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Published: March 30th 2007
Cheerio Aotearoa
Not a happy bunny leaving the land of the long white cloud. But at least there were fitting clouds on takeoff. And hey, Queensland's not supposed to be too bad. Hell of a lot warmer than NZ was getting. I hope you'll excuse the length of this one, but due to being unencumbered with such annoyances as work, and having a 6 week mad dash to see the entire country, we did get up to rather a lot. I assure my faithful readers the next blog will return to the usual neglectful brevity.
The Mauri driver dropped us off at the Jail around midnight, stiffling a chuckle at our answer to his usual tourist/customer/taximan politeness question "what ya got planned for NZ, bro?". "Ah, we're going to hire a camper van and cruise around, gonna be great". After a peaceful nights rest in the Jailhouse we sauntered down the stairs, lonely german guidebook in hand, ready to dial all of the hire companies and see who'd give us the best price, shortly finding out what had cause the mirth of our good chauffeur the previous evening...
After a wait of five days in Jail we finally left pretty Christchurch (and the world's worst street performers and blues bar) behind, ripping towards the amazing southern alps, not in a Transit van, not even in a Toyota Hiace camper. Nope, no transport available worthy of a daily star in
Fox Glacier
You won't see me far separated from my trusty adventuring hat in a blog photo. Note the superimposed tiny girl above my head. the front window - our wagon of (non) choice was to be a Nissan Sunny. Joy. But my dismay at not being able to pricisely follow the romantic idea I'd had before arriving (van camping in the wild, cooking with the tin billy, foraging for roots Ray Mears style etc, etc) was soon forgotton as the Alps loomed ahead. The landscape made me think of Heidi, dodgy criminal fund stashes, cheese with holes and euthanasia. I had never seen such impressive landscape as Arthur's pass, ski resort in winter and hiker's paradise in summer. Hiking up the Temple basin the next day, encounters with the native Kia parrot and some postcard photos ensued.
We drove on to Franz Josef glacier the next day on our way to Fox glacier, the latter we selected to hike on as there were fewer scenic flights droning overhead. Being on a glacier is a surreal experience, and you get to feel rather intrepid, ice axe, crampon boots etc scrambling up into the mountains. Sea kyaking at stunning - a word overused and, in this case understated - Milford sound (which as all sandal-over-sock wearing geographers out there will join me in pointing out
Tongariro Crossing
Nguruhoe/Mount Doom. Really impressive walk across proper active volcanoes, trying to destroy the hiking pole of power in Mt. Doom and end its dominion over the other poles. is not a sound but a fjord) involved an encounter at 3 feet with the native fur seal and was sandwiched between two nights stay at "grumpy's" backpackers in the company of no-one except Jules who was under 60.
A unique phenomenon to NZ is the YHA, which I presume should stand for youth hostels for the aged. These places are not the insane, toned and tanned (as is your good author), beer guzzling, beach lazing 18-30s asylums of australia, but a port of call for all on a modest budget including the thousands of retired couples touring NZ, as well as having an atmosphere apparently very attractive to the millions of extremely serious, rosey-cheeked german boyscout/girlguide type. These are the two types of people who provided me with great amusement throughout both islands as I observed their rather quaint tourist ways. As I am of course, far too cool to be a tourist myself, I was in a position to judge:
As you are not in the Fatherland you need to prepare for every eventuality. Hiking boots and gore-tex trousers must be worn at all times, even in the city. An acceptible fashion accessory is a camera
medallion with a gargantuan lense. Hiking poles (what the hell is the point in those things unless you intend skiing?) MUST accompany any walk more than 15 minutes long and over areas where you may come into contact with grass and/or rocks. Thou shalt not park thy campervan outside a registered campsite, thou shalt not pass "scenic lookout" signs without utilising thine holy medalion. And if it's not in the lonely planet book, it doesn't exist. There must be some kind of sensory hallucination going on if you can see something but there's no guidebook reference.
Mind you they wouldn't have been left with a Nissan Sunny as they'd have booked their campervan back in 1997.
The over-touristed Queenstown seemed to be catering for roughly 70% of NZ's annual 2 million visitors when we arrived, and I wasn't so impressed with it as I was the unbelievable scenery surrounding it. You can do all sorts of gravity-defying nonsense there, and the activity Jules and I chose was to be jumping off a 130 foot bridge attached to a glamourised elastic band. The foot was "clean te the tin, sur" hurtling through the Catlins as the hire car was
Pretty Ol'Christchurch
Canals, a region called Canturbury, and all things English. due back in Christchurch in a couple of days. We arrived in Dunedin (named after Edinburgh and of similar latitude in reverse) on the weekend before the uni term restarted so there was alcohol fuelled mayhem on the streets. Definitely the livliest place we stayed, and met an absolute nutter who was drunk in charge of a backpackers.
Amazing walking in Mount Cook national park and a night sleeping in the car spotting constellations in an area obsessed with Edmund Hillary (the guy is on the 5 buck note here) and the next day back in CH CH to pick up our camperat last, neatly christened Jean Claude the damn van. Unforgettable experiences at our first port of call Kaikoura, where we saw hundreds of dolphins, a 45 foot sperm whale, more fur seals (actually part of the sea lion family) and grew accustomed to sleeping by the side of the road and sharing a bag of "chups" for dinner. A remarkable 1/3 of New Zealand is a conservation area which I have to say is both admirable and prudent of the NZ government, and we headed on to yet another national park, this time Abel Tasman in the
Jail
This Jail only closed in the late 90's. It looks like straight out of porridge, and you pay 60 bucks a night for a cell. What a scam! North of the South Island. Our sleeping by the side of the road policy landed us in an odd situation the morning before our walk there. We awoke in the forest entrance where we parked the night before to the sound of bagpipes. "Ah, they're very into their Scottish Heritage here, Jules" I stated in admiration. "Just listen, there's someone practicing somewhere across the valley in the middle of nowhere. Lovely to hear on a Sunday morning". "Doesn't it sound a bit close?". Munching on dry cheerios and bread (the stove gas ran out the night before) I had to agree. After breakfast we got sorted for our walk and made to drive on to the start point, to be greeted by 3 professional photographers, no less than 2 pipers and a marathon running past the drive, not 10 meters from where we spent the night. One of those images that won't fade with alcohol abuse. I can imagine myself ranting about the piper marathon in my senility.
The ferry brought Jean Claude, Jules and I to Wellington which is probably my favourite of the cities but would need to confirm that with a few nights out. We mucked
Flipper
A pod of around 150 dusky dolphins on our first trip. These were a pod of around 30 Bottlenose dolphins, swimming and playing alongside the boat. We went on a swim with dolphins trip but we couldn't go in the water due to young being with the pod and conservation issues to do with that. I was gutted (the opposite of stoked) around in the museum for literally two days it was so huge and full of impressive stuff, checked out a star show at the observatory, and headed on to Tongariro National park. The lonely german guidebook number one rated 8 hour walk across the Tongariro crater did not dissappoint. Through amazing athleticism and pace Jules and I powered past the boots and poles brigade and tramped across mount doom and steamy, sulphuric vents. I dont want to re-use my superlatives so I'll let the photos do the talking.
On to a skydive in Taupo which unlike the bungy jump was entirely worth the dosh and something I'll definitely do again. The feeling is indescribable. Then Rotorua, home of the Zorb, the Agro-dome (Yes really, you can go see a sheep shearing show there. See big Alan if you want extras, the Kiwis understand you're a long way from Dungiven) and the luge which is like the ice luge a little except on concrete and you can race people. It was far superior to the one in Sigapore G, Ben, Phil and J - and I'm still the champ although I wiped out on this one and wrecked my jeans.
Piper at the gates of dawn
Never eat the fungus of the forest floor, the hallucinations even show up on your camera. White water rafting at Rotorua on a grade 5 river - apparently the scale only goes to 6 - was a white knuckle ride with a 7 meter waterfall drop and probably the adventure sport Jules enjoyed best
Surfing with Beaver in the Bay of Plenty has to be the highlight of the whole Kiwi experience for me. I became a whitewash warrior (too old to be a grommit, the official beginner surfer term) and caught me some waves for a couple of days on a huge big board. I am now officially licenced to use words like "sick" "stoked" and "gnarley". "Bodacious" is reserved for those called Keanu or Brad. Beaver (surf coach extrordinaire) took pity on Jules and I who were staying in the carpark beside the beach in weather which was starting to get a little too Autumnal for campcooking, and took us in for dinner at Granny's! Mmmm, Meatloaf. We did do some nice touring after leaving Ohope beach up in the far North including seeing a world famous toilet and some unsuccessful dolphin-swimming but my mind was so distracted by surfing that's nearabouts where the trip ended for me. St Patrick's day was tacky
Arthur's Pass
Jules of the mountains as hell, but Auckland is a nice city and we caught a very good comedy show and a couple of films there.
Leaving the "land of the long white cloud" to give it the Mauri Name (Aotearoa) was very sad indeed. Dare I say it this place tops even Laos as the best country I have ever visited, and I am thinking of coming back armed with a 1 year working visa, surfboard, wetsuit, skis, hiking boots, climbing gear, canoe, diving gear etc. ad infinitum, and buying a van for a much more substantial go at the country with 4 million inhabitants and 2 million annual visitors who are in on the secret, and don't want to leave.
More photos below (too many) and for a better look at any that catch the eye just click on them.
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Miranda
non-member comment
Fantastic pictures
Hi Guys,Brilliant photos of your NZ adventure.Happy travels, Miranda