The Far Side of the World, Pt 7

April 1975, and Tony Reavley's still living it up in Auckland. He's got further travels ahead, but for the time being, it's all about running, drinking and Maori barbecues.

06-04-75

Auckland, New Zealand

We're now in autumn, with April being the equivalent of September back home. It's still warm, sunny and pleasant but not quite so hot in the day and the temperature dropping each night to around 60 degrees. The tranquillity was rudely interrupted, however, when the remnants of Cyclone Alison arrived. These tropical cyclones originate in the South Seas to the north of NZ. They create havoc in places like Fiji and New Caledonia, causing a considerable amount of damage. When they reach us they are largely blown out but the winds are still strong enough to make things unpleasant. We had 60mph winds, and for several days our mobile mowing gang had to temporarily abandon the ear-splitting Gravely mowers and drive round the parks in the lorry picking up all the broken trees and branches. Running in it was a joke. I attempted to do my usual fast five and a half mile run over the four circuits round Western Springs Park. I timed myself at 31 minutes 8 seconds and reckoned that the wind was costing me 25 seconds a mile! The wind was accompanied by stinging, horizontal sheets of rain and for the first and only time since December 1st last year I had to wear a singlet! (The weather is normally so mild I run stripped to the waist - as do most people here - and this is even possible in the early morning on my 6 o'clock runs.)

The next day I ran my usual 15 miles along the flat coastal road which follows the edge of the large harbour. No rain, but the wind was as strong as ever, blowing off the sea and hitting me sideways on. It was quite a fight to stay on the footpath and avoid being blown into the road, let alone run! With the wind coming from the left, I found my left leg kept hitting my right leg, and vice-versa when I turned round after seven and a half miles!

Over the Easter weekend Barrie and I hitched 90 miles to the Coromandel Peninsula east of Auckland. We were fortunate to get a lift from a friendly New Zealander, Dave, who took us to his brother's house in the heart of the country eight miles short of the small town of Coromandel. Bill and his wide lived in a small bungalow on the top of a hill with superb views. In the morning we'd see the sun rise over the hills behind the house and in the evening we were rewarded with some beautiful sunsets over the sea. Bill had a spare room which was fortunate as Barrie and I had intended camping and the first night the temperature really dropped - I don't think we'd have slept much.

It was quite an eye-opener spending three days and nights with a wild NZ cockie (farmer). Bill kept sheep and cows and drove the tanker six days a week on the "cream round" getting up at 4.30 each morning. On Good Friday when we arrived, Bill was away at a funeral. His wife, Marie, cooked us a meal and we had more than a few beers to follow. New Zealanders are prolific drinkers, and Bill & Dave were no exception. Bill finally staggered in at 11:30 that night boasting he'd had 24 bottles of Lion Red at the funeral! As each bottle contains one and a quarter pints he was pretty paralytic as you can imagine! We eventually got to bed around 1am; managed to get in a two and a half hour run at 6am and then we helped Bill with some "cow-drenching". Had to catch the cows, put them in a corral and then coax them into a small box. One of us would hold the cow's head up while Bill fired the medicine down the animal's throat. The gate of the box was then slid open and Bill, who stood on no ceremony with the cows, gave the occupant a hefty kick in the stomach to help it on its way. Spent the rest of the day recovering from the previous night down by the river.

Saturday night it was off to the pub, which thankfully closed at 10. The pubs here are open all day and some characters we met had been in there 12 hours, steadily drinking! On Sunday Bill went off to his Buffalo Club. This is something like the British Freemasons; and in Bill's case, at least, just another excuse for a day's drinking. Our last day, Easter Monday, proved interesting. A Maori farmer a mile down the road was holding a "hungi" (Maori word for barbecue). A pit is dug, over which platforms of logs are lit. Stones are placed on the wood and they gradually grow hotter until they eventually fall into the ashes. These stones are then shovelled into a second pit and water is poured on them. This creates clouds of steam and the food is placed in shallow metal crates to cook. The crates are wrapped in a wet cloth, several wet sacks are placed on top, more water is poured on the stones, and then the whole lot is covered with shovelfuls of earth. Care is taken to ensure no steam escapes, and in about two and a half hours the food is cooked by the steam. The hungi is then "lifted" and everyone tucks in. A sheep was slaughtered for the occasion and eaten with pumpkin, potatoes, kumara (a sort of sweet potato), turnip tops (delicious, like spinach), and the whole lot was washed down with you-know-what. The Maoris were very friendly and hospitable and I've never eaten so much lamb in one sitting. They kept pressing more food on us which we didn't dare refuse!

An extremely hectic, but exciting and unusual weekend.

Best wishes

Tony