January 17 - 19

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.