The Long White Cloud

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The Mauri name for New Zealand is "Land of the Long White Cloud". I might have gone with "Land of the Long Wet Shower", but I can definitely see what they were getting at. Clouds are a prominent feature of the landscape here. They don't impassively form a backdrop like normal clouds. They morph and hover weirdly like UFOs. Cling in clumps to the sides of mountains like fake cobwebs at Halloween. Curl round your feet like dry ice at a school disco.



The day after the kayaking incident I drove 350km from Milford Sound back to Te Anu then on through Queenstown to Lake Wanaka, via Arrowtown and Cardona. As far as whole days spent driving go, it was a winner. The road from Arrowtown to Cardona, in particular, necessitated stopping every 10 minutes to check out the view. New Zealand's famous clouds followed my progress closely at all times. My iPhone wouldn’t connect to Ruby’s stereo, and the only radio station she was capable of picking up for most of that distance was some kind of Christian Rock FM, so I had a lot of time driving in silence to contemplate the landscape and mentally compose this blog.



Having spent the last ten months in various parts of Africa and Australia, being in New Zealand felt like a brief holiday to Autumn from my year of endless summer. I felt a comfortable familiarity with the honey coloured trees and heavy skies, the slippery layers of damp leaves underfoot, even the cool smell of the air. It wasn’t until later I realised that New Zealand has almost no native deciduous trees. Those familiar rusty tones are all imported, just another example of Britain’s determination to make the rest of the word look a little more like our idea of home.



I ended my long leisurely day of driving at the imaginatively named Lake Wanaka Bakpaka. I had hoped I might manage to skydive here, but a look at the next day’s forecast instantly told me that would be a bad plan. I decided to press on to Franz Joseph in search of better weather. The road had been closed for two days, but everyone at the hostel seemed hopeful it would re-open in the morning. I had a sunset stroll around the lake and then, searching for something to do after dark, wandered into a little cinema. Because nothing in South Island is ever entirely normal, the cinema seating happened to be made up of battered old sofas, beanbags, mismatched armchairs, and what appeared to be half a Morris Minor. If any of my friends from Leeds are reading this, think of the OLD Hyde Park Social Club, crossed with the Picture House. As you can imagine, this can only be a good thing. There was an intermission halfway through the film in order to serve freshly baked cookies and beer. They were showing The Grand Budapest Hotel, which I loved even more for the fittingly quirky environment in which I saw it.



The road to Franz Joseph re-opened midday the next day. For much of this long drive I was listening to a local radio station that was completely obsessed with something called fejoas. Apparently it was fejoa harvest season, and the station were offering several lucky listeners the chance to win fejoa gift baskets, including such thrilling items as fejoa jam, fejoa vodka and fejoa shampoo. I was fascinated with the idea that there was some exotic local fruit I’d never tried, so when I spotted some fejoa muesli the next time I went shopping, I felt compelled to buy it. I can now tell you conclusively what fejoas taste like. They taste like lemon fruit pastels, with a hint of cough syrup. I’m glad I didn’t win the gift basket.



On arriving in Franz Joseph I drove into the carpark of the hostel I’d been intending to stay at, noticed a Kiwi Explorer tour bus parked up in front and quickly reversed back out again. Not that I have anything against large groups of shitfaced British teenagers, you understand. This proved to be the best decision I made during my whole trip, because in a hot tub at the next hostel down the street I met my new best friends for the week. Glow Worm in Franz Joseph is everything a hostel should be. Friendly chilled out staff, interesting independent travellers, free soup served at communal tables every evening, log fire, comfy sofas, slightly incongruous hot tub, absolutely no wankers. I don’t review hostels on my blog, but if I did I would give it full marks.

Hot tubs aside, like everyone else, I’d come to Franz Joseph to see the glacier of the same name. The next day I went on a helicopter hiking trip up onto the ice, which was so fun it’s getting it’s own separate entry…

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Photos

A prime example.

That wiggly thing is the road.

Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Roads of New Zealand
Yes that wiggly thing is a road and they have no shortage of those. That is why it takes twice as long to get any place as you think it will. But that is ok because it is so beautiful that you want to go slowly anyway.