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Published: November 5th 2008
The River Avon Christchurch
Punting all the way to Cambridge!Motorhome News from New Zealand 4 31st October 2008
Christchurch, Lake Tekapo, Lake Pukaki, Mount Cook, Queenstown, Glenorchy, Lake Wanaka, Arrowtown, Moeraki, and Dunedin to Invercargill - with a few Aussies in tow.
A Kiwi friend returned from holiday in British Columbia, Canada, a week or two back, a little disappointed and unimpressed by what he saw. 'We have it all here,' Greg said, checking his empty wallet. 'It's just a bit bigger in Canada.' We really can't believe that's true - but let's take a closer look a bit further south to see if we think he might be right.
Our last blog left us in Christchurch last week - a City created with Cambridge and Oxford in mind, a garden city at the coastal hub of the flat Canterbury Plain, a grid of broad streets broken by the meandering River Avon complete with softly gliding punters, further enhanced by glorious parks, botanical gardens and a fine Gothic Cathedral. This is a peaceful city, seemingly unhurried with its quiet streets and pleasantly undeveloped infrastructure. There are those who would have dearly loved this to be New Zealand's Capital City - it has an ambiance and sense of
Maori Welcome in Christchirch
Opening ceremony of the 2008 World Masters Squash Championships permanence in its buildings, but all of its charm would be surely lost to the garish glass towers of bank and commerce that typifies capital cities. New Zealand lifestyle begins at the city's fringe, as the hills rise steeply to the crater rim and winding narrow roads bring out the bikers for Sunday's hill climb.
Sunday is 'toys day' for Kiwis, hang gliding, paragliding, motorbike trials, vintage car rallies, caterpillar lines of throbbing motorbikes and hikers and family picknickers meandering around the crater rim enjoying amazing views across this proud city. We chanced upon the opening ceremony of the 2008 World Masters Squash Championships down by the river, a traditional Maori welcome for officials and contestants from around the world - and a chance for us to rub noses with the locals. Everywhere the familiar names we know: the Avon River, Cambridge Terrace, Gloucester, Worcester, Southwark Street, Bath Street, with Armagh, Madras and Montreal, for good British measure.
Two other names we know so well, Jan and Trevor, our dear friends from Melbourne, arrived to meet us in Christchurch. A week of cultural and cullinary experiences started right in town - with a cook-your-own stone-grill dinner at a
delightful restaurant on Oxford Terrace. During the coming week, Jan and Trevor were to travel with us in the motorhome and sleep in cabins at our campsites. Cabins are a good alternative to hotels and motels of course, and we were hopeful we could get them accommodation at all our ports of call. Campsites have all had space so far, though we might have to think a bit harder over the coming week with Labour Day weekend approaching.
Janice joined us in the Top Ten Camping Club before we left the UK and these are our favoured sites, at around $35 (£14) a night for a motorhome and two people. They all have good facilities and beautifully kept gardens. Our cheapest stopovers are the Department of Conservation sites, always off the beaten track and usually with little in the way of facilities - but at $6 - $10 per night, that's fine, now and again. All good sites have electricity and dumping facilities, and most now have internet or wi-fi for a small additional fee. Somehow we missed a good site a day or two back. A roadside sign excalimed, 'Bugger - you've just missed the best campsite for
miles!' Another sign; a huge cut-out of a sheep, proclaimed, 'Wear Wool, Keep Warm!' That's good advice given we're at the mercy of the Roaring Forties - gale force winds can be expected around every corner - with a chill to chop your ears off if it's a southerly!.
This UK-sized country with just 4m people is highly dependent on tourism and its balance of payments has recently slipped into negative mode - so keep eating them apples! Overseas arrivals at Christchurch Airport were 4% down on August last year the newspapers report, much of that reflecting the bite of recession in the UK where tourists are down 10% for the same period. Meanwhile we've been doing our bit for tourism with a visit to the Sir Edmund Hillary Alpine Centre at Mt Cook's, Hermitage Hotel, a great credit to his outstanding achievements, personal tragedies and philanthropy. You will doubtless have read that Sir Edmund died in January.
Much of South Island's beauty is recorded on postcards for tourists to send home and entice their friends and families to venture this far south of the equator. The skies on these postcards are so blue they must surely have
been enhanced you will think: the lakes so turquoise, the sea so blue, the grass so green, the mountains so white.... but the first time you get to see Lake Tekapo with its tiny Chuch of the Good Shepherd looking on, you will know it to be true. The colours are real. And yes, we have experienced this before - in the Canadian Rockies, Peyto Lake in Alberta. Greg has a point; it is familiar.
There are other similarities too. Temperatures here in the mountains drop quite quickly as darkness falls and by 10 pm the sky above Lake Tekapo was a carpet of jet as we pursued another passion, star gazing, shivering at a degree or two above zero in the crystal clear air; above us, shimmering with a million diamonds, the stars of the Southern Hemisphere and the Southern Cross. 'See it? There at the bottom - upside down'. A dazzling sight, a very long day - and yet another night to remember.
To the west a few miles lies Lake Pukaki, the turquoise blue of glacial flour we now take almost for granted, a great blue tongue stretching 50 km northwards, with the Lord of
At Mount Cook
David, Janice, Jan and Trevor - all smiles! the New Zealand's Mountains, Mount Cook, standing supreme at its far head, white haired, smiling down on all mere mortals. We stood, silent, shaking our heads in disbelief, soaking in the simple pleasure that beauty brings. Beauty is all around us here in New Zealand, but this, this is truly special. Before us, Black- fronted Terns swooped in alarm from their nesting site on the cobbled shore; to either side a horse-shoe of grey-brown, snow-capped peaks, the Southern Alps, draped in a shallow cloak of olive-green vegetation and fantails of grey scree laced with white fingers. For much as a climber scales a mountain we just had to drive the long sweeping road to the town of Mount Cook, to gaze in awe at the mountain, holding out its arms to embrace a ring of peaks topped in a wedding veil of white, glinting in the afternoon sunlight through 240 degrees. Towering above us by the Hermitage Hotel, Mount Sefton, breathtakingly, dazzlingly, white............. This certainly comes very close to those Canadian Rockies, Greg talked about.
Canals now link the area's great lakes, generating electricity through dams and turbines. Drawn from Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki, they flow placidly across the
valleys as winding threads of opal galcial flour. We stopped a while at tiny Twizel (what a lovely name) for stores, coffee and cakes and motored out on gravelled roads across more Lord of the Rings country of barren beige hills to search the area's lakes for the rare Black Stilt. The Stilts obliged after a while and, a bonus, we found fresh farmed salmon for dinner, direct from the crystal canal waters, hand trimmed before us. It's no wonder people stare at us; constantly grinning with delight from dawn to dusk! This retirement lark is hard work. Not for the faint hearted.
Around about here we're likely to loose you if you don't have a map. Our devious route is intended to take us to all the corners of this pleasant land and we'll be zig-zagging across mountains and plains to get the best value from our time and money. We're heading south and west again, over the high Lindis Pass where tufts of oatmeal grass dot the mountains like knot stitches on olive silk and snow rides the peaks; then down again to the vast lake at Wanaka teeming with dinghies tacking across the bay in the
Lake Wanaka
Sailing hard on the wind offshore wind. This is activity country, skiing, climbing, tramping and sailing; home to today's afluent youth, the place to be seen, bars bustling with young things, booze and music. A fun place year round it seems. A sort of Whistler in British Clumbia. What was it Greg said?
Then it was off to the west once more - the zag of the zig. Friday saw us in Queenstown, a swinging town, a holiday town, a centre of bustling energy, a grid of nice shops on the fringe of Lake Wakatipu where we planned to stop over for a few days to indulge in some sky diving, bungy jumping, horse riding, 4X4 safaris, paragliding, a scenic flight or two, a helicopter ride, jet boating, sailing, and skiing of course. They told us the ski season was over and that clinched it for us really. We chose to keep the right foot on the accellerator and keep driving through the centre of town, following the banks of Lake Wakatipu for 48 km to the peace and tranquility of Glenorchy, a smattering of homes, a couple of hotels, a gas station, a wharf to tie up the boat and a rustic campsite.
Lake Wakatipu
Beyond Queenstown Believe me; it was 48 km of stunning views: turquoise waters and snowy mountains to make your toes curl and enchanting vistas to challenge the best of the Rockies. It's said that there's never a bad view from Glenorchy - even in bad weather! My guess is this sleepy town will have its day when real money discovers its true identity. The scenery is so good hereabouts they filmed scenes for Lord of the Rings here too, - and The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, aaaand (as the Kiwis say), Prince Caspian. They were playing darts at the local pub when we arrived for an evening meal; enormous platters of food sufficient to feed a whole Panza Division, fish, chips, scallops, sausage and samosas, all battered to bits! Not the best meal we've ever eaten, but possibly the biggest.. We didn't stay for the darts - it would be a little unfair for an Englishman to take on these backwoods people at his own game, would it not?
The weather turned showery back along the wiggly road to Queenstown. We stopped off to check out the Jazz Festival, looking for something lively - and preferably free. Our best
Dart Valley
More sheep! bet seemed to be a lunchtime performance at a bar in Arrowtown, an old gold town on our route out towards the east coast again, an attractive little town with remnants of a Chineese settlement from its mining days: small, smart, friendly, shades of the wild west on its main street, and trendy. You can still pan for gold here in Arrowtown for just $3 - and keep the proceeds! It was Labour Day weekend and the campsite was crowded with families enjoying their first release from winter. A poster outside the tiny cinema tucked down a side alley caught our attention. 'Brideshead Revisited' was showing that evening and we took to our plush seats on the dot of 8.30. The film halted at a totally inappropriate moment for an interval at about half time. Those in the know fled to the bar, returning to their seats in quick-time with glasses of red wine and platters of cheese! It's never too late for another new experience. If you've not seen the film and you like Evelyn Waugh, you will enjoy it, I'm sure, but there's no guarrantee you'll get the cheese or wine.
A little way along the vine-clad
valley we came across a bungy-jumping centre with the likes of an electric chair perched over the edge of a bridge above a ravine. There were no brave souls committing hari-kari whilst we were there despite it being Labour Weekend, the official start of summer. Janice was up for it as you might imagine; but I wouldn't let her go.
The long weekend brought family campers out from the woodwork, dragging their old caravans out of storage and granny and the kids away from the tele. New caravans hardly exist here in NZ; there are a few American fifth wheelers, but in the main you wouldn't tow most of the rest behind a bike. It's interesting that, whilst there are hundreds of motorhomes on the roads, a very high percentage are rentals, the excessive cost of importing from the US or Europe putting them beyond the realms of sensible investement for most Kiwis and, unlike Europe, there are not too many places outside of their own country within an easy ferry ride.
Unless you live on Orkney, Shetland, or in the Highlands of Scotland, you probably won't remember roads without traffic. Most days we could count the cars
Arrowtown
There's gold in them there hills! we see on one hand. OK, 'the rest are behind you,' I hear you cry! The few people there are inland seem to be locals or tourists; often it's 50 Km between homesteads, just comely green hills, grazing sheep and cattle, - and snowy mountain-tops ever present on the skyline to the west. I often wonder about those sheep. They nurture their delightful little lambs through rain and shine, feeding, loving, caring, teaching them how to duck under gates - and then we take them away. Have you ever thought how the mothers must feel when they lose them - and as you shout, 'mint sauce,' out of the car window in passing?
With Jan and Trevor's imminent departure back to Aus in mind, we continued east towards the Pacific coast. A long day's drive took us out through Palmerston where Scots still haunt the streets no doubt, its Prebyterian church of meticulously pointed sandstone and spindly spire, and street names like Stromness and Kirkwall evoking fond images of Orkney, forever in our minds. Around a bend in the road we suddenly arrived at the shores of the Pacific Ocean - pow! A rocky shore, aqua-marine sea, whipped into
a white frenzy by a stiff south-easterly! By late afternoon we were in Moeraki, a small fishing village above a cliff - with dreams of fresh seafood for tea, Fleur's Place - panoramic views of the bay at night, country music, Otago hospitality, and local wine. All too soon those dreams were nightmares.
You remember I told you it was Labour Weekend? All the cabins on site had gone. No room at the inn for Jan and Trevor. Hans, the campsite proprietor, chatted to his wife in German and called the local motel for us. 'They only have four rooms,' he said, in a hopeless voice.
We took the last room in town for Jan and Trevor and the owner was waiting for us when we arrived. 'Where are you eating tonight?' she enquired. We looked at each other, smiling, licking our lips. 'Fleur's Place, of course. We're told it's good.'
She looked at us as if we were mad. 'You'll not get in there tonight,' she said. It was booked up two months back. You might get food at the pub.' That was not in our plan, but at least Jan and Trevor had somewhere to sleep. They would
live for a while without food. Anyway, our thoughts were really on other things: Yellow-eyed Penguins are said to colonise this stretch of coast, but we had yet to identify the best spot to find them. Another local bird is the Mutton Bird, or Sooty Sheerwater as we know it. We haven't seen one of those close up yet, either.
Fully booked or not, another camper on site (with a new UK Swift caravan), suggested we might call in to Fleur's Place anyway, 'Just for a glass of wine and to soak up the atmosphere.' So we took his advice and sure enough, the blues singer was there with his mike and a few hundred watts of amp, the bar was buzzing with locals and tourists - and every seat in the house was taken. Time to try the Olde English charm and a bit of nonchalence.
'We've travelled 12,000 miles to eat here,' I shouted across the bar to the waitress over the throbbing music.
'I'm sorry,' she called back. ''We are packed out tonight. Can you come back tomorrow?'
'Where will we be tomorrow, Janice?'
A bit more pleading, two more refusals from two more referrals to
Fleur's Place
Fleur joined us at the table higher authority - and Fleur herself came to settle the point.
Fleur is no chicken, but she has the manner of an English robin, a cheeky smile, a twinkle in the eye that would charm Lady Chatterly's gardener out of his socks and an instant friend.
'The best we can do would be 8.30,' she said with a shrug of the shoulders. 'There's a party going on.' An understatement - we could see that. At 8.30 the party was still in full swing, but after a short wait we were shown to a table in the loft. Fleur joined us at the head of the table, leaned forward on her elbows and talked us through the menu. My choice was gurnard, 19 inches of fish looking at me with pleading eyes on a 19 inch plate - delicious! Janice had grilled flatfish, and we saw our first Mutton Bird up close. It was dead. Very dead, so it doesn't count. It was on Trevor's plate, cut in half and very roasted. Mutton Bird is evidently an olde Maori dish. We all had a piece from Trevor's plate. It tasted of anchovies, but don't tell our friends at the Bury Bird
David with Kathryn and Brian
Friends, avid motorhomers and keen birders - all the way from Adelaide to meet us! Group!
The hardy Scots also came to Dunedin, following the whales, building a city to remind them of Edinburgh:Stuart Road and Princes Street, with grand Victorian and Edwardian architecture where stone abounds and beautifully Scottish Dunedin Railway Station salutes an era past, now with its art gallery and a short passenger route up the gorge to keep the tourists off the streets. There's a Cadbury's factory in Dunedin, a statue of Robbie Burns adorns the octagon in front of the cathedral and bluebells and rhododendrons were in full bloom at the Botanic Gardens - a rather special treat for a pair of English nomads, in October. Jan and Trevor left from Dunedin station next morning, taking the shuttle bus back to Christchurch and the plane home. Good friends like that don't grow on trees. We'll see them again somewhere in Europe in 2009 if all goes to plan.
Early on, before our grand tour of Europe, we met up with another pair of young Australians in Normandy, working their way across France in a motorhome. We were to share many happy times together, both in France and in the UK. Brian and Kathryn returned to Aus last year,
Out on the water
David and Janice - ready for action! but I guess we always knew we would meet again. Their flight from Adelaide came into Christchurch where they collected their own hired motorhome on Monday and we arranged to meet up on the Otago Peninsular off Dunedin later in the week. We travelled in tandem for several days, working our way southwards along the coast to Invercargill, hunting Yellow-eyed Penguins in sandy bays and hiking the Catlins River Walk in search of Yellowheads and the gorgeous little Shining Cuckoo. We're planning a short holiday on Stewart Island across the Foveaux Strait whilst Brian and Kathryn head northwards. We expect to meet up again in a week or so as we make our way back to North Island - though we appear to have mislaid our mobile phone somewhere which might make communications a little difficult!
This has been a spectacular week for us, meeting up with special friends, and fulfilling our greatest dreams of New Zealand's magnificent scenery. If we were to give it enough thought; that's really why we came. It seems that Greg has a point about this great country where space is all around. There is no vista less than perfect here. It's a great country. A green and pleasant land with watery blues beyond the paintbox, in lake, sea and sky - and snow-white mountains destined to stop the heart. It's just that everything's a liitle smaller and lacking much of the grandeur of BC.
Yet the best bits are still to come. The final chapter of South Island and beyond is still untold.
David and Janice The grey-haired-nomads
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Richard
non-member comment
Christchurch is a peaceful city? I don't think it's ever been called that before by anyone who's been there at night lol =/