A Whistle-Stop Tour of Auckland

One thing that is a must for us when we visit any reasonable sized city is the good old “Hop On Hop Off” open top bus tour. We have had some stinkers in our time but we have also had some good ones as well.

We weren’t in Auckland for very long so it was hop on and stay on in the first instance. If we noticed anything of interest from the top deck as we were passing we would go back for a another look.

The tour is split into two sections, one to the west and the other to the east. It is fair to say that this tour was not in the stinkers camp. Two very friendly drivers who were full of themselves about how good New Zealand rugby was compared to the English game. I had to point out that I did not follow rugby that closely and, as far as I was concerned, it is only a minor sport. I think they were both suitably offended as they claimed football was a game for wouses! Of course, like all good Englishmen I become an armchair expert on rugby when England are doing well!

Auckland does not have any attractions named in the top 25 landmarks to visit in the world, but, on the whole, the city’s splendour should not be underestimated. It sits, quite magnificently, astride the Tamaki Isthmus with beaches to either side. The isthmus lies between Waitemata, facing the Pacific Ocean, and Manukau, on the Tasman Sea, Harbours.

The following day we headed to the Bastion Point Memorial Garden where New Zealand’s first Labour Prime Minister is buried. It is a truly beautiful site with stunning views of the Auckland skyline. His name was Michael Joseph Savage, and he led the Land of the Long White Cloud from his General Election win in 1935 until his premature death in 1940. He is often cited as the man responsible for establishing New Zealand’s welfare state, quite a few years before Britain had established her own version.

I found some wording to suggest that the British took the best bits from New Zealand when establishing a free at the point of use health service. When he died there were over 200,000 Kiwis turned out for his funeral procession. Not a bad send-off for a bloke born in Australia! At the time it represented about 13% of the national population. Can you imagine 8.71 million mourners turning up for a British PM’s funeral. No, nor me. I think if they did it would be to check that the coffin lid was screwed down properly!

The history of Bastion Point is interesting. As with all land in New Zealand it once belonged to the Maori peoples. The British took it in huge landgrabs throughout the nineteenth century. Bastion Point, with its commanding view of Waitemata Harbour, was earmarked as a place of defence against an invading force. In the middle of the 1800s the biggest threat was perceived to be from the Russians. It doesn’t seem plausible in the modern day that little old Russia could harbour such expansionist thoughts, does it? You’d think that such an event would be given some sort of fancy name by the New Zealanders but, no, it is, a little lightly in my opinion, simply known as the Russian Scare!

It was much later that the land reverted to the local Maori tribe, the Ngati Whatua Rakei; these peoples venerated Savage so much, he seemed to unite all the peoples of this amazing country, that they bequeathed the land for his memorial to the state. At the outbreak of the Second World War he gave an impassioned speech underlining the colony’s backing of the mother country.

It started, “We range ourselves without fear beside Britain. Where she goes, we go. Where she stands, we stand…” By the end of the conflict 12,000 Kiwis had made the ultimate sacrifice. Maybe to us, with a modern day population of 67 million it doesn’t appear to represent a great loss compared to many others, you need to remember the population at the time was somewhere between 1.5 and 2 million. An incredible sacrifice given that the European theatre was so far away.

The next port of call, pretty obvious to me, was the National War Monument and Museum. I must admit we didn’t really have the time to do this justice. We walked around the outdoors section which had a magnificent display near the entrance. It was a water cascade falling over a slab of black rock, presumably granite, with the “Lest we Forget” epitaph standing proud. The symbolism, at least this is the way I took it, I have no idea what its creator was thinking, suggested to me that the running water equated to the giver of life whilst the black rock signified that death sometimes lies just below the surface. Incredibly moving.

The final attraction we visited whilst in Auckland, biding time until our cruise, was the Sky Tower. It is so prominent that it can be seen from just about everywhere in the Auckland metropolitan area. When you arrive at the viewing platform you find that the pod has been cantilevered from the main stalk and you have an uninterrupted view of the ground below, nothing in between.

Even more alarming for some, and there were many people almost clinging to the internal wall, were the clear glass panels built into the floor. Of course, if one was to look straight down at one’s feet you could see everything beyond which was, basically, the ground! Some patrons had palpitations even when others walked over the panels. I have to say, though, if you have an inbuilt fear of heights why do you go, of your own free will up a tower that is about a 220 metre drop to the pavement below?

Some folk were laying flat on the glass, I guess in a way, to prove their bravery, or stupidity, I’m not sure which! Not to be outdone, and after being challenged by Jane, I did the same. Do you know, blindness can sometimes be a right old asset! I could lay, facedown, on these floor windows and point my eyes at the queues of people below and make out I was either brave or stupid. Of course, the truth be known, I couldn’t really see past my nose so it probably wasn’t the biggest challenge I have ever accepted.

One of the wall clingers came up to us afterwards and said that I made him break out in a sweat, he was terrified that the glass would fall out and I would plummet to my death. Oh well! I apologised and asked him why he had come up to the viewing deck if he knew he had a fear of heights. I think, without any doubt, although I might be wrong, he was quite a bit older than me so it got me to wondering how it is possible to get to such advanced years and discover you are frightened of heights in your late sixties? If you don’t ask you will never get an answer! Apparently, he always knew he was terrified of heights but that was usually when he was outside, he assumed it wouldn’t be the same indoors? He now knows different! I stopped short of going on the bungee rope that took you down to road level in a matter of seconds. I think I am aware of my own limits.

Whilst chatting to the fella above, who was going to be boarding a cruise later that day, he said him and his wife were desperate for an Indian meal.

“Ah,” I said. “You’ve come to the right bloke there.” The previous night, following a recommendation by a couple of staff members at our hotel, we had dined at “1947,” a fabulous restaurant that served up fabulous food, and was named for the year of Indian independence or India-Pakistan Partition, whichever you prefer. I don’t often recommend restaurants but if you ever find yourselves in Auckland, on purpose or otherwise, you must go and feast on their freshly cooked dishes. Don’t, though, like this little greedy pig, be tempted by the traditional Indian rice pudding for dessert. Although it was tremendously delicious, it was a few grains of rice too far. I could hardly walk afterwards, I was that stuffed! Why can’t you eat as much as you could when you were younger? It is so unfair that gluttony is a young person’s game now!

That was about it for Auckland. It only remained for us to find our way to Prince’s Wharf to board our cruise ship that would take us around the North Island, touch in on the South Island, across the Tasman Sea back to New South Wales, cruise north along the Queensland coast, through the Torres Straits, putting into Darwin, before disembarking in Bali. I will feature nudity in an arboretum, moaning Americans, a Trump apostle and eating caviar as we sailed into Sydney Harbour, the dream of a lifetime.

Airports and Me...

“How on earth do you get on with airports?” is a question, I have only just realised, I am often asked. Well, as the sight started to fail I resigned myself to requesting assistance to navigate my way through, what I believe to be, the organised chaos that is a modern airport. Some of the tiddly ones don’t present me with the same sort of challenge, Jane can take me by the arm and this, combined with what little periphery vision I have, usually sees us through.

When we travelled over the Christmas period of 2023 I discovered that the default position of airport assistance was to bundle me into a wheelchair, whether I wanted it or not. I used to convince myself that all I needed was an arm or shoulder to hold. I now recognise that not only is the wheelchair a good idea as it ensures I don’t accidentally bump into other passengers. A word of advice, if I maybe so bold, when working your way through an airport, please don’t walk along staring at your mobile phone. It is always much better to be aware of what might be around you, you never know when a blind bloke in a wheelchair might be trying to get past you. Last thing you want is for the frame of a wheelchair to take your legs from under you. On the other hand, I don’t want to be wearing you on my lap, I’ve seen the size of some of you!

One advantage of being transported in a chair is that I receive priority treatment. I go right to the front of the line to be processed through security. I don’t have to negotiate the queue control slalom, they simply undo a strap and wheel me through, much to the distaste of some. The best thing of all, though, is that I get taken onto the plane before anyone else.

There was one incident last year when we flew to Cyprus. I didn’t hear it but Jane heard someone in the queue say, “Bloody typical! Look at that, the bloody benefit scroungers are more important than the rest of us.” Get over yourself! Then, the best way to jar them off, is to get out of the chair and walk to the seat. I do, I am afraid, sometimes feel like a bit of a fraud, but when you hear bigoted views like that, sod the lot of them! It is quite incredible how that particular oaf could tell I was a “benefit scrounger” merely from the fact I was being pushed about in an invalid’s chair? Quite honestly, when you are bombarded with views like that, I wish I was on all the benefits in the world. I could turn around and say, “By the way, thank you very much for paying for my holiday!” Prick!

One disconcerting experience with airport assistance was when we were passing through KL Airport. That’s Kuala Lumpur not King’s Lynn. I was strapped into my chair, a bit over the top I thought, and then we were off. Jane was walking beside me on my starboard, then a bloke took station off my port beam. First of all, I presumed, he was trying to overtake me. He didn’t move on past, though. Odd? Then, I glanced at him again and thought, blimey, you don’t half look like the bloke who is pushing me. I took a peek over my shoulder and realised I was on my own. KL has swallowed all the technology that it can. I was in the Tesla version of a wheelchair. I must admit, it made me a little nervous. It transpired that he was carrying a remote control in his hand. Just in case there was someone dawdling along perusing their screen, I held my white stick out in front of me, like an old time knight in a jousting tournament, fully prepared to skewer any absent minded phone users.