (Kuala Lumpur, Phuket), and high-end hotels (Mumbai, Bangkok, Malacca).  Eating?  Rarely did I eat in a real restaurant.  The best street food was found in Thailand.  The worst food was found in Hong Kong (sorry, I just don’t like Chinese food).  To India:  thanks for letting me be a vegetarian for two weeks.  The best hamburger was found in Wangarei, New Zealand:  thanks Frangs.  Internet connections?  McDonalds and Starbucks offer free wifi; it was like teleporting back to the US when I passed through their doors.  My biggest treat was when I found a local café that had free wifi (as on Ponsonby Road). 

My favorite place:  probably Haridwar, India, though there are other close contenders.  My prediction:  Haridwar will emerge as the chic new destination in India.  Biggest contradiction:  loving and hating India at the same time.  My least favorite place:  probably Phuket in Thailand, where tourism is in the process of destroying the very resources that attract the tourists.  However, I am willing to give Phuket a second try.  As for traveling alone:  it has its advantages and disadvantages.  When alone, you are more likely to interact with the locals and other travelers, and there’s no negotiation over where to stay or what to do.  Plus, only when alone can you concentrate on photography, which is really my passion on trips like this.  It is in the evening when I miss not having someone with me.  Also, two people can sometimes mean saving money by sharing accommodations.

Documenting Destinations:  I don’t take pictures; I document the physical and cultural character of places around the world.  Doesn’t that sound more scholarly?  On this trip and all trips, I create primary documents: visual images of people, places, and environments at a particular conjunction of time and space.  I hope you have enjoyed my photo blog at:

http://www.geographicallyyours.blogspot.com. 

The irony is that an entire day of taking pictures (to the tune of hundreds) might yield two to ten really good ones.  It’s the good ones that I post on Geographically Yours.  The key to getting good pictures is not being in a hurry, not letting yourself be distracted, and always having your camera at hand.  Pick a place, linger, wander around, become a part of the environment, look local (having a local haircut helps in that regard).  Do I ask people if I can take their picture?  Sometimes.  The downside of asking is that people pose and look stiff.  When I do ask though, rarely am I refused, and only once on the entire trip did I get a violent reaction from someone I took a picture of (that was in Bangkok, it wasn’t a Thai, and it really didn’t turn violent).  When I ask, I try to be as goofy as possible; acting clueless seems to be disarming.  Camera?  All I have is a Cannon Powershot that fits in my pocket.  It was relatively new when I began; it is now worn out.  I estimate that I clicked the shutter perhaps 20,000 times on the entire trip; I erased the worst ones.  Bottom line:  what I enjoy the most is spending a day wandering around taking pictures. 

Saying Thank You:  I hope you enjoyed following me around the world.  I also hope that my Geographically Yours and Geographically Yours Too blogs might continue to be of use to teachers, especially those who teach geography.  I want to say Thank You to Five Ponds Press for making this trip possible.  They do a wonderful job of making education exciting for young readers, and their books are widely used in Virginia.  Look them up on the Internet.  At their website, they have a link to this blog:  http://fivepondspress.com/

July 18, 2011:  One day later than expected, I arrived home at 11 pm.  Thanks to my wife and brother-in-law for picking me up at the Norfolk International Airport where the trip began. 

Geographically Yours,

D.J.Z.

The Beginning of the End

It’s Sunday, July 17, and time for me to make my way to Honolulu International Airport for the final leg of my trip.  As things worked out, it took me two days to get home, but that’s all part of the adventure. 

Recycling:  As a place collector, I love keeping track of and thinking about the places I buy clothes and other things.  On a trip like this, I cast off and acquire on a continuous basis.  Here is how my pack has changed:

Shoes bought in Harrisonburg, Va.; left in Honolulu; replaced with sandals bought in Honolulu.  Several pair of socks lost, none acquired.

Long sleeve shirt bought in Camp Hill, Pa.; left in Adelaide; replaced with a short-sleeve collared T from the Bridge Climb in Sydney.

Two short-sleeve Ts, both given to me by my son; one lost in London, one ditched in Melbourne; replaced with a short-sleeve T from Old Vic in Melbourne and a short-sleeve collared T from Malacca.

One leather belt bought in Marrakech, Morocco; ditched in Hong Kong; replaced with a leather belt from Hong Kong.

Two pair of long pants purchased in Salisbury, Md.; one ditched in Hong Kong, one ditched in Auckland; replaced with one pair of new pants from a Hong Kong street market.

One fleece purchased in Camp Hill, Pa., donated to the Heart Association in London; replaced with a winter jacket in Melbourne, donated to the City Mission in Auckland.

One pair of shorts purchased in Greenfield, Mass., and one swim suit I got as a gift; both coming home with me since I couldn’t find replacements. 

One pair of boxer shorts found in the YMCA locker room in Hong Kong:  finders keepers!  Too much information, right?

One Tungsten backpack, purchased in San Francisco in 1999; coming home with me; showing signs of wear but still no new one spotted on the horizon.

Permit Me a Rant:  I have been flying on a Round the World ticket issued by American Airlines.  Until today, however, most of my flights have been with their OneWorld partners.  I have flown British Air, Cathay Pacific, and Qantas.  Service could not have been better.  My flight from Honolulu to Chicago today, however, ranks as the worst flight I have ever taken.  I am ashamed to have the name America attached to this airline, especially in contrast to the service that their international partners deliver.  People coming to the US from Asia on Cathay Pacific, from Australia on Qantas, or from Europe on British Air must feel as if they are venturing to a less developed country.  The trip took 8 hours; no food was served, not even peanuts or pretzels, not even the tiniest of bags.  Furthermore, the only food offered seemed to be sandwiches, for which you had to pay.  I will have to admit that the airlines didn’t push food sales; there was one brief announcement at the beginning of the flight and that was it.  In fact, after they served everyone a complimentary can of soft drink, the flight attendants disappeared!  Quite in contrast to flights on other airlines, we weren’t even offered water to keep us hydrated, though before we landed they gave us orange juice, which was still half frozen and slushy, plus tea or coffee.  I can live without food, however, and probably should.  But, I could hardly stand the cold.  I had a seat in the exit row next to an air conditioning vent, which certainly didn’t help.  AA gave us one blanket (full flight, don’t ask for a second!) and everyone around me seemed to be bundled up.  I rang the attendant and asked if they could turn the air conditioning down.  Never happened.  I tried to sleep anyway, but (on this 8 hour flight) they gave us no pillows.  I kept my feet warm by putting them in the one bag I had at hand.  You see, I made a strategic mistake when I checked in.  For the first time in many years, I actually checked my backpack and had no access to any additional layers that could have kept me warmer.  Did they charge me to check my backpack?  Yes.  I reminded them I was on a Round the World ticket.   They reminded me that I was back in the US and therefore I had to pay; free baggage only on international flights.  Given long flights like this on any airline, I depend on two things to while away the time: sleeping or watching movies.  I was too cold to sleep (but did catch a few zzz), and they showed one movie.  On an 8 hour flight, they showed just one, one I had seen.  Diary of a Wimpy Kid was good, but nothing you would want to watch twice.  What’s more, they charge you for the earphones; mine were checked away in my backpack.  They did show a few TV reruns, but then the flight map and info slides came on and stayed on for hours.  I was seated close to the screen, and even with my eyes closed, the screen-to-screen flashes were annoying.  Everyone was trying to sleep, so why didn’t they just turn off the ‘entertainment system’?   My only airline hassles the entire trip have been with American.  In fact, my AA flight out of Norfolk was cancelled, so they routed me to Philadelphia on USAirways, followed by a London flight on British Air.  For my flight back to Norfolk from Honolulu, they didn’t even have my name in the system.  As far as they were concerned, I didn’t have a ticket, but that’s another story.

Geographically Yours,

D.J.Z.

The Leeward Coast

The southern and western sides of Oahu are dramatically different geographically than the northern and eastern sides.  The former are dry and the latter are wet, thanks to the Northeast Trade Winds that blow in from the northeast, rise to go over the mountain ranges, and drop their moisture on the windward side of the island.  Today, I drove along the western side of Oahu, part of the leeward coast.  It was desert-like in the sparsity of vegetation, exactly as the Honolulu area used to be until urban irrigation (trees, lawns, parks, gardens) turned the south coast green. It is the south coast, though, that has the natural harbors (e.g., Honolulu Harbor and Pearl Harbor), so early haole settlement favored the dry side of Oahu. 

The west coast, or Waianae Coast, is tightly hemmed in by mountains, but suburbanization has taken over.  Subdivisions, a few resort complexes, and an isolated shanty town are strung along the coast-hugging Farrington Highway, but most of the shore is still open to recreation and some areas are protected from development.  There are numerous public beaches, and the road ends in a state park.  None seemed to crowded, however, even on this Saturday afternoon.

My last stop of the day was the Royal Mausoleum.  On the grounds are the crypts of Hawaii’s two ruling dynasties:  the Kamehameha rulers and the Kalakaua rulers.  Only, Kemehameha I is not buried here.  His final resting place is unknown to this day.  The golden orb is the symbol of royalty; two stand outside the entrance to each tomb. 

At the center of the grounds is a chapel finished in the 1860s but soon deemed too small for all the rulers.  I was the only visitor, and I took the opportunity to stroll through the neighboring cemetery, one of the biggest in Honolulu.

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

North Shore Bound

Car and Kite:  After finding an affordable 2-day rental, I drove for the first time in months today.  It required me to take a bus to the airport, but now I have wheels to get me there early Sunday morning when I leave Honolulu for home.  To the North Shore I headed with my surf board.  Actually, the waves are not that big this time of year, so I decided not to borrow a board from the Y before I left.  I took my camera instead.  I covered the entire North Shore; it’s a small island.  Haleiwa is the old service center for the region; Waialua is the old sugar mill town.  The road to the west eventually turns to dirt.  Much of the land is under protection or is owned by the military.   The beaches and coves are amazingly beautiful, as blue as can be, hemmed in by a mountain backdrop, and frequented only by the hearty.    The winds are strong, which meant that the kite surfers were in fine form.  What a sport!  I watched as they readied their kites and launched them into the air.  Then, out to sea the wind pulled them.  I was worried about one of them who seemed to be too far from shore, but he apparently knows how to manage the island’s cosmic forces because he and his board were soon back within sight.  I think this was the first time I have seen kite surfing, which is a quantum leap beyond wind surfing.

More than a Muralist:  I follow mural art when I travel, so I was delighted to see the Wyland gallery in Haleiwa.  Too bad, I missed his visit by a day.  We have a Wyland mural in Norfolk, and I thought that was all he did.  Not so.  He actually considers himself a sculptor who paints on the side.  Some of his marine life paintings were also on the display at the gallery, as were some of his glass sculptures.  Now you know something about economic geography of the North Shore.  It’s not just for surfer dudes anymore!  It’s for the artsy crowed who keep the Wylands of this world afloat.  One thing that did surprise me, though, was how few motels there seem to be anywhere in Hawaii.  Although there are lots of hotels and resorts, the mom-and-pop enterprises that we get used to on the mainland seem to be absent.  In fact, the trend seems to be towards more resorts as the state exercises its powers of eminent domain to claim property along the North Shore. 

I covered a lot of territory in one day and was ready to head over the mountains (actually through them in a tunnel) to Honolulu.  I passed a mall in Kaneohe, however, and an idea struck!  This was Friday, July 15, and the opening day of the Deathly Hallows.  The mall had a cinema and, by chance, I arrived just in time to catch the last matinee of the day.  Great movie.  This was one of my favorites.  They say it won’t happen, but there’s plenty of room for some more Potter adventures, though maybe not Harry’s.

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

Missionaries and Outriggers

The American Protestant Mission:  Hiram Bingham was the explorer and re-discoverer of Machu Picchu who inspired the tales of Indiana Jones.  That was Hiram III.  Today, I visited the house his grandfather (Hiram I) built in Honolulu, the same house his father (Hiram II) knew well when he came to the Pacific. Hiram I led the first party of missionaries to Hawaii in 1821, sailing directly from Boston around Cape Horn.  On Hawaiian soil he planted New England Calvinism and established a settlement that made his missionaries feel as if they were back in Connecticut.  The house he built was of wood frame construction, possible only because he brought the wood with him from Connecticut.  It still stands and is now part of the Mission Houses Museum.  The Chamberlain house was the next one built.  It provided needed storage space for supplies destined for the five islands where missionaries were in residence.   With the Chamberlain house, you can already see responses to the island’s physical geography.  The design is “New England Large,” but this is the dry side of Oahu, so no wood was readily available.  What was?  Coral, cut from the reefs offshore, but then stuccoed over to disguise its origins.  Moreover, its axis was chosen to better capture the Northeast Trade Winds.  The frame house was simply aligned with what is today east-west King Street.  The north wind (i.e., heading towards the equator) had difficulty blowing through, something compounded by the small windows typical of cold New England.  The church next door, Kawaiahao Church, is built in New England style, but of coral blocks.  On either side there are windows that open to the Trade Winds, providing a cooling breeze during services.  Around the church is the cemetery, where only the descendants of the original missionaries may be buried.  Added to the assembly of buildings was a print shop, which also became the place where the Hawaiian language took to the printed page and came to be preserved.  Of course, while the language was being recorded for posterity, the native Hawaiian population was dying from diseases brought by the colonists.  Sound familiar?

To give you a time perspective on all of this:  the native Hawaiians came to the islands from Polynesia around 500 AD; Captain Cook became the first westerner to land on the islands in 1778; the American Protestant Missionaries arrived in 1821; the islands were united in 1795; the monarchy was overthrown in 1893; Hawaii  became a state in 1959.

Outrigger Canoes:  They are popular for racing now, but they are also the technology that permitted settlement of the remote islands of the Pacific.  As I watched teams training in their colorful outriggers today, I realized they were also preserving an art form that tied them to the earliest settlement of the islands 1500 years ago.   On the shores of Ala Wai harbor, the wisdom of the ages was being transferred to a new generation of young people anxious to learn an ancient art because it is challenging and fun, not because it is necessary to find new places to live and new resources to sustain life.  These crews would row way out of the harbor to the coral reef, and then back in again, catching the shoaling waves.  It looked like hard work.  Why isn’t outrigger canoeing an Olympic sport?  It looks far more athletic than golf, which will return to the games in 2016!  It’s probably because not enough countries participate, so let’s promote the diffusion of outrigger canoeing!

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

Another Monitor

It was a day for the Honolulu Zoo, if for nothing else than to see the Komodo Dragon and the lemurs.  We have our own Komodo Dragon in Virginia Beach, and I am becoming aware that these monitor lizards are the rage right now.   Even Starbucks has a Komodo Dragon:  coffee, that is.  As for the lemurs, they are my favorites only because their hands look so human-like.  Unfortunately, their cage here doesn’t permit a very close look.  There seems to be upgrading and expansion going on, however.  The elephants are getting a new habitat that will provide some much needed space.  There seems to be much room for expansion since the zoo is located at the foot of Diamond Head and right next to Waikiki Beach.  The zoo does a nice job with its native species of birds and geese.  Apparently, all of these isolated islands in the Pacific share a common natural history.  They were easily reached by birds and marine life, but not by mammals or reptiles.  That meant the birds had a heyday; Hawaii was the “Kingdom of Birds” according to one sign at the zoo.  Without predators, many lost their ability to fly.   Then the earth’s premier predator arrived, homo sapiens, and with him other species that would wipe out many of the indigenous bird species.  You’ve heard of the Dodo of New Zealand, for instance.  Hawaii had its own Dodo-like birds, and they almost all disappeared when the Polynesians arrived.  Now, the zoo and the state are worried about the indigenous Nene goose, Hawaii's state bird.   It managed to survive, but its numbers are dwindling.

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

More on the Monarchy

The greatest of the Hawaiian monarchs stands in front of Hawaii’s palatial judiciary building:  King Kamehameha I.  He united the islands, but that was little more than 200 years ago.  Under his centralized rule, the tribes stopped fighting with each other.  For this, he is known as ‘The Great.’  I saw his statue today on my venture through Honolulu’s government precinct, next to the CBD (and far from Waikiki).  Here, today, King Kamehameha the Great stands in full regalia: on the spot where the abolition of Hawaii’s monarchy was proclaimed in 1893. 

Kamehameha began the Hawaiian monarchy; Liliuokalani ended it, but it was under protest.  I met her today as well.  Her statue stands in front of the state capitol.  She seemed more accessible, more human, than Kamehameha.  Enforcing that feeling of humanity were two other monuments discovered not far away:  both honored the Aloha Oe, the song everyone associates with Hawaii.  It was written by Liliuokalani after witnessing a heart-rending goodbye on a ranch she was visiting. 

Liliuokolani’s only children were adopted.  Remember, it was her niece who was to inherit the thrown.  So, is there an heir to the Hawaiian throne?  Quite incidentally, two threads came together in Honolulu’s CBD.  First, I discovered yet another statue, this one of Robert Kalanihiapo Wilcox.  Second, I remembered reading about him yesterday in Barnes and Noble’s Local History section.  Here he was on the cultural landscape looking very much the populist hero he is revealed to be in the literature.  He was descended from Maui royalty himself, but later in life took a native Hawaiian princess as his bride.  She was a direct descendant of Kamehameha’s brother.  It is his great granddaughter who is making the best case for being next in line to the Hawaii throne.  Side note: Wilcox became Hawaii’s first territorial delegate to the U.S. Congress, where he was marginalized and forced to use separate facilities because he was of mixed race!  He served only one term.

Why all of this attention to the Hawaiian monarchs?  It’s because I learned in my English composition classes that expository writing is a circular process.  Good stories end where they begin.  You do remember where I started my 80-day venture.  It was in London with the marriage of a Prince in line to the throne of the United Kingdom: may they live happily ever after.  Now, here at my last stop, I end my story with a monarchy whose “ever-after” was not so happy.  The beginning and the end converge here.  I started my trip under the Union Flag in London; I end my journey under the Union Flag in Honolulu.  Yes, the British flag, a symbol of the world’s most successful monarchy, still flies here in the canton of Hawaii’s state flag.  But, you see it flying always with the Stars and Stripes.  The only exception is above the Iolani Palace, the “Buckingham Palace” of its place and time, a visible reminder of monarchical days.

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

The Hawaiian Royals

Most of you know that Hawaii was a kingdom of its own before the U.S. deposed its last monarch, Queen Liliuokalani.  Pride in the monarchy still runs deep here, though.  There are statues of royals all over Honolulu.  Even the Japanese community has erected one to King David Kalakaua, “the father of Japanese immigration to Hawaii.”  He concluded the Japan-Hawaii Labor Convention that led to the first arrivals of Japanese coming to work on the sugar plantations in 1885.  When was the Japanese tap turned off?  In 1923, by the U.S. Congress.  The Oriental Exclusion Act applied to U.S. territories as well as states.  King Kalakaua’s  statue today stands along Kalakaua Avenue.  Didn’t you know that was coming?   And don’t you love the sounds of these Polynesian names?

King Kalakaua’s niece, Princess Ka’iulani, is commemorated about a mile away.  Her statue is along what street?  You guessed it:  Kaiulani Avenue.  Nearby is the Sheraton Princess Kaiulani Hotel, which is built on the site of her estate.  She was the last heir to the Hawaiian Throne.  She was sent away to school to prepare her for the job, but the overthrow of the monarchy intervened.  She returned to her islands afterwards and fought for the restoration of her family’s standing.  Her death at age 23 (without progeny), however, made that an even less likely possibility.  The last ruling monarch of Hawaii was King Kalakaua’s sister and Princess Kaiulani’s aunt, Queen Liliuokalani, whose reign lasted only a few short years.

The Local History section of Ala Moana’s Barnes and Noble provides a glimpse of the debate that still swirls around the monarchy, its end and its potential restoration.  Much has been written about the illegal usurpation of power by haole (foreign) interests.  Right there on the shelf was The Betrayal of Liliuokalani by Helena Allen.  Next to it was Hawaiian Sovereignty: Do the Facts Matter? by Thurston Twigg-Smith.  It was Twigg-Smith’s first name that attracted my attention.  Mr. Thurston (and Mr. Dole) was the architect of the Liliuakalani’s overthrow, as I recalled.  Sure enough, Mr. Twigg-Smith’s first name betrays his family legacy.  And, guess what perspective he brings to the debate:  it’s a full and complete justification for the overthrow of the monarchy by one of the island’s foremost journalists whose family actually goes back to the very first missionaries to land on Oahu. 

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

Sunday Times Two

The Salvation Army:  This Sunday it was the Salvation Army for a 10 am worship service.  Of course, we have all come in contact with the Salvation Army:  most of us have tossed a coin or two into their pots at Christmas time; some of us have seen their bands perform in holiday parades; and a few of us have done some shopping at Salvation Army thrift stores.  I’ll bet that very few have attended one of their worship services.  It was a first for me.  The congregation was large but did not fill their very large sanctuary.  Up front on one side was the chorus and on the other side the brass band.  No piano, no organ, no altar, no printed program.  Hymns and Bible verses were projected on a large screen over the stage, and it was the most effective use of media I have seen.  The sermon was on “Why Pray?”  There was a call to the front at the end of the service, i.e., a call to the “mercy bench” for anyone who needed to pray.  Two people went forward and each was joined by what seemed to be a senior member of the corps.  It was very moving.  Afterwards, for tea and cookies, we were all invited downstairs, where I spent some time talking to John.  He had been a Catholic, but didn’t think the Catholic Church was doing enough to help people, so he joined the Salvation Army.  As I recall, that is why the organization broke with the Methodist Church, which was their spiritual home.

Goodbye to Auckland:  The airport bus from Auckland’s CBD runs regularly and frequently.  The trip was long enough for me to plan my next trip to Kiwi Land.  As we skimmed around the base of Mt. Eden, an extinct volcanic cone, I put that on my list for visit number three.  I would climb Mt. Eden.  I would also catch a ferry, thought I, to unpopulated Rangitoto Island, another volcanic cone, this one in Auckland harbor.  And, I might also muster the courage to bungee jump off the Sky Tower, the tallest spire in Auckland.  For a city its size, Auckland seems to attract more than its share of visitors.  I sure would be up for another visit.  Anyone want to join me?

Sunday + Sunday:  So, I woke up Sunday morning, went to church, had lunch with fellow hosteler Kirsten, left for the airport, flew out of Auckland at about 4 pm, transferred in Sydney, and arrived in Honolulu about 11 am Sunday morning.  Think about it.  I arrived in Honolulu before I left Auckland.  I had two Sundays, and two hotel bills for staying over the same Sunday night.  Time traveled backwards.  The explanation lies in the International Date Line, of course.  In the 1520s, when the Magellan/Elcano expedition arrived back in Spain after the first circumnavigation of the world, they had lost a day.  God makes each day, and they had lost one!  It precipitated a crisis in Rome, which meant that the Pope had to figure out what was going on.  Major crisis.  The general rule for calculating time is:  “As you go east, the time doth increase; as you go west, the time doth grow less.”  So if you go east and loose an hour all the way around the world, you have lost 24 hours, a complete day.  Since that is impossible, there has to be a point where you arbitrarily add that day back into your life.  The addition happens at the International Date Line today, but it remained problematic right through the late 1800s.  Jules Verne’s Around the World in 80 Days uses the loss of a day to provide a suspenseful twist at the end the novel, and that was written in 1873. 

RHT and LHT:  I am back in the world of RHT, my home country, the United States of America.  RHT?  Right-Hand Traffic.  Two-thirds of the world’s peoples live in RHT countries, but I have not been in one for the entire trip.  Every country I visited has done things ‘backwards,’  beginning with the UK, and continuing with India, Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Australia, New Zealand.  (Which one is not a former British colony?)  All are in the LHT world.  They drive on the left. Moreover, they also put escalators and travelators on the left, and people pass on the left.  Actually, when I planned the trip I said to myself:  I will visit LHT countries only.  Now that I am back in the U.S., I feel disoriented once again.  As a pedestrian, I have gotten used to the feel of the “leftist world.” 

By the way, travelators are what Australians and New Zealanders (and maybe some others) call those moving sidewalks that you find in airports.  Travel + Accelerator = Travelator.  Or maybe, the idea is just borrowed from escalator. 

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

A Special Day

Welcome to the World, Abigail:  It was right here on Ponsonby Road, at the Byzantium Café, where I learned that my new granddaughter had arrived on July 7.  My goal for the day was to explore Ponsonby Road, famous in the annals of urban geography for its gentrification.  I knew I should be checking my email (not always easy in either Australia or New Zealand) so once the bus got me to Ponsonby, my eyes scanned the horizon for a café.  The Byzantium looked inviting.  It was opposite Western Park.  First, I asked if they had wifi, and they did.  I got my usual ‘flat white,’ took a seat by the door, and logged on. 

To gmail I went.

A message was waiting.

I read it quick.

And it was elating.

Abby was here.

A cute little darling.

She will need

Some moth’ring and fath’ring.

And later this summer

A little grandparenting.

  Seated at the next table were a mother and her [perhaps pregnant] daughter.  Of course, I had to share the news with them.  Then I told the proprietor, who had a little boy of his own, and showed him the pictures on Facebook.  On my way out I told the man working on his Apple at an outside table.  He had two grown sons, no grandchildren.  Too bad.  It was a beautiful, sunny morning in Auckland, perfect for exploring the urban landscapes of Ponsonby Road.  Maybe Abigail will have a chance to visit these digs when she gets her travel legs.

Ponsonby Road:  Ponsonby is classic.  The road follows a ridge that overlooks Auckland.  Slopes lead downhill in both directions, one into the city and one into the outer suburbs.  In classic urban geography, higher elevations have been preferred by the monied interests of most cities.  Sure enough, the first thing that attracted my attention was an old Victorian mansion, now being remodeled and soon to be reoccupied by a non-profit firm.  At one time, I am sure, the ridge had a scattering of these palatial residences, each with plenty of land.  At some point, though, the street car brought mobility to Auckland’s working class population and helped conquer the limitations of steep terrain.  Sure enough, there they were: the Archie-Bunker-like houses, the workingman’s neighborhoods that hemmed in Ponsonby on either side.  Many had recently been upgraded and some were in the process.  A little later on, with widespread car ownership, the suburbs spread farther out, and Ponsonby went through a downspiral that made properties affordable to bohemian and maybe some unsavory elements of society.  Sure enough, there was a fine looking church that was no longer a church; it had lost its parishioners to Auckland’s new suburbs and had closed many years ago.  Within the last two decades, a period of gentrification and upgrading began.  The downspiral was halted and the yuppies took over.  Sure enough, there were the restaurants and boutiques with their fresh coats of paint and upgraded facades.  And finally, as a rain shower began, there was the crowning evidence of the yuppified place Ponsonby has become.  Beneful, of petfood fame, was sponsoring a dog obedience contest in Western Park, with dogs and owners in their prissiest finest.   Everyone who had a dog was there and those who weren’t were jogging in the park. 

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

Walking Along the Hatea

To Whangarei Falls:  It was a day to walk, and there was a river to walk along: the Hatea River, Whangarei’s own.  My river walk came with two bonuses.  First, the promise of a waterfall (largest on North Island, or so they say) and, second, the gift of a sunny morning (or as sunny as it ever gets here).  Whangarei Falls was probably about five miles away and there was a trail, though everyone I stopped to ask for directions or assurance that I was on the right track told me it was too far to walk.  One resident at the foot of her driveway, seemed to never have heard of the falls.  In fact, I saw only a few walkers and joggers and they may have been doing only a segment of the trail. 

My walk began at the Town Basin on the Hatea.  On the downstream side of the bridge was the marina and urban waterfront.  On the upstream side, biogeography began.  My first biome was a mangrove swamp, a fringe of mature and sapling mangroves in a thin band along the river’s shore.  The trail left terra firma and carried me out into the mangroves where I could look directly down into the water.  I could see the leaves of young trees under the surface doing the job of spreading from the shoreside, protecting the banks of the river, and building land in the process.  I knew that as the relief increased, I would leave the mangroves behind.  In fact, I very shortly passed into a completely different environment, what I will call a middle latitude rainforest.  Ferns were everywhere backed up by New Zealand’s tawa (maybe it’s kaha) trees.  Both have become symbols of the country and you can see their influence in Maori design.  Plus, there’s lots of moss, plenty of fungus, spider webs everywhere, and thick organic mats under foot.  In two or three areas, the trail actually led through or past residential neighborhoods, a good reminder that I was in the city.  Suburbs spread all around me, but the folks here have made sure that they have preserved plenty of green space.  It is really only an illusion that I am in the New Zealand wilderness.  It is not an illusion that these North Islanders have made the wilderness part of the city. 

It was a long but not exhausting walk.  Some of my favorite moments:  seeing Easter lilies growing in the wild, looking into the forest through perfect spider webs, walking across a suspension bridge that gave way with every step, looking up and seeing ferns silhouetted against the blue sky, wondering why I had to pass through two gates but then noticing the meadow muffins and finally the cattle.  It was also a thrill to see the mist of Whangarei Falls before the falls themselves came into view.  The only other visitor while I was there around the plunge pool was an Asian family whose little girl was coloring at the picnic table while the mist from the falls was getting everybody damp if not soaking wet.  The only letdown was when I walked to the top of the falls and found a parking lot.  Yes, you can drive here and do the Circular Walk to the bottom and up the other side.  I am sure glad, though, that I approached against the current.  Natural waterfalls should only be approached by walking along the stream that the falls feed.

Maybe a comment on the trail markers.  The trail was identified by a wiggly snake, or so I thought.  Should I be on the look-out for creatures I did not want to meet.  Every time I came to the sunny edge of a clearing, my senses went on high alert.  Later in the day, I started reading some of the pamphlets I picked up.  That wasn’t a snake.  It was an eel!

Mico-Museum Time:  I also had a chance to squeeze in a visit to a small museum, but a unique one in New Zealand.  It was Claphams Clock: The National Clock Museum in the Town Basin.  The collection (now with 1400 clocks and watches) began with the private collection of Archibald Clapham, a New Zealander who began collecting while a young man.  His collection grew and was finally sold to the city for a nominal sum.  Now, Whangarei has a museum that must be one of the best in the world when it comes to time keeping.  I have visited the Clock Museum in London.  It was small, quiet, and stuffy (but did have the most historically significant stash of chronometers).  By contrast, Claphams Clocks had more on display, and it was presented with such humor, something Mr. Clapham was known for.  Plus, you could hear all the clocks tic-toking away with a chorus of coo coos and chimes now and then.

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

Being Spontaneous

No Planning Needed:  I am leaving for New Zealand.  I have no plans for Kiwiland.  I really wanted to visit South Island, but there aren't enough days.  All I know is that the plane is bound for Auckland, which I covered rather thoroughly on a previous trip.  Right now, I am ready to proclaim myself to be tired of cities and looking for something more pastoral.  All day I have been in a totally indecisive state, which has only been heightened by the entry card we got on the plane; it asked what my address was going to be in New Zealand.  I had made no arrangements to stay anywhere, but I knew from past experience that leaving the space blank means you get put in the suspicious category; and, you get tagged as doubly suspicious if you are my age and are traveling with only a backpack.  On the card, I put down the Auckland Hostel; that would satisfy the border agents.  When I cleared immigration, though, I was still trying to decide on a plan of action.  Into the airport entry hall I strode, and there in front of me was a rack of tourist brochures.  I picked one up, found a map of the country, and asked myself where I could go by bus before day’s end.  Since I had traveled south of Auckland on my last trip, I looked north and found the town of Whangarei.  After a little searching, I located the visitor desk (and an ATM) and asked whether there were any bus connections to Whangarei (Wh is pronounced as F).  Not from the airport, but from the central bus station.  A bus left at 4 pm.  I had an hour to get into town, not quite enough according to the shuttle driver, but I had already purchased the ticket (yes, right at the airport).  I told him to try and off we headed into the city (me and a vanload of others).  He made the bus station the second stop, and I boarded my northbound coach with only 4 minutes to spare.  It was nerve wracking, but fun. 

A bit less than 3 hours later I was in Whangarei.  I arrived after nightfall and the rain had started.  Actually, it rains on and off in New Zealand all the time.  No bus station in this town, just a halt on the city street next to a ticket counter that would open in the morning.  The closest illuminated strorefront was a pizza parlor, so I popped in.  Not to eat (though I was famished), but to ask how to get to the hostel.  The directions seemed pretty clear and the route seemed pretty direct, so I hoofed it across town and over the river until I found the correct left turn.  The sidewalk took me up (and up and up) a switch-back road into the residential neighborhood that overlooks town.  It did not look like a place for a hostel, and I had numerous second thoughts, but there did not seem to be other options in this town which had basically shut down for the night.  Finally, I found it.  It was going to be fun to wake up and see what kind of views the hostel offered in the morning.  I ended up spending two nights.  This night, I headed right back into town, knowing that a down-hill slide in meant a second up-hill climb back.  I was feeling energetic and hungry, however, and it was only a bit past 8 pm.  Whangarei at night seemed like a movie set: lots of vibe but no actors.  I kept walking until I heard music, what sounded like live music coming from a back-lit storefront in the distance.  Sure enough, Frang’s bar was open and a live performance was in progress on the patio.  My Frang’s Burger was the best hamburger I have had on my entire trip, and maybe the best meal (sorry to say that about a hamburger, but I am just being truthful).  Switch-back roads always have vertical short cuts, and I found one back to the hostel; it was steeper but shorter, and it made me feel virtuous for packing my ‘torch,’ which is what they call a flashlight in these realms.

When I got back, I understood why there were no characters on Whangarei’s streets; they were all here at the hostel.  With these characters I would share an evening or two:  a sociopathic South African who had escaped his home country with his masonry skills and had found temporary employment, a bright-eyed German lad who was doing some solo traveling before beginning his university years, an older woman from Australia who had come to visit her brother in town (only to  be kicked out of his house), a Canadian dude from Halifax who cooked for himself and reported that he had twice been denied entry into the U.S. because drug sniffing dogs had detected the ‘past’ presence of weed in his van, and two sisters (one communicative and one not) who had wheels and were traveling together.  When I got back from Frang’s I got everyone all riled up because I thought I had seen the Southern Cross in the sky.  The rain had stopped.  I asked anyone who made an appearance in the common room (except the sociopath) to come outside and see it too.  I am convinced that it was exactly what appears on the New Zealand flag, but one of the sisters said she didn’t think so.  By sister, I mean sibling, not nun.  Still, I am going to say that I saw the Southern Hemisphere’s signature constellation, a discovery that put a smile on my face.

After a long conversation with Karsten, the German lad, off to bed I went:  top bunk in a room that slept six, though not all the bunks were occupied.  The sociopath kept appearing and disappearing (with his blanket); I think he found different places to sleep, maybe even outside.  Toilet and shower were on the other side of the hostel; washer and dryer (which I would use tomorrow) around back; kitchen and great room, a few steps away. 

The process of traveling can be so much fun if it is not planned out in advance.  Today, it all worked out well; that’s not always the case.  But, when it’s not the case, you have more interesting stories to tell.

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.

Hovering Over Sydney Harbor

Bridge Climb:  When I was in Sydney five years ago, I came home with one regret: not having climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Today is the 4th of July, my country’s birthday. To celebrate, I decided that a ‘bridge climb’ was called for. Millions do it every year (in business since 1998), and so could I. Late this morning I showed up at the arch where they are located (one of the ‘caverns’ under the bridge approach), and by 12:20 I was ushered through Gate 2 into the prep area. We got our lockers and took everything off our wrists and out of our pockets (including our cameras). Then, we got our climbing gear. First was our one-piece body suit that fit over our clothes. Then: security belt, radio earphones, handkerchief (with a wrist band), bagged poncho and fleece attached to our backside. Yes, they think of everything. I could have opted for a beanie and gloves, but I was feeling ‘manly’ from being at the beach yesterday. I really didn’t want the rain gear or fleece, but they made me take it. I never used it. I would survive the heights, the climb, the wind, the temperature drop, and everything else on my own. I would rise above the city skyline, above the opera house, above Circular Quay where yesterday’s ferry left from. I would float like a cloud above the harbor and conquer the city, at least visually. I was ready for this fourth of July first. When I was done, I would be in league with the celebrities who have done this climb: Oprah most recently. The Bridge Climb folks love to brag about and show pictures of all of them.

We had a group of nine (from Jakarta, London, Melbourne) and a guide named Steve, who seemed to really love this job. A sense of humor is always appreciated: he had one and so did our chef from Melbourne. It was a lively group, and because I was without a partner, they put me at the head of the line. And, lead on to the top I did (really, I was behind Steve). Over 1500 steps (Steve can tell you the exact number) until we returned. It got serious when we tethered ourselves to the cable that would keep us from falling off the bridge or being blown away by wind gusts. Then came the ladders: steep they were, with narrow steps that required sideways steps. A long stretch above the bridge approach followed. Then came the upper arch of the bridge itself. That’s when Steve stopped us periodically to talk about the landscape below and to take some pictures. I think he was also managing the psychology of the climb. I found myself charging ahead, making my goal getting to the top with alacrity (dictionary time?), but when we were required to stop, I paused and drank in my surroundings. I watched the clouds passing over head; I even felt a drop of liquid sunshine. But then, the sun would break through, the opera house would stand out in its full glory, and the ferries would course like sunbeams across the placid harbor. Clouds and blue skies: they doubled the pleasure. Two different skies provided two different views of an urban tapestry that reminded me so much of Hampton Roads harbor (large, leggy, protected from the ocean). In fact, both are drowned coastlines, what geographers would call ria coasts.


At the summit, more pictures of us, this time with the flags. It was Australia’s week to celebrate the cultures of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples, so the Aboriginal flag of Australia was flying on the western side of the bridge summit. The national flag occupied the eastern side, closet to the rising sun. Below was a six lane highway, with two tram lines on the east and two rail lines on the west. Then, on the outer flanks were pedestrian and bicycle paths. That is remarkable only when you think that this bridge was completed in the 1930s, well before the automobile turned our cities into autocracies. Building a six-lane motorway was extremely foresighted, and its construction continued into the Depression years when being a riveter on the bridge was one of the best jobs you could have and one that required a bridge climb every day! When the bridge was completed in 1932, it opened up the North Shore to development and reduced the number of ferries sailing from Circular Quay.

It was all downhill after that. If this trip were a novel (How does 'Eighty Days Around the World' sound for a title?), this would be the climax. And with my descent, the denouement would begin. The entire climb took about 3-1/2 hours. All in all, it was a grand holiday, and of fireworks I was reminded. As January 1, 2000, was celebrated time zone by time zone around the world, I remember the spectacular pyrotechnics broadcast from Sydney. They were set off from this same bridge, as they continue to be every January 26, Australia Day. And there were fireworks again this very evening as I watched Tron in the hostel’s very own theatre.

Geographically yours,

D.J.Z.