Oreti Village, Pukawa Bay, North Island, New Zeland
On the southern tip of Lake Taupo
Three days after we arrive. Cold. Red Sky.
A warning that the weather is going to change. Will it be rain or snow?
It is as cold and peaceful as the first, but the sun is not yet shining. All we have is this ethereal pinkish tinge to the sky
Before the first clouds appear. The surface of the lake is like a mirror, reflecting the sky, and clouds.
How soon will it be before the boats begin to appear?
We are up early and I mean early because we decided to take on Philadelphia the next day, and instead of taking public transport because all the fares I could find were ridiculous, we hired a car.
Again the words ‘or similar’ foiled us. All charged up and excited its quarter to eight in the morning we arrive at the Avis center just a five-minute walk from our hotel.
Shock number one. We finish up with some crappy Nissan the desk lady was using as her personal car.
She lied about the car being full of petrol, it was not.
We asked for a GPS and all it was was a glorified phone. She switched it on, the first didn’t work but the second displayed a screen and that was enough for her to say it was set up and working.
You guessed it, another barefaced lie.
We put it in the car, switched it on, and it was in French. She hadn’t checked the language of the last user.
We took it back and she had the audacity to call us ‘stupid’, blaming us for breaking it, and then she couldn’t fix it so she gave us another one which I’m sure she checked for English.
The question, if she could set these things up, why couldn’t she instantly fix it?
Sorry, the woman was arrogant and very nasty, and not a good advertisement for Avis or the U.S.A as a place to visit. I shall never use Avis in America again if she’s the best they can put at the front desk.
Still seething from that encounter it was a good thing I wasn’t driving.
I remember when I was writing Echoes From The Past I had a sequence of events starting in Lower Manhattan and ending up in Philadelphia. In that narrative, I was not sure if the main character used the Lincoln tunnel, which, on this occasion, we did.
As it turned out the drive was reasonably accurate in that we also followed the i95 turnpike and a number of tolls along the way. Unfortunately, our mode of transport was not quite as luxurious as my characters.
Once in Philadelphia, we managed to find the Swann Memorial Fountain at Logan Square…
and parked the car outside the Free Library.
From there we walked to the city center, what some might call City Hall, a rather large and impressive stone structure, and then ended up at stop number six of the big bus tour.
Big bus tour
There are 27 stops of which we got on at 6 and got off at 1, managed by a miracle of fate to get back on at 1 and got off at 8 where our car was parked. By then we were frozen solid.
But…
There’s always an intervening adventure with our outings and the quest was to find the best place to have a Philly Cheese Steak.
Between stops 1 and 6 when we were not on the bus, we hailed a cab, deciding not to wander around the city looking for a Philly Cheese Steak place ourselves.
We had a side mission to the side mission and got the cab driver to take us back to the car so we could lengthen the parking time. This done, he took us to what he believed was the best Philly Cheese Steak place.
It was a long and convoluted ride that showed us the real Philadelphia, where the citizens live, not the showpiece tourist attractions.
It was somewhere in little Italy. A place called Geno’s steaks, a new and shiny restaurant where there was only seating outside. Mid-afternoon, it was cold.
But were they the best Philly Cheese Steaks. I’m not an expert so I don’t really know. What I do know is the cheesy steak in a roll was absolutely delicious. Freshly cooked in front of you, the steak slices were still dripping juices as they were put on the roll with a layer of cheese and onions which you have to ask for.
And at ten dollars each, it turned out to be less than the cab fare to get there.
Of course being dropped in Little Italy in America on the 20th Anniversary of the Sopranos, conjured up too many nightmares to be walking the streets in the fading afternoon lights.
Two boys on bikes who looked like thugs in hoodies scared us into a cab and back to the bus stop to do the last eight stops before going home.
All in all, a very interesting if not at times scary adventure.
A sleigh ride wasn’t the first activity that came to mind, but that first day we saw the sleighs lining up and thought it might be a bit of a lark.
It was New Year’s Eve and we booked a 2pm sleigh ride. I figured any later we’d probably freeze to death. The ride was for about 45 minutes, out around the edge of the lake and back.
Rides were on the hour and sometimes run at night.
We arrived at the departure point about 15 minutes before the ride and watched those who had been on the ride before come back looking somewhat frozen. The only covering you had provided was a red blanket.
Wisely we put on many layers of clothing, hats, and gloves.
We managed to get a seat for ourselves where the maximum per seat was three. The blanket wasn’t the thickest.
It was cold, and according to my phone, about minus 15 degrees Fahrenheit. You could feel it, and it was lucky we were not moving fast.
At the halfway point, we went out onto the lake to turn around. It gave us a chance to take a photo of the sleigh, and the horses pulling it. I felt sorry for the horses out in the cold.
As we turned around, we got to see a frozen waterfall.
And this was one of those times.
We came down from Brisbane to Melbourne for a wedding, perhaps the last for this family for quite some time, this being my wife’s brother’s last daughter to tie the knot, so to speak.
And like someone said, as with births, weddings and funerals, it turned into a family reunion on my wife’s side of the family.
But there were extra benefits…
We got to meet the extended family of the groom.
And, we got an insight into their friends, the thirty-something, footloose and fancy-free acquaintances that had been off and on a part of the bride and groom’s life for about 15 or so years, and most of whom had been to London, for various stints, and who are now scattered across Australia, and other international destinations.
I have to say that these people were quite interesting.
As an older person, I didn’t have much in common, so I followed one of my father’s old adages, if you’ve got nothing to say, shut up and listen.
And as a writer, I did something else, observe.
It was an eye-opening experience, if nothing else, and a rather interesting look into what it might be like as an unmarried reasonably well off thirty-something. For starters, you didn’t have to worry about the price of drinks, or how much you drank. You can just up and go anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat. For a few minutes there I was starting to feel envious.
It was sometimes overindulgence, but I noticed it was never to the point of becoming what some refer to as legless. Noisy perhaps, crude at times, yes, but in reminiscing, it was a curious phenomenon that they had all “hooked up” at some time or other.
Aside from learning what appeared to be a new “language”, there was also a running theme that at one time or another nearly all of them had lived with the groom in London for a period.
It got me thinking.
It would make a good story.
It was just trying to find a context, other than a wedding, that would bring them together, one where a series of vignettes that involved each of them in turn that could bring to the story of that person to life.
In this case, but not so much the reminiscing, it was the wedding.
What if it was an untimely funeral?
Trying to find joy in the midst of a very sad occasion.
I’m sure this has been done to death many times, but after hearing a lot of happy memories, it seems to me that in this case, it could be uplifting.
Yes, the ideas need a little work, but it’s firmly there in my mind.
Perhaps when I get back home, I might just start writing.
After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.
Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.
Except…
We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.
But…
There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.
First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.
Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.
When?
It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained
Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.
I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.
He said he would check it himself.
Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.
The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.
We all went to bed reasonably happy.
After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.
I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.
As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.
It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.
Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.
Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.
A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.
A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.
In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.
Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.
Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.
The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.
The second, the quality of the food.
I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.
As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.
The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.
It was an excellent way to end the day.
It’s always a given that whatever city you stay in unless it’s overnight, you go on a tour and see the sights.
Even when you’re staying a short distance from the city, you make the effort to catch a train or bus, then get on the hop on hop off tour. There’s always one in just about every city you visit.
Vancouver was no exception.
Except…
We arrived in the rain, went to sleep while the rain came down, woke up to the rain, and a heavy dose of jet lag or perhaps it was more that we had spent 24 and a half hours traveling from Brisbane to Vancouver via Shanghai.
But…
We had an excellent view out the window of our room looking towards a shopping mall, and an excellent view of the steadily falling rain. I felt sorry watching the construction workers on the building site that was the main vista we had to look at.
It could have been worse. Endless mountains with snow on them.
What to do? Venture out in the rain and go on the tour, or pop over to the shopping mall and pick up a few boxing day bargains, no, sorry, boxing week bargains.
We have had some interesting experiences going on the hop on hop off tours in open-top busses in winter and rain. And the last time was not a pleasant experience, even though we learned a valuable lesson, not to stand in front of cannons and yell ‘fire’. Apparently, that’s how Admiral Nelson lost his arm.
Again, but…
The shopping mall won.
We’d wait and see if the weather improved. Hang on, isn’t Vancouver near Seattle and doesn’t it rain the 300 days of the year?
Not holding my breath.
I feel sorry for the construction workers again. Still raining, still cold, and still no reason to get out of bed.
Day 2 in Vancouver turned out to be the same as day 1.
Hang on, there’s a development.
We’re on the 16th floor and up at those lofty heights, we can see not only the rain but intermingled with it a few flakes of snow.
Whilst we procrastinate about what were going to do, the snowflakes increase into small flurries.
Yep, we’re off to the mall again and go for a walk in the snow.
On the way back we drop into the Boston Pizza, which has a sports bar and there you can sit, drink, eat, and watch the ice hockey, or whatever sort is going at the time.
Today it’s a junior ice hockey tournament, but Canada was not playing. Just the same, a long cold beer and ice hockey?
I can now cross that off the bucket list.
Day 3, we’re going on a great rail journey, well, we are going to get the train to the city and collect the rental car, on the booking form, supposedly a Jeep Grand Cherokee or similar.
Of course, ‘or similar’ are the words to be feared here because in truth the rental company can throw anything at you, so long as it matches the brief, three people and three large suitcases.
And, you guessed it…
The ‘or similar’ got us a Fort Flex.
Not quite the same in name or prestige.
Oh, well… When in Vancouver!
It seems rather fortuitous that we have a holiday at the end of the year.
I mean, who sat around a table however many years ago and decided that holidays like Christmas should be at the end of the year. And who decided one half of the world could freeze to death on their holidays, and the other half burn?
At the end of a long year at that, you know, 52 weeks, 12 months, 365 days, where even when some of us get a weekend off once in a blue moon, it still seems like we’re working 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year.
So, who decided a week would have seven days, a year would have 12 months, and while we’re at it, who decided to give each month a different name? And who named names?
Was it Father Time. As children, we all learn about father time, or has political correctness stepped in and we now call ‘father time’, ‘person time’.
Anyway…
Who do we blame for this mess, we have to blame someone. It’s not our fault. If it were up to me I’d have Christmas in September when there’s more temperate weather in both halves of the world.
And who decided that Christmas should be attached to Winter and not Summer?
It’s like the whole mess was designed by a group of academics majoring in philosophy sitting in a back room and fed Coca Cola and Pizzas until they came up with an answer, which was probably to send it all to a parliamentary committee made up from candidates from Bellevue Asylum.
The same people, by the way, who are responsible for coordinating traffic lights.
And then there’s that other mystery I’ve never quite understood.
If you work for the FBI your first name suddenly becomes ‘Agent’. Everyone gets that name change whether you like it or not.
Which is much the same as all Russians once upon a time calling each other ‘comrade’. Beats the hell, I suppose, out of remembering people’s first names, especially in Russia where, to us, they’re unpronounceable.
Sorry.
You can tell I’m still getting over Chrismas.
I’ve become a gibbering idiot.
This is Chester. He has reminded me that it’s Groundhog Day.
So I had to ask, where on earth did you get that from?
Everybody knows it’s Groundhog Day. He sits there with this knowing look in his face, and it dawns on me, he’s been looking up stuff on the computer again.
I am going to have to remember to turn it off.
In Canada and America maybe, but we don’t have it here because we don’t have the cold and snow like they do.
We have cold because you light the fire. I’m sure there’s been snow.
Now I know he’s finally losing it.
It’s 35 degrees Celcius outside, and even when it is cold it’s still 16 degrees Celcius, not Fahrenheit.
Look, get with the program here. We need something to celebrate.
Why? And a second later realizing I should not ask.
It’s been a bit dull, no mice, no treats, all bad news on the internet. Oh and by the way, since cats only get cat flu, you want to be careful not to get that new coronavirus going around.
I shake my head.
Now I’m definitely turning off the computer at night.
Cat flu indeed!
It’s been a long summer, and it’s not only the heat that’s been bothering him.
It’s been school holidays, and along with many households where it’s not possible for parents to go on holidays, it falls to the grand parents to mind children. It’s a job I take seriously, and also a time to be spent with them before they grow up and disappear into the adult world.
Chester, however, only sees it from a cat’s point of view. To him, they’re trouble, but perhaps not without reason. They did torment him something terrible when they were young.
Of course, what he fails to realise is that children when young don’t quite understand animal etiquette, that is they should be treated with care.
But, I said in their defence, when you were a kitten you were an absolute monster, sinking your claws into everything, ruined lounge chairs and curtains, unravelled balls of wool, and, this was the cruncher, refused to chase mice.
Of course, as usual, when the arguement goes against him, those eyes close, and he pretends he’s asleep. It doesn’t fool me. But once that happens, no one scores any points.
And something else I’ve noticed, his memory is fading.
Of course, I didn’t tell him that they don’t officially go back till Wednesday, so he’s in for a surprise tomorrow morning.
The touristy things
On the way to the Hall of Fame, we found an ice skating rink
The Hockey hall of fame
The hockey hall of fame is a very large exhibition which would take a whole day to see everything. We sat through a very informative history of the game and the origins of the NHL, which for people who do not have hockey as a sport in their country, is saying something.
We follow the Maple Leafs, coincidentally Toronto’s franchise in the NHL, and we have been here before for a game, which they lost. It didn’t matter, I was staggered by the energy and enthusiasm both the players and the fans put into making it a memorable experience.
I’m hoping for a repeat experience.
St Lawrence Market
We walked 1.8 km to the market and it was closed which is about right for us as we have a knack for turning up and the place is closed, for instance, the Canadian club distillery in Windsor, Canada.
Perhaps tomorrow, before or after the game.
Red Lobster
Ok, we’ve been here before and it was beyond any expectations anyone could have for a restaurant chain.
This was no different from the last.
What more could you want, scallops, shrimp, and a fried lobster tail all drowned in a superb garlic butter sauce.
Add a side of mash potatoes, and a 20oz glass of beer, and there is the definition of heaven on a plate.
St Lawrence Market, again
Snowing, but not heavily
St Lawrence market, everything is very expensive, crab legs $120 per kg, lobster, $50 to $80 per kg. Oddly everything is quoted per pound, and it’s a good thing that we can convert lbs to kg.
It is, to say the least, a disappointment.
Ice Hockey at the Scotiabank Arena
There was a definite buzz in the air, and heading towards the stadium was both us, and many other Toronto supporters. Blue Maple Leaf jerseys were in abundance.
We’ve been before, and the last time the Leafs lost.
What else is new?
They have had a very good season so far, and are second on the ladder overall, so it was not without the expectation that they might win this one.
Never have an expectation.
They lost.
But…
It was an incredible game that was none stop action. It seems to me that you require a lot of skill and skating talent to play this game. I certainly couldn’t, and freely admit that I’d probably last about five minutes.
The score didn’t reflect the play, but in the end, the Leafs lost 4 – 3, at the end of the three periods.
Souvenir hunting and other stuff
I woke tired and exhausted, not looking forward to walking around Toronto.
Got up early to do the walking.
Oh, did I tell you, this hotel has a laundry and it is the bugbear of staying in major hotels, not being able to wash clothes?
Breakfast is included, but it is the main meal of the day so we feast. The selection is incredible.
We had to go back to the Maple Leafs franchise shop to exchange a Maple Leafs Jersey, which was no trouble.
So near to the CN tower, we go in to shop for souvenirs, of which there were plenty. I liked the stuffed mooses and beavers.
We’ve been up the tower so it’s back to the Union Station and a short stay at upstairs, a little bar overlooking the Toronto Pearson train line.
Time for tasting some Canadian ales, the first a Mill Street tank house ale, the second a Mill Street hopped and confused. Seriously, that’s what they were called.
The drinking mood music was old hits like Queen and a little bit of country and western.
good view of the trains, too.
Union Station
Like all main stations very large very tall ceilings and openings that lead to the tracks of which there are about 24, and an underground system
Much the same as all large railway terminals and probably far busier in times gone by.
Dining, but not necessarily dinner
Not far from the station, and opposite to clock tower belonging to the old city hall was a restaurant called Bannock.
There I had a Moosehead Cracked Canoe lager, a light ale, and a house special since 1929, a chicken pot pie, and it was very good.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 