New Zealand 03/01/20010 to 16/01/2010

In this instalment: hostels, extreme sports, pies and family ties.

Photos can be found at http://picasaweb.google.com/vemcharrier as uploading pictures to this site was crushing my soul.

Auckland

We lost a day and an hour on the flight, so we skipped straight from the 2^nd into the 3^rd when we crossed the international date line. This is strange. Where does it go? Does the Lord take this into account on your 3 score and 10 quota? This was the reason we had stopped off in Tahiti. Our original plan would have us lose the excuse to be royally drunk on the 1^st, as it would have disappeared during our flight.

The chap at bio-customs pulled V for not ticking the little box to indicate that she had walking shoes in her bag. After an inspection of the offending items and deducing that they were clean he gave V a stern wag of the finger and ‘tell the truth next time’ look.

New Zealand is very protective of its wildlife and fauna. Invasions by alien species have damaged the balance of its natural habitat. The possum population, introduced from Australia (by two New Zealanders, no less) to start a fur trade had blossomed to over 70million. Since they have no predators here, they wreck the ancient forests. To control the population to a meagre 30million the authorities carpet bomb the forests with poison. Unfortunately this also kills much of the native wildlife, not to mention your cat and dog if they are outside that night. New Zealanders are doing their bit to reduce the possum population by running them over in their high powered cars (see later).

We rocked up to a Hotel mentioned in the 2000 edition of LP. The tome is on loan from Matteo and Erica and I have replaced it with the most up to date copy now.

The hotel was above a pub, but cheap and clean.

NZ is an expensive place compared to central and South America. Unfortunately Oz would be more expensive still.

Situated close to the 328m Skytower, we took at trip to the top. Well the part you can get to. Some muppets were jumping off, attached to wires and a descender of course.

NZ is the home of the bungee jump and throughout the country Kiwis and visitors throw themselves off of, into and at various parts of the land.

We did partake in a bit of this in Queenstown, but I needed the time to build up to it.

So for our first meal in NZ, we had an Indian. Tasty stuff and not too hurtful to the wallet.

Running low on undercrackers we attempted to do a laundry but were not willing to sit and wait. Things to see and do. Stressful this professional holidaying. So it would have to be my cousins’ Hotpoint that takes the load.

So off we trotted to the Auckland Museum. It is stacked full of stuff. And stuffed full of kids. There are live beetles and worms that you can prod. The non-PC toys from the forties made me laugh. There were metal war figures, one descriptively titled ‘Jap soldiers with bomb’. Another was a jigsaw of Europe. The catchline on the box; The Nazis have dismantled Europe, it us up to you to put it back together. Gollywogs (I remember those) and potent toy guns that launched wooden bullets (Belfast police are still using them).

V and I had gone our separate ways in the museum so I could not find her. We had a wine tour to go to (booze versus education is not a fair contest) so I asked a nice lady to make an announcement over the tannoy for V.

The tour was on a nearby island, Waiheke. It is an aberration with a micro climate than can cause variations in temperature across the island of up to 10°C. Various grapes can therefore be grown with success.

Our driver was an elderly gent who provided us with snippets of info while ferrying us between vineyards in his Venga bus. Two of our fellow tourers were an American couple and again we swapped travel stories. This trip (one of many) was his 60^th birthday present.

In the final winery, the owner explained how to taste wine properly; what to look for, what to smell for and what sensations to feel for on your palate and tongue. He described the conventional winemaking process against the organic method he employed.

He also took the piss out of Australian wines*.

*Insert your own joke here about urine content in Australian beverages.

He asked if there were any Australians in the group and seemed genuinely disappointed that there were none, therefore not being able to make an adult cry before strangers.

I felt obliged to buy from someone more caustic than I.

After returning to Auckland and walking back to our hotel I received a bit of chew from fat pricks in a car. They were hurling unfunny insults at anyone they passed, so I did not feel particularly special. Nothing changes when you put 4 lads in a crap buggy. I admit I had a tear in my eye. Not because of the insults; it was nostalgia from Blantyre.

I have to mention New Zealand dress sense. Am not really sure it exists in fact. I feel like Jean Paul Gaultier here. I doubt baseball caps and sleeveless shirts will be showing in the Milan show this summer. But at least they are no worse than their Australian neighbours.

I contacted my aunt who I had not seen in about 16 years. Pauline lives with her husband Graham, son Peter and daughter Anna in Whangaparoua about an hour north of Auckland. Their youngest, Ruth lives on the south island with her French fella and their new born son, Tui.

Just to clarify, I had told them I was going to be around some time in advance.

We managed to hire a car, there not being many left and most hire companies being queued out the door in an Argentinean style.

It was great seeing them. Pauline and Graham had not changed at all. Peter and Anna had grown up to be handsome and beautiful young adults, respectfully.

They had always been the new worldy part of the family, Pauline outspoken on nuclear missiles – I thought they were great because they were in submarines, which I loved – and the environment. They were just the same, which was lovely to see.

So we ate and made merry on wine.

Bay of Islands

Pauline and Graham were our tour guides the next morning, taking us along to the beach at Whangaparoua. Pauline left her shoes at one end, only realising she was missing them once we headed back to the car. There they were, where she had left them when she first stepped onto the white sand.

There were plenty of people on the beach and many in the frigid water. Reminds me of swimming in the Irish sea off Milport when I was a kid. I can testify that it was like a walnut whip.

Auckland is a sprawling city and it has grown to engulf Whangaparoua. Graham showed what existed when they moved here in 1996. Very little. Now the road that runs past their front porch is an artery to the city, with a flow of commuters from early morning to early evening.

We said our short goodbyes as we planned to return the following evening and took our leave up to the Bay of Islands.

In the petrol stations in NZ you can buy good coffee from a smiling person and best of all; pies. Everytime we stopped for a snack on the road we had one. Why has the pie not made it into France?

There are also lots of clean public toilets everywhere. The French and Fi-Fi take note that this is possible.

It was holiday season and places to stay were in short supply. The cost of a room had forced us down the hostel route, and this was to be our first venture into the mainstay of backpacking accommodation. The Peppertree was clean, friendly, high quality and the owner booked a tour for us the next morning. Why hadn’t we tried this before? I suppose because accommodation had been pennies up until Tahiti.  The Fi Fi experience had left its scars but this healed them all. To celebrate we popped to the local pub where we were the oldest there. Tui is a local rare bird, but also a beer as well as Pauline’s grandson so we sampled some in his honour.

The following morning as we checked out we tried to open the car to put away our stuff for the day. It was only when the boot of the adjacent silver Toyota Avensis popped open that I realised I had been trying to break in to someone else’s motor.

A passing couple just laughed.

Our sailing tour was on a three masted brig called the R. Tucker Thompson. She is named after the man who built her from scratch but who never survived to see her afloat.

New Zealand is a great place for kids, with an extra effort being made to keep them amused in every location. I was apprehensive when I saw the number of tykes due to climb aboard, but the crew had them playing games, climbing the rigging then swinging into the sea all day long.

That night we headed back to Whangaparoua. In our car.

We shared some thoughts and pictures with the family once more (as well as much wine). Peter gave us a calendar of the pictures he has taken around NZ. He usually takes a tour around once a year to indulge his photography habit. His book of industrial landscapes (his term) of man influencing nature was stunning.

Gisele, I hope the calendar is hanging in a good place in the office.

One question from Graham made me think. He asked which was the most sustainable society/ way of life we had encountered? None. Although the inhabitants of Lake Titicaca come closest by far, having lived this way for hundreds of years.

Rotorua

Rotorua smells of Sulphur (so people say). It is one of the most actively volcanic parts of the earth. Bits blow up every couple of hundred years or so. We were staying at another backpackers hostel, again being of high quality and extremely friendly.

Stepping out we discovered that everything closes early. We did manage to play mini-golf and swing a baseball bat at balls being launched at us. Following this we popped to the supermarket to prepare ourselves for what we hadn’t done in months; Cook.

Great thing about hostels is that they are equipped with kitchens, freezers, fridges and pans so that you don’t need to pay for overpriced restaurants every night. After lamb and wine we were ready for bed.

The next morning we visited the Wai-O-Tapo volcanic park. Again, it is extremely child orientated.

Note: it depends on the kid. We saw a fat ginger (doubly afflicted) creature being dragged around by his father and friend.

We made it just in time to see the Lady Knox Geyser erupt. In truth it is stirred into action at 10.00am every day by the addition of a little washing powder. This lowers the surface tension of the cooler water above the pool of superheated liquid below, and out it comes. This effect was discovered accidentally by convicts who had been using the geyser to wash their clothes. One brought some suds and the rest is history.

V loved this place as the colours, smells and shapes are astounding. Her favourite was the oyster pool, of course.

Wellington

The next morning was a long drive south to Windy Wellington. With the channel between the North and South Islands acting as a natural funnel, no wonder all the people walk at a 45° angle. Parking the car, we asked the lady in the hostel if we could leave it in the private car park across the road. She told us that it would be towed, even over a weekend. Indeed, the tow truck was in action for some poor soul’s Ford Fiesta the next morning.

I cooked (badly) and we finished off our wine and headed to our scratchers.

With the weather bad (or typical if you are a Wellingtonian) it was a lazy next day. The Te Papa (our place) museum was full of interesting stuff, especially about volcanoes and earthquakes. More interestingly, it is also the national art gallery, with a mix of native and immigrant art on display. We took the little funicular to the top of the hill above the city (where everything was closed) before heading to the pub. It was quiz night. Our team consisting of V and I, Norfolk Enchants (say it out loud), finished 6^th. It made us happy anyway so we had another Guinness.

I think the type of cars that a country has gives an insight into the people. There are V6 and V8 Fords and Opels with spoilers, diffusers and bodykits all over NZ. These are driven by your average family man/ woman. The number of cylinders are emblazoned on the side in red, or perhaps it is how many times they have to fill them up in a month.

They look as if the design hasn’t changed since when the Ford Sierra made a stir with its unconventional shape back in the ‘80’s. They are unassuming – like the car the Sweeney used to chase the villains – but pack a hefty punch. A bit like the Kiwis at sport and as a national psyche as a whole.

This ‘steady, but different’ choice is outdone by what V termed the ‘mullet car’. From the front it resembles a normal family saloon, but as it pulls past you see that it has a loading bay like a pick-up truck. It is the low rider sporty choice for the Taliban, when they get tired of hanging about in a Toyota Hi-lux. They are painted lurid colours and their engines are of the 6 or 8 variety. And they race these things. We saw one on the back of a pick-up truck with race livery, callipers, grooved disks and slick tyres. Mental.

The Sunday/ Saturday journey to B&Q/ Leroy Merlin would be so much more interesting.

Kaikoura

The ferry across to Picton from Wellington was uneventful, except for another loud yank telling the poor people next to him (and most of that deck) his holiday destinations for the last 20 years; how he would not have loaded the ferry in the way that it sailed, the family he would be visiting in the South Island; how he came here every year; until I stemmed the flow of blood from my ears with my iPod.

The South Island is very different to the North. It is spectacular compared to the North’s beauty.

Driving in NZ is an ethereal experience. There are about 2 motorways. All the other main roads are 2 lanes with an occasional overtaking area.

Relax and enjoy the scenery at a serene maximum of 100km/h (62mph).

Saying that, the car is really the only way to get about NZ.

It was a picturesque drive to Kaikoura where we were waitlisted to take a boat trip to see the locals; sperm whales, albatrosses and dolphins.

Looking as if we weren’t going to get on the fully booked tours we reserved a plane for the next day, even though I knew I would be throwing up my breakfast in a Nazca lines style.

On the very last tour of the day our luck was in and our names were called.

Truly awe inspiring, these leviathans, taking in air and expelling CO2 before diving to the depths to hunt once more.

Paul Watson need not have worried as there were no Norwegians nor Japanese on the trip. They were more than likely in the abundant shore side sea food restaurants, hoping for a special ‘catch of the day’. For scientific reasons only, of course.

The slow moving whales were juxtaposed with their cousins, Dusky dolphins and their speed and acrobatics as they swam alongside the high speed catamaran.

We partook in seafood in one of those restaurants (no mammals) and we settled down to writing our backlog of postcards.

Instead we chatted to an English couple, living and working in Lisbon who had taken a year to travel the opposite way from us. They had visited Myanmar and were on their way to Argentina, Chile, Bolivia and Brazil.

Living in Portugal will have prepared them for the driving in Argentina. Corrine put the shocking road behaviour of the Portuguese down to the very hierarchical society and workplace where they are confined and restrained. Once in their car, they are all powerful. And infinitely dangerous. I think it is just that it is very warm and they need to move so fast to keep air flowing through their un-air-conditioned cars.

It is a mystery as compelling as whale communication.

On this subject, Sperm Whales use their clicks to communicate and to hunt. The level of sound they can produce – over 190 dB – can kill fish. Those that have been foolish enough to swim with these fabulous creatures have been pulled from the water with massive internal injuries. Just for comparison, a jumbo makes around 110dB at take off. The decibel scale is logarithmic so it doubles every 2.6dB or so. 115dB is 4 times as loud as 110dB. Work it out.

Swimming with Sperm Whales; more dangerous than Argentinean taxis.

Hanmer Springs

We overslept so we never saw Dave and Corrine before we had to hot step it out of our room. It was another long and beautiful drive to Franz Josef glacier so we took a stop at Hanmer Springs for a sauna and a private bath in the hot and cold waters that mingle there.

Hope the water changes quickly before the next bathers, is all I can say.

Fully cleansed and refreshed with our limbs feeling heavy we were back on the road (following a pie, of course).

Franz Josef Glacier

After checking into the hostel and surveying the other occupants we deduced that we were some of the youngest there, for a change. All ages use the hostels. Being able to cook for yourself and having clean, cheap accommodation are the main draws. I had never considered them before as I am an inherent snob and accommodation was always so reasonably priced in all of the other countries we visited (excluding Tahiti).

I also blame Tahiti for turning me farther away from the idea of backpacking after the state of Chez Fi-Fi’s and the disappointment of the other one, too.

Really there is no need to stay anywhere else.

Trying to plan ahead I had a bit of difficulty reserving a place in Queenstown at the same time as booking the accommodation at the glacier. They were all full. When calling the Southern Laughter hostel, the most dowr, unhappy lady in the Southern hemisphere answered. She told me I had the wrong number. I then understood her manner as the (wrong) number in the Lonely Planet is the one that I had called. She must receive 300 calls per day asking if they can stay with her. If I was her I would turn it into a sport. She definitely needs something to cheer her up. Take the booking and the credit card number anyway. She can then have a smile knowing that the unfortunate traveller is not going to giggle when the Southern Laughter turns them away.

After eating our cereal from teacups (there were no bowls available – one downside of a hostel is that you have to share utensils with the other peasants) we set off to the Franz Josef glacier. I was impressed. A 30 minute stroll across the riverbed with a little bit of danger of getting your feet wet and you reach the ablation zone. You can pay a guide to take you onto the glacier and inside it, if you wish, but we were gunning to see its neighbour and took the free option of just looking at it. V’s remark was; ‘pffff. I’ve been on the Mont Blanc glacier. It’s bigger.’

One girl was in high heel boots and had to take them off to traverse the melt water river, one lad had a walking stick and had to be helped across. Both made it.

William Fox Glacier

We prepared our bag with our picnic and set off in the direction of the glacier face. At the access gate a chap from the DOC (Department of Conservation) was explaining to some German tourists that the path was closed due to a rockfall. The risk of subsequent slides was high. He stated that ‘rocks the size of camper vans’ had slid down the valley and they were ‘expecting more’. The route would reopen in a couple of hours, with luck.’

The camper van; Not officially an SI Unit but a common form of measurement in NZ, it appears.

So that was that. We ate our lunch and viewed the blues and whites of the glacier from a distance.

Some facts about the Fox Glacier. It was named after the then Prime Minister…..by himself. An ego not seen outside of the French Football Squad.

2 young tourists were killed last year when climbing on the face and it collapsed. They had passed the security barriers and were posing for photos being taken by none other than their parents. 

Thankfully plastic bags are being phased out across the globe or the parents could accidently do themselves a mischief.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Even when driving in this country the views are fantastic. Our Cuban habits die hard and we picked up a hitchhiker (a lad from England) who had been working in Oz for a couple of years before trying his hand in NZ with his wife (a teacher). He had worked in hotels, as a mechanic, as a tour guide; anything at all. It is admirable that people such as him and his good lady still exist. No barriers, no conforming to the culture of the 9-5.

Queenstown

The Welsh lad in the hostel advised us to take the canyon swing instead of a conventional bungee jump. Reason being it last longer and also that the company that runs the bungee jumps, A.J. Hackett has become a bit of a factory. According to our host, the venerable Mr Hackett, inventor of the bungee jump was bought out by his ex-partner and ex-friend of the rights of his own name. Legally it was above board but morally it was below the belt.

V wanted to see a Kiwi – the flightless bird not just a bloke from NZ – so we visited the Kiwi wildlife park. An interesting story in itself as it was created out of a garbage dump, by one man and his family.

A veritable scrapheap challenge.

We sighted one and also a couple of Tuatara, dinosaurs that have been unchanged for 230 million years. They have a 3^rd eye on the top of their heads, for some reason, still unknown. For 230 million years.

After that it was off to throw ourselves off of stuff.

An Australian lad with us had voluntarily endured these things before and was yet to be scared by any of them (he told us). He was first off with a bin over his head. Don’t ask me why.

I was up just before V and I chose to go off backwards. Originally I wanted to be dropped head first, but was not sure how my brain would have coped. Contrary to popular belief my brain is in my head.

Although it was supposed to be scarier, I was unsure that I would be able to step off facing the precipice. Unlike bungee, the jumpmaster can touch you before the canyon swing and seeing that I was filling my grids, the jumpmaster and his assistant dutifully ripped the piss out of me.

I screamed and flailed like Pat Bonner facing a corner kick.

V went face first leaping into oblivion, then signed up for another go; this time to be released whilst hanging over the canyon to swing upside down.

My bottle had smashed so I watched.

We took the gondola to the mountain overlooking Queenstown and raced down on a non-powered kart (luge). Great fun and no too scary so we did that twice, the 2^nd time on the more difficult track.

Back on terra firma we played Frisbee golf in the gardens. Just like real golf but without the ridiculous clothing or infidelity to your wife. It was my hubris that dealt me a cruel blow following me laughing at V fishing her Frisbee (well a rented one with a NZ$20 deposit) out of the lake. The following ‘hole’ I was up to my thighs in duck pond. V managed to find the pond as well but was saved from a dip by a huge lily pad.

We did our laundry while writing postcards and I whopped V at table football (babyfoot) at the same time. Not that I am competitive, you understand.

Christchurch

It was a long drive to Christchurch but a beautiful one. Mount Cook was shrouded in cloud so we missed the highest peak in New Zealand.

Whoever named the mountains in New Zealand was prone to some violent mood swings. The Remarkables encircle Queenstown, but there are also Mt Hopeless, Mt Horrible, Mt Aspiring, Mt Soaker, Climax Peak, Elusive Peak, Adventure Hill, Attempt Hill, Deceit Peaks, Devil’s Backbone, Mt Give-up and Mt You’re F*cked^†.

For the Scots there are the Ben Nevis, the Grampian Mountains and Celtic Peak (not Park).

For SBM’ers there are Ramsey Glacier and Mt Donald Maclean.

^† Some of these names I made up but I’m not going to say which. You have to work it out for yourself.

It took us 6 hours with a couple of stops for driver changes and one for lunch. As we scoped out the pies on offer a helpful French lad explained what a pie was to V. ‘En fait, c’est comme un tourte avec la viande dedans’.

Merci beaucoup.

We checked in to our hostel an old countryhouse (hence the name). It was just superb once more. We wandered into town for a swish degustation menu with wines for each course and a meander back to our accommodation. There we crossed those who had been lubricating themselves in their own homes prior to stepping/ falling out on the town. They were the most happy, friendly good natured pissed people I’ve ever seen. ‘Have a good night on the piss’ was one greeting from an inebriated reveller. In Glasgow I would have crossed the road or have my fists clenched in my pockets.

It sums up the country, for me. Amiable people with a relaxed demeanour but with a penchance for a good time too. The country is beautiful, spectacular and rugged and only the chill in Christchurch on the day we left (11°C in summer for Christ’s sake – perhaps the name should be changed to this) would dissuade me from living here. A great place to raise kids and always plenty to see and do. A good month would be necessary to see more of the South Island and to explore farther into the North. Or you could stay forever, like my cousins.