Antarctic Center and Homeward Bound

We go to the airport hotel, and as we approach, the driver recommends the Antarctic Research Center.  Located next to my hotel and across the street from the departure terminal, it is a perfect destination for me before my flight home on Monday.

Kate, Gary, and I have our last dinner together.  They will be leaving the hotel about 4 AM.  I will be sleeping in.  It seems weird to be saying goodbye, and I feel a little emotional and sentimental.  

The Antarctic Center is just yards from the hotel, and across the street from it is the United States Antarctic Research Center.  

US in NZ :  Another touch of home so far from home.  

As I head for the Antarctic Center I think what a good idea to put this kind of tourist attraction next to an airport.  How often do travelers have time to wait but not enough time to really *do* something?  I realize it’s here because the US Antarctic Program is here, but it works well for me.

The first thing that grabs my attention is the penguin refuge (surprise, surprise).  I see blue penguins, I see the same ‘Faerie Penguins’ I saw on Phillips Island nine years ago.  All have been rescued, tagged, and have a safe haven here.  The setting simulates their natural habitat while allowing visitors to see their nests, feeding habits, and underwater antics.

rescued NZ penguins, above and below

On my way out, I see the ‘blizzard simulation room’. That sounds cool (I think, for a minute) After donning a full weight winter parka and rubber boots, I join others inside, awaiting the countdown to a ‘real’ Antarctic summer blizzard.  

We take turns photographing each other in the cold space as we await the storm.

The temperature drops, the wind picks up, the lights dim, people giggle and laugh and nervously watch the tents blowing, and I think,  “What am I doing?  I’ve seen blizzards.  I'll see them again.  Real ones.”  

I realize a summer blizzard in Antarctica is more severe than any I’ve seen, even after the winter of 2015.  But still---a blizzard is not new to me.  I leave for the warmth of the real world.  

I make a quick stop for coffee and find myself seated near some US troops stationed at the center across the street.  Again I feel the ‘smallness’ of the world.  Yesterday-- Starbucks and the Sox capped-tourist, today, the U.S. troops next to me.  Thus ends my trip to New Zealand…with a taste of home and a taste of the winter that is waiting for me in Arlington.

View of South Island of New Zealand from plane bound for home

PostScript

I leave sunshine and fake blizzards, 75 degrees and spring in late October. I arrive in San Francisco 7 hours before I left Christchurch. I get into Boston 8 PM on Monday but I think it’s 2 PM on Tuesday.  I sleep through the first snow of the season—real snow. I see the vestiges on my car when I finally get up. The flight has me confused but the memories are very clear. 

It’s great to see the world.  

It’s great to be home.

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Original Tales from the Trail (Places I've Been) will  be taking a brief hiatus until late January or early February.  

I continue to welcome feedback here, on Twitter, Facebook, and elsewhere.

On http://originaltalesfromthetrail.blogspot.com/  I will occasionally highlight selected posts that have drawn the most responses, and will try to share these on Gatehouse Media's blog sites as well (arlington.wickedlocal.com/section/blogs01?taxid=1963  or any of the other 50 town papers that post Tales from the Trail on their web sites).  

Happy Holidays to all, and thank you for following Tales from the Trail.  See you in 2016.

Home Away from Home; Red Sox Nation

I enjoy cities, I enjoy history, I enjoy the history we can find in cities.  But with our shrinking world--multinational corporations, global manufacturing, the ability to travel half way around the world in less than a day-- I’ve noticed that often I see familiar things that almost make me forget I am not home.

At this point there are some things we’ve just come to expect.  MacDonalds is everywhere, although they may adapt their menus to regional tastes.  Starbucks is everywhere. 

Starbucks in Christchurch, NZ

As we stroll through the area, I see a juggler in the center of the square, and for a minute,  looking at the building behind him, I think I’m in Boston, at Faneuil Hall Marketplace.  Home away from home.

Not Faneuil Hall

The moment passes, I realize it's only a faint similarity, and we continue our stroll. We come to a statue honoring Queen Victoria,

HRH Victoria

and another honoring explorer/navigator James Cook

James Cook

Whenever explorers reach outposts and civilizations previously unknown to them, they lay claim to the territory, (re)name the natural landmarks, and create tributes to (newly arrived) adventurers and their rulers.  And as has happened elsewhere in the country--in the world--acknowledgement of the native population joins tributes to newcomers.  In Alaska Mt Denali was/is Mt. McKinley.  In Australia, Ayers Rock is Uluru.  In New Zealand, Mt. Cook is also known by its Maori name,  Mt. Aoraki.  And in Christchurch there is a Maori carving acknowledging the brave early settlers...

Maori carving in Christchurch

As we wander, a uniquely decorated bus catches my eye. Advertising the Antarctic Center near the airport, the bus has several penguins on its roof.  I’m guessing there are no low bridges here.  I'm also guessing, given my fondness of penguins and the time I'll have before my flight, I'm going to visit that center.

Bus advertisement

I mentioned at the start of this post that often I see familiar things  in unfamiliar places.  What I didn’t realize was how far-flung Red Sox Nation is.  Red Sox fans, take note. When Kate and I were exploring the mudpots and geysers of New Zealand’s North Island, we were crossing a footbridge and I saw a man in a Red Sox hat.  I was wearing my championship Sox t-shirt.  

‘Hey, Red Sox,’ I said, almost without thinking.  

‘Go Sox!’ he replied just as automatically.

If you are rolling your eyes here, you’ll be pleased to know I heard Kate say,  ‘What IS it with you people?”  Only Red Sox Nation would understand.

I saved that story for the end of the trip because, when we return to await the airport shuttle, I see a bus of Japanese tourists as they disembark. One is wearing a Red Sox cap.  I grab my camera and ask ‘Can I take your picture?’  She looks confused; obviously she does not speak English.   I point to her cap, to my Sox t-shirt (yes, another one), and to my camera.  She breaks out in a huge grin and holds up a New Zealand tourist handbook.  

I am over 9,000 miles from my home, and here are all these things that take me home.  It is a small world.  Go Sox!

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Next: The Antarctic Research Center and Homeward Bound

Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park, The Church of the Good Shepherd

After our adventures on the mountain, we rejoin our tour and head for Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park.  

View of Aoraki National Park as we go to the hotel

As Kate and I enjoy the views from our balconies at the Hermitage Hotel , I see a nearly invisible bus going through the park. It’s in the lower third of the photo below (I circled it to help you see it) on a narrow road that cuts across the flat area at the foot of the mountains.  Gives ya some perspective, doesn’t it?

The bus helps give an idea of the size of the mountains.

In the morning we depart for the last leg of our trip.  En route to Christchurch, where our flights will take us home, we stop at the Church of the Good Shepherd, a humble house of worship built  from stones found in the region.  The Church is at the edge of Lake Tekapo and the contrasts are arresting:  the simple stone church,  the placid lake surface, and the regal mountains beyond.

   Church of the Good Shepherd on Lake Tekapo

 

Mounts Aoraki (Cook) and Tasman from the edge of Lake Tekapo

To bring me back down to earth,  Kate provides the following photo of Gary....Look--the mountain is smaller than his hand. 

The Church of the Good Shepherd is aptly named not only in a religious sense, but also as an acknowledgement of the importance of  sheep in the country’s economy  (remember the raves over New Zealand lamb?).  It’s only fair that  near the church there is a tribute to the dog, whose services are critical to the shepherd. 

Honoring the dog without whom shepherding would be---impossible.

And then it’s on to Christchurch, where the tour has arranged for us to stow our luggage while we take some time to enjoy the city before leaving for our accommodations near the airport.

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next: Home Away from Home