Swimming, Saturn and SKIING!

Thursday evening brainwave - let's go swimming! For only £3 the 33m (!) Freyberg pool hosted some olympic-inspired efforts by me and Dora. A soft shell-crab burger later, we wandered home only to be waylaid by some astronomers who showed us Saturn. Its rings could clearly be seen and looked amazing - the "glamour puss" of the planets said one astronomer.

Kapiti Island in the evening light on our drive north

Skis fit in the car!

The end of the week saw us head up the North Island to Mt. Ruapehu, home to some kiwi ski fields that we were desperate to try given the weather looked set to be fine. Dora's aunt Trish and uncle Andrew kindly hosted us for dinner on our way to an Airbnb near the mountain (note the singular - very different from the Alps). We crept in well after bedtime. 

Mt Ngauruhoe on the way to Whakapapa

Next morning we grabbed ski hire early and shot up the mountain in our golden bullet (car). We hit the slopes with gusto, having been denied the opportunity to ski several weekends ago because of bad weather. This weekend, however, more than made up for it - the sky was (mostly) blue, the slopes were well groomed (and not too busy outside the learner-thoroughfares) and the lunchtime nachos were cheaper than the usual cold french fries we'd come to expect when on the slopes.

Far West T-bar, Whakapapa

We skied Whakapapa ski field on the first day and Turoa on the second. The Saturday-night filling of our ski-weekend-sandwich was made up of a sunset dip in the jacuzzi at our Airbnb and an enormous meal in Ohakune, the main town in the area. 

The Pinnacles, Whakapapa - lunchtime view

Skiing itself brought no major dramas. We did a several jumps, some of them intentional. We traversed off piste, found it to be very icy, and traversed back on piste. I played around with my GoPro. Much time was spent enjoying the view, which on Saturday consisted of Mt Ngauruhoe (Mt Doom) and the Pinnacles of Ruapehu, and on Sunday Mt Taranaki and the distant snow-capped Ruahines. 

Spot Mt Taranaki poking above the clouds, Turoa

On Sunday we imposed ourselves on Dora's aunt and uncle again to tell them all about our adventures and help them eat some blue cod caught by a friend only the previous day! We arrived back in Wellington well fed, sunburnt and exhausted.

Next week: a walk with lots of steps (weather allowing). And the editors' cut of the ski video.

Mt Ngauruhoe disappearing into the clouds

In the media, at the ballet, on a Plate

An addendum to last week’s blog: we’d like to do a shout out to the Westpac Stadium music editor, who put on “Let it go” from Frozen when a fight almost broke out following a penalisation for “not releasing the ball”, and “Weather with You” when the ice rain and gales set in.

Let us know if you'd like the legible article

This week the much-anticipated Kiwi Trail Runner article came out: my ‘doing the media’ for a trail running event at one of Meridian’s wind farms (that you’ll remember back in this blog) turned into Roger and I being featured. Possibly because the photographer Angelo took The Nicest Photo of Us Ever.

Following a session with Bieber on coping with fame we were able to venture out on Friday night to a low key Japanese restaurant then to Giselle by the NZ National Ballet. A heart-twisting balance of comic and tragic, the performance told the classic story beautifully with strong leads and excellently threatening Wilis (the corps as nymph-ghosts who make unfaithful men dance to their death). It even rivalled the performance of Giselle we saw a few years ago at the Royal Opera House. Being able to see the whole stage was an advantage.

On Saturday we hosted friends Tim and Sophie for brunch and delayed Olympics coverage on Prime (TV channel), watching NZer Valerie Adams lead in the shot put final. I had a satisfying Olympathon including briefly being able to watch BBC video, while Roger slid around in standing water at Newtown Park (our club football ground). 

Beervana!

Saturday evening meant 'Wellington on a Plate' festival Beervana: a craft beer taste-athon at Westpac stadium where you walk round the concourse trying beers from local, national and some international breweries. We started civilised, trying to compare similar beers from different breweries. But then the lure of chilli stout, sourbet fruit beer, wild fermented cider, two tap mochachocca chino* et al became too much. We started playing 'guess the beer I got' with our co-beer-connoisseurs Richard and Lucy. Roger powered a band's sign on a bike. We ate currywurst and those amazing chips with pulled pork on top.

What a bright sign

The next day I felt less than Olympic-standard ready for my football match. But it was another gloriously sunny Sunday. We needed to win all three remaining games to win the league, preferably picking up as much goal difference as poss along the way. 4-0 made a good start, with the fourth goal directly assisted by none other than this blog's editor. Roger had his turn on the sofa with the Olympics.

Chocolate...turds?

Late in the afternoon we trotted off to our second Wellington on a Plate event, the Chocolate Festival at Te Papa. The 'live demonstration' rooms were disappointingly crowded, but we did enjoy the proximity of the coffee tasting to the chocolate fountain: "Please do NOT fill your coffee cups at the fountain! DO NOT fill them! STOP!" The NZ Chocolatiers room was excellent for tasters, however, so we unabashedly went round every stall, bought some gifts and some pinot noir truffles for ourselves, did a little media interview soundbite (refer to above paragraph re fame), ate some ice cream and waddled back home. 

From my desk I can see the snow-capped Tararuas beyond the shipping container wharf and Bluebridge ferry (pic below). Next week we should have some more snow for you as the weather looks good on Ruapehu for the weekend: we might finally make some tracks in the pow (go skiing).

The Tararuas beyond the Meridian building shutter

*I didn't make that up - Garage Project did.

Winter has come

Dora's football the week before last.
Note the clement weather.

It is very cold. Lured into a false sense of security by a sun-filled summer and extended autumn, Dora and I are now cursing whoever nonchalantly deposited our windows loosely into their frames, as we sit beneath blankets with only kiwi fruit crumble and entertaining podcasts to keep us warm.

Walking into WestPac. Note the hoods.

We’ve spent as much time as possible out and about the past few weeks to avoid our cold flat. Highlights include meeting up with some newlywed friends (Hugh and Jessica) on their honeymoon and attending the semi-final and final of the Super Rugby Championships at the Westpac stadium. The lattermost event was a particularly chilly affair, with the heart-warming win by the Wellington Hurricanes (after several near-misses in recent years) failing to improve circulation to our fingers.

Even staunch Wellingtonians seems to be affected by this cold snap - I had a football match shortened when the opposition lost the will to go on at 3-1 down and with horizontal sleet making it difficult to breathe.

In other news, Dora has added yoga and more singing to her hobby list, we saw the latest Star Trek ("meh") and we have set in stone plans to spend Christmas here, where we'll be joined by several friends and this thing called a "sun", which at present seems like a distant memory.  

Action shot of semi-final. Spot the ball in mid-air. Hurricanes in yellow and black.

Next week: We eat and drink our way through the “Wellington on a plate” food festival.

Guest blog: The Meeting of the Mountains, Northern Pakistan

Dora here. I'm excited to present, as our first ever guest blog, an exclusive on Mum and Dad's trip to the north of Pakistan. 

Written independently of each other, these two complementary accounts work beautifully side-by-side.

Mum's account

Dad's account

Nanga Parbat, the Himalayas, from the plane We sat on the right flying north from Islamabad to Skardu and thus did see Nanga Parbat, a massive mountain in the Himalayas. We also flew only a few feet above the mountains of the Karakoram Range. We were being introduced to the grandeur that was to come. In Shigar Valley, an hour's drive over sand beside the Indus River, from Skardu, we stayed in the old timber and stone fort, now a hotel. It is built on rock, under a steep mountain upon which are the ruins of the even older fort. Our guide, Atta, accompanied us to visit three fine, small wooden and clay mosques. They and the fort have been restored by the Agha Khan's Trust. We drove to see the hydro electric power houses and the dam on the Saltpara Lake and clambered up the rock path to the Karpochu Fort above Skardu. When we marvelled at the view, Atta hinted that the truly wonderful sights were still to come. The Indus River through the Rondu gorge The route from Skardu to Hunza follows the brown snow melt waters of the Indus River as it flows furiously through the narrow Rondu gorge. The 170 km mile long, one way road, cuts through steep bed rock or perches on lose scree as it winds its way above the river. Our driver, Mr Baig, steered quickly to the side when we met a painted truck, a bus or family car. Peering down, down to the rushing water I braced myself each time we had to wait very close to the cliff edge to let a vehicle pass. At one point soldiers packed tightly in five open trucks, their knees under their chins, peered through the wooden slats as they raced by. The next morning we stood outside our hotel room in Karimabad and watched Rakaposhi in the dawn. It is the tallest mountain on earth, from base to peak; it rises 5,800 metres in a horizontal distance of only 11.5 km from the Hunza River. At breakfast we talked with a young family from Karachi and wondered what a group of Chinese men were working on on their laptops. Karimabad. Spot the green of high high meadows where the young boys take the sheep or goats. Glacial melt water pours down the mountains in the spring and summer months. For centuries the people in Baltistan have built walls and channels with rounded river stones so their maize and wheat are watered and their small reservoirs are filled. No water runs in winter. As we walked on the sandy paths beside them Atta dipped a cup into the rushing channels and we drank, savouring its pure coolness. Later, we sat in Atta's home eating spicy samosas cooked by his graceful wife, and deep red, juicy cherries picked by his middle son. Atta told us that his uncle, pictured in a fading photo on the stand, fought with the British Indian army in Burma. His father, he said, was a shepherd but he added that the fittest, most able mountaineers, come from the Saltpara valley. They take their goats up the rocky mountain side to the high meadows in the morning, race down to the village for school and climb up again in the evenings to bring the goats down. One of the greatest road engineering feats, as fault activity, ice melt and precipitation cause continuous erosion, and one of the  highest paved roads in the world, the Karakoram Highway links Pakistan with China through the Khunjerab Pass. A work force of 15,000 Pakistani soldiers and a varying number of Chinese constructed separate parts between 1966 and 1979. From Karimabad we drove north to the village of Passu and backtracked south to the town of Gilgit. Jagged mountains of bedrock towered above us, scree slopes of loose rock and gravel fanned out on to the river plain. The river cuts through the crumbling rock and threads its way across flats of sand and gravel. Huge boulders sit waiting for the next deluge to move them on. Several times fresh rock falls blocked one side of the road. Villages nestle in patches of green where rushing tributaries join. Atta pointed to the toe of the Batura Glacier and talked of a five day trek beside it. We stayed in Gilgit, an army town. The words "We enforce discipline," were displayed on the gate of one regimental headquarters. A short drive out of town there is a broken road leading into a valley. We met two exhuberant young mountain bikers from Islamabad. They explained they were being sponsored by the U.S. Embassy to visit youths in remote areas and tell them how to achieve their chosen careers. High above the road there is a buddha, carved on the rock face. He is standing in walking pose; with his left arm raised he seemed to be wishing all of us travellers well. The next morning, we made our third attempt at the airport to get seats on a flight and were the last two on. Through the mountains we flew again, back to Islamabad.

There is a small, marble Obelisk in northern Pakistan. It is the point where the Himalayas, the Hindu Kush and the Karokorams meet. A breathtaking place. It is on the Karokoram Highway, some miles south of Gilgit. How do you reach that Obelisk? Fly from Islamabad to Skardu. This flight is not for the fainthearted. We didn’t mind one wing of the plane all but scraping the mountains as we descended; both wings was exhilaratng. On landing the air is crystal clear, the sky higher and paler blue. The nose of the aeroplane inhaled the air with pride, surrounded by towering, snow topped peaks. Try a night or two in Shigar Fort Hotel, now a UNESCO site, the rooms restored to their original of centuries ago – except for the discrete electricity and shower and hot water. Softies! Walk the dusty narrow streets and leap clear of the ancient, hopelessly over laden Toyotas speeding to remote villages, or taking climbers to K2. Do you know why it is called K2? Painted truck in the Rondu Gorge with the Indus below Old mosques, polo grounds, schools struggle to reconcile the twenty first century with modern Shigar. Two days later we set off early. The Rondu Gorge is spectacular – all eight hours of it. The road clings by its finger nails to the unstable cliffs and laughs at the roaring Indus below. Occasionally in a morass of tumbling rocks, parts have simply elected to join the river. As the evening pastel shades gathered we passed a Shia self-flagellation site and reached the Highway and the Obelisk. Painted trucks on the Kakoram Highway Head north up the Karokoram Highway. What a piece of engineering! Full details on request. Next time study geology, engineering, and anthropology. Anthropology? Spend a few nights in Karimabad. Through the valleys north of the Obelisk flow the currents of cultures, peoples, religions, conquests. And, of course, forts to go with them – Baltit and Altit – perched atop rocky pinnacles, surveying the valleys, watching for invaders. Then further north, up the impossible Highway, near to the point where Pakistan meets China. Spot the Buddha carved high in the rock Rug making, rock Buddhas and an old British cemetery preceded the flight from Gilgit. We rose up through the valleys, over the mountains, dotted with tiny villages, and back to the steamy heat of Islamabad. Goats in the Saltpara Valley