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

Wednesday, March 1, 2000

Leone Dunne had mentioned the Auckland Art Gallery as one of Auckland's best-kept secrets and Roger and I plan a full day starting with the gallery. Afterwards we will have lunch with Joe and Connie and their Kiwi friends (the Nobles). This evening we will share our Kiwi friends with Joe and Connie and take the ferry across the bay for dinner with the Dunnes. It can't get any better than this--new friends and food.

However, my first order of the day is to call Bradlee, my oldest daughter and check on our 14-month-old grandson, Sawyer (otherwise known as Sawman). I am also anxious to make sure my email (special letter for youngest daughter, Randee, a.k.a. Rags) from yesterday was received. Since the letter is supposed to be a surprise for Rags and Bradlee is organizing the retreat, I sent it to Brad's computer. But, before I even asked, Brad said that the Randee's retreat was at the end of March-not February. All that mother guilt for naught.

It is great to hear Brad's voice but I am a disappointed that little Sawman is taking a nap and I don't have the chance to hear his sweet voice say, Mimi, Mimi. Brad, however, is in great form and when she hears that we will be spending the better part of the day with some New Zealanders, she informs me she just watched an interview with Hiraldo on Oprah where he was warning people about modern day pirates off the coast of New Zealand who were attacking tourists. "You better make sure who these folks really are," Bradlee giggled". I smile as I put down the phone, knowing that there is a slight edge to her voice and she is just a little concerned that Roger and I are "foot loose and fancy free" half way around the world.

I skip breakfast but can't pass up a banana at a nearby stand outside the hotel. I marvel at how beautiful all the fruit looks and think to myself, "Are they really this beautiful or is it that I'm eying them from a different perspective". This is certainly a far cry from the produce aisle of Winn Dixie.

Roger and I make plans to meet with Joe and Connie back at the hotel around noon and begin our walk to the gallery. I take only my journal and a small change purse while Roger carries three cameras everywhere we go. The Sony digital still camera is on a shoulder strap with one hand cradling it and the 35mm Nikon and Sony Camcorder are packed in his back pack along with high-tech attachments to high-tech to name or count. I try to encourage him to leave at least one camera behind but ever since Roger failed to get the perfect shot of the waving bear in Lisbon, Portugal several years ago, he takes all his walks heavily "armed." I think of him as my full-loaded photo fellow.

The Auckland Art Gallery is impressive both inside and out

We are overwhelmed with the extent and balance of the collection from the renaissance masters to the modern art of the early 20th Century and several rooms devoted to interactive contemporary art. Roger is forbidden to bring his backpack in and is told by two of the docents that no photos are allowed. However, I egg him on to get a picture of the one of the rooms filled with swinging sticks. I serve as his lookout as he shoots this picture holding the camera to the side of his hip and trying his best to look about the room nonchalantly.

The gallery also houses a very moving collection of portraits of the Maoris (pronounced mau-rees). The Aotearoan civilization covered New Zealand and it's small island extensions from 900 b.c. until the arrival of Western "civilization" by Captain Cook in 1769. Aotearoa is the Maori word for "Land of the Long White Cloud." Our guidebook says that visitors have been known to "find an heaven-like peace while visiting this fair land." I recall that we will be sailing to the Bay of Islands, which is at the top of the list of friends who have visited here, and that the islands are home to many of the indigenous people. I hope we will have the chance to get to meet or at least learn more about the Maoris. Of the 3 million people in New Zealand, 1/8 are Maoris.

I am drawn to the regal portraits of proud island-aged chiefs, many of them painted in the mid 19th Century. Their faces are covered with deep blue and sometimes dark henna, circular tattoos, the same gently curving lines but each uniquely different, and incredibly beautiful.

I stand still with my back turned and quietly eavesdrop on a group of guests, all in suits and very professorial looking. One gentleman, obviously with the gallery and/or an expert on the culture, talks about showing this collection to a group of Maori dignitaries. He stated that there was a feeling of reverence and great sadness among the group. Many of the older Maoris were able to identify several of their ancestors from the tattoos and stories passed down from generation to generation.

After they move on, I study the portraits more carefully, drawn again to the strange ethereal tattooed faces. I had heard the gentleman say that early tattoos were first chiseled into the skin with a sharp bone and then the dye was painted into the grooves. Looking closer I can see the indentations in some of the faces. Held captive by the faces, I cringe at the pain they must have endured. Realizing the need for a more pedestrian mind-set, I usher Roger out to peruse the Auckland Art Gallery gift shop.

There is nothing for the grand babies and getting near noon our stomachs tell our feet to get going. We take the sides streets off of Queens Street to walk back to the hotel. I am again amazed at the lush green parks and open spaces in the middle of the city

We also see another Texas store, which pairs Texas and Paris. Surely, they don't mean Paris, Texas.

By the time we wind our way to the hotel, Joe and Connie are waiting for us in the lobby. We are happy to see them and also just as happy knowing that their Kiwi friend, Bill Noble is here with his car and ready to take us to Auckland's revolving restaurant.

Bill has called ahead for reservations and we are taken past the long line of tourists and personally escorted to the special elevator for the restaurant. During our elevator "flight" our fellow passengers are four attractive young women who are a little nervous with the rapid assent. Joe asks if he can put his head on the closest one's shoulder pretending he, too, is afraid of the ride up to the top. Joe reminds me so much of my grand daddy who was also a total charmer who never, ever passed up the chance to flirt with a cute young woman using the "old man status" to the hilt.

Pat, Bill's wife is waiting for us in the restaurant at one of the best seats next to the windows, which curves 360 degrees around the restaurant. Pat is a petite woman with a warm smile and a relaxed informal matter. They have visited the U.S. and Connie and Joe got to know them in the States. They, like all the Kiwis we've met, have no pretense to them and are genuinely warm, friendly people. Pat, it turns out, is also full of the devil and is a great storyteller. We all have great laughs at her stories and her hilarious use of New Zealand colloquial speech. In telling one story she ended by saying, "the fellow was so amazed he could only say, "Well, slap my legs (leagues) 'till they bleed"." We have fun comparing accents and Pat gently warns us that Kiwis pronounce six as sex. I suppress a giggle thinking about how Roger might react the next time I lovingly press my nose to a glass pastry case, look up, and anxiously say to the clerk " I'll have sex, please."

The Nobles keep the champagne flowing and I feel as if I am in a virtual postcard which changes scenery each time I focus my attention from the conversation to the window.

The restaurant is very upscale and we all have a difficult time deciding what to order-very, very elegant menu. I decide on seafood salad and am taken aback at how beautifully the food is presented. It's as good as it looks and I devour my lunch except for the purple-red, tiny baby squid. I discreetly move the little "babies" under my artfully stacked arugula. I love squid but like okra, prefer it unrecognizably battered and fried. Also, the sensation of having the small tentacle curl up over my lip when I try to eat the first one is ­ well, different.

Everyone's lunch is delicious and of course the company is perfect.

Bill, Linda and Pat...Connie, Joe and Pat

We learn during the meal that Bill Noble makes custom furniture and Pat helps him with the business. Also, I get the clear impression that Pat is a wonderful hostess who enjoys people and having company. I regret that we are boarding the ship tomorrow and will not have time to see his work and visit their home. We try to pay our share of the bill, but Bill is adamant about paying it. I am again, bowled over by the kindness and generosity of the New Zealanders.

We make our way to the first floor where I had spied a small gift shop with baby things. I look for the perfect T-shirt for Sawman and the rest take in the foyer with the tall gold totem.

We say our good-byes at our hotel and I am again regretful that we had so little time to visit with the Nobles.

We go to our rooms for a brief rest before heading to the ferry for the ride to Half Moon Bay and the Dunne's. We wait just a few minutes at the yacht club adjacent to the ferry landing before Leone rushes in with apologies for being late. She is frantic because she had lost her keys and had to borrow a friend's car just to get here. Leone reminds me so much of myself and I find instant pleasure in her company. I also know that if we lived nearby one another and had the opportunity to become friends, we would get into some real trouble.

The short drive to their home, winding our way along the water, is very pretty and it is evident that this is a particularly affluent neighborhood. As we enter their home, the four of us immediately take in the scenic view of the bay from their living room and adjoining veranda. Their home, only a few years old, is set over a cliff and is absolutely beautiful.

While Leone tells us she is preparing a simple dinner-no fuss, Joe admires the huge old grandfather clock. Leone entertains us with a story about purchasing this special present for her husband, Robbie for their anniversary. All the while she is chopping veggies, slicing fresh bread, and pulling the most beautiful lambs chops I've ever seen from the fridge. I think, if this is her simple dinner, I'm definitely returning to New Zealand-if only to wangle an invitation for another meal.

Robbie arrives shortly. His hair is a bit tousled and he is red-brown from the sun. He has quite obviously spent the day on the course of the Americas Cup race. Robbie is jazzed that the Kiwis have won again and tomorrow, if the winds are right and they race, the Kiwis will most likely retain the Cup.

The "simple dinner" has the best, best lamb I have ever eaten. Everything is delicious. And the wine, what can I say except that I have one glass too many but I would do it all over again. It was wonderful. However, the best part is an unqualified "fall down and kick" dessert, Pavlova (named for the Russian Prima Ballerina). It is as luxuriously decadent as anything served at Czar Nicholas's table. The elegantly massive meringue cake is topped off with fresh strawberries and blueberries, slices of green melon and kiwi fruit, and fresh cream. I've died and gone to heaven and will not let another moment pass without making Leone give me the recipe which I immediately copy in my journal.

The Dunnes share with us their travel stories, pointing out and listing all the things we should do and see as we begin our sail around the country tomorrow. We thank Leone and Robbie and say our good-byes knowing that everyone has a full day tomorrow-the Dunnes with the probability of the Kiwis winning the Americas Cup race and the four Levesque's boarding the Sky Princess (also known as the original "Love Boat"-honest.)