An End To Middle Earth

Not surprisingly, it wasn't overly difficult to bid farewell to the seizure of downpours and woes of the elements that rattled the bones for the past few weeks in the capital city. I did grow fond of the litter of sculptures on the streets and quay; the graffiti art on the shady corners and the grungy cafes on Cuba Street empowering me with daily doses of caffeine and much appreciated shelter. My lasting memory of Wellington, apart from the jesters parading down the halls of The Cambridge, is the sheen on the pavement immediately after the patient rains and the way in which the neon lights from forgettable bars reflected within. I will miss a city with a rich urbane and cultured verve, which is reason enough for the locals to brave such cruel conditions.

Now on to my final leg towards Auckland via a couple of nights in Taupo, five hours drive from the Southern Tip of the North Island. As I followed the vacant winding roads, uninterrupted even by the woolen waves of disorientated sheep, I gazed at a landscape much altered now from the one I saw earlier in the year. The snow and ice had placed a healthy veil over the mountains and the peak of Mount Ruapehu which erupted last, rather worryingly, in September 2007. This was a scene of disaster on Christmas Eve 1953, when a volcanic mudslide digested a railway bridge and derailed an oncoming train, killing 153 passengers on board. We didn't encounter any such obstacles.


Mount Tongariro was similarly coated in velvet snow, and as I looked up at its towering vent I recalled the climb up Mordor which was both tiring and rewarding during the Alpine Crossing in March. I realised at the time how the light air would cause Frodo to lose faith in Sam and his focus on his task up Mount Doom. I can also appreciate, at long last, the reliability of the cover photograph of my trustworthy Lonely Planet guide with its helicopter view profile of the volcanoes in a winter majesty. It was a slight shame that I had missed out on the more picturesque South Island though in a similar sharp spectacle.


The snow covered Mount Doom

On arrival at Taupo I strolled under a stark cloudless sky and generous June sun to the lake with its open view out across the Central Plateau. I had never observed it at eye level as my bird of prey descent from a parachute was my only impression of the area on the previous visit. From ground level the vista has a pensive tranquility as the eyes search beyond the elevation of the mountains and leaves one with much to ponder. I carried this visual weight with me at the Easy Bakery whereupon I carefully dissected a flaky egg & bacon pie which came in a respectable 5th place at the 2009 Supreme Pie Awards.



The Lake itself, the largest to be found in New Zealand at 616 sq km, is not a conventional form by any means. It is actually a water filled crater of a volcano (a caldera) which erupted some 16,500 years ago. Apparently, the subsequent destruction of land mass was felt throughout Oceania and the Pacific and the Chinese and the Romans all have written accounts of the ash filled skies and the subdued sunsets following the apocalyptic blast.



The concluding circuit of the country, Aotearoa as it is know in Maori (land of the long white cloud), from Taupo to Auckland was on board an empty Stray bus, bar the driver, Baggins (not sure how he picked up this nickname, but there was something authentically hobbitty about his thatch of hair) and a Dutch passenger. I was happy enough to sit all the way at the back and plug in my headphones for the half day trip but both Bilbo and the girl from Holland harried me to join them at the front of the vehicle. Their company was relaxed enough, and being so close to the steering wheel enabled me to acquire my own personal tour guide for the North Island as I constantly bombarded the driver with questions about any curiosity that scratched above the surface of my regard.

Lake Taupo at dusk

Baggins had a wonderful gift of effortlessly moving from amusing anecdotes - such as mentioning that a friend of his moved into a former brothel in Cambridge and continues to have her door knocked by farmers wishing to pursue midnight debauchery - to touching respect for his country's history, as a mile later we held a minute silence as we passed the foot of the cemetery hill where Maori royalty are ceremoniously buried.

Baggins gives the thumbs up in an empty bus back to Auckland

Now checked in at Nomads hostel in Auckland (I'd rather gorge my own toe nails out and feast upon them than return to the Base hostel with its goon swilling mob of riffraff) with a couple of days to contemplate the experience of breathing in the underbelly of the oceans. The bacchanal activity of the city was disorientating at first but after a few moments I retraced the same steps that I had made earlier in the year and found comfort in the familiarity.

Now for a day or two of concentrated revision of my Spanish phrase book. The only question that I have managed to memorise thus far is usted tiene helado? - which is probably all I'll need.

Taupo - Auckland Song of the Day: Run DMC - It's Tricky
We surged past the grazing cattle and the bright road signs directing us towards the Farmers Expo 2010 as Jam Master Jay and his buddies hippity hopped on the radio. This came on soon after the more sombre scene of the Maori cemetery hill and provided us with an instant distraction from inward reflection on the lives that had been lost.
I did try half-heartedly to rap along but failed miserably. No one seemed to notice though.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cYQV62WhkM