Bizarre

To think that the day I finally get around to posting my thoughts on Tibet that I ride into a town on the complete opposite side of the world with a Tibet Bar. It turns out that this is an area where a lot of scenes from the movie 'Seven Years in Tibet' were shot. I have not seen this film starring Brad Pitt but the Andes are not quite the Tibetan Himalaya. While they are barren they are not as desolate and are a pinkier shade of dirt. Of course, most people watching the movie have never seen Tibet ... or even the Andes for that matter. Regardless both places are incredible. I wonder whether the Tibet Bar in Uspallata serves Lhasa beer or yak butter tea? I'll find out once I get my empanada fix.

later

Marco

Tintin in Tibet

**** Boredom Alert - This is a MONSTER post and is not as much fun as Tintin's own escapade in Tibet. Apologies for taking up so much of your reading time but Tibet is a difficult subject to skim. Hopefully you will find it interesting ****

A while ago this intrepid young reporter spent time in the mythical country of Tibet. Somehow I failed to post on the experience despite it being one of the most interesting places I have visited. This is likely because the political situation required me to research it a little more. Indeed, my curiosity about Tibet was the main reason for me being in that part of the world. I had hoped to bike across the Tibetan Plateau from Lhasa to Kathmandu but Asia is not a place where you can organise things on a whim as it takes a lot of time to acquire visas. There is a lot of inaccuracies on the www in terms of transiting through this part of the world and there is also the possibility of border closures. Thus, it would be best to plan such a trip on the ground from the Beijing side if one wanted to ride through unassisted or from the Kathmandu side if one wanted to be part of a fully-supported Tour. This post may have inaccuracies, thus, please post a comment if you feel I have missed something or if you can help complete the picture. Naturally the best way to learn more about a country so rich in nature, tradition and mystique is to visit it. Indeed the desolate scenery is breath-taking and worth the trip alone.

The simplest way to introduce modern-day Tibet is to draw a parallel with the Troubles in my home country of Ireland. Wherever one sees huge numbers of a national flag accompanied by a heavy military presence one knows that there is political rift. The difference with Tibet is that there is only one national flag in evidence; the Chinese flag. This sits atop almost every dwelling. Picture how it would feel for a unionist family in Belfast to have a tricolour floating on their roof-top or vice-versa. Of course, Ireland is an island and a small one at that, so on a geographical level one must question how there came to be a political border within it. Tibet's geography is also at odds with the Chinese power that occupies it. Tibet is the size of France, Germany and Spain combined and sits atop a plateau at roughly 4000ms in altitude. It is effectively a massive island in the sky. In addition, their rouge cheeks contrast with the sallow yellow skin of the Chinese, they speak a different language and they have very a very different Buddhist tradition. This tradition is at total odds with the more orthodox Chinese one. On a very simple level it is very difficult to fathom why the Chinese government considers it part of their already huge country at all.

From a Chinese perspective, they look back through history and see that Tibet was once part of the same empire. However, when does a country's existence begin and end? The Chinese government would not be impressed if Mongolia strived to reclaim all the lands of Genghis Khan. Occupation of Tibet allows China to secure a border closer to India, which suits them from both a political and trade point of view. Occupation also gives them access to Tibet's rich mineral deposits. The Chinese have always desired the reclamation of Tibet, however, the Tibetan government over the centuries never took the threat seriously preferring to dispatch diplomats only when necessary. Indeed their attitude towards the Chinese was somewhat haughty and this proved to be their undoing. By the time the government in Lhasa realised that the Chinese were invading back in the 1950's the Chinese were already moving through the provinces. While the locals did manage to defend themselves they were never in a position to win a war and so the capital Lhasa ultimately fell into the hands of the Chinese. It was during the 'Cultural Revolution' of 1959 that the spiritual head of the people, the Dalai Llama, managed to escape on horse-back. It was a controversial decision to desert his besieged people, however, the decision to escape was taken as reparation of Chinese relations seemed hopeless near-term and so it would be easier to advance the cause of his people safely from outside. Indeed the cavalcade made their way through the Himalaya to Northern India where the local government provided for them. To this day Dharamsala has been home to the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan government in exile. The Chinese were absolutely fuming that the Dalai Lama managed to slip out of the country unnoticed. The charming nature of the incumbent Dalai Lama and his spiritual teachings have made him a cult figure in the western world. His intelligence, compassion and diplomacy have won him many friends in political circles such that he has proved to be a constant thorn in the Chinese side. Of course, it would be naive to think that the US or British government actually care about the Tibetan cause, they simply bring up the disappearance of the Panchen Lama and the plight of the Tibetan people during trade negotiations with the Chinese to humiliate them and increase their bargaining power. It works. So much so that the Tibetan situation is now as much a case of national pride for the Chinese as anything else.

The 'Cultural Revolution' as it is known was effectively ethnic cleansing. The Chinese government passes this off as the 'Peaceful Liberation of Tibet', however, it was only peaceful in the sense that the Tibetans did not have the means to tackle the bully. Indeed, despite some initial pockets of violent resistance in the mountains, such guerillas disbanded when the Dalai Lama desired a peaceful resolution to the problem. Tibetans idolise the Dalai Lama and will always to do as he asks. The stories that have emerged over the many years suggest that it was a particularly gruesome occupation and that there was a lot of bloodshed. The Chinese pillaged and destroyed all the Buddhist monasteries in an attempt to cure the Tibetans of their delusional beliefs. They only saved certain monasteries due to the need to store all the vast riches that were housed within them. It was their failure to stamp out Tibetan' beliefs that caused the Chinese government the most astonishment. They did not realise that by taking away the thing that was most dear to the Tibetans that it would in fact unite Tibetans and make their beliefs stronger. Indeed, during times of persecution or suffering we all resort to our spiritual beliefs as a means of consolation. No matter what the Chinese tried they could not eradicate Tibetan Buddhism. Thus, came the big calm where the Chinese relaxed their persecution of the Tibetans. Not all Tibetans trusted the Chinese after what they had been through but some openly began to reaffirm their faith publicly. There was a long period where relations between Tibetans and the Chinese seemed to improve, however, this was simply a tactic by the Chinese. The idea was to bring the 'poison' out into the open in order to lance it with a spear. Thus, the pious revealed themselves during the calm and subsequently met a grim end as they simply vanished.

In recent years China has opened the Tibetan border to small groups of tourists in the hope of showcasing to the western world the ways in which they have developed Tibet. It is ironic that they opened it as the border was never really open in the first place. Part of the mystique of Tibet was that nobody knew what was going on there. Lhasa was always the Forbidden City and outsiders were very rarely allowed in. Foreign policy as far as the Tibetans were concerned was to keep themselves to themselves such that nobody would ever think about them. If people knew little about Tibet then they would not desire it. The Tibetan Plateau would be a particularly difficult place to invade in any case as the winters are so cold, the mountains so high and the plains so vast. Stories about prognosticating oracles and levitating monks increased the mysticism. Regardless, the Chinese opened the border to tourists in the nineties in an effort to improve diplomatic relations and earn some tourist dollars. They have spent a fortune on infrastructure. The roads in Tibet must be among the best sealed roads in the world. Indeed, Lhasa and Shigatse are now modern cities with fast-food outlets and malls. On the surface it looks like the Chinese have tried to modernise Tibet, however, the truth is that all infrastructure development was for the Chinese' own ends. The airports and roads were built to allow easier access for the military and the Chinese population that would be transplanted there. The reason that Tibetans are so 'backward' is that they don't desire these things in the first place. They are no less intelligent than anyone else, they just don't believe in the need for cars, combine harvesters, electricity or materialism. They don't even need watches as they use more natural things such as the first or second crowing of the cock as reference points. Everything they do has a traditional basis and while their beliefs can hinder 'progress' they get by. For example, any of the infrastructure development they do undertake can take an age as if a worm is uncovered during a dig, then great efforts are made to ensure its safety. I can only imagine the amount of worms that have been spared death by a shovel.

Chinese Infrastructure Programme

The prognosis for Tibetans is bleak. While the Chinese have a more relaxed approach to them now that they have a stranglehold, it is difficult to see how Tibetans can reclaim their freedom and their beliefs among so many transplanted Chinese. At last they are allowed to flutter their traditional prayer flags. These flags are everywhere but are typically located on mountain peaks where the strong winds will blow their prayers to the Buddhas. They are even alongside the Chinese flag imposed on their roof tops in lieu of the fact that they can't fly their own flag. They openly practice their beliefs once more, always spinning their prayer wheels as they march laps of the Potala Palace or the Jokhang Temple. The monasteries have regained relatively large populations of Buddhist monks, although they all seem to carry mobile phones and are paid by the government. Monasteries are being restored by the Chinese, however, this is mostly for appearances. When the tourists leave, works tend to stop and the work they did do is repeated the next day for the next wave of tourists such that nothing is ever completed. The Chinese have in the main rehoused them in modern but traditionally styled Tibetan dwellings with some modern conveniences. Today each city has the Tibetan Old Quarter, the Tibetan New Quarter and then large tower-blocks for the Chinese that are subsisted to live in a part of 'their' country that they know little about. The large population of Tibetans that live outside the country be it in Nepal or India can not freely return. The Indian government has graciously allowed many Tibetans to live there but there is only so many they can accommodate. The Tibetans that crossed the border to Nepal must integrate themselves and live without much current knowledge of the Dalai Lama. As Nepal is both politically and economically weak, it must tow the Chinese line. Only the Tibetans in India freely hear his teachings but one wonders whether they have the desire to return now that they have integrated into a new country, have familiarised themselves with more western ideals and can live freely. Indeed, children of Tibetans that fled have little desire to live at altitude in a very inhospitable climate without the comforts that they are now used to.

For the traveller in Tibet one can sense the huge weight of silence. It is palpable in the air not just because the scenery is so desolate but because the people can not speak freely and have to suppress their views. It must be difficult to stand idly by but there is no option. In March 2008 in the lead-up to the Beijing Olympics, some Tibetans demonstrated hoping that the fresh eyes of the West would paralyse China's response. The Chinese military marched into the Jokhang Square where Tibetans' sacred temple lies and sprayed gun-fire shooting and killing many. Thus, Tibetans no longer voice their views, even to foreigners in case the person is in fact a Chinese spy. The longer the occupation continues the more their children are brainwashed in schools and the longer they live without sight nor sound of their spiritual leader the Dalai Lama. Indeed, at the border tourists' bags are scanned for books in case they reveal pictures of Tenzin Gyatso. Indeed, such is their paranoia about the Dalai Lama that I could have walked across the border with 20 kilos of cocaine strapped to me. This security lapse allows tourists to sneak pictures of the Dalai Lama on their person, which they give to teary-eyed Tibetans once they cross the border. Such a release of emotion to strangers indicates much. The generic Jeep tour showcases the majestic scenery of the roof of the world, it takes in some huge 7000m+ peaks and some 5000m+ road-passes. Everest at 8848ms can often be viewed from a distance through the permanently clear blue skies. This blue is permanent because all the rain breaks on the Nepali side of the Himalaya creating a scintillating view that composes of nothing but brown arid dirt, deep blue skies and crisp white snow-peaks. In addition one sees monasteries under 'repair' and the modern Chinese cities of Lhasa and Shigatse. While there are Tibetans, there are also Chinese everywhere, busying themselves with making a new life in the Tibet Autonomous Region. It is difficult to know the Chinese take on it. I certainly wasn't in a position to ask them but one has to realise that the Chinese people are not part of the problem. While the military patrol the streets and the roof-tops in groups with their fingers no more than two centimetres from the trigger, most of them are very young and are only following orders. Of course, it is true that the military display a strong presence in most Chinese cities so perhaps that it is not so unusual. The Chinese that have been transplanted there obviously know little about the historical situation. They are simply there to make a living and accept subsidies from the government for their presence. Their knowledge is limited and controlled and they are likely just happier to have more freedom than before. One has to remember that the Chinese people have never had an easy life. Communist China's growing economic power simply improves the life of the Chinese somewhat. It is better to have some money and little freedom than little money and little freedom.

The more time that is allowed to elapse the less optimistic one can be. Of course, the Dalai Lama manages to maintain his optimism for a resolution and even has great compassion for the Chinese. As for me, in looking into the future of Tibetans I simply need to consider my own situation; my knowledge of the Irish language is minimal, I neither play the tin-whistle nor Irish-dance. I enjoyed playing the English game of rugby in school. I don't know my national anthem. I support an English football club as opposed to a local club. I prefer watching the BBC and Channel Four to the national broadcaster. In addition, I rarely consider the plight of the nationalists in the North who have been abandoned in their own country through the Good Friday Agreement. By all accounts I have been assimilated rather well. So well, that I have not an ounce of bitterness towards England and have many friends there. History was written long before I came into the world.

Indeed, in some ways Ireland is now grateful for being an English-speaking nation; it is one of the key components that makes us desirable as a place for foreign investment. So while we have the so called visionary Irish elite to thank for running the country into the ground perhaps we will have the English to thank for getting us out of it? It will be interesting to see in a few decades time whether the less politically motivated young Tibetans of today will be glad of their assimilation under the modern economic powerhouse that is China? While we may mourn the loss of another nation joining an ever more homogeneous global community, Tibetans of the future may be glad of the opportunity to live a more Western lifestyle. The shame is that young Tibetans may adopt our view in considering Tibet to be an inhospitable and demanding land without much opportunity. The truth is that the land provided abundantly for the traditional Tibetan communities in the past because they never sought the material trappings or so-called 'opportunity' that the West provides. They were once a very content people.

Tibet is a wonderfully unique place. I do not know what the future holds for them as a people. I simply wish that they can express their identity, be free to practice their beliefs and live and speak without fear. I wish that for everyone.

Mind how you go

Tintin

Traditional FarmingPiety in front of the Potala Palace

Buenos dias de Buenos Aires

I am now back in a much more sociable time-zone with Europe than I expected; I did not realise until I reset my clock that the East coast of North America is in line with the West coast of South America. This made my flight from Sydney longer than I expected and just illuminates to me how little research I have done if I have barely studied the globe I am crossing.

Regardless, it's very exciting to be here. However, my head is a little more pre-occupied than normal as I have to reconsider my gear and learn some Spanish. Of course, there is also the Buenos Aires nightlife to explore. Thus, as an interlude I may post a couple of random pieces that I have on the shelf until such a time that I can sober up and properly pen something of note.

May the sky not fall on your heads in the meantime.

Hasta luego

Marco

Farewell Oceania

It was atop Avalanche Peak in New Zealand that I realised what the country was about; wilderness. It was a pretty steep hike up the mountain but the view at the top was totally wild. There is a lot of wilderness on the South Island, particularly in the South and West as this large chunk of the island is a World Heritage Site. For all intents and purposes it is one large tourist resort as the local population on the island must be outnumbered by the tourists that flock there to experience the outdoors and amazing scenery. It is really just an adventure playground. For sure there is all the adrenaline stuff in Queenstown but the real beauty to New Zealand is experienced off the beaten track in the middle of nature. Having enjoyed my hike up the mountain I decided that the bike was not the best way to see it. While it is not the worst way by any means one is on the same road as the many tourist cars and buses; the beaten-path so to speak. Instead it is possible to tramp for days on end seeing very few people. While civilisation will always beckon at some point, the whole beauty of nature is that the fresh air allows one to recharge one's batteries and clear one's head of all the many daily thoughts that ensnare fresh perspective. New Zealand is a real oasis in this respect.

If camping and tramping the mountain-sides for days on end is a bit of a stretch then the next best way to see the place is by air. If I had the means I would sit on the northern beaches of the South Island where the sunshine is more reliable. If the forecast were to be clear I would jump in a chopper and perhaps cover most of the scenery by air in a day. The South Island is particularly diverse in terms of its terrain with its large rainforests, ocean-side beaches, alpine passes, sounds and glaciers. It would make for spectacular viewing from the sky. Of course, the less severe and more modest way would be to hire a camper-van. One should stock it up with plenty of food and water such that one does not have to touch civilisation unless one needed or wanted to. Bring some company and strap the requisite number of kayaks and mountain-bikes to the van. With a good pair of hiking boots one can do what-ever one feels like and have the opportunity to explore the many lakes, mountains and trails while staying in the middle of nowhere for as long as desirable. If that gets a little tiresome then one can always pull up at a decent hotel within a day's drive for a little luxury.

New Zealand is a really cool place for anybody that likes the outdoors. I only saw a slice of the country in riding from Queenstown to Christchurch. I have left myself the whole East coast of the South Island and the whole of the North Island to explore the next time I get there. While it has some really nice big towns and cities it is not really a place for city-slickers as the overwhelming sense is that the country is quite small. I really enjoyed myself there but I could not help but think that my New Zealand and Australian experience was a little too easy. While I was craving such familiarity on my exit from India I do not think that I would ever make the move to a part of the world that will not provide that extra dimension over Ireland. For sure, the beaches and sunshine in Australia can be incredible and the mountains and outdoors in New Zealand are spectacular. However, the more I travel the more I realise that I have a lot of diverse interests and so it is more difference than sameness that appeals to me. Thus, as cool as Australia and New Zealand are and as easy as it would be to spend a fair chunk of time in either country, they don't have the extra 'je ne sais quoi' that I'm searching for. Still, it was great to finally see them ... if I had a penny for every time somebody told me that I should be living in Australia or New Zealand etc.

Thoughts of South America now play on my mind.

Wishing you plenty of fresh air and fresh thinking

Marco

Shooting New Zealand

New Zealand proved to be a frustrating place to take photos. One is surrounded by incredible scenery but the most photogenic shot is rarely possible. Iconic places such as Milford Sound, Franz Josef and Fox Glacier are in a particularly wet part of the country, so even if you avoid the rain you are unlikely to get reasonable light due to the cloud cover. Indeed, the days I spent in Queenstown were particularly frustrating because the clouds were so low-slung that the peaks were hidden from view. While it made for some interesting cloudscapes most of the time the drab lighting made shooting pointless. Passing through as I do means that hanging around for the shot is not an option and in any case, the changeable weather in New Zealand would require a great deal of patience. In addition, while I managed to take lots of photos the camera rarely did the scene justice as I do not have a wide-angle lens. I visited during summer, however, my guess is that every season provides for some really spectacular shots. Thus, I only got a slice of the action.

Regardless, I have posted my photos in the gallery. They are mostly scenic shots (not everybody's cup of tea) and there are 68 of them (2 pages). I did not condense the gallery as the slide-show seems to mesh. Indeed you will quickly understand that mountains and lakes make up a large chunk of the South Island.

I hope you are all keeping well

Marco



The Bicycle Thief

The title of this piece refers to a classic Italian post-war movie and aptly introduces the theme of this post; the moving image. My time in New Zealand allowed me the chance to catch up on some flicks. First up was The Big Lebowski (one can never tire of his dudeness), then a trip to the art-deco cinema in Hokitika to watch Avatar in 3D. The 3D wasn’t so bad but there will be better films for it. I was initially unnerved by Jarhead Jake’s resemblance to a certain Lance Armstrong … a man of amazing skill on a bike, which I respect greatly but a man of numerous other qualities which I loathe. Anyone familiar with how he operates knows that I should add nothing further. Another movie I saw was Sherlock Holmes; a very miss-able film perhaps saved by Robert Downey Jnr’s acting. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was quite thrilling but the gruesome sadist scenes were unnecessary in light of the fact that her mystique is explained further along. I made the effort to see Five Minutes of Heaven, simply because it’s an Irish flick and often they are worth a look. The acting was excellent and of course the theme quite upsetting. To think that I lived (live?) peacefully only 200k from the Troubles.

I do love movies and so I will always make the effort to go if there is an interesting cinema to experience one in. I never managed to load movies onto my laptop’s hard-drive but part of me doesn’t want to have such easy access. This allows me to savour the pleasure. As I mentioned in a previous post I mislaid my phone and iPod Touch in a pub in NSW. My guess is that most people would be lost without their iPod and so I didn’t know what to expect. As I have no movies or TV shows on my laptop my only real connection to moving images is in the cinema or the odd decent TV room in a hostel. I’m not one to spend time on YouTube preferring to limit my www time to emails and updating this website. I was curious to see how I would fare traveling with less technology.

Well, I can only say that it has been a cool experience. Each evening I look forward to sleep knocking me out to the world as my dreams are providing me with all the entertainment I could ever need. In the mornings I emerge from the depths of sleep flicking through the dream channels to recall what ‘shows’ I have been watching during the night. It is really unfortunate that consciousness must slap me awake at some point. My imagination has gone wild; my dreams have all the mystery, murder and intrigue one could ever want. I'm aware that pillow-talk is the more appropriate time to discuss dreams so I will only bore you with the dream where I stole a bicycle. It was a really cool mountain-bike laced with beautiful XT components. Despite its expense it was very inconspicuous as it was a Monteith’s (a west coast NZ brewery!?!). A brand-name that nobody would be familiar with in cycling circles but anyone who knew their bikes would see its hidden beauty. So, I robbed the thing in broad daylight and being plain stupid I did not wear a hoodie. Thus, people saw me cycling around town on it. Suddenly the law (Beadie from The Wire) was at my house. Realising that I was snared I faced the music explaining that I had no choice but to take the bike as it had been in my dreams to do so. While my Mom tried to convince her that I was a good kid my neighbour (Eddie Murphy) came over to see what the commotion was all about. As she was pleading with Beadie I exited the scene with Eddie to hit some golf balls off the cliff-tops onto the beach below. Bizarre. I’m slightly alarmed that I might steal this bike when I see it because I dreamed that I had no choice. If Penelope Cruz was to play the law instead of Beadie then I definitely will.

‘til soon
The Bicycle Thief

ps - for the record Steve managed to make the bag-drop … sounds like a drug deal I know but I am now reunited with my iPod. Suffice to say I couldn’t wait to play Ara Batur and Von (Sigur Ros) … what a fit of satisfaction! Back to regular dreamland now I guess!

Prayers Answered - Safe Arrival in Christchurch

The remaining ride through Arthur’s Pass National Park was really enjoyable. It was a rolling ride with some tough sections but thankfully most of the elevation was climbed by the time I started up Porter’s Pass. I actually thought I had gotten over it but the bike-touring kiwi couple with whom I had lunch by the lake told me that it was around the next bend. It was only a few kilos of extra work so nothing too bad. I was thankful that I did not have to climb it from the other side. That would have been a long 939ms of climbing from sea-level. Instead I was tearing down the descent with screams of laughter. The sun was out, the hard work was done and I would have a nice relaxing pancake flat procession up the aisle of Canterbury to the alter at Christchurch. Then, I hit the head-wind … URGHH! Trust nature to make me grovel for the last 70 clicks. Needless to say I was pretty beat-up after a very long 150k ride on heavy New Zealand roads. Still, it was great to arrive into Christchurch … the third leg of my bike-trip complete. The leg from Queenstown to Christchurch added a nice round 1000k to my accumulated totals. So far, I have 4615 kilos of loaded touring in the legs. I do a decent bit of exploring unloaded but I’m not tracking that. I have also stopped tracking the amount of kilometres covered in my flips but I must have done at least another 700k in NZ … the days of wet weather and hot days again meant that flips were the most comfortable way to bike. Who the hell wants to have to dry out socks and shoes after a hard ride? I must kick this habit though as it won’t help me race a bike faster.

Christchurch seemed to me to be a little like Cambridge; lots of old buildings on campuses and the option to go ‘punting’ on the Avon river. Once you realise that it is not all that happening a place at night but for one cool tiny back-lane quarter you decide to embrace it during the day. There is plenty of activity in the Botanic Gardens and Hagley Park and of course, the nice little beach town of Sumner is not all that far away. Once I found the artisans’ market and the art-house cinemas I was happy. To top it off I found a huge Borders and so stocked up on books. I was told that there is only ever a need to carry one book when travelling as it is possible to exchange books at hostels. However, the quality of such exchanges is terrible. It’s impossible to find a classic book (good by definition) and the Germans have a habit of dropping off books written auf Deutsch and taking an English text instead. While I read some deadly German literature in university when I studied German (Kafka, Hoffmann, Goethe) I cheated by reading the translations and so I certainly am not going to read German on holiday. In any case the majority of German texts in exchanges are just translations of trashy English novels except for that one about the fall of the Third Reich. That one looked interesting but it must have been a 1000 pages long, too much heavy reading for me and I‘m a slow reader! So when I should have been spending time thinking about losing weight for the next leg across the Andes, I was in fact piling it on with books. For those that are interested in what I am reading I picked up Dickens’ ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ when I traded in Steinbeck’s ‘The Winter of our Discontent’ at the second-hand shop. This was a fabulous book which provided a fascinating critique of modern society.  This assessment still applies despite the fact that it was written in 1962. I picked up Niall Ferguson’s ‘The Empire’, which is an account of how a country that once was not that ‘great’ managed to colonise large parts of the world. I thought I may as well read this as I have been to India, Australia and New Zealand and I am from a former colony myself. Indeed, in heading to South America I will be embracing more former colonies, albeit not under the crown. For lighter-reading I am relying on Haruki Murakami’s brilliant imagination for escapism; ‘After Dark’ and ‘Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World’ are two of his that I have yet to read. I am currently in the middle of the Dalai Lama’s ‘Art of Happiness’, which always make me laugh when I whip it out as people hesitate as they make the assumption that I must be unhappy. The truth is that I’m not at all, I’ve always been curious about Tibet and just didn’t manage to read it when my travels took me there. Of course, I will have to read some maps too but I’m pretty lazy with maps as I like surprises.

Talk soon

Marco

The Battle of Otira Gorge

The last week of my stay in New Zealand was graced by a visit from the sun. People in Christchurch had been mumbling that they hadn’t seen much of the sun all summer but thankfully things turned as soon as I turned inland from the town of Greymouth on the West Coast.  The last week of my trip would be blessed with glorious sunshine.

I took the quieter and more scenic route around Lake Brunner to Arthur’s Pass. This is a national Park in which lies the pass that takes you back over the Southern Alps to Christchurch. Porter’s Pass further inland is higher but coming from the West the hard bit is the climb up Otira Gorge to the town named after the Sir Arthur Dobson who ‘discovered’ the pass. Of course, he didn’t really discover it, it was shown to him by a native as a means of transporting gold off the West Coast but being a whitey he gets all the plaudits. The weather showcased the landscape to perfection and it turned out that the section from Greymouth to the town of Springfield would be my favourite scenery of the NZ trip. To be honest, it did feel a little European with lots of pasture lands and evergreens perched on mountain-sides but the familiarity was still spectacular. Unfortunately the many photos I took didn’t do it justice, one would need some sort of IMAXX lens to capture the amazing 360 degree views.

Re-indexing my derailleur to ensure that I had access to my easiest gear meant that I left Greymouth rather late. It was only 100k to Arthur’s Pass but I would have to climb from sea-level to 920ms and I was aware that the pass was difficult. I did not reckon it could be too tough, unless it was up and down all day but I knew this wasn’t the case as there was a long flat section from the coast to the bottom of the Alps. In addition, one of the world’s most scenic train rides travels from Greymouth via the town of Arthur’s Pass to Christchurch. My thinking was that if a train can get up there then I shouldn’t have too many problems since trains can only climb gradual ascents. Still, 100k on heavy roads is a long day on the rothar. I spent the whole morning looking at the Southern Alps rising straight up in front of me and all that was left for me was to figure out through which stunning peaks I would ‘pass’. After lunch temperatures soared to thirty five degrees and I was still riding on what I would consider flats. I admit, I started to get a little worried as the longer it remained flat the steeper the road would pitch at the end. I noticed signs reminding traffic that the gradients ahead were very steep and so vehicles towing trailers should not advance. However, there were plenty of HGVs on this road pulling two trailers and so I reckoned it was all a bit of a false alarm. I passed through the nothing town of Otira aware that all would shortly be revealed. I snaked between a couple of mountain-sides and there she was in front of me; a beast of a climb with no end in sight. The train-tracks disappeared into the darkness of a tunnel, which meant that I would have to climb over whatever it was that the train couldn’t. So much for the gradual ascent! It was as if this road would take me to some fiery dragon’s lair amidst the small puffy clouds. Normally these things are never as bad as they look but the effects of the heat and the previous 90k had softened me up no end. My tyres seemed to be glued to the road, I was in my 22x32 but it didn’t make things any easier. I managed to make it through the tunnel section and just about hung on until I got to the scenic look-out. I was not alive when the Allies tried to storm the beaches of Normandy but it was that feeling of shell-shock that I had when I pulled over at the look-out. There was no end to the water-falls of sweat and my chest was rising and falling much like a puppy’s such was the need to suck in oxygen. I didn’t know what hit me. It was vicious to say the least and I was only half way-up. The hardest thing was that due to the trucks groaning their way up the mountain it made it very difficult to work the bike up the climb as the road was so narrow. I had to ride a very tight line inside the road, which took huge concentration. Naturally my legs and head were already fried from the heat and so it was just agony.

Having sized up the enemy properly this time I managed to cajole my horse around the steep bend to the viaduct which was less sharp. This viaduct was only opened in 2000. I could not work out which way the old road went up but needless to say I’m glad I didn’t have to ride it as there was nothing but shale mountain-sides around me. I still could not see the finish but I was no longer going to slide down the mountain. Indeed, one more impossible section remained before I finally crested the summit … was it a mirage or did this place not look a little like Sally Gap? It was unfortunate that my bike computer stopped registering in NZ. Thus, I do not know what gradient I was climbing. Perhaps it is on the web but I reckon it probably elevated me 600ms vertical in 4kms, which is hard with the bags and a heavy steel bike. I have rarely suffered so much to turn the wheel a single revolution. 15% on asphalt is not impossible as I have ridden shorter sections of 20% off-road. However, every climb has its own personality and I think it was just the nature of this climb, the trucks and the heat that messed my head up. I won’t forget it anytime soon.

I descended to the town of the same name and as I loved the scenery so much I decided I would take yet another day off the bike and go hiking the following day. After a bad night’s sleep due to the early morning trucks racing through town I decided I would climb Avalanche Peak. I started out with intentions of just climbing to the tree-line but of course, the Moses in me meant that I had to climb the mountain. There was no European-style messing around with the trail taking me through woods and around flushing meadows. Instead the track just went straight up the mountain-side 1100ms vertical to an elevation of 1833ms. If I was going to climb this I would have to toughen up kiwi-style. Despite the boulder-scrambling I climbed up in two hours, it would have been less but for some photo-stops. A very fit mountain-runner might get up in an hour but there is more climbing than running as it was a very steep hike. The difficult bit was coming down and it took another two hours just to get down to the road again after a small picnic on the side of the mountain. My quads were a mess the next day from having to brake so hard tramping down. Thankfully, this action is the opposite to cycling and so my legs should be ok for the 150k remaining to Christchurch.

Look after yourselves

Marco

The 'Wet' Coast

My original plan was to take in Mount Cook. However, having experienced a week of rain in Queenstown I decided to omit New Zealand’s highest peak from my itinerary. It did not make sense to bike 420k out of my way to visit a mountain that could be under cloud when I got there. It is not possible to bike up it in any case and I would need even more time to ‘tramp’ it. Omitting it would allow me a more relaxed ride up what is known as the ‘Wet’ Coast, from where it is also possible at points to view the summit of Mount Cook.

While I was sad to leave Wanaka my work there was done. I pedalled out with an open-mind but I was unsure if the country could deliver as good scenery as Wanaka and Queenstown. I had not pedalled more than 20k before I turned the corner into Lake Hawea; my jaw dropped. The weather showcased it to absolute perfection and it was one of the few times that a panorama photo was needed to convey the full beauty of the scene. Unfortunately I do not have such functionality on my camera. Regardless, I became really excited about the scenery that I might witness further up the road. As I was not carting camping equipment my way-points had to be wherever the hostels are situated. While there are plenty of hostels there is also plenty of distance between some of them. I would need to suffer a few big  days on rougher roads but thankfully the weather was largely compliant. There was an absence of wind, which was a huge stroke of luck as the winds can slow you to a standstill in this part of the country. In addition, while I did see some rain I managed to more or less avoid it on the bike. The squalls seemed to hit at times when I was under cover and so could enjoy some rain-delay indoors. I did get caught out at Franz Josef Glacier but as wet as I was it was a warm day. The other thing I needed to watch out for were the hills. I had been warned that NZ has a lot of hills but I had also heard that they weren’t bad at all. I didn’t know who to believe but the West coast is reasonably flat bar a few sections where there are some twenty minute climbs. I am guessing the non-stop hills that people are referring to are on the East coast, not sure. 

By all accounts, I was having an easy time of it and I could sit back and enjoy the ride. Having climbed Haast Pass from the less difficult side I was soon on the West coast and in World Heritage country. Haast Pass, the lowest of the three passes, would mark my first crossing of the Southern Alps. As the whole of Westland is a World Heritage Site, there is very little in the way of civilisation and where there are towns, they are to provide for tourists. It is effectively rainforest with some beaches and glaciers thrown into the mix. It was strange cycling through so much wilderness, there was no farmed land at all. If it wasn’t for the tourist traffic it would be totally unspoilt. However, the sand flies or ‘Draculas of the West’ spoil it. These flies are murderous. It was impossible to stop for more than two minutes without being eaten alive. Like mosquitoes, the females are only supposed to bite at dawn and dusk when they normally feed. However, the perma-grey clouds must give them a false sense of dawn and dusk as they bite non-stop. They have a death-wish as unlike mosquitoes you can feel them bite and they are still sucking when the inevitable hand-slap comes. You can’t but kill them as their teeth are sunk so deep that they can’t pull the rip-chord. The trick is not to itch. However, the problem is that no sooner do you survive one twenty minute window of not itching than the next kamikaze pilot dives into you. The bites didn’t effect me so much but some people were scratching for three days. There was little incentive to explore the bush when these barbarians were at the gate. Thankfully I was able to pedal faster than they could keep up, so as long as I kept moving I was fine.

The ride up the coast wasn't incident free. There was one cranky day when I didn’t have enough to eat and then some drama when the BNZ ATM swallowed my plastic. As the ATM was not at a physical branch I eventually managed to ensure its delivery to the nearest branch 180k away for my collection. Throw a weekend into the mix and I had an excuse to slow down until the bank reopened on Monday. Fortunately I was able to convert some hard dollars into some soft kiwi ones to tide me over. There was also the time when I pulled over on the side of the road to rummage for some pic 'n' mix. But for the fact he shouted at me I would have missed the clown on a uni-cycle coming the other way. Ok, he wasn't a clown but he did have red hair and a crazy grin. Unbelievably he had a rucksack on his back. I could barely believe what I saw. Needless to say he didn't stop to chat as I'm sure his 29" wheel took a great deal of effort to mount with a back-pack on. Then again maybe not; it seems that he was one of a merry band that travelled over to Wellington for the Uni-cycle World Championships. One other funny incident was when I was internally debating on whether my view of mankind is a little too dismal, only for me to stumble on a group of hippies who had managed to ditch their shag-wagon on a straight piece of road. It was a scene straight out of the seventies with the van looking like it would topple but for the fact that there were 10 hippies hanging off the side of it as counter-weights. Meanwhile a girl had her face in her hands ... oops, I guess it was her fault but no doubt they all had a good laugh about it later. Only hippies will know how it is possible to sleep 10 people and their stuff in a VW shag-wagon. Clearly they are good at Tetris. My only regret is that I didn't stop to shoot the scene as it was so funny. However, my initial thought was that they needed neither another chief nor an Indian. Needless to say my prognosis for humanoids tilted towards the more dismal side of the scale.

I spent the weekend on the beach in a photogenic little town called Hokitika, where I managed to watch Avatar in a small art-deco cinema. The cinema was supposed to close due to lack of business before the community intervened and installed the latest digital technology. This allowed me to watch Avatar in 3d … why they didn’t finish it at the tree battle I’ll never know. Goddam Hollywood! I then biked through Greymouth to Pancake Rocks to inspect some ‘Burren-esque’ rock erosion. It was on this day that I cracked. It was so grey and miserable that I could feel some crazy depressing weight on me. I really felt the need to get off the coast. Fortunately the rocks were worth the trip but I could not help but notice that every house was for sale. It seemed to me that as pretty and wild as the coast is that it is largely inhospitable but for the brazen few. After a while people get the message and sell up. It left me wondering what the more populous east coast is like but I will have to save that for some other time. All that remains is for me to traverse the Southern Alps once more to see Christchurch.

Mind how you go

Marco

Wanaka

Before skipping Queenstown I rode out to Glenorchy. It was a chance to cycle along the hilly shore of Lake Wakatipu to a nothing town in a part of the world where a lot of Lord of the Rings was shot. I had intended to bike the 4WD track to Paradise but the creeks were bursting and the clouds were so low that there was no point. I turned around and headed back to Arrowtown via a lunch-stop in Queenstown. Arrowtown is a lovely little town 20k from Queenstown. It’s the kind of place where tourists stay if they don’t like the hustle and late-night noise of Queenstown. Arrowtown is an 1860’s styled gold mining town with modern conveniences. So, as ‘quaint’ as it is, it is just as fabricated an experience as Queenstown. This town is memorable for me as it graced me with the first puncture of my trip. I wouldn’t have minded if it had been a nugget of gold which did the damage but it was the common shard of glass which penetrated my tyre’s immunity. Still, there are worse places for morale to be deflated than two kilometres from my destination in broad daylight.

The climb up Crown RangeWanaka was to be only a 60 kilometre hop from Arrowtown assuming one went over Crown Range as opposed to the longer valley road. I was warned that it would be a tough climb and as the ski-station of Cardrona was 27k away I was bracing myself for a slog of 3 hours of climbing. While the steep sections were tough, the brow of the crown flattened out somewhat before pitching up again for what turned out to be a gem of a ride. It looked pretty gruesome while riding it but it wasn’t that bad at all. It was a shock to see that the climb was only about 10k long and even more of a surprise to learn that it was the highest road pass in New Zealand at a mere 1076ms. 700ms vertical is quite an easy day at the office as far as passes go, so after a couple of snaps there was plenty of time to enjoy the very long descent to Wanaka. I stopped for some lunch at the pub in the town of Cardrona on the way down. The access road to the ski-station is located in this town but the ski station is a lot higher up, which explains my initial error. I spent an age listening to the live-band in the pub. They were playing familiar Neil Young and Pink Floyd covers, which was a delight as I mislaid my iPod and phone in a pub in Kempsey in NSW. They should come back to me before my trip to South America but their fate rests in the hands of surfers ... hmmm! Fingers crossed that they will make the drop in Sydney when they are supposed to. While being without an iPod is challenging it is an interesting experiment. Your ears tune into any music you hear and you really appreciate it when it’s stuff you like. If I get desperate enough I can always break into song on the bike when the wind is howling and there is no-one to hear but for me, the Gods and some bemused cattle.

I eventually cruised into Wanaka, a place I was told, where I might want to spend the rest of my life. Indeed, my initial impressions were very positive. The hostel had great views across a green and onto a skate-park, behind which lay Lake Wanaka and the lake itself was surrounded by mounds and snow-capped mountains. It was beautiful. While there were tourists and travellers there, the small town isn’t as touristy as Queenstown. The tourists that visit are not the adrenaline tourist but people who love the outdoors and simply want to explore the lake paths, the forests and the National Park next door. By all accounts they blend in with the locals who want to do the same thing. What impressed me most was that bikes are cool in this town. Kids take their BMXs to the skate park and there is also a monster purpose-built dirt-jumping track in the woods. In addition, there are several marked trails in the forest by the lake for pretty challenging mountain-biking sessions.  To cap it off, Wanaka lies at the foot of the highest road pass in New Zealand with a lot of other scenic and calm roads for some nice road-biking. The weekend I stayed saw the Challenge Wanaka ironman distance triathlon and so there is obviously a competitive side to this town too (for a change, I was the guy on the grass by the lake reading my book wondering why all the ironmen passing by were ruining a perfectly nice sunny day). To think that there are three decent ski stations and a proper snow-park nearby for the three months of decent snow they get and it’s a winning combination.  

I was intrigued that they managed to have a skate-park and a dirt-jumping park in such open places. In Ireland and the UK it just wouldn’t be possible. The whole thing would be mired in health and safety and the threat of litigation. The beauty of New Zealand is that it is not possible to sue someone for personal liability. While the amount of cover is reducing, pretty much any resident can walk into a medical centre and get treated for next to nothing in cost. If you slipped and broke a bone on someone else’s property you are not able to sue. Instead, your medical expenses are covered and if you require time off work you will get two-thirds pay from the state for all but the first week. I may not be 100% accurate on the facts but you get the gist. This explains why New Zealand is the home to so many extreme activities.

Wanaka seems like this town straight out of the movie ET. It seems a throw-back to the eighties, when those of us that were kids back then, could freely roam during our summer holidays without the slightest concern from our parents. They had a fair idea where they might find us but we were pretty much free to roam the neighbourhood and fields nearby to our hearts content. Our parents always knew that we’d come home the moment we got hungry, got bored, got in a fight or simply exhausted ourselves. Of course, life is not so straight-forward anymore as we wrap ourselves and our kids up in a web of fear and ‘insure’ that everyone else does the same through the threat of litigation.

However, as cool as Wanaka is, it’s a tiny place and it’s hard to forget this point unless your interests are not particularly diversified. If you want to catch a gig, then it’s a five hour drive to Christchurch. There is rarely going to be a new restaurant opening up in town to sample and pretty soon you will have walked all the walks and biked all the trails. This explains why there is a generation gap. Kids who have spent their school years growing up in a small town on the corner of the map (making the grand assumption that GMT is the centre of the universe) will tend to broaden their horizons by travelling to Wellington or Auckland for university. On completion of their studies they are likely to work in Australia or Europe for a stretch before returning home to New Zealand at some point. Thus, there is a fairly lively part of the population missing in Wanaka and it is evident in the vibe of the place. It feels like a sleepy mountain town; the kind of town where you might dose off and never wake up. It’s a great town for kids as they can BMX, skateboard, dirt-jump and snowboard and get grass-stains on their clean clothes to their hearts’ content. Outdoorsy parents will enjoy the seasons, the scenery and of course the fact that they don’t need to worry much about their kids. Retired people will welcome the calm of the lake and the tranquillity of the open spaces. However, if you are not ready to settle down and your world is bigger than the bowl of a skate-park then you might want to look elsewhere.

'til soon

Marco 

NZ's highest road pass - Crown Range 1076ms. Snow peaks of Remarkables in distance.