Sea Life

Background: Piet & Cindy & the kids are on holiday in Auckland. This is an excerpt from the chapter 'Bait' from the book DLC33.

I woke up in New Zealand. I’m actually OK with that.

The best part is waking up next to my favourite Kiwi … not the flight attendant, but my wife. She seems to be a little happier today, too. It’s relative. She was a melting bucket of old memories as we sat in the bathroom last night, until someone else needed to take a leak. Now, she’s … very happy to be in a hotel room. She’s possibly not so happy to find two other beds full of still-sleeping small people. Maybe she’s as happy as I am that they’re still sleeping. Their presence, however, puts an upper limit to our combined - or mutual - level of potential happiness.

She shrugged. Exactly.

Breakfast in bed is not going to happen, either. It’s breakfast by buffet, which is apparently above us somewhere, but not quite on the roof. I can live with that. Maybe it faces the harbour.

It doesn’t.

“Where’s the water?”

Good question, that lad. We’re in a city that proudly straddles & surrounds water, but we can’t actually see it due to a few inconvenient taller buildings & the wrong angle due to terrible planning. Why couldn’t the street be just that little bit more … well, less Northerly, I guess? I am somewhat geographically challenged, because I’d have to look down to reorient myself with the map in my head. It’s morning. The sun is … not in Auckland today.

Should I ask a waiter? I know how that’s going to go.

“Excuse me, in which direction is the water?”

“We don’t have a pool, Sir”

That would be me translating “Wi dunt hev ə pull, eh?” Even then, I’m extrapolating from “Wɨ dənt ‘ev ə pəll, eh?” Don’t tell Cindy. It’ll make me laugh just trying to explain it.

Harbour?

“Excuse me, could you point towards the harbour?”

Raised eyebrow, followed by an impression of a whirling dervish on mandrax. You choose. You can’t be too far wrong. The whole city is built on an ‘S’ lying down. Every second suburb seems to have its own bay.

Anyway, my boy asked a question, & he deserves an answer.

“Right there in front of you - with the juice.”

“No, I mean …”

“Are you having cornflakes to start?”

“But Dad!”

“Or shall I make you some toast? Look! Marmalade.”

I can do this all day, & he knows it.

There are little cartoonish whiffs of fume coming out of his ears, but he knows better than to pursue the matter. He’ll ask Mum. Mum’s got a much smaller array of misdirections at her disposal at this time of the day.

We’ve got brochures. Reading material at the table is usually frowned upon, as being anti-social. We have the excuse that we’re on holiday. The rules don’t apply.

“What have you got?”

“Sealife.”

“I didn’t see that when I got my egg …”

A bit of poached salmon would have gone down a treat.

That only works on the boy. Cindy has her sarcasm shield up. She slapped down a predominantly blue brochure proclaiming that I would be amazed & astounded, in Maori. The English was less gimmicky. Yes, I understand that I can’t read the Maori, but I’m guessing. It has to be written there somewhere, because it’s some kind of tourist rule, like always putting the important stuff in fine print.

“We should go.”

“Walk?”

“Drive.”

“Far?”

“Far enough. Out of the city.”

“Sold.”

“Are you sure?”

“No idea. It sounds right, though,” then I whispered rather loudly, “educational!”

“What is?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“Too many teeth.”

That’s got them both.

“How many?”

Here we go into the realms of ... fishing. I’m definitely in my element here. Especially in trying to come up with a large number representative of a pack of sharks if they were each about the size of a sperm whale.

“Rows & rows of sharp teeth.”

Evie’s doing that “No, I don’t want to look, but I feel like I have to” thing with her hands on her face without covering her eyes or her open mouth, displaying an almost full set of young person’s teeth herself.

“Yeah!” from the less horrified one who has just taken a bite out of a spoon of soggy cornflakes & subsequently shared a few through his gap.

While we slowly got ourselves organised in order of need for the bathroom in order to prepare for the day, I rang my daughter(s). Surely, Chrys should be awake. I can’t have the time difference too wrong.

“Yeah?”

“Good morning.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good morning, Papa. How are things?”

“We are having a wonderful time. How are you? How is the household?”

“Peter’s asleep, Elyse is … not. Puff has gone back to bed, & I’m ready to head off.”

“Normal day, then.”

“Say ‘hi’ & stuff.”

It’s only the first day away. At least I know that they made it home from the airport.

What Cindy also held in reserve was the fact that there’s a real live Auckland beach just around the corner from where we’re going. I suspect that ‘beach’ is a relative thing. It won’t be like a Fiji beach, which has been shipped over from Newcastle (trust me) to grace a resort owned by an Australian (or a Kiwi). It won’t be like a Welsh beach, which is basically waiting for a few eons to grind the rocks down to the right sized grain & for the sun to bleach something that is, let’s face it, currently black. You have to have patience in that part of the world.

No! This will be just like an Australian beach, only colder & more likely to have as much tide coming from the sky as from the … well, it won’t even be the ocean, it will be that expanse of water between the two fingers that the North Island proudly displays, topographically, to the world. Actually, you need quite a bit of imagination to think it’s rude. They’re Kiwis. They’d never think of it.

Tamaki Drive is an experience in itself. It’s prime real estate & takes us precisely from the CBD to Orakei along what must effectively be a dyke. I mean that in the way of land reclamation, not … have you ever wondered how a lesbian ever got referred to as a dyke? Then again, think of a Catholic as a tyke. I don’t think either can be traced with accuracy, although, given that it’s Australo-Kiwi in use, we might look to the Scots word, meaning ‘boorish’, which would differentiate the two old neighbours in the colonies. Sorry, that was ‘tyke’.

I wasn’t necessarily thinking this while we were driving, but I could have done, because it was the most amazing smooth run ever. Bonus points to Cindy for finding this visually appealing tourist venue at the end of a spectacularly distracting journey.

“Did you know how easy that would be?” as we parked metres from the road we’d just travelled, in a mostly-empty car park.

She just smiled!

That means ‘no’. I’ll let her take credit.

As I’m converting NZ pesos to AU shekels, it sounds like a reasonable price for admission for a family. If they can entertain me for six hours, I will feel as if I’m taking advantage of them. By entertaining me, I mean them entertaining my kids, obviously.

Arriving is like going into one of those public toilets in a park, where the facilities are underground, or else a crypt, or a Wynd in Edinburgh. It opened out from such a small building at street level against a rock face, & it was worth it just to get that far. The kids thought we’d found a TARDIS & were looking for a scarf to follow. Then they started reading directions & almost dared each other to make a choice. Penguins were always going to win. I knew that. Is it just kids who seem fascinated with penguins? Happy feet? Basic fluffy cuteness coupled with flightlessness? Shuffling along the ice? Tuxedos? Swimming? Shivering adverts for natural gas? Someone their own size to pick on?

King & Gentoo penguins. The kids are taller.

“We need to find some Emperors.”

“Why?”

“They’re bigger than you.”

Evie believes me. Everyone’s bigger than her. It’s unfair.

Turtle rescue. No amount of explanation covers the fact that these are just turtles visiting until they can be released back to where it was they got injured in the first place.

“Why can’t they just stay here?”

“Umm. They need to live … out there.”

“But isn’t that how they got hurt? You know … out there?”

“We’ll have to ask someone …”

Of course, the only people who know anything are vets, rather than low-level feeders. We’re not going to get to interrogate a vet.

King crabs.

“Imagine one of those beauties for dinner?”

“Who’s eating who?” Evie asked, shying away from the glass & grammatical perfection.

My kids have had shellfish. They get the basic concept of breaking off a claw & sucking the white meat out. I guess it is different when the claw is taking an interest in you. I’m a little surprised someone hasn’t asked how come it’s not red.

“Beady eyes!” & the other child is getting closer to see who wins a staring contest.

Should I point out that crabs can’t blink? For that matter, I have my doubts about Téo.

Why did they forget about the sharks?

“Dad!”

Found them.

He’s gone. I know where he is, but I can’t see him. He’ll have his nose pressed to the tank where there’s a shark visible. I’ll be able to see the shark, at least, because it’s bigger. Grey nurse. Not exactly the most vicious of beasts, but they have lovely teeth for collecting, because they look like long nasty ones. It’s all show. I may not know much about sharks, but these teeth look like they’d be good for straining the rocks out of your fish soup & that’s about it.

“Would you look at that! He’s a beauty! Evie! Look!”

Hang on! Did he just encourage his sister to join him? Wow. I looked at Cindy. She heard it, too.

Evie went up to a spot just behind Téo’s shoulder, not quite touching him. I told you she was smart. If the glass breaks, Téo will get eaten first because he won’t be able to back away through her fast enough. I put a hand on her shoulder & she nearly jumped. Now she won’t be able to run off, either.

“Is it safe?”

Téo tapped on the glass (of course).

“Yeah, safe ‘nuff, I reckon.”

There is a sign that says “don’t tap on the glass”, but for some reason they put it well above his head.

The ‘go-faster’ shark (as dubbed by Téo) wouldn’t smile at us, so the kids lost interest quickly. Mind you, the ‘midget’ shark (& I swear that the kids can read the signs) was even more of a let-down in terms of size & lack of teeth.

“Can we go back to the cool one?”

“Hang on - there’s another one.”

“Where?”

“There.”

“Nup.”

“Look closer.”

“Where, Daddy! You’re trickin’ us!”

The Wobbegong was in plain sight, but that doesn’t mean much when you look like a rock.

Cindy knew what she was looking for & raised an eyebrow.

“Do you like him?”

“Not exactly pretty, eh?”

“Where?!”

“I reckon the tank’s empty.”

“But you have to admit that he’s more likely to get fed just sitting there.”

“Would he move if we threw in a child?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to try.”

It’s amazing how that sort of conversation improves your eyesight.

“Got ‘im! He’s eyeing you off, Evie.”

“Ooh. Oh. Urgh. Yuck. That rock is an ugly shark.”

I can imagine that this place is nowhere near as much fun without kids.

“Do you see horses?”

You don’t want to say this in front of someone with a little pony collection dominating her toys.

“Sounds good.”

“What? Where? There are no horses here.”

“Of course there are - sea horses?”

It’s all in the way you say it.

“We’re looking at fish! There are no horses!”

“Look - there. That’s not right.”

Téo saw the sign near the tank. I think “sea horses” has him at least a little confused, but it’s not going to stop him from investigating.

“Come on.”

He held his hand out as if he might take hers, but that’s highly unlikely. It took her a second to realise that’s what he wanted, it was such a shock to her. We can go along behind a little more casually. Cindy would take my hand … if I wasn’t already holding hers.

“See?”

“Oh! It’s like a horse-thing … without legs.”

“That one has wings.”

“Look for one with a horn!”

Should I have pointed out that there were dragons? I think this has worked out better, because Téo ran to see all the sharks just to count their teeth, as I’d promised. He would definitely have given me ‘the look’ for making him chase sea dragons. At least Evie is happy that even the ocean has horses.

The rest of the tanks were just colour & movement.

“Which one should we eat?”

“Not the ugly one - that’d taste funny.”

“You’re thinking of the clown fish.”

“That one?”

He was pointing at an eel.

“No …” how do you explain that joke to a kid?

Cindy’s head has fallen to my shoulder. She gets it. She’s also completely at a loss as to how to pass the joke on.

More shellfish.

“Evie! Let’s try & work out which shells have food in them!”

Now he's definitely thinking like my son.

Playground. A complete waste. They both looked at the kids running around & thought that they were far too sophisticated for that sort of stuff. Those kids looked about Evie’s size, mind you.

As for the antarctic hut, that was far too much like a museum. We still haven’t gotten to the age of appreciation for museums. Nothing’s changed since my first real attempt to educate them in rural NSW.

“Hang on … we’ve missed something.”

Cindy scrabbled around in that little handbag that seems to hold everything she’ll ever need.

“Amazing Creations. Look for a sign.”

Art? We can do art. We can compete for art. We may not be very good at it, but both of them like to prove that they’re better at it than the other. Actually, Evie’s pretty good at drawing horses, so she might be able to translate that skill into a horse with no legs.

I give it at least fifteen, while we just sit for a bit & leave them be.

“Good find, Babe.”

“Tell me about it! You know … this ought to be famous or something, but it isn’t.”

“It’s like … OK, if you grow up somewhere, you don’t ever see the tourist attractions. You never go there. When you get a friend from overseas asking what they should see, you’re always at a loss, & then they start pulling out brochures & saying ‘what about this’, & it’s ‘oh yeah!’, but you’ve never been.”

“Maybe. Like what?”

“Koala sanctuary in Sydney. There’s a classic. I’ve never been, but I’ll bet every single Japanese tourist goes there. Harbour Bridge climb.”

“Yeah. I get it. I nearly won a prize to climb that.”

“Nearly won?”

“Could have won. I entered a competition.”

Optimism. That’s what I love about Cindy.