Day 46 – Jan. 17 – Milton to Dunedin
The Indian boy who was left behind under the glacier? Well, he was found today. The glacial ice has been melting at a rapid rate recently, and the river out from under all the ice is flowing fast. First they found the boy’s hat a few hundred yards below the glacier. Then they found his body about a half-mile or so below it. The article didn’t say anything about car keys.
We can add one more fascinating sport they cover on NZ television: lawn bowling by the blind and disabled.
Rain, rain, rain, all day today. We’ve gotten spoiled after 5 really nice weeks of weather, so we’re not used to this. We drove into Dunedin, and in the heart of the city, center of town, was a demonstration against the Israeli War going on. We haven’t been watching much tv lately, so we don’t even know what this war is about.
We checked into a motel in Dunedin, and its sink is so tiny I can hardly get both hands in it to wash ‘em. There’s not a single horizontal surface to put a thing. NZ hasn’t figured out bathrooms yet.
We called and made reservations to see the yellow-eyed penguins at 6:15 this evening. Turns out that’s when they come home from fishing all day long and barf up their food into their babies’ mouths. They do that even if it’s raining. We just hung out in the motel room for a while, glad for a break in our go-go-go schedule, then hopped in the car and headed for Baldwin Street, the world’s steepest street. It’s only 2 blocks long, with houses along both sides, and it goes straight up. We walked to the top, and were on our tip-toes most of the way, because we couldn’t put our heels down easily. People were all over it walking up, running up, barefooted, in hiking boots, flip-flops (they call ‘em Jandals), taking pictures. Only 2 cars drove up, and all the faces in it were bug-eyed and grinning ear to ear.
The 45-minute ride out to the penguin reserve was along the ridgeline of a peninsula that runs for about 10 miles out to sea. We could see way into the distance out both sides of the car. Dunedin, the oldest city in NZ, sits in a lovely setting, on hills running down to the sea, with a harbor surrounded on 3 sides by land, then the peninsula winding its way out into the sea. There are a couple of small villages below the road, along the coast, but mostly it is inhabited only by thousands of sheep with the world’s best view pastures. Somewhere along it is NZ’s only castle, built by some rich guy who had 3 wives, consecutively, of course, who blew his brains out one day in a council room in Parliament. All those wives, maybe?
The road to the end of the peninsula, where the reserve is located, is very winding and narrow, with no guardrails, and in places is only one lane wide with blind curves. I did a lot of praying. When we got to the reserve, Joe said something about the beautiful drive, which it truly was, and the lady taking his money for the tour said, "Most people don’t say that. They’re usually terrified."
A sign at the reserve proudly stated that they’ve poisoned 13 possums, 6 rats, 5 feral cats, and no stoats or ferrets this month. So far we’ve run into 2 medium-sized birds who didn’t fly fast enough.
The yellow-eyed penguin is the rarest penguin of all. He’s adorable (aren’t they all, though?), tiny, and waddles all hunched over like a very old, decrepit man. They go out every morning about the same time into the sea, spend the day catching fish, then return to the same place every evening. They waddle up shallow hills or leap up steep ones, sometimes several hundreds of feet above the waves, to the same place every night. There sits a fluffy brown chick, who’s been sitting in the same spot all day long waiting for Mama or Daddy to return. I can’t picture a human toddler sitting in one spot for 8 to 10 hours without moving. I was bored after 2 minutes of watching him sitting there, and can’t abide the idea of doing that for that many hours of every day for many, many days. They must be about the most patient animal on earth.
To view them you can’t make a sound and it’s not a good idea to get close to them, though we did. The way they make it possible to get close is this: they’ve built little A-frame huts for each family, about 6" taller than an adult penguin. The mother lays the egg in it, sits on the egg there until it hatches, then when the chick is born, that’s where it sits all day long. They’ve dug tunnels about waist-high, then built roofs over them high enough for you to stand up in, then covered the roof and walls with brush so the penguins don’t pay any attention to it. The people walk all through the reserve in these tunnels, and can thereby get up within 10 feet or so of the huts where the babies are sitting. While we were there, several adults came waddling out of the surf, swayed side to side up the hills to their homes, greeted their baby with excited squeaks, then opened their beaks to allow the chicks to stick their entire heads inside their mouths. Partly-digested, regurgitated fish parts doesn’t sound too appetizing to me, but the chick acted like it was Beef Wellington.
These little penguins with yellow eyes and a yellow band over the top of their heads are mostly monogamous, but Tarzan has had 7 wives in the years he’s been calling this home. Some of them have died, and some have been traded in for new models. Sammy had the same wife for 4 years, then she died, and he re-married a younger babe.
A mile or so away from the penguin reserve is a spot where albatrosses hang out. We’ve all heard about the albatross around the neck, but I wouldn’t want one of these birds with the 9-foot wingspan draped around my neck. When I first saw one, I was reminded of Dick Rutang (is that his name) who flew around the world in the plane with the long, skinny wings. These birds are graceful and elegant, not like the image I’d had of them as ungainly. But I learned they have a hard time landing on land. They spend many days at sea without ever coming back to land. They know of one who lived for 65 years, called her Grandma. The fly around 190,000 kilometers a year. They clocked one flying 9,000 kilometers in 4 days. That works out to average 50 mph for 24 hours for the entire 4 days. They think they might be able to sleep while they’re flying by shutting off one portion of the brain and leaving the rest on, sort of like auto-pilot.
Day 47 – Jan. 18 –Dunedin
Another rainy day. Drove up to the top of a mountain from which we could see almost all of Dunedin. What a glorious spot to put a town! And I think most of the schools, universities and colleges in the entire country are here. At least 18 of them. So the town feels very young at heart, even though it’s the oldest in the country. The steepest street in the world is Baldwin Street, so we had to climb it. It was full of tourists tiptoeing up the street, tiptoeing because you couldn’t put your toe and heel down at the same time without ripping your Achilles tendon in half. The less adventurous tourists simply stood at the bottom of the street taking pictures.
Years ago there was a train that went into the heartland and brought supplies to the gold miners and brought their gold out. Today that same train takes the curious through some really beautiful country – along a pretty river for a while, then climbs steeply through dry canyon country until it tops out in some of the most desolate country I’ve ever seen. Flat, gullied, and seems to go on forever, like Kansas. A few sheep nibble the sparse tufts of brittle grass. This country has some of every type of geography imaginable.
After our 4-hour train ride we went into town and ate some of the best Bolognese pasta I’ve ever had. Nobody gives you salad with dinner, but tonight I got one. I nearly whooped with delight.
Day 48 – Jan. 19 –Dunedin to Ranfurly
In the night mice chewed through the plastic and ate some of our bread. This bread will feed the seagulls.
Today we saw where those Cadbury chocolates I’ve been eating for 30 years were made. We joined 1,000 other tourists, put plastic shower caps on our heads, and followed like sheep through the factory while a young, perky cheerleader type explained how they make the candy bars that have been rotting teeth for generations. They gave us enough free candy bars to finish the job.
We wanted to play the St. Clair golf course, but it was too cold and it looked like rain,so we headed out of town. On the way through a miniscule town with an unpronounceable Maori name, we saw a shop with ‘Saddlemaker’ emblazoned on the filthy front window. Ivy was growing all over the front of the building, including through the windows. A beautiful handmade saddle and breast collar sat in the window. I stuck my head in the door and saw a man seated in the back of the shop. "Do you let people in here if they don’t own a horse?" Sure. So we met Eddie Todd, saddlemaker, canoe guide in the Yukon Territory, and owner of the messiest shop on earth. Leather debris lay all over every flat surface, floor, tables, windowsills. Dust was a half-inch thick everywhere. We had a half-hour conversation with Eddie all about his interesting life, before we headed down the road.
We’re now in the part of NZ where they raise cherries, plums, apricots and apples. Looks like Wenatchee, WA. These are the biggest, sweetest, and firmest cherries I’ve ever eaten, and I’m eating my share of them.
Over on the coast, near a town called Moeraki, is a bluff being eaten away by the waves. As the bluff erodes, boulders unlike any other on earth are uncovered. They are from a few inches to 6 feet in diameter and were created about 25 million years ago. They are perfectly round and have lines running around and through them in a perfect geometric pattern. They look like aliens.
Heading inland now, we are bound for Mt. Cook. When we were on the western side of the South Island, the weather was always bad enough that we never saw it. So far it’s been pretty good weather, so maybe we can see it from this side. The route from the coast to Mt. Cook is over a high plains, dry, and deserted. We saw 6 cars in 2 hours.
Reached the tiny town of Ranfurly, population 100, by dinnertime. There was one room left in the old Ranfurly Hotel, owned by a guy from Indiana, who’d lived there for 27 years and was ready to sell the hotel and retire. Wasn’t going back to the States, though. Wouldn’t survive the fast life he felt he’d find there now. After 27 years in Ranfurly, he wouldn’t.
We had a fabulous dinner at the hotel, juicy rib-eye steaks with loads of yummy veggies.
Ranfurly has copied Napier and put an art deco front on its 10 stores. After dinner, we walked around admiring the town until we froze. Summer comes late to the high plains, it seems.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
More observations
22 Jan
Well the big news is that Obama is now prez, and that makes everyone here happy. We were at a bed an breakfast, and watched the parade with our corn flakes. That’s about all we know, as we havent’ hooked up to internet in a few days.
Well on to more observations about how the country runs. One of the many things that come as a a pleasant surprise is that when you walk up to a fairly nice motel/hotel, they say, "You are a walk-in, so it’s $20 less than if you had made a reservation." Go figure out the logic there. I can come up with some reasoning myself, but my bias toward the way they do it in the states, which is to get the most money possible out of walk-ins, clouds my ability to come up with any story that I would even believe myself.
Other random observations:
When you sit down to eat, they always give you a carafe or bottle of water. That makes so much sense. I drink a lot of water with dinner, and it’s a constant battle with the waitress in the US to keep my water glass filled. I think that my thirst comes along with the diabetes, but whatever the reason, this really works out well for me.
I think I’ve seen about 3 stop signs since we’ve been here. In most cases, when you come to an intersection, there simply be no one else there, so why stop? They make great use of yield (actually they say, "Give Way") signs. And you can’t turn left on red (think right on red) , if there is a stoplight. I guess the thought is that there just aren’t that many traffic lights in the country, so who cares.
The roads here are not for people not paying attention. It’s not difficult to drive in this country, but the roads are a bit narrower, occaionslly narrowing to a single lane, and much curvier than we’re used to and the speed limit is, as I’ve mentioned before, 100. There is very little margin for error, so you have to pay attention to what you’re doing, which just isn’t necessary in the States. Here, you actually have to drive the car. And they have a very screwy law, that if you are making a right hand turn across oncoming traffic, that an oncoming person making his left hand turn has to yeild to you. There are articles written about that… NZ is the only country where that is true, and it really bollixes up the tourists, or at least me. They keep threatining to change to law, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Depending on the climate….. there are places where it rains pretty much all year, like the west coast where it rains pretty mucy all year…. Most people don’t own a dryer. It’s considered a waste of energy to use a dryer if you don’t absolutely have to. So there are clotheslines in the back yard. Hanging laundry is a delight and takes me back to my childhood. Clothespins are plastic now. I was expecting wood, but I guess things change in 50 years.
There are a bizillion parks, and none of them welcome dogs, similarly in urban areas, there are signs saying, no dogs. I think in the parks, the thought is that there are a lot of ground birds on the verge of extinction, so I suppose that makes sense.
We spent the night in Ranfurley a few nights ago, a town of about 100 people west of Duneden. On the main street, which is a block long, there was an accounting firm, and a major appliance dealer. HELLO!! NOBODY LIVES HERE!! Or anywhere within 50 miles of here.
Now here is something that’s nice. Every little town has public toilets all over the place. They are clean and well cared for. It just sets you off on a thought train. We’ve eliminated them in the states because they are a magnet for illicit behavior of several different kinds. Here, people just behave themselves, so there are a lot of things that can work because individuals keep their end of the social contract. I think about that a lot as I’m reading Paul Krugman’s book, "Conscience of a Liberal".
It's Sat the 24th, now and we are in Timaru, south of Christchurch on the coast. It was hot today... upper 80's, and they tell us it has been in the 90's for the past few days. This country does not have air conditioning in the hinterlands, and we are in the hinterlands now. The whole country appears to have a bunch of micro climates. For most of the vacation we've been very comfortable, but it hasn't been warm enough to swim. ON the west coast in particular it was very cool, and rainy. Invercargill was almost cold, and the wind blows all the time. Go figure.
Well the big news is that Obama is now prez, and that makes everyone here happy. We were at a bed an breakfast, and watched the parade with our corn flakes. That’s about all we know, as we havent’ hooked up to internet in a few days.
Well on to more observations about how the country runs. One of the many things that come as a a pleasant surprise is that when you walk up to a fairly nice motel/hotel, they say, "You are a walk-in, so it’s $20 less than if you had made a reservation." Go figure out the logic there. I can come up with some reasoning myself, but my bias toward the way they do it in the states, which is to get the most money possible out of walk-ins, clouds my ability to come up with any story that I would even believe myself.
Other random observations:
When you sit down to eat, they always give you a carafe or bottle of water. That makes so much sense. I drink a lot of water with dinner, and it’s a constant battle with the waitress in the US to keep my water glass filled. I think that my thirst comes along with the diabetes, but whatever the reason, this really works out well for me.
I think I’ve seen about 3 stop signs since we’ve been here. In most cases, when you come to an intersection, there simply be no one else there, so why stop? They make great use of yield (actually they say, "Give Way") signs. And you can’t turn left on red (think right on red) , if there is a stoplight. I guess the thought is that there just aren’t that many traffic lights in the country, so who cares.
The roads here are not for people not paying attention. It’s not difficult to drive in this country, but the roads are a bit narrower, occaionslly narrowing to a single lane, and much curvier than we’re used to and the speed limit is, as I’ve mentioned before, 100. There is very little margin for error, so you have to pay attention to what you’re doing, which just isn’t necessary in the States. Here, you actually have to drive the car. And they have a very screwy law, that if you are making a right hand turn across oncoming traffic, that an oncoming person making his left hand turn has to yeild to you. There are articles written about that… NZ is the only country where that is true, and it really bollixes up the tourists, or at least me. They keep threatining to change to law, but it hasn’t happened yet.
Depending on the climate….. there are places where it rains pretty much all year, like the west coast where it rains pretty mucy all year…. Most people don’t own a dryer. It’s considered a waste of energy to use a dryer if you don’t absolutely have to. So there are clotheslines in the back yard. Hanging laundry is a delight and takes me back to my childhood. Clothespins are plastic now. I was expecting wood, but I guess things change in 50 years.
There are a bizillion parks, and none of them welcome dogs, similarly in urban areas, there are signs saying, no dogs. I think in the parks, the thought is that there are a lot of ground birds on the verge of extinction, so I suppose that makes sense.
We spent the night in Ranfurley a few nights ago, a town of about 100 people west of Duneden. On the main street, which is a block long, there was an accounting firm, and a major appliance dealer. HELLO!! NOBODY LIVES HERE!! Or anywhere within 50 miles of here.
Now here is something that’s nice. Every little town has public toilets all over the place. They are clean and well cared for. It just sets you off on a thought train. We’ve eliminated them in the states because they are a magnet for illicit behavior of several different kinds. Here, people just behave themselves, so there are a lot of things that can work because individuals keep their end of the social contract. I think about that a lot as I’m reading Paul Krugman’s book, "Conscience of a Liberal".
It's Sat the 24th, now and we are in Timaru, south of Christchurch on the coast. It was hot today... upper 80's, and they tell us it has been in the 90's for the past few days. This country does not have air conditioning in the hinterlands, and we are in the hinterlands now. The whole country appears to have a bunch of micro climates. For most of the vacation we've been very comfortable, but it hasn't been warm enough to swim. ON the west coast in particular it was very cool, and rainy. Invercargill was almost cold, and the wind blows all the time. Go figure.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
January 14 - 16
Day 43 – Jan. 14 – Te Anau/Milford Sound
We’re headed for the poster child for NZ, the lovely Milford Sound, in the southwestern corner of NZ, fjordland country. Had to get up early, dang it, at 6 am, to make sure we made the 10:30 boat. The road up there from Te Anau was another one of those that makes you want to stop at every curve, the views are so spectacular. The road to get there is over huge mountains, and they started building it with wheelbarrows and shovels in about 1929. It took them about 15 years to build it. At one point they ran into a huge headwall that was impossible to get over even on foot, being a vertical cliff about 1,000 feet high. No way could a road be built over it, so they dug a tunnel through it.
Turns out it only took us an hour to get there, instead of the two we were warned it would take, so we got there at least an hour and a half early. We were almost the only ones on the road, so it was a leisurely drive, full of stops for photos. Can’t believe how many photos I’ve taken on this trip. Thank heavens for digital!! And the Delete button.
Ever since I lived in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I’d thought there was no place on earth more beautiful than that. The view that greets you when you crest Togwotee Pass and see the entire Teton Valley laid out before you - with the majestic Tetons rising dramatically from the valley floor - is one of the most stunning I’d ever seen.
When I came up over a rise and saw the Eglinton Valley spread out before us, with its braided rivers flowing through green valleys, and the huge mountain range on all sides, I finally admitted that there is at least one other place on earth that rivals the Tetons. But the difference between the two is that there wasn’t a single sign of civilization in this valley except for some fence posts. No houses, no barns, no telephone poles, no hay stacks. Jackson used to look almost this pristine before the 1970’s, but now most of the valley has been bought up by developers and houses planted. It’s so sad to see now. But this valley probably won’t ever meet that fate, as the government keeps a tight rein on that in this country, and they’ve made it into a national park.
When we pulled into the parking lot, there was only one other car, probably owned by some other tourist with bad info. Pretty soon, however, cars began arriving in droves, then came the buses. They came… and came… and came. People poured off of them and soon filled the building where we all waited for our particular boat. There were about a dozen big boats lined up to take hundreds of people all for a cruise on the same sound at the same time. Overhead were planes skimming more tourists over the mountaintops, down to a few hundred feet above the water. Helicopters buzzed around like giant dragonflies.
Donning my Sea-bands in case the seas got rough, I climbed aboard and headed right to the top deck where we could see unobstructed in all directions, then the boat backed out of the harbor. Our narrator told us that this was one of only 5 nice days he’d seen all summer. Our travel karma is still working. We had clear skies and calm seas, at least in the Sound. We are planning to sail out into the Tasman Sea, though, and it can be rough.
In Milford Sound the cliffs plunge vertically into the deep waters. And waterfalls seem to begin in the sky and fall like lace hundreds of feet below, ending up mostly as mist by the time they reach the water of the Sound. When the wind blows, as it did in several places on the Sound, the waterfall nearly disappears sideways into the air.
A half-hour into the cruise the ship entered the wind tunnel created by the narrow entrance of the Sound. They’ve clocked the winds there at 120 mph, but today they were only about 60 mph. Enough to send us to the back of the boat out of the wind, though. There we met a couple from Dortmund, Germany, and spent some time boning up on our Deutsch and exchanging e-mail addresses. Also met a lady from Idaho who is a river guide on the Salmon River, which I floated in 1983. It’s frozen now so she and hubby got out of Dodge until the snow melts and tourists want to brave the freezing water in early spring.
Then we were in the open Tasman Sea, in rolling swells. I whipped out my Sea-Bands and wrapped them around my wrists to keep the contents of my stomach in place. Worked.
Two of the thirty-something tectonic plates meet here in NZ, and one is subducting under the other. The result is that there is a lot of mountain-building going on here, a lot of earthquakes and hot magma pouring out of the ground from way deep inside the earth and spilling out onto the ground in places. One of the visible signs of all this activity is a lot of faults, wide cracks in the earth where rocks pull away from each other. In Milford Sound there is a big fault that goes right through it. My geology blood got going when I saw this. Joe just yawned.
Rather than go on and on about how gorgeous this part of NZ is, I will just tell you that this is probably the Number 1 tourist attraction in the country, and the reason is its incomparable beauty. You’ll have to see the pictures to understand.
We’ve made some observations about these Kiwis, because we notice that they ALL have big smiles on their faces and seem so perpetually happy. Here’s what we’ve come up with to explain this phenomenon:
There aren’t so many of them that they overrun the country. There are only twice the number in the whole country as are in the city we live in.
There is plenty of food, especially lamb and beef, because there are billions of each of these animals. There is also a lot of pork, but we haven’t seen a single pig, so we don’t know where they hide them.
They keep people from immigrating here with extremely high requirements they have to meet. You have to be young, healthy, and able to work in a type of job NZ needs – like teaching and nursing and computer stuff.
There is no unemployment, because they don’t let in any deadbeats.
Nobody is trying to kill them or bomb them. What would a terrorist do with this country?
There is no military, because they don’t have to defend themselves. An aside: they don’t allow any nuclear-powered ships to enter any of their ports. When they told that to the US, the US said, "Fine, then if anybody attacks you, you’re on your own. Don’t call us." And NZ just told the US to go fly a kite.
Everybody seems to have enough of the important things in life: food, shelter, and clothing. They don’t seem to want much more. They’re not trying to outdo one another in looks, fashion, hair styles, cars, toys, or anything else that basically makes up 95% of the commercials we see on US tv. What they mostly seem to want is to get out onto the hiking trails, grab the next wave with their surfboards, hit the road on their bicycles, and hang out with their friends. Nice. The ones who do want all the toys go to Australia, get high-paying, stressful jobs, and call NZ ‘backward’.
Most of the houses are old because they aren’t building new ones that we can see. There are at least 2 obvious possible reasons for this: the economy is so depressed that nobody can afford to build one; and the population is so stable that they don’t need to build any new ones. When somebody dies, somebody young buys their house, so they just keep turning over the existing ones..
Day 44 – Jan. 15 – Te Anau to Bluff
Having seen the movie "The World’s Fastest Indian" with Anthony Hopkins when we first got here, we HAVE to go to Invercargill, where Burt lived and built his Indian motorcycle. He went on to set a world speed record with his souped-up bunch of bolts. According to the guidebook, which doesn’t even mention Burt, there isn’t any reason to go there that appeals to us.
On the way there, we stopped off in some farmer’s field to see some caves that the Maoris used to hang out in before the Europeans chased them away. There was one other car stopped on the side of the road to see this, so they must have the same guidebook we do. It certainly isn’t a place where the tour buses stop.
The other car belonged to a couple of ladies in their 50, traveling together, from the States. They’ve lived on a boat together for years, but one of them is now land-based. They have lived in Seattle and now live in Ft. Lauderdale when they’re not meeting each other in exotic places like here. Linda and Dee. We yakked in the middle of the road (about 2 cars came by the whole time; this is really out in the sticks) for about an hour before we parted ways. After a cursory look into the cave, we headed down the road for Invercargill.
E. Hayes and Sons’ hardware store sits on the main street that runs through the middle of town. They sell all the things any hardware store sells, but in the back of the store they have a little diplay of 2 of Burt’s motorcycles, plus a glass cabinet with a couple of shelves in it. On the shelves are displays of Burt’s certificates he got for setting his speed records, a copy of a book about him that you can buy, some postcards and t-shirts you can buy, and a picture of him.
As we were wandering around the store, in walked the Salmon River guide and her hubby! Just keep running into the same people who are on the same schedule as we are. After taking pictures of Burt’s motorcycle from every angle possible, we’d seen all of Invercargill we wanted to. Off we went south to the tiny town of Bluff, at the tip end of the peninsula outside of I’gill. We got the last room in the inn that is perched at the tip end of the peninsula, with a view out to sea that in the US you’d pay 5 times what we paid for it. They also served dinner there, so we told them we’d like to eat there. After we sat down to eat, a couple came in for dinner and were turned away. We guessed they could only handle so many people. There were only about 4 other people in the dining room, so I guess they have a small kitchen or tiny staff or something. They served us a fabulous meal – blue cod for me, succulent, tender, and cooked to perfection; and cold smoked chicken breast for Joe, along with 2 huge platters of veggies – one of turnips and carrots, the other of scalloped potatoes.
As we were eating, we noticed 2 ladies walking away from the inn, as if they’d also been turned away. I looked closer and realized it was Linda and Dee! Joe ran out and hailed them, bringing them back into the inn. The proprietor was perplexed, as here were the 2 ladies sitting at our table whom he’d just turned away. We implored him to feed them, and he relented. So they got some great blue cod, too, and we all had a great visit for another couple of hours, with them regaling us with stories of life on the high seas, until the entire dining room was empty and the staff was hinting for us to leave by noisily setting the tables for the next day’s breakfast.
Because there were still a couple of more hours of daylight left, we decided to take a walk along the peninsula, so off we went down a path that eventually led through the woods up to the top of a bluff, and back to the inn. Finally, with dark descending, we said our good-byes, they climbed into their extremely dusty, dishevelled camper, and puttered off, after hugs and e-mail addresses being exchanged. We’re glad we had business cards made up a while back. They’re coming in handy on this trip. They always elicit a chuckle out of the receiver, as they say ‘Carr-Weiss Institute for Shallow Thinking’.
Day 45 – Jan. 16 – Bluff to Milton
As this place provides breakfast, Joe had the ‘cooked breakfast’ and I had the ‘continental’. Their cooked breakfast always has 2 or 3 fried eggs with the orangest yolks in the world. I think that’s because the chickens are almost all free-range. They don’t cage them up in tiny cages like we do, but they scratch around on the ground for bugs and stuff, like real chickens. He also got 3 pieces of fried ham, 1 huge sausage, 2 pieces of toast with real butter and jam, a huge portion of hash browns, and a slice of orange.
I got cold cereal, yogurt, and several kinds of bread from which to make toast. They gave us orange, tomato and some other kind of juice that was dark green. I thought maybe spinach, or Swiss chard, or broccoli juice, but gave up and asked the innkeeper. ‘Grass’, he said. I just looked at him with a blank face. ‘Grass.’ ‘Sure, rabbits eat grass, why not people?’ he said. I poured myself a sip and tasted it. It was kiwi fruit juice, and was so yummy I had 2 glasses of it. Joe passed. He doesn’t eat or drink green things.
While we ate, we watched the ferry ply the rough waters from Bluff out to Stewart Island, the island a couple of hours south of NZ. Linda and Dee are on the ferry, and I’m glad we’re not. The seas are very rough and we can see the waves splashing over the deck as the ferry smashes into each wave head-on. Glad they have strong stomachs. Hope the rest of the people on the ferry do, too. They’ll need ‘em.
Remember the Indian brothers who got smashed by the glacier? Turns out one of them had the keys to the family’s rental car in his pocket. And the rental car company isn’t the usual smiley NZ-er that we keep running into. He’s going to make them pay for every day they keep the car. They can tow the car back to the rental agency if they want, but they’re having to pay until the car is physically back to them. So the jury is still out on how that story will play out.
The Burt Munro brochure said that Burt had done all his work on his motorcycle in a shed at a certain address. So to complete our Burt Munro odyssey, we headed out to see his shed. Turns out there is a house there and no sign of a shed, a yappy dog in the yard and no sign of any sort saying anything about Burt. We left disappointed, especially because we had to actually go back into Invercargill to see it, or not see it.
I need a haircut. It’s been 6 weeks since my last one, and I’m beginning to look like a sheepdog. So we went to downtown Invercargill to find a beauty salon. In the first one I stepped into, they were able to take me right away. That should have been my first clue. I’m used to having to schedule my appointment with my hairdresser 6 weeks in advance, so to be able to sit right down was unbelievable. Well, so is my haircut. Unbelievably bad!! She gave me a crewcut! I feel and look bald. There will be no more pictures taken on this trip that include me in them. I’ll always remember Invercargill as the ‘Town of the Bad Haircut’.
Now I know why Burt Munro was trying to build the world’s fastest motorcycle: so he could get out of that town as fast as he could!
And that’s just what we did after I put a bag over my head and got in the car. Headed for the coast, where we heard there were some porpoises. Called Hector’s porpoises, there is a family or pod of about 20 of them in a beautiful cove about a half-mile across. After sitting on the bluff above it for a few minutes, we saw a couple of them surface, blow, and go back under. What a thrill! The entire time we sat there, they put on a display for us, rolling and playing, while we pointed and yelped.
When we stopped to watch the porpoises, there was a single sea gull standing all alone, watching us as if he expected to get a tidbit to eat. I keep old bread just for such occasions in the trunk. So I got it out, and tossed him a few small pieces. He was delighted! Soon 4 of his friends came to join him for dinner. He transformed immediately into a jealous guardian of his territory. He lowered his head and opened his mouth and let out a raucous scream and ran at one of the other gulls. When that gull moved off, he ran at another one. Soon there was an entire flock of them and he spent the whole 15 minutes we were there defending his territory in this manner. Only occasionally did he get any of the bread. He was the only one acting like he owned the place, so I’m presuming he has staked out this special place and has made it clear that nobody else is welcome. He’d have gotten a lot more bread if he’d been willing to share, because I tossed a lot his way, but he always ran after the other birds who went for the bread instead of running after the bread. There’s probably a life lesson here.
On another deserted beach where we stopped to see a lighthouse, we saw a sea lion wandering up the beach towards us. We went closer, but stayed above the sand, hidden in the sand dunes, and he came to within about 60 feet of us. While we clicked away with our cameras, he rolled in the sand, tossing it about with his flippers and coating himself with it. Then he’d rear up on his flippers that looked like an evolutionary mistake as he wobbled around on them. He heaved his ponderous body right and left as he propelled himself with appendages that didn’t look as if they were designed for anything but swimming.
As we rounded a curve on one of the winding roads through the sheep country, we were greeted with about 40 lambs standing in the road all looking at us. They’d gotten out of the pasture and were taking the path of least resistance. On both sides of the road were tall weeds and they didn’t want to wade through them. But as we inched towards them, they all ran off into the weeds anyway, letting us pass, but not before leaving clear evidence of their having spent a lot of time standing in the road, if you know what I mean.
After a day of mostly sitting on beaches, we got tired of sight-seeing and headed for the barn. The only town that looked big enough on the map to have a motel was Milton. As we went through one town, the cops were stopping every car, then releasing them We found out there was a jack-knifed stock truck blocking the entire road north of town, where we were headed, so we had to detour about 10 miles out of our way. We finally reached the nothing town of Milton, got a motel room in a brand-new motel with the best internet service we’ve had yet, went to bed and spent the night listening to the rain pound on the roof. Doesn’t bode well for tomorrow.
We’re headed for the poster child for NZ, the lovely Milford Sound, in the southwestern corner of NZ, fjordland country. Had to get up early, dang it, at 6 am, to make sure we made the 10:30 boat. The road up there from Te Anau was another one of those that makes you want to stop at every curve, the views are so spectacular. The road to get there is over huge mountains, and they started building it with wheelbarrows and shovels in about 1929. It took them about 15 years to build it. At one point they ran into a huge headwall that was impossible to get over even on foot, being a vertical cliff about 1,000 feet high. No way could a road be built over it, so they dug a tunnel through it.
Turns out it only took us an hour to get there, instead of the two we were warned it would take, so we got there at least an hour and a half early. We were almost the only ones on the road, so it was a leisurely drive, full of stops for photos. Can’t believe how many photos I’ve taken on this trip. Thank heavens for digital!! And the Delete button.
Ever since I lived in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I’d thought there was no place on earth more beautiful than that. The view that greets you when you crest Togwotee Pass and see the entire Teton Valley laid out before you - with the majestic Tetons rising dramatically from the valley floor - is one of the most stunning I’d ever seen.
When I came up over a rise and saw the Eglinton Valley spread out before us, with its braided rivers flowing through green valleys, and the huge mountain range on all sides, I finally admitted that there is at least one other place on earth that rivals the Tetons. But the difference between the two is that there wasn’t a single sign of civilization in this valley except for some fence posts. No houses, no barns, no telephone poles, no hay stacks. Jackson used to look almost this pristine before the 1970’s, but now most of the valley has been bought up by developers and houses planted. It’s so sad to see now. But this valley probably won’t ever meet that fate, as the government keeps a tight rein on that in this country, and they’ve made it into a national park.
When we pulled into the parking lot, there was only one other car, probably owned by some other tourist with bad info. Pretty soon, however, cars began arriving in droves, then came the buses. They came… and came… and came. People poured off of them and soon filled the building where we all waited for our particular boat. There were about a dozen big boats lined up to take hundreds of people all for a cruise on the same sound at the same time. Overhead were planes skimming more tourists over the mountaintops, down to a few hundred feet above the water. Helicopters buzzed around like giant dragonflies.
Donning my Sea-bands in case the seas got rough, I climbed aboard and headed right to the top deck where we could see unobstructed in all directions, then the boat backed out of the harbor. Our narrator told us that this was one of only 5 nice days he’d seen all summer. Our travel karma is still working. We had clear skies and calm seas, at least in the Sound. We are planning to sail out into the Tasman Sea, though, and it can be rough.
In Milford Sound the cliffs plunge vertically into the deep waters. And waterfalls seem to begin in the sky and fall like lace hundreds of feet below, ending up mostly as mist by the time they reach the water of the Sound. When the wind blows, as it did in several places on the Sound, the waterfall nearly disappears sideways into the air.
A half-hour into the cruise the ship entered the wind tunnel created by the narrow entrance of the Sound. They’ve clocked the winds there at 120 mph, but today they were only about 60 mph. Enough to send us to the back of the boat out of the wind, though. There we met a couple from Dortmund, Germany, and spent some time boning up on our Deutsch and exchanging e-mail addresses. Also met a lady from Idaho who is a river guide on the Salmon River, which I floated in 1983. It’s frozen now so she and hubby got out of Dodge until the snow melts and tourists want to brave the freezing water in early spring.
Then we were in the open Tasman Sea, in rolling swells. I whipped out my Sea-Bands and wrapped them around my wrists to keep the contents of my stomach in place. Worked.
Two of the thirty-something tectonic plates meet here in NZ, and one is subducting under the other. The result is that there is a lot of mountain-building going on here, a lot of earthquakes and hot magma pouring out of the ground from way deep inside the earth and spilling out onto the ground in places. One of the visible signs of all this activity is a lot of faults, wide cracks in the earth where rocks pull away from each other. In Milford Sound there is a big fault that goes right through it. My geology blood got going when I saw this. Joe just yawned.
Rather than go on and on about how gorgeous this part of NZ is, I will just tell you that this is probably the Number 1 tourist attraction in the country, and the reason is its incomparable beauty. You’ll have to see the pictures to understand.
We’ve made some observations about these Kiwis, because we notice that they ALL have big smiles on their faces and seem so perpetually happy. Here’s what we’ve come up with to explain this phenomenon:
There aren’t so many of them that they overrun the country. There are only twice the number in the whole country as are in the city we live in.
There is plenty of food, especially lamb and beef, because there are billions of each of these animals. There is also a lot of pork, but we haven’t seen a single pig, so we don’t know where they hide them.
They keep people from immigrating here with extremely high requirements they have to meet. You have to be young, healthy, and able to work in a type of job NZ needs – like teaching and nursing and computer stuff.
There is no unemployment, because they don’t let in any deadbeats.
Nobody is trying to kill them or bomb them. What would a terrorist do with this country?
There is no military, because they don’t have to defend themselves. An aside: they don’t allow any nuclear-powered ships to enter any of their ports. When they told that to the US, the US said, "Fine, then if anybody attacks you, you’re on your own. Don’t call us." And NZ just told the US to go fly a kite.
Everybody seems to have enough of the important things in life: food, shelter, and clothing. They don’t seem to want much more. They’re not trying to outdo one another in looks, fashion, hair styles, cars, toys, or anything else that basically makes up 95% of the commercials we see on US tv. What they mostly seem to want is to get out onto the hiking trails, grab the next wave with their surfboards, hit the road on their bicycles, and hang out with their friends. Nice. The ones who do want all the toys go to Australia, get high-paying, stressful jobs, and call NZ ‘backward’.
Most of the houses are old because they aren’t building new ones that we can see. There are at least 2 obvious possible reasons for this: the economy is so depressed that nobody can afford to build one; and the population is so stable that they don’t need to build any new ones. When somebody dies, somebody young buys their house, so they just keep turning over the existing ones..
Day 44 – Jan. 15 – Te Anau to Bluff
Having seen the movie "The World’s Fastest Indian" with Anthony Hopkins when we first got here, we HAVE to go to Invercargill, where Burt lived and built his Indian motorcycle. He went on to set a world speed record with his souped-up bunch of bolts. According to the guidebook, which doesn’t even mention Burt, there isn’t any reason to go there that appeals to us.
On the way there, we stopped off in some farmer’s field to see some caves that the Maoris used to hang out in before the Europeans chased them away. There was one other car stopped on the side of the road to see this, so they must have the same guidebook we do. It certainly isn’t a place where the tour buses stop.
The other car belonged to a couple of ladies in their 50, traveling together, from the States. They’ve lived on a boat together for years, but one of them is now land-based. They have lived in Seattle and now live in Ft. Lauderdale when they’re not meeting each other in exotic places like here. Linda and Dee. We yakked in the middle of the road (about 2 cars came by the whole time; this is really out in the sticks) for about an hour before we parted ways. After a cursory look into the cave, we headed down the road for Invercargill.
E. Hayes and Sons’ hardware store sits on the main street that runs through the middle of town. They sell all the things any hardware store sells, but in the back of the store they have a little diplay of 2 of Burt’s motorcycles, plus a glass cabinet with a couple of shelves in it. On the shelves are displays of Burt’s certificates he got for setting his speed records, a copy of a book about him that you can buy, some postcards and t-shirts you can buy, and a picture of him.
As we were wandering around the store, in walked the Salmon River guide and her hubby! Just keep running into the same people who are on the same schedule as we are. After taking pictures of Burt’s motorcycle from every angle possible, we’d seen all of Invercargill we wanted to. Off we went south to the tiny town of Bluff, at the tip end of the peninsula outside of I’gill. We got the last room in the inn that is perched at the tip end of the peninsula, with a view out to sea that in the US you’d pay 5 times what we paid for it. They also served dinner there, so we told them we’d like to eat there. After we sat down to eat, a couple came in for dinner and were turned away. We guessed they could only handle so many people. There were only about 4 other people in the dining room, so I guess they have a small kitchen or tiny staff or something. They served us a fabulous meal – blue cod for me, succulent, tender, and cooked to perfection; and cold smoked chicken breast for Joe, along with 2 huge platters of veggies – one of turnips and carrots, the other of scalloped potatoes.
As we were eating, we noticed 2 ladies walking away from the inn, as if they’d also been turned away. I looked closer and realized it was Linda and Dee! Joe ran out and hailed them, bringing them back into the inn. The proprietor was perplexed, as here were the 2 ladies sitting at our table whom he’d just turned away. We implored him to feed them, and he relented. So they got some great blue cod, too, and we all had a great visit for another couple of hours, with them regaling us with stories of life on the high seas, until the entire dining room was empty and the staff was hinting for us to leave by noisily setting the tables for the next day’s breakfast.
Because there were still a couple of more hours of daylight left, we decided to take a walk along the peninsula, so off we went down a path that eventually led through the woods up to the top of a bluff, and back to the inn. Finally, with dark descending, we said our good-byes, they climbed into their extremely dusty, dishevelled camper, and puttered off, after hugs and e-mail addresses being exchanged. We’re glad we had business cards made up a while back. They’re coming in handy on this trip. They always elicit a chuckle out of the receiver, as they say ‘Carr-Weiss Institute for Shallow Thinking’.
Day 45 – Jan. 16 – Bluff to Milton
As this place provides breakfast, Joe had the ‘cooked breakfast’ and I had the ‘continental’. Their cooked breakfast always has 2 or 3 fried eggs with the orangest yolks in the world. I think that’s because the chickens are almost all free-range. They don’t cage them up in tiny cages like we do, but they scratch around on the ground for bugs and stuff, like real chickens. He also got 3 pieces of fried ham, 1 huge sausage, 2 pieces of toast with real butter and jam, a huge portion of hash browns, and a slice of orange.
I got cold cereal, yogurt, and several kinds of bread from which to make toast. They gave us orange, tomato and some other kind of juice that was dark green. I thought maybe spinach, or Swiss chard, or broccoli juice, but gave up and asked the innkeeper. ‘Grass’, he said. I just looked at him with a blank face. ‘Grass.’ ‘Sure, rabbits eat grass, why not people?’ he said. I poured myself a sip and tasted it. It was kiwi fruit juice, and was so yummy I had 2 glasses of it. Joe passed. He doesn’t eat or drink green things.
While we ate, we watched the ferry ply the rough waters from Bluff out to Stewart Island, the island a couple of hours south of NZ. Linda and Dee are on the ferry, and I’m glad we’re not. The seas are very rough and we can see the waves splashing over the deck as the ferry smashes into each wave head-on. Glad they have strong stomachs. Hope the rest of the people on the ferry do, too. They’ll need ‘em.
Remember the Indian brothers who got smashed by the glacier? Turns out one of them had the keys to the family’s rental car in his pocket. And the rental car company isn’t the usual smiley NZ-er that we keep running into. He’s going to make them pay for every day they keep the car. They can tow the car back to the rental agency if they want, but they’re having to pay until the car is physically back to them. So the jury is still out on how that story will play out.
The Burt Munro brochure said that Burt had done all his work on his motorcycle in a shed at a certain address. So to complete our Burt Munro odyssey, we headed out to see his shed. Turns out there is a house there and no sign of a shed, a yappy dog in the yard and no sign of any sort saying anything about Burt. We left disappointed, especially because we had to actually go back into Invercargill to see it, or not see it.
I need a haircut. It’s been 6 weeks since my last one, and I’m beginning to look like a sheepdog. So we went to downtown Invercargill to find a beauty salon. In the first one I stepped into, they were able to take me right away. That should have been my first clue. I’m used to having to schedule my appointment with my hairdresser 6 weeks in advance, so to be able to sit right down was unbelievable. Well, so is my haircut. Unbelievably bad!! She gave me a crewcut! I feel and look bald. There will be no more pictures taken on this trip that include me in them. I’ll always remember Invercargill as the ‘Town of the Bad Haircut’.
Now I know why Burt Munro was trying to build the world’s fastest motorcycle: so he could get out of that town as fast as he could!
And that’s just what we did after I put a bag over my head and got in the car. Headed for the coast, where we heard there were some porpoises. Called Hector’s porpoises, there is a family or pod of about 20 of them in a beautiful cove about a half-mile across. After sitting on the bluff above it for a few minutes, we saw a couple of them surface, blow, and go back under. What a thrill! The entire time we sat there, they put on a display for us, rolling and playing, while we pointed and yelped.
When we stopped to watch the porpoises, there was a single sea gull standing all alone, watching us as if he expected to get a tidbit to eat. I keep old bread just for such occasions in the trunk. So I got it out, and tossed him a few small pieces. He was delighted! Soon 4 of his friends came to join him for dinner. He transformed immediately into a jealous guardian of his territory. He lowered his head and opened his mouth and let out a raucous scream and ran at one of the other gulls. When that gull moved off, he ran at another one. Soon there was an entire flock of them and he spent the whole 15 minutes we were there defending his territory in this manner. Only occasionally did he get any of the bread. He was the only one acting like he owned the place, so I’m presuming he has staked out this special place and has made it clear that nobody else is welcome. He’d have gotten a lot more bread if he’d been willing to share, because I tossed a lot his way, but he always ran after the other birds who went for the bread instead of running after the bread. There’s probably a life lesson here.
On another deserted beach where we stopped to see a lighthouse, we saw a sea lion wandering up the beach towards us. We went closer, but stayed above the sand, hidden in the sand dunes, and he came to within about 60 feet of us. While we clicked away with our cameras, he rolled in the sand, tossing it about with his flippers and coating himself with it. Then he’d rear up on his flippers that looked like an evolutionary mistake as he wobbled around on them. He heaved his ponderous body right and left as he propelled himself with appendages that didn’t look as if they were designed for anything but swimming.
As we rounded a curve on one of the winding roads through the sheep country, we were greeted with about 40 lambs standing in the road all looking at us. They’d gotten out of the pasture and were taking the path of least resistance. On both sides of the road were tall weeds and they didn’t want to wade through them. But as we inched towards them, they all ran off into the weeds anyway, letting us pass, but not before leaving clear evidence of their having spent a lot of time standing in the road, if you know what I mean.
After a day of mostly sitting on beaches, we got tired of sight-seeing and headed for the barn. The only town that looked big enough on the map to have a motel was Milton. As we went through one town, the cops were stopping every car, then releasing them We found out there was a jack-knifed stock truck blocking the entire road north of town, where we were headed, so we had to detour about 10 miles out of our way. We finally reached the nothing town of Milton, got a motel room in a brand-new motel with the best internet service we’ve had yet, went to bed and spent the night listening to the rain pound on the roof. Doesn’t bode well for tomorrow.
Friday, January 16, 2009
More motorcycle and other topics
That's me, from the waste down....Munro lived near here, about 15 minutes away. Invercargill is about as far south as you can get, except for a few islands and Antarctica.
When you drive to the coast, not far, you can see the long stretches of beach where Munro did his testing. Why are the cycles here in a hardware store? The guy (Hayes) who owns the store is a motorcycle buff, and when Munro had a stroke in the mid 70's, Hayes bought the cycles from Munro who wanted them to stay in town. If Hayes hadn't bought them, they would probably be in Las Vegas.
We also saw a lot of sea lions which just hauled themselves up to the beach and plopped down within a few feet of us. Amazing.
A few days ago we were at Milford Sound fjords. We took the boat trip up the fjord, which was just stunning..we may publish pictures, but if you do a web search, you will find some very good views of Milford sound. We've seen a fair amount of wildlife... we saw 2 Kea birds.... large parrots... at a rest stop. They are not afraid of people, and just hop up to you, and walk around on top of your car. Lots of seals and sea lions, and Hector's dolphins, tiny dolphins about 3 feet long, which are nearly extinct. Only 20 left, and they all live in a little bay east of Invercargill. If you swim to them they will come near. But it was too cool for me to go swimming.
There are a fair number of birds which either live on the ground, can't fly, or nest on the ground. Originally, there were no preditors here. People brought rats, dogs, stoats and then finally possums (not what we think of as 'possums). The possums have very nice fur and were introduced to start up a fur industry. I think we call them wombats, not possums. They are very cute, but they are all over the place, and certainly, like their American near-namesake, all over the highways in two dimensions. At any rate, they have wreaked havoc on the Kiwis, and other ground birds, which are being actively relocated to remote islands, where they are doing better.
All for now...
World's fastest Indian
The harware store in Invercargill has the orignal 1920 600 cc Indian motorcycles that But Munro modified to set the world speed record, 193 mph at Bonneville salt flats in the mid sixties.
What is even more astonishing is that the record still stands. The motorcycle on the left is the one that did it.
They made a movie, "The World's Fastest Indian" with Anthony Hopkins, and it is a very good movie, that you all must now go rent and see.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
January 10-13
Day 39 – Jan. 10 – Arrowtown
We learned today that 2 young Indian boys, brothers and the only children of an Indian couple, were killed at the base of the Fox Glacier, when a huge chunk of ice fell on them. They had gone right up to the edge of the glacier, where the ice is always ‘calving off’ (i.e., melting and falling). Signs are everywhere warning of how unstable and dangerous the ice is, but, unlike some places in the US might be, they make you take responsibility for your actions, rather than post a guard there and make sure you don’t get too close. One of the bodies was pulled out from under the ice by using a backhoe to chop away at the ice until they found him. But they were scared for their own lives to continue searching for the 2nd boy, so they’re going to let the ice melt and then his body will show up.
An interesting tidbit about NZ is that they don’t allow you sue somebody else when you get hurt. They are not a litigious society, but rather make you responsible when something goes wrong. You fall down steps that don’t have any handrails – too bad, you should’ve been more sure-footed. You trip over an area under construction downtown and break your leg – too bad, you should’ve looked where you were going.
We’ve determined there’s a good golf course in this area, so we headed out there in the morning. The starter paired us up with Des Cordelle and Barry Dawson, a couple of guys in their mid-60s. Barry was on his way home from checking on his hiefers he’s raising on a farm just a few hundred meters down the road, and Des was playing one of his many weekly rounds of golf because he’s retired and can. They couldn’t have been friendlier, or more welcoming. Barry was always off in the weeds hunting for his ball. He is married to a woman whose great-uncle was Burt Munro. Burt was the main character in the movie "The World’s Fastest Indian", starring Anthony Hopkins as Burt. We’ve become Burt Munro fans having seen the movie twice since we got here. It takes place in Invercargill, NZ, just south of here, and in the Great Salt Flats of Utah. If you haven’t seen it, rent it. It’s a good movie.
While we were warming up prior to playing, the owner of our motel drove into the parking lot, ran up to us in the practice area, and handed us our key. "We’re probably not going to be at the motel when you get back there, so we wanted to make sure you got the right key." They’re moving our stuff into another room today, since the one we’ve been staying in has been spoken for for tonight, and he was concerned we might not be able to get into our new room. Granted, the course is only about 3 miles from the motel, but you gotta admit, that was some service!
Turns out we’d entered the weekly tournament, so when we got back into the clubhouse, all 50 men and I, the lone woman, sat around and had refreshments until they tallied up the results. They singled me out as a visitor from the States and mentioned that I’d shot a 76. I guess they don’t have many women who play in their tournaments, though they all assured me that women are always welcome.
After having spent a couple of days in Arrowtown, making good friends of Des and Barry, and finding out more about this quaint little town, Joe and I have decided that this would be the town at the top of our list up to today that gets our nod for where we’d spend an entire winter if we had to choose just one place. They will not be building a single new house ever, because all the real estate designated for single-family residences has been built upon. The town is bounded on 3 sides by golf courses and on the 4th by a cliff. All the property past the 3 golf courses is reserved for farming into perpetuity. So this is the place to buy real estate, as there will be no more available ever in Arrowtown. All the houses are small and quaint, having been originally gold miners’ houses built about 100 years ago when there was not much timber for houses and most of the miners were single men who didn’t need much room. For most Americans it would be waaaay too small, but for us, who just need enough space on our next trip to unpack our meager belongings and somewhere to cook and sleep, it is perfect.
Day 40 – Jan. 11 – Arrowtown to Glenorchy
Instead of my usual granola and sliced banana, today’s breakfast was a hearty one of Eggs Benedict in one of Arrowtown’s cafes. We’re heading out to play golf at Jack’s Point, touted by Des and Barry as a must-play, and we won’t see food again for many hours. As usual, the course was deserted, and when we went into the pro shop to make arrangements to play, Ben, the young guy at the desk recognized me. He’d played in the tournament at Arrowtown yesterday and remembered my shooting a 76.
As we rolled up to the first tee, a plane came buzzing over one of the big mounds out over the fairway and flew about 100 feet over our heads, coasting to a stop on a grass runway right next to the fairway. High overhead we heard faraway voices and heard noises that sounded like flags flapping in the wind. We looked up to see 4 colorful parachutes with tiny stick figures, legs dangling out from beneath them, then watched until they glided to a perfect landing near the plane. Within 5 minutes the plane took off again with another load of people wanting to jump out of perfectly good airplanes.
For the whole time we played the course, we were entertained by the adventure sports machinery of Queenstown. Helicopters hovered and sailed overhead, then peeled off in the direction of Milford Sound. Airplanes flew in all directions, showing off the landscape to those with enough bucks to afford the aerial view. Boats of all sizes, shapes, and means of propulsion – propellors, jetskis, jetboats, steamships - criss-crossed the lake, pulling skiers and kids on inner tubes, and cruising the lake filled with sedate tourists wanting to enjoy the views from the water side.
When we came back to the clubhouse, Ben came out of the clubhouse to welcome us back and asked all about our games. He stood there talking with us for about 20 minutes, as if he had nothing else whatsoever in the world to do. Told us proudly that the club had plans to build hundreds of homes all over the beautiful fields of waving grass that are there now, making this one of the premier golf destinations in NZ. I’m glad we saw it before they ruin it.
I’ve got a bee in my bonnet to ride a horse while I’m here. That’s going to be one of my ‘adventure sports’, though hardly in the same league as hiking the Milford Track for 5 days or skydiving or landing on a glacier in a helicopter or bungy jumping. So we headed to the small village of Glenorchy and the Dart Stables, whose brochures proclaim "A horse riding experience you’ll remember for a lifetime’ and show portraits of some of their steeds. For example, Rashed, a purebred Arab (I hope I get this one for me!); or The Jazzman, a thoroughbred; or Drum Major, a pure Clydesdale (hope I don’t get this one).
Again, the drive along the edge of Lake Wakatipu to the town of Glenorchy defies description. It took us 3 hours to drive the 50 miles or so to reach it, because we stopped at every curve for pictures. Because the town is so small, and the guide books have scared us into believing there won’t be any accommodations, we were sure this would be the night we’d have to sleep in our tent. But our travel karma was with us once more and we found a room in the Glenorchy Hotel. Nothing fancy, but any port in a storm, Mother used to say.
After tossing our luggage in the room, I wanted to go see the horses. I’ve always been a horse lover, having grown up on a horse, and I just wanted to see them and pat them and maybe pick out the one I hoped they’d let me ride tomorrow. Well, we found the stable, and there was a pasture next to it, but there weren’t any horses in it. Maybe they truck them in in the morning.
As we had a lot of daylight left, we wandered through town, which took about 5 minutes as it’s only 2 blocks long, and strolled down to the old wharf on the lake. Another couple was also there, and we could hear they were speaking German. That was all we needed to strike up a conversation and learn they were from Innsbruck, Austria, and they work in a lodge on the side of the mountains as cooks. We spent about an hour with them, and then another couple, who spoke French and a bit of English but no German, joined us. Thus transpired one of the most delightful evenings, standing on the dock while the sun went down, speaking a mishmash of German, English, and French amongst 6 people who had only smatterings of one of the languages being spoken The French couple had been sailing around the world for 4 years, and, like some of the other people we met in Whangerai weeks ago, they’d headed for safety in Whangerai’s harbor for the winter to avoid the winter typhoons in the Pacific. They’ll be on land until April, when the danger is past and they can continue their round-the-world adventure..
Day 41 – Jan. 12 – Glenorchy
The horse trek was due to start at 9:30 am so we showed up at 9:00, hoping we could help saddle or brush the equines or something, but nary a soul was even around, including the four-legged kind. We wondered what we’d gotten ourselves into, but finally at 9:15 other dudes like us started showing up, then a horsey-looking lady unlocked the barn and the day began. ‘Sign this waiver, pay us, put on this helmet and these gumboots, then hop on the bus. The horses are waiting for us at the trailhead.’ That explains the absence of horses at the barn.
A fast, harrowing 15-minute ride up a curvy road put us in the middle of a field where the lucky horses of the day were tethered inside a rope corral. ‘You get Manuel and you get Spencer,’ the leader told Joe and me. We were shown to our mounts, who were wearing English saddles. I’m used to Western but have done some English, but an English saddle has always felt even more insecure than bareback to me. She led Spencer to a stump and I clambered aboard. After adjusting our stirrups and tightening the cinches, off we went, 6 dudes and 2 young women leading us. Two of the other dudes had never been on a horse before, were doing it to please their spouses.
I was happy because I was given a thoroughbred, usually a high-spirited animal. But Spencer fell in behind all the other horses, right behind Drum, a Clydesdale draft horse, the kind that pulled the Budweiser beer wagon in the tv commercials of yore. Spencer and Drum were mortal enemies, and whenever they got close to each other, which was very often, ears were laid back, teeth were bared, and whites of eyes were displayed. After 15 minutes my right knee began to hurt, so I took my feet out of the stirrups and let my legs dangle. But then I was subjected to a very unpleasant rocking motion of Spencer’s slow walk, which tossed me violently back and forth in the saddle. Whenever I put my feet back in the stirrups to get away from the back and forthing, my knee hurt and soon the straps from the stirrup began to rub my legs raw, even though I had on long pants.
‘Who wants to trot?’ yelled out our leader. Anything to get away from the dreaded jolting and knee pain. Wrong. It just multiplied all 3 kinds of pain I’d been going through. I was glad when she slowed back to a walk and I could go back to the slower pain. ‘Who wants to canter?’ That’s usually a nice rocking motion, so off I went with the other 3 who also wanted to speed up.
The cantering of this huge horse was not like any cantering I’ve ever experienced. He started off on the wrong lead, so I was jolted nearly out of the saddle every time his feet hit the ground. My helmet was bouncing around on my head and finally fell down so far it obscured my vision so I was flying blind. And the helmet made my glasses fog up, so I was doubly blind. Thank goodness my horse was just following the herd so I didn’t need to guide him or stop him when the cantering was over.
It ended abruptly. I pushed my helmet back on my head so I could see, and what I saw was Joe down on the ground, rolling around in the weeds, writing in pain, and moaning. When his horse stopped, his right foot came out of the stirrup and he went sailing. The leader hopped off her horse and was beside him asking him how he felt. ‘Just fine’, he said, but his moaning didn’t convince me. Soon, however, he stood up, limped over to his horse and got back on.
After another hour of jolting, we finally reached the barn. I vowed never to get back on a horse as long as I live. Strange thought coming from me, as I grew up on the back of Blaze, my beautiful palomino quarter horse, whom I rode bareback every day of my teenage years. I’ve always loved horses, and riding. But this was a most unpleasant experience, and I might have to admit I’m just too old and my bones aren’t designed any more for riding.
I tied up my horse, slid off, and found Joe standing, immobile, next to his horse, looking as if he was going to faint. I went over to him, put his arm over my shoulder and, using me as a crutch, he hobbled over to the car. That was the end of him. Interesting that of the 3 or 4 people working there, including the owner, only one came over to see what had happened. Even then, she didn’t seem very concerned, didn’t ask if we needed ice, or offer to help in any way. She told us that we should go to the hospital, that it’s free if it’s an accident, and make sure nothing is broken. Otherwise, everybody just left us alone to fend for ourselves.
We went back to the motel, where Joe hobbled to the room, again using me as his support, fell into bed, and didn’t move again for hours. I went out and grabbed something for him to eat, which he ate lying down, then he passed out, with help from some pain pills I brought with me, for the rest of the night.
Day 42 – Jan. 13 – Glenorchy to Te Anau
Joe woke me up at 5 am for more painkillers, and at 8 we got up for the day. He was feeling perkier than when he went to bed and didn’t want to go to the hospital, but I insisted. I wanted to know if anything was broken or badly out of alignment. By the time we got to the hospital in Queenstown, the painkiller had worn off and he was creaking around like a stiff, old man, leaning on my arm for support.
We had to pay $50 for the ‘doctor consulation’, (so much for the ‘free if it’s an accident’ theory) but the verdict was no broken bones, just bruising, take some painkillers, and you’ll be fine in a few days. I was relieved to hear that. I had visions of his having to spend time in the hospital, or our having to cut our vacation short and fly home for surgery on a broken hip, or some equally unpleasant option.
Armed with painkillers, and Joe sitting in the passenger seat for a change, we set off for the famed Milford Sound. This is the picture so much of the world thinks IS New Zealand. The cliffs dropping into the sea, full of waterfalls, and a lovely snow-capped mountain at the end of the fjord. After riding through scenery that was worthy of a photo at every turn, we reached the town of Te Anau, another Maori name, on the shores of the lake by the same name. We found a motel right on the water that has a beautiful yard with lots of blooming flowers and lots of grass, not the usual accommodation. Tossed our horsey clothes in the washing machine and sat down and enjoyed the view while our clothes got clean.
The drive over was one of those that defies description. I know I keep writing about how gorgeous the scenery is, but I’ve never been anywhere like this. If I look to the right, there is a 9,000-foot high mountain leaping right of the flat valley floor. Waterfalls begin nearly at the top and drop precipitously in a tiny white thread, leaving dark streaks down the whole drop to the valley floor, where they turn into a lovely stream of pure, clear water. By the time we cross it in the car, it will have slowed down, ducks will be floating on it and diving down to the bottom for the succulent algae they scoop up with their bills, reeds 6 feet high will be growing along its banks, in which birds will be hopping around.
We learned today that 2 young Indian boys, brothers and the only children of an Indian couple, were killed at the base of the Fox Glacier, when a huge chunk of ice fell on them. They had gone right up to the edge of the glacier, where the ice is always ‘calving off’ (i.e., melting and falling). Signs are everywhere warning of how unstable and dangerous the ice is, but, unlike some places in the US might be, they make you take responsibility for your actions, rather than post a guard there and make sure you don’t get too close. One of the bodies was pulled out from under the ice by using a backhoe to chop away at the ice until they found him. But they were scared for their own lives to continue searching for the 2nd boy, so they’re going to let the ice melt and then his body will show up.
An interesting tidbit about NZ is that they don’t allow you sue somebody else when you get hurt. They are not a litigious society, but rather make you responsible when something goes wrong. You fall down steps that don’t have any handrails – too bad, you should’ve been more sure-footed. You trip over an area under construction downtown and break your leg – too bad, you should’ve looked where you were going.
We’ve determined there’s a good golf course in this area, so we headed out there in the morning. The starter paired us up with Des Cordelle and Barry Dawson, a couple of guys in their mid-60s. Barry was on his way home from checking on his hiefers he’s raising on a farm just a few hundred meters down the road, and Des was playing one of his many weekly rounds of golf because he’s retired and can. They couldn’t have been friendlier, or more welcoming. Barry was always off in the weeds hunting for his ball. He is married to a woman whose great-uncle was Burt Munro. Burt was the main character in the movie "The World’s Fastest Indian", starring Anthony Hopkins as Burt. We’ve become Burt Munro fans having seen the movie twice since we got here. It takes place in Invercargill, NZ, just south of here, and in the Great Salt Flats of Utah. If you haven’t seen it, rent it. It’s a good movie.
While we were warming up prior to playing, the owner of our motel drove into the parking lot, ran up to us in the practice area, and handed us our key. "We’re probably not going to be at the motel when you get back there, so we wanted to make sure you got the right key." They’re moving our stuff into another room today, since the one we’ve been staying in has been spoken for for tonight, and he was concerned we might not be able to get into our new room. Granted, the course is only about 3 miles from the motel, but you gotta admit, that was some service!
Turns out we’d entered the weekly tournament, so when we got back into the clubhouse, all 50 men and I, the lone woman, sat around and had refreshments until they tallied up the results. They singled me out as a visitor from the States and mentioned that I’d shot a 76. I guess they don’t have many women who play in their tournaments, though they all assured me that women are always welcome.
After having spent a couple of days in Arrowtown, making good friends of Des and Barry, and finding out more about this quaint little town, Joe and I have decided that this would be the town at the top of our list up to today that gets our nod for where we’d spend an entire winter if we had to choose just one place. They will not be building a single new house ever, because all the real estate designated for single-family residences has been built upon. The town is bounded on 3 sides by golf courses and on the 4th by a cliff. All the property past the 3 golf courses is reserved for farming into perpetuity. So this is the place to buy real estate, as there will be no more available ever in Arrowtown. All the houses are small and quaint, having been originally gold miners’ houses built about 100 years ago when there was not much timber for houses and most of the miners were single men who didn’t need much room. For most Americans it would be waaaay too small, but for us, who just need enough space on our next trip to unpack our meager belongings and somewhere to cook and sleep, it is perfect.
Day 40 – Jan. 11 – Arrowtown to Glenorchy
Instead of my usual granola and sliced banana, today’s breakfast was a hearty one of Eggs Benedict in one of Arrowtown’s cafes. We’re heading out to play golf at Jack’s Point, touted by Des and Barry as a must-play, and we won’t see food again for many hours. As usual, the course was deserted, and when we went into the pro shop to make arrangements to play, Ben, the young guy at the desk recognized me. He’d played in the tournament at Arrowtown yesterday and remembered my shooting a 76.
As we rolled up to the first tee, a plane came buzzing over one of the big mounds out over the fairway and flew about 100 feet over our heads, coasting to a stop on a grass runway right next to the fairway. High overhead we heard faraway voices and heard noises that sounded like flags flapping in the wind. We looked up to see 4 colorful parachutes with tiny stick figures, legs dangling out from beneath them, then watched until they glided to a perfect landing near the plane. Within 5 minutes the plane took off again with another load of people wanting to jump out of perfectly good airplanes.
For the whole time we played the course, we were entertained by the adventure sports machinery of Queenstown. Helicopters hovered and sailed overhead, then peeled off in the direction of Milford Sound. Airplanes flew in all directions, showing off the landscape to those with enough bucks to afford the aerial view. Boats of all sizes, shapes, and means of propulsion – propellors, jetskis, jetboats, steamships - criss-crossed the lake, pulling skiers and kids on inner tubes, and cruising the lake filled with sedate tourists wanting to enjoy the views from the water side.
When we came back to the clubhouse, Ben came out of the clubhouse to welcome us back and asked all about our games. He stood there talking with us for about 20 minutes, as if he had nothing else whatsoever in the world to do. Told us proudly that the club had plans to build hundreds of homes all over the beautiful fields of waving grass that are there now, making this one of the premier golf destinations in NZ. I’m glad we saw it before they ruin it.
I’ve got a bee in my bonnet to ride a horse while I’m here. That’s going to be one of my ‘adventure sports’, though hardly in the same league as hiking the Milford Track for 5 days or skydiving or landing on a glacier in a helicopter or bungy jumping. So we headed to the small village of Glenorchy and the Dart Stables, whose brochures proclaim "A horse riding experience you’ll remember for a lifetime’ and show portraits of some of their steeds. For example, Rashed, a purebred Arab (I hope I get this one for me!); or The Jazzman, a thoroughbred; or Drum Major, a pure Clydesdale (hope I don’t get this one).
Again, the drive along the edge of Lake Wakatipu to the town of Glenorchy defies description. It took us 3 hours to drive the 50 miles or so to reach it, because we stopped at every curve for pictures. Because the town is so small, and the guide books have scared us into believing there won’t be any accommodations, we were sure this would be the night we’d have to sleep in our tent. But our travel karma was with us once more and we found a room in the Glenorchy Hotel. Nothing fancy, but any port in a storm, Mother used to say.
After tossing our luggage in the room, I wanted to go see the horses. I’ve always been a horse lover, having grown up on a horse, and I just wanted to see them and pat them and maybe pick out the one I hoped they’d let me ride tomorrow. Well, we found the stable, and there was a pasture next to it, but there weren’t any horses in it. Maybe they truck them in in the morning.
As we had a lot of daylight left, we wandered through town, which took about 5 minutes as it’s only 2 blocks long, and strolled down to the old wharf on the lake. Another couple was also there, and we could hear they were speaking German. That was all we needed to strike up a conversation and learn they were from Innsbruck, Austria, and they work in a lodge on the side of the mountains as cooks. We spent about an hour with them, and then another couple, who spoke French and a bit of English but no German, joined us. Thus transpired one of the most delightful evenings, standing on the dock while the sun went down, speaking a mishmash of German, English, and French amongst 6 people who had only smatterings of one of the languages being spoken The French couple had been sailing around the world for 4 years, and, like some of the other people we met in Whangerai weeks ago, they’d headed for safety in Whangerai’s harbor for the winter to avoid the winter typhoons in the Pacific. They’ll be on land until April, when the danger is past and they can continue their round-the-world adventure..
Day 41 – Jan. 12 – Glenorchy
The horse trek was due to start at 9:30 am so we showed up at 9:00, hoping we could help saddle or brush the equines or something, but nary a soul was even around, including the four-legged kind. We wondered what we’d gotten ourselves into, but finally at 9:15 other dudes like us started showing up, then a horsey-looking lady unlocked the barn and the day began. ‘Sign this waiver, pay us, put on this helmet and these gumboots, then hop on the bus. The horses are waiting for us at the trailhead.’ That explains the absence of horses at the barn.
A fast, harrowing 15-minute ride up a curvy road put us in the middle of a field where the lucky horses of the day were tethered inside a rope corral. ‘You get Manuel and you get Spencer,’ the leader told Joe and me. We were shown to our mounts, who were wearing English saddles. I’m used to Western but have done some English, but an English saddle has always felt even more insecure than bareback to me. She led Spencer to a stump and I clambered aboard. After adjusting our stirrups and tightening the cinches, off we went, 6 dudes and 2 young women leading us. Two of the other dudes had never been on a horse before, were doing it to please their spouses.
I was happy because I was given a thoroughbred, usually a high-spirited animal. But Spencer fell in behind all the other horses, right behind Drum, a Clydesdale draft horse, the kind that pulled the Budweiser beer wagon in the tv commercials of yore. Spencer and Drum were mortal enemies, and whenever they got close to each other, which was very often, ears were laid back, teeth were bared, and whites of eyes were displayed. After 15 minutes my right knee began to hurt, so I took my feet out of the stirrups and let my legs dangle. But then I was subjected to a very unpleasant rocking motion of Spencer’s slow walk, which tossed me violently back and forth in the saddle. Whenever I put my feet back in the stirrups to get away from the back and forthing, my knee hurt and soon the straps from the stirrup began to rub my legs raw, even though I had on long pants.
‘Who wants to trot?’ yelled out our leader. Anything to get away from the dreaded jolting and knee pain. Wrong. It just multiplied all 3 kinds of pain I’d been going through. I was glad when she slowed back to a walk and I could go back to the slower pain. ‘Who wants to canter?’ That’s usually a nice rocking motion, so off I went with the other 3 who also wanted to speed up.
The cantering of this huge horse was not like any cantering I’ve ever experienced. He started off on the wrong lead, so I was jolted nearly out of the saddle every time his feet hit the ground. My helmet was bouncing around on my head and finally fell down so far it obscured my vision so I was flying blind. And the helmet made my glasses fog up, so I was doubly blind. Thank goodness my horse was just following the herd so I didn’t need to guide him or stop him when the cantering was over.
It ended abruptly. I pushed my helmet back on my head so I could see, and what I saw was Joe down on the ground, rolling around in the weeds, writing in pain, and moaning. When his horse stopped, his right foot came out of the stirrup and he went sailing. The leader hopped off her horse and was beside him asking him how he felt. ‘Just fine’, he said, but his moaning didn’t convince me. Soon, however, he stood up, limped over to his horse and got back on.
After another hour of jolting, we finally reached the barn. I vowed never to get back on a horse as long as I live. Strange thought coming from me, as I grew up on the back of Blaze, my beautiful palomino quarter horse, whom I rode bareback every day of my teenage years. I’ve always loved horses, and riding. But this was a most unpleasant experience, and I might have to admit I’m just too old and my bones aren’t designed any more for riding.
I tied up my horse, slid off, and found Joe standing, immobile, next to his horse, looking as if he was going to faint. I went over to him, put his arm over my shoulder and, using me as a crutch, he hobbled over to the car. That was the end of him. Interesting that of the 3 or 4 people working there, including the owner, only one came over to see what had happened. Even then, she didn’t seem very concerned, didn’t ask if we needed ice, or offer to help in any way. She told us that we should go to the hospital, that it’s free if it’s an accident, and make sure nothing is broken. Otherwise, everybody just left us alone to fend for ourselves.
We went back to the motel, where Joe hobbled to the room, again using me as his support, fell into bed, and didn’t move again for hours. I went out and grabbed something for him to eat, which he ate lying down, then he passed out, with help from some pain pills I brought with me, for the rest of the night.
Day 42 – Jan. 13 – Glenorchy to Te Anau
Joe woke me up at 5 am for more painkillers, and at 8 we got up for the day. He was feeling perkier than when he went to bed and didn’t want to go to the hospital, but I insisted. I wanted to know if anything was broken or badly out of alignment. By the time we got to the hospital in Queenstown, the painkiller had worn off and he was creaking around like a stiff, old man, leaning on my arm for support.
We had to pay $50 for the ‘doctor consulation’, (so much for the ‘free if it’s an accident’ theory) but the verdict was no broken bones, just bruising, take some painkillers, and you’ll be fine in a few days. I was relieved to hear that. I had visions of his having to spend time in the hospital, or our having to cut our vacation short and fly home for surgery on a broken hip, or some equally unpleasant option.
Armed with painkillers, and Joe sitting in the passenger seat for a change, we set off for the famed Milford Sound. This is the picture so much of the world thinks IS New Zealand. The cliffs dropping into the sea, full of waterfalls, and a lovely snow-capped mountain at the end of the fjord. After riding through scenery that was worthy of a photo at every turn, we reached the town of Te Anau, another Maori name, on the shores of the lake by the same name. We found a motel right on the water that has a beautiful yard with lots of blooming flowers and lots of grass, not the usual accommodation. Tossed our horsey clothes in the washing machine and sat down and enjoyed the view while our clothes got clean.
The drive over was one of those that defies description. I know I keep writing about how gorgeous the scenery is, but I’ve never been anywhere like this. If I look to the right, there is a 9,000-foot high mountain leaping right of the flat valley floor. Waterfalls begin nearly at the top and drop precipitously in a tiny white thread, leaving dark streaks down the whole drop to the valley floor, where they turn into a lovely stream of pure, clear water. By the time we cross it in the car, it will have slowed down, ducks will be floating on it and diving down to the bottom for the succulent algae they scoop up with their bills, reeds 6 feet high will be growing along its banks, in which birds will be hopping around.
Friday, January 9, 2009
– Queenstown from the gondola overlook
– Queenstown from the gondola overlook. Queenstown is not a huge town, and it is situated in the most spectacular scenery .....
Looking out over Wanaka
Looking out over Wanaka and the lake by the same name, not far from Queenstown
Jan 8 and 9
Day 37 – Jan. 8 – Wanaka to Arrowtown
Usually I read the guidebook the night before, or at least by the next morning, so that we know what we’re going to be doing each day. But I hadn’t done my homework for today, and we were just going to head for Queenstown, even though we haven’t really done much here in Wanaka. I was just enjoying the feel of this town, its energy, the beauty of the surrounding hills, and didn’t want to stick my nose in a book. But after breakfast, as we prepared to hit the road, something made me hesitate. I simply wanted to spend more time here. So I reached for my Bible, the "Rough Guide", and read about the area surrounding Wanaka. Turns out there’s a long valley called the Matukituki Valley that people use to get right up to the base of the huge mountains we can see from town. There’s a ski area up there, and a lot of hikes begin up at the end of the road.
That’s all I needed to suggest we take a drive up it. So off we went, and soon we were in one of the most spectacular valleys I’ve ever seen in my life, in any country I’ve ever been in. I was whipping my head right and left as the views out both sides of the car tried to outdo each other. Every mile or so I was jumping out of the car snapping pictures. There were about 3 houses in the 20 or so miles we traveled. Turns out some guy named John Roy bought up the entire valley about 1850 (I have to wonder if that means he stole it from the Maoris, since who’d owned any land in NZ before 1850?), and his family has been raising cattle and sheep in the valley ever since. One of the 2 houses looked like a shepherd might live there (with his favorite sheep?). Another was a simple ranch-style house on a bluff overlooking the river, surrounded by trees, nothing fancy. Maybe the foreman’s house?
The third obviously belonged to the guy raking in the bucks from the sale of all those cows and lambie-pies. It was a Victorian-looking 2-story gray and white farmhouse, but it looked like it belonged in one of London’s poshest neighborhoods. And the grounds were planted in every known variety of beautiful flower and tree in NZ. I’m sure it required 2 full-time gardeners to keep it looking so lovely. Parked alongside the immaculate barns and outbuildings were rows of tractors and other farm equipment. And in 2 hangars were 2 helicopters – his and hers, we expect. After all, when you need a cup of milk for your pancakes in the morning, you need it right now, and it takes an hour to get to town in a car. Works for me!
We drove up the valley until we came to a place where the creek ran over the road. A car ahead of us went through the water and it came up high enough to go over his back bumper. I thought he was going to stall out in the middle of it but he kept going. Because we’re in a rental car, we decided not to chance it and turned around. On the way back to town, we saw a sign for a hike of about an hour and a half, so we put on our packs and off we went. Climbed up and up and up until we were on the top of a bluff and could see most of Lake Wanaka and the town. That was our only exercise for the day.
I’ve decided that of all the places we’ve seen on both the islands, Wanaka gets my nod for the place I could live, or at least spend an entire Seattle winter/NZ summer. It has fine weather, warm days, cool nights. It has enough restaurants that you wouldn’t have to eat Thai food every night when you went out for dinner. The golf course is good enough to play often without tiring of it. There are lots of people coming in to keep it interesting, rather than stagnant. It’s touisty, but not so much so that it would drive us crazy. It’s localized to right in the center of town, so you can easily get away from the hordes.
After our hike, we drove back into Wanaka for one last lunch, then headed out over Cardrona Pass road, an alternate way to get to Queenstown, which turned out to be yet another spectacularly beautiful stretch of country.
We’ve heard so much about Queenstown from everybody who’s ever been there that we know we HAVE to go there, but we’re also unsure we want to actually stay in the town. From all I’ve read about it, it’s the center of the universe for adrenaline junkies. I have no beef with that. After all, I’ve been one of the hard-core adrenaline junkies for most of my life. But I’m getting more sedate in my second wind and bungy jumping, jetboating, canyon swinging, river surfing, whitewater sledging, canyoning, mountain climbing, mountain biking, and four-wheeling don’t appeal to me much any more. And I like to keep my feet firmly on terra firma to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong, so I pass on sky diving, paragliding, hanggliding, scenic flights and ballooning. I’ve had enough whitewater raft trips to last me a lifetime, so that pretty much leaves only one Queenstown activity that we’re both interested in: riding up to a mountain perch in a gondola. Whooppee!
We came to signs for Arrowtown before Queenstown and just for fun detoured off the main road and went into the town. We’d read that it was expensive and getting to be upscale and haute couture and there probably wouldn’t be any rooms. But there were plenty of rooms, just as everywhere we’ve been so far, and we found a lovely ‘old world charm’ motel for $120NZ/$70US. It has a bedroom, bathroom, and huge living room/kitchen. It’s like a separate cottage, and has beautiful grounds with a huge patch of lavender that is full of happy bees right outside the front window. The door key is one of those old-fashioned things like they used in hotels in the 19th century. There were about 4 different shapes ever made, and they’re the easiest locks in the world to pick, so we hope our stuff is still in our room when we get back.
Since we’re just a block from the town center, which is only one block long, we walked down there and had dinner at a French restaurant. Sat outside and watched everybody walking by, spoke to most of them, and spoke German with our waitress and French with the owner. A sparrow kept hounding us for crumbs, so we obliged him by tossing him some crust from the French bread. He obliged us by perching in a tree branch right over Joe’s head and dropping a bomb that missed his plate by an inch, but spattered his arm.
Across the street from us is a local park where we stopped and watched the local teenagers show off their skateboarding tricks for us. We commented that in the US they’d probably be decked out in helmets, knee, elbow and hand pads, but not here.
In another park a crowd had gathered. A bunch of Indians were filming a Bollywood production, and guys were shouldering big cameras, others were yelling instructions to a guy who was standing up on a knoll about 40 yards away. When a woman, probably the director, finally yelled something to him, his face transformed from a scowl into a huge smile, he launched himself off the knoll, ran with arms pinwheeling down to a picnic table, jumped onto the seat, then onto the top of it, then down onto the ground, then came to a stop (by now the cameras had stopped), and his smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come and he went off to the side and stood scowling again. In 10 minutes they did it all over again, then again. That’s one movie I never want to see.
It stays light until nearly 10 pm so by the time it was dark, it was time for bed.
Day 38 – Jan. 9 –Arrowtown
We woke up to rain pattering on the metal roof, so Joe went back to sleep while I asked if we could stay another night here. Sure. When the rain finally cleared up, we headed for Queenstown to just see what all the hoopla is about, this town that is the favorite of so many visitors to NZ. It is in a stupendously beautiful setting, nestled along the edge of a lake that is bluer than the sky and as clear as Florida’s springs. High mountains spring fully grown right from the lake’s edge and reach to the heavens. You couldn’t pick a lovelier place to plunk down a town.
Apparently many other people think so, as there are lots of homes marching up the hillsides. On the streets are motels, hotels, B & B’s, backpacker lodges, stretching for many blocks. In the town center, about 3 blocks long, are row upon row of booking offices for all the thrill sports, plus all the attendant stores in which you can buy all the gear you’ll need to do them properly and look good while doing it. Buses with the names of the adrenaline choices were picking up people headed for the ‘adventures of a lifetime’and disgorging them back at their cars.
We headed to the Queenstown golf course for lunch. Turns out they close the café when it looks like the rain is going to keep people home, so no lunch there. We hung around for a bit to see what the weather was going to do. A couple from Aberdeen, Scotland, were also just hanging out, so we talked for a while, and we ended up inviting them to stay with us if they’re ever in Seattle, which they indicated they planned to visit someday.
After lunch in town, we wanted to get a bird’s-eye view of Queenstown from on high, so we queued up with about a thousand other people and bought a ride on the gondola. While we were up there, we indulged in a token ‘adventure activity’ and hopped on one of those luge thingies and went careening wildly down the run with all the teeny-boppers.
That wore us out so we headed out to the Arrowtown golf course to check it out, and found out they’re having a tournament tomorrow in which we can play. Then we headed back to Arrowtown, and watched old people lawn bowling, kids tossing balls to one another in the park, couples strolling hand-in-hand along the creek, and kids catching crayfish in the creek. The stores, except for the restaurants, all close by 6 pm.
Usually I read the guidebook the night before, or at least by the next morning, so that we know what we’re going to be doing each day. But I hadn’t done my homework for today, and we were just going to head for Queenstown, even though we haven’t really done much here in Wanaka. I was just enjoying the feel of this town, its energy, the beauty of the surrounding hills, and didn’t want to stick my nose in a book. But after breakfast, as we prepared to hit the road, something made me hesitate. I simply wanted to spend more time here. So I reached for my Bible, the "Rough Guide", and read about the area surrounding Wanaka. Turns out there’s a long valley called the Matukituki Valley that people use to get right up to the base of the huge mountains we can see from town. There’s a ski area up there, and a lot of hikes begin up at the end of the road.
That’s all I needed to suggest we take a drive up it. So off we went, and soon we were in one of the most spectacular valleys I’ve ever seen in my life, in any country I’ve ever been in. I was whipping my head right and left as the views out both sides of the car tried to outdo each other. Every mile or so I was jumping out of the car snapping pictures. There were about 3 houses in the 20 or so miles we traveled. Turns out some guy named John Roy bought up the entire valley about 1850 (I have to wonder if that means he stole it from the Maoris, since who’d owned any land in NZ before 1850?), and his family has been raising cattle and sheep in the valley ever since. One of the 2 houses looked like a shepherd might live there (with his favorite sheep?). Another was a simple ranch-style house on a bluff overlooking the river, surrounded by trees, nothing fancy. Maybe the foreman’s house?
The third obviously belonged to the guy raking in the bucks from the sale of all those cows and lambie-pies. It was a Victorian-looking 2-story gray and white farmhouse, but it looked like it belonged in one of London’s poshest neighborhoods. And the grounds were planted in every known variety of beautiful flower and tree in NZ. I’m sure it required 2 full-time gardeners to keep it looking so lovely. Parked alongside the immaculate barns and outbuildings were rows of tractors and other farm equipment. And in 2 hangars were 2 helicopters – his and hers, we expect. After all, when you need a cup of milk for your pancakes in the morning, you need it right now, and it takes an hour to get to town in a car. Works for me!
We drove up the valley until we came to a place where the creek ran over the road. A car ahead of us went through the water and it came up high enough to go over his back bumper. I thought he was going to stall out in the middle of it but he kept going. Because we’re in a rental car, we decided not to chance it and turned around. On the way back to town, we saw a sign for a hike of about an hour and a half, so we put on our packs and off we went. Climbed up and up and up until we were on the top of a bluff and could see most of Lake Wanaka and the town. That was our only exercise for the day.
I’ve decided that of all the places we’ve seen on both the islands, Wanaka gets my nod for the place I could live, or at least spend an entire Seattle winter/NZ summer. It has fine weather, warm days, cool nights. It has enough restaurants that you wouldn’t have to eat Thai food every night when you went out for dinner. The golf course is good enough to play often without tiring of it. There are lots of people coming in to keep it interesting, rather than stagnant. It’s touisty, but not so much so that it would drive us crazy. It’s localized to right in the center of town, so you can easily get away from the hordes.
After our hike, we drove back into Wanaka for one last lunch, then headed out over Cardrona Pass road, an alternate way to get to Queenstown, which turned out to be yet another spectacularly beautiful stretch of country.
We’ve heard so much about Queenstown from everybody who’s ever been there that we know we HAVE to go there, but we’re also unsure we want to actually stay in the town. From all I’ve read about it, it’s the center of the universe for adrenaline junkies. I have no beef with that. After all, I’ve been one of the hard-core adrenaline junkies for most of my life. But I’m getting more sedate in my second wind and bungy jumping, jetboating, canyon swinging, river surfing, whitewater sledging, canyoning, mountain climbing, mountain biking, and four-wheeling don’t appeal to me much any more. And I like to keep my feet firmly on terra firma to keep the contents of my stomach where they belong, so I pass on sky diving, paragliding, hanggliding, scenic flights and ballooning. I’ve had enough whitewater raft trips to last me a lifetime, so that pretty much leaves only one Queenstown activity that we’re both interested in: riding up to a mountain perch in a gondola. Whooppee!
We came to signs for Arrowtown before Queenstown and just for fun detoured off the main road and went into the town. We’d read that it was expensive and getting to be upscale and haute couture and there probably wouldn’t be any rooms. But there were plenty of rooms, just as everywhere we’ve been so far, and we found a lovely ‘old world charm’ motel for $120NZ/$70US. It has a bedroom, bathroom, and huge living room/kitchen. It’s like a separate cottage, and has beautiful grounds with a huge patch of lavender that is full of happy bees right outside the front window. The door key is one of those old-fashioned things like they used in hotels in the 19th century. There were about 4 different shapes ever made, and they’re the easiest locks in the world to pick, so we hope our stuff is still in our room when we get back.
Since we’re just a block from the town center, which is only one block long, we walked down there and had dinner at a French restaurant. Sat outside and watched everybody walking by, spoke to most of them, and spoke German with our waitress and French with the owner. A sparrow kept hounding us for crumbs, so we obliged him by tossing him some crust from the French bread. He obliged us by perching in a tree branch right over Joe’s head and dropping a bomb that missed his plate by an inch, but spattered his arm.
Across the street from us is a local park where we stopped and watched the local teenagers show off their skateboarding tricks for us. We commented that in the US they’d probably be decked out in helmets, knee, elbow and hand pads, but not here.
In another park a crowd had gathered. A bunch of Indians were filming a Bollywood production, and guys were shouldering big cameras, others were yelling instructions to a guy who was standing up on a knoll about 40 yards away. When a woman, probably the director, finally yelled something to him, his face transformed from a scowl into a huge smile, he launched himself off the knoll, ran with arms pinwheeling down to a picnic table, jumped onto the seat, then onto the top of it, then down onto the ground, then came to a stop (by now the cameras had stopped), and his smile disappeared as suddenly as it had come and he went off to the side and stood scowling again. In 10 minutes they did it all over again, then again. That’s one movie I never want to see.
It stays light until nearly 10 pm so by the time it was dark, it was time for bed.
Day 38 – Jan. 9 –Arrowtown
We woke up to rain pattering on the metal roof, so Joe went back to sleep while I asked if we could stay another night here. Sure. When the rain finally cleared up, we headed for Queenstown to just see what all the hoopla is about, this town that is the favorite of so many visitors to NZ. It is in a stupendously beautiful setting, nestled along the edge of a lake that is bluer than the sky and as clear as Florida’s springs. High mountains spring fully grown right from the lake’s edge and reach to the heavens. You couldn’t pick a lovelier place to plunk down a town.
Apparently many other people think so, as there are lots of homes marching up the hillsides. On the streets are motels, hotels, B & B’s, backpacker lodges, stretching for many blocks. In the town center, about 3 blocks long, are row upon row of booking offices for all the thrill sports, plus all the attendant stores in which you can buy all the gear you’ll need to do them properly and look good while doing it. Buses with the names of the adrenaline choices were picking up people headed for the ‘adventures of a lifetime’and disgorging them back at their cars.
We headed to the Queenstown golf course for lunch. Turns out they close the café when it looks like the rain is going to keep people home, so no lunch there. We hung around for a bit to see what the weather was going to do. A couple from Aberdeen, Scotland, were also just hanging out, so we talked for a while, and we ended up inviting them to stay with us if they’re ever in Seattle, which they indicated they planned to visit someday.
After lunch in town, we wanted to get a bird’s-eye view of Queenstown from on high, so we queued up with about a thousand other people and bought a ride on the gondola. While we were up there, we indulged in a token ‘adventure activity’ and hopped on one of those luge thingies and went careening wildly down the run with all the teeny-boppers.
That wore us out so we headed out to the Arrowtown golf course to check it out, and found out they’re having a tournament tomorrow in which we can play. Then we headed back to Arrowtown, and watched old people lawn bowling, kids tossing balls to one another in the park, couples strolling hand-in-hand along the creek, and kids catching crayfish in the creek. The stores, except for the restaurants, all close by 6 pm.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Joe Post - Jan 9
Thu, Jan 8
Spent a few days in Wanaka, which is the gateway to the Mt Aspiring park. It has a feeling like Aspen or Interlachen, where there are a bunch of people getting ready to do serious climbing.
We havent actually seen Mt Aspiring or Mt Cook yet, because of the cloud cover , even tho it’s a nice day at all but the topmost heights. The scenery is just breathtaking. We’ll try to post a picture to give you an idea. This country is one delight after another, we stop so often to take pictures we can’t drive more than about 60 miles in a day.
I’m astonished that accomodations are so available. It’s supposed to be high season now, and all the guide books say to book in advance this time of year, but we have had no trouble finding accomodation within 5 minutes of saying, "this is a nice place, lets look for something here." I think that a lot of it is due to the sagging worldwide economy, and people just aren’t traveling.
But there are still a lot of tourists at the big tourist drawing places. With the majority of them being from England. A lot of Aussies, and a few from Germany. Coming from England seems like a big deal to me. It’s 12 time zones away….. 24 hours by plane. But here they are.
We should be able to put up more pictures tonight.
Spent a few days in Wanaka, which is the gateway to the Mt Aspiring park. It has a feeling like Aspen or Interlachen, where there are a bunch of people getting ready to do serious climbing.
We havent actually seen Mt Aspiring or Mt Cook yet, because of the cloud cover , even tho it’s a nice day at all but the topmost heights. The scenery is just breathtaking. We’ll try to post a picture to give you an idea. This country is one delight after another, we stop so often to take pictures we can’t drive more than about 60 miles in a day.
I’m astonished that accomodations are so available. It’s supposed to be high season now, and all the guide books say to book in advance this time of year, but we have had no trouble finding accomodation within 5 minutes of saying, "this is a nice place, lets look for something here." I think that a lot of it is due to the sagging worldwide economy, and people just aren’t traveling.
But there are still a lot of tourists at the big tourist drawing places. With the majority of them being from England. A lot of Aussies, and a few from Germany. Coming from England seems like a big deal to me. It’s 12 time zones away….. 24 hours by plane. But here they are.
We should be able to put up more pictures tonight.
January 5-7 from Anne
Day 34 – Jan. 5 – Franz Josef Glacier to Haarst
There must not be much theft here, for the doors on some of the motels we’ve stayed in have the kind of locks that you just push in a button that’s on the knob, the kind you can open with a credit card. Most of the homes have no central heat, so when it gets cold, they simply put on more clothes. Some of the rooms have little heaters that sit on the floor, so they can heat individual rooms.
Last night we had ‘Johnny Cash BBQ’d ribs’ so when we got up this morning we weren’t very hungry. I popped a couple of apricots into my mouth and off we went up the trail to the Franz Josef glacier. When I saw it last night driving in, I’d thought it was laughably small. Today we walked all the way up to it and I have a lot more insight into this glacier that a country is built around. It is in a rain forest. It rains on it nearly every day. How in the world can a glacier continue to exist when it’s rained on every day of the summer? But there it is.
The walk is mostly flat, through the detritus of 15,000 years of the glacier’s melting and dropping its rocks and boulders and pebbles as it withdrew. A river flows out from under the bottom of the glacier, carrying the lifeblood of the glacier out to the sea. People of all sizes, shapes, and ages, dressed in blue look-alike parkas and wearing crampons, were strung out on the face of the glacier and perched upon each pinnacle and crag of its surface as far as we could see. And more were coming up the trail. This is a VERY popular attraction.
When we got back to the trailhead, we headed south along the west coast towards Haast. There are almost no towns, houses, or people for miles and miles. But the coast is among the most scenic we’ve seen yet. Around every bend was a jaw-dropping scene of pounding surf against jagged rocks or rolling up onto curving white sandy beaches. At one stop we could see a couple of seals cavorting in the surf, just black dots from our vantage points. There are supposedly penguins along here but we didn’t want to hike the 3 or so miles to see them, after our hike this morning.
We are making about 85 miles a day on average. That sounds embarassingly miniscule, but there is so much to see along the way, we stop so often for photos, and the roads are so curvy, we can’t make very good time. Today we made it to Haast, a wide spot in the road, but the last town before we leave the coast and head inland, bound for Queenstown, and there are hardly any towns along the way. We’re supposed to be able to see Mt. Cook from this neck of the woods, but the clouds have been so low all day, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of it.
They had a good café hooked into the motel, and I had my first venison. I thought it was delicious but Joe decided Bambi was safe from him forever. We splurged and ordered dessert. After sitting and waiting for about a half-hour, Joe went to the room and got the Scrabble game to give us something to do whilst we waited. Finally, after almost a whole game, the waitress came over to us and told us the chef had lost our order and handed us a huge helping of apple crumble, probably double in size as a guilt gift.
Day 35 – Jan. 6 – Haast to Wanaka
Woke up to the sounds of POURING rain. Guess Mt. Cook won’t stick its head out for us today either. The road we took from Haast goes over a pass, and was only built in 1965. Until 40 years ago, nobody could see the gorgeous scenery we saw today unless they rode a donkey or walked. It is some of the most spectacular sights of braided rivers with high, rugged mountains coming right down to the valley floor, and of clear streams falling hundreds of feet down the sides of mountains before they linked up with the river.
After 3 hours of driving, we reached the town of Wanaka, situated on one of the most picturesque lake imaginable. The mountains come right down to the lake’s edge in places, and in other places flat river deltas reach out into the lake, with cows and sheep grazing in pastures. The town is jammed with merry-makers of all ages roaming the streets, ice cream cones in hand, in bathing suits, on bicycles, pushing strollers, everywhere. Felt like Coney Island must. Never been there.
Of all the places we’ve been, this town is the one where I think I could stay put for months. Much of the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy was filmed in this area. It looks a lot like the Highlands of Scotland with its barren, bleak hills. But the beauty is stupendous. It has any kind of restaurant you might want. A golf course that looks lovely from the street, has views out over the lake and to the mountains, and costs only $30 US to play.
It’s VERY windy, with whitecaps on the lake and sailboats zinging across the waves at top speed. Clouds are low on the tops of the mountains around us, keeping us from seeing the whole beauty of the area. If it’s this windy tomorrow, it might keep us from playing golf, as we hope to do.
Day 36 – Jan. 7 – Wanaka
Woke up to clear skies and a gentle breeze, good golf weather. Headed for the Wanaka Golf Course at 10 am and got a game with another couple, Eve and Richard Janes, residents of Wellington but who have a house here, too. As are all the people we’ve met and played golf with, they are delightful. Turns out they also know well the lady with whom we played golf at Royal Wellington, since they both live in the Hutt Valley of north W’ton and both play golf. Another small world coincidence.
When we play golf, it usually means an extra day of being in a town. It is a nice way to break up the constant traveling and endless sightseeing, not to mention packing and unpacking yet again. We don’t have to make a decision as to what sights to see, just which course to play, which is usually no choice at all. We are debating as to whether or not to play the Tarras course nearby. It’s only 9 holes, and ‘shares fairways with grazing sheep and you have to hop the fence to have a putt. The locals love it.’ The only reason in the world I’d ever want to play it is to tell people we’d played it so we could laugh about it.
Did laundry. Not a very exciting day.
There must not be much theft here, for the doors on some of the motels we’ve stayed in have the kind of locks that you just push in a button that’s on the knob, the kind you can open with a credit card. Most of the homes have no central heat, so when it gets cold, they simply put on more clothes. Some of the rooms have little heaters that sit on the floor, so they can heat individual rooms.
Last night we had ‘Johnny Cash BBQ’d ribs’ so when we got up this morning we weren’t very hungry. I popped a couple of apricots into my mouth and off we went up the trail to the Franz Josef glacier. When I saw it last night driving in, I’d thought it was laughably small. Today we walked all the way up to it and I have a lot more insight into this glacier that a country is built around. It is in a rain forest. It rains on it nearly every day. How in the world can a glacier continue to exist when it’s rained on every day of the summer? But there it is.
The walk is mostly flat, through the detritus of 15,000 years of the glacier’s melting and dropping its rocks and boulders and pebbles as it withdrew. A river flows out from under the bottom of the glacier, carrying the lifeblood of the glacier out to the sea. People of all sizes, shapes, and ages, dressed in blue look-alike parkas and wearing crampons, were strung out on the face of the glacier and perched upon each pinnacle and crag of its surface as far as we could see. And more were coming up the trail. This is a VERY popular attraction.
When we got back to the trailhead, we headed south along the west coast towards Haast. There are almost no towns, houses, or people for miles and miles. But the coast is among the most scenic we’ve seen yet. Around every bend was a jaw-dropping scene of pounding surf against jagged rocks or rolling up onto curving white sandy beaches. At one stop we could see a couple of seals cavorting in the surf, just black dots from our vantage points. There are supposedly penguins along here but we didn’t want to hike the 3 or so miles to see them, after our hike this morning.
We are making about 85 miles a day on average. That sounds embarassingly miniscule, but there is so much to see along the way, we stop so often for photos, and the roads are so curvy, we can’t make very good time. Today we made it to Haast, a wide spot in the road, but the last town before we leave the coast and head inland, bound for Queenstown, and there are hardly any towns along the way. We’re supposed to be able to see Mt. Cook from this neck of the woods, but the clouds have been so low all day, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of it.
They had a good café hooked into the motel, and I had my first venison. I thought it was delicious but Joe decided Bambi was safe from him forever. We splurged and ordered dessert. After sitting and waiting for about a half-hour, Joe went to the room and got the Scrabble game to give us something to do whilst we waited. Finally, after almost a whole game, the waitress came over to us and told us the chef had lost our order and handed us a huge helping of apple crumble, probably double in size as a guilt gift.
Day 35 – Jan. 6 – Haast to Wanaka
Woke up to the sounds of POURING rain. Guess Mt. Cook won’t stick its head out for us today either. The road we took from Haast goes over a pass, and was only built in 1965. Until 40 years ago, nobody could see the gorgeous scenery we saw today unless they rode a donkey or walked. It is some of the most spectacular sights of braided rivers with high, rugged mountains coming right down to the valley floor, and of clear streams falling hundreds of feet down the sides of mountains before they linked up with the river.
After 3 hours of driving, we reached the town of Wanaka, situated on one of the most picturesque lake imaginable. The mountains come right down to the lake’s edge in places, and in other places flat river deltas reach out into the lake, with cows and sheep grazing in pastures. The town is jammed with merry-makers of all ages roaming the streets, ice cream cones in hand, in bathing suits, on bicycles, pushing strollers, everywhere. Felt like Coney Island must. Never been there.
Of all the places we’ve been, this town is the one where I think I could stay put for months. Much of the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy was filmed in this area. It looks a lot like the Highlands of Scotland with its barren, bleak hills. But the beauty is stupendous. It has any kind of restaurant you might want. A golf course that looks lovely from the street, has views out over the lake and to the mountains, and costs only $30 US to play.
It’s VERY windy, with whitecaps on the lake and sailboats zinging across the waves at top speed. Clouds are low on the tops of the mountains around us, keeping us from seeing the whole beauty of the area. If it’s this windy tomorrow, it might keep us from playing golf, as we hope to do.
Day 36 – Jan. 7 – Wanaka
Woke up to clear skies and a gentle breeze, good golf weather. Headed for the Wanaka Golf Course at 10 am and got a game with another couple, Eve and Richard Janes, residents of Wellington but who have a house here, too. As are all the people we’ve met and played golf with, they are delightful. Turns out they also know well the lady with whom we played golf at Royal Wellington, since they both live in the Hutt Valley of north W’ton and both play golf. Another small world coincidence.
When we play golf, it usually means an extra day of being in a town. It is a nice way to break up the constant traveling and endless sightseeing, not to mention packing and unpacking yet again. We don’t have to make a decision as to what sights to see, just which course to play, which is usually no choice at all. We are debating as to whether or not to play the Tarras course nearby. It’s only 9 holes, and ‘shares fairways with grazing sheep and you have to hop the fence to have a putt. The locals love it.’ The only reason in the world I’d ever want to play it is to tell people we’d played it so we could laugh about it.
Did laundry. Not a very exciting day.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Day 27 – Dec. 29 – North Island (Wellington) to South Island (Picton) to Nelson
We sadly left the lovely cottage where we’d been staying for the past couple of days and headed out for Wellington proper to catch the ferry for the South Island. We’ve now seen everything on the North Island and it’s taken exactly one month. Everyone says to give the North Island one month and the South 2 months, so we’ll see if it works out that way.
Since we got to the ferry way early, we drove into downtown Wellington and ate some lunch, bought some books, then headed back to the ferry. The ferry lines were totally full, and people were everywhere, in all states of dress and undress, mainly in shorts or bathing suits or other warm-weather attire. It is very warm, and people are tossing sticks for their dogs into the bay for them to retrieve, people are sitting on the rocks reading books, eating sack lunches, tossing frisbees, and whatever they can think of to relieve the boredom of waiting for the ferry.
When it arrives, the first thing to drive off of it is a TRAIN!! An entire train. Then huge double semi trucks. It’s amazing how much weight these huge ocean-going ferries can carry without sinking.
I was worried about getting seasick, but the seas were calm, there was a very gentle breeze blowing, the sky was free of clouds, and it couldn’t have been better conditions for seasick-prone me. As soon as we pulled out of the harbor and got into open water, we saw the South Island. It’s not that far away, but it takes 3 hours.. The trip flew by and soon we were driving off the ferry into Picton, then on to Nelson, our destination for the night.
We’re headed for the Abel Tasman National Park, the impetus for our trip in the first place. About a year ago, I watched a documentary on tv about the Abel Tasman Park, was so smitten by the crystal clear blue-green water that I vowed to visit it before I died. And here we are almost there, long before I died (I hope, anyway).
At 9 pm, late for us, we got a room in a B&B in Nelson called ‘Mike’s B&B’, small but quiet, and adequate.
Day 28 –Dec. 30 – Nelson to Motueka
In Nelson we learned how the hiking works in the park. Because there are only paths, no roads, in the park, you can only walk or take boats around its coastline. There is one long trail, about 30 miles long, I suppose, from the south entrance to the north one, and you can break it into several parts and do one or more parts of it, in as many days as you’d like. Since we didn’t want to spend the night, and we didn’t want to hike 30 miles in one day, and we wanted to see the prettiest part of the park, we opted for taking a water taxi to a point where we could walk about 4 hours, then get picked up again and brought back to the car.
After making our boat reservation, we headed off to find a place to stay for the next 2 nights. We drove up the road toward the park and in Motueka found a B&B called Copper Beech. It was a private home with an art gallery in a separate building, situated on about 2 acres of beautifully landscaped grounds. It was more than we wanted to pay, but it was so gorgeous and the people so nice that we sprung for it anyway. Truth is, it wasn’t even as much as an average US motel, but we’ve gotten spoiled by paying a lot less than US prices, so we grumbled a bit before paying.
Carol and John Gatenby, the owners, couldn’t have been nicer and more congenial to us. We had the run of the place, and poked our noses in John’s gallery, the chicken coop (he calls his chickens ‘chooks’), the pigeon roost, walked all around the grounds (the grass is the same as greens in the US, and as meticulously manicured), washed our clothes (rather, Carol did, and even hung them on the line to air-dry!), and went off to walk around downtown Motueka. Dinner was Kentucky Fried Chicken eaten on our own private patio.
Day 29 –Dec. 31 - Motueka/Abel Tasman National Park
We had to catch the 9 am water taxi, so Carol, bless her pea-pickin’ heart, got up at some ungodly early hour of the night to make us one of the most incredible breakfasts we’ve ever had – anywhere! She’d set up a lovely table for us outside on the patio. First course (and the only one, we thought) was an entire plate of fruit – sliced kiwi, sliced bananas, grapes cut in half and laid out face down in rows, orange slices; alongside were bowls of yogurt and a huge container of her home-made muesli. We piled it on, eating all of it, ready now to tackle the long day ahead.
But that was only the beginning. After we started to get up, completely sated, she then brought out the second course – baked tomatoes topped with some delicious and mysterious concoction made of cheese, carmelized onions and several other things, plus a potato quiche. We looked at each other in disbelief, both wondering where in the world we were going to put these gourmet delights. Somehow we crammed them in, thinking we wouldn’t need to eat again until dinnertime. As we finished this course, out she came from the house bearing yet one more course – a couple of small mincemeat pies, with a dash of powdered sugar on them (to be sure Joe would eat ‘em!). When we got on the water taxi, we sat on opposite sides so we wouldn’t make the boat unbalanced, after all we’d both eaten!
Again I was concerned about getting seasick on the water taxi ride. But the day started out calm and clear, and the ride was perfect. The boat driver took us past some rocks where a bunch of seals and their pups were bouncing around, sunning themselves, chasing each other, or sliding into the water. The water is as clear as the air and of a lovely blue-green color, reminiscent of the Bahamas and its gorgeous snorkeling waters. They took us to a crescent beach of snow-white sand and we waded ashore, shoes in hand. Then we took off for the hike back towards the beginning of the park.
The trail is along the beach for a ways, then snakes inland through dense forests of lush NZ tropical ferns and trees. Nowhere is it scary or steep or bad footing, such a contrast with the Tongariro Crossing! Four hours and many stops for photo ops later, we reached the beach where the water taxi was to pick us up. We were nearly 2 hours early for our pick-up, and there was another water taxi from the same company, so we hitched a ride back with them to our car. This time the seas were very rough, it was raining intermittently and very windy, and I put my anti-seasick bands on my wrists just in case. Made it back in fine fettle, though wet and bedraggled, much to my relief.
When we got back to Carol and John’s, we found Carol sitting on a chair with a stunned wild bird in her hand. Its beak was parted, its eyes closed, and it was breathing rapidly. ‘It flew into the window and knocked itself cuckoo. I’m holding it until it feels good enough to fly again. If you leave it lying on its side on the ground, it might die.’ She then went into the house to answer the phone and handed it to me to nurse back to health. I sat there for about 15 minutes, stroking its back until it finally closed its beak, opened its eyes and began moving its head around. Suddenly it launched itself into the air, shat profusely (missing me by inches!), and flew into the nearby bushes, apparently healed.
Our New Year’s Eve was celebrated with a dinner of fish ‘n chips, wrapped in no-kidding-newspaper, eaten on our private patio again, and to bed by 10. Barely woke up for some half-hearted fireworks in town.
Day 30 – Jan. 1 –Motueka to Westport
John and Joe spent an hour or so planning how we should maneuver around the South Island. It’s not as easy as the North Island, as there is a mountain range down the middle of the island, and we wanted to go across it, as well as see everything on the east and west coasts. Once they had that done, we gave big hugs all around, exchanged e-mail addresses, hoping to be life-long Christmas card pen pals, and headed out, destination the west coast of the island. The route is along the Buller River, through a long, narrow canyon, and the road is twisty and curvy for hours. By the time we finally got out of the canyon, I was ready to get out of the car for good. My queasy stomach had had enough of that road and was ready for my feet to be planted on terra firma. We were in Westport, pretty much a nothing town, and that suited me fine.
We are now on the west coast, much different from the east coast. The storms all hit NZ from the west, so it gets a lot of rain and wind, resulting in the coastline being pounded by the waves more ferociously. The coast is therefore straighter, because the sea is reclaiming the land, eroding it and re-depositing it on the beaches. Any trees growing along the coast eventually end up falling into the sea and getting pounded to bits by the waves, then getting thrown up onto the beaches, where their trunks and branches, sanded smoother by each wave, litter the beaches with their carcasses. Driftwood is everywhere, often erected into creative sculptures by enterprising beachcombers. We walked along Westport’s gray sand beaches for an hour or so in a strong wind before grabbing yet another fish ‘n chips dinner. I’m really getting tired of fried food. They serve ‘chips’ (French fries) with EVERYTHING!
Day 31 –Jan. 2 - Westport
We’re ready for more golf, so we headed out to the Westport GC, billed as a links-type course, with 40 members. Ten of them showed up for their weekly competition, 3 ladies, 7 men, and they invited us to play along with them. We tossed our $20 NZ ($12 US) each into the ‘honesty box’, added another $3.50 each for the Stableford competition, and joined Bob, the club’s bartender, and a lady named Jo. It was a very windy day, and it rained off and on the entire round. But it was warm enough for shirtsleeves, and the wind dried our clothes almost entirely between rainshowers. When we finished, Bob unlocked the clubhouse (which had been locked all day while we played), all 12 of us went into the one room clubhouse, Bob went behind the bar and got everyone what they wanted to drink, then joined us for a rousing good time. Somebody tallied up the scores, handed out the winnings to the winners, then announced that I had set a new ladies’ course record with my 74!! ‘We day-ohnt geet min-aye lay-oh hindikeppers he-eh’, they told us. Guess not, if a 74 is their best ever.
At 10 o’clock this morning this area was hit by an earthquake of magnitude 4.0. We didn’t feel it, so we must have been in the car, but the people we played with all felt it. They said they have them all the time so it’s no big deal to them. One thing we’re learning is that NZ is one of the most volcanically active places on earth. It’s where two tectonic plates are coming together, so there’s a lot of grinding and shoving of the earth’s crust going on here, hence the hot pots, lava flows, eruptions, etc. Being a geology major, I’m in hog heaven reading and learning all about this.
Based on John’s recommendation we drove out to Tauranga Bay and, in a driving rain and windstorm, watched some young studmuffins trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to surf in the stormy seas. Down on the beach below the road were a lot of seagulls, and I remembered that I had almost a half-loaf of bread that was getting stale. I decided to go down there and toss them the bread, reminiscent of the gulls I’d had so much fun with back in Cable Bay a few weeks ago.
As soon as I set foot on the beach, which was totally deserted except for me, hundreds of the gulls took to the air and started flying right over me, mere feet away. At first I thought they might be looking for a handout, but soon I realized they were trying to drive me away. They were angry at my invading their privacy, and were swooping and diving at me. I figured if they saw that I had food, they might change their tune, so I hurriedly got out the loaf of bread and started tossing chunks of it to them. I was right. Soon they were squabbling amongst themselves for each morsel. One of them was dragging one leg while standing on the other one, and would occasionally fall completely over. I felt sorry for him and tossed a lot of the pieces his way, but the others all pushed him out of the way in their headlong dash for their share. Mother Nature can be so cruel. Survival of the fittest in action. Soon he flew off and landed in a puddle where he didn’t have to stand.
Westport is not a sleepy little town, it’s comatose, but they do have one great restaurant – Denniston Dog. The guys at the club recommended it as the only good place to eat, so, ignoring the picture of a Greyhound on the sign so we didn’t think we were eating at a Greyhound bus station, we strolled in, sat down and ordered their lamb shanks. They were delicious!!!
Day 32 –Jan. 3 – Westport to Hokitika
One thing about the people on the west coast is they have no pretentions. They aren’t slaves to fashion, they dress in jeans and sweats and tennies. Many are throwbacks to the 60’s, with ponytails on the men, beards, and ‘alternative lifestyles’ according to the guidebooks. The women have hairstyles that work – they just pull their hair back out of their eyes, put a rubber band on it, and they’re good to go. No makeup. Just the basics. It’s refreshing.
We’re headed down the west coast on the way to Queenstown and the Milford Sound eventually. This is the forgotten part of the island. Only 35,000 people live between the northern tip and the more populated southern tip. It’s rugged, like its people, mountainous, the weather is more extreme, and there are fewer ‘tourist attractions’. But the scenery is stunningly beautiful. The coast is rugged, with jagged rocks and pounding surf making for breathtaking sights around every curve. It took us 3 hours to go about 40 miles, because I was having Joe stop every mile or two so I could take a picture.
At one pullout we started talking with another couple who was also enjoying the view. By the time we both pulled away, we’d exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and they’d invited us to stay with them when we came back through Wellington and play golf with them. We’re finding that very typical of these extremely hospitable people.
Many years ago some enterprising Aussie had the bright idea of bringing Australian possums to NZ and raising them for their fur. They’re not the same animal as our possums; they’re not like any animal in the US. They have a face like a wallaby, or small kangaroo. The closest kin we can relate to might be the ferret, but with nicer fur. Anyway, some got loose, produced babies, and now there are literally millions of them all over the country and are considered pests. They look at them the way we did wolves 100 years ago and feel that the only good possum is a dead one. They put cyanide out to kill them everywhere. There are many of them on the roads, run over by cars (that’s the one thing they have in common with our possums).
Made it all the way to Hokitika by 4 pm, when we stopped for the night at a lovely B&B right in downtown. It is an old house once owned by the town doctor, who used the rooms for convalescent patients and in which to do surgery. The owners, Francis and Brian, were as cheerful and friendly as could be, and our room upstairs was huge and full of light and had a wonderful bath across the hall just for our use. Tried not to think about how many of his patients had died in our room.
Day 33 –Jan. 4 –Hokitika to Franz Josef Glacier
After we checked in last night, 5 Aussies took the rest of the rooms. We all met for breakfast, and we learned they are coffee farmers in Sydney. After much conversation about the dire conditions of the water supply in Australia, we headed out. There is a place here that has kiwis you can see. Because they’re nocturnal, and we aren’t, the chances of our ever seeing one are nil, so we bit the bullet, paid our $12 NZ each and went in. Most of the other exhibits were just fluff – eels, fish, frogs, crayfish, they saved the kiwi exhibit for last. Sure enough, in a large room, back in the corner we could see something dark moving around. It was so dark in there we couldn’t make out a thing about the animal except a rough idea of its size. But soon it moved closer and then was right beneath us, and we had our first glimpse (and maybe our last) of one of the rare NZ kiwis. It’s a flightless bird, becoming nearly extinct due to the possums and dogs and other things that find it so easily and kill it. It’s on the endangered species list now. While we were there, it made its unusual and very loud call about 15 times in a row. That made our day.
Stopped for lunch beside a lovely lake, and soon a family of Dutch/Kiwis joined us. Grandparents had emigrated from Holland 50 years ago, their son was born here, and their 2 grandkids in their bathing suits were splashing in the warm water. After spending an hour with them, they invited us to stop by their dairy farm a few miles down the road for some hot chocolate on our way out. We thanked them but didn’t take them up on their offer, but noted that they had many hundreds of acres and hundreds of dairy cattle spread out over the beautiful, flat valley floor.
We’re in sandfly country and getting bitten by the pesky critters on our arms and legs and everywhere we aren’t covered up. Their bites make you swell up like mosquito bites and they itch for days. Guess we’ll have to start wearing insect repellent whenever we go out.
I read a very weird book by a New Zealander named Keri Hulme, who received a Booker Prize for her novel ‘The Bone People’. Today we went to the tiny village on the coast, several miles off the main drag, - Okarito - where she lives like a hermit. There was only one house that wasn’t a shack, so we figured that’s where she must live. Would have loved to have seen her, to see what somebody looks like who writes such strange stuff.
Finding something to watch on tv is a challenge. They have lots of cricket matches (a very bizarre game, whose rules are Greek to us), as well as snooker (pool) competitions, dog racing, and rugby matches. We find it hard to get very excited about any of that.
We’ve been driving all day long (though only covered about 75 miles), and were at sea level the entire time. We’re headed for a couple of glaciers, but can’t imagine how glaciers can be at this low an elevation, as there’s no snow at all, nothing but trees. When we finally pull into town, we can see one, Franz Josef, named after the Austrian emporer. It is several miles away and is tiny!! After seeing the massive glaciers last year in Alaska, and those on Mt. Rainier in our backyard, we’re astonished that NZ makes such a big deal out of these teacup glaciers. But we’ll use it as an excuse to get out and stretch our legs and walk up to one of them tomorrow. Not both of them, though.
We sadly left the lovely cottage where we’d been staying for the past couple of days and headed out for Wellington proper to catch the ferry for the South Island. We’ve now seen everything on the North Island and it’s taken exactly one month. Everyone says to give the North Island one month and the South 2 months, so we’ll see if it works out that way.
Since we got to the ferry way early, we drove into downtown Wellington and ate some lunch, bought some books, then headed back to the ferry. The ferry lines were totally full, and people were everywhere, in all states of dress and undress, mainly in shorts or bathing suits or other warm-weather attire. It is very warm, and people are tossing sticks for their dogs into the bay for them to retrieve, people are sitting on the rocks reading books, eating sack lunches, tossing frisbees, and whatever they can think of to relieve the boredom of waiting for the ferry.
When it arrives, the first thing to drive off of it is a TRAIN!! An entire train. Then huge double semi trucks. It’s amazing how much weight these huge ocean-going ferries can carry without sinking.
I was worried about getting seasick, but the seas were calm, there was a very gentle breeze blowing, the sky was free of clouds, and it couldn’t have been better conditions for seasick-prone me. As soon as we pulled out of the harbor and got into open water, we saw the South Island. It’s not that far away, but it takes 3 hours.. The trip flew by and soon we were driving off the ferry into Picton, then on to Nelson, our destination for the night.
We’re headed for the Abel Tasman National Park, the impetus for our trip in the first place. About a year ago, I watched a documentary on tv about the Abel Tasman Park, was so smitten by the crystal clear blue-green water that I vowed to visit it before I died. And here we are almost there, long before I died (I hope, anyway).
At 9 pm, late for us, we got a room in a B&B in Nelson called ‘Mike’s B&B’, small but quiet, and adequate.
Day 28 –Dec. 30 – Nelson to Motueka
In Nelson we learned how the hiking works in the park. Because there are only paths, no roads, in the park, you can only walk or take boats around its coastline. There is one long trail, about 30 miles long, I suppose, from the south entrance to the north one, and you can break it into several parts and do one or more parts of it, in as many days as you’d like. Since we didn’t want to spend the night, and we didn’t want to hike 30 miles in one day, and we wanted to see the prettiest part of the park, we opted for taking a water taxi to a point where we could walk about 4 hours, then get picked up again and brought back to the car.
After making our boat reservation, we headed off to find a place to stay for the next 2 nights. We drove up the road toward the park and in Motueka found a B&B called Copper Beech. It was a private home with an art gallery in a separate building, situated on about 2 acres of beautifully landscaped grounds. It was more than we wanted to pay, but it was so gorgeous and the people so nice that we sprung for it anyway. Truth is, it wasn’t even as much as an average US motel, but we’ve gotten spoiled by paying a lot less than US prices, so we grumbled a bit before paying.
Carol and John Gatenby, the owners, couldn’t have been nicer and more congenial to us. We had the run of the place, and poked our noses in John’s gallery, the chicken coop (he calls his chickens ‘chooks’), the pigeon roost, walked all around the grounds (the grass is the same as greens in the US, and as meticulously manicured), washed our clothes (rather, Carol did, and even hung them on the line to air-dry!), and went off to walk around downtown Motueka. Dinner was Kentucky Fried Chicken eaten on our own private patio.
Day 29 –Dec. 31 - Motueka/Abel Tasman National Park
We had to catch the 9 am water taxi, so Carol, bless her pea-pickin’ heart, got up at some ungodly early hour of the night to make us one of the most incredible breakfasts we’ve ever had – anywhere! She’d set up a lovely table for us outside on the patio. First course (and the only one, we thought) was an entire plate of fruit – sliced kiwi, sliced bananas, grapes cut in half and laid out face down in rows, orange slices; alongside were bowls of yogurt and a huge container of her home-made muesli. We piled it on, eating all of it, ready now to tackle the long day ahead.
But that was only the beginning. After we started to get up, completely sated, she then brought out the second course – baked tomatoes topped with some delicious and mysterious concoction made of cheese, carmelized onions and several other things, plus a potato quiche. We looked at each other in disbelief, both wondering where in the world we were going to put these gourmet delights. Somehow we crammed them in, thinking we wouldn’t need to eat again until dinnertime. As we finished this course, out she came from the house bearing yet one more course – a couple of small mincemeat pies, with a dash of powdered sugar on them (to be sure Joe would eat ‘em!). When we got on the water taxi, we sat on opposite sides so we wouldn’t make the boat unbalanced, after all we’d both eaten!
Again I was concerned about getting seasick on the water taxi ride. But the day started out calm and clear, and the ride was perfect. The boat driver took us past some rocks where a bunch of seals and their pups were bouncing around, sunning themselves, chasing each other, or sliding into the water. The water is as clear as the air and of a lovely blue-green color, reminiscent of the Bahamas and its gorgeous snorkeling waters. They took us to a crescent beach of snow-white sand and we waded ashore, shoes in hand. Then we took off for the hike back towards the beginning of the park.
The trail is along the beach for a ways, then snakes inland through dense forests of lush NZ tropical ferns and trees. Nowhere is it scary or steep or bad footing, such a contrast with the Tongariro Crossing! Four hours and many stops for photo ops later, we reached the beach where the water taxi was to pick us up. We were nearly 2 hours early for our pick-up, and there was another water taxi from the same company, so we hitched a ride back with them to our car. This time the seas were very rough, it was raining intermittently and very windy, and I put my anti-seasick bands on my wrists just in case. Made it back in fine fettle, though wet and bedraggled, much to my relief.
When we got back to Carol and John’s, we found Carol sitting on a chair with a stunned wild bird in her hand. Its beak was parted, its eyes closed, and it was breathing rapidly. ‘It flew into the window and knocked itself cuckoo. I’m holding it until it feels good enough to fly again. If you leave it lying on its side on the ground, it might die.’ She then went into the house to answer the phone and handed it to me to nurse back to health. I sat there for about 15 minutes, stroking its back until it finally closed its beak, opened its eyes and began moving its head around. Suddenly it launched itself into the air, shat profusely (missing me by inches!), and flew into the nearby bushes, apparently healed.
Our New Year’s Eve was celebrated with a dinner of fish ‘n chips, wrapped in no-kidding-newspaper, eaten on our private patio again, and to bed by 10. Barely woke up for some half-hearted fireworks in town.
Day 30 – Jan. 1 –Motueka to Westport
John and Joe spent an hour or so planning how we should maneuver around the South Island. It’s not as easy as the North Island, as there is a mountain range down the middle of the island, and we wanted to go across it, as well as see everything on the east and west coasts. Once they had that done, we gave big hugs all around, exchanged e-mail addresses, hoping to be life-long Christmas card pen pals, and headed out, destination the west coast of the island. The route is along the Buller River, through a long, narrow canyon, and the road is twisty and curvy for hours. By the time we finally got out of the canyon, I was ready to get out of the car for good. My queasy stomach had had enough of that road and was ready for my feet to be planted on terra firma. We were in Westport, pretty much a nothing town, and that suited me fine.
We are now on the west coast, much different from the east coast. The storms all hit NZ from the west, so it gets a lot of rain and wind, resulting in the coastline being pounded by the waves more ferociously. The coast is therefore straighter, because the sea is reclaiming the land, eroding it and re-depositing it on the beaches. Any trees growing along the coast eventually end up falling into the sea and getting pounded to bits by the waves, then getting thrown up onto the beaches, where their trunks and branches, sanded smoother by each wave, litter the beaches with their carcasses. Driftwood is everywhere, often erected into creative sculptures by enterprising beachcombers. We walked along Westport’s gray sand beaches for an hour or so in a strong wind before grabbing yet another fish ‘n chips dinner. I’m really getting tired of fried food. They serve ‘chips’ (French fries) with EVERYTHING!
Day 31 –Jan. 2 - Westport
We’re ready for more golf, so we headed out to the Westport GC, billed as a links-type course, with 40 members. Ten of them showed up for their weekly competition, 3 ladies, 7 men, and they invited us to play along with them. We tossed our $20 NZ ($12 US) each into the ‘honesty box’, added another $3.50 each for the Stableford competition, and joined Bob, the club’s bartender, and a lady named Jo. It was a very windy day, and it rained off and on the entire round. But it was warm enough for shirtsleeves, and the wind dried our clothes almost entirely between rainshowers. When we finished, Bob unlocked the clubhouse (which had been locked all day while we played), all 12 of us went into the one room clubhouse, Bob went behind the bar and got everyone what they wanted to drink, then joined us for a rousing good time. Somebody tallied up the scores, handed out the winnings to the winners, then announced that I had set a new ladies’ course record with my 74!! ‘We day-ohnt geet min-aye lay-oh hindikeppers he-eh’, they told us. Guess not, if a 74 is their best ever.
At 10 o’clock this morning this area was hit by an earthquake of magnitude 4.0. We didn’t feel it, so we must have been in the car, but the people we played with all felt it. They said they have them all the time so it’s no big deal to them. One thing we’re learning is that NZ is one of the most volcanically active places on earth. It’s where two tectonic plates are coming together, so there’s a lot of grinding and shoving of the earth’s crust going on here, hence the hot pots, lava flows, eruptions, etc. Being a geology major, I’m in hog heaven reading and learning all about this.
Based on John’s recommendation we drove out to Tauranga Bay and, in a driving rain and windstorm, watched some young studmuffins trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to surf in the stormy seas. Down on the beach below the road were a lot of seagulls, and I remembered that I had almost a half-loaf of bread that was getting stale. I decided to go down there and toss them the bread, reminiscent of the gulls I’d had so much fun with back in Cable Bay a few weeks ago.
As soon as I set foot on the beach, which was totally deserted except for me, hundreds of the gulls took to the air and started flying right over me, mere feet away. At first I thought they might be looking for a handout, but soon I realized they were trying to drive me away. They were angry at my invading their privacy, and were swooping and diving at me. I figured if they saw that I had food, they might change their tune, so I hurriedly got out the loaf of bread and started tossing chunks of it to them. I was right. Soon they were squabbling amongst themselves for each morsel. One of them was dragging one leg while standing on the other one, and would occasionally fall completely over. I felt sorry for him and tossed a lot of the pieces his way, but the others all pushed him out of the way in their headlong dash for their share. Mother Nature can be so cruel. Survival of the fittest in action. Soon he flew off and landed in a puddle where he didn’t have to stand.
Westport is not a sleepy little town, it’s comatose, but they do have one great restaurant – Denniston Dog. The guys at the club recommended it as the only good place to eat, so, ignoring the picture of a Greyhound on the sign so we didn’t think we were eating at a Greyhound bus station, we strolled in, sat down and ordered their lamb shanks. They were delicious!!!
Day 32 –Jan. 3 – Westport to Hokitika
One thing about the people on the west coast is they have no pretentions. They aren’t slaves to fashion, they dress in jeans and sweats and tennies. Many are throwbacks to the 60’s, with ponytails on the men, beards, and ‘alternative lifestyles’ according to the guidebooks. The women have hairstyles that work – they just pull their hair back out of their eyes, put a rubber band on it, and they’re good to go. No makeup. Just the basics. It’s refreshing.
We’re headed down the west coast on the way to Queenstown and the Milford Sound eventually. This is the forgotten part of the island. Only 35,000 people live between the northern tip and the more populated southern tip. It’s rugged, like its people, mountainous, the weather is more extreme, and there are fewer ‘tourist attractions’. But the scenery is stunningly beautiful. The coast is rugged, with jagged rocks and pounding surf making for breathtaking sights around every curve. It took us 3 hours to go about 40 miles, because I was having Joe stop every mile or two so I could take a picture.
At one pullout we started talking with another couple who was also enjoying the view. By the time we both pulled away, we’d exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers, and they’d invited us to stay with them when we came back through Wellington and play golf with them. We’re finding that very typical of these extremely hospitable people.
Many years ago some enterprising Aussie had the bright idea of bringing Australian possums to NZ and raising them for their fur. They’re not the same animal as our possums; they’re not like any animal in the US. They have a face like a wallaby, or small kangaroo. The closest kin we can relate to might be the ferret, but with nicer fur. Anyway, some got loose, produced babies, and now there are literally millions of them all over the country and are considered pests. They look at them the way we did wolves 100 years ago and feel that the only good possum is a dead one. They put cyanide out to kill them everywhere. There are many of them on the roads, run over by cars (that’s the one thing they have in common with our possums).
Made it all the way to Hokitika by 4 pm, when we stopped for the night at a lovely B&B right in downtown. It is an old house once owned by the town doctor, who used the rooms for convalescent patients and in which to do surgery. The owners, Francis and Brian, were as cheerful and friendly as could be, and our room upstairs was huge and full of light and had a wonderful bath across the hall just for our use. Tried not to think about how many of his patients had died in our room.
Day 33 –Jan. 4 –Hokitika to Franz Josef Glacier
After we checked in last night, 5 Aussies took the rest of the rooms. We all met for breakfast, and we learned they are coffee farmers in Sydney. After much conversation about the dire conditions of the water supply in Australia, we headed out. There is a place here that has kiwis you can see. Because they’re nocturnal, and we aren’t, the chances of our ever seeing one are nil, so we bit the bullet, paid our $12 NZ each and went in. Most of the other exhibits were just fluff – eels, fish, frogs, crayfish, they saved the kiwi exhibit for last. Sure enough, in a large room, back in the corner we could see something dark moving around. It was so dark in there we couldn’t make out a thing about the animal except a rough idea of its size. But soon it moved closer and then was right beneath us, and we had our first glimpse (and maybe our last) of one of the rare NZ kiwis. It’s a flightless bird, becoming nearly extinct due to the possums and dogs and other things that find it so easily and kill it. It’s on the endangered species list now. While we were there, it made its unusual and very loud call about 15 times in a row. That made our day.
Stopped for lunch beside a lovely lake, and soon a family of Dutch/Kiwis joined us. Grandparents had emigrated from Holland 50 years ago, their son was born here, and their 2 grandkids in their bathing suits were splashing in the warm water. After spending an hour with them, they invited us to stop by their dairy farm a few miles down the road for some hot chocolate on our way out. We thanked them but didn’t take them up on their offer, but noted that they had many hundreds of acres and hundreds of dairy cattle spread out over the beautiful, flat valley floor.
We’re in sandfly country and getting bitten by the pesky critters on our arms and legs and everywhere we aren’t covered up. Their bites make you swell up like mosquito bites and they itch for days. Guess we’ll have to start wearing insect repellent whenever we go out.
I read a very weird book by a New Zealander named Keri Hulme, who received a Booker Prize for her novel ‘The Bone People’. Today we went to the tiny village on the coast, several miles off the main drag, - Okarito - where she lives like a hermit. There was only one house that wasn’t a shack, so we figured that’s where she must live. Would have loved to have seen her, to see what somebody looks like who writes such strange stuff.
Finding something to watch on tv is a challenge. They have lots of cricket matches (a very bizarre game, whose rules are Greek to us), as well as snooker (pool) competitions, dog racing, and rugby matches. We find it hard to get very excited about any of that.
We’ve been driving all day long (though only covered about 75 miles), and were at sea level the entire time. We’re headed for a couple of glaciers, but can’t imagine how glaciers can be at this low an elevation, as there’s no snow at all, nothing but trees. When we finally pull into town, we can see one, Franz Josef, named after the Austrian emporer. It is several miles away and is tiny!! After seeing the massive glaciers last year in Alaska, and those on Mt. Rainier in our backyard, we’re astonished that NZ makes such a big deal out of these teacup glaciers. But we’ll use it as an excuse to get out and stretch our legs and walk up to one of them tomorrow. Not both of them, though.
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