Taranaki

Early rain had cleared by after breakfast, so we went into New Plymouth for a for shopping and a walk around the Komaroe aquatic centre. Met Judy's mother for lunch at the at Big Jim's, the very nice restaurant associated with a local garden centre. Despite the cloud, we pressed ahead with a trip up to the Egmont Visitors' Centre, half-way up Taranaki - which was cold enough to get us unpacking the woolies we'd brought along for our return home. There was essentially no visibility uphill from the centre, only brief glimpses of fresh-fallen snow in gaps in the cloud, so after a little walk to stretch the legs, returned to base via a gemstone shop, which had some nice pieces of jade and petrified wood.

Welcome to New Plymouth

We were taken on a trip into New Plymouth, to Marsland hill, with the carillon and war memorial, and the views from Churchill Heights. At the lee breakwater, 4m swells were washing over the top leaving standing water on the beach car parking behind. Fortunately there were paths elsewhere high enough above that we could watch the waves - at Paraitutu, to watch the surf crashing against the rocks, and along at the East End.

After lunch at the RSA club, we had a visit to the black volcanic sand beach at Oakuna, and then to a little vinery (Cottage Wines) that specialised in non-grape wines (it has more status there than the home-brew elderflower plonk in the UK), with feijoa being a specialty.

Dinner at the eat-all-you-can buffet at the Devon Hotel - a good place for those who like oysters which, along with green-lip mussels, are a local delicacy.

Another wet and windy night with no sign of the mountain.

A Land down under

To celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary, and to placate relatives, we spent most of November and some of December '96 in the North Island of New Zealand. We were based out of Inglewood, near Mt. Taranaki (left). This picture is taken from somewhat south of there (on the dirt track that masquerades as a national highway from Taupo), on one of the rare occasions where it was not hidden by cloud.

The flight out departed late afternoon in the depths of autumn from LHR, and chased the fading sunset up over Scotland, and into the arctic, where a strange wan light glimmered over the ice. Dark fell as we turned south, over the Dakotas, that sprawl of light that is Las Vegas, to LAX. Although we were flying business class (really not a luxury for long haul flight), and could have used the posh lounge, we didn't feel like facing US immigration to get out to it, but just got back on the plane as soon as possible for the long dark flight over the Pacific to Auckland at dawn, to change to a local flight for the hop to New Plymouth. Cloud prevented much in the way of views, but we were pointed out the plumes of ash rising from the central volcanoes that had recently started erupting gently.

We were met by Karen's uncle Brian and his wife Judy at New Plymouth airport to weather that seemed to have come along for the ride with us - cold, windy and raining. After a shower and change, we were taken out to the Pukekora park and fernery to sample the distinctive vegetation that makes the green and rugged terrain look exotic. Forcing ourselves to stay awake until gone 21:00 local, we collapse into bed only to be kept awake by a stormy night of wind and heavy rain.

Azhrarn (24th Feb 1982 - 6th Sept 1996)

Named after the demon from Tanith Lee's Night's Master who created the first cat (which was of course black) it seemed he would be a permanent fixture in the household.

He was never a well socialised cat, having been born to a semi-feral mother, who was left to rear her kittens undisturbed in a room to herself - he never cared to be handled, was always very timid, and prone to marking out little bits of territory to himself (even indoors, alas). He was also very affectionate, and would dribble while purring ecstatically when stroked, and always wanting to groom the person in return (slobber! rasp! - his tongue was very rough).

He broke a tooth (one of his upper incisors), and found eating painful, and after having the stump removed, quickly went into a decline. Whether the kidney failure that he suffered had been the cause of his problems, or was triggered (or merely exacerbated) by infection of the gums or the anaesthetic for the dental work it's not clear. One problem with an outdoor cat - you can't tell how much they drink.

The picture was taken a little after his 14th birthday.

Camargue

Having enjoyed the good weather once, we did it again this year, only taking a slightly different itinerary, visiting Aigues Mortes, and then St. Gilles. On the route between, we detoured to the ferry crossing of the Petit Rhône at Bac Sauvage, and to the Parc Ornithologique at Pont de Gau, and assuming there's no Mistral, we'd recommend that route. From St. Gilles, I made a long side trip, via Arles, to Les Baux de Provence (shown here looking south from the crest of the range, with the Rhone delta plain behind the outcrop on which the citadel was built):-

in the Alpilles (inspiration for the town in Robert Westall's The Cats of Seroster), over to St Rémy (where I lunched again at the same excellent crêperie, then back via Tarascon (home of the original tarrasque, for the D&D fans out there), Beaucaire and Bellgarde. [This image has been enlarged from postage-stamp size from a not very good photo, I'm afraid].

On the way from Arles to Les Baux, I nearly got caught in a bull-running event in Fontveille, one of the little towns north of Arles. In fact in late May, the whole area breaks out into bull-fighing and related events, so be warned.

Provence

Having been caught out by the weather last year, the next time we took an activity holiday abroad we headed south for the Provence cycling tour, starting at Nîmes (an easy journey by Eurostar and TGV). From a base south of Nîmes, we headed south to St Gilles which lies on the fringes of the Camargue. I would heartily recommend the Hôtel Le Cours there, for its cheap, filling, and authentic local meals - the 5 course meal for 92fr defeated me every time, even after long side-trips, such as south all the way to the Med at Stes. Maries de la Mer and back.

From St Gilles to Beaucaire, an unremarkable (indeed mildly squalid) little town, enlivened by falconry displays at the castle. They fly traditional hunting birds, owls (as shown here), eagles and even a vulture.

 

From there I also made a side trip to Avignon (that's the famous pont d'Avignon), and thence to St. Rémy de Provence, just north of the Alpilles, and van Gogh's retirement place. I would recommend a little crêperie there, but I can't recall its name.

The final stay was at the Pont du Gard, the famous Roman aqueduct, at the Hôtel Le Colombier (complete with dovecote) just half a mile away from the bridge on the outskirts of the town of Remoulins; and whose exquisite menu I would recommend.

Around the Pont itself, the river runs wide and shallow with sandy beaches suitable for swimming and sunbathing (it doesn't seem to matter to the locals even if you've not got a costume).

While swimming, Karen spotted a watersnake here.

Shen Kuei (3rd June 1983 - 30th Jan 1995)

A pedigree brown Burmese, who escaped from a life as a show cat by a sprinkling of creamy hairs (his mother was a cream Burmese) on one shoulder.

He was a very human-oriented cat, having grown up in a household with children, dogs and other cats, and acquired from his mother the art of opening door handles. Even when confronted with doorknobs, or sliding doors, he managed to achieve his intent by leaping up at the knob and then glaring at the nearest person. Very fixated on Karen, he would rarely allow other cats to share her lap (though he would curl up with any other cat if there was no lap available), and would scold her upon her return if she was away for any reason.

Being a pedigree cat, he also felt that he had no need to prove himself. Of course he was the boss; and of course he could help himself to scraps at any time - he often brought home bits of other peoples' Sunday lunch. Indeed, one time he tried walking off with a joint of lamb from our kitchen, and to dissuade him I doused him with the first thing to hand - the glass of wine I was carrying. He was a very squiffy puss when he'd finished cleaning himself up, and had acquired a taste for wine afterwards.

He remained the center of attention to the end, deciding to show the symptoms of a cancer the day before Karen's birthday, and expiring the following day.