Back safely in Raumati-by-the-Sea after the trip to Hamilton for the Wales v. Samoa game. What a match that was! Hamilton hosted the match brilliantly (suck that Jaffas) and a wonderful alcoholic time was had by all.
I set off on Friday morning in the faithful silver Toyota and headed north. First stop for coffee was the vibrant metropolis of Taihape, the self-styled Gumboot Capital of the World. I kid you not readers - here is the proof;-
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| Taihape taking itself very seriously |
Taihape was en fete (or the Maori equivalent thereof), much bunting and generally well up for the RWC. Different shops in the town, using the word loosely, were decorated with the favours of different sides, so naturally I had to take a shot of the Welsh emporium.
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| Home from home |
I arrived in Turangi at lunchtime, the intention being to play a round of flog on the local course. This however being NZ in the spring and Turangi being high on the Central Plateau and near the ski-fields, the weather took a turn for the worse and the lady in the Pro-shop advised against playing in case I died of exposure. Plan B involved checking into my motel, Creel Lodge, which was superb and great value at $110 for the night. I would really recommend it to anyone passing up towards Taupo. The grounds were beautiful with spring blossom, and the property had direct access onto the Turangi river which is a top venue for trout fishing. And yes, Turangi is The Trout Fishing Capital of the World, although one or two places in Scotland might dispute that.
Interlude of semi-arty shots of Creel Lodge;-
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| One's unit |
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| Tree type thingy (+ faithful steed) |
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| Another tree - you get the picture? |
Golf being off limits I then drove 5 km up the road to The Tokaanu Hot Springs where I had a private pool (all on my own unfortunately) for the princely sum of $10. Although private, the pool was open to the elements above and at one stage it became quite painful as I sat, bollock naked, in the steaming bath with hailstones bouncing off my bald head, but hey, we Welsh boys can take it, oh yes.
There was a (free) walk through a thermally active swamp outside the pools. This was fascinating; not as pongy as Rotorua, but well worth a deco. I spotted this mud spout dooh-dah (or is it a clip of a Welsh three-quarter's rear end as he anticipates tackling Tuilanga The Elder?
Back then to Creel Lodge, but thought I aught to include this photograph of the traffic chaos which is downtown Turangi.
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| Note snow on the mountains! |
A chat with the Lodge people soon identified Valentino's Italian restaurant as THE place to eat. I had visions of that place in Barry Island ("soup of the day is ALWAYS minestrone, love"!) , but first off came a walk beside the river and the obligatory bounce on a swing bridge (or is it chain bridge?). This one, amazingly, was not The Longest Chain Bridge in New Zealand - that's in Nelson, they have to spread these accolades around you see.
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| That Chain Bridge in full |
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| More blooming blossom |
Dinner at Valentino's was excellent. I had the Surf n' Turf, brilliant rare steak plus prawns, scallops and other fishy goodness, all in a marsala sauce (whatever that is). My accompaniment was a half litre flask of the house red, but I would have preferred Our Mam. I felt lonely for the first time on my trip................
This soft old bugger then went to bed.
Saturday 17th September
Up to a bright but drizzly morning. Dominion Post delivered to the door so salivated over the rugby news before packing up and heading out for breakfast near Lake Taupo. The clientele was a mixture of Micks, Saffers and Welsh (me, boyo) all on their ways to different RWC venues, so the banter was good. The Saffer next to me got his Eggs Benedict with "Go SA" written in Hollandaise on the plate edge, courtesy of the waitress (who was wearing a Samoan shirt). Rugby ...............lovely! Pootled my way north along the western side of the lake stopping at a Farmers' Market in Tokoroa for a sausage sizzle and a chat with John on the old cell phone. I'm beginning to get the hang of these things now, but doubt they'll ever take over from the pigeon post. (Pigeons don't need recharging, and have you ever tried to eat a mobile phone?). I intended to have a look around Cambridge en route, but the sun came out, I was passing Cambridge Golf Club, and it would have been rude not to have had a round. Enjoyed myself, and only lost one pill. The sign outside the course said "created 35,000,000 years ago by the Waikato River" which was nice.
After not setting the world of golf alight, a half hour hop took me to Aaron and Julie's in Hamilton where I was greeted most royally. Aaron cooked salmon steaks with a crusty topping (herbs and that) and veges. (Still can't believe that's the way to spell veggies, but since when have Kiwis taken any notice of the OED?). A talented man that Aaron, not only does he cook, but he also distills his own whisky, with the aid of which the evening drifted towards a close. BUT WAIT, drama on the Corolla front - it seems I picked up a hitch hiker;-
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| At least the bird wasn't legless Shades of Richard and the pheasant, but luckily no damage done. |
Sunday 18th September
Match Day! After a great BBB (Big Boys' Breakfast) - OK, I lied, the sausages struggled to be average, even by New Zealand standards,- we picked up Julie's daughter Georgia from her Dad's house and headed into town to the "Unofficial Welsh Embassy" which was a very good real ale (OK I'm a habitual liar today) bar within the Fanzone. The place was already packed with Welsh fans, some Samoans and a smattering of other nationalities who presumably were lost. Entertainment was provided by a zumba band and dancers. It seems that Zumba combines Latin and International music with a fun and effective workout system and is thus not to be confused with I-Zigger-Zumbar of blessed memory which consisted of drunken rugby players standing on tables within licensed premises and removing all their clothes. It sounds cheesy, but it worked. The streets were soon full of fans copying the motions of the peeps on stage with success inversely proportional to the booze already consumed. They should try this at soccer matches in the UK, or in the inner cities to encourage the great unwashed to seek rhythm rather than mayhem. Luckily there was a sizzle selling Wild Boar burgers so the sausage debacle of the early morning was rectified. About an hour before the game, Julie and Georgia left us and we weaved over to the stadium via a Speight's Ale House that Aaron's local knowledge enabled us to locate despite the best efforts of the stewards (civilian volunteers) to send us in the opposite direction.
The match was incredible! Yet again we had super seats on the 22m line. Thankfully we were near an exit so could get out easily for the inevitable pee breaks, beer locating expeditions and french fries importing missions. The noise in the stadium was terrific, cries of "Wales, Wales" alternating with shouts of "Manu, Manu" from the Islanders' supporters. The match was as hard as nails, one highlight being Jamie Roberts smashing the Samoan hardman Seilala Mapusua flat on his arse. The stadium shuddered, as did my bladder. Another good memory was someone trying to blow a bugle (officially banned) wherupon the Samoan in front of me jumped up and shouted out "Jesus mate! My chainsaw makes more noise than that!" I believe this is a bon mot much beloved by our Island chums. Wales managed to marshal themselves well in the second half and finished strongly for a win without which they would have more or less booked a passage home.
After the match we repaired to the UWE to join a mob of greatly relieved Taffs. Highlight of our post-match libations was some ale called "Knob Polisher" (I may have got that wrong) which weighed in at 10.8% alcohol, so was equivalent to drinking deep ruby red wine by the pint! Luckily Julie and Georgia came down to pick us up and it only took us three or four attempts to climb up into Aaron's ute (translation for non-Kiwis: ute = utility vehicle, a bloody monster of a truck that has a double cab and can house anything on the back from a garden shed to a flock of sheep). With patriotic fervour Julie had cooked roast lamb for supper which was absolutely fabulous and with that and some more of Aaron's moonshine (I vaguely remember something banana-ish with a kick like a mule) a happy slumber came upon your author.
Monday 19th September
Go South Young Man (Young Man? - who are you kidding? -Ed.)
We were all pretty slow at getting up on Monday morning (no surprise there then). As A,J and G disappeared off to work and school I headed off to Hamilton Golf Club to work the alcohol out of my system. I in fact played really well on the front 9, only reverting to my normal crap form as the booze wore off. The course was absolutely magnificient, tree-lined and with very fast and true greens. As usual I spent a lot of my time hacking out of the woods but had some good luck when my ball tried to demolish a grapefruit tree. The resulting avalanche of fruit disappeared into my bag and provided a good breakfast for the next day! Strong coffee and a bacon, tomato and avocado burger provided sustenance for the six hour, 500 km drive home which was absolutely beautiful, passing through the King Country and the Tongariro National Park. Empty roads and wonderful scenery made this a great journey, only the last two hours from Wanganui (where I had an ace Steak and Mushroom pie) were a pain as the rain hosed it down and driving was a bit tricky. I passed through Te Kuiti which is the home of the legendary Colin Meads. His face adorns all the billboards around there. Sir Colin is a living legend (great All Black captain, a man so big he was reputed to do training runs with a lamb under each arm), probably the greatest living New Zealander now that Sir Ed Hillary has popped his crampons.I suspect that Te Kuiti is the Colin Meads Centre of the Universe. Home at 2015 and soon to bed, tired but exhilarated.
Piccies for today;-
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| Fresh flowers in motel room -there's lovely |
Hammill's Killer is a trout fly, not the local mass-murderer (his name is Dwayne) and each unit at Creel Lodge is named after a different fly - and you thought it was only rugby fanatics in New Zealand.
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| Barbecue facilities - not at all shabby |
Tuesday 20th September
A southerly wind today, bracing to say the least. (Think about it Poms! First stup from Antarctica is NZ, and the southerlies here can freeze the testicles off a mammoth, let alone a brass monkey).
A day for domestic goddess-ing. Did the washing whilst making breakfast. I reckon that counts as multi-tasking, but the toast was as soggy as hell when I got it out of the machine and the toaster singed my socks. When using the washing machine I emptied the filter which was a new experience for the device. Amazingly I didn't find any sweetcorn in the trap - John will claim that he keeps some amazing things in his underpants, but not exotic vegetables.Talking of socks, first major wardrobe malfunction as the spare pair I took to Hamilton (having transported them half way around the world) had a massive spud in the heel. They got binned at A & J's who were kind enough not to mention the aroma that must have arisen from the days-old ones I had to keep on wearing. Managed to get replacements from The Warehouse who had sets of 5, normal price $10 on BOGOF at two sets for $8! Crazy shop, crazy pricing. In addition to the sock fiasco, my rip-off trousers have lived up to their name and now have a large gaping hole in the nether regions. This means my paaaaaants are on display to all and sundry which is OK Monday to Wednesday when they're fresh, a bit embarassing on Thursday to Saturday when they're inside out, and a complete disaster on 'No undies Sundays'. Mary usually uses pink cotton for her invisible mending, so must look it out. Luckily no photographs are available here (have you ever tried photographing your own arse? - no, I don't want to know!)
Chicken and cous-cous one-pot for supper tonight. Now I realise that cous-cous is a bit radical for me (some would even say perverse) but in a country which prides itself on it's multi-culturalism and it's acceptance of minorities (even the Welsh), I am trying to embrace my vegetable side. I suspect that this may be a step too far on the culinary front, but if (when?) it all goes tits up, at least the Dairy stays open late so pie supplies should still be obtainable.
Off for a walk on the beach now . Byeeeee.....
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