Oh woe is me <sniff>. The end of the world is nigh <sob>. Well perhaps not the world but my travels have come to their inevitable conclusion. I always knew this day would come and was therefore suitably unprepared. I am now back in my beloved England with its rain and chill winds and pervasive greyness. But before I sink further into a mire of traffic fumes and seasonal adjustment disorder I shall rekindle the dying embers of my 'golden age' of travel and recount for you those adventures yet unchronicled and fill the void between part 8 and my homecoming.
At the end of part 8 I had completed the Tongariro Crossing and a day or so after this I was booked on a longish bus journey to Wellington. The bus was over an hour late and this relatively short delay was unbeknownst to me (as ever) a sign of things to come. More about this later. I got to Wellington in the early evening and set off to the nearby hostel. When I got there I encountered something I had never seen before. A queue. Of course I had seen queues before but never to check into a hostel. I was in this queue for about an hour and when I reached the front I discovered the reason for the wait. The staff were not just unbelievably slow they were wasting time chatting and just wandering off for no apparent reason. They were also impolite and genuinely surprised that people were getting a touch impatient. Luckily I was only staying there for the one night as the rest of the hostel was similarly unsatisfactory. Next morning I get up and check out and head to the train station to get a train to Woodside in the Wiararapa region - the nearest station to Greytown where my grandmother lives. Here I encountered a further delay although this one was my fault. It turned out that there were only 2 trains to Woodside on Sundays. Unfortunately when I had checked the train times the day before I had forgotten I would be travelling on a Sunday. I had missed the 10am train by 2 minutes and so had about 8 hours to wait before the next one. I stashed my pack in a luggage locker and headed into town.
At long last it was time to get the train and after an hour of scenic views I fell off the train and onto the platform at Woodside station where I was met by another Uncle (Paul) who drove me to Greytown where my Grandmother and Aunt Prue were. Greytown was NZ's first planned inland town, however you mustn't allow this impressive statistic to conjure in your minds a sprawling metropolis. Whilst there are still many good examples of the towns original Victorian architecture; since its well intentioned beginnings the town has hardly boomed, although I believe its residential areas continue to grow. The simple facts of the matter are that the majority of the countries population live on or near the coast thus leaving the central inland regions to get on with their rural enterprises without too many people cluttering the place up. Given these attributes I soon discovered that to the weary traveller (and city dweller alike) the areas greatest attraction was its peace and quiet. As such I spent a little over a week enjoying the opportunity to do as little as I pleased and the cooked breakfasts may also have delayed my leaving. This isn't to say that I did nothing, as during this time I met a choice collection of the locals (friends of my grandmothers who would drop in unannounced), I had encounters with Alpaca's, tried out a land yacht on a still day and it was also my birthday. Now there are of course stories I could tell from these adventures that would fill this instalment but given the magnitude of some of the events to come they are as sapphires in a world full of diamonds.
So what so grand events could be better than tales of woolly midget lamas? Well the fun (as I call it) began when it came time to move on and to make a dash for the South Island. My dallying in Greytown already meant that my tour of the South Island may have to be a swift one and as I mentioned earlier there were a series of delays on the cards, the first of which was about to strike. I had got the train back to Wellington and went to get a ticket for the ferry only to be told that the ferries had been cancelled due to the weather and this in combination with a huge backlog caused by a set of rugby matches meant that I couldn't be sold a ticket for a boat before Monday, some 3 days later. The bad weather incidentally involved some 15m waves and was reportedly the worst storm in the Cook Strait for around 35 years. In the previous big storm the ferry had tragically sunk so I suppose it was better not to risk it. Anyway this left me with a decision to make about what to do next. I could go back to Greytown right away or drop in on my Uncle and Aunt (who actually live in Wellington) the problem being that I couldn't get in touch with them. Well in the end I decide to stop in Wellington and I spent the day in the excellent Te Papa museum. That evening I caught up with the rellie's and the next day I did a little more exploring of Wellington. This time I had my camera and so was able to get a picture of a huge model of a 'Cave Troll' that featured in the recent Lord of the Rings film. It stands atop the awning of the cinema that premiered the film with its club held menacingly above its ugly screaming head. Later I filled a little more time by visiting a different cinema and seeing an Italian film called 'The last kiss' which wouldn't have been my choice normally but it just happened to be starting as I arrived at the cinema and as it turned out it wasn't at all bad. Anyway that evening my Uncle and Aunt were heading back to Greytown for the weekend and therefore so was I. The highway between the two places is a bit of a roller coaster ride of narrow and twisty mountain roads which reportedly caused Princess Diana to be somewhat sick when she visited the region. The train goes under the mountain and so is much more sedate.
Anyway despite the fact that this delay meant that I would have even less time to get around the South Island this time wasn't wasted nor was the weekend devoid of excitement. My Uncle and Aunt had planned to take their 4WD out for a bit of exercise and invited me along on the jaunt. The day involved meeting up with about another 65 4WD cars (with people in) and then setting off in convoy to a huge sheep station where we drove up and down steep hills, through streams and along beaches. The weather was a little disappointing but that is the only part that was. Soon enough Sunday night came which meant another roller coaster ride back to Wellington in order to get up early the next day to at last get on a ferry to South Island.
The boat was unbearably crowded, obviously due to the backlog that had to be cleared. This made the crossing a bit uncomfortable as the only place left to sit was the stairs as even the floor was mostly occupied by people sleeping. Also the weather whilst now calm was misty meaning the spectacular Marlborough Sound was invisible as we arrived in Picton. Despite the naff weather my first impressions of Picton were pretty good, it is surrounded by high peaks and bustles with activity on account of all the hundreds of people that pass through it daily via the ferries. This bustling however was at a bit of a peak when I arrived, once again due to the delays which meant that accommodation was at a bit of a premium. I hadn't had the foresight to book anywhere and so this left me to traipse from hostel to hostel to beg them to find one more spare bed. Anyway my persistence paid off but the result wasn't exactly ideal. After some persuasion with a man who had clearly been drinking I discovered there was a bed but it wasn't in the main hostel, it was in what was romantically referred to as 'the cottage'. This may be what they call a cottage in NZ but where I am from its called a battered old caravan. Naturally I was pleased not to be homeless for the night and whilst my nights sleep was relatively undisturbed I was to discover the next day that I'd had some visitors whilst I slept. You will all of course recall the problems I had in Cairns with 'Mozzilla' the fierce and vengeful god of the mosquitoes. Well I had now encountered the agents of his NZ counterpart 'Sandezuma' god of the sand flies. I think in order to create balance in the world, nature having created a place as beautiful as NZ's South Island it needed a contrasting ugliness, and it was only in the dark hearts of these creatures that such an ugliness was found. Sadly the sand fly, evil as it is, is only tiny and NZ is in comparison vast. Therefore it was necessary to infest the place completely with them in order to create the required balance. If only a dark heart could have been found in a creature the size of an elephant it would have been so much easier to avoid. Needless to say these little blood suckers also favour the feet and ankles which made walking any distance an unpleasant experience, which was a particular shame when you consider how much great walking there is to be done in the region.
Anyway having now only just enough time to do all I hoped to I didn't spend any more in Picton and was soon on my shortest South Island bus trip to the near-ish city (i.e. town) of Nelson. Nelson itself and its surrounds are a popular destination and my guide book told me of much which was to be found therein. I could however not do justice to the region as I had only a day to spare there. This isn't to say that I didn't find anything of interest, on the contrary I found something that intrigued (and to a certain degree amused) me and like all the best discoveries I found it quite by accident. I had been out exploring the town centre and having wandered through this I came to 'Queens Park'. This was a rather nice and well manicured city park with lots of little paths and a fountain and decorative lake with ducks in. But this wasn't the discovery for after I passed through this park I walked further from the centre of Nelson to where I believed the botanical gardens to be. I was keeping an eye out for any sign or indication of where I should be going and as I crossed a little foot bridge a curious sign arrested my attention. Why? Well the sign pointed off in the direction I was going and simply read 'Centre of New Zealand'. Intrigued I followed the sign and before long arrived at the edge of a set of grass playing fields. Over these I found a kind of map detailing short walks and tracks in the wooded area that lay beyond. No more mention of the 'Centre of New Zealand' was contained thereon but one of the paths led up hill to a lookout point so I though I would go on up and see what I could see. I set off up what quickly became a very steep and windy path up a muddy bush covered hill. I was nearing the top when I spot another sign with the same intriguing words on and it pointed further up the hill. Well it seems I was fated to find out what this was all about. After a little more leg work I arrive at the lookout point and there in the centre was an odd looking monument. The body of this thing was concrete and rose out of the ground at an angle and curved back towards the ground at a height of a few meters. The overhanging part was pierced by a long steel prong which reached both up into the sky and down almost to the ground, as if pointing. Directly beneath the prong was a small circular metal plaque which bore the words 'Centre of New Zealand'. This was the extent of the explanation and you may well think that this is explanation enough. Clearly this was marking the centre of the country. The only problem is that as far as I could see it wasn't in the centre of the country. I have no idea exactly how they worked out the position and nowhere did it state that it was the geographic centre so I suppose it could be an ideological centre, for whatever purpose that may serve. I also thought it odd (if it is the geographical centre) that it should be not only in a public park but also on the very top of a hill. Oh well it kept me busy for the afternoon.
Next day it was another early start to get on a bus for the long and scenic trip down the west coast. I had originally planned to go straight to Franz Joseph but due to the popularity of the route I was only able to get as far as Greymouth. The journey was pretty nice and we got lots of stops along the way to see things of interest including some rocky cliffs called the 'Pancake Rocks'. They are so called due to a weathering process known as stylobedding, carving the limestone into what looks like stacks of pancakes. The area also boasts some blowholes which due to it being a calm and sunny day did as little to impress me as blowholes always do. In due course I arrived in Greymouth, a town which most people only visit if they are going on (or have just got off of) the famously scenic Tranz-Alpine railway. The town itself has little of interest to the backpacker unless you like large concrete fishermen, although in its favour the hostel I stayed in there was without question the best one I found in NZ. It was only an overnight stop and next day it was back on the bus to the tiny little settlement of Franz Joseph. So what was in Franz Joseph? Well having been impressed by North Islands volcanoes it was time to be impressed by another natural marvel. This time not a mountain of fire but a river of ice, or glacier as they are more commonly known. I was back staying in my tent to help save funds as Franz Joseph's remoteness causes high prices, and as soon as I had set it up I went to book my tour of the glacier.
Early next day I go to the expedition centre and get kitted out with thick socks, walking boots and 'Ice Talonz' their own patented crampons. Then its all into the rickety old bus and off we went. After a gentle walk along the dry river bed with frequent stops for educational enlightenment from our guide we reached the terminal face of the glacier. Now I am pleased to report that it was a lovely sunny day and the glacier shone white and pale blue in the sun, the thing was that I had kind of expected it to be cold. I know it was summer and it was sunny and these two things usually mean its warm but what with all that ice I just assumed it would be a bit chilly. Well it wasn't, I mean of course the ice was cold but overall it was warm and walking about on the ice is pretty hot work. Due to this heat the ice was of course melting and as such the surface of the glacier was wet, which was another unnecessary surprise. Anyhow we continued on up the ice and climbed up ladders and ice steps cut afresh by our guide. We walked through crevasses and even a natural tunnel of ice. Cool huh! Anyway that was my tour of the glacier and upon returning I set about booking myself a bus out of Franz. This as it turned out was easier said than done. After an incredible amount of phone calls made by the helpful but ineffective woman in the information centre I discovered that all the busses were booked solid for another 4 day. Yeah, 4 whole days, stuck in a minute and remote hamlet with high food prices. I was not only stuck there with little to do but also it would make completing my tour of the South Island barely possible. Anyway I managed to pass the time walking every local track I could find until at long last it was time to get on the bus to Queenstown. When I did however I was rather annoyed to discover that the driver had not been issued with a passenger list and consequently had no idea who was booked on his bus, therefore he let on any old bod.
The bus ride through the 'Haast Pass' was gorgeous and to some degree a relief to at last be progressing again. Arriving in Queenstown however did cause some initial anxiety as the whole place glowed red with neon 'No Vacancy' signs. It was a busy and quite touristy place and I hadn't been able to book anywhere in advance as the phone system in Franz had been down for the three days before I left. Well perhaps having been so unlucky with the busses from Franz it was now my turn for some good luck as the first place I got to (despite having a No Vacancy sign) had had a couple of no-shows and so I was saved again. That evening I had time to briefly explore the town and to book a tour for the next day to Milford Sound. I had an early start the next day as the trip to Milford was pretty long and as such I got an early night. For all the good that did me. It was all going swimmingly until at about 2 or perhaps 3 in the morning when the remainder of the chaps staying in my dorm returned from their rather excessive night on the tiles. They then persisted in talking loudly, laughing, repeatedly slamming the door on their way out and almost immediately coming back in again. After an hour or so of this all but one left the room to go who cares where and the remaining bloke then decides to go to sleep on the floor right behind the door. Throughout the night he would periodically get up and clamber onto his top bunk only to get back down a few minutes later to sleep on the floor again. He also had a curious habit of shouting obscenities in his sleep. Sadly it is probably unnecessary for me to tell you what nationality these charming fellows were - that's right they were English. Anyway the long and expectably lovely bus trip wasn't exactly strenuous and I don't think I missed too much through yawning. The tour took us via several points of interest including 'Mirror River' which was a short stretch of calm river that on completely still days reflects the mountains beyond. Or so they say; frankly even if it had been calm enough to see the reflection I doubt it would have been all that impressive. It was however a welcome leg stretching opportunity on a bus trip that was 5.5 hours each way. We also saw some waterfalls and some 'moraine mounds' left by some ancient glacier and a place where the river had carved some interesting hollows in the river bed which was rather grandly named 'The Chasm'. Best of all though was the 'Homer Tunnel'. This is a roughly cut 1.2km tunnel through a mountain with no lights inside that is only just wide enough for two way car traffic but not wide enough for two way bus traffic. It easily rivalled all the natural features I had seen so far that day. Anyway by this time we had only a few more miles of steep mountain bends to contend with before we arrived at the sound. We had been warned that the area had its own microclimate and even though the weather had been glorious all day when we arrived at Milford the sky was grey in places and a faint mist hung about. At this point we traded our bus for a boat, the 'Lady Bowen' and set out on a 2 hour tour of the sound. I have to say that it is impressively huge although deceptively so. It wasn't until I saw a full sized cruise liner on the opposite side of the sound doing a good impression of a canoe that I got a feeling for the magnitude of the place. As we sailed all the way up one side towards the open sea our captain explained to us the various features we were passing including such things as hanging valleys, taking me back to my school geography lessons. After a time we reached the end of the sound and emerged into the sea. Here as we turned to make our return journey down the other side of the sound it was clear why so many early explorers never found Milford Sound as the entrance is perfectly concealed. Also as we turned and the slightly choppier waters of the open ocean struck our vessel one energetic wave jumped up at me and drenched me completely much to the concealed amusement of those people sensible enough to be inside. The return trip through the sound was equally impressive and we stopped to say hello to the seals before it was back on the bus for another 5 or so hours back to Queenstown. It was rather a long day and whilst it was worth it, had I more time I would have done it more sedately. That night in my dorm was almost as disturbed as the night before and I was up early again in the morning to leave Queenstown behind as I hurtled to my next destination, Dunedin.
Dunedin is on the East coast and is the second largest city on the South Island. I arrived on a grey and blustery mid afternoon and as I walked off to my hostel around the edge of the town I noticed that the trees had taken an autumnal tone. Dunedin is a fairly English looking place (or perhaps it should look Scottish considering its history) with a good dose of Victorian grandeur. Having deposited my pack at the hostel I set off to use what was left of the daylight to get a first look at the town. Now when you look at a street map of Dunedin the first thing you notice is that the central set of roads that circumvent the town square form an octagon. This area is locally known as 'The Octagon'. On the ground however you wouldn't really notice this if you weren't looking for it and actually it makes getting about town rather tricky. Anyway, also about the square is the fairly well known cathedral which looks pretty nice until you go around the back and see what appears to be a shamelessly modern extension. Back around the front there is a statue of Robert Burns (that Scottish fellow) which whilst I was there had been decorated with some sort of local university regalia. Incidentally Dunedin had the first university in NZ. That was about all I had time for that night but the next day there were even more treats in store. I had noticed on my map of the place that there was an arrow pointing off the edge of the map to what was apparently the 'Steepest street in the world'. Well what sort of fool would miss an opportunity like that. I set off immediately and was soon wandering off the map into uncharted suburbia. The directions I had simply told me that once off the map I walk up the road and it was the 10th one along. Somewhere along the way I lost count and I wasn't sure if it was on the right or the left; although I suspected it was the right as this was the part on the hill. I seemed to be walking on and on forever when at last I get a glimmer of hope as I pass the 'Steepest souvenir shop in the world'. I don't know if the shop was sloping inside or simply rather pricey as I didn't go in. Just along from the shop was the street which is actually called 'Baldwin Street'. I looked up the street and I have to admit that it did look rather steep but it was only the last 20 meters or so that was super steep. This top section is in the region of 45 degrees and is concrete rather than tarmac (for grip?). Anyway I walked up it and it really does give your legs a champion workout. At the top is a bench, a tap, a half decent view and the opportunity to walk back down again. On my way back I felt I deserved an ice-cream which brings me to another point. In my last instalment I relayed to you the details of my sociogastronomc study regarding ice-cream. Since releasing that issue I have been corrected about the exact nature of the ice-cream that had been raved on about. I had the right type of ice-cream but not the specific flavour. So this time I chose 'Hokey Pokey' flavour which turned out to be butterscotch with chunks of yummy crunchy butterscotch throughout. What can I say? I stand corrected.
The next day it was bye-bye Dunedin and hello Christchurch. Christchurch is the largest city on the South Island and is even more English than Dunedin. In fact it is much more English looking than most of England. I strolled around the gardens and watched people punting on the Avon, boaters and all. There were fabulous fountains, sculptures both classical and modern and people everywhere having lunch on the grass. Golly how civilised. Having painted such an idyllic scene it is almost a shame to tell you about the hostel I stayed in. It seemed on the surface to be perfectly decent but when I went to bed I discovered some of the unseen menace. At about 2 in the morning having had to battle for sleep with the roar of a snoring Dutch girl I was forced to get up on account of having been bitten to bits by some unknown things. After some consideration I concluded that they were likely fleas but I couldn't say for certain. Whilst up getting a cup of tea to help contemplate my new found misery I discovered that it wasn't just the beds that were infested. The kitchen crawled with roaches and the sofa's in the lounge housed mice. Oh well at least it wasn't boring.
Anyway that in many ways was about the end of things. After Christchurch it was back to Picton and onto the ferry. It was much more comfortable this time and the weather being perfect made the views spectacular. I arrived to a full moon over the glittering lights of Wellington and met up with my Aunt once more. Next day it was back to Greytown for a final visit with my Grandmother and then a seriously painful bus ride to Auckland. Here I was met by my cousin at who's house I was staying for my final two days. During this time I managed a trip to Rangitoto the extinct volcanic island in Auckland harbour which I had missed out on when I first got to NZ. Then it was airport, LA, Heathrow, Manchester and home.
And that, as they say, is that. I can remember thinking before I set off that I may not make it all the way, perhaps I would run out of money or something else might go wrong. I am of course pleased that it didn't. I also remember thinking before I went of the fairly well know 'wise words' of that old Chinese guy (whatever his name was). "Even the greatest journey started with a single step" but now that I have completed my journey I can't think of any wise words that talk of the journeys end. Perhaps it never does.
Anyway I must thank you all for reading my stories and thanks also to those of you who commented on my various tales. I now have to decide what the future will hold for me and although I am presently uncertain you may be sure that if I again take that 'single step' and I write about it, you will be amongst the first to know.
Until the next time,
David.