Travels - Hong Kong and Home

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And finally, after a few days in Wellington, we head back to the UK, stopping off at Hong Kong again. You know how sometimes if you’ve been travelling around a bit, you decide you’re going to just splurge out (I think that’s the term) and book just one really expensive hotel for the last bit, I wonder if there is some rule that states that it will always be less than the perfect experience.

Allow me to introduce you to the Hotel Grand Harbour Kowloon. I have changed the name to preserve some anonymity. But only slightly.

Now there are two potential ways to run a hotel with a 5 star rating and obscene prices. The first is you go all out to make sure the guests have an absolutely flawless experience, are treated like royalty and you are made to feel as though you are just born into this lifestyle. The second is to maintain an air of haughty grandeur and somehow convey to the guests that they’re LUCKY to be allowed to stay in the hotel.

Following the first concept, there are free things, like free wi-fi, chocolates on the bed, a trouser press, a bowl of fruit, fresh flowers, rose petals strewn in the bedroom even. The second concept, a noticeable absence of free things. And there are spiteful little notes telling you that the room fridge is for chilling HOTEL MINIBAR DRINKS ONLY and requesting that hotel guests do not put their own drinks in there. There is no iron or ironing board, you have to avail yourself of the laundry service at a price that makes throwing your clothes away and just buying new ones a real option. The hair dryer accepts banknotes. When you roll back the bedsheets there’s a discreet note on the pillow asking patrons if they have any intention of dying in the night, could they please sleep on the floor. OK, maybe that’s not quite true.

There was a sort of stark, unfriendly efficiency to the place, which however did not extend to ensuring rooms were available for guests, even though they may have been booked some six weeks earlier. This caused them some problems and, in a stay lasting three days we moved twice, which hardly left any time for seeing Hong Kong. I did raise this with the General Manager at the time and apparently they are unique in that rooms advertised for sale on Booking.com weren’t necessarily ‘there’ when you arrived. I do sympathise with their situation. The hotel has 555 of them. It is entirely possible that they lose a few from time to time.

The next morning we went down to the Cafe in the hotel and had two cappuccinos and a couple of panini and it came to something around £50. That evening we went a few yards outside the hotel and had a full meal in a restaurant for £17.

The air of haughty grandeur persisted for the duration of our stay, however I did take some pleasure in pointing out to the General Manager that their fire safety signage was inadequate - you couldn’t tell which way the fire exit was when you stepped out of your room, even without any smoke, and the televisions also had bare wires hanging out the back and fizzed slightly. So lets see, 555 rooms, probably something like 55 floors, and it’s on record that a customer has raised an issue with inadequate fire safety…

They had seven people to show you to the front door when you checked out. SEVEN. They were stood approximately two feet from each other. They all made the same sweeping gesture with their right hand - it was like watching doormen do synchronised swimming.

This has absolutely nothing to do with cameras, has it - but it has a lot to do with annoying men - mainly me in this instance. In fact, if you type ‘annoying photography blog’ into Google, you’ll see I’m third on the list, out of fifty four million, nine hundred thousand hits. I am MORE ANNOYING than 54,900,000 other things on the internet. I told my partner and he was horrified. “Are you upset?” he asked. He’d forgotten the name of this website. Far from it - I’ve taken a fundamental principle from my day job which is that if you’re not annoying somebody, you’re probably not doing your job right.

That said, on to some photos, our last foreign city before our final flight home.

The hotel was situated in Kowloon, but a fairly inaccessible bit of it, overlooking what used to be Hong Kong International Airport (Kai Tak), known worldwide for its terrifying landing approaches between tower blocks and a 30% degree turn just before you land.

The old airport runway has been replaced with sports facilities, a go cart track, and a golf course, all of which are considerably less exciting then landing there was in the old days. You can see it in this picture, it’s the long flat building to the right.

You think I’m exaggerating? This picture, of Checkerboard Hill, where the pilots had to make that right turn, should speak a million words.

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This is not my photo but it has been reproduced so many times I can’t identify the copyright on it.

So, this part of Kowloon was heavily residential, with the typical tiny Hong Kong apartments rising into the path of oncoming jets. They use bamboo for external scaffolding. Apparently this is very practical in a city with very little room - its light, and it can be cut to size and transported very easily. And apparently if you fall off it, well, it doesn’t feel like such a big deal.

They don’t just use it for tweaking their aircon units and fitting a new window box. They use it for skyscrapers too. If you doubt this, check out the Panasonic building (Honk Kong Island) in the following photograph. If you click on the image and expand it, you’ll see the ends of the bamboo poles. I read up on this and the thing that scared the bejesus out of me is that the walkways are just placed onto the structure, not tied onto it.

This part of Kowloon had a fake ocean liner in the middle of the street. A sort of themed shopping centre which was a bit odd. It was pretty convincing but the reason I knew it was fake is that they don’t build many cruise liners out of concrete.

We also checked out a market. Each floor was dedicated to a particular area. My partner’s pescaterian (that means a vegetarian who doesn’t quite have the commitment to take the final plunge and still eats fish) so we managed the vegetable section, and the fish section, thankfully not walking past anything that was being cut up alive. They seem to have a completely different approach to animal sentience in Hong Kong.

We wandered into the Pets section but didn’t stay long...

OK so that’s a joke. We didn’t go into the meat section just in case we encountered animals we would keep as pets (I once had a pet tarantula so the odds were pretty high). And no, they don’t eat dogs, it’s illegal in Hong Kong (since 1950), but you can get horse meat sashimi, snake soup and blood tofu, and yes, to answer your question, it is. Rather defeats the purpose of tofu in my view and I imagine it has probably freaked out the occasional unwary vegetarian.

After scooting pretty quickly out of the market, vanilla tourists that we are, we then went to the 118 storey International Congress Centre. First of all we stood at ground level, looking at the height of the residential buildings in the complex and wondering how anybody could be comfortable living in anything so high, especially if your flat is in the ‘bridge’ area between the two columns.

Then we went up the International Commerce Centre, the tallest building in Hong Kong, to the Sky 100 Observatory, and looked down on the same buildings we’d just looked up at. We were so high I think I could almost see my house from there…

These are the last pictures from Hong Kong.

So, the end of a very long day, a great deal of it spent sitting down - I had finally learnt the secret of travelling with an 11kg camera bag - we headed back to Hong Kong International Airport, and caught the flight home.

The international venues are all in the past now. From here on in, it’s duck photos desperately trying to be interesting.

These two were quite pleased to see us though…

Until the next time…

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Travels - The Glittering Sands of New Plymouth

Yes, I know, they’re not particularly glittering. The thing is, they ARE.

Back Beach.

See only in New Zealand would they have such a surfeit of beautiful beaches that when they get one like this they just call it ‘Back Beach’. I think this is something pretty deep rooted in the Kiwi Psyche, because if you look at the Maori names for places, they’re often pretty down to earth. Maunganui - Big Mountain. Ruapehu - two explosions. Taranaki - Shining Mountain. I’m not meaning to be disrespectful by the way, apparently you can’t rely 100% on breaking down place names into their component parts to get their original meaning, but as Ruapehu is an active volcano, you can see where that may have come from.

Back to the subject, or back to Back Beach. The sand is black, but it’s not just plain black, it glitters. And as I found out, it is extremely difficult to capture in a photograph, as the camera just can’t quite believe what it’s seeing and just thinks sand = sort of browny gold.

The following picture has been heavily worked on in Photoshop to try to get a sense of what this feels like ‘real’.

Moody, innit?

Although it looks isolated there were loads of people using this beach, walking dogs and stuff, very friendly people too.

I walked on this beach twice, once with my partner and his sister, and then a second time, when they went off for a coffee and I decided to nip back and take pictures (not only do I find it difficult to take pictures OF people, I find it difficult to take pictures when People are Around. It’s a wonder I take any at all).

On the second visit, I got from about 2 miles behind this photo, to the bottom of the pointy rock in the background, Paritutu Rock, and just at the point where I was furthest from the car I got a phone call to say they were done.

I drove back, thinking I could find my way back without Sat Nav and do you know, New Plymouth is a lot more complicated than it first looks. I ended up on this short, wide, and incredibly straight road with lots of airplanes on it and people waving and screaming at me. Don’t know what the hell was going on there.

Anyway I eventually found my way back.

Oh we laughed. Well they did. Until I drove them back of course. Well, there’s a lot to think about - indicator stalk on the wrong side of the steering wheel, automatic transmission, a parking button rather than a plain old brake. And of course they drive on the other side of the road to the UK.

What? They DON’T?

Well my travel tale is almost done. Back down to Wellington for a few days, and then back to the UK via Hong Kong, so a bit more to blog about that. Then after that I think it will be back to blogging about insect photos and stuff.

And a confession for those of you who don’t realise it, I am writing this some time after I got back. There’s obviously a downside to this. Some of you may be idly wondering what will happen next - will I suffer a ghastly accident, perhaps a Cathay Pacific plane dismantling itself at 30,000 ft because it couldn’t cope with the undeclared weight of all those passenger cabin bags that were over 7 kgs, ahem… think of all those little bits of drama I’ve been trying to build in to make this slightly more readable…. I’m afraid you now have the disappointment of knowing that I MADE IT.

But look on the bright side - you’ve also missed the part when I got back and had to go back to Real Life, a Job, the UK, Brexit, Donald Trump, Laundry. And Jesus, I was moaney for that month. Nobody needed to hear that.

And I confess I have genned up on Employment Law in New Zealand and I did ask a few Kiwis while I was over there what the general population would think of an Englishman telling them all how to manage people, would they think Uppity Pom Go Back To Your Own Country? This is currently very similar to the prevailing view in the UK. People over here seem to want everybody to go back to their own country. This is quite a tricky proposition as we are a nation of immigrants and if we took it literally, the Anglo-Saxons would be back off to the ancient homeland in Germany and we’d be left with a handful of pureborn Celts with an awful lot of lawn mowing to do.

However, all the kiwis I spoke to about the possibility of a stuck up Englishman telling them all how to do stuff were surprisingly nice about it, the couple in Rarotonga I met gave me the name of a recruitment website, and even said “We wouldn’t mind YOU”, and when I contacted the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment in NZ to ask where I could read up on the differences between UK and NZ law, gave me a few helpful pointers and said ‘let us know when you get here…’

I contrast that starkly with the welcome people receive in my own country, even in the airport. As you pull into Auckland International Airport the first thing you see is a huge banner saying “Thinking of Emigrating here?”.

Pull into Heathrow as an international traveller and the first thing you’ll see is a small depressing a4 sized purple poster saying “Assaults On Our Staff Will Not Be Tolerated”.

Enough for now - the dogs have rushed out to the back yard so that either means my partner will be back from his string quartet gig, or Amber, the next door neighbour’s dog, has had the temerity to use her own back yard again…

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Travels - Up The Mountain

OK, not very far UP the mountain, but still up the mountain.

One blustery morning, at 6.30am I set off. I would like to say this was because as a photographer I was dedicated to capturing the Golden Hour however to be honest I really wanted to get away from the snoring.

It’s the opposite of the bagpipes. Bagpipes are just lovely when they stop. Snoring is faintly irritating when it’s carrying on but the real pearler moments come when it stops. Sometimes for 45 seconds at a time. I timed it.

Anyway, I gave up trying to work out if I could make an improvised defibrillator from the table lamp and braved the mountain instead.

This image shows Mount Taranaki, far right arrow is the location of Stratford Mountain Lodge, and far left arrow is the location I managed to get to before turning back.

Not very impressive, is it? However on this image, the brown bit is pretty much the snow line in winter, so I’m higher than you think.

So, a couple of new experiences for me. Firstly I think I redefined the concept of Point and Shoot photography. A camera with a completely manual wide angle lens, howling winds, and sideways gusts of rain. Set the focus point to somewhere short of infinity, guess the exposure level, whip the lens cap off, take a shot blindly into nothingness, wipe the rain off before slamming the lens cap back on again.

This shot below shows the true magic of using Lightroom to rescue what you get when you take that type of shot. Before and After…

Seriously - who would think? This is the view towards Stratford from the high car park on Taranaki.

Secondly, changing lenses in high winds was also quite a challenge. I tried to use the car as a ‘safe zone’, I thought I was doing quite well, standing in the passenger doorway and changing the lens on the passenger seat when the wind caught the door and bounced me straight onto the driver’s seat.

This mountain has its own weather, and it changes by the inch and by the minute. So I got up there in brilliant sunshine, and by the time I’d reached the high car park I was parking the car into the headwind to make sure it didn’t roll over. Squalls of rain passed over the mountain but I was determined to get some shots, and I did get quite a few. Mainly shots with rain all over the lens, so I had to practice trying to shelter by the cliff side, whilst also being very aware of the recent heavy rainfall, the frequent rock falls, and getting blown off the mountain.

I didn’t get a completely clear shot of the mountain but I think in many ways it is more atmospheric if you don’t. The night shot that started the last blog was very clear, but it somehow makes the mountain look small. I guess that’s something to do with framing it with the Milky Way.

Another Before and After shot. Amazing what you can recover, isn’t it?

So I left the car and headed further up the mountain towards the flying fox. The following sign was not terribly encouraging.

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Not terribly encouraging…

I spent what I thought was about half an hour up the mountain, but returned, as it turned out, two and a half hours later. This is a timeless mountain, it would be such heaven to live in the shadow of it.

And finally, saying goodbye. This is the second day, just about to head out - the first photo is Mount Ruapehu, 270 kilometres and four hours drive away.

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Travels - Night on Mount Taranaki

This beautiful volcano was used as a stand-in for Mount Fuji in the film ‘Last of the Samurai’. I am completely in awe of this mountain. Its almost a spiritual experience for me. I say almost because I’m not sure a truly spiritual experience is accompanied by the soundtrack to “Dante’s Peak” playing in your head every time you look at it.

I’ve been here twice, staying in the atmospheric Stratford Mountain Lodge a little way below the snow line. I refer you to my earlier comments in a previous blog about high thread counts on bed linen. The only tent I have ever been in has been a wedding marquee.

On both visits I went up and did an early morning walk just below the snow line.

The first time I left a note in my room to say where I’d gone, I know F. all about climbing on mountains but I also know it is people like me who know F. all who get lost and incur expensive mountain rescue operations. I drove up a winding road to a high car park, and then walked some way up past the flying fox that goes up to the ski fields.

To be honest I felt I was being a bit of a risk-averse twat.

Granted that there had been pouring rain the day before, and flooding, and there were dire warnings about not going forward without a shovel to dig yourself out of any avalanches, but then on the other hand, I was on my own and I strongly suspected I was the only person on the mountain.

I did, however, do a bit of reading when I got back down, and discovered that it was probably good to be risk averse on this particular mountain. It looks very beautiful, almost friendly, but as a local guide said, it also gets alpine real quick and it has its own mercurial weather that can quickly catch you out. 80 people have died on Taranaki since they started keeping records, and they apparently anticipate an average of one person a year.

I’ll do another post about that early morning walk and the perils of taking pictures half way up a mountain in a howling gale, but for now, I thought I’d feature another aspect of this mountain that I was incredibly lucky to see - a clear dark sky.

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Thermal Wonderlands

I finally got my head round which thermal wonderland was which. So we started with the Waimangu Volcanic Valley, two different walks, separated by one bus trips. There is something really creepy about this place, not least its air of times past. The truth is the Waimangu Volcanic Valley was the site of the legendary Pink and White Terraces, the Eighth Wonder Of the World, that were destroyed in a catastrophic eruption of Mount Tarawera in 1886.

I always wondered what happened to them. Were they one thing, or two things? and if so, why couldn’t they just dig them up or out?

The walk starts with a short trip up to a bizarre looking wooden bus shelter, painted with elegant figures in Victorian dress, admiring a volcanic landscape that looks unrecognisable from the one you’re actually looking at.

The 1886 eruption was the biggest eruption in New Zealand in the last 700 years and the bus shelter stands on the site of a tourist hotel which was obliterated by steam from the blast. It is why the view looks so different now. It is the youngest geothermal area in New Zealand and the eruption covered the area with mud and ash approximately 20 metres thick.

So that is what happened to the terraces, two separate sites - one of which can only be guessed at now, and the second of which is buried deep below Lake Rotomahana.

The walk takes you past Southern Crater Lake, a steep sided cold lake with pink scum (red aquatic fern apparently) floating on the surface, then on to Frying Pan Lake, which we could barely see because of the steam coming off it and the surrounding hills, and the last small lake, Inferno Lake, a startling cerulean blue, that rises and falls because of the action of a geyser underneath the waters.

Finally you get to the end of the trail which is the beginning of the vast Lake Rotomahana, filling a crater over 100 metres deep. In 2011, there was an announcement that The Pink Terraces had been found but it looks unlikely now that this was the case, and what had been discovered might have been prehistoric terraces that had always lain under the lake and had been previously unseen. Quite moody and atmospheric when you see this off season, with only the odd birder who would rather you just Went Away for company.

By way of a complete change, a few days later we ended up at Lake Taupo and the site of the floatplane, which I had looked at longingly and taken several photos off, it being the only kind of plane I had never been in. My partner took pity on me and paid for me to go up.

On my own, was his suggestion initially.

Was this because we had been discussing my extensive Death In Service benefit shortly before? Who knows? Anyway, I think the pilot took my partner’s laconic comments about safety and Not Getting Me Up In One Of Those Things rather personally, not helped by my rather dark humoured comments to the effect that when I’d put a codicil in my will, leaving our dogs to the lady who was looking after them while we were away, in case we went down in a plane, and that I’d rather anticipated that it might be a bigger one than this.

“Yeah, we do sometimes make it back?” he said rather drily.

However, when he took our details and ‘next of kin’, my partner said “I just put my dad’s name here?” the pilot shifted rather awkwardly and said “er…. a telephone number might be useful…” so maybe they don’t always make it back…

In this next set of pictures you can see Lake Taupo, which apparently is wider than the English Channel in parts, the Hydrothermal Plant and the Hucka Falls from the air. Hucka Falls is next to the prestigious Hucka Lodge, where you can spend over £1,000 a night having a meal cooked by a guy with a minimalist haircut (one tiny plat, about a centimetre long, right in the middle of his forehead. I’m sure there’s some massively cooky reason for it. Probably helps with preparing those foam, smoke, and delicate jus type dishes).

We thought it might be a jolly good wheeze to drive up to the electric gates and ask through the house intercom system whether they did take-away but they didn’t concur.

Next up was Wai-O-Tapu, probably the most popular site, not quite as much walking as Waimangu, but with probably the most variety of steamy lakes in a variety of toxic looking colours. And some ‘man made’ terraces, I discovered afterwards, where the water has been diverted over a flat area and new green and white terraces are forming.

At the far end of the trail is Lake Ngakoro, calm, but unnaturally green, and the even more alarming electric green Devil’s Bath, coloured by sulphur in the water.

And finally, a few pictures from the shores of Lake Taupo of distant Mount Ngauruhoe, the cone shaped volcano (that still gasses the odd unwary hiker) and Mount Ruapehu just behind it.

And just a few photos of the third volcanic area we visited, the Wairakei Thermal Valley, located down a winding dirt road and as opposite to the fairly commercialised Wai-O-Tapu as you could get.

The caretaker was an old English guy who had lived half his life in the UK making British cars, and ended up emigrating here almost by accident. He had a wry sense of humour and got me to drop the F bomb by catching me out with something he does with all the visitors. Those with strong hearts that is. I won’t tell you want it was, but be very careful around any Tarantula Eggs he might give you. That’s all I’m saying…

And next, the Stratford Mountain Lodge and awesome Mount Taranaki.

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