Friday, March 03, 2006
New Zealand, as I may have mentioned is a beautiful place. But sometimes, with 22 years of wisdom I can say, mere beauty is not enough. Having departed with my material possessions (Kitty), I began what Monks call a Perigrination in to the West Coast wilderness beginning with Queenstown. The original intention had been to surf at Kaikoura but the road hugs the coast and it just wasn't happening the day I arrived. Faced with a night in a whale watching hotspot where people wear t-shirts saying "club sandwhiches not seals" I was swiftly back on the bus and arrived in Christchurch.
Queenstown is apparantly the 10th most visited place on the planet, I assume by tourist rather than extra-terrestrials. Its reputation grew out of the bungy jumping exploits of some guy and its ski-hills and now is home to anything that pits man against gravity in an under-dog fight. The cheapest way to prove my mettle was downhill mountain biking in the trails that by way of orientation traverse a hill with a gondala on it. Sadly the heli-drop and mini-bus expedition were out of range so I had to push my bike Frodo (so called because it possesed just the one ring) up the Mount of my impending Doom. The trails available ranged from a DH world cup training run to intermediate single track with inviting names like the rock-garden. To my credit I only went over the bars once and that was because of over-braking rather than reckless machoism/masochism. The second tumble cost a little arm skin but the tan is ok so don't worry yourselves. Unfortunately the weather came in that afternoon so I didn't really make the most of the day. It was the kind of rain that made you think it had passed the worst then got harder which is why, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I spent my last evening as a 21 year-old watching desperate house wives at a campsite.
The following day, the 28th, I celebrated my birthday and shrove tuesday in one with a pancake breakfast in the kind of restaurant where you say something to the staff, they nod comprehendingly (page 17 of "working abroad"(Harper Collins, 2005)), then it doesn't happen. My plan to go to Milford Sound was thwarted by the sheer distance, likewise Mt Cook which I did get a good look at on the way through. Instead I hitched to Wanaka via 3 lifts and a free nectarine from the road-side stall (an unwitting birthdtay present). Wanaka is a more tranquil Queenstown but my idiocy budget was exhausted so save a skate I left unscathed for Haast which is big on my YHA map because it has a hostel and small on anything to do. I walked to the beach (14km), the wind blew and by 9.30 I was so entirely out of ideas I went to bed.
Haast was redeemed by a trip to The Fox Glacier, in the town of Fox Glacier, with two English ladies. It did have a poetic Maori naming stemming from the legend of a lost lover and his missus's tears, but some whitey in shorts preferred his own name.The weather obscured the drive down although there were several newly formed water falls about. After a walk to the impressive Glacier, further progress onto it requiring a guide, I was content to spend the afternoon watching idiotic movies from the extensive hostel collection and rotating who I stole milk from to make tea. That night was the coldest I have ever spent in a tent but was also the turning point.
I had planned to walk to Lake Matheson which before the wind gets up is perfectly still and has a relfection of Mt Cook and Mt Tasman in it, both snow capped. I caught a Ride with Gregor a German guy in my hostel and a Belgian we picked up (he later announced he had slept in a phonebox and had a hat that made this statement extemely credible). It took a little over half an hour for the mist to clear but the wait was worth it since the reflection came through perfectly before the first breath of breeze shattered it. The path back was the west coast writ large since all those leaving knew it was gone and all those going thought we were suckers for seeing 8 in the am. Very similarly all those going North on route 6 look pityingly at you when you say your next stop is Greymouth whilst they are pleased as punch to finally getting to see Haast.
Gregor, and his more sleep inclined girlfriend Nadine, were my next lift. That is after we had jump started the car which had been left all morning with the lights on. The weather returned and we headed North via cafes, jade jewelry shops and various turnings and lakes. Greymouth hostel is the best in the country having an amazing kitchen and a warden who casually bakes muffins for everyone. We used these to supplement the BBQ we had, the days eating being hugely disrupted, I for my part eating 375g of finest biscuits for lunch. The meal was so pleasant I decided that that was my birthday, a rare luxury of not getting a 29th for real.
This ability to see what you want to see may be useful when grilling lamb and brinking ale but has altogether different consequences when the bus timetable is involved. My casual booking revealed I was 2 days shy of Chirstchurch and had insufficient funds on my pass say nothing of the flight I'd miss. Christchurch isn't an easy word to fit on to a piece of A4 paper (don't try it, I'm telling you) but mine was legible enough to have a ride this morning inside of an hour at the turn off. The road winds through the Southern Alps and ended at the hostel door which pretty much does for the NZ leg.
Queenstown is apparantly the 10th most visited place on the planet, I assume by tourist rather than extra-terrestrials. Its reputation grew out of the bungy jumping exploits of some guy and its ski-hills and now is home to anything that pits man against gravity in an under-dog fight. The cheapest way to prove my mettle was downhill mountain biking in the trails that by way of orientation traverse a hill with a gondala on it. Sadly the heli-drop and mini-bus expedition were out of range so I had to push my bike Frodo (so called because it possesed just the one ring) up the Mount of my impending Doom. The trails available ranged from a DH world cup training run to intermediate single track with inviting names like the rock-garden. To my credit I only went over the bars once and that was because of over-braking rather than reckless machoism/masochism. The second tumble cost a little arm skin but the tan is ok so don't worry yourselves. Unfortunately the weather came in that afternoon so I didn't really make the most of the day. It was the kind of rain that made you think it had passed the worst then got harder which is why, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I spent my last evening as a 21 year-old watching desperate house wives at a campsite.
The following day, the 28th, I celebrated my birthday and shrove tuesday in one with a pancake breakfast in the kind of restaurant where you say something to the staff, they nod comprehendingly (page 17 of "working abroad"(Harper Collins, 2005)), then it doesn't happen. My plan to go to Milford Sound was thwarted by the sheer distance, likewise Mt Cook which I did get a good look at on the way through. Instead I hitched to Wanaka via 3 lifts and a free nectarine from the road-side stall (an unwitting birthdtay present). Wanaka is a more tranquil Queenstown but my idiocy budget was exhausted so save a skate I left unscathed for Haast which is big on my YHA map because it has a hostel and small on anything to do. I walked to the beach (14km), the wind blew and by 9.30 I was so entirely out of ideas I went to bed.
Haast was redeemed by a trip to The Fox Glacier, in the town of Fox Glacier, with two English ladies. It did have a poetic Maori naming stemming from the legend of a lost lover and his missus's tears, but some whitey in shorts preferred his own name.The weather obscured the drive down although there were several newly formed water falls about. After a walk to the impressive Glacier, further progress onto it requiring a guide, I was content to spend the afternoon watching idiotic movies from the extensive hostel collection and rotating who I stole milk from to make tea. That night was the coldest I have ever spent in a tent but was also the turning point.
I had planned to walk to Lake Matheson which before the wind gets up is perfectly still and has a relfection of Mt Cook and Mt Tasman in it, both snow capped. I caught a Ride with Gregor a German guy in my hostel and a Belgian we picked up (he later announced he had slept in a phonebox and had a hat that made this statement extemely credible). It took a little over half an hour for the mist to clear but the wait was worth it since the reflection came through perfectly before the first breath of breeze shattered it. The path back was the west coast writ large since all those leaving knew it was gone and all those going thought we were suckers for seeing 8 in the am. Very similarly all those going North on route 6 look pityingly at you when you say your next stop is Greymouth whilst they are pleased as punch to finally getting to see Haast.
Gregor, and his more sleep inclined girlfriend Nadine, were my next lift. That is after we had jump started the car which had been left all morning with the lights on. The weather returned and we headed North via cafes, jade jewelry shops and various turnings and lakes. Greymouth hostel is the best in the country having an amazing kitchen and a warden who casually bakes muffins for everyone. We used these to supplement the BBQ we had, the days eating being hugely disrupted, I for my part eating 375g of finest biscuits for lunch. The meal was so pleasant I decided that that was my birthday, a rare luxury of not getting a 29th for real.
This ability to see what you want to see may be useful when grilling lamb and brinking ale but has altogether different consequences when the bus timetable is involved. My casual booking revealed I was 2 days shy of Chirstchurch and had insufficient funds on my pass say nothing of the flight I'd miss. Christchurch isn't an easy word to fit on to a piece of A4 paper (don't try it, I'm telling you) but mine was legible enough to have a ride this morning inside of an hour at the turn off. The road winds through the Southern Alps and ended at the hostel door which pretty much does for the NZ leg.
