facemeltingukulele – Little Wing acoustic

Just got back from an exhausting family reunion in Whangarei. We stayed out at Ruakaka beach. Choice hangi, it was good to catch up with the relatives who did show up (ALL of my first cousins who didn’t: for shame!), and I found out that I’m distantly related to a mate of mine!

Don’t have anything else interesting to say, so here’s a photo of my niece:

Sadie deals with an icecream

Audioslave – Your Time Has Come

Here’s what I wore for my presentation. Red is an action colour… see, when making a pitch it’s all about the subliminal mindgames. (To any colleagues who were at that conference – *jedi handwave* this isn’t the blogpost you’re looking for. Move along.)

The pitch went well, tough questions were asked, most of them I was able to answer. It looks like this project is a-go

Some music box I got on the Champs D’Elysee

As it turns out, the thumbs up handsign that we all know and love is actually offensive to some people so, uhhh, wearing a tee shirt based around a character or mascot that is doing a thumbs up might not be the smartest idea when travelling internationally.

This might explain then why a very angry looking guy at Dubai was glaring at me as if he wanted to tear my head off and shit down my neck, and it would also explain the very angry old lady yelling at me in Montparnasse. Of course I’d just finished over 30 hours of flying and was struggling to find my hotel, so she was ignored, which only made her angrier.

Today we went to the Cemetiere at Du Pere-Lachaise. Cemetary tourism would typically be considered freakish, but as it turned out, there were a few good reasons for this one. Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde (and the various defacing) amongst others.

Yesterday we went to Pigalle in search of musical instruments, and wound up wandering around to the Moulin Rouge (and associated area) and then up to Sacre Cour, which is an amazing place.

Also today we went to La Defence, which features La Dome and the Grand Arche, however it’s 2.30am so I’ll post pictures of those tomorr… today sometime.

Underworld playing on the Mac Mini loungebox

When I get a kiwiana shirt, that means I’m going overseas. Yes, back to Paris with me, and it’s been a whirlwind of emotion this time around, with me swinging from furiousity (is that a word?) to defeated acceptance.

I was hoping that I would be going via Singapore again, so that I could pick up an Eee PC 1000, but this time we’re going via Dubai… so we’ll have to see if there are any decent deals there that my credit card can handle. Otherwise, my PC for the trip will be my DS Lite

Tiki – Always On My Mind

On Saturday Jim and I went around the harbour to Days Bay, had breakfast and a coffee before jumping on the East By West harbour ferry out to Matiu/Somes Island. After a 10 minute trip on the ferry at a cost of NZD$18.50 for a return pass, you are debriefed in a small quarantine building designed to ensure that nobody smuggles unwanted pests onto the island. Anyone interested in the history of the island can ask questions here, for anyone who misses it, you can read up some major points at the wikipedia.

It was very interesting to hear about the importance this island had for New Zealand’s biosecurity and by extension our economy, and it was also very interesting to learn of a more xenophobic time for us – even if you weren’t Italian or German, in WWII if you simply had an Italian or German sounding surname, you would be interned there. This side of WWII and the far side of WWI, the island served as a quarantine for both humans and animals, however judging by the photographic records on display there, there is not much remaining of the buildings that housed the human population, these days only a few select buildings stand, along with a seemingly untouched tennis court and some old security fences. The island also served as an anti-aircraft gun location during WWII.

After the (brief) debriefing you are free to roam the island in your own time. Immediately after the quarantine building is a sealed road that runs from the wharf to the top, it’s a bit steep but it’s over quickly and you come across the first indicator of the history of the place: When the road was being bulldozed in, a graveyard was accidentally uncovered. For those who do not hear from the person doing the debriefing, this is roughly at the halfway hairpin corner. A couple of headstones (and, I assume, remains) were relocated further up the hill to the side of the road with a monument for all those who died while either in quarantine or interned there during one of the world wars. The monument itself is very sobering, not that I was drunk, but looking through all the names and seeing the ages at which they died – some were as young as a few months old, most were less than 10 years old, and then at the bottom of one side of the monument there is mention of the infamous Kim Lee.

Kim Lee was a Chinese man who arrived at the quarantine in 1904 suspected of leprosy. He was immediately exiled to the nearby and barely habitable Mokopuna Island. There he lived in a cave for 3-4 months, fed by food delivered via a flying fox from the main island, before he passed away on 14 March 1904, at an age of about 51. Unfortunately Mokopuna Island is still called Leper Island by some, when the modern view held by DoC staff, volunteers and historians is that he instead had tuberculosis and psoriasis. It is a very sad story, and probably not the best start to an island exploration. Not far from the monument is a solitary headstone, overlooking the harbour, facing northwards to Petone and the Hutt Valley.

Further up the road you come across the remaining buildings, some Department of Conservation (DoC) buildings and the visitor centre. Further up from there, past about a dozen sheep with a couple of lambs, is the Trig station, which is at the highest point of the island. I’ve always had a fascination with trig stations and I’ve never known why, regardless, from this vantage point you can see some of the other major features of the island, namely the remains of the AA-gun installation which are a literal stonesthrow away and the lighthouse.

After all of these are explored, then it’s time to check out the flora and fauna. There are Kakariki birds playing in bird baths, there are curious North Island Robins who will follow you about, and even jump on your foot to check you out if you stop to give them a chance. Then there are about 50 Tuatara floating about, who are extremely hard to spot and most can go an entire day without spotting one, we certainly didn’t see one.

Overhearing a conversation between a DoC staffer and a volunteer, apparently people who go out when the weather isn’t so great – like we did – are people who are geniunely interested in the island. That’s not to say that there’s anything wrong with going out there on a sunny day. I for one see the island from both viewpoints – it is a very interesting place that’s sitting there in the middle of Wellington Harbour, yet nobody gives it a second thought. The fact that it remains relatively untouched (some 15,000 visitors per year) is appealing to me. It’s a very peaceful place, and on a sunny day would make a great picnic location. And afterwards, on the ferry back from whence you came, you can have a beer.

What a day.

Dave Dobbyn – Slice Of Heaven

Executive Summary: Fred Dagg had it right; We don’t know how lucky we are

Well I’ve been back for a week now, thanks to my experience with sleep deprivation over the years I was able to effectively plan ahead and squash that wee issue called jetlag quicksmart. 40+ hours awake, thankfully on Singapore Airlines one of the lovely attendants goes past every couple of minutes, so you can stay wired on some pretty terrible filter coffee, but that’s what you get for going in the cheapseats. We got back in the afternoon, I managed to stay up for about 5 more hours and then I slept like a log before getting up bright and early the next day. To give you some perspective, here’s a photo of me about 4 hours after arriving in Wellington with T-Ho, who had been drinking all day, maybe even since the day before.

That, by the way, is my second beer. And after that I was a nana, went home and snored my “too many croissants with butter and too much belgian beer” little heart out.

So what I have I noticed now, thinking comparatively between NZ and Europe?

Well, the French aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Everyone says they’re arrogant, but as I’ve said in a previous post – go there with no prejudice, show them a bit of respect by giving their language a nudge and they’re pretty forgiving much like the Italians, and we found them to be absolutely polite – even more polite than New Zealanders. Go to their country expecting them to speak english, and expecting them to be arrogant, and that’s exactly what you’ll get. And the argument that “heaps of other Europeans speak like 4 languages so I conclude that ALL French must speak English, they’re just holding out because they’re wankers!” is about as dumb as an English speaker expecting to come over here and engage with any New Zealander in conversational Maori.

The air in parts of Europe is disgusting, especially compared to the air in New Zealand which is so very clean and pure. In Paris you cannot see the horizon from the top of the Eiffel Tower due to the pollution, but Paris has nothing on London. One weekend in London and by the time we got to Belgium my throat was RAW. I practically had to drink from a water bottle whenever I wasn’t drinking sweet Belgian beer to keep my throat moist. It wasn’t any better until a couple of days ago The only respite in the trip was Grenoble, but even then due to its geographical location, Grenoble apparently has a Christchurch-esque tendancy to have smog settling down. Still, the water in Grenoble was right up there with Petone’s Artesian – my hosts explained to me that the water comes from a mountain catchment that has a strictly controlled zone around it to ensure that nothing, NOTHING, enters the water. It filters down through the mountains (French Alps that is) and remains untouched all the way to the taps.

London was 50/50 for me. Like Paris should not be taken as the real France, London should not be taken as the real England. While it was nice to be in an English speaking country where people drive on the correct side of the road, their insistence on sticking to the pound is just dumb and frustrating. Having had to elbow another man in the face to ensure my head wasn’t decapitated by the doors on the Tube, I can now look at a “packed” Wellington train with a smile; It’s luxury in comparison.

Belgium was awesome. A very beautiful place, even the drunk homeless and beggers were pleasant compared to London’s. Beer that is 11% alcohol was just dandy. Brussells was cool, the Mannequin Pis was astoundingly disappointing (it’s TINY) and Antwerp was an amazing place, even though we were only there for one night.

Food: I had frogs legs – they taste like chicken. I had steamed snails – they’re just like eating shellfish. I had horse steak – now that was tasty. The pastries were very rich, sugary and starchy. The butter was outstanding. The coffee was, well, the French like to sprinkle their coffee beans with Cajun seasoning and then cremate them – an exaggeration sure, but if you don’t like the taste of burnt beans don’t bother drinking coffee in France – oh, and Cafe au lait (ie coffee with milk) after say 10am is a fine way to say “I’m a twat” though not as bad as Cafe Americano. The Poms cannot make a coffee to save themselves, and this is coming from me – a tea drinker. The wine in France was outstanding, the beer in Belgium was outstanding, the greasy in London was outstanding. The Coca-Cola in all countries was weird; its aftertaste was a bit more like syrup and gave a bit of a headache afterwards. The oysters were terrible; I may as well have drank sea water.

Frankly though, while France’s work ethic was pretty cruisy – especially in the south of France, the lifestyle was not quite a match for NZ’s. Pulling into Wellington Airport after dealing with Brussells International, Heath-fucking-row, CDG and Singapore.. well… Wellington Airport is like a farmer’s airstrip in comparison. After ripping through a tunnel on the way to Antwerp at 140kmh, our 100kmh speed limit seems a bit more sane. Things are smaller, simpler and slower here. Now that I’ve had this perspective, I love living in New Zealand even more. Sure, our history might not be as old as the public toilets in Grenoble, or as interesting because we’re doing our utter best to ignore most of our defining moments such as the Treaty of Waitangi, the previous Declaration of Independance, the New Zealand wars (which, seriously, is something to be proud of in a twisted way), and a myriad of other things. I realised this when our hosts – my workmates – were pointing out very interesting things and discussing their histories, and I came to the conclusion that if they came to Wellington, I would not be able to show them anything remotely as interesting – because they know their city better than I know mine.

I’ve resolved to get to know my own country better; to get outside my comfort zone, my rut, my same old schedule and explore. To find other pubs, to meet other people, to experience as much of New Zealand as possible. My weekends are going to be a lot more interesting now. I will be going back to France for work though and I’m looking forward to it – I could be a month, I could be three. I’ll be better prepared and will make much better use of my time while I’m there, so bring it on!

I’m still alive and having a grand time. Here’s a picture of me outside l’Chateau De Versailles, one of the most amazing places I’ve ever been in my life

Plenty of pictures to post, not enough time to blog, but suffice to say I’m now in the beautiful city of Grenoble – apparently where Andre the Giant came from!

Bonjour! After some 30 hours of travel I am safe and sound in Paris. Malakoff is amazing and the coffee is strong. Yesterday we figured out the transport system and went to the top of the Eiffel tower, checked out a few of the Palaces, the artificial beach along the river and the Arc De Triomphe (as you can see above)

The Parisians are not, thus far, living up to their reputation for arrogance. In fact they are very polite and friendly, though I guess it helps that I am polite and friendly towards them. I can understand though; yesterday while at the Tourism NZ rugby ball, an American waltzed up and literally yelled “HEY YA’LL WHERE’S THE AMERICAN VERSION OF THIS HERE BROCHURE?”

1) Your language is called English
2) I don’t work here
3) Don’t automatically assume that I speak English, that is insulting of the highest order. I might be French – you don’t see me strutting up to you in your country and yelling at you in French do you?

Bonjour, Ca Va? Parlez-vous Anglaise? Goes a long way. Follow it up with Merci beaucoup, au revoir and you’re onto a winner. It’s not that hard.

Note: 99% of Americans we’ve come across, apart from being very loud, have been absolutely fine ambassadors for their country. The above and one other incident were the only bad experiences.

The beggers here are astounding, if you’re in Paris and you see people storming up to you asking if you speak English – especially around the Eiffel tower – say “yes, I can speak a little, FUCK OFF” because otherwise they’ll give you a piece of paper with some woeful story about how their mother was killed in Bolivia. Saying “Non, pardon” will net you more hassling, asking if you’re Christian etc. Then you might find them trying to pick your pockets five minutes later like I did.

And Paris is not the city of romance, there’s really nothing romantic about it, and it’s hilarious watching all the lovestruck foreign couples just playing into the cliche. One last thing – my laptop battery is running low – the locals are very apologetic towards New Zealanders regarding the absolute farce that was our rugby match on the weekend. Quite a few that I’ve talked to have given some friendly ribbing, but also accepted that the referee’ing was of an astonishingly unacceptable standard.

More later! CDLT

Rawiri

It seems that the upgrade to 2.3 is going to take some time, and unfortunately I’m high up in the google results for this particular problem, so I guess I’ll make an update when I (or somebody else) figure it out. As it stands it appears to be either FreeBSD or the Suhosin patch (which, as I understand, comes with FreeBSD by default)

Not much has happened over the last week – my application for a credit increase on my Visa was declined as I haven’t had my credit card for 6 months or more, so I had to go with a bank loan. Fortunately my particular account offers me up to NZD$20k, and thanks to my budgeting I have plenty of cash left after my bills are paid, so I’m able to service some debt, so this morning I signed off for an approved $5k loan to give me a financial buffer.

As it stands, apparently there are surprise farewell drinks for myself and Benny this Friday night, probably at Murphys Law as usual. Saturday we’ll finish grabbing anything we need (disposable undies!), and then Sunday at 10am we check in at the airport. Some 30 hours of travel later we’ll arrive bleary eyed at some ungodly hour Monday morning at Charles De Gaulle, and I will say for the first time to a French taxi driver “Excusez-moi de vous deranger, parlez-vous anglaise?”

Bring on three weeks of vin blanc and bier! And we get back on the 28th, just in time for the touch season to start on the 3rd of November. Hopefully we’ll arrive back to decent weather with spring hopefully at full pace, I’d hate to arrive back to what we’re leaving – a schitzophrenic weather pattern of ice-cold gusts and rain.

The schedule is finally set, I’m going to be in Europe from the 7th of October through to the 26th. One week in Paris (and wherever else), one week in Grenoble, and one week in Diegem. And the rugby world cup final is on the 20th. Unfortunately with all the to-ing and fro-ing around this trip, I was unable to commit to getting finals tickets and so I’ve missed out on that front, but no biggy – I can jump on the Eurostar through to London, grab a taxi to the Grand In Clapham and party it up with Professor Jedi Thian.

Unfortunately it’s not clear how to book in for this, the Grand specifies that doors open an hour before kick off, but the video specifies to grab a TNT magazine for details. Even more unfortunately, the TNT magazine is not easy to find in Wellington, so we’re stuck with the online version.

Let me put it this way, if I spend hundreds of Euros to get from the south of France to a pub in London, I’d like to be pretty damn sure I’m going to get in. And dragging my mate Benny along too, I don’t want us to look like twats fully blacked out and stuck in the streets of London, though it would make for a great drinking story.

Which reminds me, I’ve got to get some All Blacks gear this weekend – socks, shorts, shirt and anything else.

People wanting me to bring crap back from Europe, get your shopping lists in now. Professor Thian, or anyone from TNT Magazine, or anyone from Rugbyheaven.co.nz – if you read this, please get in touch, because Rawiri “Fitzy’s stunt double” Blundell and Benny “Kees Meeuws is a god amongst mortals” Martin are coming from the Petone Mighty in the seat of blackness, and customs allowing we’re bringing a slice of pain cake with us.