The eighth wonder of the world

The eighth wonder of the world

The most unpredictable thing about New Zealand is its weather. After jinxing myself with too much talk about sunscreen and the summer heat in the first part of the diary, I found myself waddling through rain, shivering in the cold wind and waking up in disbelief as snow appeared out of nowhere on the morning after Cyclone Fehi lashed South Island in my last week in the country.

Because of the weather, the cricket suffered too. But the emotional rollercoaster India’s victory in the final put us through made up for every lost moment over the past month.

We will get to the night of the final later, but first, where did we leave last time?

Aah, beautiful Whangarei – feels like it was ages ago! There was intense drama after that first round. Afghanistan followed up their win against Pakistan with another victory over Sri Lanka, looking good to finish on top of the group. Pakistan recovered from the early jolt by thrashing Ireland, and then pipping Sri Lanka in a do-or-die contest to qualify for the knockouts.

Being part of a small media contingent in a tournament has its perks. By now, I had gotten close enough with the Afghans to be invited for a cup of tea on most evenings. Mind you, only Alokozay green tea with cinnamon and herbs, because none of the regular Kiwi variants suit the Afghan palette.

The Pakistan players posing for one of their many photoshoots in front of our correspondent’s camera. © Wisden India

With Pakistan, the relationship had reached a stage where invitations to Karachi, Lahore and Peshawar were being meted out with every photo I clicked for the boys. With none of the matches in Whangarei being televised, my camera had become their only source of memorabilia.

On the field, just when it looked like Group D was all done and dusted, the last match – labelled a dead rubber – saw Ireland topple Afghanistan in a nail-biting encounter and mess with the Afghans hopes of finishing No. 1. The travelling families of the Irish boys celebrated, and the only two journalists who were witness to the week-long spectacle so far finally found some downtime to explore the lovely little town.

With not much idea about the geography outside the home-stadium-home range, we set off to Walton Street in search of a spot. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves gazing across the street at an interesting looking resto-pub named ‘The Jovial Judge’.

Little did we know we were about to bump into one of the biggest cricket nuts in Whangarei.

Jovial Judge is the place to be if you want to enjoy sports over an evening snack. © Wisden India

Ross Kneebone, the owner of the property, is a former cricketer and an umpire. At 61, he has seen more cricket than most have across Northland. Over the three hours we spent there, he tells us stories of the fat kid named Tim Southee who walked the lanes outside not so long ago. Peter Borren, the Netherlands captain who once sat where we were sitting, couldn’t believe that the guy who was umpiring the other day actually owned this place. Here’s the best one though: In 2014, during India’s tour game against a New Zealand XI side, Ishant Sharma and Ajinkya Rahane came knocking at The Jovial Judge’s window late at night looking for food.

“The guys were wearing hoodies and it was kinda late. I thought some blokes had come to mug me but when I looked closer, it was that lanky fellow Ishant and with him, Rahane, out looking for some food. I pulled the shutter down and got them in for a snack.”

Kneebone’s love for cricket is legendary, as we find out from one of the last guys walking out of the door: “If you talk cricket, he is going to keep this place open all night long.”

Though the temptation of staying on for more stories was strong, we remembered we had an early morning bus to catch to Auckland. On the way out, we made a promise to come back again someday.

Part II: Mesmerising Queenstown

Queenstown – View from above. © Wisden India

Every local I had met till this point told me Queenstown was going to blow my mind. Having not got much sleep on the bus from Whangarei to Auckland, I chose the two-hour flight from Auckland to Queenstown to catch up on some rest. Minutes before landing, a jerk woke me up. Nothing major, just some usual turbulence. I couldn’t have been more thankful to that bump though.

The scene outside the window was out of this world. We were flying between two mountain ranges – possibly the Remarkables and Ben Lomond – and Lake Wakatipu looked like a digitally enhanced photoshop file from top. I had to pinch myself to believe it wasn’t a dream.

The exit from the rather small airport had plenty of evidence that Under-19 World Cup matches were being staged in the city. On the picturesque drive towards town, there were flags and banners with the #FutureStars tag prominently displayed along the sidelines.

The blue hue of Lake Wakatipu makes it look like a digitally enhanced photoshop file. © Wisden India

It was still the usual summer weather when I initially arrived here. England and Australia played out a cracker of a quarterfinal and Lloyd Pope became the talk of town. Overheard a group of Ausssie backpackers at Fergburger, popularly ranked as the best burger place in the country, discussing how a young ripper had barbied the Poms at the cricket.

Up next, India demolished Bangladesh to join Australia in the semifinals and in Christchurch, the boys from Pakistan and Afghanistan also made it past the quarters. I wasn’t going to be around for the semis (in Christchurch), because there was still a lot of unfinished business in Queenstown with the third, fifth and seventh-place playoffs coming up.

There was a gap between the games, and that gave me just enough time to make a day trip to Milford Sound, labelled the eighth wonder of the world by Rudyard Kipling. I soon found out why.

Milford sound – the eighth wonder of the world. © Wisden India

There aren’t many words suited to describe the beauty of this fiord. The scenery is straight out of Jurassic Park, with ragged peaks jutting out of the rainforests and waterfalls running down the slopes till the cruise opens up to the mighty Tasman Sea. We didn’t see any Pterosaurs or Velociraptors on our journey, but we did come across a bunch of Kiwi fur seals lazing on the rocks.

The New Zealand fur seals, also known as kekenos. © Wisden India

Done with a day of touristy activities, I was back at the beautiful John Davies Oval to find out what the Bangladesh v England game had in store. The ground, by the way, shares its boundary with the international airport, which makes for a fantastic frame every time an aircraft takes off or lands.

While I was trying to get the perfect shot of the planes, Afif Hossain put up a clinical show to see Bangladesh through to the fifth-place playoff, and England went down once again. Sharing a common mother tongue with the boys from across the border, it was hard to hold back a chuckle as they giggled in Bangla about the tactics they used to unsettle England. (I wish I could share them here, but the content isn’t perfectly suited for print-space.)

An Air New Zealand flight taking off from the Queenstown Airport neighbouring John Davies Oval. © Wisden India

In the days that followed, South Africa put an end to Bangladesh’s good run to take the fifth spot, and England made amends to beat New Zealand and finish seventh.

Meanwhile in Christchurch, the business end of the tournament was heating up with India and Australia qualifying for the final, which meant Afghanistan and Pakistan were to lock horns in the third-place playoff in my last game here.

Thrilled by the prospect of a reunion with the guys, I sat down to make a plan for the contest. That is when I came across the weather forecast. “Cloud increasing, rain developing tonight. Gusty northerlies.”

Within hours, the sky over Queenstown went from being bright blue to dark grey, and you could hear the locals grumble about the cyclone approaching the region. Not a single ball was bowled in the third-place playoff as the constant rain turned everything soggy under the feet, and made the mercury drop at an alarming rate.

My last night in Queenstown made me think of what a taxi driver had told me in Whangarei: “You can experience four seasons in one day in New Zealand.” Almost as if to add weight to that statement, the weather gods turned it down to sub-zero at night, and the morning drive to the airport left me in complete awe. The remarkable mountains had turned white with snow, and even though the sun was peeking back out, the temperature in the afternoon read 5°C.

Goodbye Queenstown, you have been strangely beautiful!

Part III: A mid-summer night’s dream in Tauranga

The weather delayed the flight, which resulted in my missing the connecting bus from Auckland. When I finally reached Tauranga, it was 9 pm on the eve of the final. I was greeted by fellow journalists, all of whom had congregated to cover the grand finale after being scattered all over the country over the past month.

It was the only day-night game in my roster, which gave me some time in the morning to explore the beaches around Mt Maunganui. The mind, however, kept going back to the cricket. After all, you don’t get to be at an India v Australia World Cup final very often.

There was support for both sides during the final, but by the end of the night, the blue had overpowered the yellow. © Wisden India

The atmosphere at Bay Oval was fantastic from the start, with supporters from both sides turning up. It wasn’t long before the blue jerseys overpowered the yellow ones, and the on-field efforts of Prithvi Shaw and co. only made the cheers for India go louder with every passing hour. With 217 as the target, India were clear favourites. Manjot Kalra led the way, and the rest is etched in history forever.

A ‘temporary pitch access’ card meant the author could join the team on their victory lap around the ground. © Wisden India

The SLR camera I borrowed from my brother-in-law before making the trip proved my trump card on the night. It fetched me a ‘temporary pitch access’ card, which meant I could join the team on their victory lap around the ground. Five years in sports journalism have conditioned me to watch the sport as a neutral viewer, but it was hard not to feel proud of the boys in blue at that moment.

It was the first time since April 2, 2011 that I felt the joy of seeing a team lift a trophy once again. It was a privilege to be part of the wild celebrations that went on till the wee hours of that night at the team hotel, which ended with a much-need pit-stop at a 24-hour burger joint at sunrise.