Travelogues
...headin' down the highway
lookin' for adventure...

March 3, 2000 - Friday Morning

Rocked gently by the motion of the ship throughout the night, we are rested this morning but are in need of coffee. (I am an incredible slug who needs at least four cups just to properly open my eyelids.) We post a note on the outside of our cabin door and within minutes, Jason, our steward, appears with a pot of coffee and two freshly baked pastries with large dots of cherry goo in the middle of each one. As I pour another cup of coffee and begin to move about, the Captain announces over the intercom that we are in anchorage position in the Bay of Islands and by 7:30 a.m. tenders will be prepared to transfer passengers ashore.

One of our tour books says the Bay of Islands is one of the most spectacular areas in New Zealand's Northland regions and refers to it as "land of 1,000 beaches." With almost 150 islands dotting its harbor, the bay is aptly named. Captain Cook first landed in the Bay of Islands on his 1769 voyage. English missionaries followed, although our book says that they found few willing converts among the Maoris. It is here that, in 1840 the Maori chiefs formerly turned over sovereignty to Britain in a much-disputed document known as the Treaty of Waitangi. After my haunting introduction to the tattooed faces of the Maori chiefs in the Auckland Art Gallery, I am resolved to learn more about them.

The Bay of Islands is also known for it's marine life and I am most interested in seeing dolphins. I grew up with Flipper but met my first live dolphin at a naval research facility in the early 70's; and, was horrified when I learned how they were used to carry bombs. I have also seen these beautiful mammals with their funny sonar sounds and sweet, friendly faces used as trained performers in a small tank in Las Vegas and at the Sea Life Parks in Hawaii and San Diego. This time I want to see them in the wild and on their own terms.

I also had a thing for sea lions at one time but it was satiated on our trip to the Northwest coastline (see Delicious Days & Magical Moons). But that's another story. Today I hear the dolphins calling and can't wait. There is a tour listed in our travel materials that describes a day of swimming with the dolphins. One more cup of coffee and I will be ready. By the time the last cup of coffee is poured, Joe calls and we decide to meet Joe and Connie for breakfast and get a game plan for the day.

The weather is cool and crisp but not cold. We sit on the deck around a table drinking more coffee and fresh orange juice and take in the incredible view of the islands. We also can't take our eyes away from the huge breakfast buffet. In the middle of two long buffet lines laden with every conceivable thing one might possibly want for breakfast, are long rectangular tables, skirted with white starched linens and covered with even more food. Colorful flags are gently popping with the morning ocean breeze, while fresh flowers, butter sculptures, watermelon baskets overflowing with fresh fruit, and mammoth baskets of freshly baked bread are carefully arranged and replenished. Lively Italian music floods the deck and the waiters are walking about briskly smiling and sing-songing, "Gooda morning, Sir... Gooda Morning Madam."

It's all too much to resist and before we realize it we return to our table with plates of food the size and shape of Indian burial mounds. Among the four of us, we have pancakes, lox and bagels, smoked herring, eggs (from scrambled to fancy omelets), bacon, ham, roast beef, various kinds and colors of cheese, fresh rolls, croissants, banana nut bread, gooey chocolate donuts, and cherry and cheese blintzes. To ward off scurvy, we also pile on giant chunks of grapefruit, watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew melons, strawberries and pineapple. And to ensure a balanced breakfast, there is plenty of milk for the cold cereal, which is topped with raisins, nuts, and banana slices.

We are unable to plan a full day (we obviously spent more time eating than talking). I still want to spend time with the dolphins but know now that after that breakfast I had best give up the idea of swimming with them. Roger, Joe, and Connie are not particularly excited about a dolphin encounter and we try to find something we all want to do. Finally, we agree to spend the morning exploring Russell, a former whaling port and now a small, quaint fishing village.

We board the tender and land. Then we take another ferry to Russell. We don't understand the route but laugh anyway as we pass back by the Sky Princess to get to Russell.

On the way to Russell in the ferry, I pick up a pamphlet advertising an afternoon cruise looking for dolphins. I stare at the ad and then at Roger and again at the ad and then at Roger. Just seconds before my eyes go glassy with genuine tears, Roger smiles and says, "After we see Russell, let's go see if we can find your dolphins."

The original Maori name for Russell was Kororareka. Legend says that a chief, wounded in battle, asked for penguin soup and after drinking some of the broth, murmured: 'Ka reka te korora,' translated in English as "How sweet is the penguin."

Kororareka developed into Russell as European explorers and then whalers used it as a reprovisioning port. By the early 1800's it was a notorious whaling port with a mixture of deserting seamen, runaway convicts, and grog sellers. The township gained a reputation as a lawless and bawdy port known as the "hellhole of the Pacific.

As Russell grew and attracted settlers and traders, an only slightly more respectable element formed a vigilante association, which meted out rough and ready justice until the British Government was firmly established in 1840. Today the population of around 1,000 is involved in fishing, oyster farming, small cottage industries, and tourism. Although, the small cobbled streets and beautiful old buildings retain much of the past and look as if they belong more to the 19th century rather than the 21st.

Connie and I find our way into several old antique shops and the boys generously follow along. Connie finds a beautiful set of cups and saucers for a bargain price and is thrilled. We lead the boys into the Russell Museum, an old house containing whaling artifacts, a model of Captain Cook's ship the Endeavor, relics of life from the early 1800's, and replicas of period clothing.

I read several of the old documents and personal letters of the early settlers. I am especially interested in the Rules for Teachers, dated 1915. Michelle and Randee, our two daughters who are teachers, should enjoy this one.

1. You will not marry during the term of your contract

2. You are not to keep company with men

3. You must be home between the hours of 8 p.m. and 6 a.m. unless attending a school function

4. You may not loiter downtown in ice cream parlours

5. You may not travel beyond the city limits without the permission of the Chairman of the Board

6. You may not ride in a carriage or automobile with any man unless he is your Father or your Brother

7. You may not smoke cigarettes

8. You may not dress in bright colours

9. You may, under no circumstances, dye your hair

10. You must wear at least two petticoats, and your dresses must not be any shorter than 2 inches above the ankles

11. To keep the school room clean you must:

a. sweep the floor at least once daily

b. scrub the floor with hot soapy water at least once a week

c. clean the blackboard at least once a day

d. start the fire at 7 a.m. so that the room will be warm by 8 a. m

After leaving the museum, we begin to walk back towards a pub we had spotted earlier. However, we loose Roger along the way. Joe, Connie, and I look for him up and down the streets and even in the pub. Getting tired, Joe and Connie head on down the street to find a place to sit down while I continue to look for Roger. I am beginning to fret. (Has he been hit over the head and shanghaied by one of Bradlee's modern day brigands?)

Finally, I spot him on a side street behind an old building with his camera deep within a large flowering bush. Rogers muse has taken over and he is in another world photographing beautiful flowers, seeing things only an artist can see.

We catch up with Joe and Connie at the Duke of Marlborough Hotel and Restaurant, the oldest licensed hotel in New Zealand.

The four of us look through the polished old hotel and the lovely period furniture in the dining area. I pick up a menu on the patio and scan it for green lipped mussels. I'm not really hungry. (In fact, after that breakfast this morning, I swore I would never eat another bite of food for the rest of my life). I'm searching the menu for Roger and Joe. . After our brief trip to Devonport the first day Joe and Connie arrived, the boys have been on a mission to find these particular mussels. I agree that they are the best I have ever had.

Joe teases a darling young waitress mercilessly for New Zealand's special green lipped mussels. In desperation, she asks her boss where she can direct us and giving Joe a charmed smile, points us to The Gables, New Zealand's oldest restaurant which is just a short walk down the street.

Gables Restaurant is housed in a lovingly preserved old building. The food is elegantly served and delicious. I am again reminded that even though this is a small, sparsely populated country, the Kiwis know and love fine food. Although I have not forgotten my vow from this morning, I eat every last crumb on my plate. (Sir Edmund Hillary would have understood).

Across the street is one of the prettiest and most peaceful beaches I have ever seen. As we walk on the beach looking out at the bay, Roger and I play with the idea of renting an apartment and staying or returning here in the fall and staying for a month or more. We are enchanted with this island.

We walk along the beach and Roger finds a few pieces of beach glass. One would think he struck gold by the pleasure it gives him. Roger has spent a life time combing beaches for beach glass washed in with the waves and worn down to smooth soft colors of blue, green, pink and amber. I have his collection at home scented with perfumed oils and in a clear crystal bowl for display. I remind him that specialty shops now sell beach glass by the ounce. Happy about his latest treasure, we walk in sync with crossed arms around each others back and slowly amble further down the beach. Enjoying the sun, the curve of the beautiful bay, and glancing down at the sand every now and then for what might be another piece of beach glass, we are in a dreamy, peaceful state of mind. We could stay here forever, However, it's early afternoon and far beyond the bay, I hear the dolphins calling and Roger says he hears them too. How much do I love this man? Let me count the waves.