Fifty shades of Age

I know it’s just a number, but the day I reached my half century was pretty special.

Being weird means you might get weird presents on your birthday....

I have a happy, fulfilling and probably somewhat-sheltered life.  I’m quick to acknowledge those I owe my contentment to - fiercely-loving, brave, pioneering parents who came halfway across the world in search of a better existence, an incredible woman sharing my life who is probably the best thing about me, and a few, long-suffering friends who enrich my life in ways they’ll never know.

I turned fifty this week, an occurrence which both astonishes and pleases me at the same time - like reaching a far-off destination in good time and on less fuel and monetary expenditure than you expected.

But last year, I had a pretty wretched birthday - choosing to spend it at work and by sheer bad luck having a ‘lousy day at the office’.  On top of this my Facebook privacy settings somehow decided to conceal the fact that it was my birthday, and anyone who might have cared remained blissfully unaware that the day was significant to me.

I wasn’t about to repeat this mistake for my fiftieth and so took the day itself, and those either side, off (and re-checked my Facebook settings).

Rose began her schedule of ‘secret’ events by inviting nearby friends and neighbours for pre-birthday drinks on Sunday afternoon.  I think I’m a much more relaxed guest than host, but having so many familiar faces give their time to gather for my benefit is something you can’t help but enjoy.  Bringing them all together also gave many an opportunity to catch up, and it was heart-warming to see so many friends in animated conversation with each other, on our deck,  on a perfect summer’s afternoon.

My birth date itself dawned hot, with the traditional opening of cards in bed.  

Rose’s card came with the message : “This is a day full of clues which need to be solved…” and proved to be the case at each stage of an unforgettable birthday.

I steadfastly failed to decipher the clever and rhyming clues which came with a new gift at each destination, but was very happy to be led by the nose through the day.  

Clues and itinerary, one of the best organisers on the planet
made no exception on my birthday

Beginning with breakfast at our favourite Greytown cafe, we headed to Wellington for the next stage of the adventure.  Incredibly, we met with wind and rain on our journey, but this rapidly began to disappear as we reached the capital. Free-forming until the sun was shining fully again, we ducked into Te Papa to see the acclaimed Scale of our War ANZAC exhibition, but queues formed from the passengers of the two enormous cruise ships docked in the harbour sent us to the Dreamworks exhibition instead.  

A swooping, very wide-screen dragon flight through the world of How to train
your Dragon is an exhilarating highlight of the Dreamworks exhibition

It might have been second choice, but I’m so glad we saw the beautifully designed celebration of this studio’s art and creativity (including the actual greenhouse set from Curse of the Were-Rabbit!).  There’s nothing like a sharp reminder of how an illustrator might not have tried hard enough, and missed his calling, on his 50th birthday…

All too soon it was time to board the East by West Ferry fro our trip to Days Bay, on the far side of the harbour.  The day was hot and sunny by this time, and we sat up on the top deck, taking in views of the harbour we haven’t seen since living in this city.  We crossed the wake of the recently passed Interislander and picked up some of the larger vessel's ocean-going companions as they turned to follow us instead - yes, I even got dolphins on my birthday!

The original plan had been to paddle board at Days Bay, but being behind schedule and a northerly breeze made us quite happy to park this activity for another time - as long as I got into the sea at some point I’d be more than happy.

"We're on a boat!"

We had a wonderful lunch at the Cobar restaurant, looking out across the harbour from a shaded outside table, watching the local school take to the water on their ‘beach day’, the squeals of delight reminding me how I used to, and still feel about getting into water at any opportunity.

We swam out to an anchored raft straight after lunch, the sea surprising Rose with how much warmer it is than the Wairarapa rivers we’re used to.  I carried on to the Day’s Bay wharf, and then we thad time for a coffee at another cafe before catching the ferry back again.

Judging by that smile I’m not the only one who loves being in the sea on a hot afternoon.

At a couple of points during the afternoon it looked as if the sun might finally be disappearing behind hazy high cloud for good, but every time it seemed to blast out with full force again (as evidenced by Rose’s ruddy complexion when we got home ).

Passing Te Papa again on the way back to the car, we decided to try our luck with the Scale of our War exhibition again, and this time we got straight in.  Not only was the detail of the oversized human figures overwhelmingly impressive, from magnified stitching and shoelaces to skin pores and stubble, but the Gallipoli-themed installation was naturally very moving.  

Richard Taylor touches up one of the gigantic recreations of an Anzac combatant
in the Scale of Our War exhibition.

A beautiful home-cooked meal marked the end of a very full and indulgent day.  Relaxing with a movie, whisky in hand and skin pleasantly taut with an abundance of sun and sea spray is my favourite way to end any day.  Unwilling to let it all end, I stayed up late, watching a movie and responding to birthday wishes on Facebook (yes, the settings worked properly this time).

As I self-indulgently reflect on my rather selfish life so far I realise that it isn’t really about me.  What makes me smile now, and always, are the wonderful people I’ve met along the way. 

Cool Change

I rate Astrology and the Little River Band equally, but I really was born in the sign of water, and it's there that I feel my best...

Where to today: pontoon, or fountain?

A competitive cyclist once told me that you don't see the scenery during an 'event'.  You're focusing on the road underneath you and the competitors in front of you.  I think I must have mentally crossed- off ever wanting to do the Round the Lake Taupo event there and then.  I enjoy cycling, because it takes me places where I can enjoy the peace and beauty of different and ever-changing surroundings - not the sight of blistering tar-seal or lycra-clad, frantically pumping buttocks ahead of me.  I'll never be a record-breaking or even technically-proficient cyclist, but just a happy one - I like looking around too much.

Like-wise, I love swimming but I'm hardly a good swimmer.  My head generally stays above the water, like a periscope with huge wing-nuts on either side, as I swivel it around enjoying the novelty of the undulating, bluish-green plane of Wellington harbour stretching out on every side of me.  The wet-suited, goggled and fiercely professional swimmers who knife past me, faces flipping in and out of the water in approved breathing fashion, would be shaking their heads disparagingly if they could, and weren't so committed to strictly pacing harsh gasps and strokes.

I think I get away with it because I'm ridiculously bouyant - staying afloat requires almost no conscious effort at all. Being a lightweight can have it's advantages, and this appears to be one of them. When I was given my own full wetsuit for Paua diving we had to keep buying and adding more lead sinkers to the weight belt just so I could submerge.

So with my mind off floating I can give all my attention to covering distance - which I've tried to extend over the past three months.  Note I say three months - January, February and even March have been drenched so abundantly in sunshine that the days I've been able to swim in the harbour during my lunchbreak far outweigh those when weather stopped play.

French Riveria? The Mediterranean? Nah, it's Wellington, bro.

Having an hour including the time it takes to get the beach means that there is no time for timidity over water temperature or concerns about what else might be in there. (The Wellington Waterfront has hosted a colony of stingray for many years, which has made a strong comeback since being devoured by a visiting pod of Orca).  Straight into the water and out to the moored pontoons is the usual pattern, but since reaching the fountain last year I've repeated that circuit many times this summer.

A potential 'swimming buddy' basks in the sun in neighbouring Chaffer's Marina

There is a special peace about being so far from shore, moving through the sparkling water with nothing else to think about than trying to keep your strokes and breaths as smooth and regular as possible. Every muscle is working but at the same time you are being supported by the sea around you - you might feel the effort afterwards, but for now it's as natural as breathing.  And achieving that blissful state of passive-exertion more important to me than winning a race or breaking a record (as if).

Now into April, I swam for what might be the final time last week. The weather is becoming distinctly less settled (daylight saving ends tonight) and the harbour seems a little more chilly.
 Oddly, despite having next-to-no body fat, water temperature doesn't seem to bother me too much once I get moving - but I have my limits.

I'm reluctant to fold up my towel for another year; it really does feel like saying goodbye to summer.  But what a summer it's been.

Some days you just don't want to stop: There's a buoy just out of view at the top of this map,
which I'd like to try for - next summer.

Postscript:

Not long after publishing this post, another potential swimming buddy 'surfaced'. A two metre female Blue Shark became temporarily trapped in a partitioned 'jumping well' on the Wellington waterfront. By some accounts the most cuddly of sharks, this specimen was freed at low tide with some help from the Department of Conservation.  
Hopefully, I'll have forgotten about this unfortunate event by next summer, when I'm swimming out beyond the fountain, so very far from shore... 

Light reading

A good story doesn't have to be embedded in a weighty tome,
sometimes it can be quite Light. 

To my shame, I haven't taken the time to read a good book in far too long.  Commuting with a sexy new little Macbook Pro means that time which might once have been spent snuggled within the pages of an engrossing book is now spent pecking ineptly away at a shiny metallic keyboard (for either business, or pleasure).
So when the striking cover of a young adult novel caught my eye recently, I thought: why not?  It seemed to be a little bit about maths and physics, set in Wellington and most importantly, short enough for me to get through before being distracted by other obligations.
Speed of Light is the latest young adult novel by the prolific Joy Cowley, a multi-award winning author of New Zealand fiction.  A passionate advocate of improving child literacy, Cowley claims to have struggled with reading when she was a child and learned valuable lessons through her own experiences:
"I believe that learning to read must be a pleasurable and meaningful exercise. If it isn't, then we teach children to read and to hate reading at the same time."

Before getting to Speed of Light itself, I'll just note that phenomenon some call 'syncronicity'.  I was dimly aware of Joy Cowley, but once starting this book I just happened to lay out an article about her at work, then read an interview with film Producer Dave Gibson who famously filmed Cowley's novel The Quiet One in 1985, and finally learned that she actually lives just down the road from our own home in the Wairarapa.
Such happenstance is appropriate for Speed of Light, a story about encountering and ultimately putting faith in influences beyond mere numbers, logic and financial and material gain. It's a surprisingly gritty tale about a dysfunctional, materialistic family who've somehow fallen out of touch with the fundamentals of life, and the efforts of the youngest child, Jeff, to find solace in the dependable, undeceptive world of numbers.

Tragic circumstances lead to his home life becoming steadily more unbearable; parents financially ruined and violently estranged, and his beloved big sister abandoning him for a doomed relationship with a married man. Eventually, Jeff's final comfort in the rational  and scientific is challenged by the dramatic manifestation of an elderly woman who might be delusional, or might very well be the supernatural agent of his deliverance she claims to be.

Cowley introduces each chapter with a short passage describing a particular scientific principle or definiton, whose relevance to the following section of the story becomes gradually clear.  For example, chapter ten is a turning point; when Jeff's plummeting situation has reached the point where it cannot get any worse, and is cannily prefaced by this description:
A falling object reaches terminal velocity when the sum of the drag force and buoyancy equals the downward force of gravity acting on the object.  Since the net force on the object is then zero, the object has zero accelleration.  Drag depends on the projected area and that is why objects with a large area relative to mass, such as parachutes, have a lower terminal velocity than objects with a small area relative to mass, such as bullets.

Brief observations on the properties of light, the nature of tides, prime numbers and many others are used to begin other chapters with equal deftness and acuity.
As we are often told, it is always darkest before the dawn, and Jeff's mystery 'guardian' opens his eyes to the importance of adhering to life as it should be, before age, cares and woes gradually dull its shining and simple truths.  Or is she simply a senile woman who has rediscovered, or even invented, a childish philosophy in her final, backward-looking days?

Despite being written for 'young adults' Speed of Light isn't an easy read in any sense of the word. It makes you work, and even despair at times, but I hope I'm not giving anything away to reveal that Jeff and his family's eventual re-emergence into the light makes all their beautifully-written tribulations worthwhile.

The Light Fantastic

Today is the final opportunity to see Wellington's waterfront
(and Laneways) in a new light.

'Square Things' by Johann Nortje

Devised in 2011, the Wellington Lux Light festival has grown each year, to a full thirty exhibits glowing for the last time tonight. (a Lux, incidentally, is a unit of luminosity, and not indicative that the festival might be sponsored by a soap company).
We first saw the spectacular displays last year, and were particularly taken by this exhibit, apparently based on cherry blossom.  We'd stand with night-time crowds on the corner of Frank Kitts Lagoon mesmerised by the swaying globes and their shifting, undulating colours.

One of the highlights of last years festival.

Fortunately for us, but definitely not for the festival, Wellington was then ravaged by a two day storm, the worst in decades, which probably added some of the vulnerable exhibits to its list of damage.  This year the festival was extended to ten days , and came with the new criterion that the exhibits needed to be able to withstand 140kmh winds.
Although necessary, this does seem to have created a chunkier, more industrial look to many of the displays, in place of the more intricate and organic structures of last year.

nZwarm

A notable exception is this 'light raft' ( nZwarm by the Advanced Architecture Laboratory and Augmented Senses Group) anchored in the lagoon which swirls and ripples with colour like some vast bioluminescent sea creature.

Probably most spectacular is the Bridge of Light (Angus Muir Design), already lit all year round with 'lightsabre-like' blue rods beneath it's span, it has blazed with colour over the past ten days.

As a free and spectacular experience, the Lux Light festival makes braving the chilly darkness more than worthwhile, brightening up the Wellington winter in every way.  Highly recommended.
(photography by R Hughes)

http://lux.org.nz/

Coming 'round the Fountain

I’m just swimming on the top of the Bay...

I have a somewhat selfish life, able to enjoy freedoms and choices which many my age, with young families, might find more difficult.  No doubt they enjoy other benefits, and I can still enjoy time with their kids; so I assume it will all even out one day.

However, two and a half hours of my every working day are taken up by a commute which, although I’ve learned to make the most of, does equate to an awful lot of time spent sitting on one of the bodies’ most powerful muscles.

So I try to make the most of lunch-breaks when I can get them, and in the warmer months this means swimming. 
An hour allows me to get down to Oriental Bay, quickly swim out to one of the rafts anchored there, and then be back at my desk, generally feeling somewhat revitalised, if a little salt-encrusted.  As predicted by many, we are enjoying a very late summer and the weather since mid February, especially recently, has become settled and often hot.  But now that April has begun I felt that my swimming days must surely be coming to a close until next summer, and I was keen to end on a high note.

When I first lived in Wellington, I recall that swimming out to Carter’s Fountain was the thing to do (possibly the rafts didn’t exist then) and, although all these years later I felt daunted by the extra distance, this was to be my goal.

Choppy seas and maintenance on the fountain thwarted my first attempts, and the only opportunity left was going to be straight after an appointment for some major dental work - which was hardly ideal.

 

The Oriental Bay raft can be seen to the left of the fountain.

Numb-faced and invoice-shocked I turned up at the beach to discover impossibly perfect conditions. A complete lack of breeze and cloud left the entire harbour mirror smooth and sparkling, while a very low tide exposed more golden sand than usual.  It had to be a good omen and I wasted no time in wading into the surprisingly warm water, able to cover some distance on foot before submerging.

I should mention that although I love any kind of water, I am not a technically proficient swimmer.  I can sustain a reasonably strong and regular stroke, but never really learned the correct ‘head turning breathing’ and tend to swim comfortably with my head above the water.  With little body mass, I’m very buoyant and aren’t looking to break any records, so have never felt the need to do otherwise.

I also have a very active imagination, so sometimes when I feel far from shore with an unknown watery void beneath me… my mind creates pictures like this:

Eyeless, glistening black things with mouths like icicle ringed-cave entrances; slime draped lampreys writhing, fastening and burrowing into guts; the sudden, searing lash of  stingray tail; a shark punching a jagged, red hollow in your body before even being seen…

Obviously, it’s best not to conjure these images when you feel as if you’re in the middle of the harbour.  The water went suddenly cold and I realised that I’d reached the shadow of the plume straight jetting upwards from the fountain, completely vertical due to the lack of breeze.  Circling around its base and back into the sunlight I felt elated and confident, so instead of returning to the shore, I struck out towards the nearby raft.  This was one of those rare times when an intimidating physical challenge turns out to be far easier than expected.

The raft was reached and I continued towards the shore, my arms seemingly keeping rhythm of their own accord.  And it was at this height of my self-satisfaction that I glimpsed the large black shape moving underneath me, and all my nightmarish images came crashing back.  I halted suddenly, and so did it.

The day was so unusually still and the water so clear that my own shadow was cast perfectly onto the sandy bottom below me – I had literally terrified myself.

 

On my way back to shore, I was trailed by a sinister, dark shape in the water below.

A brief contended wallow in the shallows allowed me to sooth my jangled nerves, and then I was trotting back along the sand towards work. Oriental Bay had never looked so beautiful.

Orchestrated litany of High-lights

The Doctor Who Symphonic Spectacular was a show of many lives and times, and a life-time.

 

New Zealand Mezzo Soprano Anna Pierard led the Orpheus choir in some beautiful choral pieces while stalwart Ben Foster (centre) conducts the NZSO in Wellington.  Who'd ever have thought it?

Really, I had intended never to refer to the 'fiftieth anniversary of Doctor Who (TM)' on this blog again – except for this one last time…
Friday saw the opening of the New Zealand Festival and, I presume with its survival having been threatened by diminishing audience numbers in recent times, this year the organisers gave us Doctor Who.

This once ‘cult’ show has become a demographic-shattering juggernaut in the last nine years, and the colossal recognition factor has been reflected in Britain and Australia by sell-out live concerts of composer Murray Gold’s music, performed annually for almost as long as the show has been back. Beginning as a ‘one-off’ charity concert in 2006, the formula of live orchestra, a star host, huge screens showing relevant clips and ‘monsters’ stalking the aisles has grown to headline the Proms and tour Australia. Having seen recordings of most of the British performances, the highlight is always the cut-aways to the audience and their reactions to the spectacle, especially among the very young fans. 

A Cyberman inspires...ummm... 'terror' on the Wellington waterfront.

A lovely, chatty interview with Murray Gold last October earned me an unexpected but very welcome couple of tickets to the Symphonic Spectacular from the publicists, and a very special event in the vague proximity of my birthday to look forward to. This version of the ‘Symphonic Spectacular had of course been specially formulated for performances in Britain during last year’s ‘fiftieth year’ celebrations, so an unavoidable overlap into 2014 of Golden Anniversary cheer was to be expected.

However, I had no idea just how much, because this concert, unlike all the others before it, was not just about recent years but went to great lengths to embrace music from the entire history of the programme.
So, on top of all the unforgettable highlights the night already offered, was the wonderfully bizarre sight of the New Zealand Symphony orchestra belting out the bellicose 1960s Cyberman music; then accompanying an extended scene from The Sea Devils (thirteen-year-old me: I only wish you could have seen that!) and performing one of my all-time favourites, the spiralling refrain leading to Tom Baker’s regeneration from Logopolis. By now I was shocked to already realise that I wasn’t going to get through the night dry-eyed, but I know I wasn’t the only one. 

My giant ear almost eclipses the TARDIS.

Before further gushing, I will balance it by coming back to one of my oldest bug bears – the reserve of Kiwi audiences. The Logopolis clip mentioned above ends with the very first glimpse of a ridiculously young Peter Davison, and given that the man himself was more-than-ably hosting the evening surely some applause would have been appropriate? Like-wise a terrific video sequence towards the end of the concert, set to the choral piece which made David Tennant’s farewell seem even more protracted: Vale Decem, was utterly vindicated by accompanying a beautifully-edited sequence of all the Doctors in their final moments. At this point I desperately wished that the long-lived overseas tradition of fans frantically trying to out-do each other with cheers and applause as their favourite Doctor first appears on screen could only have been adopted here.

But I am , of course, being ridiculously churlish. Our capacity Wellington audience spanned at least four generations, the very youngest possibly never having been up so late in their lives before, and was liberally sprinkled with bow-ties and Fez’s. (Here’s the thing though: those in costume were almost exclusively young women. Certainly wasn’t like that in my time – to quote Paul Simon: “These are the days of miracles and wonders.”) They sat patiently in the late summer heat through the 15 minute technical delay in starting, warmly welcomed Davison’s entertaining asides, goggled at and stroked passing monsters and wonderfully, gave a mighty standing ovation at the close, so what more could anyone ask for?

With only the pulsing logo to keep us company, and a timely reassurance from Peter Davison,
we patiently wait out a technical diffficulty before the concert begins.

Another early sequence showcased the new programme’s first four companions. Catherine Tate’s Donna Noble got a delighted round of applause but the reaction to Billie Piper as Murray Gold’s masterpiece Rose’s theme opened the set was utterly lovely. A sigh of concentrated affection seemed to gust through the auditorium – in less than ten years the ‘new’ series already has its nostalgia buffs. The farewell scene between the Doctor and Rose featured heavily in these clips, a poignant recollection for many - myself included as I remember my Mother astonished to find herself weeping over this sequence back in 2006.

One of the biggest surprises was a performance of music from an episode I would otherwise have been happy to forget ever existed - The Rings of Akhaten. A grim feat of endurance to watch on television last year, somehow it became many people’s highlight of the evening. The broiling sentient sun filled the massive screen as the audience were bathed in suitably fiery lighting, while child soprano Mia Vinaccia, accompanied by tenor Oliver Sewell, broke our hearts. As the spectacular conclusion to the first half of the concert, it left many visibly moved as the lights came up - perhaps this unloved episode should always have been an opera…

To my inexperienced ear the NZSO performed the music to this silly TV show with the same respect and commitment that they would give to the works of classical composers, and despite what I assumed to be a smaller ensemble than at overseas performances, the scores sounded utterly authentic and powerful enough to drown out on-screen dialogue in one of the show’s very few technical mis-steps.

Peter Davison turned the thankless role of halting the spectacle and announcing what was next into a superbly entertaining stand-up routine. Referencing our cricketing achievements, Peter Jackson and New Zealand Customs (“they frisk you for fruit!”) he was a delight and I’d have been very happy to hear more from this experienced pro, and less clowning from Ben Foster. As Davison concluded: “I’ve just got one note for you: don’t give up conducting.”

Perhaps the main draw for some turned out to be the least memorable for me, but no less welcome for that – the monster mash. The TSB Bank arena is not an ideal venue for alien creatures to menace and many appearances were restricted to on or around the stage. The latest iterations of the Cybermen and Daleks earned huge applause, and deserved it for ‘running the gauntlet’ to navigate the aisles (the blue Dalek with a little difficulty it seems). The limited space caused Davison to refer to ‘an alien traffic jam’, but the thrill of seeing these marvelous creations ‘in person’ was still very palpable. The imposing and surprisingly agile Ice Warrior was my personal highlight. 

A cavalcade of creatures brave a hot lunchtime stroll. 
I was strolling too, but completely obliviously past Te Papa in the background!

Could anything have made this show more satisfying? Well, one of the promised highlights was ‘a specially recorded message from the Doctor”. Although we are technically 'between Doctors' at the moment, for many Matt Smith is still the incumbent and I didn’t doubt his not-unwelcome chin would be filling the screen for this sequence.
Instead we got Uncle Tom! Now in his eighties , Tom Baker’s famous, still-piercing, twinkling blue eyes conveyed enormous affection and sincerity when he reigned in his trademark eccentricity and thanked us all for our support over the years. 

Uncle Tom!

No - thank you sir, and thank you New Zealand Festival for what was literally the show of a life-time, both for the programme and the audience.

My hastily scribbled review can be found here:
http://www.stuff.co.nz/dominion-post/culture/nz-festival-2014/9751894/Review-Doctor-Who-Symphonic-Spectacular

Like some more?
Here are two excellent impressions from two excellent matinee session imps:

http://jetsimian.blogspot.co.nz/2014/02/fez-music.html

http://jamasenright.blogspot.co.nz/2014/02/doctor-who-symphonic-spectacular.html

I'm walking here

As the weather settles and warms in seasonal fits and bursts,
here is my second ‘spring essay’.

 

With apologies to Solace in the wind

I’m convinced that the phrase “You can’t beat Wellington on a good day” was coined in summertime, at Oriental parade.  The Wellington sea front from Frank Kitts promenade, sweeping past Chaffer’s Marina to Oriental Bay and on to Point Jerningham beyond, is a golden mile (actually 3 km) of vibrancy and beauty rivalling any urban shore in the world.

The best part is that our waterfront isn’t just to be enjoyed on weekends, mental health days or by visiting tourists – for many of us it’s almost literally on our employer’s doorstep. Assuming you can get an hour for lunch (never certain these days) and the weather gods are smiling, the sea is within the easy reach of we drones from central business district. It’s a much healthier option than sitting at your desk, dropping bits of lunch into your keyboard – and cheaper than failing not to spend money on Lambton Quay.

A quick walk through Civic square – one of Wellington’s most successful sun (or wind) traps depending on the weather, over the Para Machitt land sea bridge, and the sparkling harbour is laid out before you.

Circling around the north bank of the lagoon – taking time to see if any stingrays have returned after last summer’s Orca banquet – leads you to the promenade running between Frank Kitts Park and the sea.  This sunny stretch of concrete can be a perilous place early in the morning, as cycling commuters in lycra nightmares seem to regard it as a velodrome, and anyone on foot as a hindrance to their personal time trial. But by lunchtime sanity is restored and the walker reigns supreme once more - not counting the inline skaters, of course. 

Alternatively, if you’re in it for the long haul, cut across to the far corner of Hikitea wharf, where 'jumpers' used to be seen launching themselves the beautifully designed spiral staircase tower and plummeting into narrow gap of water below.  This sculptural monument to exhilaration has sadly been closed since last summer, whether because of harbour bacteria as claimed, or deadlier nanny state-motivated back-tracking, remains unclear  

Once past this former spectacle you’re in crocodile bike territory.  These always make me smile and wonder if I’ll ever be able to find three willing people to hire one with me.  Very tame as a far as an item on anyone’s ‘bucket list’ is concerned, but it’s there all the same.  Also raising a smile is the Solace in the wind statue, always happy to have his hand held in a group photograph, although he never faces the camera.  I now put this down to failing eyesight, but at first glimpse I assumed he was one of those once-common street performers who used to paint themselves head-to-foot in a single colour and hold the same pose for amazing lengths of time – just like a statue, really.  It was the complete lack of clothing which dissuaded me from examining more closely. 

Eventually you pass some waterfront cafes and then catch sight of the forest of masts at the Chaffer’s marina. Dipping down below the Oriental parade footpath level to walk past the brightly coloured doors of the boat sheds, you can avoid the legions of sweaty lunchtime runners, bereft of their cell phones but still able to talk work via staccato gasps and grunts, and almost believe that you’re in a smaller, quieter seaside town.  The chlorine-scented monolith of Freyberg pool looms and it’s time to briefly rejoin the throng before dipping back down to my own regular destination in summer – Oriental Bay beach.  The whole point of this trip for me is to get into the water as quickly as possible, swim out to the floating raft and back again, get dried, changed and back to work within an hour.  I’ve tried to explain the ‘almost physical pull’ which the sea has for me, the urge to get into the water being so strong that even jellyfish infestations or forgetting my swimming shorts hasn’t prevented me on a couple of occasions.  The ‘togs, togs, undies’ rule was inverted without any widespread panic, it was just a shame that I had to run into a long term friend of my parents on my way back out of the water. Whatever awkwardness might befall, this lunchtime dip has always been well worth it for me.  

If you are a walker rather than a swimmer, the sensuously-curving Oriental Parade sea wall can lead you ever onwards, offering an ever shifting view of the city you’ve temporarily escaped, before you have to reluctantly turn around and head back to it.

The atmosphere of carefree happiness which pervades this magical edge of the harbour can sometimes lead you to believe that everyone else is still on holiday.  But for a precious hour you too can stretch your legs, fill your lungs and enjoy the best that the waterfront has to offer, free of charge and without even taking leave.