Here
follows a large update from the three-week journey around NZ that
Gordon joined me for in mid-October. It's literally taken me this
long to write it up, mainly because I am a terrible procrastinator.
Gordon has chipped in with some of his own thoughts about the
experience. These are marked with square brackets for your reading
convenience. Feel free to lay aside one or two hours of your time,
put the kettle on and do skip over any bits that make your eyelids
twitch in boredom. I will update on our journey to Samoa seperately,
mainly because if I don't, nobody will ever read this. Except for
maybe my Mum. She's good like that.
This
is it. I have looked at Facebook, replied to messages, and 'shared'
an all important and hilarious post of a picture of a car windscreen
with a chip taped to it and a note saying 'Call Autoglass'. I have
poured myself the last few drops of grapefruit juice I have left.
Yes, for some reason I have really gotten into grapefruit juice over
here. I was about to make a cup of tea, but thought that was a
GCSE-revision style procrastination step too far, and I have also run
out of biscuits. So there's nothing left to do now but chip away at
the next section of The Blog, capitalised For Importance.
So
since I last left you, a lot has gone on. The first couple of weeks
of October were a flurry of packing (doesn't take too long when all
you own is supposed to fit into a backpack), saying emotional
goodbyes to Kati and Alexia, our fellow Bumbles slaves, and work at
the hotel slowly winding down for the quiet shoulder season.
Fortunately, Heritage agreed to let me take some unpaid leave and
come back, so here I am again, whiling away some time while the
weather's taken a nose dive and before my shift waitressing at a
wedding reception.
So
it was that I left Bumbles on 10th October, quite unused to the
enormous weight of my orange backpack, even with half the contents
removed and left in storage. I was on the road again, to quote the
lyrics of the famous tune, and planning to forgo the $8 fare for the
bus to hitchhike to the airport. Don't worry, it's quite normal to
get into a car with a complete stranger here. Within about five
minutes, I was a bit sick of the road, and having waited 30 minutes
with my thumb stuck out like a moron, I failed to hitch a lift to the
airport and instead caught the bus, like the quitter that I am.
When
I touched down in Auckland it was warm and vaguely sunny, which made
a nice change to the hormonal Queenstown weather of rain one minute,
sleet the next, and then scorching sunshine that peels a layer off of
your skin before you've even had a chance to pop back home and change
your shoes. I grabbed my bag and got the courtesy shuttle to the hire
car place all without incident. I had booked a 'Super Saver' car ie:
an old wreck, and was pleasantly surprised to see that I had been
given a Nissan Tilda, which looked as if it had just had new tyres
put on. Yes, there were a few bumps and scratches on the old girl but
she looked as if she could get me from the airport to Justine and
Al's house out in Albany, so that suited me fine. However, I had
forgotten one crucial thing, and that was that most of the cars in NZ
are automatics. When the girl told me, I looked crestfallen and
mumbled, barely audibly, 'but I've never driven an automatic
before...'. Keen to get rid of me, she plunged the keys into my
waiting hand and smiled, thin lipped. 'Well, enjoy!'. And with that,
she was gone.
After
a short but embarrassing moment where I was unable to open the boot,
I eventually got inside and adjusted everything, including raising
the seat about five inches so I could actually see over the wheel. It
was a tank compared to what I am used to. I tend to drive dodgems.
[that's unfair on dodgems -G]
Anyway,
apart from one wrong turn I managed to remember where they lived and
was welcomed with aplomb as always. After the six bed in one dorm
living situation, to be back in such a lovely home was bliss! I had a
few errands to run, so I dropped my things off, said hello and popped
out to the Westfield (yes, the same giant shopping complex as
Shepherd's Bush) in Albany to get some wine to say thanks. Of course,
I ended up spending hours in there going round Valley Girl and
Farmers, having been starved of decent shops in Queenstown. I was
also very happy to have a car again and be able to get around. Unless
you live close to the centre of towns, you're pretty much stuck in NZ
unless you have your own wheels or you like walking an incredibly
long way. Fortunately, buying a car is pretty easy, and by all
accounts you can pick up an old wreck or a campervan fairly cheaply,
as is Daisy's plan for her travels round the country. However, I am
lazy, and although it probably would have made more financial sense
to pick up my own car, I'm worried about when it comes to selling it,
and knowing me I would buy some heap of junk with three wheels that
falls apart if you take a corner faster than 20kph.
I
spent the next day hanging out with Justine and Al's son Jamie, who
showed me round Wenderholme Regional Park. It's a lovely little place
on the east coast that's about half an hour from central Auckland. We
went for a walk on the beach - it was great to be by the sea again -
and walked uphill on one of the tracks to get a better view of the
surroundings. I just about managed to wheeze my way up with a degree
of success, and the walk up was definitely worth it. I think this was
the start of my love affair with Northland. Having been surrounded by
(undoubtedly beautiful) mountains and pine trees for the last few
months, I really enjoyed seeing something different; yellow sands and
pohutakawa trees backed by green hills that turned into cliffs as
they sloped towards the sea. It's noticably warmer up there too,
fairly unsurprisingly, given the favourable latitude of the North
Island when compared with the South.
I
got an early night after dinner, I had an early start as Gordon was
due in at Auckland International at 6.45am. I got that excited 'going
on holiday' anticipation feeling as I drove my Tilda tank down State
Highway 1 towards the airport. It was still dark while I was on the
way, but upon arrival the sunrise over the surface car park looked
promising...
I
waited at the arrivals 'hall' (in reality, about 20 chairs lined up
to face the automatic doors they shove all the poor jet lagged souls
through), hopping from foot to foot and completely ignoring a copy of
The Hobbit, which I had brought with me but studiously failed to
read. In all, I waited about an hour as countless Chinese families
poured through, looking confusedly for the exit sign and hauling
amounts of luggage I thought probably would have been cheaper to ship
over [tell me about it -G]. Eventually Gordon arrived, looking much
the same as I had left him back in June, only more tired and with
longer hair. I didn't really give him much time to get out of the
doors before I was waving like a mad aunt who has just had her ticket
number called out at a raffle for the prize of a particularly good
lemon drizzle cake. He sloped over with luggage in tow and a plastic
bag, the contents of which were some wet hiking boots that had
ostensibly been the victim of border control's stringent biosecurity
team. If you haven't got anything exciting like seeds, contraband
foodstuffs or live animals secreted about your person, they will
gleefully spray your boots with disinfectant by way of compensation
and send you on your way.
Gordon
had been through a bit of an ordeal, a 26 hour one to be precise, so
I had prepared for the eventuality of a tetchy, sleep deprived man by
booking a room (on a deal, you know me) at the SkyCity hotel Auckland
CBD, where he could catch up on some sleep and I could make him go up
the Skytower. Auckland is immensely proud of the Skytower, and it
seems a bit rude not to give it a go when you're there.
We
were soon gabbling away about his flight and what was going on back
at home, and I was quite proud when he remarked that I was behaving
more confidently and organised since I had gone away. It was only
about fifteen minutes until old habits died hard; I made a wrong turn
off the highway and had to try and fudge my way to the hotel. It took
a few minutes of driving about like I had a clue until we finally
managed to get the car into the carpark and we attempted to check in.
Of course, I hadn't really bothered to look up the way to the hotel
because I had some sort of vague notion I knew where I was going.
After 27 years, I probably ought to admit that I never really know
where I'm going, in both a literal and metaphorical sense [you
covered it well, I was com-plete-ly fooled, honest - G].
Skycity
didn't seem to know we were checking in early so we chucked our bags
at an official-looking man and headed out into the sun to grab a bite
to eat. We walked down Queen Street and enquired at the ferrypoint
about where was good for breakfast. After a little wander down
towards the fish market, we found a cafe which seemed to be serving
customers breakfast and decided to give it a go. They must have known
we were coming as the portions were enormous and the coffee strong.
If anyone happens to be visiting Auckland, give Jack's Tar a go.
We
enjoyed a few moments of sitting in direct morning sunlight before
our vampire tendencies [you mean the sad incompatibilities of
gingers and Scots with the sun? -G] kicked in and the sun umbrella
and suncream went up and on. Apparently this wasn't just us being
lame pale types – the UVA and UVB rays in New Zealand and
Australia's sunlight is very strong as there is a deficiency in the
ozone layer. So ner.
We
finally managed to check in around lunchtime, which came just in time
as I think Gordon was about to fall asleep standing up.
Later
that day we paid a visit to another Auckland institution before our
jaunt up the Skytower: Burgerfuel. Another thing New Zealanders are
good at – 'artisan' burgers. Decent meat patties are plentiful,
along with lots of different combinations of char grilled veg, fruit
(pineapple and bacon additions are particularly good) and great sides
including my new personal favourite – kumara (sweet potato) fries
and aioli (garlic mayo). Burgerfuel even have 'doofers' which are
bits of cardboard made especially so that the mayonnaise-y salady
bits don't fall out of the bun and stain your trousers. Sheer genius.
We took our burgers and kumara fries with us to the green beside the
cinema complex and watched the skateboarding kids whizz by
effortlessly. I have always wondered how you get good at
skateboarding. Alexia made me have a go on hers once and before I had
even put a foot on it I had almost fallen arse over tit. [I believe
that's actually how you get good - or die trying -G].
Anyway,
we took a walk up Karangahape Road, the slightly seedier and more
interesting bit of Auckland, awash with gay bars, Asian food courts
of varying quality and vintage shops [less than twelve hours after
landing - thanks dear :) -G]. There's a great selection of what's
known as 'Kiwiana' along the K'Road, as it's known, with entire shops
dedicated to selling upmarket tat such as teatowels of New Zealand
maps, Buzzy Bee toys and mirrors shaped like tui birds. If it weren't
all so ridiculously overpriced there would be a shipment of it going
over to you all for Christmas.
We
made our way up the Skytower for a peek at Auckland at night after a
small debacle involving vouchers. Gordon entertained himself taking
long exposure shots of car headlights and I felt wobbly walking over
the bits of perspex floor that give you a view of how far you are
from the ground [I jumped up and down on them -G]. Obviously as it
was late at night the effect was somewhat muted but it made me feel a
bit funny nonetheless. There's plenty up there to keep you
entertained, even if walking on bits of perspex suspended at a great
height doesn't do it for you. While Gordon was snapping away, I
entertained myself by looking at the facts and figures on the wall.
Did you know the Skytower is the tallest building in the Southern
Hemisphere, for example? Well, now you do.
Anyway
after all that it was time once more for food in the shape of dinner
at Depot, the oyster bar across the road from the hotel. Kati was in
town at the time and joined us for some wine, and we ate (swallowed?)
some excellent oysters and Sauvignon Blanc (yes, I am aware how much
of a toffee nosed git that makes me sound). When in New Zealand, it's
a crime to dislike wine, it seems. Fortunately anyone who knows me
knows that don't remotely have a problem with wine so all was well
[As in most places nowadays there's a decent micro-brewery scene, but
even some of the more mass produced beers are pretty good, I enjoyed
a few Tuis for example. Soft drinks are well-represented, NZ has its
own brands of most of these, ginger beer was pretty nice and L&P.
Bottled water is prob better than drinking from the tap, simply for
the taste though. -G]. The only snag came at the end of the meal,
when our waitress didn't seem to know about our deal voucher and the
poor restaurant supervisor had to run across the road to Skycity to
confirm it. It wasn't a big problem, we were quite happy to wait
awkwardly in the doorway while they sorted it all out.
Anyway,
thus ends the classy, high flying portion of our trip [What? Where?
There was a classy bit? -G]. The next morning's heavy downpour
brought us back down to earth and we packed up our stuff, kissed
goodbye to our luxury hotel room and went off to pick up our van. The
van hire company was just over the road from the car hire company but
they offered us a free lift into town, so given the amount of luggage
we were carrying and the inclement weather, we asked for a lift
across the road. Of course, this simple journey took us a long way
round a one-way system and as we were about to arrive the drop-off
driver's windscreen wipers broke. We hoped this wasn't a portent for
the rest of our trip.
We
hired a 'Cabana' van, that is a banged up old Toyota Estima, with
Jucy, which is a company aimed at those on a tighter budget (ie:
pikey backpackers) and has a fleet of delightful looking bright green
and purple vans with choice phrases painted on the side. Ours was
'Music and passion is always in fashion in the Jucy Cabana'. Yes,
super lame, but less expensive than the posher campervan companies
and actually the interior wasn't half bad. We were to discover
certain irregularities with ours further down the line, such as the
door that didn't open from the inside, the DVD player that had a duff
screen and the fridge that made a bizarre and loud whirring noise
when the domestic battery was dying [approx 4am each night -G]. In
spite of all this, we grew to love our new home Lucy, as we named her
with a distinct lack of originality. We signed all the requisite
papers that allow them to charge us if so much as a lightbulb goes
out, and we were on our way.
The
first thing we did was get stuck in a traffic jam in the rain on
Highway 1. So far, so like our holidays in Britain. We crawled up to
Albany and decided to hit the Pak 'n' Save (NZ's version of
Aldi/Lidl) to grab supplies, get hold of a road map and a cup of tea
before deciding where the hell we were going with this thing. Neither
of us, as usual, had a clue where we were going or what we wanted to
do – usually we decide on the fly, but usually we are in Scotland,
which is decidedly smaller than NZ [and a place for which I have a
passing familiarity -G]. It was here Gordon observed how friendly the
birds are in New Zealand (yes, the ornithological type as well as the
local women). As we sat in a cafe eating egg on toast and drinking
fortifying tea, a sparrow flew in, through two sets of automatic
doors and round a corner, and hopped onto a vacant table to start
eating crumbs. This was in a busy, crowded and fairly urban shopping
centre. In the UK, you wouldn't get a bird smart enough to fly in
through the correct public entrance to a cafe in order to eat the
leftovers. A rat perhaps, or a tramp, if you're in one of our dowdier
establishments.
We
packed up our supermarket purchases, including some 'Healthy Heart
Mix' for us to snack on (almonds, dried cranberries, dark chocolate =
genius) and fanged it up the highway to Whangerei, the place I had
arbitrarily decided to settle us for the evening. You'll soon see the
shape our plans took on a daily basis. They usually began with a look
at the road map 'hmm, that looks vaguely close', then a glance at the
guidebook 'hmm that place has penguins', and finally a quick check of
the eye-watering distance we intended to cover for the day. I'll say
this once and probably a thousand times more: if you're planning on
coming over here and campervan touring, check the distances and
consider how much time you have. We both slightly regret haring
about, trying to see as much as possible, when perhaps we should have
stayed in just a few places for longer, and got more out of it.
Still, we saw a lot of the country, and we had a good time, despite
most of it being spent in Lucy, wondering if our wet towels were ever
going to stop smelling quite so rancid.
The
weather improved as we went North, and passed 'Sheepworld', amongst
many other fine, New Zealand standard attractions. These Kiwis sure
know how to make the mundane sound exciting: 'Honey World', 'Longest
Footbridge in the Southern Hemisphere' (we actually went there, it
sounded so good) [I liked it -G], 'Hundertewasser Toilets',
all listed in pink as 'attractions' on our road map. And to be fair
to them, they probably get thousands of visitors like us, who want to
see the longest footbridge in the Southern Hemisphere, just because
it's a superlative example of a bridge and that makes it worth seeing
by default [leave the bridge alone -G].
After
one of our shorter drives (3 hours or less), we were in Whangerei,
and checked into Whangerei Falls Caravan Park. Our British host,
Alison, was incredibly welcoming and showed us round the site with
enthusiasm. There was a hot tub (although that was the first thing we
would usually utilise, it shut at 9pm which gave us no time for
dinner, and dinner always takes priority), a nice sheltered kitchen
and a BBQ area. As usual, the weather turned and it pissed down, so
we decided to cop out and go for dinner in central Whangerei. We
ended up, after several more patented Darby Wrong Turns, in the
Killer Prawn, which we'd seen on the way in. Despite the dodgy name,
it looked good from the outside and had won some sort of Best
Restaurant in Northland 2012 award so we gave it a shot. It did not
disappoint. Although service could have been a bit quicker, the food
was all fresh and delicious. I had some green lipped mussels with a
chili and coconut sauce, and lamb ribs with harissa paste and some
exciting, Mediterreanan-ey veg and couscous combination. I couldn't
finish the ribs, to my consternation, but for once I don't think
Gordon could either [slander; I don't recall leaving anything uneaten
-G]. It was a sad moment for both of us, but let's move on. There was
an All Blacks vs. Australia game on a big projector by the kitchen,
so we joined in with the whooping and booing, then decided to call it
a night. Our first night in Lucy – at probably one of the better
campsites we selected - was great. We had a nice flat bit of grass to
park her on, and it had stopped raining. All we had to do was make
the bed. We got quicker at this, but at the time it was a bit of a
pain in the arse. As we were essentially in a people carrier, we had
to move our stuff off of the back seats to the front seats and then
collapse the back seats into a bed. Jucy had provided clean, lurid
coloured linen for us to use so we didn't need sleeping bags
fortunately. After a fair bit of fannying about and moving our stuff
into the front seats, we had some sort of semblance of a bed, but a
lot of insects had come in while we were making it with the inside
lights on. I remembered my rookie error with the insects inside the
tent in America, but not soon enough, it seemed.
The
next day we got up bright and early and decided to visit Whangerei
Falls, as they were pretty much next door to our van and seemingly a
must do while in Whangerei. A short walk down a steep track revealed
some quite spectacular falls and a few other fellow tourists milling
about down by the base. We took a load of photos and decided to
wander along the path to the A.H. Kauri Memorial Park, where there
are a lot of signs bearing information about the kauri trees, which
are amongst the biggest, and most endangered, species of tree in the
world. Maori traditionally used their timber for building waka
(canoes), carvings and homes, but when the Europeans came over and
started chopping everything in sight down, the numbers of kauri
dwindled and now they are a protected species. You're not even
supposed to step anywhere near the roots to curb the spread of kauri
dieback disease, which is the latest threat to these giants. With
that information in hand, we dutifully stuck to the paths and walked
back up to the van, with the intention of going to Paihia, a town
further north that is widely regarded as the 'base' for exploring the
Bay of Islands. It also happened to be where most of the campsites
were in our Jason's Campgrounds Guide. With no internet access, we
were having to resort to old school methods in our accommodation and
destination choices.
On
our way up to Paihia, we made a few stops along a coastal peninsular
route that Alison at Whangerei Falls had recommended. We stopped at a
lovely beach in Matapouri and proceeded to climb a very steep hill
right by the sea that ended abruptly in a cliff drop. After crab
walking down the hill and having a bit of a paddle, we got back into
Lucy and headed to a promising place marked on our road atlas.
'Look
at this place', I said to Gordon, 'it's meant to be the longest
footbridge in the Southern Hemisphere.'
Something
so mundane sounding had to be good, right?
Well,
actually, it was. After a much longer than anticipated drive down a
dodgy 'unsealed' (gravel) road, we stopped where the road ended;
outside the by-now familiar green and yellow DOC sign with 'South
Whananaki' on it. A favourably-located house stood by the bridge,
with a calf inexplicably tied up on the outside fence. We assumed it
was a guard calf, and decided not to mess with it.
After
walking the long way along the longest footbridge in the Southern
Hemisphere, we decided to check out the delights of South Whananaki
before we turned around and walked back. These were twofold as marked
on the tourist orientation map: 'Toilet' and 'The Shop'. I used the
toilet, and bought an ice cream from the shop, and toddled back.
South Whananaki: done, to coin the phrase of a sweary TV chef.
The
first night in Paihia wasn't a disaster, exactly. I had chosen a new
place called 'Olive Grove Campsite' that looked in the guide to be
vaguely cheap and cheerful, with all the amenities one could need.
And it was a lovely place. Situated at the northern end of Paihia,
slightly out of the way, it was essentially parking spaces amongst a
few olive trees, with an outdoor BBQ area and not a lot else. We
looked confusedly round as there appeared to be no reception to the
place, and after a little bit of wandering about aimlessly, an
elderly-ish woman with seriously bloodshot eyes came out of her
caravan to let us know 'He' would be 'down in a minute' to check us
in. She then went back in to continue puffing away on her sixth joint
of the day [didn't even offer to share -G].
I
was rather hoping 'He' would arrive sharpish, so we could carry on
with the preparation of dinner and hopefully get some wine drinking
time in before the sun went down. About 20 mins later, after Gordon
had dutifully gone off to find some bread rolls, a man appeared from
nowhere on a quadbike and took $20 from me, then gestured vaguely
towards the direction of the toilets and showers. Then he was gone,
and I was left with trying to operate the BBQ, which seemed simple
enough, but then this is me we're talking about. Fortunately Gordon
took over, and even more fortunately still, the quadbike man came out
and got it working for us. [It was one of the other residents. You'd
not turned the gas on enough. -G] Soon we were dining on ostrich
sausages and Tuimato sauce, a brand of ketchup only available in New
Zealand that really ought to be exported worldwide. It is a
breathtakingly simple concept: Tui IPA mixed with crushed tomatoes
and a bit of seasoning. The result is delicious, and the sauce ended
up being used for almost every meal. We drew the line at dessert, but
only just.
The
next day we decided to get the hell out of Olive Grove, as we had
discovered the showers cost extra on top of the campsite fee and we
couldn't be arsed to pay. We also realised that we had to come up
with some semblance of a plan for our trip, as we only had until the
27th October to see NZ in all her glory. We sat and had a
beer at a local pub and formulated a rough plan that included most of
the stuff we wanted to see / do within our timeframe, then fannied
about for a bit and settled on checking out the local kayaking outfit
that had been recommended by the patient woman at the local I-Site.
It turned out to be excellent. Bay Kayak Hire, run by an enthusiastic
and absolutely Kiwi man named Dan ('choice, bro'), was having a
special that day as it was low season, and we got into our two man
kayak with no small amount of glee. The intention was to head to one
of the closer islands to the Paihia shore. Gordon and I have been
kayaking and canoeing before, and it often results in a huge row [I
see what you did there -G], but this time we had it down, and with
military-style counting we soon had our paddling going in a straight
line and at a decent speed. We noticed that some of our fellow
kayakers seemed to be having a bit of trouble and Dan was hanging
back with them, so we paddled over to have a look. It turned out that
they had stopped off to pick giant green-lipped mussels from the
rocks. Apparently, we were going to cook them for lunch. At the
mention of the L-word, I enthusiastically set to work, picking my way
over the rocks and finding smallish specimens that wouldn't take too
long to cook. It was one of the best bits of the trip so far; the
simple pleasure of gathering our own food and knowing that we could
eat it fresh, with the added bonus of the sheer volume of mussels
available.
Once
we had filled the compartment in Dan's kayak, we headed over to our
destination of choice (one of the smaller islands who's name escapes
me) and after a small incident where we almost tore a hole in the two
man by smashing it into some pesky rocks, we started to cook the
mussels. Dan also showed us where we could find oysters and eat them
raw. After a miniscule amount of persuasion regarding food poisoning,
I was hooked – the oysters were delicious, especially with some of
Dan's gran's pastries, which he supplied along with a frisbee for
light entertainment purposes.
After
a while Dan was called back to the office so he let us paddle back at
our leisure which was pretty trusting of him, especially after the
crashing incident. We returned the kayak unscathed and decided to
head to the better-looking campsite that we probably should have
stayed at the previous night. He also let us take the remaining
mussels home with us, as there were many that we hadn't cooked at
lunchtime. Dinner, sorted!
It
was really rather lovely. Pohutakawa trees grew on a small, flat bit
of grass that had it's own private beach. Tui chirruped, hissed and
squawked in their unique imitation of other birds, then sang out
their characteristically bright tune. I do wonder why Tui bother
imitating others when their own call is so pretty, but that thought
is probably best left to Bill Oddie. Anyhoo, after a nice hot shower
we spent a very pleasant evening drinking wine and steaming mussels,
most of which got eaten with pasta and some of which got distributed
amongst the other guests at Beachside Holiday Park. As a result, we
got chatting to some Americans; a girl on her own and a couple who
were attempting to do NZ in a week, which was ambitious even by our
standards. They too had hired a Jucy van, and it had broken down on
the first day. I suddenly felt grateful for our dodgy DVD player and
sticky left door.
We
begrudgingly left Beachside and decided about 20 mins before
departure to do the Fuller's Dolphin Cruise around the Bay of
Islands: '90% chance of seeing dolphins!'. Did we see a single
dolphin? No. However, we enjoyed a pleasant cruise around the
Islands, and had a stop off at Urapukapuka Island Reserve which
involved coffee, pie and watching a very active fantail stalk us
around the beach area. We also got some Bay education, including the
story of the wealthy Roberton family and their ill-fated Maori
servant Maketu, who was mistreated by fellow servant Thomas Bull and
ended up exacting revenge by splitting Bull's head in two with an
axe. It's a pretty horrific but interesting story – you can check
it out here if you so wish:
http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/1m5/1
We
were dropped off on Russell, NZ's first capital city, which was
pleasant but ultimately fairly dull, containing only a few cafes and
a museum. We decided to press on and started to head South.
It
was in Warkworth, where we had some excellent 'fush 'n' chups', that
I discovered a bit of Kiwiana that I have become obsessed with. It's
a bit of the typical stuck-in-the-50's style that NZ is known for.
Presenting: the 'Longest Drink in Town' paper cup. Yes, you can
actually buy these in plastic form, and I have purchased and sent
these home with Gordon [cups are fine, packaging got a little
squashed -G].
The Longest Drink in Town!
After
the Longest Drink In Town excitement dwindled [never mind the silly
cups, you haven't mentioned all the different fish and types of chips
and dips you could choose from and all at a really good price -G], we
pressed on to our destination for the evening, Raglan, a coastal town
about 150k below Auckland and best known for its world class surf. We
probably should have skipped this bit, but I really wanted to see
Raglan and it didn't seem like it was going to happen any other way.
The drive was hellish: long, boring, and full of winding coastal
roads that made you feel like you were going to drive off a cliff
edge in a moment of wild error. We got to the campsite much later
than planned, and I snuck up to the reception. It was 11.30pm, and we
were only meant to call the number on the door in an emergency.
Seeing as there were no other campsites in the vicinity, I declared
it an emergency, luckily it seemed as though the owners weren't going
to kill us and they kindly opened the barrier so we could get
through. We spent a fitful night's sleep in the raging winds and woke
the next day with the intention of seeing Raglan in the light.
It
was pleasant enough, a sleepy town with lots of cafes, B&Bs and
hippy-looking houses. I decided it would make an excellent venue for
retirement and decided to file it in a mental note that I will
probably forget before my twilight years. We had a coffee and
wandered about the skate park and township, did it all within about
an hour and jumped in the car. We had booked a caving session in
Waitomo so we decided to take a scenic, direct-ish route there as it
wasn't until later that afternoon. In the interim, we visted Te Mata,
a tiny town on the way to Bridal Veil Falls. There seemed to be some
sort of farm stock show going on, and they were only too happy to let
us in. Children led their prizewinning pet goats, sheep and calves
about on ribbons and we got to pet some of them. I think we were more
excited about it than the children [I ate a really good sausage roll
-G].
Bridal
Veil Falls were both spectacular and Ronseal, ie: exactly what it
says on the tin. The walk back up from the base was a bit hellish, as
I recall, but it was worth going down there for a look.
Another
long, long, drive followed, along a sketchy gravel drive named the
'Raglan Road', which I thought was a bit of an ambitious title [Yay,
for skidding round gravel corners! -G]. We got to caving just in time
and were met by an enthusiastic and chatty guide called Brydie. It
was also, happily, just the three of us as it was low season and the
last session of the day. Brydie saw us suited and booted, and after
some prerequisite titting about in our wetsuits and posing for
photos, we were down in the Ruakiri cave system on some inflatable
tubes. There we saw glowworms (and learned how disgusting they
actually are) along with cave weta and a prehistoric bit of whale
bone. All in all, educational and amusing. Having been a bit
apprehensive of the caving, due in part to previous experiences down
some of the Peaks' cave systems with more adventurous chums than
myself, I actually found it absolutely fine and dare I say it, a
little tame, especially given the price. However, the whole thing was
a lot of fun and we were suckered into getting a photo USB at the end
in traditional Tommy Tourist style. If I were a first time caver who
wanted a bit of an experience squeezing through rocks and climbing
waterfalls then this would have been absolutely ideal.
We
pressed on to Cambridge, a small town halfway between Waitomo and
Matamata, which was the next day's destination. We bought some steak
from the local Countdown, after humming the Countdown theme
tune for the 80th time and still finding it funny, saddos
that we are. A lovely girl called Laura (natch) served us at the till
and professed undying love for our British accents. We had a brief
chat about the merits of Coronation Street and for some reason got
onto the topic of her neighbour, who was (and I quote) 'a bitch –
she ran over [my] pet frog'. I liked her immensely. However, we were
hanging around in a supermarket and really had to crack on with
cooking dinner, so we moved on.
Back
at the campsite, we cooked up a steak and veg feast, chatted and
looked at the photos we'd taken so far on the trip. As you can
imagine, this took some time, and the kitchen lights kept going off
as they were on a motion sensor. Much irritable arm waving occurred
every five or so minutes, so we decided to call it a night and headed
back to Casa del Lucy.
The
next morning, the rain hammered down in abundance and with a complete
lack of regard to our plans. As if by some sort of miracle, we got to
Matamata and the sun broke out from behind a cloud. We had a quick
breakfast in a seedy looking caff and got our tickets for the
Hobbiton tour. It was one of those 'must-do's, so we did what we
must. On the tour bus 'Gandalf' (groan), we got a decent commentary
from the driver about the local area and some of the efforts that
went into making the Lord of The Rings film trilogy, including
the auditioning process for the hobbit characters. We were driven
from Matamata to the bit of local farmland that Peter Jackson chose
for his film set. Apparently, Jackson and some of his mates were
doing a helicopter recce for the ideal bit of land, free of modern
inconveniences like telephone wires and high rise buildings, and one
lucky farmer's place was chosen as the perfect location. We enjoyed a
pleasant ride to the Hobbiton set and walked about as the guide
pontificated about the finer points of the filming process, such as
the fake tree that had been painstakingly constructed from imported
leaves and tied with cable ties. Apparently, Jackson was taken ill
during filming, and so the leaves died and all had to be replaced. It
was interesting to hear about how the film crew suffered at the hands
of the understandably pernickety director.
Soon
we were on the move again, and on one of our biggest drives yet. We
were planning on making our way down to Whakahoro, a small settlement
outside Tauramanui, where Gordon's friend Margaret manages the office
for Blue Duck Station, an enormous farming station operating outside
of Tongariro National Park. Enough Maori names for you yet?
The
drive was long, dull, and punctuated by heavy bursts of rain. Thanks
to Margaret's excellent directions to the middle of nowhere, we made
it to her house in one piece after a now expected long drive down a
slightly dodgy loose gravel road. We were welcomed enthusiastically
by Margaret and her housemate Chad, to a lovely wooden house that was
built in the Victorian era. The place looked amazing and felt cosy,
thanks to the rabbit that was in the pot on the stove. Margaret told
us that someone had shot it that morning and left it on her car as a
joke. Welcome to rural New Zealand! Bunny boiling references aside,
we cracked open some beers and ate ourselves silly. Gordon and I were
very happy to have a bed for the night rather than the van – in
true NZ housing style, there was no insulation, so we piled on the
blankets and cranked up the heater.
The
following day, Margaret had an action packed time ahead for us. We
got into the car, drove down to the Station itself and had a look
round the office and cafe – they grew a lot of manuka locally so I
bought a pot of manuka honey. I'm not one to eschew modern medicine,
but I put a bit of honey on a sore I'd had on my face for a month or
two and the next day it had diminished. The day after it had
completely disappeared. So, in effect, it's basically magic. I'm
planning on bringing it with me to Asia to settle the inevitable
upset stomach and all the other maladies that await. I'm assuming it
can't cure malaria yet, but give it time.
Anyway,
aside from the honey excitement, we had the pleasure of meeting a
very attention-seeking dog named Bo, and getting onto the back of a
farm vehicle with enormous tyres that I can't remember the name of.
The dog wasn't meant to come with us, but apparently it was her day
off from rounding up sheep and she invited herself along anyway,
sneaking out from under the seats when we had stopped. The aim of our
trip was to seek out the eponymous blue ducks, and while we saw one
beat its wings in frenzy as it passed us, that was our only sighting.
However, we managed to do one better than the two gents who had come
all the way there to take a picture of them and had seen zilch.
Driving
around on the tractor was possibly the most fun thing ever – we
bounced through potholes, spraying mud all over ourselves and our
stuff – I privately thought that if it had been me driving the
vehicle, Gordon would have had a fit when I got mud all over his
prized cameras [as if you'd get to drive -G], but he continued to
smile serenely and laugh along, even when the shotgun we'd brought
with us was loaded and in his care. We were also planning on shooting
a goat but, luckily for me, we didn't see any. I didn't want to have
a moral dilemma whilst pointing a crosshair at a goat's head. They
are considered pests over on the station, as well as rabbits, stoats,
anything else that breeds quickly and is a menace to the natural
wildfowl.
We
got the full tour of the station, as well as a short walk into
Tongariro National Park (minus the dog – they tend to get left out
of such things) and a venture into the bush to try and find the
source of a nearby waterfall. We didn't find it, but we did trip over
lots of tree roots and get our feet stuck in mud, which was probably
the aim!
Later
that night, we were invited along to a staff meal, where we ate
ourselves silly and drank wine with the other workers and the 'Eco
Warriors' (think what I do at Bumbles, but with more hands-on farming
involved as well as scrubbing toilets). The Ecos were having a lively
chat about their day docking lambs, lamenting the smell of the burnt
flesh as they docked the lamb's tails. It sounded pretty horrendous,
but all part and parcel of the working farm thing. Wendi, who has
lived and worked on the farm for years, got a frozen stoat out to
show us an example of the animals they trap around the farm, in order
to protect the blue ducks' habitat. I have an amusing photo of this
that you can see below. The highlight of dinner was learning a chat
up line from a cheery girl, Elena, who was one of their current Eco
Warriors.
'They
call me the dictionary... because of all this... DEFINITION'
This
line has to be accompanied with a flex of the biceps to really work.
You may have to imagine how funny it was in the flesh.
Wendi and her frozen stoat...
Later
on, when everyone started filtering out, we went over to one of the
owners of the farm's lodge, where he proved to be a most generous
host, offering us whisky from a giant collection in a cabinet, and
making me the world's most carefully crafted hot chocolate [which was
drunk in its entirety, of course -G].
We
spent another night at Margaret and Chad's place and then had to say
goodbye with heavy hearts, not least because we had to drive to
Wellington from there, another 5 or so hour extravaganza. Again, and
not for the last time, don't be so ambitious with a driving holiday!
Our
journey took us through Wanganui, where we gathered supplies from our
favourite TV game show themed supermarket and ate next to the river.
I wanted to visit the Tui Brewery as it looked crass and
entertaining, a kind of NZ version of Hooters, but it turned out to
be too far out of our way really. We took a walk up the high street
and across the bridge to the tower, where you could view the whole
city from up high, then moved on.
A
planned stop off at the promisingly named 'Owlcatraz' was also a
fail, as it shut at 3pm. A cheery woman, dressed appropriately in an
Owlcatraz baseball cap and full uniform, informed us that we had to
be guided round. I privately wondered what was so complicated about
looking at birdlife that it required supervision, then thought that
it may have been full of birds convicted of violent crimes, such as
theft and violent pecking in cold blood. Anyway, we didn't get to
find out, so we drove on towards Wellington. We drove through Bulls,
a town with a name that apparently gave it a license to put up many
pithy signs about the place with silly names punning the word Bull.
It was mildly amusing, but we had to crack on, so we did.
Once
we got to Wellington, the weather took a turn for the worse
(apparently this is what happens in Wellington). We parked up at our
crappiest accommodation so far, 'Rowena's City Lodge' which quickly
and fairly obviously became 'Rowena's Shitty Lodge' once we saw the
state of the place. We paid to park there and use the facilities,
which were pretty limited, then headed straight to one of the
highlights of our tour: Zealandia, The Karori Sanctuary Experience.
Having
heard of this via my trusty Rough Guide and being unable to make it
for the allegedly excellent Te Papa museum, we plumped for the
pricey, but very much worth it, after hours tour. We and four others
were guided by two pleasant elderly Kiwis, Chris and Margaret,
through the park after it had shut to the public. After getting a
detailed and interesting summary of New Zealand's geographical and
natural history to date, we watched a film that showed us what
happened when Maori and later the European settlers arrived at NZ's
shores to claim some land. Basically, they pretty much devastated the
homes and food sources of all the natural bird life, and brought over
some nasty predators and diseases to boot.
We
then moved into the park. The sun was just about set, and most of the
birds were getting comfortable for the evening, now they were free of
thousands of visitors. We saw an adorable pair of pukeko, an
endangered and very trusting bird that is always happy to see a
person – this is probably why there aren't so many of them left.
There were a couple of tuatara, an ancient indigenous lizard, who
came out after night. Kea, the inquisitive and cheeky parrot, and,
very luckily on our part after our lack of nature encounters so far,
an actual Kiwi! Well, we saw a Kiwi's bum before it ran away, but
that still counts. They are famously incredibly shy, so to see one
feeding at night was rather a stroke of luck.
We
emerged from the 2 hour or so experience very happy that we went, and
celebrated this fact by not bothering to cook dinner at 10.30pm at
Rowena's, and found a Domino's Pizza branch instead. Being the snobs
we are, we went for that posh sounding rustic one with vague hopes it
might taste like actual pizza and wolfed it down in about three
bites.
The
night at Rowena's was spent mostly awake, even though we were both
exhausted. The gale force winds appeared at around midnight and shook
Lucy from side to side in an alarmingly forceful manner that felt
like it was going to pull the brakes off. We awoke at 7ish,
bedraggled and tired, ready to get down to the ferryport for our
8.15am ferry across to the South Island.
Other
than the picturesque views of Queen Charlotte Sound as we chugged
into the South Island port of Picton, there is little of note to say
about the ferry other than we had a giant fry up, then I fell asleep
in front of some crap daytime TV show as small children wailed,
pipped and squeaked in excitement [and I went and enjoyed the rather
impressive views and read all about it in the surprisingly
interesting ferry magazine -G]. It was a bit like being on a P&O
to Calais really, only with L&P on board instead of Orangina.
The
sun burst out as we arrived in Picton, and it was suddenly
surprisingly hot. We opted to drive down to Kaikoura as we only had a
couple of days to make it to Queenstown for the Suite Experience at
the Heritage, which is a perk we get as employees – we're allowed
to test out being a guest for the night, so long as we give them
feedback. Seemed like a good deal to me, and it was, but more on that
when we get there. For now, we're driving down to Kaikoura from
Picton, along one of the most gorgeous stretches of coast I have ever
seen. We stopped to take photos along the way, and pulled over when I
spotted a lot of grey shapes amongst the rocks on the coastline. It
turned out they were fur seals, and there were tonnes of them!
Despite advice to the contrary, we managed to get quite close to them
["look at that one beside you", "that one?", "no,
the one you've almost stepped on, Gordon…" -G], as they were
mainly sleeping in the sun. Approached with caution and respect, you
can get pretty close to them to get photos, just be prepared to back
off if one of them gets the hump. There were seal pups amongst the
adults too, so this was a good time of year to catch them.
We
made a brief stop at 'Nin's Bin', a legendary crayfish van, to
discover that crayfish is incredibly pricey and promptly turned
around and left again [after eating lunch -G]. We had rather hoped
that it would be well below the $100 asking price, especially
considering that they had no cooking facilities as they'd run out of
gas. Still, we had some sandwich ingredients and kiwifruit to eat up
in the van, so all was not lost.
We
elected to stay at a nice holiday park in Kaikoura after our Rowena's
experience, and the one we picked had a lovely hot tub, swimming pool
and clean facilities. The campground had a spectacular view of the
mountains one way, and some sweeping fields the other. We spent the
afternoon lazing by the pool and putting our washing on, as it had
become a bit of an emergency situation with regard to clothing. Later
on we walked down to Kaikoura town centre and went with our usual
cheap 'n' cheerful option of fish 'n' chips washed down with a Tui or
two. They were actually some of the best fish 'n' chips so far,
particularly as I had mine wedged in a bun with lashings of aioli and
kumara chips. I don't know if I can go back to normal chips now!
The
next morning was a bit of a disappointment with regard to activity.
You guessed it, the good old weather turned on us again. Snore. So
instead of swimming with seals or going for a walk we got in the van
and drove off to Lake Tekapo via Christchurch. On our way we visited
the Greystone vineyard in Waipura, a relatively new area where
vineyards are springing up in the South Island. We were suckered into
buying some very nice Shiraz and Riesling from their Muddy Water
estate, then moved on. They also had a cat, which was a cuddly
addition to the wine tasting experience.
Everyone
had told me that Christchurch was a sad kind of place after the
earthquakes of 2011. They weren't wrong – we pulled into a shopping
centre carpark and it felt like we were driving into High Wycombe B&Q
on a rainy Sunday afternoon. However, after the initial impression, a
wander round Christchurch proves quite uplifting. Although there's a
long way to go, they are working hard to improve the 'Red Zone'
(still off limits after all this time) and have replaced the main
shopping area with a 'crate mall', a collection of gift and clothing
shops that are all located in shipping crates. A percentage of the
sales of some of the merchandise available goes towards the fund set
up to restore Christchurch to its former state. I purchased a
teatowel for my mother, as we all know she loves a commemorative
teatowel for every occasion. (I will eventually get round to sending
it Mum).
We
jumped back into Lucy and headed towards bright blue Lake Tekapo.
There wasn't much of note in between Christchurch and Tekapo, aside
from the Cookie Time factory (I'm thinking of you Soph!) and a lot of
dramatic mountain landscapes.
We
arrived in Tekapo as it was getting dark, so we couldn't see it all
that well. We decided to hit the hot pools, seeing as we'd failed in
that regard so far. We spent a very nice hour sitting in hot water
looking over the lake, and trying not to be too obnoxious or noisy
for the sake of our fellow pool-goers [they were a bit dull, weren't
they? -G]. There was an adults only pool which was a bit hotter [oi,
oi -G], and where we could avoid any persons under the age of 10,
which was most enjoyable.
Later
on, sleepy from the pools, I decided it would be a good idea to
hideously injure my knee. We cooked spaghetti bolognese, had a couple
of beers and then washed everything up. I was just taking it all back
to the van, when, not heeding Gordon's warning that I probably ought
to turn my head torch on, I boldly strolled into a protruding
flowerbox and promptly went flying, landing my right knee onto the
rock-covered pathway and smashing the only two dinner plates we had.
So far, so retarded. In hysterics ranging between crying and
laughter, I sat down and watched my knee produce a gold ball sized
lump in an impressively short space of time. Still, I walked up a
mountain the next day [two days later really -G] so it can't have
been all that bad.
The
next day we packed up our gear and started to make our way to
Queenstown. It was, predictably, a long way away, so we enjoyed many
photo stops of mountain ranges and bluey-greeny lakes, including a
few snaps of Aoraki / Mount Cook in the distance. When we got further
South, the weather improved dramatically from freezing cold to just
mildly nippy, and then intensely hot and sunny. We reached Wanaka
just after lunchtime, where we made the obligatory trip to Stuart
Landsborough's Puzzling World, a theme park, of sorts, of weirdness.
We
popped in and got our tickets for the maze and the museum, and
decided to have a go at the maze first. Thinking it would be easy, I
went in with high hopes of finishing it quickly so I could look at
water running uphill and optical illusions, then get back to our
hotel in time for dinner. I, of course, was wrong. The maze was 3D,
which meant you had to go up and down staircases as well as ordinary
maze corridors. The idea was that you reached four coloured corners,
then found your way out. Well, after the four coloured corners were
found with some ease, we spent most of our time trying to find the
exit, passing by the same people again and again and greeting them
with the same baffled politeness each time. We eventually did escape,
of course, or else I wouldn't be writing this blog [we were well
within the average time, actually. I think you just have ADHD -G].
The
museum itself included a bizarre collection of incredibly 80's style
holograms, a creepy hall of concave faces that stared at you as you
walked round, and a perspective room where you could roll 'uphill' on
a stairlift. There was also an 'Ames room' which used film techniques
like those employed in Lord of The Rings to distort people's sizes
(yes, they even stretched to including a reference to LOTR, just like
pretty much every other NZ tourist attraction). We enjoyed a wander
round, took lots of photos and left, watching people do the Leaning
Tower of Pisa photos against the 'Leaning Tower of Wanaka', which is
outside the Puzzling World building. I noticed an intriguing sign by
the exit door about a treasure hunt Stuart Landsborough has set up
for rich people with too much time on their hands. They can pay a
certain amount to secure an interview with Landsborough in order to
get information on the treasure's whereabouts, and then attempt to
find the prize, which is buried somewhere in NZ. [I think the whole
point of this is to try and expose so-called psychics, not "rich
people", dear -G].[But they have to be stinking rich as well as
completely stupid, dear – L].
We
stopped for a bit in Wanaka, which was like a smaller, possibly
friendlier version of Queenstown, then drove down the Crown Range
Road towards Queenstown itself. The drive down from the top of the
mountain is spectacular, with arresting views of Queenstown, Lake
Wakatipu and the surrounding areas. It was funny driving with Gordon
back to the place I'd been based for a couple of months. We picked
our way carefully down the twisting, dangerous road and sped merrily
to our destination. We were staying at the Heritage (where I work)
for my Suite Experience, which is the rather jammy deal I explained
earlier. So, we had a nice room, dinner and breakfast to look forward
to after our Camping Experience. Dinner was welcomed with open arms,
I gave Gordon a brief look into my life as a cleaner at Bumbles, and
then we headed back to the hotel. I probably ought to have taken him
out to get roaringly drunk, being as we were in Queenstown, but never
mind.
The
next morning we had a room service breakfast that I had accidentally
slightly over-ordered on, and was greeted by Solean, a fellow F&B-er
at Heritage, just about managing an enormous tray that was about 8
times the size of her; stuffed with cooked breakfast, cereal, juice,
fruit, yoghurt and basically enough for a meal aboard a ship docked
in the middle of the Caspian Sea for a year. We still ate most of it,
then took our leave and headed into town, with the intention of
walking up to the Gondola. We did walk up to the Gondola, had a cup
of tea, then had a mad idea that we could walk to the summit of Ben
Lomond and back. I was initially unimpressed by this plan, being lazy
and still full of breakfast, but Gordon did so want to walk up a
mountain that it seemed mean to deny him [I'd put it down as a joke,
then you brought it up again -G]. So we picked up our meagre supplies
of water and food (a standard Gordon and Laz trip) and walked further
on from the Gondola. I am very glad we did. The weather held, for the
most part, on our walk up to the saddle, and we were rewarded with
some grandiose views of the town below and the other mountains in the
range. We passed a man on his way down, and I enquired, with some
trepidation, in which direction the summit was. He pointed casually
up to a very high, snowcapped peak, that looked insurmountable by Sir
Edmund Hillary himself. I groaned inwardly, but decided we probably
would only make it about halfway up and be content with that. Of
course, we went and climbed up to the top, but I have to assure you
it wasn't an easy or altogether enjoyable experience the whole way
up. A doom-laden storm cloud glowered at us from the East, and
without really knowing how far we had to go, motivation was at a low.
Luckily for us, each time one of us wanted to pack it all in and head
back, the other would chip in with 'we've come so far... let's keep
going'. Once we got about 40 seconds climb away from the summit, fear
kicked in and I sat down by the snow [and in the snow -G] in a tired
strop.
'This
isn't fun anymore. I'm terrified! We don't have enough stuff with us
and the weather's coming in...'
I
was genuinely scared that we would end up on 'Extreme Mountain Rescue
NZ' as two unprepared tourist idiots that needed saving from the top
of a well-known and accessible peak.
Gordon
assured me that we must be near the top, and said he would go and
check. I sat, worried, with all of our stuff, and visions that he
would be blown off the top by a freak gust of wind. An
excited-looking face popped over the snow. We were practically at the
summit. I got a second wind, and stuffing our belongings into my
backpack, clambered over the snow and landed heavily onto the summit.
It was windy, wet and freezing cold, so I let Gordon take pictures of
whatever could be seen, and inwardly panicked about getting off the
mountain in one piece [and didn't even look over the summit :) -G].
The
going was tough, but with thoughts of a Moro bar waiting for me at
the convenience store and a lot of badly-executed renditions of hit
songs from The Rocky Horror Show kept me going and we both
made it from the blustery heights of Ben Lomond in one piece, albeit
a very hungry, slightly bedraggled piece.
I
enjoyed my Moro bar very much once we reached the bottom, and started
to turn my thoughts from the slightly traumatic, but ultimately fun
scaling of Ben Lomond's summit, towards food
[no mention of our hilariously poor attempt at sneaking onto the
Gondola? -G]. [I'll save that for those that wish to hear it – L].
We
selected Fishbone, as I had a local's discount there and it was
supposed to be good. It lived up to expectations, and we ate a very
decent meal of various seafood dishes, Emerson's Bookbinder and a
heap of chips. Yum [Indeed -G].
For
some reason we both felt horrendous that night, but I don't attribute
it to Fishbone. If you're planning on going up a mountain, it's
probably sensible to bring enough water with you, and then try not to
drink a whole load of ale before bedtime. Splitting headaches aside,
we managed to get a couple of hours kip and decided to head over to
Manapouri in order to try and see Doubtful Sound. Another rookie
organisation fail, as we didn't realise you'd have to be there from
about 7.30 in the morning in order to make the very long boat
journey. We had a sticker in the van advertising cheap 2-for-1 trips
to Milford Sound, so we decided to get the latest boat we could. Good
thing we did, as we had to drive about 140k up the road to reach the
boat port. The drive itself was amazing – probably the best part of
the trip in terms of views – we saw hundreds of little waterfalls
trickling from vast rock faces, huge trees and sparkling blue lakes
dotted along the drive with surprising regularity. We saw it all in
high speed, anyway, as we had just about enough time to catch the
boat if we put the pedal to the metal [if you're planning to do this
drive you need to allow more than the two hours we did it in,
especially if you have any respect for New Zealand road laws or
aren't used to bombing it around country roads in general -G]. We
made it just in time to check in onto the boat, and enjoyed a
delightful cruise down the Sound itself, marvelling at the views,
attempting to hear the driver's commentary, and getting soaking wet
when the boat pulled in under one of the biggest falls in order to
add an element of thrill to the proceedings. There are hundreds upon
hundreds of photos I expect I can bore you with at some point in the
future.
We
did the drive back, with more photos, and stayed in Te Anau for the
night. We had to get near to Christchurch the next day for our flight
to Samoa, so we got up early the next day, grabbed a quick and tasty
breakfast at the Fat Duck (not related to the Michelin starred one in
Bray, FYI) which involved mince on toast (a new one for me) [couldn't
resist it -G], and did an epic drive from Te Anau all the way across
to Oamaru. It was the most painful drive yet, but we took in the
Moreaki Boulders on the way [budget style - paying to walk down a
path to the beach? You must be kidding… -G], and got some choccy
Afghan Biscuits from a shop in Ranfurly, which upped our sagging
spirits somewhat.
We
were rather hoping to see some penguins in Oamaru, of the little blue
and yellow-eyed varieties. We discovered the little blue penguins
were mainly kept under lock and key by the very touristy centre that
surrounded the beach where they came in. Not being willing to pay $20
each to look at penguins and not even be allowed to take some (non
flash of course) photos of them, we headed round to the DOC beach
where the yellow eyed penguins (hoiho) resided. We waited... and
waited... and saw the sum total of a single penguin. I have quite a
boring, pixelated video of it wandering up the beach, should anyone
want to see it [at least we saw that one -G].
We
wandered the hip 'n' happening Oamaru town centre, discovered a cool
steampunk exhibition and one open restaurant, and had a very good
pizza and beer combo before bedtime. It was our last night in Lucy,
and we were looking forward to the adventure ahead.
The
next day, we bid farewell to Oamaru and drove back up the coast
towards Christchurch to get our connecting flight to Auckland. We
stopped in a tiny village called St Andrews (well, we had to really)
and got some ridiculously sugary cakes for breakfast, most of which
ended up in crumbs on my lap.
After
a brief but stressful trip to The Warehouse to replace the plates I
had broken, and almost not finding the Jucy return depot at the
airport, we emptied our belongings from Lucy with a heavy heart, and
left the Jucy employees all our uneaten food, which I expect they
probably (sensibly) just threw away. They didn't seem too concerned
that Lucy stank like a sailor's wet armpit, and dropped us & our
luggage off at the airport with a cheery goodbye.
Well,
I won't go into the flight to Auckland. You all know what flights are
like. The one to Samoa was mildly more story-worthy, so that's where
we'll begin in the next instalment: 'Samoa: An Unexpected Journey' –
Hobbit reference for all those film fanatics out there.
