Christmas in New Zealand

Christmas is spent with a friend from work and her family who live just outside a tiny place called Raethi, the looming presence of Mt Ruapehu, a still active volcano gleams majestically above the old logging town.

Christmas day is hot and sunny - the somnolent bellow of cows grazing lethargically on the verdant green pastures mingles with the busy clucking of hens teaching their butter-yellow chicks how to scratch in the dusty earth as we go to church, open presents and celebrate Christ’s birth.

Afterwards, we spend lazy afternoons floating in soft brown rivers tumbling past the mountain ranges as the red blaze of Christmas photukhuwta trees glows hazily against the azure pool of a blazing hot sky, the lamb-like clouds frolicking playfully across its cerulean depths.

On Boxing Day we climb Mt Ruapehu, its white mountain flanks still silken with snow despite the summer heat. We scramble up and past craggy rock faces, boulders shouldering their way flint-like down the mountain side as the volcanic sand shifts beneath our feet, the knowledge of the active volcano sleeping silently is like the beat of blood in our veins as the altitude saps our strength.

Cobalt blue, so deep it felt like the ocean had spilled into the sky, glows like darkness above the sharp mountain peak, its velvet smoothness calling hearts to soar with the eagles drifting lazily on silent wings above us.

Despite our early start, we end up racing the clouds to the top before they obscure the view, their grey arms dragging at our heels, clammy tendrils curling wraith like around the mountain peak. Finally, the white clouds are broken by the midday sun as we arrive at the top - hot and breathless from the effort, drawing deep breaths of cool, thin air as if to quench a thirst. Crystalline air sparkles in the cold, the deep crater lake glowing aquamarine beneath us, the high land singing eternal beauty before us.

In the evening, when we are back down on mortal land, the green twilight is threaded by the delicious scent of warm pink roses nodding in the gloaming eve. Soon, the night is awash with galaxies, Heaven so close you can almost hear the singing of the stars.

A Cycler's Commute

The spread-eagled city of Auckland makes for a very inconvenient place to live when one doesn't own a car. Consequently, I bought a bike. Solid, sturdy, dependable and with the addition of a profusion of fluorescent jackets, reflective strips and psychotically flashing lights, relatively safe. (yes Mum and Dad!)

The 40 minute cycle to work is busy, noisy and filled with bustling, breathing, bumbling cars which trundle the commuters treadmill, snuffing and snorting at traffic lights, coughing and hacking their way from the outskirts of Auckland inwards.

It is the evening ride home I love. Leaving the office a bit after 8.30pm I lock up and wheel my way down Princes Street, turning right onto Great South Road.

The dark highway is flushed with gloaming yellow streetlamps, burning subtly over cracked pavements and flickering at me in a friendly fashion as I pass. The beer factory at the top of the hill hums gently, its tall cylindrical silos gleaming silver in the light of a Spring moon. A thick, delicious smell like that of baking bread swirls softly on the night air, mingling with the sharp tangy odour of fermenting hops, like that of freshly cut grass.

As I cycle from Otahuhu through Papatotoe the long street of shuttered shops echoes forlornly, its bones creaking and settling like an old staircase at night as traffic lights blink from verdant green to coal-bright red and back down to florid amber in the silent night.

As my wheels sing in tune with the tarmac, lorries idle nonchalantly by the side of the road and I pass one which has stacks of flattened cars on its back, their metal bodies compressed pancake like and nestled comfortably together.

As I wait at traffic lights aeroplanes float above me, tail lights flashing as they slide smoothly towards their landing and the occasional car cruises past me, their exhaust fumes lit by break lights rosy in the humid air.

Over a bridge and up the wide sweep of the road, scrub land cloaks either side and echoes with the musical repertoire of an insomniac bird, its song mingling with the distant roar of the motorway.

Nearing home I turn off Great South Road and up Grand Vue Road which is somnolent and sleepy, scented by richly worked suburban gardens bursting with tumbling blooms.

Along the hedgerows jasmine clambers in weed-like propensity, its star-like flowers glowing pale and pure amongst the darker green of the creeper. As I flow past I drink deeply of the thick, viscous fragrance, sweet as wine and as soft as symphonies, the scent gives breath and beauty.

Finally I crest the hill and roll down, trails of glowing highways linking lonely light-speckled settlements on the dark plain between me and the velvet-edged mountains hunched on the horizon.

The stars wheel into place, their strange southern faces glittering sublimely from a silver sky and my soul lifts, the radiance and beauty of the heavens piercing this life with its grace.

The Road to Napier

The broad bright road unfurls arrow-straight before us, scything through the folds of crumpled green velvet flung carelessly over sleepy hills. Thick sheep tumble amongst glistening black rocks and august cows stare aloofly from their castle-like hummocks.

Presently we reach plains ironed flat and thick with odorous pines. The road tunnels through the dark forest, green-blue lines of trees whipping past with an occasional flash of lemony gorse burning fresh and bright in the scrub land.

A predatory bird floats above us, drawing us out from the dense woods and into the clear fresh land of lonely farms. Their colonial barns nestle forlornly against wooden houses, comforted by friendly cherry trees flushed pink by Spring sunshine as the road curves through undulating hills.

The grass burns bronze in the eve of the setting sun as we near Lake Taupo. A sudden crest in the road and the shimmering expanse of water clear as air, cold as ice, brilliant as molten jewels glitters before us in the mellow light. Snow-topped mountains bloom across the lake like storm clouds on the hazy powder blue horizon as waves dance with iridescent flavours of aquamarine and beryl in the rays of a ripe sun, the view breath giving in beauty.

Reluctantly we turn south and trundle onwards towards mountain peaks sharp cut against the dusky sky. Soon we are carving our way past white cliffs, the occasional lonely hotel or bar perched hopefully by the empty road as we dive round corners and up the steep slopes of the mountain flanks.

As the sun sinks behind us, darkness falls. The evening shimmers with the dewy lustre of pearly rain falling softly through the twilight night and the molten hoot of an owl warbles mournfully to the rising moon.

Kiwi Slang

You realise you live in a different country when you constantly have to ask for explanations of various hilarious phrases. Here are a few gems as explained to me by Kiwi's:

Stoked - Excited
Pokies - Slot machines
Nong - Idiot
Talking smack - Talking rubbish
Flick an email - Send an email
Flat tack - Busy
A into G - Arse into Gear
Chook - Chicken
Kia Ora - Hello
Jandal - Flip-flops
Bro - Brother
Bro-town - Ghetto
Chur bro - Cheers brother
Egg - fool
Hardcase - someone with a good sense of humour
Sweet as - Great

Exploring New Zealand - Waitamo Caves

My first adventure out of Auckland was with a beautiful bunch of girls from church; 9 of us headed down to a small town about a 2 and 1/2 hour drive away called Te Kuiti - apparently famous as the sheep shearing capital of New Zealand!

Although slightly disorientating going from Autumn in the UK to Spring in New Zealand without a dark, cold winter in between, the first signs of a new season are still exhilarating. Freshly minted daffodils nod their bell-yellow heads and fleecy lambs caper in buttery sunshine as a warm Spring breeze ruffles the soft new leaves of budding trees.

We visit Waitamo Caves, a famous riddle of tunnels and chambers carved beneath the unsuspecting landscape by an ancient torrent of rushing water. As we enter the narrow passageway our sun-blinded eyes adjust to the soft dark, the close creamy walls opening up to crystal Cathedrals hung with chandeliers of pearly stalactites, the pillars of stalagmites rising regally from the chamber floor. The limestone sings with the sound of the sea, echoes of ocean waves rolling in from the deep as immobile fossils gleam in the torchlight, the dripping of centuries clothing figures and faces hunched in the chalky walls.

After descending into the bowels of the caves we board a fat, graceful boat beneath the glow of a lonely electric bulb, the black oily waters gleaming dully as we glide downstream. When we round the corner the light fades into silence; the thick, glutinous dark coating the cavern as we slide slick and silent in the river's arms.

Suddenly, the sky bursts above us; sapphire stars glazing the roof in the throbbing forms of glow worms, brilliant diamonds forming icy galaxies across the pseudo-night sky. One of the world's biggest concentrations of glow-worms, the bio-luminescent creatures attract not only their insect prey but star-gazing humans as well to marvel at their beautiful mimicry of the universe's constellations.

After admiring our fill, the boat cuts through the shimmering galaxies reflected in the soft inky waters and we emerge into fresh, lemony sunshine, leaving the crystal blue stars to their beguiling.

The World Has Come to Play

It would be impossible to write about this country without mentioning a certain world sporting event happening right now in New Zealand. As much as it seems strange to me surrounded by the constant excitement and euphoria, I'm guessing that some of you might not know that the Rugby World Cup is happening here, in full swing and flourishing.

For the hospitable Kiwi's, it is a chance to revel in hosting the rugby playing nations of the world and for others an opportunity to boast in their true heritage and origins. Never has patriotism been so apparent, the full flavours of different countries showing themselves in proudly flown car flags, painted faces, and when it comes to the game, fiercely declared loyalties.

Around our office in Otahuhu, the open and expressive natures of the Samoan, Tongan and other pacific island people demonstrates itself in a cacophony of colours, with cars trailing audaciously draped flags and shops coated in balloons and dancing streamers.

On the opening night of the world cup some of us go down to The Viaduct, central Auckland's sail stuffed harbour. We watch as traditional Waka's (the boats the Maori people used to reach New Zealand) glide past the watching crowd, the proud red vessels slicing through the calm harbour, their stony faced occupants striking the soft silken waters with swift and meticulous strokes.

After several other events, including a mass Haka (the traditional challenge of the Maori people, adopted by the New Zealand All Blacks team before the start of every game), the long anticipated fireworks display blooms in the night sky in a mass of golden roses, pink azaleas, and sapphire daises falling with a sound like silver.

As the last star fades away, the roar of the crowd declares their welcome to the world as it comes to play.

An exciting first week!

The sea sparkles, stretched taut like a shimmering silver blue cloth, the edges creasing against green land and frothing on black rocks. The plane swoops and circles over cars crawling like ants on ram-rod straight roads, the city of Auckland congealed around ocean bays and lagoons, it's suburbs scattered across the horizon as we land.

The rhythmic clunks of the baggage carousel gently and unhurriedly deliver our long-since parted from belongings. It takes a second turn on the belt before I remember what my bags look like and hoik the 30kgs which should prepare me for a year of NZ summer, autumn, winter and spring.

I'm met on the other side by Sarah who transferred from CAP UK earlier this year and she takes me straight to the office of CAP NZ to meet the team. My new desk is decorated with balloons and a glimmering golden welcome message smiles up at me across the keyboard. After a tour, history lesson, acclimatisation period and meet & greet session we head out for a bite to eat, before I let my tired body sleep a full twelve hours of uncramped, painless oblivion.

Thursday morning is an exciting day as we celebrate reaching 1,000 lifechangers - that's one thousand passionate & generous New Zealanders who are committed to supporting the life changing work of CAP through a regular donation. How exciting!

I spend the week doing work similar to what I did at CAP UK, but also quite different – this time calling churches to see if they are interested in training in the money management course CAP Money. Exciting and exhilarating, I love having these conversations with amazing church pastors who are so passionate about serving and loving their communities!