From the sunshine into the rain

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4 February 2011

This morning was pencilled in as one for a lie in since we had Nelson in our sights for tonight's stop and we knew that it was just under 100km away (a helpful sign just across of the road from the campsite told us that) - there was therefore no hurry to get moving in the morning. The trouble was that our bodies seem to rather like early rises and we were therefore awake at the usual time of 6.30am. Since we weren't in a rush, we executed a leisurely morning tea routine, probably played a couple of hands of Monopoly Deal and then set out on our way.

I dimly recalled that, as I was drifting off to sleep last night, Gregg said something about how wonderful it would be if he didn't have to drive at all today. Not particularly subtle, but I got the message and hopped into the drivers' seat from the off. When I drive, it seems that the roads have a tendency to become windy. This morning however they obligingly gave me a break and the journey to Nelson was, more or less, long and straight and we arrived in little over an hour and, by just after 10am, we were happily ensconced in a proper campsite, with power to the van and I had had a shower. Bliss.

The day had started out as a grey one and, as we caught up on washing and other mundane tasks, we grimly began to consider how best we might spend our time in Nelson. The guidebook had promised that the weather in Nelson is famously good and I, for one, felt a little let down.

Then, the sun came out and that way it stayed for the rest of the day, making it up to around 26 degrees. Buoyed up by clean washing and beautiful weather we headed off into Nelson guidebook in hand, camera bag over my shoulder and looking like the complete tourists that we are.

Having slapped on the sunscreen, we basked in the beautiful weather as we tramped the 1.9km into town, mission one being lunch. Having avoided any significant referral to the guidebook for the majority of our time in South Island, today it became a ready source of information. During our journey to Nelson, Gregg had been perusing the 'Eating' section and a place called Felafel Gourmet had taken our fancy. This placed was described as making the 'best kebabs in town' but it wasn't that that appealed to us - it was the word 'felafel'. I have had a serious thing for felafel since I very first tried it from a stall in Oxford as a student and Gregg also seems to have caught the bug.

Biting back my suspicion upon hearing the word 'kebab' I escorted us to the outside of the cafe and, to my delight, there was not a donner kebab spit in sight (or, just for Gregg, 'an elephant's leg'). Think funky mediterranean eatery and not seedy late night dive and you'll have some idea of my relief. We each ordered a small pitta with felafel and boy were we not disappointed. We were also rather glad that we had gone small - for small was, it self, enormous.

As we refuelled, I found refuge in the guidebook once more and suggested that we might take another stroll to Founders Heritage Park, Brewery and Cafe. I figured that the word 'brewery' would appeal to Gregg and the guidebook advised that on a Friday afternoon (which it was) the park was home to a farmers' market. Both of us being rather partial to those, we agreed that this would be our afternoon's activity.

First things first, the walk took us slightly longer and was a good deal stickier than either of us had anticipated but it was hard not to enjoy just being out in the sunshine after a few days of less than glamorous weather.

I think we took a slightly circuitous route to Founders Park for we managed to cross, three times and on foot, the railway line and got a sneaky peak of Marlborough Sounds.

A quick digression - railway lines seem to be fair game in NZ. Not once have we travelled along by or over one from which the Kiwi, or visiting, public have been protected. Most road crossing do not have barriers and many simply require the driver to 'give way' at level crossings. Mind you, train travel here is reportedly more about enjoying the beauty of the journey than arriving at your final destination in any kind of a timely fashion and we have seen the sum total of two trains so far.

Eventually we did arrive at Founders Park (Farmers Market now discontinued) which is a collection of old wooden buildings which have been saved and brought to this small 'village' where they have probably been restored and, in some cases, been given a new purpose, and set together to create a replica historic village. I have always been bit of a sucker for replica historic villages - it comes from having visited the Victorian street at York City Museum as a small child and being fascinated by it - and I, for one, found this one just a little fascinating too. All of the buildings here are wooden - much like the majority that we have seen all over South Island - and there is even a bakery which is still in working order and, most surprisingly, a school room which is home to a private school with a roll of 50. A sign outside asks visitors to respect the children's right to study in peace.

By the time we had finished our trip around the village and Gregg had tasted one of the brewery's own beers (a Tall Blonde - much to my disdain - when quizzed he confirmed they don't do a 'Short Brunette' but was pleased to report that he had turned down a Red Head and a Fair Maiden) it was nearly 4pm and neither of us really fancied the walk back to our campsite so we sort of shuffled in the direction of the city centre, whereupon Gregg had a moment of inspiration. The guidebook had said that there was superb ice cream parlour called Penguino in town and the hot weather certainly called for it. The icecream/sorbet/frozen yoghurt (one scoop of turkish delight and another of lemon for me and lemon and ginger for Gregg) was quite superb and revitalised us both sufficiently to enable us to reach the van, via a quick stop at a supermarket for evening sustenance.

Gregg got his additional testosterone out for an evening bbq (all commercial campsites, and some department of conservation sites, have them) and produced beautifully cooked chicken before we turned in for yet another early night in preparation for the short trip to Picton for our 12:30 ferry tomorrow.

5 February 2011

Did I say short trip to Picton? Somehow, we had got it into our heads that the trip would only take 1 1/2 hours - despite the ready reckoner in the map book clearly saying it would taken 2 hours 10 mintutes. We were awake at the usual 6.30am and were in no particularl hurry to leave but as the minutes inched past 8.30am Gregg, thankfully, started getting a little edgy that time was marching on towards our 11.30am check in time so we packed up and got on the move. We had intended to take the opportunity to drive along Queen Charlotte Drive which is supposed to provide wonderful ocean views but we missed the turning (or, more accurately, I failed to realise that that was the way I had intended to take us) and ended up taking the slightly less scenic route through multiple vineyards (still pretty attractive) along the Papaura Road.

Arriving in Picton, we were pleased to note that the ferry terminal was well signposted. Except ours wasn't. The signs took us to the Interislander ferry and our ticket was for Bluebridge . Feeling a little sheepish, I hopped into the Interislander terminal and the very kind cashier pointed me in the right direction.

It is no exaggeration to say that the queue for boarding the ferry was only slightly bigger than the queues for the Torpoint Ferry (which run at least four crossings an hour at peak times) and the guidebook had warned us that we MUST book at least three days in advance in order to ensure our tickets on the desired date of travel, particularly if wishing to travel over a weekend. Poppycock. We booked yesterday lunchtime and this ferry was far from full. Perhaps we were lucky but, somehow, I doubt it.

The journey from Picton to Wellington was truly a tale of two halves. Picton is not quite a coastal harbour, it is set back from the Cook Strait by the Queen Charlotte Sound and the ferry had to first navigate through that, followed by the Tory Channel before emerging into the turbulent waters of the Cook Strait. The journey towards the strait was stunning, the sun beat down on us, and the scenery was to die for but, as we approached the mouth of the Tory Channel, the wind got up and I decided that I would be much safer inside. Gregg joined me briefly before starting to look slightly green and headed back outside for a spot of basking. Unfortunately for him, although the Cook Strait's turbulence was fairly well in check, it brought us heavy sea mist and took away the beautiful scenery.

We arrived in Wellington seemingly having brought the mist/fog with us and feeling slightly cheesed off that we had left a stunning day behind us in South Island. We have a plan for North Island - the spectre of a booked flight in 11 days time has that kind of effect - and part 1 was to travel roughly an hour north of Wellington to set up camp before catching a train back to explore the city tomorrow.

Part 1 found us at a free Department of Conservation campsite just north of Otaki - I picked up a copy of their list of North Island campsites in an isite in Nelson yesterday, only to discover this morning that we have been travelling with one for each Island in our glovebox for the last 12 days! The site at Tararua Forest is basic - two long drop loos and not much else - but it is a lovely peaceful and scenic place to spend the night, particularly given that it is free.

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Photos

Logging is big business here
might have something to do with all the wooden houses!

We both thought that this bus was pretty wicked
it has something like 70bhp - and had been taxed up to as recently as 2007