Auckland architecture

 

A public loo on Symonds St, Auckland - circa 1910, but still in use

In the brief time I lived in the States, I was sorry to find my every prejudice confirmed about the place.  Houses, cars, roads and shops were big and tasteless, as if sheer size could overcome their lack of charm.  It was ordered, modern and clean - and for me, it lacked any ounce of character that, I assumed, only places with history could have.  (I extend humble apologies to the Americans I've had the pleasure of knowing and those I haven't for my lack of appreciation - without a doubt, it's somebody's paradise, just not mine.)
New Zealand's towns grew up in the same period as the towns of the western USA, and an inkling of concern ran through my thoughts before I left Italy.  What if I, so in love with the ancient architecture of Italy, found myself once more surrounded by new world styles which I couldn't help but loathe?

 

Auckland building facades that wouldn't be out of place in Northern Ireland

My curiosity battled my sleepiness to let me have a look at New Zealand on my first car ride from the airport.  I noticed the strangest thing.  Alongside the mirrored skyscrapers and the modern beach houses, there are lots of Victorian-style buildings which I guess are about 100-130 years old.  I felt an odd jolt of familiarity.  The buildings wouldn't be out of place in Belfast or other industrial cities of the UK!

 

Old architecture contrasts with new trends in central Auckland

Of course, there are differences too.  The skyline of the city is dominated by tall buildings - some stunning, some ugly - and the most dramatic icon for Auckland, the Sky Tower.  This graceful pinnacle is so high above everything else (the highest in the southern hemisphere in fact) that people bungee off it.  Given that the Sky Tower is visible for miles around, it's not hard to see this phenomenon... a dark speck dropping off and dangling from the tower.  I've little desire to try it.

 

The new and rather textural Imax building with the Sky Tower behind

Meanwhile the style that typifies Auckland for me is to be found in the city's oldest houses.  These are sometimes brick, sometimes wooden clapboard and often a mix.  They are abundant with lathework and latticework, an apt demonstration of the richness of wood that the colonists found here.  It might be called New England-neogothic-victoriana and it's a little too overdecorated to be my dream house.  But it's lovely to walk through the old residential streets on my walk to the Domain (a large park and botanical gardens) and nosey at their quirky style.

 

 New England-neogothic-victoriana?

In italiano!: L'architettura a Auckland

Dal mio breve periodo negli stati uniti, temevo che lo stile del "nuovo mondo" sarebbe tutto cio che non mi piace: grande, ma senza stile.

Invece a Auckland, l'architettura mi ricorda molto del mio paese, e di diverse citta' brittanniche dell'epoca industriale.  Ci sono tanti edifici che hanno 100-130 anni, insieme con i grattacieli.  

First impressions

 

One of my first walks in NZ - near Warkworth

After two days of fairly civilised travel and only a few hours of motion sickness, I touched down in Auckland airport on the sunny afternoon of Thursday 4th February.
I had tried to freshen up on our fuel stop in Melbourne, but it was no good.  I was terrified that the strict environmental control at the airport would either (a) be furious with me, or (b) make me throw out my rucksack and all my clothes.  This was because I - in my rush to pack - had grabbed my rucksack without realising it had been used for carting firewood up the stairs and still had quite a lot of woodchips in the bottom.  In fact, I had only evicted a stray log when I got to Dubai...
Luckily environmental control didn't care, except for taking a very long slow look at my tent.  Between flight delays, massive passport control queues and the tent thing, Ross had to wait three hours at the airport for me.  It was good to see him, looking leaner, happier and more tanned than when he'd left.

 

A kingfisher - one of many birds that I've seen close-up since arriving

My first impressions were positive.  New Zealand looked well-organised and well-tended.  Bright sunlight shone down on green hills and blue water.  We headed north to Ross' parents' house on the coast near Warkworth.  Their lovely house is nestled in a steep valley of native bush (i.e. NZ-origin trees) close to a small yachting harbour.  Occasional villas could be spied peeking out of the forest.  I later understood that these are "lifestyle plots" - where people retire or buy holiday homes with lots of space for making their own olive oil or whatever.  And very lovely it is too.

  One of the good things about being jetlagged (possibly the only good thing) is that you get to see the sunrise

After a welcoming glass of champagne and an early dinner at a nice Thai restaurant, I got to bed at 9ish.  Not bad for 12 hours of time difference.

The Long White Cloud

Kitty enjoys the stove, complete with my bag of pinecones, raided from the mountain

 

New Zealand is called Aotearoa, the Land of the Long White Cloud. I have never seen it.
Outside, the new white topping on the Apennine ridge blends seamlessly with the white sky. It's October and winter has come suddenly to the Peligna valley, the temperature dropping from a t-shirt-worthy 28C to 8C in a matter of days. Our draughty 16th century house combats the bleakness with a newly-installed wood-burning stove. The Eels blast out "God damn right, it's a beautiful day," on iTunes, despite the evidence to the contrary.
The stove is a chestnut-brown relic from the seventies, a present from our friend Daniele. It's presided over many a merry night in its history, providing the heat for teenage get-togethers when our friends - now around thirty years old - were young. The style of the stove is questionable, but its effects are not. Although we've only had it lit for a few days, all three of us (Ross, Seamus the cat, and I) now fight over the nearest armchair. I'm currently sharing it with the determined cat.
To fuel the fire one needs wood, of course. The folk of Bugnara, our village, advised us to buy all the wood for the winter during the summer when it was dry. Unfortunately, we had to wait for my teaching work to recommence in the autumn. I still haven't had a full month's pay (teaching doesn't start properly until October), and so, I went to the sawmill this morning to see if it was possible to get just a small quantity. It was a fascinating experience.
The two brothers and the older man who I assume is their father never remember me at the sawmill. All three probably have enough fingers between them for two men. I explain again that, no I'm not Italian, but yes, I do live in Bugnara, and yes I work locally. (Here, the question isn't "What do you do?" but "Do you work?" - an indication of the unemployment here.)
It's the first time I've bought wood to burn, and, despite my friends' instruction, I'm not too sure what I need. Nonetheless, they sort me out with some dry oak, and cut it into small enough pieces for the stove, before packing it into my car boot. Oak burns slowly, although it's difficult to light. I collected pinecones on the mountain during the summer to use as kindling.
The most fun part was weighing the car. I drove onto a metal patio and the old man disappeared into a wooden shack. Following him, I saw a big cantilever scale with brass knobs. He nudges the knobs along until the long lever balances, exclaiming with surprise that our 1l Opel Corsa weighs 930kg. (Mental note, clear the crap out of the car.) After 12 euros of wood is added, it comes to 1030kg.
And so, enough wood is bought to get us to the end of a cold month.