Change In Plans

Greetings from Auckland! We are sitting at the airport, waiting to board the long flight home.

New Zealand is an amazing country. While we have been here, our posts have focused mostly on the natural beauty, adventure sports, and cute things that the kids have said and done.

As we have reflected on our time in New Zealand, it seems that the truly most amazing things about New Zealand are its socioeconomy, its highly functional political system, and its civil society.

When social scientists dream utopian dreams at night, they must dream of New Zealand.

At a high level, this is a country where basically everything works, everyone gets along, and there are no huge problems or policy challenges confronting society. Compare this with Turkey, India, South Africa or even the U.S.

New Zealand is only moderately rich (roughly #35 in per capita GDP rankings), but the population lives very well (#20 in Human Development Index). More important, New Zealand ranked #1 on a global “Life Satisfaction Index.”

Income and wealth are relatively equally distributed: no one is very poor, and if anyone is very rich, they keep it well hidden.

Macroeconomists start talking about equations with the simplifying statement: “Assume a small, open economy.” They are describing New Zealand, which liberated its economy radically in the early 1990s. The government abolished all of the trade barriers and subsidies, privatized the state-owned companies, and deregulated everything they could. The economy has done reasonably well: stable, diversified, and growing over the long term.

download Leprechaun 3 movie

Race relations here seem less fraught than in any other country we visiited. The British and the Maori signed the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840, more or less ending hostilities between indigenous and invader. There were challenges to the peace, particularly in the first 20 years. Now Maoris are slightly poorer and slightly more likely to be in trouble with the law, but only slightly. Maoris control fishing quotas, which is valuable and sustainable. Maori culture seems central to New Zealand culture, and there is pride in the shared heritage.

The New Zealand legal system is eminently sensible. There is no tort law, but there is an Accident Compensation Fund and a good set of regulatory safeguards against malpractice, negligence, etc. The state has long recognized same-sex partnerships. In criminal law, the emphasis is on restorative justice, and community involvement. India tells me that the juvenile justice and prison systems are considered world leaders. The crime rate is extremely low.

Political and economic debate is remarkably civil. When the mayors of two cities stopped speaking to each other, it was literally front-page news. The practical, no-drama style of the people seems well represented in the political process.

A couple of small, but telling examples of the deep-rooted practicality:
* The currency notes are made of plastic rather than paper. Lasts a long time, very difficult to counterfeit
* By convention, all retail transactions paid in cash are rounded to the nearest five cents. Pennies and two-penny pieces are rarely used.
* The post offices are great: extremely efficient, staffed with friendly and competent people, open long hours. The boxes we shipped surface mail from Wanaka got to Nashville in two weeks.
* Postage stamps are available in all kinds of retail shops, and many places print their own souvenir stamps. I really liked our Shotover JetBoat postage stamps.

New Zealanders seem to sublimate their more base human instincts into acts of incredible bravery, strength, and endurance. The calm Kiwi jumping out of an airplane, or rowing around Antarctica, or climbing mountains without oxygen seems to be the norm rather than the exception. The women, in particular, exude a steely special-forces resolve and calm.

This blog post reads very “gee whiz” and naive. I’m sure there must be some societal problems, and that horrible things have happened in New Zealand’s history. The economy has actually been pretty lousy for the last year.

New Zealand’s natural endowments of no animal predators (and no snakes), geographic isolation, fertile land and waters, near-perfect weather, and a small, homogenous, English-speaking population are all very helpful. Also, not having a lot of cultural legacy systems (eg, a more-than-nominal monarchy, a feudal system, deeply entrenched religious institutions, powerful military without civilian leadership) have helped New Zealand avoid the traps of many other countries. In all, these characteristics have made it easier for New Zealand and its policy makers to be virtuous.

Easy or not, they have been virtuous. This is an amazing place. It’s insanely beautiful too.

ZOLA DOING THE HAKA

Greetings from Russell, New Zealand!  Russell is at the edge of the Bay of Islands, near the north end of the North Island (in the district of Northlands).  It was New Zealand’s first capital as a British colony.

On the afternoon of Easter Sunday, we went for a longish walk along Lake Taupo.  Taupo is beautiful, but the family consensus is that Queenstown and Wanaka are more scenic.  We will break the news to the Taupo authorities gently.

On Sunday evening, we took Ginny to a traditional Maori dinner (hanki) and cultural evening.  Superficially, it was similar to the Maori evening we had at the zoo in Christchurch.  That seems like months ago.  We have been in New Zealand for a long time.  

The major differences were the size of the group (about 100 people in Taupo vs. 20 in Christchurch), and the church-dinner authenticity of the Taupo food.  Also, the long walk through the Maori village in Taupo was in a very active geothermal area.  There was sulfurous steam blowing everywhere, and bubbling mud just off the path.  Very dramatic.

The best part of the evening was when Zola and I got to get up and learn the haka, the traditional Maori war dance.  We’ve seen it a thousand times (mostly by the New Zealand rugby team, before matches), and we had a chance to try it down in Christchurch.  In Taupo, Zola came into his own as a Maori warrior.  Given a chance, I think he would have stayed with the Maori, gotten the tattoos, the whole thing.

On Monday morning, India and I went for our first run together since I got back from Switzerland.  She crushed me like a corpulent bug, and left me, literally, gasping for air on a steep hillside.  Maybe the Haute Route didn’t transform me into a superhero after all.

On our way to dropping her at the airport, we enticed Ginny into one more ridiculous Kiwi quasi-adventure: the cross-country Segway ride.  I had never been on a Segway before: it is harder than it looks.  I felt like the machine was sort of fighting me the entire time, leaning or turning away from the direction I wanted to go.

LOOK OUT!

Zola and I had a head-on collision, which could have been bad, but we were both OK.  It was entirely my fault.  In the U.S., the Segway owners would have had a fit, but the nice Kiwi lady helped us back on, reset the machines, and sent us on our way.

We dropped Ginny at the airport in Taupo.  She is going to Sydney for a few days (probably happy to be on her own), and then flying back from Auckland to Los Angeles with us on Friday.  She has been great company.

For reasons that seemed sensible at the time, we decided to drive the 550 kilometers from Taupo to Russell, rather than taking two flights.  To be honest, India and I like being in the car together, and imposed the decision on the kids.  It also gave us an opportunity to see more of the country.

We had been told that the last ferry from Opua to Russell (which avoids a two-hour detour) left at 7:30 pm, so we felt a lot of time pressure as we drove.  The 250 kilometers from Taupo to Auckland was brutally slow: lots of city people returning from the long weekend.  We listened to national traffic reports on the radio news, and realized that we were sitting in a succession of newsworthy jams.  There was some weird consolation in that, but we were still very concerned about making the ferry.

North of Auckland, the traffic cleared, and we were able to cover the last 300 kilometers in two and a half hours.  The kids were great in the car, although we had to listen to the Taylor Swift album six or seven times in a row. Also, Zola lost yet another tooth while we drove.  He is on the verge of bankrupting the tooth fairy.

As we boarded the ferry in Opua, we saw a big sign reading “Last Ferry Departs 10 pm,” so our rush was for nothing.  Maybe we would have stopped for dinner, if we had known.

On the Russell side, we quickly found our rented house, called “Eagles Spirit.” It is part of a small vacation rental community called “Eagles Nest.”

New Zealand’s culture seems resolutely anti-glamour, anti-pretension, anti-slick.  In a welcome change from most of our other New Zealand accommodation, Eagles Nest defies these cultural norms spectacularly.

We were greeted by Eagles Nest’s manager, Callum, with two glasses of Laurent-Perrier champagne.  He said, “How else should honored guests be greeted after a long journey?”

With obvious pleasure, Callum demonstrated all of the high-tech features of the house: louvered terrace roof, automatic pool cover, Bose sound system, plasma TV.  He talked about the personal trainer, dine-in chef options, and other amenities.  After weeks of low-information, do-it-yourself, New Zealand, this was all quite amazing.  The view from all of the rooms out over the Bay of Islands is also just spectacular.

HAPPY EASTER!

We have four days here to take it easy, appreciate the scenic beauty, and gear up for the long trip back to New York.  We know where we will be for the next few weeks, but haven’t come to any decisions on our longer-term plans.  

We also haven’t really started to try and summarize our experiences in New Zealand and Australia, much less to really think about the overall experience of traveling together for a year.

At this point, I think we are a little bit in denial that the end is coming.  Zola is counting the days, practically the hours, because he really wants to be back in the U.S.   Strangely, though, he is leading the chorus for “let’s move to Cape Town after the summer.”  India and I are just assuming that the adventure will continue, perhaps in different forms for a while.

Greetings and Happy Easter from Taupo! The sun is shining brightly, our view over Lake Taupo and the snow-covered volcanic mountains on the far shore is spectacular, the Easter bunny managed to find our kids and give them a few gifts and chocolates.

All is well, here in New Zealand.

India, in her role as the Easter bunny’s helper, has been hauling chocolate eggs and small gifts around the world since October. This level of planning, and her commitment to our kids’ childhoods just blows me away.  She also recruited Ginny to bring some things.

We drove from Waimarama up to Taupo on Good Friday afternoon. That morning, Ginny and India had gone for another long run (Ginny clutching her sore shoulder protectively while she ran), and then Zola and I went surfing. Zola was shredding the foamies, which was wonderful for me to see. I was using a long board belonging to Pete’s 45-kilogram (maybe) wife, so it was a little harder than expected to get my nearly 95-kilogram self out of the water. As with all good surfing days, there were a few moments of exhilaration and a few moments of sheer terror. The waves in the back were big.

On the 2-hour drive north to Taupo, we passed scores of vintage Volkswagen buses and Beetles, headed in the other direction. There must be a rally or show to the south. It was cool to see them all on the road.

As we drove, we listened to the highlights of the pop CD that Ginny bought over and over. My abiding memory of being in the car will be Tallulah’s joyous expression as she sings along with Taylor Swift “Marry me, Juliet, you’ll never have to be alone. I love you, and that’s all that I really know!”

Zola continually requests Britney Spears’ “Circus.”

Before we even got to our rented house, we went for a ride on the Huka Falls jet boat. It was not as scenic as Shotover Canyon, down in Queenstown, but the river is deeper and wider, so the jet-boat driver could get a lot crazier. We got completely drenched, and both kids laughed hysterically during the whole ride. We got our first smell of the sulfurous waters that this part of New Zealand is famous for. I attributed the smell, incorrectly, to the huge industrial facility that the jet boats roar through. None of us felt entirely comfortable swallowing the water that got sprayed into our mouths.

I fell asleep almost immediately after we checked into the house, still feeling the effects of the 12-hour time difference with Switzerland. Aside from a frost-bitten middle finger (the nail is black, as if I had voted in an Iraqi election), I seem to have otherwise recovered from the Haute Route trip. The rest of the family roused me long enough for us to have dinner, but then I was completely out again.

On Saturday morning, the kids and I picked up India and Ginny in the center of Taupo, about 12 kilometers from the house. After an unbelievably greasy breakfast, we drove out of town to an attraction called “Craters of the Moon.” There is a lot of geothermal activity in this part of New Zealand, and “Craters” is a self-guided walking path through a sulfurous, steaming landscape. We took a lot of pictures of ourselves holding our noses and walking through heavy steam. The best spot along the path is called “Mud Crater,” which looks like a huge, stew-filled cauldron, bubbling and sputtering away. For once, both kids paid a lot of attention to the signs reading “stay on the path.”

CRATERS OF THE MOON

For the main event of the day, we drove an hour north to the town of Rotorua, which we found out is the most popular tourist destination on the North Island.

As we drove through Rotorua itself, we found many steaming, bubbling little craters in the parks and alongside the road. The entire town smells like rotten eggs, though somehow not unpleasantly. This attribute was not noted in any of the tourism brochures. Maybe “Rotorua” is Maori for rotten egg.

We had come to Rotorua to try out yet another uniquely New Zealand adrenaline sport, called Zorbing. A Zorb is a big (3-meter high) transparent rubber ball, with a smaller capsule ball suspended inside it by hundreds of elastic, connective wires. The rider sits in the capsule, and is rolled down a giant hill at high speeds. Awesome!

As we found out, there are two varieties of Zorbing, wet and dry. Zola did the wet version, where they partially fill the capsule ball with warm water, and the rider sloshes around while the ball rolls along beneath him/her. Zola thought this was pretty cool.

I'M INSIDE THE INNER BALL

I did the dry Zorb (the Zorbit), where I was strapped into the capsule, and went upside down with each revolution of the ball. It was pretty ridiculous, and I laughed the whole way down the hill. The weight limit of the Zorb was 100 kilograms, which didn’t make sense until I was actually flying down the hill. My nearly 100-kilogram weight was stretching the connective wires to their limit, and I was actually hitting the ground with my body on the big bumps. No permanent damage, but a rougher ride than expected. Ginny’s sore shoulder and India’s sore lower back kept them on the sidelines, cheering for us. In retrospect, that was probably a good decision.

After we got back from Rotorua, we tried to watch “Sound of Music,” on DVD, but the audiovisual technology defeated me. Instead, we watched Cameron Diaz and Jude Law fall in love in “Holiday.” Zola asked me at least 20 times whether I thought Cameron Diaz was pretty.

This is our last day in Taupo, so we are going for a hike on the volcanoes, and enjoying the sunshine. New Zealand is very beautiful, but we have been cold and damp for most of our time here.

Tomorrow we are driving five hours north, to Bay of Islands. My father said this might be his favorite place in the world. We are looking forward to seeing it.

INJURED SURFER

Greetings from Waimarama, New Zealand!

Despite the dramatic title of the blog post, everyone is fine.  Our young friend, Ginny, dislocated her shoulder while we were surfing, and we made a trip to the emergency room in Hastings.  The whole experience made India and me think a lot (and unfavorably) about the U.S. healthcare system. 

Some background would probably be useful.  

Ginny is a 27-year-old friend of ours, who lives in Durham, North Carolina.  She is a social worker at Duke’s hospital, in the pediatric neuro-oncology department.  She takes care of children with brain tumors, and counsels their families.  She has a grim job (70% mortality), but is a lovely and upbeat person.  She used to be a counselor at Zola’s camp in the Catskills, and is a first cousin to our dear friend, Kate.  In the last few summers, Ginny and India have been partners in 20-mile Saturday morning runs, and they ran the Boston Marathon together.

Yesterday morning, India and Ginny went for a 30 kilometer run through the mountains and along the beach.  Later in the morning, India had booked us for surfing lessons with Pete, an aspiring surf instructor here in Waimarama.  Pete and India have spoken on the phone at least six times, confirming the booking and getting the details on participants, wetsuit sizes, etc.

We showed up at Pete’s house, as planned, at 11 am.  Pete was nowhere to be found, but his wife told us he was off scrounging up boards and wetsuits.  Could we come back at 12?  Surfers are not generally known for their organization.

Fortunately, Waimarama is a tiny village.  We drove the two minutes back to our beach house, and huddled around the fireplace for an hour.  It is very cold and rainy here at the moment.

At 12, we went back to Pete’s house, met the man, and got into our wet suits.  We drove another two minutes down to the beach.  Pete gave an on-sand demonstration of how to lie on a surfboard, paddle, and stand up.  Ginny had never surfed before, so the “lesson” was really for her benefit.  

Zola’s only question after the demonstration was, “Excuse me, Pete, but how did your pinky finger get cut off?”

SHREDDING!

The waves were big and beautiful, and the water was much warmer than the air.  Pete’s son, Mike, and I walked our boards in chest-deep water out to a sand bar in the back.  Zola and Ginny stayed inside with Pete.  I was thrilled to see Zola immediately get up and have a few terrific rides all the way back to the beach.  I struggled a little with the short board, but was getting the hang of it, and had a couple of good rides.

As I came up from a fall, I saw Ginny walking out of the surf, slumped over and clutching her right shoulder.  India started gesturing wildly for us to come and help.  

Apparently, Ginny’s rotator cuff was destroyed in a long-ago gymnastics injury, and her shoulder dislocates easily.  When she pushed up from the surf board to stand, her shoulder popped out.  The wet suit was compressing the shoulder in an out-of-joint position.  Ginny is a very tough person, but she was clearly in a lot of pain.

Standing on the beach, I embraced Ginny and tried, ineffectually, to pop the shoulder back in.  After a few minutes, we agreed that we should go to the emergency room in Hastings, about 30 kilometers away.  There is no medical care (or much of anything else, really) here in Waimarama.

With Ginny still in her wetsuit, grimacing every time I hit a bump in the road, we made the longish trip back to civilization.  We found the Hastings Medical Centre, and went to the urgent care desk.  India filled out a simple form, and literally three minutes later, Ginny was being attended to by a doctor and two nurses.  

They gently removed the wetsuit, and slid the shoulder joint back into place.  After checking for more significant damage, and giving Ginny some ibuprofen, the doctor sent us on our way.  He suggested that she see an orthopedist when she got home.  The total cost of the visit was $NZ 2o, or $US 10.  The receptionist insisted that we take a claim form from the Accident Compensation fund, because our $NZ 20 should be fully refundable.  

There is no tort system in New Zealand law: accident victims are compensated out of this general fund, and “blame” for malpractice or negligence is dealt with administratively.   This seems very sensible.

We were glad that Ginny was OK, and in much less pain than before.  We found a nice place in Hastings for lunch, and had a relaxed, rainy afternoon by the fire back in Waimarama.

ALL BETTER!

Our experience with New Zealand’s medical system (and similarly positive ones with Australia’s and South Africa’s) highlighted how relatively bad the U.S. system is for most medical situations.

A U.S. emergency-room visit would have involved much more paperwork, and a lot of questions about insurance coverage and ability to pay.  We likely would have waited for a couple of hours at least before anyone saw us.  Ginny would have been sent for an x-ray and/or an MRI, and a group of specialists would have been involved.  It all would have taken 6-8 hours, and would have cost at least $2,000, for basically the same outcome.

I was sorry to see Senator Daschle not get confirmed as U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services.  I wish Governor Sebellius (and Nancy-Ann De Parle) all the best in their efforts to reform U.S. healthcare.  In the meantime, except for very complicated and/or life-threatening health issues, I would rather be treated in New Zealand.

Zola and I are going back over to Pete’s this morning, hoping to surf for another hour or so.  Ginny has decided to watch from the beach today.

Note: this was written a few days ago.

Down in New Zealand, we are glad we are reading about Peter’s trek and the perils of the route after he is safely down and knocking back beers with South African mercenaries. Somehow the conversations we had over crackling cell phone connections did not mention much of the danger. While he was scaling cliff faces and getting frostbite, we are coming to a better understanding of what makes New Zealanders love living on the edge of the world.

On Monday, we moved to the Beach House, a fabulous understated house steps away from a kilometers long beach. It is in a tiny surfing village called Waimarama (could be a boy band) with only a small cafe and a shop selling cool drinks and tinned goods. While we are only 25 kilometers from the house in the wine estate, it feels like an entirely different place. The beach and the incredibly good weather have improved our moods dramatically and we are slowly understanding why people fall in love with New Zealand. It has been a gradual affair for us, but we are coming to appreciate the quiet beauty of this far away country and the modest courage of its people.

Two days ago the kids and I ventured out for what we thought would be a short horseback ride. As we are in the middle of farmland, we were told to look for someone on horseback about 20 kilometers north of here to guide us to the track. I was not expecting the handsome man who greeted us, holding a gorgeous baby atop his horse. He smiled warmly and we followed him up a hillside to where an equally beautiful, petite woman was waiting with four saddled horses. We all hopped out and were soon headed up the mountain. It was an exquisite fall day - brilliant blue skies, some of the trees turning golden already - perfect for a ride.

As always, I was a bit nervous with both Lu and Zola on new horses going up an extremely steep incline. My fears were soon alleviated when I discovered that Peter, the handsome Maori man who greeted us, is the Horse Whisperer. None of the horses were using bits in their mouths, and all would stop with a gentle tug and move forward with a slight kick. Not your usual trail horses. Peter told me that he and Colleen, his pretty wife, have 60 horses and six kids (all under age 11). I was genuinely surprised - they look like they are in their 20s and are actually both about 35. They doted on the adorable two-year old, Salem, who went on the ride with us like she was their first-born. As the ride progressed, we all feel a little bit in love with this family.

To Zola’s delight, Peter asked him to take the lead on the way to the top of the mountain. When Zola turned around to ask if he could canter, Peter shouted, “Of course!” Before I could stop him, Zola was running up the narrow ascent, whooping with glee. I quickly followed him and together we raced around the turns. Lu hung back with Colleen, but Peter, holding his tiny daughter with one arm, galloped up behind. We took turns leading the way up and as we rounded a final corner, came upon the perfect picnic setting.

There was a lone picnic table, decked with a white tablecloth, perched on the rocky ledge with 360 degree views looking back over the Tuki Tuki river valley, the wine estates, Te Mata Peak, and the turquoise Pacific ocean. Unexpected and fabulous.

Peter quickly laid out a feast of salmon, New Zealand mussels, cheeses, bread and fruit. The adults and Zola sat talking in the warm sunshine while Lu and Salem built castles out of rocks and took turns peering off the ledge. I could have stayed forever. Peter and his wife Colleen were lovely, entertaining company, the kids were blissfully unaware of time, and the views were spectacular. Finally, however, Zola got to urge to ride fast on his horse again. Before we could stop him, he was back on his horse and raring to go.

Since neither Peter, Colleen, or baby Salem wore helmets, Zola begged to take his off. I relented, partly because I also wanted to feel the sun in my face as we headed back down the mountain but mostly because I felt so safe on these amazing horses. We started our descent and alternated between cantering on the uphills and gawking at the views on the downhills. Lu asked to ride with Peter and before I knew it, she was cantering along beside me and urging him to go faster, faster, faster! It was a joy to be riding on such well-trained horses, out in the mountains, with my kids.

When we got to the bottom, I realized that I needed to go into the nearby village for some cash. Peter quickly jumped in and asked if Zola wanted to stay to ride the horses back up to the paddock. He was in his saddle in an instant. Of course, Lu also wanted to stay and Colleen insisted that it was be just fine for her to continue playing with Salem. I did a quick dash into town for cash and groceries. When I returned, I found two very happy children, covered in mud and horse hair. Zola was washing the horses, his city-boy Vans covered in muck and his face plastered with a grin. Lu was digging in the dirt with Salem, sitting at the top of a small hillock with an amazing view out over the river valley. Peter and Colleen were busy putting saddles away and laughing together. Although they needed to be back in town by 4:30 to pick up their other kids, they seemed to be in no rush. I finally dragged the kids to the car, Lu wailing to stay until she feel asleep exhausted on the drive home.

Throughout the day, Peter and Colleen professed their love for Hawkes Bay (the area where we rode), New Zealand, and their family. Their happiness was contagious and I found myself envious of their contentment with their homeland and their lifestyle. I am sure that it is not all bliss, but on this day, it seemed idyllic.

Yesterday I decided to go for a run along the beach. I had read that at low tide you can get from Waimarama beach to Ocean Beach, 8 kilometers north, along the coast. About 15 minutes into the run, I came to a wide river about two feet deep. I decided to take off my shoes and run barefoot for a while. I ended up running for almost two hours, through the shallow warm water. On one side, there were steep cliffs, on the other, tidal pools and crashing waves. I realized at one point that if a rouge wave took me, or a landslide came crashing down, no one would know where I was or what happened to me. Perhaps not entirely responsible on my part, but it was a fabulous feeling to be so completely free. I could have run for hours (although my shins are paying the price today for running barefoot).

This, I believe, is what people love about New Zealand. Not as dangerous as the Haute Route, but for a brief moment I was living on the edge here.

Our own Peter arrives back today and we have only a week or so before our own search for a home and a place to call our own hits us.

HAPPY EASTER!

Greetings from Waimarama, New Zealand!

After a series of long flights, confusing layovers, and a narrowly missed connection, I am finally back with India, Tallulah and Zola.  We are in Waimarama, on the east coast of New Zealand’s North island.  Waimarama is about a 45-minute drive from Napier, which is an hour flight from Auckland, which (as I found out) is about 30 hours’ travel from Europe.  India continues to seek out the remote and beautiful.  This house, and its beach-side setting, are spectacular.

VIEW FROM THE HOUSE (PLUS KITE SURFER)

It is wonderful to be back in the bosom of my family.  They greeted me at the airport in Napier, and I was very happy and relieved to see all three of them.  Tallulah appears to have grown about three inches in the last two weeks.  India said she has “also grown an attitude to go with her height.”  Zola’s height appears unchanged, but his hair is at least three inches longer.

The kids seemed happy with the gifts and chocolate that I brought back.  Tallulah’s shirt from the Cabane des Vignettes was too big, but she decided it was a dress.  I gave Zola all of the specialized equipment that I bought for the Haute Route, so he spent the evening marching around the house wearing the heavy backpack, gloves and glacier glasses, and holding the clasp knife and water bottle.  It was fun showing the kids my pictures (although I really am a terrible photographer), so they could put names and faces together, and see a little of what my trip was like.  Their main conclusion was that it looked cold, and that the huts were bigger than they expected.

Intellectually I knew that the family traveling group (plus Ginny) has continued to evolve since I left them, but it was still strange to experience how they have changed.  They have been in Waimarama for nearly a week already, and have explored it thoroughly.  Everyone is singing along to a new series of songs -Britney, Pink and Taylor Swift- from a CD that Ginny bought at a petrol station in Wellington.  They all dyed Easter eggs together without me, and they talk about places and people that I don’t know.  I have been hearing a lot, in particular, about the handsome Maori horse trainer who took the family for a ride in the mountains earlier in the week.

India and Ginny are out for a two-hour run, which they timed for low tide, so they could come back along the beach.  Zola and I did on-line math, and Lu and I played Twister together.  Later this morning, Zola and I are going surfing.  Within  a few days, I’m sure I will be back in the swing of family travel.  Unfortunately, a few days after that, we fly back to New York, and start reintegrating into a more normal life.

This has been an amazing year.  We will miss this lifestyle, for sure.

For all those dedicated readers waiting on tenderhooks for Peter’s next blog, he will be back on line soon. He is deep in the snow and mountains of Switzerland and misses you as much as you miss him! Much adventure to recount when he gets back online.

Down in NZ, kids and India are exhausting all kid and adventure-related activities on the North Island. Lu has been chased by a pink sheep, Zola has been head-butted by a Scottish bull (not sure why he is in NZ), and our friend Ginny has jumped from a plane at 15,000 feet (Peter was at the same altitude yesterday somewhere in the Alps). Zola begged to jump as well (minimum age in NZ is 8 years old!) but decided to wait until Dad returns. India would have jumped, but Lu clutched her hand and physically restrained her. Think she is still traumatized by the bungy jumps a couple of weeks ago! We have decided that Kiwis (the people) jump off cliffs and out of airplanes from time to time to prevent permanent narcolepsy. It is not a fast-paced society, though it is a gentle one full of hardy, tough people. The search for adventure continues tomorrow, as does the online search for flights to grandmother’s houses, apartments in New York, and other realities of our return to life in the States.

Thousands of miles to the south, Zola, Tallulah, and India are having a marvelous time on the North Island, albeit with a lot less gear and no air travel. Kids are in great form, though Lu is a tad confused about where her dad has gone and why. Zola thinks it is cool that his dad is skiing with Wyatt’s dad, but harbors secret worries about avalanches and all sorts of other icy perils.

Yesterday was spent hiking around Kapiti Island, a bird sanctuary and Maori homeland five kilometers off the coast of the mainland. Kids spotted the rare Takahe (only 200 left in the world and 14 on this island) and had a ball playing with two American kids (the lovely Evelyn, age 8 and adorable Isaac, age 5) who are living in Christchurch for the next six months while their dad teaches at the law school there. Both Zola and Lu fell a little bit in love. Lu ran about trying to clutch Isaac’s hand and shrieking with glee. Zola mooned about and tried to look tough as kakas (a brown parrot) landed on his shoulders and head. Zola and Lu said their goodbyes with long faces (and a few tears for Lu.) They are ready for a kid-dominated social life, that’s for sure.

With Ginny here, I have been running lots of the wide, steel grey beaches. It is a beautiful spot, though I have not been burning 5000 calories a day yet. We are on the lookout for a handsome, fit young man for Ginny (not sure a mellow Kiwi holiday with a mom and two kids is the best way to attract one!). We spent today walking around Wellington, exploring the fabulous National Museum (where Lu got her hand stuck in an elevator door but escaped with minor bruising), and climbing Mt. Victoria. Not quite the Alps, but it was a good, brisk, hour and half plus climb up to the lookout. Again, the kids were troopers and we made it all the way down again on our own steam, had dinner by the waterfront, and made it home in one piece. Lu fell asleep standing up next to the bed as soon as we got home, drooling on a stack of her books.

Last night we celebrated Earth Day with a candlelight dinner on the beach and marveled at the stars. The kids were delighted to have a home-cooked meal, chocolate chip cookies straight out of the oven (and a fair amount of cookie dough) and some down time. No requests for TV or the DS until this morning, when Lu spent half an hour watching runway shows on Fashion TV. Not a bad start to our North Island tour. Tomorrow we head north and east, towards Hawkes Bay.

Greetings from Abel Tasman National Park, New Zealand!  This short post is about our last full day in the park, and the last day of this part of our family trip.  Tomorrow India and the kids meet our friend Ginny in Wellington, and I fly to Switzerland for a week on my own.

The main event of the day was a long hike (13 kilometers) from Bark Bay back to the Awaroa Lodge.  To our surprise, between the two days of hiking we covered nearly two thirds of the Abel Tasman track.

Like yesterday, we boarded a water taxi to take us to the start of the hike.  Unlike yesterday, we were actually down on the beach on time for the taxi: yesterday we were late, and they had raised the gangplank and turned around the boat when Zola ran screaming onto the beach, “Wait! Wait!”

The water taxi took us two stops south, to a beach landing called Bark Bay.  Once again, we found no signs or clear indication of how to find the track.  It is a do-it-yourself country.  After stumbling around for 10 minutes in a lagoon, we found what we hoped to be the trail, and headed north toward the lodge, with confidence.

We are approaching a big transition tomorrow, with me leaving the family to go off to Switzerland to go skiing.  When I get back to New Zealand, after a quick stop in Istanbul for a meeting, we will be very near the end of our planned trip together.  I start working in New York on April 20th.  Big changes are looming for our comfortable NeverNever Land of family travel.

For the last couple of days, all of us have been a little irritable and easily frustrated.  Tallulah has had two long periods of inconsolable crying for no apparent reason.  Usually this would indicate constipation, but this time we think it is reflective of our broader unsettled feelings and “what’s next?” apprehension.  

With foul moods, but remarkably fair weather, we set out for the 4-5 hour hike from Bark Bay to Awaroa.  As we walked, Tallulah on my shoulders, I realized that this last hike is a good metaphor for our entire time in Australia and New Zealand:

• India leading the way most of the time, confident and happy to be out in nature
• Lots of scenic beauty, and ridiculously few people
• A few sharp words between us, but many more laughs
• An incredible amount of Zola monologue about Pokemon and Star Wars
• In-depth discussion of a terminal illness -tuberculosis, in this case-, and the reasons that Zola is unlikely to contract it, despite his concerns

The biggest similarity between the hike and the Australia/NZ portion of the trip, maybe between the hike and the whole year of traveling: it was over before we knew it.  Shortly after Lu lost the batteries to her toy Japanese Barbie cell phone, we realized we were back at the lodge.  The 4-5 hour hike was over in just under 3 hours.

Tomorrow will be a complicated and sad day.  We have a charter water taxi picking us up on the beach at 8 am.  When we get back to Marahau at 8:45 (no seal watching or Split Apple commentary this time), we need to race back to Nelson for an 11 am flight to Wellington.  In Wellington, we meet our  dear friend Ginny, who will undoubtedly be more fun than I have been.  She and India and the kids drive into Wellington to a rented house.  

I get on a plane for Sydney, transfer to BA flight to Bangkok, where I transfer to a flight to London, where I transfer to a flight to Geneva.  In Geneva I take a bus to Chamonix, where the Haute Route adventure starts.  I think I am in transit for about 35 hours.

This time together has been fun.  As soon as I say goodbye, and board the plane for my lonely trip, I know I will miss my family a lot.  I’m glad we will have 10 days together in New Zealand when I get back, to bring some sense of closure to it all.

Greeting from Abel Tasman National Park in New Zealand!  We are at the northern end of the South Island. This short post is about our trip up here from Blenheim, and our first full day at the Awaroa Lodge.  Unfortunately, the internet connection is too slow to add pictures to the post.

Our initial plan had been to fly form Christchurch to Nelson, and then to take a charter plane across to the Awaroa Lodge.  We decided to drive, which is how we ended up in (slightly dreary) Blenheim on Monday night.

Thinking that we only had to drive up to Nelson, roughly 100 kilometers, we were a little slow in getting out of Blenheim on Tuesday morning.  As we drove, I called the water taxi company.  The conversation went something like:

Peter: “Hi, can you tell me where we go in Nelson to take the water taxi, and what times you have boats for Awaroa?”

AquaTaxi Lady: “Sir, we are not in Nelson.  We are in Marahau.”

P: “How far is that from Nelson?”

ATL: “About three hours.”

P: “That’s not good.  Well, we are actually in Blenheim, how far are you from here?”

ATL: “At least four hours, I would say.”

P: “That’s really not good.  Well, when do you have boats leaving for Awaroa?”

ATL: “Our last boat for the day leaves at 1:30 pm.”

P: “Well, it’s 10:30 now.  You are saying that we have to make a four-hour drive in under three hours, or we are stuck in someplace called Marahau for the night.”

ATL: “That’s right.  Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Bad planning on my part.  Fortunately, as we have realized, New Zealanders are very conservative in estimating driving times.  By putting a moratorium on pee breaks, and driving a little fast on the flat parts, we made it in just over two and a half hours.  When I met AquaTaxi Lady in person, I asked her about her estimate.  she said, “I assumed you would want to stop for a wee lunch break, traveling with kids and all.”  

Our AquaTaxi was a 30-foot motor launch, sitting on a trailer, attached to a farm tractor.  We loaded the luggage, put on life jackets, walked up the gangplank, and got a safety briefing from our Jimmy Bufett-lookalike captain, all sitting surreally on dry land in the parking lot.  The tractor driver towed us down the road, and out about 300 meters across the wet sand to the low-tide waterline. He backed us into the water, and away we went. 

Jimmy Buffett somehow stretched the 40-minute taxi ride up the coast into a 90-minute aquatic scenery event.  We saw the Split Apple Rock, and heard the Maori legend about how it got split.  We chased a huge sting ray around in shallow waters near Tonga Bay beach.  We crept up on seal pups playing in the cove of an off-shore island.   More fun than most taxi rides, I think.

Eventually, we got to the Awaroa.  The lodge is situated 300 meters back from the water, directly on the famous Abel Tasman track.  This track is iconic, sort of like a shortened New Zealand version of the Appalachian Trail.  There are loads of people hiking and kayaking from hut to hut, and a lot of the lodge’s business is in selling them drinks and good food as they pass.  There is no way to drive in or out of here.  Many parts of the track are only passable at low tide, so there is a good excuse to sit in the lodge’s beer garden for six hours of a pleasant afternoon, before heading on down the trail.

The Abel Tasman park is justifiably famous for being beautiful: clear blue waters, gentle deep-green hillsides, golden beaches.  For the first time in New Zealand, we have even had sunny weather.  One thing we are struggling with is complete lack of signs and maps.  New Zealand is a “do it yourself” country, for sure.

During the high-tide part of our first day, India and I each went out for a run.  I guess I did not pay close enough attention when she gave me a suggested route, because I got comically lost, and had a series of mildly unfortunate events.  Basically, she had told me to look for a short boardwalk through a marsh, and then a swinging bridge and a steep hill.  

I ran back and forth aimlessly around the lodge’s airstrip, looking for the path into the woods.   I found a small trail, that led up a steep hill (good sign), but strangely found myself in the front yard of a farmhouse.  A dog barked twice, then growled deeply, and started chasing me back down the steep hill.  As I turned to see whether I had lost him, I slipped on the muddy path, and did a complete face plant.  Fortunately, the dog had given up the chase.

Slightly bloody, and very muddy, I asked a farmer to direct me.  He seemed confused by my question (not reassuring), but pointed toward a trail across a flooded tidal creek.  Despite my best efforts to cross the creek on a slippery log, I ended up wet to the knees, and squished off into the woods.  I crossed a little footbridge (good sign), and then followed several false trails into the rain forest.  Eventually, I decided to stay on the main path and hope for the best.  This is when a bee stung me on the forearm.

Not my proudest moment, but I eventually made it onto the right trail, up behind the lodge.  As with all things in New Zealand, very beautiful.

At the low-tide part of the day, we took another AquaTaxi up the coast to Totaranui, planning to hike back.  We had a beautiful two-hour walk, mostly looking out over the water from the cliffs above.  Just before we got back to the lodge, we crossed a huge (nearly kilometer wide) tidal flat, which made it clear why that particular route is impassable at high tide.  Even with the low water, I ended up carrying Zola, Tallulah and India (individually) through deep water in a few places.  Again, getting there is half the fun.

Tomorrow we have another, longer hike planned.  The lodge’s kayaking guide “already buggered off for the season,” so that activity will have to wait for our next visit.