Ｌａｓｔ Ｄａｙｓ Ｉｎ Ｎｅｗ Ｚｅａｌａｎｄ

We have now been in Japan a week - in Tokyo, Osaka and Nara - but apart from the usual technical challenges we are overwhelmed with culture and hospitality so I havent even written the blog, let alone posted it. Maybe tomorrow.

Rotorua

As well as the obligatory white water helicopter bunjy jumping, Rotrotrua features geothermal activity and Maori culture with a touch of Eastbourne thrown in in the town centre. We toured the gardens near the lake that first evening before driving out to Mount Tarowewa which exploded in the1880s significantly re-drawing the local topography and causing many deaths.

We then retired to what we had thought to be the local YHA. It turned out to be an ex-YHA, the YHA having since built a fancy new location in the town centre. This is what comes of being cheap and buying your 4-year-old Rough Guide in a charity shop in Selby. However the room was fine as was the bar plus the bonus of a hot water pool which Peter had to himself to lie back and watch the Milky Way while sipping his beer (don’t try that at home children).

Although the water was well up to her minimum temperature standards, Margot spent most of the evening and breakfast poring over the guidebooks and brochures trying to decide which of the ‘cultural’ events would be excruciatingly embarrassing and which would be genuine, and then which would actually have geysers and mud-holes. Eventually we plumped for Ti Puia and it turned out to be a good choice.

In 1963 the local tribe or ‘iwi’ was given the responsibility of maintaining Maori culture in the area and their right to a small valley on the edge of the town where their ancestors had lived since the 14th century. They have developed this into an extensive enterprise, with a centre for training in wood carving and weaving, a cultural centre, traditional village and all set in a really lovely valley through which flows a stream with the occasional 100’ geyser or thermal pool breaking out of the undergrowth.

After a brief look around we joined a guided tour by one of the local elders, a trainer in the school of weaving, but with a wry sense of humour - while still managing to shepherd a disparate group of foreigners around the park.

She managed to get us back to the Marae (meeting house) in time for the concert that we had booked for.
We were invited into the Marae with a traditional Maori welcome and then given a concert of song and dancing and, of course, a haka. The performers were really good and obviously serious about what they were doing , proud of their traditions and keen to share them with us visitors. In fact the audience was very mixed, our group being joined by youngsters from an urban Maori schools being introduced to their culture and a group of elders who knew all the songs and movements and were happy to join in.

After this we had a picnic lunch then went back and spent the afternoon wandering around the valley having a less hurried look at some of the things we had seen on the tour. Of course, looking is only part of the experience as the smell of sulphur, like rotten eggs, pervades the place, though you do get used to it, they say.








On the Road Again




Our bags had spent the day in the car and about 5pm we got back on the road, aiming to get a bit closer to Auckland and leave just a leisurely scenic drive for the last day. Margot had wanted to spend sometime on the Coromandel peninsula but we were running out of time so a quick peek was all we could manage.

We found a convenient motel which turned out to be the most luxurious yet and we both agreed we could happily have moved in permanently. With a supermarket just across the road we rustled up a tasty meal and a nice bottle of white.

Bird Watching on the Sea Bird Coast

Come the morning we did drive up the coast and back and it would certainly have merited a stay, at least had the weather been a bit warmer. As it was, we drove back around the bay and discovered a Nature Reserve run by volunteers on the Sea Bird Coast. This is an area of flat salt marshes and mangrove visited by thousands of migrating birds each year. Parking at the visitor centre we walked for half an hour or so to a bird hide from where you could see huge flocks of dotterel, and other seabirds too small to identify, even with our binoculars, as the tide was still out. However they do make fantastic patterns in the sky as the flock away from the incoming tide. Unfortunately we had no time to wait and in fact eventually arrived at Auckland airport with one minute spare before our deadline – now that is what I call getting our money’s worth. Especially as the trip only cost us $10 plus petrol. On these short journeys a car is just as good as a campervan as the motels and cabins are so good with kitchens and everything, and of course the little cars are much more economic.

We also noted the US website is now up and running with trips on offer from LA to San Francisco. Too early to book yet but that would suit us fine.

Catching the shuttle bus into town it dropped us just round the corner from the YHA, another comfy double en-suite and within easy walking distance of the city centre.

Auckland



Len and Cilla had kindly offered to let us stay one last night in their motorhome parked on their drive and Len was to pick us up from the YHA about 4pm. So with our last day in New Zealand we headed off down to the Sky Tower which offers, you guessed it, bunjy jumping way, way above the city streets. It was bad enough just going up there in the express lift with a glass floor and walls and the photograph of Peter shows his gritted teeth. Margot looks much more relaxed but if you look closely you will see her eyes are closed. In truth Margot is OK with heights, its Peter who gets nervous and he thinks he did pretty well just allowing himself to be persuaded to go up there. There certainly are tremendous views for 360 degrees and it was a beautiful clear day with the boats in the harbour below.

Back on terra firma Margot went off for a bit of culture while Peter opted to take a short bus ride along the water front to Fergs kayak depot and take a couple of hours paddling round the harbour.

We met up again at the YHA only a few minutes late for Len, back to their house for a supper of ‘leftovers’ from a girls’ night Cilla had had the night before while Len was away in Christchurch. The ‘girls’ must have all been on diets as there was a great variety of tasty dishes to choose from. Early to bed with a 615 start for the airport – beyond the call of duty from Len as alwasys – and farewell to New Zealand – for now.

Well that’s the end of the blog from New Zealand, though in fact we have been in Ｊａｐａｎ for せヴぇらｌ days already. Maybe we can now put New Zealand to one side and focus on our experiences of Japan. What we really need is a couple of weeks in a sensory deprivation tank so our brains can catch up. We had a fantastic 9 weeks and saw so much, learnt so much and met so many lovely people it’s hard to condense it all and make any sense of it and what it means for us and what we do in the future. We thought 9 weeks would a long time but there are so many things we would like to come back and do justice to …. At least the blog and all our photos will give us the chance when we get home to review it all and see how it feels then. There is a definition of poetry as “emotion recollected in tranquillity” and I think that is what we will need, but when? Next there is the US and Canada and then when we get home another month on the road before we get back into our house in July. How will we cope with all that space? all those possessions? All that stability?
We always wanted to see Latin America.

Lost in Translation

Kampai !
We are alive and well but being overwhelmed by hospitality and sightseeing not to mention getting to grips with Tokyo subway system. Hope to end NZ blog and start blog Japan soon
love to all
sayanora
Peter and Margot

Back to the North Island

Our next mission was to take a little saloon car for Europcar up to Picton, from where the ferry goes to the North Island. With 24 hours allowed it was going to be a direct drive back up the main highway which we had already covered with Hugh and which parallels the train track we had taken down some 5 weeks ago.

 

However, picking up the car at 9am we took the opportunity of stopping just north of Kaikoura to see the waterfall where the young seals were supposed to congregate. Although the weather was much better and the stream was navigable, it seemed the seals had outgrown it and were now playing out at sea. Never mind.

 

Apart from a picnic lunch and a coffee stop it was straight on to Picton arriving just in time find our campsite. We had a standard cabin (kitchen but no bath or toilets, musical or otherwise) which was quite comfy enough.

 

In the morning we handed back the car to the harbour office and then spent the morning in Picton, waking in the park, having a café breakfast in the sun, re-visiting the musical loos and getting our lunch from a Dutch bakery (a treat, NZ bread can be a bit dull with the honourable exception of Fresh Choice supermarkets).

 

Being a lovely sunny day the ferry trip weaving its way of the Sound was very scenic and the crossing of the straits very smooth. This time we could actually see Wellington harbour as we sailed in and Peter noted a couple of coves and inlets that looked worth exploring by kayak.

 

We checked in again at Downtown Backpackers and still had time to walk along the waterfront which was just around the corner. Having located the Te Papa museum and Fergs kayak hire depot, we then visited the biggest second hand bookshop we have ever seen with very quirky but helpful section labels along the lines of  “Over-romanticised coffee table books on New Zealand” or “self-serving political autobiographies” (definitely not Dewey system). We had collected about 4 books each when we realised we would have to carry them so agreed to put them back on the shelves. We then returned for another very cheap but quite edible supper at the Backpackers. Definitely a recommendation if you are ever in Wellington.

 

We didn’t have to pick up our next car until 4pm on the Wednesday so that gave us a day and a half to enjoy. Margot went off to meet a friend who ran a bookshop in an outlying suburb  while Peter headed off to rent a kayak. You launch from Queen’s Wharf which is now mainly public spaces, restaurants and event venues – all on piles and reclaimed land - culminating in Te Papa, the very modern national museum. Beyond that is a marina  and a beach and from there a longish crossing across another bay brings you to a lovely coastline of rock pools and little beaches to explore. With increasing winds forecast for the afternoon Peter had to turn back after a couple of hours but made good time back and there was still time left on the clock to explore the inlets and quays along the waterfront before handing the boat back.

Not planning to meet until later in the afternoon, Margot spent the afternoon exploring the civic quarter and bookshops (conveniently forgetting our resolution of the night before), while Peter wandered off to the beach and had a swim and sat in the sun and read his (one and only) book. Every major city should have a beach within a few minutes walk of the main business district.

 

Eventually we met and found a bar in the setting sun for a couple of beers, then back along the Quay to Waggamamas which was exactly the same as the one in Manchester but nice nevertheless andcloser to the beach. At least we have managed to avoid visiting a Starbucks or a Macdonalds so far.

 

Next morning, having packed and stored our baggage we went back along the quay once again to Te Papa and spent the morning investigating the various galleries. After lunch in the museum café we headed back to the backpackers through the shopping and civic quarters. With Margot guarding the baggage Peter set off on foot for the ferry terminal to pick up the car. The road we had come in on the ferry shuttle was clearly not designed for pedestrians and after 2 kilometres 

Peter was beginning to wonder if he had lost his way. The sight of a ferry through the wharehouses would have been a reassurance but it seemed all three ferries were still out on the ocean so it was a great relief when  sign appeared indicating the terminal was just  across that dual carriageway and over the railway line. No going back now and pleased to nip into the building as 4pm struck (figuratively speaking, of course). Just time to drive back and pick up Margot and the bags and off we sped north, just ahead of the rush hour.

 

Our plan was to drive as far as was comfortable but in any case stopping before we got to the National Park where due to the cloud base being barely above the roof of the train we had failed to see the volcanic Mount Ruapehu from the train down. We found a motel in good time, sandwiched in a valley between the railway track and highway. Very comfortable but a bit noisy.

 

The next day was beautifully sunny and before long we had great views of  the mountains,  distracted only by being followed by four police cars, or maybe one police car four times. Turned out not to be us but to be some kind of regional donut convention  as we eventually came across all of them parked outside a café.

 

We had lunch at the Friends Café at Lake Taupo which is a huge lake specially loved by retired couples so we fitted right in. We were served by an ageing ‘loveable’ Cockney who sounded like he had just stepped off the set of East-enders and was clearly a big attraction. The thrill of being addressed as ‘ you young folk’ wore off when we heard him saying the same thing to every 90-plus year old who was wheeled in.

The run-off from the lake goes through a narrow canyon and a waterfall which apparently and then into a lake which is the head of a hydroelectric scheme. This reduces the flow downstream to a trickle so, as a sop to us tourists, they open up the weir every hour on the hour so you can watch the river rise to its full torrent and then shrivel up again. A bit sad maybe but very impressive while it lasts.

 

A bit further on and you begin to get into the geo-thermal activity around Rotorua, which was our next stop – for two nights as the Europcar clerk had very kindly thrown in an extra day’s hire for free.

Christchurch and the Banks Peninsula

Christchurch and the Banks Peninsula

We all went out for a meal on the pier at New Brighton the evening we got back and on the Wednesday we went into the city to meet up with a friend of Margot’s from London who happened to be in Christchurch on holiday the same day as us.

After lunch we went to the Cantebury Museum, passing on the way the Dyslexia Centre which had set out a garden / sculpture on its front lawn attempting to convey the frustration of being dyslexic in a society unable or unwilling to understand it, and also to celebrate the achievements of dyslexic. It was very powerful and a good use of a very small space even if the majority of the population walked by without really noticing it.

After the Museum we walked out of the centre looking for the house Margot had lived in. When we found the street it was clear that most of it had been re-developed with blocks of flats, with the sole exception of Margot’s old house complete with magnolia tree in the front yard. Walking back to the bus station the heavens opened and we got completely drenched but it was not too cold so ‘no worries’.

As it happened, Hugh was off to a reunion in Auckland that weekend but he very kindly let us stay in his house and have the use of his car. So, the following morning, we dropped Hugh off at the airport and carried on round the Banks Peninsula to Akaroa.

Akaroa

Akaroa is another fine example of Albion at its most perfidious. It was the French who first ‘discovered’ this large sheltered bay and deemed it suitable for settlement. They just popped home to get some settlers and supplies to get them started but six days before they got back, the British nipped in and ran up a flag claiming for the Crown. The French settlers, having come all that way, decided to stay anyway and took up British citizenship. So, although very much a part of New Zealand, this little town has French street names and a few residents who can trace their ancestry back to France.

Nowadays of course it is mainly a gimmick to attract visitors and they go to the extent of bringing in French back-packers to work in the cafes to provide the authentic accents. Nevertheless it’s a lovely little place with lots of early settlers cottages now beautifully restored, and it is a fantastic harbour.

We drove back over the Summit Road, which lives up its name, in a gale force wind which had the car rocking as we snaked around the narrow barrier–free road before dropping back down to sea level. At Little River we noticed a cycle track, Sustrans style, on the old railway line that crossed the salt marches on the edge of Lake Ellesmere and resolved to return the following day.

Rather than re-trace our steps we took the direct route from Litle River over the mountains to Lyttleton , the port town where we had had coffee a couple of weeks before. We had noticed Satchmos’ an interesting looking jazz/bar/restaurant and this time had a really pleasant meal there before driving back through the tunnel to Christchurch.

Little River Cycle Track

The next day being Saturday we drove back over the mountains to Little River and hired a couple of bikes from the local garage. Before starting off we had brunch at the next door café cum art gallery which had some beautiful stuff but too heavy and costly for us to do anything but look. Little River is on an inletl and the path starts off down a track protected on both sides by large willow trees. Unfortunately the previous days storm ahad taken down a number of branches. Instantly founding a new unit of "Sustrans sans Frontieres" Peter started off clearing away some of the branches but soon we came up against an entire tree blocking the path and had to detour through the undergrowth, neglecting to bring our chainsaw with us.

The inlet soon broadened out with the sea to the left and the railway track turning right and heading off across the edge of the enormous inland Lake Ellesmere which disappears over the horizon. With water on both sides the track is a haven for birdlife and we saw stilts, oystercatchers, grebes and herons. We did about 14 kilometers before stopping at an old quarry site for our picnic lunch before heading back. Peter took a quick sprint out to see the beach but it was very gravelly and steep so not very tempting for a swim.

We came back across the mountains again but instead of coming through the tunnel we went back over the top, stopping to watch the para-gliders and walk around the headland to visit the old gun emplacements that were built to defend the harbour at the start of the last war. Back home to take in the last minute washes and pack ready to pick up our next relocation at 9am at the airport

Where are they now?

Just to let you know we are now in Tokyo. We have been about and about but we will catch up on the last days in New Zealand first. Watch for blog coming soon.
love to all
Peter and Margot-san

Mount Cook

The idea of the relocation is just to get the vehicle back to its base so they allocate you a certain number of days – Queenstown to Christchurch being 48 hours. However, if its not needed urgently  and you want to see the sights en route you can book extra days. It costs extra, but not as much as the full rate.

 

We wanted to see Mount Cook on the way so we negotiated an extra 24 hours and headed North through the mountains at a fairly leisurely pace. We stopped to watch the bunjy jumping and have a coffee  but soon after were forced to halt again as they were blowing up a mountainside that was threatening to fall on to  the road. We had to wait for an hour or so whle a helicopter doused the mountainwith water from afairly samll bucket-0 not sure why. This was a big fall, but smaller slips happen all the time in some areas, usually after heavy rain of course, as cuttings are made very steep and the rock quite often soft or mere sand. Kiwis do not seem to be too risk averse, which is probably why they invented so many of these adrenalin sports – driving in the mountains is just one more only they don’t charge you for it and you don’t have a choice whether to take part.

 

We made up the time eventually and were rewarded with rare views of Mount Cook summit, which is often wreathed in cloud but for us they parted just as we approached along the side of Lake Pukaki. The lake is 27 kilometres long so you get plenty of time tosee the weather changing around the peaks. Closer up it was even more impressive as the clouds swirled round the neighbouring peaks but Mount Cook gradually cleared and we ended up with  some brilliant views.

 The ominous nature of the mountains was  brought home by one of the many plaques on the monument to those who had died climbing on this range. Margot had heard from Willy, back in Gore, that one of their colleagues, with whom they had tramped around Queenstown all those years ago, had died on the mountain and there was his name on the monument.

 After an exploratory walk, well short of base camp, we headed north again to find a camp site on Lake Tekapo, famed as the clearest sky in the southern hemisphere and for that reason home to New Zealands observatory. It being cloudy by then we abandoned our plan to take the star-gazing tour and opted for the hot water pools. The three pools were shaped like Lake Tekapo, Lake Pukaki and Lake Ohau (but not to scale as Lake Ohau would have been bathtub sized) and descended the hillside in order of temperature. The top one was too hot, the bottom one too cool but - guess what – the middle one was just right.

 As we lounged there in the water we got into conversation with two ageing bikers on their way back from a Harley Davidson rally by way of the local bar and we now know as much about the economic rise and fall and rise of the Harley Davidson company as we do about high country irrigation. What a life we lead!

 Pulling out in the morning we discovered a little stone church overlooking the lake with a picture window instead of an altar – a lovely idea considering the view but quite radical for a Victorian clergyman. Must have been challenging trying to give a sermon with everyone looking over your shoulder at the view. What could you say?

 Outside the church was a statue of a collie dog, erected by grateful sheep famers, though if you think about it, paid for by the sheep.

 

Back to Christchurch

 Our last day back to Christchurch was pretty much a long drive across the Cantebury plains but this time we took the scenic route so at least we had the mountains on one side. We did stop at a lovely camping spot for lunch overlooking the Rakaia Gorge where the camp warden had inscribed all the rocks keeping vehicles off the grass with aphorisms along the lines of “The key to a happy retirement is a happy marriage” – unfortunately too big to go in our luggage.

 More evidence of the creative talents of up-country folk came at Geraldine where all the coffe shops are hung with original art and craft, but the biggest find is the Knitwear shop, home of the world’s largest jumper (Guinness Book of Records accredited) and a copy of the Bayeux Tapestry make out of worn out knitting machine needle tips. Not only had he done this himself, the owner,who was on hand, had researched and devised the missing bits of the tapestry like the Battle of Stamford Hill (including the bit with the pikestaff – Peter checked). All of this was available on a CD-rom together with dozens of games and bits of software invented by this guy and Peter was so impressed he bought a copy. To someone who could never get his Airfix Spitfires to stay together and who doesn’t even understand what Sudoko is, let alone have the slightest urge to do it, this type of  mind is totally alien but nevertheless an object of fascination. He deserves his $30 even if we never work out how to make the CD work.

 Stopping only to give the van a spring clean (we had carefully avoided using the shower or toilet – no, we didn’t hang on for three days, they have them on the camp sites) and fill it up with diesel we handed it back to Britz at Christchurch Airport where Hugh was waiting to take us home.

Bike Ride to Macetown

Peter writes…

 The 23 k to Arrowtown began with the lakeside trail we had previously walked in on from the airport and from there a mixture of tarmac road and gravel track round Hayes Lake brought me to the town. Stopping at the Bakery again to shelter from the rain and to fuel up with a full English breakfast I checked the route guide noting that it included 30 river ford’s! Five of these were in the first kilometre. Having promised the rental company that I would carry the bike across any fords the bike, at this point, was more of a hindrance than a help with me wading up to my knees in fast flowing water with the bike on my shoulder. However, from then on the track rose up the valley side and only dropped down to cross the river every once in a while.

 

Didn’t see many 4WDs fortunately as the track was not very wide with sharp bends and steep drops into the river below. With so many notches on the river’s belt evidenced at the first ford it was not so surprising.

 

Each crossing meant wet feet and shorts but this was to be the swan song for these trainers, getting a bit thin in the soles and feeling every stone. They are still fine for everyday walking – and very clean after 30 soakings in a mountain stream - so have just been donated to the Auckland City Mission – perhaps they will inspire some size 8 down on his luck to take up hiking.

 

Reaching Macetown I stopped for picnic in the by now warm sun, read a couple of chapters and changed into my swimming shorts (to give my cycling shorts a chance to dry off). A swim in a pool in the river was irresistible before starting down.  Straight off the glacier, the water was beautifully refreshing and with the sun and wind dried off in no time. With the rain gone and stunning views opening up ahead and down into the river valley it turned out to be one of the best rides ever and has to rival the sailing in Sydney Harbour is one of Peter's highlights of the trip.

 

Making it back to Arrowtown for a tea and a slice there was of course still another 23 k to do. A bit of a slog back on the main road and missing a turning added a few more kilometres for good measure. By now I was pretty well exhausted but nevertheless had to get the bike back by 6pm and managed to do so with ten minutes to spare –  a really full day. The bike hire was my birthday present from Margot followed by (after a shower) a beer in the Yacht Club Bar in front of a roaring fire.

 

We should point out that the Yacht Club is just a bar, not a club at all, in case you had visions of us in yachting caps and blazers.

 

The next morning out to the airport again to pick up another camper van for relocation back to Christchurch. Peter caught the early bus and signed up a rather clunky Volkswagen T35 van - our Jeremy Clarkson moment was over. The car was fun but, in the end, just a car.

Slum Dog Millionaires

Next day we retraced our steps to Queenstown but this time to the YHA in the centre of town. Having deposited our bags in our double ensuite room (Youth Hostels, but not as we know it) we drove up to Arrowtown,  an ex-gold-mining town 23 kilometres up the valley to meet Joy another of Margot’s colleagues from her Queenstown teaching days. After a nice tea and a chat we went back into the town to catch Slumdog Millionaire at Dorothy's Place, a tiny bookshop / cinema. It had lovely comfy armchairs and they stopped the film halfway through for cheese snacks and glasses of wine.  Very civilised, and a lovely film.

 

Arrowtown is very much a ‘heritage’ town. It attracts a lot of visitors but nevertheless it was very interesting and pretty so we decided to return the following day and see a bit more of the town, and to go for a walk up in the surrounding hills.  On the way we had to drop the flash car off at the airport, fortunately undamaged despite our adventures on un-sealed roads, so from there we took the yellow bus.

 

After a coffee at the town bakery we wandered along the streets of old miners cottages and then down into the remnants of the Chinese quarter where a community of miners from a province in China had lived a parallel existence.  It seems the Chinese would come in after the Europeans felt the gold was too difficult to find and manage to still make a living by working harder and more efficiently. Now why does that sound familiar?

 

From there we headed up the valley of the Arrow River turning up a smaller side valley before going over the ‘saddle’ and back down into the town.  Along the path we disturbed a harrier 

- very common in New Zealand - chewing the head off a rabbit.  The harrier flew across the valley and sat on the branch waiting for us to go. We walked on a bit and then hid hoping it would come back.  Unfortunately another walker passing by nearly stepped on the headless rabbit and her cry of horror sent the harrier packing. We warned the next walker we passed, a woman with a young boy, in case he too would be traumatised, but of course he couldn’t wait to get there and see the carnage.

 

On the other side of the Arrow River Peter had noticed mountain bikers riding a four-wheel-drive track which continued up the main valley. A guide from the  Information Centre indicated that it carried on up as far as Macetown, where there were the ruins of another gold mining community long since abandoned.  Peter decided that the next day he would hire a bike in Queenstown and ride the track.