Posts with tag: holiday

Letters from the Southern Man

Migrating is more than just filling in forms and submitting paperwork, its a complex process that will test even the most resilient of people. 

Understanding New Zealand is paramount to your immigration survival and to give you a realistic view of the country, its people and how we see the world, read our weekly Southern Man blogs. Often humorous, sometimes challenging, but always food for thought.

Otago Rail Trail

 

This time last week I was in Central Otago, one of my favourite places on the planet let alone New Zealand.

A group of six of us were off to ride the Otago Rail Trail. Formerly the railway line linking Dunedin to the Otago gold fields the railway was shut down in 1992. Someone came up with the idea of ripping up the tracks and providing a surface suitable for walkers, cyclists and horse riders. And so in February 2000 the 150km Rail Trail was launched.

We began this adventure with two days in Queenstown where we ate wonderful food, drank some of the finest wines produced in New Zealand and when not imbibing wine,  sat sipping local boutique beers mesmerized by the view. 

I realised why the view looks so different in Central Otago and it is not just the local architecture, vineyards, soaring mountain peaks, lakes and rivers, it is the lack of moisture in the air that lends a clarity. We Aucklanders are surrounded by warm oceans and as a consequence are used to high levels of humidity (and on days when there is no wind, smog) with moisture laden air. This creates  a haze you don’t get in Queenstown and Central Otago.  

Our brief but enjoyable stay in Queenstown was followed by a night in the Dunstan Hotel in Clyde which was our starting point for the Trail ride.  I felt like I was in a movie set.  An old gold mining town that at its peak had 42 pubs (it now has one) and a resident population of over 30,000 people (it now has 900) that had entered a seemingly terminal decline until the rail trail brought it back to life as a tourist destination and start (or end) point for the walkers, cyclists and horse riders that pass through.

This old two storied hotel was a rundown backpackers until the current owners renovated and restored it around seven years ago operating it now as a bed and breakfast. Authentic in the extreme and true to its past but now with showers and flushing toilets…

What followed was three days in the saddle on mountain bikes. A little wary of ‘saddlebum’ I asked about the need for gel seat covers when we picked up our bikes. The guy who rented the bikes to us reckoned “only pussies need them” so being the tough guy I thought I was I didn’t rent one. Well, miaow……I was wishing within 48 hours I not only had a gel seat cover to sit on but a big fluffy pillow under my bum to boot! 

There is something about bikes – the freedom they offer, the exhilaration you feel as you free wheel down a hill; the things you see because you are travelling more slowly – dew soaked spider webs in the morning, a brown grasshopper sitting on a grass stalk, a New Zealand falcon riding the thermals looking for his next meal and a skink scuttling off his basking rock as your shadow passes over him. And the smells as your tyre crunches over the wild thyme, of grasses and dust and in this case the odd dead sheep all smelled strangely intoxicating. 

I confess I felt like a ten year old once again the first morning riding beside the Clyde River, round Poplar trees which were turning a rich gold colour as autumn settles in the valley and through piles of leaves that were accumulating on the path. What great fun to stop every now and then at local wineries for wine tasting (didn’t do that when I was ten).

Another bonus was apple trees gone wild. All along the trail apple trees grow. Thrown from passing trains decades ago some of the seeds sprouted providing free juicy apples. fresh fast food at its finest.

A stop at an unmanned  fruit stall with its ‘Honesty Box’ outside of Alexandra where I left my  money in a jar in exchange for $5 worth of the freshest sun ripened strawberries  was a real treat. They were quite possibly the plumpest and sweetest I have ever eaten.

The thing that really got me apart from the vastness of the countryside was the lack of sound. Like all children of cities I am comfortable around noise.  Immersed in the constant urban sounds provided by cars, buses, fire engines, ambulances and police cars I realise when these sounds are not swirling about me I don’t feel totally comfortable. 

Out on the trail there is a lot of ‘scrunching’ as the bike tyres roll over the stones and gravel and after that there isn’t a lot to hear.

There are poignant moments on every journey and one of mine came shortly after leaving Wedderburn on the second day of our ride. Having puffed and panted my way up yet another gently sloping part of the trail I stopped to enjoy the view. My riding companions were spread out ahead and behind me so it was just me, the sky, an early autumn sun, the gentlest of breezes,  a whole lot of brown tussock and a few sheep spread all the way to the horizon. I had the whole of the Maniatoto Plains to myself for a good five minutes.

The sun was fair beating down given it was the early afternoon and I was surrounded on all sides by what are called ‘Ranges’; not big enough to be classified as mountains but far higher than your typical hill.  What is labelled in these parts as ‘High Country’.  The fields seemed to go on forever. The light was pure. The view dominated by rust and blue.

I decided to do something I never do in Auckland.

I lay my bike down and just listened.

The first sound I was conscious of was the whisper of a breeze.  Far off I heard the faint sounds of birds.  Crickets chirped in their thousands in the grasslands from my feet to the hills (and no doubt beyond).  A bee then flew across the path in front of me.

And that was it.

Nothing else. It was utterly peaceful. And utterly sublime. 

Central Otago is classified as semi-arid with rainfall of less than 350mm a year or for those of you using the imperial system that’s about 13 inches. The farmers pray for rain. Away from the river fed valleys the soils are traditionally poor making it ideal for producing wine and the grape of choice is Pinot Noir although many of the local vineyards do a pretty good Pinot Gris as well. If you are into wine this patch of NZ is heaven on a stick (or in a bottle). 

The landscape is dominated by mountain tussock of various varieties interspersed with grass for the sheep, cattle and deer that are raised through here. In many parts Thyme grows wild among the cracked and flaking schist. 

Through many parts of this journey I half expected to see a rhino or two, herds of Impala and possibly a Zulu village or three as it looked and felt exactly like parts of Kwa Zulu Natal in South Africa.

We saw it at its best perhaps because we enjoyed it at its most climatically comfortable – not too hot and not too cold. Being there in early autumn we were told is the best time to ride the trail because there is little to no wind. This is important for here the wind can blow fiercely – it races down off the mountains and is dry and hot (think Berg wind you South Africans). Swapping stories with friends the other night who have also completed the trail they got a couple of intensely windy days and one of their sons was literally blown off his bike. No damage done but a good laugh was had by all. 

As I have spent my life explaining to so many would be New Zealanders it doesn’t rain all the time everywhere in this magical country of ours. Just through the mountains where we were basking in the heat the west coast of the South Island was almost certainly being rained upon. Over that side of the mountains rainfall is usually measured in the thousands of millimetres. Yet the massive mountain range that is the Southern Alps blocks the moist westerly airflow meaning by the time the weather cells pass over Central Otago and Canterbury they are spent and a parched thirsty landscape sits yellow-brown from horizon to horizon.

The temperature extremes are quite extraordinary.  Even last week we would get up in the morning to temperatures of only 3-4 degrees. On went the thermal, the tee shirt, the merino hoodie and the wind breaker. Within half an hour of hitting the trail the wind breaker was off, within an hour the merino was stowed, by lunch the thermal was packed away and by 2pm I was cycling only in shorts given the temperature was 23 degrees in the shade which would make it at least 30 degrees in the sun.

Many people avoid riding the trail in summer (January and February) given it is usually over 30 degrees in the shade and well over 40 degrees in the sun. Plentiful pubs and the cool rivers would be welcome relief I am sure for those brave enough to cycle in such heat.

Along the way we had a night at Waipiata which holds the record for one of the coldest ever temperatures recorded on mainland New Zealand – minus 23 degrees Celsius in 1995. By contrast it is regularly 35 degrees plus in summer.  This is a part of New Zealand that occasionally gets a hoar frost – where the moisture in the air actually freezes – making for scenes straight out of Narnia. 

It really is a magical place. Harsh for sure but peaceful in a uniquely New Zealand way. I’d recommend it to anyone who lives here or is passing through.

Over the three days spent on the bikes we covered 163 km. My advice to any of you that might fancy this adventure is you need to be moderately fit (but no more), it would be great with children but I’d probably want them to be 10 years old or older, you can do it over 4-6 days and best of all it is free.

Do it. You will love it.

Don't forget I'll be giving free seminars coming in Singapore this weekend and Malaysia the following weekend and Paul will be in South Africa in two weeks. 

Until next week.

Southern Man - Iain MacLeod

 

Bikes, Bums & Early Auckland

 

I spend so much time overseas exploring other people’s countries that I spend precious little time exploring and enjoying my own.  And I’d be lying if I didn’t say that saddens me a bit.

Having a beach house doesn’t help. Don’t get me wrong and I don’t want to sound like some pretentious prat but when you have access to a beach house you tend to want to spend your time there to the exclusion of spending that precious leisure time elsewhere. 

So it is both a real blessing disappearing regularly to your favourite part of paradise but equally it can be a little restrictive.

So, I have decided that this year I am going to see more of New Zealand and have two trips planned to Central Otago this year – one to Queenstown to play golf in November and on the immediate horizon I am really excited at the prospect of spending the next week completing the Otago Rail Trail with my wife and a few close friends.

This involves mountain bikes, plenty of pub stops, mind blowing scenery and I suspect a rather sore bum.

If you haven’t been to Central Otago add it to your must see list. It is barren, rocky and always brown because in most parts it receives less than 100mm of rain a year.  It is like the Great Karoo in South Africa meets Afghanistan (without the roadside bombs) or Iran without the Mullahs.  It is New Zealand’s ‘high country’ where the plains meet the sky and the air is so clear mountains tens of kilometres away look like you can reach out and touch them, where the sky is so big and so wide it makes you feel insignificant and the size of an ant. It is a place where the weather is sunny and hot in summer and sunny and cold in winter.

Luckily we will be there when it is neither extreme and we are set to enjoy early autumn which will offer lovely warm days with daytime temperatures in the low to mid 20s Celsius but very cold nights with temperatures as low as 2-5 degrees. 

With the changing seasons there is some chance of snow up in the mountains but that is highly unlikely (I sincerely hope so because we can only take 10kgs of luggage and I am an Aucklander and don’t possess ‘snow clothes’).

Perfect for golf. We’ll see about mountain bikes.

I will report back on this next week if I can.

One of the attractions of Central Otago for me is that it is so full of history and represents a region of the country that has been settled by Europeans and a few keen Chinese longer than most other parts. Sparsely occupied (if at all) by Maori when gold was discovered in the early 19th century the population exploded when the gold rush cranked into life. Given the scarcity of trees in that region the architecture represents a period of Victorian England meets often poor but eternally hopeful gold prospectors and settlers and many of the old cob and stone buildings that are still standing have been turned into boutique hotels, B and Bs and the like.

As I thought about what we are likely to see next week and enjoy in parts a landscape and New Zealand heritage little changed in 150 years it occurred to me that migrants tend to look forward at the new life that awaits, the city they have landed in and the new country ripe for exploration and seldom do they look back – except in those times of inevitable homesickness especially among the newly arrived. Those that have always lived some place often look back in time and at our history to better understand who we are and what made us and our world view what it is.

As a self-confessed history junkie I have been reading a wonderful book these past few days by local Journalist Gordon McGlaughlan.  Its title is ‘Auckland – A Life and Times’ and as a sort of ‘Brief History of…’ is fascinating and well worth reading for those who have an interest in my home town, why it is here, who settled it and the forces, both natural and human that have shaped it to become what it is.

It is full of wonderful facts and insights. 

As a keen geographer and Aucklander I have always been aware of the massive ‘reclamation’ that went on during the 1800s of Auckland’s foreshore. The soft sandstone cliffs in many parts were levelled by pick and shovel, sometimes explosives and carted down the faces barrow load by barrow load to create, through the destruction of some beautiful bays, flat land for the rapidly growing port and commercial activity. This book has allowed me to roll back the years in my mind to a place and time when the rail lines and yards, the wharves, many of the coastal roads and blocks of high rise buildings were not there and picture a place where in the 1830s only a tented ‘city’ existed. Where streams flowed down the valleys of bracken covered hills, slowed and accumulated in swamps of reed and raupo, where eels swam and freshwater crayfish hid among the rocks before the waters that sustained them flowed into the sea through mangroves and coastal estuaries.

Fascinatingly for a city that enjoys more than its fair share of rain one of the biggest constraints on the early city was the availability of fresh water. How ironic after the wet, seeming ‘summerless’, summer we Aucklanders have just had. Although in the 1830s there were only 1500-2000 people living in Auckland fresh water sources quickly became polluted and undrinkable.

There were during those early years only a few sources – the stream known as Horotiu to local Maori that ran down from the ridge along the valley now covered by Queen Street was the most important. Queen Street for those of you who have not walked it is our main Central City road that starts at the ridge now dominated by Karangahape Road at its southern end and which ends at Customs Street which crosses it a block away from the harbour.

About two thirds of the way to the harbour this stream pooled in a large swamp about where Aotea Square and a massive underground carpark is now. It then meandered down through the valley before once again entering  a wetland and mixing with the gentle tides that lap this harbour.

Now that same stream is imprisoned in large concrete pipes that feed storm water and the remnants of the steam itself into the Waitemata Harbour.

As I type this I am looking out over Queen Street from my office and imagining a landscape not covered in high rise buildings but a valley cut by Horotiu and guarded by two gently chiselled hills which once would have looked like any valley in this part of the North Island – towering Podocarp forests of Totara and probably Kauri - that most majestic of trees. With Tui, Kereru (native wood pigeon), kaka (native parrot) and all manner of birds wheeling and diving over and through the canopy. At some point Kiwi would have been poking and prodding the ground looking for fat native earthworms.

Now we have glass, concrete and tarmac and the nearest thing to fauna are flocks of pigeons that strut and preen on the window eaves of the oldest buildings that overlook Horotiu’s final resting place.

I have also learned that in the middle of Auckland University (about ten minutes walk from our offices) there exists to this day a fresh water spring which continues to flow with the clearest water that has been filtered over hundreds if not thousands of years by the volcanic rocks of the region. 

It is now piped directly into the city’s storm water system which seems a real waste. A clean source of the freshest Aotearoa H2O not being consumed by the good folk of Auckland and thirsty University students is a real shame.

Another major source of fresh water came from a spring that bubbled its way up through the scoria on the northern slopes of that iconic volcanic cone I have written of before, Maungawhau or Mount Eden, and then wound its way down toward what would become Newmarket to collect in a large swamp in what is now Khyber Pass (another imprisoned stream). It was here the first of the big breweries set up shop and until recently, produced some of the world’s finest beers. They needed that fresh water.

It’s funny when you so take for granted the landscape you view daily to stop and consider occasionally what it once looked like. To consider that the water that comes from the tap that you do not think twice about would only 150 years ago have been thought of as an absolute luxury.

Each Aucklander today consumes around 300 litres of water. From about 1830-1850 in Auckland everyone relied on buckets and springs or rainwater. A wash would have been hands and face and a jug and wash basin. It is recorded most of the local population washed every six weeks. I can imagine how nice they’d have been to stand beside on a baking hot summer day in Auckland. No thanks…..

We lost Horotiu but gained personal hygiene.

And next week I am going to see a part of New Zealand that has changed little since the last Ice Age.

Can’t wait.

Until next week

Southern Man - Iain MacLeod

South Africans soon to require Visitor Visas before they travel?

 

In an interesting development last week the New Zealand Government signalled they are reviewing the visa free status of South African passport holders who wish to travel to New Zealand as tourists, to visit friends and family, to check the country out as a place to settle, to look at schools for their children, to attend job interviews and so on.

I would predict right now they will go through with it. 

They are justifying forcing all South Africans who wish to visit here to obtain visitor visas prior to their departure from South Africa on the basis of the risk presented by an increasingly corrupt public service in South Africa that sells passports. Our Government, among others, feel this risk to the integrity of our borders and the potential increase in the risk of terrorism makes this change prudent. It is common knowledge that significant numbers of Al Qaida suspects have been picked up travelling on South African passports. Why terrorists travelling on false South African passports might be interested in New Zealand is a little beyond me, but that’s the official reason.

I suspect to a large extent this is a case of our Government simply being politically correct. While it is fair to say the UK Government used the same reason to justify imposing visas on South African travellers a few years ago I strongly believe the real reason is that visa free access to South African passport holders means the Government cannot prevent all South African passport holders attempting to enter New Zealand – rich, poor, skilled, unskilled, ones they want, ones they don’t……..have an airline ticket, can attempt travel equals risk.

Being able to travel to New Zealand without a visa has never guaranteed entry to anyone (ever watched those stupid Border Security programmes??) but forcing people to get visas allows mitigation of risk from the New Zealand Government’s perspective. In my judgment the risk is actually very small given most travellers to New Zealand are not members of terrorist groups and poor South Africans or refugees to South Africa have limited financial means and most could never afford the Visa application fee let alone the airline ticket to even attempt to travel here. 

I would also venture to suggest our Government is ‘future proofing’ against a South Africa as more and more people of all backgrounds may wish to depart.

It is, it has to be said, a sorry indictment on the ‘new’ South Africa. Corruption and fraud are undermining other Governments’ faith in the country’s Institutions and their integrity. 

I recall a conversation a few years ago with a senior official at the New Zealand Qualifications Authority (NZQA). When they decided they should start verifying the authenticity of South African Trade qualifications they found that one in three was false.  

South Africa now holds 1st equal status as the nationality with the highest risk profile for immigration fraud in New Zealand.

No longer are University degrees from once proud world class Universities there automatically recognised within our education system as being comparable to degrees conferred by New Zealand Universities. Any degree issued in 2010 or more recently now has to be assessed/verified by NZQA.

Although New Zealand employers haven’t caught up with this change in recognition this decision by the Immigration Department and NZQA to potentially ‘downgrade’ the status of many South African degrees is caused not just by fear of fraud but by well publicised declining education standards in the Republic. 

Requiring all South Africans to obtain Visitor Visas before travelling here will impose even more bureaucracy on our South African clients, but we do hope that those who are honest about their intentions of visiting here – to scout the place as a possible destination to settle, to check out schools for their children, to see feel first hand the cost of living, the cost of housing, renting, employability and even to apply for jobs is not going to be given as reasons to decline visitor visas as they are not ‘bona fide’ tourists. We routinely deal with this nonsense in many other markets (and I would add virtually always get the visa).

No one should read into this that the New Zealand Government is closing the doors to South Africans – I don’t see it like that at all. What I do know is that politicians and their public servants often end up ‘throwing babies out with bath water’ however and they need to be very careful they continue to allow the South Africans we (they?) do want to visit here in order to ensure the success of our Residence Visa programme.

There is no way the New Zealand Government does not want South African skills here and I will put my reputation on the line in saying so. Nobody should fear any sort of closing of the doors.

Why?

South African migrants are highly skilled, demonstrably employable, linguistically identical (or very close) and present a close cultural fit. No one else outside of Australia or the UK comes as close although Singaporeans and Malaysians might dispute that if they were to settle in or around Auckland given the increasingly Asian nature of this city.

The simple reality is to get those jobs the Government demands of skilled migrants in order to migrate here these people need to be here to apply for jobs. New Zealand employers overwhelmingly demand that so to close the door would be unthinkable and I strongly suspect not in the minds of the Ministers.

Having said that a lot of policy gets lost in translation and as it filters down to counter level immigration officers working thousands of kilometres away policy intentions and policy outcomes can become confused and twisted. 

With different policies seeking different outcomes – visitor visas to protect against non-genuine ‘visitors’ yet residence policy demanding jobs which requires migrants to visit New Zealand for starters can, for your average immigration official, cause all sorts of cerebral contortions and confusion. And given the reality is that most immigration officers exist in a somewhat paranoid world of risk assessments and belief that everyone will lie and cheat their way to ‘Paradise’, unintended policy consequences occur. 

'If in doubt, keep them out!' would appear to be the motto.

So for us life will get even more complicated and for South Africans wishing to visit here the scrutiny placed upon you will become even greater. 

We will be working extremely hard to ensure that the sorts of skilled migrants this country needs out of South Africa (and anywhere else that visas are required to travel here) will continue be strongly represented to ensure they have the maximum chance of becoming employees of New Zealand businesses.

And that those who wish to visit friends or family will not be prevented from doing so by the officials that work in the New Zealand Embassy in Pretoria.

Until next week

 

Iain MacLeod

Southern Man

Matapouri and Mermaid Pools

 

Happy New Year and can I take this opportunity of wishing you all the very best for 2012.

So where to begin with this, my first Letter from New Zealand in 2012? 

We could talk immigration policy, pass marks and so on but that would be a bit dull.

Although I have only been away for three weeks it seems like months. Over my summer (such as summer has been up this end of the country this year) I once again realised that the more time I spend travelling around this country the more I appreciate how lucky my family and I were being born here. And I love to share it with you…….

I couldn’t get out of the office fast enough toward the end of December. For Immagine NZ, 2011 was most definitely a year of two halves. The first presented difficult trading conditions given the ongoing (but still unofficial) cuts to migrant numbers and the difficulties many potential clients continued to experience selling up their homes in order to free up the cash to make migrating possible, but the second half was strong with December being our best in 23 years. Either world property markets are starting to free up or people are just a little more desperate to get somewhere civilised and are taking whatever equity they can extract from their houses and just doing it. Possibly before things get worse.

We appear to have hit the ground running in 2012 with a busy first week. Having a working knowledge of the crazy Australian General Skills Category and related visa categories has allowed us to offer clients greater ‘offerings’ and as I have mentioned before I enjoy using Australia as a backdoor to New Zealand as it often presents a far less complex visa pathway than coming directly to New Zealand. 

I want to tell you a little more about a special part of New Zealand where my family and I spent a few days last week with close friends.

Matapouri Bay. Shortly after finishing posting this I am heading back up there for a few more days (the sun is out – what am I to do?) to pick up my youngest son and enjoy a friend’s 50th  birthday tonight. Alfresco dining under a balmy summer sky, big trestle tables with brightly coloured tablecloths groaning under a heavy load of barbequed meats and seafood, with crisp salads prepared from local gardens, sweet hot summer corn dripping in melted butter, lit by large candles , a few beers and wine – I cannot wait!

For me there is nothing like spending time around a barbeque (braai to our South African friends) at night with close friends and family, a good local boutique brewery produced beer or world class local wine in one hand eating the best of the local produce and kai moana (seafood) with the other. 

The fishing, when the weather has allowed, has been fantastic the past few weeks. They are biting and biting hard and we have eaten and given away many a good sized snapper over the past ten days. So many I confess I am almost all fished out. Catching and consuming I mean. Well, almost…….

Matapouri is an absolute gem. If I could upload a few photos to The Letter you could see what I am talking about but as I can’t(!) you will need to rely on http://www.tutukakacoastnz.com/matapouri-bay/ in the meantime. Check it out.

A smallish coastal village about two and a half hours drive north of Auckland on the East coast (my favourite side of the island) this sickle shaped bay is protected from the open ocean that lies beyond its two headlands. An estuary flows out at one end and is guarded by mangrove forests which are the spawning grounds for many types of inshore fish including sharks (yes, really), home to sting rays and provide predator free nesting sites for many native birds. The headlands are covered in dense native forest.

Last Thursday we took a walk around the northern end of the bay to visit and swim in the (locally famous) Mermaid Pools. Virtually inaccessible to all but mountain goats and very determined humans the afternoon began with a wander though a reserve covered in regenerating and mature native forest. The sun was out and the humidity was high as it always is at this time of year. It was a 25 degree day and the humidity was probably around 90%. The enormous trees acting to keep the sun off us also provided thick, sultry warm air – the type you can feel when you breathe it in.  With the village on one side and steep forested hills on the other, a great track has been carved into the soft dark soils by the local Council making the initial climb somewhat comfortable but none the less by the time we got to the top of the first hill after perhaps 10 minutes the heart was pumping pretty hard.

From the top we enjoyed a spectacular view north all the way up to Cape Brett (home to the Hole in the Rock for those of you that have been to the Bay of Islands) which was shimmering blue on a distant horizon. Five minutes or so of further walking along the ridge we arrived at the first lookout and rest stop. Picture sheer cliffs on both sides of you with trees clinging by their root systems (if they were humans I’d be thinking toenails) and a drop of probably 100 metres to the roiling sea, whitecaps and swells generated by a strong ocean breeze lining up to throw themselves at the shoreline. The two metre swells crashed against the craggy greywacke rocks that lined the pebble strewn beaches. Below us Gannets wheeled and dived into the bay, like bunker busting bombs, popping up to the surface with a plump wiggling silver fish in their beaks more often than not. A cooling breeze demanded rest and a few holiday snapshots.

We set off along the trail again and as we walked stole glimpses of the ocean to our left. Sheep grazed in the fields to our right – the old New Zealand and the new. I definitely prefer the old.

Having picked our way down onto the sand dunes we enjoyed a different assortment of native plants – the sand was covered in native flax and blankets of grasses with seed pods that look and feel like rabbits’ tails waving in the breeze.

Then up the next headland and on toward the Mermaid Pools. I suspect this headland is an abandoned Maori pa (fortified village). What appeared to be old kumara (sweet potato) pits were dotted throughout this forest but now trees grow where once the food was stored. These sorts of headlands were popular with Maori as they were easy to defend thanks to their extremely (death defying actually) steep slopes. So steep in places we were hauling ourselves up for 30 metres on (and between) the twisted root systems of ancient Pohutukawa trees and thinking crampons may have been the order of the day! Saplings provided handholds. You hoped like hell you didn’t slip.

When we got to the top and had caught our breath I marvelled at the power of nature to take back what is hers when we leave her to it. Now covered in regenerating forest of Nikau palms, Karaka and Kowhai trees the light filtered through and provided us with an explosion of differently hued greens courtesy of the trees around us. The ground was thick with seedlings wherever there was enough light and I stopped and collected seeds of some of my favourite native trees for planting back at my beach house.  There was that pleasant, mother earth smell of rainforest – damp soils, sweating vegetation and rotting wood.  

When we emerged on the other side of the summit the view was magnificent – directly out to sea lies the Poor Knights Islands – a marine reserve and one of the top ten dive sites in the world. The sea a deep deep blue, the rocks jagged, intimidating and unforgiving. The spray of the waves as they crashed onto their hardness the purest white. And below us the Mermaid Pools. Two swimming pool size rock pools that lie just above the high tide mark they have only one opening to the ocean. The pools themselves were about 3 metres deep in their middle. Just for a second I thought I saw two mermaids swimming in the largest pool but they turned out to be a couple of female German tourists – close, but no cigar……

We wound our way carefully down the path toward the ocean and the very inviting looking pools. Slipping and sliding, grabbing at the flaxes that lined the path we were being beaten by the sun again but fanned by the ocean breeze. Ahead of us the land disappeared abruptly into the deep churning Pacific Ocean. 

Off with the shirt, Raybans and Fedora and into the pool!

Because the ocean never reaches it but the sea gently flushes it through one narrow opening the water never stagnates and was as clear as any seawater I have ever been in. There were kina (prickly sea eggs) and crabs a plenty. Strands of smooth seaweed provided shelter for tiny fish and shrimp that had been washed in on a passing swell. The walls of the pool were dotted with limpets, cats-eyes and other assorted molluscs. Surrounded by sharp angular rocks the pools themselves were very conveniently full of small motorcar sized boulders covered in a light salmon coloured seaweed. Pale, soft on the feet and very inviting.

A truly wonderful place to cool off.

At the end of the pool where the rock face heads back up the headland is the ‘jumping rock’. It doesn’t – you are meant to.  Wedged like a gargoyle about 20 metres above the deep water below it is a favourite place for teenage lads to impress the girls by jumping, bombing or to really make a statement, dive off. Shades of cliff diving at Acapulco and no less scary. 

Although my days of being interested in impressing teenage girls are far behind me I none the less had to fight the urge to at least make one jump myself. I’ve jumped out of planes enough to think this couldn’t be scarier. Just wetter. However with the words of my far more sensible wife ringing in my ears I resisted the temptation.

A truly amazing spot and one you should try and visit on a hot summer’s day.

As close to paradise as I suspect there is.

On a slightly more mundane and back to work note I am returning to South Africa for seminars in early February. Click here for details. For those of you in Malaysia and Singapore, click here.

Until next week

Iain MacLeod – Southern Man

Waiheke Island

Waiheke Island is often referred as the “jewel” of the Hauraki Gulf.

Lying 45 minutes ferry ride to the east of downtown Auckland it is an island of incredible contrasts and beauty.

I had the opportunity of spending the day exploring the island with my wife, cruising in her VW Beetle with the soft top down this past Sunday.  The reason for being there is that a very good friend of mine is the Chairman of a Trust which he set up to honour the brief life of his 13 year old daughter who died suddenly a number of years ago of meningococcal disease.  The Trust raises money to support the locals with medical, travel and accommodation expenses given if they have anything serious they often need to come to the mainland for treatment.

The Trust that he established 11 years ago organizes an annual “garden safari” and he musters the support of 80 volunteers to make it happen.  People like me were afforded the privilege of buying a ticket, putting the car on the ferry, heading down the harbour and enjoying a wonderful day in the sun touring some of the most magnificent properties I have ever seen.

Waiheke is a very interesting place.  Until about 25 years ago it was very much viewed as a hippie hangout where dropouts and dope smokers used to go to escape Auckland’s rat race and ‘do’ pottery.  It has an almost Mediterranean climate which sees 25% less rainfall than downtown Auckland, with around 750mm, even though it is literally only 20 kilometres down the harbour. 

The soil is poor and predominantly clay and in summer baked to the hardness of concrete.  After European settlement this island which is 20 kilometres long was largely cleared of its native forest and turned into farmland.  Around 20 years ago, however, Aucklanders with money along with migrants or foreign investors realized what a treasure this island was with its pristine beaches with golden sand, clear waters and many safe anchorages and harbours which was perfect for building holiday homes, permanent residences and parking the super yacht.

Vineyards and olive groves were planted and are now common.  Some of New Zealand’s best world class wines are produced on Waiheke; there are now many cafés and restaurants and it has become a bit of a Mecca for day trippers and boaties of Auckland who will often head down there for a night or two.

One thing which really struck me about Waiheke is that it is something of a microcosm of New Zealand but without much in the way of middle classes. In some ways it represents what New Zealand used to be i.e. a population overwhelmingly of European ethnicity unlike Auckland which is these days so multi ethnic and diverse with 40% of its residents not having been born in New Zealand. 

Equally and of some surprise if not shock is the amount of wealth that is now down on that island.

Nestled (or standing out like the proverbial dogs bollocks) among magnificent rolling gardens attended by full-time garden staff are stunning architecturally designed houses with helipads alongside and some even have landings to tie up the super yacht or very large pleasure craft.

That these people have opened up their properties to the Trust is quite wonderful and allowed a few nosey Aucklanders to get a glimpse of some of the sculpture and other artworks these people possess.  I can tell you it is jaw dropping.

Sometimes clients who come to New Zealand question how much wealth is here but I can tell you after an afternoon on Waiheke it becomes quite obvious – there is far, far more than what first appearances might suggest.  I only visited five properties and at least two of them had sculptures in their garden which cost tens of thousands of dollars each.

A close family member of mine who met us out there also told me of a friend of his who recently spent NZ$500,000 on a sculpture for her property.  I understand she has several.  She is, with due respect, a ‘no name” in New Zealand as in if I mentioned her name to any of my friends no-one would ever have heard of her, yet she is clearly utterly loaded.  Out on Waiheke she is one of many.

At the other end of the spectrum I believe a few of the hippies or their offspring are still there.  With their unkempt hair and sandals many are driving around in cars that wouldn’t fetch much more than $200.  Their houses are modest.

I suspect that there are many people out on that island who are reliant on Social Welfare to a greater or lesser extent and it makes for interesting public meetings from all accounts.  For example, one of the wealthy owners wants to put in a marina for the boaties who use the island or who live on it.  Of course those of more “green” persuasion are fervently opposed and I understand that it can take an eternity to find compromise and decide on whether projects should go ahead.

For all that it is an utterly wonderful environment and it must be great to raise kids out there.  We sat in one garden, perched on a sandstone promontory of land watching a flock of Gannets diving into a bay 150 metres below us and coming up with their mouths full of fish.  Other friends of ours were out on Waiheke enjoying the same garden safari and they were lucky to sit in one of the local cafés and watch three Orca (killer whales) cruise through the bay below them.

As Waiheke has grappled with population growth and sub-division it is, to my way of thinking, another great example of how coastal development and compromise can, in fact, enhance the natural environment.  Waiheke has incredibly strict environmental controls designed to protect the intrinsic beauty of the place, yet it does not stifle development.  It seems to me most people who live out there are also incredibly generous and some of the extremely wealthy people have covenanted large areas of their land and are allowing it to return to its natural state.  Native bird life abounds. The fishing is sublime. The sea is clear and warm.

There were twelve gardens on display and we only got to see five.  Or should I say my wife got to see five, when I got to the fifth it was such a warm sunny day I couldn’t get out of her VW Beetle Cabriolet but reclined the seat, tipped my Panama hat over my face and proceeded to doze for an hour.  Sublime. Paradise...

If you live in Auckland or have recently moved here, spend a day or two out at Waiheke – take your car on the ferry, it is not too expensive and enjoy the beaches, the secluded and private bays, the vineyards, the olive plantations, the cafés and restaurants, the fresh air and the beautiful scenery.

Seminars – Malaysia & Singapore

Don’t forget our final seminars of the year will take place in Kuala Lumpur on 26 November 11.00 a.m. and Singapore a week later on 3 December at 11.00 a.m.

We are not going to be back in that neck of the woods until March next year so if you wish to attend or have friends or family considering a move to New Zealand I woudl urge them to attend.

Until next week...

 

 

Iain MacLeod - Southern Man

It's a Wrap...

It’s over. It’s finally over.

The ghosts of 1991 to 2007 have finally been laid to rest. The mighty All Blacks who so dominate world rugby year in and year out have finally secured their second Rugby World Cup. The RWC monkey (gorilla?) is now firmly off their backs.

Deserved winners they were if I may say so myself. Being the objective observer I am of course.

What a struggle it has been. Late nights, excessive drinking, lots of partying, endless fun, frayed nerves, tension, loss of sleep – and that’s just the players. What about us poor suckers who had to live it with them?

Late nights, excessive drinking, partying, sleep loss, tension, chewed fingernails, teasing friends around the world (mainly South Africa for obvious reasons….) – we may as well have played the games. It has been really, really tough.

I couldn’t have gone another week. If this tournament had been eight weeks long rather than six I’d be booking a consultation with a transplant specialist about now – my liver is shot and it just couldn’t take any more.

What a great ride it has been.

Watching the final from the new stand at Eden Park on Sunday was truly special. It was not the game so many people had been expecting and having written off the French in the week leading up to the final as being unworthy a great many of us had to swallow (actually choke might have been the word of the day) humble pie as they not only proved worthy finalists they could, with an extra Powerade or two, possibly even have won.

Last week I was offered three tickets and turned them down – my ‘final’ had been the All Blacks versus the Wallabies and taking my family to what was a truly great game. Now there was an All Black team at their dominant best – they’d have crushed anyone that night.

Later in the week I was again offered a ticket and this time I thought I just had to be there. How could I not go to a World Cup final that was being played just a ten minute walk from my home? In my city and in my country? Was I crazy? Perhaps just hung over...

I totalled up what I had spent on tickets to three pool games and a semi and thought – I’ve spent enough. I could buy a car with what I have paid to watch the Samoans, Fijians, English, Scots, Wallabies, French and All Blacks! And I had been to the pool match where the ABs despatched the French with consummate ease. Why waste more money?

Simply, and after another 23 seconds consideration, I said to myself I just had to be there – even if it was going to be a one sided affair. I was being called. The atmosphere at Eden Park had been tremendous all tournament. Games watched in high spirits – colourful fans, great organisation, a world class stadium organised to run like a Swiss watch.

I was right on all fronts bar one.

I should have known that a final is different. Players grow another leg. The French grew several and what had been billed as a bit of an anti-climax turned out to be a gripping final. Some have said it wasn’t pretty – well to me it was. A true test match. Beautiful from kick off to the 80th minute. Pitting two teams of ‘die for the cause’ players against one another at one of the great rugby grounds in the world cheered on by 61,000 fans at the park, another 4 million at home and many millions more around the world was something I will never forget.

From the time the French players formed their ‘V’ for victory sign when confronted with the haka we all knew we were in for something special. And of course the French have long been the All Blacks bogey team.

Eighty minutes of grinding rugby later the stadium erupted in delight (or possibly blessed disbelief). Personally my joy lasted about two minutes – then I started to simply feel relief. Relief that the team and the country had pulled off something pretty remarkable.

The IRB had said that giving the Cup to NZ was a bit of a risk. We are too small, not enough people, stadia too small, TV time zone issues and all that but they were the first to state on Sunday evening that it was probably the best World Cup in the 24 year history of the event.

So much was done so well by so many so unobtrusively.

When international media and team management wanted things done – in tournaments past they had been told no, not possible. Here it was – hang on a minute, give me a bit of time and I will see what I can do. And do we did. With beaming smiles.

I note even our Australian cousins at the Sydney Morning Herald gave New Zealand ‘11 out of 10’ for the way the event was pulled together and run.

Clearly the reason for its success was New Zealanders embraced this tournament like none before have done.

The concept of the stadium of 4 million was deemed a bit cheesy but it was well on the mark (not sure what the other 416,000 New Zealanders were doing for six weeks).

Whole cities, towns and schools adopted different countries. Teams were based in many regions around the country and made to feel more welcome than they had expected and ended up enjoying so much more than simply the rugby. When the Georgians played the Romanians in Rotorua for example half the crowd turned up wearing yellow and half red.

When the Irish team played in Dunedin they seriously thought that 20,000 Irish supporters had flown into the country. The truth was there were only 3000 of them! The rest were locals. The same at Eden Park for their pool match against the Aussies where out of a crowd of 60,000 I would suggest 55,000 were supporting Ireland (arguably not just reflecting the fact many of us have Irish ancestry but more the friendly rivalry that exists between NZ and our neighbours across the Tasman). The rest were New Zealanders dressed in green. Every team was made to feel like they were playing at home. It was something the organisers wanted and New Zealanders, being the friendly welcoming, sport crazy nuts we are, took them all into our hearts and homes.

By all accounts the players had a great time.

As did the 100,000 or so tourists that have jumped out of planes, bungeed off bridges, visited Milford Sound, enjoyed our beautiful countryside, swum with dolphins, been fishing, enjoyed great coffee in little cafes in picturesque small towns, ate at some of the best restaurants in the world, skydived, drunk some great wines at some of the world’s best wineries, experienced street theatre, local beer and local pubs, played golf on world class golf courses and generally had the time of their lives.

So many said that they had been on many holidays before and had high expectations that were not met – this time they had equally high expectations and they were exceeded. Indeed according to many, smashed.

Little things like New Zealanders taking perfect strangers into their homes for four week so they got a real NZ experience during the World Cup and being loaned motorcars, binoculars, cameras and all sorts of things to people who were basically total strangers.

But such is the way of the people of this country. It is what makes it special.

The country used the opportunity to showcase fashion (probably a bigger exporter than you might imagine), high end manufacturing, food and our IT industries as well as our more traditional primary industries such as farming, fishing and horticulture.

Contacts were made, relationships forged, dollars flowed.

Having enjoyed this opportunity to showcase our country to the world, I think we are all now somewhat exhausted. It’s been really hard work having this much fun.

Having thought that this might be the last time that we would get to host the event the fact we pulled it off so well has already lead to talk that the tournament will return.

Roll on 2030 – I hope by then my liver has recovered.

Until next week,

Seminars – Our final round for the year are coming up in South Africa, Malaysia and Singapore. Tell your friends about 'the little country that could' and come and hear what we have to share with you about it and the new lives that await migrants to this wonderful country.

My Favourite Place on Earth

This week, rugby or my favourite place on Earth?

Rugby or my favourite place on Earth? What to do, what to do…..

Springboks back in their own beds. Hmmm. Wallabies to follow??? Hmmm, better not speak too soon. The glorious performance of New Zealand referees? Hmmm.

Nah, there’s plenty of water to pass under the Rugby World Cup bridge so let me tell you about my favourite place on Earth and we might return to the rugby if the All Blacks win against Australia this Sunday. If they don’t win we’ll discuss the varying standards of Rugby World Cup referees and blame everyone but ourselves (would put us in good company).

An easy 90 minutes drive from Mount Eden in Auckland is Lang’s Beach. I am lucky enough to own half a beach house (or ‘bach’ – as we North Islanders call it – don’t ask me why) along with my brother-in-law.

Nestled on the east coast of Northland Lang’s is a safe beach, about one and a half kilometres long and protected at each end by promontories of land. Perfect for launching my boat off the beach as it is sheltered from incoming swells.

The sand along this part of the coast is fine and a pale yellow. In summer the sea temperature is 23 degrees and during winter it gets down to a rather chilly 16 degrees. The beaches immediately to the north and south get serious regular surf and are used by the local surfing population all year round. Wetsuits in winter. Boardies in summer.

The water is clear and clean but through the months it changes from an almost grey green in winter to a deep blue green in spring to almost turquoise in summer. Near the shore the water is crystal clear. So clear you have to remind yourself there is no need to constantly watch the bottom while out catching a wave because that shadow isn’t likely to be anything more than loose seaweed and not some deadly form of sea life preparing to end your days.

Plankton abounds. And building on that a robust and healthy food chain exists. Scallop beds lie 50m offshore, lobster hide among the rocks, shellfish lie in their multitudes under the sand. Bait fish abound. Predator fish are everywhere. At certain times of the year their density is so great the water literally turns black with them and boils as the predator fish dart and charge into the masses – an absolute food frenzy. Gannets, Petrels and shearwaters attack from the top. Little Blue Penguins patrol the edges. The fishing is bountiful (for us as well as the birds) either off the beach, off the rocks or out in small boats. Sharks patrol. Harmless ones although we get the not so nice ones from time to time forcing swimmers out of the water……

I’ve seen 3m Orca (Killer Whales) that uniquely for New Zealand come in very close to shore into water as shallow as 2 meters hunting for stingray (you have to see how far a stingray can jump out of the water when it has an Orca on its tail!!).

I have even seen a pod of a half dozen Bryde’s whales fishing and ‘spy hopping’ about 2km out to sea. The largest was about 13m long. Spectacular.

About 15 kilometres out to sea lies Taranaga (The Hen) and a series of six smaller islands (the Chickens). These are protected islands and no landing by humans is allowed. These offshore jewels teem with native birds in forest as pristine as it was 1000 years ago. The ancient Tuatara are found in abundance here. This ancient reptile (it isn’t a lizard) was around when the dinosaurs walked other parts of the Earth.

We first had a holiday up there when my eldest son was about four. We stayed successive Christmases in three different beach houses before finding the one we currently own.

Perched high above Bream Bay the view is spectacular. We sit about 150 meters above sea level and have a 270 degree view north toward Whangarei, out toward New Zealand’s largest marine reserve at The Poor Knight Islands, around to the Hen and Chicks and south toward Bream Tail.

When we first stayed there everything below us was rolling hillside and grazing cows. There were few trees and fewer people. The walk down to the beach with little ones was down a steep gravelled track until we hit the coast road. On a hot summer’s day the walk down was far easier than the walk back with tired little feet soon joined by a younger brother whose preferred method of transport was stroller or dad’s back.

We are no fuss Charlies and the boys would take their afternoon nap in small shelters under a beach towel before waking up and charging off into the ‘bagoon’ as they called it (a tidal pool where a stream that meanders down the hillside met the incoming tide).

Those little boys are now 18 and 15 and prefer the company of their peers to the company of their parents so my wife and I are lucky enough to escape the rat race and two teenagers these days and steal away to our favourite spot on our own or with friends.

A couple of years ago we added a new outdoor ‘room’ – around 20 square meters of open north facing deck and it was while relaxing in a deck chair this past Saturday that made me decide to write and share my impressions ofthis place with you.

High wispy clouds dawdling eastward overhead, a warm breeze coming up from the ocean below, pleasant enough to take the heat out of the sun but not cold. The winter skin was enjoying the warmth of summer’s early rays. Sun block on nose. Looking up I watched as a Skylark, balancing on thermals of air, sung its territorial song before dipping its wings and falling in controlled flight out of the sky back to its grassy nest.

Seagulls wheeled about overhead as did the local harrier, fancying no doubt to make a meal of one of the local feral rabbits that live on the property. In the grass and underbrush pheasants called warnings to one another. Scuttling with quick steps was a covey of Californian Quail; I would like to think owing their existence to my rat eradication programme about our property.

The local boisterous bunch of Tui, a native bird I have written of before, flew from tree to tree chasing one another and warbling their melodic calls each time they were stationary long enough to do so (which wasn’t long – these birds live their lives expending energy to find more sources of energy in the next nectar bearing flowering trees and shrubs). They fly with heavy wings these guys, like so many of our native birds.

It is now early summer up north and it is spreading its warm tentacles slowly southwards. The ground, which is predominantly clay and like concrete in summer, is still soft enough to plant at this time of year. Over the years I have been investing in coastal natives in an attempt to return the grassed hillsides into something resembling what it must once have been. I love the native birds of New Zealand and most are berry or nectar feeders but many parts of the country have become like Dharfur to these native pigeons, Tui, Kakariki, Bellbird and others – a virtual food desert owing to deforestation and ‘conversion’ to grasslands.

I aim to change that - at least on our 6000 square meters of paradise by planting native trees and shrubs.

I considered, as I sat there dozing in the sun, how human coastal development can actually enhance the return of native forest and it’s inhabitants. The farms are subdivided and many of the new buyers want trees and birds and so thousands of native trees and flowering shrubs are planted every year along this coast. It will take many years for the birds to come back in the numbers that James Cook in 1769 once described as a ‘deafening dawn chorus” (the birds were so loud he had to park the Endeavour 400m offshore so his crew could get some sleep), but I have confidence one day they will return, if not in ‘deafening dawn chorus’ numbers at least in reasonable, seduce me with your song, numbers.

And so it was I sat in my deck chair enjoying a pre Ireland-Wales quarter final glass of red and day dreamed - post planting of 71 native plants I should add and I considered how lucky I really am.

Lucky to live in a country where all this is possible. Lucky that I stumbled across a piece of New Zealand I can escape to with family and friends. Lucky to find and buy before the coastal boom of the mid 2000s (and which I could not likely afford now).

A place where, when I stroll along the beach, I consciously look for a piece of rubbish, a coke can, something – anything! – that might tell me I am not imagining how beautiful and clean this place is.

Lucky to take walks along soft sand under mighty Pohutukawa which in summer are adorned in bright red flowers (a bit like those bottle brush flowers you might know if you are not from New Zealand) and listen to the waves hissing as they crawl up the beach.

A beach which is open to one and all. Where sections are roped off every year so the highly endangered New Zealand dotterel can nest in relative peace along with the raucous Pied Oyster catcher.

Where people walk their dogs (on leads of course) and the teenagers light fires and surreptitiously (and sometimes not so surreptitiously) sip their beers and imagine what might be.

She’s a special place is Langs.

I hope you get to enjoy it one day.

Until next week,

 

*** Passmark updates

In the latest pool draw 628 EOIs were selected including the following points profiles:

*All those with 140 points

*All those with 125 points or more including six years work in an area of absolute skills shortage

*All those with 100 points or more including an offer of skilled employment