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Published: January 18th 2007
The South Island; Down to Christchurch.
Kaikoura Bay. We stayed in an en-suite shed.Saturday 13th January to Sunday 14th January 2007.
The 8.25am ferry from Wellington to Picton set sail out of the harbour in thick foggy mist with a visibility of about fifty yards, so short that we weren't even sure if we'd left port and the journey was just over three hours, the last hour of which, once the mists had cleared was through narrow fjord like inlets with vertical forests climbing out of the waters and which were at times as close as thirty metres away.
Half an hour after leaving Wellington I had cause for my latest stress out. Leafing through the car rental details I noticed that the second car was to be picked up in Picton on the 14th. I checked my watch and then checked it again. Today was the 13th. The thought of hanging around in Picton where nothing ever happens when we should have been making great inroads into the south isle filled me with horror, especially as our time was limited anyway. Marg told me not to worry but this one was all down to me. Fortunately I managed to track down a phone on board and the girl from Budget assured
me we'd be okay. Phew, and time for another spring in the step.
The car, a brand new Holden Harina was waiting as promised and by 12.30 we were on the road again. And what a road. Deserted and laid out like something on a car advert through rambling hills and vineyards. We stopped in the first town of Blenheim to by some grub at a supermarket then kept pushing on until we found somewhere beautiful to eat. It was gone 2pm by the time we finally hit the coast and we turned off at the first sign that mentioned the word beach. At the end of the track we came across a beach of sorts, ugly black sands and the Pacific, with the grey skies not really doing it any favours, in the distance. F*** it we thought (or at least I did), we were both starving so I dived out to get in the boot and within thirty seconds of opening it seemed like we'd attracted every big black fly within the southern hemisphere. With the combined total of our memory banks adding up to about a quarter of a normal human beings the rest of lunch
The South Island; Down to Christchurch
Behind You. The four seals were just taking an afternoon nap. break was a series episodes along the lines of "where's the crisps?", "Shit, they're in the boot" followed by a mad dash to the boot slamming the car door behind and running to the boot hunched up as though a helicopter was hovering overhead, slamming the boot then dashing back to the car. One bite later it was "did you get the water?" "Shit, it's in the boot" etc etc. We left with our tails between our legs as soon as possible and headed on our way.
An hour later and the early rise combined with the twisting, unfamiliar roads meant that tiredness was beginning to creep in. In normal circumstances back home, I'd put my foot down in an attempt to get to my destination even quicker but this wasn't the time or the place for antics like that. By now the road was hugging the rugged coast line so I pulled into a little widening of the verge for a leg stretch and a bit of sea air. There, just tweny yards from the car were four seals lounging on the rocks having an afternoon nap and we were just a couple of yards away from them
The South Island; Down to Christchurch
Margy gets frisky with NZ's christmas tree in Kaikoura. before they even began to show any sign of concern. What a buzz to see them in such a natural setting as opposed to a zoo or on the tourist trail.
We finally reached our intended destination of Kaikoura, New Zealands best location for whale and dolphin spotting at about 4pm and pulled off the main drag into the bay looking for a bed. It didn't bode well. Everywhere was over priced beyond our simple means and we were just about to pull out of town and try further up the road when we spotted a sign that seemed too good to be true. 65 Dollars for a double. Neither of us were about to get into the possibilities of sharing a bed but we figured where there's a double there must be twin so in I went to enquire. It was a little Yorkshire lass who was running the place and she showed us to a nice little room, in England we'd call it a shed, in her back garden with a queen (me) and single bed (Marg). Lovely.
Around six we took a stroll around the bay and looking out to sea I noticed something bobbing
The South Island; Down to Christchurch
We stopped for a break at this beautiful spot. up and down in the water. I pointed it out and we both agreed that it was, or was very similar too the head of a small whale and our pace increased as we headed to a closer vantage point. We were bustling with excitement as we moved round the bay, the chances of seeing a whale with no one else around were slim and as we approached the jetty, as close as we could get there was still a tinge of uncertainty but this was after all whale spotting territory. Margy pointed out what she thought to be another and we were cock a hoop almost breaking into a jog when it all became clear. The two whales were of course actually rocks protruding from the water and to add to our collective amnesia we had now had to put up with halluconogenic delusions. Were we losing our minds ? For a few minutes I certainly thought so.
We returned to our shed and settled down with a takeaway and a bottle of local red to watch "The Talented Mr Ripley" on TV. Marg has always wanted to see it but within half an hour she was flat
out and snoring like a trooper. I stuck with it even though I've seen it before and as it was drawing to a conclusion she suddenly snapped from her stupor, turned and blurted out "has it finished yet Pete?". I smiled as I told her to shut up and go back to sleep.
We set off the following morning in good spirits and, having stopped mid morning at a beautiful roadside lake pulled off by the beach in the small township of Waipura for lunch. Three young local kids were attempting to hit a golf ball on a large grassed area where we'd settled so after I'd shouted a few basic technical instructions from my dining position the inevitable instruction came from Marg "show 'em how it';s done Matt". I didn't need asking a second time and as I grasped the club from the obliging kiddie I suddenly felt under incredible pressure to perform. Four months have passed since I last struck a ball in anger, anything could happen. I settled into my stance trying to remember the basics; head still, left arm straight etc etc swung and hit the biggest piece of turf you've ever seen about thirty
yards, the ball travelled about ten. The humiliation. I'd caught up with the ball almost before it'd stopped rolling and hit the next one a beauty, so good that it came to rest about five yards short of some local guy's car. That'll do I thought and proudly returned to my cheese butty as the young lad went in search of his ball.
We hit Christchurch, a lovely city with New Zealands biggest British influence and spent the afternoon looking around. The sun had finally started to show it's face and it was lovely. The City was preparing for busker week and we sat on cathedral square for fifteen minutes watching an English guy attract a large crowd by basically microphoning his voice and attempting to take the piss out of passers by with jibes that were more embarrassing than funny for the amusement of the growing throng. His 'talent' was to be chained, handcuffed and padlocked and, as he promised us, to escape within one minute. Unfortunately for him, when he was shackled and ready to break free he decided to throw in an extra trick which he said he'd been practicing all week. Helped to the top
of a six foot ladder by a Korean girl from the audience he would incredibly attempt to flick a bowler hat with his foot and land it on his bald head. Incredible.
The first time it dropped to the floor Marg and I looked at each other, the fourth time we cringed and audience looked at the floor in hushed embarrassment and the seventh time we headed off in the direction of the cathedral. As we approached the building a large roar filled the air and we turned to see him proudly doffing his hat, still in chains.
We left Christchurch in an attempt to get as far south as possible and twenty minutes later passed the exact same spot where we'd parked for the afternoon!. I could blame mother as she is the official navigator but I have to shoulder as much of the blame. I pulled in and asked directions of a girl on a bicycle, "excuse me, which way to route 1 North" I asked. The girl explained and five minutes later Marg remarked "shouldn't we be heading south?"!! I felt such a fool.
We drove for another hour before fatigue got the better
The South Island; Down to Christchurch.
In the Christchurch Gallery we listened to a Swedish quintet entertain us. of me and we pulled of route one and found a nice motel in Ashburton and a visit to New World (supermarket), a steak dinner courtesy of Margy's kitchen, a bit of TV and a bottle of red later hit the sack.
We both laughed ourselves to sleep as Marg, on exiting the bathroom in full length nightie sprang across the room, leapt in the air and let rip with the biggest trump you ever heard, like a full bed sheet being ripped from top to bottom. 112 years between us and we acting like a couple of ten year olds.
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non-member comment
Nice photos.More trees for us to look at.